BOOK-MAKING AND COLLECTING IN THE RELIGIOUS HOUSES
“For if hevene be on this erthe . and ese to any soule,
It is in cloistere or in scole . be many skilles I fynde;
For in cloistre cometh no man . to chide ne to fighte,
But alle is buxomnesse there and bokes . to rede and to lerne.”
_Piers Plowman_, B. x. 300
§ I
Before leaving the subject of monastic libraries, it is desirable to say
something about their economy.
They were built up partly by importing books, partly by bequests from
wealthy ecclesiastics, but largely--and in some cases wholly--by the
labours of scribes. The scene of the scribe’s craft was the scriptorium
or writing-room, which was usually a screened-off portion of the
cloister, or a room beside the church and below the library, as at St.
Gall, or a chamber over the chapter-house, as at St. Albans under Abbot
Paul, at Cockersand Abbey and Birkenhead Priory. As a rule the monk was
not allowed to write outside the scriptorium, although in some houses he
could read elsewhere--as at Durham, where a desk to support books was
fitted in the window of each dormitory cubicle. But brothers whose work
was highly valued were allowed a small writing-room or scriptoriolum.
Nicholas, Bernard’s secretary, had a room on the right of the cloister
with its
[Illustration: PLAN OF SCRIPTORIUM, BIRKENHEAD PRIORY]5
door opening
into the novices’ room--a cell, he says, “not to be despised; for it is
... pleasant to look upon, and comfortable for retirement. It is filled
with most choice and divine books ... is assigned to me for reading, and
writing, and composing, and meditating, and praying, and adoring the
Lord of Majesty.”[175] Perhaps Nicholas’s room was like that shown in
one manuscript, where we see a monk seated on a stool before a
reading-stand of odd shape. The table, which is the top of a hexagonal
receptacle for parchment and writing materials, or books, can be moved
up and down on the screw. Above the screw is a bookrest; at the foot a
pedestal, with the ink-bottle upon it. Apparently the room also contains
cupboards for storing books. Nicholas, however, was favoured, for in the
same passage he refers to the older monks reading the “books of divine
eloquence in the cloister.” In Cistercian monasteries certain monks were
so favoured, although they were not allowed to use their studies during
the time the monks were supposed to be in the cloister.[176] At Oxford,
after mid-fourteenth century, every student friar had set apart for him
a place fitted with a combined desk and bookcase, or studium, of the
kind commonly depicted in medieval illuminations. Grants of timber for
making these studia are recorded: to the Black Friars of Oxford, for
example, of seven oaks to repair their studies.[177]
The arrangements in the cloister are carefully described in the Durham
Rites. At Durham “in the north syde of the cloister, from the corner
over against the church dour to the corner over againste the Dortor
dour, was all fynely glased, from the hight to the sole within a litle
of the grownd into the cloister garth. And in every wyndowe iij pewes or
carrells, where every one of the old Monks had his carrell, severall by
himselfe, that, when they had dyned, they dyd resorte to that place of
Cloister and there studyed upon there books, every one in his carrell,
all the after nonne, unto evensong time. This was there exercise every
daie. All there pewes or carrells was all fynely wainscotted and verie
close, all but the forepart, which had carved wourke that gave light in
at ther carrell doures of wainscott. And in every carrell was a deske to
lye there books on. And the carrells was no greater then from one
stanchell of the wyndowe to another.”[178] There were carrells at
Evesham in the fourteenth century.[179] In 1485 Prior Selling
constructed in the south walk at Christ Church, Canterbury, “the new
framed contrivances called carrells” for the comfort of the monks at
study.[180] Such recesses are to be found at Worcester and Gloucester;
remains of some exist at the south end of the west walk of the cloisters
at Chester, and others were in the destroyed south walk.[181] At
Gloucester Cathedral, which was formerly the Benedictine Abbey of St.
Peter, are twenty beautiful carrells in the south cloister. They project
below the ten main windows, two in each, and are arched, with
battlemented tops or cornices. Except for the small double window which
lights them, they look like recesses for statuary.
The Carthusian Rule records that few monks of the order could not
write.[182] But this was by no means invariably the case. In early
monastic times writing was usually the occupation of the weaker
brethren: for example,
[Illustration: _PLATE XIII_
THE CLOISTERS, GLOUCESTER, SHEWING CARRELLS]
[Illustration: ANCIENT STALL, OR CARRELL, IN BISHOPS CANNINGS CHURCH,
WILTS]
Ferreolus, in his rules (_c_. 550), deems reading and copying fit
occupations for monks too weak for severer work.[183] Later, in some
monasteries, less labour in the field and more writing was done. At
Tours, Alcuin took the monks away from field labour, telling them study
and writing were far nobler pursuits.[184] But it was not commonly the
case to find in monasteries “ech man a scriveyn able.”
When books were not otherwise obtainable, or not obtainable quickly
enough, it was the practice to hire scribes from outside the house.
Abbot Gerbert, in a letter to the abbot of Tours, mentions that he had
been paying scribes in Rome and various parts of Italy, in Belgium, and
Germany, to make copies of books for his library “at great
expense.”[185] At Abingdon hired scribes were sometimes employed, and
the rule was for the abbot to find the food, and the armarius, or
librarian, to pay for the labour.[186] This was commonly done when
libraries were first formed. When Abbot Paul began to collect a library
at St. Albans none of his brethren could write well enough to suit him,
and he was obliged to fill his writing-room with hired scribes. He
supplied them with daily rations out of the brethren’s and cellarer’s
alms-food; such provision was always handy, and the scribes were not
retarded by leaving their work.[187] Sometimes scribes were employed
merely to save the monks trouble. At Corbie, in the fourteenth century,
the religious neglected to work in the writing-room themselves, but
allowed benefactors to engage professional scribes in Paris to swell the
number of books. The Gilbertine order forbade hired scribes altogether,
perhaps wisely.
