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Though Ashurbanipal, like hosts of rulers after him, claimed to be proud of his talents as a scribe and reader, what clearly mattered most to him was not the transformation of experience into learning but the emblematicrepresentation of the powerful qualities associated with books. Under such rulers, libraries become not "temples of learning" (as the commonplace has it) but temples to a benefactor, founder or provider.
Centuries after Ashurbanipal, the symbolic value of funding a library has not much changed. Even during the Renaissance, when libraries in Europe became officially public (beginning with the Ambrosiana in Milan, in 1609), the prestige of funding, endowing or building such an institution remained the privilege of a benefactor, not a community. The notorious millionaires who, in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, made their fortunes in the factories, mills and banks of the United States assiduously used their money to establish schools, museums and, above all, libraries which, beyond their importance as cultural centres, became monuments to their founders.
"What is the best gift which can be given to a community?" asked the most famous of these benefactors, Andrew Carnegie, in 1890. "A free library occupies the first place," he declared in answer to his own ques- tion.107 Not everyone was of his opinion. In Britain, for instance, the truism that "a public library is essential for the welfare of a community" was not officially proclaimed until 1850, when the MP for Dumfries, William Ewart, forced a bill through Parliament establishing the right of every town to have a free public library.108 As late as 1832, Thomas Carlyle was angrily asking, "Why is there not a Majesty's library in every county town? There is a Majesty's jail and gallows in
I "109
every one! 109
Andrew Carnegie's story does not allow for simple conclusions. His relationship to wealth and the culture of books was complex and contradictory. Implacable in his pursuit of financial gain, he donated almost 90 percent of his enormous fortune to fund all manner of public institutions, including over 2,500 libraries in a dozen English- speaking countries, from his native Scotland to Fiji and the Seychelles. He worshipped but did not love intellectual pursuits. "The public library was his temple," wrote one of his biographers, "and the 'Letters to the Editor' column his confessional."110 Brutal in the treatment of his workers, he established a private pension list to assist financially over four hundred artists, scientists and poets, among them Walt Whitman, who described his benefactor as a source "of kindest good will." Though he believed in the sanctity of capitalism (what he called "the Gospel of Wealth"), he insisted that "a working man is a more useful citizen and ought to be more respected than
an idle prince."111
Carnegie's beginnings, as he himself was quick to remind his listeners, were desperately poor. Two men exerted the greatest influence over his childhood in Scotland. One was his father, an able weaver of damask cloth, whose skills were soon made redundant by the new manufacturing technology of the Industrial Revolution. Will Carnegie was by all accounts a man of spirit who, in spite of being forced to work ten to twelve hours a day, found time to create with his fellow-weavers a small communal library in Dunfermline, a courageous act that must have strongly impressed his young son. The other was Carnegie's uncle Thomas Morrison, a land-reform evangelist who preached non-violent opposition to the abusive industrialists and the end of what he saw as the enduring feudal system in Scotland. "Our rule," he taught, "is Each shall possess; all shall enjoy; Our principle, universal and equal right; and our 'law of the land' shall be Every man a lord; every woman a lady; and every child an heir."m During one of the riots against the large linen manufacturers who were threatening, once again, to cut the wages of the weavers, Uncle Thomas was arrested. Though he was never formally charged, the incident marked the young Carnegie powerfully, though not enough to colour his business ethics. Years later, he displayed in his study the framed handbill with the charges, calling it his "title to nobility." From such experiences, he said, he developed "into a violent young Republican whose motto was 'death to privilege.'"113 And yet, when Carnegie ruled over his own factories and mills in Pittsburgh, his employees were forced to work seven days a week, were denied all holidays except Christmas and the Fourth of July, were paid miserly wages and were forced to live in insalubrious housing estates where the sewers ran alongside the water pipes. One-fifth of Carnegie's men died due to accidents.114 In 1848, when Carnegie was barely thirteen, his parents became destitute. To escape famine, the family emigrated to the United States and, after a difficult crossing, settled in Pittsburgh, where they discovered that the situation of the weavers was scarcely better than back home. At length the young Carnegie found work, first at the Atlantic and Ohio Telegraph Company and later with the Pennsylvania Railroad. In the railroad offices, work ended early in the evening, leaving the boy time "for self-improvement."
In downtown Pittsburgh, Carnegie discovered a free public library founded by a certain Colonel Anderson "for apprentices for whom school was not an option." "Colonel Anderson opened to me the intellectual wealth of the world," he recalled in 1887. "I became fond of reading. I reveled week after week in the books. My toil was light, for I got up at six o'clock in the morning, contented to work until six in the evening if there was then a book for me to read."115
But in 1853 Anderson's library changed locale and the new administration decided to charge all customers, except "true apprentices" (that is to say, those bound to an employer), a fee of two dollars. The sixteen-year-old Carnegie, an apprentice not officially "bound," felt that the measure was unjust and, after uselessly arguing with the librarian, wrote an open letter to the editor of the Pittsburgh Dispatch. It appeared on 13 May 1853.
Mr Editor:
Believing that you take a deep interest in whatever tends to elevate, instruct and improve the youth of this country, I am induced to call your attention to the following. You will remember that some time ago Mr. Anderson (a gentleman of this city) bequested a large sum of money to establish and support a Library for working boys and apprentices residing here. It has been in successful operation for over a year, scattering precious seeds among us, and although fallen [sic] "by the wayside and in stony places," not a few have found good ground. Every working boy has been freely admitted only requiring his parents or guardian to become surety. But its means of doing good have recently been greatly circumscribed by new directors who refuse to allow any boy who is not learning a trade and bound for a stated time to become a member. I rather think that the new directors have misunderstood the generous donor's intentions. It can hardly be thought that he meant to exclude boys employed in stores merely because they are not bound.
A Working Boy though not bound.116
After a brisk exchange of letters, the harried librarian was forced to call a meeting of trustees, in which the question was settled in the boy's favour. For Carnegie, it was a question of what he himself considered "fair usage." As he was later repeatedly to prove, any argument of justice, any question of rights, any effort of self- improvement only carried weight if it ultimately succeeded in procuring Carnegie himself greater savings or greater power. "Money no object compared to power," he said to one of his business partners some twenty-five years later.117