PRIVATE LIBRARIES. ABBAT SIMON AND HIS BOOK-CHEST. LIBRARY OF CHARLES V. OF FRANCE. ILLUSTRATIONS OF THIS LIBRARY FROM ILLUMINATED MANUSCRIPTS. BOOK-LECTERN USED IN PRIVATE HOUSES. BOOK-DESKS REVOLVING ROUND A CENTRAL SCREW. DESKS ATTACHED TO CHAIRS. WALL-CUPBOARDS. A SCHOLAR'S ROOM IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. STUDY OF THE DUKE OF URBINO. LIBRARY OF MONTAIGNE. LIBRARY OF MARGARET OF AUSTRIA. CONCLUSION.

In the previous chapters I have sketched the history of library-fittings from the earliest times to the end of the eighteenth century. The libraries to which these fittings belonged were, for the most part, public, or as good as public. But, as in history we have recognised the important fact that a record of battles and sieges and enactments in Parliament gives an imperfect conception of the life of a people, so I should feel that this archeological subject had been insufficiently treated if I made no attempt to shew how private scholars disposed their books, or with what appliances they used them. For instance, in what sort of chair was the author of the Philobiblon sitting when he wrote the last words of his treatise, 24 January, 1345, and how was his study in his palace at Auckland furnished? Further, how were private students bestowed in the fifteenth century, when a love of letters had become general? Lastly, how were libraries fitted up for private use in the succeeding century, when the great people of the earth, like the wealthy Romans of imperial times, added the pursuit of literature to their other fashions, and considered a library to be indispensable in their luxurious palaces?

In the hope of obtaining reliable information on these interesting questions, I have for some years past let no opportunity slip of examining illuminated manuscripts. I have gone through a large number in the British Museum, where research is aided by an excellent list of the subjects illustrated; in the BibliothÈque Nationale, Paris; and in the BibliothÈque Royale, Brussels, where the manuscripts are for the most part those which once belonged to the Dukes of Burgundy. I have been somewhat disappointed in this search, for, with the single exception of the illustration from Boethius (fig. 63), I have not found any library, properly so called. This is no doubt strange, having regard to the great variety of scenes depicted. It must be remembered, however, that these are used for the most part to illustrate some action that is going forward, for which a library would be a singularly inappropriate background. Single figures, on the other hand, are frequently shewn with their books about them, either reading or writing. Such illustrations most frequently occur in Books of Hours, in representations of the Evangelists; or in portraits of S. Jerome, who is painted as a scholar at his desk surrounded by piles of books and papers; and I think we may safely take these as representations of ordinary scholars, because, by the beginning of the fifteenth century, when most of the pictures to which I refer were drawn, it had become the custom to surround even the most sacred personages with the attributes of common life.

In the twelfth century, when books were few, they were kept in chests, and the owners seem to have used the edge as a desk to lean their book on. My illustration (fig. 134) shews Simon, Abbat of S. Albans 1167-1183, seated in front of his book-chest[521]. The chest is set on a frame, so as to raise it to a convenient height; and the Abbat is seated on one of those folding wooden chairs which are not uncommon at the present day. Simon was a great collector of books: "their number," writes his chronicler, "it would take too long to name; but those who desire to see them can find them in the painted aumbry in the church, placed as he specially directed against the tomb of Roger the hermit[522]."

Chests, as we have seen above at the Vatican library, were used for the permanent storage of books in the fifteenth century; and a book-chest frequently formed part of the travelling luggage of a king. For example, when Charles V. of France died, 16 September, 1380, at the ChÂteau de BeautÉ-sur-Marne, thirty-one volumes were found in his chamber "in a chest resting on two supports, which chest is by the window, near the fireplace, and it has a double cover, and in one of the divisions of the said chest were the volumes that follow." His son, Charles VI., kept the thirteen volumes which he carried about with him in a carved chest, within which was an inlaid box (escrin marquetÉ) to contain the more precious books[523].