The scribe’s method of work was simple. First he took a metal stylus or
a pencil and drew perpendicular lines in the side margins of his
parchment, and horizontal lines at equal distances from top to bottom of
the page. Then the task of copying was straightforward. If the book was
to be embellished he left spaces for the illuminator to fill in. When
the illuminator took the book over, he carefully sketched in his designs
for the capitals and miniatures, and then worked over them in colour,
applying one colour to a number of sketches at a time. Anybody who is
curious as to medieval methods of illuminating should read a little
fifteenth-century treatise which describes “the crafte of lymnynge of
bokys.” “Who so kane wyesly considere the nature of his colours, and
kyndely make his commixtions with naturalle proporcions, and mentalle
indagacions connectynge fro dyvers recepcions by resone of theyre
naturys, he schalle make curius colourys.” Thereafter follow recipes to
“temper vermelone to wryte therewith”; “to temper asure, roset, ceruse,
rede lede,” and other pigments; “to make asure to schyne bryȝt,” “to
make letterys of gold,” “blewe lethyre,” and “whyte lethyre”; with other
curious information.[188]
In monasteries where the rule was strict the scribe wrought at his task
for six hours daily.[189] All work was done by daylight, artificial
light not being allowed. Lewis, a monk of Wessobrunn in Bavaria, in a
copy of Jerome’s Commentary on Daniel, speaks of writing when he was
stiff with cold, and of finishing by the light of night what he could
not copy by day.[190] Such diligence was not usual.
In summer-time work in the cloister may well have been pleasant; in
winter quite the contrary, even when the cloister and carrells were
screened, as at Durham and Christ Church, Canterbury. Imagine the poor
scribe rubbing his hands to restore the sluggish circulation, and being
at last compelled to forgo his labour because they were too numbed to
write. Cuthbert, the eighth-century abbot of Wearmouth and Jarrow,
writes to a correspondent telling him he had not been able to send all
Bede’s works which were required, because the cold weather of the
preceding winter had paralysed the scribes’ hands.[191] Again, Ordericus
Vitalis winds up the fourth book of his ecclesiastical history by
saying--_nunc hyemali frigore rigens_--he must break his narrative here,
and take up other occupations for the winter.[192] Jacob, abbot of
Brabant (1276), built scriptoria, or possibly carrells, round the
calefactory, or warming-room, where the common fire was kept burning,
and the lot of the scribe was made somewhat easier to bear.
A scribe could only write what the abbot or precentor set him. When his
portion had been given out he could not change it for another.[193] If
he were set to copy Virgil or Ovid or some lives of the saints the task
would conceivably be pleasant. But such was seldom the scribe’s fortune.
The continual transcription of Psalters and Missals and other service
books must have been infinitely wearisome, at any rate, to the less
devout members of the community. In some large and enterprising houses a
scribe copied only a fragment of a book. Several brethren worked upon
the same book at once, each beginning upon a skin at the point where
another scribe was to leave off.[194] Or the book to be transcribed was
dictated to the scribes, as at Tours under Alcuin. Both methods had the
advantage of “publishing” a book quickly, but the work was as
mechanical as is that of the compositor to-day. Under Abbot Trithemius
of Sponheim, subdivision of labour was carried to its extreme limit. One
monk cut the parchment, another polished it, the third ruled the lines
to guide the scribe. After the scribe had finished his copying, another
monk corrected, still another punctuated. In decorating, one artist
rubricated, another painted the miniatures. Then the bookbinder collated
the leaves and bound them in wooden covers. Even in the case of waxed
tablets, one monk prepared the boards, another spread the wax. The whole
process was designed to expedite production.
When a manuscript was fully written the scribe wrote his colophon or
“explicit,” a short form of the phrase “explicitus est liber.” Sometimes
the scribe plays upon words, thus: “Explicit iste liber; sit scriptor
crimine liber”; or he exultantly praises: “Deo gratias. Ego, in Dei
nomine, Warembertus scripsi. Deo gratias”; or he is modest: “Nomen
scriptoris non pono, quia ipsum laudare nolo”;[195] or he feels
querulous: “Be careful with your fingers; don’t put them on my writing.
You do not know what it is to write. It is excessive drudgery: it crooks
your back, dims your sight, twists your stomach and sides. Pray then, my
brother, you who read this book, pray for poor Raoul, God’s servant, who
has copied it entirely with his own hand in the cloister of St. Aignan.”
Another inscription, in a manuscript at Worcester Cathedral, suggests
that books were not read: why, argues this monk, write them?--nobody is
profited; books are for the edification of readers, not of scribes. Note
also the following:--
Finito libro sit laus et gloria Christo
Vinum scriptori debetur de meliori
Hic liber est scriptus qui scripsit sit benedictus. Amen.[196]
And this:--
Here endþ þe firste boke of all maner sores þe
whyche fallen moste commune and withe þe grace of gode I
will writte þe ij Boke þe whyche ys cleped the Antitodarie
Explicit quod scripcit Thomas Rosse.[197]
To a poor Raoul of mechanical ability the rule of silence must have been
very irksome; the student would be grateful for it. Alcuin forbade
gossip to prevent mistakes in copying. Among the Cluniacs the rule was
strictly enforced in the church, refectory, cloister, and dormitory. A
chapter of the Cistercian order (1134) enjoined silence in all rooms
where the brethren were in the habit of writing.[198] The better to
maintain silence nobody was permitted to enter the scriptorium save the
abbot, the prior and sub-prior, and the precentor. When necessary it was
permissible to speak in a low voice in the ear. But among the Cluniacs
whispering was avoided as far as possible. Watch the monks communicating
with the librarian. One wants a Missal, and he pretends, as the children
say, to turn over leaves, thereby making the general sign for a book;
then he makes the sign of the Cross to indicate that he wants a Missal
book. Another wants the Gospels, and he makes the sign of the Cross on
the forehead. This brother wants a pagan book, and, after making the
general sign, he scratches his ear with his finger as an itching dog
would with his feet; infidel writers were not unfairly compared with
such creatures.[199] If such sign-language were really maintained, it
must have been extensively supplemented as the library grew in size, for
although striking the thumb and little
[Illustration: _PLATE XIV_
A SCRIBE AND HIS TOOLS]
finger together would describe an Antiphonary, or making the sign of the
Cross and kissing the finger would indicate a Gradual, yet some
additions to the signs for a pagan book and a tract were necessary to
signify what particular tract or book was wanted. But probably if this
rule was observed at all--and we do not think it likely--the signs were
used only for church books, and most often in church. In nearly every
monastery the rule of silence was made. In the Brigittine house of Syon
“silence after some convenience is to be kepte in the lybrary, whyls any
suster is there alone in recordyng of her redynge.”[200] But it was at
all times difficult to enforce, as the monks, in experience and habits,
were but children.
