by
Gertrude Burford Rawlings

Early printers at work.

Chapter I
Introductory

The book family is a very old and a very noble one, and has rendered great service to mankind, although, as with other great houses, all its members are not of equal worth and distinction. But since books are so common nowadays as to be taken quite as matters of course, probably few people give any thought to the long chain of events which, reaching from the dim past up to our own day, has been necessary for their evolution. Yet if we look round on our bookshelves, whether we measure their contents by hundreds or by thousands, and consider how mighty is the power of these inanimate combinations of “rag-paper with black ink on them,” and how all but limitless their field of action, it is but a step further to wonder what the first books were like. Given the living, working brain to fashion thoughts and create fancies, to whom did it first occur to write a book, what language and characters and material did he use, when did he write, and what did he write about? And although these questions can never be answered, an attempt to follow them up will lead the inquirer into many fascinating bye-ways of knowledge. It is not, however, the purpose of these pages to deal at length with the ancient history of the manuscript book, but, after briefly noticing the chief links which connect the volumes of to-day with primeval records, to present to the reader a few of the many points of interest offered by the modern history of the printed book.

The Beginning of Writing.—Books began with writing, and writing began at the time when man first bethought himself to make records, so that the progenitor of the beautiful handwriting and no less beautiful print of the civilised world is to be looked for in the rude drawing which primeval man scratched with a pointed flint on a smooth bone, or on a rock, representing the beast he hunted, or perhaps himself, or one of his fellows. The exact degree of importance he attached to these drawings we cannot hope to discover. They may have been cherished from purely æsthetic motives, or they may have served, at times, a merely utilitarian end and acted, perhaps, as memoranda. However this may be, these early drawings are the germs from which sprang writing, the parent of books, and liberator of literature, that great force of which a book is but the vehicle. How these drawings were gradually changed into letters, in other words, the story of the alphabet, has been already told in this series by Mr. Edward Clodd, and therefore we need not deal further with the subject here.

Writing once learned, and alphabets once formulated, the machinery for making books, with the human mind as its mainspring, was fairly in motion. “Certainly the Art of Writing,” says Carlyle, “is the most miraculous of all things man has devised.… With the art of Writing, of which Printing is a simple, an inevitable and comparatively insignificant corollary, the true reign of miracles for mankind commenced.” That these words only express the feeling of our far away ancestors, a cursory glance into the mythology of various peoples will prove. For wherever there is a tradition respecting writing, that tradition almost invariably, if not always, connects the great invention with the gods or with some sacred person. The Egyptians attributed it to Thoth, the Babylonians and Assyrians to Nebo, the Buddhists to Buddha, the Greeks to Hermes. The Scandinavians honoured Odin as the first cutter of the mysterious runes, and the Irish derived their ogham from the sacred Ogma of the Tuatha de Danaan. And it is noteworthy how, from time immemorial, writing, and the making of books, have been considered high and honourable accomplishments, and how closely they have ever been connected with the holy functions of priesthood.

Materials for Writing and Books.—The early forms of books were various, and, to modern eyes, more or less clumsy. Wood or bark was one of the oldest substances used to receive writing. Stone was no doubt older still, but stone inscriptions are outside our subject. The early Greeks and Romans employed tablets of soft metal, and wooden leaves coated with wax, when they had anything to write, impressing the characters with a stilus. Thus Pausanius relates that he saw the original copy of Hesiod’s Works and Days written on leaden tablets. The wooden leaves, when bound together at one side, foreshadowed the form of book which is now almost universal, and were called by the Romans caudex, or codex (originally meaning a tree-stump), in distinction to the volumen, which was always a parchment or papyrus roll. The oldest manuscript in existence, however, is on papyrus, which, as is well known, was the chief writing-material of the ancient world. Although the discovery that skins of animals, when properly prepared, formed a convenient and durable writing-material, was made at a very early date, the papyrus held its own as the writing-material of literary Egypt, Greece, and Rome, until about the fourth or fifth century of our era.

