THE EX-LIBRIS SERIES. Edited by Gleeson White.

THE DECORATIVE ILLUSTRATION OF BOOKS. BY WALTER CRANE.

PRINTED AT THE CHISWICK PRESS BY CHARLES WHITTINGHAM & CO. TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON, E.C. AND FIRST PUBLISHED DECEMBER, 1896 SECOND EDITION, REVISED, FEB. 1901 THIRD EDITION, REVISED, JAN. 1905

his book originated from three (Cantor) Lectures given to the Society of Arts in 1889; they have been expanded and added to, with additional chapters written about the vibrant period of printing and decorative book illustration that we've experienced since then, along with some comments and suggestions regarding the general principles and conditions that influence the design of book pages and decorations.

It’s not as complete or thorough as I would have liked, but there are natural limits to the size of a volume in the "Ex-Libris" series, and I've only been able to work on this during short breaks from my demanding design work. Nevertheless, I hope that, while it may not cover everything, the book offers a good representation of the key historical and contemporary styles of decorative book illustration.

In choosing the illustrations, I aimed to differentiate between the purely graphic purpose and the decorative purpose—between what I would call the art of pictorial statement and the art of decorative treatment; although there are many instances where they overlap, as they should in the most complete book pictures. My goal has been to focus on illustrations that also serve as book ornaments, so purely graphic design, in itself, unrelated to the text and the layout of the page, is not part of my focus.

As straightforward book illustration has been discussed in this series by Mr. Joseph Pennell, whose choices focus more on the graphic rather than the decorative perspective, it can be said that the balance is achieved concerning contemporary art.

I want to express my sincere gratitude to Mr. Gleeson White, whose invaluable support made it possible for me to finish this book. He generously allowed me to use examples from his amazing collection of modern illustrated books. I’m also thankful to many artists for letting me use their illustrations, as well as to Messrs. George Allen, Bradbury, Agnew and Co., J. M. Dent and Co., Edmund Evans, Geddes and Co., Hacon and Ricketts (the Vale Press), John Lane, Lawrence and Bullen, Sampson Low and Co., Macmillan and Co., Elkin Mathews, Kegan Paul and Co., Walter Scott, Charles Scribner's Sons, and Virtue and Co. for their kindness in often permitting me to use the actual blocks.

To Mr. William Morris, who generously allowed me to use his amazing collection of early printed books to select illustrations; to Mr. Emery Walker for his assistance in various ways; to Mr. John Calvert for letting me use some illustrations created by his father; and to Mr. A. W. Pollard, who has provided me with some of his early Italian examples and has also overseen my bibliographical details, I want to express my sincere thanks.

WALTER CRANE.

Kensington: July 18, 1896.

reproduce of this book being requested, I seize the chance to include a few notes, primarily for Chapter IV., which can be found later along with the page numbers they relate to.

As for the overall topic of the book, it can be noted with some satisfaction that the study of lettering, calligraphy, and illumination is now being seriously addressed in our craft schools. The excellent teaching of Mr. Johnston at the Central School of Arts and Crafts and the Royal College of Art in this area is highly commendable. We have also seen outstanding work from Mr. Reuter, Mr. Mortimer, Mr. Treglown, Mr. Alan Vigers, Mr. Graily Hewitt, and Mr. A. E. R. Gill. Additionally, Mrs. Traguair and Miss Kingsford are notable for the beauty, delicacy, and creativity of their work as illuminators among the artists currently engaged in this beautiful art form.

So the ancient skills of the scribe and illuminator can be said to have come back to life, and this, when considered alongside the revival of printing as an art, is an interesting and important fact.

As recent contributions to the study of lettering, we have Mr. Lewis F. Day's latest book on Alphabets and Mr. G. Woolliscroft Rhead's worksheets for school use.

I have to express my sadness about the passing of my former assistant in this book, Mr. Gleeson White, since the work first came out. His deep understanding of and connection to the modern book illustrators of the younger generation was impressive, and as a designer himself, he demonstrated significant skill and taste in book decoration, especially in cover design. As a highly respected and friendly person, he will always be remembered fondly by his friends.

WALTER CRANE.

Kensington: June 1904.

Chapter 1.—ON THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ILLUSTRATIVE AND DECORATIVE IMPULSE FROM EARLY TIMES; AND ON THE INITIAL PHASE OF DECORATIVELY ILLUSTRATED BOOKS IN THE ILLUMINATED MANUSCRIPTS OF THE MIDDLE AGES.     1.

CHAPTER II.—OF THE TRANSITION, AND OF THE SECOND PERIOD OF DECORATIVELY ILLUSTRATED BOOKS, FROM THE INVENTION OF PRINTING IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY ONWARDS.     45.

CHAPTER III.—OF THE PERIOD OF THE DECLINE OF DECORATIVE FEELING IN BOOK DESIGN AFTER THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY, AND OF THE MODERN REVIVAL.     125.

CHAPTER IV.—OF RECENT DEVELOPMENT OF DECORATIVE BOOK ILLUSTRATION, AND THE MODERN REVIVAL OF PRINTING AS AN ART.     185.

CHAPTER V.—OF GENERAL PRINCIPLES IN DESIGNING BOOK ORNAMENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS: CONSIDERATION OF ARRANGEMENT, SPACING AND TREATMENT.     279.

INDEX. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

y subject is a broad one and connects more closely, perhaps, than other art forms, with both human thought and history. Therefore, it would be quite challenging to cover it thoroughly from all angles. I won't try to tackle it from historical or antiquarian perspectives beyond what’s needed to clarify the artistic aspect, which is primarily how I plan to discuss design as it relates to books—or, more specifically, the book page. I hope to illustrate this with reproductions of notable examples from various ages and countries.

I can at least say that I've been involved, in a practical way, with this topic for most of my life, as part of my work as a decorator and illustrator of books. The conclusions I've drawn are based on my personal thoughts and experiences, even though they are also shaped and influenced by those same sources.

All forms of art are closely tied to life and thinking, so intertwined with human conditions, habits, and customs; they reflect every phase and change of that constant movement—the ups and downs of human progress against the natural forces we refer to as history—so much so that even the most casual passerby, wandering any of the side paths, can't help but start to wonder about their hidden sources and a shared origin that might connect them all.

The story of humanity is preserved for us, almost like a fossil, with all its vibrancy and life captured in art and books. The flow of history, reaching deep into the shadows of the forgotten or unspoken past, is reflected, with all its movement, richness, and color, in the clear stream of design that mirrors and paints each passing moment for us, illustrating every act in the drama. Through the language of lines and letters, symbols and images, each era writes its own narrative and identity as we flip through the pages of time. Occasionally, the continuity of the chapters is interrupted; a page is missing or a passage is unclear. There are breaks and fragments—heroic torsos and limbs instead of complete figures. But more and more, through diligent research, effort, and comparison, the gaps are being filled until one day, perhaps, there will be no void of speculation left but instead a volume of art and human history made as clear as pen and pencil can render it, leaving only the present to continue and a future to bring to fruition, which will always remain an ongoing process.

If painting is the mirror of nations and eras, illustrated books can be seen as the closer reflection that shows the life of various centuries and cultures, capturing all their subtle and everyday details, charming domestic scenes, as well as their playful imagination, dreams, and aspirations. While the temples and tombs of ancient times reveal the grandeur, glory, and ambitions of kings, along with tales of their victories and oppressions, the illuminated manuscripts from the Middle Ages offer insight into the everyday lives of people, showcasing their games, humor, whims, and work alongside their leisure, as well as the mystical, religious, and ceremonial aspects of that existence, which were truly inseparable from it; all woven together like a tapestry of pen and brush strokes, showcasing an exquisite sense of decorative beauty.

Mr. Herbert Spencer, while explaining the philosophy of evolution, mentions how the book and the newspaper on a modern citizen's table are linked through a long line of descent to the hieroglyphic writings of ancient Egyptians and the picture-writing from even earlier periods. We could even go back (who knows how much further?) into prehistoric times to find the first straightforward illustrator in the cave hunter, who marked the events of his hunting life on the bones of his prey.

We know that the letters of our alphabet used to be pictures, symbols, or abstract signs representing things and actions, and they became more and more abstract until they turned into arbitrary marks—the characters we recognize today. Letters combined to form words; words grew and multiplied alongside ideas and their exchange; ideas and words became increasingly abstract until the point where a tired mind would gladly go back to picture-writing, and embraces the decorator and the illustrator to break up the endless rows of words lined up on the printed page.

In a journey through a book, it's nice to come across a picture or an ornament, to take a moment to relax under the palms, to let our thoughts wander freely, to indulge in different intellectual insights, and to see the ideas we've been exploring perhaps reflected in them. So, we finish as we started, with images.

Temples and tombs have been humanity's greatest records, but as individual life (along with religious rituals and the need for documentation) evolved, people wanted something more accessible, personal, and portable. Over time, they created the stylus and pen and experimented with materials like papyrus, palm leaf, and parchment. They recorded their thoughts and experiences, initially on scrolls, rolls, and tablets, and later preserved them in bound books, showcasing them with the artistry of writing, enhanced with illustrations and decorative elements in vivid colors and gold.

As mentioned earlier, my goal is to focus on the artistic aspects of the book page, so we won’t be discussing the different types of books themselves or their exterior cases, covers, or bindings. I want to concentrate on the open book—the page itself as a canvas for the designer and illustrator—a space that can be transformed into something beautiful through design.

Both decorated and illustrated books can be generally categorized into two main periods:

I. The manuscript period, or the time before printing.

II. The era of printed books.

Both show, however, a long evolution and contain, in a way, a summary—or snapshot—of the history of contemporary art in its various forms. The initial impulse in art seems to respond to the basic imitative instinct in children—the urge to capture the familiar shapes around them and represent them in line and color. The key features of an animal, for example, are highlighted first, as seen in the bone carvings of cave dwellers, so that children's drawings and artwork from primitive cultures share a certain resemblance, despite differing environments. They are abstract and often nearly symbolic in how they depict form, and it's easy to see how letters and written language naturally developed from a system of hieroglyphs, stemming from the unstructured but relentless human desire to record linear ideas of rhythm on one hand and impressions of nature on the other. It seems that illustrators or picture writers came first, followed by books—similar to the modern approach we've heard about from magazine editors, where the artwork is created first and the text is then written to fit it.

Side by side with the evolution of letters and calligraphic art was the evolution of graphic power and artistic sensibility, moving toward close imitation of nature and dramatic events on one side, and imaginative beauty and systematic, organic ornament on the other. This was more or less based on geometric principles but ultimately expanded into free foliage and vibrant blossoms, rich in invention and variety, similar to the growth found in nature itself. The development of these two main artistic directions can be traced throughout the entire art world, constantly competing for prominence, with one often taking the lead over the other. However, the history of their progression and the impact of their varying influences is especially notable in the decoration and illustration of books.

Although generally the decorative style was dominant in illuminated books of the Middle Ages, the illustrator, in the form of the miniaturist, is present, and in some, particularly in the later manuscripts, ultimately overpowers, or rather integrates, the decorator.

There is a manuscript in the Egerton collection at the British Museum (No. 943), "The Divine Comedy" by Dante, featuring miniatures by Italian artists from the fourteenth century. This work can be seen as an early example of the prominence of the illustrator, as the miniatures are somewhat abruptly placed on the page and have unusually little framework or accompanying ornamentation. Although they are somewhat decorative due to their simple design and vibrant colors, the primary goal of the artists was to illustrate the text rather than just decorate it.

The Celtic talent, influenced by Christianity and representing the art of early Christian Western civilization—shown in the stunning designs of the Book of Kells—was primarily decorative in its expressions. Its richness, along with the complexity and creativity of its detailed patterns, and the geometric shapes of many of its components, suggest a connection to certain features of Eastern and early Greek art.

The Book of Kells gets its name from the Columban Monastery of Kells or Kenlis, originally called Cennanas, an important site in County Meath, Ireland. It is believed to be the Great Gospel that was brought to the Christian community by its founder, St. Columba, and possibly written by him before he died in 597. The original book is housed in the library of Trinity College, Dublin.

In one of the pages of this book, you'll find the Greek monogram of Christ, and the entire page is dedicated to three words: Christi Autem Generatio. It's a striking example of an ornamental initial that covers the whole page. The overall effect as a decoration may come off as somewhat heavy, but it's filled with incredible detail and richness, and it's very characteristic of Celtic ornamental design (see No. 1, Appendix).

The scribe's work, as displayed in the regular letters of the text, is exceptional. They are solid and robust in style, complementing the tightly woven and well-structured decorations of the initial letters and other embellishments on the pages. They convey a sense of dignity, uniqueness, and distinct character.

There is a page in the same book where the symbols of the evangelists are enclosed in circles and framed solidly, taking up the whole page, which gives a Byzantine vibe in the design.

The complete pages in earlier illuminated manuscripts were often divided into four or more sections to display images of saints or symbols. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, these sections typically featured small patterned backgrounds, using dark blue, red, green, or shiny gold.

The Anglo-Saxon manuscripts show signs of the influence of classical art traditions, which came through Byzantine or Roman sources, that naturally impacted the early forms of Christian art we see in the catacombs. These classical traditions are particularly evident in how the draperies cling in linear and elliptical folds to depict the limbs. In fact, it could be said that, as Christian colonies spread westward and northward, this classical tradition in figure design persisted until its revival at the beginning of the Renaissance, along with the resurgence of classical art in Italy, which, combined with a new naturalism, led to an incredible evolution that has influenced European art ever since.

The Charter of Foundation of Newminster, at Winchester, by King Edgar, A.D. 966, written in gold, is another impressive early example of book decoration. It features a full-page miniature of the previously mentioned panelled type and an elaborate border in gold and colors created by an English artist. It's housed in the British Museum and can be viewed open in Case 2 in the King's Library.

"The Gospels," in Latin. A manuscript from the eleventh century, featuring initials and borders in gold and colors created by English artists, is another excellent example of the early style. In this work, the titles of each gospel are boldly inscribed within a beautifully designed border, creating a series of elegant title pages.

As examples of illustrated books, according to the earlier Medieval ideas, we can look at twelfth and thirteenth-century "Herbals," which feature various plants, vibrant in color and structured in design, depicted mainly for the purpose of decorating the page. There’s a remarkable one noted to have been created in England in the thirteenth century, located in the British Museum. In this case, decoration and illustration are essentially the same.

A stunning example of book decoration at its finest is the "Arundel Psalter" (Arundel MS. 83, Brit. Mus.), which was given by Robert de Lyle to his daughter Audry, as noted in an inscription in the book, in 1339. Here, the scribe, illuminator, and miniaturist are all at their best, whether they are the same person or different individuals. Additionally, it is an English work. There’s no doubt about the beauty of the designs and the variety and richness of the decorative details. Like all Psalters, the book starts with a calendar, followed by full pages that are organized and filled with scenes from the life of Christ. A particularly impressive full-page illustration shows the Virgin and Child under a Gothic canopy, with a gold diapered background. There are also intricately designed genealogical trees and elegant layouts of double-column text pages with illuminated decorations (see Nos. 2, 3, and 4, Appendix).

The Tenison Psalter (Addit. MS. 24686) is an example of English work from the thirteenth century. "It was likely created for Alphonso, the son of Edmund I., for his planned marriage to Margaret, the daughter of Florentius, Count of Holland, which was ultimately canceled due to the prince's death on August 1, 1224."

The full-page miniatures arranged in panels—in some cases four on a page, with alternating shiny gold and dark blue patterned backgrounds behind the figures, and in other cases six on a page, the miniatures much smaller, and set in a larger colored margin, alternating red and blue—are very detailed, solid, and rich in color with shiny gold. The book is also interesting for providing excellent and characteristic examples of a different treatment of the page (which seems to be quite uniquely English in style), featuring spiny scrolls that often spring from a large illuminated initial letter on the text field, spreading across the margin or above and below, often containing figures and animals in its branching curves, which in this manuscript are beautifully and finely drawn. Note the one depicting a lady of the time chasing some deer.

