Author Archives: debbie

Leo Belgicus

Leo Belgicus has to be one of the most famous, as well as pictorially pleasing, of all maps. What makes this map so interesting is its direct relationship with the events taking place at the time it was made, and how these events are reflected in the map.


Novissima, et accuirastissima, Leonis Belgci, seu Septemdecim Regionum description, from Atlas minor sive Geographia, compendiosa in qua orbis terrarium… c1650. Map Res 34

The first version of the map was printed in 1583, these later editions were published by the famous family of Dutch cartographers, the Visschers, with the first by Claes Janszoon around 1611. This version is by his son Nicolaus, in an atlas whose title translates rather wonderfully as ‘Atlas minor, or Geography, a compendious account of the world’. That the group of nations know as the Low Countries can be mapped in the shape of a lion was a convenient way to show a group of 17 provinces when over half of those provinces had a lion on their shields, as can be seen along the top of the map.


The lion though can also be seen to symbolize war, and power, and it was to feature regularly on maps during the 80 Years War, a conflict between the Northern Provinces and the ruling power in the area, the Spanish Empire. We can tell this map has been printed during a short truce in the fighting between 1609 and 1621 because the sword held by the lion is sheathed, and held downwards. Maps made either side of the truce show the sword held high, ready for action.


The map, symbolic in itself with the form of a lion representing the outline of the countries as well as the individual provinces, is full of smaller symbolic references. Just above the base of the tail two women, representing the northern and southern half of the Netherlands, sit on an old man, ‘d’Oude twist,’ who represents the conflict that has hopefully now passed. Around the lion are pastoral scenes, showing the countryside at peace, with harvests gathered and villages and towns under repair or expansion (‘t’vergrooten der steden’ means the ‘enlargement of the cities’). In one of the stranger parts of the map a putto, a winged figure often found around cartouches on maps, has rather ungainly fallen out of heaven and has dropped a number of concepts in the shape of various associated objects, so the candle sticks represent wealth (‘rijckdom’), while the other objects symbolize art and science (hour glass, cross-staff, lead weight for reading depths at sea and so on), all for the benefit of a nation at peace.


The atlas, in 2 volumes, is a beautiful example of Dutch cartography during the golden age of the seventeenth century. The atlases are full of regional and country maps as well as maps of the heavens; it even has a page at the end full of different types of fortifications and instruments of war.

Many pages have elaborate cartouches, the title page gives a taste of the glories within. Here Geography, one of the muses, draws the globe while Poseidon stands by. Cybele, with her crown made of city walls, measures the earth while a lion stands by.

There’s a second Leo, in the atlas. Despite the raised sword which would suggest war this is a celebratory lion. The map was made in 1648, a year of treaties and negotiation finishing with the Dutch gaining independence from Spain.

Comitatus Hollandiæ denuo forma Leonis Map Res. 34


Piecing the map together

The earliest jigsaws were maps, developed in the eighteenth century as educational tools for children. The map was printed on paper and pasted onto board before being cut into pieces. Rather than the interlocking pieces favoured today, the map was cut along the borders of counties, or countries, so that anyone assembling the jigsaw would learn the geography of the place shown.

The idea seems to have originated with Madame Beaumont, a French woman working in London, who ran a school in Henrietta Street in the mid-eighteenth century. She advertised the dissected maps that were available to the young ladies attending her school, for an additional charge of half a guinea. The idea was commercialised by John Spilsbury in the 1760s, who published jigsaw maps for wider sale; Spilsbury died young and although his wife continued his business, she does not appear to have developed the idea further. Others soon took it up however, and the Bodleian holds a jigsaw map of England and Wales divided into counties, published by Robert Sayer based on a map from the Traveller’s companion. Recently a second copy of this was donated to the Bodleian, with some interesting differences.

