If he cannot buy books, he has copies made: about his
person are scribes and correctors, illuminators and binders,
and generally all who can usefully labour in the service of
books; in large numbers--in no small multitude. And by
these means he gets together more books than all the other
English bishops put together: more than five waggon
loads; a veritable hoard, overflowing into the hall of his
house, and into his bedroom, where he steps over them to
get to his couch. He was a man "of small learning," says
Murimuth; "passably literate," writes Chambre; at the
best, according to Petrarch, "of ardent temperament, not
ignorant of literature, with a natural curiosity for out-of-the-
way lore": an antiquarian, not of the lovable kind, but
unscrupulous, pedantic, and vain, indulging an inordinate taste
for collecting and hoarding books, perhaps to satisfy a
craving for shreds and patches of knowledge, but more
likely to earn a reputation as a great clerk.[1] For De Bury
was something of a humbug; the Philobiblon, if it is his
work, reaches the utmost limit of affectation in the love of
books.
[1] "Volens tamen magnus clericus reputari.
Pages:
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286