For notes, exercises, brief letters, bills, first drafts, daily services
of the church, the names of officiating brethren,--for all temporary
purposes waxed tablets were used. They were in common use from classic
times: some Greek and many Latin tablets are still preserved;[201] they
were much used in ancient Ireland, as we have seen; and they continued
to be of service until the late Middle Ages. Anselm habitually wrote his
first drafts upon them. At St. Augustine’s Abbey, Canterbury, the monks
were supplied with tablets, for a novice’s outfit included, after
profession, a stylus, tablets, and a knife.[202] The writing was
scratched on the wax with a stylus, a sharp instrument of bone or metal.
The other end of it was usually flattened for pressing out an incorrect
letter; among the Romans the term “vetere stylum” became common in the
sense of correcting a work.
[Illustration: TABLET CASE AND WAXED TABLET]
For all permanent purposes “bōc-fel,” or book-skin, was used; either
vellum or “parchëmyn smothe, whyte and scribable.” Vellum and parchment
were interchangeable terms in medieval times; but parchment was commonly
used. In early monastic days it was prepared by the monks themselves,
being rubbed smooth with pumice-stone; later it was bought from
manufacturers ready-made. It was not so expensive as vellum: the average
price being two shillings per dozen skins as compared with eight
shillings per dozen skins of vellum. For a Bible presented to Bury St.
Edmunds Abbey, finest Irish (or Scottish) vellum was procured (_c._
1121-48). This special material was used for the paintings, which seem
to have been pasted down on the leaves of inferior vellum. This
manuscript is now in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge.[203]
The pens used for writing were either made of reeds (_calami_) or of
quills (_pennae_). The quill was introduced after the reed, and largely,
though not entirely, superseded it. Other implements of the expert
scribe were a pencil, compasses, scissors, an awl, a knife for erasures,
a ruler, and a weight to keep down the vellum.
Numerous passages might be dug out of old records warning scribes
against errors in transcribing. Ælfric, in the preface to his homilies,
adjures the copyist, by our Lord Jesus Christ and by His glorious
coming, to transcribe correctly. Chaucer, in a well-known verse,
expresses his wish that Adam the scrivener shall copy _Boëthius_ and
_Troilus_ “trewe” and not write it “newe.”[204] In copying, however,
especially when it is mechanically done, it is almost as difficult to
write “trewe” as it is to write “newe”: the imp of the perverse makes
his home at the elbow of the scribe, ever ready to profit by drowsiness
or trifling inattention. But, as a rule, monkish scribes were
exceedingly careful, and their work was invariably corrected by another
hand. More than this: they endeavoured to get accurate texts to copy.
Lanfranc’s care in this respect, and the Grey Friars’ work in compiling
_correctoria_, have already been noted. Reculfus expected his clergy to
have books corrected and pointed by those in the “holy mother church”;
Adam de Marisco sent a manuscript to be corrected in Paris, begging to
have it back as soon as done;[205] and Servatus Lupus, the great abbot
of Ferrières, frequently borrowed from his friends books which he might
collate with his own copies, and rectify errors and insert
omissions.[206]
Before work could be started in the writing-room, books for copying had
to be obtained. Usually a few books were bought or borrowed; then
several copies were made of each, the superfluous volumes being sold or
exchanged for fresh manuscripts to transcribe. Benedict Biscop, as we
have seen, obtained his books from Rome and Vienne. Cuthwin, bishop of
the East Angles (_c._ 750) was of those who went to Rome, and brought
back with him a life of St. Paul, “full of pictures.” Herbert “Losinga,”
abbot of Ramsey and afterwards bishop of Norwich, was a zealous
book-collector;--asks for a Josephus on loan from a brother abbot, a
request not granted because the binding needed repair; and sends abroad
for a copy of Suetonius. Robert Grosseteste got a rare book, Basil’s
_Hexaemeron_, from Bury St. Edmunds in exchange for a MS. of
_Postillae_.[207] At Ely, in the fourteenth century, when the scribes
there were very active, the precentor was always on the look-out for
“copy.” On one occasion he was paid 6s. 7d. for going to Balsham to
inquire for books (1329).[208] Abbot Henry of Hyde Abbey exchanged a
volume containing Terence, Boëthius, Suetonius, and Claudian for four
Missals, the _Legend of St. Christopher_, and Gregory’s _Pastoral
Care_.[209] On one occasion Adam de Marisco tries to get from a brother
of Nottingham the _Moralia_ of St. Gregory, and Rabanus Maurus. He sends
from Oxford to an abbot at Vercelli an exposition of the Angelic
Salutation, and begs for the abbot’s writings in exchange.[210] Adam had
studied at Vercelli,[211]--a new Italian centre with a close English
connexion. About 1217 Cardinal Guala Bicchieri, afterwards bishop of
Vercelli, was granted the church of Chesterton, near Cambridge, and
when he died ten years later he left all his estate, including the
church, and a number of books which had been collected at Chesterton or
in England, to Vercelli Abbey. Among the gifts were two service books in
English, and the famous Codex Vercellensis, which is only less valuable
than the Exeter Book as a first source of Anglo-Saxon poetry. The
Vercelli Book is in Italy to this day.[212]
In some abbeys the purchase of books, and the copying of them for sale,
became just as much a business as the manufacture of Chartreuse. In 1446
Exeter College, Oxford, paid ten shillings and a penny for twelve quires
and two skins of parchment bought at Abingdon to send to the monastery
of Plympton in Devonshire, where a book was being written for the
College.[213] A part--and by no means a negligible part--of the income
of Carthusian houses came from copying books. Two continental abbots,
Abbot Gerbert of Bobio and Servatus Lupus of Ferrières, were book-makers
and sellers on a commercial scale. Lupus, in particular, betrays the
commercial spirit by refusing to give more than he was obliged in return
for what he received. He will not send a book to a monk at Sens because
his messenger must go afoot and the way was perilous: let us hope he
thought more of the messenger than of the manuscript. On another
occasion he refuses to lend a book because it is too large to be hidden
in the vest or wallet, and, besides, its beauty might tempt robbers to
steal it. These were good excuses to cover his general unwillingness to
lend. For the loan of one manuscript he was so bothered that he thought
of putting it away in a secure place, lest he should lose it
altogether.[214]
As a rule the expenses of the writing-room formed a part of the general
expenses of the house, but sometimes particular portions of the monastic
income and endowments were available to meet them. To St. Albans certain
tithes were assigned by a Norman leader for making books (_c._
1080).[215] The precentor of Abingdon obtained tithes worth thirty
shillings for buying parchment.[216] St. Augustine’s Abbey, Canterbury,
got three marks from the rentals of Milton Church for making books
(1144).[217] The monks of Ely (1160), of Westminster (_c._ 1159), of the
cathedral convent of St. Swithin’s, Winchester (1171), of Bury St.
