ACADEMIC LIBRARIES: OXFORD
“Ingenia hominum rem publicam fecerunt.”
§ I
Probably a few scribes plied their craft in Oxford in early days long
before the students began to make a settlement, for the town had been a
flourishing borough, one of the largest in England. But until the end of
the twelfth century we hear nothing about books and their makers or
users in Oxford. Then we find illuminators, bookbinders, parchmenters,
and a scribe referred to in a document relating to the sale of land in
Cat Street. This record is very significant, as it suggests the active
employment of book-makers in the centre of Oxford’s student life. St.
Mary’s Church was the hub. Cat Street, School Street running parallel
with it from High Street to the north boundary, and Schydyard Street,
the continuation of School Street on the southern side of High Street,
alleys of the usual medieval narrowness and mean appearance, the
buildings on either hand almost touching one another, and the way
dark--were the haunts of masters and scholars and all those depending on
them. Students, old and young, of high station and low, are crowded in
lodging-houses, many of which are shabby, dirty, and disreputable. Hence
they come forth to play their games or carry on their feuds. Some haunt
taverns and worse places. Others eke out their means by begging at
street corners. All get their teaching by gathering round masters whose
rostrum is the church doorstep or the threshold of the lodging-house.
Amid the manifold distractions of this queerly-ordered life the maker
and seller of books earns what living he can; his chief patrons being
indigent masters, who often must starve themselves to get books, and
students so poor that pawning becomes a custom regulated by the
University itself.
Not till the University became firmly established as a corporate body
could a common library be formed. The beginning was simple. The first
books reserved for common use had their home in St. Mary’s Church: some
lay in chests, and were lent in exchange for a suitable pledge; others
were chained to desks so that students could readily refer to them.
These books were almost certainly theological in character, and all were
no doubt given by benefactors, now unknown. Such a gift was received
early in the thirteenth century from Roger de L’Isle, Dean of York, who
gave a Bible, divided into four parts for the convenience of copyists,
and the Book of Exodus, glossed, but old and of little value.[338]
Possibly some books remained in the church even after an independent
library was founded, for as late as 1414 a copy of Nicholas de Lyra was
chained in the chancel for public use, where it was inspected by the
Chancellor and proctors every year.[339]
To a “good clerk” who had gathered his learning at three
Universities--the arts at Paris, canon law at Oxford, and theology at
Cambridge--the University library appropriately owes its origin. Bishop
Cobham left his books
[Illustration: _PLATE XXIII_
ILLUMINATOR OF ST. ALBANS
DOCUMENT TRANSFERRING LAND IN OXFORD, BEARING THE NAMES OF SEVEN MEMBERS
OF THE BOOK TRADE, C. 1180]
and three hundred and fifty marks for this purpose in 1327. He had
proposed to build a two-storied building, the lower chamber to be the
Congregation House, and the upper a library; or perhaps the Congregation
House was already standing, and he had the idea of adding another story,
for use as an oratory and library. Therein his books would bide when he
died.[340] Not till long after his death was the building completed. His
books did not come to the University without much trouble. Bequests were
elusive in the Middle Ages, for people sometimes dreamed of projects
they could not realize while they lived, and sanguinely hoped their
executors would win prayers for the dead by successfully stretching poor
means to a good end. Cobham died in debt. His books were pawned to
settle his estate and pay for his funeral. Adam de Brome redeemed the
pledges, and handed them over, not to the University, but to his
newly-founded college of Oriel.[341] In peace the books were enjoyed at
Oriel until four years after de Brome’s death. The Fellows claimed them,
it appears, not only because he redeemed them, but because, as
impropriating rectors of the church, both building and library were