The earliest information about the furniture of a medieval private library that I have as yet discovered is contained in a fragment of an account-book recording the cost of fitting up a tower in the Louvre in 1367 and 1368, to contain the books belonging to Charles V. of France. Certain pieces of woodwork in the older library in the palace on the Isle de la CitÉ are to be taken down and altered, and set up in the new room. Two carpenters are paid (14 March, 1367) for "having taken to pieces all the cases (bancs) and two wheels (roes), which were in the king's library in the palace, and transported them to the Louvre with the desks (lettrins), and the aforesaid wheels, each made smaller by a foot all round; and for having put all together again, and hung up the desks (lettrins) in the two upper stages of the tower that looks toward the Falconry, to put the king's books in; and for having panelled the first of those two stories all round on the inside with wood from 'Illande,' at a total cost of fifty francs of gold. Next, because the seats were too old, they were remade of new timber which the aforesaid carpenters brought. Also [they were paid] for two strong doors for the said two stories 7 ft. high, 3 ft. broad, and 3 fingers thick." In the following year (4 May, 1368), a wire-worker (cagetier) is paid "for having made trellises of wire in front of two casements and two windows ... to keep out birds and other beasts (oyscaux et autres bestes), by reason of, and protection for, the books that shall be placed there." The ceiling is said to have been panelled in cypress wood ornamented with carvings[524].

The "tower that looks toward the Falconry" mentioned in the above description has been identified with the north-west tower of the old Louvre. The rooms fitted up as a library were circular, and about 14 feet in diameter[525].

The above description of a library will be best explained by an illumination (fig. 135) contained in Boccacio's Livre des cas des malheureux nobles hommes et femmes, written and illuminated in Flanders for King Henry the Seventh, and now in the British Museum[526]. Two gentlemen are studying at a revolving desk, which can be raised or lowered by a central screw. This is evidently the "wheel" of the French King's library. Behind are their books, either resting on a desk hung against the wall, which is panelled, or lying on a shelf beneath the desk. This piece of furniture would be properly described either as a banc or a lettrin. It should be noted that care has been taken to keep the wheel steady by supporting it on a solid base, beneath which are two strong cross-pieces of timber, which also serve as a foot-rest for the readers. The books on the desk set against the wall are richly bound, with bosses of metal. Chaining was evidently not thought of, indeed I doubt if it was ever used in a private library. The window is glazed throughout. In other examples which I shall figure below we shall find a wire trellis used instead of glass for part at least of the window.

My next illustration (fig. 136), also Flemish, is of the same date, from a copy of the Miroir historial[527]. It represents a Carmelite monk, probably the author of the book, writing in his study. Behind him are three desks, one above the other, hung against the wall along two sides of the room, with books bound and ornamented as in the former picture, resting upon them, and beneath the lowest is a flat shelf or bench on which a book rests upon its side. The desk he is using is not uncommon in these illustrations. It is fixed on a solid base, which is further strengthened, as in the example of the wheel-desk, by massive planks, to guard against the slightest vibration; and it can be turned aside by means of a limb—apparently of iron—which is first vertical, then horizontal, then vertical again. The Carmelite holds in his left hand an instrument for keeping the page perfectly flat. This instrument has usually a sharp point with which any roughness on the page can be readily removed. The volume he is using is kept open by two strings, to each of which a weight is attached. Behind the desk, covered with a cloth, is a chest secured by two locks. On this stands an object which appears to be a large magnifying glass.

Sometimes the desk was carried round three sides of the room, with no curtain to keep off dust, and with no shelf beneath it. The illustration (fig. 137) is from a French translation of Valerius Maximus (1430-75) in the Harleian Collection[528].

I now pass to a series of pictures which illustrate the daily life of a scholar or a writer who had few books, but who could live in a certain ease—allowing himself a chair and a desk. Of these desks there is an infinite variety, dictated, I imagine, by the fashion prevalent in particular places at particular times. I have tried to arrange them in groups.

