24 May 2013
Of Captions, Clerics, and Queens: Tweeting the Medieval Illuminated Manuscript
And now for something a bit different: a guest post from one of our most faithful Twitter correspondents, Robert Miller (many thanks, Robert!).
From LOLcats to the seductive Hey-Girl-I-Like-the-Library-Too musings of Ryan Gosling, the internet was made for captioning: slapping a surprising phrase on an unsuspecting image in the service of humour and hipsterish irony.
It was only a matter of time before captions were used to retrofit medieval art for the social media age. With the help of Photoshop, Star Wars fans have creatively rewoven the Bayeux Tapestry. And then there is Dutch medieval scholar Erik Kwakkel, the (decidedly youthful) father of illuminated manuscript captioning. Erik works to popularise manuscript studies with a heady mix of tweeting, blogging, and tumblring, in both serious and LOL modes: his captions typically evoke a delightful dissonance between a centuries-old image and our modern sensibilities.
My first attempt at Kwakkelian captioning on Twitter was my most successful, if one measures success by the number of retweets one gets (and what else matters, these days, but to tweet and be retweeted in turn?):
At the medieval Apple store, trying out the latest iPad. Additional MS 39636, f. 10r
I've been inspired to caption for a few reasons: an amateur's love of medieval illuminated manuscripts, the vibrant, welcoming community of medievalists on Twitter (Damien Kempf, Sarah Peverley, Kathleen McCallum, and Shamma Boyarin, to name just a few); and the British Library's farsighted decision to make its medieval images free of copyright restrictions, meaning manuscript geeks like myself can caption, post, and play with the Library's image-hoard to their hearts' content.
Sharing captioned illuminations on Twitter is a great way to spark scholarly discussion, and I have learned much from tweeters and bloggers such as Steffen Hope and A Clerk of Oxford. Of course, given the impish nature of many captions, the online conversation is not always entirely serious. The following image, for example, gave rise to a debate between tweeting medievalists (Sarah J Biggs among them) as to the 14th-century origins of designer handbags:
A queen, a monk, and a fabulous bag (probably Kate Spade). Harley MS 4399, f. 22r
Undoubtedly the best captions, like the best lyric poems, write themselves:
With this bagel, I thee wed. Royal MS 6 E VI, f. 104r
Other captions heighten the drama of crucial moments in a manuscript's narrative:
A monk, bopped on the head with a baguette. Harley MS 4399, f. 82r
But my favourite type of caption isn't even the funny kind. My favourite type of caption is a simple acknowledgement of the beauty, the intimacy, and the exceptionally human quality of medieval manuscript illumination. The British Library's savvy use of social media is doing much to bring delightful, tender images, like the one below, to an even wider audience:
The abbot of Saint-Denis consulting a wise-woman, which is kinda awesome. Royal MS 20 C VII, f. 12r
An academic librarian in the United States, Robert Miller dreams of a full-time position as a medieval anchorite (with paid vacations). You can follow his tweets @robmmiller.
And of course, you can follow us at @blmedieval.
22 May 2013
A Good Walk Spoiled
One of the most charismatic manuscripts in the British Library's collections is the so-called "Golf Book". This Book of Hours was made at Bruges around the year 1540, and is so named because on one page (the calendar for September) it contains a depiction of a game resembling golf.
A miniature of four men playing a game resembling golf, at the bottom of the calendar page for September (London, British Library, MS Additional 24098, f. 27r).
Of course, golf is not to everyone's taste. Mark Twain is accredited with describing the game as "a good walk spoiled"; and, like many sports, it's arguably better fun to play than to watch, notwithstanding the fact that golf is to be introduced to the summer Olympics at Rio 2016. But just what is the game being played below?
At first sight, we can certainly deduce that this game does resemble golf, even down to the cloth caps that some of the competitors are wearing (see the image below). We can clearly see in our miniature three balls, with three of the competitors holding curled sticks, reminiscent of modern golf clubs. One man, wearing a green cloak, is gesticulating to his companion, and may be what we might call a "caddie"; and another is standing at the door of the adjacent building (the "nineteenth hole"). But surely the stance of the player on the right, in the orange-red jerkin, is all wrong. Modern golfers play the game on their feet, rather than on their knees, both to get a better purchase on the ball and for better balance. We think that the current-day authorities would view this player's technique very dimly. Maybe this stance would be outlawed in the same way that the anchoring of putters (don't ask) is to be banned from 2016. Less a good walk spoiled than a good crawl spoiled.
Image courtesy of tartansafrica.com.
You can view the whole of the magnificent Golf Book on our Digitised Manuscripts site. And don't forget to follow us on Twitter, @blmedieval.
