Books studied by Bookbuilders of Boston Spring 2013 Interns at the Burns Library. Compendium Manualis D. Navarri, with the blue text block, is on the left. Photograph by Gary Gilbert.

In my position as a Bookbuilders of Boston Intern, during the spring semester of 2013, I feel very lucky to have worked directly with the Burns Library staff learning more about the history of the book. One of my projects this semester involved meeting with Barbara Adams Hebard, the Conservator at the Burns Library.  Barbara assigned me a book to study for the semester.  I worked on a book titled  Compendium Manualis D. Navarri, a 16th century book on confession that is now part of the Burns Library’s Jesuitica Collection.  This project gave me a chance to research early books’ construction, clasps, dyes, and even to test a sample of the pigment on the cover of the book in the Boston College Cleanroom.

The first thing I learned was how to identify the parts of a book. Using the diagram that Burns Conservator Barbara Adams Hebard gave me, I found that my book possesses most of the common characteristics of a 16^th century hand-bound book. Although it is not considered an incunable, being published after 1550, it is bound in the style characteristic of an incunable. It is a small book measuring 12 centimeters high, not an unusual size at the time, but one that is determined by the printer. The cover material is leather, most likely a young pigskin. The leather is attached over wooden boards and lined with a plain white pastedown. The first flyleaf is the title page which includes illustration. This first page has a loss at the top of the page; perhaps a new owner removed a previous owner’s name or address. Barbara speculated that perhaps it was stolen at some point many years ago.

In this image of Compendium Manualis D. Navarri, you can see that the leather over the spine conceals three raised bands. Photograph by Gary Gilbert.

The edges of the text block are painted a solid blue. The end of the text block has a few blank pages with the same double line border as the text, perhaps a place for a student to take notes. The blind stamp designs that decorate the upper and lower boards of the book include faces – perhaps of Saints – and other arabesque designs. The stamped designs are referred to as blind because they are impressions in the leather that are not gilded. The leather over the spine conceals three raised bands. The spine of a book at this time would not have had a title. The leather cover appears to have brown pigment residue but Barbara explained that over time a book cover’s color can change due to light, heat or constant handling.

Dr. Gregory McMahon, a physicist in the Cleanroom, helped us analyze our microscopic pigment samples, utilizing a Scanning Electron Microscope (SEM). The results showed us what elements were present in the sample which would then tell us what type of pigment was used. After testing a sample of the pigment the original color was confirmed as a red pigment of mixed elements but primarily composed of mercuric sulfide also known as vermillion. The other compounds found in my mixed vermillion sample were most likely from the tanning process which could have changed the color over time.

This book’s clasps seem to come from the area now known as Germany. Photograph by Gary Gilbert.

One of the special features of this rare book is the decorated brass fasteners or clasps that are attached to the fore edge of the boards. There are two clasps and they are still intact and fully functional. This book’s clasps seem to come from the area now known as Germany. In the essay, “Clasps, Schliessen, Clausuren. A guide to the Manufacture and the literature of clasps” by J. Franklin Mowery, images of typical 16^th century German clasps match up with my book’s clasps almost perfectly. A book clasp like the one found on my book has three separate parts. The catch is attached on the upper board while the strap plate on a leather strip forms the movable section of the clasp. This main piece of the clasp is called the hasp which can be very decorative. The scalloped edges of this book’s hasp greatly resemble those of a typical 16^th century German hasp design.

This book exemplifies the quality and style of bookbinding around the 16^th century. Books used to be very expensive at that time because of the valuable materials they used and the time-consuming techniques they entailed. Commercial publishers must now generate reasonably-priced books at a much faster pace, so they are compelled to use inexpensive materials and modern technology in the production. Current books unfortunately do not last as long for that reason, meanwhile my book was crafted from the best materials by trained binders and is still around many hundreds of years later.

Jennifer O’Brien, Bookbuilders of Boston Burns Library Spring 2013 Intern & A & S, Class of 2013

The John J. Burns Library of Rare Books and Special Collections is located on the North side of the Bapst building facing Commonwealth Avenue.

Acting as a “bookbuilder” brings to mind, for me, an attempt to understand the fundamentals of book publishing – the building blocks of a physical book, albeit – that form the timeless basis for the industry today. Undergoing this internship at a special collections library such as the Burns, I had the invaluable opportunity to study the origins of book publishing among incredibly historical texts. As one of my side projects, the Conservator of the Burns, Barbara Adams Hebard, chose a book each for my colleague Jen and me to study and research. Seeking to break down their various components, we set about learning how books were physically, and meaningfully, published.

Bookbuilder Interns studied these two books from the Burns Library’s collections. The book featured in this post, Appendix Ad Grammaticum Proteum de Alphonsi de Vargas, is pictured above on the right. Photograph by Gary Gilbert.

In the Conservation Lab, Barbara gave us a diagram of the typical book, which we then applied to our own books that we had been commissioned to study. In my observations, I noted some key differences that exist when it comes to my rare, old book, which is called Appendix Ad Grammaticum Proteum de Alphonsi de Vargas, written by Laurent Forer. An obvious observation is that Appendix is not a hardcover book but a “paperback” of sorts; yet, it is not really a paperback at all, as the cover is actually made of vellum (which is the skin of an animal stretched thin). Specifically, it is what’s called “limp vellum” binding, without boards; limp vellum bindings, I learned, were often used in order to be economical when it came to bookbinding. My book was bound (or perhaps even rebound) sometime in its history (probably in the 19th century) with a leaf of an illuminated manuscript, likely from the late medieval centuries. It runs horizontal from the front cover over the spine and onto the back cover. Its illustrations are blue and red, with some lines of the script written in all red instead of black on the back; this fact probably relays that this leaf is from a liturgical work, since that red phrase would have denoted a priest’s words in a liturgy. Despite its unusual cover, the book has most of the other trappings of a traditional book, such as a hinge, a back cover, a square, a doublure margin, a headband, an inner joint, and a first flyleaf. It also has the top edge, head, fore edge, tail, foot, and spine.

