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# A Seventeenth-Century Treasure-Hunter in the Rubble of a Ninth-Century Library

Pierre Chambert-Protat

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## ► To cite this version:

Pierre Chambert-Protat. A Seventeenth-Century Treasure-Hunter in the Rubble of a Ninth-Century Library: Gathering Fragments and the History of Libraries. Fragmentology, 2018, 1, pp.65-81. 10.24446/41yi. halshs-01951161

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# Fragmentology

A Journal for the Study of Medieval Manuscript Fragments

## Volume I, 2018

**Editorial: Fragments and Fragmentology 1-5**

### Articles

*Reconstructing Burnt Anglo-Saxon Fragments in the Cotton Collection at the British Library*
Andrew Dunning, Alison Hudson, and Christina Duffy 7-37

*Psalms and Psalters in the Manuscript Fragments Preserved in the Abbey Library of Sankt Gallen*
María Adelaida Andrés Sanz 39-63

*A Seventeenth-Century Treasure Hunter in the Rubble of a Ninth-Century Library: Gathering Fragments and the History of Libraries*
Pierre Chambert-Protat 65-81

*Manuscript Fragments in the University Library, Leipzig: Types and Cataloguing Patterns*
Ivana Dobcheva and Christoph Mackert 83-110

*In-situ manuscript fragments in the incunables of the Bodleian Library, Oxford: A Fragmentarium Case Study*
Ruth Mullett 111-120

*Fragments and Fakes: The Arbor consanguinitatis of the Fondation Martin Bodmer and a Contemporary Forgery*
William Duba and Christoph Flüeler 121-153

Fragmentology I (2018). **Editors:** Christoph Flüeler (Fribourg), William Duba (Fribourg) | **Book Review Editor:** Veronika Drescher (Fribourg/Paris) | **Editorial Board:** Lisa Fagin Davis, (Cambridge, MA), Christoph Egger (Vienna), Thomas Falmagne (Frankfurt), Scott Gwara (Columbia, SC), Nicholas Herman (Philadelphia), Christoph Mackert (Leipzig), Marilena Maniaci (Cassino), Stefan Morent (Tübingen), Åslaug Ommundsen (Bergen), Nigel Palmer (Oxford)

**Editorial Address:** Fragmentology, University of Fribourg, Rue de l'Hôpital 4, 1700 Fribourg, Switzerland. fragmentarium@unifr.ch
A Seventeenth-Century Treasure Hunter
in the Rubble of a Ninth-Century Library
Gathering Fragments and the History of Libraries

Pierre Chambert-Protat,\* École française de Rome

pchambertp@orange.fr

<figure><img src="image_4.png" /></figure>

**Abstract:** Among the few major Carolingian libraries that are rather well preserved, Lyon's Cathedral Chapter Library presents a specific challenge: its fragmentation and dispersion have long hindered studies on its constituent manuscripts, because they were scattered across distant libraries. Nowadays, digitization lifts the greater part of the material obstacles, and virtual reconstructions make it possible to study damaged manuscripts almost as if their scattered fragments were still preserved together. While accompanying a few such reconstructions on display on *Fragmentarium*, this paper intends to highlight the importance of an individual XVIIth century collector, Étienne Baluze, in the salvaging of fragments from the Lyon library. Through this example is shown how the very preservation status of fragments within larger ensembles can reveal information on the librarians, collectors, collections, and libraries to whom they belonged, and their own history.

**Keywords:** Lyon, Cathedral; Lyon, Bibliothèque municipale; Étienne Baluze; library history; Carolingian era; Codices Latini Antiquiores

With some 150 preserved codices, the Carolingian library of the cathedral chapter of Lyon counts among the best preserved ninth-century libraries.<fnref n="1" /> While more famous examples either remain in their original location, such as is the case with the libraries of Saint Gall and Verona, or were transferred in their entirety, as with Corbie and Lorsch, Lyon's situation falls between the two extremes. About 50 of its Carolingian and codices *antiquiores* remained in Lyon to this day (making the Bibliothèque Municipale of Lyon the richest in provincial France),

<footnote>\* This paper represents the first results of a research project for *Fragmentarium* funded by the Zeno-Karl-Schindler Foundation over the year 2016–2017.</footnote>

<footnote n="1">1 In his seminal study, C. Charlier inventoried exactly 100 codices that “were in Lyon in Florus’s times”. Some items may have to be removed from the list, but many more have to be added to it. C. Charlier, “Les manuscrits personnels de Florus de Lyon et son activité littéraire”, *Mélanges Emmanuel Podechard*, Lyon 1945, 71–84. Reprint in *Revue bénédictine* 119/2(2009), 252–269. DOI 10.1484/J.RB.5.100492</footnote>
and the rest have been dispersed across Europe and are now mainly in Paris’s National Library, with some in Rome and the Vatican, Berlin, Wolfenbüttel, Furenze, Geneva, Saint-Petersburg, and so on.

Because of this situation, it went unnoticed for a long time that the library was fairly well preserved, and to this day, the library remains less famous and less investigated than its peers; in order to notice that the library was relatively intact, and then to study its contents, one needs to travel back and forth between several distant libraries. — Or one needed to.

In 1926 André Wilmart stated that Lyon’s intellectual life in Carolingian era simply couldn’t be studied “without publishing of a whole set of facsimiles. This is the only truly scientific means that could be used.”<fnref n="2" /> Facsimiles of more than a hundred manuscripts in 1926 were nothing but a dream — but no more. Digitization now makes it possible to study these scattered manuscripts side by side, as if they were all within arm’s reach. For the first time in centuries, databases and digital tools such as *Fragmentarium* make it possible not only to reunite several codices that have been separated, but also to reconstruct single codices that have been fragmented and scattered.

Lyon’s Carolingian library today comprises a number of scattered fragments. One set of scattered Lyonnais codices, for example, was the result of the machinations of an infamous XIXth century thief, Guglielmo Libri Carucci dalla Sommaja. After Léopold Delisle uncovered the looting, the dismantled parts were recovered by the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, but never returned to their rightful owner and physical origin, the Bibliothèque Municipale of Lyon.<fnref n="3" /> These parts are:

* Paris, BNF, n.a.l. 446 taken from Lyon, BM, 600 (517), Jerome’s epistles, Southern France (?), s. VII–VIII: Lowe CLA, t. 6, no. 781.