Edmunds, and of Whitby, received tithes and rents for a like
purpose.[218] The prior of Evesham received the tithes of Bengworth to
pay for parchment and for the maintenance of scribes; while the
precentor was to receive five shillings annually from the manor of
Hampton, and ten shillings and eightpence from the tithes of Stoke and
Alcester for buying ink, colours for illuminating, and what was
necessary for binding books and the necessaries for the organ.[219]
In some houses a rate was levied for the support of the scriptorium, but
we have not met with any instance of this practice in English
monasteries. At the great Benedictine Abbey of Fleury a rate was levied
in 1103 on the officers and dependent priories for the support of the
library; forty-three years later it was extended, and it remained in
force until 1562.[220] Besides this impost every student in the abbey
was bound to give two books to the library. At Corbie, in Picardy, a
rate was levied to pay the salary of the librarian, and to cover part of
the cost of bookbinding. Here also each novice, on the day of his
profession, had to present a book to the library; at Corvey, in Northern
Germany, the same rule was observed at the end of the eleventh century.
As all the monasteries of an order were conducted much on the same
lines, it is difficult to believe that similar rates were not levied by
some of the larger houses in England.
The libraries were also augmented by gifts and bequests, as well as by
purchase and by transcription in the scriptorium. In most abbeys it was
customary for the brethren to give or bequeath their books to their
house. A long list of such benefactors to Ramsey Abbey is extant, and
one of the brothers, Walter de Lilleford, prior of St. Ives, gave what
was in those days a considerable library in itself.[221] Much longer
still are the lists of presents given to Christ Church and St.
Augustine’s, Canterbury. Dr. James has indexed nearly two hundred donors
to Christ Church alone. In most cases the gifts are of one or a few
books, but occasionally collections of respectable size were received,
as when T. Sturey, senior, enriched the library with nearly sixty books,
when Thomas à Becket left over seventy, and when Prior Henry Eastry left
eighty volumes at his death. As many or more donors to St. Augustine’s
are indexed. Here also some of the donations were fairly large: for
example, Henry Belham and Henry Cokeryng gave nineteen books each, a
prior twenty-seven, a certain John of London eighty-two, J. Mankael
thirty-nine, Abbot Nicholaus sixteen, Michael de Northgate twenty-four,
Abbot Poucyn sixteen, J. Preston twenty-three, a certain Abbot Thomas
over a hundred, and T. Wyvelesberghe thirty-one. Some sixty persons are
also indexed as donors to St. Martin’s Priory, Dover.[222]
William de Carilef, bishop of Durham, endowed his church with books and
bequeathed some more at his death (1095). John, bishop of Bath,
bequeathed to the abbey church his whole library and his decorated
copies of the Gospels (1160). Another bishop of Durham, Hugh Pudsey,
bequeathed many books to his church (1195). Thomas de Marleberge (_d._
1236), when he became prior of Evesham, gave a large collection of books
in law, medicine, philosophy, poetry, theology, and grammar.[223] Simon
Langham bequeathed seven chests of books to Westminster Abbey
(1376).[224] William Slade (_d._ 1384) left to the Abbey of Buckfast, of
which he was abbot, thirteen books of his own writing.[225] Cardinal
Adam Easton (_d._ 1397) sent from Rome “six barrells of books” to his
convent of Norwich, where he had been a monk.[226] One of these books, a
fourteenth-century manuscript in an Italian hand, is now preserved in
the library of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge: the inscription
attesting this reads--“Liber ecclesie norwycen per magistrum Adam de
Eston monachum dicti loci.” Nor did the poor priest forget to add his
mite to the general hoard: “I beqweth to the monastery of Seynt Edmund
forseid,” willed a priest named Place, “my book of the dowtes of Holy
Scryptur, to ly and remayn in the cloister of the seid monastery as long
as yt wyll ther indure.”[227] Such gifts were always highly valued, and
in Lent the librarian was expected to remind the brethren of those who
had given books, and to request that a mass should be said for
them.[228]
§ II
Some miniatures in early manuscripts give us a good idea of the way
books were stored in the Middle Ages. They are shown lying flat on
sloping shelves which extend part-way round the room. Curtains are
occasionally shown hanging in front of the shelves to protect the books
from dust. Or a sloping shelf was fitted to serve as a readingdesk, and
a second flat shelf ran beneath it to take books lying on their sides
one above the other. In several miniatures lecterns of very curious
design are often depicted; some of them stood on a cupboard or cupboards
wherein books were stowed away.
In the monasteries books were stored in various places,--in chests,
cupboards, or recesses in the wall. When the collection was small, a
chest served; a receptacle of this kind is illustrated at p. 50.
