Category: Annotation

Annotation

Molded Letter Paper_131r

Raymond Carlson and Jordan Katz

Making and Knowing Project

Annotation for BnF Ms. Fr. 640, fol. 131r:

“Molded letter paper”

BnF Ms. Fr. 640, fol. 131r

Transcription [tc_p131r, 12 February 2015]

<title id=”p131r_a2”>Le{tt}re papier moule</title>

<ab id=”p131r_b2”>Escripts de quelque ancre bien gommee ou de quelque couleur<lb/>

qui aye corps & qui ne se defface point estant mouille deau<lb/>

de vye puys pose ton papier sur la plastre dardille & le<lb/>

mouille deau de vye & gecte dune part & daultre</ab>

Translation [tl_p131r, 12 February 2015]

<title id=“p131r_a2”>molded letter paper</title>

<ab id=“p131r_b2”>Write with some ink bien gommé or any other color dye which has body, and which is not erased if dampened with brandy. Then put your paper on the sheet of clay, and dampen it with brandy. Cast both sides [of paper].</ab>

Annotation

The recipe “Molded letter paper” on fol. 131r of BnF Ms. Fr. 640 explains in just one sentence the process of laying thick ink onto a piece of paper and casting it into clay.1 This recipe is without exact precedent in previous written sources, and this particular recipe does not clarify its intended final product. While a reconstruction of this recipe sheds light on its possible outcome, it does not illuminate its purpose. The limited nature of the text suggests that the recipe was not a subject of careful experimentation. Rather, as this entry will demonstrate, this recipe likely represents a less-developed idea inspired by two broader groups of recipes in the manuscript: those related to the casting of thin substances and those related to writing tricks.

The recipe begins by calling for writing that uses either well-gummed ink (“encre bien gommée”) or a colored liquid with body (“quelque couleur qui aye corps”). Immediately evident is the priority given to the viscosity of the writing liquid rather than its appearance, which implies that the paper onto which the ink is laid is unimportant to the final result. The recipe offers no indication of how to make “encre bien gommée,” although for a contemporary reader, this would have likely been a straightforward process.

As Jo Wheeler has noted, the majority of surviving Renaissance ink recipes are related to the making of iron gall ink, which was used since the twelfth century and involved a combination of iron salts with gall from animal or plant sources.2 A common source in which to locate such recipes are Renaissance books of secrets.3 The De Secreti of Alessio Piemontese (1555), for example, is filled with numerous ink recipes, each with different merits (cost-effective ink, white ink, etc.). One recipe, “To make ink to write that will allow you to make a large quantity, and very quickly, and at very little expense, and that will be perfect. And to make furthermore ink to print,” calls for the primary ingredient of fish gall, particularly that from ocean regions such as Venice.4 To improve an ink of simple fish gall, the De Secreti calls for adding dust of cuttlefish or dried fish, charcoal, glass, gall, and gum (gomma). The practice of varying the ingredients in ink to fit a desired purpose or writing surface was therefore common in this period. Recipes in numerous books of secrets call for some form of gum — typically gum arabic — to be added to ink to adjust its viscosity.5 To render ink “bien gommée,” in turn, would likely have involved an increase in the amount of gum in the ink.6

The manuscript itself contains two recipes for making ink within a larger recipe on fols. 51r-v for making prints using copper plates.7 The two recipes call for using linseed and walnut oil respectively and combining the oil with crushed garlic cloves and bread crusts. Because such ink was made expressly for the purpose of printing, in the reconstruction the decision was made to use a different ink. The primary properties of ink with which the author was concerned were its viscosity and its permanence when moistened. The recipe explicitly states that the ink must not run when wet with brandy,8 and in a marginal note for a later recipe the author again discusses the need to use waterproof ink when molding paper.9 In the reconstruction, two inks were used: a modern waterproof ink and an iron gall ink made to historical specifications by the Phoenix-based company “Old World Inks” [Figs. 1-2: Waterproof Ink, Iron gall Ink]. Selecting gum proved a greater challenge. Gum arabic seemed a natural choice, given the prevalence of gum arabic in this period, its use an ingredient for ink in many books of secrets, and its mention in numerous points of the manuscript.10 In our reconstruction, however, a gum arabic solution was found to have a diluting effect when mixed with ink [Fig. 3: Gum arabic solution]. Rather than raise the letters, the surface of the ink remained flat, even when multiple layers of ink mixed with gum arabic were applied [Fig. 4: Gum Arabic Text]. It may have been that a solid form of the gum arabic was needed, but it is worthy of note that the manuscript author references the use of (arabic?) gum in order to dilute paint pigments.11

In the reconstruction the decision was made to find a different gum to increase the ink’s viscosity, and powdered tragacanth gum mixed with water was therefore used [Fig. 5: tragacanth gum]. A resin derived from the sap of an eastern Mediterranean plant, tragacanth gum was available in Europe in the sixteenth century and was widely used by artisans. It is explicitly mentioned in Renaissance artistic treatises, often as a binding agent known for becoming hard with time.12 In the reconstruction, the tragacanth gum was mixed separately with both types of ink, forming a thick, gelatinous paste [Figs. 6-7: Tragacanth gum mixed, Tragacanth gum and ink mixed]. Initially applying this mixture with a calligraphy pen, the gum proved so dense that it was necessary to paint it onto paper with a brush. We inscribed a sheet using modern ink with the word “CRAFT” [Figs. 8-9: CRAFT, frontal and side views], and a sheet using iron gall ink with “ART” [Fig. 10-11: ART, frontal and side views].

After letting the ink dry over a period of several days, numerous changes took place. The ink shrank but remained thick and clearly raised above the surface of the paper. Despite applying the ink mixture to gelatin-sized sheets13 made of hemp and cotton fiber that approximated the qualities of sixteenth-century paper, the sheets curled up after the ink mixture hardened over several days [Fig. 12: Curled-up Paper].14 The curling of the paper may partly explain why the recipe calls for dampening the sheet with brandy, which allowed the paper to relax in shape, albeit causing small cracks in the ink as it spread out. Brandy with a high alcohol content (92 proof) was used out of concern that the tragacanth gum was partly water soluble. An important question was when to apply the brandy. As the sheet with writing was meant to be imprinted into flat clay [plastre d’ardille],15 one might expect to apply the brandy to both sides of the paper before imprinting it, as it would allow the paper to release from the clay more easily. The recipe however seems to call for the opposite order of operations: “puys pose ton papier sur la plastre d’ardille & le mouille d’eau de vye.” While the curved paper relaxed in shape after the brandy was brushed on, our action of applying the brandy to the reverse of the paper after placing the paper on the clay may have created problems [Fig. 13: Laying Paper onto Clay]. Both sheets were pressed hard against the clay by rolling them with a small marble cylinder [Fig. 14: Rolling cylinder], and when lifting the sheet using iron gall ink, the ink became stuck into the clay on two occasions and had to be forcibly pulled out with the tip of a knife [Fig. 15: Removing Ink with Knife]. It may be that the author’s ordering of steps was not meant to be followed verbatim, although this difficulty suggested that the recipe may not have been subject to careful experimentation by the author. Nonetheless, the ink created a clearly visible impression into the clay [Figs. 16-19: Impressions of CRAFT and ART].

Once the paper was pressed into the clay and removed, the reverse was also molded in adherence to the recipe’s order: “gecte d’une part et d’autre.” While the flat side of the paper created a slightly visible texture in the clay [Fig. 20: Reverse Molded], the objective of the recipe and especially the instructions to cast both sides remained unclear. The pieces of clay were left on a flat marble slab to dry for a period of several days, which caused them to warp slightly [Fig. 21: Warped Clay]. What was to be done next? Were the dry slabs of clay with an imprinted word the desired product? Their thinness made them brittle and impractical, causing one to break when handled [Fig. 22: Broken Mold]. It seems likely that such clay slabs would have been used as molds for a different substance such as plaster, which could simply have been poured onto the clay. The instruction to cast both sides of the paper may indicate that the author intended for the mold to be cast in two dimensions with the clay sheets pressed together. It may be that the clay was meant to have been inserted into a box mold or some other form. Such unknowns suggest that this recipe was not subject to rigorous experimentation.

It is noteworthy that the manuscript folio on which the recipe is found is very cleanly transcribed, with no strikethroughs in the main body of the text, a common feature of numerous other pages. Furthermore, the recipe should be considered in relation to the recipe immediately above it, which is entitled “Herbs difficult to burn in the mold” and offers one sentence of instructions to mold such objects “in two to three castings.” The word “essayer” in the margin adjacent to the herb-molding recipe, is likely a derivation of the verb essayer, possibly in an antiquated version of its imperative form (essaie or essaye). This could indicate that the author wrote a reminder to himself to try the herb recipe, suggesting that he copied down these recipes from another source or without having actually executed them himself. This hypothesis is affirmed by the brevity of the recipes on this folio. Alternatively, the author may have meant to encourage another reader to try the experiment on his own.

One might surmise, in turn, that the recipe for molding ink on fol. 131r was simply a “thought experiment,” an idea jotted down without empirical testing. The sources for such an idea are likely not textual, as no exact precedent for this recipe in printed books could be found. Rather, this recipe seems closely related first to a number of recipes related to writing found much earlier in the manuscript. On fol. 19v is a recipe titled “To write on the left as well as on the right way,” which states: “Write in the best manner possible with some well gummed ink [encre bien gommé] on as many cards as many words as you want to write and when your letter is full of ink, apply your paper and rub with a tooth the back of the cartel.” This recipe provides a nearly identical process to that described in the first half of the recipe on fol. 131r, using the properties of raised ink to create an imprint onto another surface. It is highly significant that on fol. 19v the recipe explicitly focuses on using this technique to reverse the direction of one’s words, as this same process obviously occurred when reconstructing in the recipe on fol. 131r. In the case of the recipe on fol. 131r, however, if something were cast into the clay, it would emerge with the writing again facing in the normal direction. This may indicate why the reversal of text was not explicitly discussed on fol. 131r.

The manuscript features an additional group of recipes related to writing that show the author’s broader concern with practical techniques related to this process. Folio 46v presents a series of such recipes, “Sulfur oil for the scribe” (used to clean a quill), “Shoemaker” (writing permanent text on shoes), “Erase lettering” (removing previously written text), “How to write without ink,” “How to make a letter on other material,” and at the end, “Black letter on stone.” All such recipes are composed of very brief descriptions with no strikethroughs or marginal notes, and many of them involve the same material: sulfur oil.16 It is difficult to know how thoroughly these recipes were actually tested, although the recipes reflect knowledge of the properties of sulfur oil and its potential uses. The recipe “Shoemaker” on fol. 46v employs the third-person to describe the process of writing on shoes, beginning: “If he wants to make some work on black leather shoes.” It may be that the author learned about sulfur oil from a shoemaker and experimented with this material in developing his own writing tricks.17 Another possibility is that the author speaks of a hypothetical shoemaker who could use a technique the author himself discovered when using sulfur oil, just as a writer the author mentions in an earlier recipe on this folio could have used sulfur oil to clean quills.18 In either case, the recipes on this folio show a primary concern with the material, sulfur oil, as a substance for writing. While some of these writing techniques may seem playful or even trivial, there are numerous examples of recipes in books of secrets for erasing ink, as well as for the production of invisible ink, for example.19

In the case of the recipe on fol. 131r, the manuscript author’s decision to connect paper with raised ink with making an impression in clay likely relates to his broader interest in molding very thin materials, which is borne out in numerous recipes on nearby folios in the manuscript. On fol. 142r the author gives the recipe for “Molding grasshoppers and other things too thin,” which begins:

If you have a piece of written paper to mold, which is very thin, after you have made a first casting and it has taken, add a little thickness to the back of your paper with some melted butter, which is the most appropriate means there is, and [this method applies as well] for strengthening the wings of either a butterfly or grasshopper, or any delicate part of an animal for which you need to add some thickness.

The technique of adding butter to the back of paper recalls a similar recommendation by the manuscript author for the casting of rose petals.20 As this recipe and others suggest, the author has established a category of very thin objects that are (evidently) common subjects for casting, such as paper, flower petals and insect wings.21 The author is developing a set of techniques for casting such delicate and fragile objects, such as spreading and stiffening them, as it is understandably difficult to make an impression when such objects are too thin and fragile to make an impression.22 As the reconstruction showed, fine clay would likely warp too much when dried to make an effective cast of paper. In turn, it is understandable that the author would recommend a shortcut for casting thin items, as he does in a separate recipe for molding a fly, noting that if its wings are imperfect, they can be made by cutting out a small piece from flattened metal.23 In the case of the recipe on fol. 131r, however, such a shortcut would have been impossible, as the objective was to cast the impression of the lettering. With further experimentation, perhaps the author could have devised a more comprehensive recipe for casting raised writing on paper.

Bibliography

Belozerskaya, Marina. Luxury Arts of the Renaissance. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2005.

Cotgrave, Randle. A Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues. London: Adam Islip, 1611

Eamon, William. Science and the Secrets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Visual Culture. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1994.

Macrakis, Kristie. Prisoners, Lovers, and Spies: The Story of Invisible Ink from Herodotus to al-Qaeda. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014.

Merrifield, Mary. Medieval and Renaissance Treatises on the Arts of Painting. New York: Dover Publications, 1967.

Piemontese, Alessio. Secreti del Reverendo Donno Alessio Piemontese. Venice: Sigismondo Bondogna, 1555.

Wheeler, Jo. Renaissance Secrets: Recipes & Formulas. London: V&A Publishing, 2009.