The books of Babylonia and Assyria took the form of thick clay tablets of various sizes. The wedge-shaped characters they bore were made by impressing the wet, soft clay with a triangular-pointed instrument of wood, bone, or metal. The tablet was then baked, and as recent discoveries prove, rendered exceedingly durable. It is a matter of conjecture as to whether the form of the original documents of the Old Testament was that of the Babylonian tablets, or of the Egyptian papyrus rolls, or of rolls of parchment. Perhaps all three were employed by the various biblical writers at different times.

It is stretching a point, perhaps, to include among writing materials the tablets of bamboo bark which bore the earliest Chinese characters, since the inscriptions were carved. The Chinese, however, soon discarded such primitive uses, and the paper which is so indispensable to-day was invented by them at a very early date, though it remained unknown to Europe until the Arabs introduced it about the tenth century, A.D. One of the earliest extant writings on paper is an Arabic “Treatise on the Nourishment of the Human Body,” written in 960 A.D., but it seems to have been printing which really brought paper into fashion, for paper manuscripts are rare compared with those of parchment and vellum.

Chapter II
The Preservation of Literature

It is easier to find the beginning of writing than the beginning of literature. Although we know for certain that the ancient nations of the world had books and libraries, that they preserved traditions, stored records and knowledge, and assisted memory by means of their tablets, their monuments, and their papyri, we shall probably never know when the art of writing was first applied to strictly literary purposes, and still less likely is it that we shall ever discover when works of the imagination were first recorded for the edification of mankind. It is not very rash, however, to assume that as soon as the art had developed the ancients put it to much the same uses as we do, except, perhaps, that they did not vulgarise it, and no one wrote who had not something to write about. But we are not without specimens of antique literatures. Egypt has preserved for us many different specimens of her literary produce of thousands of years ago—historical records, works of religion and philosophy, fiction, magic, and funeral ritual. Assyria has bequeathed to us hundreds of the clay books which formed the great royal library at Nineveh, books of records, mythology, morals, grammar, astronomy, astrology, magic; books of reference, such as geographical tables, lists of temples, plants, birds, and other things. In the Old Testament we have all that now remains of Israelitish writings, and the early literatures of China and India are also partly known to us. After these the writings of Greece and Rome are of comparatively recent origin, and moreover, they are nearer to us in other respects besides the merely chronological. The literature of Greece, dating from the far Homeric age, grew up a strong and beautiful factor in Greek life, and Rome, drawing first her alphabet and then her literature from the land before which she stooped, even while she conquered it, passed them on as an everlasting possession to the peoples of the western world. The fact of the literary pre-eminence of Greece partly helps to explain why Greek manuscripts form the bulk of the early writings now extant.

In considering how early literature has been preserved, therefore, we are hardly concerned with Egyptian papyri or cuneiform tablets, but with the writings of Greece and Rome, or writings produced under Greek or Roman influence. And it is curious that while the libraries and books of older nations have survived in comparatively large numbers, there should be no Greek literary manuscripts older than about 160 B.C., and even these are very fragmentary and scarce. The earliest Latin document known is dated 55 A.D., and is an unimportant wax tablet from Pompeii. For this lack of early documents many causes are responsible, and those who remember that it is not human beings only who suffer from the vicissitudes inseparable from existence will wonder, not that we have so few ancient writings in our present possession, but that we have any. The evidence of many curious and interesting discoveries of manuscripts made from time to time goes to show that accident, rather than design, has worked out their preservation, and that the civilised world owes its present store of ancient literature more to good luck than good management, to use a handy colloquialism. It is true, of course, that in early days there were many who guarded books as very precious things, but in times of wars and tumults people would naturally give little thought to such superfluities. Fire and war have been the agencies most destructive of books, in the opinion of the author of Philobiblon, but carelessness and ignorance, wanton destruction and natural decay, are also accountable for some part of the great losses which have wasted so large a share of the literary heritage, and although we are deeply indebted to monastic work for the transmission of classic lore as well as of Christian compositions, we can hardly conclude that the monkish scribes wrote solely for the benefit of posterity. Their immediate purpose, no doubt, and naturally so, was much narrower, and identified the service of God with the enrichment of their houses. Besides, they did not hesitate to erase older writings in order that they might use the parchment again for their own, whenever it suited them to do so.