In the thirteenth century, books featured text arranged in a solid tower or column, allowing for creative exploration by the imagination and design of the creator, extending up, down, and all around the expansive vellum margins. In some instances, extra designs seem to have been added by different hands, later than those of the original writer or illustrator.

There is a very notable Apocalypse (Brit. Mus. MSS. 17353; previously owned by the Carthusian house of Vau Dieu between Liège and Aix) by French artists from the early fourteenth century, featuring a series of imaginative and unusual designs (reminiscent of Orcagna), richly decorative, vibrant in color, and strong in outline. The designs are in rectangular panels, enclosed in colored linear borders at the top of each page, taking up about two-thirds of it, with the text written in double columns below each illustration, complemented by small illuminated initials. The backgrounds of the designs alternate between dark green and red patterns.

The creative energy and expression shown in these designs—strictly formal and figurative, influenced by the decorative traditions of the time—are truly impressive. The illustrator and decorator are still one here.

Queen Mary's Psalter (Brit. Mus. MS. Royal 2, B. VII.) is notable for showcasing a different and lighter approach to figure designs. In this manuscript, alongside vibrant illuminations in full color and burnished gold, there are a series of softly tinted illustrations depicting biblical history, drawn with a fine pen line.

The technique used by illuminators and miniaturists has always been to first outline their figures and decorations clearly with a pen before adding color.

In the colorful miniatures, the ink lines aren't visible, but in this manuscript, they are preserved with a delicate colored treatment. The designs I'm referring to are placed two on a page, filling it completely. They're enclosed in bright red borders, which end with a leaf in each corner. There’s a very clear and elegant feeling about the designs. The same artist seems to have added a series of charming figures in the lower margins of the following text pages—depicting battles of quirky animals, scenes of hunting, falconry, and fishing, along with games and sports, and, finally, Biblical themes. Here again, I think we can see in the early illustrators a tendency to break free from the constraints of the book page, though just a tendency.

A beautiful decorative page that combines illumination and miniatures can be found in the "Epistle of Philippe de Comines to Richard II." from the late 1400s. The figures, notable for their historical significance and examples of fashion, stand out against a patterned background. The text is organized in double columns, with square initials, and the page is enhanced by open foliage that branches out into the margins from the straight, spiked border strips, which end on the inner side with a dragon.

As an example of early 15th-century work, it's hard to find a more beautiful book than the Bedford Hours (Brit. Mus. MS. Add. 18850), dated 1422. It's said to be created by French artists, although it was made in England. The calendar, which fills the earlier pages, is notable for its small, vibrant, and purely colored miniatures that are arranged like gems in a fine, delicate, open, leafy border, brightened with polished gold trefoil leaves, which are typical of French illuminated manuscripts from this time period (see Nos. 5 and 6, Appendix).

There’s a detailed full-page illustration showing the Creation and Fall, which spills over the margins in some places. Thirteenth and fourteenth-century miniaturists often allowed their designs to extend beyond the borders of their patterned backgrounds or panels in a striking way, which nicely broke up the formality of framed subjects on the page, especially where a flat color margin separated them; some parts of the illustrations reached over the inner line while still staying within the outer one. Often, as seen in this manuscript, a consistent layout is maintained throughout the pages, though the borders and miniatures have nearly endless variation in detail. In such magnificent works, we see a complete and harmonious collaboration between the illustrator and the decorator. Each one’s main aim is to enhance the page’s beauty. The illuminator designs borders and initial letters that blossom and sprout, producing leaves and flowers that elegantly stretch up and down the edges of the vellum pages (still stunning as the scribe left them) like a living organism; meanwhile, the miniaturist turns the letter itself into a shrine for a delicate saint or a depiction of some act of mercy or martyrdom; as the bustling world plays hide and seek within the intricate borders, reflecting the changing seasons through the calendar, while the farmer plows, plants, harvests, and threshes the grain, and cheerful knights compete in tournaments or, alongside ladies in their charming outfits, chase spotted deer through the lush woods.

In these beautiful liturgical books from the Middle Ages, we see how the decorative style developed alongside its illustrative role, so that almost any illuminated Psalter or Book of Hours offers not only stunning examples of floral designs in borders and initials bursting with creativity but also gives us glimpses into the life and customs of the era. In those from our own country, we can appreciate how vibrant, unique costumes and variety filled life when England was truly merry, despite family rivalries and oppressive lords and kings; before the industrial changes and the dislocation of its people; before Boards of Works and Poor-law Guardians replaced the monasteries and abbeys; before its rivers became polluted with sewage, and its cities darkened by coal smoke—the smoke created from sacrificing clean air for commercial competition and mass production for profit through machines and factory labor; before it became the workshop and engine room of the world.

These books, shining with gold and color, tell of times when time didn't matter, and the devoted artist and writer could work peacefully and passionately to create something beautiful without worrying about a publisher or printer watching, or the pressures of the global market.

In the midst of our self-congratulation about the huge increase in our resources for quick and affordable book production, and the power of the printing press, we should remember that even though books from those dark centuries I mentioned were relatively few, they were valuable—though limited in number—they were beautiful things and sources of endless joy for their owners. A prayer book wasn’t just a prayer book; it was also a picture book, a shrine, a little reflection of the world, a sanctuary in a garden of flowers. It’s easy to understand their significance beyond their religious function, and many have undoubtedly experienced remarkable stories. The Earl of Shrewsbury lost his prayer book (the Talbot prayer book) and his life on the battlefield at Castillon (about thirty miles from Bordeaux) in 1453. This book, as Mr. Quaritch mentions, was taken by a Breton soldier and was only rediscovered in Brittany a few years ago.

It’s been suggested that the large colored and illuminated initial letters in liturgical books originated as guides for following different parts of the service. According to Mr. Micklethwaite, in some Missals, where the crucifixion is illustrated in an illuminated letter, a simple cross is placed below for worshippers to kiss instead of the picture. This was implemented because it was observed that when only the picture was present, the practice led people to wear it out due to the repeated acts of devotion.

As an example of the influence of naturalism that started to emerge in art towards the end of the fifteenth century, we can mention The Romance of the Rose (Harl. MSS. 4425), located in the British Museum. It features two impressive full-page miniatures with intricate borders, packed with detail and color, also serving as illustrations of costumes (see No. 8, Appendix). The text pages display a double-column format, with small, finely detailed miniatures (filling the width of one column) placed throughout. The style is similar to that of the famous Grimani Breviary, which is now held in the library of St. Mark's in Venice, and its miniatures are believed to have been painted by Memling. They are incredibly rich in detail and craftsmanship and align with the Flemish artwork of that era. It seems that the pictorial and illustrative aspects are gaining prominence, and in their borders of intricately crafted leaves, flowers, fruit, and insects, presented in full relief with their shadows—remarkable as they are as individual pieces of art—it's clear to me, at least, that while there is an increase in graphic strength and chiaroscuro richness, it comes at the expense of the pure decorative beauty on the page. Compared to the delicate arabesques of earlier times, these borders seem a bit heavy, and despite their impressive pictorial or imitative qualities, they don't quite meet the decorative standards of page design satisfactorily.

Perhaps the most luxurious examples of book decoration from this time can be found in Italy, in the famous Choir Books at the cathedral of Siena. They display a unique blend of creative design, artistic talent, and decorative flair by the miniaturist, combined with all the richness and elegance of early Renaissance ornamentation, and how it was applied to the decoration of the book page (see No. 9, Appendix).

These miniatures were created by Girolamo da Cremona and Liberale da Verona. At least, these two are noted as "the most prolific and tireless of the artists working on the Corali." Payments were made to them for their work in 1468 and again in 1472-3, which establishes the date.

I’m not overlooking the idea of a certain division of labor in the illuminated manuscript. The roles of the scribe, the illuminator, and the miniaturist are distinct but equally important to the final result. Mr. J. W. Bradley, who created a Dictionary of Miniaturists, discusses the calligrapher, illuminator, and miniaturist, stating: “Each of these roles is sometimes combined with one or both of the others,” and in those cases, he assigns the craftsman his title based on the time period of their work. For example, from the seventh to the tenth centuries, he would refer to him as a calligrapher; from the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries, as an illuminator; and from the fifteenth to sixteenth centuries, as a miniaturist. He categorizes transcription separately as the work of the copyist scribe. However, regardless of any division of labor that may or may not have existed, there was no division in the harmony and unity of the overall effect. If in some instances the more purely decorative parts, like the floral borders and initials, were created by one artist, the text by another, and the miniatures by yet another, all I can say is that each one worked together in harmony, contributing to the beauty of a cohesive and organic whole. And if such a division of labor can be confirmed, it demonstrates the significance of collaboration in creating a work of art and its incredible potential.

The illuminated manuscripts have a significant advantage when it comes to the harmony of text and decoration. The calligrapher's writing always complements the illuminator's designs. Throughout the Middle Ages, this was a process of growth and development, acquiring new traits and undergoing transformations that, while perhaps less obvious, were just as real as the changes in the style and features of the accompanying artwork. The fact that every part of the work was created by hand, relying solely on manual skill and dexterity, gives these manuscripts a unique quality and character that no printing press could ever match.

The challenge that today's book decorators, illustrators, or designers of printers' ornaments face in finding type that matches their designs properly didn't exist for the medieval illuminator. They could always rely on balancing their designs with a body of text that was not only beautiful in the shape of its individual letters but also stunning and rich in its overall effect on the page. This beauty was further enhanced when the initials were highlighted with color on gold or intricate pen work that blossomed from them like mistletoe from a sturdy oak branch.

The level of perfection that handwriting, or the art of calligraphy, achieved in the fifteenth century—characterized by the precise regularity and "removal of excess" in the shapes of the letters, the evenness of their appearance in words, and their consistency in length and height—seems to imply and naturally point towards the concept of movable type and the printed page.

Before we move on to the next part of our topic, let’s quickly review the manuscript books from a design perspective.

While there are some examples of the two categories that art is often divided into—the imitative and the inventive, or the illustrative and the decorative—in the books from the Middle Ages, the overall trend and dominant spirit clearly lean towards the inventive and decorative side. This is especially true in the work of illuminators from the thirteenth to the fifteenth centuries. However, this inventive and decorative spirit is frequently combined with a sense of drama and poetry, as well as humor. We can see how lively the ornamentation of the illuminator is, with figures, birds, animals, and insects filling his arabesques, demonstrating that he often serves as a decorator, illustrator, and pictorial commentator all at once.

Even without his enhancements, it’s clear that the calligrapher viewed the page as a space to be decorated—it should, at the very least, be a page of beautiful writing when considered purely as text, with the text carefully arranged on the vellum to provide a comfortable and generous margin, especially at the bottom. A book page can actually be seen as a flat panel that can be spaced out in different ways. The calligrapher, the illuminator, and the miniaturist are the designers who mapped out their vellum surfaces and created stunning structures of line and color on them for thoughts and imagination to inhabit. Sometimes the text is arranged in a single column, as is usually found in older manuscripts; other times it’s in double columns, which is typical of Gothic and later manuscripts. These square and rectangular panels of dense text are complemented by large and small initial letters sparkling in gold and color, set within their own frames or breaking free in intricate branchwork and foliage on the margins, adorned with miniatures like gems, as seen in the Bedford Hours. The larger initials grow to such sizes that they enclose a more significant miniature—a subject picture in brief—a book illustration in the most complete sense, yet still strictly part of the overall decorative scheme of the page.

Floral borders can sometimes spread freely around the text and fill the margins, unrestricted but still influenced by rectangular lines or limits created by light and airy, yet rich and delicate patterns of leaves and whimsical flowers (like in the Bedford Hours). In other cases, they are framed in with firm lines (Tenison Psalter, p. 11); and in later 15th-century manuscripts, gold lines and moldings are added as the page design becomes more pictorial and vibrant with color and depth. Sometimes, the borders create a distinct framework that encloses the text and separates its columns, as seen in "The Book of Hours of René of Anjou" (Egerton MS. 1070), with the same design often repeated in different colors. Gradually, the miniaturist—the painter—though initially just as formally decorative as the illuminator—begins to assert his independence and influences the border design, turning it into a miniature itself, as seen in the Grimani Breviary, the Romance of the Rose, and the Choir Books of Siena. Eventually, the miniature or picture threatens to overshadow the book itself, leading to books filled with framed images rather than illustrated or decorated texts. In the Grimani Breviary, the miniature often fills the entire page with a single subject picture; or the miniature is layered on top of a pictured border, which, reinforced by strong architectural lines and tabernacle work, creates an elaborate frame.

All these varieties we've been looking at are interesting and beautiful in their own way. When we think about any art form from a period that displays active traditions, real life, movement, natural growth, and development, we are captivated by its organic quality. Even though we might notice the incorporation or adaptation of new elements and influences over time that lead to changes in style and design structure, as well as shifts in mood and emotion, as long as this natural evolution keeps happening, each variety has its own charm and its own rewards. While we may have our favorites that come closest to the ideal of perfect adaptability, and thus decorative beauty.

In the ongoing development that defines a living style, every stage should be engaging and hold its own importance, as they all contribute to the rich and valuable history of art itself.

We have seen how incredibly detailed and beautiful the decoration and illustration of books became during the Middle Ages, showcasing the impressive results of art in three distinct forms—calligraphy, illumination, and miniature painting. We have tracked a gradual evolution of style throughout the era of manuscript books, both in writing and ornamentation. We've observed how writing became increasingly regular and compact on the page, while the illustrative elements grew significantly in size and importance. By the end of the fifteenth century, we had large, elaborately detailed, and realistic images framed within initial letters, as seen in the Choir Books of Siena, or covering entire pages with a single subject, like in the Grimani Breviary. The tree of design, starting from small and hidden seeds, grows a strong trunk, branches, and buds in favorable sunlight, eventually blossoming into a beautiful, vibrant display. Then we notice a new shift. Autumn follows summer, winter comes after autumn, until new life, always ready to emerge from the remnants of the old, unfurls its leaves. Gradually and quietly, as new forces develop, the world around us transforms.

So it was with the change that came to European art toward the end of the fifteenth century, due to many factors working together; but when it comes to art applied to books, the biggest of these was obviously the invention and use of printing. Like most major movements in art or life, it had a vague beginning. Its origins can be traced back to the woodcuts from the earlier part of the fifteenth century used for printing cards. The immediate precursors of printed books were the block books. You can see characteristic examples of these quirky works on display in the King's Library at the British Museum. The art of these block books is quite rough and basic, and when compared to the highly finished work of the illuminated manuscripts of the same time, it might as well come from a different era. These are the first shaky steps of the new craft; the first faint sounds, destined to develop into strong, clear, and perfect communication, ready to dominate the world of books and people.

Germany hadn’t played a significant role in creating manuscripts known for their beauty or unique style, but that would change. With the artistic application of printing and the new era of book decoration and illustration, she quickly took the lead. Since the invention is credited to one of her own, it makes sense and feels natural that printing would achieve rapid perfection in the land where it originated. As a result, we see some of the earliest and greatest successes of the Press coming from German printers like Gutenberg, Fust, and Schœffer. Not to mention the amazing creativity, graphic strength, and dramatic flair of German designers, reaching its peak with the extraordinary talents of Albrecht Dürer and Hans Holbein.

The thriving German cities of Cologne, Mainz, Frankfurt, Strasbourg, Augsburg, Bamberg, Halberstadt, Nuremberg, and Ulm all became well-known in the history of printing. Each city had its own group of designers specializing in black and white, as well as its unique style of book decoration and printing.

Italy, France, Switzerland, and England all played significant roles in the early success of printing. The presses in Venice, Florence, Rome, Naples, Paris, and Basel, along with our own William Caxton in Westminster, were at the forefront of this artistic advancement. The incredible decorative designs and beauty, particularly in the woodcut illustrations used by the printers of Venice and Florence, set them apart during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries.

1454 seems to be the earliest definite year we can pinpoint for the first use of printing. That year, the Mainz "Indulgences" were circulating, but the following year is more significant because it saw the release of the famous Mazarin Bible from the press of Gutenberg and Fust in Mainz. A copy of this Bible is housed in the British Museum. Mr. Bullen states, "The copy that first drew attention in modern times was found in the library of Cardinal Mazarin," which is where the name comes from.

