This chapter explores the connections of orthography to paleography and codicology, and the dependence of historical orthography on the materiality of writing and printing environments. It explains that orthography is one of the tools of paleographers, and a key to understanding (deciphering) the written language of ancient and medieval texts, whereas codicologists investigate nonlinguistic (and nonorthographic) peculiarities of early manuscript books (codices). Orthographic research, however, in some cases helps estimate more precisely the origins of codices (time and location). The chapter also presents some of the ways in which the materiality of writing and printing historically has directed the development of orthographic features (e.g. symmetricity of upper and lower cases, dependence on the limitations of printers’ type sets). The author introduces the dichotomy between the perceived durability and perishability of a text at its creation phase, and reveals its impact on the differentiation of orthographic approaches such as the historical simultaneous double orthographies of various European languages (i.e. printed versus handwritten manuscripts, books versus newspapers).

This chapter works through the evidence that connects Paris 2123 and the Flavigny formulas to a real historical world; that is, the evidence that the scribes who copied the formulas understood the texts that they were copying and thought that they were important and relevant. It first takes up the evidence that connects Paris 2123 to Flavigny, and works through the manuscript’s entire contents to establish the context for the Flavigny formulas themselves. It then shows how scribes behind the Flavigny collection deliberately selected their formulas; that is, chose which to copy, which to discard, and how to arrange them, and how they merged and blended preexisting material to create the formulas that they wanted. It also demonstrates the care the scribes took in copying the formulas; that is, in organizing them and making them easy to refer to, correcting mistakes, clarifying obscure language, and so on. From this material the chapter works outwards to similar evidence in other formula manuscripts, in order to further demonstrate that the formulas are not disembodied texts, but in fact have a historical context that lets us anchor them in a real world and use them as sources to learn something about that world.

The defining feature of the medieval manuscript, the book that was used across Europe before the introduction of printing, is that its contents have been written by hand. A compelling feature of written text from the medieval period is that it produces two kinds of meaning: the meaning of the words themselves, the primary reason for consulting a manuscript, then and now; and more concealed meaning hidden within the shape of the letters. As medieval scribes copied a text, they included information about themselves and their surroundings in their handwriting. How the individual letters were formed depended, for example, on the location and moment of the book’s production, the institution in which the scribe was trained, and even with how much care a text was copied. This is the enigma of the medieval manuscript, that a wealth of historical information is embedded in the appearance of letters – if the code can be deciphered. What methods are available to untangle this enigma? What knowledge hidden in plain sight can be gleaned if we are successful? Why is looking at an old book as useful as reading it?

This chapter addresses the work of Jean Mabillon and Jean Hardouin. Mabillon, a Benedictine scholar, created a new field, paleography (the field that teaches how to date and authenticate handwritten texts) with the publication in 1681 of his On Diplomatics. Defending the authenticity of the documents he and his order were charged with curating, Mabillon set out criteria for determining authenticity. The handwriting in question, the location where the manuscript was produced, and dating formulas: these aspects and more came into play. The book succeeded, not least because Mabillon published exact replicas of the documents in question. Printing had evolved into a tool that could build trust in books as truth-bearing instruments. By contrast, Jean Hardouin came to create a wild conspiracy theory: that all of ancient literature save for a few authors was forged, as were the records of the Church Councils and even the work of Church Fathers like Saint Augustine. All of it was invented – in Hardouin’s view – by medieval theologians seeking to give themselves a backstory for their logic-chopping, sometimes heretical work. How could one know? Hardouin claimed that printing was the cause: now that so many books were printed and easily available, it was easier to compare them and thus easier to “prove” forgery.

This introductory essay lays out the concept of “hidden” writing, which, by its formal intricacy, deflects attention from language. It also addresses semasiography, systems of marking with visual signs. The aim is to explore modes of graphic communication often thought to be secondary to writing as a purely phonic record. In fact, these complex forms and codified signs operate alongside and beyond language, overlooked yet as compelling and omnipresent as phonic writing itself. These graphs are situated in relation to, but as distinct from, research on “cultural graphology” (Jacques Derrida), “graphesis” (Johanna Drucker), and “the graphosphere” (Armando Petrucci). Evidence to make our points comes from palaeography and steganography, along with notations as diverse as Otto Neurath’s “Isotype,” Xu Bing’s emoji narrative, and Inka khipu knot notations.

Examines three groups of ‘consumers’ of visual culture in the opening decades of the eighth century: clerics (non-papal actors), monks, and pilgrims. Three case studies are employed: the recently discovered mural in the narthex of the church of Santa Sabina, the murals from the excavations of the monastery of San Saba, and the mural placed at the tomb of Pope Cornelius in the Catacomb of San Callisto on the Via Appia. These all offer additional evidence for the pervasive presence of ‘Mediterranean’/Byzantine culture.