Front cover: close-up of vellum showing hand-written text.

Physically, this book has some other really interesting features as well, besides the fact that its cover comes from a completely different century than the content of the book, which dates to 1636. The fibers of the headband are woven out of two different colors of silk – white and blue – and its threads are so small and worn that Barbara was the only one who could detect that. I noticed four strings, about two millimeters in width, which seemed to come from the spine of the book and then pull through underneath the cover of the book. These straps, Barbara noted, are made of vellum; I guessed that they were likely threaded through in order to enhance the strength of the book and make it flat, and also to attach the text block to the cover. From further reading and research, I learned that these straps are actually called slips, which hold the cover in place by being threaded through the vellum through slits. I noticed two more sets of vellum slips on each the front and back cover of the book, that appear to have been cut short at their exit point from underneath the cover. The straps from these particular points probably were used as ties to close the book, rather than metal clasps. Someone later on may have cut them off, likely because they were either too worn down from being tied so much or the owner of the book got fed up with tying the book so often. The pastedown of the Burns’ copy of Forer’s book is really a mystery; on both the front and back, it is a handwritten sheet of music and lyrics, pasted face down. Alas, not only was the cover recycled in the book’s rebinding, but so are the pastedowns, which seem to be jotted-on scrap paper of no connection to the text. Sure enough, as I browsed Michelle P. Brown’s book Understanding Medieval Manuscripts: A Guide to Technical Terms, I learned that “pastedowns are often formed of fragments of earlier manuscripts that were considered dispensable.” This book has many layers of reuse, which is why Barbara chose it for me; as I am an Environmental Studies minor, Barbara believed I would find this fact charming (which I do).

Detail of the pastedown, with faintly visible musical notation.

Furthermore into the book’s physical extent, the fore edge and top edge of the text block are sprinkled with red and blue paint, which happens to match the red and blue illustrations on the cover of the book. The speckles were likely meant to be decorative, but we are uncertain whether or not the speckles were done to match the new cover or if the new cover was chosen to match the text block’s speckles. The title page of Appendix has a particularly bad water stain on it stretching down the page, this damage probably being the cause of why the book’s original cover (which could have even been leather) was replaced with a repurposed leaf of vellum. Finally, the spine of the book seems to have been (quite shoddily) painted over with what Barbara suspects is lead white paint. It was likely painted so that the spine could be titled and have notation on it, since writing anything on top of the manuscript cover would have been illegible. Written in black ink over the paint on the spine is the author’s name, “Forer.”

Back cover: close-up of vellum showing rubricated text in the lower right corner.

On Monday, March 18th, the other Bookbuilder of Boston intern Jen O’Brien  and I finally had the exciting and rare opportunity to visit the Clean Room, which is a physics and forensics lab located on Newton Campus, just a short bus ride away from the Burns. Along with us I brought pigment samples from the cover of my and Jen’s book. Our goal was to have the pigments tested by a physicist, Dr. Gregory McMahon, in order to figure out just what that pigment on the cover is; by knowing this, it is easier to further understand from which time period the illuminated manuscript came, as certain pigments were used by scribes at different times throughout history. To do this, Barbara used a tool to chip a miniscule amount off of each of our book’s covers to be tested in the lab. To give an idea of the size, 50-70 microns is the width of a strand of hair, and my sample is 1/5 that size. My pigment came from one of the illuminated letters of the manuscript, which has both red and blue pigments on the front, but in this case it was the red pigment. Armed with these samples, Jen and I arrived at the Clean Room to be suited up. We had to wear full hazmat-like suits in the lab not because the materials we were working with were harmful, but instead because we – our skin cells and our hair follicles and the dust particles from our clothes – could harm the samples and taint the results. Once we were head to toe in crinkly white stuff, we headed in to watch Dr. McMahon begin.

Our goal in bringing these pigments to the lab was to expose them to a Scanning Electron Microscope (SEM) in order to decipher what elements comprise each pigment. The SEM is no simple tool; it is a huge machine connected to several computers. The SEM operates inside a vacuum, with a pressure that is similar to deep space; the sample is placed on carbon conductor tape and bombarded with electrons from a beam, the resulting energy being measured as an X-ray and graphed on the computer. Based on the frequency measurement of the electrons bouncing off the sample, the element or elements of the pigment can be discovered. When my pigment was tested, the data on the computer’s graph spiked at a frequency that reflected the elemental composition of mercury and sulfur. Next, using an online search engine affiliated with the Museum of Fine Arts called Cameo, we were able to plug in these elements and match the substance with a “bright red pigment” called vermillion. Vermillion was made from cinnabar, a mineral from China, available in Europe through eastern trade routes.

The BC Libraries catalog record for Appendix Ad Grammaticum Proteum de Alphonsi de Vargas, written by Laurent Forer.

While working with Barbara to decipher the physical extent of my book, I have been simultaneously working with the Burns’ cataloguer, David Richtmyer, to begin to crack its literary extent. Discovering that the pigment used on the cover was vermillion, I had confirmation that the manuscript was from medieval times, likely around the year 1450. But what about the text itself? In analyzing the title page and subsequent features of the printed text with David, as well as cataloging my book with the MARC record used by the Library of Congress, I was able to discover certain details to bring the content of my book into greater context. I already knew Forer’s book belonged to the Jesuitica collection here at the Burns, which contains an impressive amount of historical materials. Gleaning what I could from David’s knowledge of printed materials and also the Latin language, I discovered the Burns’ copy of Forer’s work is likely an abbreviated version of a longer book on Catholic Jesuit theology – a pocket-sized version if you will. In the 17^th century, church and state were not yet separate, and this book is a Jesuit point of view on politics, and a sort of counterattack on behalf of the Jesuits. The man whose name appears in the title – Alphonsi de Vargas – was likely a Spanish Jesuit who was being attacked by another man, Kaspar Schoppe, who was a German Protestant-to-Catholic convert with a sharp tongue against the Society of Jesus. Schoppe was probably a skilled debater who spoke out against Vargas, and Forer’s way (as well as the rest of the world’s way at the time) of getting even was to write a book in defense of Vargas; it is a sort of political treatise dealing with controversial religious (and political) figures at the time.

