The year 1535 marks a watershed in the history of the English Bible. William Tyndale was arrested in Antwerp, to be executed in the following year, while, probably in Cologne, Miles Coverdale published the first full Bible in English (RSTC 2063). Since Henry viii's 1530 injunctions were still in force and prohibited the printing or import of any English Bible or theological work, it had to be printed abroad.Footnote 1 In England, however, the mood was gradually changing. Following Henry's engagement with the ‘Great Matter’, his marriage to Anne Boleyn in January 1533 and the Act of Supremacy of November 1534, reformers felt that the time was ripe for the publication of an English Bible. In August 1535 James Nicolson, a Netherlandish printer in London, wrote to Thomas Cromwell in support of printing the English Bible. Anticipating approval, the title page to Coverdale's Bible, which is ascribed to Holbein, depicted the enthroned Henry distributing Bibles. When the importation of Bibles became possible later that year, the Bible's preliminary materials were reprinted, omitting the more contentious ‘out of Douche and Latyn’ from the title page, and adding a dedication to Henry and Anne.
The first Bible printed in English has captured the imagination of reformers and historians. It was reproduced in a 1975 facsimile edition, and its style, appearance, printers and impact have been analysed at length.Footnote 2 Yet, another Bible was printed in England that very same year, which is far less well-known. That first ‘English’ Bible was printed in Latin, in London, in July 1535: the Sacrae Bibliae tomus primus in quo continentur, Quinque libri Moysi, Libri Iosue, et Iudicum, Liber Psalmorum, Prouerbia Salomonis, Liber Sapientie, et Nouum Testamentum Iesu Christi (RSTC 2055). It has attracted almost no scholarly attention, receiving only passing mention in Bible catalogues, a brief note in the Times Literary Supplement, and several pages in the history of the Stationers’ Company.Footnote 3 Indeed, both A. S. Herbert's catalogue of the English Bible and David Daniel's survey seem to be unaware of its existence, as is also the recent Oxford handbook of the Bible in England.Footnote 4 The reason for such lack of interest is the Bible's language. Vernacular Bibles, from the Wycliffite Bibles to the King James Bible, were celebrated for their Englishness, as national cultural artefacts that manifest religious changes in England. In the study of the early modern Bible, ‘English’ is a language as much as a place-name. A Bible printed on the Continent is therefore seen much more as a national treasure than its Latin contemporary, printed in London.
This article is the first to provide a fuller exploration of this Bible. Its unique position as a Latin text in a religious world gradually becoming English renders it the perfect witness to the uncertain course of change in mid sixteenth-century England. Two aspects currently debated by Reformation historiansFootnote 5 – the link between England and the rest of Europe, and the nature of religious transformation – are addressed here, through an analysis of the compilation of the Bible and through its reception. The first part of the article traces the printing of this Bible. It identifies models and shows it to be a traditional book carefully positioned between conservatism and reform. A comprehensive survey of the book's text and paratext shows its deficiencies to be not signs of an aborted project (as suggested by Arthur FreemanFootnote 6 ), but a testimony to the dependence of English printing on the importation of techniques, models and books. This bibliographical analysis corroborates Diarmaid MacCulloch's warning against dissociating the English Reformation from the rest of Europe.Footnote 7 The second part mines readers’ marks and annotations to reveal how the Bible was employed by priests, scholars, children and crooks. It shows the Latin Bible in the hands of Catholic recusants and monastic houses shortly before the Dissolution. Hidden annotations in one copy also reveal a unique testimony to the merging of Latin and English in the liturgy at the end of Henry's reign, unearthing a lack of clear boundaries of faith and language in early modern England.
Creation
There is no evidence about the printing of the Latin Bible apart from the information embedded in it. The Bible's provenance is asserted by a colophon at the end (‘Londoni excudebat Thomas Bertheletus regius impressor, anno M.D.XXV. mense Jul.’: fo. 303r), followed by an image of Lucretia holding a dagger to her chest.Footnote 8 The device is that of Thomas Berthelet (or Berthelot, †1555), a London-based printer of French origins.Footnote 9 Berthelet began printing in London on September 1524. In 1526 he was summoned before the Vicar-General, the senior church officer in the diocese of London, for printing Erasmus’ treatise on the Pater noster (RSTC 10477). In 1530 Berthelet became the King's Printer, a position that he held until the end of Henry viii's reign. In this role he printed royal proclamations (including the prohibition on printing or importing English Bibles), as well as religious books endorsed by the Crown, such as the Bishops' Book (1537) and the King's Book (1543).
