12 April 2013
Not Always Bad News Birds: The Caladrius
With apologies for the tortured reference to our previous post on medieval owls! Regular readers will know that this blog has an ongoing series about animals in medieval manuscripts; our menagerie so far has included dogs, cats, beavers, hedgehogs, elephants, and more. To shake things up in time for the weekend, let us turn our attention to an animal that you might not recognise as readily as you would a Lolcat or Mrs Tiggy-Winkle -- the caladrius bird.
Detail of a miniature of a caladrius perched on the bed of a king, from a bestiary, with extracts from Giraldus Cambrensis on Irish birds, England (Salisbury?), 2nd quarter of the 13th century, Harley MS 4751, f. 40r
Although they are little-known today, caladrius birds were common features in medieval bestiaries. The caladrius, we are told in the bestiary text, makes its home in the courts of kings, and is pure white 'like the swan'. The dung of the caladrius was believed to cure blindness, but this remedy was rather a mixed blessing since it required the direct application of guano in the eyes of the afflicted. But the real value of the caladrius was in its infallible prognostic abilities. If it was brought into a sickroom and turned away from the man or woman within, that person would surely die. If, however, the caladrius kept his gaze on the ill person and 'directed itself towards his face' (sometimes this is depicted quite literally; see below), it was a different story. After staring down the sick man or woman, the caladrius would fly into the air, taking the illness with it, and the patient was destined to make a full recovery.
Detail of a miniature of a rather alarming caladrius on the sickbed of a man who will be cured, from a bestiary, England, 2nd or 3rd quarter of the 13th century, Sloane MS 3544, f. 24r
Outside of manuscripts, only two medieval depictions of the caladrius survive: on a much-worn piece of 12th century sculpture adorning the village church of St Mary's at Alne, near York in England, and in a panel of a 13th century stained-glass window on the cathedral of Saint-Jean-Baptiste in Lyon, France. But knowledge of the caladrius bird's amazing abilities must have been fairly widespread, as they can be found depicted in a number of manuscript miniatures without any explanatory text. A black version of the caladrius, for example, is shown in a French Bible miniature in the act of curing the prophet Tobias.
Detail of a miniature of Tobias in bed, stretching out his hands towards a flying black caladrius bird, at the beginning of Tobit, from a Bible (imperfect), France (Paris), last quarter of the 13th century, Harley MS 616, f. 259r
And an interesting double act can be found in the bas-de-pages of facing folios in the Queen Mary Psalter.
First the good news, then the bad… detail of a bas-de-page miniature of a caladrius bird indicating that a sick man will get well, and a detail of relations mourning at the bed of a man who will die, from the Queen Mary Psalter, England (London or East Anglia?), between 1310 and 1320, Royal MS 2 B VII, ff. 89v-90r
Caladrius birds also make an appearance in the medieval histories of Alexander the Great, where they are included amongst the marvels Alexander encounters during his travels in the east. Unlike the pure white bestiary-caladrius, those in Alexander manuscripts are often depicted with tan or yellowish feathers (see below).
Detail of a miniature of Alexander the Great enthroned, being presented with caladrius birds, from Historia de proelis in a French translation (Le Livre et le vraye hystoire du bon roy Alixandre), France (Paris), c. 1420, Royal MS 20 B XX, f. 83r
It is possible that this tawny version of the caladrius might be a reference to much older sources. The Roman scholar Pliny the Elder (AD 23-79) names it as the 'icterus' because of its colour. Probably not coincidentally, he also mentions its particular skill at curing those afflicted with jaundice ('ictericus'); one of the unpleasant symptoms of that disease is, of course, yellowing of the skin. Classical scholars often referred to jaundice as the 'morbus regius' ('royal disease') because it was believed that the touch of a king could cure it, and this early association might explain why caladrius birds are so often shown with royalty and inside regal settings.
Detail of a miniature of Alexander with caladrius birds and ill people, from the Talbot Shrewsbury book, France (Rouen), 1444-1445, Royal MS 15 E VI, f. 21v
It is difficult to find many references to the caladrius after the 15th century, but this amazing avian has experienced a very minor renaissance in recent decades. The obvious associations with diagnosis and healing make it an ideal symbol for medicine, and the caladrius has been included in coats of arms recently granted to the Medical University of South Africa, the South African Medical and Dental Council, and the Isle of Wight Health Authority. Perhaps most charmingly, a caladrius bird featured in a 1978 'Theodoric of York, Medieval Barber' sketch on the programme Saturday Night Live, during which the barber/doctor Theodoric (played by the incomparable Steve Martin) tries to use the bird (played by an uncooperative live dove) to diagnose an ultimately-doomed patient.
