At the Monastery of Monte Ca.s.sino in the eleventh century was an interesting personality,--the Abbe Didier, its Superior. About 1066 he brought workers from Constantinople, who decorated the apse and walls of the basilica under his direction. At the same time, he established a school at the monastery, and the young members were instructed in the arts and crafts of mosaic and inlay, and the illumination of books. Greek influence was thus carried into Italy through Monte Ca.s.sino.

In the twelfth century the celebrated Suger of St. Denis decorated one of the porches of his church with mosaic, in smalt, marbles, and gold; animal and human forms were introduced in the ornament.

But this may not have been work actually executed on the spot, for another narrator tells us that Suger brought home from Italy, on one of his journeys, a mosaic, which was placed over the door at St. Denis; as it is no longer in its position, it is not easy to determine which account is correct.

The mosaics at St. Mark's in Venice were chiefly the work of two centuries and a half. Greek artists were employed in the main, bringing their own tesserae and marbles. In 1204 there was special activity in this line, at the time when the Venetians took Constantinople. After this, an establishment for making the smalts and gold gla.s.s was set up at Murano, and Venice no longer imported its material.

The old Cathedral at Torcello has one of the most perfect examples of the twelfth century mosaic in the world. The entire west end of the church is covered with a rich display of figures and Scriptural scenes. A very lurid h.e.l.l is exhibited at the lower corner, in the depths of which are seen stewing, several Saracens, with large hoop earrings. Their faces are highly expressive of discomfort.

This mosaic is full of genuine feeling; one of the subjects is Amphitrite riding a seahorse, among those who rise to the surface when "the sea gives up its dead." The Redeemed are seen crowding round Abraham, who holds one in his bosom; they are like an infant cla.s.s, and are dressed in uniform pinafores, intended to look like little ecclesiastical vestments! The Dead who are being given up by the Earth are being vomited forth by wild animals--this is original, and I believe, almost the only occasion on which this form of literal resurrection is represented.

In the thirteenth century a large number of mosaic artists appeared in Florence, many of whose names and histories are available. In the Baptistery, Andrea Tafi, who lived between 1213 and 1294, decorated the cupola. With him were two a.s.sistants who are known by name--Apollonius a Greek, which in part accounts for the stiff Byzantine figures in this work, and another who has left his signature, "Jacobus Sancti Francisci Frater"--evidently a monastic craftsman. Gaddo Gaddi also a.s.sisted in this work, executing the Prophets which occur under the windows, and professing to combine in his style "the Greek manner and that of Cimabue." Apollonius taught Andrea Tafi how to compose the smalt and to mix the cement, but this latter was evidently unsuccessful, for in the next century the mosaic detached itself and fell badly, when Agnolo Gaddi, the grandson of Gaddo, was engaged to restore it. Tafi, Gaddi, and Jacobus were considered as a promising firm, and they undertook other large works in mosaic. They commenced the apse at Pisa, which was finished in 1321 by Vicini, Cimabue designing the colossal figure of Christ which thus dominates the cathedral.

Vasari says that Andrea Tafi was considered "an excellent, nay, a divine artist" in his specialty. Andrea, himself more modest, visited Venice, and deigned to take instruction from Greek mosaic workers, who were employed at St. Mark's. One of them, Apollonius, became attached to Tafi, and this is how he came to accompany him to Florence. The work on the Baptistery was done actually _in situ_, every cube being set directly in the plaster. The work is still extant, and the technical and constructive features are perfect, since their restoration. It is amusing to read Vasari's patronizing account of Tafi; from the late Renaissance point of view, the mosaic worker seemed to be a barbarous Goth at best: "The good fortune of Andrea was really great," says Vasari, "to be born in an age which, doing all things in the rudest manner, could value so highly the works of an artist who really merited so little, not to say nothing!"

Gaddo Gaddi was a painstaking worker in mosaic, executing some works on a small scale entirely in eggsh.e.l.ls of varying tints. In the Baroncelli chapel in Florence is a painting by Taddeo Gaddi, in which occur the portraits of his father, Gaddo Gaddi, and Andrea Tafi.

About this time the delightful mosaic at St. Clemente, in Rome, was executed. With its central cross and graceful vine decorations, it stands out unique among the groups of saints and seraphs, of angels and hierarchies, of most of the Roman apsidal ornaments. The mosaic in the basilica of St. John Lateran is by Jacopo Torriti.