Cassiodorus had the books of his monastery stored in presses, or
armaria. The manuscripts of Abbot Simon of St. Albans were preserved in
“the painted aumbry in the church.” An aumbry was a recess in the wall
well lined inside with wood so that the damp of the masonry should not
spoil the books. It was divided vertically and horizontally by shelves
in such a way that it was possible to arrange the books separately one
from another, and so to avoid injury from close packing, and delay in
consulting them.[229] The same term was applied to a detached closet or
cupboard. At Durham the monks distributed their books--keeping some in
the spendimentum or cancellary, some near the refectory, and the bulk
in the cloister. Two classes of books were in the cancellary: one stored
in a large closet with folding doors, called an armariolum, and used by
all the monks; the other kept in an inner room, and apparently reserved
for special uses. The books assigned to the reader in the refectory were
stored by the doorway leading to the infirmary, and not in the refectory
itself, as we should expect: maybe this arrangement was exceptional, and
was adopted for special reasons of convenience. Probably two places were
reserved for books in the cloister. One case or chest contained the
books of the novices, whose place of study was in that part of the
cloister facing the treasury. The main store was on the north side of
the cloister. “And over against the carrells against the church wall did
stande sertaine great almeries of waynscott all full of bookes, wherein
dyd lye as well the old auncyent written Doctors of the church as other
prophane authors, with dyverse other holie mens wourks, so that every
one dyd studye what Doctor pleased them best, havinge the librarie at
all tymes to goe studie in besydes there carrells.”[230] Dr. J. W.
Clark, the leading authority on early library fittings, has tried to
show, from evidences of a similar arrangement at Westminster, that this
part of the cloister formed a long room, with glazed windows and
carrells on the one hand, bookcases on the other, and screens at each
end shutting off the library and writing-place from the rest of the
cloister.[231]
Along the south wall of the cloister at Chester is a series of recesses
which are believed to have been used for bookcases. Two recesses for
aumbries are still to be seen in the cloister at Worcester: it is
recorded that one book, the _Speculum Spiritualium_, was to be
delivered “to ye cloyster awmery.” At Beaulieu the arched recesses in
the south wall of the church may have been put to a similar use. These
recesses are shown on the plan here reproduced; so also is the common
aumbry in the wall of the south transept.
[Illustration: PLAN SHOWING DISPOSITION OF BOOKS IN CISTERCIAN HOUSES]
In large continental houses a bookroom was sometimes needed very early.
One of the monasteries of Cassiodorus included a special room for the
library, with at least nine presses in it.[232] At St. Gall, a special
bookroom was planned, if not actually built, as early as the ninth
century. According to the old drawing still preserved at St. Gall, this
room was to be on the north side of the presbytery, symmetrically with
the sacristy on the south side. It was in two stories. The ground floor
was to be arranged as a writing-room,--_infra sedes scribentium_,--the
furniture being a large table in the centre, and seven writing-desks
against the walls. The upper story was the library.[233] In England we
hear of bookrooms oftenest in the fifteenth century, They were a usual
feature in later Cistercian houses. The plan just given shows the
position of this room between the church and the chapter-house, and not
far from the common claustral aumbry. At Whalley Abbey, also a
Cistercian house, there was evidently a separate library room, because
an inventory of the house’s goods taken in 1537 refers to the “litle
Revestry next unto the lebrary.”[234] Kirkstall and Furness also had
bookrooms. On each side of the massive arch of the Chapter House at
Furness Abbey is a similar arch leading to a small square room, most
likely used for books. The illustrations facing this show the position
of these rooms on either side of the Chapter House doorway. An extant
catalogue of another Cistercian house, that of Meaux in Yorkshire,
clearly indicates the whereabouts of the conventual books. Some church
books were before the great altar, others were in the choir, a few in
the infirmary chapel, and in the common press and other presses of the
church. The bulk of them was in the common aumbry, not apparently in the
open cloister, but in a room off the cloister. Over the door, on a shelf
or in a cupboard, were four Psalters; thirty-six books were on
[Illustration: _PLATE XV_
FURNESS ABBEY: CLOISTERS
FURNESS ABBEY: CHAPTER-HOUSE. INTERIOR]
the top shelf on the other side of the room; the remainder, to the
number of about 270, were on other shelves marked by letters of the
alphabet.[235]
At the Premonstratensian Abbey of Titchfield the books were stored in a
small room, in four cases, each having eight shelves. We do not
positively know that a separate room existed at the Benedictine house of
Christ Church, Canterbury, before the fifteenth century, “yet,” as Dr.
James says, “the form of Prior Eastry’s catalogue, with its division
into Demonstrations and Distinctions, irresistibly suggests that the
collection must in his time [1284-1331] have occupied a special room, of
which the two Demonstrations represent the two sides. The Distinctions
would be narrow vertical divisions of these, and each of them would have
its numerous subdivisions into Gradus. As the best English equivalent of
_Demonstratio_ I would suggest the word ‘Display,’ which fairly gives
the idea of a wall-surface covered with books; and I figure the building
to myself as an enlarged example of those Cistercian bookrooms with
which Dr. J. W. Clark’s researches have familiarized us. It would thus
be no place for study, such as the later libraries were, but merely a
storeroom whence books were fetched to be read at leisure in the
cloister.”[236] Between 1414 and 1443 a library was built over the
Prior’s Chapel by Archbishop Chichele: it was about sixty-two feet long
on the north side, fifty-four on the south side, and twenty-two feet
broad. This was the room which Prior Selling fitted up with wainscot,
and put books in for the benefit of the studious.[237] At St.
Augustine’s Abbey, Canterbury, there was a bookroom in 1340, for the
manuscript of the _Ayenbite of Inwyt_ contains a note that it belongs to
the “bochouse.”[238] The form of the catalogue of _c._ 1497 also
suggests that a bookroom was then in use.
At Gloucester a special room was built, probably in the fourteenth
century. Durham apparently did without a room until early in the
fifteenth century. “There ys a lybrarie in the south angle of the
lantren, whiche is nowe above the clocke, standinge betwixt the
Chapter-House and the Te Deum wyndowe, being well replenished with ould
written Docters and other histories and ecclesiasticall writers.”[239]
To this room the books were transferred gradually from the cloister and
chancellary: the words “in libraria,” or “Ponitur in libraria,” being
written in the margin of the catalogue opposite to the book upon its
removal.