Before noting some of the ways by which ancient literature has come down to the present day, let us for a moment transport ourselves into the past, and see how a wealthy Roman lover of letters would set about gathering a collection of books. Having no lack of means, all that is best in the literary world will be at his service. He will first take care that the works of every Greek writer which can possibly be obtained, as well as those of Roman authors, are represented in his library by well-written papyrus rolls containing good, correct texts. If he can obtain old manuscripts or original autographs of famous writers, so much the better; but whereas ordinary volumes will cost him comparatively little, on these he must expend large sums. If a book on which he has set his heart is not to be purchased, he may be able to obtain the loan of it, so that it may be transcribed for him by his librarius or writing-slave. If he can neither borrow nor purchase what he desires, he may commission the bookseller to send for it to Alexandria, where there is an unrivalled store of books and many skilled scribes ready to make copies of them.

But it is not easy to estimate with any degree of certainty the quantity of literary material available, say, at the time of the establishment of the first public library in Rome, which was probably about 39 B.C. Books were common and booksellers flourished. Greek and Roman writings were preserved on papyrus, not neglected or lost, and the various parts of what we now call the Old Testament probably existed in the Hebrew synagogues. We may, perhaps, assume that the Roman book collector, did he choose to take the necessary trouble, might add to his collection some of the writings of ancient Egypt. But no doubt Greek and Latin authors only are of value in his eyes. At this point it is dangerous to speculate further, and we must leave the imaginary Roman, and, advancing to our own time, where we are on surer ground, ask what remnants of old records and literature have come down to us, and how have they been preserved?

It will be disappointing news, perhaps, to those to whom the facts are fresh, that no original manuscript of any classical author, and no original manuscript of any part of the Bible, Old Testament or New, has yet come to light. Nothing is known of any of these documents except through the medium of copies, and in some cases very many copies indeed intervene between us and the original. For instance, the oldest Homeric manuscript known, with the exception of one or two fragments, is not older than the first century B.C., and the most ancient Biblical manuscript known, a fragment of a Psalter, is assigned to the late third or early fourth century A.D. The earliest New Testament manuscript extant, the first leaf of a book of St. Matthew’s Gospel, is also no older than the third century. It is curious, too, that no ancient Greek manuscripts have been found either in Greece or Italy excepting some rolls discovered in the ruins of Herculaneum. One reason for this is no doubt the fact that when Roman armies assailed Athens and other Greek cities they despoiled them not only of their statues and works of art, but of their books as well. These went to furnish the libraries of Rome, though it is probable that certain of them found their way back to Greece in company with some of Rome’s own literary produce when Constantine set up his capital and founded a library at Byzantium. Another means by which Greek manuscripts left the country was afforded by the eagerness of Ptolemy II. to extend the great library of Alexandria, to which end he bought books in all parts of Greece, and particularly in Athens and Rhodes.

The Roman libraries did not survive the onslaughts of the barbarians, who seem to have carried out a very thorough work of destruction in the Eternal City. But it is not unlikely that in some cases books, among other portable treasures, were carried away when their owners sought refuge in less troubled localities, such as Constantinople or Alexandria. Still, the fact remains that the contents of the Roman libraries have disappeared, and that for the ancient manuscripts now in our possession we are indebted to the tombs, the temples, the monasteries, and the sands of Egypt. Sometimes—to show the strange adventures of some of these manuscripts—the cartonnage cases in which mummies of the later period were enclosed, were made of papyrus documents, which apparently had been treated as waste paper and put to all sorts of undignified uses. The two oldest classical papyri known, consisting of fragments of Plato’s Phœdo and of the Antiope of Euripides, were recovered from mummy-cases, and are supposed to date from the third century B.C. Other important Greek texts which have been preserved by Egypt are Aristotle’s Constitution of Athens, the Mimes of Herodas, the Odes of Bacchylides, the Gospel and Apocalypse of Peter, the Book of Enoch, &c.