1 Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris, Ms. Fr. 640 (henceforth cited as BnF Ms. Fr. 640), fol. 131r.

2 Jo Wheeler, Renaissance Secrets: Recipes & Formulas (London: V&A Publishing, 2009), 99.

3 On this genre, see especially William Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Visual Culture (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1994). C.f. Elaine Leong and Alisha Rankin (eds.), Secrets and Knowledge in Medicine and Science, 1500–1800 (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011).

4A fare inchiostro da scrivere che ne farete gran quantità, et prestissimo, et con pochissima spesa, et sarà perfetto. Et per fare ancora inchiostro da stampare.” The cheapness of the recipe derives from one’s ability to eat the fish and save the gallbladder. See Alessio Piemontese, Secreti del Reverendo Donno Alessio Piemontese (Venice: Sigismondo Bondogna, 1555), 188.

5 Wheeler, Renaissance Secrets, 99.

6 A recipe in the manuscript on fol. 51r refers to the use of “eau bien gommée” to coat a stone on which to rub paper. This was presumably water with gum arabic added.

7 This recipe is titled “Cutters of printing plates.” It is unclear whether this recipe refers to the use of an engraved or an etched plate, and the process could presumably be used for either type of process.

8qui ne se d’efface point estant mouillé d’eau de vye

9 In a marginal note to the recipe on fol. 142r for casting very thin objects, the author writes: “If you write on paper or on cardboard, and your piece of writing has been made with gum, the wetness of the clay pack or of the soaked sand for the noyau will moisten it [and] ruin it. Thus, write with cinnabar mixed with oil, on oiled and stamped paper.”

10 For example, the manuscript calls for using gum arabic in the making of yellow varnish (fol. 74v).

11 In a note adjacent to the recipe “Painting big figures” on fol. 65v, the author writes: “Illuminators who paint over sheets of paper, dilute their colors with gum. They mix gum with a bit of soap, this way colors run better.”

12 Tragacanth gum could be used not only for making paints, but also for art objects that required greater volume, such as stucco and sugar sculptures. See Mary Merrifield, Medieval and Renaissance Treatises on the Arts of Painting (New York: Dover Publications, 1967), 1, 362, 484, 494; Marina Belozerskaya, Luxury Arts of the Renaissance (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2005), 246.

13 Gelatin was frequently used along with other starch additives to stabilize the viscosity of the paper and improve ink resistance. See http://www.naturalpigments.com/art-supply-education/sizing-paper-gelatin for further information.

14 Corresponding with Timothy Barrett at the University of Iowa’s Center for the Book, we decided that the best type of paper to use for this recipe would be gelatin-sized sheets made of hemp and cotton fiber. These sheets are typically used in the care and conservation of rare books from the period, thus they would have a comparable effect with regard to adherence to the ink. The sheets we received, according to Mr. Barrett’s email correspondence, were “50-50 hemp and cotton, heavy weight for a book paper, and third quality.”

15 In his French-English dictionary of 1611, Randle Cotgrave defines Ardille as “clay, loame, tough mold.” See the entry in Cotgrave, A Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues.

16 Beyond the numerous references to sulfur oil on fol. 46v, this substance is mentioned only briefly on two other folios in the manuscript. On fol. 46r, the author mentions that to whiten teeth “it is said that sulfur oil is excellent,” and later on fol. 117v the author says it can be used to wet asparagus when making a life cast of it, given asparagus’s distinctive hardness.

17 Another shoe-related recipe using sulfur oil is found near the bottom of folio 46v, explaining that this substance could heat up boots without producing flames.

18 The recipe titled Escrivan huile de soufre, the author writes: “If a writer wants quickly to clean his quill from some dried thick ink, one has only to dip it in some sulfur oil, and immediately it will be white and clean.”

19 On the history of invisible ink since antiquity, see Kristie Macrakis, Prisoners, Lovers, and Spies: The Story of Invisible Ink from Herodotus to al-Qaeda (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014).

20 See fols. 154v-155r, as well as the “Annotation for BnF Ms. Fr. 640, fols. 129r; 155r; 155v:

‘Molded Roses;’ ‘Molding a Rose;’ ‘Roses.’”

21 This recipe is itself likely related to that on fol. 131r, as a marginal note (reproduced above in note 8) specifically discusses the likeliness of ink mixed with gum to run when moistened.

22 For another recipe that discusses adding thickness to insects’ wings before casting, see “Molding flies” on fol. 149r: “Large flies can be molded & cast. But you must grease them on top of their wings with wheat oil, which dries quickly and firms them up & gives them a little thickness. The same is done with butterflies, cicadas, grasshoppers & similar things.”

23 In the recipe on fol. 156v, “Moulding a fly,” the author writes: “If it happens that you have some defects with your fly’s wings, hammer some very fine tin, or gold or silver, if you cast it, and shape with scissors the amount you need for your wings.”

Magistry_84r

Fol. 84r (downloaded February 13, 2015)

<title id=“p084r_a3”>Eau magistra</title>

<ab id=“p084r_b3”>Fais dissouldre le sel gemme ou suin de verre subtilem{ent}<lb/>

pulverisé & mis sur un mabre dans une cave, & il se desseichera<lb/>

en recuisant le moule & luy donnera une liaison pour soubstenir<lb/>

plusieurs gects. Essaye de humecter avecq huile de tartre.</ab>

<title id=”p084r_a3”>Magistry</title>

<ab id=”p084r_b3”>Dissolve rock salt or sandever that you have pulverized finely and placed on a marble slab in a pot. It will dry out while you reheat the mold, and will provide it with a binding to enable several castings. Try moistening it with tartar oil. </ab>

Eau Magistra” on fol. 84r provides instructions to make a liquid binder for casting sand. Variations of Eau Magistra in BnF Ms Fr 640 call for ingredients such as elm root and wine (or vinegar),1 and “burnt oysters,” likely a reference to their calcined shells.2 The Eau Magistra on fol. 84r calls for finely ground and dissolved sandever or rock salt, moistened in tartar oil. Our investigation of this recipe helped to illuminate the meaning of the categories of “fat” and “lean” that scholars have identified in other early modern writings as forming an important aspect of the understanding of materials in early modern Europe.3 Fat and lean appear to have been an important binary paradigm, perhaps having explanatory functions similar to the Aristotelian categories of wet/dry and hot/cold. In any case, our investigation of this recipe revealed an unexpected sensory aspect to the property of “fattiness.”

It is not clear why some binder recipes in BnF Ms Fr 640 are titled magistry while other binders, seemingly identical to them in function, are not denoted as such. For example, on fol. 85v the author-practitioner suggests that egg whites be beaten together with earth to make a casting sand, as the egg whites should help make the impression “come clean and sets and stabilizes the material.” Though the distinction between a magistry and a binder is not articulated in this manuscript, other contemporary sources define magistry as a liquid concoction that contains a wine or vinegar combined with a “salt.”

Nonetheless, the recipes for “magistry” and other binders in BnF Ms Fr 640 share some general similarities: to help bind the dry casting material together in such a way that it allows a crisp impression of the pattern, and also enable the sand to endure through more than one casting. The dry material, or “sand,” is often described as “dry and lean,” thus requiring a wet, or sometimes a “fatty” substance to bind it together.4 For example, in describing sand made from ox hoof bones in fol. 84v, the author-practitioner writes that “on its own it makes a clean mold. But because on its own it is very dry and lean, it demands to be well wetted and humidified with a thick broth [made from] elm root.” The author-practitioner writes on fol. 85r that “then I knew that sands used to mold big reliefs must be very moist with some kind of water, which gives body and firmness, like egg white, gummed water, [or] one [water] boiled with elm root….It can take as many firings as you want because it is as hard as glass.” A little further in the recipe he goes on to say that a “fat metal needs a lean sand,” using the same terminology to define the optimal combinations of metals and casting sands. This points to the importance of properties of dry, wet, lean and fat for understanding the properties of casting sands. Although the terms dry and wet used in sand casting recipes may seem to refer to the four humors, our process of reconstruction of fol. 84r shows that both dry and wet/moist are used in this manuscript to support the terms lean and fatty.

In order to test the Eau Magistra recipe on folio 84r, we first sought out sandever (also commonly referred to as glass gall), as the recipe stipulates, believing it would be especially interesting because another author understood it to be a “fatty substance floating on glass when it is red-hot in the furnace, and which being cold is as hard as stone, yet brittle, and easily broken”. As the same French-English dictionary of 1611 continues, when separated from the glass and cooled to a solid, the glass gall “forms a white crumbly mass, sometimes quite white and at other times brown and fouled, and strongly saline, but not very uniform in its composition: being sometimes merely salt, often very bitter, probably as common salt or sulphate of potash predominates.”5 It would appear that characteristic properties of sandever were its bitterness and saltiness. A nineteenth-century source defines sandever as composed of “all those salts contained in common alkalis that readily melt at somewhat less than a glass-making heat, and are either naturally considerably volatile, or have little if any affinity for silex, and do not unite in the composition of glass, but, being superficially lighter, rise to the top.” Apparently this byproduct of glassmaking was “generally skimmed off with iron ladles, and sold to metal refiners as a powerful flux.”6

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, sandever was also used as an ingredient in crocus metallorum in addition to antimony and salt-peter for an alchemical recipe, as a pesticide for garden walks, where it “destroys both weeds and vermin,” and seems even to have been used in France for culinary purposes, “to powder their meat, and to eat, instead of common salt.”7 In general, sandever had multiple uses, as De Blancourt writes: “this salt which the French call (Suin de Verre) Sandever is useful for several purposes, and in several Chymical Operations. It has besides some other Uses and Virtues that are not known, even to very few of the Learned; I could tell some very surprising and wonderful uses of it. But this may serve to whet the Industry of, and excite the Curious to further Enquiries.”8

Sandever as “glass gall” is now an obsolete material, impossible to obtain in modern glass making due to standardization and quality control of ingredients which ensures that byproducts such as sandever do not result from production. A toxic product called “sandever” is still produced in glass recycling, however it is now defined as the contaminants—such as asbestos—that result from the recycling of waste glass, and that must be separated from the glass mass in the furnace in order to produce useable glass.9

Thus, with no feasible way to obtain sandever for the magistry experiment, we decided instead to follow the recipe’s suggestion to use rock salt in place of sandever. It seems that sandever and rock salt are interchangeable, both in this recipe, and for an eighteenth-century author who suggested in Van Nostrand’s Engineering Magazine that for “pig or sow iron, videlicet, the ashes of wood and other vegetables, all kinds of glass and sandever, common salt and rock salt” be mixed into the iron mass to purify it.10 Biringuccio also categorized rock salt in a family of salts that include potash (an important ingredient for glass making) and sal ammoniac.11

In BnF Ms. Fr. 640, sandever and rock salt are suggested for use as dry binding materials in different recipes. For example, the recipe titled “Sand from a Toulousain Mine” on fol.84r instructs the reader to use sandever as an ingredient in the sand itself: the sand, mined deep from the earth, “is excellent on its own, but to make it sustain multiple castings, I mix it with pulverized and moistened sandever, which hardens it, holds together well with it, and enables as many castings as you like.” Similarly, the recipe on fol. 89r calls for mixing together pulverized ox bone and rock salt then moistening them. As investigation of this recipe showed, the combined ox bone and rock salt molds produced an unexpectedly hard mold that was firmly bound together, and remained intact enough to be cast more than once.

The Eau Magistra recipe on 84r specified that the resulting mold should be strong enough to withstand several castings. In order to produce the binder, we ground rock salt, mixed it with oil of tartar12 then mixed it with a dry sand made from reground molds from previous castings. The main ingredients of these reground molds were pulverized brick and plaster (also containing very small amounts of ammonium chloride solution that had been used as a binder). In combination with the Eau Magistra of fol. 84r, this recipe produced a two-piece mold that, despite some crumbling and partial disintegration, remained intact enough for a second clean casting.13

[Figure 1]

[Figure 2]

[Figure 3]

[Figure 4]

Although we cannot decisively conclude from this single trial14 that the magistry of fol. 84r was responsible for the success of this mold, this trial did shed light on the meaning of “fat” and “lean.”

Significantly, the two recipes for mold material that specify rock salt (or sandever) do not rely upon a wet binder such as elm root infusions and egg whites,15 but instead, binding action occurs when the salt mixture is moistened. Apparently, the author-practitioner understands this to be due to the “fatty” properties of rock salt (and, by extension, sandever). The fact that sandever and salt are dry materials that also successfully do the work of binders, points to their versatility as materials that apparently possess both a lean and fatty state.

How can salt be understood as “fatty”? In reconstructions of 84r and 89r, we struggled with the concepts of fat and lean, as they did not make sense within a modern understanding of salts, much less of “fat.” We began to understand the meaning of fat and lean, however, when we ground pink Himalayan rock salt for both the Eau Magistra of 84r and bovine bone/rock salt sand of fol. 89r.

[Figure 5]

[Figure 6]

After grinding the salt in rock mortars as finely as possible and storing it in an air-tight jar, we returned to the lab a few days later and found that the texture of the salt was very “sticky.” The salt had transformed from a fine, dry powder that poured freely from an outstretched hand to a sticky substance, in which the particles clearly adhered to each other, creating an unexpected sensation of resistance when running one’s fingers along the surface. The well-known material of salt unexpectedly possessed a completely different set of properties, and we felt the “fattiness” of the rock salt, which suddenly afforded a new workability. This allowed us to apprehend the place of “fatty” in the “science” of the author-practitioner, a rather different perspective than is given by our modern classification of salt as sodium chloride.