The most celebrated feature of Berthelet's Bible has been the ‘Epistle to the reader’. This short introduction (Pio lectori, fo. [2]r–v) explains the appearance of the Bible, from the choice of fontFootnote 10 to the selection of books, before moving on to discuss the link between the Bible and the Crown. It presents an image of the king disseminating Bibles, not dissimilar to the visual images on the title pages of both Coverdale's and the Great Bible. The king, it is said, like the sun in the sky and the soul in the body, is the ultimate ruler, whose authority derives directly from the Bible.Footnote 11 And the king, whose ultimate responsibility was for the education of his people, was aided by the production of this Bible.Footnote 12 The ideal of a biblical monarch underpins much of Henry's attitude to the Bible, and is as a lynchpin uniting king, Scripture and people. The Epistle uses the ‘royal we’ when referring to the Crown. In line with nineteenth-century scholarship, Freeman has suggested that its author was none other than Henry himself, although it is perhaps more likely to have been Peter Vannes (Pietro Vanni, †1563), Henry's Latin secretary. This can thus be seen as an example of Richard Rex's ‘positive censorship’, when ‘censorship was accompanied by the deliberate use of [the] king's name or authority to promote literature acceptable to the regime. A dedication to the king was already an accepted method of establishing the credentials of a book’.Footnote 13 Royal authorship is indeed a most efficient form of such censorship. Yet a closer look reveals a very hesitant deployment of this Bible's royal connection. The ‘Epistle to the reader’ is unsigned, and Henry's name was not attached to the Bible as a whole.
Figure 1. Title page, Sacrae Bibliae tomus primus in quo continentur… (Berthelet: London, July 1535) © Lambeth Palace Library, London
Berthelet's Bible is a surprisingly modest book, especially for one with a royal connection. It is a quarto volume (page size of 200 × 136 mm) written in two columns of Black Letter, with sparse marginal materials and notes in Roman type. Its iconography is highly simplistic, based not on the biblical text, but rather on fonts and woodblocks readily available to Berthelet. The seven-line illuminated initials at the beginning of each book do not correspond to the contents; rather, they are either floral or depict classical figures. A comparison with books printed in England in the 1530s reveals that these initials appeared in other books printed by Berthelet, as well as in books produced by other printers.Footnote 14 The recycling of materials is most evident in the Bible's title page (see fig.1), which has nothing to do with biblical themes. It portrays a medallion of a laureled head facing left between two sphinxes (top) and naked boys in procession (bottom). This generic title page was used extensively by Bethelet and other printers, both before and after 1535. It was first employed for Edward Fox's Gravissimae, atque exactissimæ illustrissimarum totius Italiæ, et Galliæ academiarum censuræ, printed in 1530 (RSTC 14286); over the next twenty years it was re-used twenty-nine times, until John Bale's The ymage of both Churches (an English commentary on Revelation, printed by John Wyer in 1550, RSTC 1299).Footnote 15
The Bible includes some obvious errors. Marginal references point to books not included in the volume.Footnote 16 Some of the pages are mis-numbered, as, for example, 146 replaces 149 and 148 replaces 151. The lack of attention to detail, a mark of a hasty job or the lack of printing expertise, is evident in the printing on wrinkled paper, which caused some lines to be illegible.Footnote 17 This is accompanied by the lack of a collation formula and of a list of corrections. Two corrections were nevertheless made by hand: in all extant copies, at the end of the Epistle to the Reader (fo. [2]v) ‘fortasse’ was altered to ‘fortassi’ by crossing through the ‘e’ and adding ‘i’ in the margins; the word ‘honor’ in the sentence ‘honor et comes erit individuus’ was crossed over by a single line. This was done in a similar hand and ink across all copies, suggesting a centralised correction, most probably in Berthelet's shop. This correction, apart from indicating a short print-run and rudimentary technique, reveals special attention to this opening section, which corroborates the hypothesis of a royal connection.
Berthelet's Bible stands in sharp contrast with continental Bibles. The Coverdale Bible – its clandestine contemporary – is a much more impressive book despite the circumstances of its creation: a folio volume, whose elaborate title page depicts the enthroned Henry alongside diverse biblical scenes, and whose illuminated initials portray scenes from the biblical books that they preface. Latin Bibles printed on the Continent are likewise indicative of a much higher production level than Berthelet's, with a variety of Bible-specific illuminations, marginal annotations and reading aids.Footnote 18 By 1535 Bibles had been printed on the Continent for nearly a century, and significant innovations were constantly being made to appearance and paratext. Bible-printing arrived late to England, and, as its first manifestation shows, it lagged behind continental practices. English printers, many from the Low Countries, lacked the knowledge, tools and technology to print long and elaborate books. Berthelet's book is the result. It is in quarto, as English presses were unsuitable for printing lengthy books in folio; its choice of partial contents may have stemmed from the need to keep its length (and the necessary investment in type, paper and man-hours) under control.
