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A Greek Bible Scraped Off and Written Over, and Then Chemically Burned

Codex Ephraemi Rescriptus

Also called Codex Ephraemi

A great Greek Bible whose text was erased in the Middle Ages so the parchment could carry sermons instead — and which was then damaged past repair in 1834 by a chemical applied to bring the old writing back.

Siglum
C (Gregory-Aland 04; Rahlfs C for the Greek Old Testament)
Type
Parchment palimpsest codex. The biblical undertext is fifth-century, a single column of about 41 lines — the only one of the four great Greek Bibles in one column. The overtext is a twelfth- or thirteenth-century copy of works of Ephrem the Syrian in Greek. 209 catalogued leaves, of which 208 physically survive: one Old Testament leaf disappeared in the nineteenth century
Language
Greek, in both layers
Contents
64 leaves of Old Testament: fragments of Job, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, the Song of Songs, Wisdom and Sirach only. 145 leaves of New Testament, preserving part of every book except 2 Thessalonians and 2 John, which are entirely absent — roughly three-fifths of the New Testament, very unevenly distributed. The original order of the books cannot be recovered, because the leaves were reused out of sequence
Written
Fifth century AD on every catalogue's reckoning, including the holding library's. G. Cavallo dated it to the sixth, and P. Andrist reports that palaeographers generally follow him Disputed dating
Origin
Unknown. Palestine and Mesopotamia have both been proposed; no institution asserts a place
Found at
Not applicable. The codex passed through private and royal libraries; it was never excavated
Found in
Not applicable. Gregory credits Pierre Allix with noticing the erased biblical text, Jean Boivin with the first collation of it, and J. J. Wettstein with collating it in 1716 at Bentley's request
Found by
No finder. Owned by Cardinal Niccolo Ridolfi (d. 1550), then Pietro Strozzi, then Catherine de' Medici, who had it carried to Paris; bound in 1602
Now held at
Bibliotheque nationale de France, Paris. The original is consultable only by special permission; readers are supplied with microfilm
Shelfmark
Grec 9
Facsimile
View the manuscript

A Book Used Twice

Parchment was expensive, and a book nobody could read any longer was raw material. Some time in the twelfth or thirteenth century a scribe took a Greek Bible several hundred years old, scraped the ink off its leaves, cut and rearranged them, and wrote across them a collection of Greek sermons and treatises of Ephrem the Syrian. That is what a palimpsest is — a manuscript written again — and this one is Codex Ephraemi Rescriptus, now Grec 9 in the Bibliotheque nationale de France.

What lies underneath is a Bible of about the fifth century, written in a single column of about forty-one to forty-four lines — the only one of the four great Greek Bibles laid out that way. Two hundred and nine leaves are catalogued, of which two hundred and eight physically survive — one Old Testament leaf disappeared in the nineteenth century. Sixty-four carry Old Testament text and they preserve nothing but fragments of six Wisdom books: Job, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, the Song of Songs, Wisdom and Sirach. The remaining leaves carry parts of every New Testament book except 2 Thessalonians and 2 John, which have vanished entirely — roughly three-fifths of the New Testament in all, and unevenly: Colossians and 2 Timothy nearly whole, 1 Thessalonians barely present.

Because the leaves were reused out of order, the original arrangement of the Bible cannot be read off the book. The original sequence of the books cannot be determined, and editors since Tischendorf have simply followed his arrangement. The codex reached Paris by a route that is documented, and it is not the one usually told. Gregory traces it: it belonged to the Florentine cardinal Niccolo Ridolfi, who died in 1550; it was then bought by the marshal Pietro Strozzi, and through him passed to Queen Catherine de' Medici and was carried to Paris. It was bound in 1602. That sequence rules out the story that Catherine brought it to France in her dowry — she married in 1533, seventeen years before Ridolfi died still owning it.

The Tincture

The undertext was noticed as early as the late seventeenth century and collated in the eighteenth — Wettstein went over it in 1716 for Bentley — but reading a scraped page is slow work, and in the nineteenth century chemistry offered a shortcut. The Giobert tincture — water, hydrochloric acid and a small quantity of potassium ferrocyanide — reacts with the iron in old ink and turns it a strong Prussian blue. Applied to a palimpsest it makes the lower writing leap out. It also eats the parchment.

It was used on this codex, and the result is visible in every photograph: large blue-green stains across the written area, and text that faded further as the years passed. F. Albrecht, surveying the use of chemical reagents on manuscripts, singles this book out — "A sad example of its use is the Codex Ephraemi Syri rescriptus" — and illustrates the damage from folio 58 of this very manuscript. The Bibliotheque nationale now allows the original to be consulted only by special permission; readers are given microfilm.

The blame is almost always laid on C. von Tischendorf, who published the undertext, and for the treatment of 1834 it is misplaced. C. R. Gregory set the record straight in 1900: the Leipzig professor Ferdinand Florens Fleck asked for the treatment, the librarian Karl Benedict Hase permitted it, and a man named Simonin applied it. Gregory's German is not quoted here, because seven years later he put the same correction into his own English: "It has sometimes been said that Tischendorf spoiled this manuscript by using a bad reagent to draw forth the old letters that had grown so pale. That was a mistake. Simonin put Gioberti tincture on some of them with the librarian's permission in 1834, and that was the year at which Tischendorf left school and went to the university." Tischendorf came to the manuscript later, found it already stained, and said so: he wanted his facsimile to show "those stains which every page took on when the chemical tincture was applied", and noted elsewhere that the tincture had eaten the writing. He published the New Testament portion in 1843 and the Old Testament in 1845.

What a Damaged Witness Can and Cannot Tell You

This manuscript carries a limit that the other great codices do not. With Sinaiticus or Vaticanus, a scholar disputing a reading can go and look at the page. Here the page may be a blue stain over a scraped surface under a layer of thirteenth-century sermon, and what the editor reports is partly what the editor could make out. A. Ceriani said as much in 1888, doubting whether Tischendorf's edition was accurate enough and whether it did not first need a complete revision. His words are not quoted here: he wrote in Italian, his paper is print only, and no page of it was opened for this article. R. W. Lyon made extensive corrections to it in 1959, and P. Malik, writing in 2021, describes the situation without softening it: "Being a palimpsest, however, Ephraemi's wording exhibits an inherent measure of uncertainty, as evinced by Robert W. Lyon's extensive corrections to Constantin Tischendorf's editio princeps."

That uncertainty is honest information and it belongs in the open. A reader who is told that a fifth-century manuscript "reads" something has a right to know whether anyone can check it. Multispectral imaging — photographing a page at wavelengths the eye cannot see — now recovers erased writing without touching it, and Malik reports that such images of this codex have been made and open up "a new opportunity to put this codex under closer scrutiny". They do not appear to be publicly available, and the article does not say who produced them.

There is one more thing worth saying about dates. Every catalogue gives the undertext as fifth-century, and that is the figure to print — but it is not unanimous among specialists. P. Andrist, who examined the codex in 2018, follows G. Cavallo in dating it to the sixth century and remarks that the traditional fifth-century date is "still too often retained". The place of writing is unknown; Palestine and Mesopotamia have both been proposed. Four things are commonly said about this manuscript with more confidence than the record supports: that it is fifth-century, that it came from Egypt, that Tischendorf applied the chemical, and that Catherine de' Medici brought it to France in her dowry. The last is contradicted by the dates and the third by Gregory, who wrote the correction down in 1900.

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Reflect

Someone tried to recover this text and destroyed part of it in the attempt, meaning well. Where might your urgency to get at something be costing the thing itself?

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