26 December 2018
All I want for Christmas is ... Domesday Book
What did you do over Christmas? Peel sprouts? Wrap (and unwrap) presents? Sing carols?
At Christmas in 1085, King William the Conqueror had other things on his mind. It was on that occasion that he chose to commission the famous survey whose results are preserved today in Domesday Book. We may revere this for its record of life in 11th-century England, but William's contemporaries sometimes thought otherwise, as this early account demonstrates.
‘William, king of the English, ordered all the possessions of all England to be described, in fields, in men, in all animals, in all manors from the greatest to the smallest, and in all payments which could be rendered from the land of all. And the land was troubled with much violence as a result.’
Continuation of the Chronicle of Marianus Scotus: Cotton MS Nero C V, f. 158v
So reads an addition to Marianus Scotus’s Chronicon, found in a manuscript made in the 1080s. It’s not clear exactly which violent incidents the chronicler had in mind, but discontent with the Domesday survey is recorded in other sources. For example, a 12th-century copy of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle complained that William the Conqueror ‘sent his men over all England into every shire … There was no single hide nor virgate of land, nor indeed … one ox nor one cow nor one pig which was left out, and not put down in his record’ (translated by D. Whitelock and others, The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1961, pp. 87–88).
Writing later in the 12th century, Richard fitz Nigel, the royal treasurer (d. 1198), reported that the English called the book Domesdei, the Day of Judgement, because its decisions, like those of the Last Judgement, could not be appealed.
Great Domesday Book is currently in the British Library’s Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition, on loan from The National Archives. It is displayed next to a draft of the text for the South-West counties (Exon Domesday, loaned by Exeter Cathedral) and a list of questions that the commissioners should ask (loaned by Trinity College, Cambridge), as follows:
- What is the manor/estate/place called?
- Who owned it in the time of King Edward [the Confessor, 1042–1066]?
- Who owns it now [1086]?
- How many hides are there?
- How many plough teams belong to the lord?
- How many plough teams belong to the men of the manor?
- How many villans [a type of peasant] are there?
- How many cottars [a type of peasant]?
- How many slaves [servi]?
- How many freemen?
How many sokemen? - How much woodland?
- How much meadow?
- How much pasture?
- How many mills?
- How many fish ponds?
- How much has been added or taken away?
- What was it worth?
- What is it worth now?
- How much did each freeman have then?
- And now?
- How much did sokeman have then?
- And now?
- All this is to be given three times: what it was in the time of King Edward, what it was when King William gave it, and what it is now [1086].
This process was used to gather information about 13,418 places in England and a few in what is now Wales. Domesday Book mentions over 269,000 people, from the king and his family to slaves, oxmen and swineherds. It describes 48 ‘castles’, over 60 abbeys and cathedrals, over 300 parish churches, around 6,000 mills, and about 45 vineyards, not to mention markets, mints, woods, inland and coastal fisheries, salt pans, lead working, quarries and potteries.
Great Domesday Book (image © The National Archives)
The extent of this survey and its level of detail were quite extraordinary in northern Europe. But it did not cover absolutely everyone and everywhere in England: women are notably underrepresented. Nor was all the information collected used. The cows and pigs mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle were largely left out of the final version of Domesday Book, although they appear in the earlier draft for the South-Western counties, today known as Exon Domesday.
Domesday Book has remained in the possession of the English administration since the time it was made. If you’d like to see Great Domesday in person, hurry to the Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition, on until 19 February at the British Library.
The Chronicle of Marianus Scotus has been digitised as part of our Polonsky Foundation England and France 700-1200 project.
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25 December 2018
A Christmas gift for Charlemagne
Was it hard to choose gifts for your friends or loved ones this Christmas? This isn't a 21st-century problem. As long ago as the late 8th or very early 9th century, an Anglo-Saxon monk named Alcuin was pondering what to get Charlemagne for Christmas.
At some point in the 780s, Charlemagne, king of the Franks (768–814), had persuaded Alcuin to join his court in Francia. The two men regularly exchanged letters, discussing matters of kingship, governance and theological topics. One of Alcuin’s letters was sent during the Christmas season. Not wanting to be overshadowed by his rivals at court, who could offer ‘many costly presents’, Alcuin wrote: ‘I have long wondered what I might think a worthy gift to do honour to your imperial power and add to the riches of your treasury.’ The Christmas present in question was ‘a gift of the Scriptures which are written with the pen of heavenly grace’. We hope that Charlemagne was duly impressed.
