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Saturday Magazine, UK
June 9, 2007
First Edition
The Sacred heart of the British Library;
The Weasel
by Christopher Hirst
With heaven on display at King's Cross and the heavens in Greenwich,
London is pretty well stocked with the celestial at present. Let's
start our extraterrestrial explorations on the Euston Road, not a
milieu customarily thought of as Elysian. The spacey, ethereal music
that hovers in the air at the British Library's exhibition, Sacred,
is not inappropriate since the venerated texts on display would have
been contemplated to the accompaniment of Gregorian chant, rabbinical
hymns or the plangent call of the muezzin. Ranging from the gold
calligraphy of a royal Koran from a more peaceful Iraq (1310) to a
3rd-century papyrus scrap of the Book of Revelations found on a
rubbish tip near Cairo, the exhibits radiate mystical otherness.
Many are quite splendidly recondite. I liked the delicate peacocks
pecking thistles in the margin of an 11th-century gospel from the
monastery of Awag Vank, near Erzindjan in Armenia. But the eerie
depiction of drowned people and beasts under Noah's Ark was
homegrown. Since the illumination is ascribed to "London, 14th
century", the fatal waters are the Thames. Other items have a
familiar resonance. The Ashkenazi prayer book printed in Venice in
1598 might have been read by Shakespeare's Merchant. The scene of
Moses smashing the tablets (France, 14th century) bears a strong
resemblance to Charlton Heston in The 10 Commandments (Hollywood,
1956).
Among the most appealing items in the exhibition are the texts of the
Ethiopian church. Its long isolation from other Christian communities
resulted in a charmingly idiosyncratic art, populated by large-eyed,
luminous figures. In a 17th-century depiction of the annunciation,
the angel Gabriel appears to the priest Zacharias in a tiny round
church while a brace of haloed ostriches perch on the roof. In an
18th-century Ethiopian Psalter, the Holy Trinity is represented by
three identical bearded figures. They stare across the centuries,
each holding a white hanky.
Among those who sought such numinous artefacts is the somewhat
unlikely figure of Evelyn Waugh. I have long relished the account in
his book Remote People (1931) of delving for ancient religious texts
in Ethiopia with a devout American academic. After a trying journey,
they reached the isolated monastery of Debra Lebanos. "The professor
asked whether we might visit the library of which the world stood in
awe," writes Waugh.
A cupboard was opened and the abuna [abbot] "revealed two pieces of
board clumsily hinged together in the form of a diptych. Professor W
kissed them eagerly; they were then opened, revealing two coloured
lithographs, apparently cut from a religious almanac printed in
Germany from the last century ??? The professor was clearly taken
aback. 'Dear, dear, how remarkably ugly they are,' he remarked, as he
bent down to kiss them." Persisting in their quest, the pair
eventually penetrated the monastery's sanctuary or holy of holies.
Instead of a rare gospel, it contained: "Two or three umbrellas, a
suitcase of imitation leather, some newspapers and a teapot." Sadly,
none of these treasures appear in Sacred.
The spacey, ethereal music that eddies through the New Royal
Observatory at Greenwich is not so appropriate, since space is
silent, unless you count the lingering echoes of the big bang. Still,
it makes a pleasant accompaniment as you survey the widescreen video
displays in the new astronomy galleries. "I'm recruiting a new
mission team and I'm looking for a Chief Engineer, a Lead Scientist
and a Community Officer," a square-jawed space commander announced
onscreen. "You have 10 seconds to choose ???" Fortunately, I had a
mission to meet a real star at this new £16.5m development.
Whirling in vast orbits, the arms of Peter Snow were as active as any
planetary system. "The most exciting project I've ever been involved
in," declared this human orrery, who played a key role in
fund-raising. "Someone said: 'I like your tie.' I said: 'Right! A
hundred quid!' It was really not difficult to raise the money ??? Of
course, children will think the planetarium is cool. What could be
cooler?"
The £4.5m planetarium lies below a truncated bronze cone, which is
hard to describe. Imagine a very large segment of carrot, but
bronze-coloured. "The alignment of the cone is towards the North Star
at 51.5 degrees and the disc cut at 90 degrees through its apex is
parallel to the celestial equator," an architect elucidated.
Lying in one of the planetarium's 118 horizontal chairs, I soared
into space.
"From Aldebaran, the eye of the hunter, we move on to Rigel," the
commentary announced.
"This is a live-fast-die-young star." I'd like to say I enjoyed my
25-minute journey, but it induced a curious mixture of sleepiness and
queasiness.
HM the Queen, who opened the New Royal Observatory on the previous
day, sensibly settled for a seven-minute space trip.
Still it could have been worse.
"It would take 1,000 lifetimes to reach the nearest star," one
presentation revealed. Better pack some sandwiches.
