Address on the opening of the Free Public Library of Ballarat East, on Friday, 1st. January, 1869/Appendices
Appendix A.
(a) Richard de Bury, son of Sir Richard Angraville (or Aungervile), born at Bury St. Edmunds, in Suffolk, 1287, was educated at Oxford. To him was entrusted the education of the Prince of Wales, afterwards King Edward III. He became Treasurer of Gascom, and, on the accession of his pupil to the throne, received the Stalls in the Cathedrals of Hereford, London, and Chichester, previously held by Gilbert de Middleton, was made Prebendary of Lincoln, Sarum, and Lichfield, appointed Cofferer to the King, Treasurer of the Wardrobe, and Keeper of the Privy Seal. While in possession of the latter office he visited Italy twice on special missions to Pope John XXII., who received him with great distinction, appointed him Chaplain to his Private Chapel, and, by a Bull, nominated him to the first See to fall vacant in England. Petrarch, whose acquaintance he made at Avignon, styled him "Virum ardentis ingenii." A.D. 1333, he became Bishop of Durham; in the following year, was made Chancellor. In June, A.D. 1335, he exchanged the Great Seal for the office of Treasurer. After having represented his Royal Master at Paris as Ambassador on three several occasions, and having visited Antwerp and Brabant, at each of which places he acquired by most liberal expenditure large numbers of rare and valuable books, he retired from public life, and, in his episcopal palace at Bishops Auckland, devoted himself to the pursuit of study, the multiplication of M.S.S., collecting books, and forming libraries at his different residences within his diocese. In his old age he wrote his celebrated work "The Philobiblon," though some persons ascribe it to his chaplain Holcot. It gives an insight into his knowledge of and love for books, and an account of the modes through which he became the possessor of some of his coveted volumes. "Thus the sacred vessels of science came," as he says, "into our power. Some being given, some sold, and not a few lent for a time." The propensity for borrowing, and indefinite extension of the period of the loan, has induced Lord Campbell to quote the lines which he has applied to a modern successor of the Bishop in the marble chair:—
Quisquis theologus, quisquis legista peritus
Visgieri; multos semper habeto libros.
Non tu mente manet quicquid non vidimus ipsi.
Quisque sibilibros Vendicet ergo.—Vale.
He founded a public library at Oxford for the use of students. His numerous lucrative appointments would but for his charities and purchases of books have enabled him to have made a prodigious fortune for the time in which he lived. However, as he himself informs us—
"If 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 preferred in good truth books, not pounds, codices rather than florins, and would rather have pamphlets than pampered palfreys."[1]
He died A.D. 1345.
Appendix B.
(b) Janus, a Latin Divinity, who presided over the beginning of all things, represented with two faces, one looking backward on the past, the other forward on the future[2] Numa Pompilius, in his regulation of the Roman an year, called the first month Januarius.
When the Roman City on the Palatine Hill, and the Sabine City on the Quirinal were united, a gate with double door was built as a barrier between them. This, in later times, was called a Temple, Janus Geminos-Bifrons-Quirinus, Consivius, Martialis, Patuleius, Clausius. It contained a statue of Janus. The gates were opened in time of war, and shut in time of peace. This latter event occurred three times during 700 years; first in the time of Numa; secondly, B.C. 235; thirdly, in the reign of Augustus.— Macrobius Sat: 1, 9.
The following sprightly poem, on the subject of "Nothing," (written by John Passerat, an ingenious Frenchman, born A.D. 1534,) is a tribute, or New Year's Day offering to Janus. It is not very commonly known, a translation—executed many years since—is given:—
POEMA C. L. V. JOHANNIS PASSERATII
Regii in Academia Parisiensi Professoris, ad ornatissimum
virum Henricum Memmium.
Janus adest, festæ poscunt sua dona Kalendæ
Munus abest festis quod possim offerre Kalendis.
Siccine Castalius nobis exaruit humor?
Usque adeo ingenii nostri est exhausta facultas,
Immunem ut videat redeuntis janitor anni?
Quod nusquam est, potius nova per vestigia quæram.
Ecce autem partes dum sese versat in omnes
Invenit mea Musa Nihil, ne despice munus.
Nam Nihil est gemmis, Nihil est pretiosius auro.