In the first place the chair is usually a rather elaborate piece of furniture, with arms, a straight back, and, very frequently, a canopy. A cushion to sit upon is sometimes permitted, but, as a general rule, these chairs are destitute of stuffing, tapestry, or other device to conceal the material of which they are made. Occasionally the canopy is richly carved or painted in a pattern.

The commonest form of desk is a modification of the lectern-system. It consists of a double lectern, beneath which is a row of cupboards, or rather a shelf protected by several doors, one of which is always at the end of the piece of furniture. The triangular space under the lectern is also used for books. This device is specially commended by Richard de Bury in the Philobiblon[529]. "Moses," says he, "the gentlest of men, teaches us to make bookcases most neatly, wherein they may be protected from any injury: Take, he says, this book of the law, and put it in the side of the ark of the covenant of the Lord your God." My illustration (fig. 138) is taken from an edition of the Ship of Fools, printed at Basle by Nicolas Lamparter in 1507. In this example the desk with its cupboards stands on a plinth, and this again on a broad step. Both are probably introduced to ensure steadiness.

The seated figure represents a bibliomaniac who treats his books as mere curiosities from which he derives no mental improvement. He has put on his spectacles and wielded his feather-brush, in order to dust the leaves of a folio with greater care. Under the cut are the following explanatory lines:

I append a rough translation:

Such a desk as this was used in the succeeding century in at least two libraries belonging to ladies of high rank. The first belonged to Margaret of Austria, daughter of Maximilian, Emperor of Germany. She had been the wife of Philibert II., Duke of Savoy, and after his death, 10 September, 1504, her father made her regent of the Netherlands. She died at Malines 30 November, 1530, at the age of fifty. She seems to have been a liberal patroness of literature and the arts, and the beautiful church that she built at Brou in memory of her husband bears witness to her architectural taste and skill.

The inventory, out of which I hope to reconstruct her library, is dated 20 April, 1524[530]. It is headed: "Library," and begins with the following entry: "The first desk (pourpitre) begins over the door, and goes all round up to the fireplace." On this desk or shelf are enumerated fifty-two volumes, all bound in velvet with gilt bosses. This entry is succeeded by: "here follow the Books of Hours, being on a desk high up in continuation of the preceding one between the windows and the fireplace." This desk contains twenty-six volumes bound in velvet, red satin, or cloth of gold, with gilt bosses.

We come next to "the first desk below (d'ambas) beginning near the door at the first seat." This desk carries nine books, presumably on the sloping portion, because we presently come to a paragraph headed "here follow the books covered with leather &c., which are underneath the desks beginning near the door." The author of the inventory then returns to the first desk, and enumerates eleven volumes. He next goes round to "the other side of the said desk," and enumerates thirteen volumes. In this way six desks are gone through. All have books bound in black, blue, crimson, or violet, velvet laid out upon them, while those in plainer dress are consigned to the shelves beneath. It should be added that the fourth desk is described as being near the fireplace (empres la chemynÉe).

The desks having been gone through, we come to "the books which are within the iron trellis beginning near the door." This piece of furniture contained twenty-seven volumes.

The number of books accommodated in the whole room was as follows:

We will next try to form some idea of the way in which this library was arranged; and first of the two shelves which begin "over the door." A shelf in this position is shewn in Carpaccio's well-known picture of S. Jerome in his study. It is set deskwise against the wall supported on iron brackets. As a large proportion of the fifty-two volumes on our shelf are described as of large size (grant), we shall be justified in assuming that each was 10 in. broad. The total therefore would occupy 520 in. or say 43 ft. at least, not allowing for intervals between them. This shelf extended from the door round the room to the fireplace, by which I suppose we are to understand that it began on the wall which contained the door, and was carried round the corner of the room up to the fireplace.

The second shelf, at the same height as the preceding, contained only twenty-six volumes, fifteen of which are described as small (petit). A space of thirteen feet or even less will therefore be amply sufficient to contain them.