20 May 2013
Look on these Works and Frown?
Our post on the Codex Alexandrinus last December brought this comment from Dave P.: "I wonder if conservators in 100 years time will look at this work and frown, as you do at older work?" The simple answer is that we hope not. Before conserving any collection item we consider all the options and are confident that we choose the most suitable and least invasive treatment available to us. But that, surely, is what past conservators thought too?
Add MS 39603 This beautifully decorated 11th/12th century Greek cruciform Gospels now has pigment corrosion throughout. In the past it was treated by covering the damaged areas with a fine silk net to prevent further losses. This process is not easily reversible, should the manuscript require further conservation in the future.
Our brow-wrinkling is more likely to be pondering the why of an old repair than expressing displeasure with it. No conservator can justify unnecessary work or has the time to do it, so we should assume that everything we see was thought to be an essential and efficient treatment. If earlier generations have left us problems, they didn’t do it deliberately! The only sensible reaction is to learn from their work what is effective and harmless in the long-term.
Add MS 43790B When this manuscript of few folios was rebound, many short folds of blank modern paper were added to bulk the spine sufficiently to achieve a satisfactory round. The manuscript is well protected, but the book is wedge-shaped. In hindsight, it would have been better to use full size blank leaves.
Not all historic repairs make us frown. Some early sewn or laced repairs to splits in parchment have endured for many centuries. Similarly, Humphrey Davy’s recipe for relaxing cockled parchment, a mix of spirits of wine (i.e. ethanol) and water, works very well and continued as a treatment until recently. The older the repair, the more likely it will use natural materials and simple techniques with known and trusted outcomes.
Add MS 64797 The wooden board split and part was lost, though the full-width covering leather remains. An infill was carefully built up from layers of millboard (which has more desirable qualities than new wood). The top layer was recessed to hold and protect the old leather which would have been vulnerable to further damage if simply adhered on top of a flat board.
However, historically the available range of repair materials was limited, so tears and weak edges were supported with whatever was to hand. Occasionally, we find a medieval manuscript on parchment with strips of 18th century writing paper reinforcing damaged edges, apparently adhered with wet flour paste by a previous owner. We see now that such heavy repairs cause further damage to the weak parchment, and microscopy reveals that wetting parchment can degrade it too. These days we make lighter repairs, so that if there is further deterioration the repair materials will split, not the original, and we use adhesives that add no or little moisture to the parchment. But that earlier repair, however flawed, has both ensured the manuscript survived to the present, and forced us to improve our methods.
Harley 5201, f.90r The damage is caused by touching or kissing the saint’s image. It is unlikely to get worse and is a valuable record of historic devotional practices. It does not require treatment at present but, if it should, we would also try to preserve the material culture evidence.
A wide range of repair resources is now available to us. The British Library buys traditional materials like paper and adhesives of the highest quality, often made specifically for conservation. They are tested, so we can be sure they neither contain undesirable additives, nor will degrade over time to release damaging compounds. But we also have access to newly-developed specialist supplies for the more difficult tasks, where customary techniques are inadequate. We use these cautiously for, despite accelerated aging tests, we cannot be entirely certain how they will behave in 50 or 100 years from now. We remember problems with experimental treatments briefly used last century, and take them as a warning. We also make sure our repairs can be removed without causing any more damage, just in case re-treatment is necessary in the future.
Harley 3334, f.59r The holes suggest this flaw started to split during manufacture while the parchment was drying under tension, and the maker stopped it progressing by temporarily sewing or pinning. Once dry, the flaw was stable and the text could be written around the damage.
At the same time, our focus is changing from invasive treatment to preservation. It is better to use limited resources to slow down the deterioration of whole collections by controlling temperature and humidity, by providing simple protective enclosures, and by training staff and readers in good handling techniques, so that fewer items require active conservation in future. There is always likely to be the need for running repairs in a working library, but it is surely better to prevent damage when we can. For the future, digitisation will mean our manuscripts are less handled and spend more time in optimum storage conditions, so conservators of the future should need to intervene and treat manuscripts more rarely. Perhaps they will frown at some of our work, but we hope they will mostly be content that we did our best to preserve these unique objects for many more generations to enjoy.
17 May 2013
Guess the Manuscript II
It's Friday, it's recently been snowing in England (it is May, after all), so it's time for another of our award-winning series, Guess the Manuscript®. This item belongs to the British Library's collections -- but what is it? A trawl through our Digitised Manuscripts site may give you a clue.
