University of Virginia Library

1. A TORPID INTERVAL

THOMAS JEFFERSON died on the Fourth of July
1826. Later that month the Boston bookseller, William
Hilliard, with whom there had been much
correspondence but whom Jefferson had never met,
journeyed to Charlottesville and unpacked and checked the
books which had been temporarily stored in the pavilion
on West Lawn. Two months later, on September twenty-first,
Edgar Allan Poe, who was a student at the University
of Virginia during the second session, wrote to his foster-parent,
John Allan: “They have nearly finished the Rotunda—
The Pillars of the Portico are completed and it greatly
improves the appearance of the whole—The books are removed
into the Library—and we have a very fine collection.”

The Rotunda was to continue to be the home of the
general library of the University of Virginia from 1826 to
1938. This central building of the university group has
received detailed and admiring study by later authorities
on architecture. In his plans for the building Jefferson
adapted for his purpose the design of the Emperor
Hadrian's Pantheon at Rome, from plates which he found
in the monumental work of the Italian architect, Andrea
Palladio, editions of which were available in Italian and

in English and French translations. In his interior arrangements
Jefferson located the library room beneath the
vaulted dome, with two floors below containing rooms
for religious services and public examinations and for
classes in music and drawing and similar subjects which
fell outside the eight “schools” of the original curriculum.
Jefferson, followed by the University of Virginia until
about 1950, used “school” for what is ordinarily termed a
department (as School of Ancient Languages) and “department”
for what is ordinarily termed a school (as Department
of Law). Later some classes of the regular “schools”
outgrew the pavilions and were moved into these rooms.
But the building was planned chiefly for library purposes,
and it was called the Library both before the name Rotunda
came into use and not infrequently thereafter. It should be
admitted, however, that it was not as a library but as a public
hall that the building was first used. This was in November
1824, two years before this central structure was completed
—the occasion being a community dinner to the Marquis
de Lafayette.

It was the Rotunda to which the attention of visitors
was directed with particular pride; and from the recorded
comments of some of those visitors it is evident that the
guides expressed similar pride in the fact that the library
collection had been selected by Jefferson. Thus in May
1831 the American naturalist and physician, Richard Harlan,
noted (as stated in his volume of Medical and Physical
Researches) that “The library, situated in the rotunda,
is constructed on a large scale, and already contains many
rare and valuable works, in the various departments of
literature and science, principally selected by Mr. Jefferson.”
Some three years later, in the winter of 1834–1835, the
English writer, Harriet Martineau, visited Charlottesville,
and afterwards wrote, in her Retrospect of Western Travel,
that she had surveyed “the large building, the Rotunda, and

had seen the library, a well chosen collection of books, the
list of which was made out by Jefferson.”

But the Library had already become a going concern
when the books were moved into the Rotunda. The books
had been few and there had been little space for readers
in the temporary quarters in the pavilion. Access to the
books had been limited to one hour a day on weekdays, and
on only one day a week could books be borrowed by students
for outside use. Moreover each loan to students had
to have the approval of a Professor. Nevertheless, the little
manuscript volume of recorded loans, which has been
preserved, reveals that during the first session, 1825, all but
ten of the 123 students were borrowers. That was a commendable
start in library service—though it may also be an
early illustration of the library paradox that a high degree
of circulation for outside use may merely reflect a low degree
of convenience for readers within.

The Professors also were actively interested in the
Library, beginning with that first session. There were seven
Professors in 1825, the Professor of Law not receiving
appointment until 1826. All seven took out books for themselves,
and all seven participated in the signing of authorization
for student loans—a responsibility which afforded
opportunities not unlike those of a modern reader's adviser.
Of course during the earliest years there was no code of
established practices, and there was absence of the “traditions”
that have come to have such social potency in institutions
of higher learning. Nor was there similarity in the
educational backgrounds of the members of the original
Faculty. Of the seven Professors, one had been trained in
Germany, three had been trained in England, one had a
combined German and English training, and the two who
had studied in the United States represented northern and
southern environments. It was an enthusiastic and zealous
group, and that spirit undoubtedly helped to establish cooperation

