With the invention and practice of printing, it was natural that the character of bookbinding should change. Aldus and the Aldine Press in Venice stimulated a demand for bindings which should be in keeping with the artistic beauty of the typography and the printed sheets. Printing, "like Minerva, was born fully armed," and the sister art of binding, which clothed the body of the precocious child, could not, in justice, start out on any lower level! Take one of those early examples and, as you caress it, see what an effect the binder has gained by coördinating a few simple. elements, repeated in such a way as to produce an astonishing richness of design: just a few simple tools (cut die-sunk, like a seal, which leave the lines raised) with which the workman plotted out his pattern, all in "blind," by impressing the leather with heated tools, without gold. The leather was usually kept in the natural brown, but sometimes it was stained black or dark olive.

Venice in the fifteenth century was the home of the Book, and thus attracted binders from Arabia and Greece. What could be more natural than that the Aldine covers should reflect in their patterns the designs which clothed the walls of Eastern mosques? Or did Aldus get the idea of corded and dotted borders from the bindings of the manuscripts which flooded Italy after the fall of Constantinople? This influence also suggested the first use of gold, the introduction of which revolutionized the art of binding, and supplied the artist workman with means for further expression of his sense of decoration. But now his tools had to be cut on exactly the opposite principle from those required for "blind" work-for the gold lines had to be depressed below the surface of the leather. The gold leaf was laid on the leather and was fixed in the sunken pattern by the pressure and heat of the metal tool, the superfluous gold leaf being later rubbed off, just as is the practice today, even with stamped bindings. How I have enjoyed studying the knots and the small Aldine leaves surrounded by borders of figured and Arabic knotted work! All so simple, yet so effective-made by hand with tools fashioned to express the artistic feeling of the binder. How wonderful that in its infancy the art of binding should have

shown principles so basically correct that the intervening centuries could contribute. almost nothing to them!

I was particularly struck by the fact that the glory of the Italian binding, which came in the early part of the sixteenth century, should be largely due to the patronage of Jean Grolier, a Frenchman, even as Nicolas Jenson, another Frenchman, added to Italy's early fame in printing. The "Grolier bindings" are so famous that Grolier himself is sometimes spoken of as an early craftsman. He was a scholar and a collector of books, and the volumes that bear his name were executed for him and under his direction, but there is nothing to indicate that he even dabbled in the work himself.

Grolier is a favorite hero of mine. He was born in Lyons in 1479, but his family came from Verona, so he scarcely felt himself a foreigner when he succeeded his father as Treasurer of the Duchy of Milan under Louis XII. He was but thirty-one years old at this time, yet he had already developed a passionate love for books and an uncanny vision of what constituted a well-made volume. Two years later he met the patriarchal Aldus Manutius, and from that moment began the younger man's friendly patronage of the Aldine Press. Grolier came to know Andrea de Torresani, father-in-law of Aldus, and thus became intimate with Andrea's two sons, Francesco and Ferderico. Several volumes from the Aldine Press were dedicated to Grolier in grateful acknowledgment of his financial assistance in times of stress, and wide-margin copies of all the Aldine publications were reserved for his library.

With the books well printed, Grolier's next concern was to clothe them properly, and the volumes which bear on their front Cover the inscription 10. GROLIERII ET AMICORUM represent the best of the Italian art. This interesting legend conveys Grolier's understanding of what a book should be-not a thing simply to be acquired, but a living message to be absorbed and shared. To make sure that his friends should be able to enjoy with him the volumes he loved, Grolier's library of some 8000 volumes contained several copies of the same title, similarly bound, which were freely distributed to such fellow booklovers as Marc Lauwrin, Christophe de Thou,

Maioli, Claude du Puy, and Geoffroi Tory. In his Champfleury, Tory records the fact that while he was dreaming on his bed “and revolving my memory, thinking of a thousand little fancies, serious and gay, I thought of some antique letters I had made for Monseigneur the Treasurer for War, Master Jehan Grolier, counsellor and secretary of our lord the King, amateur of fine letters," which makes it possible that the great French artist and engraver is responsible for some of the Grolier pat

terns.

The volumes in Grolier's library, in his Paris residence, the Hôtel de Lyon, near the Porte de Buci, were the first known to have been especially executed for a private individual. They were covered with the finest quality of reddish-brown or olivegreen morocco from Africa and the Levant, secured for the fastidious connoisseur by that famous merchant, Jehan Colombel, of Avignon; or with brown calf of equally high grade, sometimes mottled with black. With the exception of one manuscript, the books were all printed, and included the best of the classical and Italian authors. After Grolier's death the library remained forgotten for over a century. When it was disposed of at last by Grolier's descendants, in 1676, Esprit Fléchier, Bishop of Nismes, secured ten volumes, which, in turn, were sold in England in 1725 together with Fléchier's other books. This was the first appearance of the Grolier volumes in the market, and they brought ridiculously low prices until after 1800, when their real value began to be appreciated. Of the eight thousand copies, only 350 titles have been traced.