Huc animum, huc igitur vultus adverte beniguos:
Res nova narratur quæ nulli audita priorum,
Ausonii et Graii dixerunt coetera vates,
Ausoniæ indictum Nihil est Græcæque Camœnæ.
E cælo quacunque Ceres sua prospicit arva,
Aut genitor liquidis orbem complectitur ulnis
Oceanus, Nihil interitus et originis expers.
Immortale Nihil, Nihil omni parte beatum.
Quod si hine majestas et vis divina probatur,
Num quid honore Deum, num quid dignabimur aris?
Conspictu lucis Nihil est jacundius almæ,
Vere Nihil, Nihil irriguo formosius horto,
Floridius pratis, Zephyri clementius aura;
In bello sanctum Nihil est, Martisque tumultu:
Justum in pace Nihil, Nihil est in fœedere tutum.
Felix cui Nihil est (fuerant hæc vota Tibullo),
Non timet insidias: fures, incendia temnit:
Solicitas sequitur nullo sub judice lites.
Ille ipse invictis qui subjicit omnia fatis
Zenonis sapiens, Nihil admiratur et optat.
Socraticique gregis fuit ista scientia quondam,
Scire Nihil, studio cui nunc incumbitur uni.
Ned quicquam in ludo mavult didicisse juventus,
Ad magnas quia ducet opes, et culmen honorum.
Nosce Nihil, nosces fertur quod Pythagoreæ
Grano hærere fabæ, cui vox adjuncta negantis.
Multi Mercurio freti duce viscera terræ.
Pura liquefaciunt simul, et patrimonia miscent,
Arcano instantes operi, et carbonibus atris,
Qui tandem exhausti damnis, fractique labore,
Inveniunt atque inventum Nihil usque requirunt.
Hoc dimetiri non ulla decempeda possit:
Nec numeret Libycæ numerum qui callet arenæ:
Et Phœbo ignotum Nihil est, Nihil altius astris.
Tuque, tibi licet eximium sit mentis acumen,
Omnem in naturam penetrans, et in abdita rerum,
Pace tua, Memmi, Nihil ignorare vidêris.
Sole tamen Nihil est, a puro clarius igne.
Tange Nihil, dicesque Nihil sine corpore tangi.
Cerne Nihil, cerni dices Nihil absque colore.
Surdum audit loquitirque Nihil sine voce, volatque
Absque ope pennarum, et graditur sine cruribus ullis.
Absque loco motuque Nihil per inane vagatur.
Humano generi utilius Nihil arte medendi
Ne rhombos igitur, neu Thessala murmura tentat
Idalia vacuum trajectus arundine pectus,
Neu legat Idæo Dictæum in vertice gramen.
Vulneribus sævi Nihil auxiliatur amoris.
Vexerit et quemvis trans mœstas portitor undas,
Ad superos imo Nihil hunc revocabit ab Orco.
Inferni Nihil inflectit præcordia regis,
Parcarúmque colos, et inexorabile pensum.
Obruta Phlegræis campis Titania pubes
Fulmineo sensit Nihil esse potentius ictu:
Porrigitur magni Nihil extra mænia mundi:
Diique Nihil metuunt.
Quid tango carmine plura
Commemorem? Virtute Nihil prœstantius ipsa,
Splendidius Nihil est; Nihil est Jove denique majus.
Sed tempus finem argutis imponere nugis:
Ne tibi si multa laudem mea carmina charta,
De Nihilo, Nihili pariant fastidia versus.
[TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING]
Janus is come, his festive Calends ask
A boon from me, unequal to the task;
No gift is mine, no tribute can I pay
Which suits the season, or the festive day;
Do then Castalian streams, my veins forsake,
Refuse my thirst of Poesy to slake?
And say shall He behold me giftless here
He who unlocks the portals of the year?
And all my other labors past and o'er—
Unsung, unhonored, shall he pass my door?
But now the well known beaten path I change,
And through untrodden fields at large I range.
Lo! while my Muse to ev'ry side doth turn
She nothing finds; do not the off'ring spurn
Nothing more precious than the costly gem,
And gold that glitter in a Diadem,
Here lend your thoughts, here shed your looks benign,
The theme is novel, and the subject mine—
The Greek and Roman sages tun'd their lyres,
To other lays, and glowed with loftier fires.
