A
paper given by Philip Harvey as part of the Grand Centenary Celebrations of the
Carmelite Hall 1918-2018, on Sunday afternoon, the seventh of October 2018
In
his latest book called ‘Packing the Library’, the Argentinian writer Alberto
Manguel reflects on some of the reasons why we read and why we build libraries
for ourselves. He says:
“The
only proven method by which a reader is born is one that, to my knowledge, has
not yet been discovered. In my experience, what occasionally does work (not
always) is the example of a passionate reader. Sometimes the experience of a
friend, a parent, a teacher, a librarian obviously moved by reading a certain
page can inspire, if not immediate imitation, at least curiosity. And that, I
think, is a good beginning. The discovery of the art of reading is intimate,
obscure, secret, almost impossible to explain, akin to falling in love, if you
will forgive the maudlin comparison. It is acquired by oneself alone, like a
sort of epiphany, or perhaps by contagion, confronted by other readers. I don’t
know of many more ways. The happiness procured by reading, like any happiness,
cannot be enforced. When Diodorus Siculus visited Egypt in the first century
B.C.E., he saw engraved on the entrance to the ruins of an ancient library an
inscription: ‘Clinic of the Soul’. Perhaps that can be a library’s ultimate
aspiration.” (Manguel 139)
We
will never know if the Carmelites who started their Library proper in the 1920s
thought of it as a clinic for the soul, but we can be certain that the health
of the soul, yours and mine, was a priority for them. It still is.
The
historian and previous Carmelite librarian, Paul Chandler, has written that
“The Library was first established in Albert Park in 1928, although the core
holding included books collected since the beginning of the Australian
Carmelite foundation in 1881.” (Chandler 1) Many of the rare books have come from
Ireland, as well as Rome, the oldest book in the collection being 1538,
entitled ‘Disputationes adversus Lutheranos’, an attack on the Lutherans by a
Carmelite of Ferrara named Giovanni Maria Verrato.
“[The Library] was originally intended to
cater to the needs of the Order’s novices and seminarians and their teachers.
It was relocated to Kew in 1928, to Donvale in 1937, and returned to Middle
Park in 2002 … Originally a rather modest collection, the Library was
considerably expanded in the 1960s and ‘70s under the librarianship of Fr Brian
Pitman, and developed some strengths in the areas of philosophy, scripture,
systematic theology, and especially in spirituality and Mariology.” (Chandler
1)
We
use expressions like ‘turning a page’ and ‘starting a new chapter’ to describe
historical change, and both of these expressions are apposite when talking
about the arrival of the Province Library in the Carmelite Hall at the turn of
this century. By the time this happened though the Library’s character had already
changed appreciably.
“From 1990 a change in policy was suggested by
the changing educational strategy of the Order, a desire to avoid duplication
of resources, and a recognition that specialisation would allow the Library to
become a more valuable intellectual, cultural, spiritual and ecclesiastical
resource in Melbourne. It was decided to concentrate in those areas most
closely associated with the life and spirit of the Order, and the Library is
now specialised in three areas: Carmelitana [which is a fancy word] for all
aspects of the life, history and spiritual tradition of the Order; Christian
spirituality and mysticism; and Mariology, the theological study of the Virgin
Mary.” (Chandler 1) It is due to this far-sightedness on the part of the Carmelites
that we now have next door an incomparable library collection in these areas of
theology, certainly unique and special in its kind of any such library, not
just in Melbourne but in Australia.
“The
owners of the Library now regard it principally as a specialised research
collection in its specialist areas,” and in particular to support the research
and teaching of the University of Divinity and the Carmelite Centre.
The
installation of the Library was a matter of necessity. It had grown over seventy
or so years to instruct and inspire the men who had studied, worked, prayed and
been professed. The Library served their needs. But by installing the Library
on the street front in Middle Park, the Carmelites fulfilled a second wish. In
addition to being a research library, it became a public library, readily
available to anyone needing spiritual nourishment, especially those many people
for whom spirituality is a favourite or the main form of reading in their
lives.
The
sale of the house at Donvale must have been a difficult, painful experience for
those who had lived there. Formative and on-going learning has been an
intrinsic part of life in that place. Curiously, the monastery and its site were
bought by the Coptic Church, which meant that a new theological library was
established in the same building as the library that was transported to Middle
Park. The Saint Athanasius Coptic Orthodox Library was installed.
I’ve
had to be careful in explaining this change to Library users. Sometimes when I tell
borrowers that the big monastery on the hill had been sold to the Copts, their
response is, “Oh, you mean the Police Academy.” “No,” I respond quickly, “Not
the cops, the Copts!” Normally one of the last things we think about when
shifting house is the library. The task would have been a challenge for those who
had felt so safely at home out in the East.
My
own memories of the library at Donvale, where I visited for meetings in the
1990s, remain quite fresh. The collection itself was outstanding and already
specialised beyond the obvious specialisations of Carmelite literature.
Melbourne has a wealth of theological libraries but I had not seen, nor
expected, anything quite like this. The focus was on spirituality and
mysticism, even then, with an unrivalled depth of material. The reasons were
simple. The Carmelites had slowed the acquisition of theology, as such, using
their budget instead to build a special library that properly represented the
literature of spirituality through time in a way that those other libraries did
not or could not do, either because it was not priority in their selection
policies or not the focus of their schools’ curricula. So here was something
very special that no one else was doing, such that twenty years later (today)
the collection is inimitable, outstanding, and essential.