It’s clear that the change in how pages were treated was quite transitional. The scribe has been replaced—the organized legions of printed letters have taken over his role and pushed him out of his job; however, the margins are still available for the illuminator to add colorful borders, and the initial letters are waiting for color to be added by hand. The early printers clearly saw their craft as a replacement for manuscript books. They aimed to do the scribe's work, but more efficiently and effectively. At first, it seems there was no thought of a new direction, judging by these examples.

Another early printed book is the Mainz Psalter. It is printed on vellum and comes from the press of Fust and Schœffer in 1457. It is remarkable not only as the first printed psalter and the first book printed with a date, but also as the first example of printing in colors. The initial letter B is the result of this method, and it provides a wonderful instance of true registration. The blue of the letter fit cleanly into the red of the surrounding ornament with a precision that puzzles our modern printers, and it’s hard to understand how such perfection could have been achieved. Mr. Emery Walker suggested to me that the blue letter itself might have been cut out, inked, and inserted from the back of the red block while it was in the press, allowing the two colors to print together. If this could be done with enough precision, it would certainly explain the accuracy of the registration. Aside from this interesting technical question, however, the page is very beautiful, and the initial, with its solid shape of figured blue, enclosed in the delicate red pen-like tracery climbing up and down the margin, is a charming piece of page decoration. The original may be seen in one of the cases in the King's Library, British Museum. Here we have an example of the printer aiming to directly imitate and replace the art of the calligrapher and illuminator through his craft, achieving such beauty and perfection of workmanship that it must have astonished them and given them more reason to view the printer as a dangerous rival than did, as it is said, the early wood engravers, who were reluctant to assist the printer with their art for fear his craft would harm their own. This seems somewhat extraordinary, considering how closely related both wood engraver and printer have been ever since. The example of the Mainz Psalter doesn’t seem to have been widely followed, and regarding the application of color, it was usually left to be added as a matter of course by the miniaturist, who evidently declined as an artist after getting used to having his designs in outline provided for him ready-made by the printer; or, perhaps, the skilled miniature printer, after pushing his art as applied to books as far as it could go, became focused on painting independent pictures, while the printing of books fell into inferior hands. There’s no doubt that the devices and decorations of early printers were meant to be colored in emulation of illuminated and miniaturized manuscripts, and were viewed, in fact, as the pen outlines of the illuminator, only complete when filled in with colors and gold. It seems to have been only gradually that the rich and bold lines of the woodcut, as well as the black and white effect, became appreciated for their own sake—so slowly moves the world!

A good idea of the overall character of the development of wood (and metal) cuts in books, illustrations, and decorations in Germany, from 1470 (Leiden Christi, Pfister, Bamberg, 1470) to (Virgil Solis' Bible) 1563, can be gained from studying the series of reproductions provided in this and the previous chapter, in chronological order, with the names, dates, and locations, as well as the specific characteristics of the styles of the various designers and printers.

The same can be said about the Italian series that follows, as well as those from Basel and Paris.

Perhaps the most interesting examples of early printing being used instead of illumination and miniatures can be found in the Books of Hours produced in Paris during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries (around 1487-1519) by Vérard, Du Pré, Philip Pigouchet, Kerver, and Hardouyn.

Specimens of these books can be viewed at the British Museum and the Art Library at the South Kensington Museum. The originals are mostly printed on vellum.

The effect of the intricately designed borders on black dotted backgrounds is very pleasing, but these books seem to have been meant to be illuminated and colored. Some copies have full-page printed pictures that are colored, being created as miniatures, and the semi-architectural borders with Renaissance moldings and details are gilded flat, treated as the frame for the picture. One has the mark of the printer Gillet Hardouyn (G. H. on the shield) on the front page. In another copy (1515), this is painted and the framework gilded; the subject is Nessus the Centaur carrying off Deianira, the wife of Hercules; this shows the trend of reviving classical mythology that started to emerge, in this case, intriguingly related to a Christian service book. It's noteworthy how quickly the printing press took advantage of the ability to replicate designs, especially if they were ornamental borders on a page, which were often repeated several times throughout a book. These borders and ornaments being generally in separate blocks for headings, side panels, and tail-pieces could easily be rearranged, creating some variety in their assembly. Here we can see commercialism taking hold. Profit and economic considerations undoubtedly have an impact, and mechanical invention starts to lower costs not just for labor, but also for artistic creativity.

It took a while, though, to transform the printer into a straightforward manufacturer or tradesman. Nothing is more striking than the high artistic quality of early printed books. The invention of printing came at a time when illuminated manuscripts had reached their peak of glory and perfection. With the artistic traditions of fifteen centuries pouring into its lap, it filled its fonts with beautiful lettering and guided its designers with a still intact sense of suitability and perfect adaptability. Meanwhile, the influence of the revival of classical learning and mythology was only beginning to be felt, like the invigorating breath of a new spring—the scent of spice-filled winds from unknown shores of romance—or like the mystery and excitement of discovery, poised on the edge of a partially revealed new world, charged with the thought of its possibilities—

If printing had been discovered two or three centuries earlier, it would have been interesting to see the outcomes. But ultimately, an invention doesn’t truly take off until the world is ready for it. It’s hard to determine how many inventions are genuinely new. "Ask and you shall receive," or the practical application of this idea, is the story of civilization. Necessity, the tough mother, drives her children to meet their physical and intellectual needs, and eventually, the right moment and the right person (with their invention) come together.

Classical mythology, Gothic mysticism, and romance converged in the art and literature of the early Renaissance. Spiritual yearning clashed with open paganism and reverence for nature. The gods of ancient Greece and Rome appeared to awaken from a long enchanted sleep and reemerge to humanity.

Italy, which had rarely broken away from the ancient traditions of Classical art and religion, became the center of a new movement, with its independent republics like Florence and Venice standing out as hubs of wealth, culture, sophistication, and artistic innovation. The Turkish conquest also influenced the growth of this new movement by pushing Greek scholars and the knowledge of ancient classical writers westward. These factors contributed to a remarkable evolution in art, especially in printing and the decoration and illustration of books.

The name Aldus from Venice is well-known among early Renaissance printers. One of the most impressive books from any press for its stunning decorative illustrations is the Poliphili Hypnerotomachia—"The Dream of Poliphilus"—printed in 1499. It's an allegorical romance about love typical of that era. There has been a lot of speculation about who designed the illustrations. At one point, they were thought to be by Mantegna, and they have also been credited to one of the Bellini. The designer's style, the quality of the outlines, the simplicity yet richness of the designs, their poetic essence, and the mysticism of some alongside the open paganism of others make this series unique. The first edition is now very hard to find and could cost around 100 guineas.

My illustrations come from the collection at the Art Library in the South Kensington Museum, based on negatives taken by Mr. Griggs for the Science and Art Department, which has released a set of photo-lithographic reproductions by him of all the woodcuts in the volume, at the original size, priced, I believe, at 5s. 6d. This illustrates what photographic reproduction can provide—when original masterpieces are expensive or hard to find, we can get reproductions for just a few shillings, which are practically as good for study as the originals. While we may not be able to create great originals in this age, we can at least reproduce them—perhaps that’s the next best thing.

There is a French edition of Poliphilus printed in Paris by Kerver in 1561,[2] which features a frontispiece designed by Jean Cousin. The illustrations have all been redrawn and are handled quite differently from the Venetian originals—but they have their own style, although it's later, more elaborate, and more self-aware, as you would expect from Paris in the latter half of the sixteenth century. The initial letters of a series of chapters in the book, when read in order, spell out Francisco Columna (F.R.A.N.C.I.S.C.O. C.O.L.V.M.N.A.)—the name of the writer of the romance.

Whether designs like these were meant to be colored is uncertain. They are very pleasing in their outlines and don’t need anything else. The book can be seen as an illustrated one, with drawings of monuments, fountains, standards, emblems, and devices scattered throughout the text. However, they are so beautifully designed and drawn that the overall effect is decorative, and because they are in open line, the mechanical requirements for surface printing with the type are perfectly met.

After the stunning works of the German, Italian (of which some reproductions are shown here), and French printers, our own William Caxton's first books appear a bit粗糙, although they have their own charm and definitely have a unique style, even if they can't be considered top-notch examples of printing craftsmanship. The first book printed in England is said to be Caxton's "Dictes and Sayings of the Philosophers," which he printed in Westminster in 1477.

A noticeable feature of the early printed books is the evolution of the title page. While manuscripts usually didn’t include one, with the arrival of printing, the title page became increasingly significant. Even if a book had no other illustrations or ornaments, it often had a woodcut title. Examples like the ones presented here illustrate the charming decorative quality that these title page designs sometimes featured. Renowned designers, book decorators, and illustrators like Albrecht Dürer and Hans Holbein showcased their talent, decorative skill, and understanding of woodcut techniques in the title pages they created.

The impressive works of the master craftsman from Nuremberg, Albrecht Dürer, are widely recognized. His remarkable skill in drawing and understanding of its applications in woodcut printing made him a significant influence in book decoration and illustration, resulting in many beautiful designs from his hand. Three designs from the notable series of the Little Passion and two of his title pages are included here, showcasing his strictly decorative style. The title dated 1523 can be compared with that of Oronce Finé (Paris, 1534). It seems there was a revival of this intricate knotted type of ornament during this time. This style appears earlier in Italian manuscripts and may have origins in Byzantine sources.

There is a beautiful title page designed by Holbein, printed by Petri in Basel in 1524. It was originally created for an edition of the New Testament, printed by Adam Petri in 1523. In the four corners, you can see the symbols of the Evangelists; the coat of arms of the city of Basel is in the center of the upper border, and the printer's device takes up a matching space below. Statues of Saints Peter and Paul are in the niches on each side. However, the work most commonly linked with Holbein is the incredible little book featuring the series of designs known as the "Dance of Death," with the first edition printed in Lyons in 1538. The two designs presented here are printed from the blocks carved by Bonner and Byfield (1833). These cuts measure only about 2-1/2 by 2 inches, yet they contain an amazing amount of creativity, graphic skill, dramatic and tragic intensity, along with dark and satirical humor. They are unique in the history of art and offer a wonderfully fascinating and complete series of illustrations depicting life in the sixteenth century. Holbein is believed to have painted this "Dance of Death" in the palace of Henry VIII, built by Cardinal Wolsey at Whitehall, at life size; but it was destroyed in the fire that nearly consumed the entire palace in 1697.

The Bible prints by Hans Holbein are also a very impressive series, noted for their broad and simple lines, as well as their decorative impact on the page.

It’s interesting to note that Holbein’s father and grandfather both worked as engravers and painters in Augsburg, while his brother Ambrose was also a prolific book illustrator. Hans Holbein the Elder married a daughter of the elder Burgmair, who was the father of the famous Hans Burgmair, examples of whose fine and vigorous style of drawing are provided.

Albrecht Dürer and Holbein really seem to capture and summarize all the energy and strength of design from that dynamic and productive period of the German Renaissance. They had talented contemporaries, including the notable Lucas Cranach (the elder), born in 1470, and Hans Burgmair, who worked alongside Dürer on the famous series of woodcuts, "The Triumphs of Maximilian." One of the great series of "Der Weiss König," features a beautiful title page and a powerful drawing of peasants working in a field to represent him. THE GERMAN TRADITION. Other notable designers included Hans Sebald Beham, Hans Baldung Grün, Hans Wächtlin, Jost Amman, and others, who continued the German style or tradition in design until the end of the sixteenth century. This tradition was really the best way to express the medium of woodcuts and printing, which led to the strong pen line characteristic of the German masters. It was a dynamic environment where everyone could work freely, contributing their own unique observations and feelings while still maintaining a sense of collective harmony.

The different marks used by printers are often beautiful and interesting decorative designs. French printers like Gillett, Hardouyn, and Thielman Kerver, for example, had charming designs that typically took up the front page of their Books of Hours. Some were playful visual puns that incorporated the printer's name into an image, like Petri of Basle, who used an image of a stone that flames and hammer blows couldn’t destroy; or Philip le Noir’s mark, which featured a black shield with a black figure and supporter; or the palm tree of Palma Isingrin. EMBLEM BOOKS. Others were purely symbolic and heraldic, like Aldus’s famous dolphin wrapped around an anchor, accompanied by the motto "Propera tarde"—"hasten slowly." This and another design of a crab holding a butterfly by its wings, with the same meaning, were both inspired by the favorite designs of two early Roman emperors—Augustus and Titus. This tendency towards symbolism, emblems, and allegories has been somewhat characteristic of both art and literature, in varying degrees, since ancient times. It became more systematically explored, and collections of emblems started to be published in book form during the sixteenth century. The earliest was by Alciati, whose first edition came out in 1522, followed by many editions from various printers and locations until 1621, with increasingly more content and translations into French, German, and Italian. Mr. Henry Green, author of "Shakespeare and the Emblem Writers" (written to show Shakespeare's familiarity with emblem books and his frequent references to them), remarked that Alciati's book "established, if it did not introduce, a new style for emblem literature—the classical style, replacing the merely grotesque and humorous or the heraldic and mystical."

There’s a version of Alciati printed in Lyons (Bonhomme), 1551, which was reprinted by the Holbein Society in 1881. The figure designs and square woodcut images are believed to be created by Solomon Bernard—known as little Bernard—who was born in Lyons in 1522. These are surrounded by intricate and somewhat heavy decorative borders, in the style of the later Renaissance, made by another artist, some of which feature the monogram P.V., interpreted as either Pierino del Vaga, the painter (a student of Raphael), or Petro de Vingles, a printer from Lyons.

These borders, as we see in the preface to one of the editions ("Ad Lectorem"—Roville's Latin text of the emblems), were meant to serve as examples for various craftsmen. "This is their purpose: whenever someone wants to give substance to empty things, decoration to basic things, speech to mute things, and logic to senseless things, they can consult a small book of emblems, as if it were a well-prepared handbook, to find ideas that they can apply to the walls of homes, glass windows, tapestries, hangings, tablets, vases, flags, seals, clothing, tables, couches, weapons, swords, and finally, all kinds of furniture."

An emblem has been defined ("Cotgrave's Dictionary," Art. "Emblema") as "a picture and a short phrase that expresses a specific idea;" and by Francis Quarles as "just a silent parable;" and Bacon, in his "Advancement of Learning," says:—"An emblem translates intellectual concepts into tangible images, and what is tangible makes a stronger impression on the memory, and is easier to remember than what is intellectual."

All was fair game that fell into the net of the emblem writer or creator; hieroglyphics, heraldry, fables, mythology, the ancient Egyptians, Homer, ancient Greece and Rome, Christianity, or pagan philosophy, all in their turn served

"To make a point and enhance a story."

As for the artistic quality of the designs found in these books, they vary widely. The best and most dynamic ones are from the early sixteenth century, especially those with woodcuts, which match the quality of contemporary design. Holbein's "Dance of Death," or more accurately, "Images and Storied Aspects of Death," might be considered an emblem book, but very few can rival its artistic quality. Some of the designs in the early editions of the emblem books by Giovio, Witney, and even the much later Quarles have a certain charm, but even though these books relied heavily on their illustrations, the moral, philosophical, or epigrammatic content ultimately became more than the design could support once the impulse of the early Renaissance faded. Design in books became stifled by classical pretentiousness and pomp, and the clear, dynamic woodcut was replaced by the questionable benefits of the copper-plate. The introduction of copper-plate printing marks a new era in book illustration, but in terms of decoration, it signifies a distinct decline. While surface-printed blocks, whether woodcuts or metal engravings (which is how many early book illustrations were created), worked well with letterpress printing—since they were set up with the type and printed under the same pressure in the same press—copper-plate printing introduced completely different conditions. The paper has to be pressed into the etched or engraved lines of the plate, rather than being impressed by the raised lines of wood or metal. Therefore, with the use of copper-plate illustrations in printed books, the mechanical relationship between a surface-printed block and letterpress was immediately disrupted because a different printing method was required. The appearance of refinement that copper-plate printing offers does not necessarily translate to greater skill or sophistication in drawing or design; it primarily results in thinner lines, which often sacrifice richness, vigor, and decorative impact.

