[1] James (M. R.), xliv.

[2] Anglia Sacra, i, 245-6; James (M. R), l-li.

[3] MS. Arundel 57, Brit. Mus. See James (M. R.), lxxvii. "This boc is dan Michelis of Northgate, y-write an englis of his ozene hand. thet hatte: Ayenbyte of Inwyt. And is of the bochouse of Saynt Austines of Canterberi. mid the lettres CC." "Ymende, thet this boc is volveld ine the eve of the holy apostles Symon an Judas, of ane brother of the cloystre of Sanynt Austin of Canterberi, ine the yeare of oure Ihordes beringe (birth) 1340."

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."[1] To this room the books were transferred gradually from the cloister and chancellery: the words "in libraria," or "Ponitur in libraria," being written in the margin of the catalogue opposite to the book upon its removal.

[1] Surtees Soc., xv., Durham Rites, 26.

The Benedictine houses of Winchester, Worcester, Bury St. Edmunds,[1] and St. Albans also had special bookrooms.

[1] C. 1429-45. Most likely over the cloister. The books seem to have been arranged flat on sloping desks, to which they were chained.—James (M. R.) 1, 41.

For the safe keeping of the conventual books the preceptor was responsible.[1] 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.[2] 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.[3] He made the ink, and could dole it out not only to the brethren but to lay folk if they asked for it civilly.[4] 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.

[1] Chron. mon. de Abingd., ii. 373.

[2] Hardy, iii. xiii.

[3] Chron. mon. de Abingd., ii. 371; Customary of St. August., Cant. (H. Brads. Soc.), introd.

[4] Customary of St. August., i. 96; ii. 36.

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.[1] 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.[2] 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.[3]

[1] Panni, camisiae librorium.

[2] Stat. ant. ord Carthus., c. xvi. Section 9.

[3] MS. Lat. 12296, Bibl. Nat., Paris.



Section III

One of the preceptor'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."[1] 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."[2]

[1] Bibl. Cluniacensis, lib. i.; Maitland, 440.

[2] James (M. R.) 10, 171.

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.[1] 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.[2] 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."[3] In a beautiful manuscript of Chaucer's Troilus, not perhaps a conventual book, occurs the following:—

"he that thys Boke rents or stelle God send hym sekenysse swart (?) of helle."[4]

[1] B. M. MS. Reg. 12 G. ii.; Warton, i. 182.

[2] Harl. MS. 2798.

[3] See anathema in Trim Coll. Camb. MS. B. S. 17.

[4] James 17, 126.

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.[1]

[1] Mon. Fr., ii. 41.

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.[1]

[1] Bryce, i. 27.

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."[1] 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."[2] Another record tells us of two monks of Christ Church, Canterbury, being sent into Cambridgeshire to recover a book.

[1] Hist. MSS., 6th Rept. 296b.

[2] Records of the Borough of Nottingham, i. 335.

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.[1] In spite of the risk, lending was extensively carried on.

[1] C. A. S. (N.S.), iii. 397.

In one year (1343), for example, the unimportant priory of Hinton lent no fewer than twenty books to another monastery.[1] 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.[2] 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.[3] 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.[4]

[1] See particularly James (M. R.), xlv-xlvi, 146-149.

[2] Delisle, Bibl. de Ecole des chartes, iii ser. i. 225.

[3] Hist. MSS. 6th Rept. 296a.

[4] Literae Cantuarienses, ii. 146.

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.[1]

[1] Mon. Fr., ii. 91.

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.[1]

[1] Literae Cantuarienses, ii. 146; James (M. R.), 146.

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.' "[1] 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."[2] Monastic catalogues were sometimes written on such boards. At Cluni, Mabillon and Martene 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.

[1] James (M. R.), xiv, 502-503; Camb. Univ. Lib. MS., Ff. 4. 40, last fol.

[2] Clark, 133.

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.[1]

[1] Surtees Soc., vii. 85.

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.[1] 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.

[1] See also Bateson, vi-vii.

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.[1] 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.

[1] Bateson, vii.

GRAUNTE P1m indutum est

Biblia perpulcra et complete cum interpretacionibus. {P} Tabula sentencialis super eandem per totum. {P} Item alla tabula expositoria vocabulorum difficilium eiusdem Biblie.

WOODE P2 osee 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 D3; and the gradus or shelves of each distinction were numbered, as 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 fiber quartus."[1] 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 G2, or class G, shelf 2.[2] 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.

[1] Pemb. Coll., Camb., MS. 180.

[2] Madan, 7, 8.

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 preceptor; 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.[1] 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 pressmark 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 pressmark 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.

Nomina Dicciones voluminum. probatorie. 1 Psalterium vetus glosa- 6 apprehendite disci 105 1

2 Prima pars psalterii 4 cument que il fait 195 2 glosata gallice 3 Glose super sp Iterio 6 nullas habebunt veri 104 2

[1] Bateson, 202. Ut scilicet prima particula de numero et perfecta voluminum cognicione loci precentorem informet, secunda ad solicitam leccionis frequenciam ffratres studiosos provocet, et tercia de singulorum tractatuum repercione festina scolaribus itinera manifestet.—James, 407.

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.[1]

[1] James (M. R.), 410. For further information on monastic catalogues consult Surtees Soc., vii; Becker; James (M. R.); Bateson; Zentralblatt; Gottlieb.

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 Oleron 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."[1] 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.

[1] Bateson, Med. Eng., 86.

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.[1] 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."[2] In spite of the many references to jewelled monastic bindings in medieval records, very few are extant.

[1] Now in Mr. Pierpont Morgan's library, Illustrated in La Bioliofilia, xi. 169.

[2] Cf. Register of S. Osmund, ii. 127. Textus unus aureus magnus continens saphiros xx., et smaragdos [emeralds] vi., et thopasios viii., et alemandinas [? carbuncle or ruby] xviii., et gernettas [garnets] viii., et perlas xii. Also i. 276; ii. 43. Jerome, Ad Eustoch, Ep. t8.