The Benedictine houses of Winchester, Worcester, Bury St. Edmunds,[240]
and St. Albans also had special bookrooms.
For the safe keeping of the conventual books the precentor was
responsible.[241] As he had charge of the armarium or press for storing
books, he was also sometimes styled “armarius.” He was required to keep
clean all the boys’ and novices’ presses and other receptacles for
books; when necessary he was to have these fittings repaired. To provide
coverings for the books; to see that they were marked with their proper
titles; to arrange them on the shelves in suitable order, so that they
might be quickly found, were all duties within his province.[242] He had
to keep them in repair: in some houses he was expected to examine all
of them carefully several times a year, and to check, if possible, the
ravages of bookworms and damp. If necessary, he could call in skilled
labour to keep his library and books in order; but usually several
brethren were trained in the necessary arts, as at Sponheim. The
Abingdon regulations, which are in the usual form, forbade him to sell,
give away, or pledge books. All the materials for the use of the scribes
and the manuscripts for copying were to be provided by him.[243] He made
the ink, and could dole it out not only to the brethren but to lay folk
if they asked for it civilly.[244] He also controlled the work in the
scriptorium: setting the scribes their tasks, preventing them from
idling or talking; walking round the cloister when the bell sounded to
collect the books which had been forgotten by careless monks.
As a rule the monks so highly prized their books--saving them first, for
example, in time of danger, as when the Lombards attacked Monte Cassino
and the Huns St. Gall--that rules for the care of them would seem almost
superfluous. Still, such rules were made. When reading, the monks of
some houses were required to wrap handkerchiefs round the books, or to
hold them with the sleeve of their robe. Coverings, perhaps washable,
were put upon books much in use.[245] The Carthusian brethren were
exhorted in their statutes to take all possible care to keep the books
they were reading clean and free from dust.[246] Elsewhere we have
referred to an “explicit” urging readers to have a care for the scribe’s
writing: in another manuscript once belonging to Corbie, the kind reader
is bidden to keep his fingers off the pages lest he should mar the
writing on them--a man who knows nothing of the scribe’s business cannot
realize how heavy it is, for though only three fingers hold the pen, the
whole body toils.[247]
§ III
One of the precentor’s chief duties was to regulate lending books. At
Abingdon he could only lend to outsiders upon a pledge of equal or
greater value than the book required, and even so could only lend to
churches near by and to persons of good standing. It was deemed
preferable to confiscate the pledge than to proceed against a defaulting
borrower. In some houses more than a pledge was demanded if the book
were lent for transcription, the borrower being required to send a copy
when he returned the manuscript. “Make haste to copy these quickly,”
wrote St. Bernard’s secretary, “and send them to me; and, according to
my bargain, cause a copy to be made for me. And both these which I have
sent you, and the copies, as I have said, return them to me, and take
care that I do not lose a single tittle.”[248] The extra copy was
demanded, not so much for purposes of gain as to put a check upon
borrowing, a practice which many abbots did not encourage, on account of
the danger of loss. Books, like gloves, are soon lost. We can well
understand how uncommonly easy it was to forget to return a coveted
manuscript. To help borrowers to overcome the insidious temptation, the
scribe sometimes wrote upon the manuscript the name of the monastery it
belonged to, and threatened a defaulter with anathema. In some of the
St. Albans’ books is the following note in Latin: “This book is St.
Alban’s book: he who takes it from him or destroys the title be
anathema.”[249] The prior and convent of Rochester threatened to
pronounce sentence of damnation on anyone who stole or hid the Latin
translation of Aristotle’s _Physics_, or even obliterated the
title.[250] Apparently no fate was too bad for the thief who took the
Vulgate Bible: let him die the death; let him be frizzled in a pan; the
falling sickness and fever should rage in him; he should be broken on
the wheel and hanged; Amen.[251] Two curious notes are to be found in a
manuscript of the works of Augustine and Ambrose in the Bodleian
Library. “This book belongs to St. Mary of Robert’s Bridge: whoever
steals it, or sells it, or takes it away from this house in any way, or
injures it, let him be anathema-maranatha.” Underneath, another hand has
written: “I, John, bishop of Exeter, do not know where the said house
is: I did not steal this book, but got it lawfully.”[252] In a beautiful
manuscript of Chaucer’s _Troilus_, not perhaps a conventual book, occurs
the following:--
“he that thys Boke rentt or stelle
God send hym sekenysse swart (?) of helle.”[253]
All the same, losses were common. About 1290 William of Pershore, once a
Benedictine monk, and at the time a Grey Friar, returned to his old
order at Westminster, and took with him some books. A big dispute arose
over this apostate, and one of the items of the subsequent settlement
was that the Westminster monks should return the books.[254]
A similar thing took place in Scotland (1331). A friar of Roxburgh
forsook his grey habit for the Cistercian white by entering Kelso Abbey.
He made his new associates envious with an account of the goods of the
friaries at Roxburgh and Berwick. They persuaded him and two other
apostate friars to rob these convents of the “Bibles, chalices, and
other sacred books,” and, with the aid of night, the enterprise met with
more success than they deserved.[255]
The prior and convent of Ely traced some of their books to Paris. They
wrote to Edward III (1332): “Because a robber has taken out of our
church four books of great value, viz.--The Decretum, Decretals, the
Bible and Concordance, of which the first three are now at Paris,
arrested and detained under sequestration by the officer of the Bishop
of Paris, whom our proctor has often prayed in form of law to deliver
them, but he behaves so strangely that we shall find in him neither
right, grace, nor favour:--We ask you to write to the Bishop of Paris to
intermeddle favourably and tell his official to do right, so that we may
get our things back.”[256] In 1396-7 William, prior of Newstead, and a
brother canon, proceeded against John Ravensfield for the return of a
book by Richard of Hampole, entitled _Pricke of Conscience_, “and now
the parties aforesaid are agreed by the licence of the court, and the
said John is in ‘misericordia’; he paid the amercement in the
hall.”[257] Another record tells us of two monks of Christ Church,
Canterbury, being sent into Cambridgeshire to recover a book.