We thus concluded that these terms, fat and lean, rely very directly upon sensory interaction with materials. In the early modern period, the body itself was a tool in experimentation by which practitioners came to know the properties of materials and the possibilities they afforded or precluded.16 Our modern knowing of this material through its chemical composition differs from the early modern practitioner’s, which was a deeper, more intimate knowing through the bodily senses. This intimacy between practitioner and material was so close that it often was connected to – and could cost them – their health. Smith writes that “the body…was also implicated in the work: the bodies of metalworkers and the very matter upon which they labored interpenetrated each other: bad breath could prevent the adhesion of metal gilding, and, conversely, metal fumes were known to shorten the lives of metalworkers.”17 Sensory testing of materials and ingesting food for medicinal ends were not separated by a great distance—both involved the same types of substances and qualities, including cold, hot, wet, dry, fat, and lean, and both contributed to the intimate connection between practitioner and materials that helped reinforce an understanding of materials in the language of qualities and properties that could be apprehended by the senses.

Bibliography:

Biringuccio, Vannoccio. The Pirotechnia of Vannoccio Biringuccio. Translated by Cyril Stanley and Martha Teach Gnudi. New York: Dover Publications, 1990.

de Blancourt, Jean Haudicquer (ca. 1650). The art of glass, showing how to make all sorts of glass, crystal, & enamel … Illustrated with proper sculptures. London: Printed for D. Brown. T. Bennett, [etc., etc.], 1699.

Cotgrave, Randle. Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues. London: Printed by Adam Islip Anno, 1611.

Neri, Antonio (d. 1614). The art of glass, wherein are shown the wayes to make and colour glass, pastes, enamels, lakes, and other curiosities. Translated by Christopher Merret. London: Printed by A.W. for O. Pulleyn, 1662.

Payne, Josh. “Decarburization and Purification by Means of Cinder, Ashes, Salt, Silex, Potash and Clay”, Van Nostrand’s Engineering Magazine 1 (1728): 194-195

Smith, Pamela. “The matter of ideas in the working of metals in early modern Europe,” in The Matter of Art: Materials, Practices, Cultural Logics, c. 1250-1750, edited by Christy Anderson, Anne Dunlop, and Pamela Smith, 42-68. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2014.

Unknown, “Sandiver, or Glass Gall.” Glass, Brick, Pottery and Glass Journal 6 (1879): 77.

By Michelle Lee, with Pamela H. Smith.


1 “Eau Magistra” in BnF Ms Fr 640, fol.87v

2 “Eau Magistra” in BnF Ms Fr 640, fol.84v

3 Pamela H. Smith, “The matter of ideas in the working of metals in early modern Europe,” in The Matter of Art: Materials, Practices, Cultural Logics, c. 1250-1750, ed. Christy Anderson, Anne Dunlop, Pamela H. Smith (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2014).

4 Notable instances of “lean and fatty” in the manuscript include, but are not limited to: p089r, p088v, p086r, p077r, p069v, p069r, p159r. p085r, p142v, p053r, and p165r.

5 Randle Cotgrave. Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues. (London: Printed by Adam Islip Anno, 1611), s.v. “sandever.”

6 Unknown, “Sandiver or Glass-Gall” in Brick, Pottery and Glass Journal 6 (1879): 77.

7 Antonio Neri (d. 1614), The art of glass, wherein are shown the wayes to make and colour glass, pastes, enamels, lakes, and other curiosities, trans. Christopher Merret (London: Printed by A.W. for O. Pulleyn, 1662), 277.

8 Jean Haudicquer de Blancourt (ca. 1650), The art of glass, showing how to make all sorts of glass, crystal, & enamel … Illustrated with proper sculptures (London: Printed for D. Brown. T. Bennett, [etc., etc.], 1699), 58.

9 Glen Cook (Senior Research Associate at the Corning Glass Museum), email message to D. Mellon titled “RE: query: glass gall,” 11 November 2014.

10 Josh Payne. “Decarburization and Purification by Means of Cinder, Ashes, Salt, Silex, Potash and Clay”, Van Nostrand’s Engineering Magazine 1 (1728): 194.

11 Vannoccio Biringuccio, The Pirotechnia of Vannoccio Biringuccio, trans. Cyril Stanley and Martha Teach Gnudi (New York: Dover Publications, 1990), 112.

12 Oil of tartar is distinct from cream of tartar, which is white crystallized potassium bitartrate found on the sides of wine barrels. As defined by Newton, oil (sometimes called salt) of tartar is potassium carbonate, created when potassium bitartrate is calcinated.

13 An unknown variable caused a yellowish-gold coloring to the medal cast in the mold made with the eau magistra of fol. 84r. Although we initially believed it to be caused by the rock salt, the medals cast in our ox bone and rock salt molds (fol. 89r) did not result in this color, despite the fact that these molds contained a much higher ratio of salt than the eau magistra mold. Other medals previously cast in the same brick/plaster sand had also displayed the same sort of discoloration to a lesser extent, but at the time of writing, it is hard to positively identify what caused the coloring.

14 We unfortunately could not conduct multiple trials for this project as planned, and urge anyone interested in performing this experiment to conduct multiple trials, especially with clean sand that has not been employed in casting before and thus has not had other binders mixed into it.

15 Recipes calling for egg whites and elm root as binders include, but are not limited to, the following: p084v, p082r, p083r, p085v, p087v, p085r, p086r, p087v, p069v, and p072r. For further discussion of these two ingredients used as binders, please refer to AnnotationFall2014_CataldoVisco_binders.

16 Smith, 44.

17 Ibid.

Excellent Mustard_48r

Transcription [from tc_p048r, accessed February 12, 2015]

<title id=“p048r_a3”>Excellente moustarde</title>

<ab id=“p048r_b3”>Fais seicher du pain au four puys le larde de girofle & Canelle<lb/>

& ainsy mects le tremper dans de bon vin Puys passe tout<lb/>

par lestamine estant bien pile & lincorpore avecq ta graine<lb/>

de moustarde</ab>

English translation [from tl_p048r, accessed February 12, 2015]

<title id=“p048r_a3”>Excellent mustard</title>

<ab id=“p048r_b3”>Dry some bread in an oven, then stick cloves & cinnamon into it and put it to soak in good wine. Then, being well crushed, pass everything through a cloth strainer and incorporate it with your mustard seeds.</ab>

Excellent Mustard, 48r

Diana Mellon

At first glance, the recipe for mustard in BnF Ms. Fr. 640 appears to be one of very few culinary recipes in the manuscript. This recipe lies beneath a drawing showing the design of an oven for melting metals, between instructions on how to cure a dog of mange, above, and how to stuff animals and birds, below. Other “culinary” recipes in the manuscript include those for vinegar (40r) and “Vin brusle et sucre” [“Burned and sweet wine”] (71r). Most of the “food” recipes in the manuscript are actually related to food preservation (16v, 50r, 98v) or medicines (7v, 20v, 37r, 47r, 77r). For example, “Medecine pour lestomach qui leschaufe et desopile le foye” [“Medicine for the stomach which warms it [stomach] and unstops the liver”] (37r) is an opiate which clears gas and phlegm and heals the stomach. There are also several recipes related to keeping fruit- or nut-bearing trees. A cursory look through the manuscript’s entries translated so far left us wondering why the author-practitioner had included this particular food recipe in a compilation largely focused on other bodies of knowledge. While his curiosity was clearly wide-ranging, it does not seem to have extended to the vast body of culinary knowledge that was likely available to him. Why mustard then?

Mustard is mentioned elsewhere in the manuscript as a point of reference for the desired thicknesses of different substances (89v, 113v, 121v). These instances suggest that mustard had a relatively consistent viscosity that the target reader, if we can speak of one, would have been familiar with. These three non-culinary recipes in BnF Ms Fr 640 helped us form a clearer image of what our reconstructed mustard should look and feel like—a spreadable paste thicker than sauce. Still, the main early modern uses and qualities of mustard were unclear to us before beginning our experimentation and research.

~

As we ground our yellow mustard seeds by hand in a marble mortar with a marble pestle, we noticed no spicy smell wafting up towards our faces, only the physical challenge of breaking each tiny, firm seed open and pulverizing it.1 [Fig. 1, grinding mustard seeds] The ground cinnamon and clove, added to dried bread, smelled familiarly warm and aromatic. [Fig. 2, bread and spices] In our first trial, we used red wine to soak our spiced bread; our second trial was tripartite in that we used Concord grape juice, muscat wine, and red wine for three different mustard variations. [Fig. 3, three mustard varieties in progress] In all cases, shortly after the spiced liquids combined with the mustard seeds, we were able to smell the pungent seeds. [Fig. 4, combining ingredients] The initial smell was incredibly sweet due to the sugars in the liquids combined with cinnamon and clove, spices we associate with sweet foods and drinks. This eventually gave way to the stronger, stinging smell of mustard.

After tasting it, our first batch of mustard seemed to remain present as a burning sensation in our mouths, throats and stomachs far longer than we desired. We later related this tingling to the early modern belief that mustard, when applied topically, could draw diseases to the skin’s surface so that other medicines could access them.2 Subsequent batches of mustard made with the three different liquids mentioned above varied in color and flavor. The mustard made with muscat wine differed from the other two samples primarily in color—it had a golden color familiar to us from contemporary mustard. [Fig. 5, muscat wine mustard] Its flavor was milder than the red wine mustard, but sharper than the Concord grape juice mustard. [Fig. 6, three finished mustard varieties]

A few clues helped us clarify certain aspects of the recipe we were taking on. First, the suggestion about the consistency, mentioned above. After our first trial, we noticed that the mustard seeds might make a more consistent and finer powder if the seed husks were removed, [Fig. 7, mustard seeds during grinding; Fig. 11, first mustard results] which was confirmed by Hugh Plat’s 1602 recipe for “Mustard Meale”:

IT is usuall in Venice to sell the meale of Mustarde in their markets as we do flower and meale in England: this meale by the addition of vinegar in two or three dayes becometh exceeding good mustard, but it would bee much stronger and finer, if the husks or huls were first divided by searce or boulter, which may easily bee don, if you drie your seeds against the fire before you grind them. The Dutch iron handmils, or an ordinarie pepper mill may serve for this purpose.3

Based on this and our experiences in our first trial, we decided to sieve the husks from the seed kernels in our later trials, which gave us better results.

In Plat’s recipe, we learned also that we might have saved time by using a hand-mill instead of a mortar and pestle. An illustration in Bartolomeo Scappi’s 1570 treatise Opera shows a nutmeg grinder, [Fig. 8, Scappi’s nutmeg grinder] suggesting that specialized grinding tools were available, and a recipe for “Terre fondue des potiers” (90v) in our manuscript make use of a “moulin de moustard,” or “mustard mill.”4 A second image in Scappi’s treatise helped us imagine what “lestamine” [“a cloth strainer”] mentioned in our recipe might look like [Fig. 12, Scappi’s cloth strainer]. We used a cotton cheesecloth, single or doubled-up depending on the thickness of our liquid, as a readily available modern substitute for a tammy cloth.

Our greatest challenge in executing the author-practitioner’s recipe for mustard consisted in establishing the correct proportions of liquid to dry ingredients, and understanding how long to leave the spiced bread in this liquid to achieve the exact desired thickness. Our first trials left us with an extremely thick paste, [Fig. 10, thick spiced wine paste] nearly impossible to squeeze through one layer of our cotton cheesecloth, [Fig. 9, squeezing paste through cloth] but later trials left us with a very thin liquid. The type of bread used and the way its material reacts to manipulation and liquids most likely have an effect on this and should be studied further.

~

Early European mustard recipes date back to ancient times,5 and black mustard (Brassica nigra) and its less pungent relative white (sometimes called “yellow”) mustard (Brassica alba) grew in Western Europe at the end of the sixteenth century. The availability of the seed and the frequency with which mustard is mentioned in early modern recipes suggest that the substance was not rare. A 1606 declaration in Rouen, reproduced in a nineteenth-century publication, demonstrates that local moutardiers (as well as vinaigriers, aigriers, and faiseurs d’eau de vie) were regulated as a profession in response to unhealthy practices like the addition of improper ingredients to a mustard, such as, “des graines de choux et de rabettes qui la randaient huileuse et de mauvaise goût, et du jour au lendemain putrefaicte, conséquemment indigne d’entrer au corps humain” [“cabbage and [?] seeds, which make it oily and bad-tasting, and from one day to the next rotten, therefore unfit to enter the human body.”]6 The account mentions that the King himself attached such significance to this ordinance to see it through quickly, though the author seems to think this was for fiscal reasons. The accompanying ruling stated that active members of the aforementioned professions, including moutardiers, had to be apprenticed to a master for at least three years. Interestingly, although production was limited to authorized masters, “Sera néanmoins permis aux bourgeois d’en fair pour leur usage.” [“The bourgeois will nevertheless be able to make it for their own use.”]

