By lending the books as we illegally do, we are perceptibly hastening the destruction of a library intended by its founder and benefactors to be a blessing for generations of scholars yet unborn.
2. Books are to be lent, and what is more ought to be sent out of Oxford, because it is an immense convenience to students at a distance to have Bodleian treasures close at hand. Not a doubt about it; vastly convenient. Suppose I am studying Greek sculpture, it would be very convenient to get all the master-pieces sent from the various galleries of Europe to London or Oxford. It would not only be a convenience, but a joy and a delight, to have over the Venus of Melos. Instead of sitting for hours together, as I used to do, in the Louvre, it would be much more convenient to go down to the New Schools and gaze on that glorious and divine being. Does any one suddenly scent an absurdity in the supposition? Why so do I, but the absurdity is in the whole argument, not in the particular application of it. Some people who have not a gift for seeing the point of things will ride off by saying that the Venus is a majestic beauty, and that the expense of her carriage and insurance would be enormous. Such an objection is pointless, because it evades the question of convenience; but let us take a case where weight will not oppress us. Say you study Greek gems; would it not be very convenient to have some of the best from Naples, from Paris, from Rome, and from Vienna, sent here to the Bodleian, where you could study them at your leisure? They are more portable than books, far less liable to damage, and hardly more valuable. Do you think that any guardian of such treasures would be so foolish as to listen to your request? Would any nation, city, or even University, permit it?
The cases, it will be said, are not parallel. Gems, coins, medals, statuettes, are too valuable to be lent; the books and manuscripts which the Bodleian Curators lend are comparatively valueless. I am by no means sure of that fact. I have before now tapped at a friend's door, and receiving no answer entered his room to leave a message or what not, and have more than once seen lying on his table an eleventh-century Bodleian manuscript of a certain classic author, a book of inestimable value, the codex archetypus of every other copy now in existence. Any stranger could have entered that room, and any enterprising literary thief—a not uncommon and particularly detestable animal—might have slipped this priceless book into his pocket. I am by no means sure that very valuable manuscripts have not been, in spite of remonstrance, lent out within the last two years; but it is beyond all dispute that not so very long ago the thing was done, and any man or any body of men who will allow one such thing to be done are quite capable of allowing a dozen to be done.
Let it, however, be granted, for the purposes of the present argument, that we now, having a clearer perception of our responsibilities, only allow comparatively worthless manuscripts to be sent to France, to Germany, Russia, or India; for our manuscripts, be it observed, travel as far afield as Bombay. Now what makes a book or manuscript comparatively worthless? It is so, either because it is one of many copies, or because it is a poor and faulty copy. If it is one of many, why in the name of all that is absurd should we be asked to send our goods away (at our expense and risk let it be remembered) when ex hypothesi there are many other copies in existence? why cannot the foreign student go to some one of those copies? why should we be called on to gratify his laziness or consult his convenience? If the copy be a poor one, he who asks for the loan of it must be a noodle, for who cares for the readings of a confessedly inferior book? Is it not clear as day that the man who at Rome, or Heidelberg, or Bombay, asks for the loan of a manuscript, believes it to be a good and valuable copy? moreover, if he believes so, is it not in the highest degree probable that his judgment is correct, seeing that his attention is in a special manner concentrated on the matter? And if it be a good and valuable copy, what becomes of the plea that we only lend comparatively worthless books? Have we any common sense amongst us? I really confess that there are times when I come to the conclusion that we have none; for if we had, how could we be deceived by pretexts so flimsy and fallacious? All the manuscripts which we now lend are most certainly valuable, and their loss or damage would be irreparable; all talk of comparative worth or worthlessness is futile, and is merely used as so much dust thrown in the eyes of those who (I am sorry to say it, but it must be said) ought to have a higher conception of their duties.
3. Some maintain that MSS. and books should be lent out because 'more work' will be done by that device. It is difficult to see why. It is inferred, in fact, that 'more work' will be done, because it is more convenient to work at home than it is in a library. A partial answer to this fallacious plea has been already given, but I cannot pass over the particular form of it without a protest. The cant that is talked now-a-days about 'work' is enough to make one sick. As far as my experience extends, the very notion of work, as opposed to fidgetty pottering, is not possessed by fifty men in the place; the very conception of thoroughness and comprehension is gone; and as to learning, why the thing has almost vanished; of 'science' we have enough and to spare, but what in the world has become of all our knowledge? Briefly, at the present moment and in this place, all this wretched pretence of 'work' is arrant imposture. A few, and only a few, know what it means, and they would never dream of talking about it.
