17 November 2018
Fantastic books and where to see them
This weekend is a special moment for Harry Potter fans in the United Kingdom. The latest instalment of the Fantastic Beasts film franchise is released in cinemas nationwide, starring Johnny Depp, Eddie Redmayne and Ezra Miller (all of whom have visited the British Library). Many of us in the Library's Medieval Manuscripts team are huge fans of the world of Harry Potter, but it has to be said that our day-to-day activities are more concerned with the care of fantastic manuscripts rather than fantastic beasts!
So where can you find some absolutely jaw-dropping manuscripts? Look no further than our sensational Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition, which has been drawing in the crowds (and is open until 19 February 2019).
Here is a selection of some of the outstanding books on display in Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms, in the order that you will find them in the gallery. Which are your favourites?
The St Augustine Gospels (Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 286, f. 129v): made in late 6th century Italy, this gospel-book may have been brought to Anglo-Saxon England by some of the Christian missionaries who arrived from Rome in 597.
The Moore Bede (Cambridge, University Library, MS Kk.5.16, f. 94r): Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People is a critical source for the conversion of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms to Christianity. The Moore Bede is probably the oldest surviving copy, made around the year 737.
The Book of Durrow (Dublin, Trinity College Library, MS 57, f. 85v): the earliest of the fully decorated insular gospel books, drawing on sources and inspiration from Ireland, Anglo-Saxon England, Pictland and the Mediterranean.
The Lindisfarne Gospels (British Library Cotton MS Nero D IV, f. 27r): the work of a single scribe and artist, and often acclaimed as one of the most spectacular manuscripts to survive from Anglo-Saxon England.
The St Cuthbert Gospel (British Library Additional MS 89000): discovered in St Cuthbert’s tomb in 1104, this small copy of the Gospel of St John is the earliest surviving European book with an intact binding.
Codex Amiatinus (Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Amiatino 1): this colossal manuscript is one of three single-volume copies of the Bible made at Wearmouth-Jarrow in the early 8th century. It was taken to Rome in 716, and has returned temporarily to England (for our Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition) for the first time in 1302 years.
The Book of Nunnaminster (British Library Harley MS 2965, f. 16v): one of a group of 9th-century prayer books whose contents, script and decoration are all linked to Mercia. It may have been used by Mercian noblewomen, as two of its prayers include words written in the feminine form.
King Alfred’s translation of the Pastoral Care (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Hatton 20, f. 1r): this translation of Gregory the Great’s Dialogues is attributed to King Alfred of Wessex (871–899), who is known to have encouraged the translation of Latin texts into English to aid learning and education in his kingdom.
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: Manuscript B (British Library Cotton MS Tiberius A VI, f. 30v): this version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle preserves an account of the campaigns of Æthelred, ealdorman of Mercia, and his wife Æthelflæd, ‘Lady of the Mercians’ (d. 918), against the Viking invaders.
Bede's Lives of St Cuthbert (Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 183, f. 1v): this famous image of King Æthelstan (924–939) presenting a book to the Community of St Cuthbert is the earliest surviving manuscript ‘portrait’ of an Anglo-Saxon king.
The Coronation Gospels (British Library Cotton MS Tiberius A II, f. 74v): a gospel-book presented to the monks of Christ Church, Canterbury, by Æthelstan, the first king of the English (924–939).
Beowulf (British Library Cotton MS Vitellius A XV, f. 169r): the only medieval copy of what is widely regarded as the greatest surviving piece of Anglo-Saxon literature.
The Old English Hexateuch (British Library Cotton MS Claudius B IV, f. 19r): the earliest example of an Old English translation of the Hexateuch, the first six books of the Old Testament.
The Marvels of the East (British Library Cotton MS Tiberius B V/1, f. 81v): fantastic illustrations accompany these descriptions of 37 ‘marvels’. This manuscript also contains lists of popes, Anglo-Saxon kings and Roman emperors, and a map of the world.
Dunstan’s Classbook (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F.4.32, f. 1r): Dunstan was archbishop of Canterbury (959–988) and leader of the Benedictine reform movement, and the ‘Classbook’ contains annotations in his own hand.
The Trinity Gospels (Cambridge, Trinity College, MS B.10.4, ff. 59v–60r): one of the most sumptuous of all 11th-century gospel books, featuring extensive use of gold and beautifully painted images.
The Judith of Flanders Gospels (New York, Morgan Library, MS M 708, upper cover): a splendidly decorated gospel-book which is associated with Judith of Flanders, wife of Tostig, earl of Northumbria (d. 1066). Many Anglo-Saxon gospel-books are known to have had treasure bindings such as this, but very few of them survive.
Encomium of Queen Emma (British Library Additional MS 33241, f. 1v): a fascinating text in praise of Queen Emma, wife successively of two kings of England, Æthelred the Unready (978–1016) and Cnut (1016–1035).
Great Domesday (The National Archives, E 31/2/2, f. 304v): one of the most significant manuscripts in English history, preserving a major portion of the survey commissioned by William the Conqueror at Christmas 1085.
The Utrecht Psalter (Utrecht, Universiteitsbibliothek, MS 32, f. 8r): made in northern France during the reign of Louis the Pious (814–840), this revolutionary manuscript was in Canterbury by the 11th century, when it was used as the model for another fantastic manuscript on display in Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms, the Harley Psalter (British Library Harley MS 603).