And the answer is ... the so-called Quadripartite Indenture, comprising a series of agreements between King Henry VII (r. 1485-1509) and the monks of Westminster Abbey, dated 1504. The manuscript is preserved in its original binding of red velvet lined with damask, and it still contains its five original wax seals. Congratulations to @All_A_Mort, @manx_maid and @yorkherald for being among the first to identify it!
You can see our previous Guess the Manuscript post here.
15 May 2013
Have You Used DigiPal Yet?
The online world is awash with new resources for the study of medieval manuscripts. One such is DigiPal, maintained at King's College, London. As its homepage states, DigiPal (Digital Resource and Database of Palaeography, Manuscripts and Diplomatic) focuses on the handwriting of English manuscripts, particularly those produced between AD 1000 and 1100, during the reigns of Æthelred, Cnut and William the Conqueror.
DigiPal is still in development, but it already has images available from almost 50 medieval books and charters in the British Library's collections. And here is one example:
Lease by Archbishop Wulfstan to Wulfgifu of land at Perry Wood in St Martin's-without-Worcester, 1003 x 1023 (London, British Library, Additional Charter 19795, face).
DigiPal enables its users to review and compare individual letter forms, and to examine the work of individual scribes. The site includes a guide on how to use DigiPal (which demonstrates, for instance, how to find manuscripts produced in Worcester and held at the British Library).
We heartily recommend that those of you interested in vernacular, Anglo-Saxon manuscripts consult this site. For more details about the project, its outcomes and rationale, see here. DigiPal already features manuscripts from many other institutions, including Corpus Christi College, Cambridge: for an excellent feature on the project, see the Parker Library blog.
Detail of Archbishop Wulfstan's lease (London, British Library, Additional Charter 19795, face).
13 May 2013
Why Do We Blog?
Good question. Why do we blog?
The simple answer is we blog in order to tell you, our readers, about our wonderful manuscripts. We are custodians of world-class collections of ancient, medieval and early modern manuscripts; but it may not be immediately obvious to you what we look after at the British Library, and we're trying to do our best to remedy that.
Detail of an historiated initial 'R'(ege) with a seated scribe labelled 'OSBEARNVS', a censing monk, animals, and animal heads: Life of St Dunstan, Canterbury, late 11th or early 12th century (London, British Library, MS Arundel 16, f. 2r).
We use this blog to promote our events and exhibitions, most recently our exhibition on Royal manuscripts. We also like to tell you about our various digitisation projects, and to draw your attention to some of our resources, most notably the British Library's Digitised Manuscripts site and our Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts.
This blog has recently undergone a facelift. Signficant changes are the new field labelled "Search this blog", in which you can discover our previous posts, and the ability to subscribe by email. And you can keep up-to-date via our Twitter feed, @blmedieval.
Donatus writing his grammar, his ink-pot held by a monk labelled 'Heinre'(?), at the end of Sedulius Scotus's Expositio super primam edicionem Donati grammatici: Germany, 2nd half of the 12th century (London, British Library, MS Arundel 43, f. 80v).
Are we doing a good job? We hope so -- after all, we have received well-nigh half a million page-views in the last year-and-a-bit -- but please feel free to comment at the end of each post, and using Twitter. Most importantly, we want to encourage your research in and enthusiam for our marvellous medieval manuscripts.
Julian Harrison & Sarah J Biggs
10 May 2013
King Offa and the Ceolfrith Bible
Passage from IV Kings, with a red rubric at the beginning of chapter 2 (London, British Library, MS Additional 45025, f. 3r).
Our story begins with Ceolfrith, saint and abbot of the monastery of Wearmouth-Jarrow in Northumbria from 690 to 716. Ceolfrith was Bede’s early mentor, and during his rule the size and wealth of the monastery increased greatly and the number of books in the library doubled. Most famously, Ceolfrith commissioned three large Bibles from his own scriptoria: one for Jarrow, one for Wearmouth and the third for the Pope.
Realising that he was close to death, Ceolfrith resigned from the abbacy in 716 and set out for Rome, where he planned to present one of the Bibles to Pope Gregory II (715-731) and to remain to await his death. But he died en route, at Langres in Burgundy, and the Bible he was carrying instead made its way to the monastery of Monte Amiata in Florence. It is the only one of Ceolfrith's three Bibles to survive intact, and is now in the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana at Florence, known as the Codex Amiatinus and the oldest surviving full copy of the Bible in Latin. The image below of Christ in Majesty with the four Evangelists is one of two full-page miniatures from this huge volume, which is over 48cm tall, weighs 35kg and has more than one thousand pages.
Image of the Codex Amitianus (courtesy of stpaulschurchjarrow.com).