In the design there are two inconspicuous figures, intentionally smaller than the others, of two monks on their knees, working, with measure and compa.s.s. These represent Jacopo Torriti and his co-worker, Camerino. One of them is inscribed (translated) "Jacopo Torriti, painter, did this work," and the other, "Brother Jacopo Camerino, companion of the master worker, commends himself to the blessed John." The tools and implements used by mosaic artists are represented in the hands of these two monks. Torriti was apparently a greater man in some respects than his contemporaries. He based his art rather on Roman than Greek tradition, and his works exhibit less Byzantine formality than many mosaics of the period. On the apse of Sta. Maria Maggiore there appears a signature, "Jacopo Torriti made this work in mosaic." Gaddo Gaddi also added a composition below the vault, about 1308.

The well-known mosaic called the Navicella in the atrium of St.

Peter's, Rome, was originally made by Giotto. It has been much restored and altered, but some of the original design undoubtedly remains. Giotto went to Rome to undertake this work in 1298; but the present mosaic is largely the restoration of Bernini, who can hardly be considered as a sympathetic interpreter of the early Florentine style. Vasari speaks of the Navicella as "a truly wonderful work, and deservedly eulogized by all enlightened judges." He marvels at the way in which Giotto has produced harmony and interchange of light and shade so cleverly: "with mere pieces of gla.s.s" (Vasari is so navely overwhelmed with ignorance when he comes to deal with handicraft) especially on the large sail of the boat.

In Venice, the Mascoli chapel was ornamented by scenes from the life of the Virgin, in 1430. The artist was Michele Zambono, who designed and superintended the work himself. At Or San Michele in Florence, the painter Peselli, or Guliano Arrigo, decorated the tabernacle, in 1416. Among other artists who entered the field of mosaic, were Baldovinetti and Domenico Ghirlandajo, the painter who originated the motto: "The only painting for eternity is mosaic."

In the sixteenth century the art of mosaic ceased to observe due limitations. The ideal was to reproduce exactly in mosaic such pictures as were prepared by t.i.tian, Pordenone, Raphael, and other realistic painters. Georges Sand, in her charming novel, "Les Maitres Mosastes," gives one the atmosphere of the workshops in Venice in this later period. Tintoretto and Zuccato, the aged painter, are discussing the durability of mosaic:--"Since it resists so well," says Zuccato, "how comes it that the Seignory is repairing all the domes of St. Mark's, which to-day are as bare as my skull?"

To which Tintoretto makes answer: "Because at the time when they were decorated with mosaics, Greek artists were scarce in Venice.

They came from a distance, and remained but a short time: their apprentices were hastily trained, and executed the works entrusted to them without knowing their business, and without being able to give them the necessary solidity. Now that this art has been cultivated in Venice, century after century, we have become as skilful as even the Greeks were." The two sons of Zuccato, who are engaged in this work, confide to each other their trials and difficulties in the undertaking: like artists of all ages, they cannot easily convince their patrons that they comprehend their art better than their employers! Francesco complains of the Procurator, who is commissioned to examine the work: "He is not an artist.

He sees in mosaic only an application of particles more or less brilliant. Perfection of tone, beauty of design, ingenuity of composition, are nothing to him.... Did I not try in vain the other day to make him understand that the old pieces of gilded crystal used by our ancestors and a little tarnished by time, were more favourable to colour than those manufactured to-day?"

"Indeed, you make a mistake, Messer Francesco," said he, "in handing over to the Bianchini all the gold of modern manufacture.

The Commissioners have decided that the old will do mixed with the new."... "But did I not in vain try to make him understand that this brilliant gold would hurt the faces, and completely ruin the effect of colour?"... The answer of the Procurator was, "The Bianchini do not scruple to use it, and their mosaics please the eye much better than yours," so his brother Valerio, laughing, asks, "What need of worrying yourself after such a decision as that? Suppress the shadows, cut a breadth of material from a great plate of enamel and lay it over the breast of St. Nicaise, render St. Cecilia's beautiful hair with a badly cut tile, a pretty lamb for St. John the Baptist, and the Commission will double your salary and the public clap its hands. Really, my brother, you who dream of glory, I do not understand how you can pledge yourself to the worship of art." "I dream of glory, it is true," replied Francesco, "but of a glory that is lasting, not the vain popularity of a day.

