The first marked advancement in the progress of the national
understanding was made by a new race of public benefactors, who, in
their munificence, no longer endowing obsolete superstitions, and
inefficient or misplaced charities, erected libraries and opened
academies; founders of those habitations of knowledge whose doors open
to the bidding of all comers.
To the privacy and the silent labours of some men of letters and some
lovers of the arts, usually classed under the general designation of
COLLECTORS, literary Europe, for the great part, owes its public museums
and its public libraries. It was their ripe knowledge only which could
have created them, their opulence only which could render them worthy of
a nation's purchase, or of its acceptance, when in their generous
enthusiasm they consecrated the intellectual gift for their countrymen.
These collections could only have acquired their strength by their
growth, for gradual were their acquisitions and innumerable were their
details; they claimed the sleepless vigilance of a whole life, the
devotion of a whole fortune, and often that moral intrepidity which
wrestled with insurmountable difficulties. We may admire the generous
enthusiasm whose opulence was solely directed to enrich what hereafter
was to be consecrated as public property; but it has not always received
the notice and the eulogy so largely its due. It is but bare justice to
distinguish these men from their numerous brothers whose collections
have terminated with themselves, known only to posterity by their
posthumous catalogues--the sole record that these collectors were great
buyers and more famous sellers. Of many of the FOUNDERS of public
collections the names are not familiar to the reader, though some have
sometimes been identified with their more celebrated collections, from
the gratitude of a succeeding age.
A collection formed by a single mind, skilled in its favourite pursuit,
becomes the tangible depository of the thoughts of its owner; there is
a unity in this labour of love, and a secret connexion through its
dependent parts. Thus we are told that Cecil's library was the best for
history; Walsingham's, for policy; Arundel's, for heraldry; Cotton's,
for antiquity; and Usher's, for divinity. The completion of such a
collection reflects the perfect image of the mind of the philosopher,
the philologist, the antiquary, the naturalist, the scientific or the
legal character, who into one locality has gathered together and
arranged this furniture of the human intellect.
To disperse their collections would be, to these elect spirits, to
resolve them back into their first elements--to scatter them in the air,
or to mingle them with the dust.[1] Happily for mankind, these have been
men to whom the perpetuity of their intellectual associations was a
future existence. Conscious that their hands had fastened links in the
unbroken chain of human inquiry, they left the legacy to the world. The
creators of these collections have often betrayed their anxiety to
preserve them distinct and entire. Confident I am that such was the real
feeling of a recent celebrated collector. The rich and peculiar
collection of manuscripts, and of rare and chosen volumes, of FRANCIS
DOUCE, from his earliest days had been the objects of his incessant
cares. With means extremely restricted, but with a mind which no
obstructions could swerve from its direct course, through many years he
accomplished a glorious design. Our modest antiquary startled the most
curious, not only of his countrymen but of foreigners, by his knowledge,
diversified as his own unrivalled collections, in the recondite
literature of the middle ages, and whatever exhibited the manners, the
customs, and the arts of every people and of every age. Late in life he
accidentally became the possessor of a considerable fortune, and having
decided that this work of his life should be a public inheritance, he
seemed at a loss where it might at once rest in security, and lie
patent for the world. The idea of its dispersion was very painful, for
he was aware that the singleness of design which had assembled such
various matters together could never be resumed by another. He often
regretted that in the great national repository of literature the
collection would merge into the universal mass. It was about this time
that we visited together the great library of Oxford. Douce contemplated
in the Bodleian that arch over which is placed the portrait of SELDEN,
and the library of Selden preserved entire; the antiquary's closet which
holds the great topographical collections of Gough; and the distinct
shelves dedicated to the small Shakespearian library of MALONE. He
observed that the collections of Rawlinson, of Tanner, and of others,
had preserved their identity by their separation. This was the subject
of our conversation. At this moment Douce must have decided on the
locality where his precious collection was to find a perpetual abode;
for it was immediately on his return home that our literary antiquary
bequeathed his collection to the Bodleian Library, where it now occupies
more than one apartment.
To the anxious cares of such founders of public collections, England, as
well as Italy and France, owes a national debt; nor can we pass over in
silence the man to whom first occurred the happy idea of instituting a
library which should have for its owners his own fellow-citizens. A
Florentine merchant, emancipated from the thraldom of traffic, vowed
himself to the pursuits of literature, and, just before the art of
printing was practised, to the preservation of manuscripts, which he not
only multiplied by his unwearied hand, but was the first of that race of
critics who amended the texts of the early copyists. What he could not
purchase, his pure zeal was not the less solicitous to preserve.
Boccaccio had bequeathed his own library to a convent in Florence, and
its sight produced that effect on him which the library of Shakespeare,
had it been preserved, might have had on an Englishman; and since he
could not possess it, he built an apartment solely to preserve it
distinct from any other collection.
