THE PROLOGUE

o all the faithful in Christ unto whom the tenor of this present writing may come, Richard de Bury, by the Divine mercy Bishop of Durham, wisheth eternal health in the Lord, and also to present a pious memorial of himself before God, alike in life and after his decease.

What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits toward me? asks the devout psalmist, that invincible king and chiefest of the prophets. In this most grateful inquiry he acknowledgeth himself a willing repayer and a manifold debtor, and a seeker after a counsellor holier than himself; agreeing with Aristotle, the prince of philosophers, who proves in the Third and Sixth of his Ethics that all action turns upon counsel. Surely, if so admirable a prophet, acquainted with the Divine secrets, desired so anxiously to meditate upon the way in which he might acceptably make return for these gracious benefits by rendering thanks, what shall we, who are but rude thankers and most greedy receivers, laden with endless Divine benefits, be able to resolve upon more worthily? Doubtless with anxious deliberation and redoubled circumspection (first invoking the septiform Spirit, to the end that His illuminating fire may glow in our meditation) we ought the more earnestly to prepare an open way, so that the Bestower of all things may be readily worshipped out of His gifts conferred upon us, our neighbour be relieved of his burden and the guilt daily contracted by sinners be atoned for by the remedy of alms.

Being forewarned, therefore, through this devout admonition by Him who alone anticipates and fulfills the desires of man, without whom no sufficiency is supplied us even for our meditation, and whose gift, we openly confess, is whatever good we may have done, we have diligently taken counsel with ourselves, as also by inquiring in company with others, what among the good offices of the divers kinds of piety would in the first instance be pleasing to the Most High and benefit the Church Militant.

And lo! there comes before our view a host of outcast scholars; nay, rather of chosen scholars, in whom God the Creator and His handmaiden Nature have planted the roots of most excellent character and noble knowledge. But so far hath the want of the necessaries of life oppressed them that, with an adverse fortune opposing them, the seeds of virtue, which are so fruitful, are left to parch in the untilled field of their youth, unmoistened by the favour of the needful dew. Thus it happens, in the words of Boethius, that bright virtue lies hidden in obscurity, and it is not that lamps are lighted and put under a bushel, but from want of oil are utterly gone out. Thus the field that flowers in the springtime is parched before the harvest. Thus the crops degenerate into weeds, the vines into the wild vine, the olives run to wood in the wild olive and the tender shoots waste away altogether, while those who might have grown up to be strong pillars of the Church, having been endued with the capacities of subtle minds, abandon the schools of study. Under poverty alone as their stepmother they are violently repelled from the sweetened cup of philosophy as soon as they have tasted it, to thirst again more fervidly by reason of the tasting. Though fit for the liberal arts and wholly disposed to meditation in the Scriptures, yet, deprived of the support of kinsmen, they return as by a kind of apostacy to the mechanical arts solely for the support of their living, to the loss of the Church and the degradation of the whole clergy. Thus Mother Church in begetting sons is forced to miscarry, nay, from her womb some unshapen offspring is born out of due time, and, from want of that small and slender support which suffices for nature, she loses famous pupils, who ought later to be promoted to be champions and athletes of the faith. Alas, how suddenly the web is cut while the hand of the weaver is yet working! Alas, that the sun is eclipsed in the brightness of its dawning and the advancing planet retrogrades in its course, and, though it displays the form and nature of a true star, suddenly falls and becomes a meteor! What more pitiful can a pious man behold? What will pierce more sharply the bowels of compassion? What will sooner melt a heart, though hardened as an anvil, into the warmest tears?

Furthermore, arguing from the opposite, let us recall from past events how much it advantaged the whole Christian commonwealth, not indeed to weaken students with the luxuries of a Sardanapalus nor with the wealth of a Croesus, but the rather to support them, when poor, in scholarly frugality. How many have we seen with our eyes or gathered knowledge of from writings, who, though having no renown of birth, and enjoying the succession to no inheritance, but supported only by the piety of the good, have won their way to apostolic chairs, ruled most uprightly their faithful subjects, subjected the necks of the proud and lofty to the ecclesiastical yoke, and insured a broader freedom for the Church.

Wherefore, after surveying human necessities in all directions with a view to bestowing our charitable regard, the affection of our compassion hath especially preferred to bear pious aid to that calamitous class of men, in whom, however, there lies such hope of advantage to the Church, and to provide them not only with things needful for their living, but much more with books, which especially are useful for their study. Unto this end, most acceptable in the sight of God, our unwearied attention hath long since been directed. This ecstatic love hath borne us away so mightily, that, casting aside other earthly things from our mind, we have burned only with the passion for gathering books.

Accordingly, that the end of our intent may be clear as well to posterity as to those of our own time, and that we may, so far as pertaineth to us, stop forever the mouths of them that speak perversely, we have issued a little treatise after the lightest style of the moderns. For it is absurd in authors that a light matter should be written in a lofty style. This treatise, divided into twenty chapters, will purge from the accusation of excess the love we have held toward books, and will proclaim the purpose of our eager devotion, and make clearer than light the circumstances of our attempt. And inasmuch as it treats chiefly of the love of books, it hath seemed well to us, conforming to the fashion of the ancient Latins, pleasantly to name it after a Greek word, Philobiblon.

HERE ENDETH THE PROLOGUE