The six desks which stood on the floor were, I imagine, constructed in some such way as that which I have figured above from the Ship of Fools. It is evident that books in velvet bindings and adorned with gilt bosses would be set out where they could be seen, and for such a purpose what could be better than a lectern? The table I have given above shews that there were 110 volumes thus disposed, or an average of say 18 to each desk. A careful analysis of the inventory, where the size of each book is always set down, shews me that there were very few small books in this part of the library, but that they were divided between large (grant) and medium size (moien). If we allow 8 in. for each book, we get an average of 144 in. = 12 ft. for each desk, that is, as the desk was double, the piece of furniture was 6 ft. long. Under the sloping portion it had a shelf on each side. Four such desks stood between the door and the fireplace, and two between the fireplace and the window, which seems to have been opposite the door.

We are not told where the "trellis of iron" was. I suppose these words mean some shelves set against the wall with ironwork in front of them. As the enumeration of the books begins "near the door" the piece of furniture may be placed on the side of the door opposite to the former desks.

The inventory further shews that this library did duty as a museum. It was in fact filled with rare and beautiful objects, and must have presented a singularly rich appearance. In the middle of the hood over the fireplace was a stag's head and horns bearing a crucifix. There was a bust of the Duke of Savoy, in white marble, forming a pendant to one of the Duchess Margaret herself, and in the same material a statuette of a boy extracting a thorn from his foot, probably a copy of the antique in the Ducal Gallery at Florence. There were also twenty oil paintings in the room, some of which were hung round the hood of the fireplace. Besides these works of art there were several pieces of furniture, as, for instance, a large press containing a complete set of armour, a sideboard "À la mode d'Italie," given as a present by the viceroy of Naples; a square table of inlaid work; a smaller table bearing the arms of Burgundy and Spain; three mirrors; a number of objects in rock-crystal; and lastly some feather dresses from India (S. America?), presented by the Emperor.

It is provoking that the inventory, minute as it is, should desert us at the most important point, and give insufficient data for estimating the size of the room. I conjecture that it was about 46 ft. long from the following considerations. In the first place, I allow 2 ft. for the width of each desk. Of these there were four between the door and the fireplace = 8 ft. Secondly, I allow 3 ft. each for the five intervals = 15 ft., or a total of 23 ft. from the door to the fireplace. For the fireplace itself I allow 10 ft. Between the fireplace and the wall containing the window or windows, there were two desks and three intervals = 13 ft. I pointed out above that 43 ft. at least might be allowed for the shelf extending from the door to the fireplace. Of this I have absorbed 23 ft., leaving 20 ft. for the distance from the door to the corner of the room. As we are not told anything about the position of the door my estimate of the size of the room cannot be carried further.

A similar arrangement obtained in the library of Anne de France, daughter of Louis XI., or as she is usually called Anne de Beaujeu[531]. Her catalogue made 19 September, 1523, records 314 titles, which I need hardly say represent a far larger number of books. They were arranged like those of the Duchess Margaret, on eleven desks (poulpitres). These were set round a room, with the exception of two which were placed in the middle of it. It is interesting to note respecting one of these, that it had a cupboard at the end, for the contents are entered as follows: au bout dudit poulpitre sont enclos les livres qui s'ensuivent, and sixteen volumes are enumerated. There was also a shelf set against the wall, described as le plus hault poulpitre le long de la dite muraille, which contained fifty-five volumes. This desk was probably high up, like the one in the library of the Duchess Margaret. The books upon it are noted as being all covered with red velvet, and ornamented with clasps, bosses, and corner-pieces of metal. There were also in this library an astrolabe, and a sphere with the signs of the Zodiac.

A desk, similar in general character to that figured in the Ship of Fools, but of a curiously modern type, occurs in an Hours in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, executed about 1445 for Isabel, Duchess of Brittany. The picture (fig. 139) represents S. John writing his Gospel.