The Bible's contents, as well as its appearance, engage in dialogue with continental models. By 1535 the Vulgate was not the only Latin Bible in circulation. In 1516 Erasmus provided a new Latin translation of the New Testament from the original Greek, revealing important discrepancies between the Greek text and the wording of the Vulgate. This was followed by numerous other translations, such as Osiander the Elder's 1522 revision of the Vulgate, Pagninus’ 1528 Latin literal translation or Sebastian Münster's 1534–5 new translation from the Hebrew.Footnote 19 Berthelet's Bible preserved the traditional Latin of the Vulgate. This was not a question of technology, nor of a lack of knowledge, as these Bibles were well known in England. Nor was it a clear confessional matter. Although Münster was of the Swiss Reform tradition, Pagninus was a Dominican, and the costs of his Bible were underwritten by Leo x, the dedicatee of Erasmus’ New Testament (the fifth and last edition of which also appeared in 1535). More important, the Vulgate was not ignored in strongholds of Reform. As has been shown by Bruce Gordon, the Vulgate was revised in Swiss cities, but still remained authoritative.Footnote 20 New translations were not seen to replace the Vulgate: the former were used for scholarship by an educated elite, while the latter was still employed in the liturgy and by the less-educated. Gordon even traces plans to prepare a new reformed Latin translation in England during the reign of Edward vi, an attempt curbed, as ‘England possessed neither the depth of scholarship nor the printing resources adequate to such a gargantuan endeavour’.Footnote 21 The choice of the Vulgate for Berthelet's Bible reveals its affiliation and intended use: it could appeal to both reformedFootnote 22 and conservative audiences; it was not meant to facilitate advanced biblical exegesis, but was rather created with a more liturgical use in mind, a use which in 1535 England still relied solely on the text of the Vulgate.
The Bible's reading aids are also inferior when compared to continental models, and would have inhibited more sophisticated exegetical use. On the Continent biblical summaries, concordances and reading aids became the norm. Our Bible, on the other hand, provides only one table, the Tabula historiarum, which occupies eight folios (signatures A1–A4, B1–B4). The truncated title makes its identification difficult, but a comparison with other Bibles reveals it to be the Tabula alphabetica historiarum Biblie of Gabriele Bruno Veneto. Printed for the first time in Venice in 1490, it became popular in editions of the Vulgate well into the sixteenth century. A comparison between the table from its creation to 1535 reveals something of Berthelet's intentions. Each version of the table that I was able to inspect (Basle 1491; Venice 1492, 1494, 1496, 1497, 1498; Lyon 1497, 1519; Paris 1504, 1507, 1512, 1520, 1534; Nuremberg 1516) preserves the table's rubric, which identifies its author, scope and methodology (‘A reverendo in sacra scriptura magistro Gabriele bruno veneto ordinis minorum. Ministro prouincie terre sancte’). On its own, the table appears to be a tool for navigating the biblical text. Its rubric, however, links it to the very core of Catholic practice, the Franciscans and their role as custodians of the Holy Land. By removing the rubric, the table – much like the Bible as a whole – was detached from its Catholic roots.Footnote 23
The table was further modified in Berthelet's Bible. It was truncated, omitting entries from books that do not appear in the Berthelet Bible (thus narrowing its scope, as, for example, the entries for ‘A’ came down from 130 to 90). An analysis of the table's entries reveals blind copying, and assists in establishing the Bible's model. It is unlikely that Berthelet had used any of the early Venetian incunabula Bibles, which were the first to incorporate Veneto's table. These provided a slightly abbreviated version of table that omits some of its entries and begins with Abel.Footnote 24 French Vulgates printed in the 1520s and 1530s contain a slightly more elaborate table which begins with Aaron and thus constitute an obvious model for Berthelet's table.Footnote 25
Subdivisions and marginal references further assist in establishing the model for Berthelet's Bible. While the ‘modern’ chapter division was introduced in the early thirteenth century, verse division was not integrated into Bibles before the second half of the sixteenth century. In their stead, a subdivision – indicated by marginal letters A-D/A-G – facilitated navigation. Unlike the later uniform system of verses, subdivisions differed across Bibles and fluctuated across editions. Often printers did not seek to modify marginal cross-references, preferring to blind-copy them from their models, even when such copying had inhibited accuracy. These minute elements can therefore assist in the identification of Berthelet's model. Printed Bibles, either in quarto or folio from Basle, Paris, Venice and Antwerp present subdivisions and marginal references that are markedly different from the ones employed by Berthelet.Footnote 26 Marginal references and subdivisions identical to Berthelet's are found in an unexpected place. Among the variety of Latin Bibles printed on the Continent, there is a discernible group of small duodecimo Bibles in multiple volumes, printed in Roman type in Venice, Paris and Antwerp. These tiny Bibles (the smallest in their time) constitute a unique and identifiable group, with their own distinct paratextual devices. And it is the marginal references and subdivisions of this group which are identical to the ones used by Berthelet.Footnote 27 Much like Berthelet's Bibles, these duodecimo Bibles contain little additional material, typically Jerome's general prologues and a table of readings for the New Testament. This was clearly a question of size. Small Bibles were bound in multiple volumes, and cross-Bible aids would have therefore been ill-employed. Such books were not foreign to England at the time. The record of 13 January 1535 for parcels delivered to Henry viii's court at Westminster by Mr Norres indicates ‘Eight little books of the Bible’, perfectly matching the type of continental books in question.Footnote 28
