Tag Archives: Manuscripts

Newly Catalogued: the Modern Monastic Manuscripts of Syon Abbey

Following the completion of the Syon Abbey archive cataloguing project, I have been left with a little time before my next project to turn my attention to some enchanting and intriguing items in our collections: modern manuscripts in the Syon Abbey Medieval and Modern Manuscript Collection (reference number EUL MS 262).

In 2004, twelve medieval and early modern manuscripts were deposited with us for safekeeping, and these have remained some of the most popular items in our collections, both in the reading room and in teaching here at the University. Three subsequent additions to the manuscript collection since 2004 have increased the number of manuscripts to 191 bound volumes and 8 folders of unbound papers. These additional manuscripts have always been open to users, but they have only been accessible through scanned lists in PDF files, which provide limited detail and are not searchable. In an endeavour to improve their discoverability and accessibility, I was delighted to devote two magical weeks to cataloguing the manuscripts at item level.

As the manuscripts were accessioned or transferred to the manuscript collection as three separate additions, they have been catalogued as three distinct sections. I have renumbered these as EUL MS 262/add1, EUL MS 262/add2 and EUL MS 262/add3. But never fear! I have made a note of the previous reference numbers in the catalogue entry for each item, so if you have accessed one of the manuscripts before, you will still be able to find it on the catalogue by entering the old reference number in the search box.

The section numbered EUL MS 262/add1 comprises handwritten, typewritten, and a very small number of printed items that were kept by the community on a bookshelf at their last place of residence in South Brent, Devon. To improve access, these manuscripts have now been rearranged into an approximate chronological order, but a list of the items in their original order exists and is available on request. The section numbered EUL MS 262/add2 consists of 28 manuscripts that were previously listed as part of the Syon Abbey archive, and the majority were kept in a box marked ‘Box 28’; 24 of these manuscripts were numbered 1-24 by the community at Syon Abbey and entered into a notebook labelled ‘Register of Syon Manuscripts’. Finally, three early modern manuscripts that were previously kept in the safe by the community at Syon Abbey make up the third section, numbered EUL MS 262/add3.

The newly-catalogued manuscripts were created or collected by the community over the course of five centuries, with the earliest manuscript dating to 1526 (EUL MS 262/add3/1), and the most recent dating to the late twentieth century (EUL MS 262/add1/143). In addition to the theological, liturgical, and devotional manuscripts that one might expect to find in a monastery, the manuscripts also include several histories of Syon Abbey, personal accounts of the lives of sisters, and notes on the contents of the library. The majority of the manuscripts are in English; however, the collection also includes manuscripts partly or wholly written in Latin, Portuguese, French, Dutch, Spanish, Swedish, German and Italian. Intriguingly, many of the manuscripts include the names of the nuns or monks who transcribed or read them, providing fascinating insight into scribing and readership at Syon Abbey. I’ve included images of extracts from some of my favourite manuscripts (it was so hard to choose!) in the slideshow below.

 

The manuscripts are now fully-catalogued and available to browse in our online catalogue. To see all the catalogue entries for the manuscripts at once, simply enter EUL MS 262* into the ‘Ref No’ field on the ‘Advance Search’ page to view all the catalogued manuscripts. And don’t forget – we also look after the printed books from the Syon Abbey library and the recently catalogued Syon Abbey archive, as well as several other Syon Abbey related collections.

Happy browsing, reading and exploring!

By Annie Price, Project Archivist

What are notes but tears with wings? Duncan, Schubert, and the Sublime

‘If I had to grade the necessities of life, I should put them in this order: the sun, for without it we are dead; horses, for without them to look at we are blind; music, for otherwise we are deaf.’
(Duncan, 1964, p. 101)

It is not entirely surprising that Ronald Duncan, close friend of and and sometimes librettist for Benjamin Britten, had a deep and intricate relationship with music, a fact touched upon occasionally in the first volume of his autobiography, All men are islands. Duncan makes mention of often visceral responses to musical works, of the bust of Beethoven that he kept with him, of his encounters with musicians (including Stravinsky), and of how he would invent poems to the rhythms or melodies of pieces that he knew; however, his connection with music was at a distance, and, a little below the comment quoted above, he goes on to write

‘Sadly I realised I had been deprived of the one language I needed. For I could not write or read music.’
(Duncan, 1964, p. 101)

Above all other music, Duncan loved that of Franz Schubert, whose birthday it is as I write this post. As described by Duncan, it was a love, like many of his loves seem to have been, immediate in its conception:

‘I was about twelve years old when I met the influence in my life that has affected me more than anything. I went to the theatre and heard Schubert … The play was a sentimental musical comedy, supposedly based on Schubert’s life, called ‘Lilac Time’. It contained a number of his songs. I was quite unable to keep away from the theatre. I went to it twenty-seven times … I cannot possibly explain why I found Schubert an irresistible influence at the age of twelve, or why he has always remained my favourite composer.’
(Duncan, 1964, p. 44)