All of these books are testament to the creativity and skill of their Anglo-Saxon scribes, artists and makers and to the care of their subsequent owners. We are particularly grateful to all our lenders credited here (from Cambridge, Dublin, Florence, London, New York, Oxford and Utrecht), without whom our exhibition would not have been so FANTASTIC.
You can book your tickets to see the Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms: Art, Word, War at the British Library (19 October 2018–19 February 2019) here.
Follow us on Twitter @BLMedieval
14 November 2018
Medieval hipsters
This month many people are celebrating Movember, yet few imagine that one of the most detailed works on beards comes from the medieval period. The Church Fathers had thought about facial hair in moral and theological terms, while medieval theologians and clergymen debated whether communities of priests, monks and other clerics could grow beards at all. By the 12th century, canon law forbade Western clerics to grow beards, as beardlessness came to be associated with the purity and humility of angels. Laymen could grow beards if they wished, but that would mark them out even further from the clergy.
A group of clean-shaven clerics offering St Benedict a copy of his Rule (England, 11th century): Arundel MS 155, f. 133r
It is therefore surprising that a monastic author should have left us the only known apologetic treatise on beards. Burchard was abbot of the French Cistercian abbey of Bellevaux near Besançon, and in the 1160s he wrote to the community at Rosières, a neighbouring house of the same Order, to make amends for an offensive letter condemning the lay brothers for growing their beards. Cistercian lay brothers did not take the monastic habit, but they helped the monks run the abbey. They lived in separate quarters and led different lifestyles, which extended in turn to their facial hair.
Entitled ‘In defence of beards’ (Apologia de barbis), Burchard’s letter is actually a treatise in three chapters encouraging the lay brothers not to cut their beards. The author remarkably referred to his subject as barbilogia (‘barbilogy’) and to himself as barbilogus (‘barbilogist’). He could not have been more hip and modern.
The opening of Abbot Burchard’s Apologia de barbis with an intricate anthropomorphic initial including bearded faces (France, 12th century): Add MS 41997, f. 1r
Burchard’s ‘barbilogy’ survives in only one manuscript (Add MS 41997). It starts with what it means to grow a beard, then goes on to describe different types of beards, styles and treatments, and to give beard-related advice. Burchard mentioned more than 10 styles of beard, including one ‘urban’ (urbana figuratio) and one military, which, he added, does not go well with long hair. There was the beard that covers the chin (barba mentanea), that from under the chin (submentanea), and the side beard (barba maxillaris). We are told that long sideburns and the beard under the chin make the face resemble a goat, while moustaches reaching to the ears resemble a wild boar. There is inequality between men according to their beards: there are those with precocious beards (citiberbes), those with late-developed beards (tardiberbes), those whose beards are thin and whispy (rariberbes), and those with even, bushy beards (pleniberbes).
Woden as a bushy-bearded god, the ancestor of the Anglo-Saxon kings (England, 12th century), currently on display in Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms: Cotton MS Caligula A VIII, f. 29r
According to the barbilogist, there was a close link between a man’s beard and his spiritual life. A beard could save a man’s life, or it could drag him straight to Hell, where there would be weeping, gnashing of teeth and, as Burchard noted, the burning of beards.
A drawing of nine bearded figures from the late-medieval period added at the end of Burchard’s ‘Defence’ and inspired by it (France, 12th century): Add MS 41997, f. 95r
Burchard warned furthermore that a long beard might become a hindrance and an object of contempt in the eyes of the beardless. This is mirrored by an image in another manuscript (Arundel MS 155), which depicts Goliath with a long, pointy beard, before a clean-shaven David cuts off his head.
A clean-shaven David holding Goliath by the beard before cutting off his head (England, 11th century): Arundel MS 155, f. 93r
According to Abbot Burchard, a suitable, well-trimmed beard was a symbol of strength, maturity, wisdom and religion. For instance, we are told that a half-beard, meaning a lonely moustache, was a 'monstrous sign'. The connection between beards and medieval notions of masculinity is suggested by an entry in an 11th-century dreambook (concerning the interpretation of dreams) — dreaming of having one’s own beard cut meant that something terrible would happen to you.
Dream prognostics in Latin with an Old English interlinear translation (England, 11th century): Cotton MS Tiberius A III, f. 28r
The manuscript containing Burchard's treatise is part of The Polonsky Foundation England and France Project, which is launching in one week! Stay tuned for more information on 21 November. The conference website is here.
Follow us on Twitter @BLMedieval #PolonskyPre1200
Part of the Polonsky Digitisation Project
In partnership with
Supported by
13 November 2018
Lichfield: the third archbishopric
For the majority of the Anglo-Saxon period, the English Church had two archbishoprics, one at Canterbury and the other at York, just as it does today. So it might surprise some of you to hear that from 787 to 803 the English Church had a third archbishopric, at Lichfield in Staffordshire!
What's the difference between a bishop and an archbishop? The answer lies partly in an ecclesiastical vestment known as a pallium. This was a woollen band, which had lain for a time on St Peter’s tomb in Rome, before being granted to a bishop by the pope. The possession of a pallium signified the special relationship between bishop and pope, and eventually came to signify the status of an archbishop. In 787 the bishop of Lichfield received such a pallium and rose to the rank of archbishop.
Evangelist portrait of Luke in the St Chad Gospels: Lichfield Cathedral MS 1, p. 218
At the turn of the 9th century, Lichfield was located in the Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Mercia, whose heartlands flanked the River Trent. Chad, the first known bishop of Lichfield, was appointed by King Wulfhere of Mercia (d. 675). Earlier in his career, Chad is known to have spent time at the monasteries of Rath Melsigi in Ireland and at Lindisfarne, which had strong Irish connections.
