Signature of the Cross, Signing with an "X"

1874

The mark which persons, who are unable to write are required to make instead of their signatures, is in the form of a cross; and this practice having been formerly followed by kings and nobles, is constantly referred to as an instance of the deplorable ignorance of ancient times.

This signature is not, however, invariably a proof of such ignorance. Anciently the use of the mark was not confined to illiterate persons; for among the Saxons the mark of the cross, as an attestation of the good faith of the person signing was required to be attached to the signature of those who could write, as well to stand in the place of the signature of those who could not write. In those times, if a man could write, even read, his knowledge was considered proof that he was in holy orders. The clericus, or clerk was synonymous with penman; and the laity, or people who were not clerks, did not feel any urgent necessity for the use of letters.

The ancient use of the cross was therefore universal, alike by those who could and those who could not write; it was indeed the symbol of an oath, from its sacred associations, as well as the mark generally adopted. Hence the origin of the expression, "God save the mark," as a form of ejaculation approaching the character of an oath.


The Friendship of Men

I know nothing which life has to offer so satisfying as the profound good understanding which can subsist, after much exchange of good offices, between two virtuous men, each of whom is sure of himself and of his friend. It is a happiness which postpones all other gratifications and makes politics and commerce and churches cheap. For, when men shall meet as they ought, each a benefactor, a shower of stars, clothed with thoughts, with deeds, with accomplishments, it would be the festival of nature which all things announce. — Ralph Waldo Emerson.

When Asked To Sign His John Hancock, He Did

1920

Examining Physician Has Odd Experience

Policy Seeker's Name Furnishes a Strange Coincidence

ELDORADO, Kan. — "What's in a name, anyway?" has been asked frequently and the answers have been divided about 50-50 as to their import. Among those who have realized that there is something in a name is an Eldorado physician, who passed through a peculiar experience recently.

A man came to the doctor to be examined for insurance. Everything went along swimmingly and when the time came for the applicant to sign his name the doctor said jocularly:

"Just sign your John Hancock right there," at the same time pointing to the line reserved for the signature of an applicant.

Imagine the physician's surprise when the man returned the document with the name "John Hancock" legibly inscribed on the line alluded to.

"Oh, I meant for you to sign your own name," the doctor exclaimed, at the same time having visions of a spoiled application blank.

"Well, I did," replied the man. "My name is John Hancock."

"Can you beat it," exclaimed the physician, as he folded the blank and turned it over to the insurance agent.

Examining Great Paintings, Finding the Artist's Signature

1916

Difficult to Find Sometimes and Not Always Reliable

Many of the works of the old masters are not signed. Experts rarely rely on signatures alone in determining the authenticity of an old work, but trust rather to their knowledge of the painter's technique.

False signatures can be easily detected. Spirits of wine or turpentine will usually remove a name of later date than the painting. In the course of time signatures often become very difficult to find. Painted originally in a shade slightly lighter than the ground, perhaps, they sink in, darken and merge into the ground color or they are almost rubbed away by successive cleanings. Recognizable one day in a specially favorable light, they may not be visible again for weeks.

Experts speak of "will-o'-the-wisp" signatures, and many collectors have encountered accidental strokes and cracks that tantalizingly suggest a signature, though it can never be made definite. On the other hand, there have been remarkable cases of such marks, after careful study, resolving themselves into a famous name. Sometimes the painter's name is most conspicuous — as, for instance, in Raphael's "Sposalizio" at Milan. Proud of having surpassed his master, the youthful genius wrote on a frieze in the very center of the canvas "Raphael Urbinas."

Reynolds hardly ever signed his work. But upon the completion of the portrait of Mrs. Siddons as the "Tragic Muse" he wrote his name large on the gold embroidery of her dress. He was unable, he said, "to resist the temptation of sending my name to posterity on the hem of your garment."

With reference to unsigned paintings there is told in Germany an amusing story. Achenbach. the German artist, enjoyed a vogue about ten years ago. A certain collector had bought from an art dealer a marine represented as a genuine Achenbach. Afterward it was pronounced to be a copy. The buyer brought an action against the dealer, who turned the tables by declaring that his picture was genuine and the other was a copy.

Achenbach himself was summoned by the court to tell which was which. Amazed at the similarity of the two paintings, the artist gazed at them for a long time, inspected them closely front and back and then frankly admitted that he could not tell which was the original and which the copy.— Harper's Weekly.

—Stevens Point Daily Journal, Stevens Point, Wisconsin, July 29, 1916, page 7.