The end of Alcuin's letter to Charlemagne describing his Christmas gift: London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 218, f. 196v
The account of this Christmas gift exchange is preserved in a wonderfully decorated copy of Alcuin’s letters. This manuscript has been kindly loaned to the British Library's Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition by Lambeth Palace Library. It was copied in southern England in the early 10th century.
Detail of the decorated capitals which begin each letter: London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 218, f. 191v
The first two lines of each letter are copied in lavishly coloured display capitals, decorated with interlaced knotwork and serpentine beasts. The splendid decoration of this letter collection suggests that it was made for a wealthy, high-status patron: it is highly unusual for a letter collection to be decorated on this scale. Letter collections were normally practical manuscripts, to be consulted by students as they learned the art of letter writing.
When Alcuin wrote to Charlemagne to tell him of his Christmas gift, he confirmed that a student of his, known by the nickname Nathanael, would deliver the gift. Alcuin sent Nathanael to Charlemagne’s court with the instruction, ‘Give my Lord David my letter and my gift of the scriptures on Christmas Day with the greeting of peace’.
Miniature of Ezra writing in Codex Amiatinus, written at Wearmouth-Jarrow before 716: Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Amiatino 1 (© Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Florence)
Manuscripts were in fact a popular choice of gift during Anglo-Saxon times. Also in our Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition is this enormous complete copy of the Bible, Codex Amiatinus, which was commissioned with the intention that it would be a gift for Pope Gregory II (d. 731). Abbot Ceolfrith left England with the great Bible in 716, intent on personally delivering it to the pope in Rome. Unfortunately, Ceolfrith died on the way in Langres, and so the monks travelling with him delivered the gift in his place.
Portrait of King Æthelstan presenting a book to St Cuthbert, by permission of the Master and Fellows of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge: Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 183, f. 1v
Manuscripts were also often presented to religious communities. These were often strategic gifts that aimed to establish or strengthen a relationship between the two parties. A 10th-century copy of Bede’s Life of St Cuthbert is one example of this kind of gift. The manuscript was given to the Community of St Cuthbert by King Æthelstan of England (924–939). On one of its opening pages is an image of Æthelstan presenting a book to the Community of St Cuthbert. This is the earliest surviving contemporary ‘portrait’ of an Anglo-Saxon king.
Opening of St John’s Gospel, Cotton MS Tiberius A II, ff. 164v-165
King Æthelstan is also thought to have re-gifted a splendid gospel book known as the Coronation Gospels. Æthelstan donated this gospel book to the community of Christ Church, Canterbury, but it seems originally to have been given to him by his brother-in-law, Otto I, king of Germany (d. 973). Two inscriptions perhaps commemorate the books’ previous ownership; +ODDA REX (‘king Otto’) and + MIHTHILD MATER REGIS (‘Mathilda, mother of the king’).
Inscription naming Otto and Mathilda, perhaps the previous owners of the Coronation Gospels: Cotton MS Tiberius A II, f.24r
Perhaps your budget didn't quite stretch to an illuminated manuscript this Christmas? If not, you can view Alcuin’s letter book and these other beautiful manuscripts in the Library's magnificent Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition, on in London until 19 February 2019. Tickets are available here, for cheaper than the price of ‘a gift of the Scriptures written with the pen of heavenly grace’.
The quotes in this blogpost are translated by S. Allot, Alcuin of York c. AD 732 to 804: His Life and Letters (York, 1974), pp. 88–89, letters 72 and 73.
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24 December 2018
A medieval Nativity
Every Christmas, we traditionally blog about an image found in one of our fabulous manuscripts, from brightly coloured shepherds to peaceful Renaissance Marys. This year, we couldn't resist choosing an image that is on display in our Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition. It comes from a gospelbook made at the monastery of Saint-Bertin, in what is now northern France, and has generously been loaned to the exhibition by the Bibliothèque municipale of Boulogne-sur-Mer.
Christmas in the Boulogne Gospels: Boulogne-sur-mer, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 11, f. 12r
This Nativity scene image has everything you might see in a modern Christmas card — from angels to shepherds to a manger — but it is arranged in a slightly different manner. At the top right is a heavenly choir. To the left, an angel proclaims peace on Earth and goodwill to all men to two shepherds, who carry rough walking sticks. (We know what each scene represents because helpful captions were included beside the images.) Next, Joseph sits attentively next to the new mother Mary, who is resting while a servant adjusts her pillow. At the very bottom is Jesus, swaddled in a manger, with a rather jolly-looking ox and donkey. The text to the side is the beginning of the Gospel of St Matthew.
