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Medieval notepads

We are surrounded by pieces of scrap paper. We chuck tons of them in the waste bin each year, leave them lying on our desks, use them as bookmarks, stuff them in our pockets, and toss them on the street. And so we usually do not have to look hard or long when we need a piece of paper for our shopping list or for writing down a thought. This was very different in medieval times. Writing material—of any kind—was very expensive back then, which meant that scribes used a paper or parchment sheet to the max: everything was used. As a result, there was nothing obvious lying around on one’s desk that was suitable for scrap material. So how did the medieval person make notes?

In the margin

The most common and sensible location for putting down thoughts, critique or notes was the margin of the medieval book. Consider this: you wouldn’t think so looking at a medieval page, but on average only half of it was filled with the actual text. A shocking fifty to sixty percent was designed to be margin. As inefficient as this may seem, the space came in handy for the reader. As the Middle Ages progressed it became more and more common to resort to the margin for note-taking. Notably, the thirteenth century gave birth to two particularly smart book designs that accommodated such use. Both types are connected to the emerging university, which makes sense as this was a note-taking environment par excellence—then and now.
Leiden, University Library, BPL 2888 (Italy, 13th century), Photo Julie Somers
Leiden, University Library, BPL MS 2888 (Italy, 13th century), Photo Julie Somers, Turning Over a New Leaf(CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)
The first of these is seen in the image above, which shows a page of a law manuscript that actually contains two kinds of texts. Found in the two central columns is the Digest of Justianian, written in a slightly larger letter. Draped around it, in a smaller letter, is the commentary to this work: these are the notes of smart teachers from the past, put there collectively to help the reader make sense of the law. This specific style of presenting two works on the one page, where the glosses (commentary) are presented as “square brackets”, is called textus inclusus. An Italian reader in the thirteenth century added his own two-cents to these “prefab” opinions that came with the book: in the image above we see them scribbled between the two central columns.
London, British Library, Harley 3487 (13th century)
London, British Library, Harley MS 3487 (13th century)—source
The second thirteenth-century book layout that was specially designed to accommodate note-taking is as clever as the text on its pages. We encounter it first and foremost in manuscripts with works by Aristotle, although the design would spread to other domains, including law and medicine. As seen in the image above, the margins surrounding the Aristotle text (which form the two central columns) were left completely blank by the scribe. The tiny writing that is seen there now is from a student in the Arts Faculty, where the works of Aristotle formed the main textbook, called the Corpus vetustius (the old corpus).
London, British Library, Harley 3487 (13th century) – Source
Detail, London, British Library, Harley MS 3487 (13th century)—source
If you look carefully at the detail above you see five vertical commentary columns marked by thin pencil lines, which allowed for five “pillars” of notes. Cleverly, in this page design the start of the note could be placed at the same height as the Aristotle line on which it commented, not just one time, but five times over! Larger comments were placed in the larger blank areas in the lower margin. Some of these Aristotle textbooks contained up to twenty “zones” for notes, which would ultimately be connected to the main text with the help of symbols resembling our current footnotes.

Yellow sticky notes

Paper and parchment sheets were commonly used to the max, meaning no redundant material was left that could be used for scraps. However, when the animal skin was turned into parchment sheets such redundant material was left over. In the process the outer rim of the dried skin was removed, because these “offcuts” were deemed unsuitable for writing on. The material was too thick for a regular page and its surface was slippery and translucent, not to mention that most offcuts were too small for normal pages. They consequently ended up in the recycling bin of the parchment maker.
Sens CT Library, J 36 (Chartaire 156), 9th century, photo Genevra Kornbluth – Source
Sens CT Library, J 36 (Chartaire 156), 9th century, photo Genevra Kornbluth—source
Interestingly, these small, scrappy slips of parchment were sometimes sold to clients. Offcuts were used for text with a short lifespan, such as letters and drafts. In addition, it was used when a text was “utilitarian” and did not need to be produced from regular – more expensive—parchment. An example is seen in the image above, which shows a short description strapped to a bone that belonged to a saint. Such “relic labels” were important because of course nobody wanted to mistake the big toe of St Peter for that of St Paul. Such information was scribbled on the parchment strip, usually in low-quality (fast) handwriting.
Leiden, University Library, BPL 191 D, fragment (13th century) – Photo Giulio Menna
Leiden, University Library, BPL MS 191 D, fragment (13th century), photo Giulio Menna
Offcuts were also frequently used by students and scholars, for example for taking notes in the classroom (image above, more here). In fact, in De discipline scholarum, a guidebook made in the 1230s for students and teachers at the University of Paris, it is explained how a student should bring such slips of parchment to class for taking notes. Interestingly, some of these slips have survived because they were pasted in a student’s textbook, like the one seen in the image above. These are truly the medieval equivalent of our “yellow sticky notes.” The practice of bringing scrap material into the classroom was a much broader medieval phenomenon, as is shown by the famous birch bark notes that survive from 13th-century Russia. The image below shows funny “stick figure” doodles drawn by the student Onfim as he was sitting—bored no doubt—in class.
Novgorod, Museum of History, birch bark strip 202, from pupil Onfim, dated 1240-1260
Novgorod, Museum of History, birch bark strip 202, from pupil Onfim, dated 1240-1260