All the pieces of this puzzle have survived, even tiny Rutland

Both jigsaws feature the same map of England and Wales, cropped so that the jigsaw is an irregular shape and little of the surrounding sea is shown. One is on heavier board so the pieces are fairly chunky, while the other is flimsier. The one on heavier board also looks to have been printed while the copper plate was relatively new, as the details of the map are clear and dark; on the other (probably later) puzzle roads and hills appear fainter. Both puzzles are of course cut up along county boundaries, but the division in sea areas is slightly different, suggesting that they were cut up at random rather than to a set pattern.There are at least two areas where the the plate has been retouched; the place name of Flamborough Head is in bolder writing on the later plate, and the Isle of Man has changed slightly in shape between the two issues of the map.

The southern part of the Isle of Man on the earlier puzzle
The area has been re-engraved and is more accurate on the later version
One box includes the original label and the name “Marianna Devereux”, presumably a former owner
The second box has been decorated with a hand painted leaf design

The two jigsaw boxes differ as well; the chunkier jigsaw has (naturally) a slightly larger box, which has been decorated with a handpainted design, stuck on with paper. The other shows the original title, “The traveller’s companion, or the post roads of England and Wales, with the distances in measured miles.” The inside of the lid in both cases has the original label, giving the name and address of the publisher, Robert Sayer.

Both boxes carry the same label on the inside of the lid

From the beginning of commerical jigsaws there are examples of the same puzzle being made available at different quality and price. A surviving trade card of John Spilsbury advertised his dissected maps in a “chip box” for 10 shillings and sixpence, in a square box for 12 shillings, or without the sea for 7 shillings and sixpence; since the aim of the puzzle was to assemble the areas on the map, the blank area of the sea was superfluous (although to true jigsaw devotees nowadays it might be the most interesting challenge). The differing qualities of the two jigsaws here suggests that a better quality one was sold first, and a thinner, perhaps cheaper option was offered a little later.

Assembling one of these jigsaws is still an interesting test of one’s knowledge of the geography of England and Wales. It also brings home how much the English counties differ in size; the piece for Yorkshire is enormous, while Rutland is so tiny that it’s amazing it has survived. One of the puzzles has unfortunately lost Berkshire; it probably went down the back of a sofa at some point between the 1770s and the puzzle being given to an Oxford charity shop, from where it made its way to the Bodleian as a recent donation.

UPDATE: This blog previously stated that Berkshire and Oxfordshire were missing from one of the puzzles. Oxfordshire has now been found by the donor, although Berkshire is still missing and has probably been so for some time.

[The traveller’s companion, or the post roads of England and Wales, with the distances in measured miles.] London : Printed for & sold by Robt. Sayer No. 53 Fleet Street, [1775?]. (E) C17 (806)

The traveller’s companion, or the post roads of England and Wales, with the distances in measured miles. London : Printed for & sold by Robt. Sayer No. 53 Fleet Street, [1775?] John Johnson Collection, Ballam Coll. Dissected Puzzles 50

Further reading: Norgate, M. (2007). Cutting Borders: Dissected Maps and the Origins of the Jigsaw Puzzle. The Cartographic Journal, 44(4), 342–350. https://doi.org/10.1179/000870407X241908

Black Sash

Black Sash was a South African human rights organisation founded by liberal white women in Johannesburg in 1955 as a non-violent resistance organisation. It was so-named as the women wore black sashes on their protest meetings. Their initial campaigns focused on anti-apartheid issues such as forced removal of voters from the electoral roll, and the adoption of Pass Laws.
One way of getting this message across was to create maps showing the realities of the Apartheid system and to send them to organisations throughout the World. The Map Department here at the Bodleian was recently contacted by some of the people involved in Black Sash, the Guinness family, with this intriguing message:

The map includes detailed notes and statistical tables


“In 1977 I was temporarily resident in South Africa. In the autumn of 1977 the Black Sash organisation arranged for the production of a map, detailing the forced removal of indigenous people to their so-called Homelands. The intention was to mail copies of the map to institutions, academic and political, worldwide. It was believed that the South African authorities would try to confiscate these maps. They were, therefore, rolled up, like calendars, hand addressed and stamped, as if they were Christmas presents. My family picked a small number every day and posted them, one by one, in letter boxes round Johannesburg. At least one would have been addressed to the Bodleian. Can you tell me whether you ever received a copy/ copies of the map? If so, would it be possible to see it.”

