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THE SIEGE OF NOVA TROJA. FROM GRÜNINGER'S 'VIRGIL': STRASSBURG, 1502

IN the edition of Virgil published by Grüninger at Strassburg in 1502, Sebastian Brant boasted that the illustrations to it, whose preparation he had superintended, made the story of the book as plain to the unlearned as to the learned:

'Hic legere historias commentaque plurima doctus,

Nec minus indoctus perlegere illa potest.'

The boast was no ill-founded one, though it must be granted that Virgil would have been puzzled by the cannon here shown as employed in the siege of Nova Troja, and similar mediævalisms abound throughout the volume. Coming almost at the end of the first series of early illustrated books, the Virgil of 1502 thus exemplifies two of the chief features to which they owe their charm: the power of telling a story and the readiness to import into the most uncongenial themes some touches of the life of their own day. But by Brant's time illustration was already losing its pristine simplicity. It could hardly be otherwise when such a man as Brant, who had just gained a European reputation by his 'Narrenschiff,' was concerning himself with it. At the outset it had been rather a craft than an art, alike in Germany, in Italy, in the Netherlands, and in France, and, if we do not add England to the list, it is only because in England the workmen, though naïve enough in all conscience, were so entirely untrained that to call them craftsmen would be too great a compliment. But whether skilled or unskilled, the woodcutters' objects were everywhere the same: to render his design with the greatest possible simplicity of outline, to tell the story with a directness which often verges on caricature, and to keep his pictures in decorative harmony with the type-page on which they were to appear, printed with the same pull of the press, with the same excellent ink, on the same excellent paper.

In papers brought together in this volume the reader is asked to look at the woodcuts to two old Italian Bibles, at the beautiful cuts which make the Florentine Miracle Plays or Rappresentazioni so highly esteemed, at the illustrations to French editions of the 'Hours of the Blessed Virgin,' and at some examples of the curious transformations and vicissitudes which old wood blocks and the designs for them went through ere yet either clichés or photographic processes had been invented. The reproductions which accompany these and other articles will give a better idea of these Old Picture Books to those who do not already know them than could be conveyed by any verbal descriptions. Here it may suffice to emphasise one or two points which are often overlooked.

In the first place, it may have been noticed that not only do we speak of woodcuts, a common enough word, but also of woodcutters, a term which, until Sir Martin Conway used it in the title of his 'The Woodcutters of the Netherlands,' where it was ridiculed at the time as suggesting the stalwart workmen who cut down trees, was hardly ever employed in this sense. It cannot be denied that the use of the word sometimes lands us in incongruities of phrase; but inasmuch as there is no evidence of the graver having been used in woodcuts before the eighteenth century, it is clearly wrong to speak of the early craftsmen as engravers, and it is only fair in estimating their performance to remember that they worked with no better tool than a knife.

As regards the material they used, it was no doubt as a rule wood; but experts are agreed—I know not on what evidence—that instead of the blocks cut across the grain adopted by the modern engraver, they used wood sawn perpendicularly down the grain, as in an ordinary plank. It is certain, however, that in addition to wood some soft kind of metal, spoken of in one place (the list of border-cuts in one of Du Pré's 'Horae') as cuivre, or copper, but generally identified with pewter, was also used. This use of metal encouraged in some of the French 'Books of Hours,' notably in those of Philippe Pigouchet, a finer and closer method of work than we can believe was at that time possible on wood; but the general handling was precisely the same, and it is often only when we see a thin line bending instead of breaking, as wood did, that we know for certain that the craftsman was working on metal. For this reason the term woodcut is often applied to metal cuts worked in the style of wood as well as to woodcuts properly so called, and though doubtless reprehensible, the confusion is not nearly so misleading as that between cuts and engravings.