The first book illustrated with copper-plate engravings dates back to 1477. ["El Monte Sancto di Dio." Niccolo di Lorenzo, Florence]. In this instance, it was used for the full-page images. This method didn't catch on much with book designers and didn't become widely used until the end of the sixteenth century, when design began to decline.

The encyclopedic books of this time—the interesting collections of knowledge from back then—were filled with entertaining illustrations, diagrams, and graphics. The different essays on grammar, arithmetic, geometry, physiology, anatomy, astronomy, and geography were made appealing by these, with each section perhaps introduced by an allegorical image representing the art or science discussed, depicted in the attire of a noble lady of the era. The herbals and texts about animals often featured beautiful floral patterns and lively, if sometimes partially mythical, depictions of animals.

There are great examples of plant drawings in a beautiful herbal ("Fuchsius: De Historia Stirpium"; Basle, Isingrin, 1542). They are not only true to the plants themselves, but also serve as beautiful decorative designs, drawn in a free-flowing style with a delicate sense of line, and nicely presented on the page. At the beginning of the book, there’s a woodcut portrait of the author, Leonard Fuchs—who the fuchsia may have been named after—and at the end, there’s another woodcut showing the portrait of the artist, the designer of the flowers, and the engraver, who clearly understands his own significance. The first two are hard at work, and you’ll notice the artist is drawing directly from the flower with the tip of a brush, which is secured in a quill just like our watercolor brushes. The draughtsman holds the design or paper while he replicates it on the block. The portraits are vividly drawn in a style reminiscent of Hans Burgmair. Herbs. Good examples of plant drawings combined with design can also be found in Matthiolus (Venice, 1583), and in a Kreuterbuch (Strasburg, 1551), as well as in Gerard's Herbal, which has several editions.

As examples of design in animals, there are some striking woodcuts in a "History of Quadrupeds" by Conrad Gesner, printed by Froschover in Zurich in 1554. The porcupine looks exactly like a porcupine, and there’s no mistaking its quills. The illustrations of birds are fantastic, and one of a crane (which I should probably know better) is very distinctive.

But we have crossed the Rubicon—the middle of the sixteenth century. The art of printing and the design applied to the printed page were developing so quickly and reaching such excellence and perfection through woodcuts and the press, but their artistic character and beauty were somewhat short-lived. Up until about this time (1554 was the year of our last example), as we have seen from the relatively few examples presented here, there were many beautiful books printed that were remarkable for their decorative and illustrative value, often combining these two functions in perfect harmony. However, after the middle of the sixteenth century, both the vigor and beauty in design generally declined. It’s uncertain whether the world had started to focus on other matters—and we know Columbus’s great discovery had made it practically larger—or whether discovery, conquest, and commerce increasingly captured the attention of leading minds, with art being valued primarily for how it illustrated or contributed to knowledge and advancement. Perhaps the Reformation or the spirit of Protestantism shifted people's focus from external to internal matters, and in its rebellion against the somewhat paganized Catholic Church, it fostered a certain disdain for any form of art that didn’t serve a direct moral purpose and appealed to the senses rather than to emotions or intellect—effectively discouraging it altogether. It might also be that the fresh inspiration given to the imagination by the revival of Classical learning, poetry, and ancient art had begun to fade; breaking away from the traditions and spirit of Gothic or Medieval art, it began to impose the constraints of authority and pedantry, ultimately becoming overlaid by the forms and trappings of a dead style and losing its vigor and vitality. Whether it was due to one or all of these causes, it is clear that the light of design started to diminish, and compared to its earlier brilliance, it produced only a faint flicker on the page in the centuries that followed.

s As I mentioned at the beginning of the first chapter, my goal isn’t to provide a complete historical overview of book decoration and illustration, but rather to focus on the artistic treatment of the page from my perspective as a designer. Up to this point, the illustrations I’ve shared have served their purpose while also giving a solid sense of the development of style and variations in treatment of both manuscripts and printed books under different influences, from the sixth century to the end of the sixteenth century. However, now I’ll need to put on a pair of seven-league boots and make some significant leaps.

We’ve seen how, during the early Renaissance, two influences came together and created something beautiful. The freedom, romance, and naturalism of the later Gothic style combined with a renewed Classical sense, known for its graceful forms and mythological themes. The rich and intricate designs that Italian artists loved, which often decorated the borders of early printed books, also reflect some Oriental influence, as their name suggests. The decorative beauty of these early Renaissance books was truly the result of an impressive blend of ideas and styles. Printing as an art form, along with book decoration, reached a level of perfection that hasn’t been matched since. The creativity of the top designers of the time was linked to this new invention and was expressed with unmatched energy in woodcuts; meanwhile, the type designer, still influenced by traditional writing styles, worked in perfect sync with the book decorator or illustrator. Even geometric diagrams were presented without disrupting the overall layout of the page, as seen in early editions of Euclid, and we’ve noted the faithful and distinctive illustrations of plants and animals, maintaining a strong sense of design and ornamentation.

This happy balance of artistic quality and practical application that emerged after the mid-1500s started to fade. Designers like Oronce Finé and Geoffroy Tory in Paris worked hard to maintain the traditions of book ornamentation from the early Italian printers while also adding their own unique flair. However, for the most part, the taste of book designers began to deteriorate after this period. The classical influence, which had previously been just one among several influences, increasingly dominated the designers, overshadowing the naturalistic approach and the Gothic and Eastern decorative styles. It could be said that while medieval designers focused on color and decorative beauty, Renaissance designers prioritized line, form, and relief. This shift was largely due to the fact that the influence of antique and classical art was primarily sculptural, mainly derived from statues, reliefs, gems and medals, and intricately carved architectural details, with a stronger focus on Roman than Greek sources. Although such influences were initially introduced sparingly, they gradually seemed to overshadow all other motivations in later designs, which often appeared to argue that one could never have enough Roman costume or relics. This led to cluttered Bible scenes, filled borders with excessive pediments, bloated scrolls, and whirlwinds of classical mythology personifications. Such lavish use of these materials even overwhelmed skilled designers like Virgil Solis, who, despite being talented and versatile, seemed a poor alternative to Holbein.

What initially served as a motivating, creative, and uplifting force in art eventually turned into a harmful influence. The fresh energy of the early Renaissance became stifled and weighed down, ultimately being crushed by an overload of pretentiousness and artificiality. The natural evolution of a vibrant artistic style was halted, replaced by strict authority and an obsession with mimicking the classics.

The introduction of the copper-plate marked a new era in book illustration, and wood-engraving declined as it became more widely used. In the form it took in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, this shift was definitely harmful and ultimately led to the end of the decorative aspect.

It has already been pointed out how a copper-plate, needing a different printing process, and resulting in distinctly different qualities of line and effect, cannot harmonize with type and the conditions of a surface-printed page, since it doesn't have any mechanical connection with them. This mechanical connection is truly the key to all good and therefore organic design; that's why design was in a better state when mechanical conditions and relationships were simpler. A new invention often disrupts design. A new element is introduced, valued for some specific ease or effect, and it's often adopted without considering how—like a new element in a chemical combination—it changes the relationships all around.

Copper-plate engraving was probably chosen as a technique for book illustration because of its finer and more precise lines, as well as its ability to handle complex details and shading. In short, its purely visual qualities made it popular, reflecting the era when painters were held in higher regard than other types of artists.

Regarding the books of the seventeenth century, while "there was no end to making many books," and although they might be interesting for reasons other than artistic ones, few would serve our immediate purpose. Woodcuts, headings, initials, tailpieces, and printers' ornaments continued to be used, but they were significantly less appealing in design and visual impact compared to those of the sixteenth century. The copper plates introduced are quite separate from the page decorations and can hardly be considered decorative, although they often appear formal and architectural in the grand title pages of books from this period, typically inspired by the ancient triumphal arches of Imperial Rome.

Histories and philosophical writings, especially towards the end of the 1600s and the beginning of the 1700s, were decorated with grand portraits in frames that were more or less classical in style, featuring coats of arms, which suffered from the decline of heraldic decoration below. The example provided is a strong representation of its kind from a Venetian book published in 1562 and showcases the earlier style of this treatment. Travel and topographical writings grew in number, reaching by the middle of the 1700s the scale of Piranesi's scenic views of ancient Roman architecture.

The love of beautiful scenery and nature, or maybe landscape gardening, slowly grew and focused interest on qualities that were the opposite of creative design. This shift led people to pay less and less attention to those qualities, until painters, in their purest form, received all the artistic recognition. The establishment of art schools only solidified the public's perception of art in this narrow sense.

Hogarth, who took advantage of copper plates and published his pictures in book form, was fundamentally focused on the visual aspects of his art. His instincts leaned more towards the dramatic and satirical rather than decorative. Although he was a skilled painter and designer, the main interest in his work lies in how it reflects the life and manners of his time rather than serving as examples of book illustration. His work certainly doesn’t aim for decoration, even though it would fit quite well in an eighteenth-century room.

Chodowiecki, who created a large number of steel frontispieces and illustrations for smaller books, full of character, should be seen more as a picture creator for books than a book decorator. He's sometimes compared to Stothard in style, but Stothard was much more of an idealist and had a very elegant decorative sense from a classical perspective. His book designs are numerous, mostly engraved on steel, and consistently display a refined sense of line and composition. His designs for Rogers' "Poems" and "Italy" are well-known, and in their earlier woodcut form, his groups of Amorini are very charming.

Flaxman had a strong sense of sculptural style and simplicity, along with a lot of feeling and grace as a designer, but he can't really be considered a book decorator. His famous series for Homer, Hesiod, Æschylus, and Dante are strictly separate sets of illustrative designs that should be viewed on their own, without considering their integration into or relationship with a printed book. Their own lettering and explanatory text are engraved on the same plate below them, which keeps them consistent, but they are not examples of how to treat or space pages.

We now turn to a designer of a very different kind, one representing a new era, despite any similarities in style and approach to his peers. William Blake is unique and stands apart. A poet and a visionary, he also embodied something of the spirit of the old illuminators. He wasn't satisfied with just illustrating a book using separate copper or steel plates disconnected from the text, even though in his engraving work he often executed projects for others. When it came to capturing his own thoughts and dreams, he naturally returned to the techniques used by makers of manuscript books. He became his own calligrapher, illuminator, and miniaturist, while also using the copper plate (which he adapted into a surface printing block) and the printing press to reproduce his designs, and in some cases, to create them in color. His hand-colored drawings, borders, and embellishments for his own poems are always distinctive works in their own right.

His approach to the use of black and white, along with his sense of page decoration, can be best appreciated by looking at his "Book of Job," which features a striking collection of imaginative designs. In Blake's work, we can sense a connection to the spirit of Medieval designers, reflected in the somewhat stylized and neoclassical forms and techniques that align with the taste of his era; meanwhile, he captures the bold, aspirational ideas and the longing for more straightforward and compassionate ways of living. A revolutionary passion and intensity frequently emerge in both his poetry and artwork, showcasing a variety of moods and impulses while encapsulating a broad spectrum of strength and empathy. Sometimes mystical and prophetic, at other moments tragic, and occasionally simple and pastoral.

Blake, with his mixed elements and the remarkable suggestiveness of his work and the freedom of his thought, feels closer to us than many of his contemporaries. His distinctive decorative style also aligns with our purpose. By writing his poems in his own handwriting and in his own style, he achieved the significant advantage of harmony between the text and the illustrations. They come together as a cohesive unit, fully connected. His woodcuts for Phillip's "Pastoral," although somewhat primitive on their own, demonstrate his ability to convey a sense of color and effectively use white space.

Among Blake's later friends and followers, Edward Calvert stands out as a kindred spirit. His book illustrations are not just images; they're also decorative art. The balance of black and white is skillfully arranged, and his work is rich with poetic emotion, imagination, and a sense of color. I first learned about them from Mr. William Blake Richmond, whose father, Mr. George Richmond, was friends with William Blake and Calvert, as well as with John Linnell and Samuel Palmer. These artists helped carry on the traditions of this English poetic school into modern times, especially Palmer, whose imaginative drawings—featuring glowing sunsets over distant hills, romantic landscapes, and pastoral themes—were notable in the Old Water Colour Society until his death in 1881. His etched illustrations for his edition of "The Eclogues of Virgil" offer a beautiful series of well-designed and poetically imagined landscapes, but these images were printed separately from the text. Palmer himself, as noted in his son’s account of the work, wished that William Blake had been alive to create the woodcut headings for the "Eclogues."

To Thomas Bewick and his followers goes the credit for bringing wood-engraving back as an art form and adapting it for book illustrations, which is, of course, quite different from the old knife-work on the plank. Bewick lacked the imaginative flair of the designers previously mentioned, although he had plenty of humor and satire, which he incorporated into his small tail-pieces. He demonstrates his craftsmanship in handling the wood block in works like "British Birds;" however, while the wood-engraving and type can be seen as mechanically related, there’s no sense of decorative beauty or ornamental spacing, and as drawings, the engravings lack the designer's impact, such as we found in the illustrations by Gesner and Matthiolus in Basel during the mid-sixteenth century. There’s a very straightforward and basic representation of the bird and its feathers, but with little more finesse than the typical taxidermist in the composition of the picture, and no consideration at all for the overall design of the page.

It was definitely a significant achievement to have established the value of wood-engraving and shown its potential as a technique for book illustration.

Bewick started a school of highly skilled craftsmen who perfected the art to an impressive level. In both his and their hands, it became quite different from a direct translation of the drawing, which, unless it was just lines, was interpreted by the engraver with a style, touch, and quality uniquely his own. The use of white line,[4] and the way tones and shades were rendered required a certain level of design skill from him, placing him in a position as significant as the engraver on steel when it came to translating a painted picture.

A book like Northcote's "Fables," published in 1828-29, features each fable with a header illustration crafted from Northcote's design by William Harvey—a well-known and graceful designer and prolific illustrator of books until fairly recently. It also includes initial letters and tailpieces created by him, showcasing the influence of the Bewick school. Ultimately, "fineness of line, tone, and finish—a misused term," as Mr. W. J. Linton puts it, "was favored over the simple charm of truth." The wood engravers seemed eager to compete with the steel engravers in embellishing books, and in terms of adaptability, they certainly had the upper hand. However, the sense of ornamentation had declined everywhere; almost exclusively, qualities like pictorial value, fineness of line, and delicacy of tone were sought after.

Books like Rogers's "Poems" and "Italy," featuring illustrations by Thomas Stothard and J. M. W. Turner, reflect the taste of the time and showcase the peak skill of steel engravers. Stothard's designs stand out as the only ones with decorative merit, as he consistently designs with grace. Turner's landscapes are stunning in their own right and are engraved with incredible detail, but they don't really enhance the page. Instead, they appear as indistinct blobs of ink in varying shades. The text on the page has no connection to the images in terms of printing style or design, nor does it possess any separate beauty. This type of book illustration—common in the mid-19th century—consists of images presented without frames.

No overview of book illustration would be complete without mentioning William James Linton—whom I’ve already quoted. I can speak of him with a special fondness and respect, as I consider him a kind early friend and mentor. As a boy, I was actually apprenticed to him for three years, not with the goal of using the graver, but rather to learn the craft of wood drawing. This was, of course, before the era of photography, which has since transformed the process of drawing for books as well as engraving. Back then, it was essential to draw directly on the block and to fully understand what type of work could be done by the engraver.

I will always view those early years in Mr. Linton's office as incredibly valuable to me. Despite changes in methods and new technologies, it provided me with a solid understanding of the mechanical aspects of wood-engraving, and it instilled in me an awareness of the essential connection between design, material, and production methods—essentially, between art and craft—that is lasting and has influenced me in many ways.