But here we have to take into consideration a new and important factor in literary as in other matters—the spread of Christianity. With such obvious exceptions as the cuneiform records, or the Egyptian writings, and similar remains, the bulk of the manuscripts (as manuscripts, not as compositions) is the work of (Christian) religious houses, and it is easy to see that we owe much to the labours of the monks and ecclesiastics who have transmitted to us not only the earliest and most valuable works of the Church’s own writers, but also the chief part of the literature of Greece and Rome. As Mr. Falconer Madan says in his Books in Manuscript, “the number and importance of the MSS. of Virgil and the four Gospels is greater than of any other ancient authors whatever,” and it is safe to assume that all these Gospel MSS., and perhaps all the Virgil MSS. also, were the handiwork of churchmen.

As an example of the manuscript treasures yielded by Egypt may be instanced the find at Behnesa, a village standing on the site of the Roman city of Oxyrhynchus, one of the chief centres of early Christianity in Egypt. Here, in 1896, Mr. B. P. Grenfell and Mr. A. S. Hunt, searching for papyri on behalf of the Egypt Exploration Fund, lighted upon one of the richest hunting-grounds yet discovered. The result of their excavations was that about 270 boxes of manuscripts were brought to England, while 150 of the best rolls were left at the Cairo Museum. I am unable to give the size of the boxes, but Professor Flinders Petrie’s statement that “the publication of this great collection of literature and documents will probably occupy a decade or two, and will place our knowledge of the Roman and early Christian age on a new footing,” will testify to the extent and importance of the find.

In this collection the document which excited most interest was a papyrus leaf bearing some scraps of Greek, to which the name of ΛΟΓΙΑ ΙΗΣΟΥ, or Sayings of our Lord, has been given. This leaf is at present assigned to a date between 150 and 300 A.D. The Logia are eight in number, and while three of them are closely similar to certain passages in the Gospels, the rest are new. Another valuable document was the fragment of St. Matthew’s Gospel alluded to above, which, written in the third century, is a hundred years older than any New Testament manuscript hitherto known. Classical documents also were found in great numbers, and included a new Ode of Sappho, which, however, is unfortunately imperfect. It was transcribed probably about the third century A.D.

Many Coptic, Syriac, and Arabic manuscripts have been recovered from the numerous monasteries of Palestine, Asia Minor, and Egypt. Several travellers who have managed to overcome the suspicion of the monks and their unwillingness to open their literary hoards to strangers, or to part with any of the volumes, have found immense numbers of books hidden under dust and rubbish in vaults and cellars or stowed away in chests, where they were probably thrust at some time when danger threatened them. Books written in these monasteries themselves in earlier days, or brought thither from other monasteries further east, have thus lain forgotten or neglected for centuries, or, if they were noticed at all, it was only that they might be put to some ignoble use. Thus some were found acting as covers to two large jars which had formerly held preserves. “I was allowed to purchase these vellum manuscripts,” says the author of Monasteries of the Levant, “as they were considered to be useless by the monks, principally, I believe, because there were no more preserves in the jars.” In another case some large volumes were found in use as footstools to protect the bare feet of the monks from the cold stone floor of their chapel.

As we have already seen, Christian scribes not only preserved the writings of the Fathers of the Church, as well as the Holy Scriptures, but also directed much of their attention to the classic works of poetry and philosophy. In every monastery from Ireland to Asia Minor, from Seville to Jerusalem, the work of transcribing and transmitting sacred and secular literature was carried on, and had we at the present day one half of the fruits of this labour we should be rich indeed. But we have also seen that many causes have contributed to the destruction of old writings, of which carelessness and ignorance are by no means the least. The well-known story of Tischendorf’s discovery of the oldest copy of the New Testament in existence, in a basket of fuel at a monastery near Mount Sinai is but a single example, and that a modern one, of the dangers to which these ancient books were liable, and to which they too often fell victims. The danger was long ago recognised, however, and a canon of the third Council of Constantinople, held in 719 A.D., enacted “That nobody whatever be allowed to injure the book of the Old and New Testament, or those of our holy preachers and doctors, nor to cut them up, nor to give them to dealers in books, or perfumers, or any other person to be erased, except they have been rendered useless by moths or water or in some other way. He who shall do any such thing shall be excommunicated for one year.” The same Council also ordered the burning of heretical books.