A reliance on duodecimo volumes helps to explain another of the Bible's features. The most uncommon facet of Berthelet's Bible is its contents. It holds only some of the books of the Bible: the Pentateuch, Joshua, Judges, the Psalms, Proverbs, Wisdom and the entire New Testament. While divisions of Bibles were common throughout the Middle Ages and early modernity, these have followed biblical or thematic sequences, which are lacking from Berthelet's Bible. I have yet to find a single Bible which replicates Berthelet's sequence of books.Footnote 29 A comparison with the duodecimo volumes helps to explain part of this choice. It relies heavily on specific volumes, while omitting others altogether. This is evident in a comparison with the Parisian 1525–9 Bible: the Pentateuch, Joshua and Judges comprise volume i almost in its entirety (omitting Ruth); the Psalms are volume iii; the works of Solomon volume iv; and the New Testament volumes vii–viii. Thus, Berthelet's Bible omits volumes ii (History), v and vi (Prophets and Maccabees) altogether, while employing all or most of the remaining volumes.
The details of the Bible's order can be explained by its continental model. The sequence of its books was unique even for its creators, who had anticipated objections. The ‘Epistle to the reader’ addresses this explicitly by raising – and then confronting – an objection:
We are anxious lest this alteration of the order of the books shall insufficiently please you, pious reader (who perhaps is religious), as it shall withdraw from the order of books (both sacred or traditional ones), or a little from ancient appearance if not from the customary form. If you shall look into our mind in this issue and at the cause of this change, you shall think without doubt that this is laudable and made by right.Footnote 30
The reader is assured of the orthodox nature of the Bible and is informed of the printer's desire to publish the remaining books (‘And we do not disregard other parts, lest anyone may rightly estimate that we have neglected or made [these] insignificant, but we have also put together these in another rightful volume: so that in that place it shall demand that we shall inquire into that accusation.’).Footnote 31 This intention was implicitly made on the Bible's title page, which presents the book as a first volume (‘Sacrae Bibliae tomus primus in quo continentur’), an assertion replicated in modern catalogues, albeit often with the addition – as in the British Library's catalogue record – of ‘General note: No more published’.
A second volume of the Latin Bible was never published, and a closer analysis reveals that it had not been planned. The order of books and the structure of quires does not support the later integration of additional materials. Non-sequential books appear in the same quire, and the transition between Wisdom and the New Testament occurs on the same folio. This would have made it impossible to re-bind any new materials with the existing first volume while preserving the order of biblical books. Adding a second volume would have been cumbersome and illogical, necessarily breaking away from historical and doctrinal sequence (for example, presenting parts of the Old Testament after the New, detaching Ruth from Judges or the Song of Songs from the writings of Solomon). It would have also made redundant both the ‘Epistle to the reader’ and the prefatory Table, as they allude to an incomplete Bible. It is more likely that a second volume was a vague intention from the outset, without any concrete attempts at publication.Footnote 32 This accords with the choice of books, comprising the ‘best of’ the Bible and avoiding more contentious biblical books.Footnote 33 It encompasses all the key components of the biblical text: from the historical events of the Pentateuch, through the omnipresence of the Psalms, to the salvation history and doctrine of the New Testament. As the Psalms and the New Testament constitute the backbone of the liturgy – the former in chant, the latter in biblical lessons – such an abbreviated volume was ideal for non-scholarly readers. It also accords with other indicators of Berthelet's production, which differed from continental Bibles. Much like the printing in quarto (the only size, alongside octavo, for books printed by Berthelet at the timeFootnote 34 ) or the recycling of title page and illuminated initials, the brevity of the book supports Berthelet's limited abilities, suggesting that he was not capable of printing a fuller, and more elaborate, Bible. The physical features of the Bible are thus indicative of English printing at the time. The English Reformation depended on mainland Europe for spreading its ideas through a constant stream of imported books.Footnote 35 Meanwhile, the contents and language of the Bible are indicative of a turbulent year in the reign of Henry viii and in the course of the English Reformation.
