Books and Bookmen [7]
supposed himself to
possess knowledge of at least twenty-five generations before his own
time, and that only brought him up to the birth of Jason. Nobody
believes in Jason and Medea, and possibly the genealogical records
of Maoris and Fijians are as little trustworthy as those of Pindaric
Greece. However, to consider thus is to consider too curiously. We
only know for certain that genealogy very soon becomes important,
and, therefore, that records are early kept, in a growing
civilisation. "After Nehemiah's return from the captivity in
Babylon, the priests at Jerusalem whose register was not found were
as polluted put from the priesthood." Rome had her parish
registers, which were kept in the temple of Saturn. But modern
parish registers were "discovered" (like America) in 1497, when
Cardinal Ximenes found it desirable to put on record the names of
the godfathers and godmothers of baptised children. When these
relations of "gossip," or God's kin (as the word literally means),
were not certainly known, married persons could easily obtain
divorces, by pretending previous spiritual relationship.
But it was only during the reign of Mary, (called the Bloody) that
this rule of registering godfathers and godmothers prevailed in
England. Henry VIII. introduced the custom of parish registers when
in a Protestant humour. By the way, how curiously has Madame de
Flamareil (la femme de quarante ans, in Charles de Bernard's novel)
anticipated the verdict of Mr. Froude on Henry VIII.! 'On accuse
Henri VIII.,' dit Madame de Flamareil, "moi je le comprends, et je
l'absous; c'etait un coeur genereux, lorsqu'il ne les aimait plus,
il les tuait.'" The public of England mistrusted, in the matter of
parish registers, the generous heart of Henry VIII. It is the fixed
conviction of the public that all novelties in administration mean
new taxes. Thus the Croatian peasantry were once on the point of
revolting because they imagined that they were to be taxed in
proportion to the length of their moustaches. The English believed,
and the insurgents of the famous Pilgrimage of Grace declared, that
baptism was to be refused to all children who did not pay a
"trybette" (tribute) to the king. But Henry, or rather his
minister, Cromwell, stuck to his plan, and (September 29, 1538)
issued an injunction that a weekly register of weddings,
christenings, and burials should be kept by the curate of every
parish. The cost of the book (twopence in the case of St.
Margaret's, Westminster) was defrayed by the parishioners. The
oldest extant register books are those thus acquired in 1597 or
1603. These volumes were of parchment, and entries were copied into
them out of the old books on paper. The copyists, as we have seen,
were indolent, and omitted characteristic points in the more ancient
records.
In the civil war parish registers fell into some confusion, and when
the clergy did make entries they commonly expressed their political
feelings in a mixture of Latin and English. Latin, by the way, went
out as Protestantism came in, but the curate of Rotherby, in
Leicestershire, writes, "Bellum, Bellum, Bellum, interruption!
persecution!" At St. Bridget's, in Chester, is the quaint entry,
"1643. Here the register is defective till 1653. The tymes were
SUCH!" At Hilton, in Dorset, William Snoke, minister, entered his
opinion that persons whose baptism and marriage were not registered
"will be made uncapable of any earthly inheritance if they live.
This I note for the satisfaction of any that do:" though we may
doubt whether these parishioners found the information thus conveyed
highly satisfactory.
The register of Maid's Moreton, Bucks, tells how the reading-desk (a
spread eagle, gilt) was "doomed to perish as an abominable idoll;"
and how the cross on the steeple nearly (but not quite) knocked out
the brains of the Puritan who removed it. The Puritans had their
way with the registers as well as with the eagle ("the vowl," as the
old country people call it), and laymen took the
possess knowledge of at least twenty-five generations before his own
time, and that only brought him up to the birth of Jason. Nobody
believes in Jason and Medea, and possibly the genealogical records
of Maoris and Fijians are as little trustworthy as those of Pindaric
Greece. However, to consider thus is to consider too curiously. We
only know for certain that genealogy very soon becomes important,
and, therefore, that records are early kept, in a growing
civilisation. "After Nehemiah's return from the captivity in
Babylon, the priests at Jerusalem whose register was not found were
as polluted put from the priesthood." Rome had her parish
registers, which were kept in the temple of Saturn. But modern
parish registers were "discovered" (like America) in 1497, when
Cardinal Ximenes found it desirable to put on record the names of
the godfathers and godmothers of baptised children. When these
relations of "gossip," or God's kin (as the word literally means),
were not certainly known, married persons could easily obtain
divorces, by pretending previous spiritual relationship.
But it was only during the reign of Mary, (called the Bloody) that
this rule of registering godfathers and godmothers prevailed in
England. Henry VIII. introduced the custom of parish registers when
in a Protestant humour. By the way, how curiously has Madame de
Flamareil (la femme de quarante ans, in Charles de Bernard's novel)
anticipated the verdict of Mr. Froude on Henry VIII.! 'On accuse
Henri VIII.,' dit Madame de Flamareil, "moi je le comprends, et je
l'absous; c'etait un coeur genereux, lorsqu'il ne les aimait plus,
il les tuait.'" The public of England mistrusted, in the matter of
parish registers, the generous heart of Henry VIII. It is the fixed
conviction of the public that all novelties in administration mean
new taxes. Thus the Croatian peasantry were once on the point of
revolting because they imagined that they were to be taxed in
proportion to the length of their moustaches. The English believed,
and the insurgents of the famous Pilgrimage of Grace declared, that
baptism was to be refused to all children who did not pay a
"trybette" (tribute) to the king. But Henry, or rather his
minister, Cromwell, stuck to his plan, and (September 29, 1538)
issued an injunction that a weekly register of weddings,
christenings, and burials should be kept by the curate of every
parish. The cost of the book (twopence in the case of St.
Margaret's, Westminster) was defrayed by the parishioners. The
oldest extant register books are those thus acquired in 1597 or
1603. These volumes were of parchment, and entries were copied into
them out of the old books on paper. The copyists, as we have seen,
were indolent, and omitted characteristic points in the more ancient
records.
In the civil war parish registers fell into some confusion, and when
the clergy did make entries they commonly expressed their political
feelings in a mixture of Latin and English. Latin, by the way, went
out as Protestantism came in, but the curate of Rotherby, in
Leicestershire, writes, "Bellum, Bellum, Bellum, interruption!
persecution!" At St. Bridget's, in Chester, is the quaint entry,
"1643. Here the register is defective till 1653. The tymes were
SUCH!" At Hilton, in Dorset, William Snoke, minister, entered his
opinion that persons whose baptism and marriage were not registered
"will be made uncapable of any earthly inheritance if they live.
This I note for the satisfaction of any that do:" though we may
doubt whether these parishioners found the information thus conveyed
highly satisfactory.
The register of Maid's Moreton, Bucks, tells how the reading-desk (a
spread eagle, gilt) was "doomed to perish as an abominable idoll;"
and how the cross on the steeple nearly (but not quite) knocked out
the brains of the Puritan who removed it. The Puritans had their
way with the registers as well as with the eagle ("the vowl," as the
old country people call it), and laymen took the