<footnote n="2">² “Notons donc bien ceci. L’histoire des relations littéraires de Florus [de Lyon] et de Mannon [de Saint-Oyen] et la connaissance de leurs manuscrits ne seront certaines que grâce à une publication complète de facsimilés. C’est le seul moyen vraiment scientifique qu’on puisse employer.” A. Wilmart, “Note sur Florus et Mannon à propos d’un travail récent”, *Revue bénédictine* 38(1926), 214–216, at 216. DOI 10.1484/J.RB.4.01890</footnote>

<footnote n="3">³ See L. Delisle, “Les Manuscrits du comte d’Ashburnham. Rapport au Ministre de l’Instruction publique et des Beaux-Arts”, *Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes* 44(1883), 202–224. DOI 10.3406/bec.1883.447169. Lyon’s unique second-half of sixth-century *Heptateuch* also was one of Libri’s victims, but this was the first of his thefts that Delisle uncovered: the 69 leaves (!) were gracefully offered by Lord Ashburnham back to Lyon’s City Library, which reunited them with their original codex, Lyon, BM, 403 (329). A few years later, 88 more leaves of the very same codex were rediscovered in the sale of a private collection and acquired by the City Library, they are now the MS Lyon, BM, 1964. See E. A. Lowe, *Codices Latini Antiquiores. A Palaeographical Guide to Latin Manuscripts prior to the Ninth Century*. v. 6, Oxford 1953, no. 771. In the same private collection was a fragment of s. VII¹/₂ MS Lyon, BM, 468 (397) which was acquired by the National Library: it is now Paris, BNF, n.a.l. 602; see Lowe CLA, v. 6, no. 776.</footnote>
* Paris, BNF, n.a.l. 1585 taken from Lyon, BM, 425 (351), Mixed Psalter, Rome, s. V-VI: Lowe CLA, t. 6, no. 772.

* Paris, BNF, n.a.l. 1591 taken from Lyon, BM, 443 (372), Origen on the Pentateuch, Lyon (?), s. VII: Lowe CLA, t. 6, no. 774a.

* Paris, BNF, n.a.l. 1593 taken from Lyon, BM, 452 (381), Hilary of Poitiers on Psalms, Italy or Lyon, s. V<sup>ex</sup>: Lowe CLA, t. 6, 775.

* Paris, BNF, n.a.l. 1594 taken from Lyon, BM, 604 (521), Augustine, so-called *Collectio Lugdunensis*, Lyon (?), s. VII<sup>in</sup>: Lowe CLA, t. 6, no. 783.

* Paris, BNF, n.a.l. 1629 ff. 7-14 taken from Lyon, BM, 426 (352), a *sui generis* version of Augustine on Psalms, Lyon (?), s. VI-VII: Lowe CLA, t. 6, no. 773a.

This well-known case not only shows how materially difficult it can be to investigate Lyonnais codices, it also illustrates the crucial role of individual collectors and librarians in both the scattering and the salvaging of manuscript fragments.

Indeed, a collection of codices, or even a single codex, is a rather ‘big’ object and easy to identify, for such things are the ‘canonical’ pieces of our cultural history. By contrast, fragments are modest and humble; it is often difficult to figure them out, or to make something meaningful out of them; their very material aspect makes them look lost, and, in fact, when a fragment first comes into one’s hands, it is impossible to know a *priori* if it actually belongs to a fuller codex that is preserved somewhere, or if it is truly, completely orphaned. And thus it is much easier for a thief to steal and sell only parts of an object than a whole codex. More generally, once fragments are separated from their original codices, they become very vulnerable to being lost, or, simply thrown away out of ignorance. It takes a modern collector or librarian to gather “useless” medieval leaves simply because they’re medieval leaves. This paper will address how some librarians have dealt with Lyonnais fragments in the past, and their approach is expressed today in the very preservation status of these fragments.

The task of identifying scattered fragments of one and the same given codex, figuring out their original arrangement, and finally piecing them together in an artificial reconstruction is often painstaking. Undertaking such a work isn’t only a philologist’s duty towards each material document, insofar as philologists can be seen fundamentally as ‘textual archaeologists’; it also makes more sources accessible to scientific research. Although history has wounded, cut, and scattered some documents, such accidents don’t make them a *priori* lesser witnesses than their undamaged neighbours — but their very scattering hinders study. Reconstruction allows them to take back their rightful place in philological and historical research. But moreover, as this paper will try and show, studying scattered fragments takes us back in the history of their scattering and gathering, uncovering unexpected information regarding events, developments, and actors in the history of libraries; which in turn provides us with new ways of tracing back and identifying even more relevant documents.
Lyon, BM, 788 (706): a changing “manuscript”

The Bibliothèque Municipale of Lyon has, within the oldest core of its collections, a “manuscript” numbered 788 (706), which actually is not an actual codex, but rather a box of unbound fragments — not unlike an archival box. This conservation status itself has had an influence on the collection and, ultimately, calls into question the very purpose of shelfmarks.

At some point during the nineteenth century, the 16 fragments in the box were foliated continuously as they stood, from 1 to 101. But in 1881, a Lyonnais legal historian, Exupère Caillemer, noticed that several of those fragments materially belonged to codices that are preserved in the same library.<fnref n="4" /> Librarians contemporary to Caillemer took these conclusions into account: twenty years later, the *Catalogue général des manuscrits (CGM)* explains that these fragments were taken out of MS. 788 and put back in their original volumes — where they still are today.<fnref n="5" /> To make things easier (!), some of these relocated fragments were also refoliated according to their new location — but not all of them, and, it seems, not with much care for consistency:

• Lyon 788, ff. 35–40 continue from the last folio of Lyon 602 (f. 142). Therefore they were refoliated as Lyon 602 ff. 143–149.<fnref n="6" />

• Lyon 788, ff. 49–58 have to be read before the first folio of Lyon 604 (f. 1). They were placed at the head of the codex, and, therefore, they were not refoliated.<fnref n="7" />

• Lyon 788, ff. 75–76 have to be read before Lyon 336 (f. 1). They were placed, however, at the end of the codex and not refoliated.<fnref n="8" />

• Lyon 788, ff. 77–82 should be read before Lyon 483 (f. 1). They were placed, however, at the end of the codex and refoliated as ff. 319–324.<fnref n="9" />

The 1901 CGM records these changes and is the most recent catalogue of the manuscripts at the Bibliothèque Municipale de Lyon, but the story of these codices does not stop there. André Wilmart, who worked extensively on Lyon’s Carolingian manuscripts with Elias Avery Lowe in the 1920s, noticed that another fragment of Lyon 788, its ff. 67–74, belonged to yet another codex, Lyon 603; and again in 1928, the curator Henry Joly took this quire out of Lyon 788 and put it back in its original body. Lyon 603 contains a collection of sermons by Augustine.

