LETTER FROM STOCKHOLM:We can only guess how an episode from an Irish saint's life ended up on the wall of Täby Kyrkby, writes TOM CLONAN.
AT THIS time of the year, Stockholm’s watery arteries are hardened with ice. The city’s 14 islands are frozen solid as an arctic wind blows across the archipelago from Lake Mlaren to the Baltic Sea. The city centre from Kungsgatan to Gamlastan – “Old Town” – is eerily silent under a blanket of luminous snow. The city’s busy commuter traffic seems to hiss across the gritted snow, with no disruption to movement as studded tyres grip the slippery surface.
Travelling north on the Tunnelbahn, Stockholm’s underground train network, one is struck by the faces of many Swedish commuters. Many look distinctly Irish, and one is constantly surprised when they break into lilting Swedish. The genetic links between Ireland and Scandinavia were forged in Viking times. Most of the Vikings who reached our shores were from Norway and Denmark. However, while the majority of Sweden’s Vikings marauded through Russia and the Baltic states, there is some tantalising evidence just outside Stockholm of their direct connection with Ireland.
Exiting the Tunnelbahn at the Stockholm University station, I am travelling to see the historic 13th-century church at Täby Kyrkby. I am drawn to Täby Kyrkby – literally, the church at Täby – because of a particular Irish mystery hidden among its famous frescoes and paintings. Painted by the famous Swedish artist Albertus Pictor during the 15th century, the 66 Bible scenes that adorn the walls and ceilings are in remarkable condition and are considered the finest example of their type in Uppland.
Pictor died in AD 1509. On the 500th anniversary of his death, there is renewed interest in Sweden in the paintings at Täby Kyrkby. Most prominent among them is a vivid painting of Death – represented as a skeleton – playing chess with a nobleman. Swedish film director Ingmar Bergman cited this painting as the primary inspiration for his 1957 work The Seventh Seal. In this dark tale of existential angst and doubt, the hero, Antonius Block – a Crusader who returns to plague-wracked Sweden from the Holy Land – battles Death over a game of chess. The chess scenes filmed on the Swedish coast at Hovs Hallar in Scania – with Max von Sydow playing the crusader – are considered among the most iconic images of Bergman’s career.
After a short train journey from Stockholm University, I arrive at Täby Kyrkby as the sun is setting. The church there is surrounded by ancient gravestones and is sheltered from biting northern winds by massive trees. An antique pipe organ is playing within the church as I enter, creating a Gothic feel. Caretaker Yvonne Wedman brings me up a winding spiral staircase to view Pictor’s enigmatic painting of Death engaged in his unending game of chess. The painting is strangely chilling, carrying within it the unmistakable imprint of humankind’s unique insight into and awareness of death – a characteristic that marks us apart from other species.
However, this is not the painting I have come to see. In the porch there is another remarkable painting from the 15th century. Slightly faded but unmistakable in its detail, it is a carefully worked and highly detailed painting of the Irish saint St Brendan. He is depicted in a scene from one of his epic voyages standing on the back of a large sea monster – presumably a whale – named Jasconius.
According to the Irish legend, St Brendan alighted from a boat constructed from animal hides somewhere in the mid-Atlantic and cooked a meal on Jasconius’s back, mistaking the enormous creature for a tiny island.
Most historians presume this story to be a metaphor for survival in the face of adversity.
Based on detailed accounts from the so-called Brendan voyages, explorer Tim Severin showed more than 30 years ago that, in theory, one could have reached America’s shores in such a boat, giving life to the notion that St Brendan was the first European to “discover” America.
What has never been fully explored or explained is precisely why or how this episode from St Brendan’s life ended up being painted – in such a prominent position – within this Swedish church.
There are no prominent known links between Sweden and Ireland for that time, and it remains a mystery as to why a Kerryman would hold such a prominent position within the spiritual, artistic and intellectual life of Täby Kyrkby during the 1400s.
My own guess is that not all the Swedish Vikings went to Russia, Poland or the Baltic states. Someone from Täby Kyrkby obviously went to Ireland at some point and encountered one of our forebears who had the gift of the gab – most likely a Kerryman, given the nature of the story that was told.
Departing Stockholm in heavy snow, the aircraft was de-iced a number of times before take-off. As we flew south over the thousands of nautical miles between Stockholm and Dublin, I reflected on the ancient links between Sweden and Ireland.
As the white landscape below gave way to green pastures, the Swedish pilot announced, somewhat incredulously, that Dublin airport was closed due to snow. As we diverted to Shannon, my journey ended, somewhat ironically, just a few miles from the Abbey at Clonfert on the River Shannon, where St Brendan became abbot on completion of his many voyages.
Dr Tom Clonan is The Irish TimesSecurity Analyst. He lectures in the school of media, DIT