Lis. "Commençez au commençement"—as the French adage is.
Lysand. In sober truth, you impose upon me a pretty tough task! "One Thousand and One Nights" would hardly suffice for the execution of it; and now, already, I see the owl flying across the lawn to take her station in the neighbouring oak; while even the middle ground of yonder landscape is veiled in the blue haziness of evening. Come a short half hour, and who, unless the moon befriend him, can see the outline of the village church? Thus gradually and imperceptibly, but thus surely, succeeds age to youth—death to life—eternity to time!—You see in what sort of mood I am for the performance of my promise?
Lis. Reserve these meditations for your pillow, dear Lysander: and now, again I entreat you—"commençez au commençement."
Phil. Pray make a beginning only: the conclusion shall be reserved, as a desert, for Lorenzo's dinner to-morrow.
Lysand. Lest I should be thought coquettish, I will act with you as I have already done; and endeavour to say something which may gratify you as before.
It has often struck me my dear friends, continued Lysander—(in a balanced attitude, and seeming to bring quietly together all his scattered thoughts upon the subject) it has often struck me that few things have operated more unfavourably towards the encouragement of learning, and of book-collecting, than the universal passion for chivalry—which obtained towards the middle ages; while, on the other hand, a monastic life seems to have excited a love of retirement, meditation, and reading.[210] I admit readily, that, considering the long continuance of the monastic orders, and that almost all intellectual improvement was confined within the cloister, a very slow and partial progress was made in literature. The system of education was a poor, stinted, and unproductive one. Nor was it till after the enterprising activity of Poggio had succeeded in securing a few precious remains of classical antiquity,[211] that the wretched indolence of the monastic life began to be diverted from a constant meditation upon "antiphoners, grailes, and psalters,"[212] towards subjects of a more generally interesting nature. I am willing to admit every degree of merit to the manual dexterity of the cloistered student. I admire his snow-white vellum missals, emblazoned with gold, and sparkling with carmine and ultramarine blue. By the help of the microscopic glass, I peruse his diminutive penmanship, executed with the most astonishing neatness and regularity; and often wish in my heart that our typographers printed with ink as glossy black as that which they sometimes used in their writing. I admire all this; and now and then, for a guinea or two, I purchase a specimen of such marvellous leger-de-main: but the book, when purchased, is to me a sealed book. And yet, Philemon, I blame not the individual, but the age; not the task, but the task-master; for surely the same exquisite and unrivalled beauty would have been exhibited in copying an ode of Horace, or a dictum of Quintilian. Still, however, you may say that the intention, in all this, was pure and meritorious; for that such a system excited insensibly a love of quiet, domestic order, and seriousness: while those counsels and regulations which punished a "Clerk for being a hunter," and restricted "the intercourse of Concubines,"[213] evinced a spirit of jurisprudence which would have done justice to any age. Let us allow, then, if you please, that a love of book-reading, and of book-collecting, was a meritorious trait in the monastic life; and that we are to look upon old abbies and convents as the sacred depositories of the literature of past ages. What can you say in defence of your times of beloved chivalry?
[210] As early as the sixth century commenced the custom, in some monasteries, of copying ancient books and composing new ones. It was the usual, and even only, employment of the first monks of Marmoutier. A monastery without a library was considered as a fort or a camp deprived of the necessary articles for its defence: "claustrum sine armario, quasi castrum sine armentario." Peignot, Dict. de Bibliolog., vol. i., 77. I am fearful that this good old bibliomanical custom of keeping up the credit of their libraries among the monks had ceased—at least in the convent of Romsey, in Hampshire—towards the commencement of the sixteenth century. One would think that the books had been there disposed of in bartering for strong liquors; for at a visitation by Bishop Fox, held there in 1506, Joyce Rows, the abbess, is accused of immoderate drinking, especially in the night time; and of inviting the nuns to her chamber every evening, for the purpose of these excesses, "post completorium." What is frightful to add,—"this was a rich convent, and filled with ladies of the best families." See Warton's cruel note in his Life of Sir Thomas Pope, p. 25, edit. 1772. A tender-hearted bibliomaniac cannot but feel acutely on reflecting upon the many beautifully-illuminated vellum books which were, in all probability, exchanged for these inebriating gratifications! To balance this unfavourable account read Hearne's remark about the libraries in ancient monasteries, in the sixth volume of Leland's Collectanea, p. 86-7, edit. 1774: and especially the anecdotes and authorities stated by Dr. Henry in book iii., chap, iv., sec. 1.
[211] See the first volume of Mr. Roscoe's Lorenzo de Medici; and the Rev. Mr. Shepherd's Life of Poggio Bracciolini.
[212] When Queen Elizabeth deputed a set of commissioners to examine into the superstitious books belonging to All-Souls library, there was returned, in the list of these superstitious works, "eight grailes, seven antiphoners of parchment and bound." Gutch's Collectanea Curiosa, vol. ii., 276. At [page 115], ante, the reader will find a definition of the word "Antiphoner." He is here informed that a "gradale" or "grail," is a book which ought to have in it "the office of sprinkling holy water: the beginnings of the masses, or the offices of Kyrie, with the verses of gloria in excelsis; the gradales, or what is gradually sung after the epistles; the hallelujah and tracts, the sequences, the creed to be sung at mass, the offertories, the hymns holy, and Lamb of God, the communion, &c., which relate to the choir at the singing of a solemn mass." This is the Rev. J. Lewis's account; idem opus, vol. ii., 168.
[213] "Of a Clerk that is an Hunter."