Yet while through Greece and Rome their verses rung
These ancient worthies nothing left unsung.
Wherever Ceres, thron'd above the skies,
Upon her laughing kingdoms casts her eyes,
Or where Oceanus, whose watry arms
Clasp with a sire's embrace Earth's varied charms,
His glances darts, he views midst small and great
Nothing annihilate or uncreate;
Nothing, immortal; but above the rest
Nothing, with happiness supremely blast
Then if such Majesty and power divine
Centre in this and thro' this object shine
What adoration should not we bestow,
What altars rear, what holy rev'rence owe?
Nothing is sweeter than the placid dawn
Come forth to sip the dew drops of the morn.
Nothing more lovely than the op'ning spring—
Nothing can more delight to mortal bring,
Than that dear spot where vying blossoms glow,
And murm'ring waters lull with constant flow.
Nothing is more enamell'd than the fields.
Nothing than Zephyrus, more fragrance yields.
Nothing is scared from rude war's alarms.
Nothing secure from sacrilegious arms.
Nothing while peace abounds is right or just
Nothing in violated leagues can trust.
Happy the man who Nothing has, for he
Fears not the robber, or incendiary;
Laughs theft to scorn, free from vexatious sports
And tedious quarrels of litigious Courts.
The sage who bows to virtuous Zeno's rules,
Revering precepts of the learned schools,
Views Nothing with surprise; his bounded hope
Extends to Nothing beyond Reason's scope.
Nothing to know was the Socratic plan
By which he formed a just and upright man.
This fav'rite science all his powers he lends,
To this the minds of youth he moulds and tends
This golden statute he the first proclaims,
The means of wealth, the hope of pious aims.
Know Nothing and behold you know I ween
All centered in Pythagoras's bean.
Many on Mercury will fain rely
And instant to their secret toil apply,
Midst dingy furnaces with care refine,
The exhumated treasures of the mine;
Till wealth consum'd by midnight watchings worn,
Their breasts by anxious speculation torn
They Nothing find their labor to repay
And Nothing will e'en to their latest day.
No measure meets it; nor can he command
Who counts the atoms of the Lybian sand,
Numbers to number it—Th' all-seeing eye
Of Phœbus passes it unnoticed by—
Nothing more lofty than the orbs of light
Which gem the etherial mantle of the night.
Nothing is finer than the Solar beams
More brilliant than the flood of fiery streams.
Touch it, it shrinks. What! without form or shape?
Hold, grasp it firmly ; let it not escape,
View it, 'tis magic sure, be not dismay'd,
Nothing is seen without or light or shade.
Nothing deaf, hears; dumb, speaks; or wingless flies
Walks without legs or feet, sees without eyes;
Nothing can wander thro' the fields of space
Without a change of its respective place,
Nothing can greater benefits impart
To suffering mortals than the healing art.
Let not the anxious youth who has felt the pow'r
Of shafts Idalian in a luckless hour,
Reek by enchanted circles to assuage
The ardent fires that in his bosom rage;
Nor pluck the verdure of the Dictæan sward,
Nor magic try, nor wizard's art abhorr'd.
Nothing has charms around, below, above,
To soothe the torments of despairing love.
Nothing recalls to life from shades below
Him who o'er Styx' sad wave is forced to go.
Nothing can bend the inflexible decree
Of murky Orcus' stubborn Majesty,
Or fatal web unravel, or avoid
The dart by which all human is destroyed.
The giant offspring of Titanian sires
Weltering, engulph'd in Phlœgeroeian fires,
Confess,—too late their sentence to remove,
Nothing more potent than the bolts of Jove!
The Gods fear Nothing. Nothing doth extend
Beyond the world's remotest, farthest end.
But why should I my lengthn'd verse prolong,
And, singing nothing, thus dilate my song?
Nothing doth greater excellence bespeak
Than blush of virtue, mantling on the cheek.
Nothing superior to Heav'n's Monarch reigns,
Who calms the deep, and raging storm restrains.
But cease elaborate trifles to pursue,
And exquisite distinctions to renew!
Lest if my verse with self applause resound,
And ring my plaudits with a weary round,
Indignant censure may attend my lay
From Nothing too; so nothing more I say.
Printed at The Star Office, Sturt Street, Ballarat.