On a cold November day in 1644, something strange occurred in London and other parts of Great Britain: three suns appeared in the sky. To many observers, including the English astrologer William Lilly, this phenomenon was portentous, foretelling momentous events in the future.
Depiction of the three suns in William Lilly’s The World’s catastrophe, Or Europes many mutations untill 1666. (1647)
Lilly believed the three suns were “… the infallible and assureds heavenly messengers of some more than ordinary Contingencies neer at hand; and an so eminent and universall a mutation and Catastrophe, as neither this present age is, or the preceding was sensible of.” He published his defence of this apparently supernatural phenomenon in several works, along with letters substantiating the vision of the three suns from witnesses across the country. One such account claimed that shortly after the three suns appeared a two-headed calf was born alive.
This atmospheric optical phenomenon, known as parhelion, sundogs or “mock suns”, fascinated Lilly and other astrologers of the time. Ancient philosophers and contemporary naturalists came close to an accurate explanation of the phenomenon, but William Lilly was steadfast in his belief, providing a litany of examples of historically significant events which occurred each time the three suns appeared, including many conspiracies and revolts, such as that of John Poyer who instigated the Battle of St Fagans in Wales in May of 1648.
An Astrological Prediction of the Occurrences in England; part of the years 1648, 1649, 1650
Lilly’s claims were vehemently challenged by H. Johnsen in 1648, who published a work calling the astrologer’s prognostication “groundlesse, absolutely void of art, full of contradictions, treason, falsehood, and such a ridiculous piece of foolery, as an artist would blush to owne …”
Parhelion, which are like rainbows and moonbows, occur when atmospheric ice crystals act as prisms and refract sunlight. These phenomena continue to be of both mystical and scientific interest.
Credit: Astronomy: an atmospheric condition producing sun dogs, giving the effect of two suns. Engraving by F.R. Hay, 1820, after W.M. (?) Craig. Wellcome Collection. Source: Wellcome Collection.Licence:Public Domain Mark
There are numerous ways in which a rare book can suffer damage over the centuries and the books which make it all the way to the shelves of a modern specialist library are lucky survivors that have truly beaten the odds. Many of the early printed books in Cardiff University’s collections bear the marks of the traumatic events from their distant past. We have books that have been saved from fires, rescued from floods, eaten by moths, and scorched by a clumsy candle. Other libraries boast volumes which have been shot with a rifle, slashed with a sabre, attacked by snails, or even plucked from the sea in a fisherman’s net!
Vellum cover of ‘The honour of chivalry’, 1683. Controlled storage environments and integrated pest management plans help ensure that damage like this is far less common in modern special collections.
Some of the most noticeable historical damage to the books in our collections can be attributed to rogue rodents. Rats and mice are very fond of paper which they will tear up and remove to make their nests and they also enjoy gnawing on books to sharpen their teeth. When a book or document has been made using organic material such as parchment, rodents often prefer just to eat it. Unlike paper, which was originally produced from pulped rags and linen, parchment comes from animal skins. Sheep or goatskin is commonly used; when parchment is made from calfskin it creates a superior product referred to as vellum.
Title page to the English translation of ‘The honour of chivalry’ by Jerónimo Fernández, 1683.
Cardiff University holds a rare copy of The honour of chivalry. Or, The famous and delectable history of Don Bellianis of Greece, a Spanish romance written by Jerónimo Fernández and printed in 1683. The book is bound in late 19th century limp vellum and a hungry rat or mouse has enjoyed a good nibble on the cover. Though this may understandably have caused a little consternation for the previous owner, it is possible for us to learn from such damage to the volumes in our collections and to view it as simply another fascinating chapter in the history of the book.
The rodent has caused significant damage to the vellum wrapper while barely touching the paper underneath.
Another mouse-gnawed book printed in 1587, ‘Le arme overo insegne di tutti i nobili della magnifica & illustrissima città di Venezia’. This book also retains a lingering and quite pungent rodent smell!
