In quest of the perfect book

by William Dana Orcutt

Queen Mary’s Psalter, a superb example of the English School in the early fourteenth century, is a landmark in our pilgrimage because, in addition to its surpassing beauty, it is an example of illumination sought for its own artistic value instead of being associated wholly with devotional manuscripts. No one can examine the charming series of little tinted drawings in the margins of the Litany without being convinced that the artist, whoever he may have been, was quite familiar with the world outside the Church (see [frontispiece]).

The earliest note of ownership in this manuscript is of the sixteenth century:

This boke was sume tyme the Erle of Rutelands, and it was his wil that it shulde by successioun all way go to the lande of Ruteland or to him that linyally suceedes by reson of inheritaunce in the saide lande.

How fascinating these records are, made by different hands as the precious manuscripts are passed on down the ages! Even though we have no absolute knowledge of which Rutland is meant, an added personality is given to the pages we are now permitted to turn and to admire. In this manuscript there is also a second note, written in Latin on the fly leaf at the end, paying a tribute to a certain Baldwin Smith, “an honest customs officer,” who frustrated an attempt to ship the volume out of England, and presented it to Queen Mary. It is now in the British Museum.

Whether or not this was Queen Mary’s first acquaintance with the manuscript is not known, but from the binding she put on it she surely considered it a highly prized personal possession. It would naturally be of special interest to her because of its connection with the old liturgy she was so anxious to restore. The silver-gilt clasp fittings are missing now. The crimson velvet with the pomegranate, the Queen’s badge, worked in colored silks and gold thread on each cover, are worn and shabby; but on the corner plates the engraved lion, dragon, portcullis, and fleur-de-lys of the Tudors are still triumphant.

The manuscript, executed upon thin vellum, and consisting of 320 leaves about 11 by 7 inches, opens with a series of 228 pen and ink drawings. In most cases there are two designs on each page, illustrating Bible history from the Creation down to the death of Solomon (page [134]). With the drawings is a running description in French, sometimes in prose, sometimes in rhyme, which in itself is interesting, as the story does not always confine itself strictly to the Biblical records but occasionally embodies apocryphal details.

The drawings themselves are exquisite, and in the skill of execution mark another tremendous advance in the art of illumination. They are delicately tinted with violet, green, red, and brown. The frame is a plain band of vermilion, from each corner of which is extended a stem with three leaves tinted with green or violet.

Following the series of drawings comes a full page showing the Tree of Jesse, and three other full pages depicting the Saints,—one page of four compartments and two of six. The text, from this point, represents the usual form of the liturgical Psalter, the Psalms being preceded by a Calendar, two pages to a month, and followed by the Canticles, including the Athanasian Creed, and then by the Litany. In the Psalter, the miniatures show incidents from the life of Christ; the Canticles depict scenes from the Passion; while in the Litany are miniatures of the Saints and Martyrs. The initials themselves are elaborate, many containing small miniatures, and all lighted up with brilliant colors and burnished gold. In the Litany, in addition to the religious subjects, there are splendid little scenes of every-day life painted in the lower margins which make the manuscript unique,—illustrations of the Bestiary, tilting and hunting scenes, sports and pastimes, grotesque figures and combats, dancers and musicians. The manuscript ends with the Miracles of the Virgin and the Lives and Passions of the Saints.

In Queen Mary’s Psalter, and in manuscripts from this period to those of the sixteenth century, we find ourselves reveling in sheer beauty. “Why not have started here?” asks my reader. Perhaps we should have done so; but this is a record not of what I ought to do, but of what I’ve done! To see one beautiful manuscript after another, without being able to recognize what makes each one different and significant, would take away my pleasure, for the riotous colors and gold would merge one into another. Is it not true that there comes greater enjoyment in better understanding? We admire what we may not understand, but without understanding there can be no complete appreciation. In this case, familiarity breeds content!