Part of Schubert’s appeal, in Duncan’s later life at least, may have been the directness of melody and affect in his music, a quality that has made his lieder (songs) amongst the most enduringly admired of the Western tradition, and which permeates his instrumental work also. This directness of communication would have been attractive to Duncan, who considered poetry and, by extension, art more generally, to be a mode of communication:

‘If you can’t hear me, it is probably because I don’t speak loud enough; and, if you don’t understand me, it is because the poetry isn’t any good, because I really feel, very strongly, that poetry should be lucid. I mean it as a communication, and if I fail to make that communication, I ask you to blame me. I do not believe that poetry should be obscure. What I have to say, if I fail to say it, then it’s my fault.’
(Duncan, transcribed from an audio recording of a poetry reading)

The nature and emotional affect of Schubert’s writing is a large subject, but its effect on Duncan is perhaps best illustrated in his own words. The following is extracted from an anecdote about enduring a potential lover playing the piano badly at her home:

… suddenly I heard a melody I had never heard before. It was so beautiful I had to rush from the room, from the house, before the girl or the mother could see my tears. Years later I heard the melody again. Of course it was Schubert – “The Shepherd on the Rock.”
(Duncan, 1964, p. 124)

Duncan’s fascination with Schubert reached its apotheosis with his play, Schubert, completed late in his life (1980), and performed in the same year. The play takes the form of what might be described as an occasionally interrupted monologue by the composer, who works at an ‘untuned rotten piano’. It is, perhaps, a distillation of Duncan’s view of the artist at work: the genius who is at once confident of the brilliance of his own abilities and wrestling with a vortex of social anxiety and emotional (not to mention physical) pain and frailty. Whether or not these romantic ideas appealed to Duncan’s sensibilities of his own artistic and emotional challenges, it is clear from his other writings that he developed an affinity for and, in his own mind, with Schubert that extended beyond simple admiration for the composer’s music. In a poem from 1970, Duncan describes time as a ‘saboteur’ for separating him from his idol, and laments

‘…
What songs we could have written
If your genius with mine
     had been combined
Harnessed by our single mind.
Now only silence sings them
The wind mourning for their loss.’
(Duncan, Weston-Smith, 2003, p. 185)

As evidenced in other poems, particularly Franz Schubert, the affinity felt by Duncan for Schubert seems to have had the effect of turning the latter into a distant beloved, to borrow a phrase from Beethoven’s song cycle, with Duncan describing a love

‘…
Far deeper than
                     I ever knew
For any woman[.]’
(Duncan, Weston-Smith, 2003, pp. 311-3)

Page one of the manuscript copy of 'Franz Schubert.

Page one of the manuscript copy of ‘Franz Schubert’.

Page two of the Franz Schubert manuscript, decorated by an idiosyncratic sketch of the composer.

Page two of the ‘Franz Schubert’ manuscript.

With his earthlier and sometimes frustrated relationship with Britten in mind, it was, one might suppose, the very separation and lack of artistic consummation that helped Duncan’s nostalgic and idealised affair with Schubert to flourish. This idealisation of Schubert and his music can be felt most strongly, perhaps, in the lines:

‘Only the deaf
                    dare listen to Schubert,
Music is noise, or too meaningful to bear.
(Duncan, Weston-Smith, 2003, pp. 313)’

Taken with Duncan’s comment, ‘great art affects me like great pain’ (Duncan, 1964, p. 88), this allows us to posit that Schubert specifically, and great music more generally, becomes, for Duncan, a symbol of aching perfection, a reification of and metaphor for the sublime. It is from this position, perhaps, that one of Duncan’s more poignant questions arose:

‘What are notes but tears with wings?’

Manuscript bearing the words 'What are notes but tears with wings?' decorated by Ronald Duncan with a drawing of music manuscript with the notes decorated with read paint, as if bloody.

Manuscript, What are notes but tears with wings? as decorated by Ronald Duncan.

Amongst the Schubert-related items held in the Ronald Duncan Collection are those connected to his plays ‘Girl Friday’ and ‘Schubert’ (including the script, an audio recording of a performance replete with the occasional wrong note at the piano, the music to be played at the ‘untuned rotten piano’, and programmes from performances), his correspondence (particularly with the prominent music lover and patron George Harewood), a film script (Obsession), the scores of some Schubert songs, and materials relevant to his work as the literary editor of ‘The Penguin Book of Accompanied Songs’ (also known as ‘Classical Songs for Children’).

For an enjoyable and easily accessible source of further information on Franz Schubert’s artistic and musical struggles, I would recommend the episode of BBC Radio 3’s ‘The Listening Service’ entitled ‘Schubert’s Dark Side’, which is available from the BBC website: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0801l4l

Andrew Cusworth, 31.1.2018

Quoted sources
Duncan, R., All men are islands, Rupert Hart Davies, 1964.
Duncan, R., Weston-Smith, M., Ronald Duncan Literary Foundation, 2003.