A third fact has already been emphasised, namely, that the makers of the woodcuts, and I think we may add the designers of them also, never put their names to their work or troubled themselves in any way to preserve their individuality. Save for the 'Nuremberg Chronicle' of Hartmann Schedel—a large book and a fine one, but of no unusual artistic merit—the cuts in which are associated with the names of Wohlgemuth (the father-in-law of Dürer) and Pleydenwurff, I do not know of any single illustrated book of the fifteenth century the designs in which can be attributed to a known artist. In Venetian cuts towards the end of the century it is not uncommon to find a small initial letter, such as the b in the Giunta Bibles, the F of a Livy, the N of an Ovid, appearing on some of the blocks; but, after much learned disquisition, it is now generally agreed that this is merely the mark of a woodcutter's workshop. As to the organisation of these workshops, we have, unhappily, no information. All that we know is that at Augsburg, where, before the introduction of printing, woodcutting had been extensively employed for playing-cards and figures of saints, the cutters had formed themselves into a flourishing guild, and were able to insist that the making of the illustrations for books should be left in their hands as a condition of the printers being allowed to use them.

The only other point which it seems necessary to mention is that illustrated books in the fifteenth century were intended to attract very much the same class of purchasers for whose benefit they are produced at the present day.

People often run away with one of two contradictory ideas, that all early books were very costly and only prepared for princes, or that illustrated books were then the Books of the People, and therefore possessed all sorts of beautiful properties not discoverable in the bourgeois volumes we get at Mudie's. Of course both these ideas have some foundation. Profusely illuminated manuscripts, whether Prayer-Books or Romances, were literally a luxury reserved for princes; but then a profusely illuminated manuscript is not only a book, it is a picture-gallery as well, and even now, when prices have risen to what seem extravagant heights, the fine manuscripts which can be bought for from one to two thousand pounds are probably the cheapest art-treasures on the market. But until quite the end of the fifteenth century princes cared very little for printed books, thinking them rather cheap and common, even to the extent of refusing to have them in their libraries. More than this, rich connoisseurs generally, and not merely princes, when they patronised printed books at all, preferred them quite plain, finely printed, but with no pictures in them. They even preferred them without any printed initial letters, no doubt telling each other it was so much nicer to have the initials prettily painted in by hand,—just as there are some people who prefer books in paper covers, because they can have them bound as they please. We all know that most paper-cover books melt away and never get bound at all; and most of the books which were to have painted initials remain to this day with the blank places still unfilled. But it was a very pretty theory, and it shows clearly enough that the rich people who held it cared nothing for printed ornaments, and à fortiori nothing for printed illustrations.

On the other hand, though some of the books we are concerned with were probably sold for less than sixpence, sixpence in the fifteenth century was worth five or six shillings now, and, in fact, from five shillings to five guineas very fairly represents the range of prices of early illustrated books. Thus the cheapest of them, the little Florentine chap-books, are not really the equivalent of our modern penny dreadfuls, but rather of the pretty gift-books with which publishers tempt us every Christmas. There was no fifteenth century equivalent to our modern penny dreadfuls, because the sort of people who now read penny dreadfuls then read nothing at all. As soon as they began to read, plenty of bad pictures were produced to please them.

If this prologue did not already threaten to be too long, it would be interesting to advance the theory that the great body of readers in every civilisation has always been drawn from much the same class as at present, and also that the price of books, when we allow for the different value of money, has varied equally little. In any case, it should be understood that early illustrated books were neither very rare nor very miraculously cheap, but cost about the same as the illustrated books of to-day, and were intended for about the same class of readers.

Up to a few years ago it was possible for quiet folk of this class to possess some specimens of the old books as well as of the new. Unfortunately during the last quarter of a century, and more especially during the last decade of it, the collecting of them has become a hobby which can only be pursued by the very rich. Save perhaps the first editions of masterpieces of our own literature, no books have advanced so rapidly in market-value as those with illustrations. A recent lawsuit has brought into prominence the case of the 'Quatriregio' of Bishop Frezzi, a copy of which, bought some thirty years ago for sixty guineas, has now to be valued by experts, who will apparently have to decide whether its present worth should be fixed as nearer to five hundred or eight hundred pounds, the two last prices at which copies are believed to have changed hands. The little Florentine 'Rappresentazioni,' mostly with only a single cut on their title, the subject of my first paper, used to be purchasable for a few shillings apiece; they have now to be bought with almost as many bank-notes, and a good example of a French 'Book of Hours' is supposed to be cheap at a hundred and twenty pounds. It is well that beautiful books should be honoured, but book-lovers may not unreasonably regret the days when it was still possible for a man of moderate means to possess them.

