FOOTNOTES:

[438] Thirteen Dominicans were sent into England in the year 1221; they held their first provincial council in England in 1230 at Oxford, three years before St. Dominic was canonized by pope Gregory.

[439] Four clercs and five laymen of the Franciscan order were sent into England in 1224; ten years afterwards we find their disciples spreading over the whole of England.

[440] Edward the Second regarded them with great favor, and wrote several letters to the pope in their praise; he says in one, "Desiderantes itaque, pater sancte ordinis fratrum prædicatorum Oxonii, ubi religionis devotio, et honestatis laudabilis decer viget, per quem etiam honor universitatis Oxoniensis, et utilitas ibidem studentium, etc." Dugdale's Monast. vol. vi. p. 1492.

[441] A list of celebrated authors who flourished in England, and who were members of the Dominican Order, will be found in Steven's Monasticon, vol. ii. p. 193, more than 80 names are mentioned. A similar list of authors of the Franciscan order will be found at p. 97 of vol. i. containing 122 names; and of the Carmelite authors, vol. ii. p. 160, specifying 137 writers; a great proportion of their works are upon the Scriptures.

[442] Dr. Cave says, "In scholis Christianis pene unice regnavit scholastica theologia, advocata in subsidium Aristotelis philosophia, eaque non ex Græcis fontibus sed ex turbidis Arabum lacunis, ex versionibus male factis, male intellectis, hansta." Hist. Liter., p. 615. But I am not satisfied that this has been proved, though often affirmed.

[443] It was probably the work of Andrew the Jew. Meiners, ii. p. 664.

[444] At a council held at Paris in the year 1209, the works of Aristotle were proscribed and ordered to be burnt. Launvius de Varia Aristotelis fortuna. But in spite of the papal mandate the friars revived its use. Richard Fizacre, an intimate friend of Roger Bacon, was so passionately fond of reading Aristotle, that he always carried one of his works in his bosom. Stevens Monast., vol. ii. p. 194.

[445] See what has been said of the Mendicants at p. 79.

[446] Steven's additions to Dugdale's Monasticon from the MSS. of Anthony a Wood in the library at Oxford, vol. i. p. 129. Agnell himself was "a man of scarce any erudition."—Ibid.

[447] He is spoken of under a multitude of names, sometimes Grosthead, Grouthead, etc. A list of them will be found in Wood's Oxford by Gutch, vol. i. p. 198.

[448] He gives strict injunctions as to the study of the Scriptures in his Constitutiones.—See Pegge's Life of Grostest, p. 315.

[449] Utilitate Scientiarum, cap. xxxix.

[450] De Confess. Amantis, lib. iv. fo. 70, Imprint. Caxton at Westminster, 1483. The bishop is said to have taken a journey from England to Rome one night on an infernal horse.—Pegge's Life of Grostest, p. 306.

[451] Stephen's additions to Dugdale's Monasticon from Anthony a Wood's MSS. vol. i. p. 133.

[452] The Mendicant orders, unlike the monks, were not remarkable for their industry in transcribing books: their roving life was unsuitable to the tedious profession of a scribe.

[453] Leland's Itin. vol. iii. p. 59.

[454] Oliver's Collections relating to the Monasteries in Devon, 8vo. 1820, appendix lxii.

[455] Cottonian MSS. Vittel, F. xii. 13. fol. 325, headed "De Fundacione Librarie."

[456] The library was 129 feet long and 31 feet broad, and most beautifully fitted up.—Lelandi Antiquarii Collectanea, vol. i. p. 109.

[457] This refers to the custom then prevalent of chaining their books, especially their choice ones, to the library shelf, or to a reading desk.

[458] MS. ibid. fo. o. 325 b.

[459] Script. Brit. p. 241, and Collectanea, iii. 52.

[460] Leland's Collect. vol. iii. p. 51. He found in the priory of the Dominicans at Cambridge, among other books, a Biblia in lingua vernacula.

