Bernard carried out his system in a way that suggests the routine of a much later age. He set his boys, or young men (for, if John of Salisbury's case be typical, the course was rather that of a university than of a school), to do daily exercises in prose and verse composition, and prepared them by explaining the qualities in the orators or poets which they should imitate; his great rule being that they should be brought up on the best models and eschew the rest. Among the virtues of the grammarian, says John, the ancients justly reckoned this: to be ignorant of some things. The pupils passed round their copies of verses to one another for correction, and the healthy friction helped to keep up the stimulating influence of their master. Nor was composition the only practice which they were given. They had also to learn by rote, and every day keep a record of as much as they could remember of the previous day's lesson; for with them the morrow was the disciple of yesterday... After this wise, adds John of Salisbury, did my preceptors, William of Conches and Richard surnamed the Bishop, now by office archdeacon of Coutances, a man good both in life and conversation, instruct their pupils awhile. But afterwards, when opinion did prejudice to truth, and men chose rather to seem than to be philosophers, and professors of arts undertook to instil the whole of philosophy into their auditors more quickly than in three or even two years,—they were overcome by the onset of the unskilled crowd and retired.[1] Since then less time and less care have been bestowed on grammar, and persons who profess all arts, liberal and mechanical, are ignorant of the primary art, without which a man proceeds in vain to the rest. For h albeit the other studies assist literature, yet this has the sole privilege of making one lettered.
- ↑ I have commented on the interpretation of this passage, which seems to me to have been generally misunderstood, infra, Appendix vii.
