As suggested by Ex Libris in his Recycled Bindings thread, here is a book I just acquired. I was trained as a medieval historian, and while I didn't end up in academia I remain very interested, especially in my dissertation topic of early Norman history. Over the past several years, I have acquired several 17th-century books pertaining to that subject. My most recent acquisition is John of Marmoutier's Historiae Gauffredi Ducis Normannorum & Comitis Andegavorum, Turonorum, & Caenomannorum Libri duo, hactenus non editi from 1610. Front cover: Back cover: Spine: Title page: Semi-random interior spread: Some personal historical background (feel free to stop reading if you're only interested in the book!): When I first started college, my intention was to become a high school history teacher. Before classes even began freshman year, I went to the College of Education to ask how to prepare for that career. Unfortunately, they couldn’t help me...turns out they were in the middle of planning the transition from an undergraduate education degree to a master’s program, where you major in the subject you intend to teach and then get a master’s in education to secure licensure. So their advice was to major in history, and come back in a couple of years when the new program would be in place. So then I went to the history department to get the down-low on majoring in history. One thing they told me was that in the honors program one writes a senior thesis under the guidance of a faculty advisor. Late in my freshman year I started looking for an advisor. My interest at the time was in 15th-century England, specifically the Wars of the Roses. There was a professor there specializing in 15th-century England; unfortunately, she was on sabbatical and wouldn’t be back for a year. So I went back to the department, and spoke to the woman in charge of assigning honors advisors. “Hello,” I said. “I’d like a faculty honors advisor.” She informed me that I wouldn’t need one until my senior year. “But I’d like to have one now, so I can get some faculty advice.” She was quite strident in my lack of a need for such a thing. We went around and around, both of us getting a little angry and stubborn. “Fine,” she finally said. “You can have Professor 10th-Century Anjou!” It was pretty clear this was intended to be a punishment, but I was angry and stubborn enough to reply, “Fine!” I went to visit Professor Anjou. The first thing he did was start working on me to switch my plans from a degree in education to teach high school to a PhD in history to teach college. That hadn’t occurred to me, but thinking about it, it seemed like a much better plan (I’m not sure I have the patience to deal with high school kids anyway). The second thing he did was urge me to start studying Latin immediately. Latin is essential for medieval studies, and most graduate students waste a lot of their grad school energy trying desperately to pick up a working knowledge of a very difficult language (on the day where I had been studying Latin for a year and French for a month, I could read French more easily than Latin). The U of M had two lower-division Latin programs, one through the regular college and one through night school. After two years, both tracks come together for upper division courses. Professor Anjou told me to take the night school classes, because they were go-at-your-own-pace, which meant I could get through them faster. I ended up taking two years’ worth of Latin courses in one year, and then was able to dive into the upper division courses. Meanwhile, Professor England returned from her sabbatical, and I immediately signed up for an upper division undergraduate research seminar she was teaching. We had to clear our topics with her, so I said I wanted to work on the Wars of the Roses. “No,” she said. “It’s been done to death. Come up with something else.” And shooed me out. So I went to Professor Anjou and told him I needed a topic. He told me about Geoffrey le Bel, A.K.A. Geoffrey Plantagenet, count of Anjou and duke of Normandy. Geoffrey was a very important figure in 12th-century European history...the son of King Fulk of Jerusalem, husband of the Empress Matilda, son-in-law of Henry I of England, father of Henry II (the Lion in Winter), rival of Louis VI of France, and nemesis of Saint Bernard (the man, not the dog). Yet his life story was only told in fragments, as relating to those other people, and not in a coherent narrative of its own. Professor Anjou thought this would be an excellent topic to carry me through grad school and beyond. I was intrigued, and dove in. By the end of my junior year, my Latin was good enough that when Professor Anjou taught an upper division graduate course in medieval Latin, he arranged for me to get special permission to take it. For my final project, I did a historical introduction to and translation into English of the Historia Gaufredi. (As evidence of what a favor he did by pushing me into Latin so early and so hard, in this class I was the only undergraduate, and the only person who finished by the end of the quarter; all the graduate students had to complete their final projects over the summer.) Geoffrey has had a hard time of it. Thomas Keefe was supposed to write a biography, but drifted away (and in fact gave me some advice on the topic before he died). Jim Bradbury had a contract for a biography, but died before it was finished. I was going to do my dissertation on Geoffrey, which would ultimately have led to a book, but while my first several conference papers and published articles were on Geoffrey, my research interest eventually drifted into early Norman history. Finally, Kathryn Ann Dutton wrote a dissertation in England on Geoffrey, and is reportedly converting it into a book. I have a copy of the dissertation, and while I haven’t had a chance to read the whole thing the parts I have read (the ones that deal with topics my work had covered) are quite good. So I have a nostalgic interest in the Historia Gaufredi—translating it was the first serious historical work I did. And while it’s no longer my field (to the extent that I still have a field, being largely retired from medieval history, it's early Normandy), the opportunity to buy the 1610 edition at a surprisingly low price was irresistible. Thus, the latest addition to my antique book collection (I'm told the difference between hording and collecting is a display case)!
Cool, thank you for your interesting story! As I said in the other topic, the recycling of parchment/vellum was quite common in the early modern period. Sometimes older books were cut up (manuscripts were out of fashion after the invention of the letterpress printing). In your case the manuscript is not from a book, but from a legal document, written in French. Can you make a photo of the inside of the binding? Here you can see if the vellum was a part of the original binding.
I loved reading your story , @Medieval Guy . I worked for many years as an academic librarian. While I never enrolled in a doctoral program, the process you described of your undergrad career was very interesting, and seemed familiar (going from advisor to professors and back, figuring out what path to take). I'm sure that others here will recognize it, too. And your display case looks great!