[461] Steven's Monast. vol. ii. p. 194.

[462] His works were of the impressions of the Air—of the Wonder of the Elements—of Ceremonial Magic—of the Mysteries of Secrets—and the Correction of Chemistry.

[463] Sieben's Monast. vol. i. p. 183, from the MSS. of Anthony a Wood, who says, "What became of them (their books) at the dissolution unless they were carried into the library of some college, I know not."

[464] They obtained much wealth by the sale of pardons and indulgences. Margaret Est, of the convent of Franciscans, ordered her letters of pardon and absolution, to partake of the indulgences of the convent, to be returned as soon she was buried. Bloomfield's Hist. of Norfolk, vol. ii. p. 565.

[465] And among others of St. Augustine's books, De Civitate Dei, with many notes in the margins, by Grostest. Wood's Hist. Oxon, p. 78.

[466] Anthony a Wood in Steven's Monast. vol. i. p. 133.

[467] Script. Brit. p. 286.

[468] Le Bœuf gives an instance of one being represented as early as the eleventh century, in which Virgil was introduced. Hallam's Lit. of Europe, vol. i. p. 295. The case of Geoffry of St. Albans is well known, and I have already mentioned it.

[469] MS. Cottonian Vespasian, D. viii. fo. 1. Codex Chart. 225 folios, written in the fifteenth century. Sir W. Dugdale, in his Hist. of Warwick, p. 116, mentions this volume; and Stevens, in his Monast. has printed a portion of it. Mr. Halliwell has printed them with much care and accuracy.

[470] MS. Cottonian Vitel. E. 5. Warton's Hist. Eng. Poetry, vol. iii. p. 326.

[471] The original was written in 1494.

[472] Ship of Fooles, folio 1570, Imprynted by Cawood, fol. 1.

CHAPTER XIII

Conclusion.

e have traversed through the darkness of many long and dreary centuries, and with the aid of a few old manuscripts written by the monks in the scriptoria of their monasteries, caught an occasional glimpse of their literary labors and love of books; these parchment volumes being mere monastic registers, or terse historic compilations, do not record with particular care the anecdotes applicable to my subject, but appear to be mentioned almost accidentally, and certainly without any ostentatious design; but such as they are we learn from them at least one thing, which some of us might not have known before—that the monks of old, besides telling their beads, singing psalms, and muttering their breviary, had yet one other duty to perform—the transcription of books. And I think there is sufficient evidence that they fulfilled this obligation with as much zeal as those of a more strictly monastic or religious nature. It is true, in casting our eye over the history of their labors, many regrets will arise that they did not manifest a little more taste and refinement in their choice of books for transcribing. The classical scholar will wish the holy monks had thought more about his darling authors of Greece and Rome; but the pious puritan historian blames them for patronizing the romantic allurements of Ovid, or the loose satires of Juvenal, and throws out some slanderous hint that they must have found a sympathy in those pages of licentiousness, or why so anxious to preserve them? The protestant is still more scandalized, and denounces the monks, their books, scriptorium and all together as part and parcel of popish craft and Romish superstition. But surely the crimes of popedom and the evils of monachism, that thing of dry bones and fabricated relics, are bad enough; and the protestant cause is sufficiently holy, that we may afford to be honest if we cannot to be generous. What good purpose then will it serve to cavil at the monks forever? All readers of history know how corrupt they became in the fifteenth century; how many evils were wrought by the craft of some of them, and how pernicious the system ultimately waxed. We can all, I say, reflect upon these things, and guard against them in future; but it is not just to apply the same indiscriminate censure to all ages. Many of the purest Christians of the church, the brightest ornaments of Christ's simple flock, were barefooted cowled monks of the cloister; devout perhaps to a fault, with simplicity verging on superstition; yet nevertheless faithful, pious men, and holy. Look at all this with an eye of charity; avoid their errors and manifold faults: but to forget the loathsome thing our minds have conjured up as the type of an ancient monk. Remember they had a few books to read, and venerated something more than the dry bones of long withered saints. Their God was our God, and their Saviour, let us trust, will be our Saviour.