The last word: notepad

There is evidence that multiple parchment offcuts were sometimes bound together, by pricking a hole in them and pulling a cord through. These bundles, which essentially form a true notepad in the modern sense of the word, could be of considerable size. A specimen in the University Library, Würzburg consists of thirty slips. A type of notepad that was even more popular in medieval times was the wax tablet (here is a collection of them). These, too, were often tied together into a bundle, forming a notepad of perhaps six or so “pages” (image below, note the holes for the cords on the left side). Smart pages, that is, because the contents could be erased from the soft wax (with the flat back of the stylus), presenting vacant space for fresh thoughts.
Michigan, University Library, Papyrology Collection, Inv. 768 (4th-6th century)
Michigan, University Library, Papyrology Collection, Inv. 768 (4th-6th century), photo: University of Michigan Library (CC BY 3.0)
This particular one, which is a stunning 1500 years old, was likely used in a classroom setting in Christian Egypt, probably by one Ischyrion, whose name is carved into the wood on the other side. Curiously, the object preserves some of its original contents. When you pressed too hard with your sharp stylus, an imprint was left in the wood behind the wax. We therefore know that Ischyrion was studying the Bible, given that the indentations have been identified as Proverbs VII, 3-13.
As with the other examples of note-taking shown in this post, the tablet is a time capsule that presents us with the thoughts of individuals that lived over a thousand years ago. While the notepads from Egypt, France, Italy and Russia present highly personal scribbles not meant for posterity, time turned them into fossilised pieces of public history stuck to pages, slips and tablets.
Essay by Dr. Erik Kwakkel

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  • leaf orange style avatar for user Jeff Kelman
    I wonder what the future of our present time will look like in comparison to what was left behind by our human ancestors? Especially considering that with technology and modern devices keeping most people from making physical notes...what will be left to pass down? Certainly, sticky notes exist now, but will they in 100 years? What is your legacy when all of the records of your life become digital...?
    (11 votes)
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    • leaf orange style avatar for user Jake Suzuki
      This is actually somewhat of a concern. We've digitalised a lot of our information, our lives, but the systems we use aren't exactly designed to last.
      CDs only last for a few decades, and data's only good if you can use the machines it's stored on.
      We have problems already. We have information stored on devices that we can't access because their operating system is so old, contemporary computers can't talk to them. Or the very programming language is itself, dead.
      NASA has a problem on it's hands because their last computer engineer from the Voyager programme is scheduled to retire soon. NASA somehow has to find somebody who is an expert in 70's era programming languages.

      Our legacy may be an incredible amount of digital devices, memory devices, that no one can access. Even if they survive intact, and the information contained on them is accessible, computers, people, in a thousand year's time may not even be able to recognise the data as data. Our computers with their binary code could be as foreign to them as a person today trying to read Cuniform writing through the back to front rubbings of an archeologist.
      (11 votes)
  • aqualine tree style avatar for user David Alexander
    Jumping a culture but keeping with the idea of the scraps of paper used completely, in pre-modern China, where literacy belonged only to the literati, paper with words written on it was used until there was no space left. When discarded, it was put into a "word-paper basket", the contents of which were burned according to sacred ritual. The entire thing survives today in that an office waste basket is still called a "word-paper basket", though ritual burning (and conservation of paper) have gone the way of the dodo bird.
    (8 votes)
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  • male robot hal style avatar for user Aaron Dean
    I wonder if we have found any more remnants of notes like the one with the stick figures above. What an insight they would provide to the lives of students and academicians, such as ourselves, at that particular point of history! I remember Pierre de Fermat, a French mathematician, renowned for many of his works such the probability theory, had a habit of writing absurd and sometimes even scribbles of genius in his books' margins. In fact, one of his last theorems, aptly known as Fermat's last theorem ( I won't go into details of this theory, as this section is meant for art, not math, and I think there are people here taking a break from learning math and may faint upon having to encounter math again), was discovered 30 years after his death, where he claimed that he had solved a mathematical result on the margin of a book!
    (4 votes)
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  • aqualine ultimate style avatar for user Jade French
    Under the 'Yellow Sticky Notes' section, it says that offcuts were put in the recycling bin of the parchment maker. Was this a figure of speech, or can you recycle parchment? If so, how?
    (3 votes)
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  • leaf red style avatar for user Anne Stark
    It is hard to believe that something such as a simple scribble on a post it note may one day shed some light into our current lifestyle. Wow!
    (3 votes)
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  • piceratops seed style avatar for user mondo1964
    I think that it is amazing that these small 'insignificant' items have survived and teaches us that nothing is new, we just keep thinking of new ways to reinvent things.
    (2 votes)
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