and compliance with decisions arrived at by common
counsel. But in such matters as their own use of the
library materials there were occasional clashes. Professor
George Blaettermann, who occupied the chair of Modern
Languages, proved to be the unruly member. He was alone
in claiming that keys to the library building should be supplied
to Professors; he nullified a gentlemen's agreement
concerning limitation of time in retaining current periodicals
by first consenting and then withdrawing his signature;
he protested against the fines which were consequently
levied upon him; and his response to a reprimand against
writing comments in the margins of library volumes was the
assertion that what he wrote improved the book. But it
should also be recorded of Professor Blaettermann that no
one of the original Faculty except Professor Key so generously
responded as he did to the requests of students for the
authorization of their loans. His initials, G. B., are the only
ones appearing on the loans to Edgar Allan Poe while Poe
was a student.

The fact is that the original regulations of the Library
as promulgated by Rector Jefferson were of the “Thou shalt
not” variety; and in their formulation the effort was
obviously made to anticipate such specific questions of procedure
as might arise. As little as possible was left to the
discretion of the Librarian. In this respect these regulations,
which were adopted by the Board of Visitors 5 March 1825,
indicate a practical step in the effort to put the library
books in use. As in other phases of the establishment of the
University, the drive toward the visioned goal had to proceed
along possible routes.

Jefferson's conception of the position of Librarian seems
to have combined the functions of a guide and of a guard,
but not the functions of a responsible administrator. In
January of that year he was thinking of the guide when he
wrote to an applicant for the position that a Librarian

“must ever be a man of a high order of science and able
to give to enquirers an account of the character and contents
of the several books under his care.” In this letter he stated
that the appointment of a Professor as Librarian was contemplated,
who should receive a compensation of fifty dollars
a year in addition to his professorial salary. Apparently
none of the Professors found this proposition to his liking.
Consequently the Rector then concentrated on finding a
guard, to police the library room. Hence these very specific
regulations (which did, indeed, retain the guide idea in
requiring a Professor's presence and approval at each borrowing
by a student); and hence, also, the inclusion of a
resolution “that the salary of the Librarian be raised to the
sum of 150. dollars.” This, as has been noted, was early in
March 1825. By the end of that month Jefferson had
selected a student, John Vaughan Kean, as Librarian, and
was, in the letter of appointment, admonishing him that it
was his duty to protect the library property from damage,
that he was to keep books and borrowers in order, and that
in the strict enforcement of the regulations he was to begin
with himself.

It was not an easy year for the young Librarian, a student
among students. There are indications that Jefferson
had overestimated the probable maturity of the young gentlemen
of the University of Virginia; and in the matter of
the Library, a reaction that had not been foreseen was irritation
over the regulations. During the session, Kean had to
seek directives from the Rector concerning objection to
payment of fines and concerning the restiveness over the
required presence of a Professor or of the Librarian when
books were handled. With regard to Kean's presentation of
the student point of view on the latter problem, Jefferson
characteristically replied: “Indulgences must depend on
yourself, on whom it is incumbent so to preserve the
arrangement of the books under your care as never to disappoint

applicants by inability to find them. A library in
confusion loses much of its utility.”

At this stage, therefore, the practical moves to set the
Library in operation had been strict rules and the appointment
of a library policeman. But Jefferson undoubtedly
visualized possibilities of library service greater than these.
He conceived of the guidance and administrative elements
as being on the faculty level. Indeed in his own years as
book collector, bibliographer, and counsellor on reading
he had himself performed such service supremely well.
There is a delightful glimpse at the form his vision was
taking in a letter from Monticello to the Polish General
Kosciusko, written in the first year after Jefferson's retirement
from the presidency and Washington—a decade and
a half before the first session of the University of Virginia.
“A part of my occupation,” he wrote, “and by no means
the least pleasing, is the direction of the studies of such
young men as seek it. They place themselves in the neighboring
village [Charlottesville], and have use of my library
and counsel, and make a part of my society. In advising the
course of their reading, I endeavor to keep their attention
fixed on the main objects of all science, the freedom and
happiness of man. So that coming to have a share in the
councils and government of their country, they will keep
ever in view the sole objects of all legitimate government.”