Mr. Linton is also a significant historic figure, carrying on the tradition of wood engraving in these less inspired times. Despite the impressive achievements in literal translation and the imitation of chalk, charcoal, or brushwork that have emerged from American innovation—and I don’t deny those accomplishments—it can't be said that these efforts have maintained the individuality and independence of the engraver as an artist or original designer in any real sense. When not completely replaced by some automatic reproduction process, he is reduced to being a "process-server," becoming subservient to the pictorial artist. The sketch artist loves his "pieces" and "effects," which, although sensational and eye-catching, usually have no connection to the decoration of the page. In this sense, they are just splashes of ink on the page that the text, with its irregularly ragged edges, seems to instinctively avoid, huddling together like passengers in a crowded bus might when reluctantly allowing a chimney sweep to board.

While Mr. Linton is connected to the Bewick school through his early training and experience, he is also a poet, a social and political thinker, a scholar, and a designer and engraver. He has worked with some of the most well-known engravers and book designers of the mid-century, and has experienced art with different styles and influences, such as Rossetti. Now, he is confronted with what he has termed the "American New Departure." This makes him especially qualified for the work he has undertaken—his significant project, "The Masters of Wood Engraving," which was published in 1889, is a comprehensive history, technically adept, and lavishly produced.

I haven't brought up Gustave Doré, who is such a prominent figure as a book illustrator, because while he had an unusual imagination and a poetic eye for dramatic landscapes and quirky characters, along with incredible artistic creativity, most of his work is purely scenic. He doesn't showcase a sense of decoration or think about design in relation to the page. His best and most lively and genuine work is found in his designs for the "Contes Drolatiques."

The new painting movement in England, known as the Pre-Raphaelite movement, which began around the middle of our century, was so remarkable and influential that it’s no surprise it impacted book illustrations. This was especially true for the luxury style called the modern gift-book, which, in the two decades following 1850, often took the form of selections or editions of poets filled with small illustrations engraved on wood. Birket Foster, John Gilbert, and John Tenniel were key contributors to these collections.

In 1857, an edition of "Tennyson's Poems" was published by Moxon. This work, while reflecting the general trends of the time—an arbitrary collection of designs from various artists with different styles, moods, and emotions, loosely organized, and lacking any sense of page decoration or harmony between text and illustration—did have one standout feature that sets it apart from other collections: it includes designs by the leading figures of the Pre-Raphaelite movement, D. G. Rossetti, Millais, and Holman Hunt.

I present one of the Rossetti designs, "Sir Galahad"; the "S. Cecilia" and the "Morte d'Arthur" were engraved by the Brothers Dalziel, while the "Sir Galahad" was done by Mr. W. J. Linton. To me, the latter captures the spirit and essence of Rossetti, along with his unique style, much more successfully. These designs, with their poetic imagination, rich detail, sense of color, and deep, mystical, romantic feeling, along with their earnest expression, mark a new era. They are visually striking on their own, and though they have a distinct and original feel, they resemble the work of medieval miniaturists more than anything seen since their time. Nonetheless, there’s no effort here to integrate the page or harmonize the text with the image or connect it through borders or designs with the book as a whole, and when placed alongside illustrations of a very different style, their impact is largely diminished. In a few other instances where Rossetti contributed to book illustration, he was more aware of how to achieve a decorative effect on the page. I remember the title page of a poetry book by Miss Christina Rossetti, "Goblin Market," which clearly illustrated this. The title page designed for his "Early Italian Poets" (shown here), and his sonnet on the sonnet, where the design surrounds the text of the poem, written by him, are other examples.

Some of the designs created for a later project (Dalziel's Bible Gallery, around 1865-70) also reflect the influence of the pre-Raphaelite movement, along with the impact of Continental ideas and training in the works of Sir Frederic Leighton and Mr. Poynter. I remember seeing some of these wood drawings at the time. For study and research, as well as for their rich archaeological detail and strong drawing, I thought Mr. Poynter's designs were possibly the most impressive. A vividly rendered piece, , and an effective wood engraving, is Ford Madox Brown's design of "Elijah and the Widow's Son." There’s also a dramatic intensity in his other work, "The Death of Eglon." However, ultimately, these are just carefully studied images created on wood. The pre-Raphaelite designs exhibit the most decorative quality, but they are now presented quite separately from the page, regardless of the original intention. While they can be rightly seen as book illustrations and as examples of our more significant efforts in that area at the time, they are not page decorations.

One might mention the remarkable artist we’ve lost, Mr. Albert Moore, who stood out for his sophisticated decorative style in painting. The arrangement of figures shown here indicates that he understood the relationships between the book page and the printing process as well.

Mr. Henry Holiday is also a highly skilled decorative artist. He hasn’t worked much in book illustration, but his illustrations for Lewis Carroll's "Hunting of the Snark" were excellent. His sense of decoration in black and white is notable, as shown in the title for "Aglaia."

As I was hardly known outside the nursery until recently, it's appropriate for me to share some thoughts on children's books. There's certainly been a remarkable evolution and a lot of activity in this area in recent years. We all remember the little illustrations that brightened the books from our childhood. The lasting impact of these early visual and literary experiences makes the strongest case for good art in both the nursery and the classroom. One could argue that every child, indeed every person, learns more through their eyes than through their ears, and I believe we could do a lot more with this knowledge.

If I can get personal, I’d like to say that my first efforts in children's books were with Mr. Edmund Evans. Once again, I was lucky to work in the field of color printing, and I learned about its potential. The baby books that were popular at that time—around 1865 to 1870—were the cheaper kinds known as toy books and they weren't very inspiring. These usually featured careless and unimaginative woodcuts, hastily colored by hand, with random dabs of pink and emerald green slopped across faces and dresses without much thought. There was barely any difference between these and cheap, brightly colored German lithographs. The only attempt at decoration I recall was a set of colored illustrations for nursery rhymes by Mr. H. S. Marks, which were originally meant for cabinet panels. They used bold outlines and flat colors. Mr. Marks has frequently demonstrated his decorative flair in book illustrations and printed designs in color, but I haven’t been able to get any for this book.

It was, however, the influence of some Japanese printed pictures given to me by a navy lieutenant, who brought them home as curiosities, that I believe, despite drawing inspiration from many sources, truly sparked my approach to using strong outlines, flat colors, and solid blacks, which I adopted with variations in books of this kind from that time (around 1870) onwards. Since then, I have faced many competitors for the attention of nursery audiences, particularly my late friend Randolph Caldecott and Miss Kate Greenaway, though both tend to focus more on character study, and their work has a more pictorial quality than strictly decorative. The little preface heading from his "Bracebridge Hall" gives a good sense of Caldecott's style when his primary goal was decoration. Miss Greenaway perhaps embodies this distinctively in the way she treats some of her calendars.

Children's books and what are called children's books have a unique place in the world. They appeal to imaginative designers because, in a practical and straightforward era, they provide one of the few opportunities for modern illustrators to unleash their creativity and challenge "the tyranny of facts." For instance, the poetic quality in E. V. B.'s designs is worth noting, and I remember some lovely illustrations for George Macdonald's book, "At the Back of the North Wind," created by Arthur Hughes. In these and other wood-engraved designs, he demonstrates how refined and empathetic an artist he is, just as he does in his paintings. Additionally, Robert Bateman produced some delightful little woodcuts that are rich in poetic expression and marked by exceptional taste. These were featured in Macmillan's "Art at Home" series, although I don't think they were originally meant for it.

There's no doubt that the opening of Japanese ports to Western trade, regardless of its later effects—including its impact on Japanese arts—has had a huge influence on European and American art. Japan, or rather Japan's arts and crafts, aside from architecture, resembled a European country in the Middle Ages, with incredibly skilled artists and craftsmen in decorative work, influenced by a relaxed and natural style. Here was a living art, a people's art, where traditions and craftsmanship were intact, resulting in a rich variety, liveliness, and natural expression. It's no surprise that it overwhelmed Western artists and its effects have been evident, though not always positively, ever since. We can see clear signs of Japanese influence almost everywhere—from Parisian impressionist painters to the Japanese fan in trade circulars, which has become a common decorative element. We notice it in the rough sketches and decorative naturalistic flowers that sometimes appear in page designs, particularly in American magazines and trendy etchings. We've certainly picked up some flaws of Japanese art, even if we've also embraced some of its strengths.

In the absence of any truly remarkable architecture or meaningful construction, Japanese artists aren't reliable guides when it comes to design. They can beautifully scatter leaves or depict a bird or fish across a blank panel or sheet of paper, drawing them with such impressive skill and confidence that it might trick us into thinking it’s decorative design. But when a less skilled artist tries to do the same, the mistake becomes clear. Yes, they have a sense of decoration—the finesse involved in placing a flower in a pot, hanging a garland on a wall, or positioning a mat or a fan. Taste, in short, is a different matter from genuine design skills and effectively filling spaces.

When we look at their books, even though they are amazing and full of beauty and inspiration—besides their naturalism, grotesquerie, and humor—they usually don’t provide great examples of page decoration. However, we have to consider that their text is written vertically. This changes their pages into panels, making their printed books more like sets of designs for decorating light panels, which is quite charming in that regard.

These drawings by Hokusai (see Nos. 10 and 11, Appendix), the most energetic and productive of the more modern and popular art school, are striking and impressive in their own way, and the decorative element is always present; also, because of the dark border, they do fill the page, which isn’t always true for the flowers and birds. However, I think these holes, gaps, and spaces are only acceptable in a book because the drawing when it occurs is so skillful (except when the effect is meant to be open and light); and from tolerating them we come to appreciate them, I guess, and see them as signs of expertise and decorative talent. In their smaller applied decorative designs, though, the Japanese often demonstrate that they are fully aware of a systematic plan or geometric foundation: and there is usually some hidden geometric relationship of lines in some of their seemingly random compositions. Their books of crests and pattern plans indeed show a careful study of geometric shapes and their guiding influence in design.

As for the history and use of printing, the Japanese got it from the Chinese, who invented the art of printing with wooden blocks in the sixth century. "We have no record," says Professor Douglas, "as to the date when metal type was first used in China, but we find Korean books printed as early as 1317 with movable clay or wooden type, and just a century later we have a record of a fount of metal type being cast to print an 'Epitome of the Eighteen Historical Records of China.'" Printing is believed to have been adopted in Japan "after the first invasion of Korea by the armies of Hideyoshi, at the end of the sixteenth century, when large quantities of movable type books were brought back by one of his generals, which formed the model upon which the Japanese worked."

I have talked about the American development of wood engraving. Its use in magazine illustrations definitely seems to have happened with the arrival of very talented artists from both the picturesque and literal perspectives.

The impressive and detailed architectural and landscape drawings by Mr. Joseph Pennell are well known. As purely illustrative work, they are fresh, sharp, and original in style, capturing key points of topography and local features with a charming, often quirky, and unexpected choice of perspective and visual framing. It would be hard to find anything comparable, but there is very little thought or awareness given to the text layout. If I may say so, in some cases, the illustrations are, or used to be, boldly integrated into the text, disrupting it like a coach and horses running through a flock of sheep. In some of his more recent work, especially his bolder drawings in the "Daily Chronicle," he seems to have paid more attention to the relationship between text and image, and in some of his skies, he demonstrates a strong sense of radiating line arrangement.

Our American cousins have introduced us to another way of presenting content in magazines. I’ve described it elsewhere as the "card-basket style." A bunch of naturalistic sketches are thrown together randomly, with the top ones partially covering the ones underneath, and to add some variety, the corner is sometimes turned down. This idea has become really popular in recent years, but I think it’s a card trick that’s "played out."

However opinions may vary, I believe there's no doubt that Elihu Vedder is a prime example of an American artist with immense imaginative talent and clearly a designer with originality and strength. This is clearly demonstrated by his major work—the illustrations for the "Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam." Although the designs lack the Persian character one might expect from the poem and its imagery, they are still a remarkable series, showcasing excellent decorative sense and dramatic impact, all with a distinctly modern vibe. His designs for the cover of "The Century Magazine" display a refined taste and a strong sense of decoration in the way he combines figures with lettering.

Mr. Edwin Abbey is another skilled artist who has put a lot of thought into his illustrated pages, sometimes even adding his own lettering. However, he's become more focused on the images recently. Mr. Alfred Parsons also tends to favor the visual elements over the decorative ones. Mr. Heywood Sumner showcases a lovely sense of decoration and imaginative flair, along with a sense of humor. On the purely ornamental side, Mr. Lewis Day's exceptional decorations demonstrate a wide range and creativity, which, while generally applied to other projects, are clearly evident in some of the impressive book and magazine covers he has designed.

"The English Illustrated Magazine," under Mr. Comyns Carr's editorship, by using both old and modern headings, initials, and decorations, contributed to fostering an appreciation for decorative design in books. Among the artists who designed pages for it, Henry Ryland and Louis Davis should be mentioned, both displaying a graceful sense of ornamentation, with the children of the latter artist being particularly delightful.

But it would require much more space to truly do justice to the talent of my peers, especially in the purely illustrative field, than I can provide.

The talented artists of "Punch," from John Leech to Linley Sambourne, have greatly contributed to maintaining a dynamic line drawing style. In Mr. Sambourne's case, this style is combined with exceptional creativity, graphic strength, and design skills. When discussing "Punch," we should also recognize the significant role "Once a Week" played in showcasing many top-notch line artists. In its early years, Charles Keene illustrated Charles Reade's "Good Fight," capturing much of the decorative essence of old German woodcuts. Excellent artists like M. J. Lawless and Frederick Sandys—who is especially noted for his amazing line drawings in "Once a Week" and "The Cornhill;" one of his best works, "The Old Chartist," accompanied a poem by Mr. George Meredith. Indeed, it’s impossible to overstate Mr. Sandys' drawing skills and his ability to convey expression through line; he is one of our modern English masters who, I believe, has never received the recognition he deserves.

I can only briefly mention some influential and innovative modern designers from Germany, where the strong traditions of woodcut and illustrative drawing appear to have been maintained more intact than in other places.

On the character-drawing, pictorial, and illustrative side, there's definitely Menzel, who is completely modern, realistic, and dramatic. I'm also thinking of artists like Alfred Rethel, whose designs "Death the Friend" and "Death the Enemy," two large woodcuts, are quite famous. I also recall a very striking series of his work, a sort of modern "Dance of Death," that came out around 1848, I believe. Schwind is another artist whose designs for folk tales are very much German in spirit, imagination, and drawing style. Oscar Pletsch is also notable for his sensitivity towards village life and children, with many of his illustrations being reproduced in this country. More recent evidence, and more directly in the decorative aspect, of the energy and artistic skill of German designers can be found in the colorful calendars created by Otto Hupp, which come from Munich and reflect something akin to the old spirit of Burgmair, especially in how they handle heraldry.

I’ve decided to share a page or two from my own books, "Grimm," "The Sirens Three," and others, which at least show two very different styles of page design. In "Grimm," the image is framed in formal rectangular lines, with flower medallions at the four corners, and the title and text are written on scrolls above and below. In "The Sirens Three," a much freer and more decorative style is used, featuring a bolder and more open line. A third example is the frontispiece of "The Necklace of Princess Fiorimonde" by Miss de Morgan, which has a simpler pictorial style, though it's still strictly decorative in its layout of lines and shapes.

The easy methods of automatic photographic reproduction certainly provide designers the chance to create their own text in a style they like, one that fits with their design. This helps create a cohesive, decorative look for the page, and I believe that doing this achieves a unified effect for the page that can't be matched in any other way.

Certainly, the photograph, along with all its associated discoveries and its use in printing, can be considered just as significant in its impact on art and literature as the invention of printing itself. It has already greatly changed how illustrations and designs are created for books, magazines, and newspapers, and it has undoubtedly helped artists retain ownership of their originals, while its accuracy in the best processes is, of course, very valuable.

Its influence on artistic style and approach has, in my opinion, been more questionable in terms of benefits. The impact on painting is clear, but when painting becomes too much like photography, the advantage shifts to the photograph. It has led to a trend in illustrative work where painting in black and white has largely replaced the traditional use of line. Because of this, and due to its promotion of a different perspective on nature—focusing on accidental appearances, light and shadow, and tone—it has, I believe, muddled and weakened the skill of creative design, as well as the appreciation for ornament and line. This shift has narrowed artistic interest to the literal depiction of specific superficial details and fleeting impressions, rather than ideas and the abstract treatment of form and line.