Much to our delight, we were able to find the map posted to the Library all those years ago, which according to the accession stamp on the back was catalogued on 6 March 1978. Originally, the map was added to the collection at Rhodes House Library, but was transferred to the Weston Library in 2014 (with the rest of that collection).

The family conveyed their delight by email, and a visit was scheduled, three generations of the Guinness family visiting the Library. Back in the 1970s, the Guinness children hand-wrote the envelopes, and posted each map individually from different post boxes in and around Johannesburg. On arrival at the Library they were introduced to us as the “political activists”.

The inset shows where people were forcibly moved


Along with the map, we were able to display a later map, somewhat more sophisticated and professionally produced, yet somehow lacking the excitement and subterfuge conveyed by the original. We also called up a number of issues of the journal ‘Black Sash’ which thrilled the family as they recognised many of the names featured within each issue, and were keen to share their impressions of this visit with those individuals, many of whom they had lost contact with.

Black Sash was able to disband in 1994 with Nelson Mandela’s release from prison and the unbanning of the African National Congress.

A land divided against itself, a map of South Africa showing the African homelands and some of the mass removals of people which have taken place, also conditions in some of the resettlement areas / compiled by Barbara Waite. [Johannesburg] : Black Sash, 1977. 610.41 t.2

The same, but different

The Bodleian Library’s catalogues have a complicated history. New acquisitions are of course catalogued online and appear straight away on the online catalogue, SOLO. However, the collections have been acquired over the centuries and earlier records were made on index cards, in printed volumes and even as handwritten records. Over the years, these earlier records have been converted into online records, but the information is not always as comprehensive as it would be if we acquired the item now and catalogued it to modern standards.

This is what library catalogues looked like in the old days, kids

So when we occasionally discover that we have two duplicate records for the same thing, and that it’s been in our collections for over 200 years, this isn’t particularly surprising and can usually be tidied up quickly. A recent case proved more intriguing. We appeared to have 2 separate records for an eighteenth-century map of London. There was one record for 3 copies of the map, and another for a single copy – surely a mistake? The map is a reproduction of one made by John Leake in 1667 after the Great Fire of London. (The need for detailed surveys for reconstruction after the fire led to the making of many maps, and indeed started the map-making career of the famous John Ogilby, who made and published a detailed survey with his step-grandson William Morgan). Leake’s map was reproduced over 50 years later by the engraver George Vertue, reduced in size and with embellishments such as views of notable buildings and streets before the fire.

The red line shows the extent of the area damaged by the Great Fire

A dotted line, highlighted in red, shows the extent of the area affected, and a cartouche carries a Latin inscription by George Vertue explaining that the map is a memento of London before the fire, and is dedicated to the Society of Antiquaries of London (who published this version of the map in 1723).

The cartouche represents a ruined fragment of wall

So far this is an interesting map, but there is an associated mystery, for the two versions of it turn out to be not quite the same. In one (presumably earlier) the lower border of the map runs through the River Thames, a little way from the shore. The names of docks, wharves and so on extend into the river. The plate mark (where the edge of the copper printing plate pressed into the paper) can be seen about 0.5 cm below the edge of the map border.

The original version of the map

The second copy is different. Although the map is almost identical, and certainly printed from the same plate, it appears that the plate has been trimmed. The lower border of the map has moved up a little and some of the writing has had to be shifted, while the words ‘The River Thames’ overlap the map border. A similar compression has happened at the top of the map. The plate mark is now only just outside the border of the map.

