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together treasures from every quarter, and diffusing every where



a veneration and love for books.

Richard de Bury was the king, if not the father, of



bibliomaniacs; his immortal work reveals to us that long before

the invention of printing men were tormented and enraptured by



those very same desires, envies, jealousies, greeds, enthusiasms,

and passions which possess and control bibliomaniacs at the



present time. That vanity was sometimes the controlling passion

with the early collectors is evidenced in a passage in Barclay's



satire, ``The Ship of Fools''; there are the stanzas which apply

so neatly to certain people I know that sometimes I actually



suspect that Barclay's prophetic eye must have had these

nineteenth-century charlatans in view.



But yet I have them in great reverence

And honor, saving them from filth and ordure



By often brushing and much diligence.

Full goodly bound in pleasant coverture



Of damask, satin, or else of velvet pure,

I keep them sure, fearing lest they should be lost,



For in them is the cunningwherein I me boast.

But if it fortune that any learned man



Within my house fall to disputation,

I draw the curtains to show my books them,



That they of my cunning should make probation;

I love not to fall into altercation,



And while they come, my books I turn and wind,

For all is in them, and nothing in my mind.



Richard de Bury had exceptional opportunities for gratifying his

bibliomaniac passions. He was chancellor and treasurer of Edward



III., and his official position gained him access to public and

private libraries and to the society of literary men. Moreover,



when it became known that he was fond of such things, people from

every quarter sent him and brought him old books; it may be that



they hoped in this wise to court his official favor, or perhaps

they were prompted by the less selfishmotive of gladdening the



bibliomaniac soul.

``The flying fame of our love,'' says de Bury, ``had already



spread in all directions, and it was reported not only that we

had a longing desire for books, and especially for old ones, but



that any one could more easily obtain our favors by quartos than

by money. Wherefore, when supported by the bounty of the



aforesaid prince of worthy memory, we were enabled to oppose or

advance, to appoint or to discharge; crazy quartos and tottering



folios, precious however in our sight as in our affections,

flowed in most rapidly from the great and the small, instead of



new year's gifts and remunerations, and instead of presents and

jewels. Then the cabinets of the most noble monasteries were



opened, cases were unlocked, caskets were unclasped, and sleeping

volumes which had slumbered for long ages in their sepulchres



were roused up, and those that lay hid in dark places were

overwhelmed with the rays of a new light. Among these, as time



served, we sat down more voluptuously than the delicate physician

could do amidst his stores of aromatics, and where we found an



object of love we found also an assuagement.''

``If,'' says de Bury, ``we would have amassed cups of gold and



silver, excellent horses, or no mean sums of money, we could in

those days have laid up abundance of wealth for ourselves. But



we regarded books, not pounds; and valued codices more than

florins, and preferred paltry pamphlets to pampered palfreys. On



tedious embassies and in perilous times, we carried about with

us that fondness for books which many waters could not



extinguish.''

And what books they were in those old days! What tall folios!



What stout quartos! How magnificent were the bindings, wrought




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