Christus homo factus Wm Cleue prosperet actus: Examining a Provenance Mark with Suggestions About the Later Ownership of the Paris Apocalypse (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 403)

Abstract (Lang: English)

This annotation explores an unremarked upon provenance feature of the Paris Apocalypse (Paris, BnF Ms. fr 403), a mid-thirteenth-century illustrated Anglo-Norman Book of Revelation. While early scholars, such as Delisle, Meyer, and James, concerned their scholarship primarily with establishing a stemma to relate the Apocalypse manuscripts to each other, modern scholarship on the Apocalypses, such as that of Lewis, Emmerson, and Morgan, interests itself in using the Apocalypses to better understand reading habits and the culture surrounding them.

This annotation offers an examination of a short ownership rhyme included on the back coverboard of the Paris Apocalypse which reads "Christus homo factus; W(illel)m prosperet actus." This rhyme appears in Oxford Bodl. Ms 110, an early fifteenth-century English composite manuscript of 184 leaves containing a collection of medieval Latin works of Christian instruction and preaching. After a comparison of the paleographic features, I fit the owner, William Cleve, into the known provenance narrative of the Paris Apocalypse and find that his brief ownership of the book was in fact likely.

The Paris Apocalypse (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 403) was produced for an unknown patron in England ca. 1250. Long recognized as one of the finest examples of thirteenth-century English illumination, the manuscript contains a full cycle of illustrations by the English illuminator known as the Sarum Master (fols. 2v–43r), and the text and its illustrations are accompanied by an almost unique gloss translated into Francien-influenced Anglo-Norman French. Though this book has been the subject of numerous scholarly studies since the mid-nineteenth century, the provenance of the Paris Apocalypse has not been examined in depth.¹ This oversight may be due to the fact that the provenance appears to be otherwise well documented, beginning with Giles Mallet’s inventory in 1373 (BnF, MS fr. 2700, fols. 2–37) confirming the manuscript’s presence in Charles V’s royal library. This inventory was collected by Jean Blanchet in 1380 (BnF, MS Baluze 397). In 1411, Antoine des Essarts re-catalogued the inventory (BnF, MS fr. 2700, fols. 41–49); two additional catalogues in 1411 (BnF, MS fr. 2700, fols. 53–133) and 1413 (BnF, MS fr. 9430) continue to document the manuscript’s existence in this collection. In 1424, before taking possession of the royal library, John, Duke of Bedford, commissioned yet another, and final, list that is preserved in an eighteenth-century copy (Paris, Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, MS 964, and BnF, MS NAF 2613).²

As this documentation shows, by the reign of Charles V (1364–1380), the manuscript had made its way to France and had entered the French royal library. Then, the book returned to England in 1423 under the direction of John of Lancaster, Duke of Bedford (1389–1435), Regent of France, on behalf of the young Henry VI of England. The next known owner is Louis de Bruges, Seigneur de la Gruthuyse (1427–1492), who graced the bottom center of the first folio with his own arms. Then, the manuscript came into the hands of Louis XII, who may have still been the duc d’Orleans at the time of acquisition, and was incorporated into the library at Blois, which Louis kept as his primary residence after becoming king of France in 1498. At some point after his accession in 1498 and before his death in 1515, the king overwrote Louis de Bruges’s arms with his entitled royal triple fleur-de-lis. The book moved with the royal library in 1544 to Fontainebleau and in 1595 back to Paris, where it has remained to this day since the royal library became the Bibliothèque nationale in 1792.³

Though the provenance is relatively well documented, newly discovered evidence presented here adds further information to the chain of ownership. Evidence left behind from an eighteenth-century rebinding of the Paris Apocalypse may help us trace the book’s journey from Anglo-Norman hands back to the Continent. Some of the front matter appears to have been removed. What remains of the original binding and flyleaves has been pasted onto the front board and documented by cataloguers through the years.⁴ However, two curious strips of parchment pasted to the backboard and containing inscriptions in a fifteenth-century hand appear to have been overlooked, though one of the inscriptions contains an overt reference to a previous owner. The writing on the strip at the bottom reads “Christus homo factus William Cleue prosperet actus” (fig. 1).