Somewhere in its life the book was nearly ruined by water and rebound to be saved, oddly enough by manuscript waste that is likely religious in itself as well. As clergy changes over time, so do the liturgical needs of those clergy, and as certain medieval, liturgical manuscripts became obsolete, Forer’s text did not. Due to this salvation, the Burns’ copy is a 17^th century work, bound by a 15^th century work of an elaborately different style, at a time sometime likely during the 19^th century. Appendix Ad Grammaticum Proteum therefore is a text that truly – physically and literary – spans the ages of book publishing.

Juliette San Fillipo, Bookbuilders of Boston Intern Spring 2013 and    A & S, Class of 2013

This full-page engraving notes the Arca Nöe’s title and author. An inscription on the sail of the ship in the background reads “Make thee an Ark, outside of which there is no salvation.”

Perhaps no human being can be credited with embracing Plato’s statement “nothing is more beautiful than to know everything” to the same extent as Athanasius Kircher, a Jesuit, a polymath, and a walking encyclopedia. Kircher’s vast knowledge earned him the title “master of a hundred arts.” A man fiercely loyal to the Catholic faith and Jesuit ideals yet insatiably curious about the workings of the universe, Athanasius Kircher produced a body of work (with over forty publications) as all encompassing as his store of knowledge. The Arca Noë, published in 1675 by Johann Janson, is part of the Burns Library’s Jesuitica Collection.  It is one of several books Kircher published based on strict Catholic orthodoxy. In it, he describes the condition of the world before and after the great Flood, lyrically relates the actions of Noah, and goes to great lengths to depict the Ark itself. The story of Noah’s Ark offered an ideal template through which Kircher could express his curiosity as a natural philosopher and his faith as a Jesuit.

“Submerged Mountains”, which depicts the Ark settling in the aftermath of the Flood, is one of the engravings signed by Coenraet Decker in the Arca Nöe.

Numerous elements combine within the book’s pages to create an interior stunning to behold. The book contains elaborate, full-page illustrations, detailed maps, unique page borders, and foldout diagrams. Coenraet Decker, an Amsterdam artist, signed three of the Arca Noë‘s engravings, including Portrait of Charles II, King of Spain, Noah and His Progeny, and Submerged Mountains. Decker’s engravings share certain common elements, as evidenced by a comparison between Noah and His Progeny and Submerged Mountains. Decker included a mountain in the background of Noah and his Progeny.  The mountain in the background probably represents Mount Ararat, upon which the Ark came to rest after the Flood, as shown in Submerged Mountains. The same swelling clouds billow up around Mount Ararat in both illustrations.

Noah and His Progeny, another engraving by Coenraet Decker which appears in Arca Nöe.

Decker’s clouds, in their swirling grandeur, seem to be manifestations of divine power. The clouds are ever present. They loom in the sky both in Noah and His Progeny and in the top plate of Submerged Mountains.  It is as if Decker intended the clouds as a reminder of God’s hand in Noah’s story. Decker’s engravings are ideal for a book such as the Arca Noë, which aims to proclaim the glory of God through support of Catholic doctrine. As masterpieces in their own right, Decker’s illustrations seem to embody the magnificence of God and his work.

A different artist was clearly responsible for the book’s engravings of the events before, during, and after the Flood. These images show an almost medieval approach to perspective and human proportion. They detail the process by which Noah and his descendants prepared for and survived the great Flood. The artist responsible for these illustrations did not possess Decker’s skill, but his images still succeed in effectively telling Kircher’s account of Noah’s Ark. They demonstrate historical events in a manner comprehensible to average people and provide visual entertainment that would spark a reader’s imagination.

The first of Arca Nöe’s “just-so story” illustrations, this engraving depicts the Ark’s construction in what looks like a modern shipyard.

The Arca Noë contains the largest illustration in any of Kircher’s books—a massive engraving of 39 x 17 ½ inches, made from three separate plates. This is just one of the numerous diagrams and didactic images included in the Arca Noë. Along with confirming Scripture and the Catholic Church’s teachings, the Arca Noë served a secondary purpose. It provided a setting into which Kircher could introduce a detailed nomenclature that identified and classified as many animals as possible. The material, visually presented with over 100 woodcuts, would also conveniently entice twelve-year-old Charles II, the King of Spain, to whom the book was dedicated.

According to Kircher, this engraving depicts “an optical projection of the three storeys of the Ark, whereby the species of all animals are shown in their proper figures, as well as their stables and pens arranged in order on either side of the Ark.”

Fascinatingly, Kircher dedicated an entire section of his Arca Noë classifications to hybrid animals. Hybrid creatures resulted from the mating of different species, which Kircher had no doubt could successfully produce offspring together. For example, giraffes, according to Kircher, were born of camel and leopard parents. This explanation of diversity in the animal population allowed Kircher to skirt the problem of limited space in Noah’s Ark. Although his taxonomy included only about fifty pairs of animals, nowhere near the known number of unique animal species, Kircher asserted that all animals were saved by Noah’s Ark; any animals not rescued in the Ark would reappear after the Flood as a result of hybridization.

A page from the hybrid animals section of the Arca Nöe.

The Arca Noë eloquently tells a biblical story, utilizing marvelous illustrations that give the tale of Noah a fantastical quality and emphasize the surely divine origins of the Flood. At the same time, Kircher’s work, with its precise diagrams and pictorial documentation of the animals saved in the Ark, gives scientific credibility to Noah’s account of the Flood. Rather than describing it only in words, Kircher included pictures that made the seemingly sensational Flood story more believable. Kircher offered his readers pictorial cues that they could easily relate to and understand, regardless of social standing, religious upbringing, or educational background.