Ruins of St Paul’s Abbey, Jarrow, dedicated in 685 (image courtesy of BBC).
No record of the fate of this magnificent early Bible is available until the 16th century, when some leaves were sadly used as covers for deeds pertaining to lands owned by the Willoughby family, Barons Middleton of Wollaton Hall (Nottinghamshire). Three of the ten folios of Additional 45025 have labels written upside down in the margins relating to the documents they contained (see below). The Bible fragment was bought from Lord Middleton in 1937 by the Friends of the National Libraries for the British Museum.
Decorated
initial P and Chi Rho monogram (London, British Library, MS Additional 45025, f. 2v).
The leaves of Additional 45025 are sparsely decorated, with initials and first lines in red, and on f. 2v (above) the beginning of IV Kings has the initial P in black with red dots and, between the columns, the Chi Rho monogram, symbol of Christ, flanked by alpha and omega. This page also has a 14th-century note in red marking the end of Book 3 (‘Explicit liber tertius’) and the beginning of Book 4 (‘Incipit quartus’).
Another two portions of the same Bible (or its companion) also survive at the British Library, Additional MS 37777 and Loan MS 81. We now know that one of Ceolfrith's three great Bibles came to reside in Italy. The British Library fragments together imply that a second Bible left Wearmouth-Jarrow in the 8th century, passing in turn to King Offa and the monks of Worcester.
You can read more about the Ceolfrith Bible in Leslie Webster & Janet Backhouse (eds.), The Making of England: Anglo-Saxon Art and Culture AD 600-900 (London, 1991), no. 87; Ivor Atkins & Neil R. Ker, eds., Catalogus Librorum Manuscriptorum Bibliothecae Wigorniensis made in 1622-1623 by Patrick Young, librarian to King James I (Cambridge, 1944), pp. 77-79; and Richard Marsden, ‘Manus Bedae: Bede’s contribution to Ceolfrith’s bibles’, Anglo-Saxon England, 27 (1998), 65-85.
And you can also find full digital coverage of Additional MS 45025 on our Digitised Manuscripts site!
Chantry Westwell
08 May 2013
The Elephant at the Tower
The art of giving diplomatic gifts is an age-old tradition, practised by kings and queens, popes and emperors, presidents and prime ministers. But what to give?
The elephant at the Tower of London (London, British Library, MS Cotton Nero D I. f. 169v).
That very question must have dawned on King Louis IX of France (reigned 1226-1270), when he was seeking a gift for Henry III of England (reigned 1216-1272) in 1255. How to impress the English king, and in the process give him something that he did not already have? The exchange was recorded by Matthew Paris, the chronicler of St Albans: "About this time, an elephant was sent to England by the French king as a present to the king of the English. We believe that this was the only elephant ever seen in England, or even in the countries this side of the Alps; thus people flocked together to see the novel sight."
Paris wrote a short tract on the elephant, found in the Chronica maiora (Cambridge, Corpus Christi, MS 16). He had evidently seen the elephant for himself, and described its principal features, based on observation and deduction. The elephant was 10 years old (how to tell?), 10 feet high, grey-ish black with a tough hide, and used its trunk to obtain food and drink. It lived in a specially-constructed house at the Tower of London, 40 feet long by 20 feet wide, and its keeper was named Henry de Flor.
The image above is one of two of Henry III's elephant drawn by Matthew Paris, and is found in his Liber Additamentorum or Book of Additional Things (British Library MS Cotton Nero D I). Suzanne Lewis, author of The Art of Matthew Paris, suggests that this is Matthew's first attempt to draw the elephant, in part since it includes a second rendering of the trunk in a different position. As Lewis observes, the elephant is here "drawn horizonatally on the page in heavy brown line and tinted with similar dark grey and ochre washes ... the details of the skin folds on the trunk and rear flanks, as well as the flap covering the upper part of the tusk, are more freshly observed and convincing that those in MS 16." The assumption would seem to be that the elephant in the Liber Additamentorum was drawn from life, with the illustration in the Chronica maiora being based on the earlier drawing, perhaps with other sketches which have not survived.
Lewis also points out that both drawings of the elephant show that it had knee joints, contrary to the widespread medieval belief that the elephants' knees were joint-less! You can read more about this phenomenon in our post Elephants on Parade.
For more about Matthew Paris and Henry III's elephant, see Suzanne Lewis, The Art of Matthew Paris in the Chronica Majora (Aldershot: Scolar, 1987), pp. 212-16. There is a great blogpost by our friends at Corpus Christi College, Matthew Paris and the Elephant at the Tower, and you can access images from the famous Parker library here (subscription only).
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