At a period when the owners of manuscripts were so avaricious of their
possessions that they refused their loan, and were frugal even in
allowing a sight of their leaves, the hardy generosity of this
Florentine merchant conceived one of the most important designs for the
interests of learning;--to invite readers, he bequeathed his own as A
PUBLIC LIBRARY.[2] He who occupied but a private station, first offered
Europe a model of patriotic greatness which princes and nobles in their
magnificence would emulate. It has been said that the founder of this
public library at Florence had only revived the noble design of the
ancients, who had displayed their affection for literature by even
bestowing their own names on public libraries; but this must not detract
from the true glory of the merchant of Florence; it was at least an idea
which had wholly escaped the less liberal of his learned contemporaries.
Sir THOMAS BODLEY may be considered as the first founder of a public
library in this country, raised by the hand of an individual. A picture
of the obstructions, the anxieties, the hopes, and the disappointments
of the founder of the Bodleian, exhibits a person of rank and opulence
submitting even to minute drudgery, and to the most humiliating
solicitations, and busily occupied by a foreign as well as a domestic
correspondence, to accomplish what he long despaired of--a library
adequate to the wants of every English student.
BODLEY, in the sketch of his own life, betrays that early book-love
which subsequently broke out into that noble passion for "his reverend
mother, the University of Oxford." Sir Thomas Bodley had ably served in
some of the highest state-employments; but, at length, discovered the
secret pathway to escape from "court contentions;" and this he found
when busying himself with a vast ideal library--the future Bodleian!
Long, indeed, it was but ideal; the labour of his day, the dream of his
night, so slowly rose the reality of the fabric. It was difficult to
determine on the class or the worth of authors--often rejecting, always
augmenting, still consulting, now advising, or being advised; sometimes
irresolute, and at others decisive; now exulting, and now despondent.
However fervid was his noble enthusiasm for literature, and for his
library, not less remarkable was that provident sagacity which he
combined with it, and by which only he could carry on the vast design.
What were the emotions of Bodley through this long period, what his
first intentions, and what his immutable decision, have fortunately been
laid open to us in a close correspondence with his first librarian. Our
parent-founder of a public library, with the forcible simplicity of the
natural colloquial style of that day, has developed his own character.
"Examining exactly for the rest of my life what course I might take, and
having sought, as I thought, all the ways to the wood, to select the
most proper, I concluded, at the last, to set up my staff at the library
door in Oxon; being thoroughly persuaded, that in my solitude and
surcease from the commonwealth affairs, I could not busy myself to
better purpose." He early discovered that the formation of his library
required the co-operation of many favourable circumstances: "some kind
of knowledge, some purse-ability, great store of honourable friends;
else it would prove a vain attempt and inconsiderate." After many
perplexities, the great resolve seemed to sanction the act, and he
exclaims--"The project is cast, and whether I live or die, to such ends
altogether I address my thoughts and deeds!" Such was the solemn pledge,
and such the deed of gift, which Bodley, in the greatness of his mind,
contracted with posterity.
But the minor cares and the minuter anxieties were to open on him; and
it must be confessed that he tried the patient duties of the learned Dr.
James, whom he had judiciously elected for the first librarian, but who
often vents a groan on his interminable labours. Sir Thomas gently
reproaches him: "I am toiled exceedingly, no less than yourself, with
writing, buying, binding, disposing, &c.; but I am fed with pleasure of
seeing the end." Bodley had not only to form a universal library, but to
build one on the desolate ruins of that founded by Duke Humphrey, whose
royal name could not save his books and manuscripts, which had all been
purloined and wasted. The pledges left for their loan not being worth
half the value of the books, the volumes were never returned; and those
which remained in the reign of Edward the Sixth were burned as
"superstitious," for their rubrics and illuminations. The history of
this library might have deterred our new founder, by reminding him of
the fate which may await even on public libraries. At all events, for
many years it required all his fortitude to encounter a rabble of
master-carpenters, joiners, carvers, glaziers, builders, claspers, and
stringers, and the chain-smiths; for at that day books were chained to
their shelves, with chains long enough to reach the desk. A book was
tethered, and could never stray from its paddock. Then came the
classification and the arrangements! discussions not easily to be
adjusted with his librarian, whether a book should be classed as a work
of theology or of politics? Sir Thomas found an incessant business at
London in packing up "dry fats," or vats of books, barging them for
Oxford; he was receiving fresh supplies from Italy, from Spain, from
Turkey, and designed to send a scholar to travel in the East, to collect
Arabic and Persian books, on which he sagaciously observed, that "in
process of time, by the extraordinary diligence of some one student,
these Eastern languages may be readily understood." Bodley anticipated
our Society for Oriental Literature.