This Irish relationship influenced the community established at Lichfield. It can be detected, for instance, in the St Chad Gospels, which has been kindly loaned to the British Library's Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition by Lichfield Cathedral. Scholars have noted that the artistic style of this gospel-book resembles the Lindisfarne Gospels, and that its text aligns with a group of mostly Irish manuscripts such as the Book of Kells, Book of Armagh and the MacRegol Gospels. The St Chad Gospels was produced around the middle of the 8th century, and at some stage it even travelled to Wales: some of its marginal notes are among the earliest examples of written Welsh.
The four evangelist symbols in the St Chad Gospels: Lichfield Cathedral MS 1, p. 219
King Offa of Mercia (d. 796) was an extremely powerful Anglo-Saxon king, who had a friendly rivalry with his continental contemporary, Charlemagne (d. 814). In 781, Charlemagne’s sons were anointed as kings in Rome; in response, Offa also desired that his son, Ecgfrith, be crowned as king. This was not a simple request, as it was relatively unusual for the sons of kings to be anointed while their father was still alive.
Anointing a king was a task for an archbishop. When the archbishop of Canterbury refused to anoint Ecgfrith, Offa decided to create a new archbishopric in his own kingdom of Mercia. He wrote to Pope Hadrian to request that Hygeberht, bishop of Lichfield, be made an archbishop. The request was granted, and by 787 Hygeberht was signing charters as an archbishop.
Hygeberht signing as an archbishop, in the third line from the top: British Library, Cotton MS Augustus II 97
Lichfield seems to have prospered during its brief time as an archbishopric. In 2003, excavations at Lichfield Cathedral uncovered a limestone fragment carved in the resemblance of an angel. Although the angel has since faded to white, analysis suggests that it had once been splendidly painted. The angel’s wings in particular were painted in red and yellow, to replicate a ‘red-gold’ appearance that was highly prized among the Anglo-Saxons.
The Lichfield Angel, courtesy of Lichfield Cathedral
The wings of the Lichfield Angel may have had a similar appearance to gold and silver items produced elsewhere in Anglo-Saxon England. Examples of this style of decoration are found in the Staffordshire Hoard, discovered very near to Lichfield in 2009.
Items from the Staffordshire Hoard, courtesy of Birmingham Museums Trust and the Potteries Museum and Art Gallery, Stoke-on-Trent, on behalf of Birmingham City Council and Stoke-on-Trent City Council
Lichfield’s time as an archbishopric was short-lived. Its new-found status created organisational problems in the English Church, leading King Coenwulf of Mercia (796–821) to write to Pope Leo III (795–816), requesting that Lichfield be restored to a bishopric.
Decree of the church council at Clofesho abolishing the archbishopric of Lichfield: Cotton MS Augustus II 61
Pope Leo granted Coenwulf’s request, and in 803 the English Church met at Clofesho to confirm the downgrading of the archbishopric of Lichfield. The official decree, issued as a result of the meeting, is also on display in the Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition. The list of witnesses begins with two names: Æthelheard of Canterbury, who signed as archbishop, while Ealdwulf, the former archbishop of Lichfield, attested this decree as bishop once more.
Æthelheard signs as archbishop with Bishop Ealdwulf's name immediately below: Cotton MS Augustus II 61
As a consequence, Mercia once again fell under Canterbury's authority, and the balance of ecclesiastical power in England reverted to Canterbury and York, just as it remains today.
Visitors to Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms: Art, Word, War will be able to see the Lichfield Angel and the St Chad Gospels, kindly loaned by Lichfield Cathedral, as well as items from the Staffordshire Hoard and the British Library manuscripts discussed in this blogpost. Tickets for the exhibition, which runs until 19 February 2019, are available here.
11 November 2018
The cloak of St Martin of Tours
Today is the feast of St Martin of Tours (c. 317–397). According to medieval accounts about his life, Martin was a Roman soldier who converted to Christianity after an encounter with a half-naked beggar at the gate of the city of Amiens in northern France. Martin cut his cloak in half in order to share it with the beggar, who that night appeared to him in a dream-vision and revealed himself to be Christ.
This experience encouraged Martin to renounce the army and become a ‘soldier’ of Christ. He founded a hermitage in Ligugé that would become the first monastery in Gaul, was appointed bishop of Tours in 371, and then founded and became abbot of the abbey of Marmoutier, located outside the city of Tours. After his death, St Martin was associated with many miracles and he became the patron saint of France.
A collection of miracles of St Martin of Tours, 4th quarter of the 11th century: Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, ms lat. 9734, f. 22v
Central to St Martin’s cult was the relic of the remaining half of his cloak. It was deemed to be so important that the kings of France used it as a royal banner in war, and they swore sacred oaths upon it. The structure in which the half-cloak was preserved was referred to as cappella (‘little cloak’), a term that came to be used widely for buildings that served to keep relics and from which the modern word ‘chapel’ is derived.
The legend of St Martin’s cloak was first recorded in the Vita sancti Martini (Life of St Martin) of Sulpicius Severus (363–c. 425). This work survives in a number of medieval copies, such as the 12th-century manuscripts Cotton MS Tiberius D IV/1 and Harley MS 4984, both possibly originating from England.