CHAPTER V. CATHEDRAL AND CHURCH LIBRARIES

Section I

To the books of the monastery some human interest clings: we can at once conjure up a picture of the cloister and the scribe at his work; the handling of an old manuscript, the turning over of finely-written and quaintly-illuminated yellow pages, throws the mind flashing back centuries to the silent writer in his carrell. But the church library is not rich in associations. It was a small "working" collection: one part for the use of the clergy, the other part—consisting of a few chained books—for the use of the people. These chained books, which now suggest a scarcely conceivable restriction upon the circulation of literature—even theological literature—were, in fact, the sign of a glimmer of liberal thought in the church. During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, not only were monastic books issued to lay people more freely, but many more books were chained in places of worship than in the sixteenth century, when the proclamation for the "setting-up" of Bibles in churches was granted unwillingly.

Some collections which later were distinctively church libraries were at first claustral. For convenience' sake we shall treat all of them as church libraries. The amount of information on medieval church libraries is surprisingly extensive, albeit a great deal more must remain hidden still, for all our cathedral libraries have not been subjects of such loving scholarship as Canon Church has bestowed upon the ancient treasure-house at Wells. Still the material is extensive, and our difficulty in making a selection for such a compendious book as the present is complicated, because we often do not find it possible to say whether the books referred to in the available records are merely service books, or books of an ordinary character. To evade this difficulty we must ignore all material relating to unnamed books, which we cannot reasonably suppose to have been the nucleus of a more general collection, or an addition to it.

Exeter Cathedral Library was a monastic hoard. It originated with Bishop Leofric, who got together over sixty books about sixteen years before the Conquest. His books were a curious collection: among copies of the classics and ecclesiastical works were books of night songs, summer and winter reading books, a precious book of blessings, and a "Mycel Englisc boc"—a large English book, on all sorts of things, wrought in verse. The last is the famous Exeter book, still preserved in the library. A small folio of 130 leaves of vellum, it is remarkable to the student of manuscripts for its bold, clear, and graceful calligraphy, and priceless to the student of literature as the only source of much of our small store of Anglo-Saxon poetry. Some other Leofrican books remain. In the library of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, is an eleventh century copy of Bede's history in Anglo-Saxon, which was given to Exeter by Leofric, although it is not mentioned in the list of his gifts in the Bodleian manuscript. The inscription in it reads: Hunc librum dat leofricus episcopus ecclesie sancti petri apostoli in exonia ubi sedes episcopalis est ad utilitatem successorum suorum. Si quis illum abstulerit inde, subiaceat malediction). Fiat. Fiat. Fiat.[1] A manuscript of Bede on the Apocalypse, now at Lambeth Palace, seems almost certainly to have come from St. Mary's Church, Crediton, and it bears the inscription:—"A: in nomine domini. Amen. Leofricus Pater."[2] Another book given by Leofric, a missal dating from 969, is preserved in the Bodleian Library.[3]

[1] M.S., 41; James 17, 81.

[2] C. A. S., 8vo. publ. No. 33 (1900), 25.

[3] MS. Bodl., Auct. D. 2. 16 fo. Ia; Dugdale, ii. 527; Oxford Philol. Soc. Trans., 1881-83, p. 2.

Although the age of these books suggests that the collection has existed continuously since the eleventh century, after Leofric's time no important reference to the library occurs until 1327, when an inventory of the books was drawn up. Then about 230 volumes (excluding service books) were in the possession of the Chapter.[1] In this same year a breviary and a missal were chained up in the choir for the use of the people.[2] Twelve months later John Grandisson arrived at Exeter to take charge of his diocese. A book-loving bishop, he was a benefactor to the library, maybe to a very praiseworthy extent; but a few words will record what is definitely known about this part of his work. In 1366 he gave two folio volumes, still extant. One contains Lessons from the Bible, and the homilies appointed to be read, and the other is the Legends of the Saints.[3] In his will he gave two other books, perhaps Pontificals of his own compilation, to his successors.[4] He himself owned an extensive library, which he divided principally between his chapter and the collegiate churches of Ottery, Crediton, and Boseham, and Exeter College, Oxford.[5] All St. Thomas Aquinas' works he bequeathed to the Black Friars' convent at Exeter. To Simon Islip, Archbishop of Canterbury, he gave a fine copy of St. Anselm's letters, now by good fortune in the British Museum. A Hebrew Pentateuch once belonging to him is in the capitular library of Westminster: is it possible that the bishop was a Hebrew scholar?[6] Among the books of Windsor College was a volume, De Legendis et Missis de B. V. Maria, which had been given by him.

[1] Full inventory in Oliver, Lives of the Bps., 301-310.

[2] C. A. S. (N.S.), 8vo. ser. iv. 311.

[3] Ego I. de G. Exon., do Eccle. Exon librum istum cum pari suo, in festo Annuntiationis Dominice. Manu mea, anno consecrationis mee xxxix.—Oliver, Lives of the Bps., 85.

[4] Lego eisdem libros meos episcopales, majorem et minorem, quos ego compilavi.—Ibid, 86.

[5] In 1329 he wrote to Richard de Ratforde from Chudleigh: "Regraciamur vobis quod Librum Sermonum Beati Augustini pro nobis, prout Magister Ricardus filius Radulphi, ex parte nostra, vos rogavit, retinuistis, nobisque et condiciones ejusdem significastis et precium. Et, quia ipsum Librum habere volumus, lx solidos sterlingorum Magistro Johanni de Sovenaisshe [Sevenashe], Magistro Scolarum nostre Civitatis Exoniensis, pro ipso Libro tradi fecimus, ut nobis eundem, quamcicius nuncii securitas affuerit, transmittatis. Libros, eciam, Theologicos Originales, veteres saltem et raros, ac Sermones antiquos, eciam sine Divisionibus Thematum, pro nostris usibus exploretis; scribentes nobis condiciones et precium eorundem."—O.H.S., 27 Boase, 2.

[6] Robinson, 63.