St Matthew writing, David, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, from the Boulogne Gospels: Boulogne-sur-mer, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 11, f. 10v
This Nativity picture concludes a sequence of scenes that illustrate the beginning of the Gospel of Matthew. This Gospel opens with the words ‘The book of the generation of Jesus Christ’, then lists all Jesus’ ancestors, before telling the story of his birth. In the Boulogne Gospels, the Gospel of Matthew begins with what resembles a comic-strip, conveying the whole story in pictures. First we see St Matthew eagerly writing his Gospel. Seated beside him are David, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the first of Jesus’ ancestors. The next page-and-a-half shows his other ancestors arranged in orderly rows under architectural arches.
A page depicting some of Jesus's ancestors: Boulogne-sur-mer, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 11, f. 11r
This lengthy genealogy culminates with the moment when the angel Gabriel appears to Mary and tells her that she is going to become the Mother of Christ. In the next panel Mary relates the same news to her cousin, Elizabeth. And then we come to the Nativity: Jesus is born, the shepherds come to adore him and the angels celebrate.
Detail of the Annunciaton and the Visitation: Boulogne-sur-mer, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 11, f. 10v
The whole book is lavishly decorated. Each Gospel is prefaced by scenes pertaining to its opening passages and images of the evangelist. For example, the Gospel of Mark begins with an image of an angel announcing the birth of John the Baptist to his father Zacharias. The canon tables showing the different passages of each gospel teem with figures: evangelists' symbols, angels, musicians, hunters, animals and more. You can explore this manuscript's illuminations here.
Detail of canon tables from the Boulogne Gospels: Boulogne-sur-mer, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 11, f. 3v
This gospel-book was made at Saint-Bertin about a thousand years ago, during the abbacy of Odbert. Abbot Odbert led a major campaign of book-production and he even helped with some illumination himself. His books show that artistry and learning flourished at Saint-Bertin at this period.
The constellation Aries, from a copy of Cicero's Aratea in an astronomical and astrological compilation made in Fleury: Harley MS 2506, f. 36r
Odbert employed a team of scribes and artists, including at least two artists from England. One travelling English artist was probably responsible for the Christmas scene and other decoration in the Boulogne Gospels. The same artist's work appears in other surviving manuscripts, associated with Canterbury, Ramsey or Winchester, Fleury and the monastery of Saint-Bertin at Saint-Omer. Several examples are on display in the Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition, from drawings of constellations to lively line drawings in Psalters. This demonstrates how artists — and artistic styles — could move around northern Europe at this time.
Miniature of the Crucifixion from the Ramsey Psalter, made in the early 11th century: Harley MS 2904, f. 3v
Odbert clearly assembled a talented team at Saint-Bertin. The resulting manuscripts are not just spectacular works of art: they are testaments to human creativity and cooperation. They suggest what could be possible with peace on Earth and goodwill between men.
Detail of canon tables, from the Boulogne Gospels: Boulogne-sur-mer, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 11, f. 5v
Alison Hudson and Eleanor Jackson
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23 December 2018
Discovered in a stable: the Anderson Pontifical
Considering that all Anglo-Saxon manuscripts are over a thousand years old, a remarkable number have survived until the present day. They have endured Viking invasions, wars and the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Some manuscripts have unlikely survival stories. We know, for example, that the Lichfield Gospels was hidden by a canon of Lichfield Cathedral during the English Civil War, while the Codex Aureus was ransomed by a noble family from a ‘heathen’ war band in the 9th century.
The Anderson Pontifical is another manuscript with an extraordinary survival story. It was discovered as recently as June 1970 in the stables at Brodie Castle in North-East Scotland.
Brodie Castle, Scotland. Photo courtesy of the National Trust for Scotland.
It is not clear how the Anderson Pontifical ended up in Scotland. The script of the manuscript suggests that it was made around the year 1000 in southern England, possibly at Canterbury. The Anderson Pontifical includes some Old English words which are spelled in the Kentish rather than West Saxon dialect. For instance, storcellan (a censer) is spelled in this manuscript with an 'e', not 'y' as in West Saxon.
The beginning of texts for various exorcisms, consecration ceremonies and absolutions in the Anderson Pontifical: Add MS 57337 f. 103r
The Anderson Pontifical contains prayers and liturgical texts for a variety of services, including for the coronation of an Anglo-Saxon king. While it is impossible to tell whether this book was actually used at a late 10th- or early 11th-century coronation ceremony, it is certainly a finely-produced volume, with decorated initials and different sections of text written in different colours.