A modification of this form of desk was common in Italy. It is often used by painters of the fifteenth century in pictures of the Annunciation, where it does duty as a prie-dieu. The example I have selected (fig. 140) is from a painting by Benedetto Bonfigli, in the church of S. Peter at Perugia. It represents S. Jerome writing. A small circular revolving desk, at the left-hand corner of the larger desk, holds the work he is copying or referring to. On the desk near the inkstand lies the pointed stylus mentioned above. Below the cupboard containing books is a drawer. Projecting from the top of the revolving desk, there is a vertical rod of iron with a long horizontal arm. This is no doubt intended to carry a lantern. I shall shortly give an example of one in such a position.

I now return to the wheel-desk, of which I have already figured one specimen (fig. 135). A piece of furniture consisting of one or more tables which could be raised or depressed by means of a central screw, was very generally used by scholars in the Middle Ages. I shall present a few of the most common forms.

My first specimen is from a manuscript in the British Museum, written and illuminated in England in the middle of the fifteenth century. It is called Fais et Gestes du Roi Alexandre[532]. The picture (fig. 141) represents Alexander as a little child, standing in front of his tutor, who is seated in one of the chairs I described above. On the learned man's right is his book-desk. A circular table with a rim round it to prevent the books falling off, is supported on a central pedestal, which contains the screw. The top of the said screw is concealed by the little Gothic turret in the centre of the table. This turret also supports the book which the reader has in use.

My next example is from a miniature in a volume of Hours known as the Dunois HorÆ, also written in the middle of the fifteenth century. It has been slightly enlarged in order to bring out the details more clearly. The subject is S. Luke writing his Gospel, but the background represents a scholar's room. There is a bookcase of a very modern type, a table with two folio volumes lying upon it, and in the centre a hexagonal book-desk, with a little Gothic turret as in the last example. Round the screw under the table are four cylindrical supports, the use of which I fail to understand, but they occur frequently on desks of this type. The whole piece of furniture rests on a heavy cylindrical base, and that again on a square platform.

I now pass to a variety of the screw-desk, which has a small book-rest above the table. The whole structure rests upon a prolongation of the solid platform on which the reader's chair is placed, so that it is really exactly in front of the reader. My illustration (fig. 143) is from "The booke of the noble ladyes in frensh," a work by Boccacio; it was written in France early in the fifteenth century[533].

These double desks are exceedingly common, and I might fill a large number of pages with figures and descriptions of the variety which the ingenuity of the cabinet-makers of the fifteenth century managed to impart to combinations of a screw and two or more tables. I will content myself with one more example (fig. 144) which shews the screw exceedingly well, and the two tables above it. The uppermost of these serves as a ledge to rest the books on, as does also the hexagonal block above it which conceals the top of the screw[534].

We meet occasionally with a solid desk, by which I mean one the level of which cannot be altered. In the example here given (fig. 145) from a French MS. of Le Miroir Historial, there is a central spike which I suspect to have been intended to carry a candle[535].

In some examples of these book-desks the pedestal is utilized as a book-cupboard (fig. 146). The picture which I have selected as shewing a desk of this peculiarity is singularly beautiful, and finished in the highest style of art available at the end of the fifteenth century in France. It forms half of the frontispiece to a fine manuscript of Boccacio's Livre des cas des malheureux nobles hommes et femmes[536]. The central figure is apparently lecturing on that moving theme, for in front of him, in the other half of the picture, is a crowd of men exhibiting their interest by the violence of their gestures. On his left is the desk I mentioned; it stands on an unusually firm base, and one side of the vertical portion is pierced by an arch, so as to make the central cavity available for putting books in. From the centre of the table rises a tall spike, apparently of iron, to which is attached a horizontal arm, bearing a lighted lantern. On the table, in addition to three books, is an inkstand and pen-case. In front of the lecturer is a carved chest, probably one of those book-coffers which I have already mentioned. The chair and canopy are richly carved, and the back of the seat is partially covered by a piece of tapestry. Further, the lecturer is allowed the unusual luxury of a cushion.

I will next deal with the appliances for reading and writing directly connected with the chairs in which scholars sat, and I will begin with the desk.