FLORENTINE RAPPRESENTAZIONI AND THEIR PICTURES[1]

FROM THE 'RAPPRESENTAZIONE DI S. ORSOLA,' 1554

BETWEEN the twelfth century and the sixteenth nearly every country in Europe possessed some sort of a religous drama, which in many cases has lingered on, nearly or quite, to the present day. Even in England—in Yorkshire, in Dorset and Sussex, and perhaps in other counties—the old Christmas play of S. George and the Dragon is not quite extinct, though in its latter days its action has been rendered chaotic by the introduction of King George III., Admiral Nelson, and other national heroes, whose relation to either the Knight or the Dragon is a little difficult to follow. The stage directions, which are fairly numerous in most of the old plays which have been preserved, enable us to picture to ourselves the successive stages of their development with considerable minuteness. In some churches the 'sepulchre' is still preserved to which, in the earliest liturgical dramas, the choristers advanced, in the guise of the three Maries, to act over again the scene on the first Easter-day; while of that other scene, when at Christmas the shepherds brought their simple offerings, a cap, a nutting-stick, or a bob of cherries to the Holy Child, a trace still exists in the representation, either by a transparency or a model, of the manger of Bethlehem, still common in Roman Catholic churches, and not unknown in some English ones. When the scene of the plays was removed from the inside of the church to the churchyard, we hear of the crowds who desecrated the graves in their eagerness to see the performance; and later still, when the craft-guilds had burdened themselves with the expenses of their preparation, we have curious descriptions of the waggons upon which each scene of the great cycles 'of matter from the beginning of the world to the Day of Judgment,' was set up, in order that scene after scene might be rolled before the spectators at the street corners or the market place, throughout the length of a midsummer day. Artists with an antiquarian turn have endeavoured to picture for us these curious stages. In Sharp's 'Dissertation on the Coventry Mysteries' there is a frontispiece giving an imaginary view of a performance; and only a few years ago an article was published in an American magazine, with really delightful illustrations, depicting the working of the elaborate stage machinery behind the scenes, as well as the effects with which the spectators were regaled. But of contemporary illustrations the lack remains grievous and irreparable. In England we have nothing at all for the Miracle Plays, while for the moralities by which they were superseded, the only manuscript illustration is a picture of the castle in the 'Castle of Perseverance,' in which, with the aid of his good angels, its occupant, Man, was set to resist the attacks of the deadly sins and all the hosts of hell! The later moralities, printed by Wynkyn de Worde and his contemporaries early in the sixteenth century, have in one or two instances a few figures on the face or back of the title-page, to which labels bearing the names of the characters are attached. But these were venerable cuts, which had done duty on previous occasions for other subjects; and so far from being specially designed to represent the players on an English stage, were really French in their origin, and only copied from old woodcuts of Antoine Vérard's 'Terence.'

In France we have much the same tale. It is true that so many of the old French Mysteries still remain in manuscript, unexplored, that there is a possibility of some pleasant surprise in store for us. But the printed plays were either not illustrated at all, or sent forth with only a handful of conventional cuts. One little ray of light, however, we have in the pictures, especially of the Annunciation to the Shepherds and their Adoration, in many of the numerous editions of the 'Hours of the Blessed Virgin' (the lay-folk's prayer-books, as they have been called, of those days), which, from about 1490 onwards, attained the same popularity in print which they had previously enjoyed in manuscript. In these illustrations we see the shepherds, with their women-folk about them, as they watched their flocks till startled by the angel's greeting, and again crowding round the manger at Bethlehem. In one edition, from which a reproduction is given in a later essay in this volume, they even bear on labels the names Gobin le gai, le beau Roger, Mahault, Aloris, etc., by which they were known in the plays.