A library room was built over the east cloister in 1412-13.[1] Probably the building was found necessary on account of a considerable accession of books, and we hazard a guess that Grandisson's bequest, received in 1370, formed the bulk of the accretion. At all events, among the accounts for the building are charges for 191 chains for books not secured before. No fewer than 67 books were also sewed or bound on this same occasion, the master binder being paid L 6 and his man 36s. 8d. Thus at the beginning of the fifteenth century—the age of library building—the capitular hoard at Exeter was furbished up, newly housed, and arranged. But the interest in the collection seems to have waned. Another chain was bought for sixteenpence in 1430-31 for a copy of Rationale Divinorum, which was given by one Rolder; but such gifts were few and far between. In 1506 the Chapter owned 363 volumes, but 133 more than in 1327,[2] so that few additions besides Grandisson's were made in nearly two centuries, or many books were lost.[3] According to this second inventory the books were arranged in eleven desks; eight books were chained opposite the west door; twenty- eight were not chained; seven were chained behind the treasurer's stall (a Bible in three volumes, Lyra also in three, and a Concordance); and fourteen volumes of canon and civil law behind the succentor's stall.[4] The Dean and Chapter were in a strangely generous mood at the end of this century. In 1566 they gave one of Leofric's books to Archbishop Parker: it is now in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. The collection was despoiled of eighty-one of its finest books to enrich Bodley's foundation at Oxford, 1602.[5] Although the book-lover does not like to see treasures torn from their associations, yet in this instance the alienation was fortunate. By 1752 only twenty volumes noted in the inventory of 1506 were left at Exeter.[6]

[1] Building accounts in C. A. S. (N.S.), 8vo. ser. iv. 296.

[2] Oliver, 366-375.

[3] Between 1385 and 1425 the bishops were giving books to Exeter College, Oxford.

[4] Oliver, 359, 360, 366-375.

[5] List in Oliver, Lives, 376; C. A. S. (N.S. ), iv. 306 (8vo. ser.).

[6] Oliver, 376.

Besides the Exeter Book, one other very ancient and valuable manuscript is preserved in the Cathedral: this is the part of the Domesday Book referring to Devon, Cornwall, and Somerset, which is probably not much later in date than the Exchequer record. Two ancient book-boxes are also to be found there. These are fixed in a sloping position by means of iron supports embedded in the pillars. The late Dr. J. W. Clark was led to believe them to be intended for books by finding a wooden bookboard nailed to the inside bottom of one of the boxes. For the protection of the book each box has a cover, which does not seem ever to have been fastened: a reader would raise the lid when he wanted to use the manuscript, and close it before he went away.[1] Erasmus seems to have seen similar boxes fixed to the pillars in the nave at Canterbury.[2]

[1] C. A. S. (N.S.), iv. 312.

[2] I have to thank my friend Mr. Tapley Soper, F.R,Hist,S., for his willing help in sending me information about this library. Our account of church libraries will appear inadequate if it is not borne in mind that we do not propose to go beyond the manuscript age. An excellent account of modern church libraries is given in English Church Furniture, in this series. Also see Clark, 257.



Section II

When gifts or bequests were received by a church or monastery, it was a beautiful custom to lay them, or something to represent them, upon the altar: "a book, or turf, or, in fact, almost any portable object, was offered for property such as land; or a bough or twig of a tree, if the gift were a forest." King Offa's gift of churches to Worcester monastery in 780 was accompanied by a great book with golden clasps, with every probability a Bible.[1] A gift was made under similar circumstances in c. 1057, about the time Bishop Leofric was founding the library at Exeter, when Lady Godiva, the wife of another Leofric, restored some manors to Worcester, and with them gave a Bible in two parts. Before this, Bishop Werfrith, to whom we have referred before as a helper of King Alfred, had sent to Worcester the Anglo-Saxon version of Gregory's Cura Pastoralis; the very copy of it is now in the Bodleian Library.

[1] Reliquary, vii, II (Floyer).

Such were perhaps the beginnings of the library of Worcester Cathedral. We cannot but think that a collection of books was formed slowly and steadily here, as in other foundations of the same kind, although actual records are scanty and meagre. In over forty of the manuscripts now at Worcester are inscriptions on fly-leaves stating where they were procured: sometimes the price is given. The dates of these inscriptions run from about 1283 to 1462, or later.[1] "In 1464," writes the Rev. J. K. Floyer, in his article entitled A Thousard Years of a Cathedral Library, "we first hear of a regular endowment for the acquisition of books. Bishop Carpenter made a library in the charnel house chantry, and endowed it with L 10 for a librarian. The charnel house was near the north porch of the Cathedral, and stood on or near the site of the present Precentor's house. It was a separate institution from the monastery, and had its own endowments and priests. Bishop Carpenter's foundation was probably entirely separate from the collection of books kept for the use of the monks in the cloister."[2] At the same time, the bishop made regulations for the use of the library. The keeper was to be a graduate in theology, and a good preacher. He was to live in the chantry, where a dwelling had been erected for him at the end of the library. Among other duties he had to take care of the books. The library was to be open to the public every week day for two hours before Nones (or nine), and for two hours after Nones. This alone was a most liberal regulation, for making which Bishop Carpenter deserves all honour. But he went still further. When asked to do so the keeper was to explain difficult passages of Scripture, and once a week was to deliver a public lecture in the library. The Bishop's idea of a library is precisely that embodied in the modern town library: a collection of good books, for the free use of the public, with some personal help to the proper use of them when necessary. Three lists of the books were to be drawn up, one to be kept by the Bishop, the second by the sacrist, and the third by the keeper. Once a year stock was taken, and if a book were missing through the keeper's neglect, he was to forfeit its value within a month, or in default was to pay forty-shillings more than the value of it, one half of the sum to go to the Bishop, the other half to the sacrist. Unfortunately these and other regulations were not observed with care, and within forty years the Bishop's work was completely neglected and forgotten.

[1] Reliquary, vii. 14 (Floyer).

[2] Ibid., 17.

At the Dissolution the Priory was deprived of much of its church plate, service books and vestments, and probably of many of its books. But the library there suffered a good deal less than those of other houses, and the Cathedral now has in its possession some respectable remains of its ancient collection of books.[1]

[1] The best account of Worcester Cathedral Library is in Reliquary, vii. Il, by the Rev. J. K. Floyer, M.A.



