II.2. Holy Writ

By definition, however, the Bible is a book of books or a bibliotheca (hence its name, stemming from the Latinized Greek word for library). Believed to have been dictated by God, bibles (as opposed to the Bible) were written by fallible men. Translations and commentaries sought to make the Bible’s content accessible, even while preserving its mysteries. Scripture simply means writings, and in medieval Christianity, no writings possessed greater importance than the Bible, even if, in fact, the Bible as a whole (presented in giant volumes known as pandects ) remained quite rare. The Bible, however, was the book of books in another, exclusive sense, one that required the particular attention of scribes and artists. The manuscripts adopt a variety of strategies to invest products of human manufacture, which are liable to error, with authority and the aura of eternity. The story of the Septuagint, the third-century BCE translation of Hebrew scriptures into Greek, is only the most famous of such stories; according to legend all seventy (or seventy-two) scholars set to the task produced exactly the same translation. There were also more material means of asserting authenticity. Especially in the earlier Middle Ages, monastic craftsmen adorned bibles inside and out (in the form of bindings composed of ivory, gold, and gemstones), to achieve palpable effects of power and presence in a paradoxical combination of material splendor and divine radiance.

Medieval bibles come in many shapes and sizes, geared to different functions. A large bible of French origin, in four folio volumes (cat. no. 83)—three of which (Pentateuch, the historical books, and the prophets) accommodate Jewish scripture in the form of the Old Testament, the fourth, the New Testament (consisting of the Gospels, Epistles, Acts, and the Book of Revelation)—was intended for reading in the refectory. Also French are the still larger fragments of another thirteenth-century bible (cat. no. 84) that opens Genesis with a towering I initial filled with medallions or compartments representing the Hexameron (six days of creation). Comparable to a stained-glass lancet window in a Gothic cathedral, such initials constitute a hallmark feature of high medieval bible illustration; the earliest example dates to the later eleventh century. As if to manifest the variety of God’s creation, the borders are filled with vivacious, amusing marginalia that juxtapose the high seriousness of sacred history with the “comedy” (in the Christian sense) of everyday existence.

In sharp contrast to these large volumes, which doubled as prestige objects intended for display, the small, so-called pocket bibles produced in vast numbers beginning in the late twelfth century to serve the students at the University of Paris were designed for portability. Employing a new version of the Latin Vulgate Bible text—one that, moreover, was also newly organized—such bibles, in addition to being portable, in theory permitted students, for whom commentary on the Bible (or, no less, commentary on standard commentaries, such as that by Peter Lombard) formed the staple of their education, to, as it were, stay on the same page. In practice, complicated practices of copying, governed by the pecia (or piece-work) system (see cat. no. 172) guaranteed a lack of uniformity. The extraordinarily thin parchment of these tiny bibles and their no less tiny handwriting made it possible to squeeze the contents of a pandect into a small and handy package. It comes as no surprise that eyeglasses first came into use during the same period.

Textbooks have it that the Bible was first translated into the vernacular by Luther. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Partial vernacular translations go back at least to the ninth century. To translate the whole of scripture, however, was a delicate matter. The Bible was the key to knowledge, and that key belonged to the clergy that was literate in Latin. With the Fourth Lat- eran Council (1215), which emphasized the need to better educate an increasingly literate laity, vernacular bible paraphrases acquired great popularity. The Bible historiale (cat. no. 87), Guyart des Moulins’s late thirteenth-century French translation of Petrus Comestor’s late twelfth-century compendium of sacred history, the Historia scholastica, represents one of the most influential books of the later Middle Ages. In contrast to Latin bibles, in which illustration was almost always restricted to the beginnings of larger sections corresponding to divisions of sacred history (e.g., ante legem, before the law; post legem, after the law; sub gratiae, under grace), vernacular bibles gave vent to the desire for a more fulsome, continuous account of the history of salvation in pictorial form. In some cases, text gave way entirely to images in the form of bible picture books. It is too easy to say that such manuscripts exemplify the canonical dictum, associated with Pope Gregory, that pictures were the Bible of the illiterate. Even with captions, a picture book is predicated on an intimate knowledge of scripture.