第77章 THE SKETCH BOOK(2)

It began with railings about the neglect of the world- about meritbeing suffered to languish in obscurity, and other such commonplacetopics of literary repining, and complained bitterly that it had notbeen opened for more than two centuries. That the dean only looked nowand then into the library, sometimes took down a volume or two,trifled with them for a few moments, and then returned them to theirshelves. "What a plague do they mean," said the little quarto, which Ibegan to perceive was somewhat choleric, "what a plague do they meanby keeping several thousand volumes of us shut up here, and watched bya set of old vergers, like so many beauties in a harem, merely to belooked at now and then by the dean? Books were written to givepleasure and to be enjoyed; and I would have a rule passed that thedean should pay each of us a visit at least once a year; or if he isnot equal to the task, let them once in a while turn loose the wholeschool of Westminster among us, that at any rate we may now and thenhave an airing.""Softly, my worthy friend," replied I, "you are not aware how muchbetter you are off than most books of your generation. By being storedaway in this ancient library, you are like the treasured remains ofthose saints and monarchs, which lie enshrined in the adjoiningchapels; while the remains of your contemporary mortals, left to theordinary course of nature, have long since returned to dust.""Sir," said the little tome, ruffling his leaves and looking big, "Iwas written for all the world, not for the bookworms of an abbey. Iwas intended to circulate from hand to hand, like other greatcontemporary works; but here have I been clasped up for more thantwo centuries, and might have silently fallen a prey to these wormsthat are playing the very vengeance with my intestines, if you had notby chance given me an opportunity of uttering a few last wordsbefore I go to pieces.""My good friend," rejoined I, "had you been left to thecirculation of which you speak, you would long ere this have been nomore. To judge from your physiognomy, you are now well stricken inyears: very few of your contemporaries can be at present in existence;and those few owe their longevity to being immured like yourself inold libraries; which, suffer me to add, instead of likening to harems,you might more properly and gratefully have compared to thoseinfirmaries attached to religious establishments, for the benefit ofthe old and decrepit, and where, by quiet fostering and no employment,they often endure to an amazingly good-for-nothing old age. You talkof your contemporaries as if in circulation- where do we meet withtheir works? what do we hear of Robert Groteste, of Lincoln? No onecould have toiled harder than he for immortality. He is said to havewritten nearly two hundred volumes. He built, at it were, a pyramid ofbooks to perpetuate his name: but, alas! the pyramid has long sincefallen, and only a few fragments are scattered in various libraries,where they are scarcely disturbed even by the antiquarian. What dowe hear of Giraldus Cambrensis, the historian, antiquary, philosopher,theologian, and poet? He declined two bishoprics, that he might shuthimself up and write for posterity; but posterity never inquires afterhis labors. What of Henry of Huntingdon, who, besides a learnedhistory of England, wrote a treatise on the contempt of the world,which the world has revenged by forgetting him? What is quoted ofJoseph of Exeter, styled the miracle of his age in classicalcomposition? Of his three great heroic poems one is lost forever,excepting a mere fragment; the others are known only to a few of thecurious in literature; and as to his love verses and epigrams, theyhave entirely disappeared. What is in current use of John Wallis,the Franciscan, who acquired the name of the tree of life? OfWilliam of Malmsbury;- of Simeon of Durham;- of Benedict ofPeterborough;- of John Hanvill of St. Albans;- of-""Prithee, friend," cried the quarto, in a testy tone, "how old doyou think me? You are talking of authors that lived long before mytime, and wrote either in Latin or French, so that they in a mannerexpatriated themselves, and deserved to be forgotten;* but I, sir, wasushered into the world from the press of the renowned Wynkyn de Worde.

I was written in my own native tongue, at a time when the language hadbecome fixed; and indeed I was considered a model of pure andelegant English."* In Latin and French hath many soueraine wittes had great delyte toendite, and have many noble thinges fulfilde, but certes there bensome that speaken their poisye in French, of which speche theFrenchmen have as good a fantasye as we have in hearying ofFrenchmen's Englishe.- Chaucer's Testament of Love.