But the University had now been established; and as
for its Librarian, as he acquired experience and was no
longer recognized as a student, his position gradually took
on increased importance. Even at the start there was one
phase of the Librarian's duties which had in it the seed of
future development. That was the listing of the books of
which he was the guardian. In those days listing and cataloguing
were regarded as synonymous terms; and before
the first period of the history of the University Library was
over, cataloguing had come to be recognized as a professional

operation. The first Librarian, John Vaughan Kean,
was early in 1825 directed to prepare a “catalogue” of the
books then available in the temporary quarters in the pavilion
on West Lawn. The second Librarian, William Wertenbaker,
performed the clerical work for the printed catalogue
of 1828, though the Faculty made the decisions concerning
form. Both of these catalogues were also guides to
Jefferson's classification scheme. It was expressly stipulated
in the appointment letters sent by Rector Jefferson to these
Librarians that they were “to keep the books ... in their
stated arrangement on the shelves according to the method
and order of their Catalogue.”

We have seen that Jefferson had experimented with this
classification as early as 1783 when he was listing his books
preparatory to going to France. He followed it in the 1815
catalogue of the collection which gave the Library of Congress
a new start after the War of 1812, and which established
a classification arrangement for that Library which
was to prevail until 1898. He followed it again in the 1825
list for the Boston bookseller, thereby contributing to the
University of Virginia Library a classification which was to
continue in use until the burning of the Rotunda in 1895.
Francis Bacon in his Advancement of Learning had proposed
a philosophical division of the faculties of the mind
into memory, reason, and imagination. Jefferson translated
these terms into practical use for books under the general
headings of history, philosophy, and the fine arts. These he
had subdivided in 1783 into forty-six specific classes, in
1815 into forty-four, and in 1825 into forty-two. The variations
suggest a defect which ultimately—though not for
many years—led to the discarding of this system; namely,
that it tended to be a forced simplification of the fields of
learning, and to be both vague and inelastic. There was,
indeed, still more simplification in the 1828 printed catalogue
of the University of Virginia Library. This, however,

may in part have been an effort to make the arrangement
of the books on the shelves in the Rotunda conform to use
in connection with the eight “schools.” This drastic reduction
was effected chiefly by crowding into a sort of catchall
twenty-ninth section entitled “Miscellaneous, including
Poetry, Rhetoric, Education, &c” what had been chapters
thirty-one through forty-two in the 1825 list. The 1828
Catalogue also departed from Jefferson's list by the alphabetization
of the authors' names within each subdivision,
by the translation into English of titles in foreign languages
with an added abbreviation (e.g., Fr. for French) indicating
the language of the books, and by the insertion of place
and date of publication. It followed the Jefferson list in
giving authors (surnames first) and number and size of
volumes. The Faculty played for a time with the idea of
having the cost of each book indicated, but this developed
difficulties that seemed insurmountable.

It has perhaps been observed by readers of this chronicle
that there exists a curious parallel between the early
histories of the magnificent Library of Congress and of this
modest University Library in the Commonwealth to the
south. Thomas Jefferson was a potent figure in the establishment
of both of these Libraries; he appointed the first
two Librarians of each; each Library has developed from
nucleus collections which were selected by him personally;
and in the arrangement of its collections each Library followed
his classification scheme practically throughout the
nineteenth century.

In the founding of the University of Virginia, Jefferson
combined vision with practical detail. His fundamental
belief was that the preservation of free government
depended on the enlightenment of the people. In planning
for the University as the capstone of a general system of
education for democracy he devoted himself with meticulous
care to specific problems of architecture, equipment,

curriculum, personnel, and administration. In their application,
some of his plans had to be modified by changing
conditions; and in concentration on matters of application,
those who later carried on the daily details of administration
sometimes failed to keep the vision. But to those who
have since then striven for the broader goal of education
for the nation's service, Jefferson's ideals have proved of
perennial validity and vitality.

