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On Tuesday, Barton and I thought we would visit the British Museum. However, it talking with a guide, we realized that what we really wanted to see was located in the British Library. Since we only had a few hours, we raced up the street. Finally, Barton and I arrived at The British Library and spent over three hours- oohing and ahhing at the manuscripts held there.
Shakespeare’s first manuscripts, pages from Leonardo Divinci’s Notebooks, letters from Jane Austin, drawings from Galileo and Isaac Newton, Captain Cook’s Diary, the Guttenberg Bible, Dante’s Divine Comedy- the list goes on and on.
As Barton and I moved from one display to another, we drooled over the next set of manuscripts. There is no one else that could have shared the delight and joy of looking at these delicate treasures. (And of course, we were trying to soak up the true writer’s art by osmosis).
From Barton's angle, he could see the inscriptions, paintings and sketches below the page that was being displayed. I bent down so I could look inside the pages as well, and we were amazed at what we could see inside.
On the way home, we walked by the house of Charles Dickens. Earlier, we had found a little alleyway by a theatre where Oscar Wilde, Benjamin Franklin and another German poet had lived.
We could have stayed there all day like kids in a candy store. The visit was definitely inspiring. Though we may never have a manuscript in a libarary display, we know that if at least one person is affected by our stories, we have succeeded as writers.
The British Library
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