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- Sarah J Biggs
09 April 2013
What Can We Learn from a Scribal Colophon?
Astronomical table of John Killingworth, from a compilation of astrology and prophecy, England (London?), 1490, Arundel MS 66, f. 29v
Arundel MS 66 is a massive manuscript containing a highly sophisticated collection of astronomical and astrological works. It combines texts on judicial astrology and geomancy with astronomical tables, which were necessary tools to calculate the movements of the planets and stars. As a comprehensive guide to techniques of forecasting the future, it also contains an interesting selection of English political prophecies.
Although its early provenance is untraceable, it has long been suggested that Henry VII was the original patron or recipient of the codex, based largely on the royal portrait and arms included in a miniature on f. 201r (see below), as well as several heraldic badges incorporated in borders, initials and miniatures throughout the text.
Detail of a miniature of Henry VII, surrounded by his courtiers, overseeing an astrologer making a prediction for the forthcoming year, at the beginning of a treatise on the Revolution of the year of the world, from a compilation of astrology and prophecy, England (London?), 1490, Arundel MS 66, f. 201r
Amongst the elements that can be tied to Henry VII and his family is the friendly Red Dragon of Cadwaladr, painted against the Tudor livery colours of white and green; you may remember this miniature from the opening displayed during the Royal Exhibition. This stand-out Red Dragon was used in Arundel MS 66 in the place of the more usual image of the constellation Draco, in a section containing Ptolemy's 'Catalogue of Stars'.
Detail of the constellation Draco, at the beginning of Ptolemy's Catalogue of Stars, from a compilation of astrology and prophecy, England (London?), 1490, Arundel MS 66, f. 33r
The main text in this manuscript is the Decem tractatus astronomiae (or Liber Astronomiae), a popular handbook of astrology composed by the famous Italian astrologer Guido Bonatti of Forli (1207-1296). An otherwise blank leaf at the end of this text bears a note by the scribe, John Wellys, which may give some insight into the production of the book.
Detail of John Wellys' note at the end of Guido Bonatti's Decem tractatus astronomiae, from a compilation of astrology and prophecy, England (London?), 1490, Arundel MS 66, f. 249r
The note reads:
'Finitur hic liber Guydonis Bonacti de Forlivio anno Christi 1490 30 die junij hora 12 minuta 24a per me Johannem Wellys compositus et renovatus et anno H. r. 7. 4to pontificatus sanctissimi in Christo patris nostri Innocenti pape 4to [sic for 8to] 5to'.
Which translates to:
This book by Guido Bonacti of Forlì was finished in the year of Christ 1490, on the 30th day of June, 12 hours and 24 minutes, compiled and brought up-to-date by me John Wellys in the 4th year of K[ing] H[enry] vii and in the 5th year of the holy pontificate in Christ of our father pope Innocent IV [sic for VIII].
Whether John Wellys was a trained astrologer or not, he dated the terminus of his work with an extraordinary precision which reminds one of the language often used in astrological charts. Another good example can be found in Egerton MS 889, which describes the birth date of Henry VI in a similarly detailed way: 'Nativitas Henrici sexti anno Christi imperfecto 1421°, 5a die Decembris post meridiem, 3 horam 20m 56s, die Veneris, hora Saturni (Nativity of Henry VI in the imperfect year of Christ 1421, 5th day of December, in the afternoon, at 3 hours 20 minutes and 56 seconds, on the day of Venus, in the hour of Saturn).
Diagram of the horoscope for the birth of Henry VI, from an astronomical and astrological compendium (the 'Codex Holbrookensis'), England (Cambridge), between c. 1420 and 1437, Egerton MS 889, f. 5r
In his note in Arundel MS 66, Wellys also scrupulously calculated the regnal years of Henry VII and Innocent VIII. Both the king and the pope came into power in August, in 1485 (22 August) and 1484 (29 August), respectively. Arundel MS 66 was completed in June of 1490, therefore in the fourth year of Henry's reign and the fifth year of Innocent's pontificate.