As the “first and only native pungent spice available to early Europe,”7 mustard played a unique role, but not only as a readily available flavor for the European palate. According to Aristotelian and Galenic humoral theory, foods and people were understood to have complexions which generally had combinations of two of these four qualities: hot, cold, wet and dry. Substances which had certain of these qualities would sometimes, but not always, influence the balance of the associated humors within the human body. In his treatise De Simplicium Medicamentorum, Galen mentions that pepper, for example, is cold to the touch but has the effect of heating the human body.8

In Robert Pemell’s 1652 treatise on medicinal simples, the mustard seed is “hot & dry in the fourth degree.”9 Following these qualities, mustard seeds were thought to be good for those suffering from cold and wet diseases like gout or “cold stomach,” but bad for cholerics. The medicinal properties of mustard were directly tied to its influence on cold and wet humors; as Pemell writes of mustard: “by the sharpnesse thereof it pierceth to the Brain, and purgeth it by sneesing and drawing down rheume and other tough humours which by their residence do much offend.”10

Not surprisingly, the other ingredients in this recipe seem to share these basic characteristics. Pemell categorizes cinnamon as being “hot and dry in the third degree, or hot in the third-degree and dry in the second,” while cloves are “hot and dry in the second or third degree.”11 Both are described as being used, like mustard, to combat cold and wet disease and are not recommended for cholerics. Wine was known to contribute to the general revival of spirits, increasing blood flow because it was believed to be easily converted into blood.12 Mustard was also included in the category of “aperients,” substances which dilate the inner body, increasing flow; again, this would be detrimental to a choleric’s health.13

It would be incorrect to apply our own distinction between medicines and foods to the early modern usage of mustard. Nevertheless, it appears that the recipe for “excellent mustard” on fol. 48r is, rather than a culinary anomaly within the manuscript, another example of a substance with medicinal properties. The thick and spicy paste maintained its “hot and dry” nature even when used as a condiment for meats, as it is today.

Several early modern authors recommend mustard as a corrective to the less desirable qualities of meats and other heavy foods.14 This union of meat and mustard was about more than just flavor. Ken Albala mentions the belief that “mustard’s cutting and abstersive qualities will help us digest the gross and heavy pork.”15 Certain fatty or heavy meats, such as the animals’ heads mentioned by Baldassare Pisanelli in a 1586 treatise, were considered safer to eat if combined with mustard.16 William Bulleyn, whose health book was published in London in 1558, writes that a broth made with mustard helps with the digestion of meat.17 For Benedict of Nursia, whose work was published in 1475, flatulence caused by beans could be corrected with the addition of mustard and wine, among other ingredients.18

Our own experience in the kitchen and in the lab confirmed the difference between the inert mustard seed’s status as a cold and dry substance and its activation into a hot and dry substance through the process of making mustard. Chemically, we now understand that the spiciness in the mustard seed, caused by irritants called isothiocyanates, emerges when it reacts with liquids: “The combination of moisture and cell damage revives the seeds’ enzymes and allows them to liberate the pungent compounds from their storage forms.”19

Interestingly, using an acidic liquid such as wine or vinegar, the two liquids most commonly used in early modern mustard recipes, slows down this reaction and makes the pungent taste last longer.20 This sheds light on a recommendation in Le Ménagier de Paris: “If you want to make a supply of mustard that will keep long, make it during the picking-season (of wine grapes) from fresh stum [must].”21 In fact, in our own experiments making mustard with three different liquids, we found that our mustard made with red wine, kept in a refrigerated airtight container for several weeks, held its sharp flavor even after the other two mustards had lost theirs.

~

Through a combination of research and the direct observation of the powerful sensory experience of making and eating mustard, we can now suggest that our author-practitioner’s recipe for mustard is as much about its medicinal properties as its appeal as a food substance. A powerful antidote or accompaniment to other foods, mustard fits into a series of recipes for wine- or vinegar-based remedies and other medicines for cold and wet diseases (see fn. 1) within the manuscript. What appeared to us at first as a superfluous condiment might in fact have been a common ingredient in early modern meals prized for its clearly defined physical properties and its effect on the human body.

Bibliography

Albala, Ken. Eating Right in the Renaissance. Berkeley, CA, USA: University of California Press, 2002.

A. T., practitioner in physicke. A rich store-house or treasury for the diseased Wherein, are many approued medicines for diuers and sundry diseases, which haue been long hidden, and not come to light before this time. 2nd ed. London: Thomas Purfoot and Ann Raph Blower, 1596.

Benedictus de Nursia [Nenedetto de’Riguiardati di Norcia]. Opus ad sanitatis conservationem. 2nd ed. Bologna: Domenico de Lapis, 1477.

Brereton, G.E. and J.M. Ferrier, eds. Le Ménagier De Paris: A Critical Edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981.

Bulleyn, William. A newe booke entitled the government of healthe. London: John Day, 1558.

Galen. De Simplicium Medicamentorum [Temperamentis Ac] Facultatibus. Book XI.

McGee, Harold. On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen. Rev. ed. New York: Scribner, 2004.

Pemell, Robert. Tractatus de simplicium medicamentorum facultatibus. = A treatise of the nature and qualities of such simples as are most frequently used in medicines, both purging, and others. London: M. Simmons, for Philemon Stephens, at the guilded Lyon in St Pauls Church-Yard, 1652.

Pisanelli, Baldassare. Trattato della natura de’cibi et del bere. Venice: Giorgio Alberti, 1586.

Plat, Hugh. Delightes for ladies to adorne their persons, tables, closets, and distillatories with beauties, banquets, perfumes and waters. London: Peter Short, 1602.

Scappi, Bartolomeo. Opera. Venice: Michele Tramezzino, 1570.

Shakespeare, William. The Taming of the Shrew. New York: Washington Square Press New Folger Edition, 1992.


1 In our most successful experiments, we used the following ingredients and protocol: 11 oz. bread (whole wheat or white); 2 sticks cinnamon; 50 cloves; 1.5 cups of red wine, muscat wine, or Concord grape juice; 1/16 cup yellow mustard seeds. If bread is not already dry (hard), preheat oven to 300 F. Slice bread to 1-1 ½-in thick slices. Place bread directly on oven tray and leave until dry, about 18 min. In the meantime, grind clove and cinnamon roughly in mortar with pestle. Grind mustard seeds finely, and sift through tight sieve to remove large husks. Remove bread from oven, combine in bowl with cinnamon and clove, 1.5 cups liquid of choice, crush all together with pestle, leave to soak for 20 min or longer, depending on bread. Strain through cotton cheesecloth and combine enough of resulting liquid with ground mustard seeds to produce desired paste.

2 According to Robert Pemell, mustard “…easeth the Sciatica and other Gowts, pains in the side or loines, the shoulders or other parts of the body, upon the applying thereof to raise blisters, and by drawing the pains to the place from the inward or more remote, cureth the dis|ease, or diverteth it to those outward places where locall Medicines may help.” Robert Pemell, Tractatus de simplicium medicamentorum facultatibus. = A treatise of the nature and qualities of such simples as are most frequently used in medicines, both purging, and others (London: Printed by M. Simmons, for Philemon Stephens, at the guilded Lyon in St Pauls Church-Yard, 1652), Chapter 161. The recipe by the author “A.T.” for “A Medicine to breake the Botch,” ground mustard seeds are combined with other ingredients to form a plaster that can “draw foorth all the venome.” A. T., practitioner in physicke, A rich store-house or treasury for the diseased Wherein, are many approued medicines for diuers and sundry diseases, which haue been long hidden, and not come to light before this time, 2nd ed. (London: Thomas Purfoot and Ann Raph Blower, 1596), 65.

3 Hugh Plat, Delightes for ladies to adorne their persons, tables, closets, and distillatories with beauties, banquets, perfumes and waters (London: Peter Short, 1602), Chap. 25. Interestingly, Plat continues: “I thought it verie necessarie to publish this manner of making of your sauce, because our mustard which wee buy from the Chandlers at this daye is manie times made vp with vile and filthy vinegar, such as our stomak would abhorre if we should see it before the mixing therof with the seedes.”

4 Bartolommeo Scappi, Opera, (Venice: Michele Tramezzino), 1570.

5 Lucius Iunius Moderatus Columella, De Re Rustica, vol. XII, 57.

6 Ch. de Robillart de Beaurepaire, Cahiers des États de Normandie sous le règne de Henri IV, vol. 2, (Rouen: C. Métérie, 1880-2), 282-85. See also Hugh Plat’s comment on vile vinegar in fn. 3, above. All bracketed translations except BnF Ms Fr translations are by the author of this annotation.

7 Harold McGee, On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen, rev. ed. (New York: Scribner, 2004), 415-16.

8 Galen, De Simplicium Medicamentorum, I 11: XI 398f.

9 Pemell, Tractatus, Chapter 161. The author mentions “Galenus, printed 1549” as one of his sources.

10 Pemell, Tractatus, Chap. 161.

11 Pemell, Tractatus, Chap. 14 and Chap. 91, respectively.

12 Ken Albala, Eating Right in the Renaissance (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2002), 74.

13 Albala, Eating Right, 101.

14 See also the dialog between Katharina and Grumio in William Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, IV.iii.17-35.

15 Albala, Eating Right, 242.

16 Baldassare Pisanelli, Trattato della natura de’cibi et del bere (Venice: Giorgio Alberti, 1586), 88-89.

17 William Bulleyn, A newe booke entitled the government of healthe (London: John Day, 1558), 75v-76r.

18 Benedictus de Nursia [Nenedetto de’Riguiardati di Norcia] Opus ad sanitatis conservationem 2nd ed. (Bologna: Domenico de Lapis, 1477), 17r.

19 McGee, On Food, 415-16.

20 McGee, On Food, 416-17.

21 Georgine E. Brereton and Janet Mackay Ferrier, eds., Le Ménagier De Paris: A Critical Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981), 258.

Casting in a Box Mold_118v

Raymond Carlson and Jordan Katz

Annotation for BnF Ms. Fr. 640, fol. 118v:

“Casting in a Box Mold”

BnF Ms. Fr. 640, fol. 118v

Transcription [tc_p118v, 12 February 2015]

<title id=”p118v_a2”>Gect en chassis</title>

<ab id=”p118v_b2a”>Le mesme sable qui ha servi aulx noyaulx recuits composes<lb/>

co{mm}e dict est de plastre brique & alum de plume est excellent pour<lb/>

jecter en chassis Et lay ainsy experimente Jay pile les lopins<lb/>

qui estoient provenus des moules de noyau dans un mortier en traina{n}t<lb/>

le pilon pourceque ce sable est fort doulx Je ne lay poinct passe<lb/>

par le tamis pourceque lalum de plume mesle parmy qui donne<lb/>

liaison ny passeroit pas Mays jay subtilie sur le mabre ce<lb/>

qui me sembloit trop grossier Et layant ainsy prepare je lay<lb/>

humecte avec de leau de sel armoniac faict daussy gros<lb/>

de sel armoniac co{mm}e deulx noix dans une bouteille deau commune<lb/>

de telle grandeur quune bouteille dans laquelle on faict bouillir<lb/>

de la ptisane ou dans un bon pot deau Que tu trouves leau<lb/>

mediocrement salee Jay mesle parmy leau de demy verre de<lb/>

sel armoniac deulx ault deulx [illegible] cueillerees dargent deau de<lb/>

vye Ayant ainsy humecte le sable de facon quil faisoict bonne<lb/>

prise sesmiant toutesfois aisement Jay saulpouldre ma medaille<lb/>

avecq du charbon pulverise avec une lime pour la desgraisser<lb/>

dhuile & tout aultre graisse quil fault bien eviter car cela feroit<lb/>

garderoit de bien despouiller Jay soufle ma medaille & lay moulee Et<lb/>

la femelle du chassis estant remplye<lb/>

Jay marque & faict une ligne sur le revers [illegible] la & bort de la<lb/>

medaille & sur le sable prochain aussy Affin que le second<lb/>

chassis sui prene empraincte la dessus pour denoter la place<lb/>

pour faire le gect Ayant remply la femelle du chassis esta{n}t<lb>

remplye Jay descouvert le contour de la medaille Et ay ponce<lb/>

de charbon pulverise tout ce coste Et puys ay remply le masle<lb/>

de sable Ayant fai Jay separe le chassis et nay poinct<lb/>

frappe aulx coings de la d medaille pour la faire despouiller<lb/>

pourceque cela estonne le sable & le faict esmier Ains jay<lb/>

frappe au revers du chassis tenant lendroit de la medaille en<lb/>

bas et elle ha moule fort net Si elle neust ainsy despouile<lb/>

jeusse attendu de loster jusques a ce que les chassis fussent<lb/>

este desseiches au foeu Jay allume [illegible] un rang de charbons<lb/>

entre deulx petits trepies de fer en la forme que tu vois Et ay<lb/>

mis le dos [illegible] & revers des chassis dessus & lempraincte en<lb/>

hault pourcequen ceste sorte ilz se desseichent doucem{ent} et si par cas<lb/>

fortuit pour estre trop humectes il se fendent cest au dos qui<lb/>

[illegible] prend plus aprement le foeu & lempraincte demeure sauve & entiere</ab>

<note id=”p118v_c2a”>Pour medailles &<lb/>

choses plattes la vraye<lb/>

chaleur du plomb & esta[i]n<lb/>

cest quand il est fondu doulcem[{ent}]</note>

<note id=”p118v_c2b”>Note que jay emply le<lb/>

chassis plustost que<lb/>

presser et non poinct<lb/>

frappe Ains lay presse<lb/>

de la seule force des<lb/>

mains pource que le<lb/>

frapper faict gaulchir<lb/>

Asseure bien ton chassis<lb/>

quil ne varie point<lb/>

& si dessoubs tu y<lb/>

mects du sable humecte<lb/>

il nen tiendra que plus<lb/>

ferme</note>

<note id=”p118v_c2c”>Fais le gect qui ne soict<lb/>

pas trop espes pour<lb/>

ne charger pas la<lb/>

medaille Mays si<lb/>

large vers la medaille<lb/>

quil embrasse<lb/>

la tierce partye<lb/>

Noublie pas<lb/>

les souspirals</note>

<image id=”p118_d2”></image>

<note id=”p118v_c2d”>Desseicher les chassis<lb/>

cest les priver dhumidite<lb/>

quilz ne fument plus<lb/>

estants neantmoings<lb/>

bien chaults</note>

<note id=”p118v_c2e”>Recuire est rougir le chassis ce qui se faict pour lor & pour largent</note>