But however ready we may be to trace the influence of the miracle plays in these pictures, as illustrations of the plays themselves they are very inadequate; and the fact remains that in only one country, and practically only in one city in that country (for the Siena editions are merely reprints) did the religious plays, which in one form or another were then being acted all over Europe, receive any contemporary illustration. This one city was Florence; and alike for the special form in which the religious drama was there developed, for the causes which contributed to its popularity at the turn of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and for its close connection with the popular art of the day, the subject is one of considerable interest. On its literary and religious side, the late John Addington Symonds discussed it in 'Studies of the Italian Renaissance' with his usual ability, and many of the plays have been reprinted by Signor Ancona. Of late years the little pictures by which they are illustrated have also received attention, a fact amply attested by the extraordinary rise in their market value. But it is worth while to bring together, even if only in outline, the pictures and the plays to which they belong, more closely than has hitherto been attempted, and this is my object in the present paper.

Book-illustration in Italy began very early with the publication in 1467, by Ulric Hahn, at Rome, of an edition of the 'Meditations' of Cardinal Torquemada on the Life and Passion of Christ. For the next twenty years its progress was only sporadic, and though we find illustrations of greater or less artistic value in books printed at Naples, Rome, Ferrara, Verona, and Venice, we can only group them together in twos and threes; there is absolutely no trace of any school of illustrators. From this sporadic growth Florence was not entirely excluded, for besides a treatise on geography we find in the 1477 edition of Bettini's 'Monte Santo di Dio,' and the famous 1481 'Dante,' pictures of very considerable interest. They differ, however, from those of the illustrated books of other Italian towns, in being not woodcuts but engravings on copper, and it is a remarkable fact that until the year 1490 no Florentine book is known which contains a cut. The signs of wear in a woodcut of the dead Christ which appears early in that year, has given rise to a belief that there may have been some previous illustrated edition, now lost; but it is more probable that the picture had only been printed separately for pasting into books of devotion. In any case, it stands apart, with but one other cut, slightly later in date, from all other Florentine work, and must be looked on only as an example of the sporadic illustrations of which we have spoken as appearing in other districts. But from the 28th of September, 1490, onwards for twenty years, we have a succession of woodcuts which, amid all the differences which give them individuality, are yet closely linked together in style, and form, on the whole, by far the finest series of book-illustrations of early date. The popularity which these woodcuts attained is attested by the repeated editions of the works in which they appear; while the suddenness with which they sprang up, the general similarity of style, and the nature of the books they illustrate, all suggest that we have here to deal with a conscious and carefully directed movement as opposed to the haphazard use of illustrations in other cities during the previous twenty years.

FROM JACOPONE DA TODI'S 'LAUDE,' 1490

The book in which the first characteristic Florentine woodcut appears is an edition of the 'Laude,' of Jacopone da Todi, printed by Francesco Buonaccorsi; and both the choice of the book and the name of the printer offer a tempting basis for theory-making. Printing, we must remember, though it had been in use for more than a third of a century, was even then a new craft, and was still taken up sometimes as a side-employment by many persons who had been bred to other trades or professions. Our own Caxton, as we all know, was a mercer; the first printer at St. Albans, a schoolmaster; Francesco Tuppo, of Naples, a jurist; Joannes Philippus de Lignamine, of Rome, a physician; and so on. In natural continuation, however, of the work of the Scriptorium in many monasteries, we find that a large number of the early printers were members of monasteries or priests, and it was to this latter order that the Buonaccorsi who printed the 'Laude' belonged. Now, the name Buonaccorsi is the name of the family of Savonarola's mother. A few months before the appearance of the 'Laude' the great Dominican has been recalled to Florence by Lorenzo de' Medici, and his first public sermon there—a sermon which had stirred the whole city to its depths—had been preached on the previous 1st of August. In the next year we find Buonaccorsi printing the first edition of the 'Libro della vita viduale,' the earliest dated Savonarola tract of which I know; and I have not been able to resist hazarding the conjecture that between the preacher-monk and the priest-printer there may have been some tie of blood, and that it was to Savonarola that the splendid series of Florentine illustrated books owed their origin.

