What became of them we do not know. In the Philobiblon, of which he is the reputed author, he expressed his intention of founding a hall at Oxford, and of leaving his books to it. Durham College, however, was not completed until thirty-six years after his death. Among the Durham College documents is a catalogue of the books it owned at the beginning of the fifteenth century, and only the books sent to Oxford in 1315, and as many more are mentioned, so that his large library did not go to the college, but was probably dispersed.[449] De Bury, like Cobham, was a heavy debtor, and as he lay dying his servants stole all his moveable goods and left him naked on his bed save for an undershirt which a lackey had thrown over him.[450] His executors, as we know, were glad to resell to St. Albans Abbey the books he had bought from the monks there.
De Bury has left us an account of his methods of collecting which throws some light upon the trade in books in his time. “Although from our youth upwards we had always delighted in holding social commune with learned men and lovers of books, yet when we prospered in the world, ... we obtained ampler facilities for visiting everywhere as we would, and of hunting as it were certain most choice preserves, libraries private as well as public, and of the regular as well as of the secular clergy.... There was afforded to us, in consideration of the royal favour, easy access for the purpose of freely searching the retreats of books. In fact, the fame of our love of them had been soon winged abroad everywhere, and we were reported to burn with such desire for books, and especially old ones, that it was more easy for any man to gain our favour by means of books than of money. Wherefore, since supported by the goodness of the aforesaid prince of worthy memory, we were able to requite a man well or ill ... there flowed in, instead of presents and guerdons, and instead of gifts and jewels, soiled tracts and battered codices, gladsome alike to our eye and heart. Then the aumbries of the most famous monasteries were thrown open, cases were unlocked and caskets were undone, and volumes that had slumbered through long ages in their tombs wake up and are astonished, and those that had lain hidden in dark places are bathed in the ray of unwonted light. These long lifeless books, once most dainty, but now become corrupt and loathesome, covered with litters of mice and pierced with the gnawings of the worms, and who were once clothed in purple and fine linen, now lying in sackcloth and ashes, given up to oblivion, seemed to have become habitations of the moth.... Thus the sacred vessels of learning came into our control and stewardship; some by gift, others by purchase, and some lent to us for a season.”[451]
If his words are true, monastic and other libraries must have been seriously despoiled to build up his own collection. He was bribed by St. Albans Abbey, and nobody need disbelieve him when he says he got many presents from other houses, for the merit of being open-handed was rewarded with more good mediation and favours than the giver’s cause deserved; indeed, De Bury himself seems to have made judicious use of bribes for his own advancement.[452] Usually gifts were in jewels or plate, but books were given to men known to love them; as when Whethamstede presented Humfrey of Gloucester and the Duke of Bedford with books they coveted.
While acting as emissary for his “illustrious prince,” de Bury hunts his quarry in the narrow ways of Paris, and captures “inestimable books” by freely opening his purse, the coins of which are, to his mind, “mud and sand” compared with the treasures he gets. He blesses the friars and protects them, and they rout out books from the “universities and high schools of various provinces”; but how, whether rightfully or wrongfully, we do not know. He “does not disdain,” he tells us—in truth, he is surely overjoyed—to visit “their libraries and any other repositories of books”; nay, there he finds heaped up amid the utmost poverty the utmost riches of wisdom. He freely employs the booksellers, but the wiles of the collector are as notorious as the wiles of women, and his chief aim is to “captivate the affection of all” who can get him books;—not even forgetting “the rectors of schools and the instructors of rude boys,” although we cannot think he gets much from them. If he cannot buy books, he has copies made: about his person are scribes and correctors, illuminators and binders, and generally all who can usefully labour in the service of books; in large numbers—in no small multitude. And by these means he gets together more books than all the other English bishops put together: more than five waggon loads; a veritable hoard, overflowing into the hall of his house, and into his bedroom, where he steps over them to get to his couch. He was a man “of small learning,” says Murimuth; “passably literate,” writes Chambre; at the best, according to Petrarch, “of ardent temperament, not ignorant of literature, with a natural curiosity for out-of-the-way lore”: an antiquarian, not of the lovable kind, but unscrupulous, pedantic, and vain, indulging an inordinate taste for collecting and hoarding books, perhaps to satisfy a craving for shreds and patches of knowledge, but more likely to earn a reputation as a great clerk.[453] For De Bury was something of a humbug; the Philobiblon, if it is his work, reaches the utmost limit of affectation in the love of books.
§ II
The literature of the later part of the fourteenth century affords us glimpses of other readers who were not merely collectors. The author—or authors—of Piers Plowman seems to have had within his reach a fair library. His reading was carelessly done for the most part, his references are vague and incorrect, and his quotations not always exact. But he was well read in the Scriptures, which he knew far better than any other book. From the Fathers he gathered much, perhaps by means of collections of extracts from their works. He used the Golden Legend, Huon de Meri’s allegorical poem of the fight between Jesus and the Antichrist, Peter Comestor’s Bible History, Rustebeuf’s La Voie de Paradis, Grosseteste’s religious allegory of Le Chastel d’Amour, the paraded learning of Vincent of Beauvais in Speculum Historiale, and other works—numerous and small signs of booklore, which are completely overshadowed by his illuminating comprehension of the popular side in the politics of his day. Gower, too, had at his disposal a little library of some account, including the Scriptures, theological writings and ecclesiastical histories, Aristotle, some of the classics, and a good deal of romance in prose and verse.
But Chaucer was the ideal book-lover: knowing Dante, Boccaccio, and in some degree “Franceys Petrark, the laureat poete,” who “enlumined al Itaille of poetry,” Virgil, Cicero, Seneca, Ovid—his favourite author—and Boëthius; as well as Guido delle Colonne’s prose epic of the story of Troy, the poems of Guillaume de Machaut, the Roman de la Rose, and a work on the astrolabe by Messahala.[454] We have some excellent pictures of Chaucer’s habit of reading. When his day’s work is done he goes home and buries himself with his books—
“Domb as any stoon,
Thou sittest at another boke,
Til fully daswed is thy loke.”[455]
In the Parliament of Fowls he tells us that he read books often for instruction and pleasure, and the coming on of night alone would force him to put away his book. He would not have been a true reader had he not developed the habit of reading in bed.
“...Whan I saw I might not slepe,
Til now late, this other night,
Upon my bedde I sat upright
And bad oon reche me a book,
A romance, and he hit me took
To rede and dryve the night away;
. . . . . . . . . .
And in this boke were writen fables
That clerkes hadde, in olde tyme,
And other poets, put in ryme....”[456]