But I have heard this argument about 'more work' put in another form, and it obviously is a theme on which endless variations may be composed. Suppose, it is said, a very poor scholar, anxious to give the world a critical edition of some book, and further suppose that there is a valuable manuscript at St. Petersburg, another at Stockholm, another in Paris, another in Oxford, and so on; let the poor scholar live where you like, say in Giessen, and suppose him to be totally unable to defray the expense of a journey to these several places, and to have no means of paying for collations made by others, and no confidence in their correctness, even if he could pay for them; would it not be an advantage to literature that all these manuscripts should be sent to Giessen for the use of the poor scholar aforesaid; and would it not be a dead loss to the world of letters, if, by refusing so to lend them, you prevented the poor scholar from constructing a critical and admirable text of the author in whom he is interested? This purely hypothetical case I have heard put in all seriousness, and used as a knock-me-down sort of argument; yet it must occur to any one with a grain of common sense that it is only too easy to 'suppose' anything; that it would not require the imaginative powers of a baby to go one step further, and suppose the poor, the ardent and the ripe scholar to have just money enough or pluck enough to carry him to the places which he wishes to visit, (I note parenthetically that a real student, a man to read of whose exploits warms one's heart, Cosma de Körös, started on his extraordinary expedition to the East with 100 florins and a walking-stick, for being what he was, he dispensed with luggage,) or you might suppose brains enough in his neighbourhood to perceive that so deserving a creature of the pure imagination might fairly enough be helped or—but it is needless and foolish to dream with one's eyes open, and practical men generally object to discuss purely hypothetical cases. Yes, my excellent but fanciful friend will say, this is all very well, but if there were such a case, what would you do? Well, to speak for myself, I should prefer to wait till the poor scholar's exchequer was in a more flourishing condition, or why should I not take a turn at 'supposing' myself? and perform the very easy trick of imagining a more ripe scholar, a more enthusiastic student, endowed not only with brains, but blessed with means to gratify his whims, and then, without the least violence, I might suppose the result to be a much more correct, a much more critical edition than my friend's phantom scholar could ever by any possibility concoct. But to return to the region of reality; I answer that not even in the case supposed, or in any case would I lend out manuscripts, and this for more reasons than I have patience to write down. One remark may, however, be made. We are constantly requested to send manuscripts abroad 'for collation,' and we not unfrequently send them. Will any one be good enough to mention to me a single collation of a Greek or Latin classic made by any scholar by profession of any manuscript of fair length—say, if you like, 300 pages of octavo print—which is faithful, or which can be depended on? Even if it were a defensible practice to send manuscripts abroad for collation, it can never be a defensible practice to expose them to all the risks they necessarily run, and after all reap as a net result collations not worth the paper they are written on.
I hope that these considerations may satisfy my imaginative friend that there is not that force in his argument which he supposes; but if he is still unconvinced, let us agree to consider the case of the poor scholar when it actually occurs on its merits, and let it be conceded as a thing not impossible, that should all the supposed conditions exist, we might for once in a way move Convocation to lend a manuscript for the use of so singular and so deserving a character; how does that justify us in sending manuscripts abroad when no such conditions exist? The most I have ever yet heard pleaded on behalf of these foreign students was, not that they could not afford to come to Oxford, but merely that it was much more convenient to have a book sent out to Hungary or Russia, than it was for the Hungarian or Russian to visit us. I dare say it was more convenient to him, but it has already been observed that he who wishes to use public property must and ought to submit to not a few personal inconveniences. It would, too, be interesting to know whether, supposing any of us possessed a very valuable book of our own, we should be ready and willing to lend it as freely as we lend these books which are not ours. I will answer for myself that I certainly should not, and that it would be grossly inconsistent in me to lend University property when I decline under precisely similar circumstances to lend my own.
4. Again, it is argued that since foreign libraries are willing to lend to us we ought to reciprocate their liberality: we ought, it is said, to be as liberal as France or Germany are. To the end of time men will be the dupes of phrases and the slaves of words, yet it is a little strange that we, who fancy ourselves in some respects raised above the mob, should see any force in this singular perversion of language. Who does not detect the hollow and worthless nature of that 'liberality' which lends, not what is its own, but what is another's? In what possible sense, except an illusory and fallacious one, can the Bodleian Curators credit themselves with the virtue of 'liberality' when they hand over, not their own property, not anything which they collectively set great store on, not anything which it would grieve them deeply to lose, but something not their own? Such liberality seems to me to be as cheap as it is worthless; as easy as it is unreal. But, it will be objected, that the University empowers them so to lend, and that it would be 'illiberal' in them to accept loans from others and refuse themselves to lend. As to the powers given by the University, I have already said something; the rest of the plea may be sufficiently answered by a single line from Hamlet—
"Neither a borrower nor a lender be."
Sound, wholesome advice to all, whether taken as Polonius intended it, or as I now use it. It would be mean and shabby to borrow if you refuse to lend, for it would be conniving at a vice which you decline to commit. Would it not be more rational to argue that all lending out of Bodleian books being bad, we therefore decline to benefit (if benefit it be) by a practice which we disapprove of in principle? To argue simply, as I have heard some do, that because foreign libraries are willing to lend us books, therefore we ought to be willing to lend them books, is, as an argument, about as valid as it would be to say, 'My friend X has signified his willingness to lend me his banjo, and therefore I am bound to lend him my Erard's piano, if he asks for it': not every one would see the force of such reasoning. If the lending of books from such a library as the Bodleian be, as I maintain it is, bad in principle, it can never become right because other libraries are willing to be loose in their practice.