With the revival of learning in the fourteenth century there came an awakened interest in ancient writings. They were eagerly sought for in the monasteries of Europe, and the learned of Italy were especially instrumental in recovering the neglected classical works. It has been said that almost all the classical authors were discovered or rediscovered either in Italy or through the researches of Italians. Petrarch, with whose name the Renaissance is inseparably associated, and a contemporary of our Richard de Bury, took great pains to form a collection of the works of Cicero, whose Epistles he was fortunate enough to rescue from destroying oblivion. He tells us that when he met strangers, and they asked him what he desired from their country, he would reply, “Nothing, but the works of Cicero.” He also sent money to France, Germany, Spain, Greece, and England that these books might be bought for him, and if while travelling he came across any ancient monastery he would turn aside and explore its book treasures.

Poggio Bracciolini, a learned Italian of the fifteenth century, has also made himself famous by his ardent pursuit of the remains of classical literature, and by aiding the interest in them which the Renaissance had awakened. He searched Europe for manuscripts to such good purpose that he unearthed a valuable text of Quintilian’s Institutes, “almost perishing at the bottom of a dark neglected tower,” in the monastery of St. Gall, and recovered many other classical writings by his industry, including some of the Orations of Cicero; Lucretius; Manilius, and others. He also rescued the writings of Tertullian.

We may perhaps believe that even by this time the surviving treasures of the old storehouses of literature have not yet been all brought to light. Renan discovered in the large collection of manuscripts still preserved in the monastery of Monte Casino in Italy, some unpublished pages of Abelard’s Theologia Christiana, and other valuable finds besides, and it is quite possible that many more surprises are awaiting an enterprising and diligent searcher.

But although the monasteries had so large a share in the work of the preservation of literature, the monks themselves wrought harm as well as good, for in their zeal to record sacred compositions they frequently destroyed older and often more valuable documents by scraping off the original writing and substituting other. This was done for economy’s sake, when writing material was costly, and parchments thus treated are known as palimpsests. Owing to this reprehensible practice, many literary treasures have been irretrievably lost. Our Anglo-Saxon literature, for instance, is not represented by any contemporary copies. The Anglo-Norman writers had a contempt for the old English manuscripts, and turned them into palimpsests without the slightest idea that there could be any value in them, and attached far more importance to the writing they themselves were about to make. Thus it happens that we are in the same position with regard to Anglo-Saxon literature as with regard to classical authors. No original documents exist, and it is known to us solely through copies, single copies, in most cases. Beowulf, for instance, is represented only by a manuscript of the first half of the eleventh century, and Caedmon by a manuscript of the tenth century.

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.

There were libraries, too, in Palestine, in early days, but we know nothing of them. They may have been archives or places where records were kept, rather than libraries as we understand the term. The name of Kirjath-sepher, a city near Hebron, means “city of books,” and survives from pre-Israelitish times. By the Jews, records and “the book of the law” were preserved in the temple.

Almost as scanty are the accounts of the libraries of ancient Greece. The tyrant Pisistratus, 537–527 B.C., has been credited, traditionally, with the establishment in Athens of the first public library, but although he encouraged letters and the preservation of literature there is no good reason for accepting the tradition as authentic.

But of all libraries those of Alexandria were the largest and most celebrated, and yet, notwithstanding their eminence, the accounts relating to them are confused and contradictory. Alexandria, which, although situated in Egypt, was a Greek and not an Egyptian city, was founded by Alexander the Great in 332 B.C., and rapidly rose to a high position. Its buildings, its learning, its luxury, and its books, became world-famous. The first library was established by Ptolemy Soter, a ruler of literary tastes, about 300 B.C., and was situated in that part of the city known as the Bruchium. Copyists were employed to transcribe manuscripts for the benefit of the institution, and it is said that under Ptolemy Euergetes all books brought into Egypt were seized and sent to the library to be transcribed. The copies were returned to the owners, whose wishes were evidently not consulted, in place of the originals, which went to enrich the store in the great library.