That this should be the case would not be surprising. Savonarola was no Puritan, or rather he was like the Puritans of the better sort, and loved art so long as it was subservient to the main object of man's being. The pamphlets with which he flooded Florence during the next few years are, for the most part, decorated with a cut on their first page or title; and if the subject were ever worked out, it would probably be found that this was uniformly the case with the original editions, and those issued with the author's supervision, while the unillustrated copies are mere reprints, which the absence of any law of copyright made it possible for any printer, who thought it worth his while, to issue, with or without the author's leave. The woodcuts to the Savonarola tracts number from forty to sixty, according as we include or reject variants on the same subject, and fall naturally into three divisions, illustrating respectively the Passion of Christ, the duties of Prayer and Preparation for Death, and various aspects of Savonarola's activity, in which, however, the representations of him are always imaginary, never drawn from life. As an example of these cuts, I give that which decorates the title-page of an undated edition (circa 1495) of the 'Operetta della oratione mentale.' I have had occasion to use this before in my little work on 'Early Illustrated Books,' but there is a certain largeness of pictorial effect about it which gives this cut, I think, quite the first place in the series, and makes me unwilling to take any other as an example. The cuts in the 'Rappresentazioni' are seldom quite as good as this, but they form a parallel series to those of the Savonarola tracts, occasionally borrowing an illustration from those on the Passion of Christ, and evidently inspired by the same aims. The same types (our only means of fixing the printers of these dateless little books), were used in many of the works of both the series, and it does not seem fanciful to believe that Savonarola, either directly or through some trusted disciple, was nearly as intimately connected with the one as he undoubtedly was with the other.

FROM SAVONAROLA'S 'DELLA ORATIONE MENTALE,' S.A.

We have said that the choice of the work in which appeared the first typical Florentine woodcut was not without interest for our subject. Jacopone da Todi, whom the cut exhibits kneeling in an ecstasy of prayer before a vision of the Blessed Virgin, was a Franciscan mystic, eccentric to the verge of madness in his manners, but a spiritual poet of no mean ability, and the reputed author of the 'Stabat Mater.' He died in 1306, and was probably old enough to have remembered that strange epidemic of the Battuti, when thousands of frenzied men and women marched from city to city, scourging themselves almost to death for the sinfulness of the world, till their career had to be stopped by the free use of the gallows. When the frenzy was past, those who survived it formed themselves into companies for the continuance of their religious exercises in a more moderate form, and from their meeting together to sing their 'Laude,' hymns of a peculiarly personal fervour, in the chapels of their guilds, they obtained the name 'Laudesi.' Of the writers of these 'Laude,' Jacopone da Todi was the greatest, and it was out of the 'Laude' that the later 'Rappresentazioni' were gradually developed. In his excellent account of the 'Rappresentazioni,' to which I have already alluded, Mr. J. A. Symonds seems to me to have laid rather undue stress on the manner in which this development took place, as offering a contrast to the history of the religious drama in other countries. It is true that in England the plays which have come down to us belong almost exclusively to the great cycles which unrolled the history of man from the creation till the crack of doom, but we have mention of several plays on the lives of the Saints—e.g. one on S. George and the Dragon, and another (which survives) on S. Mary Magdalene, and the popularity at one time of these Miracle Plays, properly so called, is witnessed by the fact that it is their name under which the cycles of Scriptural dramas generally passed. At Florence these longer dramas were not wholly unknown, but they seem to have been acted only in pantomime or dumb-show, in the great pageants on S. John's Day, the shorter plays developing from the 'Laude' just as, at an earlier period, the liturgical dramas had developed in France and England out of the dramatic recital of the gospel of the day. It is worth noting, by the way, that the 'Laude' themselves were not superseded, but continued to be written and sung when the 'Rappresentazioni' were already becoming popular. Two of the writers of them during this period have a special interest for us—Maffeo Belcari, as the author also of the earliest printed 'Rappresentazione,' and Girolamo Benivieni, as the friend and disciple of Savonarola, whose doctrine and prophecies he defended in 1496 in a tract, printed, this also, by Buonaccorsi.