<footnote n="4">4 See E. Caillemer, “Notices et extraits de manuscrits de la Bibliothèque de Lyon”, *Mémoires de l’Académie des Sciences, Belles-Lettres et Arts de Lyon, Classe des Lettres* 20(1881-82), 39-88. https://archive.org/details/Caillemer_1881_Manuscrits_de_Lyon</footnote>

<footnote n="5">5 A. Molinier and F. Desvernay, *Catalogue général des manuscrits des bibliothèques publiques de France: Départements, tome XXX: Lyon, v. 1, Paris 1901, 215-217*. https://archive.org/stream/cataloguegnr3001900ofran</footnote>

<footnote n="6">6 Jerome, *Contra Iovinianum*, France, s. VIIex: Lowe CLA, v. 6, no. 782b.</footnote>

<footnote n="7">7 This is the Augustinian *Collectio Lugdunensis* parts of which Libri stole, see above the fragment Paris n.a.l. 1594.</footnote>

<footnote n="8">8 On this MS see the Appendix.</footnote>

<footnote n="9">9 Origen on Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, Italy, then Verona, then Lyon, s. V-VI: Lowe CLA, v. 6, no. 779.</footnote>
This early ninth-century manuscript was extensively used and annotated by Flo-
rus of Lyon (floruit ca. 825–855), as well as by other anonymous Lyonnais scholars
of the time.<fnref n="10" /> The fragment’s text immediately precedes Lyon 603 f. 1; the leaves
were relocated at the head of the codex, without being refoliated.

Then, on July 10th, 1969, an unidentified librarian decided that Lyon 788
ff. 89–90, an isolated bifolium from a fourteenth-century missal, should be taken
out of the box and given its own shelfmark: it became MS Lyon 6207.<fnref n="11" />

Thus, 6 out of the original 16 fragments have been taken out of Lyon 788, leav-
ing voids in its foliation. This is Lyon 788’s situation now. But it could very well
evolve again, since Bernhard Bischoff suggested that another of its fragments,
namely the ff. 98–99, originally belongs to Lyon 601.<fnref n="12" />

As can be expected, these relocations and not-so-logical refoliations get in
the way of clearly and securely identifying the documents. A shelfmark is sup-
posed to work as an address. If I write that something can be seen in MS Lyon,
BM, 484, f. 99v, a reader should be able to find this very thing again by following
step-by-step these general-to-specific coordinates; the terms are not only logical,
but they also refer to physical, if not geographical, locations. Relocated fragments
challenge this method. I could now refer to Lyon 602 f. 145r without stating that
it was also Lyon 788, f. 37r — but wouldn’t it be problematic no longer to see any
reference to Lyon 788, ff. 35–40, as if it had been lost, when it actually hasn’t?
Non-refoliated folia pose another issue. If I refer to Lyon 788, f. 52, I need to
specify and the reader needs to remember that, in spite of such a citation, it is
actually part of Lyon 604.

More importantly, this volatile conservation status has made it difficult for
the City Library’s curators themselves to know exactly what was really supposed
to be inside their “MS 788” box. A 1928 handwritten note bears witness of this
problem within the box itself. Henry Joly tried to assess the situation, as he took
himself the ff. 67–74 out of the box in order to reunite the quire with the codex
603 (see Figure 1).

But Joly himself did not remember that ff. 77–82 had also been reunited with
their original codex, even though the fact is mentioned in the CGM; he wrote
desunt (“they are missing”), as though these leaves were simply lost. Only later

<footnote n="10">10 B. Bischoff, *Katalog der festländischen Handschriften des neunten Jahrhunderts (mit Ausnahme der wisigotischen)*, v. 2, Wiesbaden 2004, no. 2572, p. 143.</footnote>

<footnote n="11">11 The actual curator of Lyon's MSS, M. Jérôme Sirdey, notices in an e-mail written to me on Feb. 24, 2018, that both MSS 6206 and 6208 (I translate) "also are fragments of liturgical manuscripts, both retrieved from bindings. (...) This fact doesn't provide an actual explanation, but it appears that one took the opportunity of these retrieved fragments being integrated in the general MSS collection to give the *olim* Lyon 788 ff. 89-90 a proper shelfmark."</footnote>

<footnote n="12">12 Jerome's epistles, Lyon, s. IX²/⁴: Bischoff *KFH*, v. 2, no. 2569, p. 142.</footnote>
annotations in another hand set the record straight, seemingly when the new
development of 1969 was also added.<fnref n="13" />

<figure><img src="image_5.png" /><figcaption>Figure 1: Henry Joly's notes, in the box with Lyon, BM 788. A later, unidentified librarian added four notes in red ink.</figcaption></figure>

<footnote n="13">13 I must also point out the mysterious last entry among Lyon BM’s MSS in Bischoff KFH, v. 2, no. 2591: “Fragm. s.n. (teste R. Étaix). Hieronymus, *In Hieremiam prophetam* (lib. 2, 3). 1 Bl., 32x20,5 cm <25,5x17,8 cm>; 30 Z. Min.; auch rundes d; Kzg.: -us : -mъ; -ur : -t² (² sehr lang). Unz. Init. — IX. Jh., ca. 3. Viertel.” Lyon BM’s librarians were as surprised as I was by this entry, and they could not identify the document.</footnote>
## Lyon's manuscripts and Baluze's fragments

After studying Lyon Carolingian and *antiquiores* MSS in the 1920s, André Wilmart noticed a curious correlation between Lyon 788 and Paris, BNF, Baluze 270. Baluze 270 binds together a remarkable series of 26 fragments, of which 11 are Carolingian, and 3 are *antiquiores*.