This is a guest blogpost by student Zoe Bell (Cardiff University; MSc Conservation Practice)
While the majority of the Special Collections’ holdings are books and archives, there are some extraordinary three-dimensional objects lurking in the stacks. I recently had the privilege to conserve and perform material analysis on a wax anatomical model made by the Parisian company Deyrolle, known during the timeframe of the model’s production as “Les Fils D’Emile Deyrolle.” Founded in 1831 by Jean-Baptiste Deyrolle and later passed down to his sons, the company specialised in scientific instruments, educational boards, and models for both the public and private educational institutions. It is not known when exactly Cardiff University came to be in possession of the model, but its fabrication can be placed between 1900 and 1920.
Wax anatomical models were both artistic creations and medical education tools drawing from the Venetian tradition of “Anatomical Venuses,” which merged careful anatomic observation with romantic aesthetics. Earlier models were fully sculpted wax pieces built upon the craft skills of Catholic effigy carving. By the late 19th century, increased demand for models as both education tools and public curiosities shifted the production to a casting process. The model held in the collection is an example of a cast model with some sculpted details.
When I received the model, it was in poor condition. In addition to significant dirt and grime, the model was loose within its case and had detached fragments. The bottom half of the case was warped and cracked, likely due to humidity and temperature shifts. The lid was also missing a portion of the beading securing the glass in place. My goals for conservation were to stabilise the model, reattach loose fragments, clean the wax surface, and do a general spruce up of the box including fabricating and replacing the missing beading.
Model before treatment
Before any of the aesthetic considerations could take place, the spine had to be stabilised. The damage to the box meant that the original mounting system had come loose. Upon inspection, it was determined to be no longer viable. While good conservation practice aims to retain as much as the original material as possible, the primary historical purpose of the object was to visually educate, and the faulty mounting system prevented functionality. Therefore, the decision was made to thoroughly document the mount and install a bespoke new one. As the box was an integral part of the object, the mounting system was designed to accommodate and support damaged areas. All the historic mounting hardware was packaged and returned to Special Collections.
Expanded schematic of new mounting system. The parts are not to scale and are for illustrative purposes only.
Area of the model where the wax had become brittle and detached.
While the spine was removed from the box for remounting, it was given a thorough clean. Fourier Transform Infrared Spectroscopy (FTIR) was performed on a loose fragment of wax and confirmed that the cast was made of pigmented beeswax and coated over with a what was likely a linseed oil-based varnish. Over time, the varnish had yellowed and trapped a good deal of dust and other debris. Discussion between myself and Special Collections determined that removal of the original varnish would be of the greatest benefit. I proceeded to do this using cotton wool swabs and a gentle solvent. First, an aqueous clean was done to remove any surface grime, followed up with IMS (Industrial Methylated Spirts) to remove the varnish. I proceeded very carefully by swabbing first with IMS and then absorbing the excesses liquid with a second dry swab to avoid any damage to the wax beneath the varnish.
Pelvis area during cleaning.
After around 30 hours of cleaning, it was time to reattach broken pieces. Because of the difficulties in adhering wax to wax with an adhesive, the pieces were softened and joined with localized heat from a conservation specific hot air blower and heated spatula. To avoid losing detail, thin wax “patches” were created from melted beeswax to provide extra support. In the case of the loose artery, there was too much detail to risk heat. Therefore, a small wooden dowel was inserted as well as an easily removable acrylic adhesive to support the join.
Before remounting the repaired model, the box was cleaned and repaired. Old adhesive and dirt present on the glass were easily removed mechanically with the help of deionised water, but an entirely new piece of beading had to be fabricated. To make sure the new piece matched the original, a silicon mould was taken of a section of the extant side piece. Using the profile of the mould, a reverse pattern was cut from an old saw blade. This functioned as a scraper to carve a new piece of oak to the correct pattern. The new piece was cut to size, stained using a custom mix of wood dye, and attached to the box. Following a good hoover of the box interior, the spine was remounted, the shroud replaced, and the glass cleaned.
Artery from the neck area of the model after reattachment. The dotted line represents the location of the dowel.
