The Duties and Qualifications of a Librarian (1780)/Discourse
DISCOURSE
ON THE
DUTIES AND QUALIFICATIONS
OF A LIBRARIAN
TO receive a public testimony of esteem from an assembly of illustrious personages, whose merit places them above eulogium, has always appeared to me the highest and most glorious of distinctions. On learning that your suffrages had designated me as the guardian of your library, I experienced some difficulty, I must confess, in subduing a slight feeling of presumption; but reflection soon gave me to understand, that what you desired by this circumstance to honour and reward in me was not successes, which my labours had not obtained, but some feeble efforts which you had deigned to appreciate.
When I reflect, indeed, on the qualifications that should be united in your librarian, they present themselves to my mind in so great a number, and in such a character of perfection, that I distrust my ability not only to enumerate, but also to trace a true picture of them; for it cannot be denied, gentlemen, that the Society of the Sorbonne, so justly celebrated in all Europe, or, more properly, throughout the world, for the depth no less than for the extent of its erudition, ought, as it has hitherto done, to present to the learned world, in the person of its librarian, none other than one of those privileged men, capable of proving himself, upon occasion, instructed to the same degree in profane as in sacred learning,—familiar with the researches of the highest erudition, and with the productions of a more ephemeral and less elevated literature.
Your librarian, gentlemen, is in some sort your official representative. To him is remitted the deposit of your glory. To him is intrusted, as a duty, the important mission of maintaining, and even of increasing, if that be possible, and as far as his ability will admit,—of increasing, I repeat, your brilliant reputation whenever a stranger, illustrious by birth or his scientific merit, or doubly illustrious, perhaps, by both of these titles, comes to the Sorbonne with a curious, a learned, or even with a jealous eye, to examine the precious theological and literary treasures of your library, and to draw from it wherewith to increase his own riches. Thus, therefore, your librarian should be, above all, a learned and profound theologian; but to this qualification, which I shall call fundamental, should be united vast literary acquisitions, an exact and precise knowledge of all the arts and sciences, great facility of expression, and, lastly, that exquisite politeness which conciliates the affection of his visitors while his merit secures their esteem.
A librarian truly worthy of the name should, if I may be permitted the expression, have explored in advance every region of the empire of letters, to enable him afterwards to serve as a faithful guide to all who may desire to survey it. And though it is by no means my intention to give the preference above all other sciences to the science of bibliography, which is nothing more than an exact and critical acquaintance with the productions of the intellect, it will nevertheless be permitted me to consider this science as the forerunner of all the others,—as their guide, who is to light them with his torch,*—nearly as a devoted and dutiful son precedes his father, to secure and facilitate his progress by throwing light upon his path. Thus the superintendent of a library, whatever be its character, should be no stranger to any department of learning: sacred and profane literature, the fine arts, the exact sciences, all should be familiar to him. A diligent and indefatigable student, ardently devoted to letters, his sole and abiding aim should be to make sure their advancement. Especially should the superintendent of such a library as yours,—which is not, by right, designed for the public,—if he desires to increase the reputation of the illustrious society which he represents,—if he also desires to give proofs of its devotion to learning—receive all its visitors whether scholars or the simply curious, with an assiduous attention so polite and kindly, that his reception shall appear to each one the effect of a distinction purely personal. He will never seek to steal away from the notice of all into some solitary or unknown retreat. Neither cold nor heat, nor his multiplied occupations, will ever be to him a pretext for evading the obligation he has contracted to be a friendly and intelligent guide to all the scholars who may visit him. Forgetting himself, on the contrary, and laying aside all occupations, he will lead them forward with a cheerful interest, taking pleasure in introducing them to his library; he will examine with them all its parts and divisions; every thing precious or rare that it may contain he will himself put before them. Should a particular book appear to be even of passing interest to one of his guests, he will quickly seize the occasion, and obligingly place it at his service; he will even, moreover, have the delicate attention to lay open before him all the books relating to the same subject, in order to make his researches easier and more complete. When parting from the stranger whom he has just received, he will not fail to thank him for his visit, and to assure him that the institution will always feel honoured by the presence of a man whose labours cannot but contribute to its renown. The custodian of a literary deposit should especially guard himself against that unfortunate disposition which would render him, like the dragon in the fable, jealous of the treasures entrusted to his keeping, and lead him to conceal from the inspection of the public riches which had been brought together solely with the view of being placed at its disposition. What, moreover, would be the object of these precious collections, gathered at so great expense by fortune or by science, if they were not consecrated, according to the intention of their generous founders, to the advancement, the glory, and the perfection of science and literature?