The Arca Noë transcends questions of orthodoxy with its secular importance. It is relevant to all human beings at the most basic level, since it describes and catalogues the creatures with which humankind shares the created universe and attribute of life. The true significance of Athanasius Kircher’s Arca Noë lay in the fact that it inspired readers to seek greater understanding of the world around them and, in so doing, relentlessly pursue the noble end so doggedly endorsed by Athanasius Kircher: that of exploring, learning, and, finally, knowing.

If you would like to look at the Arca Nöe or learn more about the Burns Library’s Jesuitica Collection, then contact the Burns Library Reading Room at 617-552-4861 or burnsref@bc.edu. In addition, several books and manuscripts from the Burns Library’s Jesuitica Collection have been digitized and are available online.  Go to the Boston College Libraries Digital Collections page and then scroll down and click on Jesuitica Book Collection or Jesuitica Manuscript Collection to view these materials.

The images and content in this blog post are drawn from the exhibit  “Making History Public: Books Around the World 1400 – 1800.”   This exhibit was curated and organized by Professor Virginia Reinburg’s Fall 2012 HS600 class, in collaboration with the Boston College University Libraries.  From April – December 2013, the “Making History Public” exhibit is on display in the History Department, Stokes 3rd Floor South.

• Christine Spindler, A & S, Class of 2015

Major Works Consulted

Paula Findlen. Athanasius Kircher: The Last Man Who Knew Everything. New York: Routledge, 2004.

Paula Findlen. “Science, History, and Erudition: Athanasius Kircher’s Museum at the Collegio Romano.” In The Great Art of Knowing: The Baroque Encyclopedia of Athanasius Kircher, ed. Daniel Stolzenberg.  Stanford: Stanford University Libraries and Fiesole: Cadmo, 2001.

Joscelyn Godwin. Athanasius Kircher’s Theatre of the World. London: Thames & Hudson, 2009.

Joscelyn Godwin. “Foreward.” In A Study of the Life and Works of Athanasius Kircher, “Germanus Incredibilis”: With a Selection of His Unpublished Correspondence and an Annotated Translation of His Autobiography, edited by Elizabeth Fletcher.  Leiden: Brill, 2011.

Ingrid D. Rowland and University of Chicago. Library Department of Special Collections. The Ecstatic Journey: Athanasius Kircher in Baroque Rome. Chicago: University of Chicago Library, 2000.

John Lawrence Sullivan with unidentified people at Coney Island, circa 1890s-1910s. Box 2, Folder 2, John Lawrence Sullivan Papers, MS.2012.013, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

John Lawrence Sullivan (1858-1918) started his career as an outlaw engaged in illegal prizefighting, became a popular hero and the first American heavyweight champion, went on to the vaudeville stage, and ended his life on a quiet farm. Best known as a boxer and the “Boston Strong Boy,” his life took many interesting and unexpected turns. “If the good Lord shall call me right now, I may say that I have seen it all. I know the game of life from A to Z, from soda to hock,” he said not long before his death. The John Lawrence Sullivan papers at Burns Library provide some insight into his colorful life and ongoing significance in American culture.

Born in Boston’s South End to Irish immigrants Michael Sullivan and Catherine Kelly, Sullivan’s formal education ended at age fifteen, after which he apprenticed as a plumber, a mason, and a tinsmith. (Although he later claimed to have attended Boston College, our records do not confirm this.) It quickly became apparent that his main talent was his prodigious strength. One night in 1878 at the Dudley Street Opera House, Sullivan climbed into the ring with Jack Scannell for an impromptu bout and knocked Scannell clear into the piano on the other side of the stage. Other amateur fights followed, earning him the nickname “The Boston Strong Boy.”  In 1882 he won the American heavyweight championship, besting Paddy Ryan in a bout held in Mississippi City – where prizefighting, incidentally, was illegal.

A poster advertising a bout between John L. Sullivan and Jake Kilrain, circa 1895-1918. Box 1, Folder 1, John Lawrence Sullivan Papers, MS.2012.013, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

Sullivan kept the title of champion for ten years and was as renowned for his drinking and carousing as for his physical feats. His most famous bout was the last bare-knuckle heavyweight championship with Jake Kilrain in Mississippi in 1889, which Sullivan won in seventy-five grueling rounds (and for which he received a year’s prison sentence, later commuted to a $500 fine, because prizefighting was STILL illegal in Mississippi). In 1892 Sullivan lost the championship to James J. Corbett and turned to the stage, which offered more money and less physical work than boxing. As early as 1883 Sullivan had appeared in a skit at the Howard Athenaeum in Boston. In 1890 he starred in Honest Hearts and Willing Hands, becoming the first boxer, and possibly the first athlete, to take a lead role in American theater.

From 1892 to 1902 he held a variety of jobs, managing saloons in New York and Boston, selling whiskey, making book, and appearing in touring productions that often ended badly due to his epic drinking. After 1902, most of his public appearances were as a vaudeville act, in which he read monologues and sometimes staged sparring exhibitions. It is this period that is most richly documented by the John Lawrence Sullivan papers.

John L. Sullivan’s well-known poem, “A Recitation or Toast to Women,” undated. Box 1, Folder 27, John Lawrence Sullivan Papers, MS.2012.013, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

The centerpiece of his monologues was a sentimental poem, “A Recitation or Toast to Woman,” an entertaining bit of doggerel that puzzled at least one onlooker. “Just why this idol of the pugilistic arena should seek to emulate some lovesick heroine of the melodrama, is secret . . .” mused a critic. Dramatic merit aside, Sullivan continued to be quite popular long after his last boxing bout. The owner of Smith’s Opera House in Grand Rapids, Michigan, enthused to Sullivan about his performance in a letter that survives in the collection:

“I have played, as you know, the best Companies on the road in the Vaudeville and Burlesque line and this is the first time that the “STANDING ROOM ONLY” sign has been placed in the lobby of my Theatre this season at every show and the house holds 1200 people, and then being compelled to turn people away. Although I had heard that you were a great drawing card, I did not think it possible for one man to be the means of filling my House . . .”