Context and reception
The production of Berthelet's Bible was marked by limitations and uncertainties. The result is a Bible that is neither one thing nor the other. It is not a reformed Bible, nor is it a definitively Catholic one, as is indicated in the dissociation of its table from its Franciscan origins. The choice of translation and books suggests a liturgical use, rather than an exegetical one, but it lacks any clear liturgical addenda such as table of lections or hymns. Despite Henry's supposed authorship of the ‘Epistle to the reader’, it is not clearly attributed to him. The reasons for Henry's wavering attitudes towards this Bible, whose production is described in the ‘Epistle’ as a delight (‘deliciis’), become clear when we compare it with other Bibles linked to Henry. Coverdale's Bible, regardless of the clandestine circumstances of its production, was more suitable as a royal book with its large format, higher quality of production, and – most important – its illustrated title page and visual manifestation of the benevolent monarch, reflecting the words of the ‘Epistle to the reader’. This approach is also evident in the title page of the Great Bible of 1539 (RSTC 2068), which portrays the enthroned Henry in all his magnificence, distributing Bibles to laymen and clerics. As demonstrated by Tatiana String, Henry employed this image to further the royal cause, and fully understood the intricacies of visual propaganda.Footnote 36 With such awareness of the value of the Bible as a symbolic object, it is of little wonder that Henry hesitated to endorse Berthelet's Bible fully, especially when Coverdale's Bible manifested – in image and object, more than language and text – the possibilities open to him.
The indecisiveness evident in Berthelet's Bible mirrors the time of its production. In the course of the English Reformation, 1535 marks a move away from traditional religion. The previous year had seen the royal mandate for visiting religious houses, alongside the Act of Supremacy, which clarified the authority of Henry viii over religious matters in England. Early in 1535 Cromwell was appointed royal vicegerent, or vicar-general. He initiated the visitations of religious houses that eventually led to the suppression of small monasteries the following year. Opposition was met with vehement response, employing oaths in support of the Act of Succession as a litmus test. The refusal of John Fisher, bishop of Rochester, and Thomas More, formerly lord chancellor, to take the oath had led to their execution in the summer of 1535.
Berthelet was not oblivious to this religious turmoil. As Royal Printer he printed in 1535 A proclamation concerninge heresie (RSTC 7785) in which Henry attacked Reformers who re-baptised, denied transubstantiation and ‘holde and teche other dyuers and sondry pestilent herysies agaynste god and his holy scriptures … The kynges mooste royall maiestie, beynge Supreme heed in erthe under god of the churche of Englande’, requiring them to leave the realm within twelve days on pain of death. Nevertheless, the year before the printing of the Bible saw a greater demand for Bibles in England. In December 1534 the English higher clergy in the Synod of Canterbury, under Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, petitioned Henry for an English Bible, and an early attempt at producing one followed.Footnote 37 Berthelet's Bible partially answered this call by producing the best Bible that he could, one appropriate to Henry's wavering attitude towards Reform. Injunctions made in 1535, as in those for all religious houses now under the authority of Henry, still specified the need to read the Bible, inevitably in Latin.Footnote 38 Even when Henry began to accept the arguments for a Bible in English, this was to stand alongside a Latin counterpart. In Cromwell's injunctions of August 1536 it was explicitly stated ‘that every parson, or proprietary of any parish church within this realm, shall on this side the feast of St. Peter ad Vincula next coming, provide a book of the whole Bible, both in Latin, and also in English’.Footnote 39 When these injunctions were reissued in 1538 only an English Bible was required.Footnote 40 Still, the Latin spirit lingered. Cranmer's 1538 injunctions for his diocese ordered each church to have ‘a whole Bible in Latin and English, or at the least a New Testament of both the same languages’.Footnote 41 Such injunctions accord with Berthelet's Bible and its fitness for public worship in late Henrician England. This impression is supported by patterns of usage evident in extant copies.