One bifolium, ff. 72<sup>bis</sup>–73, originally belonged to a famous Carolingian Lyonnais codex: the original MS of Florus of Lyon's masterpiece, the Augustinian *Expositio epistolarum beati Pauli apostoli*. This bifolium goes at the end of the codex and thus completes the whole second half of this priceless witness to Carolingian erudition.<sup>14</sup>

Two other leaves of Baluze 270, its ff. 74–75, also belong to another Lyon codex, Lyon 336, in which Lyon 788 ff. 75–76 have been relocated.<sup>15</sup>

Alongside these fragments that can be matched to their original ‘bodies’, we also find ‘orphaned’ fragments: they are the last remains of codices otherwise lost. Here again, Baluze 270 and Lyon 788 complete one another in a number of occasions — all of these have been virtually reconstructed on *Fragmentarium*, and I have used *Fragmentarium’s* tools to provide more extensive notices that the reader can find on the platform.

**F-73yy:** When pieced together, two non-adjacent fragments of Baluze 270, its ff. 105–106 and 112–113, along with two (originally) non-adjacent fragments of Lyon 788, its ff. 41–48 and 59–66, preserve a continuous portion of a Commentary on the Psalms.<sup>16</sup>

**F-v2mv:** Two non-adjacent fragments of Baluze 270, ff. 107–108 and 132–158, and an isolated bifolium of Lyon 788, ff. 87–88, preserve a good portion of an early-ninth-century exemplar of Bede’s *De templo salomonis*. Judging by their hands, the copyists may not have been from Lyon, but the fruit of their labour was used by Florus of Lyon later in the same century.<sup>17</sup>

**F-01kc:** Two isolated bifolia, Baluze 270 f. 177–178 and Lyon 788 f. 100–101, preserve parts of a rare epitome of the *Hispana* collection of canons.<sup>18</sup> This epitome, a topic-oriented table of contents of the *Hispana*, played a crucial role in the making of the *Hispana systematica* — which, in turn, has a special place in Carolingian Lyon and its overall contribution to mediaeval culture. It is all the more interesting to see this exemplar of the Epitome copied by some of the

<footnote n="14">14 See esp. A. Wilmart, “L’Exemplaire lyonnais de l’Exposition de Florus sur les Épîtres et ses derniers feuillets”, *Revue bénédictine* 42(1930), 73–76. DOI 10.1484/J.RB.4.04786 and L. Holtz, “Le manuscrit Lyon, B.M. 484 (414) et la méthode de travail de Florus”, *Revue bénédictine* 119(2009), 270–315. DOI 10.1484/J.RB.5.100493.</footnote>

<footnote n="15">15 A. Wilmart, “Fragments carolingiens du fonds Baluze”, *Revue bénédictine* 43(1931), 106–115, at 107–108. DOI 10.1484/J.RB.4.02323. On this MS see the Appendix.</footnote>

<footnote n="16">16 Wilmart, “L’Exemplaire Lyonnais”, 108–109.</footnote>

<footnote n="17">17 Wilmart, “Fragments carolingiens du fonds Baluze”, 110–111.</footnote>

<footnote n="18">18 Wilmart, “Fragments carolingiens du fonds Baluze”, 112–113.</footnote>
same scribes who also copied the Lyon exemplar of the *Hispana systematica*, mentioned above, Lyon 336 + Lyon 788 ff. 75–76 + Paris Baluze 270 ff. 74–75.<fnref n="19" />

This series of connections between Paris Baluze 270 and Lyonnais codices does not now seem coincidental. In order to have so many scattered parts in common, the collection at Lyon and Paris Baluze 270 must have had some sort of historical relationship.

In truth, it is somewhat strange that a gathering of mediaeval fragments ended up in the National Library’s ‘Baluze’ collection.

Étienne Baluze was not only an immense scholar, he was also Colbert’s librarian from 1667 on. Colbert was keen on collecting ancient and rare manuscripts of all sorts, and his librarian had a wonderful budget for upkeep and acquisitions. Over the course of Colbert’s career, in service to the state, and finally as secretary of state, his personal collection became something like a national treasure; so much that after he died in 1683, it was bought as a whole by the Royal Library. But Baluze also knew how to take advantage of his position as Colbert’s librarian; his own library grew and it kept growing until he died in 1718. By then, his collection also had become one of the richest there was in France; and once again, after the owner’s death, the Bibliothèque Royale bought it as a whole.

But Baluze’s manuscripts, as Colbert’s before them, were then inserted into the general collections of the Royal Library according to their languages; his French, Italian, Greek, Spanish, and Latin manuscripts blended into the ‘French’, ‘Italian’, ‘Greek’, ‘Spanish’, and ‘Latin’ collections. Thus, the Bibliothèque Nationale’s collection that is named after Étienne Baluze is actually composed of what was then considered not the “actual” library, but rather Baluze’s personal papers. So the gatherings of Latin mediaeval fragments whose shelfmarks are now ‘Baluze 270’ and ‘271’ are not typical; Baluze’s Latin mediaeval MSS are actually to be found in the regular ‘Latin’ collection.

An important fragment volume in the Latin collection has already been noticed for its ties with the Lyonnais library: MS latin 152, *olim* Baluze’s MS 545. Among its 18 fragments, 3 come from Lyonnais Carolingian codices:

<footnote>• Paris, latin 152, ff. 17–20 complete Lyon 466, ff. 1–93;</footnote>

<footnote>• Paris, latin 152, ff. 21–25 complete Lyon 466, ff. 94–336;</footnote>

<footnote>• Paris, latin 152, ff. 26–29 complete Lyon 448, ff. 11–49.</footnote>

<footnote n="19">¹⁹ On this MS and the importance of the *Hispana systematica*, see the details in Appendix. The similarity of hands between these MSS has been pointed out by Wilmart “Fragments carolingiens du fonds Baluze”, 112 as well as Bischoff *KFH*, v. 2, no. 2546, p. 136, and no. 2587, p. 146.</footnote>
Additionally, Paris, latin 152, ff. 9-16 is an orphaned fragment, but we know it was in Lyon in the Carolingian era because it was annotated by Florus.<fnref n="20" /> These fragments do not match those in Lyon 788; but the Lyon box can still lead us to some more Parisian fragments.