Fabrication of new beading using custom scraper (top left), during carving (top right), and the new piece cut to size (bottom).
After 100 hours of research, planning, and work, the model was ready to come home. This object is an excellent example of the variety of ways knowledge has been recorded and progressed. It was a joy to work on, and I am very honoured to be given the opportunity to help preserve it for future generations.
Model after conservation.
Further Reading
Bailar, M. 2016. Uncanny anatomies/figures of wax. The Journal of the Midwest Modern Language Association 49 (2), pp. 29-53
Dacome, L. 2017. Malleable anatomies: models, makers, and material culture in eighteenth-century Italy. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press.
Maerker, A. 2013. Anatomizing the trade: Designing and marketing anatomical models as medical technologies. Technology and Culture 54(3) SPECIAL ISSUE: Fitting for Health (July 2013), pp. 531-562.
Tree calf is a distinctive and visually striking form of decorative bookbinding that originated in the late 18th century. A variation of leather marbling, it gets its name from the pattern resembling the trunk and branches of a tree which is created by applying a special treatment of acidic chemicals to light-coloured leather. Although the process can be applied to other leathers, calfskin was often preferred for its smooth and durable surface that can be polished to a high sheen.
A 19th century tree calf binding on our copy of Torquato Tasso’s “Il re me Torrismondo, tragedia”, 1588
To create the tree-like pattern the bookbinder applies the chemical mixture to the surface of the leather and controls the staining by brushing or dripping the liquid down the covers. It is vital to the process that the book is tilted at an angle allowing the mixture to flow into the desired pattern. Exposing the leather to heat then causes the chemicals to react with the leather, etching darker patterns onto the lighter calfskin.
Detail from the binding of James Tassie’s “A descriptive catalogue of a general collection of ancient and modern engraved gems”, 1791
One attraction of this kind of marbling is that the process creates a different pattern every time, making every tree calf book a unique object in its own right. For this reason tree calf was often used for multi-volume sets where the books could be bound in a uniform style but no volume would be exactly the same as the others. Pleasingly, this style of binding also brings a book full circle back to the natural resource from which it was formed – the tree becomes a book and the book becomes a tree!
Tree calf bindings on a 12 volume set printed in 1806: “Sir John Froissart’s Chronicles of England, France, Spain, and the adjoining countries”
Tree calf was a highly popular binding choice throughout the 19th century, however it was a relatively expensive option which required considerable expertise and experience to apply correctly. Attempts were made to replicate the tree calf effect using an engraved block to print a design on leather, but these were largely unsuccessful. Books are also sometimes bound in tree marbled paper, produced by transferring a design of floating paint onto paper, however the result often lacks the depth of shading seen on the real thing.
A 15th century book, known as an incunable, in a later tree calf binding:: Hugh of Saint-Cher’s “Expositio missae seu speculum ecclesiae”, ca. 1485
“The gentleman’s magazine”, vol. 12, 1742
By the early 1900s tree calf had virtually disappeared as a binding decoration in favour of cheaper, mass-produced alternatives. Fortunately the skill and craftsmanship of those bookbinders who mastered the art of creating trees on leather have left us with some beautiful examples within Cardiff’s rare book collections.
“Sir John Friossart’s Chronicles of England, France, Spain, and the adjoining countries“, 1806
Walter Blith, “The English improver improved”, 1653
As we continue to explore and catalogue Cardiff University’s extensive collections of rare books, we are encountering more and more manicules in the margins. These wonderful little symbols in the shape of a pointing hand were added by early readers to draw attention to text they considered noteworthy or important passages they wished to easily find again. The word ‘manicule’ comes from the Latin word maniculum meaning ‘little hand’, but our books show that manicules can be found in a huge variety of styles with each owner developing their own distinctive marks.