theirs, they argued, by right. The University was equally persistent in
its claim. At last, ten years after Cobham’s death, the Commissary,
taking mean advantage of the small number of Fellows in residence in
autumn, went to Oriel with “a multitude of others,” and brought the
books away by force. Thereafter the University held them, but it took
nearly seventy years to settle the dispute about them, and to decide the
ownership of the Congregation House (1410).[342]
Long before 1410 the “good clerk’s” books had been made of real service
to students. Fittings were put up in the library room (1365). Then
regulations for managing the library were drawn up (1367). The books
were to be put in the chamber over the Congregation House, marshalled in
convenient order and chained. There, at certain times, scholars were to
have access to them. Now first appeared upon the scene a University
librarian. The University’s means were slender, and £40 worth of the
books were sold to provide a stipend for a chaplain-librarian: in place
of these books others of less value were bought; probably some of
Cobham’s books were finely illuminated, and the intention was to
purchase less costly copies in their stead. The chaplain was to pray for
the souls of Cobham and of University benefactors; and to have the
charge of the bishop’s books, of the books in the chests, and of any
books coming to the University afterwards.[343]
We can easily imagine what the library was like. The chamber over the
Congregation House is small, scarcely larger than the average class-room
of to-day; lighted by seven windows on each side. Between some, if not
all, of the windows bookcases would stand at right angles to the wall,
forming little alcoves, fit for the quiet pursuit of knowledge. Learning
itself was shackled. Chains from a bar running the length of each case
secured the books, which could only be read on the slope fixed a few
feet above the floor. In each alcove was a bench for readers to sit
upon. A large and conspicuous board, with titles and names of
benefactors written upon it in a fair hand, hung up in the room.[344]
Here then would come the flower of Oxford scholarship to study, any time
after eight in the morning. Every student is welcome if he does not
enter in wet clothing, or bring in ink, or a knife, or dagger. We like
to picture this small room, fitted with solid, rude furniture, monastic
in its austerity of appearance; full of students working eagerly in
their quest for knowledge--making extracts in pencil, or with styles on
their tablets, amid a silence broken only by the crackle of vellum
leaves, and the rattle of a chain.
Such a picture would perhaps be overdrawn. Young Oxford was not always
quiet, or whole-heartedly studious. The liberal regulations seem to have
been liable to abuse. Students soiled and damaged the books. The little
room was more than full: it was overcrowded with scholars, and with
“throngs of visitors” who disturbed the readers. After 1412 only
graduates and religious who had studied philosophy for eight years could
enter the library, and while there they must be robed. Even such mature
students had to make solemn oath, in the Chancellor’s presence, to use
the books properly: make no erasures or blots, or otherwise spoil the
precious writing.[345] Under these regulations the library was open from
nine to eleven in the morning, and from one to four in the afternoon,
Sundays and mass days excepted. Strangers of eminence and the Chancellor
could pay a visit at any time by daylight. The chaplain, who was to be a
man of parts, of proved morality and uprightness, now received 106s. 8d.
a year. The Proctors were bound to pay this stipend half-yearly, with
punctuality, or be fined the heavy sum of forty shillings: the chaplain,
it is explained, must have no grievance to nurse--no ground for carrying
out his duties in a slovenly or perfunctory manner. He, indeed, was an
important officer. For health’s sake he must have a month’s holiday
during the long vacation. As it was absurd for him to have fewer
perquisites than those below him in station, every beneficed graduate,
at graduation, was required to give him robes.[346] The finicking
character of these regulations suggests that the University
statute-maker had as great a dislike for “understandings” as Dr.
Newman.