Section III

The history of an old library can only be traced intermittently, the facts playing hide and seek like a distant lantern carried over broken ground. Little is known of the early history of Hereford's cathedral library. An ancient copy of the Gospels, said to have been bequeathed by the last Saxon bishop, Athelstan (1012), is one of the earliest gifts. In 1186 Bishop Robert Folliott gave "multa bona in ferris et libris." Bishop Hugh Folliott also left ornaments and books. Another bishop, R. de Maidstone, although "vir magnae literaturae, et in theologia nominatissimus," only seems to have given the church two antiphonaries, some psalters, and a Legenda. Bishop Charleton (1369) left a Bible, a concordance, a glossary, Nicholas de Lyra, and five Books of Moses, all to be chained in the cathedral. Very shortly afterwards we hear of fittings, for in 1395 Walter of Ramsbury gave L 10 for making the desks. Probably a book-room, which was over the west cloister, was then put up. A long interval elapsed, during which little seems to have been done for the library. But between c. 1516-35 Bishop Booth and Dean Frowcester left many fine volumes. In 1589 the book-room was abandoned and the contents shifted to the Lady Chapel.

A new library was built in 1897. Herein are to be seen what are almost certainly the original bookcases, albeit they have been taken to pieces and somewhat altered before being fitted together again. One of the bookcases still has all the old chains and fittings for the books, and it presents a very curious appearance. Every chain is from three to four feet long, with a ring at each end, and a swivel in the middle. One ring is strung on to an iron rod, which is secured at one end of the bookcase by metal work, with lock and key. For convenience in using the book on the reading slope which was attached to the case, the ring at the other end of the chain was fixed to the fore edge of the book-cover instead of to the back; when standing on the shelves the books therefore present their fore edges to the reader. The cases are roughly finished, but very solid in make.[1]

[1] Havergal, Fasti Heref. (1869), 181-182.



Section IV

At Old Sarum Church, Bishop Osmund (1078-99) collected, wrote, and bound books.[1] In his time, too, the chancellor used to superintend the schools and correct books: either books used in the school or service books.[2] The income from a virgate of land was assigned to correct- ing books towards the end of the twelfth century (1175-80).[3] The new Salisbury Cathedral was erected in the thirteenth century; but apparently a special library room was not used until shortly after 1444, when it was put up to cover the whole eastern cloister. This room was altered and reduced in size in 1758. About the time the room was completed one of the canons gave some books, on the inside covers of two of which is a note in a fifteenth century hand bidding they should be chained in the new library.[4] Nearly two hundred manuscripts, of various date from the ninth to the fourteenth century, are now in the library. Among them several notable volumes are to be found: a Psalter with curious illuminations; another Psalter, with the Gallican and Hebrew of Jerome's translation in parallel columns, also illuminated; Chaucer's translation of Boethius; Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain of the twelfth century; a thirteenth century Lectionary, with golden and coloured initials; a Tonale according to Sarum use, bound with a fourteenth century Ordinal; and a fifteenth century Processional containing some notes on local customs.

[1] W. of Malmesbury, Gesta Pont., 184.

[2] Register of St. Osmund, i. 8, 214.

[3] Register of St. Osmund, i. 224.

[4] Cox and Harvey, English Church Furniture, 331.



Section V

Books were given to Lincoln Cathedral about 1150 by Hugh of Leicester; one of them bears the inscription, Ex dono Hugonis Archidiaconi Leycestriae. They may still be seen at Lincoln. Forty-two volumes and a map came into the charge of Hamo when he became chancellor in 1150.[1] During his chancellorship thirty-one volumes were added by gift, so making the total seventy-three volumes: Bishops Alexander and Chesney were among the benefactors. But here, as at Salisbury, not until the fifteenth century was a separate library room built. Two gifts "to the new library" by Bishop Repyngton who also befriended Oxford University Library—and Chancellor Duffield in 1419 and 1426, fix the date. It was put up over the north half of the eastern cloisters, relatively the same position as at Salisbury and Wells. Originally it had five bays, but in 1789 the two southernmost bays were pulled down: In this room the fine fifteenth century oaken roof, with its carved ornaments, has been preserved, but at Salisbury the roof is modern, with a plaster ceiling. Lincoln's new library, designed by Wren and erected in 1674, is next to this old room. According to a 1450 catalogue now preserved at Lincoln the library contained one hundred and seven works, more than seventy of which now remain. Among the most important manuscripts are a mid-fifteenth century copy of old English romances of great literary value, collected by Robert de Thornton, archdeacon of Bedford (c. 1430); and a contemporary copy of Magna Carta.

[1] See list in Giraldus Cambrensis, vii. 165-166.



Section VI

In an inventory of St. Paul's Cathedral, taken in 1245, mention is made of thirty-five volumes.[1] Before this, in Ralph of Diceto's time, a binder of books was an officer of the church. As at Salisbury, the chancellor's duties included taking charge of the school books. In 1283 a writer of books was included among the ministers. The two offices were combined in the beginning of the next century. When Dean Ralph Baldock made a visitation of St. Paul's treasury in 1295, he found thirteen Gospels adorned with precious metals and stones; some other parts of the Scriptures; and a commentary of Thomas Aquinas. In 1313 Baldock, who died Bishop of London, bequeathed fifteen volumes, chiefly theological books.[2] To Baldock's time probably belongs the reference to twelve scribes, no doubt retained for business purposes as well as for book-making. They were bound by an oath to be faithful to the church and to write without fraud or malice. Aeneas Sylvius tells us he saw a Latin translation of Thucydides in the sacristy of the cathedral (1435).[3]

[1] Archaeologia, I. 496.

[2] Hist. MSS., 9th Rept., App. 46a.

[3] Ep., 126; Creighton, Papacy, iii 53n.