John of Salisbury, Ioannis Saresberiensis Policraticus, 1639
Although manicules are most commonly seen in medieval manuscripts and incunabula (books printed in the 15th century), scholars continued to find them them handy all the way through to the 1700s. The marks vary wildly in appearance and quality: some readers would only scratch out a basic outline, while others took the time to add detailed sleeves, buttons and even fingernails! Along with other forms of marginalia, manicules can help us to form a connection with someone who owned our book many centuries earlier, providing remarkable evidence of an early reader’s immediate reaction to the text. We have documented some of these charming readers’ marks in previous posts on this blog so here’s an update with some of our most recent pointy fingers!
Charles Herle, Contemplations and devotions on the severall passages of our blessed Saviors death and Passion, 1631Valerius Maximus, Valerii Maximi Dictorum ac factorum, 1517Valerius Maximus, Valerii Maximi Dictorum ac factorum, 1517Polydore Vergil, Polydori Vergilii Vrbinatis Anglicae historiae libri uigintisex, 1546Polydore Vergil, Polydori Vergilii Vrbinatis Anglicae historiae libri uigintisex, 1546Ain kurtz Formular und Cantzley büchlin, 1546Saint Ambrose, Omnia quotquot extant divi Ambrosii episcopi Mediolanensis Opera, 1538Polydore Vergil, Polydori Vergilii Vrbinatis Anglicae historiae libri uigintisex, 1546
Ambroise Paré (c. 1510-1590) was a French barber-surgeon who served four kings of France and is considered one of the fathers of modern surgery. He developed innovative surgical techniques, designed medical instruments and artificial limbs, and was a pioneer of battlefield medicine. Over many years as a military surgeon, Paré became an expert in the treatment of the horrific wounds caused by newly-developed firearms and artillery, the “fierie engeines” of war.
In 16th century France the barber-surgeon was still one of the the most common medical practitioners, greatly outnumbering the professional physicians who tended to work in universities and rarely performed surgery themselves. This ‘manual labour’ was left to the barbers who in addition to cutting hair were tasked with bloodletting, pulling teeth, and even amputations. As a commercial enterprise, barber-surgeons advertised using the traditional red and white barber’s pole, still seen outside many barber shops – it is sometimes claimed the colours represent the blood and bandages associated with the barber-surgeons’ trade; the pole itself depicts the staff that patients would grasp during bloodletting.
Barber-surgeons putting a dislocated shoulder back into joint
Born around 1510 in northern France, Ambroise Paré started his career as an apprentice to his older brother, a successful barber-surgeon in Paris. Paré’s apprenticeship would likely have begun with the art of shaving, enabling the young apprentice to gain a source of income while he mastered the surgical techniques of the day. In 1552 Paré was accepted into the royal service of Henry II of France and went on to serve three more monarchs: Francis II, Charles IX and Henry III. By this time Paré had already written extensively about his experiences treating soldiers on the battlefield; he published his first book, The method of curing wounds caused by arquebus and firearms, in 1545. He is perhaps most famous for promoting the ligature of arteries instead of cauterisation in amputations, greatly improving the survival rates of wounded soldiers. He was also among the first to document phantom limb syndrome in amputees.
Paré aimed to create prosthetics that mimicked the natural movement of the limb. The fingers of this mechanical hand could be used to grip and release objects like reins. It was worn by a French Army captain in battle.
Paré’s works were first gathered together in a collected edition published in Paris in 1575. This was frequently reprinted, with several editions in German and Dutch as well as a number of English translations. Cardiff University holds a copy of a 1678 edition, The works of that famous chirurgeon Ambrose Parey, which shows remarkable evidence of the book’s importance to generations of surgeons and other medical practitioners. On opening the book we find numerous inscriptions from previous owners that enable us to trace the history of the book; in addition to the signatures of several surgeons, annotators have also used the book to record recipes for useful medicines and even a list of surgeon’s apprentices – an appropriate addition for a man whose remarkable career began as a barber-surgeon’s apprentice.
The earliest inscription in the book reads: “Left by Tho Pritchard to James Young 1723”. Perhaps they were both surgeons?
“John Jenkins Surgeon, Carmarthen his book, July 7th 1796”
A note on the front flyleaf headed “The list of apprentices” gives us 15 names, presumably the apprentices to John Jenkins. At the end we read “Henry Brindley Richards, Proffessor of Music. John Lewis Jones last apprentice 1833. Dr. Jenkins died 1850 aged 95 years”.