Thus was established firmly, in the early years of the fifteenth
century, a University Library, an important resort of students; the
proper place, as the common rendezvous of members of the University, for
publishing the Lollard doctrines condemned at London in 1411. No town in
England was better supplied with libraries than Oxford, for besides the
collections of the University, the monastic colleges and the convents,
libraries were already formed at Merton, University, Oriel and New
Colleges. Such progress in providing scholars’ armouries is remarkable,
the greater part of it being accomplished during a period of great
social and religious unrest--not the unrest of a wind-fretted surface,
but of a grim and far-sweeping underswell--a period when pestilence,
violent tempests and earthquakes, seemed bodeful of Divine displeasure;
not a time surely when the studious life would be attractive, or when
much care would be taken to establish libraries, unless indeed
controversy made recourse to books more necessary or the signs of the
times gave birth to a greater number of benefactors.[347]
But the University library was to become the richest and most
considerable in the town. Benefactors were well greeted. Besides praying
for their souls--and some of them, like Bishop Reed, were pathetically
anxious about the prayers--the University showed every reasonable sign
of its gratitude: posted up donors’ names in the library itself;
submitted each gift to congregation three days after receiving it, and
within twelve days later had it chained
[Illustration: _PLATE XXIV_
DUKE HUMFREY AND ELEANOR OF GLOUCESTER JOINING THE CONFRATERNITY OF ST.
ALBANS
ANCIENT ROOF OF DUKE HUMFREY’S LIBRARY, SHOWING THE ARMS OF THE
UNIVERSITY AND OF SIR THOMAS BODLEY]
up.[348] Many gifts of books were received, some from the highest in the
land: from King Henry the Fourth and his warlike and ambitious
sons--Henry V, Clarence, Bedford, and Gloucester; from Edmund, Earl of
March; from prelates--Archbishop Arundel, Repyngton of Lincoln, Courtney
of Norwich, and Molyneux of Chichester; from great Abbot Whethamstede of
St. Albans; from wealthy Archdeacon Browne or Cordone; from rich
citizens of London--Thomas Knolles the grocer and T. Grauntt; and from
Henry VI’s physician, John Somersett. John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester,
also promised books worth five hundred marks, but after his death they
did not come to hand.[349]
By far the most generous of friends was the Duke of Gloucester, whose
first gift was made before 1413,[350] and his last when he died in 1447.
His record as the helper and protector of Oxford, his patronage of
learning, and of such exponents of it as Titus Livius of Forli, Leonardo
Bruni, Lydgate and Capgrave, the fact that, notwithstanding his “staat
and dignyte,”
“His courage never doth appall
To study in bokes of antiquitie,”
earned for him the name of the “good” duke--an appellation to which the
shady labyrinth of his career as a politician, as a persecutor of the
Lollards, and as a licentious man, did not entitle him. But then
Oxford--and its library--was most in need of such a friend as this
English Gismondo Malatesta; not only on account of his generosity, but
because his royal connexions enabled him to exert influence on the
University’s behalf, both at home and abroad.
Of the character of the Duke’s gifts in 1413 and in
[Illustration: OLD VIEW OF DUKE HUMFREY’S LIBRARY.]
1430 we know nothing: in 1435 he gave books and money, but how many
books or how much money is not recorded. Three years later the
University sought another gift from him, and he forthwith sent no fewer
than 120 volumes (1439).[351] The University’s gratitude was unbounded.
On certain festivals during the Duke’s lifetime prayers were to be said
for him, within ten days after he died a funeral service was to be
celebrated, and on every anniversary of his death he and his consort
were to be commemorated.[352] Their letters were fulsome: as a founder
of libraries he was compared with Julius Cæsar--a compliment also paid
him about the same time by Pier Candid Decembrio; Parliament was
besought to thank him “hertyly, and also prey Godd to thanke hym in tyme
commyng, wher goode dedys ben rewarded”;[353] as a prince he was most
serene and illustrious, lord of glorious renown, son of a king, brother
of a king, uncle of a king, “the very beams of the sun himself”; as a
donor, as greatly and munificently liberal as the recipients were lowly
and humble.[354]
Congregation further marked its appreciation by decreeing a fresh set of
library regulations. A new register, containing a list of the books
already given, was to be made, and deposited in the chest “of five
keys”; lists were also to be written in the statute books. No volume was
to be sold, given away, exchanged, pledged, lent to be copied, or
removed from the library--except when it needed repair, or when the Duke
himself wanted to borrow it, as he could, though only under
indenture.[355] All books for the study of the seven liberal arts--the
_trivium_ and the _quadrivium_--and the three philosophies were to be
kept in a chest called the “chest of the three philosophies and the
seven sciences”; a name suggesting a talisman, like the golden fleece or
the Holy Grail, for which one would exchange the world and all its ways.
