Art: IRISH TREASURE

SCARCELY a day passes in the city of Dublin that dozens of citizens and visitors do not climb the oak staircase within the nearly four-centuries-old Trinity College Library. They enter the majestic, arched Long Room, pass along the galleries to a desk in the center, part a pair of curtains to peer into a glass-enclosed display case. They are there to see Ireland's most precious treasure, the Book of Kelts.

Since the middle of the 17th century, this illustrated Latin manuscript of the four Gospels has lain in the library. It is surrounded by a Caesar's ransom of rare editions—a first edition of Dante's Inferno, Caxton's Dictes and Sayings of the Philosophers, a first folio of Shakespeare, one of the three known copies of the wordbook of Handel's Messiah—but it is the most valued. Last week, insured for $3,000,000, the Book of Kells was being readied for exhibition in London's Royal Academy—the first time it has ever left Ireland.

"Chief Relic." No one knows just when the book was inscribed. The last few pages, which would normally tell the history of such a work, are missing. Some scholars date it from the 6th century, others from the 9th. In any case, in 1006 it was in the church at Kells in the county of Meath. In that year, according to one chronicler, the great manuscript, "the chief relic of the Western world," was stolen. When it was found a couple of months later half buried in the ground, its gold, gem-studded covers were gone.

After King Henry VIII broke with Rome, the church at Kells was surrendered to the Crown, but the book somehow got into the hands of a Dubliner named Gerald Plunket, who is believed to have been a distant relative of the last abbot. Later it was acquired by Anglican Bishop James Ussher, commissioned by James I to collect the historic treasures of the church. On Aug. 24, 1621, the good bishop duly noted that he had "reckoned the leaves of the booke and found them to be in number 344." When Ussher died, the manuscript was turned over to Trinity College.

A D with Arms. It has fascinated scholars ever since. The Book of Kells does not blaze with gold as the manuscripts of Europe and Byzantium often do, but no other example of Celtic illustration and calligraphy surpasses it in quality. There seems no end to the imagination of the anonymous monks who created it. Patterns are as severe as a Gothic steeple, or as intricate as a piece of lace; but never is their harmony lost or their rhythm broken. The stylized figures are often a bit grotesque, but in scenes like the "Arrest of Christ" from Matthew 26 (see color), they carry a sense of doom and eternal sadness. The great initial letter illuminating title pages may contain a universe—birds, serpents, angels, men and monsters, each with their special place in the grand design. And within the text, the tiniest capital—the D in Dixerunt, the S in Sed —often turns into a surrealist creature with minuscule arms, tiny feet, and one great bulging eye.