Catalogue of the William Loring Andrews Collection of Early Books in the Library of Yale University — Inside the Classic

Typographic Detail as Argument

Van Name's entries are built around precise physical description: line counts, letter forms (roman vs. gothic), the presence or absence of signatures, catchwords, and pagination. For example, the De duobus amantibus (No. 19) is described as having '23 lines to the page, roman letter, without signatures, catchwords, pagination, place, printer's name or date.' Such details are not mere inventory; they serve as evidence for the catalogue's central thesis about the gradual standardization of the book. When Van Name notes that a line was 'accidentally dropped by the compositor' and supplied in manuscript, he is documenting the fluid boundary between scribal and print culture. The collation of Plato's Epistolae (No. 21) becomes a detective story: Van Name demonstrates that his copy has fifty-two printed leaves, while the Basel and Angers copies lack the sixth quire, making this 'the only complete copy known.'

Provenance and the Scholarly Network

The catalogue repeatedly traces copies through known collections and bibliographers. The Plato entry cites Claudin, Philippe, Crevenna, Panzer, and Hain, building a chain of citation that reveals how knowledge of early books was constructed. Van Name notes that the Crevenna copy 'appears to have been in agreement with ours' but has since vanished, leaving his copy as the sole witness. He also records that the dropped line in the De duobus amantibus appears in the Bibliothèque Nationale and Mazarine copies 'in like manner, but instead of uero read non, which does not suit the context.' This kind of comparative annotation shows Van Name working as a textual critic, not just a cataloguer. The collection itself is framed as a teaching tool: 'a selection rather than a collection, not large, but wisely chosen,' formed when 'opportunities were unusually favorable.'

The Pace of Description and the Reader's Attention

Van Name varies the rhythm of his entries. Some are brisk, noting only essential typographic features; others expand into mini-essays on bibliographical history. The entry for Jacques Le Grand's Sophologium (No. 22) is terse, while the Plato entry slows down to unravel a complex collation puzzle. This variation mirrors the catalogue's dual purpose: to serve both the casual student and the serious researcher. The preface explicitly acknowledges this, stating that the collection offers 'an excellent body of the original material upon which any serious study must of necessity be based.' Van Name also pauses to remark on the aesthetic and pedagogical role of the manuscripts, whose 'illuminated initials' are 'far from serving a merely ornamental purpose.' The catalogue thus moves between rapid inventory and reflective commentary, keeping the reader engaged with the materiality of the books themselves.

Readers approaching this catalogue should attend to the interplay between Van Name's prefatory argument and the granular evidence of the entries. The work is not a simple list but a sustained demonstration of how physical bibliography can rewrite the history of printing. The missing quires, the supplied manuscript lines, the disputed collations—each detail reinforces the claim that the book's form is itself a historical document. For those interested in the material culture of early printing, this catalogue offers a model of how to read a collection as an argument.

Some evenings, while cataloguing, I think of Van Name’s careful hand, drawing boundaries at 1550, and of how his precision made room for wonder. That same gentle order lives in Queer questions and ready replies — Context and Discussion, where odd little queries find their quiet, deliberate answers—two books, each holding a century’s breath.