I should like to leave an honoured name, if not an ill.u.s.trious one, and make those who examine the cupolas of St. Mark's five hundred years hence say, 'This was the work of a conscientious artist.'" A description follows of the scene of the mosaic workers pursuing their calling. "Here was heard abusive language, there the joyous song; further on, the jest; above, the hammer: below, the trowel: now the dull and continuous thud of the tampon on the mosaics, and anon the clear and crystal like clicking of the gla.s.sware rolling from the baskets on to the pavement, in waves of rubies and emeralds. Then the fearful grating of the sc.r.a.per on the cornice, and finally the sharp rasping cry of the saw in the marble, to say nothing of the low ma.s.ses said at the end of the chapel in spite of the racket."

[Ill.u.s.tration: MOSAIC IN BAS-RELIEF, NAPLES]

The Zuccati were very independent skilled workmen, as well as being able to design their own subjects. They were, in the judgment of Georges Sand, superior to another of the masters in charge of the works, Bozza, who was less of a man, although an artist of some merit. Later than these men, there were few mosaic workers of high standing; in Florence the art degenerated into a mere decorative inlay of semi-precious material, heraldic in feeling, costly and decorative, but an entirely different art from that of the Greeks and Romans. Lapis-lazuli with gold veinings, malachite, coral, alabaster, and rare marbles superseded the smalts and gold of an elder day.

CHAPTER XI

ILLUMINATION OF BOOKS

One cannot enter a book shop or a library to-day without realizing how many thousands of books are in constant circulation. There was an age when books were laboriously but most beautifully written, instead of being thus quickly manufactured by the aid of the type-setting machine; the material on which the glossy text was executed was vellum instead of the cheap paper of to-day, the ill.u.s.trations, instead of being easily reproduced by photographic processes, were veritable miniature paintings, most decorative, ablaze with colour and fine gold,--in these times it is easy to forget that there was ever a period when the making of a single book occupied years, and sometimes the life-time of one or two men.

In those days, when the transcription of books was one of the chief occupations in religious houses, the recluse monk, in the quiet of the scriptorium, was, in spite of his seclusion, and indeed, by reason of it, the chief link between the world of letters and the world of men.

The earliest known example of work by a European monk dates from the year 517; but shortly after this there was a great increase in book making, and monasteries were founded especially for the purpose of perpetuating literature. The first establishment of this sort was the monastery of Vivaria, in Southern Italy, founded by Ca.s.siodorus, a Greek who lived between the years 479 and 575, and who had been the scribe (or "private secretary") of Theodoric the Goth. About the same time, St. Columba in Ireland founded a house with the intention of multiplying books, so that in the sixth century, in both the extreme North and in the South, the religious orders had commenced the great work of preserving for future ages the literature of the past and of their own times.

Before examining the books themselves, it will be interesting to observe the conditions under which the work was accomplished. Sometimes the scriptorium was a large hall or studio, with various desks about; sometimes the North walk of the cloister was divided into little cells, called "carrels," in each of which was room for the writer, his desk, and a little shelf for his inks and colours.

These carrels may be seen in unusual perfection in Gloucester. In very cold weather a small brazier of charcoal was also introduced.

Ca.s.siodorus writes thus of the privilege of being a copyist of holy books. "He may fill his mind with the Scriptures while copying the sayings of the Lord; with his fingers he gives life to men and arms against the wiles of the Devil; as the antiquarius copies the word of Christ, so many wounds does he inflict upon Satan. What he writes in his cell will be carried far and wide over distant provinces. Man multiplies the word of Heaven: if I may dare so to speak, the three fingers of his right hand are made to represent the utterances of the Holy Trinity. The fast travelling reed writes down the holy words, thus avenging the malice of the wicked one, who caused a reed to be used to smite the head of the Saviour."

When the scriptorium was consecrated, these words were used (and they would be most fitting words to-day, in the consecration of libraries or cla.s.s rooms which are to be devoted to religious study): "Vouchsafe, O, Lord, to bless this workroom of thy servants, that all which they write therein may be comprehended by their intelligence, and realized by their work." Scriptorium work was considered equal to labour in the fields. In the Rule of St. Fereol, in the sixth century, there is this clause: "He who doth not turn up the earth with his plough, ought to write the parchment with his fingers."

The Capitulary of Charlemagne contains this phrase: "Do not permit your scribes or pupils, either in reading or writing, to garble the text; when you are preparing copies of the Gospels, the Psalter, or the Missal, see that the work is confided to men of mature age, who will write with due care." Some of the scribes were prolific book transcribers. Jacob of Breslau, who died in 1480, copied so many books that it is said that "six horses could with difficulty bear the burden of them!"