The librarian had charge of this wonderful chest. From it, by indenture,
he could lend books--apparently these books were excepted from the
general rule--to masters of arts lecturing in these subjects, or, if
there were no lecturers, to principals of halls and masters. And,
following older custom, a stationer set upon each book a price greater
than its real value, to lead borrowers to take more care of it.[356]
From a manuscript preserved in the library of Earl Fitzwilliam at
Wentworth Woodhouse are taken the following curious lines indicating
the character and arrangement of his books:--
“At Oxenford thys lord his bookis fele [many]
Hath eu’y clerk at werk. They of hem gete
Metaphisic; phisic these rather feele;
They natural, moral they rather trete;
Theologie here ye is with to mete;
Him liketh loke in boke historial.
In deskis XII hym selve as half a strete
Hath boked their librair uniu’al.”[357] [universal]
A year later Gloucester sent 7 more books; then after a while 9 more
(1440-41);[358] and a little later still his largest gift, amounting to
135 volumes. These handsome accessions made the collection the finest
academic library in England, not excepting the excellent library of 380
volumes then at Peterhouse. It had a character of its own. The usual
overwhelming mass of Bibles, of church books, of the Fathers and the
Schoolmen does not depress us with its disproportion. The collection was
strong in astronomy and medicine: Ptolemy, Albumazar, Rhazes, Serapion,
Avicenna, Haly Abenragel, Zaæl, and others were all represented. Besides
these, there was a fine selection of the classics--Plato, Aristotle,
including the _Politica_ and _Ethica_, Æschines’ orations, Terence,
Varro’s _De Originae linguae Latinae_, Cicero’s letters, Verrine and
other orations, and “opera viginti duo Tullii in magno volumine,” Livy,
Ovid, Seneca’s tragedies, Quintilian, Aulus Gellius, _Noctes Atticae_,
the _Golden Ass_ of Apuleius, and Suetonius. But the most interesting
items in the list of his books are the new translations of Plato, and of
Aristotle, whose _Ethica_ was rendered by Leonardo Bruni; the Greek and
Latin dictionary; and the works of Dante, Petrarch (_de Vita solitaria,
de Rebus memorandis, de Remediis_
[Illustration: _Plate XXV_
DUKE HUMFREY’S LIBRARY, OXFORD]
_utriusque fortunae_), Boccaccio, and of Coluccio Salutati’s
letters.[359]
The library’s character might still further have been freshened had
Gloucester’s bequest of his Latin books--the books, we may suppose, he
himself prized too highly to part with during his lifetime--been carried
into effect.[360]
“Our right special Lord and mighty Prince the Duke of Gloucester, late
passed out of this world,--whose soul God assoil for his high
mercy,--not long before his decease, being in our said University among
all the doctors and masters of the same assembled together, granted unto
us all his Latin books, to the loving of God, increase of clergy and
cunning men, to the good governance and prosperity of the realm of
England without end ... the which gift oftentimes after, by our
messengers, and also in his last testament, as we understand, he
confirmed.” But alas! Gloucester’s bequest was even more elusive than
Cobham’s. These books they could, “by no manner of labours, since he
deceased, obtain.”[361] What followed is interesting. Letters asking for
the books were sent to the king, to Mr. John Somersett, His Majesty’s
physician, “lately come to influence,” to William of Waynflete, provost
of the king’s pet project, Eton College, and much in favour; and to the
king’s chamberlain (1447). As these appeals were unavailing, another
letter was sent to the king in 1450, and several others to influential
persons, some being to Gloucester’s executors; then, in the same year,
the House of Lords was petitioned. All this wire-pulling failed to serve
its end. The University became angry. An outspoken letter was sent to
Master John Somersett, “lately come to influence”: “Our proctor, Mr.