The same author also strikes a bittersweet note in referring to Sullivan’s well-known losses:

“I know you have not the amount of money, which you have had in the past or anything like it, but there is no question that the Papers are true in their sayings, when quoting you as having made a million dollars and spent it. While you have nothing like a million dollars left, I firmly believe that you have over a million friends . . .”

Sullivan was indeed notoriously profligate, overly generous to his many friends and prone to going on sprees when he won a large purse. In 1902 he filed for bankruptcy in New York and in 1903 was forced to pawn his Championship Belt. His drinking binges contributed to his spending, and he was on a familiar but unfortunate downward spiral until a sudden conversion. On March 5, 1905, as he waited for champagne to be served in a hotel bar, he contemplated all of the money he had spent wastefully over the years. When the champagne arrived, he poured it into a spittoon and swore never to take another drink. He then became a temperance advocate, lecturing publicly on the evils of drink.

Telegram from Theodore Roosevelt to John L. Sullivan, October 27, 1912. Box 1, Folder 26, John Lawrence Sullivan Papers, MS.2012.013, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

From there Sullivan turned his life around, getting a new manager and also, after his divorce in 1908 from his long-separated first wife Annie Bates Bailey, remarrying. In 1910 he married childhood friend Katherine Harkins and retired with her to a small farm in West Abington, Massachusetts. Although many of his friends and sparring partners died young, others remained stalwart, including former boxing partner Jake Kilrain and former President Theodore Roosevelt, with whom Sullivan struck up a friendship in New York in the 1890s. Some of Roosevelt’s correspondence survives in this collection.

Sullivan died at his farm house on February 2, 1918. He had no children, and his papers were donated to the Burns Library by descendants of his nephew, Arthur Lennon. The collection includes correspondence, mostly about Sullivan’s vaudeville career, as well as photographs, some newspaper clippings, Sullivan’s autograph book, a poster advertising a fight, and even a few artifacts like Sullivan’s monogrammed silver dresser set. To learn more about this collection, please see the finding aid, or contact the Burns Library Reading Room at burnsref@bc.edu or 617-552-4861.

• Adrienne Pruitt, Processing Archivist, Archives & Manuscripts, John J. Burns Library

Sources

Isenberg, Michael. John L. Sullivan and His America. Urbana, Illinois: University of Illinois Press, 1988.

John Lawrence Sullivan Papers, MS.2012.013, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

Sullivan, John Lawrence. Life and Reminiscences of a 19^th Century Gladiator. Boston: J. A. Hearn, 1892. http://hdl.handle.net/2027/loc.ark:/13960/t1dj68q9n

Front cover of the Connolly Book of Hours, MS.1986.097, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

The Connolly Book of Hours is an illuminated manuscript held by the John J. Burns Library.  This manuscript was created in mid-fifteenth century France, a time and place when Books of Hours were produced and bought in great numbers. The absence of an owner portrait (a common feature in lavish Books of Hours), the small size of the book, and the fact that the manuscript’s miniatures feature a standard iconography for images suggest that the book was a more generalized, mass produced manuscript. It was therefore most likely owned by a family belonging to the growing upper middle class.

Books of Hours are Catholic prayer books that were intended to be used by the laymen and laywomen of the middle ages and Renaissance. They became enormously popular in Europe as a result of rising literacy rates, a growing concern for prayer in the home, increasing interest in the effects of art on private devotion, and a mounting devotion towards the Virgin Mary. Books of Hours served as private prayer books, primers for literacy, family record books, and finally symbols of wealth. The Connolly Book of Hours is an excellent example of such a prayer book.

The manuscript indicates both the increasing democratization of literacy, which was no longer restricted to the nobility and clergy, as well as the more streamlined production of manuscripts to meet the growing demands for books. The manuscript also includes sections written in French, in addition to Latin, the language of the church, demonstrating the increasing use of the vernacular.

Each section of a Book of Hours has a rich pictorial tradition, and is often illuminated, as is the Connolly Book of Hours. The Connolly Book of Hours is full of illustrations that show many facets of life. Thus the manuscript is a beautiful mirror of life in late medieval and Renaissance France.

Folio 106 recto, Office of the Dead, Connolly Book of Hours, MS.1986.097, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

This image of a funeral mass illustrates not only a typical medieval burial, but also the heightened emphasis on death due to the prevalence of disease. A group of priests are shown chanting over a shrouded corpse. The priests deliver the Office of the Dead, which was recited at funerals as well as by monks and priests on a daily basis. The laity were also encouraged to recite the office at home as often as possible to help a loved one’s soul out of purgatory and into heaven. In an age when the bubonic plague still haunted many, and diseases such as influenza killed people suddenly and frequently, the owners of the Connolly Book of Hours must have reflected often upon the Office of the Dead as well as its accompanying image.

Folio 153 verso, Connolly Book of Hours, MS.1986.097, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

Saint Sebastian was widely invoked as a protector against disease, particularly the plague. Because people feared sudden death by disease, Saint Sebastian became one of the most popular saints of the era. Saint Sebastian is shown here as he typically is: tied to a tree and pierced by arrows, a reference to the brutal punishment he endured and survived for being a Christian in the Roman Empire. Archers flank him on both sides, with their arrows pointed threateningly, ready to strike again. The pained expression on Saint Sebastian’s face as he undergoes this torture would have heightened the sympathy felt by viewers of this image. But the knowledge that he survived this horrific encounter would have given hope to the viewers, and would have reminded them of Saint Sebastian’s piety and endurance. Thus, the image would not only inspire the viewer to be a more pious Christian, but it would also encourage him or her to seek the aid of strong and persistent Saint Sebastian in combatting the ever present threat of disease.

Folio 26 recto, Connolly Book of Hours, MS.1986.097, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

A good example of how a Book of Hours would be used as a private prayer book can be seen in the miniature depicting the Annunciation. This scene depicts the archangel Gabriel announcing to the Virgin Mary that she will bear a child, the Son of God. Mary was believed to be inside her room, engaged in prayer when the Gabriel arrived to announce her pregnancy. In the miniature, Mary kneels in prayer, her hands clasped and her Book of Hours open in front of her on a prie-dieu (prayer bench). A vessel in the room contains white lilies, a symbol of Mary’s purity. Her diligent piety is clearly rewarded by the fact that the archangel Gabriel has come down from heaven to give her the joyous news of the coming of Christ. Mary is shown as a model for other women to follow, the exemplary pious woman.