Berthelet's Bible survives in seven copies, three of which lack preliminary materials.Footnote 42 Their marks and marginal annotations reveal the world of sixteenth-century readers, who reacted to the hesitant nature of this Bible. The book's lack of any clear religious affiliation allowed it to be used by a variety of readers across the religious spectrum, which accords with Christopher Haigh's view of multiple reformations, especially as subsequent scholars employed this concept in their investigation of boundaries of gender, class, religion and literacy.Footnote 43 Two surviving copies of Berthelet's Bible – devoid of readers’ annotations – are ascribed to patrons at the heart of religious turmoils. The British Library copy shows little to no signs of use; it has been traced by James Carley to none other than Henry viii himself.Footnote 44 It was described in the 1542 inventory of books in the Upper Library at Westminster (no. 446), as ‘Primus tomus Bibliae impressus a Thoma Berthelet’, and its identity reaffirmed by the British Museum stamp, indicative of George ii's 1757 bequest to the British Museum.Footnote 45 This consolidates the link between the Bible and Henry. However, the volume lacks the grandeur evident in presentation Bibles (such as the hand-painted vellum copy of the Great Bible [BL, C.18.d.10]) so that there is some doubt as to whether it was ever officially endorsed by Henry, or formally presented to him. Another renowned patron is allegedly linked to the Sion copy in Lambeth Palace Library. This again is a predominantly unmarked copy, which bears the sign of the seventeenth-century Durdans Library, later given to Sion College. A signature on the title page invokes Bishop Hugh Latimer (†1555), bishop of Worcester and one of the Marian Martyrs. However, a comparison with Latimer's verified autograph reveals this to be spurious.
Further information on less prominent readers is evident in the Bodleian copy. This was bound in early modernity using parchment from a high medieval Psalter (verses from Psalms xxiv and liii are visible near the front pastedown; of Psalms xciii and cii near the back). This suggests access to medieval manuscripts, though not necessarily a break with medieval tradition.Footnote 46 The book's annotations reveal signs of early engagement with the Bible. On the back paper pastedown a confident cursive sixteenth-century hand provides a table of contents, with special attention to the Gospels and Epistles. This is preceded by ‘Dominus vobiscum et cum spiritu tuo’,Footnote 47 giving clear evidence of Catholic phraseology, if not affiliation. A religious house, studium or university college are natural hubs for such an engagement with the text and access to earlier manuscripts. This affiliation and use, however, was short-lived. Later readers have left their marks on this copy of the Bible, providing evidence of a more secular context. Doodles on the back and front pages comprise pen-tests and signatures, noting ‘William Beale is good man’ and ‘John Thomas’ on the last page. The names of Edward and Peregrine Aldryche appear on a few pages in the book. The nature of Edward's script and its lack of uniformity (fos 152v, 153r, 184v) suggest that these were children practising their signatures, most probably the children of George Aldriche Esq., who were naturalised in June 1604.Footnote 48
Another copy exhibiting early Catholic affiliation is kept in Cambridge University Library. A sixteenth-century reader, in a competent and cursive hand, marked sections of interest, underlining them and writing ‘nota’ in the margins. The knowledge of the reader, and hisFootnote 49 reliance on the Glossa ordinaria are evident in his comment on the cryptic verse of Genesis iv.7 at fo. 2v (‘If thou do well, shalt thou not receive? but if ill, shall not sin forthwith be present at the door? but the lust thereof shall be under thee, and thou shalt have dominion over it.’), stating ‘Nota habet arbitrii’ (‘Note: He has dominion’), a summary of the relevant gloss to the passage.Footnote 50 The religious affiliation of this (and of a subsequent) reader, is manifested on the title page. The name of the reader and the Holy Name of Jesus (IHS) were inscribed below the book's title, crossed out by a later hand.Footnote 51 The crossing makes the ownership mark less legible. Its probable reconstruction is ‘Hic liber Thome Atcinson | ex [libris] Magistri Wi[l]hemi White’.Footnote 52 Thomas Atkinson and William White are indeed recorded in mid sixteenth-century Cambridge. The former received his BA in 1541/2 and his MA in 1547 from Trinity College, where he was a Fellow from 1546.Footnote 53 He displayed a strong Catholic affiliation during Nicholas Ridley's visitation of the University in June 1549. During that visitation, Atkinson's colleague and fellow Catholic Thomas Vavasour refuted Ridley's arguments using the biblical story of Adam's rib (Genesis ii.21–3), the same chapter that is marked with an underline and a nota in this Bible as well.Footnote 54 The Magister is possibly William White, whose time in Cambridge spanned nearly thirty years. He was ordained as dean in Cambridge in 1510, and was warden of the Dominican order at the time of the Dissolution in 1538.Footnote 55