But that a library may fully attain the end of its foundation,—that it may be in reality useful, and useful with equal certainty and facility,—it should be administered by a librarian distinguished for soundness of judgement no less than for the readiness and accuracy of his memory. Men would love to find in him, not that vain and imperfect bibliographical knowledge that attaches itself merely to the surface, much less the narrow preferences inspired by the spirit of party, or those exclusive predilections that border upon mania; but an erudition at once ample and considerate, which has solely in view the advancement of knowledge, and which is ever able to distinguish, with equal taste and accuracy, original works that are worthy to be proposed as models, from those equivocal productions justly condemned to forgetfulness for their mediocrity. He will therefore not admit indiscriminately every book into his collection, but will select such only as are of genuine merit and of well-approved utility; and his acquisitions, guided by the principles of an enlightened economy, will be rendered still more valuable by the substantial merits of an able classification. It is impossible, in fact, to attach too much importance to the advantages resulting from an intelligent and methodical order in the arrangement of a library. Of what utility would be the richest treasures if it were not possible to make use of them? Wherefore this complete arsenal of science, if the arms it keeps in reserve are not within reach of those who would wield them? And if, as is said, books are the medicine of the soul, what avail these intellectual pharmacopoeias, if the remedies which they contain are not disposed in order and labelled with care?
In thus considering, gentlemen, all the various attainments that should characterize a librarian, will any one now wonder at the consideration which has ever been, and still is, accorded to men honoured with this title? Will he wonder to see at Rome, at the head of the Library of the Vatican, a learned Cardinal, equally distinguished for his immense erudition, and for superior merit in every department? Will he be surprised, in short, that in all ages, and even in our own time, the greater part of the scholars charged with the administration of libraries have shone with so much brilliancy in the empire of letters? And if I wished to give to my words the authority of example, I should have to name here only a few of those who have preceded me in the walk that has just been opened to me; I should content myself with citing the name of the venerable man whose place I supply, and whose retirement, caused by infirmities, inspires you with such poignant regrets. But for fear of exposing myself to the reproach of adulation,—though my praise would be but the expression of truth,—I shall endeavour to be silent. I shall not attempt further to lay open before you, as Naudé formerly did, the particular catalogue of librarians who rendered themselves distinguished; but you will at least permit me to recall to you the names of the illustrious Cardinals Quirini and Passionei;† that of Naudé,‡ who deserves particular mention, that of Muratori,§ that admirable prodigy of learning, whose writings in every department of learning would of themselves alone form a library; and, finally, the name of Franck,# whose Catalogue of the Library of Bunau has always seemed to me the first and most perfect of all the works devoted to bibliography.
Thus, gentlemen, when the numerous duties of the librarian, and the consideration habitually attached to that title, present themselves to my mind, I have been surprised, as I still am, at having been the object of your suffrages; and my surprise is increased when I reflect that a single circumstance was the cause of the honourable preference which you have been pleased to accord me: I mean the assiduity with which I visited your library, during a spring and summer, for the purpose of silently selecting from it the documents needed to conduct to their conclusion some theological and literary labours, which I shall consider brought almost to perfection if they result in causing me to appear even in a moderate degree worthy of the honours which you have been pleased to confer upon me.
I therefore truly appreciate, gentlemen, all the honour of the glorious burden which you have just imposed upon me; but I feel, at the same time, how much it is beyond my strength, as well by its own nature as by the duties which circumstances may further add to it. But I venture to hope that your kindness will sustain my weakness; I shall have to support me your counsels, which I shall ever make it a duty to follow. Your spirit, your hands even, I am fain to believe, will aid me in arranging, in ornamenting, in maintaining, in enlarging your library; and what remains to me yet of vigour, what remains to me yet of a life which is advancing rapidly to its decline, I have firmly resolved shall be devoted to the task of proving myself in all respects worthy of the honours which you have been pleased to confer upon me, and the confidence you have placed in me, of which I trust you will never have cause to repent. Thus, gentlemen, all my cares, all my efforts, all my studies, will be devoted to the sole object of proving the deep gratitude with which your goodness has inspired me, of which I shall never lose the remembrance.