Luke, tells us of your efforts for us to obtain the books given by the
late Duke of Gloucester, and of your intercession with the king in our
cause: also that you propose to add, of your own gift, other books to
his bequest.” All this is very good of you, the letter proceeds, in
effect, “but how is it that, under these circumstances, the Duke’s
books, which came into your custody, are not delivered to us, unless it
be that some powerful influence is exerted to prevent it; for a
steadfast and good man will not be made to swerve from the path of
justice by interest or cupidity. Use your endeavours to get these books:
so do us a good favour; and clear your character.” Three years later it
was discovered the books were scattered and in private hands
(1453),[362] or, as seems likely, at King’s College, Cambridge, and
Eton.
Now the library over the Congregation House was all too small. A
Divinity School seems to have been first projected in 1423; building
began about seven years later;[363] but the work proceeded very slowly,
owing to want of money, which the authorities tried to raise in various
ways, even by granting degrees on easy terms. When Gloucester’s books
came to overcrowd the old library--and the books were chained so closely
together that a student when reading one prevented the use of three or
four books near to it--the idea was apparently first mooted of erecting
a bigger room over the new school, where scholars might study far from
the hum of men (_a strepitu saeculari_). The University sent an appeal
to the Duke for help to carry out this scheme (1445), but he had then
lost power and was in trouble, and does not seem to have responded
favourably, albeit they suggested adroitly the new library should bear
his name.[364] The building was
[Illustration: _PLATE XXVI_
LIBRARY OF CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE, OXFORD]
finished forty years after his death. This ultimate success was due
chiefly to the generosity of Cardinal Beaufort, the Duchess of Suffolk,
and Cardinal Kempe--whose own library was magnificent.[365]
By 1488, then, the University was in full enjoyment of the chamber known
ever since as Duke Humfrey’s Library, the noblest storehouse of books
then existing in England.[366] In the same year an old scholar, not
known by name, gave 31 books, and in 1490 Dr. Litchfield, Archdeacon of
Middlesex, presented 132 volumes and a sum of £200. These gifts mark the
culminating point in the history of the first University library--a
collection over a century and a half old, accumulated slowly by the
forethought and generosity of the University’s friends, only, alas! in a
few years’ time to be almost completely dispersed and destroyed.
§ II
Before speaking of the dispersion of the University collection it will
be well to observe what had been done in the colleges, where libraries
must have formed an important part of the collegiate economy. Books,
indeed, were eagerly sought, carefully guarded and preserved; and
wealthy Fellows--even Fellows not to be described as wealthy--often
proved their affection for their college by giving manuscripts.
The first house of the University, William of Durham’s Hall or
University Hall (now University College), was founded between 1249 and
1292, when its statutes were drawn up. In these statutes are the
earliest regulations of the University for dealing with books in its
possession.[367] It seems clear that the college enjoyed a
library--perhaps of some importance,--with excellent regulations for its
use, at the end of the thirteenth century. What is true of University
College is true also of nearly all the other colleges. Although most of
them were not rich foundations, one of the first efforts of a society
was to collect books for common use. A few years after Merton’s
inception (1264) the teacher of grammar was supplied with books out of
the common purse, and directions were given for the care of books.[368]
To Balliol, Bishop Gravesend of London bequeathed books (1336) some
fifty years after the statutes were given by the founder’s wife.[369]
Four years later Sir William de Felton presented to the college the
advowson of the Church of Abboldesley, so that the number of scholars
could be raised, each could have sufficient clothing, receive
twelvepence a week, and possess in common books relating to the various
Faculties.[370] The earliest reference to the library of Exeter College,
or Stapledon Hall, occurs also about half a century after its
foundation: in 1366 payment was made for copying a book called
