These days, writing in gold is as easy as popping into Paperchase and buying a glitter pen. But in the years before Paperchase (BP), writing with gold actually meant something – it carried a heavy symbolic weight. To prove it, the basement of the British Library has been filled with gold-drenched manuscripts from around the world, in multiple languages, telling countless stories: a huge, elegantly simple Qur’an from 1304, a glistening bit of Buddhist scripture from 1836, royal Ottoman seals, biblical scenes and Persian poetry, all quietly shimmering with gold, and totally stunning.
The gold here serves multiple symbolic purposes. Golden lines from the Qur’an show how important the words are, golden royal seals show how important a sultan is. Gold – so valuable, so fiddly – elevates the subjects, it makes the holy more holy, the powerful more powerful.
It’s also a symbol of wealth, obviously. Lots of these manuscripts are showy, ostentatious statements of the commissioners’ fortunes. The staggering letter from King James II to the Grand Vizier of the Ottoman empire is only as lavish as it is because old Jim is sending a message. He’s saying he’s powerful, important and very, very rich. Message received.
There’s a bewildering variety of uses of gold here. There are solid strips of it emblazoned with Buddhist chants, a huge sheet of it for a Mughal royal decree, a glowing image of St Mark, a perfectly intricate Spanish Haggadah, a gorgeously lush depiction of the lives of the Buddha. All that’s missing is information on where the gold came from, and on who had to pay with their lives for these manuscripts to be gilded.
But despite the centuries that have elapsed, the gold still glistens, it still shines on the page, meaning that all of these stories still feel somehow alive, after all these years.
