Analysis

Due to the sheer amount of time between the completion of each piece of the C III, there is clear variance between different scribes used to copy it. In the case of William Harvey’s medical notes, there isn’t even a distinguished bookhand. Rather, these are in the handwriting of Harvey himself.

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We get a host of complicated script in languages that are somewhat difficult to identify like this except from Folio 17r. While the language itself is unknown to my untrained eye, we do see a fairly simple bookhand. This particular one seems similar to an Insular Half-Uncial, especially in the “g” forms.

And in areas such as the Saturnalia, we see what I can properly identify as Latin (or at least a Latinate language) in what seems to be a protogothic bookhand.

Finally, we see a form of early modern English via William Harvey’s notes. While would have been written without a standardized system of spelling, this section is the most legible to us in the form of the language itself. Again, however, this is not written in a bookhand meant to be easily read by all, but rather, the handwriting was likely best read by he who wrote it.

The analysis of the languages and bookhands used in the C III were likely one of the greatest tools in dating and placing the separate sections as well as attributing their work to particular scribes, though that is not information I have been able to procure.

As we have seen, the creation of the C III spans from the 9th to the 15th century. One of the implications of this is the language of the manuscript.

The British Library lists it as containing Latin, Old English, English, Anglo-Norman, and Ancient Greek. This is a wild host of languages. This manuscript alone contains almost an entire linguistic history of the English language, beginning with Latin and Ancient Greek and ending in a modern form of English.

This does pose the question of who this book would help in its current state.

It is clear that the C III was not always these four books in one, so likely the variance in languages was not an issue to its original owners.

Now, however, who could read such a book but a top-notch medievalist?

Learning one foreign language to fluency is difficult, but five extra languages–dead languages at that–is a feat few could achieve.

Which once again begs the question: Why are these drastically different books bound together?

These were clearly books intended to be read and used. We have seen that in the size and detail of the illustrations. And while we will likely never know who exactly needed a copy of the genealogy of Christ, a Pharmacopoeia, the details of pagan Roman holidays, and medical notes of a renowned physician, we do know that who ever needed these texts in one place and between one cover knew more languages than many of us have hope of learning.

As we continue to talk about the technical aspects of the C III, we must take its size into account. Sure this is a manuscript with around 140 folios of parchment, but how much space is the C III taking up on the shelves of the British Library?

The binding is listed as 320 x 250 mm. Since we’re probably all either American or can’t picture a measurement, this is roughly 12.6 x 9.8 inches. Compare this to a sheet of ordinary printer paper, which is 11 x 8 inches.

And this is just the binding, which has to account for the page frames, meaning it is likely far larger than the original binding.

The folios themselves are listed as 260 x 185 mm. This translates to about 10.2 x 7.2 inches. After carefully using the ruler in my desk, I can say 10.2 inches is about the length from my wrist to my elbow. And 7.2 inches is shorter than a 20 oz bottle of Coca-Cola, or about the same length as a standard pair of craft scissors.

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While the C III may still be bigger than the typical book we see today, it is spectacularly small in comparison to the larger manuscripts that would have been displayed by the wealthy.

This leads us to the conclusion that the C III may have been crafted for more common use than as a shelf decoration.

As we have already seen in our deep dive into the history, purpose, and overall existence of the C III, this manuscript has seen its fair share of bindings.

Regrettably, there is no available information on the C III’s original bindings or organization, though it should be noted that it was likely rebound in an effort to conserve the contents of the manuscript rather than its binding.

As we have seen in previous posts, the C III is the medieval manuscript counterpart of Frankenstein’s monster–Pieced together, slightly abused, and potentially misunderstood.

Honestly, calling the C III a pet book does the manuscript an injustice because this is hardly one book. Instead, The C III is a combination of fragments from four separate and unrelated texts, bound together in centuries old parchment and a fancy library cover from the 1970s.

Odds are, if we stumbled across the C III with zero context, we probably would not think it is a medieval manuscript at all based on its cover, which, granted is hardly the original.

However, upon opening its pages, we are no better off at discovering its true purpose. We can hardly say that a chunk of 9th century writing was originally intended on being joined with folios from the 1600s.

The C III did not begin its existence as this strange amalgamation of texts, and it may very well not stay as such in the future. Instead, the C III has been adapted, maybe even several times before its current version.

What we are presented with is not a pet book, but rather a pet archive crammed into one measly binding.

With a host of vivid illuminations and rubrication, the C III has no shortage of pigmentation within its pages.

We are immediately plunged into a world of charts and rubrication (or red-lettering) in the Genealogia Christi and later into the reds, blues, greens, and golds of the Pharmacopoeia.

This sort of damage can also be caused by the dye rubbing off onto the pages it touches when the book is closed.

According to the British Library, this is due to the use of a copper-based green dye. As one can imagine, this can wreak havoc in a manuscript that contains detailed illustrations of medicinal herbs.

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As we can see with Folio 25r and 25v, the green pigments from the illustrations show through both the page’s text and the other illustrations. However, we don’t see this problem with the other pigments, such as the red used to depict the roots of each plant.

Likewise, the rubricated letters are bold on their intended pages but not on the reverse side.

But despite the clear degradation of the illuminations over the centuries, these illustrations remain vivid, beautiful, and sometimes a little odd.

The C III has seen its fair share of damage over the centuries. There is obvious yellowing as the oldest pages are now well over 1,000 years old, but there are more distinct forms of damage, which tell us in some cases where this manuscript was kept, how it was previously bound, and more.

Due to the way these wormholes decrease in size, the British Library considers the idea that these first folios may have originally been bound with Macer’s De viribus herbarum.

The De viribus herbarum is a illustrated herbal, and while this copy of Poitier’s genealogy of Christ may have originally been tacked onto the end of it, it now precedes a different illustrated herbal text.

However, insect infestations are not the only trauma the C III has seen. According to historical records and the British Library website, there was a library fire in 1731, which resulted in damage to the books, including the C III.

Ultimately, the fact books as aged as the C III are still in as good condition as they are is amazing. These manuscripts were so well-crafted that they have withstood harsh conditions, insect invasion, and even fires.