His successor as Rector of the University's Board of
Visitors (from 1826 to 1834) was his long time friend
James Madison, who had been throughout an associate and
a consultant in the organization of the University. Madison
lived at “Montpellier” near Orange Court House, some
thirty miles from Charlottesville, and could make frequent
trips to the University. But many of the later Rectors and
members of the Board resided at a greater distance, they
had perforce to be visitors in a literal sense, and increasing
administrative responsibility developed for the resident
Faculty and its Chairman.

So far as the Library was concerned, the Board of Visitors
appointed the Librarians and appropriated the funds,
while the Faculty supervised the enforcement of the regulations
and selected the books to be purchased. There were,
however, some uncharted areas of responsibility—such as
control over the condition and use of the library building
and over the classification and cataloguing of the books.
Each body moved towards delegating library matters to a
special committee. Such a committee, of its own members,
was arranged for as early as 1827 by the Board of Visitors.
But until the 1850's the Visitors' Library Committee did
little except make an annual inspection in June of general
conditions.

The Faculty did not use the committee method at first,
but, beginning in July 1828, it experimented with having
one of its members serve for a three months period as

Inspector of the Library. This practice, however, soon fell
into disuse. In 1834, complaints against William Brockenbrough,
who had succeeded William Wertenbaker as
Librarian in 1831, were referred to a special faculty committee,
and its findings, as reported to the Board of Visitors,
led in 1835 to the reappointment of Wertenbaker—
whose second term of service lasted from that date until
1857. The annual appointment of a Faculty Committee on
the Library did not, however, begin until 1836; and its
initial purpose was to approve for purchase the requests
from Professors of the different “schools of instruction”
and to select such general books as did not fall within the
scope of a single school.

That such a committee did not come into being for ten
years after the opening of the University is a sad commentary
on the growth of the library collection during the first
decade. The income of the University had been small. It
came from a very modest annuity from the State, the
tuition fees of the students, and the rental of the dormitories
and the eating halls (called “hotels”)—the last two
sources being affected by a slow increase in enrollment.
The initial expenditure for books had been comparatively
large. But this now militated against the Library, giving
library appropriations a low priority. Some of the orders
on the list sent to the Boston bookseller had been still
unfilled when the appropriation for that purchase become
exhausted; and there were no funds available for the
renewal of the original subscriptions to learned journals.
Steps were taken towards releasing for other library use a
small balance remaining from the fund used by Gilmer for
the purchases in London, the employment of an English
agent having been terminated. But it was July 1831 before
this was accomplished. The Professors gallantly came to the
rescue by subscribing personally to several of the learned
journals; and at this stage there began the long series of

faculty petitions to the Visitors for annual support adequate
to continue to maintain a Library worthy of the University.
Beginning with the session of 1829–1830 there was occasional
response. But for the first years the sums appropriated
ranged only from $250 to $500. This situation was prolonged
by the financial depression of 1837—an early illustration
of the general fact that library appropriations seem
peculiarly sensitive to tendencies toward economic retrenchment.

The fact is that, after a highly commendable start, the
Library practically stood still during the years immediately
following the death of Founder Jefferson. Even his third
private collection, which, although bequeathed to the University
and after his death actually moved from Monticello
to the Rotunda, was permitted to be withdrawn and sold.
The burden of debts on his estate forced the Executor,
against his own desire, to order the sale of those books,
numbering approximately a thousand. But the sale could
have been to the University—and at least one Professor,
Robley Dunglison, in vain urged such action. That was
Jefferson's latest collection, and it contained a fair percentage
of recent books. It was from the lack of new publications
that the Library increasingly suffered. In addition to
the petitions to the Visitors, there are preserved from those
years private letters from members of the Faculty which
point with dismay to this situation. Thus Professor Lomax,
writing to John Hartwell Cocke in 1827, deplored the
“great deficiency of the modern works” and went so far as
to insist that without certain specified legal reports “instruction
upon some of the most important and interesting subjects
must fail.” And Professor Dunglison, writing to Joseph
Carrington Cabell in 1830, vigorously asserted: “The
deficiency we feel is in new productions chiefly. The
Library is indeed in this respect in a lamentable condition.
It is utterly impossible for the Professors to keep pace with

the advancing state of Science unless the necessary materials
are furnished them.”