“John Evans May 11th 1804”. Evans appears 3rd in the list of apprentices.
“John Lewis Jones, Pontartawe April 1854”. The last apprentice to Dr Jenkins, John Lewis Jones (1820-1864) became a surgeon in Pontardawe, Neath Port Talbot.
A man with the distinctive name of Hammerton Crookall has signed the book in several places. Crookall is recorded as being an apothecary in Hitchin, Hertfordshire in the mid-18th century (his name appears in a deed of 1749). Below is written “A receipt for a gangrene succeeding wounds – discovered by an apothecary from Deventer in Holland …”
“Recipe to be very serviceable in … inflamations of the eyes”.
In the late 19th century an American zoologist, Daniel Giraud Elliot (1835-1915), set out to resolve the confusion that had built around the naming of the various species of cats, the Felidae. Elliot spent several years visiting museums and zoological societies on both sides of the Atlantic, making a comparative study that enabled him to refine and simplify the taxonomy of the cat family, eventually reducing the number of separate species by a third. The resulting publication of 1883, A monograph of the Felidae or family of the cats, was hailed as the definitive work on the subject.
Felis leopardus (Leopard)
Originally issued to subscribers in 11 parts, this monumental folio describes all the species of cat then known and is illustrated by 43 hand-coloured lithographic plates from drawings by Joseph Wolf, a renowned German artist working at the British Museum. As well as the lions, tigers, leopards and lynxes you would expect to encounter, the book also introduces the reader to more exotic felines such as Temminck’s Golden Cat, the Jaguarundi, and the Little Malayan Red-cat. All these are drawn in life-like poses amidst a detailed depiction of their habitats.
Felis ornata (Asiatic wildcat)
With considerable personal wealth at his disposal, Elliot had the resources to commission large, fully hand-coloured illustrations from leading artists at a time when many publishers were moving to smaller formats and cheaper colour printing. Cardiff University’s copy of The family of cats is one of the biggest books in our collection, measuring an impressive 63cm tall and 51cm wide.
Felis leo (Lion)
Over a long zoological career that took him on expeditions around the globe, Elliot wrote widely on birds and mammals but he was always particularly fond of the big cats. As he writes in the preface, “Among the Families which constitute the Class Mammalia no more attractive one can be found than that of Felidae, as its members possess in the highest degree a beauty, both of form and colouring, most gratifying to the eye, and are also endowed with physical strength and weapons of offence not surpassed… by any known creatures now living upon the earth.”
Felis tigris (Tiger)
Felis domestica (Domestic cats)
Felis jaguarondi (Jaguarundi)
Reference: Elliot, Daniel Giraud, A monograph of the Felidae or Family of the cats, London: Printed for the author, 1883.
Decorated paper has been used in bookbinding for hundreds of years and various techniques have been used to create an endless range of patterns. The most common methods for decorating paper are marbling, paste, and block printing, and numerous examples of these can be found within Cardiff University’s rare books collections. Some of our favourite decorated paper bindings are featured in this post.
Marbled paper
Marbling is one of the most common methods of decorating paper. The technique, used in Asia from at least the 12th century, was first introduced to Europe in the mid-1600s and quickly became popular for book covers and endpapers, as well as for lining drawers, chests and bookshelves. Marbling is achieved not by applying the decoration to the paper itself but by suspending paints on the surface of a bath of liquid (called ‘size’) and then touching the paper to the surface. The paint on the size can be manipulated with combs and other tools before the pattern is transferred to paper. We see a huge variety of different patterns of marbling with some styles associated with specific countries, enabling scholars to use marbling patterns and colour combinations to trace a binding’s date and origin.
Block-printed paper
Block printing is a relief printing process developed from textile printing, where text or patterns are transferred from a carved and inked block made from wood or another material onto paper or cloth. The printing was done manually, each colour being printed individually and left to dry before applying the next. Block-printed papers were often given additional decoration in the form of stencilled or free-hand applications of colours (hand-colouring), both of which could have been done before or after printing. The earliest block-printed papers began to appear at the end of the 16th century, but most date from the 18th century to early 19th century.