_Domyltone_--possibly one of John of Dumbleton’s works. Oriel College
either had a library from its foundation, or the regulations of 1329
were drawn up for Bishop Cobham’s books, which Adam de Brome had
redeemed. In 1375 Oriel certainly had its own library of nearly one
hundred volumes, more than half of them being on theology and
philosophy, with some translations of Aristotle, but otherwise not a
single classic work; a collection to be fairly considered as
representative of the academic libraries of this period.[371] Queen’s
College was one of those to which Simon de Bredon, the astronomer,
bequeathed books in 1368, nearly thirty years after its
foundation.[372] “Seint Marie College of Wynchestr,” or New College,
made a better start than any house (1380). The founder, William of
Wykeham, endowed it with no fewer than 240 or 243 volumes, of which 135
or 138 were theology, 28 philosophy, 41 canon law, 36 civil law;
somebody unnamed, but possibly the founder, presented 37 volumes of
medicine and 15 chained books in the library; and Bishop Reed--also the
good friend of Merton--gave 58 volumes of theology, 2 of philosophy, and
3 of canon law.[373] Lincoln College had a collection of books at its
foundation (1429); Dr. Gascoigne gave 6 manuscripts worth nearly three
pounds apiece (1432); and Robert Flemming, a cousin of the founder,
renowned for his travels and studies and collections in Italy, left a
number of manuscripts, variously estimated at 25 and 38 in number, to
his house. In 1474 this college had 135 manuscripts, stored in seven
presses. Rules for the use of books were included in the first statutes
of All Souls College, founded in 1438. At Magdalen the library had a
magnificent start when William of Waynflete brought with him no fewer
than 800 volumes on his visit in 1481; many of these were printed books.
To tell the story of each of these early college libraries with
continuity is not to our purpose, and is perhaps not feasible. So many
details are lacking. We do not know whether all the libraries, once
started, were constantly maintained; but it is reasonable to assume they
were, as records--a few only--of purchases and donations are preserved.
Usually gifts were made only to the college in which the donor felt
special interest, but sometimes generous men were more catholic. Four
colleges--University, Balliol, Merton, and Oriel--benefited under Bishop
Stephen Gravesend’s will (1336); six--University, Balliol, Merton,
Exeter, Oriel, and Queen’s--under the will of Simon de Bredon,
astronomer and sometime Proctor of the University (1368): in both cases
the testators distributed their gifts among all the secular colleges in
existence at the time.[374] Dr. Thomas Gascoigne gave many books to
Balliol, Oriel, Durham, and Lincoln Colleges (1432).[375] William Reed,
Bishop of Chichester, also was the friend of more than one society, for
New College, as we have seen, got 63 volumes from him, Exeter some
others, and Merton 99.[376] Roger Whelpdale (_d._ 1423) bequeathed books
to Balliol and Queen’s Colleges. Henry _VI_ gave 23 manuscripts to All
Souls College (1440). Robert Twaytes gave books to Balliol in 1451: his
example was followed by George Nevil, Bishop of Exeter and afterwards
Archbishop of York (1455, 1475), Dr. Bole (1478), and John Waltham
(1492). An old Fellow showed his gratitude to University College by
bestowing 68 books, mostly Scriptural commentaries, on its library
(1473). Some of the gifts were smaller.[377] A chancellor of the church
of York bequeathed a single volume to Merton. Bishop Skirlaw--a good
friend of the college in other ways--gave 6 books to University in 1404:
they were to be chained in the library and never lent. Such gifts were
received as gratefully as the larger donations; indeed, it was esteemed
a feather in the cap of the Master that while he held office Skirlaw’s
books were received. Never at any time were books more highly
appreciated than in Oxford of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.
Sometimes gifts took the form of money for a curious purpose. For
example, Robert Hesyl, a country rector, bequeathed the sum of 6s. 8d.
“ad intitulandum nomina librorum in libraria collegii Lincoln:
contentorum, supra dorsa eorum coöperienda cornu et clavis.”[378] But
the colleges did not depend wholly on gifts, for records are preserved
of purchases for Queen’s College in 1366-67;[379] All Souls College
between 1449 and 1460; for Magdalen College between 1481 and 1539; for
Merton College between 1322 and 1379; and for New College between 1462
and 1481.