My first intimate acquaintance with the Grolier bindings came years ago through my old friend, Dr. Guido Biagi. We were together one day in the Biblioteca Laurenziana in Florence, of which he was then librarian, and were talking of binding in general. I asked him what example he considered most characteristic of the best Italian work. Without a moment's hesitation he replied,

"One here in this library, done for Grolier. I will show it to you.'

Presently the attendant returned with the volume in his hand.

"This," said Biagi, handing it to me, "will interest you beyond the binding, for

it is the identical manuscript from which the first edition of Castiglione's Il Libro del Cortegiano was set at the Aldine Press in 1528.-See," he added, pointing to the first page, "there is Grolier's name, written by Paulus Manutius, and the instructions to the compositor!"

I took it reverently in my hands, studying the written characters of the old sixteenth-century author, which were to create such a sensation when they finally appeared in book form. There were the words In maiuscule written in the Aldine office four hundred years ago, telling the compositor to set the first line in capital letters; and the inscription, also written by Aldus' son Paulus, per Mons' Grolier, Tresorer.

The manuscript has a story all its own. It was presented to Grolier by the Venetian printers in recognition of his great services to the craft, and he gratefully enclosed it in a fitting cover. Later the volume was catalogued in the Bibliothèque de Carpentras, at Lyons, but in 1842 it disappeared. Eventually, this identical manuscript was purchased by a Monsieur Yemeniz of Lyons for about 500 francs from M. LibriCarucci. Inasmuch as Monsieur Libri had been inspector of libraries, there was a strong enough presumption of appropriation to warrant a criminal charge being brought against him. After various vicissitudes, and after passing through several hands, the volume came into the possession of Lord Ashburnham. Fortunately it was returned to Italy when the Italian government, in 1884, purchased nearly two thousand manuscripts from Lord Ashburnham, and placed them in the Biblioteca Laurenziana at Florence.

As a matter of fact, I consider other volumes more instructive than this in comparing the tools used on the Aldine, the Grolier, and on the volumes bound for that mysterious connoisseur of the same period, Tommaso Maioli. Except for his wonderful library, this name would be entirely unknown, yet because of it Maioli is an imposing though mythical figure in the Kingdom of Books. Whoever he was, he appropriated Grolier's idea of an inscription on the covers of his books, and the words THO. MAIOLI ET AMICORUM appear on some of the most beautiful of existing volumes. The fact that Maioli examples were found in Grolier's library,

and Grolier bindings in Maioli's collection, would seem to indicate that these two great friends of the Book were at least known to each other.

However this may be, the volumes bound for Aldus, Grolier, and Maioli constitute the well-substantiated claim of Italy to supremacy in the art during the fifteenth and well into the sixteenth century. Each style is distinctly individual yet each is reminiscent of the other two. The early Aldine tools were solid, like the type used upon his presses; Maioli cut these also in outline, while Grolier, taking a middle ground, used shaded or so-called azured tools. These are used profusely on the cover of the Cortegiano. Maioli's designs show flowing scroll-work, beautifully executed, with graceful curves interlaced with the framework. This framework consists of curves instead of the characteristic geometric lines used by Grolier.

Maioli frequently enriched his background with dots; on the Grolier covers the interlaced framework is made the design itself, and a mosaic effect is secured by coloring or inlaying the band spaces between the lines. In his later bindings he introduced flaming scroll work resembling that on the Maioli covers. Or did Maioli copy Grolier?

The tooling on the early Italian bindings, freely executed, occasionally results in broken joints. This has been a subject of some criticism, particularly on the part of later French binders; but is it not the inevitable slight variation in hand work that robs it of the monotony seen in the precision of machine stamping, and does this not add to the charm? "Thou must observe," said Marcus Aurelius, "that whatsoever it is that naturally doth happen to things natural, hath somewhat in itself that is pleasing and attractive."

WISH I had a good book book to read," remarked a friend of mine, as we sat in an Adirondack train bound from Albany to Lake Placid.

"There may be a man along soon, selling books and magazines," I replied.

"I didn't say I wanted to buy a book," replied my friend. "I merely want a book to read while I am on the train. I do not want an extra package to carry when I get off the train.”

"You could buy it and read it and leave it on the train, if you do not want to be burdened with the extra package at the end of the trip," I replied a bit wickedly; for I knew that few persons could bring themselves to pay for a thing and discard it. It isn't human nature, any more than it is to go out in the middle of a play once

one has paid for a ticket, no matter how boring the play may be.

My friend answered my thought. "Does anyone ever throw anything away?" he asked. "Look at the magazines people tote about with them because they have bought them and can not bring themselves to discard them. How often we see a person struggling with a suitcase, a traveling bag, an overcoat and three or four slippery, bulky magazines which slide and fall whenever the man takes an unguarded step. No; I couldn't discard the book and furthermore, as you probably have guessed right along, I do not want to pay two or three dollars for a book to read just thru our trip."

"That is a feeling I can understand." I said. "Let's talk to the man who sells books, candies and magazines and see if he has anything to suggest."