It is of little wonder that Catholic sympathisers found a use for a Latin Bible, even a partial one and one weakly linked to Henry viii. However, hidden annotations in another copy of this Bible move away from a clear Catholic affiliation and into the liturgy of last years of Henry viii's reign. At first glance, Lambeth Palace's second copy, SR2 E75 (1535), appears to be a ‘clean’ copy, lacking virtually any marginal annotations. However, a more detailed examination reveals that heavy paper was carefully pasted over blank parts of the book, hiding densely annotated spaces. Backlight and long exposures assisted in bringing the annotations to view, which were then digitally subtracted from the printed text (see fig. 2).Footnote 56 Once revealed, the annotations are shown to be in two main hands that can be dated to the mid-sixteenth century. The bulk of the annotation is in a single hand, and appears on the blank verso of the title page and in the empty spaces at the bottom of Pio lectori, at the end of the Tabula (sig. B4v) and at the beginning of Genesis (fo. 1r). It consists of a table of liturgical lessons – linking biblical episodes with divine worship. Each entry supplies the two biblical readings for a given liturgical occasion: Epistles (commonly the New Testament Epistles, but at times from other biblical books) and Gospels. It is written continuously, starting with the first Sunday of Lent, and identifies each biblical reading by chapter, subdivision and incipit. A typical entry reads: ‘On the iij Sonday [of Lent] | [E]phe. v. a. be ye therfore follo. | Lk. xi. b. and he was casting out’, referring to Ephesians v.1 and Luke xi.14.Footnote 57
Figure 2. Title page, Sacrae Bibliae tomus primus in quo continentur… (Berthelet: London, July 1535), Lambeth Palace Library copy SR2 E75. Digitally restored table of lessons on blank verso © Lambeth Palace Library, London
The table of lessons manifests the affinity between Berthelet's Bible and the performance of the liturgy. The obvious, however, should not be disregarded. While the Bible is in Latin, the table of lessons is in English. It is clearly based on the table of lections in the Great Bible of 1539, the first to promulgate widely such an English table of lessons, following the Use of Sarum. There, the entry for the 3rd Sunday in Lent reads: ‘Be ye therfore the Ephe. v.a | And he was castynge out Luke. xi. b’. The table was reprinted in Great Bibles throughout the 1540s, and can assist in dating the Lambeth annotations. They cannot have been made before the printing of the Great Bible in 1539.Footnote 58 Nor could they have been used after the introduction of the first Book of Common Prayer in 1549, which ushered in a table of lections slightly different from the one preserved in the Lambeth copy of Berthelet's Bible.Footnote 59 The later table of lections appeared in subsequent reprints of the English Bible, as, for example, the 1551 printing of the Great Bible (RSTC 2088). Thus, while both earlier Bibles refer to ‘Palm Sunday’, the Book of Common Prayer and subsequent prints refer to ‘Sunday before Easter’; while the earlier table has only one communion at Easter, the later has two. As the Great Bible's original table of lections became obsolete with the introduction of the Book of Common Prayer in 1549, it is evident that the table in the Lambeth copy was written between 1539 and 1549.
The Lambeth copy sheds light on late Henrician liturgy. It reveals the practice that followed legislation, and shows how the Latin Bible was chanted in accordance with the new English liturgy. It cannot reflect the letter of Cromwell's legislation, which may have been linked to the production of Berthelet's book. Cromwell's original injunction for a Latin and English Bible to be used together was modified in his legislation of 1538 (later reaffirmed in a royal injunction of 5 May 1541), for all parish churches to possess a copy of (solely) an English Bible.Footnote 60 However, the removal of Latin from the injunctions did not necessarily reflect its removal from living liturgy. This was surely the case for cathedrals and collegiate churches, where the liturgy was still chanted in Latin, as is evident from Cranmer's 1538 injunctions.Footnote 61 The inclusion of an English table of lections in a Latin Bible reveals how the Latin Bible was made to accommodate the new religious environment, moving away from a dichotomous view of Latin and English, conservatism and reform. Even where the liturgy was chanted in Latin it did not simply continue old devotions. Rather, it adhered to the most updated liturgical order, preserving language but reforming practice.
