Marsh’s Library is also the location of one of Dublin’s most illustrious hauntings. The story goes that the archbishop’s ghost still resides here, fruitlessly searching for a note left by his niece before she eloped. Marsh is buried just beyond the library walls, on the grounds of St. Patrick’s.
Compared with the Long Room, Marsh’s is a modest structure, an L-shaped reading room with oak bookcases along opposite walls. There are three “caged” alcoves, where the rare books were kept; scholars used to be locked in with the volumes, then searched as they left, a bibliocentric forebear of airport security.
The collection comprises 25,000 volumes, with many focusing on theology and religious matters. But the rotating exhibitions of material show that there are also many volumes of medicine, law, science, literature and more. What’s most amazing is that most of the volumes reside on exactly the same shelves where they’ve sat for as long as 300 years.
Marsh’s Library is an example of the Protestant Church of Ireland’s rich legacy in the city, but Dublin’s most overtly religious library — the
Chester Beatty Library
, tucked away inside Dublin Castle — isn’t the product of a bishop or religious order at all.
Alfred Chester Beatty was an American mining magnate who in 1950 bequeathed to the Irish state his extraordinary collection of Oriental and Christian religious manuscripts, books, paintings, drawings and rare art from Asia, the Middle East, North Africa and Europe, a munificent gesture that earned him a rare state funeral in 1968.
It’s a functioning library for scholars, but the chief attraction is the portion of the Beatty collection in the library’s main gallery. This rich assembly of historical artifacts includes objects as rare as a 3rd-century Gospel According to Mark; a papyrus codex of the Pauline Epistles from around 180 to 200, the earliest book of Saint Paul’s letters in existence; and one of the few surviving volumes of the first illustrated Life of the Prophet Muhammad from the 16th century.
In the dim space, a film about global religious practices emits a faint drone of worship, adding to the reverent ambience. It’s little wonder that the place inspires such fervent loyalty among its fans: Ireland is determinedly post-Catholic now, indeed post-religious in many ways, but the Chester Beatty succeeds because of its pan-religious nature. Like many of my generation, I’m skeptical of organized religion, but the Chester Beatty is my favorite museum in Dublin precisely because these artifacts, when placed in the context of a library, offer a powerful perspective on faith and culture.
After a day of bibliophilic wanderings, if you’re looking for someplace to relax, head for the Library Bar above the Central Hotel. Despite the name, this book-lined bar, with its inviting armchairs and couches, is most conducive to a good conversation. I’ve lost many evenings to engrossing discussions here, as darkness draws in and time loses its hold. I can attest that the Guinness is the best in the city, but the elegant surroundings make this just as much a gin-and-tonic kind of place, and a good spot to raise a toast to Dublin’s writers and wordsmiths. After all, the city’s literary heritage may be best explored on the page and in its libraries, but it’s probably best discussed over a drink.
O’Dwyer is a writer with the Irish Times in Dublin.
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