Sulpicius Severus, Vita sancti Martini, 1st quarter of the 12th century: Cotton MS Tiberius D IV/1, f. 88r
As a symbol of the Christian virtue of Charity, St Martin’s act of dividing the cloak became the most often-cited episode from his life, and was made the subject of many medieval works of art and literature. One example is the full-page miniature shown below, in a 12th-century manuscript (Add MS 15219) from the Benedictine abbey at Tournai (now in Belgium) that was dedicated to St Martin.
St Martin of Tours cutting his cloak for a beggar, 2nd half of the 12th century: Add MS 15219, f. 12r
The cult of St Martin appears to have gained much support in England following the Norman Conquest. After William the Conqueror (reigned 1066–1087) invaded England, many new English churches were dedicated to St Martin, most likely because he was popular among the Normans. Around 1071, William himself founded the Benedictine abbey of Battle, also known as Sancto Martino de Bello, at the site where the decisive Battle of Hastings had taken place.
Further testament to the longevity of the popularity of St Martin’s conversion miracle is a Middle English poem, which cites the Vita sancti Martini of Sulpicius Severus. This poem was added in the 16th century at the end of a manuscript containing a chronicle from Peterborough Abbey (Cotton MS Claudius A V):
The nyght Aftyr the day yt sude
Martyn yn hys bed / he nappyd
Cryst with Aungels a multytude
Aperyd yn Martyn mantyle wappyd
Yn crystyn faythe he wase belappyd
Crystynd and baptyst be the new lawe
To servise god he so wele happyd
Jhesu to hym he sayd thys sawe
Martinus adhuc catechumenus hac me veste contexit
(The night after the day it ensued,
[when] Martin was sleeping in his bed,
[that] Christ appeared with a multitude of angels,
wrapped in Martin’s mantle:
he [i.e. Martin] was ‘enfolded’ into Christian faith,
Christianised and baptised according to the new law,
to serve God [who] he clothed so well.
Jesus made this announcement to him:
‘Martin, still a catechumen, has clothed me with this mantle’.)
A Middle English poem of St Martin’s conversion miracle, added in the 16th century to Cotton MS Claudius A V, f. 45v
The manuscripts featured in this blogpost are part of The Polonsky Foundation England and France Project, which is launching soon. Stay tuned for more information on 21 November. The conference website is here.
Clarck Drieshen
Follow us on Twitter @BLMedieval #PolonskyPre1200
Part of the Polonsky Digitisation Project
In partnership with
Supported by
10 November 2018
What you won't see in Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms
There are riches aplenty in the British Library’s Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition. On display are several famous early English manuscripts, including Beowulf, Domesday Book and Codex Amiatinus. But there isn't any mention of certain stories that you might expect, such as Alfred and the cakes, Cnut and the sea, Lady Godiva's ride and ‘the Dark Ages’. These aren't featured in the exhibition because there is no evidence that they actually happened.
Drawing showing the real King Cnut and his wife Emma donating a cross to the New Minster Liber Vitae, from the New Minster Liber Vitae, Winchester, c. 1031: Stowe MS 944, f. 6r.
Alfred and the Cakes
Take, for example, King Alfred (d. 899). Alfred is best known today for a story that claims he was an incompetent kitchen assistant. He was taking refuge in the marshes in South-West England, avoiding an approaching Viking army, when he supposedly hid in the home of a humble peasant. She asked him to watch some cakes she had placed in the oven, but Alfred was ruminating about his dire straits and let the cakes burn, and so the woman upbraided him for his carelessness.
The story of Alfred and the cakes, from the first Vita sancti Neoti: Add MS 38130, f. 1r
This story seems to have originated in the first Life of St Neot, composed centuries after Alfred’s death. The story also made its way into a 12th-century English sermon (Cotton MS Vespasian C XIV, ff. 145v–151r) and the annals of St Neots, and it was there that it was read in the 16th century by Matthew Parker, archbishop of Canterbury. Parker added this story to the Life of King Alfred written by Asser, bishop of Sherborne (d. 909). The rest, as they say, is history …
Opening of a copy of Asser’s Life of Alfred made by Stephen Batman, one of Parker’s chaplains: Cotton MS Otho A XII/1, f. 1r
This story may have some vague links to pre-Conquest sources. For example, the earliest versions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (which are on show in the Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition) record that Alfred retreated into the marshes after he was defeated by the Vikings in 878. But there is no mention of any cakes.
‘878: In this year in the midwinter after twelfth night the enemy army came stealthily to Chippenham, and occupied the land of the West Saxons and settled there, and drove a great part of the people across the sea, and conquered most of the others; and the people submitted to them, except King Alfred. He journeyed in difficulties through the woods and fen-fastness with a small force’ (The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, trans. by Dorothy Whitelock, p. 49)
King Cnut and the Sea
Alfred is not the only king who inspired later legends. If you ask a Briton or Dane what they know about King Cnut (d. 1035) — who ruled both countries in the early 11th century — they will probably tell you the story about King Cnut and the sea. According to this story, King Cnut sat on the seashore and tried to command the tide not to touch his feet, but the sea ignored him.
There are variations in emphasis in different re-tellings of this story and this image is still used by modern political commentators to mock politicians who vainly fight against real or figurative tides of change. Either way, if you come to our exhibition, you will see the only known manuscript portrait of Cnut made during his lifetime but you won't find any references to Cnut turning back the tide.
The story of Cnut trying to turn back the tide is a later invention, often attributed to the chronicler Henry of Huntingdon (d. c. 1157), writing more than a century after Cnut's death. There is no earlier evidence that Cnut ever tried to command the waves.