Ptolemy Philadelphus is said to have supplemented Soter’s library by another, which was lodged in the Temple of Serapis, but it has been conjectured, with more probability, that the Serapeum collection began with the temple archives, to which the Ptolemies made additions from time to time; these additions, as some have affirmed, including part of Aristotle’s library. But here, also, contradictions are encountered, and it seems impossible to say exactly whether this statement refers to Aristotle’s autograph writings, or to copies of them, or to manuscripts of other authors’ works formerly in his possession.

It was Ptolemy Philadelphus, we are told by Galen, who gave the Athenians fifteen talents, a great convoy of provisions, and exemption from tribute, in exchange for the autographs and originals of the tragedies of Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides.

Two other libraries also helped to make up the glory of Alexandria; one in the Sebasteum, or Temple of Augustus, and one in connection with the Museum. The latter, however, was a much later foundation. The museum or university itself, had been instituted by Ptolemy Soter, and though it was quite distinct from the library which is associated with his name, there was doubtless some relationship between the two. Her museum and libraries, and the encouragement she offered to learning, combined to set Alexandria at the head of the literary world, and to make her “the first great seat of literary Hellenism” (Jebb). She was also the centre of the book industry, that is, of the reproduction of books, as distinguished from their first production. This was owing in a large measure to the number of professional copyists attracted by the facilities afforded to them, and to the fact that the papyrus trade had its headquarters here.

Another famous library of this period was that of the Kings of Pergamus, founded by Attalus I., who reigned from 241 to 197 B.C. Between Pergamus and Alexandria there was vigorous competition. In the end, however, Alexandria had the satisfaction of seeing her rival completely humbled, for Antony presented the books of Pergamus, stated to have been about two hundred thousand in number, to Cleopatra, who added them to Alexandria’s treasures. At least, so says Plutarch, but Plutarch’s authority for the statement was Calvisius, whose veracity was not above suspicion.

How the enormous accumulation of manuscripts gathered by Alexandria came to perish so utterly is not clear. The Romans accidentally fired the Bruchium when they reduced the city, but according to several accounts there were still a goodly number of books remaining at the time of the Saracen invasion in 638 A.D. The story of the Caliph Omar’s reply to a plea for the preservation of the books is well known. “If they contain anything contrary to the word of God,” he is reported to have said, “they are evil; if not, they are superfluous,” and forthwith he had them distributed among the four thousand baths of the city, which they provided with fuel for six months. But several authorities doubt this story, and assert that long before Omar’s time the Alexandrian libraries had ceased to exist.

Though very far from being as full as could be wished, the accounts of libraries in Rome are more numerous than any relating to libraries in other parts of the ancient world. Besides the collections of books made by private persons, which in one or two instances were generously opened to the public by the owner, there were the imperial libraries, and the more strictly public libraries. Among the emperors whose names are especially associated with the gathering and preservation of books are Augustus, Tiberius and Trajan. Julius Cæsar had formed a scheme for the establishment of a public library, but it is not clear whether it was ever carried out or no. Domitian, to replace the library in the Capitol, which had been destroyed, sent scholars abroad to collect manuscripts and to copy some of those at Alexandria. Under Constantine the Roman public libraries numbered twenty-nine, and were very frequently lodged in the temples.

Last in point of date come the libraries of Byzantium, the city which the Emperor Constantine in 330 A.D. made the capital of the eastern portion of the empire, and named after himself. He at once began to gather books there, and his successors followed his example. Thus various libraries were established, and those which survived the fires which occurred from time to time in the city, existed until its capture by the Turks in 1452. On this occasion, and also after the assault by the Crusaders in 1203, the libraries probably suffered. It is said, too, by some that Leo III. wantonly destroyed a large number of books, but the assertion cannot be proved. Among the lost treasures of Constantinople was “the only authentic copy” of the proceedings of the Council of Nice, held in 325 A.D. to deal with the Arian heresy.