The work of each scriptorium was devoted first to the completion of the library of the individual monastery, and after that, to other houses, or to such patrons as were rich enough to order books to be transcribed for their own use. The library of a monastery was as much a feature as the scriptorium. The monks were not like the rising literary man, who, when asked if he had read "Pendennis"

replied, "No--I never read books--I write them." Every scribe was also a reader. There was a regular system of lending books from the central store. A librarian was in charge, and every monk was supposed to have some book which he was engaged in reading "straight through" as the Rule of St. Benedict enjoins, just as much as the one which he was writing. As silence was obligatory in the scriptorium and library, as well as in the cloisters, they were forced to apply for the volumes which they desired by signs. For a general work, the sign was to extend the hand and make a movement as if turning over the leaves of a book. If a Missal was wanted, the sign of the cross was added to the same form; for a Gospel, the sign of the cross was made upon the forehead, while those who wished tracts to read, should lay one hand on the mouth and the other on the stomach; a Capitulary was indicated by the gesture of raising the clasped hands to heaven, while a Psalter could be obtained by raising the hands above the head in the form of a crown. As the good brothers were not possessed of much religious charity, they indicated a secular book by scratching their ears, as dogs are supposed to do, to imply the suggestion that the infidel who wrote such a book was no better than a dog!

This extract is made from a book in one of the early monastic libraries.

"Oh, Lord, send the blessing of thy Holy Spirit upon these books, that, cleansing them from all earthly things, they may mercifully enlighten our hearts, and give us true understanding, and grant that by their teaching they may brightly preserve and make a full abundance of good works according to Thy will." The books were kept in cupboards, with doors; in the Customs of the Augustine Priory of Barnwell, these directions are given: "The press in which the books are kept ought to be lined with wood, that the damp of the walls may not moisten or stain the books. The press should be divided vertically as well as horizontally, by sundry part.i.tions, on which the books may be ranged so as to be separated from one another, for fear they be packed so close as to injure one another, or to delay those who want them."

We read of the "chained books" of the Middle Ages, and I think there is a popular belief that this referred to the fact that the Bible was kept in the priest's hands, and chained so that the people should not be able to read it for themselves and become familiar with every part of it. This, however, is a mistake. It was the books in the libraries which were chained, so that dishonest people should not make way with them! In one Chapter Library, there occurs a denunciation of such thieves, and instructions how to fasten the volumes. It reads as follows: "Since to the great reproach of the Nation, and a greater one to our Holy Religion, the thievish disposition of some who enter libraries to learn no good there, hath made it necessary to secure the sacred volumes themselves with chains (which are better deserved by those ill persons, who have too much learning to be hanged, and too little to be honest), care shall be taken that the chains should neither be too long nor too clumsy, more than the use of them requires: and that the loops whereby they are fastened to the books may be rivetted on such a part of the cover, and so smoothly, as not to gall or graze the books, while they are moved to or from their respective places.

And forasmuch as the more convenient way to place books in libraries is to turn their backs out showing the t.i.tle and other decent ornaments in gilt work which ought not to be hidden, this new method of fixing the chain to the back of the book is recommended until one more suitable shall be contrived."

Numerous monasteries in England devoted much time to scriptorium work. In Gloucester may still be seen the carrels of the scribes in the cloister wall, and there was also much activity in the book making art in Norwich, Glas...o...b..ry, and Winchester, and in other cities. The two monasteries of St. Peter and St. Swithin in Winchester were, the chronicler says, "so close packed together,... that between the foundation of their respective buildings there was barely room for a man to pa.s.s along. The choral service of one monastery conflicted with that of the other, so that both were spoiled, and the ringing of their bells together produced a horrid effect."

One of the most important monasteries of early times, on the Continent, was that conducted by Alcuin, under the protection of Charlemagne.

When the appointed time for writing came round, the monks filed into the scriptorium, taking their places at their desks. One of their number then stood in the midst, and read aloud, slowly, for dictation, the work upon which they were engaged as copyists; in this way, a score of copies could be made at one time. Alcuin himself would pa.s.s about among them, making suggestions and correcting errors, a beautiful example of true consecration, the great scholar spending his time thus in supervising the transcription of the Word of G.o.d, from a desire to have it spread far and wide. Alcuin sent a letter to Charlemagne, accompanying a present of a copy of the Bible, at the time of the emperor's coronation, and from this letter, which is still preserved, it may be seen how reverent a spirit his was, and how he esteemed the things of the spiritual life as greater than the riches of the world. "After deliberating a long while," he writes, "what the devotion of my mind might find worthy of a present equal to the splendour of your Imperial dignity, and the increase of your wealth,--at length by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, I found what it would be competent for me to offer, and fitting for your prudence to accept. For to me inquiring and considering, nothing appeared more worthy of your peaceful honour than the gifts of the Sacred Scriptures... which, knit together in the sanct.i.ty of one glorious body, and diligently amended, I have sent to your royal authority, by this your faithful son and servant, so that with full hands we may a.s.sist at the delightful service of your dignity." One of Alcuin's mottoes was: "Writing books is better than planting vines: for he who plants a vine serves his belly, while he who writes books serves his soul."