The risk of loss owing to the practice of lending books was great--how
great may be judged from the fact that of the equal portions of the
Peterhouse College library of 1418, 199 volumes of the chained portion
remain, but only ten of all those assigned to the Fellows are left.[258]
In spite of the risk, lending was extensively carried on. In one year
(1343), for example, the unimportant priory of Hinton lent no fewer than
twenty books to another monastery.[259] Then again, it was thought to be
only common charity to lend books to poor students, and in 1212 a
council at Paris actually forbade monks to refuse to lend books to the
poor, and requested them to divide their libraries into two
divisions--one for the use of the brothers, the other for lending.[260]
Whether this ever became a practice in England is more than doubtful.
But seculars of position or influence appear to have been able to borrow
monastic books. For example, in 1320, the prior and convent of Ely
acknowledge receiving ten books from the executors of a rector of
Balsham, who had borrowed them.[261] Some years later, at an audit of
books of Christ Church, Canterbury, seventeen manuscripts--thirteen of
them on law--were noted as in the hands of seculars, among whom was
Edward II.[262]
Lending books to brethren in the monastery was conducted according to
strict rules, of which those of Lanfranc, based on the Cluniac
observances, afford a good example. Before the brethren went into
chapter on the Monday after the first Sunday in Lent, the librarian laid
out on a carpet in the chapter-house all the books which were not on
loan. After the assembly of the brethren, the librarian read his
register of the books lent to the monks. Each brother, on hearing his
name, returned the book which had been entrusted to him. If he had not
made good use of the book, he was expected to prostrate himself, confess
his neglect, and beg forgiveness. When all books were returned, others
were issued, and a new record made. In some monasteries the abbot would
question the monks on the books they had read, to test their knowledge
of them, and whenever the answers were unsatisfactory would lend the
same books again instead of fresh ones. As a rule only one book was
issued at a time, so that the monk had plenty of time to digest its
contents. In Carthusian houses two books were lent at a time. Sick
brethren were freely permitted to borrow books for their solace, but
such books were returned to the library nightly, at lighting-up time.
Among the Cluniacs it was the custom to take stock of the books given
out to the monks once a year; while the Franciscans kept a register of
their books, and every year it was read and corrected before the convent
in assembly.[263]
An excellent example of a stocktaking record made at Christ Church,
Canterbury, has been preserved. The inspection took place in 1337. First
are recorded the books missing from the two “demonstrations,” as
recorded “in magnis tabulis,” _e.g._,
Primo: deficit liber Transfiguratus in Crucifixum, ad quem est in
nota Frater W. de Coventre.
Nineteen books were missing from the two “demonstrations,” or displays.
Nineteen service books were missing “in parvis tabulis.” No less than
thirty-eight books, twenty-eight of them for service, either of the
large or the small tables, were wanting: for these deceased brethren had
been responsible.[264]
The “large tables” are believed to be boards whereon the borrowers of
books had their names and borrowings noted. “I find,” writes Dr. James,
“in a St. Augustine’s manuscript a note written on the fly-leaf by a
monk, of the books ‘pro quibus scribor in tabula’--‘for which I am down
on the board.’”[265] Large tables were in use at Pembroke College,
Cambridge; probably they were of a similar kind. “And let the said
keeper,”--so the statute runs--“have ready large pieces of board
(_tabulas magnas_), covered with wax and parchment, that the titles of
the books may be written on the parchment, and the names of the Fellows
who hold them on the wax beside it.”[266] Monastic catalogues were
sometimes written on such boards. At Cluni, Mabillon and Martène found
the catalogue inscribed on parchment-covered boards three feet and a
half long and a foot and a half wide--great tablets which closed
together like a book.
Besides the example of an audit at Canterbury we have one belonging to
Durham, a little later in date (1416). The list of books assigned to the
Spendement was evidently read over, and a tick or point was put against
every volume found in its place. On a second check certain books were
accounted for, and notes of their whereabouts were added to the
inventory. Some were found in the cloister, others were in the library;
the prior of Finchale had a number; many had been sent to Oxford. In one
case a book is noted as given to Bishop Kempe of London.[267]
The catalogue was usually a simple inventory. Sometimes the entries were
classified, as in the case of a catalogue of the York library of the
Friars Eremites of the Augustinian order. The fifteenth-century
catalogue of St. Augustine’s, Canterbury, is classified under sixteen
headings, but it is probably incomplete.[268] As a rule the entries were
only just sufficient to identify the books: all the treatises in a
volume were not often recorded, but only the title of the first. This is
an entry from a Durham catalogue:--
F. Legenda Sanctorum, sive Passionarum pro mensibus
Februaria et Marcii. II. fo., non surrexerunt.
The letter F was employed as a distinctive mark. The note “II. fo., non
surrexerunt” signifies that the second folio began with these words, and
was used as the most convenient method of distinguishing two copies of
the same book, for it would rarely happen that one scribe would begin
the second sheet with the same word as another. In some houses the
practice was extended to printed books in the sixteenth century; and
consequently no fewer that nearly four hundred editions have been named
in the catalogue of Syon monastery.[269] In some other catalogues the
information given was fuller. The catalogue of Syon notes first the
press-mark in a bold hand; then on the left side the donor’s name, and
on the opposite side the words of the second folio; and beneath the
description of the book.
GRAUNTE P 1^{m} indutu_m_ est
Biblia perpulcra et completa cum interpretacionibus.
¶ Tabula sentencialis super eandem per totum. ¶ Item
alia tabula expositoria vocabulorum difficilium eiusdem
Biblie.
WOODE P 2 osce 2º
Concordancie cum textu expresso.
The catalogue of St. Augustine’s, already referred to, recorded the
general title of the volume, or of the first treatise in it; the name of
the donor; the other contents of the volume; the first words of the
second leaf, and the press-mark. Where necessary, cross-references were
supplied. The press-marks used for monastic books are generally of two
kinds: press-marks properly so called, or class-marks. At St.