Translation [tl_p118v, 12 February 2015]

<title id=”p118v_a1”>Excellent sand</title>

<ab id=”p118v_b1a”>Get some of the same sand, the finest that you can, for covering the medal.</ab>

<ab id=”p118v_b1b”>For the best [result], it is necessary to take sand already used in the core before using it in the box mold, until it can no longer be taken out.</ab>

<title id=”p118v_b2”>Casting in a box mold</title>

<ab id=”p118v_b2a”>The same sand which has been used in composed heated cores, i.e. of plaster, brick and feather alum, is excellent for casting in box molds, and I have tried it as follows. I crushed the pieces which had come out of core molds in a mortar, pestling slowly, because this sand is very soft. I did not pass it through a sieve, because the feather alum mixed in, which makes it bind together, would not pass through. But I did refine upon marble what seemed to me too coarse, and having thus prepared it, I moistened it with the sal ammoniac water made of sal ammoniac the size of two walnuts, in a bottle of common water the size of a bottle in which one boils ground barley, or in a good pot of water. You should find the water fairly salty. I mixed in half a glass of sal ammoniac two silver spoonfuls of spirits. Having thus moistened the sand in order to give it a nice hold, though it still came apart easily, I sprinkled my medal with charcoal pulverized with a file to remove the oil fat, and all other fat. One must avoid these, since they hinder good stripping. I blew on the medal and molded it, and with the female part of the box mold full, I marked and made a line on the back and side of the medal, and on the nearby sand as well. In order that the second box mold take the imprint thereupon to indicate the place for making the cast, I uncovered the contour of the medal and pounced the whole side with pulverized carbon, and then I filled the male part with sand. I separated the box mold and did not strike the corners of the medal to make it strip, since that cracks the sand and makes it come apart. But I did strike the back of the box mold, holding the place of the medal on the bottom, and it molded very cleanly. If it hadn’t stripped thus, I would have waited to remove it until the box molds had been dried out over heat. I lit a row of charcoal between two little trivets of iron in the form that you see [viz. image id=”p118_d2” in the left margin], and put the back of the box molds thereupon, and the imprint on top, since in this way, they dry out slowly. And if, by chance, they should crack from being too moistened, it’s on the back that they take the harshest heat, and the imprint remains safe and whole.

<note id=”p118v_c2a”>For medals and flat things, the true heat of lead and tin. That is when it is melted gently.</note>

<note id=”p118v_c2b”>Note that I filled the box mold before pressing, and did not strike it, but pressed it with the strength of my hands alone, since striking it may distort it. Make sure that your box mold does not move at all, and if you put some moistened sand under it, it will only hold in place more firmly.</note>

<note id=”p118v_c2c”>Make a cast that is not too thick, as not to weigh the medal down, but cast wide enough over the medal that it covers the third part. Do not forget the vents.</note>

<note id=”p118v_c2d”>Drying box molds means removing their dampness, so that they do not smoke any longer, though they be very hot.</note>

<note id=”p118v_c2e”>To heat is to redden the box mold, which is done for gold and for silver.</note>

Annotation

The recipe “Casting in a Box Mold” on fol. 118v appears after a dense grouping of recipes that detail various forms of casting, such as en noyeau casting (casting with a core) and the casting of flowers.1 The box mold casting recipe privileges discussion of how to produce sand and how to heat the mold, devoting little attention to the casting of metal itself. As this entry will show, such emphases within this recipe can be explained through the process of reconstruction in conjunction with examination of relevant textual sources. Further, this recipe should be understood through its presumed use in producing portrait medals, whose mounting popularity in late sixteenth-century France aligns with the dating of the manuscript.2

The author begins the recipe by describing the production of sand made by grinding cores from previously used molds, which are composed of plaster, brick and feather alum.3 It is unsurprising that sand would be reused, as this is still common practice today in metal foundries, where sand casting is the main technique used for the production of industrial machine parts.4 In our reconstructions, the only previously used cores available lacked feather alum. This ingredient, “alun de plume,” could refer to asbestos, or other minerals such as feldspar or gypsum; in modern terms, it refers to the mineral Halotrichite, which is made of soft, parallel strands of a white color, which has the appearance of a feather.5 Whatever it was, “alun de plume” appears to have been important as a binding agent, but for which no substitute was introduced for the previous molds [Fig. 1: Grinding Previously Used Molds]. This omission made it possible for us to pass the sand through a sieve, which the feather alum rendered impossible for the author [Fig. 2: Feather Alum]. Given the time needed to break down the old molds, even using a sieve, one can only imagine the time needed to grind these molds to a “very soft” consistency without one, as the manuscript directs. In the recipe, the author then outlines the preparation of sal ammoniac water (a solution of ammonium chloride) using two balls of sal ammoniac the size of walnuts [noix], a process similar to that described in an earlier recipe on fol. 111v.6 In accordance with the manuscript, this solution was mixed with spirits (interpreted as brandy) and mixed with the sand we had produced through the grinding and sieving process [Fig. 3: Sand Mixture], which was pressed into the “female-sided” box mold over the medal [Fig. 4: Filling Female Box Mold]. (The recipe calls for the molding of a medal, although the reconstruction used molded plaster models, which were seen as a fair substitute.) The author does not stipulate the process of filling the sand into the mold, however this required a great deal of time in our reconstructions, as the medal was placed facing upwards as small quantities of sand were slowly layered on top of one another with additions of sand or water to adjust the mixture as needed.

After the molding of the medal, the author describes marking the medal’s side and reverse, as well as the sand, a step whose function was not immediately clear during our reconstructions and therefore not undertaken.7 Prior to filling the male side with sand, the author calls for the dusting of the entire side of the female mold with charcoal (“charbon pulverisé”), just as the medal itself had been dusted before insertion into the female side [Fig. 5: Applying Charcoal to Female Mold]. In the reconstruction, this step was very helpful when separating the male and female molds. At this point the author warns specifically not to disturb the medal in order to remove it from the mold. The function of marking the location of the medal earlier becomes clear now, as the author explains that he supported the area of the box mold where the medal was (presumably the point marked) and then struck the back of the mold with his hand. Evidently, on rereading his text, the author rethought the word “struck” (“frappé”) adding a note in the margin to state that he had not struck the box mold, but instead pressed it with his hands (“l’ay pressé de la seule force des mains”) to avoid distorting it [Fig. 6: Marginal Note, re: Frappé].

A major concern of the author was the heating of the box molds. Had the medal not separated after striking the molds, the author explains that he would have heated them. During reconstructions we were far less patient, opting not to heat the mold to remove the plaster model. Rather, our technique for removing the plaster model was to insert a knife into the channel made for pouring, creating a wedge that could lift the model out [Fig. 7: Inserting Knife into Mold]. Our impatience would prove more problematic when we did not heed the author’s next step: heating the molds by resting on two iron trivets with the imprinted side facing upwards. The author’s attention to this action is evidenced by the small marginal drawing at right in the manuscript and the corresponding marginal note indicating the proper spacing of the trivets [Fig. 8: Drawing in Margin, Iron Trivets]. While the recipe ends here, not explaining how in fact to pour the medal, there are two further marginal notes that explain what is meant by heating the mold [Fig. 9: Additional Marginal Notes]. As a result, our decision to let the molds sit in a laboratory fume hood overnight and warm for five to ten minutes in a moderate oven was inadequate preparation for casting, as the moisture in our molds caused imperfections in the coloration and details of the medals [Figs. 10-11: Final Medal, Obverse and Reverse] during casting. The author’s second marginal note, which emphasizes the need to “redden the box mold” for gold and silver, proved especially prescient: when pouring silver into one box mold during reconstruction, steam and a spray of silver quickly shot from the one mold [Fig. 12: Spray of Sparks], as the moisture retained in the sand turned explosively to steam. The resultant silver medal is a perfect snapshot of what occurred inside the mold as the steam forced the molten silver out of the mold and up through the gate [Fig. 13: Silver Medal Showing Effects of Moisture].

To understand the properties of the sand and the need to heat the mold, a particularly noteworthy recipe for comparison elsewhere in the manuscript can be found on fol. 161r, “preparing sand to cast in a molding box.” This recipe outlines a nearly identical process of breaking up previously used cores with a stick to create sand, soaking the sand in sal ammoniac, baking the sand in a furnace until it reddens, and grinding it up again. The recipe on fol. 161r gives insight to the value of using sand from previously used cores, as it explains that through the repetition of this process, the sand will reach a state such that it does not separate from the box mold. The author also stresses the importance of cooking the mold adequately so that the sal ammoniac can calcinate properly. The presence of Latin words in the recipe on fol. 161r, “gip de lateribus” and “alumen jameni” (i.e., the “brick mortar” and “alumen album” of which the cores are composed8) suggests a textual source for this recipe, which unfortunately could not be identified based on these phrases.

The recipe for sand-casting in BnF Ms. Fr. 640 is assuredly linked to the longstanding tradition of portrait medals, which were frequently made using this process. The earliest surviving Renaissance portrait medals are two lost medals that entered the collection of Jean de France, Duc de Berry (1340-1416), by 1413, although there is no way to know whether the originals were cast or produced with a repoussé technique, as copies of both types are extant [Figs. 14-15: Duc de Berry Medals, Constantine the Great and Hercules].9 Such objects complicate the widespread scholarly consensus that cast portrait medals were developed in Italy.10 The mass production of pilgrimage badges (made by pouring a tin-lead alloy into molds), as well as the production of medals for numerous French monarchs affirm the presence of artisans in 15th-century France capable of casting medals.11 Nonetheless, the most extensive early written sources of portrait medal casting are of Italian origin: Cennino Cennini furnishes a brief recipe for the making of medals using a plaster and either a wax or clay mold, and Leon Battista Alberti was known to model portraits in relief in wax that were subsequently cast in bronze.12 The individual credited with the invention of the portrait medal genre itself is Pisanello (Antonio di Puccio Pisano, c.1395-c.1455), who was installed at the Este court in Ferrara.13 Bringing together humanist learning with erudite patrons concerned with the propagation of their fame, the Este court offered the ideal environment for the birth of the portrait medal, which shows a portrait on one side and an emblem or impresa on the reverse [Fig. 16: Pisanello Medal].14 As Ulrich Pfisterer has shown, portrait medals grew in popularity in Italy over the course of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, functioning as “social currency” that patrons could exchange in order to establish and solidify bonds of friendship.15 The level of erudition needed to decode the messages implicit in emblems and imprese delineated membership within tightly controlled social circles of learned individuals.16

Knowledge of the production of medals certainly carried from Italy to France through the travel of Italian artisans to France, the best known of which are Francesco Laurana in the fifteenth century and Benvenuto Cellini in the sixteenth century. While portrait medals were produced in France at the hands of goldsmiths beginning in the fifteenth century, Mark Jones has demonstrated that in France, centers for medal-making developed around Lyon — the center of French trade with the Italian peninsula — and reached their apogee of manufacture between the second half of the sixteenth century and the early seventeenth century.17 The appearance, function and understanding of medals in France differed somewhat from that in Italy. In the sixteenth century, French medals deemphasized erudite pairings of emblems and individual portraits in favor of standard images of French monarchs, and the function of such objects seems to be more closely centered on exchange with the royal court as a means of currying favor.18 Mounting interest in portrait medals in mid-sixteenth-century France is epitomized by Guillaume Rouillé’s La premiere partie du promptuaire des médailles des plus renommées personnes […] (1553), which was dedicated to Marguerite of France, sister of the Duc de Berry, and features engravings of coins (some invented by Rouillé himself) with subjects ranging from Adam to Charles V to Soliman, emperor of Turkey [Fig. 17: Guillaume Rouille].19 Rouillé writes in a prefatory note to readers that such portraits recalled antique tradition, preserving together for posterity text and an image of each subject’s face, “the most beautiful and most honest part of man.”20 Portrait medals were also linked to the academies that developed in late sixteenth-century France. As Frances Yates has shown, the first public French academy (L’Académie de poésie et de musique) produced medals for the admission of members.21 While such medals with portraits of academicians survive, they do not bear members’ devises on the reverse [Fig. 18: French Academy Medal].22 By the time the author of BnF Ms. Fr. 640 produced his manuscript, therefore, there was a well established demand for medals in France.