Many different arts were represented in the making of a mediaeval book. Of those employed, first came the scribe, whose duty it was to form the black even glossy letters with his pen; then came the painter, who must not only be a correct draughtsman, and an adept with pencil and brush, but must also understand how to prepare mordaunts and to lay the gold leaf, and to burnish it afterwards with an agate, or, as an old writer directs, "a dogge's tooth set in a stick." After him, the binder gathered the l.u.s.trous pages and put them together under silver mounted covers, with heavy clasps.

At first, the illuminations were confined only to the capital letters, and red was the selected colour to give this additional life to the evenly written page. The red pigment was known as "minium." The artist who applied this was called a "miniator," and from this, was derived the term "miniature," which later referred to the pictures executed in the developed stages of the art. The use of the word "miniature," as applied to paintings on a small scale, was evolved from this expression.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A SCRIBE AT WORK: 12TH CENTURY Ma.n.u.sCRIPT]

The difficulties were numerous. First, there was climate and temperature to consider. It was necessary to be very careful about the temperature to which gold leaf was exposed, and in order to dry the sizing properly, it was important that the weather should not be too damp nor too warm. Peter de St. Audemar, writing in the late thirteenth century, says: "Take notice that you ought not to work with gold or colours in a damp place, on account of the hot weather, which, as it is often injurious in burnishing gold, both to the colours on which the gold is laid and also to the gilding, if the work is done on parchment, so also it is injurious when the weather is too dry and arid." John Acherius, in 1399, observes, too, that "care must be taken as regards the situation, because windy weather is a hindrance, unless the gilder is in an enclosed place, and if the air is too dry, the colour cannot hold the gold under the burnisher." Illumination is an art which has always been difficult; we who attempt it to-day are not simply facing a lost art which has become impossible because of the changed conditions; even when followed along the best line in the best way the same trials were encountered.

Early treatises vary regarding the best medium for laying leaf on parchment. There are very few vehicles which will form a connecting and permanent link between these two substances. There is a general impression that white of egg was used to hold the gold: but any one who has experimented knows that it is impossible to fasten metal to vellum by white of egg alone. Both oil and wax were often employed, and in nearly all recipes the use of glue made of boiled-down vellum is enjoined. In some of the monasteries there are records that the scribes had the use of the kitchen for drying parchment and melting wax.

The introductions to the early treatises show the spirit in which the work was undertaken. Peter de St. Audemar commences: "By the a.s.sistance of G.o.d, of whom are all things that are good, I will explain to you how to make colours for painters and illuminators of books, and the vehicles for them, and other things appertaining thereto, as faithfully as I can in the following chapters." Peter was a North Frenchman of the thirteenth century.

Of the recipes given by the early treatises, I will quote a few, for in reality they are all the literature we have upon the subject.

Eraclius, who wrote in the twelfth century, gives accurate directions: "Take ochre and distemper it with water, and let it dry. In the meanwhile make glue with vellum, and whip some white of egg. Then mix the glue and the white of egg, and grind the ochre, which by this time is well dried, upon a marble slab; and lay it on the parchment with a paint brush;... then apply the gold, and let it remain so, without pressing it with the stone. When it is dry, burnish it well with a tooth. This," continues Eraclius navely, "is what I have learned by experiment, and have frequently proved, and you may safely believe me that I shall have told you the truth."

This a.s.surance of good faith suggests that possibly it was a habit of illuminators to be chary of information, guarding their own discoveries carefully, and only giving out partial directions to others of their craft.

In the Bolognese Ma.n.u.script, 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 Ma.n.u.script: "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 s.p.a.ce to the art of illuminating, for, as he is a builder of everything from church organs to chalices, gla.s.s 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 sh.e.l.l): "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 sh.e.l.l 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 subst.i.tutes for the genuine article.

A curious recipe is given in the ma.n.u.script 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 superst.i.tious 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 ma.n.u.script, 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."