The later version in which the map’s lower border has been moved up

This is extremely unusual. It was common for map plates to be reused and for changes to be made to them; the map might be updated with new information, or the plate sold and the new publisher’s details added, for example. But we have rarely, if ever, seen a case where the plate was cut down to a smaller size. It is uncertain why this was done, but it’s notable that 2 of our 3 copies of the ‘reduced’ version of the map are printed on paper only just large enough to accommodate the map image. It may be that this was a way to produce the map on slightly smaller sheets, either to reduce costs or for ease of binding with other similar items. This was not a case where we needed to de-duplicate the catalogue records, but rather to retain both and explain their complex relationship in more detail.

An exact surveigh of the streets, lanes, and churches comprehendd. within the ruins of the City of London … / George Vertue [London]: [Society of Antiquaries], [1723]. Gough Maps London 8; Gough Maps London 9 & 10; Map Res. 127

Looks like reindeer

As the Christmas season approached, we wondered how many maps we could find that feature reindeer. Printed maps from the sixteenth, seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries often have decorative cartouches around the title and scale, which may reference the area portrayed on the map with local produce, wildlife, costumes or activities.  This scale bar from map of Nova Zemla (Novaya Zemlya) by the celebrated Dutch mapmaker Joan Blaeu, is a nice example. It shows men in warm clothing bearing mapmaking equipment (a measuring chain, compasses, staff), observed by two reindeer. One of the map makers, surprisingly, has wings. This first appeared in Blaeu’s impressive multi volume Atlas Maior from the 1660s; this is taken from a French edition, Le grand atlas of 1667.

Reindeer make another appearance in the next map in the atlas, Fretum Nassovium, vulgo de Straet Nassou (showing the Kara Strait, between Novaya Zemlya and the Russian mainland); a cheerful looking reindeer decorates the scale bar, along with a fox and some slightly unconvincing bears.

A beautiful map of the Dvina River in the next volume also shows a group of reindeer looking out over the landscape.

An English example appears in this map of New England, engraved by Francis Lamb for a late edition of John Speed’s Prospect of the most famous parts of the world, published in the 1670s. It is one of many maps of New England in the atlas derived from Jan Jansson’s Belgii Novi. Here the deer appears on the map itself, which is also illustrated with other animals including bears, foxes and storks, all helping to fill up inland areas for which geographical knowledge was limited.

More modern maps also feature reindeer; this mid-twentieth century pictorial map of the world is a charming example:

A recent Michelin tourist map of Finland has a cover illustration showing people enjoying a sleigh ride. No doubt the reindeer are at a loose end for much of the year when Santa doesn’t need them, so are happy to give rides to tourists.:

Two final, perhaps more frivolous examples are particularly aimed at younger viewers. A seasonal map of Birmingham city centre invites visitors to follow a reindeer trail:

While Collins world atlas sticker book features a friendly reindeer for younger readers. It was one of the maps submitted by the UK to the annual International Cartographic Association exhibition as an example of UK cartography; educational maps are important!

Merry Christmas from the Map Room.

Nova Zemla, Fretum Nassovium, abd Dwina fluvius; all from Le grand atlas, ou, Cosmographie blaviane, en la quelle est exactement descritte la terre, la mer, et le ciel. Amsterdam : Chez Jean Blaeu, MDCLXVII [1667] Map Res. 45-51.

‘A map of New England and New York,’ from The theatre of the Empire of Great Britaine … as also A prospect of the most famous parts of the world. London: Thomas Bassett and Richard Chiswell, 1676. Map Res. 112

Extract from Philips pictorial globe. London: George Philip, [1959].  B1 (440)

Michelin Finland: motoring and tourist map [cover]. Paris: Michelin Éditions, 2024. C35 (334)

Brum’s Christmas reindeer trail. [Birmingham] :Central Bid Birmingham, [2024].  C17:70 Birmingham (110)

Extract from Collins world atlas sticker book. London: Collins, 2013. ICA 2013 UK 029

Adventures in maps

Many of the maps in our collections were made for, or about, travel. And even now in an age when we increasingly use satnavs or GPS to find our way, a map that you can hold in your hands has its own charm.  A recent Bodleian book, Adventures in maps, uses some of these to tell the stories of 20 different journeys, on foot, horseback, train, car, sailing ship and spacecraft. They include early sea charts and explorers’ maps, as well as maps marketed when travel became more widespread and commercial. The chart below shows mariners’ routes across the Southern Ocean, many of them following the traditional ‘Clipper route’ devised in the seventeenth century to take advantage of the most favourable winds. 

