Back in the early 1980s, I saw the Book of Kells exhibit on tour when it came to the Philadelphia Art Museum, thanks to dearest Larry, who got us tickets. Since then, I have remained fascinated by monks and monasteries and illuminated manuscripts and the preservation of scholarly texts against impossible odds. So I knew that when I came to Dublin I would have to visit the Book of Kells again, just because.
Jo and I took a walk down Dame St to Trinity College when we got back from our weekend adventure. We'd been to Clonmacnoise in the morning and returned to Dublin by mid afternoon. Our plan was to get info about tours so that we could coordinate our schedules to see Trinity and the Book of Kells together later in the week. (She's working here, remember. I'm the one on blissful holiday.) But when we reached the entry point for Kells, we saw that there was no queue, and the ticket guy said we had plenty of time before closing, so we decided to go right in. The timing could not have been more perfect.
We could take our time with the exhibit, reading everything up close, before going into the dimly lit chamber where the Book of Kells and the Book of Armagh are displayed. We were able to spend lots of time looking at the manuscripts, with no line looming behind us. It was like having a private viewing. Loved it.
As always, I was amazed by the patient work of the monks who prepared the illuminated manuscripts. It was quite a production, from preparing the vellum from calfskin, to gathering and preparing the plant and insect pigments for the inks, to copying the latin text with sharp quills, to illuminating the text with marvelous--really marvelous--drawings and decorative lettering. And then binding it all up into books. The Book of Kells, comprised of the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, was created well over 1,000 years ago and preserved despite all threats since then.
This being Ireland, of course, the history of the Book of Kells contains at least one chapter in which Big Bad Oliver Cromwell, that mid-17th century rat bastard and hardcore enemy of Ireland himself, was the reason for the Book to be carried into Dublin for hiding. About a hundred years later, the Bishop of Meath gave the book to Trinity College for keeps.
So seeing it up close and for longer than usual was a little thrill, coming as it did at the end of a day in which we'd also visited Clonmacnoise. I think Jo was monked out. She's a good sport, but it's no secret that I am far more fond of things monastic than Jo is. At least the Trinity library complex was warm. Dublin's cold and damp do not sit well with her. (Her Philadelphia Eagles earmuffs do make quite the fashion statement here.)
After Kells we walked up the stairs to the longroom of the library, where the oldest books in the Trinity collection are stored. The stacks got filled so that by the mid 19th century, architects literally raised the roof and built what is essentially a vaulted second story onto the existing room. To see 200,000 or so books, all quite old and quite valuable, all in one place, is amazing. The room is lined with marble busts that create a sort of pleasing symmetry. There's also a harp that by legend was carried by hero Brian Boru into battle, although that fact is iffy. (In any event, I learned later that he died in that battle, so the harp, had it really been with him, was not exactly his good luck charm.) That was cool to see.
Larry would have liked the special exhibit of botany books on display from the collection. Seed catalogs from the Netherlands, c. 17th century; illustrated flower-growing manuals from long ago; textbooks on propagating seeds. All very interesting. One book had beautiful drawings of tulips that you would have drooled over, Lar. (Hence keeping the books under glass in display cases.)
Paul would have found penmanship resonance in some of the pocket books written in a miniscule hand. :)
My favorite thing in the long room was a book on canon law, written around 1400 (by hand, of course) by Giovanni Calderini. It was a hefty text. On the very last page, the very last line, in Latin, was Explicit hoc totum propina da michi potum. Translation? This is all finished; give me a drink. He'd underlined it in red. I laughed out loud. Giovanni had a good sense of humor. I imagine that if you're spending most of your life copying out manuscripts, you gotta know where to find the chuckles.
We traded euros for some excellent Trinity College swag before the store closed down for the day. Good gifties. I may need to go back.
After, we walked up Grafton toward home, and my ear caught the song being sung by a busker playing his guitar AND a drum contraption he'd rigged up on his back. It was one of my favorite Billy Bragg (old London busker himself) songs, A New England. He followed that with a Van Morrison song. I had to toss some coins into his case for that treat, even if the tempo was a little manic to keep the various instruments playing at the same time.
And the holiday lights across Grafton are just magical.
We stopped for hot drinks at a little French cafe where the snoot factor was, how you say, a tad high for the product being delivered. But they were alternating the first David Grey CD with c. late '70s Bowie, an interesting combination; and there were fresh red carnations on the table, so I got over the fact that the service was as bad as the coffee. We won't bother with that place again.
Sunday was a fine, fine day. I wish I had some chant on my iPod.
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