This might be more of a trend of the times than just a result of photographic technology, though the impact of photography definitely plays a big role in that trend. Thought and vision split the art world between them—our thoughts follow our vision, and our vision is shaped by our thoughts. A book can be a home for both thought and vision. Speaking metaphorically about book decoration, some people are fine with a simple cabin in the woods and only want to connect with nature on a surface level. Others would like their house to be surrounded by a beautiful garden, but they need something resembling an architectural plan. They see a frontispiece as like a façade; they find welcoming encouragement in the title page, just like a friendly greeting over the porch. They might hang a symbolic wreath at the dedication and then move into the welcoming hall, taking the author’s hand and being guided by them and their artist from room to room as they turn the pages, each one beautifully illustrated and decorated. Perhaps, finding it a place they love, the guest relaxes in the cozy corner by the firelight of the author's spirit or the artist's imaginative play; weaving dreams in the shifting lights and shadows, forgetting life’s rough journey and the stormy world outside.

Since the three Cantor Lectures, which make up the substance of the previous chapters, were given by me at the Society of Arts about six or seven years ago, there has been a notable resurgence of activity and interest in the art of printing, decorative illustration, paper-making, bookbinding, and all the crafts involved in creating stylish and beautifully designed books.

Publishers and printers have expressed a wish to revert to simpler and more traditional standards of taste, aiming to draw inspiration from some of the early experts in the field regarding type selection and layout. There has been a strong interest in large-format books and handmade paper, along with elegant bindings and first editions.

There’s also quite a lot of writing about making books beautiful—just look at the Ex-Libris Series as proof. We also have Mr. Gordon Duff’s history of Early Printed Books and Mr. Pollard’s work on Early Illustrated Books. Mr. Egerton Castle has taken care of bookplates, along with many enthusiastic collectors since then. Mr. Pennell is well-known as the guardian of illustrators, discussing them extensively, while Mr. Strange encourages us to get to know our alphabets. I haven't come across anyone specializing in "endpapers," but overall, books have probably never had so much commentary surrounding them as they do now.

A talented group of illustrators and designers has emerged, and almost every month, we hear about a new genius in black and white who is set to outshine all the others. However, even during the dark times between the mid-nineteenth century and the early eighties, one or two printers or publishers with good taste have occasionally tried to rein in the wild excesses of trade printers, who created shockingly monotonous new typefaces that either shouted or whispered, sometimes using heavy block capitals and at other times the awkward droop of italics. It's been a sad mess for the overall look of the page and the style of roman and gothic letters; it seemed like some mischievous typesetter's imp had thrown chaos among the letters of the alphabet, given how poorly designed so many modern so-called "fancy" types are.

We've had great work from the Edinburgh publishers, like R. and R. Clark, and Constable, and in London from the Chiswick Press, ever since their connection with the classy and well-printed volumes from Pickering. Various artists, starting with D. G. Rossetti, have created their own lettering to match their book designs. The Century Guild, along with its "Hobby Horse" and artists like Mr. Horne and Mr. Selwyn Image, played a big role in keeping true taste alive in printing and book decoration when it wasn't widely appreciated. There have also been printers, like Mr. Daniel at Oxford and De Vinne in New York, who from different perspectives have brought care and selection to type choice and book printing, adapting or designing their own type.

But the opportunity for extensive artistic experimentation in these areas was quite open when Mr. William Morris focused on printing and, in 1891, established the Kelmscott Press.

As far as I know, he was the first to approach the craft of practical printing from an artistic perspective. While being a writer definitely gave him an advantage, his success in the printing art mainly stems from his artistic background. His extensive experience as a designer in other areas of decorative art equipped him well to tackle the intricate issues of type design, its placement on the page, and its connection to printed decorations and illustrations. Additionally, his historical knowledge, keen discernment, and an unusually rich and curated collection of both medieval manuscripts and early printed books provided him with a wealth of excellent examples to draw from.

In the results produced at the Kelmscott press, we can see the impact of all these influences, shaped by a strong personal preference and a medieval bias (in an artistic sense) that could be considered almost exclusive.

The Kelmscott roman type ("golden") likely suggests that it was made to meet the needs of readers or book lovers who would settle for nothing less than roman, even though the printer had a strong preference for black letter. However, if you compare this "golden" type with most modern lowercase fonts from that time, its advantages in both design and character are striking. Modern type, driven by an unstoppable force of evolution, had reached its most extreme thinness, especially among American printers. The type from the Kelmscott press is a clear and practical reaction against this thinness; similarly, its bold black and white decorations and line-drawn illustrations oppose the excessive thinness and airy effects created by photographic processes and tone-block methods in much of today’s illustration, which may indeed illustrate, but does not ornament a book. The handmade, rough-surfaced, and durable paper stands in stark contrast to the shiny, smooth, machine-made paper that has been so popular for finer printing, which only made that possible. The two types—the two ideals of printing—are as different as night and day. Those who prefer smooth and thin won’t appreciate the bold and rough; yet it seems the Kelmscott standard has marked a shift, and judging by its influence on printers and publishers in general, interest is moving strongly in that direction. (One might think that human eyesight would benefit too.) This is especially interesting since the Kelmscott books are not priced for the masses, are limited in quantity, and are mostly not intended for general readers—unless that all-knowing individual is more knowledgeable and voracious than usually assumed.

Books that can be considered monumental in both a national and general sense have been printed at the Kelmscott press, including Shakespeare's "Poems" and More's "Utopia." Additionally, Mr. Morris's magnum opus, the folio Chaucer, enhanced by Burne-Jones's designs, has just been completed.[8]

In Mr. Morris's decorations and initials, which are almost always perfectly balanced with the style and weight of the type, we can possibly see a mix of design influences. In the rich black and white scroll and floral borders around the title and first pages, we can observe the love for intricate filling and intertwining typical of Celtic and Byzantine artwork, along with a hint of the practical textile designer's influence. This is also reflected in the vertical, separate bold page decorations, although here it's blended with elements inspired by early English illuminated manuscripts.

These influences, however, only enhance the unique character and depth of the effect, and there's no effort to go beyond the basic conditions of bold black-and-white designs for the woodcut and the printing press.

Mr. Morris follows the practical rule in printing that the true page is what an open book shows—commonly referred to as a double page. He views them as basically two columns of text, necessarily separate due to how the book is made, but when the book is open, they form a single page of text, only divided by the narrow margin where the leaves are attached to the covers. This gives us the recto and verso pages or columns, each with their unique proportions of margin, as they turn to the right or left from the center of the book—the narrowest margins being inward and at the top, and the widest being outward and at the bottom, which should be the deepest of all. This can be called the handle of the book, and there’s logic in having the broad margin, as it is also pleasing to the eye, allowing the reader to hold the book without covering any of the text.

It’s the careful attention to the need for these small tools in the creation and use of something that allows today’s designer—who is separate from the actual creator—to maintain that unique and natural essence in any work, which is so valuable and consistently inspiring in artistic ideas, and I believe this is true for all design connected to craftsmanship.

The more direct and personal—one might even say imitative—impact of the Kelmscott press can be seen in the really interesting work of a group of young artists who owe their training to the Birmingham School of Art, shaped by the taste and skill of Mr. Taylor. Three of these artists, Mr. C. M. Gere, Mr. E. H. New, and Mr. Gaskin, have created illustrations for some of Mr. Morris's Kelmscott books, making the connection of ideas perfectly logical and natural. It's only to be expected that the school would have the confidence in their artistic views and boldly implement the results of their Kelmscott influences by publishing a journal themselves, "The Quest."

Mr. Gere, Mr. Gaskin, and Mr. New are considered the leaders of the Birmingham School. Mr. Gere has created wood engravings of some of his own designs, and he understands the decorative importance of strong and clear line drawing combined with lettering. He is also a meticulous and dedicated draftsman and painter. A good example of his work is "Finding of St. George."

Mr. Gaskin's Christmas book, "King Wenceslas," is probably his best work that we've seen so far. The designs are straightforward and striking, matching the theme well, and they are strong in their decorative appeal. His illustrations for Hans Christian Andersen's "Fairy Tales" capture a charming romantic essence and show a great understanding of the decorative potential of black and white drawings. Mrs. Gaskin's designs for children's books display a whimsical creativity and decorative style typical of the school.

Mr. New has a passion for charming streets and historic buildings, which he depicts with meticulous care, focusing on the unique construction details and local variations. He doesn’t rely on random atmospheric effects; instead, he uses a strong, clean line and broad, simple arrangements of light and shadow, giving his work a decorative quality similar to book illustrations. It’s these traits that make his work ornamental, rather than any actual embellishment. In fact, when he has added borders to frame his pictures, he doesn’t seem as successful as a pure ornament artist. However, in his latest work, the illustrations for Mr. Lane's edition of Isaac Walton's "Compleat Angler," there are lovely headings and stylish title scrolls, along with great drawings of different locations.

The question of borders is always a difficult one. You could compare the illustrative drawings of architecture and gardens by Mr. Inigo Thomas in Mr. Reginald Blomfield's book on gardens, with Mr. New, as showing, with a substantial decorative sense and an understanding of the subject, a very different drawing style, which can be considered more pictorial in a way, with much thinner and closer lines, resulting in a greyer and darker effect. Adding the titles enhances the decorative impact.

Among the top artists of the Birmingham School should be mentioned Mr. H. Payne, Mr. Bernard Sleigh, and Mr. Mason for their romantic storytelling in illustrations; Miss Bradley for her creative approach to crowds and groups of children; Miss Winifred Smith for her charming depictions of children; Mrs. Arthur Gaskin for her delightful fanciful interpretations of child life; Miss Mary Newill for her decorative portrayals of natural landscapes, like the lovely drawing of Porlock; and Miss Celia Levetus for her artistic flair. It can be said that, in terms of method, sentiment, and subject matter, this work is distinctly English and represents a genuine effort to apply traditional principles of decoration to book illustration.

Among the recent influences encouraging appreciation for black and white design and book illustrations, mainly from a decorative perspective, the Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society can claim some involvement. They've worked to highlight its significance and promote clear principles through the selection of works for exhibition, as well as through papers and lectures by different members, even if it means coming off as biased and overlooking many talented black and white artists.

Now, when it comes to graphic skill, creativity, and diversity, there’s no doubt about the energy of today’s black and white artists. This is the most dynamic and genuinely popular form of art right now, and it engages with the real lives of people much more than painting does. It’s also completely democratic in its reach and, linked with newspapers and magazines, it’s everywhere—at least wherever there are coins to spend—and often where no other form of art can be found.

But strong visuals and a unique perspective aren't always linked to a refined sense of decoration. In fact, they often stand in contrast to each other. However, good graphic drawing, guided by a sense of style that often emphasizes economy or simplicity of line, can have an ornamental quality.

I should say right away that genuine graphic or realistic drawing, with its own personality and style, is always better than just dull, purely imitative, and bland repetition in what is known as decorative work.

While I believe that certain design elements like layout, scale balance, proportion, quantity, and type relation are crucial for truly beautiful book illustrations, I don’t want to overlook the talent of many modern illustrators who simply focus on being illustrators. They prefer to treat a blank page or any part of it that isn’t occupied by as a perfect space for a graphic sketch, without much consideration for how it relates to the page or the rest of the book, much like an artist feels when they quickly sketch something from life in their sketchbook.

I believe that book illustrations should be more than just a bunch of random sketches. Since we can't overlook the creative and organic aspects involved in making a book—the very idea of the book itself—it's pretty unartistic to ignore these elements when designing something meant to be an essential part of that book.

I don't, however, claim that decorative illustration can only be done in one way—if that were the case, there would be no room for originality or personal expression in that area. There’s nothingabsolute in art, and we can't be overly strict about it, but it seems to me that with all designs, certain conditions need to be recognized and embraced willingly, just like you would accept the rules of a game before trying to play it.

The rules and conditions of a sport or game define its unique character and appeal. By adhering to these, we ultimately gain the most enjoyment and excitement over time. Similarly, by respecting the constraints of an art or craft, we maximize pleasure for the creator and beauty for the observer.

Many notable designers in black and white who express individuality and distinction, with varying degrees of decorative flair, have emerged in recent years. Among them are Messrs. Ricketts and Shannon, whose collaboration on "The Dial" is quite well-known. They have also embraced printing as an art form; Mr. Ricketts designed his own type and engraved his own woodcuts. They are not only excellent craftsmen but also inventive and original artists with remarkable cultivation, imagination, and taste. At times, Mr. Shannon's work shows hints of inspiration from William Blake, while Mr. Ricketts’ work reflects influences from German or Italian woodcuts from the fifteenth century. The intriguing designs of Mr. Reginald Savage are also noteworthy, along with the lovely woodcuts by Mr. Sturge Moore.

Another incredibly notable designer in black and white is Mr. Aubrey Beardsley. His work displays a delicate sense of line and a bold decorative use of solid blacks, along with an extraordinarily strange and grotesque imagination that sometimes seems to lean toward a morbid direction. Although, like most artists, one can identify certain influences that have shaped his style, there is no doubt about his individuality and power. The designs for the work that first made Mr. Beardsley known, I believe the "Morte d'Arthur," are enough to illustrate this. His work has a strong medieval decorative feel mixed with a weirdly curious Japanese-like sense of diablerie and grotesque, reminiscent of an opium dream; but when considered as book decoration, while effective, the overall abstract treatment of line and the use of large areas of black and white suggest designs meant to be executed in another medium, such as inlay or enamel, where they would have the charm of beautiful surface and material and likely look very appealing. Mr. Beardsley shows various influences in his later work in the "Savoy," some of which hint at a study of 18th-century designers like Callot or Hogarth and old English mezzotints.

"The Studio," under the skilled and understanding guidance of Mr. Gleeson White, was the first to highlight Mr. Beardsley's work through Mr. Pennell's writing. It has played an important role in showcasing the development of decorative art both locally and internationally, and has occasionally featured MODERN ILLUSTRATORS.several emerging artists whose designs have reached the public for the first time, such as Mr. Patten Wilson, Mr. Laurence Housman, Mr. Fairfax Muckley, and Mr. Charles Robinson, each with their own unique style: the first is known for bold line drawings in the old German tradition with lots of detail; the second has a remarkable sense of ornamentation, along with a humorous and poetic imagination; the third displays a graceful approach to line and an artistic use of black and white—especially in how trees, branches, leaves, and flowers are depicted alongside figures.

Mr. J. D. Batten has made a name for himself over the years as a creative illustrator of Fairy Tales. In his work, he seems to convey more of the essence of the story-teller than just the decorative aspect overall; his perspective as a painter may not completely satisfy him with just simple black and white. His delightful tempera painting of the sleeping girl and the dwarfs, along with his outstanding printed image of Eve and the serpent, printed by Mr. Fletcher using the Japanese technique, would certainly justify this approach if that’s the case.

Mr. Henry Ford is another artist who has successfully dedicated himself to creating black and white Fairy Tale illustrations, collaborating with the fairy books of various colors published under the magical touch (or pen) of Mr. Andrew Lang. I believe he, too, is more interested in the "epic" rather than the "ornamental" aspect of illustration; he usually displays a lovely poetic imagination.

At the forefront of the new wave of decorative illustrators should be noted Mr. Robert Anning Bell, whose taste and flair for style alone give him a unique position. He has clearly studied the early printers and book decorators from Venice and Florence effectively; not just imitating them, but incorporating his own style of figures and faces, and capturing fresh, natural impressions. He keenly observes the limitations and decorative possibilities in the relationships between line drawing and typography. Many of his designs for "The Midsummer Night's Dream" are charming both as illustrations and as decorative artwork.

The newest book illustrator is probably Mr. Charles Robinson, whose work seems to be full of creativity, although I haven't had enough chances to truly appreciate it yet. He displays unique and sometimes strange imagination, a passion for imaginative architecture, and isn’t afraid to use bold outlines and large white spaces.