The dangers of sea travel are illustrated with a story by Basil Hall, a Lieutenant aboard the British frigate Endymion, who took part in the first recorded landing on Rockall in  October 1811. Rockall, an isolated rocky islet in the North Atlantic, is over 300 km from the nearest inhabited land, the Scottish island of St Kilda. The Endymion dropped off an exploring party in two small boats, and as the sailors recorded and sketched the island, they failed to notice for some time that a slight haze was gathering on the sea. Once they realised that their ship was becoming invisible in the mist, they hastily, and with some difficulty, got everyone down from the steep rock and into the small boats. But by then it was too late; their ship was out of sight in the fog. Despite some alarming experiences everyone was eventually rescued. On the same voyage they also rescued a party of survivors from a shipwreck, including several women and children, who were trying to reach land with only oars and an improvised sail; their prospects would have been poor if the Endymion had not come to their help. The chart illustrated here was made over 100 years later but makes clear both the inaccessibility of Rockall and the fact that the sea around it was still barely surveyed. It includes a drawing of Rockall as seen from the sea which emphasises its inaccessibility.Over the next few decades increasing numbers of people had the opportunity to travel. Thomas Cook organised the first package tour in July 1841, buying train tickets in bulk at a discount for 500 people travelling from Leicester to Loughborough for a temperance meeting and celebrations. A contemporary railway map in an unusual style, printed white on black, accompanies a guide to the line.

Cook went on to organise similar train trips locally, and within 10 years was taking tourists to the Scottish Highlands, and within twenty to France and Switzerland. By the 1870s Cook’s Tours had reached the Nile, and trips to North America soon followed. By this time there was plenty of competition as the idea of mass tourism took off. But Cook was the pioneer, and his company continued until the early twenty-first century.

The book also includes maps made by explorers showing their routes, such as the one made by a companion of the archaeologist David George Hogarth, travelling through Anatolia in 1894. It shows the places where they crossed the Euphrates in a terrifyingly leaky ferry and, later, forded one of its tributaries guided by a local man who took an apparently random route to avoid quicksand. Hogarth published an account of the expedition, his experiences and the archaeological finds.

You can read more in Adventures in maps, available from the Bodleian book shop.

Eastern hemisphere. From Philips’ centenary mercantile marine atlas London: George Philip, 1935. 2021 a.34.

Inset showing Rockall. From [Chart of the N.W. Coast of Scotland, including Faeroe Island & Orkney & Shetland Islands.] London: Imray, Laurie, Norie & Wilson, 1917. C18:3 (1)

Plan of the Midland counties railway. From A guide or companion to the Midland counties railway Leicester: Tebbutt, 1840. G.A. Gen. top. 8° 458

Detail from Mr Hogarth’s route from Khalfat to Malatia  / F.W. Green, 1895. MS D30:8 (2)

Mountains and contested borders

This mysterious and beautiful map of Sikkim and Tibet has been in the Bodleian Library for at least 83 years, described briefly in the catalogue as dating from the 19th century and in Hindi. The first of these statements was imprecise and the second completely wrong; the map is almost certainly from the 1880s and is in Tibetan. Who made the map, when, and why? With the help of experts in Tibetan, in Oxford and Princeton, we now have answers to some of these questions.