But not merely solicitous to erect a vast library, Bodley was equally
anxious to consecrate the spot to study itself. He is uneasy at too
public an admission, lest idlers should mix among the students, and, as
he plainly tells, "be daily pestering the room with their gazing and
babbling, and trampling up and down, disturbing the real studious." With
what fervour he rejoices when, at length, he lived to witness the day of
the opening of the library, and found that "all proceeded orderly, and
with such silence!" But although he had bestowed all his cares and his
fortune on this institution, it still was but an infant, and he had to
look towards spirits as enlarged as his own, to protect the orphan of
the public. It met with some who adopted it, and Bodley had their names
inscribed in the register of this public library; but he was as cautious
as he was courteous--the vain were not to be gratified for penurious
gifts. Books, and not names, were wanted. At first, impatiently zealous,
he murmurs of "promises received for performances." But latterly, he had
occasion to exhort the university to mark by their particular
acknowledgments, the donations in volumes or in money. The honourable
roll on which the names are inscribed, includes not only those of the
most eminent of our county, but also of several ladies, who rivalled
those heroes and statesmen who had the honour of laying the foundation
of the Bodleian Library.[3]
In Sir Thomas Bodley's character we view the conscious dignity of a
great design, yet combined with the sedate reflection of a man practised
in the world. There were certain traits of vanity, which may give a
colour to the insinuations of some--who might consider they had been
deprived of legacies--that it was his enormous vanity which raised this
edifice of learning. It is amusing to discover, that when the Bishop of
Exeter proposed to visit the library, a letter of Sir Thomas immediately
precedes his visitor. "I pray you, observe his speeches, and liking or
disliking, and in your next let me know it." When James the First was
preparing to visit the library, he furnished hints to the librarian for
his speech to the literary monarch: "It must not carry greater length
than for half a quarter of an hour's utterance. It must be short and
sweet, and full of stuff." The librarian was desirous to hide Buchanan
when the king came down to Oxford; but Bodley, probably not approving
the concealment of any of his literary stores, observed, "It will not
avail to conceal him in his desk since he is in the catalogue, nor have
we any reason to take any notice of the king's dislike; but," he warily
adds, "should it excite his Majesty's notice, we must allege that the
books were put there in the Queen's time." But nothing save the most
delicate attention towards an author could have prompted his order
concerning Coryat the traveller, who had presented his book to the
library. On the author's coming to Oxford, Sir Thomas desired that "it
should be placed in such a manner, that when the author came down, it
may seem to magnify the author and the book." In his ardour for the
general interests of his library, Bodley absolutely insisted that his
librarian should persevere in his forlorn fellowship, for "marriage,"
opined the founder of the Bodleian Library, "is too full of domestic
impeachments to afford him so much time from his private affairs." The
doctor decided against the celibacy of a librarian, and was gravely
admonished on the absurdity of such conduct in one who had the care of a
public library! for "it was opening a gap to disorder hereafter." With
a happier prescience, Bodley foresaw that race of generous spirits who,
long after, and at distant intervals, have carried on his great views.
Listen to the simplicity and force of the venerable style of our first
founder of a PUBLIC LIBRARY.
"We cannot but presume that, casting (counting) what number of noble
benefactors have already concurred in a FERVOUR OF AFFECTION to that
PUBLIC PLACE OF STUDY, we shall be sure in TIME TO COME to find some
OTHERS OF THE LIKE DISPOSITION to the advancement of learning."[4]
With such a hallowed purpose ever before him, can we conceive the
agonies of the founder of a public library, on being for ever denied an
entrance into it? and yet such was the fate of one of the most
illustrious of this race. The mournful history of the founder of the
Cottonian Library will ever excite the regrets of a grateful posterity,
and its catastrophe will witness how far above life he loved and valued
his collected lore! It happened that among the many rare manuscripts
collected by Sir ROBERT COTTON, one reached his hands, which struck him
by the singularity of the subject; it was a political theory to show the
kings of England "how to bridle the impertinency of Parliaments." An
unfaithful amanuensis, the son of the Dr. James whom we have just
noticed, took copies and sold them to the curious. When the original was
at length traced to the Cottonian collection, Sir Robert was sued in the
Star-chamber, and considered as the author of a work whose tendency was
to enslave the nation. It was long afterwards discovered that this
manuscript had been originally written by Sir Robert Dudley, when in
exile at Florence. Cotton was now denied all access to his library; his
spirits sunk in the blackest melancholy; and he declared to an intimate
friend, that "those who had locked up his library from him had broken
his heart." Now deprived of that learned crowd who once were flowing
into his house, consulting and arranging his precious manuscripts; torn
away from the delightful business of his life, and in torment at the
doubtful fate of that manuscript collection, which had consumed forty
years at every personal sacrifice to form it for the "use and service of
posterity," he sunk at the sudden stroke. In the course of a few weeks,
he was so worn by injured feelings, that from a ruddy-complexioned man,
"his face was wholly changed into a grim blackish paleness, near to the
resemblance and hue of a dead visage." Such is the expression of one who
knew him well. Before he died, Sir Robert requested the learned Spelman
to acquaint the Privy Council that "their so long detaining his books
from him had been the cause of his mortal malady." "On this message,"
says the writer of a manuscript letter of the day, "the Lord Privy Seal
came to Sir Robert, when it was too late to comfort him, from the King,
from whom also the Earl of Dorset came within half an hour of Sir
Robert's death, to condole with Sir Thomas Cotton, his son, for his
father's death; and with an assurance that as his Majesty loved his
father, so he would continue his love to him: Sir Robert hath intailed
his library of books as sure as he can make it upon his son and his
posterity. If Sir Robert's heart could be ripped up, his library would
appear in it, as Calais in Queen Mary's." Such is the affecting fate of
the founder of the Cottonian Library, that great individual whose sole
labour silently formed our national antiquities, and endowed his country
with this wealth of manuscripts.