With the invention and spread of the knowledge of printing, however, the risk of loss was greatly reduced. Such ancient writings as came into the printer's hands were given a fresh lease of life which in many cases was of indefinite length, or rather, of practically eternal duration. But the fact of being printed was not invariably a safeguard. Some of the works of the early printers have disappeared completely, and many are represented only by single copies. The strange history of the British Museum copy of the famous Book of St Albans, will serve to show the vicissitudes with which the relics of the past have to contend in their journey down the ages.
At the end of the last century the library of an old Lincolnshire house was overhauled by someone who disdainfully turned out of it all unbound books, and had them destroyed. A few of the condemned books, however, were begged by the gardener. Among them was the Book of St Albans. At the gardener's death his son threw away some of the rescued volumes, but kept the “Book.” At the son's death, his widow sold such books as he had left, to a pedlar, for the sum of ninepence. The pedlar re-sold them to a chemist in Gainsborough for shop-paper, but observing the strange wood-cuts in the “Book,” the chemist offered it to a stationer for a guinea. The stationer would not purchase, but said he would display it in his window as a curiosity. Here it attracted attention, and five pounds was offered for it by a gentleman in the neighbourhood. The stationer, finding the volume an object of desire, gave the chemist two pounds for it and eventually sold it to a bookseller for seven guineas. Of this bookseller the Right Hon. Thomas Grenville bought it for seventy pounds, and bequeathed it to the British Museum with the rest of his magnificent library. This story I give on the authority of Mr Blades, who also, to instance the way in which books travel about and turn up in odd places, relates that a brother of Bishop Heber's, who had been for years seeking for a book printed by Colard Mansion, but without success, one day received a fine copy from the bishop, who had bought it from a native on the banks of the Ganges.
[CHAPTER III
BOOKS AND LIBRARIES IN CLASSICAL TIMES]
In literary Greece and Rome, so far as we can tell from the somewhat meagre information handed down to us, literature was pursued for her own sake, and filthy lucre did not enter into the calculations of authors, who appear to have been satisfied if their works met with the approval of those who were competent to judge of them. Literature walked alone, and had not as yet entered into partnership with commerce. The writing of books for pecuniary profit is a wholly modern development, and even now it is more often an aspiration than a realisation.
In those days, when an author desired to make known a work, he would read it aloud to an invited party of friends. This reading of original compositions became in time a common item of the programme provided by a host for the entertainment of his guests, and it is not difficult to imagine that such a custom was often subjected to grave abuse, from the guests' point of view. Later, the private reading developed into the public lecture. Lectures of this kind became very frequent in Rome, and we are told that it was looked upon as a sort of festival when a fashionable author announced a reading. But we are also told that some of the audience often treated a lecturer of mediocre merit with scant courtesy, entering late and leaving early, and frequently they who applauded most were those who had listened least. The public reading is recorded of a poem composed by Nero. It was read to the people on the Capitol, and the manuscript, which was written in letters of gold, was afterwards deposited in the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus.
If a work happened to attract attention by reason of its author's reputation or its own merit, it was copied by students or others who had heard and admired it. This was the only way in which literary productions could be dispersed and made known to the public at large, or a collection of books be gathered together. As the literary taste developed, those who were sufficiently wealthy kept slaves whose sole business it was to copy books, which books might be either the original works of their master, who by this means disseminated his compositions, or the works of others, for the benefit of their master's library. These slaves, being of necessity well educated and skilful scribes, were purchased at high prices and held in great esteem by their owners. But obviously it was only the rich who could command such service, and ordinary folk had to resort to the bookseller.
The booksellers of Athens and Rome were those who made copies of books, or employed slaves to make them, and sold or let them on hire to those who had need of them. The author had no voice in these matters. There was nothing to prevent anyone who borrowed or otherwise got possession of his work from making copies of the manuscript if he chose, and making money from the copies if he could. “Copyright” was a word unknown in those days, and for centuries after. The booksellers advertised their wares by notices affixed to the door-posts of their shops, giving the names of new or desirable works, and sometimes read these works aloud to their friends and patrons. Their shops were favourite places of resort for persons of leisure and literary tastes.
Copyists of books retained a high place in the order of things literary until the introduction of printing, and without their labours we should know nothing of ancient literature, seeing that no original manuscript of any classical author has survived. And apart from its purely literary value, which is variable, the work of the early mediæval scribes in many instances reaches a high artistic standard, and exhibits marvellous skill in an accomplishment now numbered among the lost arts.
On the subject of libraries, as on all literary matters in ancient times, hardly any solid information is available. But we know that Egypt was to the fore in this respect as in so many others. Yet of all the collections of books which, since they are frequently alluded to in the inscriptions, she undoubtedly possessed, stored in her kings' palaces and her temple archives, there is only one which is mentioned in history, and that by a single historian. According to Diodorus Siculus, this library was made by Osymandyas, who was king of Egypt at a date which has not been precisely determined. He tells us that its entrance exhibited the inscription: “Place of Healing for the Soul,” or, as it has been variously rendered, “Balsam for the Soul,” or, “Dispensary of the Mind.” Although doubt has been thrown on the perfect accuracy of the historian in introducing the name of Osymandyas in this connection, modern Egyptologists have identified the plan of the library with a hall of the great “palace temple” of Rameses II., the “Ramesium” or “Memnonium” at Thebes. The door-jambs of this hall utter their own testimony to its ancient use, for they bear the figures of Thoth, the god of writing, and Saf, a goddess who is accompanied by the titles “Lady of Letters” and “Presider over the Hall of Books.” Astle, in The Origin and Progress of Writing, says that the books and colleges of Egypt were destroyed by the Persians, but Matter, on the other hand, in L'École d'Alexandrie, declares that the temple archives were in existence in the Greek and Roman periods. Probably Astle's statement is not intended to be as sweeping as it appears.
Babylonia and Assyria also had their libraries. According to Professor Sayce (The Higher Criticism and the Monuments) they were “filled with libraries, and the libraries with thousands of books.” The royal library already referred to as furnishing so rich a treasure of cuneiform tablets, was begun by Sennacherib, who reigned 705–681 B.C., and completed by Assur-bani-pal, who reigned about 668–626 B.C.