John Wellys's inscription, jotted down on a blank leaf, appears to be more an informal note than an polished colophon. What, then, was its purpose, and what does this note tell us about the scribe's work? The way Wellys used verbs is somewhat striking. He preferred to describe his activity as 'componere' (to put together or arrange) rather than the more commonly used 'scribere' (to write), implying that his task involved a work of compilation. He also stressed the fact that he brought the text up to date ('renovatus'). Indeed, a closer look at Wellys's rendering of Bonatti's Liber astronomiae shows a great deal of editorial work. The scribe introduced his own division of the text into not six but seven parts and therefore had to alter Bonatti's preface. In the Tractatus de Electionibus, one of the tracts forming the Liber astronimiae, his ingenuity went even further. Wellys was clearly transcribing his text from an imperfect model. The Tractatus in question contains several gaps and an imperfect beginning.
Detail of the imperfect beginning of Tractatus de Electionibus, with a miniature of Henry VII’s badge of a crowned tree, from a compilation of astrology and prophecy, England (London?), 1490, Arundel MS 66, f. 129r
Wellys did not bother with the two chapters missing at the beginning of the tract, instead simply electing to open with chapter 3. However, a large portion missing at the end seems to have caught his attention. By this point in his labours he was working on royal commission, which may have had something to do with his diligence! Not having another copy of Bonatti's book at hand, Wellys decided to find the missing text elsewhere. On ff. 143v-147v, he seamlessly replaced Bonatti's text on elections with an extract from a similar work, De iudiciis astrorum (On the judgements of the stars) by the Arabic author Haly ibn Ragel. Did King Henry ever notice the difference?
Detail of the incipit of Haly ibn Ragel's De iudiciis astrorum interpolated into Guido Bonatti's Tractatus de Electionibus, with the change of ink colour marking the beginning of the interpolation, from a compilation of astrology and prophecy, England (London?), 1490, Arundel MS 66, f. 143v
To cover up his textual replacement, Wellys provided an inaccurate rubric at the end of the interpolated passage, which reads, 'expliciunt electiones libri Guidonis' (here ends the elections of Guido's book).
Detail of the explicit of Haly ibn Ragel's De iudiciis astrorum interpolated into Guido Bonatti's Tractatus de Electionibus, from a compilation of astrology and prophecy, England (London?), 1490, Arundel MS 66, f. 147v
Wellys copied part of the replacement text in an added quire, in a different colour of ink from the rest of the manuscript. He used the same light brown ink to supply the last two rubrics of the Tractatus de ymbribus et aeris, the last tract of Bonatti's book (f. 248r), possibly during the same campaign of revisions. If not for his unusually worded colophon-note, I would have never discovered John Wellys's trick!
- Joanna Fronska
This post is based on my forthcoming article 'The Royal Image and Diplomacy: Henry VII’s Book of Astrology (British Library, Arundel MS 66)' in the Electronic British Library Journal.
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05 April 2013
Calling All Manuscript Sleuths: The Macclesfield Alphabet Book
Folio with a portion of a sample alphabet, England, 1475-1525, British Library Add MS 88887, f. 14r
The Macclesfield Alphabet Book is an exquisitely beautiful c. 15th-century 'pattern book'. It contains the most complete set of designs for manuscript decoration known to have survived from late-medieval Britain. It might have been used as a model book for scribes to copy from whilst creating luxury books, or perhaps as a display of an artist's or workshop's skills, to show to potential patrons. Until a few years ago, its existence was unknown, with the British Library holding the only other known English late medieval pattern book (Sloane MS 1448a, see here for more). Our manuscript, now British Library Additional MS 88887, was in the collection of the Earls of Macclesfield at Shirburn Castle and when it came onto the market in 2009, the Library was able to purchase it using funds raised from benefactors, including the National Heritage Memorial Fund, The Art Fund, and many private individuals.
Folio with a sample alphabet, England, 1475-1525, British Library Add MS 88887, f. 26r
The manuscript contains a collection of 14 different sets of specimen initials or letters in alphabetical order in the Gothic script of the 15th century, with later additions in the Humanistic script of the early 16th century. The 'ABCs' are wonderfully illustrated, including letters formed using animals and people. Viewing the images online, one cannot help but be captivated by the inventiveness of the artists, and wonder at the work's real purpose, as some of the designs do not seem to have been created for use in real books.
Folio with samples of border decoration, England, 1475-1525, British Library Add MS 88887, f. 45r
Along with the alphabets there are also included colourful designs for the borders and margins of manuscripts. Additionally, on f. 9v there is a mysterious drawing of an uprooted tree with a shield inscribed 'R.B.' (see below). An emblem, perhaps a rebus in colours with gold with three flowers and two gold gloves hanging down and the word 'cli[m]i[n]g' or 'ch[ar]i[n]g', is on f. 46r (see below). The full significance of these images is yet to be determined, so if there are any manuscript sleuths out there who have the answer, please send us your ideas!
