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| Clonmacnoise |
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Clonmacnoise from the air |
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The
beginnings of this monastery are humble. Ciarán
sails down the Shannon with seven disciples to Clúan
Moccu Nois, the Meadow of the Sons of Nois. His instruction
from his former guru, Enda, at Aran, is simple enough:
"Found a church on the banks of the Shannon in the
centre of our island." This, Ciarán succeeds
in doing, with a grant of land from Diarmuid MacCerbhaill.
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Well, just about. The operation
is only in its seventh month when Ciarán succumbs
to the plague, leaving behind a small community and
some humble wooden huts. It scarcely
has the look of a thriving concern, but in his last
moments, the dying abbot exhorts his men to carry on
without him. And surprisingly, they do so quite successfully.
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read
more |
| In
time, Clonmacnois bears little resemblance to its modest
origins. Huts are replaced by impressive stone buildings
as the settlement takes on the appearance of permanence.
It becomes a thriving centre for learning and artistic
endeavour. Such achievements create a self-sustaining
energy of their own, and many young men feel called to
religious life there. Unsurprisingly, Clonmacnois enjoys
generous patronage and protection. |
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isn't all plain sailing, however. These are uncertain
times, and while Clonmacnois is an oasis of spirituality
and civilisation, it isn't immune to the forces of the
temporal realm. Jaundice strikes in the year of the Synod
of Whitby - 664- and in the following century, fires damage
the monastic buildings. Unsure of their future, the monks
fear vague but formidable powers ranged against them.
The aurora borealis - the northern lights - appear in
the night sky, ominously resembling seaborne raiders.
People start to get jittery.
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rightly so, as it turns out. The King of Cashel carries
out a massacre in 832, and as if this isn't bad enough,
the Vikings arrive ten years later to plunder the monastery's
riches. In a supreme act of profanity and defiance, Ota,
the wife of the Viking Chieftain, utters prophecies from
the altar. |
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In
spite of these occasional downturns in fortune however,
Clonmacnois' reputation as a place of scholarship survives.
Such a name does it gain for itself that when the High
King of Ireland, Flann, dies in 915, it is in Clonmacnois
that he is buried. Unfortunately, his death causes something
of a hiccup in terms of protection, and both Danes and
marauding Munstermen seize the opportunity to ransack
the treasures of the monastery. The thieves are coming
from far and wide, such is the renown of Clonmacnois.
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The see-saw of fortune returns to a more
favourable position in the eleventh century when the
kings of Connaught lend their muscle to the safeguarding
of Clonmacnois' covetted riches. They also give much
needed financial assistance, leading to a time of renewed
development, of new churches and new roads. In this
time of revival, new artforms are introduced, and the
monk Mael-Muire produces an illuminated manuscript called
the Book of the Dun Cow, inscribed on the hide of Ciarán's
cow, or so they say!
The
twelfth century: decline and fall. The English arrive
and the entire monastery is plundered, save for the
churches. The last High King of Ireland, Rory O'Connor,
dies and is buried in the grounds of Clonmacnois, and
in the absence of native authority, the monastery struggles
agains the yoke of foreign tyranny. Some calamities
refuse to melt into history.
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