I am well aware that many other names might have been added to those mentioned in the foregoing pages, equally deserving remembrance, and offering pleasing anecdotes of a student's life, or illustrating the early history of English learning; many facts and much miscellaneous matter I have collected in reference to them; but I am fearful whether my readers will regard this subject with sufficient relish to enjoy more illustrations of the same kind. Students are apt to get too fond of their particular pursuit, which magnifies in importance with the difficulties of their research, or the duration of their studies. I am uncertain whether this may not be my own position, and wait the decision of my readers before proceeding further in the annals of early bibliomania.

Moreover as to the simple question—Were the monks booklovers? enough I think as been said to prove it, but the enquiry is far from exhausted; and if the reader should deem the matter still equivocal and undecided, he must refer the blame to the feebleness of my pen, rather than to the barrenness of my subject. But let him not fail to mark well the instances I have given; let him look at Benedict Biscop and his foreign travels after books; at Theodore and the early Saxons of the seventh century; at Boniface, Alcuin, Ælfric, and the numerous votaries of bibliomania who flourished then. Look at the well stored libraries of St. Albans, Canterbury, Ramsey, Durham, Croyland, Peterborough, Glastonbury, and their thousand tomes of parchment literature. Look at Richard de Bury and his sweet little work on biographical experience; at Whethamstede and his industrious pen; read the rules of monastic orders; the book of Cassian; the regulations of St. Augustine; Benedict Fulgentius; and the ancient admonitions of many other holy and ascetic men. Search over the remnants and shreds of information which have escaped the ravages of time, and the havoc of cruel invasions relative to these things. Attend to the import of these small still whisperings of a forgotten age; and then, letting the eye traverse down the stream of time, mark the great advent of the Reformation; that wide gulf of monkish erudition in which was swallowed "whole shyppes full" of olden literature; think well and deeply over the huge bonfires of Henry's reign, the flames of which were kindled by the libraries which monkish industry had transcribed. A merry sound no doubt, was the crackling of those "popish books" for protestant ears to feed upon!

Now all these facts thought of collectively—brought to bear one upon another—seem to favor the opinion my own study has deduced from them; that with all their superstition, with all their ignorance, their blindness to philosophic light—the monks of old were hearty lovers of books; that they encouraged learning, fostered and transcribed repeatedly the books which they had rescued from the destruction of war and time; and so kindly cherished and husbanded them as intellectual food for posterity. Such being the case, let our hearts look charitably upon them; and whilst we pity them for their superstition, or blame them for their "pious frauds," love them as brother men and workers in the mines of literature; such a course is far more honorable to the tenor of a christian's heart, than bespattering their memory with foul denunciations.

Some may accuse me of having shown too much fondness—of having dwelt with a too loving tenderness in my retrospection of the middle ages. But in the course of my studies I have found much to admire. In parchment annals coeval with the times of which they speak, my eyes have traversed over many consecutive pages with increasing interest and with enraptured pleasure. I have read of old deeds worthy of an honored remembrance, where I least expected to find them. I have met with instances of faith as strong as death bringing forth fruit in abundance in those sterile times, and glorying God with its lasting incense. I have met with instances of piety exalted to the heavens—glowing like burning lava, and warming the cold dull cloisters of the monks. I have read of many a student who spent the long night in exploring mysteries of the Bible truths; and have seen him sketched by a monkish pencil with his ponderous volumes spread around him, and the oil burning brightly by his side. I have watched him in his little cell thus depicted on the ancient parchment, and have sympathized with his painful difficulties in acquiring true knowledge, or enlightened wisdom, within the convent walls; and then I have read the pages of his fellow monk—perhaps, his book-companion; and heard what he had to say of that poor lonely Bible student, and have learnt with sadness how often truth had been extinguished from his mind by superstition, or learning cramped by his monkish prejudices; but it has not always been so, and I have enjoyed a more gladdening view on finding in the monk a Bible teacher; and in another, a profound historian, or pleasing annalist.