'R.B' emblem, England, 1475-1525, British Library Add MS 88887, f. 9v
Detail of a rebus, England, 1475-1525, British Library Add MS 88887, f. 46r
- Chantry Westwell
02 April 2013
A Calendar Page for April 2013
For more details on calendar pages or the Golf Book, please see the post for January 2013.
Calendar page for April with a courting scene, from the Golf Book (Book of Hours, Use of Rome), workshop of Simon Bening, Netherlands (Bruges), c. 1540, Additional MS 24098, f. 21v
The calendar for April opens with a typical scene for spring; an aristocratic couple are shown courting in a walled and flowering garden. The richly-dressed lady's dog is nearby, lapping water from the garden's fountain. Behind the couple, a nobleman is preparing to go hawking, another commonly-depicted pursuit for this time of year. The theme of fertility and new life is echoed at the top of the miniature, where a pair of storks can be seen building their nest on the top of a chimney. Below, six men are playing a game with a bat and ball. On the following folio is a roundel with a painting of a bull, for the zodiac sign Taurus. At the bottom of this page a sherpherd and his bagpipe-playing companion are looking over their flock of sheep, complete with new lambs and a single goat.
Calendar page for April with a bas-de-page scene of shepherds, from the Golf Book (Book of Hours, Use of Rome), workshop of Simon Bening, Netherlands (Bruges), c. 1540, Additional MS 24098, f. 22r
01 April 2013
Loch Ness Monster Found at British Library
Researchers at the British Library have found sensational evidence for the existence of the Loch Ness Monster. Hidden within the pages of a 12th-century manuscript is not only a description but also a drawing of the beast known to millions as Nessie.
Loch Ness in Scotland, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons; image of the British Library, London, from Wikipedia
Walter of Bingham (d. c. 1197) was a minor cleric from Nottinghamshire who, unable to fulfill his vow to go on the Third Crusade, made a pilgrimage to the holy sites of Scotland. William's own manuscript of Itinerarium Scotiae (The Journey Through Scotland) has been long neglected , but shows the author's fascination with Scottish history, customs and wildlife. One commentator has remarked that "Walter of Bingham is to Scotland what Marco Polo is to China". The tone of The Journey Through Scotland emulates the writings of Walter's famous mentor, Gerald of Wales, who wrote accounts of Ireland and Wales in the 1180s and 1190s.
Walter’s encounter with Nessie came one summer evening, as he approached the banks of the River Ness. Students of the Loch Ness Monster will be aware that in the earliest account, found in Adomnán’s Life of St Columba (written around AD 700), Nessie was seen not in the loch but in the neighbouring river; and this is corroborated by Walter’s story. Seeking safe passage across the river, Walter of Bingham asked a group of fishermen mending their nets, but they rejected his request with terror in their eyes. Next, walking downstream, Walter encountered a young boy dragging his coracle along the shore. Hesitating at first, the boy agreed to row Walter of Bingham across in return for a silver coin. They crossed without mishap, much to Walter’s displeasure, for he was self-confessedly thrifty; but as he watched the coracle heading back to the other shore, a great beast with fire sparking from its eyes suddenly erupted from below the waters, uttered an almighty roar, and then dragged the coracle and its unhappy occupant beneath the waves.
The Loch Ness Monster, and the boy in the overturned coracle, as seen with the naked eye (London, British Library, MS Cotton Hilarius A. XV, f. 104r). The page is now exceedingly faded, but the image can be recovered using RZS©.
Walter of Bingham’s account provides firm proof of the existence of the Loch Ness Monster in the 12th century. But what is perhaps more remarkable is the drawing of Nessie which accompanies the text, now severely faded and barely visible with the naked eye. The drawing’s significance was first recognized by an international team of imaging scientists, cryptozoologists and manuscript experts, who for the past year have been analysing the British Library’s pictures of mythical beasts. Using a pioneering technique known as Re-Zoom Spectroscopy (RZS), the scientists took multiple photographs of the page in question, which were overlaid and processed using a “Guggenheim manipulator”. The resulting image demonstrates that Walter of Bingham made a careful depiction of Nessie, and can now be revealed as the earliest known picture of the Loch Ness Monster.
The Loch Ness Monster, as recovered using RZS©. Walter of Bingham is depicted on the right (an early example of a self-portrait), with the wretched occupant of the coracle about to be tossed into the water.