The map is hand drawn in ink and what appears to be watercolour paint, and is a strange combination of two different styles. The lower half is enclosed within a square border and graticule, as a conventional western style map such as the Survey of India was making in the area at the time. It shows rivers and place names, with roads or tracks joining the settlements; at the very bottom is a tiny stretch of railway running south from the city of Darjeeling, which shows that the map must have been made in or after 1881 when the railway was opened. There is no portrayal of hills or mountains within Sikkim, which is of course a mountainous region.

Along and outside the border of Sikkim, ranges of hills and high mountains are shown pictorially, in a style more commonly found in Tibetan maps. To the north, into Tibet, a river valley leads off between mountain ranges and the furthest mountains become a picture outlined against deep blue sky. The images that look like a bit like windmills are prayer flags on top of Mani stones; these are found on mountain passes in Tibet and people pray at these sites for a safe journey.

International boundaries are shown conspicuously in bold colour. The borders of Sikkim are marked in red, with green for Nepal to the west, orange for Bhutan to the east, and yellow for Tibet. Across the northern part of Sikkim in orange is the old boundary between Tibet and Sikkim; the new one was decided in Calcutta (now Kolkata) between the British and the Chinese in 1890, and imposed on the Tibetans in 1904.

Part of the map strongly resembles one made by the Survey of India in 1890, Skeleton map of Sikkim. The squared area strongly resembles it in scale, content and layout, and most of the placenames correspond (although the Survey of India map is in English); the only exceptions are the old Tibetan border, which is shown on the manuscript map only, and the border between Sikkim and India (then separate countries) which is shown on the published map only. The areas shown pictorially on the manuscript map are not represented on the Survey of India map. This map may have been drawn by the Sikkimese or Tibetans for the British in India; certainly the 1890 Survey of India map of Sikkim far exceeds earlier maps of  the area by the same organisation.

An intriguing pencil note on one corner of the manuscript map adds to the mystery: ‘Map of Sikkim and Tibet, presented to me by … ‘ it is dated Dec 1906 but the names of the donor and the note writer are illegible. The map is on fragile paper and has been backed with cloth; the backing has a Bodleian stamp from 1961. It is hoped that high resolution scanning of this map may cast more light on its origin and provenance.

[Manuscript map of Sikkim and Tibet]. [1881-1890]. MS D10:33 (4)

Skeleton map of Sikkim. Survey of India, 1892. D10:33 (1)

We are very grateful to Charles Manson, Tibetan Subject consultant librarian at the Bodleian Library, and Tsering Wangyal Shawa, GIS and Map Librarian at Princeton, for their help in interpreting this map.

Maps as scrap paper: an unfinished work from the 1730s

This atlas seems to have had a hard life. The printed maps, dating from the early eighteenth century, are nicely engraved and hand coloured but most are stained and tatty and have been heavily folded to fit into the binding. On closer inspection it is not a published atlas as such, but a collection of separately published maps, in French, Latin or English, bound together. Some of the maps are incomplete, others have been repaired, their tattered edges strengthened with thick paper. Some of the most interesting information, though, is on the backs. The large sheets have been used as scrap paper for pen and ink drawings, maps of parts of the Middle East with detailed latitude and longitude shown in the borders. The back of this map of Tartarie by the respected French mapmaker Guillaume de L’Isle has been used for a map of Syria and Lebanon. 

The latter part of the book contains smaller plain sheets which have been used for sketch maps and for lists of place names and page references. The text is a mixture of English, Arabic and Latin. This map shows an area to the south of the previous one, covering modern day Israel and Palestine. The Sea of Galilee and Dead Sea are marked and the towns of Haifa and Acre (Acca) can be seen on the coast; a few place names on this map are in Hebrew.

There are also some more detailed maps, such as this one of the rivers of southern Iraq showing Basra and Al-Qurnah.

