Visiting the First Folio at Trinity College Dublin: Summer 1 Blog Post

An important element of my research project this summer was examining the way in which ideological debates have travelled between forms of sixteenth and seventeenth century literature, permeating culture to the extent that their presence can still be identified today in spite of stringent post-Reformation censorship laws. I found the most interesting part of my work was learning about the lives of people who remain largely unacknowledged for the part they played in preserving highly censored themes in post-Reformation art, from private collectors and town chamberlains, to playwrights and publishers.
Up until this point, I had studied facsimiles of First Folios available in a database online and viewed one in person – the Ashburnham folio on temporary display in Shakespeare’s New Place as part of the four hundred-year anniversary celebrations in 2023. Nearly pressing my nose to the glass trying to get a decent look at the first page of The Tempest, my assumption that such an item was decidedly off limits was unfortunately bolstered. Accessibility and First Folios appeared to be mutually exclusive concepts.
The First Folio of Trinity College Dublin contains many unique features, from pencil marks written in a short hand that are yet to be deciphered opposite the first page of King John, to a paw print in Henry V and notes from previous owners dotted throughout the pages. As the librarian removed a medium sized volume from a dark box and placed it on the foam stand in front of my desk, a different ethos was already apparent. Even though the Folio is a precious item, the research collections department maintain the tradition of use, enjoyment and respect that is evident from its condition.
I stood looking at the marble pattern of the inside cover and the handwritten purchase record. I didn’t touch anything. I’m not sure I even breathed. Having studied all kinds of editions over the past ten years, to say this was an important moment is an understatement. All I could think was this is IT. But time was ticking. I was already quite familiar with the Folio, so I knew exactly what I wanted to see. I cannot in good conscience call what followed work. I parked my obligation as an impartial critic and let the inner fan indulge in an hour of the greatest hits, making sure I turned every page with my own hands before I left the library that day.
In retrospect, the purpose of my visit was not to capture a particular printing detail or typological irregularity, although these were fascinating to examine – it was to capture a feeling. The Folio at Trinity has an aura of care, community and joy which radiates from each page and has an effect that I can only describe as magnetic. I felt it in the way the Droeshout engraving was reinforced and the chaos of a family pet bounding across the pages; in the inspiration it created for someone who had to scribble down some poetry in shorthand before it was forgotten. And I felt it in the way worn edges were carefully restored, new fibres of paper interwoven with the old.
What I felt was not just the celebration of one man’s work, although this is evident in the care Shakespeare’s friends and contemporaries took in compiling his plays. It was a fulcrum of inspiration, preservation and access. This is a book that has been read and reread, used and loved. This is a body of work that has lived and continues to live, outlasting all kinds of post-Reformation censorship. And in the same way old and new fibres were painstakingly reconnected, as I turned the pages of the Folio, I knew I was now part of that network too.
Please sign in
If you are a registered user on Laidlaw Scholars Network, please sign in