A library room was erected in the fifteenth century. "Ouer the East Quadrant of this Cloyster, was a fayre Librarie, builded at the costes and charges of Waltar Sherington, Chancellor of the Duchie of Lancaster, in the raigne of Henrie the 6 which hath beene well furnished with faire written books in Vellem."[1] The catalogue of 1458 bears out Stow's description of the library as well-furnished. Some one hundred and seventy volumes were in the Chapter's possession; they were of the usual kind, grammatical books, Bibles and commentaries, works of the fathers; books on medicine by Galen, Hippocrates, Avicenna, and Egidius; Ralph de Diceto's chronicles; and some works of Seneca, Cicero, Suetonius, and Virgil.[2] In 1486, however, only fifty-two volumes were found after the death of John Grimston the sacrist.[3] Leland gives a list of only twenty-one manuscripts, but it was not his habit to make full inventories. In Stow's time, however, few books remained.[4] Three volumes only can be traced now—(1) a manuscript of Avicenna, (2) the Chronicle of Ralph de Diceto in the Lambeth Palace Library, and (3) the Miracles of the Virgin, in the Aberdeen University Library.[5]

[1] Stow, i. 328.

[2] Dugdale, Hist. of St. Paul's, 392-398.

[3] Ibid., 399.

[4] Stow, i. 328.

[5] Ibid., ii. 346; Simpson, Reg. S. Pauli, 13, 78, 133, 173, 227.



Section VII

Although neither a monastic nor a collegiate church, Wells was already in the thirteenth century a place with some equipment for educational work. Besides the choristers' school, a schola grammaticalis of a higher grade was in existence. After 1240 the Chancellor's duties included lecturing on theology. Not improbably, therefore, a collection of books was formed very early. And indeed the Dean and Chapter in 1291 received from the Dean of Sarum books lent by the Chapter, and some others bequeathed to them. Hugo of St. Victor, Speculum de Sacramentis, and Bede, De Temporibus, were the books returned from Sarum; among those bequeathed were Augustine's Epistles and De Civitate Dei, Gregory the Great's Speculum, and John Damascenus. We know nothing of the character and size of the library at this time, although it seems to have been preserved in a special room. In 1297, the Chapter ordered the two side doors of the choir screen in the aisles to be shut at night. One door near the library (versus librarium) and the Chapter was only to be open from the first stroke of matins until the proper choir door was opened at the third bell. At other times during the day it was always to be closed, so that people could not injure the books in the library, or overhear the conferences of the Chapter (secreta capituli). This library was most likely on the north side of the church, with the Chapter House beside it, in the north transept, as shown conjecturally in the plan given in Canon Church's admirable Chapters in the Early History of the Church of Wells.[1] That so early, in a church neither monastic nor collegiate, a school was at work, and a library had been formed, is a specially significant fact in the study of our subject.

[1] Pp. 1, 325-327.

In this position the library remained until the fifteenth century. Two notices occur of it, one in 1340 and another in 1406, in both cases in connection with an image of the Holy Saviour, "near the library."

But in the fifteenth century a new library was built over the eastern cloister. Bishop Nicholas of Bubwith, in his will of 1424, bequeathed one thousand marks to be faithfully applied and disposed for the construction and new building of a certain library to be newly erected upon the eastern space of the cloister, situate between the south door of the church next the chamber of the escheator of the church and the gate which leads directly from the church by the cloister into the palace of the bishop.[1] The work was begun by his executors, but certain signs of break in the building suggest some delay in finishing it. This room is probably the only cathedral library built over a cloister which remains in its original completeness. It is 165 feet by 12 feet; now only about two-thirds of it are devoted to the library. When this room was first fitted up as a library no one knows; but tradition fixes the date at 1472. The present fittings were put in during Bishop Creighton's time (1670-72).

[1] In the fifteenth century the bishops of Wells were good friends of learning: Skirlaw gave books to University College, Oxford; Bowet left a large library; Stafford gave books; Bekynton was the companion of the most cultivated men of his time. Dean Gunthorpe is well known as a pilgrim to Italy, who returned laden with manuscripts (see p. 192).

Shortly after the date of Bubwith's will Bishop Stafford (1425-43) gave ten books—not an inspiriting collection— but he desired to retain possession of them during his lifetime.[1] In 1452 Richard Browne (alias Cordone), Archdeacon of Rochester, left to the library of Wells, Petrus de Crescentiis De Agricultura, and two other books, Jerome's Epistles, and Lathbury Super librum Trenorum, which were to be kept in the church in wooden cases.[2] Were these cases to resemble the boxes still remaining in Exeter Cathedral? The same will ordered the Decretales of Clement, which had been borrowed for copying, to be restored to this library; two other books were also given back; and the will further notes that there are several books belonging to the library in a certain great bag in the inner room of the treasury at Wells.[3]

[1] Hist, MSS. Rept. 3, App. 363a.

[2] Mun. Acad., 649,

[3] Mun. Acad., 652-653.

Leland only mentions forty-six books in the library in his time. "I went into the library, which whilome had been magnificently furnished with a considerable number of books by its bishops and canons, and I found great treasures of high antiquity." Among the books he found were sermons by Gregory and Aelfric in Anglo-Saxon, Terence, and "Dantes translatus in carmen Latinum." Very few books belonging to the old library before the Dissolution have survived. Some are in the British Museum, the Bodleian, and certain collegiate libraries; and several manuscripts remain in the hands of the Dean and Chapter. Among them are three manuscripts known as Liber albus I, Liber ruber II, and Liber albus III, which contain an extremely valuable series of documents.[1]

[1] L. A. R., viii. 372; Canon Church's account of the library, in Archaeologia, lvii. pt. 2, is very full and interesting.



Section VIII

In the York fabric rolls appear from time to time expenses for writing, illuminating, and binding church books; but we know little or nothing about the Chapter library, if such existed. William de Feriby, a canon, bequeathed his books in 1379. Between 1418 and 1422, a library was built at the south-west corner of the south transept. The building is in two floors, and the upper appears to have been the book-room; it is still in existence. In the rolls are several references to the building.

