DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.63221#0074
48
THE FRENCH RENAISSANCE
library safely in the background. Even on his wedding-day
he disappeared for three hours, and escaped to his deserted
books. Happily his wife was no sporting lady, never content
without hawk or hounds, but a sensible helpmate who looked
out his books and found the passages he wanted. She would
have had a bad time otherwise, and warnings about health,
or worldly exhortations fell upon deaf ears.
He had had no real master; he was not any man’s disciple.
A few stray lessons here and there were all the help he got.
Yet his solitary labours had raised him to such a point that
there was nobody in France who could compete with him in
knowledge of all kinds. Greek was already the chief object
of his pursuit. He had once had twenty lessons from the
Greek, Lascaris. He had also, at great cost, bribed a
Lacedemonian, “ Hieronymus ”, a new comer to Paris, to
read Homer aloud to him; but as “ Hieronymus ” did not
himself understand what he was reading, he was not of
much use to his pupil. Bude’s own continuous studies were
more than enough. He began his career in print by a
translation of Plutarch, and succeeded from the outset in
steering clear of the Sorbonne.
All through his life Bude was that rara avis, a prudent
enthusiast. He kept well with orthodox and heterodox-
and though this was not his most lovable attainment, it
was not the least of the services he rendered to the cause
of learning. And however cautious he was, he did not fail
in sincerity. Meanwhile his reputation was growing in high
places. Charles VIII invited him to Court, but died before
he could advance him. Louis XII, however, did not forget
him, but twice sent him on State errands to Italy, and
THE FRENCH RENAISSANCE
library safely in the background. Even on his wedding-day
he disappeared for three hours, and escaped to his deserted
books. Happily his wife was no sporting lady, never content
without hawk or hounds, but a sensible helpmate who looked
out his books and found the passages he wanted. She would
have had a bad time otherwise, and warnings about health,
or worldly exhortations fell upon deaf ears.
He had had no real master; he was not any man’s disciple.
A few stray lessons here and there were all the help he got.
Yet his solitary labours had raised him to such a point that
there was nobody in France who could compete with him in
knowledge of all kinds. Greek was already the chief object
of his pursuit. He had once had twenty lessons from the
Greek, Lascaris. He had also, at great cost, bribed a
Lacedemonian, “ Hieronymus ”, a new comer to Paris, to
read Homer aloud to him; but as “ Hieronymus ” did not
himself understand what he was reading, he was not of
much use to his pupil. Bude’s own continuous studies were
more than enough. He began his career in print by a
translation of Plutarch, and succeeded from the outset in
steering clear of the Sorbonne.
All through his life Bude was that rara avis, a prudent
enthusiast. He kept well with orthodox and heterodox-
and though this was not his most lovable attainment, it
was not the least of the services he rendered to the cause
of learning. And however cautious he was, he did not fail
in sincerity. Meanwhile his reputation was growing in high
places. Charles VIII invited him to Court, but died before
he could advance him. Louis XII, however, did not forget
him, but twice sent him on State errands to Italy, and