Who was responsible for this work, and why? There is a clue on one of the later pages in two incomplete drafts of a letter asking for money to continue the project. The first begins by explaining that the writer has been unable to visit because of both poverty and ill health, and  explaining: “I have begun to put to the press my Geography of Abulfedah, and near 20 sheetes are work’d off continuing the whole of Arabia and part of Egypte …” before going on to describe his financial needs and his inability to support his family. This is crossed out, and a second draft takes a more optimistic note: “Being pretty well recovered of my late indisposition … when such a fair promise takes effect I’ll go on chearfully in my undertaking, and return my hearty thanks in a dedication …” The reference to the Geography of Abulfedah makes it seem almost certain that this book was the property of Jean Gagnier, who published a translation from Arabic of the “Taqwim al-buldan,” or geographical description, of Abū al-Fidāʾ (or Abulfeda) a fourteenth century Kurdish geographer.  Publication was delayed by lack of money;  Gagnier’s “Descriptio peninsulæ Arabum” appeared in 1740, shortly before the writer’s death, and was incomplete, covering only Arabia and part of Egypt . The letter asking for financial support would appear to have been unsuccessful if it was ever sent.

The published work does not appear to have contained any maps. It’s interesting to see the parallels between Gagnier’s interpretation of Abū al-Fidāʾs work, and earlier European works based on Ptolemy’s Geography. Ptolemy’s work included only geographical description, without surviving maps, but later interpretations and translations included maps based on the written account.  Gagnier seems to have had it in mind to do something similar. Towards the end of the book is a table where Gagnier has compared the latitude and longitude of places (including Baghdad, Jerusalem and Alexandria) as calculated by Ptolemy, Abū al-Fidāʾ and the contemporary mapmaker de L’Isle, perhaps attempting to reconcile them. At least some of the maps were used as source material as well as scrap paper.

Gagnier was brought up in France but lived in Oxford from the early 1700s, teaching Hebrew and Arabic; he also published translations, including a life of Mohammed in Latin based on Abū al-Fidāʾs Arabic text, and a chronicle based on the work of the Hebrew historian Josephus. The Bodleian also holds some of Gagnier’s manuscript notes and preparatory material for his published works. This volume of maps was acquired by the library in 1885, along with a misleading contemporary note attributing the manuscript maps to someone else entirely. Further research in 1913 identified the connection with Gagnier, but it does not appear to have been widely publicised.

[A collection of manuscript maps and notes, apparently created in the preparation of Gagnier’s Descriptio peninsulæ Arabum.] Oxford, [between 1727 and 1740]. Map Res. 73

On the road

As a general rule we do not fold our atlases in half. It would be bad for them, and probably quite difficult. This is a rare example of an atlas that was designed to be folded in half.

It’s an early road atlas to be carried while travelling. When the soft, rather tattered brown leather covers are opened, it reveals that a previous owner has made some notes of place names and distances in the inside of the cover.

The book itself could be folded or rolled, making it smaller and more portable. It is Thomas Kitchin’s Post-chaise companion, and dates from 1767. It has clearly grown accustomed to being folded in half, as can be seen from the weights required to hold it open for photography:

The very earliest road atlases date from the seventeenth century. Previously travellers relied on road books, lists of names that would enable them to ask the way from one town to the next. Arguably the first road atlas was produced by Matthew Simmons in the 1630s, with triangular distance tables (like those sometimes found in modern road atlases) and very tiny maps. The big innovation was John Ogilby’s Britannia in 1675, which used strip maps to show the major roads throughout Great Britain in unprecedented detail; this design continued to be copied for over a century, as can be seen here. Britannia was however a large volume, too bulky to transport easily.

Perhaps surprisingly, it was around fifty years after the publication of Britannia before smaller, more portable versions were produced, and then rival versions by three different publishers appeared around the same time in the 1720s; one of these, by Emanuel Bowen, was reissued in multiple editions into the 1760s. Thomas Kitchin, who produced this work, had been apprenticed to Bowen, and had married Bowen’s daughter before setting up as an independent mapmaker, embarking on a long, prolific and successful career, and being appointed Hydrographer to George III.