1419. Et de 26l. 13s. 4d. de elemosina domini Thomae Haxey ad cooperturam novi librarii cum plumbo.

Haxey was a good friend to the cathedral; and he gave handsomely toward the library. His arms were put up in one of the new library windows.

1419. In sarracione iiij arborum datarum novo librario per Abbatem de Selby, 6/8.

1419. Et Johanni Grene, joynor, pro joynacione tabularum pro libraria et planacione et gropyng de waynscott, per annum, 17s. 8d.

In operacione cc ferri in boltes pro nova libraria per Johannem Harpham, fabrum, 8s.[1]

[1] Surtees Soc., xxxv. 36-40.

In 1418 John de Newton, the church treasurer, bequeathed to the Chapter a number of books, including Bibles, commentaries, and patristical and historical works, as well as Petrarch's De remediis utriusque fortunae.[1] They were chained to the library desks, and were guarded with horn and studs, to protect them from the consequences of careless use by readers.

[1] Hunter, Notes of Wills in Registers of York, 15.

1421. Johanni Upton pro superscriptura librorum nuper magistri Johannis Neuton thesaurarii istius ecclesiae legatorum librario, 2s. Thomae Hornar de Petergate pro hornyng et naillyng superscriptorum librorum, 2s. 6d. Radulpho Lorymar de Conyngstrete pro factura et emendacione xl cathenarum pro eisdem libris annexis in librario predicto, 23s. Id.[1]

[1] Surtees Soc., xxxv., 45-46.

From time to time a few other bequests were made: thus, Archdeacon Stephen Scrope bequeathed some books on canon law, after a beneficiary had had them in use during his life (1418). Robert Ragenhill, advocate of the court of York, enriched the church with a small collection (1430); and Robert Wolveden, treasurer of the church, left to the library his theological books (1432).[1]

[1] Ibid., iv. 385; xiv. 89, 91.



Section IX

The Sacrist's Roll of Lichfield Cathedral, under date 1345, contains en inventory of the books then in possession of the church. All of them were service books, excepting only a De Gestis Anglorum.[1] Thereafter we cannot discover a notice of the library until 1489, when Dean Thomas Heywood gave L 40 towards building a home for the books. Dean Yotton assisted in the good work. By 1493 the building was finished. It stood on the north side of the Cathedral, west of the north door, or "ex parte boreali in cimeterio."[2] The Dean and Chapter had it pulled down in 1758.

[1] W. Salt Arch. Soc., vi. pt. 2, 211.

[2] Capit. Acts, v. 3.

Nearly all the books of the early collection perished during the Civil War; but the finest manuscript, known as St. Chad's Gospels, was saved by the preceptor. Among the other manuscripts in the possession of the Chapter are a fine vellum copy of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, with beautiful initials, and the Taxatio Ecclesiastica, a tithe book showing the value of church property in Edward I's time.[1]

[1] Harwood, Hist. and Antiq. of the Ch.... of Lichfield (1806), 109.



Section X

Many other churches, some of them small and unimportant, owned books, and received them as gifts or bequests. In the time of Richard II the Royal collegiate chapel of Windsor Castle had, besides service books, thirty-four volumes on different subjects chained in the church, among them a Bible and a Concordance, and two books of French romance, one of which was the Liber de Rose.[1]

[1] Vict. County Hist. of Berkshire, ii. 109.

The library of St. Mary's Church, Warwick, was first formed by the celebrated antiquary, John Rous. Before his time we hear only of one or two books. In 1407 there was a collection of fifty service books, and a Catholicon, the latter being perhaps the nucleus of a library.[1] "At my lorde's auter," that is, at the Earl of Warwick's altar, were to be found among other goods and books, the Bible, the fourth book of the Sentenccs, Pupilla Oculi, a work by Reymond de Pennaforte, Isidore, and some canon law.[2] John Rous seems to have inherited the bookish tastes of his relative, William Kous. William had bequeathed his books to the Dean, charging him to allow John to read them when he came of age and had received priest's orders.

[1] Vict. Hist. Warwickshire, ii. 127 b.

[2] Ibid., ii. 128a.

Among the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum is a small volume written on parchment by Humphrey Wanley, which includes a copy of a curious inventory of vestments, plate, books, and other goods made in the time of John Rous, 1464. A portion of this inventory has been printed in Notices of the Churches of Warwickshire, i. 15—16. "It. v bokes beynge in the handes of Maister John Rous now priest whuche were Sir William Rous and bequath hem to the Dean and Chapitre of the forseide Chirche Collegiall under condicon that the seid maister John beynge priest shulde have hem for his special edificacon duryng his fief. And after his decees to remayne and to be for ever to the seide Dean and Chapitre as it appereth by endentures thereof made whereof one party leveth with the Dean and Chapitre. That is to say i book quem composuit ffrater Antoninus Rampologus de Janis 2 fo Chorinth 14. It. 1 book cald pars dextera et pars sinistra 2 fo non carere. It. 1 bible versefied cald patris in Aurora 2 fo huic opifox. It. 1 book of powles epistoles glosed 2 fo de Jhu qui dr Xtus. It. 1 book cald pharetra 2 fo hora est jam nos de sompno surgere. It. 1 quayer in the whuche is conteyned the exposicon of the masse 2 fo cods offerim."

John also seems to have given books as well as a room to house them.[1] An old view of the church, taken before the great fire which destroyed the town in 1694, shows the south porch surmounted with his library, as then standing; but this room was destroyed in the fire, and it seems certain the books were burnt. The present library was founded in 1701, and includes no part of the original collection.[2]

[1] Johannes Rous, capellanus Cantariae de Guy-Cliffe, qui super porticum australem librariam construxit, et libris ornavit.—Gentleman's Magazine (N.S), xxv. 37. The chapel of Guy's Cliffe was erected by Richard Beauchamp for the repose of the soul of his "ancestor," Guy of Warwick, the hero of romance.

[2] Mr. W. T. Carter, of the Warwick Public Libtary, has kindly given me much information about St. Mary's Church library.