Account of Cnut and the sea in Henry of Huntingdon’s Historia Anglorum, England, late 12th or early 13th century: Arundel MS 48, f. 91r
Henry of Huntingdon’s account does point towards an important and verifiable aspect of Cnut’s career: his extravagant piety. According to Henry, after that day on the seashore Cnut never wore his crown again, but instead placed it over a crucifix. Documents and manuscripts from Cnut’s own reign confirm that he went to great lengths to portray himself as a good Christian king. The only manuscript portrait of Cnut shows him and Queen Emma donating a jewelled cross to the altar of the New Minster. In the New Minster Liber Vitae, Cnut is not giving up his crown along with the crucifix: rather, angels descend to affix the crown to his head.
Lady Godiva
One famous Anglo-Saxon lady does not make an appearance in the exhibition: Lady Godiva, or Godgifu, who allegedly rode naked through Coventry to protest against the taxes demanded by her husband, Earl Leofric of Mercia. This story first appears in the much later chronicle of Roger of Wendover (d. 1236). As late as the 18th century, the story was still being embroidered: Peeping Tom, the figure who was struck blind when he sneaked a peek at Godiva, was first recorded in 1773.
Godiva was a real historical figure: she is mentioned in charters and is recorded in Domesday Book as a major landowner in 1066. But she was only one of a number of fascinating early medieval English women who owned land, were pious and influenced politics.
A 12th-century charter purporting to be a writ from Edward the Confessor confirming gifts made by Leofric and Godgifu: Add Ch 28657
The Dark Ages
Above all, you won’t find any reference to the Dark Ages in this exhibition. The ‘Dark Ages’ are a derogatory term applied to the early Middle Ages, to suggest a time of chaos and a poverty of evidence. To judge by the objects on display, the Anglo-Saxon period was instead highly sophisticated, with the Anglo-Saxons themselves forging long-distance relationships with Scandinavia, Rome, Byzantium and the Carolingian empire. Our blogpost Golden oldies provides perfect proof that this was not a Dark Age.
Remarkable artwork in the Vespasian Psalter, made in Kent in the 8th century: Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 30v
So there are no burnt cakes, disobedient waves or naked noblewomen on display at the British Library. We would recommend instead that you visit the Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition before it closes on 19 February 2019, in order to discover the real hard evidence for yourselves.
Follow us on Twitter @BLMedieval
08 November 2018
Through many hands: the Vespasian Psalter
The British Library's current major exhibition, Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms, is a treasure-trove of marvellous manuscripts and astonishing artefacts. One of those many treasures is an 8th-century manuscript known as the Vespasian Psalter (Cotton MS Vespasian A I). Here we piece together its fascinating history.
The opening of Psalm 68 (‘Salvum me fac’) from the Vespasian Psalter, ?Canterbury, 2nd quarter of the 8th century: Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 64v
The Vespasian Psalter is a wonderful witness to the ongoing processes of creation, addition and loss in a medieval manuscript. Its story begins in the second quarter of the 8th century, around the time Bede was completing his Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum (731).
Detail of the opening of the hymn ‘Splendor Paternae Gloriae’ by Ambrose of Milan: Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 152r
It was designed from the outset as a song-book. The core part of the manuscript contains not just the Psalms but also a selection of canticles and hymns, including two written by Ambrose of Milan. These were all copied out in an elegant Insular uncial script, with headings in rustic capitals.
The opening of Basil of Caesarea’s ‘Homily on the First Psalm’, translated by Rufinus: Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 2v
In the 9th century, several leaves were added to accommodate supplementary material. The manuscript henceforth was prefaced by Basil of Caesarea’s Homily on Psalm 1, epistles between Jerome (the Psalms’ translator) and Pope Damasus I, and various texts relating to the origin, division, performance, interpretation and ordering of the Psalms. These were all designed to expand upon the core of the manuscript and facilitate its use and study.
Psalm 151 (‘Pusillus eram’): Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 141r
Jerome translated the Psalms not from the Masoretic (Hebrew) text of the Bible, but from the Septuagint (Greek) version. Itself a translation from the Hebrew into Greek, the Septuagint remains the preferred text in the Eastern Orthodox Church. The numbering adopted by the two versions is slightly different, primarily as a consequence of differing interpretations of how certain psalms should be divided. The Septuagint also includes an additional Psalm, numbered 151, not found in the Hebrew text. In the Vespasian Psalter, a single leaf was inserted between the end of Psalm 150 and the beginning of the first canticle to make space for its inclusion.
Detail of Anglo-Saxon neumes added to the end of Psalm 150 (‘Laudate dominum in sanctis eius’), with an additional noted line and explicit: Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 140v
Cadences were added to selected verses of Psalms 148–150, to provide a guide for their chanting, with Anglo-Saxon neumes added at the end of verses and half-verses.
It is not known who was responsible for instigating or executing each of these additions to the manuscript. However, the hands of two scribes who were intimately connected with Canterbury have been identified in the Vespasian Psalter, shedding light not only on its continued augmentation but also on a curious blip in its provenance.
Detail of the opening of Psalm 94 (‘Deus ultionum’) with interlinear Old English gloss: Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 90r
The first scribe is known as the Royal Bible Master Scribe, after his role in Royal MS 1 E VI, and his hand is known in other manuscripts from St Augustine's Abbey, Canterbury. Around the second quarter of the 9th century — amidst the other supplementary activities in the manuscript — he added an interlinear Old English gloss to the Psalms. It has the distinction of being the oldest extant translation into English of any biblical text.
