"I knew the greatness of the charge, . . . yet being informed of a design to have some of them (the books) sold, and transferred beyond sea (which 1 thought would be a disgrace and damage to our nation, and to all scholars therein), and fearing that in other hands they might be more subject to embezzling . . . I did accept the trouble of being library-keeper at St. James's, and therein was much persuaded by Mr. Selden, who swore that if I did not undertake the charge of them, all those rare monuments of antiquity, those choice books and MSS. would be lost, and there were not the like of them except only in the Vatican, in any other library in Christendom."
At the Restoration, Thomas Rosse was made royal librarian, but his offices were already so numerous that he was unable to bestow much attention on the books. Nevertheless, he revived the project of printing the Alexandrian MS., and urged the king to interest himself in bringing it about, saying that, although it would cost 200 pounds, it would "appear glorious in history after your Majesty's death." "Pish," replied Charles II., characteristically, "I care not what they say of me in history when I am dead," and there was an end of the matter till our own day.
The year 1678 is noteworthy in the annals of the Royal library as the period at which it acquired the series of valuable MSS. known as the Theyer collection. They had been bought from Theyer's executors by Robert Scott, a famous bookseller, who offered them to the king for 6841. He subsequently got them for 560 pounds. Next to the Alexandrian Codex this is the most important addition to the library in comparatively modern times. It consisted of 336 volumes, including l00 rare treatises, a whole series of Roger Bacon's works, and the celebrated autograph collection formerly belonging to Cranmer, and long mourned as lost. Many of these manuscripts could be traced back to the library of Llanthony Abbey, having passed into Theyer's possession by the marriage of one- of his ancestors with a sister of the last prior of Llanthony. Nearly the whole of the Theyer collection is described in the Catalogi Librorum Manuscriptorum of 1697, but without the least hint that it then formed part of the Royal library. The great Richard Bentley was at that time librarian, and was responsible for the amazing omission, having prohibited any mention of the Royal library in that work, his reason perhaps being the disgraceful condition into which the books had fallen. Bentley was by far the most distinguished of the royal librarians during any part of its history, and he would, no doubt, have accomplished wonders if he had not been so outrageous a pluralist, so busy a scholar, and so pugnacious a litigant. Not only was he Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, Regius Professor of Divinity, Rector of Haddington, Rector of Wilburn, and Archdeacon of Ely, but he was immersed in numberless lawsuits, and in classical studies which would alone have sufficed to fill the whole life of an ordinary man. What he, in spite of these multifarous occupations, attempted to do for the Royal library at least testifies to the grandeur of his conceptions and the boldness of his schemes. His failure to place the library within the reach of students was as much due to the stultifying effects of red-tapeism as to the disorganised condition of the library itself.
Bentley's first care on taking office was to enforce the Copyright Act, which, although passed in 1663, had been carelessly ignored. By this means about 1000 printed books were added to the collection, but no bindings were provided, or shelves on which to put them. In a famous controversy with Charles Boyle, who complained that difficulties were placed in the way of his access to one of the royal manuscripts, Bentley answered: "I will own that I have often said and lamented that the library was not fit to be seen," and proceeding to exulpate himself, he added: "If the room be too mean, and too little for the books; if it be much out of repair; if the situation be inconvenient; if the access to it be dishonourable, is the library- keeper to answer for it?"
A proposal was made, during Bentley's tenure of office, to erect a suitable building for the books, establishing it by Act of Parliament. But nothing was done, and in the course of nineteen years the collection was four times removed. In 1712 it migrated from the much abused quarters at St. James's to Cotton House, and from thence to Essex House in 1722. It was next lodged, together with the Cottonian library at Ashburnham House, and after the disastrous fire in 1731, from which the Cotton MSS. suffered so severely, it gained with them a temporary refuge in the old Westminster dormitory.
Bentley resigned his office of librarian in 1724, in favour of his son, another Richard Bentley; but Casley, who, as deputy custodian, had been for many years the only working librarian, continued to fill that post.
In 1757, George II. presented the Royal library to the nation, handing it over by Letters Patent to the custody of the trustees of the British Museum, and thus its hitherto chequered career was turned into prosperous channels. All that is henceforth left to desire is a descriptive catalogue worthy of its unique contents.*
* The Royal Library must not be confused with the King's Library belonging to George III., and presented to the British Museum by George IV. The King's Library included, however, a few important MSS. which had been retained by George II. when he made over the Royal collection to the nation.
The Greek MSS. in the British Museum are not very numerous, but are widely renowned. Of those in the Royal library the Codex Alexandrinus is by far the most interesting, not only as being the one Greek MS. of the whole Bible in the library, but also as surpassing all the other existing Greek fragments of the Scriptures in point of antiquity. The next earliest MS., containing the Books of Ruth, Kings, Esdras, Esther, and the Maccabees (1 D 2), is of the thirteenth century. The Books of Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Solomon (1 A 15), are of the fifteenth century. Nearest in antiquity to the Alexandrian Bible in the British Museum is the Cotton MS. (Titus, C 15), the Codex Clarmontanus, a purple-dyed fragment of the sixth century, written on vellum of so subtle and delicate a texture that even experts have sometimes mistaken it for Egyptian papyrus.
A few words will not be out of place here respecting the writing materials of the ancients, and their custom of staining leaves of vellum. Skins of animals were probably one of the most ancient mediums, as being the most durable. There exists in the British Museum a ritual, written on white leather, which dates from about the year 2000 B.C. But the custom of writing on leather is known to have been much older still. The commonest mode of keeping records in Assyria and Babylonia was on prepared bricks, tiles, or cylinders of clay, baked after the inscription had been impressed on them. But a wood-cut of an ancient sculpture from Konyungik* illustrates scribes in the act of writing down the number of heads and the amount of spoil taken in battle, on rolls of leather, which the Egyptians used as early as the eighteenth dynasty. At the close of the commercial intercourse between Assyria and Egypt, rolls of leather may have been the only material employed for writing on. Parchment, so prepared that both sides could be used, was doubtless the development of this custom, but was a much later invention. Together with the use of the rough skins, and of the more or less carefully prepared surfaces of the leather, papyrus became one of the most frequent vehicles for written words, and was used for some time after the beginning of the Christian era. Leaves of palm or mallow led up to the first forms of papyrus used—hence, perhaps, the word leaf of a book. Bark was next pressed into the service of literature and, it has often been suggested, possibly gave rise to the word book, although it seems more likely that book was of runic origin and derived from the beech-staves—Buch-staben, on which the runes were expressed.