Folio 143 verso, Connolly Book of Hours, MS.1986.097, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

In this period there was a growing emphasis on Marian images, shrines, and pilgrimages, what is now known as “the cult of the Virgin.” Mary’s importance is indicated most evidently by the fact that she appears in numerous images in a Book of Hours. Perhaps the image that indicates unmistakably her importance is the image of the Madonna Enthroned. Mary is depicted seated on a throne as Queen of Heaven, gazing at the infant Jesus whom she holds on her knees. The Madonna and Child are serenaded by two angels flanking them on either side, playing the lute and the harp. Mary’s and Jesus’ holiness is signaled by the golden haloes that surround their heads. Mary is highlighted as the primary holy figure of the piece by the fact that golden light, perhaps an allusion to God the Father, pours in from the upper left corner and points directly at her. Mary is not only shown in heaven, but enthroned in heaven. Her importance in this illustration is greater than even Christ himself, for it is believed only through Mary’s motherhood could Jesus save humankind. Mary plays an essential role in human redemption and salvation.

The Connolly Book of Hours has been digitized and is now a part of the Boston College University Libraries Digital Collections.  If you would like to learn more about this beautiful manuscript, read the finding aid, browse the digital version of the Connolly Book of Hours online or contact the Burns Library Reading Room at 617-552-4861 or burnsref@bc.edu.

• Annelise Corriveau, Arts & Sciences, Boston College Class of 2015

 This blog post is drawn from the exhibit “Making History Public: Books Around the World: 1400 – 1800.”   This exhibit was curated and organized by Professor Virginia Reinburg’s Fall 2012 HS600 class, in collaboration with the Boston College University Libraries.  From April – December 2013, the “Making History Public” exhibit is on display in the History Department, Stokes 3rd Floor South. Stay tuned for more posts on this exhibit!

Materials on display as part of the “Musical Roots of Seamus Connolly” exhibit. (Photograph by Gary Gilbert.)

On view through May 23, the Burns Library exhibit, “The Musical Roots of Séamus Connolly, Sullivan Artist-in-Residence,” highlights influences and milestones in the music career of Sullivan Artist-in-Residence Séamus Connolly. A world-renowned Irish traditional musician, performer and teacher from Killaloe, Ireland, Connolly won ten All-Ireland solo fiddle championships before immigrating to the United States in 1976.

Seamus Connolly is the architect and guiding spirit behind Boston College’s acclaimed Irish music programs. (Photograph by Bachrach Photography.)

Connolly’s career at Boston College began in 1990, when he worked with Dr. Mícheál Ó Súilleabháin to coordinate the Boston College Irish Fiddle Festival. Joining the Boston College faculty shortly thereafter, Connolly developed the Irish Music, Song, and Dance Program within the Irish Studies Program of Boston College. In his current role as Sullivan Artist-in-Residence in the Center for Irish Programs, Connolly teaches fiddle; directs Irish music and dance instruction on campus; and curates the Gaelic Roots Music, Song, Dance, Concert and Lecture Series.

The “Musical Roots” exhibit draws primarily from the Séamus Connolly Papers at the Burns Library, with additional items from the library’s Irish collections. Selections include a certificate from Connolly’s first fiddle award in 1957; an annotated program from the 1967 Fiddler of Dooney competition; and a 1903 edition of Francis O’Neill’s Music of Ireland. The exhibit also features the CCÉ Morrissey Cup (Corn Ní Muireasa) from the private collection of Séamus Connolly.

Under-14 Munster fiddle award, CCÉ, 1957. Séamus Connolly Papers. IMC.M064, Irish Music Archives, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

The Gaelic Roots Music, Song, Dance, Workshop, and Lecture Series will celebrate the “Musical Roots” exhibit on April 17, 2013 with an “Irish Dance and Céilí” in Gasson Hall. During the céilí, a digital slide show will be on view in the Gasson Hall Rotunda.

The “Musical Roots” exhibit is curated by Elizabeth Sweeney, Kathleen Williams, and John Kearney. For more information – whether about the exhibit, the Séamus Connolly Papers, or the Gaelic Roots series – we invite you to contact the Burns Library Irish Music Center at imc@bc.edu or 617-552-3956.

• Elizabeth Sweeney, Irish Music Librarian, John J. Burns Library, Boston College

Six Degrees of Separation is on display in the Ford Tower until mid-May 2013.

Have you ever played “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon?” If you’ve never heard of this game, the rules are pretty basic: you take any actor and try to connect her or him in some way to Footloose star Kevin Bacon though films and television shows. When playing, it quickly becomes apparent that Bacon is, mystifyingly, the central node by which your favorite movie actors and actresses are connected. Lest you start to believe that Kevin Bacon is, in fact, the center of all things, let me assure you that this phenomenon was observed and investigated long before Mr. Bacon was pledging Omega Theta Pi in Animal House.

Bette entertaining her guests at Bette’s Rolls Royce. Bette Arnold Collection of Bette’s Rolls Royce restaurant materials, MS 2012.009, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

In 1967, Stanley Milgram conducted an experiment called the “Small World Problem,” wherein 160 random people in Nebraska were given a package, which they were asked to forward to any friends they believed would be able to get it closer to a single individual in Boston. Milgram found that the average number of intermediate senders was about five – or six degrees of separation. Some might say he also succeeded in proving once again that Boston truly is, as Oliver Wendell Holmes remarked, the “Hub of the Universe.”