The shape of Nessie as recorded by Walter is hugely significant. Traditionally, the Loch Ness Monster is depicted in serpentine form, often with long humps protruding above the waves. The beast seen by Walter of Bingham most closely resembles a gigantic bear, and experts suggest that it may have been an enormous cousin of the modern-day Grizzly Bear or Kodiak Bear, now restricted to North America, or perhaps a descendant of the extinct Cave Bear. To judge by the survival of animal bones, the presence of a massive bear in remote, 12th-century Scotland is not entirely unexpected, and its behaviour indicates that, when observed by Walter of Bingham, it may have been defending its territory or guarding its young. But this is the first occasion that Nessie has received plausible identification as a bear: perhaps a relict population of bears survived in the vicinity of Loch Ness for many years, giving rise to the legend which surrounds it.
Could this be the oldest picture of Nessie? (recovered using RZS©).
Angus McFadden, a veteran monster watcher, believes that Loch Ness still holds many secrets. As he recently declared, “If you don’t see what you don’t see, and you don’t know what you don’t know, how can you know what you don’t see?”
We are extremely grateful to Professor Otto Haas (Osnabrück), Dr Ida Winchester (Delaware) and their team for sharing their research with us. A full account of the discovery will be published in the Journal of Applied Cryptozoology, but for regular updates subscribe to our Twitter feed @BLMedieval.
An artist's reconstruction of the Loch Ness Monster, restoring what are believed to be the original colours, based on detailed study of the pigments used in comparable western European drawings (Sarah J Biggs, 2013).
Word of warning
We'd like you to believe that this was true, but this blogpost was published on 1 April 2013. The events it describes are, sadly, fictitious. We hope you had as much fun reading it as we did writing it!
27 March 2013
What's in Our Treasures Gallery?
Queen Emma and King Cnut at the altar of the New Minster, Winchester, England, 11th century: London, British Library, MS Stowe 944, f. 6r.
Visitors to the British Library at St Pancras can often see a wide range of books and manuscripts in our Treasures Gallery, ranging from Shakespeare to the Beatles. In the exhibition cases devoted to medieval manuscripts you can currently view several of our greatest Anglo-Saxon books, including the New Minster Liber Vitae (see here for a post about the equivalent book from Durham Cathedral) and the foundation charter of the same abbey. You can already see both items (the New Minster Liber Vitae, Stowe MS 944, and the New Minster foundation charter, Cotton MS Vespasian A VIII) on our Digitised Manuscripts site.
The frontispiece of the New Minster charter, England, c. 966: London, British Library, MS Cotton Vespasian A VIII, f. 2v.
Meanwhile, currently on display in the exhibition cases devoted to medieval literature is the unique manuscript of Beowulf. Made around the year AD 1000, this manuscript contains not only the sole surviving copy of Beowulf, the longest epic poem in the Old English language, but also the texts of Judith, the Marvels of the East, and the letter of Alexander to Aristotle.
A typical page from the Beowulf manuscript, England, c. 1000, which was damaged by fire in 1731: London, British Library, MS Cotton Vitellius A XV, f. 176r.
The Sir John Ritblat Gallery: Treasures of the British Library, is open 7 days a week, and is free to visit. We regret that on occasion items have to be removed temporarily for use in our Reading Rooms; and we also operate a rotation policy, because many of the oldest and most fragile items in our collections cannot be kept on display for indefinite periods.
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25 March 2013
The Mystery of the Hours of Joanna the Mad
Miniature of St Luke painting the Virgin and Child, from the Hours of Joanna I of Castile (Joanna the Mad), southern Netherlands (Ghent?), c 1500, Additional MS 35313, f. 12v
Our recent on-line publication of the fabulous Hours illuminated by a pair of Ghent artists, the Master of James IV of Scotland and the Master of the First Prayerbook of Maximilian, prompted me to have a closer look at this manuscript associated with my famous namesake (Additional MS 35313; see here for the fully-digitised manuscript). With its double opening of full-page miniatures preceding prayers for each canonical hour and the profusion of gold and colours, the manuscript was fit for royal eyes, but was it really made for the mad Castilian Queen Joanna? The evidence is somewhat circumstantial. The presence of two Saint Johns, the Evangelist and the Baptist in the Calendar, Litany and Suffrages, Joanna’s natural patrons (the name Joanna is a female version of the name John) is prominent but hardly exceptional.