FROM 'LAUDE DEVOTE DI DIVERSI AUTORI,' S.A.

In an edition of a collection of 'Laude' by various writers, there is an interesting cut representing the 'Laudesi,' standing before a Madonna, singing her praise. In course of time dramatic divisions had been admitted into the 'Laude,' and under the name of 'Divozioni' they were recited with appropriate action in dialogue form. The actors were for the most part boys, who were formed into confraternities, while the expenses of the plays were doubtless defrayed by their parents. As the dramatic element in the performances became more decided, the plays came at last to be generally termed 'Rappresentazioni,' and under this name they attained a great popularity during the last quarter of the fifteenth century, and the first of its successor.

Unlike the northern Miracle Plays, which are almost without exception anonymous, many of the earliest 'Rappresentazioni' which have come down to us contain the names of their authors, and in editions separated by half a century the text remains substantially unaltered. In English plays the text often appears to have grown up by a process of accretion, so that a cycle, or even a single play, in the form in which it has survived, could hardly with justice be assigned to a single author, even if we knew the name of the first writer concerned in it. The difference is not unimportant, and is one of numerous small signs which tell us that the religious drama in Florence, at least in this stage of its development, was less popular, less spontaneous, than in our own country, and more the result of deliberate religious effort.

The earliest 'Rappresentazione' printed was the 'Abraham' of the Maffeo (or Feo) Belcari, whom we have already mentioned. It was printed in 1485, the year after Belcari's death at a good old age (he was born in 1410), so that all Belcari's plays were published posthumously. Among them are plays on the Annunciation, on S. John the Baptist visited by Christ in the Desert, and on S. Panuntius. Of the last two of these I have seen fifteenth-century editions—the one at the British Museum, the other at the Bodleian Library, each with a single charming woodcut. No less a person than Lorenzo de' Medici was the author of the play of 'San Giovanni e San Paolo,' which has also come down to us in its original edition with a graceful cut; and Bernardo Pulci, who died in the first year of the sixteenth century, produced a play on the legend of Barlaam and Josaphat. But the most prolific of these dramatists seems to have been a woman, Bernardo's wife Antonia, to whose pen we owe plays on the Patriarch Joseph, the Prodigal Son, S. Francis of Assisi, S. Domitilla, S. Guglielma, etc. The names of a few other writers are known; but there were also numerous anonymous plays, written very much on the same lines, to some of which we shall have to allude.

Almost invariably the plays begin with a Prologue spoken by an Angel, who is represented in the title-cut of Lorenzo de' Medici's 'San Giovanni e San Paolo' as standing behind the two saints in a kind of pulpit. In other early plays the Angel is represented in a separate woodcut (shown at the beginning of this article) whose lower border is cut off, so as to fix on to the border of the special title-cut of the play. Later on, another design was substituted for this, without any border at all. I think it probable that these angelic prologuisings were mostly spoken from some machine at the back of the stage, especially contrived for celestial appearances. In other respects, the services of the stage-carpenter do not seem to have been much called for. The plays were acted, we are told, either in the chapel of the guild or confraternity, or in the refectory of a convent, and the arrangements were probably very similar to those in modern school-plays, the imagination of the spectators being often required to take the place of a change of scene. In the so-called 'Coventry' Plays we hear of a device by which a new scene, or perhaps rather a new centrepiece, with the actors all in their places, could be wheeled round to the front; but more often all the dramatis personae were grouped at the back or sides, and individual actors merely stepped forward when their turn came. In the play of 'San Lorenzo' we are expressly told that two scenes were shown simultaneously on different parts of the stage, Decius and his satellites offering their heathen sacrifices on the one side, while Pope Sixtus comforts the faithful against the coming persecution on the other. This combination of two scenes in one is a familiar feature in mediæval art, and is not unknown even in these Florentine woodcuts, small as they are: witness our cut on p. 29, in which the bartering at the pawnshop, and the indignities offered to the sacred wafer, tell the story of the play by means of its two most prominent scenes.

