Illuminated manuscripts in classical and mediaeval times, their art and their technique — Inside the Classic

Materials and Methods Across Eras

Middleton devotes considerable space to the raw materials of manuscript production. He describes classical manuscripts written with a stilus on waxed tablets, often bound as diptychs or polyptychs, and notes the survival of such forms into medieval times for guild lists and “bidding the beads.” He then turns to papyrus, detailing the manufacturing process and its use in Greek and Roman rolls, and contrasts these with parchment and vellum codices. The discussion of inks is particularly specific: carbon black ink, its manufacture and price, red inks for rubrics, and even purple ink. Middleton also examines scribal tools—Egyptian palettes, reed pens, and metal pens—and the practice of palimpsests, where earlier writing was scraped away for reuse.

Classical Illuminations and Their Surviving Witnesses

Middleton identifies two key sources for knowledge of classical illuminated manuscripts: the Ambrosian Iliad and the Vatican Virgil. He analyzes the style of their miniatures, noting that later copies often preserve lost originals. He also discusses Egyptian miniatures and the use of minium (red lead) in Roman manuscripts. The chapter on classical illuminated manuscripts is careful to distinguish between what can be directly observed and what must be inferred from later works. For example, he mentions a twelfth-century Psalter that contains a picture of Orpheus, likely copied from an earlier classical model. Throughout, Middleton emphasizes the continuity of certain techniques, such as the use of waxed tablets, while also marking the break caused by the shift from roll to codex.

The Transition to Print and the Judgment of Taste

In the final chapters, Middleton examines the hybrid category of printed books with painted illuminations, focusing on Parisian Books of Hours produced on vellum. He describes the work of Pigouchet for the bookseller Simon Vostre, noting the shift from simple outlines meant to be colored to exquisitely detailed engravings with dotted (criblée) backgrounds. His assessment of the hand-coloring added to these prints is sharply critical: “the comparatively coarse touch of the illuminator ruins the beauty of these Horae.” He attributes this to a “very ignorant love of gold and gaudy colour” among purchasers. Middleton also traces the influence of Italian Renaissance style on French miniaturists like Jehan Foucquet, and laments the loss of harmony in late medieval illumination, where “gaudiness rather than real splendour” became dominant.

Middleton’s book is best read as a technical companion rather than a narrative history. Readers interested in the physical craft of illumination will find detailed descriptions of pigments, supports, and tools, while those focused on stylistic change will encounter strong, sometimes opinionated judgments about artistic quality. The author’s position as a museum director and professor informs his emphasis on material evidence and his willingness to declare some works decadent. The excerpts suggest that the full text contains many more specific examples and illustrations, making it a useful reference for anyone studying the transition from manuscript to print.

There’s something touching about how J. H. Middleton writes of monks patiently grinding pigments, each hue a quiet devotion. Blake’s own hand-painted pages felt like a distant echo of that same intimate labor—craft made prayerful. I keep thinking of that connection, a thread across centuries, when I remember reading William Blake: A Study of His Life and Art Work — Key Ideas to Explore, and how some art simply lingers without ever asking to be noticed.