Detail of a miniature of St John the Evangelist, from the Hours of Joanna I of Castile (Joanna the Mad), southern Netherlands (Ghent?), c 1500, Additional MS 35313, f. 211v
Detail of a miniature of St John the Baptist, from the Hours of Joanna I of Castile (Joanna the Mad), southern Netherlands (Ghent?), c 1500, Additional MS 35313, f. 212v
It is the inclusion of a number of Spanish saints in the Litany that situates the Hours among books commissioned for or by members of the Spanish court. The saints' list includes the two early Christian martyrs Emeterius and Celedonius (see below), venerated at the royal foundation at Santander. Among the confessors, there are two Visigothic bishops, Ildephonsus of Toledo and Isidore of Seville, and a saint hardly venerated outside the Iberian Peninsula, St Adelelmus of Burgos, who replaced the Mozarabic rite in Léon and Castile with the Roman liturgy. Finally, among the virgins are included St Marina and St Quiteria who, according to a Portuguese legend, were sisters from Bayona (Pontevedra). But is it a proof of Joanna's ownership of the book?
Detail of a list of saints in the Litany, including Emeterius and Celedonius, from the Hours of Joanna I of Castile (Joanna the Mad), southern Netherlands (Ghent?), c 1500, Additional MS 35313, f. 150r
The manuscript includes one more piece of evidence that makes this hypothesis possible, but this time the evidence is iconographic. The Hours of the Dead opens with an unusual image (see below). The illustration of the encounter between the Three Living and the Three Dead, a moralizing tale built around a popular late-medieval theme of the memento mori ('Be mindful of death', or more commonly, 'Remember you will die'), features a woman on horseback chased by skeletons armed with long arrows. The woman holds a hawk on her arm and two greyhounds run alongside her horse, suggesting that the attack takes place during a hunt.
Detail of a miniature of the Three Living and the Three Dead, from the Hours of Joanna I of Castile (Joanna the Mad), southern Netherlands (Ghent?), c 1500, Additional MS 35313, f. 158v
The miniature has a likely model in the Book of Hours that once belonged to Mary of Burgundy and her husband Archduke Maximilian (now Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Kupferstichkabinett MS 78 B 12, f. 220v). Elfried Bok, a German scholar of the Netherlandish art, was the first to notice that the female rider in the Berlin Hours might be Mary herself (her initials 'MM' are on her horse's harness), and that the miniature, which was a later insertion, might refer to her sudden death after a riding accident whilst falconing with her husband in 1482.
Another possibility is however even more attractive. The Dowager Princess of Asturias might have commissioned the book after her return to the Netherlands in 1500 as a gift to her Spanish sister-in-law Joanna of Castile. Joanna, sister of Margaret's deceased husband John, married Margaret's brother Philip I, known as the Handsome, the ruler of the Burgundian Netherlands, in another political match. Joanna was Spanish and her devotion to native saints would explain their presence in the litany. On the other hand, the striking allusion to Mary of Burgundy’s tragic accident in the Hours of the Dead would have appeal to her husband's family memory.
- Joanna Fronska
20 March 2013
British Library Manuscripts Featured in Toronto Exhibition
In Toronto,
visitors will see The Cross on a Papal Throne and Christ Standing with a Banner
(London, British LIbrary, MS Royal 6 E IX, ff. 8v-9r).
The fabulous Carmina regia, an address by the city of Prato to Robert of Anjou (Royal MS 6 E IX), is featured in the exhibition, but with a different image than that previously seen in Los Angeles and London (as part of the highly successful Royal Manuscripts exhibition held last year: see Praying to the King, our original post on the Carmina). The text may perhaps be attributed to Convenevole da Prato (c. 1270/75-1338), a professor of grammar and rhetoric most famous as Petrarch's teacher. In the address, the city of Prato beseeches the king to unite the Italian peninsula under his rule and restore the papacy to Rome. This was likely the presentation copy of the text, given to Robert of Anjou on behalf of the city of Prato.
The Carmina regia is now also available to be viewed in full on the British Library's Digitised Manuscripts website (see here).
The two manuscript leaves that were in the Getty exhibition are also transferring to Toronto. These were both originally part of a single manuscript: Additional 18196, f. 1, with scenes from the life of St Agnes, and Additional 35254B, with part of a hymn to St Michael. These leaves have been reunited in the exhibition with others from the same book of songs (or laudario) made for the Compagnia di Sant'Agnese, which was based at the church of Santa Maria del Carmine in Florence.
All three loaned works were painted by Pacino di Buonaguida, who was active in Florence in the first half of the 14th century. Only one signed work of his is known: an altarpiece in the Accademia Gallery in Florence. Other paintings and manuscripts are ascribed to him based on stylistic similarities to this work.
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