Unfortunately, since these strips have been removed from their original context, the earliest we can associate them with the Paris Apocalypse with any certainty is at the time of this rebinding. In archeological terms, these strips constitute a disturbed site, having been cut out of their original context and glued onto the backboard of the Paris Apocalypse. This fact casts a bit of a shadow on their relevance and whether or not they actually formed part of the manuscript before it was rebound. However, since we know that original leaves were cut and replaced on the front board, there is a good chance that these are scraps from the original flyleaves or pastedowns of the Paris Apocalypse. Their avenues of provenance history are thus worth exploring.

During the rebinding, the binders pasted two pieces of parchment along the top and bottom edges of the backboard. The binders most likely cut these strips of parchment from the leaves or original pastedowns as they rebound the book. We have seen a similar practice in the front of the book, where strips locating the book in the Blois library were salvaged during the rebinding and pasted in a place of prominence to remind future readers of the manuscript’s important status. The rebinders in the eighteenth century probably

Figure 1.

Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 403, lower pastedown. Reproduced courtesy of the Bibliothèque nationale de France.

had little idea of who William Cleve was and whether or not he held any importance. But fortunately, they erred on the side of preservation, and we are left with another clue about the manuscript’s interim ownership.

The inscription “Christus homo factus William Cleue prosperet actus” deserves further attention. At least two other examples of this formula exist. One example of this formula occurs in a Lollard New Testament (Dublin, Trinity College Dublin, T.C.D. MS 75) bearing the name “J. Peruey” (fol. 217v) and “Christus homo factus J.P. prosperet actus” (fol. 3r). John Purvey (1354–1414) is credited with the first Middle English translation of the Bible. The other, more relevant, example occurs in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Bodl. 110, an early fifteenth-century English composite manuscript of 184 leaves containing a collection of medieval Latin works of Christian instruction and preaching (fig. 2).⁵

The same formula found in the inscription pasted into the Paris Apocalypse appears in this book as well, on flyleaf iv verso: “Christus homo factus W. Cleue prosperet actus.” Another inscription on folio 1r mentions the purchase of the manuscript by W. Cleue, stating that “Hunc librum emit W. C [leue] de J. Pye stacionario Londoniesis x die Augustii anno regis Edward iiij^ti tercio, coram Roberto Paling.” Helen Forshaw’s description of the manuscript mentioned that a note later in the manuscript indicates that William Cleue gave Bodl. 110 to William Camyl, a chaplain at Cliffe at Hoo, and the successors thereof (fol. 182v).⁶ From this later inscription, we learn that this William Cleue was the rector of Cliffe at Hoo. Forshaw also identified London, British Library, Royal 5. C III, as a product of the stationer J. Pye.⁷

Figure 2.

Oxford, MS Bodl. 110, fol. 4v. Reproduced courtesy of the Bodleian Library.

The hand of the version found in MS Bodl. 110, fol. 2v, does not match the hand of the inscription in the Paris Apocalypse. The Paris hand is much rounder than the Bodleian hand (see the finials on the ascenders of h, f, l; cf. the bowl of the h). The Paris hand makes a clear distinction in act9 (actus) between the c and t, whereas the Bodleian hand uses a two-stroke letterform for both, rendering a short ascender above the bar of both letters. The forms of the Ws vary dramatically. Whereas the Paris hand slants its W distinctly right-leaning, the Bodleian hand’s W leans to the left and has a more “English” feel to the letterform. The chi/x letterform of the Paris hand has only one lengthy descender, but the Bodleian’s chi/x has two descenders that almost converge, like pincers. The formation of the letter a stands as one of the litmus tests for determining similarities between hands. These as do not stand up to the test. Both hands use double-compartment as, but the bowls of the Paris hand are rounded, and the loop of the final Bodleian hand’s a is very squared off. Both formulations use the same abbreviations; however, the Paris hand has expanded homo, whereas the Bodleian hand gives ho, with a suspension. The Bodleian hand also concludes its rhyme with a chrismon, or stylized signature. The dissimilarity between the hands decreases the likelihood that these two ownership marks were written by the same person, though surely this was the same William Cleve. Moreover, because the Bodleian’s ownership rhyme shows a notary mark after the William Cleve inscription, indicating that it could have been written by a professional scribe, the ownership in the Paris Apocalypse may have been written by William Cleve himself.