Augustine’s, Canterbury, the distinctions or tiers were numbered, as D
3; and the gradus or shelves of each distinction were numbered, as
[Illustration: _PLATE XVI_
FACSIMILE OF THE LIBRARY CATALOGUE OF SYON MONASTERY]
G 4. A similar method seems to have been adopted for St. Albans; in one
book from that abbey is this mark: “de armariolo 4/A et quarto gradu
liber quartus.”[270] But such a mark assigned a book to one particular
place and fixed its relation to other books. Consequently, if any large
accession were made to the library, the classification of the books in
broad subject-divisions could only be maintained by the alteration of
many press-marks, both on the books and in the catalogue. At Titchfield
each class was marked with a letter of the alphabet, and the shelves
bearing it were numbered: thus a book might be assigned to G 2, or class
G, shelf 2.[271] This method of marking was more flexible. But at Syon
Monastery the books were arranged quite independently of the presses and
shelves; each volume receiving a different number, as well as a
class-letter.
The most elaborate example of monkish cataloguing comes from Dover
Priory, a cell belonging to Canterbury. One John Whytefield compiled it
in 1389. The note preceding the catalogue tells of unbounded enthusiasm
for the library and a meticulous regard for order. No better proof of
the care taken of books by most monks could be found. The catalogue is
in three parts. First there is a brief inventory of the books as they
are arranged on the shelves. This is a shelf-list designed for the use
of the precentor; just the sort of record modern librarians regard as
indispensable in the administration of their libraries. Secondly, our
industrious monk has provided a catalogue,--a repetition of the
shelf-list, but with all the contents of each volume set out. His chief
aim in making this compilation is to show up fully the resources of his
collection, and to lead studious brethren to read zealously and
frequently. Lastly, an analytical index to the catalogue is supplied:
it is in alphabetical order, and is intended to point out to the user
the whereabouts in a volume of any individual treatise. A similar index,
by the way, is appended to the catalogue of Syon monastery.[272] The
library seems to have been spread over nine tiers (distinctions) of
book-casing, each marked with a letter of the alphabet. A tier had seven
shelves (_gradus_) marked by Roman numeral figures, the numbers
beginning from the bottom of the tier. Each book bore a small Arabic
figure which fixed its order on the shelf. The full press-mark of a book
was therefore A. V. 4. Such marks were written inside the books and on
their bindings. On the second, third, or fourth leaf of a book, or
thereabouts, the title was written on the bottom margin, with the
press-mark and the first words of that leaf. All these marks were copied
in the inventory or shelf-list: first the tier letter, then the shelf
number, afterwards the book number; followed by the title, the number of
the leaf whence the identifying words were taken, then the identifying
words, with the number of leaves in the volume, and finally the number
of tracts it contains. Here are some entries:--
A. v.
+-----------+-----------+------------+------------+----------+------------+
| Ordo | Nomina | Loca | Dicciones |Summa | Numerus |
|locacionis.|voluminum. |probacionum.|probatorie. |ffoliorum.|contentorum.|
+-----------+-----------+------------+------------+----------+------------+
| 1 |Psalterium | 6 |apprehendite| 105 | 1 |
| | vetus | | disci | | |
| | glosatum | | | | |
| 2 |Prima pars | 4 |cument que | 195 | 2 |
| | psalterii| | il lait | | |
| | glosata | | | | |
| | gallice | | | | |
| 3 |Glose super| |nullas | 104 | 2 |
| | spalterio| 6 | habebunt | | |
| | | | veri | | |
+-----------+-----------+------------+------------+----------+------------+
In the second part, or catalogue following the shelf-list, are set out
the tier letter, shelf number, book number, short title; then the number
of the folio on which each tract in a volume begins, and finally the
first words of the tract itself.[273]
Most books were bound by the monks themselves. The commonest materials
used for ordinary manuscripts were wooden boards, covered with deerskin
and calfskin, either coloured red or used in its natural tint, and
parchment usually stained or painted red or purple. Charles the Great
authorised the Abbot of St. Bertin to enjoy hunting rights so that the
monks could get skins for binding. In mid-ninth century, Geoffroi
Martel, Count of Anjou, commanded that the tithe of the roeskins
captured in the island of Oléron should be used to bind the books in an
abbey of his foundation. Few monastic bindings have been preserved,
because many great collectors have had their manuscripts rebound.
Several examples of Winchester work remain. Mr. Yates Thompson has a
mid-twelfth century manuscript bound in the monastic style, the leather
being stamped with cold irons of many curious rectangular shapes. The
manuscript of the Winton Domesday has a binding with stamps exactly like
those on Mr. Thompson’s book. “At Durham in the last half of the twelfth
century there was an equally important school of binding, with some one
hundred and fourteen different stamps. The binding for Hugh Pudsey’s
Bible has nearly five hundred impressions.”[274] In Pembroke College
library an excellent specimen of twelfth century stamped binding remains
on MS. 147. Such stamps were small, and frequently of geometrical or
floral design, always rudimentary; but animals of the quaintest
form--grotesque birds and dragons--were also introduced. A hammer or
mallet was employed to obtain an impression from the stamp. Sometimes
the oak boards were not covered with skin but were painted.
If a book was specially prized the binding was often rich. The covers of
the Gospels of Lindau, a superb example of Carolingian art, bear nearly
five hundred gems encrusted in gold.[275] Abbot Paul of St. Albans gave
to his church two books adorned with gold and silver and gems. Abbot
Godfrey of Malmesbury, partly to meet a heavy tax imposed by William
Rufus, stripped twelve Gospels of their decorations. “Books are clothed
with precious stones,” cried St. Jerome, “whilst Christ’s poor die in
nakedness at the door.”[276] In spite of the many references to jewelled
monastic bindings in medieval records, very few are extant.
[Illustration: _PLATE XVII_
MEDIEVAL BINDING: MR. YATES THOMPSON’S HEGESIPPUS]