Mr. R. Spence displays a lot of energy and creativity. He first made a name for himself with some pen drawings that won the gold medal at the National Competitions at South Kensington, where he showcased a romantic vibe and dramatic intensity in his designs of medieval battles, presented in a powerful way, while maintaining good line quality and visual impact in black and white. His design of the Legend of St. Cuthbert in "The Quarto" is probably the most impressive work he has created. I have the opportunity to show one of his signature battle designs.

Mr. A. Jones also set himself apart around the same time as Mr. Spence in the National Competition, showcasing some dramatic and romantic flair. The design presented reflects a more decorative aspect.

Mr. William Strang, who has established himself in etching as a medium for designs rich in strong character and strange imagination, also demonstrates in his processed pen drawings a bold line and an eye for decorative value, as seen in the designs for "Munchausen," two of which are reproduced here.

The release of "The Evergreen" by Patrick Geddes and his team in Edinburgh has showcased several impactful black and white designers—like Mr. Robert Burns and Mr. John Duncan—who stand out for their decorative styles that clearly reflect fresh inspiration from Nature.

Miss Mary Sargant Florence displays strength and a sense of style in her outline designs for "The Crystal Ball." Mr. Granville Fell should be recognized as part of the new generation of decorative illustrators; and Mr. Paul Woodroffe, who also demonstrates great skill in design and an appreciation for traditional English life in his books of Nursery Rhymes; his recent work reflects considerable refinement in drawing and sensitivity.

Miss Alice B. Woodward should also be recognized for her skillful depiction of medieval life in black and white.

More recently, perhaps the most impressive work in book illustration has been by Mr. E. J. Sullivan, whose striking designs for Carlyle's "Sartor Resartus" are full of energy and personality.

Force and character appear to be the standout qualities in the impressive work of another one of our recent black and white designers, Mr. Nicholson, who also engraves his own pieces.

Mr. Gordon Craig incorporates printing into the arts of black and white design and engraving, and he has a unique style of his own.

The revival of decorative art of all kinds in England over the past 25 years, which seems to be peaking in book design, hasn't gone unnoticed by observant and sympathetic artists and writers across Europe. The work of English artists in this field has been showcased in Germany, Holland, Belgium, and France, and has received notable appreciation and support.

In Belgium, especially, there seems to be a similar artistic movement, and the work of the new generation of English designers has sparked a lot of interest. M. Oliver Georges Destrée's thoughtful literary studies on the English pre-Raphaelites and their followers highlight this. The exhibitions of "XX^e Siècle" and "La libre Æsthetique" in Brussels and Liège also show how highly regarded English designers are.

In Holland, a special collection of designs by English book illustrators has also been showcased in The Hague and other towns, sponsored by M. Loffelt.

In Paris, critics and art writers have been actively discussing the Arts and Crafts movement, the Kelmscott Press, and the school of English book decorators in black and white in various journals. The recent exhibitions of "L'Art Nouveau" and "Le Livre Moderne" in Paris also show the ongoing interest in English art.

Without any empty bragging, it's worth mentioning that while most artistic movements influencing England are usually thought to have been brought in from the Continent, we finally have a true homegrown development in art. Although, when you look at it broadly, country or nationality doesn't matter to art (which is always at its best when it’s cosmopolitan and international) , the history of design still values and holds historic interest in national and local styles, racial traits, and local developments.

We might see the emergence of books like M. Rijsselberghe's Almanack, with its charming line designs from the Dietrich house in Brussels, as a positive reflection of English sensibilities. M. Fernand Knopff's work, though original, aligns with the later English movement of poetic and decorative design that D. G. Rossetti can be credited as the pioneer of, even though I'm not sure he made significant contributions to book illustration itself. In Holland, among black and white designs, there are M. G. W. Dijsselhof and M. R. N. Roland Holst.

In Germany, there are original and powerful artists like Josef Sattler and Franz Stück. Sattler seems to inherit much of the grim and stern humor of the old German masters, as well as their sense of character and handling of lines, while still having his own distinct personality. Sattler has a clear Gothic sympathy, whereas Stück leans more towards the pagan or classical style, with his centaurs and graces drawn with great emotion and character. We've already mentioned the "Munich Calendar," designed by Otto Hupp, which is well known for the energy and spirit with which the artist has worked in the old German style, using bold heraldic designs and effectively blending color with line work. The name Seitz appears on some skillfully designed allegorical figures, including one of Gutenberg at his press.

"Jugend," a richly illustrated magazine published in Munich by Dr. Hirth, demonstrates that there are many talented artists with a more or less decorative approach to illustration. In some cases, the work may seem overly exaggerated with a grotesque or morbid flair, but overall, there's an abundance of vibrant life, humor, quirky imagination, and the energetic spirit that defines South Germany.

"Ver Sacrum," the journal of the "Secession" artists from Vienna, shows a lot of boldness and creativity in black and white drawing, primarily with an impressionistic or visual focus.

M. Larisch from Vienna has made a name for himself with his works on the artistic design and spacing of letters, showcasing examples from various artists, both from the continent and England.

French artists involved in all kinds of decoration have been heavily influenced by the Japanese style, approaching design from an impressionistic, dramatic, or individualistic perspective. As a result, the stricter standards imposed by a refined taste in ornamental art don't seem to capture their interest much. It appears that the dramatic element is always the dominant force in French art, which, while able to work in harmony with the instinct for ornamentation, is rarely found perfectly balanced with it. When it is present, it usually takes precedence. The older classical or Renaissance decorative styles of artists like Galland and Puvis de Chavannes seem to be fading, while the modern chic and boldness of a Cheret appears to be more representative of the current trend.

Yet, on the other hand, within the newer French School, we find an artist with meticulous methods and a strong sense of decoration like Grasset, which I would refer to as the architectural side in contrast to the impressionistic. His work, while distinctly French in spirit and feeling, is much more similar in approach to our English decorative school. In fact, many of Grasset's designs suggest that he has done what our artists have done: studied the art of the Middle Ages from the remnants in his own country and combined this foundation with the tools and feelings of a modern artist.

In his book illustrations, he seems, as far as I know, to prefer straightforward illustrations rather than decorative ones, showing great archaeological insight as well as romantic sentiment in designs like those for "Les Cinq Fils d'Aymon." The lack of book decoration in the English sense in France may stem from a deficiency in beauty or artistic sensibility in the typographer's work. Modern French type has generally taken on elongated and thin shapes that don’t suggest a rich decorative effect and don’t blend well with design. Also, from what I've observed, there doesn’t seem to be much appreciation among designers for the artistic value of lettering or any serious effort to create better forms. The poster artist, who you would think would find the importance of good lettering appealing for his work, generally destroys the Roman alphabet or uses extremely degraded and unattractive versions.

More recently, though, French designers and printers seem to be focusing on the topic, and new typefaces are coming out; one company in Paris has released a typeface designed by Eugene Grasset.

The charming designs of Boutet de Monvel should be recognized as some of the most unique modern French book illustrations, due to their meticulous drawing and decorative style. However, since they are in color, they don't quite fit into the same category as the works we've discussed, and the relationship between the text and the images could be improved.

A respect for form and style in lettering is, I believe, one of the clearest signs of good decorative sense. A true ornamental instinct can create a great decorative effect using just a collection of good type or handwritten lettering. When viewed as complements or accessories to a design, they are incredibly valuable, as they provide opportunities for contrast or repetition in mass or line with other elements in the composition. For the decorative illustrator of books, they are the basic unit or foundational element from which they begin.

The publication in Venice of "L'Arte della stampa nel Renascimento Italiano Venezia," by Ferd. Ongania—a collection of reproductions of woodcuts, ornaments, initials, title pages, and more from some of the finest early books by Venetian and Florentine printers—might be seen as a sign of the growing interest in book decoration in the country, unless, like other works, it is mainly aimed at foreign visitors.

A beautifully printed quarterly on Art, which recently launched in Rome, "Il Convito," appears to focus on the decorative aspect and doesn’t limit its discussion on illustrations to Italian art. It also features reproductions from the works of D. G. Rossetti and Elihu Vedder's designs for "The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam."

Certainly, if having countless treasures of beautifully crafted decorative art and the legacy of ancient schools encourages and inspires original creativity, one would think it should be easier for Italian artists than those from other countries to bring back some of the former decorative beauty seen in the works of their printers and designers during the times of Aldus and Ratdolt, and the Bellini and Botticelli.

It doesn't seem to be enough just to have the seed; otherwise, you could argue that wherever there's a museum, creative art will flourish too. It's essential to have the right soil; to cultivate and plant, and then to remain patient for a long time before the new growth shows up, and before it ripens and can be harvested. In other words, art comes from life, not from death.

Artists can draw ideas or inspiration from the past or the present; it doesn't really matter, as long as their work is alive and beautiful—essentially, as long as it feels organic.

I have already mentioned the movement in Boston among a group of educated young men—Mr. Lee the printer and his colleagues—who were somewhat inspired by "The Hobby Horse" and the Kelmscott Press, which led to the printing of "The Knight Errant."

Some years before, however, Mr. Howard Pyle distinguished himself as a decorative artist in book designs, which displayed, alongside other more modern influences, a significant study of Albert Dürer’s techniques. I’ve included a reproduction that somewhat suggests the effect of the famous copperplate of Erasmus. He sometimes employs a lighter style, as seen in the illustrations for "The One Horse Shay."

Recently, in his magazine illustrations, Mr. Pyle has started using the modern wash technique, or painting in black and white. While effective in its own right, this approach clearly loses a lot of its individuality and decorative appeal.

Another artist with a lot of creativity and decorative skill has recently emerged in America, Mr. Will.U.S. Artists. H. Bradley, whose designs for "The Inland Printer" of Chicago are notable for their meticulous and delicate line work, and effective use of black and white, reflecting the influence of the newer English school along with a Japanese touch.

t may not hurt to add a few words as a summary of the general principles we seem to naturally arrive at through the line of thought I have been following on the topic of book decoration.

As I’ve mentioned, there’s nothing final or absolute in design. It’s all about ongoing rearrangement, readjustment, and modification, or even transformation of certain elements. It’s like an imaginative chemistry of forms, shapes, lines, and quantities, constantly creating new combinations. However, each artistic challenge needs to be addressed on its own terms, and since each one is different and raises new questions, there can’t be strict rules or principles that apply to every situation. Still, as a result of experience, some general guiding principles are useful, acting like charts and compasses to help designers navigate their work.

To start with, the huge variety in style, purpose, and size of books makes it hard to apply clear principles. You have to focus on a specific book with a certain character and size.

Apart from the completely personal questions about choosing a topic, motivation, feelings, or emotions, think about the conditions of the book page. Take an octavo page—like one of the pages in this volume.

Although we might view the open book with double columns as the main page, when illustrating a book, we may sometimes need to treat them as single pages. But whether it's single or double, each has its limits in the mass of type that forms the full page or column, which defines the dimensions of the designer's panel. The entire panel or any part of it can be filled with design, and one key principle in the decorative treatment of a book is to see any space not occupied by type as an appropriate area for additional or finishing design—such as at the ends of chapters, where there's often some blank space on the type page.

Unless we're creating our own typeface or designing our lettering as part of the overall design, the style and shape of the type will serve as a reference point for how bold or prominent our accompanying designs and decorations should be. For example, one would typically steer clear of using heavy blacks and thick lines with a light, open typeface, or vice versa—light, open styles with very bold type. (However, it's worth noting that light, open pen work can have a refined and rich appearance when paired with black letters sometimes.)

My personal perspective—and design should always ultimately rely on individual insight—is to recognize the rectangular shape of the type page in the design itself; even in a vignette, by allowing certain lines to reach the edges, creating a sense of rectangular control and compactness, similar to the tail-piece shown here from "The Faerie Queene."

But first, if we can, let's start with the "end paper," as it’s interestingly called; this is the lining of the book. The challenge here is to cover two pages completely in a way that’s suggestive and pleasing, but not too flashy. One approach is to create a repeating pattern similar to a small printed fabric or a mini wallpaper, in one or more colors. It’s appropriate to have something subtly hinting at the character and content of the book, but nothing that overshadows the actual illustrations. It can be seen as a sort of courtyard, entryway, or even a small garden or patch of grass in front of the door.

We aren't meant to stick around here for too long, but should find some clue or motivation to dive into the book. The owner's coat of arms (if they're into heraldry and want to gently remind anyone borrowing the book to return it) might be shown here—the bookplate.

If we're going to be fun and extravagant, if the book is for Christmas or for kids, we might jot down a whimsical idea on the blank pages before we stop briefly, with a respectful yet curious mindset, at the half-title. After reading this, we're meant to move on with a bit of anticipation until we reach the double doors, where the full title is revealed in all its glory.

Even here, though, the entire secret of the book shouldn't be revealed but rather played with or suggested symbolically, especially in any decoration on the title page, where the lettering should be the main decorative element. A frontispiece can be more illustrative in style if preferred, and it makes sense to use the entire type page for both the title lettering and the front picture; if a rich effect is desired, the margin can also be filled almost to the edge of the paper with enclosing borders, the width of these borders varying according to the different widths of the paper margin, and in the same proportions, recto and verso as needed, with the broad side facing outward to the edge of the book on both sides.

This is a design used in the opening of the Kelmscott books, with "The Glittering Plain," presented here, serving as an example. While Mr. Morris places his title page on the left to face the start of the first chapter and doesn't include a frontispiece, he achieves a strikingly rich and varied effect of black and white in his larger title pages by using bold black Gothic lettering in the center panel; or, as seen in the Kelmscott Chaucer, white letters set against a floral arabesque tailored to fit the space, filled with a lighter floral pattern in open lines, and surrounded by a rich black and white border.

If I can refer back to my own work, in the designs for "The Faerie Queene," all the full-page designs are crafted as figure design panels or pictures, and they're surrounded by imaginative borders, which feature or hint at secondary events involving characters from the poem, somewhat similar to medieval tapestries. A smaller version of one of these is shown above.

A full-page design can be enclosed and separated from the text pages, allowing it to convey a stronger message and have a greater impact than the decorations on the text page. This is similar to how illuminated manuscripts featured intricate miniatures set within bordering designs around large initial letters, creating a broad framework that extended into light floral scrolls or leaves along the margins, seamlessly integrating with the text.

Much depends on the décor. With the right style, a beautiful, simple, and wide effect can be achieved by using outlines only, both for the figure designs or images and the actual ornament.

The well-known designs of the "Hypnerotomachia Poliphili," 1499, serve as an example of this approach; as do the "Fasciculus Medicinæ," 1495, "Æsop's Fables," 1493, and other books from the Venetian printers around this time or earlier, which are typically noted for the high quality of their outlines and the elegance and beauty of their decorations.

One of the most effective decorative black and white page borders comes from 1478, enclosing a page of Roman type, (see illustration, Venice, 1478, Pomponius Mela). It features a winding design of a rose-stem leaf and flower, white against a black background, originating from a circle in the wide margin at the bottom, which contains two coats of arms. This is a fairly well-known but incredibly valuable example.

The opening chapter of a book gives the designer a chance to create a decorative impact by combining ornament with text. They can place a figure design in a frieze-shaped panel (about a quarter of the page) for the title and emphasize it with a bold initial letter designed in a square. From this, stems and leaves of an arabesque can emerge, highlighting the letter and perhaps weaving up and down the margins, connecting the title with the initial. The initialed page from "The Faerie Queene" serves as an example of this approach. Incorporating the title or any chapter heading into the design of the title has a positive effect.

Harmony between type, illustration, and ornament can never be completely perfect unless the lettering is designed and created as part of the whole, or unless the type is designed by the artist. It requires a significant amount of careful and patient work (unless the inscriptions are very short) that few would be willing to undertake, and it would essentially mean going back to the principle of the block book.

Even today, books are still completely made by hand, and honestly, if beauty were the only goal, we couldn't do better than the methods used by the scribes, illuminators, and miniaturists of the Middle Ages. But the world demands many copies (at least in some cases), and artists have to get along with the printing press if they want to make a living. It would be amazing if every book were unique—a dream for collectors! Maybe it would also be a good idea at this point for authors to retrain as scribes (in the traditional sense) and write out their own works in beautiful handwriting! It would really elevate literary style!