Bequests to churches of service books, such as that to the church of St. Mary, Castle-gate, York (1394), were numerous; they may be set apart with bequests of vestments, plate, and money. Some bequests have a different character. A chancellor of York, Thomas de Farnylaw, leaves books, bound and unbound, to the Vicar of Waghen; a volume of sermons and a "quire" to the church of Embleton; and a Bible and Concordance to be chained in the north porch of St. Nicholas' Church, Newcastle, "for common use, for the good of the soul of his lord William of Middleton" (1378). A chaplain leaves service books, Speculum Ecclesiae, and the Gospels in English to Holy Trinity Church, Goodramgate, York (1394). A Bristol merchant bequeaths two books on canon law to St. Mary Redcliffe Church, there to be preserved for the use of the vicar and chaplains (1416). In the same year a Canon of York enriches Beverley Church with all his books of canon and civil law. Books were also chained in the church of St. Mary of Oxford. Bishop Lyndwood of St. David's bequeaths a copy of his digest of the synodal constitutions of the province of Canterbury for chaining in St. Stephen's Chapel, "to serve as a standard for future editions" (1443). Richard Browne, or Cordone, who has left books to Wells, reserves for the parish church of Naas in Ireland a Catholicon and other manuscripts (1452). To Boston Church a rector of Kirkby Ravensworth bequeaths several books, but one named John Bosbery was to have the use of them for life: among the gifts was Polichronicon (1457). Canon Nicholas Holme leaves Pupilla Oculi to the parish church of Redmarshall (1458). A chaplain bequeaths one book to St. Mary's Church, Bolton, another to St. Wilfrid's Church, Brensall in Craven, and a third to All Saints' Church, Peseholme, York (1466). Sir Richard Willoughby orders church books and a Crede mihi to be given to Woollaton Parish Church (1469). Robert Est, possibly a chantry-priest in York Minster, enriches the parish church of his native Lincoln village, Brigsley, with a copy of Legends of the Saints, Speculum Christiani, Gesta Romanorum cum aliis fabulis Isopi et mutis narrationibus, and a Psalter (1474-75). To the church of St. Mary's, Nottingham, the vicar leaves a Golden Legend, a Polichronicon, besides Pupilla Oculi, and a portiforium to Wragby Church, and a missal to Snenton Church (1476). Sir Thomas Lyttleton befriends King's Norton Church by leaving it a Latin-English dictionary, and that of Halesowen in Worcestershire by leaving a Catholicon, the Constitutiones Provinciales (possibly Lyndwood's digest, the Provinciale), and the Gesta Romanorum (1481). A man of Leicester was sued by the church wardens of the parish church of Welford, in the county of Leicester, on a charge of having taken away certain books belonging to the church and sold them (1490). The vicar of Ruddington bequeaths three books, "ad tenendum et ligandum cum cathena ferrea in quadam sede in capella B. M. de Rodington" (1491). Thomas Rotherham, benefactor of Cambridge University Library, gave to the church of Rochester ten pounds for building a library (1500). To Wetheringsett Church a chaplain of Bury carefully reserves "a book called Fasiculus Mors [Fasciculus morum], to lye in the chauncell, for priests to occupye ther tyme when it shall please them, praying them to have my soule in remembraunce as it shall please them of their charite" (1519).[1]

[1] Arch. Inst. City of York (1846), 10-11; Surtees Soc., iv. 102-103, 196; xiv. 57-59, 159, 171, 220-222, 221n; xxvi. 2-3; xxx. 219, 275; Cox and Harvey, English Church Furniture, 331; Mun. Acad., 648-649; Library, i. 411; Cam. Soc., Bury Wills, 253.

A very little research would add considerably to our list; while, apart from records of gifts and bequests, are numberless references to books in churches. For example: in the churchwarden's account book (c. 1525) of All Saints, Derby, occurs an entry beginning: "These be the bokes in our lady Chapell tyed with chenes yt were gyffen to Alhaloes church in Derby—

In primis one Boke called summa summarum. Item A boke called Summa Raumundi [Summa poenitentia et matrimonio of Reymond de Pennaforte of Barcelona]. Item Anoyer called pupilla occult [Pupilla oculi, by J. de Burgo]. Item Anoyer called the Sexte [Liber Sextus Decretalium]. Item A boke called Hugucyon [see pp. 223-4]. Item A boke called Vitas Patrum. Item Anoyer boke called pauls pistols. Item A boke called Januensis super evangeliis dominicalibus [Sermons of Jacobus de Voragine, Abp. of Genoa, on the Gospels for the Sundays throughout the year]. Item a grette portuose [a large breviary]. Item Anoyer boke called Legenda Aurea [Legenda sanctorum aurea of Jacobus de Voragine]. [l]

[1] Cox, J. C., and Hope, W. H. St. John, Chronicles of the Colleg. Ch. of All Saints, Derby (1881), 175-177.

This is a respectable list for such a church. Some sixty years before there were apparently only service books (1465).[1]

[1] Ibid., 157.

From 1456 to 1475 charges occur in the accounts of St. Michael's Church, Cornhill, for chains to fix psalters, and for writing.[1] At St. Peter's upon Cornhill there would appear to have been a good library. "True it is," writes Stow, "that a library there was pertaining to this Parrish Church, of olde time builded of stone, and of late repayred with bricke by the executors of Sir John Crosby Alderman, as his Armes on the south end doth witnes. This library hath beene of late time, to wit, within these fifty yeares, well furnished of bookes: John Leyland viewed and commended them, but now those bookes be gone, and the place is occupied by a schoolemaister."[2] In 1483 the Church of St. Christopher-le-Stocks, London, seems to have had a collection only of service books; but five years later mention is made of "a grete librarie." "On the south side of the vestrarie standeth a grete librarie with ii longe lecturnalles thereon to lay on the bookes."[3] About the middle of the sixteenth century certain inhabitants of Rayleigh held a meeting one Sunday, after service, and, without the consent of the churchwardens, sold fifteen service books, and "four other manuscript volumes," as well as some other church goods, for forty shillings.[4]

[1] Library, i. 417.