While the sand-casting recipe in BnF Ms. Fr. 640 is presented in a first person narrative that implies that all presented knowledge was achieved through direct experimentation, earlier published sources offer precedents for many of the techniques described by the author.23 Numerous books printed in sixteenth-century Italy detail methods for sand casting that closely align with the recipe in BnF Ms. Fr. 640. In his Pirotechnia (1540), Vanocchio Biringuccio outlines the process of using a wax or clay model for the invention of one’s design, which can be preserved by casting this model in plaster of Paris, a technique that allows for the reuse of both the original and plaster models.24 Biringuccio offers multiple recipes for how to mold such a model in a wooden box frame that has been filled with sand, a process that closely mirror the technique identified in the manuscript.25 Similarly, Benvenuto Cellini discusses the casting of medals using a model made of wax in his Due trattati, which were published in Florence in 1568.26 In comparison to the information presented in such historical accounts and treatises, the author of BnF Ms. Fr. 640 is far more detailed in explaining the merits of the various ingredients and referencing means whereby the readers can test whether their use of the ingredients matches his own. For example, the author explains that the water with two walnut-sized pieces of sal ammoniac should be “fairly salty.” By presenting his text as a recipe, the author closely aligns himself with the tradition of Renaissance books of secrets. In his account of Renaissance books of secrets, William Eamon explains that the use of a “recipe” to record technical information was a common trait of books of secrets, distinguishing them from the “descriptive-historical” method that characterized authors such as Vanocchio Biringuccio.27

The casting of portrait medals can be viewed as part of a broader early modern interest in the transformation of materials. Along with knowledge of the heavens and understanding of the body, the ability to manipulate materials provided a key impetus for interest in the acquisition of knowledge about nature. Yet metallurgy and casting also remained a secretive endeavor during this time. Because expertise in metalworking frequently garnered the support and patronage of the nobility and royalty, the practitioner often saw it in his best interest to keep this knowledge secret and mine it for its potential social and political expediency. Biringuccio’s Pirotechnia, however, discussed the technical details of mining gold ore openly within the framework of knowledge acquisition, dismissing craft secrecy as a duplicitous method of suggesting expertise and technique where it did not exist. From Biringuccio’s characterization of this phenomenon, though, it is evident that secrecy was indeed a common trope in such works.28 As an example, Bernard Palissy, the most well-known of French life-casting artisans, remained secretive concerning the specifics of his casts, the techniques of which can only be extrapolated from manuscripts such as our own.29 The classification of knowledge as “secret” could be rhetorical at times, but it also conveyed a concern about sharing knowledge in a society without any copyright protection.30 This designation was applied not only to esoteric knowledge, but also frequently to the techniques and skills of artisans and craftspeople, collectively termed arcana artis.31

Portrait medal casting recipes thereby fit into a larger corpus of books of secrets, the most famous of which was the book Secreti del Reverendo Donno Alessio Piemontese, first published in Venice in 1555 [Fig. 19: De Secreti Frontispiece].32 The first French translation of the text appeared in Anvers only two years later, and within a decade the text had been published more than twenty times in Italian, French, Latin, Dutch, English and German. The Secreti are divided into six books, which were arranged somewhat thematically and included recipes for remedies, perfumes, preserved fruits and vegetables,33 beauty secrets, dyes and inks, and metals. (While books of secrets generally display an interest in remedies and medical knowledge, BnF Ms. Fr. 640 records little of note in this regard; it betrays a comparative lack of focus on healing procedures when juxtaposed with Piemontese’s Secreti. As noted in the annotation to fol. 48r (“Excellent Mustard”), the medicinal recipes in BnF Ms. Fr. 640 are limited to those on fols. 7v, 20v, 37r, 47r, 77r.

In 1567, Girolamo Ruscelli — best known as an important editor and literary figure in Venice34 — claimed authorship of Piemontese’s text in the prefatory letter of his posthumously published Secreti nuovi di meravigliosa virtù del signor Ieronimo Ruscelli [Fig. 20: Ruscelli Frontispiece].35 Presumably written prior to Ruscelli’s arrival in Venice in 1548, the text offers new recipes to the original Secreti, claiming that the text is a product of experiments undertaken and of knowledge gained by Ruscelli and 27 fellow members of the “Accademia Segreta,” although no other sources related to the academy are known.36 As William Eamon and Françoise Paheau have shown in their study of the Secreti nuovi, the text contains a far higher number of medical recipes than the original De Secreti (1,024 in comparison to 108).37 It seems possible that the author of BnF Ms. Fr. 640 was aware of Ruscelli’s text, as he wrote the Latinized version of Ruscelli’s name on the first page of the manuscript among a list of other classical and contemporary authors who presumably informed his writing [Fig. 21: BnF Ms. Fr. 640, fol. 1r, Ruscelli].38 It may also be that the Ruscelli’s presumed authorship of Piemontese’s text was commonplace knowledge at the time of the manuscript’s writing.

A comparison of the recipe for sandcasting in BnF Ms. Fr. 640 to the De Secreti and Biringuccio’s Pirotechnia reveals many parallels between the techniques described in the two processes, as well as a few differences, the most significant of which will be highlighted here.39 The first has to do with the means of releasing the medal from the mold: Biringuccio recommends greasing the medal in animal fat, and applying charcoal dust to it.40 Ruscelli notably does not recommend applying charcoal at all.41 The author of the BnF Ms. Fr. 640, by comparison, stresses instead that any grease or oil on the medal should be removed, and charcoal should be applied at numerous stages in the mold-making process. Like the author of BnF Ms. Fr. 640, the De Secreti and Pirotechnia both place significant emphasis on drying the molds over a fire, devoting no time in this section to the actual pouring of the medal.42

A final note of difference here is the type of sand required for the recipes. The sand casting recipe in BnF Ms. Fr. 640 advocates the use of old crushed molds in fols. 118v and 161r. Biringuccio and Ruscelli, by comparison, offer very detailed steps for different types of clay and powder that can be used in any combination for such an enterprise. Following the recipe for “The true and most perfect practice of molding medals,” the De Secreti includes a list of seven different types of sand (“Terra prima da gittarvi i metalli fusi,” “Terra seconda,” “Terra terza,” etc.) [Fig. 22: De Secreti, Terre].43 Still, the objective of such sands remains the same, that “the goodness and perfection of each sand in which to cast fused metals consists in the following: that they are very soft, as if impalpable, because the designs are imprinted very clearly.”44 Such information was carried through in later translations of the text.45

The author of BnF Ms. Fr. 640, however, was by no means unconcerned with the properties of casting “sands.” Far from it. There are 41 recipes spread throughout BnF Ms. Fr. 640 with titles that indicate a recipe devoted exclusively to “sand,” many of them indicating the ideal properties of sand, as well as where and how to procure it.46 The differences among types of sand in such recipes attest to the many uses of this material within the workshop, as well as the clear attention the author paid to the ideal function for each variety of sand. It may be that the author of BnF Ms. Fr. 640 simply did not believe such diverse sands to be necessary to the production of medals, at least in this one instance. In the upper right margin of the folio with “Casting in a box mold,” the author later inserted a recipe for “Excellent sand,” which simply restates the value of sand made from crushed, used cores. One may hypothesize that the author found that this particular recipe of sand worked best for the sand casting of medals, offering a personal touch to a recipe that would otherwise have been well known among metal-makers in this period.

Bibliography

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1 Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris, Ms. Fr. 640 (henceforth cited as BnF Ms. Fr. 640), fol. 118v.

2 Pamela Smith and Tonny Beentjes have demonstrated that the manuscript likely dates from the last two decades of the sixteenth century. See Pamela H. Smith and Tonny Beentjes, “Nature and Art, Making and Knowing: Reconstructing Sixteenth-Century Life-Casting Techniques,” Renaissance Quarterly 63 (2010): 130, n. 4.

3 The manuscript makes reference to the use of “alun de plume,” which translates to feather alum, according to a definition provided in a 1611 French-English dictionary by Randle Cotgrave. See the entry for “alun de plume” in Randle Cotgrave, A Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues (London: Adam Islip, 1611).

4 On the reuse of sand in molds, see the following online data sheet: CWC, Managing Partner of the Recycling Technology Assistance Partnership (ReTAP), “Technology Brief: Beneficial Reuse of Spent Foundry Sand,” August 1996, http://infohouse.p2ric.org/ref/05/04013.pdf.

5 See E.H.S. Bailey, “‘Feather Alum’ from Colorado,” Transactions of the Annual Meeting of the Kansas Academy of Science 12 (1889-90): 101.

6 The recipe on fol. 111v calls for sal ammoniac balls the size of chestnuts. Under the heading “Sal ammoniac water,” the author writes: “You need two chestnuts [chastaignes] of sal ammoniac which is crushed into a water pot, when you taste it should not be too much salted.” The translation of noix as walnuts follows the definition of this term provided in the French-English dictionary of 1611 by Randle Cotgrave. See the entry in Cotgrave, A Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues.

7 J’ay souflé ma medaille & l’ay moulée, et la femelle du chassis estant remplye,

j’ay marqué & faict une ligne sur le revers & bort de la medaille & sur le sable prochain aussy.”

8 Thanks for these translations are given to Heather Wacha, who indicated them in the comments section of the online edition of the manuscript.

9 A collection inventory of 1413 references the presence of medals depicting Constantine the Great and Hercules. Medals made with the repoussé technique are composed of two hammered plates soldered together. On the origin of portrait medals and the two medals in the collection of the Duc de Berry, see the entries by Stephen Scher in Stephen Scher, ed., The Currency of Fame (New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., Publishers, in association with The Frick Collection, 1994), 13-16, 32-37.

10 Within the vast literature on Italian medals, see especially Lore Börner, Die italienischen Medaillen der Renaissance und des Barock (1450 bis 1750) (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1997); John Graham Pollard, Renaissance Medals. Volume I: Italy (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007).

11 On the technical processes of making pilgrimage badges, see Brian Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs and Secular Badges (London: The Stationery Office, 1998), 7-13. On the production of medals in fifteenth-century France, see Fernand Mazerolle, Les médailleurs français du XVe siècle au milieu du XVIIe (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1902-4): I: vi-xii, 3-8; II: 1-9; III: pls. 1-3.

12 The two earliest surviving manuscripts of Cennini’s text diverge in their description of which materials could be used for the making of molds for medals. The manuscript in the Biblioteca Riccardiana lists terra (clay) while the manuscript in the Biblioteca Mediceo-Laurenziana lists ciera (wax). See Cennino d’Andrea Cennini, The Craftsman’s Handbook. The Italian “Il libro dell’arte,” trans. by Daniel Thomspon, Jr. (New York: Dover Publications, 1960), 130.

13 Pisanello’s contribution to the genre of medals was well-known in the Renaissance, as Vasari cites a letter by Giovanni Paleologo Il Giovio in praise of Pisannelo in his Vite: “Costui fu ancora prestantissimo nell’opera de’ bassi rilievi, stimati difficilissimi dagl’artefici, perché sono il mezzo tra il piano delle pitture e ’l tondo delle statue. E perciò si veggiono di sua mano molte lodate medaglie di gran principi, fatte in forma maiuscola della misura propria di quel riverso che il Guidi mi ha mandato del cavallo armato.” See Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de’ più eccelenti pittori, scultori e architettori, ed. Gaetano Milanesi (Florence: Sansoni, 1906), III: 10-11. On Pisanello and the production of portrait medals, see especially Luke Syson and Dillian Gordon, Pisanello: Painter to the Renaissance Court (London: National Gallery Company, distributed by Yale University Press, 2001), 109-30; Beverly Louise Brown, “Portraiture at the Courts of Italy,” in The Renaissance Portrait from Donatello to Bellini, ed. Keith Christiansen and Stefan Weppelmann (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Distributed by Yale University Press, 2011), 26-47.

14 On the use of imprese in medals, see especially Kristen Lippincott, “‘Un Gran Pelago’: The Impresa and the Medal Reverse in Fifteenth-Century Italy,” in Perspectives on the Renaissance Medal, ed. Stephen Scher (New York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 2000), 75-96.

15 Ulrich Pfisterer, Lysippus und seine Freunde. Liebesgaben und Gedächtnis im Rom der Renaissance oder: Das erste Jarhunder der Meaille (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2008), 221-57.

16 Whether medals could also function as actual currency rather than as social currency is a well-debated topic. See, for example, Andrea Saccocci, “Funzioni monetarie della medaglia,” in Le stagioni della medaglia italiana. Atti del sesto convegno internazionale di studio sulla storia della medaglia 17-19 dicembre 1998, ed. Giovanni Gorini (Padvoa: Editoriale Programma, 2001), 57-68. On the function of precious metals as a material for currency versus as an object of material production in sixteenth-century France, see Rebecca Zorach, Blood, Milk, Ink, Gold: Abundance and Excess in the French Renaissance (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2005), 196-208.

17 Jones claims that until 1550, the making of medal remained “a provincial Italian rather that specifically French cultural phenomenon.” See Mark Jones, “Medal-Making in France 1400-1650: The Italian Dimension,” Studies in the History of Art (1987): 57-71 (64).

18 In the seventeenth century, the use of emblems or devises became more common in French medals. See Mark Jones, “Medals and devices in seventeenth century France,” in Medaglisti e committenti. Il ruolo della committenza nella creazione della medaglia. Atti del quinto convegno internazionale di studio sulla storia della medaglia. Udine 8-11 giugno 1984 (Padova: Editoriale Programma, 2002), 37-46. On portrait medals in sixteenth and seventeenth century France broadly, see especially George Hill, Medals of the Renaissance, ed. Graham Pollard (London: British Museum Publications Limited, 1978), 130-42; Jones, “Medal-Making in France”; Scher, The Currency of Fame, 305-43; John Graham Pollard, Renaissance Medals. Volume II: France, Germany, The Netherlands, and England (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), xxvi-xxix.

19 Guillaume Rouillé, La premiere partie du propmptuaire des médailles des plus renommés personnes qui ont esté depuils le comencement du monde: evec brieve descrpition de leurs vies & faicts, recueillie des bons auteurs (Lyon: Guillaume Rouillé, 1553). The enduring popularity of this text is evidenced by its reprinting in 1577. On Rouillé and the broader Renaissance tradition of anthologizing portrait medals, see Francis Haskell, History and its Images: Art and the Interpretation of the Past (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1993), 26-36.

20 la tresbelle, & treshonneste partie de l’homme.” See Rouillé, La premiere partie, fol. 3r.

