For the first time the art of illumination became real to me,—not something merely to be gazed at with respect and admiration, but an expression of artistic accomplishment to be studied and understood, and made a part of one’s life.
The underlying thought that has inspired illumination in books from its very beginning is more interesting even than the splendid pages which challenge one’s comprehension and almost pass beyond his power of understanding. To the ancients, as we have seen, the rarest gems in all the world were gems of thought. The book was the tangible and visible expression of man’s intellect, worthy of the noblest presentation. These true lovers of books engaged scribes to write the text in minium of rare brilliancy brought from India or Spain, or in Byzantine ink of pure Oriental gold; they selected, to write upon, the finest material possible,—sometimes nothing less than virgin parchment, soft as velvet, made from the skins of still-born kids; they employed the greatest artists of the day to draw decorations or to paint miniatures; and they enclosed this glorified thought of man, now perpetuated for all time, in a cover devised sometimes of tablets of beaten gold, or of ivory inlaid with precious jewels (page [112]).
CARVED IVORY BINDING
Jeweled with Rubies and Turquoises
From Psalter (12th Century). Brit. Mus. Eger. MS. 1139
(Reduced in size)
For centuries, this glorification was primarily bestowed upon religious manuscripts, and illumination came to be associated with the Church, but by the fourteenth century the art ceased to be confined to the cloister. Wealthy patrons recognized that it offered too splendid a medium of expression to permit limitation; and lay artists were employed to add their talents in increasing the illuminated treasures of the world.
There would seem to be no reason why so satisfying an art as that of illumination should not continue to be employed to make beautifully printed books still more beautiful, yet even among those who really love and know books there is a surprising lack of knowledge concerning this fascinating work. The art of Raphael and Rubens has been a part of our every-day life and is familiar to us; but the names of Francesco d’Antonio, Jean Foucquet, and Jean Bourdichon have never become household words, and the masterpieces of the illuminator’s art which stand to their credit seem almost shrouded in a hazy and mysterious indefiniteness.
I have learned from my own experience that even fragmentary study brings rich rewards:—the interest in discovering that instead of being merely decorative, the art of illumination is as definitive in recording the temporary or fashionable customs of various periods as history itself. There is a satisfaction in learning to distinguish the characteristics of each well-defined school:—of recognizing the fretted arcades and mosaics of church decoration in the Romanesque style; the stained glass of the Gothic cathedrals in the schools of England, France, Germany, or Italy; the love of flower cultivation in the work of the Netherlandish artists; the echo of the skill of the goldsmith and enameller in the French manuscripts; and the glory of the gem cutter in those of the Italian Renaissance. There is the romance connected with each great masterpiece as it passes from artist to patron, and then on down the centuries, commemorating loyal devotion to saintly attributes; expressing fealty at coronations or congratulations at Royal marriages; conveying expressions of devotion and affection from noble lords and ladies, one to the other. Illuminated volumes were not the playthings of the common people, and in their peregrinations to their final resting places in libraries and museums, they passed along a Royal road and became clothed with fascinating associations.