There’s no doubt that designers in the past put a lot of effort into creating letters.

Albrecht Dürer, in his "Geometrica," for example, provides a detailed method for drawing Roman capitals, and he certainly creates a beautiful alphabet in that style of lettering, seemingly inspired by ancient Roman inscriptions. He does the same for the black letters as well.[10]

For the Roman capitals, he starts with a square and divides it into four equal parts for the letter A. The horizontal line in the center creates the crossbar. The sides of the square are divided into eighths, and one eighth is marked at the top of the vertical dividing line. Another eighth is measured from each bottom corner of the square to these points to create the legs of the A; the upstroke and crossbar are one-sixteenth thick, while the downstroke is one-eighth of the square's thickness. Circles with a diameter of one-fourth of the square are drawn at the top of the A where the legs meet and at the lower corners to form the outside serifs of the feet. The inside serifs are made with circles of one-sixteenth diameter, completing the A. Several subdivisions of the square are provided as guides for creating other letters that are less symmetrical, and different forms are shown for some letters, like O, R, Q, and S. However, the same proportions of thick and thin strokes are maintained, and the same method is used to create the serifs.

For the black letter (lower case German) text, the proportions are five squares for the short letters i, n, m, u, with the space between the strokes of a letter like u being one-third the thickness of the stroke. The top and bottom are each covered with one square, set diagonally. Eight squares are used for the long letters l, h, b; the tops are cut off diagonally, and the feet are turned diagonally.

This is interesting because it demonstrates the attention to detail and sense of balance that can go into creating lettering. It also provides a clear standard. The division into eighths and fourths in Roman capitals is significant as well, particularly in relation to the eight-head standard of proportion for the human body. Additionally, the square base brings to mind Vitruvius and his explanation of how the human figure fits within a square and a circle when the limbs are extended.

Those who want to learn about the history of lettering should definitely check out Mr. Strange's book on "Alphabets" in this series.

It might be possible to create a real theory about the geometric relationship between figure design, decorative shapes, and text or type applied to them, but we are more focused on the freedom of artistic creativity, which no geometric rules can replace. The creativity and design come first, and the rules and principles are figured out later to validate and secure their accuracy—if only they didn't sometimes stifle their energy!

I have talked about how to handle headings and initials at the start of a chapter. When deciding on this kind of layout, the designer is somewhat committed to maintaining it throughout the book, and it would be wise to ensure that the decorative spaces, as well as the style, treatment, and size of the initials, match in similar places. This would still allow for plenty of room for creative details.

The next type of shape he could use is the half-page, which is usually a pleasing size for a figure design. When repeated on the opposite page or in a column, it creates the impression of a continuous frieze, which is quite helpful for a series of figures. The small gap created by the center margin isn't a problem.

The same approach can be used when you want to create a full-page design across the spread or match it with a similar design on the opposite page.

Then we come to the space at the end of the chapter. Personally, I can never resist the chance to add a little extra if it’s going to be a fully illustrated work, though some might leave it completely alone or appreciate the blank space for a break. I think leaving it blank at the end of the chapter is too abrupt. The emptiness, the silence, feels too lifeless; it would be nice to have some lingering echo, some thought that connects back to the text. This is where the designer can shine. It’s a tricky spot, like someone who is expected to say just the right thing at the perfect moment. Not too much, and not too little. A sharp mind and a light touch will definitely help the artist here.

Page terminations or tailpieces can vary greatly in design, and their style can match or differ from the overall decorations of the book. Some types tend to repeat, but while the bases might be similar, the creative aspects can change as much as we want. There’s what I would refer to as the mouse-tail termination, which is shaped by a gradually narrowing line that starts at the width of the text and finishes at a point. Printers have accomplished this with decreasing lines of text, culminating in a single word or an aldine leaf.

Then there's the idea of confidently closing off the section, so to speak, by placing a design panel across or filling the entire remaining page. This serves more as an extra illustration to continue the story and could be a narrow strip like a frieze, or a half or three-quarter page design depending on the space available.

There is the inverted triangular design, and the shield or hatchment shape. The garland or the spray, sprig, leaf, or dot, or the pen flourish elevated into an arabesque.

The medallion shape, or seal design, is often a fitting way to conclude a chapter, where a contained figure or symbol is needed. One principle for designing standalone ornaments is helpful: arrange the subject so that its edges touch an elegant boundary or enclosing shape, whether that boundary is created by actual lines or framework. Floral, leaf, and shield shapes are usually the best, but they should be fluid, not rigidly geometric. The importance of a certain economy of lines can't be overstated, and recognizing the need for lines to recur and resonate in the details of main motifs in line and mass is crucial. It is largely on these subtle elements that decorative success and harmony rely, and they are particularly closely tied to the harmonious arrangement of type and ornamental illustration that we've been discussing.

It would be simple to write pages of detailed analysis of existing designs from this perspective, but designs, for those who truly appreciate them, should communicate in their own language more effectively than any written explanation or commentary. And while there’s no limit to the number of books that can be made, each book must come to a conclusion, even if that conclusion, at least for the writer, feels like just the beginning.

Chap. IV. Of the Recent Development, etc., p. 189. Along with the names of the modern printers and presses mentioned in this chapter, we should also include the names of several artists who have made a mark in the field of artistic printing since the Kelmscott Press.

Mr. Cobden Sanderson has shifted his focus from the exterior design of books to the interior, and, in partnership with Mr. Emery Walker, whose technical expertise and taste were incredibly valuable at the Kelmscott Press, has established "The Doves Press" in Hammersmith. They have released books notable for the straightforward elegance of their typography, largely inspired by Jenson.

Mr. St. John Hornby also deserves recognition, especially for his revival of a beautiful Italian type inspired by the work of Sweynheim and Pannartz, the first printers in Italy. The Greek type created by the late Robert Proctor, based on the Alcala font used in the New Testament of the Complutensian Polyglot Bible of 1514, should be noted as the only modern effort to enhance Greek printing, aside from Mr. Selwyn Image's, which may have been compromised by being cut very small to meet commercial needs.

Mr. C. R. Ashbee has also set up a large printing press, "The Essex House Press," which he later moved to Chipping Camden. He received help from several workers from the Kelmscott Press and has published many beautifully printed books in recent years, including the Benvenuto Cellini, as well as elaborate works like Edward VI's Prayer Book, featuring wood engravings, initials, and decorations, all alongside type of his own design.

An interesting series of English poets, along with frontispieces by different artists, has been published by this press.

P. 218. The death of Aubrey Beardsley, since the notice of his work was written, needs to be mentioned, and it seems that the loss of this remarkable artist signals the decline of our modern decadents.

A possibly equally impressive designer, though, whose work shares some similarities with Beardsley's, is Mr. James Syme, whose work hasn’t been mentioned in this book yet. He has a strong and unique imagination linked to grotesque and satirical designs, along with considerable talent in using line and black and white effects.

P. 267. When discussing book illustrators in France, M. Boutet de Monvel deserves significant recognition. His delicate drawings, tasteful color choices, and eye for decorative effects, along with his extensive variety of costumes and skilled portrayal of crowds, shine in his recent work "Ste. Jean d'Arc." However, there isn't a specific connection made between the illustrations and the text.

P. 268. A recent example of the revival of taste in book design and artistic printing in Italy highlights the impact of the English movement. I'm referring to the edition of Gabriele d'Annunzio's "Francesca da Rimini" with illustrations—more accurately, decorations—by Adolphus de Karolis, published by Fratelli Treves in 1902. This book clearly reflects both a study of recent English works and an appreciation of the early printers of Venice. It’s interesting how artists from one country can rediscover an admiration for a particular era of their own historical art through influences from abroad. Among the original designers in modern Italy, G. M. Mataloni stands out for his impressive skills in drawing and creativity, primarily showcased through posters and ex-libris.

Italy also has a skilled critic and chronicler of the work of book designers from all over, in Sig. Vittorio Pica from Naples. His book "Attraverso gli Albi e le Cartelle" (Istituto Italiano d'arti grafiche editore Bergamo) is quite comprehensive.

In Vienna, Professor Larisch recently published a book of alphabets created by various European artists, with representation from Germany, France, Italy, and England. The group of Viennese artists known as the "Secession" has released "Ver Sacrum," a monthly journal or magazine that features original designs from various artists, primarily focused on book decoration. Recently, the designs have tended to either adopt a pretentious sense of primitiveness and childlike simplicity or veer into the most eccentric and bizarre styles.

Abbey, Edwin, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Aesop's Fables (Venice, 1493), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

(Ulm, 1498), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

—— (Naples, 1485), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

"Aglaia," cover for, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Alciati's Emblems, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Aldus, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__.

Dürer's Alphabet, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Alphabets (Bell, 1894), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Amman, Jost, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

American Wood Engraving, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Andersen's Fairy Tales (Allen, 1893), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Anglo-Saxon manuscripts, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, et seq.

Apocalypse, MS., 14th Century, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Arabian Nights (Dent, 1893), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Arndes, Steffen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Art at Home (Macmillan, 1876), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__-__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Arundel Psalter, manuscript, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Aulus Gellius (Venice, 1509), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Bämler, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Bateman, Robert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__-__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Batten, J. D., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Beardsley, Aubrey, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__.

Beauty and the Beast (Dent, 1894), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Bedford Hours, MS., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Beham, Hans Sebald, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Bell, R. A., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Bellini, Giovanni, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Bernard, Solomon, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Bewick, Thomas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Bible (Cologne, 1480), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

—— (Lübeck, 1494), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

—— (Mainz, 1455), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

—— (Frankfort, 1563), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Bible Cuts (Holbein), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Birmingham School, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Blake, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__-__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Block Books, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Blomfield, Reginald, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Boccaccio's De Claris Mulieribus (Ulm, 1473), 7, 11; (Ferrara, 1497), 54.

Cool dude, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Book of Carols (Allen, 1893), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Books of Hours, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__.

Borders, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Bracebridge Hall (Macmillan, 1877), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Bradley, Gertrude M., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

—— Will. H., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__.

Brown, Ford Madox, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Buch von den Sieben Todsünden (Augsburg, 1474), 15.

Burgmair, Hans, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__.

Burne-Jones, Sir Edward, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Burns, Robert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Caesenas, Stephen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Caldecott, Randolph, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Calepinus, Ambrosius, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Calvert, Edward, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__-__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

"Card-Basket Style," The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Carroll, Lewis, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Castle, Egerton, *English Book-plates*, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Caxton, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Chaucer (Kelmscott Press, 1896), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Cheret, M., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Child's Garden of Verse (Lane, 1895), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Kids' Books, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

China, Early Printing, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Chiswick Press, The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Chodowiecki, D., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Christ, Life of (Antwerp, 1487), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Chronicle of the Saxons (Mainz, 1492), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Chronica Hungariæ (Augsburg, 1488), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Cinderella (Dent, 1894), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

The Five Sons of Aymon, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Clark, R. and R., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Columna, Francisco, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Constable, T. and A., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Contes Drolatiques, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

"Convito," The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Copper-plate engraving, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

"Cornhill," The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Cousin Jean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Craig, Gordon, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Cranach, Lucas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Crane, Walter, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_10__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_11__.

Cremonese, P., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

The Crystal Ball (Bell, 1894), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

"Daily Chronicle," Illustrations in the, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Dalziel Brothers, The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Dalziel's Bible Gallery, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Dance of Death (Holbein's, 1538), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Daniel H. Rev., of Oxford, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Dante, Divine Comedy MS., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Dante (Venice, 1491), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Daphnis and Chloe (Vale Press, 1893), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Davis, Louis, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Day, Lewis, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

De Claris Mulieribus (Ulm, 1473), 7, 11; (Ferrara, 1497), 54.

De Colines, Simon, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

De Gregoriis, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

On the History of Plants (Basel, 1542), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Descent of Minerva, The (1508), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Destrée, Oliver Georges, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

De Vinne Press, The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

"Call," The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Dictes and Sayings of the Philosophers (1477), 80.

Dijsselhof, G. W., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Dinckmut, Conrad, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Discovery of the Indies, The (Florence, 1493), 57.

Doré, Gustave, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Duff, Gordon, *Early Printed Books*, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Duncan, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Du Pré, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Dürer, Albrecht, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__; his Geometrica, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__.

Early Italian Poets (Smith, Elder, 1861), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Edgar, King, Newminster Charter, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Emblem Books, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__.

Endpapers, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

"English Illustrated Magazine," The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__.

Evans, Edmund, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

"Evergreen," The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__.

"Ex-Libris Series," The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Finé, Oronce, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Fasciculus Medicinæ (Venice, 1495), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Fell, H. Granville, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Feyrabend, Sigm., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Fior di Virtù (Florence, 1493?), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Flach, Martin, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Flaxman, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Flemish School, 15th Century, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Florence, Mary Sargant, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Ford, Henry, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Formal Garden, The (Macmillan, 1892), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Foster, Birket, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

France, Contemporary Illustration in, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Frangilla (Elkin Mathews, 1895), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

French manuscripts, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

French School, 15th Century, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__.

Frontispieces, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Froschover, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Fuchsius, De Historia Stirpium (Basel, 1542), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Gaskin, Arthur, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Mrs., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Georgius de Rusconibus, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Gerard's Herbal, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Gere, C. M., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

German School, 15th Century, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_10__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_11__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_12__.

16th Century, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__-__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__.

Germany, Early Printing, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Modern Illustration in, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Gesner, Conrad, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Gilbert, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Giolito, G., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Giovio's Emblems, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Girolamo da Cremona, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Glittering Plain, The (Kelmscott Press, 1894), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Goblin Market (Macmillan, 1862), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

"Positive Words for the Youth," __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

The Gospels, in Latin, MS., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Grasset, M., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Greenaway, Kate, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Grimani Breviary, The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Grimm's Fairy Tales (Macmillan, 1882), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Grün, Hans Baldung, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__.

Halberstadt Bible, The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Hardouyn, Gillet, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Harvey, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Herbs, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Hero and Leander (Vale Press, 1894), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

"The Hobby Horse," __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Hogarth, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Hokusai, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Holbein, Hans, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__.

Ambrose, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Holiday, Henry, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Holland, Illustrated in, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Holst, R. N. Roland, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Horne, H. P., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Hortulus Animæ (Strasbourg, 1511), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__.

Hortus Sanitatis (Mainz, 1491), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

House of Joy, The (Kegan Paul, 1895), 231.

Housman, Laurence, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Hughes, Arthur, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__-__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Hunt, Holman, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Hunting of the Snark, The, (Macmillan, 1876), 154.

Huon of Bordeaux (Allen, 1895), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Hupp, Otto, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Illuminated manuscripts, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__-10 et seq.

Image, Selwyn, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Indulgences (Mainz, 1454), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

"Inland Printer," The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Isingrin, Palma, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Italian manuscripts, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Italian School, 15th Century, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__-__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

—— —— 16th Century, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__-__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__.

Italy, Modern Illustration in, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Japan, Early Printing in, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Japanese Illustration, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__-__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Jones, A. Garth, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

"Youth," __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Keene, Charles, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Kells, The Book of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Kelmscott Press, The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__.

Kerver, Thielman, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

King Wenceslas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Little Passion, The (1512), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__.

"Knight Errant," The (Boston), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Knopff, Fernand, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Kreuterbuch (Strasburg, 1551), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Larisch, M., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Lawless, M. J., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Leeu, Gheraert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Leiden Christi (Bamberg, 1470), __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Leighton, Sir Frederic, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Lettering, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Levetus, Celia, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Liberale from Verona, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Linnell, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Linton, W. J., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__-__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__.

Lübeck Bible, The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Macdonald's At the Back of the North Wind (Strahan, 1871), 159-161.

Mainz, Early Printing at, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Indulgences, The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

—— Psalter, The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Margins, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Marks, H. S., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Mason, F., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.

Matthiolus, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Mazarine Bible, The, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.

Voyage to Viln Unrecognized Islands (Augsburg, 1509), 105.