Hymn and Athanasian Creed, copied by Eadwig Basan, with a later Old English gloss: Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 155r
The second scribe is known by name: Eadwig Basan. He added several texts to the manuscript two centuries later: another hymn (for matins on Sunday), the Athanasian Creed, an Oratio by Eugenius of Toledo, and a confession prayer by Alcuin. These in turn were given an Old English gloss shortly afterwards, bringing them into line with the rest of the volume.
Full-page miniature of St Benedict and the monks of Christ Church, Canterbury, from the Eadui Psalter, Canterbury, 1012x1023: Arundel MS 155, f. 133r
Knowledgeable readers will have spotted that Eadwig’s name is usually associated not with St Augustine’s Abbey, but its neighbour Christ Church, Cathedral. His hand has been identified in several Christ Church books: most notably his eponymous Psalter (Arundel MS 155), in which he may be the figure prostrate at the feet of St Benedict in a full-page miniature; the Harley Psalter (with two other scribes, Harley MS 603) and the Cnut Gospels (an addition on f. 44v; Royal MS 1 D IX). He is famously memorialised with a full-page portrait of him at work in another Psalter that bears his name (Cambridge, Trinity College, MS R.17.1).
Full-page miniature of David and the musicians (described by Thomas of Elmham in his history): Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 30v
The circumstances in which Eadwig made his additions to the Vespasian Psalter are not known. Whether he went to St Augustine’s or the book to Christ Church, it is clear that the Vespasian Psalter was at St Augustine’s for several further centuries. Thomas of Elmham’s history of St Augustine’s, written in the mid- to late 1410s and preserved in Cambridge, Trinity Hall, MS 1, described a Psalter that was kept on the high altar of the abbey church — a Psalter whose description exactly matches the present manuscript.
Two canticles, with the off-print from a missing carpet page: Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 142r
Following the dissolution of St Augustine’s in 1538, the Psalter found its way into the hands of William Cecil, Elizabeth I’s chief minister. The manuscript had suffered losses in the interim. The opening few leaves of the Psalms were gone; Elmham’s description indicates that they contained a depiction of Samuel, perhaps in the form of a full-page miniature at the opening of the text. A carpet-page also once adorned the manuscript: all that remains is a shadowy, cruciform off-print on f. 142r.
Detail of a letter written by Matthew Parker to William Cecil, 24 January 1565/66: Lansdowne MS 8, f. 190r (formerly item 73)
Cecil lent the book to Matthew Parker, archbishop of Canterbury. Although Parker dutifully returned it in 1566, his desire to keep it is obvious: in the accompanying letter, he dropped a hint to that effect, writing to Cecil that the Psalter is ‘remitted again to your library: in the riches whereof, videlicet of such treasures, I rejoice as much as they were in my own’. Parker lamented the losses at the opening of the Psalms and described to Cecil how he would have had them made good, had the manuscript been his: moving the miniature of David (f. 30v) to the beginning and having the missing text ‘counterfeited in antiquity’ (i.e. copied to resemble the Insular uncial used for the Psalms).
Charter of King Æthelbald of Mercia, England, 736: Cotton MS Augustus II 3
It was Robert Cotton — who acquired the manuscript in 1599, a year after Cecil’s death — who addressed these deficiencies in his own unique way. He first inserted a charter of King Æthelbald of Mercia, and trimmed its edges so that it would fit. Cotton’s rationale (it seems) was that the charter provided a further example of Insular uncial. He may also have suspected, but cannot have known, that the charter was closely contemporary to the Vespasian Psalter’s production, being dated to 736.
Christ in Majesty, from a psalter, England (East Anglia or London), Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 1r
Full-page foliate initial ‘B’ inhabited by men and animals, from Psalm 1 (‘Beatus vir’), from a psalter, England (East Anglia or London), Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 1v
At some juncture this charter was removed (it is now Cotton MS Augustus II 3) and in its place was put a leaf from the beginning of an English Psalter of c. 1220. On one side is Christ in Majesty and on the other a large decorated initial B and the opening words of the first Psalm. This is a better fit with the content, if not the decorative style, of the rest of the manuscript.
Detail of a cutting containing the coat of arms of Margaret of York impaled with those of her husband Charles the Bold, with her motto (‘Bien en aviegne’) and their initials ('CM'), by the Master of Mary of Burgundy illuminator, from the Breviary of Margaret of York: Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 160v
Cotton made a further incongruous addition at the end of the manuscript: he pasted in a cutting from the Breviary of Margaret of York. Other excisions from this late 15th-century devotional book are present in other Cotton manuscripts – Cotton MS Tiberius A II, ff. 1r–1v, Cotton MS Galba A XVIII, f. 2r, and Cotton MS Titus C XV, f. 1r – and the much-mutilated remnant survives as Cambridge, St John’s College, MS H.13.
Fragment of Psalm 2 and opening of Psalm 3 (‘Domine, quid multiplicati sunt’), and the inscription of Robert Cotton: Cotton MS Vespasian A I, f. 12r
The Vespasian Psalter escaped the Ashburnham House fire of 1731 completely unscathed — but by that time, as we have seen, it was in far from its original state. It is remarkably well-preserved for a book that is close to 1300 years old, but its life was demonstrably one of use and re-use: its developing role in the liturgy, its reading and translation, its decoration, and its mutilation and repair. It is the involvement of so many hands in the manuscript over so many centuries that has given it such a textured and fascinating history.
You can see the Vespasian Psalter with your own eyes in the once-in-a-generation Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition, on display at the British Library in London until 19 February 2019.