The simplest form of desk is a plain board, set at a suitable angle by means of a chain or cord extending from one of its corners to the back of the chair, while the opposite corner rests against a peg driven into the arm of the chair. This arrangement, variously modified, occurs very frequently; sometimes there are two pegs and two chains, but what I may term the normal form is shewn in my illustration (fig. 147)[537]. It is difficult to understand how the desk was kept steady.

The author whose study I shall figure next (fig. 148) is engaged in writing the Chronicles of Hainault[538]. His desk rests securely on two irons fastened to the arms of his chair. On his right is a plain lectern with an open volume on each side of it, and behind are two or more shelves set against the wall with books lying on their sides. On his left is a chest, presumably a book-chest, with books lying on its closed lid. One of these is open. He has prudently placed his chair near the window in such a position that the light falls upon his work from the left. It should be noted that the upper part of the window only is glazed, the lower part being closed by shutters. When these are thrown back, the lights are seen to be filled to half their height with a trellis, such as was ordered for the French king's library.

My third example of a chair fitted with a desk (fig. 149) is taken from Les Miracles de Notre Dame[539], a manuscript which belonged to Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, and was written for him at the Hague in 1456. The illustration represents S. Jerome seated in his study. From arm to arm of the chair extends a desk of a very firm and solid construction. The ends of this desk apparently drop into the heads of the small columns with which the arms of the chair terminate. The saint has in his left hand a pointed stylus, and in his right a pen, which he is holding up to the light. On the desk beside the manuscript lies an ink-horn. To the right of the saint's chair is a hexagonal table with a high ledge round it. There is no evidence that this table has a screw; but the small subsidiary desk above it seems to be provided with one. It will be observed that the support of this desk is not directly over that of the table beneath it. The desk is provided with two slits—an ingenious contrivance for dealing with a roll. On the table, besides an open book, are a pair of spectacles, four pens, a small box which may contain French chalk for pouncing, and what looks like a piece of sponge.

I now figure two different sets of library appliances. The first (fig. 150) is from a manuscript of the Livre des PropriÉtÉs des Choses, in the British Museum, written in the fifteenth century[540]. The writer is seated in one of those low chairs which occur very frequently in miniatures, and look as if they were cut out of a single block of wood. His desk, which is quite independent of the chair, is of the simplest design, consisting of a piece of wood supported at an angle on two carved uprights. On his left stands a very elegant piece of furniture, a table with a desk at a considerable height above it—so high, in fact, that it could only be used standing. This upper desk is fitted with a little door as though it served as a receptacle for small objects.

The second example (fig. 151) shews S. Luke sitting on a bench writing at a table[541]. The top, which is very massive, rests on four legs, morticed into a frame. In front of this table is a desk of peculiar form; the lower part resembles a reversed cone, and the upper part a second cone of smaller diameter, so as to leave space enough between the two bases for a ledge to rest books on. Round the base of the desk three quaint lions do duty as feet. These lions occur again beneath the frame of the picture, and may be connected with a former possessor of the manuscript. The pedestal of the desk is a twisted column, which, like the base, and indeed the whole structure, looks as though it were made of brass.

I now pass to a totally different way of fitting up a study, which seems to have been common in Italy, to judge by the number of paintings in which it occurs. It consists of a massive desk of wood, one part of which is set at right angles to the other, and is connected in various ways with shelves, drawers, pigeon-holes, and other contrivances for holding books and papers. In the example I here figure (fig. 152), from a painting by Fra Filippo Lippi (1412-1469) representing S. Augustine's vision of the Trinity, there are two small recesses above the desk on the saint's right, both containing books, and behind the shorter portion of the desk, three shelves also with books on them. Attached to the end of the desk is a small tray, probably to contain pens.

A similar desk occurs in the beautiful picture by Catena in the National Gallery[542], representing S. Jerome reading, of which I give a reproduction on a reduced scale (fig. 153). This picture also contains an excellent example of a cupboard in the thickness of the wall, a contrivance for taking care of books as common in the Middle Ages as it had been in Roman times[543].