The growth of the libraries made the provision of special bookrooms a
necessity. A library on the ground floor of University College is
referred to in the Bursar’s Roll (1391). At Merton the books were
originally kept in a chest under three locks. A room was set apart quite
early: books were chained up in it in 1284. In 1354 a carpenter was paid
for fittings and “deskis.” Bishop Reed of Chichester erected a library
building in 1377-79; Wyllyot and John Wendover contributed towards the
cost, which amounted to £462. With the exception of the room thrown into
the south library at its eastern end, of two large dormers, and of the
glass in the west room, the original structure has been altered very
little, and it is therefore one of the best examples of a medieval
library in this country. When the old library of Exeter College was
first used we do not know: it was possibly one of the tenements
originally given to the college by Peter de Skelton and partly repaired
by the founder. Money was disbursed for thatching it in 1375.[380]
Nearly ten years later a new library was put up. Bishop Brantingham and
John More, rector of St. Petrock’s, Exeter, contributed handsomely
towards the cost; another Bishop of Exeter, Edmund Stafford,--in whose
time the name of the house was changed from Stapledon Hall to Exeter
College,--enlarged the building in 1404; and Bishops Grandisson,
Brantingham, Stafford, and Lacy gave books.[381] In the library room
some of the books were chained to desks, and some were kept in
chests.[382] All this points to a flourishing library at Exeter;
although, on occasions when their yearly expenses were heavier than
usual, the Fellows were obliged to pawn books to one of the loan chests
of the University, or even to their barber.[383]
The monastic college of Durham enjoyed a “fayre library, well-desked and
well flowred withe a timber Flowre over it,” built in 1417 and fitted in
1431.[384] Another college belonging to the monks of Christ Church,
Canterbury, also had a library, which had been replenished with books
from the mother-house.[385] In 1431 a library building was begun at
Balliol College by Mr. Thomas Chace, after he had resigned the office of
Master. Bishop William Grey, besides enriching his college with
manuscripts, also completed the home for them (_c._ 1477), on a window
of which are still to be read his name and the name of Robert Abdy, the
Master.
“His Deus adjecit; Deus his det gaudia celi;
Abdy perfecit opus hoc Gray presul et Ely.”[386]
In another window, on the north side, was inscribed--
“Conditor ecce novi structus hujus fuit Abdy.
Praesul et huic Œdi Gray libros contulit Ely.”
The first library of Oriel College, on the east side of the quadrangle,
was not erected until about 1444; before that the books seem to have
been kept in chests, although the collection was large for the
time.[387] As early as 1388-89 payments were made for making desks for
the library of Queen’s College.[388] In the case of New, Lincoln, All
Souls, and Magdalen Colleges, library rooms were included when the
college buildings were first erected. Magdalen’s library was copied from
All Souls: the windows in it were “to be as good as or better than”
those in the earlier foundation.
§ III
Towards the end of the fifteenth century the beginning of the sad end of
all this good work may be traced. Some part of the collections
disappeared gradually. In 1458 books were chained at Exeter College,
because some of them had been taken away. When volumes became damaged
and worn out, they were not replaced by others. Some were pledged, and
although every effort was made to redeem them, as at Exeter College in
1466, 1470, 1472 and 1473, yet it seems certain many were permanently
alienated. Others were perhaps sold, or given away, as John Phylypp gave
away two Exeter College manuscripts in 1468.[389] The University library
was in similar case. When Erasmus saw the scanty remains of this
collection he could have wept. “Before it had continued eighty years in
its flourishing state,” writes Wood of the library, “[it] was rifled of
its precious treasure by unreasonable persons. That several scholars
would, upon small pledges given in, borrow books ... that were never
restored. Polydore Virgil ... borrowed many after such a way; but at
length being denied, did upon petition made to the king obtain his
license for the taking out of any MS. for his use (in order, I suppose,
for the collecting materials for his English History or Chronicle of
England), which being imitated by others, the library thereby suffered
very great loss.” Matters became still worse. Owing to the threatened
suppression of the religious houses, the number of students at Oxford
decreased enormously. In 1535, 108 men graduated, in the next year only
44 did so; until the end of Henry VIII’s reign the average number
graduating was 57, and in Edward’s reign the average was 33.[390]
Naturally, therefore, some laxity crept into the administration of the
University and the colleges. Active enemies of our literary treasures
were not behindhand. In 1535 Dr. Layton, visitor of monasteries,
descended upon Oxford. “We have sett Dunce [Duns Scotus] in Bocardo, and
have utterly banisshede hym Oxforde for ever, with all his blinde
glosses, and is nowe made a comon servant to evere man, faste nailede up
upon postes in all comon howses of easment: id quod oculis meis vidi.
