Arts and crafts in the Middle Ages

by Julia de Wolf Addison

In the Bolognese Manuscript, one is directed to make a simple size from incense, white gum, and sugar candy, distempering it with wine; and in another place, to use the white of egg, whipped with the milk of the fig tree and powdered gum Arabic. Armenian Bole is a favourite ingredient. Gum and rose water are also prescribed, and again, gesso, white of egg, and honey. All of these recipes sound convincing, but if one tries them to-day, one has the doubtful pleasure of seeing the carefully laid gold leaf slide off as soon as the whole mixture is quite dry. Especially improbable is the recipe given in the Brussels Manuscript: "You lay on gold with well gummed water alone, and this is very good for gilding on parchment. You may also use fresh white of egg or fig juice alone in the same manner."

Theophilus does not devote much time or space to the art of illuminating, for, as he is a builder of everything from church organs to chalices, glass windows, and even to frescoed walls, we must not expect too much information on minor details. He does not seem to direct the use of gold leaf at all, but of finely ground gold, which shall be applied with its size in the form of a paste, to be burnished later. He says (after directing that the gold dust shall be placed in a shell): "Take pure minium and add to it a third part of cinnibar, grinding it upon a stone with water. Which, being carefully ground, beat up the clear white of an egg, in summer with water, in winter without water," and this is to be used as a slightly raised bed for the gold. "Then," he continues, "place a little pot of glue on the fire, and when it is liquefied, pour it into the shell of gold and wash it with it." This is to be painted on to the gesso ground just mentioned, and when quite dry, burnished with an agate. This recipe is more like the modern Florentine method of gilding in illumination.

Concerning the gold itself, there seem to have been various means employed for manufacturing substitutes for the genuine article. A curious recipe is given in the manuscript of Jehan de Begue, "Take bulls' brains, put them in a marble vase, and leave them for three weeks, when you will find gold making worms. Preserve them carefully." More quaint and superstitious is Theophilus' recipe for making Spanish Gold; but, as this is not quotable in polite pages, the reader must refer to the original treatise if he cares to trace its manufacture.

Brushes made of hair are recommended by the Brussels manuscript, with a plea for "pencils of fishes' hairs for softening." If this does not refer to sealskin, it is food for conjecture!

And for the binding of these beautiful volumes, how was the leather obtained? This is one way in which business and sport could be combined in the monastery, Warton says, "About the year 790, Charlemagne granted an unlimited right of hunting to the Abbot and monks of Sithiu, for making... of the skins of the deer they killed... covers for their books." There is no doubt that it had occurred to artists to experiment upon human skin, and perhaps the fact that this was an unsatisfactory texture is the chief reason why no books were made of it. A French commentator observes: "The skin of a man is nothing compared with the skin of a sheep.... Sheep is good for writing on both sides, but the skin of a dead man is just about as profitable as his bones,—better bury him, skin and bones together."

There was some difficulty in obtaining manuscripts to copy. The Breviary was usually enclosed in a cage; rich parishioners were bribed by many masses and prayers, to bequeath manuscripts to churches. In old Paris, the Parchment Makers were a guild of much importance. Often they combined their trade with tavern keeping, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The Rector of the University was glad when this occurred, for the inn keeper and parchment maker was under his control, both being obliged to reside in the Pays Latin. Bishops were known to exhort the parchment makers, from the pulpit, to be honest and conscientious in preparing skins. A bookseller, too, was solemnly made to swear "faithfully to receive, take care of, and expose for sale the works which should be entrusted to him." He might not buy them for himself until they had been for sale a full month "at the disposition of the Masters and Scholars." But in return for these restrictions, the bookseller was admitted to the rights and privileges of the University. As clients of the University, these trades, which were associated with book making, joined in the "solemn processions" of those times; booksellers, binders, parchment makers, and illuminators, all marched together on these occasions. They were obliged to pay toll to the Rector for these privileges; the recipe for ink was a carefully guarded secret.

It now becomes our part to study the books themselves, and see what results were obtained by applying all the arts involved in their making.

The transition from the Roman illuminations to the Byzantine may be traced to the time when Constantine moved his seat of government from Rome to Constantinople. Constantinople then became the centre of learning, and books were written there in great numbers. For some centuries Constantinople was the chief city in the art of illuminating. The style that here grew up exhibited the same features that characterized Byzantine art in mosaic and decoration. The Oriental influence displayed itself in a lavish use of gold and colour; the remnant of Classical art was slight, but may sometimes be detected in the subjects chosen, and the ideas embodied. The Greek influence was the strongest. But the Greek art of the seventh and eighth centuries was not at all like the Classic art of earlier Greece; a conventional type had entered with Christianity, and is chiefly recognized by a stubborn conformity to precedent. It is difficult to date a Byzantine picture or manuscript, for the same severe hard form that prevailed in the days of Constantine is carried on to-day by the monks of Mt. Athos, and a Byzantine work of the ninth century is not easily distinguished from one of the fifteenth. In manuscripts, the caligraphy is often the only feature by which the work can be dated.

In the earlier Byzantine manuscripts there is a larger proportion of Classical influence than in later ones, when the art had taken on its inflexible uniformity of design. One of the most interesting books in which this classical influence may be seen is in the Imperial Library at Vienna, being a work on Botany, by Dioscorides, written about 400 A. D. The miniatures in this manuscript have many of the characteristics of Roman work.

The pigments used in Byzantine manuscripts are glossy, a great deal of ultramarine being used. The high lights are usually of gold, applied in sharp glittering lines, and lighting up the picture with very decorative effect. In large wall mosaics the same characteristics may be noted, and it is often suggested that these gold lines may have originated in an attempt to imitate cloisonné enamel, in which the fine gold line separates the different coloured spaces one from another. This theory is quite plausible, as cloisonné was made by the Byzantine goldsmiths.