[2] Stow, i. 194. Leland, iv. 48, has a note of four MSS. "in bibliotheca Petrina Londini." Possibly this library was formed by Rector Hugh Damlet, who was a learned man, and gave several books to Pembroke College, Cambridge.—James 10, 184.

[3] Archaeologia, xiv. 118, 120.

[4] R. H. S., vi. 205.

But we might continue for a long time to bring togather facts of this kind. Enough has been written to suggest the character and extent of the work done by the churches. Many of these small collections were for use in connexion with the schools; they were formed for the benefit of clergy and the increase of clergy. The few books chained up in the churches for the use of the people were displayed for various reasons. The Catholicon, a Latin grammar and a dictionary, was a large book, obtainable only at great cost, yet for reference purposes all students and scholars constantly needed it. Wealthy ecclesiastics and benefactors would therefore naturally leave such a book for chaining up in the church, which was then the real centre of communal life. The Catholicon was chained up for reference in French churches, and the practice was imitated here, possibly in nearly all the large churches.[1] The Medulla grammatice, left to King's Norton Church by Sir Thomas Lyttleton, was a book of similar character, and would be deposited in church for a like purpose. Books of canon law would also be useful for reference purposes when chained in the church. Some other shackled books were homiletical in character. Should we be accused of excess of imagination if we conjured up a picture of a little cluster of people standing by a clerk who reads to them a sermon or a passage of Holy Writ? The collection of tales, each with a moral, known as the Gesta Romanorum, would make especially attractive reading. Some books often found in churches and frequently mentioned in this book, as the Summa Praedicantium of John de Bromyarde, Pupilla Oculi, by John de Burgo, and the Speculum Christiani, by John Walton, were manuals for the instruction of priests.

[1] Sandys, i. 606; Le Clerc, Hist. Litt. (2nd ed.), 430.



CHAPTER VI. ACADEMIC LIBRARIES: OXFORD

"Ingenia hominum rem publicam fecerunt."

Section 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 unknowm. 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.[1] 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.[2]

[1] N. Bishop's Collectanea, now at Cambridge; Wood, Hist. and Antiq. U. of O., ed. Gutch, 1796 2, vol. ii. pt. 2, 910.

[2] Mun. Acad., 270.

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 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.[1] 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.[2] 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).[3]

[1] Clark, 144; Pietas O., 5; Lyte, 97; Oriel document.

[2] O. H. S. 5, Collect., i, 62-65.

[3] Univ. Arch. W. P. G., 4-6.

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 L 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.[1]

[1] Mun. Acad., 226-228.

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.[1] 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.

[1] Ibid., 267.

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.[1] 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.[2] The finicking character of these regulations suggests that the University statute- maker had as great a dislike for "understandings" as Dr. Newman.

[1] Mun. Acad., 265.

[2] Ibid,, 261 et seq.

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.[1]

[1] After the Black Death, Trinity Hall, Cambridge, possibly Corpus Christi, Cambridge, Canterbury College and New College, Oxford, were founded, and University (Clare) Hall, Cambridge, was enlarged, partly, at any rate, to repair the ravages the plague had made among the clergy.—Camb. Lit., ii. 354; cf. Hist. MSS., 5th Rep., 450.

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 up.[1] 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.[2]

[1] Mun. Acad., 267.

[2] Ibid., 266; O. H. S. 35-36, Anstey, 222, 229, 279, 313, 373, 382, 397.

By far the most generous of friends was the Duke of Gloucester, whose first gift was made before 1413,[1] 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 cloth 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.

[1] Mun. Acad., 266.

Of the character of the Duke's gifts in 1413 and in 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).[1] 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.[2] Their letters were fulsome: as a founder of libraries he was compared with Julius Caesar—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 teen rewarded";[3] 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.[4]

[1] The indenture in which the books are catalogued mentions nine books received before: possibly these were the gift of 1435.—Mun. Acad., 758; O. H. .S. 35, Anstey, 177.

[2] O. H. S. 35, Anstey, 184-90.

[3] O. H. S. 35, Anstey, 184.

[4] Mun. Acad., 758.

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.[1] 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.[2] 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 bookie 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 serve as half a strete Hath looked their librair uniu'al."[3] [universal]

[1] O. H. S: 35, Anstey, 246.

[2] O. H. S. 35, Anstey, 187-89; Mun. Acad., 326-29.

[3] Athenaeum, Nov. 17, '88, p. 664; Hulton, Clerk of Oxford in Fiction, 35.

A year later Gloucester sent 7 more books; then after a while 9 more (1440-41);[1] 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, Zaael, and others were all represented. Besides these, there was a fine selection of the classics—Plato, Aristotle, including the Politica and Ethica, Aeschines' 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 Attacae, the Golden Ass of Apulelus, 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 Refiais memorandis, de Remediis utriusque fortunae), Boccaccio, and of Coluccio Salutati's letters.[2]

[1] O. H. S. 35, Anstey, 197 204.

[2] See lists of Gloucester's books in Mun. Acad., 758-65; O. H. S., Anstey, 179, 183, 232

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.[1]

[1] He also owned some French manuscripts: what he gave to Oxford formed part of a much larger private library.

"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."[1] 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),[2] or, as seems likely, at King's College, Cambridge, and Eton.

[1] O. H. S. 35, Anstey, 294-95.

[2] O. H. S. 35, Anstey, 285-86, 300-I, 318.

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;[1] 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 succulari). 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.[2] The building was 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.[3]

[1] O. H. S. 35, Anstey, 9, 46.

[2] O. H. S. 35, Anstey, 245-46.

[3] O. H. S. 35-36, Anstey, 326, 439.

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.[1] 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 L 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.

[1] The plan resembled that of the old library built by Adam de Brome. For notes on the architectural history of this library, see Pietas O.



Section 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 orUniversity 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.[1] 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.[2] To Balliol, Bishop Gravesend of London bequeathed books (1336) some fifty years after the statutes were given by the founder's wife.[3] 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.[4] 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.[5] Queen's College was one of those to which Simon de Bredon, the astronomer, bequeathed books in 1368, nearly thirty years after its foundation.[6] "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.[7] 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.