Of the literary value of the 'Rappresentazioni' it is not possible to speak with much enthusiasm. From a literary standpoint, indeed, the lives of the Saints, with which most of them have to do, are a difficult and not very promising subject. Most stories of heroism are best told in ten lines at longest; and to attempt to spin them out into several hundred, without any considerable material in the way of authentic detail, leads inevitably to weakness and exaggeration. In this respect the 'Rappresentazioni' are neither much worse nor much better than the average 'Legenda Sanctorum' in verse or prose.

FROM ANTONIA PULCI'S 'RAPPRESENTAZIONE DI S. FRANCESCO,' S.A.

They follow these, in fact, with remarkable fidelity, and as they are written for the most part in the familiar octava rima, it is only by the speeches being made in the first person, instead of in historical narration, that they differ very greatly from them. Thus, to take the plays from which we have chosen our illustrations, that of S. Francis of Assisi, by Antonia Pulci, faithfully records all the main incidents as told in the legends—the colloquy with the beggar during which he was stricken with compunction, the theft from his father of money to repair a church, the founding of his Order, the conference with the Pope, and the reception of the stigmata; this last being, as might be expected, the subject chosen by the artist for the woodcut on the title. The play of 'San Lorenzo' shows us the martyrdom of Pope Sixtus in the Decian persecution, and then the torture and death of S. Laurence for his refusal to surrender the treasure which the Pope had bequeathed to the poor of the church. Both of the woodcuts to these two plays are of great beauty. The first probably follows the traditions of the many pictures on the subject rather than that of the stage, though it was, no doubt, for a scene like this that the stage-managers of the day used their utmost resources. In the martyrdom of S. Laurence, on the other hand, we may be sure that we have a very exact picture of the scene as played on some convent stage.

FROM THE 'RAPPRESENTAZIONE DI S. LORENZO,' S.A.

Both these plays belong to the fifteenth century, and, as is mostly the case in the earliest editions, have only a rough woodcut each. This was not invariably so, as in the Bodleian Library there are copies of editions of the plays of 'Stella' and 'S. Paulino,' which have every appearance of having been printed before 1500, but yet have sets of several cuts, all obviously designed especially for them. These, however, are exceptions; and as a rule where we find several cuts, it is easy to trace most of them back, either to other plays, or to other illustrated books of the time, such as the 'Epistole e Evangelii,' the 'Fior di Virtù,' Pulci's 'Morgante Maggiore,' etc. Thus, of the two cuts given here as illustrations to the curious 'Rappresentazione d'uno miracolo del corpo di Gesù,' the first alone occurs in the fifteenth-century edition, while in that of 1555 (probably sixty years later) this original cut reappears, with three others added to it. The first, here shown, representing a drinking scene, is borrowed, I strongly suspect, from the 'Morgante Maggiore'; while the second, which shows a man being burnt, and the third, in which a king is consulting his counsel, may be called stock-pictures, and reappear with frequency.