21 See Frances Yates, The French Academies of the Sixteenth Century (London: The Warburg Institute, 1947), 22. In the production of emblems, the French term devise is understood to substitute the Italian term motto, which constitutes the short Latin phrase that was part of an emblem. See Henri Zerner, Renaissance Art in France: The Invention of Classicism, trans. Deke Dusinberre, Scott Wilson, and Rachel Zerner (Paris: Flammarion, 2003), 89.

22 Yates, The French Academies, 22, n.2.

23 This essay will set aside the question of what information the author may specifically have gleaned from oral conversations with other artisans.

24 Vannoccio Biringuccio, The Pirotechnia of Vannoccio Biringuccio. The Classic Sixteenth-Century Treatise on Metals and Metallurgy, trans. and ed. by Cyril Stanley Smith and Martha Teach Gnudi (New York: Dover Publications, 1990), 232-33.

25 Ibid, 234-38, 326-27.

26 Benvenuto Cellini, Due trattati uno intorno alle otto principali arti dell’oreficeria. L’altro in materia dell’arte della Scultura; dove si veggono infiniti segreti nel lavorar le Figure in Marmo, & nel gettare di Bronzo (Florence: Valente Panizzij, & Marco Peri, 1568), 19-20.

27 See William Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 131.

28 Pamela O. Long, Openness, Secrecy, Authorship: Technical Arts and the Culture of Knowledge from Antiquity to the Renaissance (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), 181.

29 Hanna Rose Shell, “Casting Life, Recasting Experience: Bernard Palissy’s Occupation between Maker and Nature,” Configurations 12:1 (2004): 9.

30 Daniel Jütte, “Trading in Secrets,” 682.

31 Ibid, 683. See footnote 62, where Jütte notes that porcelain manufacturers in eighteenth-century Dresden were kept under strict surveillance and forbidden from sharing their craft secrets.

32 Alessio Piemontese, Secreti del Reverendo Donno Alessio Piemontese (Venice: Sigismondo Bondogna, 1555).

33 There are many recipes related to fruits – preserved fruits, sugar-coated fruits, and others in BnF Ms. Fr. 640. The recipe for preserved melon has an interesting borrowing from the Tuscan dialect.

34 On Ruscelli’s role as an editor, see Brian Richardson, Print Culture in Renaissance Italy: The Editor and the Vernacular Text 1470-1600 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), passim.

35 Girolamo Ruscelli, Secreti nuovi di meravigliosa virtù del signor Ieronimo Ruscelli (Venice: Gli heredi di Marchiò Sessa, 1567).

36 On the text, see John Ferguson, “The Secrets of Alexis. A Sixteenth Century Collection of Medical and Technical Receipts,” Proceedings from the Royal Society of Medicine 24 (1931): 225-46; William Eamon and Françoise Paheau, “The Accademia Segreta of Girolamo Ruscelli: A Sixteenth-Century Italian Scientific Society,” Isis 75, no.2 (1984): 327-42.

37 Eamon and Paheau, “The Accademia Segreta,” 335.

38 BnF Ms. Fr. 640, fol. 2r.

39 For an excellent overview of the processes described in the Pirotechnia and De Secreti, see Patricia Tuttle, “An Investigation of the Renaissance Casting Techniques of Incuse-Reverse and Double-Sided Medals,” Studies in the History of Art 21 (1987): 205-212.

40 Biringuccio, Pirotechnia, 326.

41 Tuttle has rightly observed the oddity of this omission, given the need for charcoal to help the molds separate (Tuttle, “An Investigation,” 206).

42 “Having brought them [the molds] to this point, finally cast them in whatever metal you wish,” Biringuccio blithely concludes. See Biringuccio, Pirotechnia, 327.

43 The full title of the recipe is: “La vera et perfettissima pratica di gittar medaglie, & ogni altro lavoro di rilevo basso, così in bronzo, come in oro, argento, rame, piombo, stagno, & ancor di cristallo, di vetro, & di marmo” (Piemontese, De Secreti, 205).

44 La bontà & perfettione di ciascuna terra da gittarvi dentro metalli fussi consiste in queste cose, cioè che principalmente sieno sottilissime, & come impalpabili, perche i disegni vengano improntati nettissimi” (Piemontese, De Secreti, 206).

45 An English version of the De Secreti repeats such information, noting that the sand should be “fine and small, and in no ways rough, or full of grommel.” For the relevant recipes, see Alexis of Piedmont, The secretes of the reverende mayster Alexis of Piemovnt . Conteinyng many excellẽt remedies against dyuers diseases, woundes, and other accidentes. with the manner to make distillations, parfumes, confitures, dyinges, colours, fusions, and meltings. A worke wel approued, verye profytable and necessary for euery man, trans. by Wyllyam Warde (London: 1559), fols. 133v-134v.

46 Such a count includes only recipes about sand and excludes recipes on how sand can be used. See fols. 41r, 49r, 67r, 67v, 69r, 71v, 81r, 81v (two recipes), 82v, 83r (four recipes), 84r, 84v (two recipes), 85v (two recipes), 86v, 87r, 87v (two recipes), 88v (two recipes), 89r, 89v, 90r (two recipes), 92v, 93r (two recipes), 99r, 111v, 117v, 118v, 120r, 132v, 134r, 160r, 164v.

Fig001_Calcined Oysters

Calcined Oysters_84v

Transcription [from tc_p084v]

<title id=”p084v_a2”>Eau magistra</title>

<ab id=”p084v_b2a”>Aulcuns trouvent que leau sel nest pas bonne pourceque<lb/>

le sel pette au foeu & par consequent doibt faire soufler<lb/>

Il ny a que le vin bouilly avecq racine dorme</ab>

<ab id=”p084v_b1d”>Le charbon pour poncer faict bien despouiller mays<lb/>

on trouve que celuy de saule faict soufler celuy de chaisne<lb/>

ou fayan faict soufler bien sans soufler</ab>

<note id=”p084v_c1”>Essaye huitres bruslees</note>.1

Translation [from tl p084v]

<title id=”p084v_a2”>Eau Magistra</title>

<ab id=”p084v_b2a”>Some people think that salt water is not good, because the salt releases gas when heated and as a result causes bubbles. [In this case], there is only wine boiled with elm root.</ab>

<ab id=”p084v_b2b”>Sanding charcoal makes [things] come off well. But one finds that willow charcoal creates bubbles, but oak or beech charcoal does the job without making bubbles.</ab>

<note id=”p084v_c2”>Try burnt oysters.</note>.2

Calcined Oysters: Investigating Oysters, Calcination and Marginalia

The recipe on folio 84v of BnF Ms. Fr. 640 titled “Eau Magistra” briefly describes a process of making a binding agent from elm root and wine, which we explore in a separate entry. However, this recipe includes a marginal note next to the main body of the texts that reads “Try burnt oysters [Essaye huitres bruslées].”3 As it turns out, these three words are dense with information.

The note is embedded within two sections of the text: this recipe on eau magistra,4 and a collection of marginal notes on sand for sand casting that can be read together in the left margin of the text as an addition to the previous experiment on the page, “Sand [Sable].”5 The reader’s perception of the location within the text directly determines the interpretation of the recipe. If perceived as belonging to the other marginalia in a vertical column, the injunction to “try burnt oysters” is located within a context of different types of sand. If perceived horizontally with the main body of the text, it belongs to the recipe for Eau Magistra.6

The puzzle of which recipe “burnt oysters” belongs to is further compounded by the fact that the only two other references to oysters present in BnF Ms. Fr. 640 interestingly also both appear as marginal notes. A note on fol.80v in the recipe “Casters of small tin work” reads, “Try calcinated [calcinèe] oyster shells; they are said to be excellent for moulding.”7 On fol. 49r, next to a recipe entitled “Lead casting,” another note mentions oyster shell, though the meaning is less clear: “Poncet. They cast by soldering [using what] the glass-makers use. Lump [of metal] of… Calcinated [calcinèe] oyster shell.”8 These additional suggestions raise issues concerning whether their peripheral placement in the text is significant. What is their relationship to the text? Should we consider these in the light of Michael Camille’s work which has called attention to both the value of marginalia and the relationship between the author and reader of a text?9 Much recent scholarship explores the early modern reader’s interaction with texts by way of notes, annotations, and images in marginalia, making clear the diverse functions of marginal notes, from directing attention to particular sections, to exegesis, to engaging in dialogue with the author.10 However, questions of authority and mediation are further complicated in the marginalia of BnF Ms. Fr. 640 because the author is both reader and writer (and practitioner). In this case, the marginal writing may reflect a second or later iteration of his experiments or a reflection on his experience. Did the author-practitioner of BnF Ms. Fr. 640 actually try to work with oyster shells, or did he observe someone else perform this technique?11 If they are untested suggestions, should they be considered as an invitation to experiment?12 If so, this implicitly raises the issue of the manuscript’s intended audience. This line of inquiry may help shed light on the larger mystery of the author’s identity and profession.

Reconstructing Marginalia

To determine the best interpretation of the recipe, we decided to reconstruct it using both readings. [fig. 1] Two of the notes refer to calcination (“calcinées”), while the third note speaks of burning (“bruslèes”). In order to determine whether these were separate processes, we needed to find out what exactly calcination was. In Cotgrave’s 1611 French dictionary, four entries refer to calcination. Calciné is defined as “calcinated, turned into dust, reduced by fire, unto pouder;” the verb calciner means “to calcinate, burne to dust, reduce unto pouder, by fire, any mettal or minerall.13 It seems that the calcined materials were often used in sand casting, but little information on the actual process of calcination—besides applying heat or fire—can be found in the manuscript or other early modern sources. What preparation did we need to do in order to calcine the oyster shells? How should the shells be prepared and heated (i.e. at what temperature, and for how long?). What type of transformation or transition would the oysters undergo?

BnF Ms. Fr. 640 makes mention of calcination is several places. On fol.100r of the manuscript in the recipe “Vitrified saltpeter,” the author describes calcining other stones, suggesting that different heat sources and processes can lead to different levels of purification.14 In the recipe for “Grafting” on fol. 91r, a marginal note reads, “When the lead gets too hot, it calcinates.”15 On fol. 83r in a recipe about sand, the author directs the reader to “[Take] finely crushed slate and pumice stone mixed together. Calcinate them three times in a covered and sealed pot in strong fire, and each time dilute them with urine.”16 Other materials that are listed as calcined include stone, glass, bone, and shells. A recipe on fol. 92v about river tellins and mussel shells tells us that “The long shells that can be found in rivers of fresh water, being calcinated, make a white and very fine [impalpable] sand which moulds very clean.”17

We encountered information that provided some point of reference for our own calcination undertakings (albeit obliquely) from modern sources. In current scientific scholarship, oyster shells have been the subject of study due to both the problem of shells in landfills, as well as their potential antifungal properties. Raw oyster shells principally consist of calcium carbonate (CaCO3), while calcination of oyster shells yields calcium oxide (CaO).18 The “optimal temperatures for calcination” in one modern calcination experiment is “900°-950°C” (1472°-1562°F).19 Another experiment exposed oyster shells to 1050°C (1922°F) and reported that the resultant powder had “turned completely into CaO after the treatment,” and that in order to produce this result, the “shell was washed several times and dried in an oven at 60°C (140°F) for twenty-four hours.”20

To prepare our oyster shells, we boiled them in water and cleaned them by removing any remaining adductor muscle.21 We then removed the barnacles and other attached shells with hammers and pliers. After the shells had been rinsed in water several times, we contained the shells in a large towel and broke them into smaller pieces with a hammer. We attempted the calcination several times: the first time, we used a small jewelry kiln heated to 1500°F, exposing just a few pieces of shell to the heat.22 After ten minutes, the shells had turned to white, slippery ash.23 The next several attempts at calcination were done with a much larger ceramic kiln.24 After several attempts, in which we were able to produce a crushed oyster ash that was gray in color, though not fully calcined,25 the shells finally calcined after heating them over a 9-hour period, in which they reached a temperature of 1800°F for an hour. The resulting powder was smooth and silky, and quite similar in feel to talcum powder. In the pseudonymous Alessio Piemontese’s contemporaneous De Secreti, this kind of sand—“very soft, as if impalpable”—is described as perfect for casting.26

This was the material we used to conduct our two experiments: in the first, we interpreted the oyster ash as an ingredient in a binding agent used to moisten a sand in a sand-casting process; in the second, we used the oyster ash as the sand itself.

In the first process, the calcined-oyster-wine decoction, we wanted to examine the performance of the decoction as a binder in comparison to the other binders tested.27 Modelled after the procedure for creating the elm root infusion in fol. 84v “Eau Magistra,” we boiled two teaspoons of calcined oyster shells with one cup of inexpensive Cabernet Sauvignon on a hot plate. Upon contact with the wine, the powder immediately turned a teal green, then briefly became a clear emerald green, which then transitioned into a dull, opaque olive green—this was perhaps an oxidation reaction that produced these dramatic color changes. [fig. 2, fig. 3, fig. 4] We poured the mixture into an airtight glass container. After a few minutes, the mixture separated into a watery brown liquid on top and a muddy green mixture on the bottom. A half cup of this emulsion was then added to two cups of sifted sand and used for sand casting.