June 9, 2007
First Edition
The Sacred heart of the British Library;
The Weasel
by Christopher Hirst
With heaven on display at King's Cross and the heavens in Greenwich,
London is pretty well stocked with the celestial at present. Let's
start our extraterrestrial explorations on the Euston Road, not a
milieu customarily thought of as Elysian. The spacey, ethereal music
that hovers in the air at the British Library's exhibition, Sacred,
is not inappropriate since the venerated texts on display would have
been contemplated to the accompaniment of Gregorian chant, rabbinical
hymns or the plangent call of the muezzin. Ranging from the gold
calligraphy of a royal Koran from a more peaceful Iraq (1310) to a
3rd-century papyrus scrap of the Book of Revelations found on a
rubbish tip near Cairo, the exhibits radiate mystical otherness.
Many are quite splendidly recondite. I liked the delicate peacocks
pecking thistles in the margin of an 11th-century gospel from the
monastery of Awag Vank, near Erzindjan in Armenia. But the eerie
depiction of drowned people and beasts under Noah's Ark was
homegrown. Since the illumination is ascribed to "London, 14th
century", the fatal waters are the Thames. Other items have a
familiar resonance. The Ashkenazi prayer book printed in Venice in
1598 might have been read by Shakespeare's Merchant. The scene of
Moses smashing the tablets (France, 14th century) bears a strong
resemblance to Charlton Heston in The 10 Commandments (Hollywood,
1956).
Among the most appealing items in the exhibition are the texts of the
Ethiopian church. Its long isolation from other Christian communities
resulted in a charmingly idiosyncratic art, populated by large-eyed,
luminous figures. In a 17th-century depiction of the annunciation,
the angel Gabriel appears to the priest Zacharias in a tiny round
church while a brace of haloed ostriches perch on the roof. In an
18th-century Ethiopian Psalter, the Holy Trinity is represented by
three identical bearded figures. They stare across the centuries,
each holding a white hanky.
Among those who sought such numinous artefacts is the somewhat
unlikely figure of Evelyn Waugh. I have long relished the account in
his book Remote People (1931) of delving for ancient religious texts
in Ethiopia with a devout American academic. After a trying journey,
they reached the isolated monastery of Debra Lebanos. "The professor
asked whether we might visit the library of which the world stood in
awe," writes Waugh.
A cupboard was opened and the abuna [abbot] "revealed two pieces of
board clumsily hinged together in the form of a diptych. Professor W
kissed them eagerly; they were then opened, revealing two coloured
lithographs, apparently cut from a religious almanac printed in
Germany from the last century ??? The professor was clearly taken
aback. 'Dear, dear, how remarkably ugly they are,' he remarked, as he
bent down to kiss them." Persisting in their quest, the pair
eventually penetrated the monastery's sanctuary or holy of holies.
Instead of a rare gospel, it contained: "Two or three umbrellas, a
suitcase of imitation leather, some newspapers and a teapot." Sadly,
none of these treasures appear in Sacred.
The spacey, ethereal music that eddies through the New Royal
Observatory at Greenwich is not so appropriate, since space is
silent, unless you count the lingering echoes of the big bang. Still,
it makes a pleasant accompaniment as you survey the widescreen video
displays in the new astronomy galleries. "I'm recruiting a new
mission team and I'm looking for a Chief Engineer, a Lead Scientist
and a Community Officer," a square-jawed space commander announced
onscreen. "You have 10 seconds to choose ???" Fortunately, I had a
mission to meet a real star at this new £16.5m development.
Whirling in vast orbits, the arms of Peter Snow were as active as any
planetary system. "The most exciting project I've ever been involved
in," declared this human orrery, who played a key role in
fund-raising. "Someone said: 'I like your tie.' I said: 'Right! A
hundred quid!' It was really not difficult to raise the money ??? Of
course, children will think the planetarium is cool. What could be
cooler?"
The £4.5m planetarium lies below a truncated bronze cone, which is
hard to describe. Imagine a very large segment of carrot, but
bronze-coloured. "The alignment of the cone is towards the North Star
at 51.5 degrees and the disc cut at 90 degrees through its apex is
parallel to the celestial equator," an architect elucidated.
Lying in one of the planetarium's 118 horizontal chairs, I soared
into space.
"From Aldebaran, the eye of the hunter, we move on to Rigel," the
commentary announced.
"This is a live-fast-die-young star." I'd like to say I enjoyed my
25-minute journey, but it induced a curious mixture of sleepiness and
queasiness.
HM the Queen, who opened the New Royal Observatory on the previous
day, sensibly settled for a seven-minute space trip.
Still it could have been worse.
"It would take 1,000 lifetimes to reach the nearest star," one
presentation revealed. Better pack some sandwiches.