Cupboards in the thickness of the wall are also to be seen in the frontispiece (fig. 154) to a copy of a French translation of Valerius Maximus[544], written in Flanders in 1479 for King Edward IV. The writer—probably intended for the author or the translator of the book—is seated at a desk, consisting of a plank set at an angle and capable of being turned aside by means of a central bracket, like that used by the Carmelite (fig. 136). Observe the two weights hanging over the edge of the desk and the ends of the two horns, intended to hold ink, projecting through it. The window, as in the picture representing the author of the Chronicles of Hainault at work, is glazed in the upper part only, while in the lower are two framed trellises of wire-work. Behind the writer are two cupboards in the thickness of the wall. One of these is open, and shews books lying on their sides, upon which are some pomegranates. I cannot suggest any reason for the introduction of these fruits, except that from their colour they make a pleasing variety; but I ought to mention that they occur very frequently in miniatures representing a writer at work. On the other side of the window is a small hanging cupboard. Here again a fruit is introduced on the lowest shelf. Round the room is a settle, raised above the floor on blocks at intervals. The seat is probably a chest, as in the settles described above in the Vatican Library.

The last picture (fig. 155) in this series of illustrations represents what I like to call a scholar's room, at the beginning of the fifteenth century[545]. The owner of the apartment is busily writing at a desk supported on a trestle-table. He holds a stylus in his left hand, and a pen in his right. The ink-horn he is using is inserted into the desk. Above it are holes for two others, in case he should require ink of different colours. Above the inkstand is a pen stuck in a hole, with vacant holes beside it. The page on the desk is kept flat by a weight. Above this desk is a second desk, of nearly equal size, on which lies an open book, kept open by a large weight, extending over two-thirds of the open pages. Behind the writer's chair is his book-chest. The background represents a well-appointed chamber. The floor is paved with encaustic tiles; a bright fire is burning on the hearth; the window, on the same plan as that described in the last picture, is open; a comfortable—not to say luxurious—bed invites repose. The walls are unplastered, but there is a hanging under the window and over the head of the bed.

With this simple room, containing a scholar's necessaries and no more, I will contrast the study of the Duke of Urbino.

This beautiful room, which still exists as the Duke left it, is on an upper floor of the castle, commanding from its balcony, which faces the south, an extensive view of the approach to the Castle, the city, and the country beyond, backed by the Apennines. It is of small size, measuring only 11 ft. 6 in. by 13 ft. 4 in., and is somewhat irregular in shape. It is entered by a door from the Duke's private apartment. The floor is paved with rough tiles set in patterns. The walls are panelled to a height of about eight feet. The bare space between the top of the panel-work and the ceiling was probably hung with tapestry. The ceiling is a beautiful specimen of the most elaborate plaster-work, disposed in octagonal panels. The decoration of the panel-work begins with a representation of a bench, on which various objects are lying executed in intarsia work. Above this bench is a row of small panels, above which again is a row of large panels, each containing a subject in the finest intarsia, as for example a portrait of Duke Frederick, figures of Faith, Hope, and other virtues, a pile of books, musical instruments, armour, a parrot in a cage, etc. In the cornice above these is the word FEDERICO, and the date 1476.

Opposite the window there is a small cupboard, and on the opposite side of the projection containing it there are a few shelves. These are the only receptacles for books in the room. From its small size it could have contained but little furniture, and was probably intended for the purpose traditionally ascribed to it, namely as a place of retirement for the Duke when he wished to be alone.

Another specimen of a library so arranged as to provide a peaceful retreat is afforded a century later by that of Montaigne, of which he has fortunately left a minute description.

The notices of libraries which I have collected have brought me to the end of the sixteenth century, by which time most of the appliances in use in the Middle Ages had been given up. I hope that I have not exhausted the patience of my readers by presenting too long a series of illustrations extracted from manuscripts. I love, as I look at them, to picture to myself the medieval man of letters, laboriously penning voluminous treatises in the writing room of a monastery, or in his own study, with his scanty collection of books within his reach, on shelves, or in a chest, or lying on a table. We sometimes call the ages dark in which he lived, but the mechanical ingenuity displayed in the devices by which his studies were assisted might put to shame the cabinet-makers of our own day.