In preparing our sand for this casting, we pulverized and then sifted pre-used molds made of a 2:1 mixture of plaster and pulverised bricks. After stirring the decoction to reconstitute the suspension of the ash particles in the wine, we gradually added approximately half a cup total of calcined oyster wine infusion to two cups of sifted sand. It was easy to achieve the desired texture for sand casting; the mixture would hold together when squeezed into the palm of the hand, but dissolved with the pressure of a fingertip.28 [fig. 5] We built the mold around a plaster pattern dusted with charcoal, and the resulting pattern was crisp and clear.29 [fig. 6] A day later, the mold was dry and ready for the metal pour. We poured molten tin into the mold and the resulting cast object was extremely fine in its detail—indeed, the best cast accomplished in our research. [fig. 7] The mold, however, did not survive; it broke apart and thus was only usable once. [fig. 8] Our test of this recipe produced one of the desiderata of a good “sand”—fineness of impression—but not the concomitant durability.

In our second experimental process, we used the sifted calcined oysters as the sand. Two cups of calcined oysters were mixed with the whipped egg whites of two eggs. This did not seem to moisten the oyster shell “sand” sufficiently; the sand seemed to absorb the moisture much more quickly that the brick dust molds—it would not “”clump” enough to be a useful packed mold material. Out of eggs in the lab, we used some of the remaining elm root emulsion we had on hand.30 We kept adding this until the mixture would “clump”, but then the mixture had the qualities of being wet and dry at the same time; the calcined oyster shells seemed “dry”, but when squeezed, water would come out. It was as if they were both absorbing and repelling the water. [fig. 9, fig. 10]

We made our box mold according to the sand-casting process described in BnF Ms. Fr. 640 on fol.118v, building the wet sand around a plaster pattern and leaving the mold to dry.31 We placed extra sand in a plastic cup. Unexpectedly, when we checked on our mold several days later, the sand had expanded out of the frame into a useless, dry pile—the calcined oyster shells had turned to “quicklime.” The exothermic reaction that occurred when the lime present in the CaO reacted with moisture from the air resulted in a mold that “puffed up” and disintegrated. The heat of the exothermic reaction melted and deformed the plastic cup in which we had stored the extra sand. We could not use either the mold or the sand for a metal pour. [fig. 11]

In retrospect, the successful sand-casting of our first experiment using oyster ash as a liquid binder indicated that the fine oyster ash might have mixed with the brick dust and plaster of pulverized molds from previous castings to produce a finer sand that resulted in the fine impression.32 The manuscript does not say explicitly to mix the oyster shells with another sand, but this is how the successful cast worked; the oxidation reaction that produced the brilliant green color in the wine perhaps holds the key to the success of the experiment. The calcined oyster shells had already been exposed to moisture, so they had already undergone a reaction. Meanwhile, the wine still acted as a binding agent in the mold.33 It would be interesting to determine if the oyster ash that produced the exothermic reaction could be used again as a sand in a box mold; perhaps this sand would be capable of hardening and maintaining an impression in which to cast metal. Further experimentation with oyster ash is certainly worth pursuing.

In conclusion, a hands-on approach in the laboratory, paired with textual research and analysis enabled us to explore the ways in which the oyster marginalia might illuminate the compilation of the text and the author’s role as both writer and reader of his own text. Our findings suggest that the author knew or speculated about the promising properties of oyster shells, but he had yet to perfect a procedure for their successful use. The presence of distancing language, phrases such as “try” or “it is said to be…” indicate that the author was less personally familiar with the use of oyster shells as a material. Perhaps he heard it suggested or had observed the properties of calcined oyster shells in another context. But unlike other more confidently phrased imperatives, such as, for example, in “Casting in a box mold” on fol. 118v where the author writes in the first person, on fol. 84v he offers no tips, warnings, or reminders that would suggest a hands-on-familiarity with the processes. Perhaps these notes were untested by the author and instead intended as suggestions for future experiments, as seems to be the case with a list of processes on fol. 169r in which the author-practitioner appears to differentiate between processes he has “seen” and included in the manuscript and those he aspires to try.

Emogene Cataldo, Julianna Van Visco

List of illustrations

Figure 1: Detail of Bnf. Ms. Fr. 640, folio 84v. Note the placement of the note “Essaye huitres bruslées,” which is the last marginal note on the right side of the folio.

Figure 2: The white calcined oyster powder turned green immediately upon contact with the red wine.

Figure 3: Once on the hot plate, the mixture turned a brilliant emerald green, and then a lighter, more opaque green.

Figure 4: Once the mixture turned a dull, olive green, it did not change. After being poured into a glass container, the mixture separated into a green substance and a red-brown liquid.

Figure 5: Applying the “squeeze test” mentioned in 118v, “Molding in a box frame.” The mixture can be squeezed together, but readily falls apart after applying slight pressure with a fingertip.

Figure 6: The fine, detailed impression of the mold.

Figure 7: The resulting tin cast from the mold; the black substance is from smoking the mold with a flame before pouring the molten tin.

Figure 8: After one cast, the edges around the mold fell apart, making it unable to take a second cast.

Figure 9: Notice the moisture on the table after packing the calcined oyster sand mold.

Figure 10: While other sands might fall in the middle of these scales, the calcined oyster shell sand was dry, prone to crumbling, yet both absorbed and repelled moisture.

Figure 11: The oyster shell mold produced an exothermic reaction, resulting in the expansion of the sand, which was completely dry and produced no salvageable impression.

Bibliography

Biringuccio, Vannoccio. The Pirotechnia of Vannoccio Biringuccio. The Classic Sixteenth-Century Treatise on Metals and Metallurgy, trans. and ed. by Cyril Stanley Smith and Martha Teach Gnudi (New York: Dover Publications, 1990).

Camille, Michael. Image on the edge: the margins of medieval art (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992).

Randle Cotgrave, A Dictionary of the French and English Tongues (London: Adam Islip, 1611).

Davis, T.L. The Life of Denis Zachaire: An account of an alchemist’s life in the sixteenth century (Edmonds, WA: The Alchemical Press, 1993).

Eamon, William. “How to Read a Book of Secrets,” in Secrets and Knowledge in Medicine and Science, 1500 -1800, eds. Elaine Leong and Alicia Rankin. (Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2011).

Jung, Jong-Hyeon; Kyun-Seun Yoo; Hyun-Gyu Kim; and Hyung-Keum Lee, “Reuse of waste oyster shells as a SO2/NOx Removal Absorbent,” Journal of Industrial and Engineering Chemistry, 13.4 (2007) 512-517. doi.

Shakhashiri, Bassam Z. “Lime: Calcium Oxide CaO,” in “Science is Fun,” University of Wisconsin, Madison. Accessed 19 December 2014, <http://scifun.chem.wisc.edu/chemweek/PDF/LIME_CalciumOxide.pdf>.

Sherman, William H. Used Books: Marking Readers in Renaissance England (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009).

Xing, Ronge; Yukun Qin; Xiaohong Guan; Song Liu; Huahua Yu and Pengcheng Li, “Comparison of antifungal activities of scallop shell,oyster shell and their pyrolyzed products”, Egyptian Journal of Aquatic Research 39 (2013) : 83-90.I Available online 5 September 2013. doi: 10.1016/j.ejar.2013.07.003.


1 Marc Smith, Professor of Paleography, École des chartes, has noted that this marginal note does not necessarily belong to the “Eau Magistra” entry, but rather part of the preceding entry titled “Sand” [“Sable”].

2 See note 1.

3 BnF Ms. Fr. 640, 84v, “Eau Magistra.”

4 See Cataldo and Visco, “Eau Magistra”: Investigating Binders for Sand-casting.”

5 BnF Ms. Fr. 640, 84v, “Sand.”

6 See Cataldo and Visco Field Notes, 14-15 October 2014, “Sand casting,” for further details on sand-casting recipes.

7 BnF Ms. Fr. 640, 80v, “Casters of small tin work”

8 BnF Ms. Fr. 640, 49r, “Lead casting”

9 See Michael Camille, Image on the edge: the margins of medieval art (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992).

10 For more on reading as a visual mode see William H. Sherman, Used Books: Marking Readers in Renaissance England (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), and Ann Blair, Too Much To Know: Managing Scholarly Information before the Modern Age (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011).

11 For an early modern perspective on observing workshop practices, see T.L. Davis, The Life of Denis Zachaire: An account of an alchemist’s life in the sixteenth century (Edmonds, WA: The Alchemical Press, 1993). Hugh Plat also observed and collected workshop practices and recipes.

12 On this point, see William Eamon’s discussion of recipes as “prescriptions for an experiment,” William Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature (Princeton University Press 1994), p. 194, and his more recent critical reflections on recipes as straightforward instructions for action: William Eamon, “How to Read a Book of Secrets,” in Secrets and Knowledge in Medicine and Science, 1500 -1800, eds. Elaine Leong and Alicia Rankin. (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2011).

13 See Randle Cotgrave, A Dictionary of the French and English Tongues (London: Adam Islip, 1611), s.v.”calcination,” “calcinatoire,” “calciné,” and “calciner.”

14 Bnf. Ms. Fr. 640, 100r, “Vitrified saltpeter.”

15 Bnf. Ms. Fr. 640, 91r, “Grafting”: “Quand le plomb chaufe trop, il se calcine.” Marginal note.

16 Bnf. Ms. Fr. 640, 83r, “Other sand”: “Charbon de sarment & terre argille bien tamisée tant d’un que d’aultre, & le joindre ensemble avecq glaire d’oeuf bien battue, puys le faire calciner dans le four, & pour en user le destremper en vinaigre.”

17 BnF Ms. Fr. 640, 92v, “Sand of river tellins and mussels”: “Les coquilles longues qui se trouvent aulx rivieres d’eau doulce, estant calcinées, font un sable blanc impalpable qui moule fort net.”

18 CaO (s) + H2O (l) Ca(OH)2 (aq) (ΔHr = −63.7 kJ/mol of CaO). For more on the chemistry of slaked lime, see Bassam Z. Shakhashiri, “Lime: Calcium Oxide CaO,” in “Science is Fun,” University of Wisconsin, Madison. Accessed 19 December 2014, <http://scifun.chem.wisc.edu/chemweek/PDF/LIME_CalciumOxide.pdf>

19 See Jong-Hyeon Jung, Kyun-Seun Yoo, Hyun-Gyu Kim, Hyung-Keum Lee, “Reuse of waste oyster shells as a SO2/NOx Removal Absorbent,” Journal of Industrial and Engineering Chemistry, 13.4 (2007) 512-517. doi.

20 Ronge Xing, Yukun Qin, Xiaohong Guan, Song Liu, Huahua Yu, Pengcheng Li, “Comparison of antifungal activities of scallop shell,oyster shell and their pyrolyzed products”, Egyptian Journal of Aquatic Research 39 (2013) : 83-90.I Available online 5 September 2013. doi: 10.1016/j.ejar.2013.07.003.

21 Many thanks and sincerest gratitude to Donna Bilak, Ph.D., for procuring these shells from the Grand Central Oyster Bar, boiling them, and helping us remove barnacles and prepare them for calcination.

22 We were able to do this thanks to Jeanette Caines, who allowed us to use her small kiln at the Jewelry Arts Institute in midtown Manhattan and was an invaluable resource for guiding this reconstruction.

23 We tried also to calcine a whole shell, but the shell exploded in the kiln. See Cataldo and Visco Field Notes, 5 November 2014, “Calcinating oyster shells trial run.”

24 We used a Paragon Dragon kiln (24 x 24 x 19 inches). We are grateful to Julia Walther, professional ceramicist, and her advice on operating kilns.

25 Fully calcined oyster ash is slippery and white in color. See Cataldo and Visco Field Notes, 24 November 2014, “First kiln attempt” as well as 5 December 2014, “Successful oyster calcination.”

26 Alessio Piemontese, Secreti del Reverendo Donno Alessio Piemontese (Venice: Sigismondo Bondogna, 1555), p. 206. See also the annotation on fol. 118v (Raymond Carlson and Jordan Katz).

27 See Cataldo and Visco’s annotation on binders, as well as Bnf. Ms. Fr. 640, fol. 84v, “Eau Magistra.”

28 For the “squeeze test” specified by the author, see BnF Ms. Fr. 640, fol. 118v, and its analysis by Emogene Cataldo and Juliana van Visco in their annotation on “Eau Magistra,” discussing, among several binder recipes, fols. 82r and 84v.

29 These were skills and processes we learned during the residency of expert maker, T.P.C. (Tonny) Beentjes of University of Amsterdam.

30 This substitution seemed to be very much in the spirit of the manuscript and the Making and Knowing project. As William Eamon has written, “Even if some writers of books of secrets — Isabella Cortese and Leonardo Fioravanti, for example — discouraged readers from deviating from their instructions, readers did not shy away from experimenting with ingredients and procedures, substituting ingredients, changing the amounts specified, and even pronouncing them useless in their experiments found them so.” William Eamon, “How to Read a Book of Secrets,” in Secrets and Knowledge in Medicine and Science, 1500 -1800, eds. Elaine Leong and Alicia Rankin. (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2011), 34.

31 We are grateful for the expertise of Tonny Beentjes, Programme leader metals conservation, University of Amsterdam, who guided us as we reconstructed sand casting techniques from Bnf. Ms. Fr. fol. 118v, “Casting in a box mold” in the Craft and Science Laboratory Course Fall 2014.

32 See Fall2014Annotation_CataldoVisco_Binder

33 Biringuccio suggests that wine alone can be used as a binder in sand casting. See Vannoccio Biringuccio, The Pirotechnia of Vannoccio Biringuccio. The Classic Sixteenth-Century Treatise on Metals and Metallurgy, trans. and ed. by Cyril Stanley Smith and Martha Teach Gnudi (New York: Dover Publications, 1990), 328. On folio 69r in the recipe “Sand,” the manuscript author also mentions wine alone as a binding agent for sands in casting processes.