The subsequent life of the book can be reconstructed with some accuracy. Shortly after the table of lections was written, the Bible had left its ecclesiastical abode. Another mid sixteenth-century hand on the last folio noted a transaction between two laymen. It was not possible to trace the first person – one William Cheffyn(?) of Bolengate (Calais). The other, however, had a more peculiar name – James Elys of London Cutpurse – which proved to be an accurate description. James Elys was indeed hanged at Tyborne on 11 July 1552. He was described in Henry Machyn's diary as ‘the great pykke-purs that ever was, and cutt-purs’.Footnote 62 The death of ‘Mr Cutpurse’ provides a terminus ad quem for the annotation, confirming that it was written before 1552, a mere seventeen years after the printing of the Bible, and three years after the table of lections had become redundant. The use of Latin within the English liturgy was indeed short-lived. The last reader to leave his mark on the Bible attempted to wipe the slate clean by pasting heavy paper over all the annotations. This, much like the crossing out of Atkinson's name in the Cambridge copy, demonstrates how a later reader thought to transform the book once more in testimony to modified religious and cultural sensitivities. In comparison with the crossing-out of Atkinson's name and affiliation, the pasted paper is simultaneously a more and a less efficient way of obliterating the memory of previous readers. It gives the appearance of a ‘clean’ copy, and without the digital technology would have succeeded in hiding the annotation. However, the new technology allows a more complete and accurate view of the annotations. Unlike the crossing out of names, paper could be analysed and dated. It is possible to view two parts of a watermark on the pasted paper, on the verso of the first and last folios of the biblical text (fos 1v, 303v). The watermark is of a single-handed pot with flowers on top, inscribed with ‘PD | B’, similar to watermarks found in paper used in England between 1580 and 1610.Footnote 63 This created a window of opportunities lasting some sixty years from print to pasting, for readers to leave their marks in the book.
The study of Berthelet's Bible reveals something of the less well-known Latin facet of the English Reformation. History is written by the victors, and the Englishness of the early modern Bible has left little space for much else. This direction was far from evident in 1535. A well-informed royal printer employed his best, though limited, efforts to produce a Latin Bible, initially supported by Henry himself. The end-product was a book devoid of a clear religious affiliation. Its existence accorded with early legislation, which explicitly stated the need for both Latin and English Bibles in churches. Such a harmonious use was not merely theoretical, nor limited to the 1530s. As the digital analysis of one copy reveals, an English table of lections facilitated Latin chant according to the new English order in the 1540s. Some aspects of the English Reformation defy the dichotomies of Latin-English and Catholic-Protestant, as is evident in this unique merging of Latin and English. However, as the Bible was used by Catholic recusants, or passed from religious houses to lay hands, it serves also as a testimony to religious controversies and change. With the ascent of Edward vi, and in full vigour during the reign of Elizabeth, little space was left for a Latin Bible. It was employed by Catholic recusants, but also found its way into the hands of children, laymen and criminals. Its past was crossed-out or pasted over, so that it could adjust to a new religious environment and its sensitivities.
1535 marks a watershed in the history of the English Bible. At first glance, Berthelet's Bible seems removed from any transformation, an archaic remnant washed aside in the surge of the English Reformation. However, as the comparison with continental Bibles reveal, Reform and the Vulgate were not necessarily opposing forces. The volume of Vulgates printed in Zurich or Basle reveals that different Bibles were devised to fill different aims, and that a gap was created between educated and laity, between liturgy and study, even among those opposed to the Catholic Church. The reception of Berthelet's Bible reveals that at the end of Henry's reign reform was anything but a singular movement. In 1535 English was far from the only language for disseminating the Word of God. The hidden table of lessons in the Lambeth copy testifies that this did not change radically until the death of Henry. English and Latin liturgies converged in the 1540s, and we now have unique evidence demonstrating how this was done. This plurality proved to be temporary. As English became of prime importance, the Latin Bible found its way into the hands of Catholic recusants, crooks and children. It was thus that the other 1535 Bible took prominence. But these two contemporary Bibles do not stand in opposition to one another. They both aimed to answer the desire for the greater circulation of Bibles in England; they both promulgate the link between Crown and Bible; and they both testify to the state of English printing. The limited capacities of the King's Printer suggest that Coverdale's reasons for printing his Bible abroad were not only theological. The modesty and language of Berthelet's Bible have kept the first Bible printed in England out of sight.
