Further remarks on the policy of lending Bodleian printed books and manuscripts

In Short

This book is a vigorous, sharp-tongued defense of the Bodleian Library’s tradition of non-circulation. Written as a series of interventions regarding a proposed university statute, it catalogues the practical dangers of lending unique manuscripts and rare volumes. The author draws on historical evidence from libraries across Europe to demonstrate that lending inevitably leads to the loss, damage, and degradation of irreplaceable collections. It remains a foundational text for those interested in the ethics of curation and the historical debates surrounding the purpose of great research institutions.

The Story

The narrative begins with a firm declaration of intent: to challenge the advocates of a new Bodleian statute that would formalize the practice of lending books. The author, a staunch traditionalist, identifies the opposing camp—academics like Mr. Sanday, Mr. Ellis, and Dr. Rost—as proponents of a "library of circulation" who misunderstand the fundamental duty of a research archive. He asserts that these proponents have neglected the grim lessons of history in favor of personal convenience.

To anchor his argument, the author reviews the sorry record of other institutions. He points to the Advocates’ Library, which lost thousands of volumes, and cites the experiences of major continental libraries where lending has consistently resulted in damaged spines, missing pages, and deep frustration for those who arrive at the library only to find the shelves bare. He frames the practice of lending as an inherently "pernicious" habit that librarians, if they were to answer candidly, would universally condemn.

The argument then turns to the specific case of unique manuscripts. He recounts the story of Mr. Kerrich, a librarian who refused to donate a unique Arabic manuscript to his own university simply because it allowed lending; he entrusted the treasure to the Bodleian only because he believed the library would keep it safe. This anecdote serves as a warning: if the Bodleian loses its reputation for security, it will cease to be a destination for the world’s most precious intellectual artifacts.

The author systematically dismantles the counter-arguments of his opponents. He engages with Dr. Rost’s claims about the India Office’s successful lending record, dismissing it as a "surprising run of luck" rather than a sustainable policy. He turns his fire on Mr. Sanday, who suggests that the author undervalues the scholarly utility of manuscripts. The author rejects this as a fiction, arguing that his goal is not to hoard books, but to ensure they are available to all scholars at all times, rather than locked away in an individual’s private room.

Finally, he addresses the proposed statute itself. He views it as a "rat-hole in a dyke," warning that even small, regulated exceptions to the non-lending rule will inevitably grow into a flood of unchecked circulation. He concludes with a plea to the University: recognize that a library of reference and a library of circulation are incompatible ideals. To choose the latter is to sacrifice the library's integrity for the sake of temporary, individual convenience, ultimately betraying the mission of an institution that belongs to the world and to history.

How It Unfolds

The opening salvo The author establishes his stance by characterizing the move toward a circulating library as a fundamental misunderstanding of the Bodleian’s nature. He presents evidence of past failures in other libraries to set the stage for a debate about institutional responsibility.

Evidence from the continent A detailed survey of thirty-six European libraries is provided to demonstrate the risks of lending. He highlights the "eloquent 'etc.'" following reports of lost and damaged books, suggesting that the true scale of degradation is often hidden.

The case of the unique manuscript The author uses the example of a rare Arabic manuscript to illustrate that a library’s prestige attracts donations only when donors are certain their gifts will remain safe. He argues that lending policies will dry up these sources of growth.

Refuting the scholars He addresses the letters of his critics, specifically Sanday and Rost, by attacking their focus on personal convenience. He argues that the scholar’s need to "complete a collection" at home is secondary to the library’s duty to remain a reliable resource for all.

The warning of the dyke The final section analyzes the proposed statute as a dangerous precedent. The author concludes that once the principle of "lending" is legally established, there is no stopping the eventual total erosion of the library’s reference status.

The People

The author, Henry W. Chandler, emerges as a principled, uncompromising guardian of the library’s traditions. He views himself as a defender of "common sense" against a tide of modern, misguided reforms. He is deeply skeptical of the "convenience" sought by his peers, often portraying them as short-sighted individuals who prioritize their own ease over the preservation of public goods.

His primary antagonists include Mr. Sanday and Mr. Ellis, who represent the scholarly class seeking easier access to books for their personal research. They view the author as "reactionary," a label he rejects, arguing instead that he is simply being practical. Dr. Rost represents a different challenge: the administrator who points to a history of "good luck" with loans. To the author, Rost is a gambler playing with the library’s heritage, ignoring the statistical certainty of eventual disaster. Together, these figures illustrate the tension between the immediate, individual needs of the working academic and the long-term, collective responsibility of the library curator.

In Its Own Voice

"Those who are in favour of changing the whole character of the Bodleian, and who wish to convert it from a library of reference into a library of circulation, do not seem to feel much confidence in the strength of their case."

The author opens his argument by questioning the motives and the intellectual standing of those who want to overhaul the library's foundational policies.

"A library in which no man works--a library such as the Bodleian is in the hands of men too ignorant or too idle to use it--is dreadful to think of."

In a moment of intense frustration, the author laments the potential decline of the University as a center of serious, onsite scholarship.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an inquiry into the nature of public trust and the preservation of cultural heritage. It questions whether the convenience of the few—in this case, academics wanting to borrow books—should ever be allowed to compromise the accessibility of the many. The author argues that a great library is a "wonder of the world" that exists outside the standard laws of commerce and personal property. The central theme is the incompatibility of a reference library with a lending library; he posits that to attempt both is to ensure the eventual destruction of the former.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the history of libraries or the philosophy of curation will find this book particularly striking. It feels like a dispatch from a bygone era of intellectual combat, where the stakes of a library regulation are treated with the gravity of a national crisis. The prose is sharp, occasionally biting, and entirely devoid of the polite obfuscation common in modern academic writing.

However, the reader must be prepared for the author’s combative style. He is not interested in building consensus; he is interested in winning an argument, and he is not shy about using condescension toward his opponents. The text assumes a deep familiarity with the 19th-century Oxford academic landscape, which may require the reader to navigate some dense references. Despite its age, the fundamental question the book asks—how we balance the protection of our past with the needs of the present—remains as urgent and unresolved today as it was in 1887. You will come away with a profound sense of the vulnerability of institutions we often take for granted, and perhaps a new appreciation for the quiet, stationary existence of a physical book.