FROM THE 'RAPPRESENTAZIONE D'UNO MIRACOLO DEL CORPO DI GESÙ,' 1555

This play of the 'Corpo di Gesù' is an Italian version of a miracle which was constantly being reported during the middle-ages, and was often the excuse for a cruel persecution of the Jews. The well-known 'Croxton' 'Play of the Sacrament,' is cast on the same lines, and a detailed comparison of the two would yield some points of interest. In the 'Rappresentazione' the story is well told, and with unusual vivacity. After the angelic prologue there is an induction, in which a miracle of a consecrated wafer, dripping blood, is announced to Pope Urban, who discourses on it with a cardinal and with S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Bonaventura. The play itself begins with a drinking scene, in which a wicked Guglielmo squanders his money, and then takes his wife's cloak to the Jewish pawnshop to get more. The poor woman goes herself to the Jew to try to get her cloak back, and is then persuaded to filch a wafer at mass and bring it to the Jew, on his promise to restore her garment. Her horror at his proposal is overcome by the pretext that his object is to use the Host as a charm to heal his sick son, and that if this succeeds he and all his family will become Christians. This, of course, is a mere fiction, but it serves the woman in good stead; for when the Jew is discovered by the unquenchable flow of blood from the wafer he maltreats, he is promptly burnt, while the Judge is warned by a special revelation to spare the life of his accomplice, whose guilt might easily be represented as the greater of the two.

FROM THE 'RAPPRESENTAZIONE D'UNO MIRACOLO DEL CORPO DI GESÙ,' S.A.

An edition of the play of 'S. Cecilia,' probably printed about 1560, affords a good example of the gradual addition of cuts in later reprints. This little tract of about twenty pages has no fewer than eighteen pictures in it, three of which, however, are only repetitions of one of the most familiar cuts in the whole series of 'Rappresentazioni'—a Christian virgin dragged before a king; while three other well-worn cuts are each repeated twice, so that the number of blocks used was only thirteen, though these yielded eighteen impressions. As might be expected, the little pictures are often dragged in with very little appropriateness. Thus, the Roman soldiers sent to arrest Cecilia gave the publisher an excuse to show a party of knights riding in the country, and so on. On the other hand, the pleasant picture of a disputation here shown, though undoubtedly executed in the first instance for some other work, probably gives us a very correct representation of the costume and grouping of the actors.

FROM THE 'RAPPRESENTAZIONE DI S. CECILIA,' S.A.

One point in the text of the 'S. Cecilia,' deserves noting. In the main it resembles very closely indeed the legend as it is known to lovers of English poetry from the version which Chaucer made in his early days and afterwards inserted, with little revision, into the 'Canterbury Tales.' But when Cecilia has gone through the form of marriage with the husband who is forced upon her, and is proceeding with him to his home, the lads of the neighbourhood bar their passage with a demand for petty gifts, to which the virgin submits with good grace—a fragment of Florentine life thus cropping up amid the rather unreal atmosphere of the old legend.

Whatever the shortcomings of the 'Rappresentazioni,' their popularity was very great, and they were reprinted again and again throughout the sixteenth century. Naturally the woodcuts suffered from continual use, and the stock-subjects, like that of a general martyrdom shown on page 10, are often found in the later editions with their little frames or borders almost knocked to pieces. Recutting was also frequent, and in the same edition of the play of S. Mary Magdalene, from which, for the sake of the unusual freedom in the handling, I have taken the title-cut as one of our illustrations, this is repeated later on from a new block, clumsily cut in imitation of the old one.

FROM THE 'RAPPRESENTAZIONE DI SANTA MARIA MADDALENA,' S.A.

As the 'Rappresentazioni' and their illustrations are connected with the Savonarola tracts on the one hand, so on the other we find them influencing some less dramatic forms of literature. Thus, among the early Florentine illustrated books we find a number of 'Contrasti'—the contrast of men and women, of the living and the dead, of riches and poverty, etc. These were rather poems than plays, but the name 'Rappresentazione' is sometimes applied to them in later editions. This is so, for instance, with the famous 'Contrasto di Carnesciale e la Quaresima,' from which the first of the two cuts is here given, the second representing a visit to the fish and vegetable market for Lenten fare when the days of Carnival are over.