The ultimate fate of the imperial library at Constantinople yet remains a problem. Some are of opinion that it was destroyed by Amurath IV., and that none but comparatively unimportant Arabic and other Oriental manuscripts make up the Sultan’s library. Some believe that, in spite of repeated assertions to the contrary on the part of Turkish officials and others, there somewhere lies a secret hoard, neglected and uncared for, perhaps, but nevertheless existent, of ancient and valuable Greek manuscripts. The Seraglio has usually been considered to be the repository of this hoard, and access to the Seraglio is very difficult and almost impossible to obtain. In the year 1800 Professor Carlyle, during his travels in the East, took enormous pains and used every means in his power to reach the bottom of the mystery surrounding the Seraglio treasures. He was assured by every Turkish officer whom he consulted on the subject that no Greek manuscripts existed there; and when by dint of influence in high quarters and much patience and perseverance he at length gained permission to examine the Seraglio library, he found that it consisted chiefly of Arabic manuscripts, and contained not a single Greek, Latin, or Hebrew writing. The library, or such part of it as the Professor was shown, was approached through a mosque, and consisted of a small cruciform chamber, measuring only twelve yards at its greatest width. One arm of the cross served as an ante-chamber, and the other three contained the book-cases. The books were laid on their sides, one on the other, the ends outward. Their titles were written on the edges of the leaves.

The result of the Professor’s researches went to confirm the belief held by so many that no Greek manuscripts had survived. On the other hand, the jealousy and suspicion of the Turks would render it at least possible that despite the apparent straightforwardness with which Mr. Carlyle was treated, there were stores of manuscripts which were kept back from him.

A final touch of mystery was given to this fascinating subject by a tradition concerning a certain building in Constantinople which had been closed up ever since the time of the Turkish conquest in the fifteenth century. Of the existence of this building Professor Carlyle was certain. The tradition asserted that it contained many of the former possessions of the Greek emperors, and among these possessions Professor Carlyle expected that the remains of the imperial library would be found, if such remains existed.

Of other libraries of olden times, such as those of Antioch and Ephesus, or those in private possession in the country houses of Italy and Gaul, and which perished at the hands of the barbarians, it is not necessary to speak more fully. It is sufficient to point out that they existed, and that though we possess few details as to their furniture or arrangement, we are justified in concluding that the latter, at any rate, were luxuriously appointed. It must not be inferred, however, that all the books which disappeared from these various centres were of necessity destroyed. Many, and particularly some of the Byzantine manuscripts, were dispersed over Europe, and survive to enrich our libraries and museums of to-day.

Chapter IV
Books in Mediæval Times

The books of the Middle Ages are a special subject in themselves, since they include all the illuminated manuscripts of Ireland, England and the Continent. We can therefore do little more than indicate their historical place in the story of books.

We have only to look at a mediæval illuminated manuscript to understand how books were regarded in those days, and with what lavish expenditure of time and skill the quaint characters were traced and the ornaments designed and executed. And having looked, we gather that books, being rare, were appreciated; and being sacred, were reverenced; and that it was deemed a worthy thing to make a good book and to make it beautiful. Sometimes the monkish artist’s handiwork had a result not foreseen by him, for we read that when St. Boniface, the Saxon missionary who gave his life to the conversion of Germany, wrote to ask the Abbess Eadburga for a missal, he desired that the colours might be gay and bright, “even as a glittering lamp and an illumination for the hearts of the Gentiles.” It is easy to imagine how the brilliant pages would attract the colour-loving barbarians, and prepare the way for friendly advances.

It is probable that the custom of ornamenting books with drawings was derived from the Egyptians by the Greeks, and from the Greeks by the Romans, among whom decorated books were common, although they are known to us chiefly by means of copies preserved in Byzantine and Italian manuscripts of a more recent period. These, and a few examples dating from the time of Constantine, exhibit a style evidently derived from classical models.

A survey of mediæval books properly begins with the early Irish manuscripts, which stand at the head of a long and glorious line stretching, chronologically, from the seventh century of our era to the fifteenth. Although it is not known where the art was born to which these wonderful productions of Celtic pen-craft owe their origin, it is Ireland, nevertheless, which has provided us with the earliest and finest examples of this work, the marvels of skill and beauty which, summed up, as it were, in the Book of Kells, the Book of Durrow, and others, set the Irish manuscripts beyond imitation or rivalry.

Page from the Book of Kells ( reduced.)