Lyon 788, ff. 23-26 have been identified as parts of Paris, BnF, latin 7536, a tenth/eleventh-century Beneventan copy of Donatus and Priscian, which happens to be *olim* Baluze's MS 542.<fnref n="21" />

**F-c4lg:** Elias Avery Lowe also suggested that Lyon 788, ff. 27-34 matches Paris latin 5288, ff. 1-12,<fnref n="22" /> and Célestin Charlier later noticed<fnref n="23" /> that these also match Baluze 270, ff. 167-174, a fragment that Wilmart had used in an edition without noticing its relationship with Lyon 788.<fnref n="24" />

**F-s74n:** As it happens, Paris, latin 5288 is yet another one of Baluze's fragment volumes: *olim* Baluze's MS 439 — and I noticed that Paris, latin 5288, ff. 34-41 constitute the first quire of a Carolingian codex whose second quire is now Baluze 270, ff. 124-131.

Starting with a box of fragments in Lyon, we have now gathered together a good number of fragmented Carolingian and *antiquiores* manuscripts that in the middle ages belonged to Lyon. Étienne Baluze's role in their survival is crucial. This simple action of his, gathering fragments, represents a more discreet, more understated, contribution to cultural history that does his scholarly work, but it is no less important.

## The state of collections and their history

The very conservation status of a collection can preserve information about its origins and ultimately the circumstances of previous dispersions. The mere fact that Lyon's box of fragments exists, for example, is noteworthy. When one has a book in hands and a leaf or a quire falls out, one picks it up and put it back in the codex: the worst that could happen would be not to put it exactly in the same place. Here, however, we have a box containing several fragments, as if its gatherer did not know where else to put them, even though they actually

<footnote n="20">20 See now M. Milhau, “Hilaire de Poitiers dans la Collection de Douze Pères de Florus de Lyon”, in *Les douze compilations pauliniennes de Florus de Lyon*, ed. P. Chambert-Protat, F. Dolveck and C. Gerzaguet, Rome 2016, 85-94. DOI 10.4000/books.efr.3099.</footnote>

<footnote n="21">21 L. Holtz, *Donat et la tradition de l'enseignement grammatical. Étude sur l'Ars Donati et sa diffusion (IVe-IXe siècle) et édition critique*, Paris 1981, 407.</footnote>

<footnote n="22">22 Lowe CLA, v. 5, no. 561, and v. 6, no. 785.</footnote>

<footnote n="23">23 Charlier, “Alcuin, Florus et l’Apocryphe hiéronymien Cogitis me sur l’Assomption”, *Studia Patristica v. 1. Papers presented to the Second International conference on patristic studies held at Christ Church, Oxford, 1955*, ed. K. Aland and F. L. Cross, Berlin 1955, 70-81, at p. 76 n. 4.</footnote>

<footnote n="24">24 A. Wilmart, *Analecta Reginensia. Extraits des manuscrits latins de la reine Christine conservés au Vatican*, Vatican City 1933, no. XX, 322-362.</footnote>
belonged to codices preserved in the same library. It suggests that these several books were damaged at the same time: their bindings were weakened all at once, and detached leaves were shuffled together. Some violent episode may have happened to this library, an event that damaged codices unevenly: some remained pretty much untouched, but some disappeared completely; some lost only small parts, and some were almost completely destroyed, surviving only in small fragments. After the event, the pieces that were substantially still codices were carefully gathered, but the detached leaves and quires that had fallen out could not be easily sorted; no-one could know at first sight which fragments belonged to which codex, or even if their codex was even preserved. Thus the fragments were put together in waiting, in what later became the MS Lyon 788.

<figure><img src="image_6.png" /><figcaption>Figure 2: Lyon, Cathedral Quarter, detail from Le Plan Scénographique de Lyon, ca. 1550</figcaption></figure>

This violent event can be identified. Lyon's map from about 1550 shows us the cathedral's fortified quarter, a few years before the Wars of Religion broke it open.<fnref n="25" />

At the end of April 1562, over one night, the Protestants took over the city without a blow. In the cathedral quarter, the canons dug in, but since the Protestants had seized the city's weapons, all resistance was soon crushed. Then, expecting the royal army's counteroffensive, the Protestants called on help from the infamous Baron des Adrets, remembered to this day for the vandalism and

<footnote n="25">25 The map can be explored at http://www.renlyon.org/. On the 1562 events here summarized, see E. Sarles, "Une capitale protestante. Coup de force, grands travaux, crise et reflux", in *Lyon 1562, capitale protestante. Une histoire religieuse de Lyon à la Renaissance*, ed. Yves Krumenacker, Lyon 2009, 155-205.</footnote>
massacres he committed in the region of Lyon. Over the weeks of military occupation, Lyon's cathedral and the chapter's buildings suffered from accidental or deliberate destruction.

Although some of these events are well documented by sources of the time, there is not a clear report of what happened to the chapter library. Evidence of what happened must be gleaned from the surviving witnesses of the event, the manuscripts themselves, and the history of their conservation. Thus, a number of ancient manuscripts from Lyon, presumably or certainly held at the cathedral during the Middle Ages, “miraculously” reappear in private collections, away from Lyon, in the decades that follow the 1562 event. Such is, for example, the case of the *Codex Bezae*, an atypical Late-Antique Greek and Latin New Testament, which was already famous at the time; it still belonged to Lyon around 1550, but sometime between 1565 and 1576 it suddenly resurfaces in the hands of Calvin’s successor, Theodore Beza, who in 1581 offered it to Cambridge’s University Library, where it still is today.<fnref n="26" /> Two early-ninth-century manuscripts were brought to Rome by Jean du Bois (or Dubois, †1626), “Célestin de Lyon”, in 1605; in handwritten notes, du Bois explains that both books were “bought from a heretic” after they were “taken from Lyon’s library burned by heretics.”<fnref n="27" /> The whole library was not burned, obviously, since more than a hundred ninth-century or *antiquiores* manuscripts survive; but it is true that several of the preserved codices, such as Lyon, BM, 475, show fire damage.