Since June 2012, the archives staff has been hard at work on a processing project to make collections available for researchers. We’ve processed a wide variety of collections, from personal papers to institutional records to subject collections, all covering a multitude of topics. The only common characteristic these records share was that they were, in some way, loosely connected to the city of Boston.  Knee deep into our year-long processing project, we started noticing something interesting: the same names, locations, and events kept popping up over and over again in the records of different individuals and institutions.  When con artist “Handsome Jack” Hapgood, for example, showed up in both the personal papers of Howard Belding Gill  and the records of advertising company John Donnelly & Sons (a connection that, incidentally, would give Gill and Donnelly a “Bacon number” of 2 if either of them were Kevin Bacon) we couldn’t help but think of the “Six Degrees” phenomenon.

Philip McNiff (right), 1968. Photograph Collection, University Archives, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

So, when brainstorming ideas for an exhibit featuring our newly processed collections, the idea of showcasing the interconnectedness of our Boston creators seemed an obvious choice. In “Six Degrees of Separation: Interconnected archival collections at the John J. Burns Library” now on display in the Ford Tower, you will learn how Queen Elizabeth II connected Boston Public Library Director Philip McNiff and flamboyant restaurateur Bette Arnold, what teacher and community activist Louise Bonar really thought of the Citywide Coordinating Council’s  efforts to desegregate Boston Public Schools,  and that actor Alec Guinness had more in common with Stanbrook Abbey Press’ head printer Sister Hildelith Cumming than either of them probably realized.

Sister Hildelith Cumming in the Stanbrook Abbey pressing room, 1976. Stanbrook Abbey Press collection. MS 2003.020, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

The city of Boston is what best links all of these disparate individuals together: a big city that is, in some ways, like a small town bringing fascinating people from all walks of life together.  It serves as our central node, our hub, for this exhibit.  “Six Degrees of Separation” will be on display until mid-May 2013.   Finding aids for all the featured collections, except for the in process New England Deaconess School of Nursing Records, are now online and are open for research. For more information, please contact the Burns Library at 617-552-4861 or burnsref@bc.edu.

• Alexandra Bisio, Archives Assistant, Archives & Manuscripts, John J. Burns Library

A 1891 playbill for Daly’s Theatre in New York has information about the production currently on stage as well as a few jokes, the company’s vacation dates, and a variety of advertisements.

Plenty of people don’t like big cities and cannot understand why anyone would choose the urban life. I, on the other hand, love that cities are dynamic and ever-changing. We never know who we’ll meet up with out on the town, or what new restaurant will become the favorite, or what buildings will go up or come down or undergo renovations.

Special collections, like those at the Burns Library, hold evidence of these continual urban metamorphoses, sometimes in the darnedest places. But consider: an item that has an advertisement holds a bit of history. Anything that has a rendering of a building captures the architecture of the time. Any pamphlet that contains a name, face, a snippet of biographical information – see where we’re going here?

A “Who’s Who in the Audience” column from a December 1938 Colonial Theatre program for Merchant of Yonkers makes a note of Eleanor Roosevelt’s pendant selection.

By these measures, the newly processed Theater Programs Collection holds an amazing amount of history, a true case of “something for everyone.” The collection contains theater playbills dating from 1850 to 2005. Many of the theaters are in Boston, New York, and the northeastern United States, but the collection also represents theaters in the western U.S., Europe, and Asia. In addition to the treasure troves of playbills, the collection also contains scrapbooks, clippings and writings, photographs, correspondence, and postcards. Some were marked up by their creators, containing performance notes or personal reminisces, giving clues about how or why these items were collected.

Not only does the collection reflect the kind of items given out or purchased at theater shows over the years, it reflects on the people collecting the items. The theater programs collection comes to the Burns Library from more than twelve different sources and reveals different experiences.

A page from Bruce J. Browning’s scrapbook, vol. 1904-1906, showcases a theater playbill alongside photos of some of the cast members.

Julia Fairbanks, whose materials span 1894-1912, and Bruce Browning, who collected from 1895 through 1925, both created scrapbooks to reflect their theater experiences. What did each find important about their concurrent theater-going? Did they ever attend the same plays, and what does that say about their lives? A side-by-side comparison of their scrapbooks could yield some interesting analyses.

We also have five volumes of playbills from a New York theater owned by Augustin Daly, a playwright and theatrical manager. With a full run of six years’ worth of playbills, researchers have insight into the big picture at Daly’s Theater and the cultural and economic trends that might have affected its production choices, its prominent advertisers, and even the playbill joke section.

J. Robert Barth, SJ, used this playbill for a 1986 Theatr Clwyd production in Wales to critique the performance of the cast members.

The Theater Programs Collection also contains playbills collected by professors of the college. J. Robert Barth, SJ, who taught English at Boston College and later became the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, collected playbills from 1943 to 2005. Barth attended performances far and wide – Minnesota and Missouri, England and Wales, France and Taiwan; the playbills’ design and contents, as a result, vary widely as well. Former theater professor J. Paul Marcoux stayed much closer to home. With the exception of one North Shore venue and one Cambridge one, his collection is from the theaters of Boston: twelve theaters in all. The programs coincide with his teaching years. Think his choices in Boston College productions (he directed over 60 here) were affected by his attendance? That is for you to discover in this collection!

If you’re wondering what plays attracted Eleanor Roosevelt’s attention, or how alcohol and cigarettes  used to be marketed, or what changes were made to playbill mastheads over time, or what Boston’s theater scene was like back in the day, make time to come see the Theater Programs Collection. For more information, please contact the Burns Library at 617-552-4861 or burnsref@bc.edu.

• Stephanie Bennett, Archives Assistant, Archives & Manuscripts, John J. Burns Library

John Boyle O’Reilly Memorial by Daniel Chester French, located on the Fenway, Boston, Massachusetts, USA. This monument was dedicated in 1896.