Although many road atlases of this period survive, the binding is what makes this one unusual. Its appearance caused a certain amount of excitement in the Map Room as some of us had heard of road atlases being made to this design, but had never seen one before. Unsurprisingly the soft backed versions are less likely to have survived, being less robust and more heavily used than the hardbacks. The fact that this one has the notes relating to a previous owner’s journeys makes it additionally interesting.

Kitchin’s post-chaise companion, through England and Wales; containing all the ancient and new additional roads… by Thomas Kitchin. London: John Bowles, Carington Bowles and Robert Sayer, 1767. Map Res. 3

Further information can be found in County atlases of the British Isles, by Donald Hodson. Vol. 1. Welwyn: Tewin Press, 1984.

Copy, reconstruction or fake?

The Map Room was recently given what appeared to be two facsimiles of early printed maps of Paris from the sixteenth century. The smaller one bears a Latin title, “Lutetia vulgo Paris Anno 1575” – a fairly conventional way of giving both the Latin and vernacular versions of a place name in a map title. It’s a colourful, attractive map, showing Paris inside the city walls with the buildings represented pictorially. In the foreground are views, a rural landscape and a view of the Tour de Nesle, part of the city walls. The map is signed by Josse de Reveau.

So far, this appears a fairly conventional facsimile  – a modern printed copy of an attractive early map. But on closer inspection it becomes puzzling. There is no other trace of Josse de Reveau or of the original on which the map was based. The explanation is that the map is actually a reconstruction, originally made in the 1950s by a French artist; inspired by an engraving from the time of Henri III, who was King of France from 1574 to 1589, Daniel Derveaux copied the style and drew Paris as it was in the sixteenth century. According to the company website (the map is still for sale, along with a number of similar maps and map themed gifts),  “He signed ‘Josse de Reveau’ to make it look authentic.” The name could be an adaptation of Derveaux’s real surname. The map has fooled many into thinking that it is a facsimile of a sixteenth century map, and it is recorded thus in several library catalogues. We have not identified a specific map from which the information was taken.

A second map of Paris in the same category was acquired at the same time. This has an even more complex history in terms of the origins of the information. The title in a scroll design across the top of the maps is “Icy est le vray pourtraict naturel de la ville, cité, université de Parisy;” both the wording and the archaic spelling are copied directly from a large and detailed map of Paris made in the mid-sixteenth century by Olivier Truschet and Germain Hoyau. Some of the decorative elements on this map are taken from the same source. The original is held in the university library in Basel, Switzerland.

The map itself is smaller and simpler than that produced by Truschet and Hoyau, and is largely based on the one published by Braun and Hogenberg in their Civitates orbis terrarum, an atlas of the world’s cities in six volumes which appeared from 1572. The foreground is occupied by human figures; two labourers, two ladies in grand dresses, and two finely dressed gentlemen, one on a horse. There is also a view of Paris along the bottom. We have been unable to identify the source of these images, so at least three, possibly four sources went to make up this composite map. Again there is a fictional cartographer, and this time a publisher as well; “Rossingol execut [made] 1576. A Paris, chez Melchior, Quai du Port au Foin qui regarde l’Ile Nostre Dame” – the publisher and address look authentic and convincing, but are invented. There is no definite evidence as to the origins of this reconstruction; it may well be the work of Derveaux again, but it dates from the 1930s and the company has no record of it.

It is difficult to know what to make of these maps – were they originally made as a deliberate attempt to deceive, a whimsical experiment, or a way of improving access to historical sources? As regards the historical information on the maps, they are fairly useful; the details seem to have been quite closely copied from early maps. Having said which, we should also remember that no map can be relied on entirely to show the landscape as it was at a given time –  but that probably deserves a separate discussion.

Lutetia vulgo Paris Anno 1575. Daniel Derveaux, 1958. C21:50 Paris (208)

Icy est le vray pourtraict naturel de la ville, cité, université de Parisy. Publisher not identified, [1930?] C21:50 Paris (209)