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See the light

Douglas Palmer celebrates the British Museum's founding fathers

Enlightenment edited by Kim Sloan, British Museum, £25, ISBN 0714127655

Enlightening the British edited by R. G. W. Anderson and others, British Museum, £35, ISBN 071415010X

IN these days of international gloom, it is perhaps not surprising to find a reawakening of interest in the Enlightenment, a period of expanding intellectual horizons and imperial coffers. To celebrate the British Museum’s 250th anniversary, the former King’s Library has been splendidly refurbished as a reminder of what the museum once was. There’s a refreshing lack of interactive computer displays, so not one for the tweenies but a quiet backwater of leather-bound volumes and hardwood cabinets stuffed with coins, medals, Greek vases and gew-gaws from around the world.

Here an Inuit lance tipped with a metal point hacked from an Arctic meteorite, there an Anning ichthyosaur from Lyme Regis. Wonderful stuff but you have to do your homework to fully appreciate what’s going on. Enlightenment and Enlightening the British are two British Museum collections of essays which will help do just that. The former is glossy, beautifully illustrated and mostly written by staff while the latter, by international experts, is more eclectic.

Together they remind us how and why so many collectibles from around the world were assembled in London and other European capitals during the 18th century and how national cultural emporia such as the British Museum were founded. Gradually, we are learning more of those humble souls who got their hands dirty collecting the stuff and those higher up the social pile who took the credit by buying it up. Throughout the century, collections big and small were assembled and broken up. Unfortunately, many collectors were extremely cavalier with their prized possessions, often not cataloguing them and with little trace of their original contents, so much invaluable information has been lost.

Collectors were often as curious as their possessions and lived up to their caricatures by the likes of Gillray and Cruikshank. Gillray saw Sir Joseph Banks, arch fixer, networker and president of the Royal Society as the great South Sea caterpillar transformed into a Bath butterfly upon his investiture as a Knight of the Bath in 1795. Banks was also one of the greatest cultural “fences” of the day: just about every artefact seems to have passed through his hands. Some of them have survived but he gave lots away to friends. Luckily many stunning illustrations of his favourite plants exist, thanks especially to artists such as the remarkable 70-year-old Mary Delany.

Sir William Hamilton was another aristo who collected anything that took his fancy from his nephew’s girlfriend Emma to Greek vases and Italian wax penises for a fellow dilletante, Richard Payne Knight, who had a penchant for erotica. More important, scientifically, was Hamilton’s beautifully illustrated account of active volcanism at Vesuvius in 1765. As Cole Porter wrote in his first successful song “A lot of people are collectors” – and despite the losses – we (at least in the west) and the natural sciences have benefited from their addiction.

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