As a Christian, the recollection of these cheering facts, with which my researches have been blessed, are pleasurable, and lead me to look back upon those old times with a student's fondness. But besides piety and virtue, I have met with wisdom and philanthropy; the former, too profound, and the latter, too generous for the age; but these things are precious, and worth remembering; and how can I speak of them but in words of kindness? It is these traits of worth and goodness that have gained my sympathies, and twined round my heart, and not the dark stains on the monkish page of history; these I have always striven to forget, or to remember them only when I thought experience might profit by them; for they offer a terrible lesson of blood, tyranny and anguish. But this dark and gloomy side is the one which from our infancy has ever been before us; we learnt it when a child from our tutor; or at college, or at school; we learnt it in the pages of our best and purest writers; learnt that in those old days nought existed, but bloodshed, tyranny, and anguish; but we never thought once to gaze at the scene behind, and behold the workings of human charity and love; if we had, we should have found that the same passions, the same affections, and the same hopes and fears existed then as now, and our sympathies would have been won by learning that we were reading of brother men, fellow Christians, and fellow-companions in the Church of Christ. We have hitherto looked, when casting a backward glance at those long gone ages of inanimation, with the severity of a judge upon a criminal; but to understand him properly we must regard them with the tender compassion of a parent; for if our art, our science, and our philosophy exalts us far above them, is that a proof that there was nothing admirable, nothing that can call forth our love on that infant state, or in the annals of our civilization at its early growth?

But let it not be thought that if I have striven to retrieve from the dust and gloom of antiquity, the remembrance of old things that are worthy; that I feel any love for the superstition with which we find them blended. There is much that is good connected with those times; talent even that is worth imitating, and art that we may be proud to learn, which is beginning after the elapse of centuries to arrest the attention of the ingenious, and the love of these, naturally revive with the discovery; but we need not fear in this resurrection of old things of other days, that the superstition and weakness of the middle ages; that the veneration for dry bones and saintly dust, can live again. I do not wish to make the past assume a superiority over the present; but I think a contemplation of mediæval art would often open a new avenue of thought and lead to many a pleasing and profitable discovery; I would too add the efforts of my feeble pen to elevate and ennoble the fond pursuit of my leisure hours. I would say one word to vindicate the lover of old musty writings, and the explorer of rude antiquities, from the charge of unprofitableness, and to protect him from the sneer of ridicule. For whilst some see in the dry studies of the antiquary a mere inquisitiveness after forgotten facts and worthless relics; I can see, nay, have felt, something morally elevating in the exercise of these inquiries. It is not the mere fact which may sometimes be gained by rubbing off the parochial whitewash from ancient tablets, or the encrusted oxide from monumental brasses, that render the study of ancient relics so attractive; but it is the deductions which may sometimes be drawn from them. The light which they sometimes cast on obscure parts of history, and the fine touches of human sensibility, which their eulogies and monodies bespeak, that instruct or elevate the mind, and make the student's heart beat with holier and loftier feelings. But it is not my duty here to enter into the motives, the benefits, or the most profitable manner of studying antiquity; if it were, I would strive to show how much superior it is to become an original investigator, a practical antiquary, than a mere borrower from others. For the most delightful moments of the student's course is when he rambles personally among the ruins and remnants of long gone ages; sometimes painful are such sights, even deeply so; but never to a righteous mind are they unprofitable, much less exerting a narrowing tendency on the mind, or cramping the gushing of human feeling; for cold, indeed, must be the heart that can behold strong walls tottering to decay, and fretted vaults, mutilated and dismantled of their pristine beauty; that can behold the proud strongholds of baronial power and feudal tyranny, the victims of the lichen or creeping parasites of the ivy tribe; cold, I say, must be the heart that can see such things, and draw no lesson from them.

INDEX