The number of fragmented manuscripts and the way these fragments were scattered add to this body of evidence, conjuring up images of a fire and vandalism, followed by plain and simple looting. More than a century after the violent event of spring 1562, Étienne Baluze must have stumbled upon a batch of fragments from Lyon's cathedral library. How? where? when? Through whom exactly did he find them? Did he know their origin? It is impossible to say for now; but maybe more information could be found in Baluze's personal papers, the 'Baluze' collection in Paris' Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

I should also emphasize that this paper only investigated fragments from the ninth century or prior, whereas their fragmentation and dispersion actually happened in the early modern period. Obviously, Lyon's library had grown in the

<footnote n="26">26 J. R. Harris, *Codex Bezae. A Study of the so-called Western Text of the New Testament*, Cambridge 1891, 36. https://archive.org/details/codexbezaeooharruoft.</footnote>

<footnote n="27">27 “Ex Bibliotheca Lugdunensi ab hereticis combusta exemptus ab heretico codex venditusque, exemptus est a Joanne a Bosco Celestino” reads the note on MS Roma, Bibl. Vallicelliana, E 26, f. 1r. An almost identical note can be found on MS C 3, f. 1r. See D. Paniagua, “Sul MS. Roma, Bibl. Vallicelliana, E 26 e sulla trasmissione manoscritta di Polemo Silvio: un nuovo testimone (poziore) per due sezioni del *Laterculus*”, *Revue d’histoire des textes* N.S. 11(2016), 163–180, at 7071. DOI 10.1484/J.RHT.5.110489 the author’s inference, “Quindi, il codice fu sottratto dalla biblioteca di Saint-Martin de l’Île Barbe”, needs to be corrected in favour of the cathedral’s library.</footnote>
meantime, and obviously the 1562 events affected manuscripts young and old. Given how the gatherings of older fragments match and complete one another, and given the fact that these very volumes also preserve younger fragments, one can safely assume that a lot of the post-ninth-century fragments from Baluze's collection also come from Lyon's cathedral library and have not been identified as such yet. Thus, conservation status becomes — not a proof, of course — but an indication, and possibly a strong one, of the provenance of a given fragment. In this regard, studying fragments together, with dedicated tools adapted to their specific features, as *Fragmentarium* does, opens the way to new perspectives, new questions and new answers regarding book history and the history of libraries; our very cultural history.

## Appendix

Lyon 336 is an example of the very rare collection of canons called *Hispana systematica*. This collection has the same contents as the much more common *Hispana*, but rearranged following a logical, thematical plan. Only three Latin witnesses are known: our Lyon 336, a *recentior* Paris, BNF, lat. 1565 (tenth or eleventh century, Southern France, maybe Lyon), and the oldest and most important, Paris, BNF, lat. 11709, a late-eighth/early-ninth century Visigothic copy that Leidrat, a friend of Alcuin's and the bishop of Lyon from 798 to the death of Charlemagne, very probably brought back from his diplomatic missions in Septimania.

Moreover, the *Hispana systematica* forms the basis of the so-called *Dacheriana*, a compendium and “best-seller” of canon law compiled by Lyonnais jurists contemporary to Leidrat, using the thematic plan and some of the material from the *Hispana systematica*, as well as material from the *Dionysio-Hadriana* that they regarded as more authoritative.<fnref n="28" /> Thus, material and textual evidence seem to indicate that, in the Carolingian world, only Lyon knew and used the *Hispana systematica*. The testimony of a Lyon manuscript produced in the first quarter of the ninth century, such as Lyon 336, is invaluable in this regard. But the current material condition of Lyon 336 also reflects the violent history of Lyon's cathedral manuscripts; as described above, two scattered fragments have been matched to the main body Lyon 336: Lyon 788, ff. 75–76, and Paris, Baluze 270, ff. 74–75. The first one was identified by Exupère Caillemer in 1881 and was placed in Lyon 336 before 1901. The bifolium was inserted at the end of the codex, where it still is (and still has not been refoliated), although Caillemer had shown that the text pertains to Book I of the *Hispana systematica*. André Wilmart identified the other fragment in 1931 and it remains in Paris, isolated from rest of the codex.

<footnote n="28">28 See G. Haenni, “Notes sur les sources de la Dacheriana”, *Studia Gratiana* 11(1967), 1–22.</footnote>
Judging by their contents, these bifolia are all what remains of, respectively, the first and the second quire of the original codex.

These scattered fragments aside, the very constituents identified as ‘Lyon 336’ also show the traces of a troubled history. Caillemer has shown that Lyon 336 ff. 1–6 are the three inner bifolia of the third quire, a quaternion whose outer bifolium is lost. In today’s condition, 28 extant quires follow, with signatures from IV to XVIII, then from A to M (obviously without J), plus one (<N>) without signature; except for quire XVIII, they are all quaternions. The last quire(s) of the original codex is lost.

The rediscovery of Lyon 788 ff. 75–76 is not Caillemer’s only contribution to Lyon 336’s current condition. He also rediscovered another fragment, the whole of quire V, which was also relocated inside Lyon 336 before 1901. Once again, this fragment’s history takes us back to the preservation history of the whole Lyon collection.

Throughout his paper, Caillemer identifies the MSS he is studying with a bizarre series of “new” numbers that do not match either of the two numerical series used in the Bibliothèque Municipale of Lyon. The first series of shelfmarks in the contemporary history of this collection goes back to Antoine-François Delandine’s disastrous 1812 catalogue. Delandine himself admits that he undertook his catalogue without having the first knowledge of manuscripts: he had to learn anything and everything on the job as he was going along through the collection; and when he could finally consider himself experienced and competent, his task was fulfilled and his new knowledge became useless.<fnref n="29" /> New studies begun by Léopold Delisle in the 1880s quickly showed that Delandine was right about his proficiency, and, therefore, wrong about almost everything he had written about the manuscripts.<fnref n="30" /> In the meantime, the grand project of the *Catalogue général des manuscrits des bibliothèques publiques de France* had started. These circumstances led Lyon librarians and scholars in the late nineteenth century to make a new catalogue, which was finally published in

<footnote n="29">29 “... je me suis engagé dans une route pénible et sans fleur. Il m’a fallu bien des jours pour apprendre à lire ces écritures des divers siècles, et fixer dans mon souvenir leurs traits et leurs abréviations, changeant de génération en génération. Souvent tel manuscrit, qui n’a obtenu [i.e. dans mon catalogue] que l’indication d’une ligne, a exigé une semaine d’examen. Lorsque l’expérience m’a rendu plus habile, lorsque j’ai commencé à connoître, à la simple inspection des pages, dans quel temps elles avoient été tracées, ce savoir m’est devenu inutile, puisque les manuscrits de la Bibliothèque de Lyon étoient épuisés et qu’à cet égard ma tâche étoit finie.” A.-F. Delandine, *Manuscrits de la Bibliothèque de Lyon*, v. 1, Lyon 1812, 106. http://books.google.be/books?vid=GENT900000029972</footnote>