James Freeman
Follow us on Twitter @BLMedieval
01 November 2018
A calendar page for November 2018
The weather’s getting colder, so come warm yourself by the (drawing of a) fire in a 1000-year-old calendar page for November.
A calendar page for November, from a calendar made in southern England in the first half of the 11th century: Cotton MS Julius A VI, f. 8r
The fire in this image is depicted by a few red lines. Three figures on the right extend their hands towards it. I feel particularly sorry for the middle figure, who seems to be stuck out in the cold in bare feet and legs. This figure is also under-dressed in the image for November in another 11th-century calendar, in Cotton MS Tiberius B V/1.
Detail of men by a fire: Cotton MS Julius A VI, f. 8r
While the figures on the right of the image are warming themselves, the figures on the left-hand side are working. They appear to be smiths. There were many different types of smiths in 11th-century England, as explained in Ælfric’s Colloquy, a dialogue exercise designed to help young monks learn Latin. The Colloquy lists smiths, blacksmiths, farriers (who shoed horses), goldsmiths, silver smiths and bronze smiths among the most skilled craftsmen. Indeed, the characters in the Colloquy include a blacksmith who claims that he has the most important job in society, because he makes the tools all the other workers use. The other characters object, arguing that the enslaved ploughman is actually the most important because he grows the food that feeds everyone.
Smiths were clearly an important part of early medieval society. They appear throughout Old English literature, from the mythical figure known as Wayland the Smith to riddles in the Exeter Book.
Detail of different types of smiths, from Ælfric’s Colloquy, part of an archbishop’s handbook made at Canterbury in the 11th century: Cotton MS Tiberius A III, f. 63r
Above the image of the smiths, two feast days marked in gold on this calendar page. They are the feast of St Martin of Tours and the feast of St Clement. Rather appropriately, given the scene depicted on this page, St Clement eventually became the patron saint of blacksmiths, and his feast is still associated with blacksmiths’ competitions to this day. This year, St Clement’s Day also coincides with the conference France and England: Medieval manuscripts between 700 and 1200 // France et Angleterre : manuscrits médiévaux entre 700 et 1200 in Paris, if you’d like to mark your own calendars.
This calendar page also depicts the constellation Scorpio. Scorpio was represented in various ways in medieval art. This Scorpio is notable for his clearly segmented tail.
Detail of Scorpio, from a calendar page for September in a Book of Hours, St Omer or Thérouanne, c. 1320: Add MS 36684, f. 10r
Detail of Scorpio, from a calendar page for October from the Bedford Hours, Paris, c. 1410-1430: Add MS 18850, f. 10r
You can see this 1000-year-old calendar — and many other amazing manuscripts — in person at the British Library’s Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition, on until 19 February 2019. You’ll also be able to see some examples of gold- and silver- and blacksmiths’ work, from jewellery to weapons.
Follow us on Twitter @BLMedieval
Part of the Polonsky Digitisation Project
Supported by
31 October 2018
Pumpkins and pagans
A few years ago, an American historian was contacted by the creators of a quiz show who were doing some fact-checking for their Halloween episode. Were pumpkins used in pagan rituals in the British Isles, they asked, and did early medieval paganism inspire pumpkins' role in modern-day Halloween celebrations? The historian had to break it to them pumpkins are native to North America and were not introduced to Europe for another thousand years, so that Anglo-Saxons could not have invented pumpkin carving.
There are few reliable sources about early Anglo-Saxon pagan practices. We cannot be sure which holidays they celebrated or how they celebrated them. But Anglo-Saxon pagans did influence some aspects of modern culture, from the days of the week to ideas about supernatural sprites.
The Loveden Hill Urn, a 6th-century pagan funerary urn with a runic inscription found in a cremation cemetery in Lincolnshire, on loan to the Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition from the British Museum. © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved.
The earliest English speakers — the Germanic-speaking migrants who settled in southern and eastern Britain between the 4th and 6th centuries — were pagans. Very little written evidence survives from the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms in that period, apart from runic inscriptions that are only a few words long. You can see some examples in our Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition (open until 19 February 2019).
Evidence of pagan practices has to be pieced together from place names (such as Wednesbury, Woden's burg and Tyesmere, Tiw's lake) and burials. For example, tombs that contain objects such as weapons, pots, combs, jewellery and other ‘grave goods’ are often believed to be associated with pagans. The most famous burial of this kind was excavated at Sutton Hoo in the 1930s, although it also included items associated with Christianity. There, archaeologists discovered the tomb of a rich warrior buried in a 27-metre-long ship along with weapons, a helmet, jewellery, objects used in feasts, and silver from Byzantium. Cremation cemeteries are also associated with pagans, since Christians did not tend to be cremated at this time.
Portrait of a pagan? Lid of a 6th-century pagan funerary urn from Norfolk, known as Spong Man: Norwich Castle Museum, 1994.192.1, image courtesy of Norwich Castle Museum
Archaeological evidence suggests that there was no one, monolithic ‘Anglo-Saxon paganism’: practices could vary widely across regions, time periods, and even within individual communities.
Image of Woden and five early kings allegedly descended from him, from a 12th-century historical text: Cotton MS Caligula A VIII, f. 29r
Indirect evidence about early Anglo-Saxons’ beliefs may also be derived from the impact of pagan traditions on sources made after they converted to Christianity. Some pagan gods, such as Woden, continued to appear in the genealogies of Anglo-Saxon kings, sometimes alongside figures like Adam and Eve.