The
odd thing about Donvale though was that the Library gave new meaning to words
like cramped. Close reading was unavoidable in the aisles of the Library, which
could only allow passage for one person. Shelves towered to the ceiling like
the north face of the Eiger, with too many of the books difficult to retrieve.
It was not inviting to a visitor and not conducive to extended study.
I
say all of this to illustrate the contrast between the Library space at Donvale
with that in Middle Park. The Library moved from rooms that were tight and
narrow to a large room that is airy and spacious; from a place hidden from view
of the public to one where anyone can visit and feel at home; from shelving
that defied access to a layout where everything is readily available. It is
easy to see why the shift, when it came, thoroughly improved the look and
contact with the collection itself. All of which is thanks to the architectural
design style of its architect, Augustus Andrew Fritsch (1864-1933).
Fritsch’s
building style was solid and big. His structures were built to last. The Hall’s
walls are four bricks thick and presumably constructed from Fritsch Holzer
bricks, the family firm near Riversdale Road in East Hawthorn.
His
death notice in The Argus in June 1933 lists some of his achievements: “Mr.
Fritsch designed many ecclesiastical and other public buildings in Victoria and
in other States. He was architect for Newman College, in conjunction with Mr W.
B. Griffin, and he designed parish churches at Hawthorn, Malvern, Elwood,
Middle Park, and Camberwell. St Patrick’s College, at Sale; Assumption College,
at Kilmore; Magnet House, in Bourke street; and the Melbourne Spiritualist
Temple, in Victoria street. His recent works included additions to the Redemptorist
Monastery, Ballarat, and the Broadmeadows Home, which is under construction.” (Argus)
We
learn from this notice that he was assisting Walter Burley Griffin on Newman
College at the same time that he built the Carmelite Hall, both enterprises
encouraged by the young Archbishop Mannix as part of a huge Catholic building
program across Melbourne.
The
Carmelite Hall’s foundation stone was laid in 1918 by Mannix and the Hall was
considered one of the finest in Australia. Its most distinctive features were
the highly decorated proscenium arch over the stage, complete with Irish
motifs, the high windows that let in immense natural light winter and summer,
and a raked, or sloped, stage. The stage of the Carmelite Hall is one the few
remaining examples of its kind in Melbourne, and it was its rarity that
assisted with its preservation when plans were developed to transform the Hall
into a spirituality centre.
There
are many here today who recall the different arguments for preserving the
stage. I was not here at the time to witness that four act drama and can only
say that, speaking strictly as a librarian, the stage creates a useful meeting
space within the building but it is difficult to shelve books on a sloped
floor.
The
Library made a virtue of necessity when the collection arrived here at the
beginning of the noughties. The Hall had become rundown, with poor quality
carpet, a rabbit warren backstage, and an air of disrepair. The entire room was
painted in outdated off-white and orangey brown. As Paul Chandler remarked at
the time, dove grey and butterscotch were not his favourite colour combination.
All of this was to change utterly with a plan to renovate the entire precinct,
church, Hall, and everything in between.
The
visionary renovations of 2005-2007 resulted in the precinct as we now see it: a
church with a nave altar for greater communal worship; a driveway of paved
stone and native gardens; and a Carmelite Hall redesigned, repainted, and
renewed outside and in. Painting the Hall interior white, with beige on the
mouldings and effects, gave the whole space a huge lift, making it a pleasure
to enter into and work in. It became a welcoming place of reading and study, a
sanctuary of refuge and reflection, but also somewhere for reading groups to
meet, lectures to be conducted, symposiums held, invitations of hospitality
offered and deeper needs met. The arrival of the Carmelite Centre, with its
dedicated program of spirituality, a couple of years later, was the perfect
completion of the Order’s original objectives.
The
renovation though did have one serious implication for the Library: we had to
shift the entire collection to a location in North Fitzroy, then back again. While
this vital renovation work was in progress the Library still had to be kept
open. However, moving forty thousand books twice in a year is the stuff of
nightmares and I will spare you the details. When it was reinstated here in
Richardson Street for official re-opening in 2007, it were as though the
Library had found a natural home. There was room for expansion and it met the
long-term dream of the Carmelites, which was to have their Library on the
street front, available to anyone and everyone in need of the special
literature provided.
The
Library shares the building with the Agama Yoga School upstairs and many on
many a morning in the Library visitors can enjoy hearing the chanting of the
yoga attendees coming from the gallery. The Yoga School moved in when the
billiard tables moved out, which is now thirty years ago.
Today
the Library has more like fifty thousand than forty thousand books and
continues to grow. The collection is now a by-word for those in Melbourne and
beyond who depend on its irreplaceable treasures. But reminders of the Hall’s
former glories have a habit of showing up. Older visitors will sometimes wander
in and look around, not at the books but at their memories of attending dances
here; some will declare effusively they were married in the church next door.
Occasionally we still receive mail for the Middle Park Aikido Club, even though
it hasn’t practised in the Hall for twenty years, and people even walk in
hoping to take up karate because Google Maps has sent them here. The recent
Open House Melbourne event had the Hall on its program, so on that day we
learnt even more secrets about its past from visitors. The Library has, at
present, a display of some of the things we know about and we fully expect to
discover more.
Sources
The
Argus. Obituary: Mr. A. A. Fritsch. Saturday 10th June, 1933, page
20.
Paul
Chandler. Carmelite Library, Middle Park: collection development policy (2005)
Alberto
Manguel. Packing my Library : an Elegy and Ten Digressions, by Alberto Manguel
(Yale University Press, 2018)
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