As the fashion of collecting books, and of having them bound at a lavish expense, increased, it was obvious that they must be laid out so as to be seen and consulted without the danger of spoiling their costly covers. Hence the development of the lectern-system in private houses, and the arrangement of a room such as the Duchess Margaret possessed at Malines. Gradually, however, as books multiplied, and came into the possession of persons who could not afford costly bindings, lecterns were abandoned, and books were ranged on shelves against the wall, as in the public libraries which I described in the last chapter.

There is still in existence, on an upper floor in the Palazzo Barberini at Rome, a library of this description, which has probably not been altered in any way since it was fitted up by Cardinal Francesco Barberini about 1630. The room is 105 ft. long by 28 ft. broad, and is admirably lighted by two windows in the south wall, and seven in the gallery. The shelves are set round three sides of the room at a short distance from the wall, so as to leave space for a gallery and the stairs to it. The cases are divided into compartments by fluted Ionic columns 5 ft. high. These rest upon a flat shelf 14 in. wide, beneath which are drawers for papers and a row of folios. This part of the structure is 3 ft. high from the floor to the base of the columns. Above the columns is a cornice, part of which is utilized for books; and above this again is the gallery, where the arrangement of the shelves is a repetition of what I have described in the lower part of the room. Dwarf cases in a plainer style and of later date are set along the sides and ends of the room. Upon these are desks for the catalogue, a pair of globes, some astronomical instruments, and some sepulchral urns found at PrÆneste. The older woodwork in this library has never been painted or varnished, and the whole aspect of the room is singularly old-world and delightful.

Another instance is afforded by the sketch of the library of John Boys, Dean of Canterbury, who died in 1625. It occurs on the title-page of his works dated 1622, and I may add on his tomb in Canterbury Cathedral also. He clung to ancient fashions so far as to set his books with their fore-edge outwards, but in other respects his book-shelves are of a modern type.

I have now reached the limit which I imposed upon myself when I began this essay. But before I conclude let me say a few last words. I wish to point out that collectors and builders in the Middle Ages did not guard their manuscripts with jealous care merely because they had paid a high price to have them written; they recognised what I may call the personal element in them; they invested them with the senses and the feelings of human beings; and bestowed them like guests whom they delighted to honour. No one who reads the Philobiblon can fail to see that every page of it is pervaded by this sentiment; and this I think explains the elaborate precautions against theft; the equally elaborate care taken to arrange a library in so orderly a fashion that each book might be accessible with the least difficulty and the least delay; and the exuberant gratitude with which the arrival of a new book was welcomed.

In my present work I have looked at libraries from the technical side exclusively. It would have been useless to try to combine fire and water, sentiment and fact. But let me remind my readers that we are not so far removed from the medieval standpoint as some of us perhaps would wish. When we enter the library of Queens' College, or the older part of the University Library, at Cambridge, where there has been continuity from the fifteenth century to the present day, are we not moved by feelings such as I have tried to indicate, such in fact as moved John Leland when he saw the library at Glastonbury for the first time?

Moreover, there is another sentiment closely allied to this by which members of a College or a University are more deeply moved than others—I mean the sentiment of association. The most prosaic among them cannot fail to remember that the very floors were trodden by the feet of the great scholars of the past; that Erasmus may have sat at that window on that bench, and read the very book which we are ourselves about to borrow.

But in these collections the present is not forgotten; the authors of to-day are taking their places beside the authors of the past, and are being treated with the same care. On all sides we see progress: the lecterns and the stalls are still in use and keep green the memory of old fashions; while near them the plain shelving of the twentieth century bears witness to the ever-present need for more space to hold the invading hordes of books that represent the literature of to-day. On the one hand, we see the past; on the other, the present; and both are animated by full, vigorous life.