Showing posts with label manuscript. Show all posts
Showing posts with label manuscript. Show all posts

Friday, 5 June 2015

Angry Birds in Medieval Manuscripts

I'm just back from two very enjoyable days in Oxford, at the Bodleian Library's wonderful new Weston Library.  Apart from looking at some fascinating and important manuscripts, I snuck a peek at their Marks of Genius exhibition, which I'd strongly recommend if you're in town (it's free, and on until 20 September).

The view from the David Room on the fifth floor of the Weston Library is pretty special:


...though I do still have a soft spot for Cambridge's University Library - this is the equivalent view:


But of course the manuscripts were the main reason I was there.  Hopefully I'll get a chance to post about some of the things I found soon.  But for now, here's a picture of a feathered fellow who seems rather frustrated by Geber's technique for finding the latitude of a star:

MS Ashmole 1796, ff. 188v-189r

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

String Theory - Medieval-style

Apologies for the long hiatus!  I've been busy with lots of things, among them the birth of my first child.  I'll post his horoscope here soon!  But first, here's a few thoughts I've been mulling over for a while...

My research centres on scientific instruments.  I study descriptions and images of them, attempt to follow the instructions to make and use them, examine the instruments themselves, and sometimes review or help curate exhibitions of them.  With all this, I spend a lot of time thinking about materials.

When we think about astrolabes, we tend to think of the shiny brass objects that are most common in museums.  Lots of attention has been paid to the kinds of metals that were used, and how they were shaped.  (Recent increases in the affordability of analytical technology means that this area is ripe for new discoveries - and I hope to blog soon about some research I've been involved in.)

But there are other materials too.  You don't have to think about this subject for very long to realise that the ornate astronomical instruments now on display in museums were probably not the same ones used for practical navigation at sea: sailors would have taken advantage of simpler designs and cheaper materials, principally wood.  Nor were they the same ones used for study in the new universities: teaching and learning took place with instruments made of parchment or paper.

Equatorium of Jupiter, from Peter Apian's
Astronomicum Caesareum (1540)
But one material is rarely mentioned in the scholarly literature: string.  This is despite the fact that it appears in many descriptions of instruments, and a good number of the surviving examples too.  The image on the right shows the equatorium for Jupiter, from Peter Apian's Astronomicum Caesareum (1540).  This sumptuous work, dedicated to Emperor Charles V, is hardly an ordinary equatorium treatise, but in its use of string it is entirely typical.

Before being incorporated into astronomical compendia like this, threads had been used for centuries in practical surveying instruments such as quadrants.  The easiest way to measure an angle, such as the height of a building, was via a plumb-bob (a lead weight hanging on a string) that could move over a circumference marked on a brass or wood quarter-circle (see the image below).

It's a small step from that to the use of threads as pointers, to read angles on scales on the circumference of more theoretical instruments.  It's easy to see why this step was taken: they were flexible, easy to attach, use and replace; they were narrow and thus relatively precise.  And crucially, of course, they were cheap.

Detail from British Library MS Burney 275, f.390v (early 14th century). The
bear and goat on the right are using a surveying quadrant with plumb-bob.
 How cheap? Of course that depended on what the threads were made of.  Sadly most instrument treatises are silent on the subject of what kind of string to use, where to find it and how to cut it.  So we have to assume that instrument makers used the cheapest thing they could find, or whatever was to hand.  This probably meant threads made of hemp or flax.


Unusually, though, the Equatorie of the Planetis (the manuscript that's the focus of my research) does talk about materials.  (One of the reasons I find it so fascinating is that it goes into many of the practical details that are absent from most medieval scientific treatises.)  It says:
Note that every centre [of each planet's equant circle] must be also small as a needle, and in every equant must be a silk thread.
Why silk? Was silk finer than other threads, and thus more precise? Was silk in this context meant metaphorically, and the writer really just wanted some very soft and flexible thread? Was it included to give a sense of luxury or importance to the astronomical work, as if only the finest materials were suitable for the tasks undertaken? Or is the whole thing a flight of fancy, in which the writer was indulging his imagination in describing an instrument that he had no intention of making?

I'm not sure, but I'd like to think there is a practical reason.  After all, the Equatorie of the Planetis design also includes a revolving metal pointer, which was the standard device used on astrolabes.  A metal pointer was needed on the brass epicycle because the radius of each of the planets needed to be marked at the appropriate point along its length.  But on the face of the equatorium, with an equant centre for each planet, something more manageable was required.  So we can see the designer of the equatorium choosing appropriate techniques and materials at each stage, with the clear goal of producing a user-friendly, effective planetary computer.

And what difference would a material other than silk, say flax, hemp or polypropylene, make?  I don't know, but I'm starting to think another reconstruction experiment is required!

Friday, 30 May 2014

How do you digitise a mortuary roll?

A few weeks ago I went on a fascinating course: Medieval and Modern Manuscript Studies in the Digital Age, run by the Digital Scholarly Editions Initial Training Network (DiXiT), based at the University of Cologne.  This was a fascinating course that aimed to train early-career scholars like me to work with manuscripts and digital technologies, at a time when so many libraries are putting their collections online.

The course combined palaeographic and codicological training, with classes on writing XML using TEI encoding, and visits to libraries in Cambridge and London to see their treasure-houses of medieval manuscripts.  I hope to write a post with my thoughts on the course as a whole, but for now I want to share a couple of photos from a visit to the library of St John's College, Cambridge.

While at the library we looked at a number of beautiful and important manuscripts, including a gigantic Spanish antiphonal.  But I was particularly struck by the one on the right.  It is the mortuary roll of Amphelisa, the prioress of Lillechurch in Kent.  After she died, sometime between 1208 and 1221, this scroll was sent around the monastic houses of England, so that each house could write something expressing their intention to pray for the deceased.  I suppose it's a bit like those leaving cards people get when they change jobs!

The mortuary roll passed by Dunmow!
Anyway, I was excited to see that near the top of the 378 houses that participated, were some near where I grew up - you can of course track the progress of the messengers and their cargo around the country, as well as the changing handwritting patterns in different places.  But it also raised some practical questions, which I shared on Twitter:
That led to a little further discussion:


I don't have an easy answer to this issue - really I wanted to share these photos because I thought the roll was fascinating, as well as fun.  But if there is a conclusion to be drawn, perhaps it's to remind us that there are some aspects of manuscripts - their smell, their feel, their physicality - that will never be adequately conveyed in any digital form, however sophisticated.