The names of certain modern English days of the week may also preserve the names of gods worshipped by pagan Anglo-Saxons, as well as a Roman god (Saturn), the Sun and the Moon.
|
Old English |
Modern English |
Meaning |
|
sunnandæg |
Sunday |
Sun day |
|
monandæg |
Monday |
Moon day |
|
tiwesdæg |
Tuesday |
Tiw’s day |
|
wodnesdæg |
Wednesday |
Woden’s day |
|
þunresdæg |
Thursday |
Thunder’s day |
|
frigedæg |
Friday |
Frig’s Day |
|
sæterndæg |
Saturday |
Saturn’s day |
Belief in pagan gods gave way to belief in a single, Christian god in the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. Nevertheless, later Anglo-Saxons may have retained beliefs from pagan lore. For example, elves appear in the writings of Anglo-Saxons long after the conversion to Christianity. Indeed, the earliest written reference to an elf appears in a 9th-century, Christian prayerbook, in a prayer that compared Satan to an elf.
Earliest written reference to an elf: from the Royal Prayerbook, Mercia, late 8th or early 9th century, Royal MS 2 A XX, f. 45v
Later writers were not always reliable when describing the pagan past. These writers were churchmen and churchwomen who had never met a pagan and whose primary knowledge of paganism came from sources that described Roman religions. This is true even in the case of someone like Bede, who lived only a few decades after the last major Anglo-Saxon kings converted to Christianity. In his Ecclesiastical History, Bede appears to offer a detailed account of a pagan priest called Coifi, right down to very specific rules about pagan priestly attire: ‘it was not lawful before for the high priest either to carry arms, or to ride on any animal but a mare’ (read the translation here). Bede claimed that, in his day, you could still visit the place where Coifi’s temple had stood before Coifi converted to Christianity. However, scholars have pointed out that Bede seemingly copied his descriptions from the Roman and ancient Near Eastern religions he had read about, rather than from any knowledge of 7th-century religious practices. Similarly, there are doubts about Bede's claims that 'Easter' was the name of a pagan goddess.
Later writers, including Ælfric, abbot of Eynsham, explicitly set out to prove that the Roman, 'Danish' and Germanic gods were the same. Ælfric claimed that the days of the week were essentially named after the same pagan gods in Latin and Old English. He argued that gods with similar characteristics gave their names to the same days in the Latin and English weeks, like the fertility goddesses Venus and Frigg. However, Ælfric deliberately conflated these different religions in order to condemn them all.
Ælfric explains the names of the days of the week in Latin and English in his 'Sermon on False Gods': Cotton MS Julius E VII, f. 240v
Ælfric mentioned 'Danish' as well as Roman gods because many Viking raiders were pagan, especially in the 9th century. Some who came to and settled in England were pagan. Small amulets in the shape of Thor's hammer have been found in parts of England. That said, the surviving texts from this period were all written by Christians, who did not offer any details about these pagans' practices; Alfred the Great's biographer, Asser, used 'paganus' as a derogatory term for all Scandinavians, even a Christian Scandinavian who had become a monk.
Charm invoking Thor to prevent gangrene: Cotton MS Caligula A XV, ff. 123v–124r
Nevertheless, knowledge of Scandinavian paganism existed in some circles. Shortly after 1073, at Christ Church Cathedral, Canterbury, a manuscript was made which included information about timekeeping, prognostics and some medical texts. At the bottom of one of its tables, someone added a medical charm which invoked the pagan god Thor. The charm is written in Old Norse runes, translated as:
‘Gyril, wound-stirrer, go now! You are found! May Thor ‘hallow’ you, lord of ogres, (G)yril wound-stirrer. Against rushing (infection?) in the veins.’ (read the translation here).
There remains a mystery about who added the runes, and why someone who knew pagan charms and Old Norse runes was present at Canterbury in the late 11th or early 12th century.
So what do we know about paganism in the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms? We know the names of certain gods; we can see different burial practices; and we know that traces of Anglo-Saxon paganism remain in modern English culture. But we can be sure of one thing: they did not have pumpkins.
Follow us on Twitter @BLMedieval
Medieval manuscripts blog recent posts
- Chaucer’s works go online
- The largest Greek manuscript?
- The Coronation Banquet of Henry VI
- Shakespeare before Shakespeare
- Coronations
- Picturing the Crucifixion
- A Tudor autograph book
- Medieval and Renaissance Women: full list of the manuscripts
- Bringing the Cotton fragments to life
- Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door
Archives
Tags
- Africa
- Alexander exhibition
- Ancient
- Anglo-Saxons
- Animals
- Black & Asian Britain
- British Library Treasures
- Calendars
- Classics
- Decoration
- Digital scholarship
- Early modern
- Elizabeth and Mary exhibition
- English
- Events
- Exhibitions
- Fashion
- Featured manuscripts
- French
- Gold exhibition
- Greek
- Harry Potter
- Humanities
- Illuminated manuscripts
- International
- Ireland
- Latin
- Law
- Leonardo
- LGBTQ+
- Literature
- Magna Carta
- Manuscripts
- Maps
- Medieval
- Medieval history
- Middle East
- Middle east
- Modern history
- Music
- Olympics
- Palaeography
- Polonsky
- Printed books
- Rare books
- Research collaboration
- Romance languages
- Royal
- sacred texts
- Sacred texts
- Science
- Scotland
- Slavonic
- South East Asia
- Visual arts
- Women's histories
- Writing