The Boston College University Libraries have digitized the James Jeffrey Roche Letters.  This Burns Library collection is now available online at http://hdl.handle.net/2345/1119 as part of Boston College University Libraries Digital Collections. Roche (1870 – 1908) was an Irish born journalist who edited The Pilot, starting as an assistant editor working for John Boyle O’Reilly, published poetry and biographies, was highly active in Boston Irish society, and served as the United States Consul in Italy and Switzerland from 1905 until his death in 1908. This collection of correspondence contains letters from over forty-five individuals, including letters between Roche and Theodore Roosevelt, Sarah Orne Jewett, and Daniel Chester French.  Roche’s papers and his professional and personal connections complement the John Boyle O’Reilly Papers, which are also housed at the Burns Library.  After O’Reilly’s death, Roche took over the editorship of The Pilot and facilitated the design and installation of the John Boyle O’Reilly Memorial, which now stands in Boston’s Fenway neighborhood.  Roche’s correspondence with Daniel Chester French, the American sculptor who designed and executed the monument, is a revealing glimpse into the late nineteenth century art world.

Letter from Daniel Chester French to James Jeffrey Roche dated September 1, 1893, James Jeffrey Roche Letters, Box 1, Folder 13, MS. 1986.041, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

Daniel Chester French was considered the “leading American monumental sculptor of the 20^th century” (From Thayer Tolles, “Daniel Chester French,” in Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History). Born and raised in various parts of New England, French created such iconic American sculptures as the Minute Man statue in Concord, Massachusetts and the seated figure of Lincoln at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. French’s correspondence with Roche discusses the inception, evolution, and projected completion of the John Boyle O’Reilly Monument. The first letter records French’s strong opinions against competitions for the design of monuments. He expressed himself so strongly in fact, that he was hesitant to read Roche’s next letter in case he was offended. By August of 1893, French had been chosen as the artist who would design the monument and French and Roche had met to discuss preliminary sketches. The later letters, ranging from September of 1893 to December of 1894, discuss all aspects of the monument including the price French charged for the sculpture ($20,000), how the money was to be paid, and why he was charging the price named. French’s insistence not on money but on creating beautiful work is as revealing about the artist as French’s occasional slips into personal commentary. Though the letters are usually strictly business, French occasionally refers to a shared social life, mentioning surprise at not having heard of the death of an acquaintance, or thanking Roche for a book or newspaper article that had been included in Roche’s last letter.

Daniel Chester French’s John Boyle O’Reilly Memorial groups the allegorical figures of Erin, Patriotism, and Poetry on one side, and features a bust of O’Reilly on the other.

Included with the letters to Roche directly is the “proposition” that French wrote to the committee in charge of the monument. In it he clearly lays out not only the business contract for the work but also his intended design for the monument. The John Boyle O’Reilly Monument is double-sided, with a bust of O’Reilly on one side, and a trio of seated figures representing Erin (Ireland), Poetry, and Patriotism on the other. Separated by a wall of stone carved with Celtic knotwork, the figures are carefully described in French’s letter, offering a glimpse of a visual artist’s ability to translate his work into language. These letters neatly intersect with two important Irish Catholic figures in the Boston area. These three men—editor, artist, and subject—all hold important places in American history and the ability to read such fascinating letters is now easily available to students and researchers.  For more information, read the finding aid for the James Jeffrey Roche Letters and/or contact the John J. Burns Library Reading Room at 617-552-4861 or burnsref@bc.edu.

• Rachel Ernst, Reading Room Student Assistant & Ph.d. Student in the Department of English

Card with black pen-and-ink Celtic design and text of Saint Patrick’s Breastplate prayer, Box 1, Folder 1, Eva McKee Collection (MS.2005.06), John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

In the month of March, the feast of Saint Patrick and Women’s History Month are celebrated. Of the four Irish exhibits currently on display in the Boston College Libraries, one in particular – Eva McKee, Irish Artisan, highlights both of these themes.  Eva McKee, Irish Artisan is now on display in the lobby of the O’Neill Library through March 31st.  The materials in this exhibit are from the Eva McKee Collection, which is part of the Irish Collection at the John J. Burns Library.  This exhibit highlights several beautiful examples of McKee’s work, including gorgeously illustrated cards, a silver pin with enamel beading and a copper plate with a Celtic interlace design.  Born in Belfast, Ireland in 1890, Eva McKee was among the artists who championed the Celtic revival in Irish arts and crafts that emerged in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.

Leather Wallet,
Box 2, Eva McKee Collection(MS.2005.06), John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

While working with the Irish Decorative Arts Association, McKee studied at the School of Art in Belfast.  With fellow artisan and business partner, Eveline McCloy, she worked to invigorate the association.  McKee and McCloy are credited with making Belfast the foremost center of craftwork in the Celtic or Irish style in the 1920′s.

Ceramic Dish with Painted Celtic Design, Box 3, Eva McKee Collection (MS.2005.06), John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

Working with a variety of media, McKee and McCloy produced woodwork, ceramics, cloth embroidery, jewelry, leatherwork, repoussé metalwork, and painted cards. McKee and McCloy worked almost exclusively with Irish themes including figures of Celtic mythology, traditional Irish sayings, Celtic designs, and the Irish language.  Original pencil drawings by McKee show designs for jewelry, such as a blister pearl necklace, moonstone rings, and in some cases, designs with multiple options for stones.

Heroic Age Design Playing Cards, Box 2, Eva McKee Collection (MS.2005.06), John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

Also included in the collection at Burns is a set of playing cards that is illustrative of the art of the period that draws from early Celtic designs, such as those found in illuminated manuscripts. The picture cards, reflect the Heroic Age in Celtic mythological literature, including kings and queens that represent royal figures from the various tales of that era.

Eva McKee, who sometimes signed her work Aoife McAoda, not only expressed an appreciation for the literary and artistic legacy of her country through the creation of beautiful works of art, she also ran a successful business. The archive of her work held at the Burns Library demonstrates her ability to maintain a creative identity and earn an independent living.  Eva McKee continues to be an inspiration for people today.

The McKee exhibit will be on view in the O’Neill Library Lobby through March 31, 2013.  After this exhibit is over, the Eva McKee Collection is available to researchers in the Burns Library Reading Room.  For questions about the John J. Burns Library’s collections,  take a look at the Burns Library Research Guide or contact us at burnsref@bc.edu or 617-552-4861.

Kathleen Williams, Senior Reference Librarian and Irish Studies Bibliographer, Boston College Libraries