<footnote n="30">30 In Delandine’s catalogue “l’âge des écritures est, pour ainsi dire, indiqué au hasard”, writes L. Delisle, “Notice sur plusieurs anciens manuscrits de la bibliothèque de Lyon”, *Notices et extraits des manuscrits de la bibliothèque nationale et autres bibliothèques* 29, 2(1880), 363–403. Delandine’s catalogue is “sans valeur pour tout ce qui est antérieur au XVIe siècle”, according to Georges Guigue in the introduction to CGM 30, v. 1, xlvii.</footnote>
1901, Desvernay and Molinier's *CGM* t. 30, in 2 volumes. The *CGM* introduced a new numerical series, which since then have been considered the authoritative shelfmarks of the manuscripts of the Bibliothèque Municipale of Lyon. These manuscripts are frequently described as, e.g., 'Lyon, BM, 788 (706)' or 'Lyon, BM, 484 (414)', where 788 and 484 are the *CGM* numbers, and 706 and 414 are Delandine's numbers. Using Delandine's numbers is a mere tradition, whose relevance, two centuries later, is simply and quickly fading; but these numbers can also be misleading, as we will see.

Caillemer seems to consider his numbers as definitive, although they are neither those of Delandine nor of the *CGM*. For example, the manuscript “described in Delandine's catalogue under the number 706 now bears the number 1190”<fnref n="31" /> — following the *CGM*, actually is our Lyon 788. In fact, Caillemer worked at a time when Delandine's inaccuracies had been pointed out, but the *CGM* would not be published for another twenty years. He probably used a list that was thought to be final at the time, but was later discarded for some reason and replaced by the actual list.

Reporting on his quest for the lost quire V of our Lyon 336 (Delandine 269, Caillemer 383), Caillemer explains that, according to Waitz, this quire was in another volume, “number 189 (a. 179)” — but “the volume that bears the number 189 [i.e. in Caillemer’s list] and the one that previously bore the number 179 [in Delandine’s list] do not contain anything like a fragment of a ninth-century MS.”<fnref n="32" /> He finally found the lost quire “in the manuscript now numbered 68, which is formed by joining the previous 398 and 377”. This description matches the manuscript numbered 448 in the *CGM*: Lyon 448, ff. 1–149, *olim* Delandine 398, is a mid-ninth-century copy of Jerome’s Commentary on Jeremiah; Lyon 448, ff. 150–178, *olim* Delandine 377, is a late-ninth-century copy of Isidore’s Questions on the Old Testament (CPL 1194).<fnref n="33" /> Caillemer recommends relocating the quire to its original place when the manuscript is restored.

This operation was indeed carried out after Caillemer's study and before the *CGM* was released, but only after the manuscripts were foliated. In Lyon 336, since it had to be relocated after quire IV, which ended on f. 14, quire V was foliated from 14² to 14⁹. But it also still has its previous folio numbers, from 179 to 186, which continue those of Lyon 448 in its current condition. Moreover, when

<footnote n="31">³¹ Caillemer, “Notices et extraits”, p. 43, n. 1.</footnote>

<footnote n="32">³² Caillemer, “Notices et extraits”, 51.</footnote>

<footnote n="33">³³ Lyon 448, ff. 150–178 actually are only the first quires of this copy: the rest of it is now Lyon 447, ff. 1–105. It is bound together with an originally different ninth-century codex, Lyon 447, ff. 106–152, the only known copy of an exegetical work titled *Interrogationes vel responsiones tam de veteri quam novi testamenti* (B. Bischoff, “Wendepunkte in der Geschichte der lateinischen Exegese im Frühmittelalter”, *Sacris Erudiri* 6(1954), 189–281, at 224). But unlike Lyon 448, both elements were together before Delandine; he describes this manuscript, under no. 376, as a “circa 300-page volume.”</footnote>
Delandine describes his number 377, he states that it is a “circa 80-page volume”: an approximation that is not very compatible with a 29-folia volume (= Lyon 448 ff. 150–178), but much more compatible with a volume consisting of 37 folia (Lyon 448 ff. 150–178 + Lyon 336’s quire V, a qu). As a result, ‘Caillemer 68’ corresponds to an intermediate preservation state where Delandine 398 and 377 are already reunited but still contain, as their very last element, Lyon 336’s quire V, which was part of Delandine 377. The MSS were probably not foliated at the time, because Caillemer never mentions or uses folio numbers, and not for lack of opportunity. Therefore, both the numbering of folia and the relocation of quire V were carried out, in that order, between Caillemer’s examination in 1881 and the release of the CGM in 1901.

Finally, in Lyon 336’s current series of 28 extant quires, one is misplaced. As Caillemer noticed, quire VI is bound between quire B and C and thus foliated as ff. 133–140. Many mediaeval MSS present such mislocated quires, or traces that one of their quire was mislocated and subsequently relocated. However, this particular mislocation is significant to our story, not only because it counts as one more trauma in a long-suffering codex, but also because we can date it. Indeed, f. 133r’s top margin contains an entry, “Canonum Collectio”, by the same eighteenth-century hand that wrote similar content entries on the first page of every manuscript in the Lyon collection. In other words, f. 133r was the first page of the codex when this modern librarian went through the entire collection. Before it was wrongly relocated (!) between quire B and C, quire VI was already mislocated: it was on top of the rest of the codex, presumably before today’s ff. 1–6.