Brocade and “Dutch gilt” paper
Brocade paper (Brokatpapier in German) is an unusual form of decorative embossed paper. It was developed in Augsburg at the end of the seventeenth century and involved covering the paper with a layer of metal leaf before embossing a pattern or lettering using engraved plates in a rolling press. There are many different varieties of brocade paper, but one particularly distinctive type is known as “Dutch gilt” paper and often features bold colourful floral patterns with gold leaf. Dutch gilt papers were used from about 1700 and, despite the name, were usually produced in Germany or Italy (it is possible the paper was first imported into Holland before reaching other countries or the name may simply come from “Deutsch”).
Paste paper
Paste paper is one of the simplest decorating techniques and was popular from the late 16th century through to the 18th century. It was created by covering the paper with a wet paste of pigment mixed with starch or flour and manipulating it to create a pattern with a characteristic 3D effect. The pattern was often created freehand with the fingers, but tools such as brushes, combs, sponges or rollers could also be used. Carved woodblocks or metal plates were also sometimes employed to ‘print’ a design in the paste.
For many more decorated paper bindings and endpapers from all over the world, visit the We Love Endpapers page on Facebook.
In the mid-17th century John Comenius, a Czech teacher, published what is considered to be the world’s first picture-book for children. Unlike other educational books of the day, the Orbis sensualium pictus, or ‘The visible world in pictures’, was aimed directly at the young reader rather than their teachers. Comenius was pioneering an entirely new audio-visual approach to learning and the Orbis would go on become the most popular textbooks of its time.
John (or Johann) Comenius, who was born in 1592 in Northern Moravia as Jan Komenský, developed a lifelong fascination for educational theory; his hope was to create a universal textbook that would be accessible to all levels. Comenius advocated passionately for equal educational opportunities for both boys and girls, whether rich or poor, and his Orbis sensualium pictus combines its numerous illustrations with simple, easy to understand language to explain concepts about the world.
If the focus on pictures was a breakthrough in children’s education, the decision to include vernacular text is what made the book truly accessible to everyone. Each illustration is accompanied by two captions, one in the Latin commonly taught in schools around Europe and one description in the local language. With the first edition appearing in Nuremberg in 1658 in Latin and German, the Orbis swiftly gained popularity in schools and was very quickly translated into several other languages; the first English edition by Charles Hoole appeared as early as 1659. A quadrilingual edition covering four different languages (Latin, German, Italian and French) was published in 1666 with another in Czech, Latin, German and Hungarian released in 1685.
The Orbis comprises 150 chapters illustrated with copperplate engravings and covering a vast range of subjects including religion, philosophy, geography, botany, natural history, zoology, and astronomy. Other sections describe common trades and commercial activities such as printing, making shoes, tending gardens, baking bread, and brewing beer.
Charles McNamara has suggested that, despite Comenius’s assertions, the book is as much about the invisible world as the visible, with chapters discussing Heaven and Hell, God and the Trinity, the Last Judgement, and the human soul, all accompanied by some remarkable illustrations.
One of the most endearing sections of the book teaches children how to speak by imitating animal noises. They are encouraged to make the sound of a bleating lamb for ‘B’ and a quacking duck for ‘K’. From the guide to the alphabet children can learn that “the Hare squeaketh” (lepus vagit), “the Chicken peepeth” (pullus pipit), and “the Serpent hisseth” (serpens sibilat). Note that 17th century cats say “nau nau” instead of “meow meow”!
Comenius explains that the student must learn “the plain sounds … which living creatures know how to make, and thy tongue knoweth how to imitate.” The first page of the Orbis begins with a teacher saying to his student, “Come, boy, learn to be wise.” After mastering the alphabet and learning how “to speak out rightly”, the student and the teacher together “will go into the world, and we will view all things.”