William Cleve was likely the son of Nicholas and Margery Cleve, who had a close connection to John, Duke of Bedford: when the Duke of Bedford died in 1435, he left Nicholas an annuity of twenty marks and the power to seize or charge rent (distrain) in Swalefeld.⁸ Perhaps the Duke’s favor to this family extended to Cleve’s royal appointment. Shortly before John’s death, in 1433, Henry VI appointed William as chaplain of the chantry at the altar of the Chapel of St. John the Baptist next to Aldermary Church in London.⁹ By 1442, a royal license mentioned William’s co-founding of St. Augustine’s de Papey (or St. Augustine’s Papey), a hospital and home for “aged and impotent priests” so that they might not suffer or starve.¹⁰ At this juncture, William was still accorded the chaplain of the Chantry of St. John the Baptist in the Church of St. Mary or Aldermary.¹¹ From 1441 to 1451, he served as Clerk of the King’s Works for Henry VI, and he was granted this position for life in 1445.

Three years later, he was appointed as rector of the parish of Cliffe-at-Hoo, but he may never have resided, or even visited, there.¹² In 1469, he was installed as a canon of St. Paul in Chiswick stall, Middlesex, but he did not keep that position for long, opting instead to join the rectory of St. Nicholas Cole Abbey. He died the following year.

On 10 August 1464, after he was appointed as the rector of Cliffe-on-Hoo, but before he became a canon of St. Paul’s, William Cleve bought an anthology of preaching and pastoral care written in a secretary hand from a London stationer, John Pye. This is the future MS Bodl. 110. It is uncertain whether he bought this book bespoke for himself or if it was an on-spec purchase in the stationer’s shop. In addition to being a dated manuscript, and helpfully providing an indication of when and from whom the manuscript was bought, the manuscript includes the ownership rhyme that links it to the Paris Apocalypse.

But does William Cleve himself have a connection to the Paris Apocalypse besides his ownership rhyme being pasted on the backboard of the book? The answer appears to be yes. He could have had the opportunity to own the Paris Apocalypse, though briefly, in London after John, Duke of Bedford’s death. In 1424 or 1425, the Duke of Bedford took possession of 853 manuscripts from the French royal library, including the Paris Apocalypse, which he bought at “a knock-down price.”¹³ Four years later, he moved his library to Rouen, where he died six years later, in 1435. After his death, John Fastolf “acquired a share of responsibility for the disposal of [the Duke of Bedford’s] abundant worldly goods . . . which dogged him particular towards the end of his life.”¹⁴ Though there is no mention of an Apocalypse in the Duke’s postmortem inventory, its absence does not discount its possible presence. According to Stratford, only ten manuscripts were listed among the chapel goods, which we know is an incomplete number, explained by the inventory (C 97) that many of the books found their way to David, or Davy, Brekenok, the Duke’s wardrober.¹⁵ Brekenok, “for some time after the Duke’s death,” had possession of John’s books from the Louvre, chapel books, and other household items.¹⁶ By August 1449, he passed some of these items belonging to Sir Robert Whittingham and others to Cardinal Beaufort.¹⁷ Cardinal Beaufort became the executor of the Duke’s books from the royal French library before they returned to England, where they were sold.¹⁸ It is at this juncture that William Cleve probably came into at least brief ownership of the Paris Apocalypse. The paleographic discrepancy between the two ownership rhymes found in the Paris Apocalypse and MS Bodl. 110 could be explained by the stationer or receiver of the book from Cleve having written in the rhyme in MS Bodl. 110, and William having written this rhyme in his own hand in the Paris Apocalypse.

While William Cleve’s ownership of the Paris Apocalypse cannot be proved conclusively at this point, we have nevertheless established a strong connection between Cleve and the manuscript. Further exploration of Cleve’s role and his collecting habits will certainly point us in the direction of a more nuanced understanding of the manuscript’s history and the protean nature of book ownership in the early modern period.