The manuscript was still that way when Delandine described it for his 1812 catalogue: his no. 269 is described as a “Canonum collectio” whose “first leaf and last leaf are missing” and which “begins with a canon from the Council of Antioch and another from the Council of Ancyra.” The description clearly fits today’s f. 133r, not f. 1r. Given what we know of Delandine’s proficiency in the analysis of manuscripts, it is clear that, in his mind, today’s f. 133r was the first page of the codex, and he obviously saw no reason to question the information it provided. Caillemer, on the contrary, states that quire VI needs to be searched “where the binder put it”, and this location matches today’s mislocation. Therefore, the binding, and erroneous relocation of quire VI, happened between Delandine’s and Caillemer’s examinations of the MS.
<table><thead><tr><th>Delandine (1812)</th><th>Caillemer (1881)</th><th>CGM (1901)</th></tr></thead><tbody><tr><td>MS. 269<br>no quire V<br>quire VI on top</td><td>MS. 383<br>quire V in MS. 68<br>quire VI between quire B and C</td><td>MS. 336<br>quire V (ff. 14<sup>2</sup>-14<sup>9</sup>) after quire IV<br>quire VI (ff. 133-140) between B and C</td></tr><tr><td>MS. 398: ca. 300 pages</td><td>MS. 68 = Delandine 398 + 377;<br>actually contains MS. 383's quire V</td><td>MS. 448 ff. 11-49 = Delandine 398</td></tr><tr><td>MS. 377: ca. 80 pages</td><td></td><td>MS. 448 ff. 150-178 = Delandine 377<br>minus MS. 336's relocated quire V</td></tr></tbody></table>

Delandine inherited a situation where our Lyon 336 was even more damaged, disordered and scattered than it is. The mislocation of quire VI on top of the codex, the mislocation of quire V into a completely different codex, the loss of the first and last quires, except for isolated bifolia who were themselves scattered away, portray once again a violent situation in which the manuscript was badly damaged: so badly that even recovered parts could not be immediately identified and stored with their original body.

Evidence reveals that, between Delandine and Caillemer, poorly documented operations were carried out through the collection, in what seems to have been an attempt to resolve some of its fragmentations. But this attempt often proves ill-advised and misguided. Let's go back, for a minute, into the mindset of these nineteenth-century librarians, and be of the opinion that preserving manuscripts implies rebuilding them, whenever possible, in their original state — which, to be absolutely clear, I think is a *very* bad idea. Then, assuming we knew with certainty everything about our collection, we would have placed Lyon 788, ff. 75-76 first in the *Canonum collectio*; we would have extracted quire V from Delandine 377 and put it back in its place; and we would have placed quire VI right after it, rather than consigning it to a random location in the codex, between quires B and C. But we would also never have united Delandine 398 and 377: instead, we'd have reconciled Delandine 377 (minus the *Canonum collectio*'s quire V, obviously) and Delandine 376. This would have offered us a much simpler series of shelfmarks than what we have to deal with:

* Fake shelfmark 1 (238 ff.) = Delandine 706, ff. 75-76 + Delandine 269, ff. 9-22 + Delandine 377 ff. 30-37 + Delandine 269, ff. 1-8 + Delandine 269, ff. 23-228

* Fake shelfmark 2 (149 ff.) = Delandine 398

* Fake shelfmark 3 (181 ff.) = Delandine 377, ff. 1-29 + Delandine 376

But this would only have been possible with a full and absolutely certain knowledge of the whole collection, which nobody could have; and that is why such an attempt, even if it could have been better carried out than it was, could only make everything messier... And it did.

To summarize, here's how one should read, today, this copy of the *Hispana systematica*:
Lyon 788 ff. 75–76; Paris, Baluze 270, ff. 74–75; Lyon 336, ff. 1–6; Lyon 336, ff. 7–14, 14²–14⁹, 133–140, 15–132, 141–185, 187–229

or, more precisely:

• [missing pages]

• Lyon 788, ff. 75–76 (preserved with Lyon 336, at the end of the codex): book I, part of title 1 without head or tail (Caillemer 1881, p. 65): inner bifolium of quire I?

• [missing pages]

• Paris, Baluze 270, f. 74: book I, part of title 13 without head or tail

• [missing pages]

• Paris, Baluze 270, f. 75: book I, from the end of title 15 to the beginning of title 17 (Wilmart 1931, pp. 107–108): with f. 74, probably a bifolium of quire II

• [missing pages]

• Lyon 336, ff. 1–6: book I, from the end of title 26 to the beginning of title 32 (Caillemer 1881, p. 50): three inner bifolia of quire III

• [missing pages]

• Lyon 336, ff. 7–14: extant quire IV: book I, from the end of title 34 to the beginning of title 37 (Caillemer 1881, p. 50–51)

• Lyon 336, ff. 14²–14⁹ (olim Lyon 448, ff. 179–186): extant quire V: book I, the rest of title 37 and what follows until the beginning of title 42 (Caillemer 1881, p. 51)

• Lyon 336, ff. 133–140: extant quire VI: book I, the rest of title 42 and what follows until the beginning of title 50

• Lyon 336, ff. 15–132: extant quires VII¹⁵⁻²², VIII²³⁻³⁰, VIIIΙ³¹⁻³⁸, X³⁹⁻⁴⁶, XI⁴⁷⁻⁵⁴, XII⁵⁵⁻⁶², XIII⁶³⁻⁷⁰, XIIIΙΙ⁷¹⁻⁷⁸, XV⁷⁹⁻⁸⁶, XVI⁸⁷⁻⁹⁴, XVII⁹⁵⁻¹⁰², XVIII¹⁰³⁻¹¹⁰, XVIIIΙΙΙ⁻¹¹⁶¹, A¹¹⁷⁻¹²⁴, B¹²⁵⁻¹³²: the rest of book I until the end (f. 39v), book II (ff. 39v–54v), book III (ff. 55r–somewhere in quire XVIII, the exact location is not marked), beginning of book IV (Caillemer 1881, p. 52–53)

• Lyon 336, ff. 141–185, 187–229 (#186 was forgotten!): extant quires C¹⁴¹⁻¹⁴⁸, D¹⁴⁹⁻¹⁵⁶, E¹⁵⁷⁻¹⁶⁴, F¹⁶⁵⁻¹⁷², G¹⁷³⁻¹⁸⁰, H¹⁸¹⁻¹⁸⁵, I¹⁹⁰⁻¹⁹⁷, K¹⁹⁸⁻²⁰⁵, L²⁰⁶⁻²¹³, M²¹⁴⁻²²¹, <N>²²²–²²⁰⁹: the rest of book IV until the end (f. 142v), book V (ff. 142v–152r), book VI (ff. 152r–156r), book VII (ff. 156r–174r), book VIII (ff. 174r–208r), book IX (ff. 208r–222v), and the beginning of book X (f. 222v) until the beginning of title 4

• [missing pages]