And the seconde tyme we came to New Colege, affter we hade declarede
your injunctions, we fownde all the gret quadrant court full of the
leiffes of Dunce, the wynde blowyng them into evere corner. And ther we
fownde one Mr. Grenefelde, a gentilman of Bukynghamshire, getheryng up
part of the saide bowke leiffes (as he saide) therwith to make hym
sewelles or blawnsherres to kepe the
[Illustration: _Plate XXVII_
MERTON COLLEGE LIBRARY]
dere within the woode, therby to have the better cry with his
howndes.”[391] A commission assembled at Oxford in 1550, and met many
times at St. Mary’s Church. No documentary evidence of their treatment
of libraries remains, but it was certainly most drastic. Any illuminated
manuscript, or even a mathematical treatise illustrated with diagrams,
was deemed unfit to survive, and was thrown out for sale or destruction.
Some of the college libraries did not suffer severely. Most of Grey’s
books survived in Balliol, although the miniatures were cut out.
Queen’s, All Souls, and Merton came through the ordeal nearly unscathed.
But Lincoln lost the books given by Gascoigne and the Italian
importations of Flemming; Exeter College was purged. The University
library itself was entirely dispersed. One of the commissioners, “by
name Richard Coxe, Dean of Christ Church, shewed himself so zealous in
purging this place of its rarities ... that ... savoured of
superstition, that he left not one of those goodly MSS. given by the
before mentioned benefactors. Of all which there were none restored in
Q. Mary’s reign, when then an inquisition was made after them, but only
one of the parts of Valerius Maximus, illustrated with the Commentaries
of Dionysius de Burgo, an Augustine Fryer, and with the Tables of John
Whethamsteed, Abbat of St. Alban’s. That some of the books so taken out
by the Reformers were burnt, some sold away for Robin Hood’s
pennyworths,[392] either to Booksellers, or to Glovers, to press their
gloves, or Taylors to make measures, or to bookbinders to cover books
bound by them, and some also kept by the Reformers for their own use.
That the said library being thus deprived of its furniture was employed,
as the schools were, for infamous uses. That in laying waste in that
manner, and not in a possibility (as the academians thought) of
restoring it to its former estate, they ordered certain persons in a
Convocation (Reg. I. fol. 157ª) held Jan. 25, 1555-56 to sell the
benches and desks therein; so that being stript stark naked (as I may
say) continued so till Bodley restored it.”[393] The only cheerful
reference to this period is that by Wood, who tells us some friendly
people bought in a number of the manuscripts, and ultimately handed them
over to the University after the library’s restoration.[394] But of all
the books given by the Duke of Gloucester only three are now in the
Bodleian, and only three others in Corpus Christi, Oriel, and Magdalen.
The British Museum possesses nine; Cambridge one; private collectors
two. Six are in France: two Latin--both Oxford books--and three French
manuscripts in the Bibliothèque Nationale, and one manuscript at the
Bibliothèque Ste. Geneviève. The Ste. Geneviève book[395] is a
magnificent Livy, once belonging to the famous Louvre Library. It bears
the inscription: “Cest livre est à moy Homfrey, duc de Gloucestre, du
don mon très chier cousin le conte de Warewic.”[396]