Although Orbis sensualium pictus was a hugely popular book, very few copies have survived. As we see with children’s books today, many copies were so well used by their owners that they quickly became worn, damaged, or lost. Cardiff University is lucky to own a copy of the 1659 English translation as well as a later edition from the late-18th century. Looking at the illustrations it is easy to see why this progressive book has had a lasting impression on the education of children and why Comenius’s innovative ideas about education for all are still influential.
The printers’ device is a distinctive design or visual trademark placed by the printer on the title page or elsewhere in the text of a printed book. Printers and publishers began including these identifying marks in their books almost immediately after the development of printing with movable type in the mid-15th century. Devices were originally added after the colophon, a short statement at the end of the book which provides the names of the author and printer together with the date the work was produced. Scribes had added colophons to handwritten manuscripts since medieval times and the tradition continued to be followed by early printers until the colophon was largely replaced by the modern title page.
One of Cardiff’s earliest and most colourful examples from the colophon of a 1489 Biblia Latina. This device belongs to the publisher, Ottaviano Scotus (Incunabula 41)
The very first printers’ device can be found in a Psalter printed in Mainz by Johann Fust and Peter Schöffer in 1457 (the design depicts two heraldic shields displaying the printers’ individual coats of arms); other emerging presses quickly followed suit by adding their own distinctive logo to their works, sometimes including a motto or pun to make the brand more memorable. Later presses would also hang signs displaying their chosen device outside their workshops and the phrase ‘Printed at the sign of the _____’ is often found in the imprint of early printed books.
The Aldine Press symbol is a representation of the proverb ‘Festina lente’ (Make haste slowly’ referring to the balance of speed and accuracy for which the firm became known (PA6318.A8 1522).
Perhaps the most famous printer’s device is the dolphin and anchor of the Venetian printer, Aldus Manutius (1449-1515). Manutius was a revolutionary printer who introduced the small pocket-sized octavo format and founded the celebrated Aldine Press which ran for four generations. When the device of a particular printing firm became synonymous with quality and craftsmanship, as it did for the Aldine Press, it almost inevitably became vulnerable to forgery and misappropriation. Rival printing houses would adopt similar devices in the hope of tricking buyers into purchasing their inferior product, and consequently numerous copies of the anchor and dolphin logo can be found in lesser works. Similarly, the cat and mouse devices of the Sessa family, active in Italy from the 15th to the 17th century, are instantly recognisable, but endless variations of this symbol were taken up by other presses making it easy to get caught out.
The Sessa motto, ‘Dissimilium in fida societas’ (A partnership unequal in trust), refers to the cat and mouse of the firm’s device (PQ4578.C2).
Hundreds of printers’ devices can be found within Cardiff University’s collections of rare and early printed books. The following are just a few of the most prominent examples as an introduction to this fascinating and somewhat neglected aspect of the history of printing.
The central glyph of Wynkyn de Worde’s device (Grammaticae Whitintonianae, 1524) is taken from the printer’s mark of his former master, William Caxton. Wynkyn took over Caxton’s printing house in Westminster after Caxton’s death in 1492 (PA2084.W4 1524).
Several versions of the device shown here were used by the 17th century Zurich printer, Christopher Froschauer. The design is a play on words, “Frosch” being the German word for frog (PN6349.H3 1636).
The leopard and lion device (1509) of Parisian publisher Jehan Petit is just one of a large number of variations that Petit employed over his career. The knot on the shield depicts his address at the sign of the knot; later versions replace the knot with a fleur-de-lys following his move to the sign of the lily (DG88.A5).
The famous Plantin-Moretus printing house used many versions of this device, but they invariably featured the hand of God with a compass and the motto ‘Labore et constantia’ (‘By labour and constancy’). The firm was founded in Antwerp in 1549 by a French bookbinder, Christophe Plantin(PN6349.H3 1636)
This large woodcut depicting the castle of Antwerp is the printers’ device of Gerard Leeu. It comes from a 1486 edition of Modus poenitendi, a 13th century treatise on the doctrine of penance (Incunabula 117)
Special Collections and Archives / Casgliadau Arbennig ac Archifau 