A more cheerful aspect of the situation developed from
Jefferson's zeal in securing gifts for the Library. The 1828
catalogue listed books from forty-three donors—thus beginning
a heart-warming story of friendly support. Throughout
this first period there are scattered records of gifts.
Among these, four deserve special mention—one of manuscripts,
one of endowment, and two of books. Curiously
enough, each of these four presented minor problems.

Thomas Jefferson was thoroughly persuaded of the value
of historical records. The volumes of his own papers, which
are now in the process of being edited and published, in
the second half of the twentieth century, are ample proof
not only of the importance of the daily productions of his
pen but also of the wisdom of his insistence upon orderly
preservation. The personal attention he gave to the keeping
of the early minutes of the Board of Visitors and to the
letters and papers connected with the beginning of the
University of Virginia forms an impressive first chapter in
the story of the University's collection of archives. The
Board of Visitors appears to have been a little slow in following
his lead, but in 1845 it took action “to have a suitable
press made” for the proper preservation of such archives.

There came to the University also, probably during the
first session, an important collection of manuscripts not
directly connected with the history of this institution. These
were the Lee Papers, presented by Richard Henry Lee, Jr.,
grandson of Richard Henry Lee of Revolutionary fame.
The grandfather was one of the six sons of Thomas Lee of
Stratford, Virginia. Two of the six were Signers of the
Declaration of Independence, two were diplomats of note,
and all were men of mark. These papers contained correspondence
with many of the leading figures of the day. The
value of the collection was realized, though somewhat

dimly; and during this period sundry inchoate attempts
were made to have this manuscript material carefully stored
and adequately organized for research purposes.

Indeed many years were to pass before the University
Library became geared to research; and in this and in the
following period, the authorities were slow in granting
more than a sightseer's access to the library room to any
except members of the university community.

As for the first endowment for the Library, that came
after the death of James Madison in 1836, in the form of
a bequest of $1,500. There being no precedent for such a
fund, the principal was at first simply merged with general
university funds and for a time forgotten. It was not until
1852, sixteen years later, that the Library began to benefit.
In the end, however, the entire income from the intervening
years was restored to the Library; and this accumulation
was one of the causes that made the 1850's a decade of comparative
prosperity.

James Madison also bequeathed to the University
Library such of his books as should not be chosen by his
widow for her use. Appropriate action in acknowledgment
of this bequest was taken by the Board of Visitors,
but the initiative in the distribution of the books was
naturally left to the famous and charming Dolley Madison
(to use the spelling found on her tombstone and in several
family records). She, however, took up residence
in Washington in the year after the death of her husband,
and “Montpellier” was left largely in the charge of
John Payne Todd, her son by an earlier marriage. He
lacked much of his mother's executive ability, and the
matter of this bequest dragged on until it became a cause
of considerable embarrassment. Finally there was resort to
legal action; and in June 1854 the Librarian, William Wertenbaker,
and a legal adviser of the Board of Visitors
descended on “Montpellier” and collected 587 volumes.

Since that private library had benefited largely by purchases
made for Madison by Jefferson when the latter was Minister
to France—purchases which were especially important
for the subject of constitutional law—this acquisition had
an indirect association with the Founder of the Library.

So, indeed, had another gift of books which was reported
to the University at about the time that Madison's bequests
first became known. This was a donation from Christian
Bohn, “a generous and enlightened citizen of Richmond,”
Virginia, a brother of the Henry Bohn of London who,
with Jefferson's approval, had been chosen by Gilmer as
the English agent for the Library. This was a mixed collection
of several thousand items. Some of the books were
duplicates of volumes already in the Rotunda, and there
were a number of engravings, and some incomplete lots of
unbound periodicals, mainly in German. The method used
in handling this early acquisition by gift is of interest.
Special committees of the Faculty were appointed to
examine the material, a part of the collection was regularly
shelved, a part was boxed up and stored, the engravings
were put on display, and a plea, this time successful, was
made to the Board of Visitors for a small appropriation
for binding such periodicals as were deemed useful.