Fragment of a 17th-century letter mentioning a harbour at ‘Peeterhead’: Add MS 57337/1, f. 2v
Despite its possible connection to kings and bishops, the later history of this manuscript is obscure. Some clues are perhaps found in its limp vellum binding and fragments of early modern papers that were found with the manuscript in 1970. A note on part of these wrapping papers in a 14th-century hand reads, 'benedictionale [et] po[n]tificale; s[an]c[tu]m Barth[olomaeum]’. Among these wrapping papers were fragments of early modern printed books and a letter which mentions the harbour at 'Peeterhead'. This suggests that the manuscript was at Peterhead in Aberdeenshire, Scotland, by the 16th century.
Ownership inscription written in the name of Rev. Hugh Anderson, in the right-hand margin: Add MS 57337 f.1r
By 1700, the manuscript was owned by Rev. Hugh Anderson (d. 1749), minister of the parish of Drainie, near Elgin, Morayshire. We know this because he helpfully inscribed 'Ex libriis Hugonis Anderson, anno Christogonias ducentesimo supra sesquimillesimum' on the opening folio. Anderson evidently prized the pontifical and was very particular about who would own it next. In a note dated 5 May 1741, he bequeathed it to one William Mercer and his son Hugh Mercer (Add MS 57337/1, f. 13v). However, he later crossed out that note; on 6 October 1741 the manuscript was left instead to the local laird, Sir Robert Gordon of Gordonstoun (1696–1772), 4th baronet. What happened next is uncertain, until the Pontifical's fateful rediscovery in 1970.
Note explaining that the Pontifical was to be bequeathed to Willliam Mercer and his son Hugh Mercer: Add MS 57337/1, f. 13v
Note explaining that Anderson had bequeathed the manuscript to Sir Robert Gordonstoun on 6 October 1741: Add MS 57337 f. 144r
Given its eventful history, the Anderson Pontifical is in remarkable condition. Its coloured text is, for the most part, bright and legible. Until 19 February 2019, you can see for yourself as the manuscript is on display at the British Library’s Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition. Tickets are available here.
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21 December 2018
A whiskered beast
A whiskered beast of woods, I shred each boar,
Though armed with tusks, and antlered stags that roar;
Crushing bears’ forearms doesn’t give me pause.
Lips bloody, I don’t fear wolves’ teeth or jaws
And dread no terror by high royal right;
I sleep wide-eyed, with my jewelled beams closed tight.
(A.M. Juster, Saint Aldhelm’s Riddles, Toronto, 2015, pp. 22–23)
This riddle was composed over 1,300 years ago by the Anglo-Saxon author Aldhelm. Big whiskers, ferocious, regal, never closes its eyes. Have you worked it out? It refers, of course, to the lion, the king of beasts.
The lion of St Mark in the Echternach Gospels: Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS lat. 9389, f. 75v
There are some fabulous 'Anglo-Saxon' lions currently on show in the British Library's once-in-a-generation Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition. It's been described (by Melanie McDonagh for the Evening Standard) as 'by some distance, the most significant exhibition in London'. The manuscripts featuring the lions are displayed alongside other artistic, historical and literary treasures, from Sutton Hoo and the Staffordshire Hoard to Beowulf and Domesday Book.
Where would you have expected to see a lion in Anglo-Saxon England? The answer, most likely, was in a gospelbook. A lion, a winged man, an eagle and a calf or ox were the symbols of the four writers of the gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, as described in Ezekiel 1.5–11 and Revelation 4.6–7:
‘And in the sight of the throne was, as it were, a sea of glass like to crystal; and in the midst of the throne, and round about the throne, were four living creatures, full of eyes before and behind.
And the first living creature was like a lion: and the second living creature like a calf: and the third living creature, having the face, as it were, of a man: and the fourth living creature was like an eagle flying.’
The lion was associated with St Mark, whose gospel begins with a ‘voice crying out in the wilderness’ (Mark 1:3).
The image at the beginning of this blogpost is found in the spectacular Echternach Gospels. Helpfully, it is labelled ‘IMAGO LEONIS’. The lion itself leaps out of a maze of lines, which form an irregular cross. Its fur is drawn in a stylised, geometric manner and is coloured in yellow (representing gold) and a reddish-pink. It is impossible to tell precisely where this manuscript was made. Its 'Insular style' of decoration is typical of artwork produced around the year 700 in Ireland and England, as well as in monasteries in mainland Europe — such as at Echternach, now in Luxembourg — which were founded by Anglo-Saxon missionaries.
The lion of St Mark, from the Otho-Corpus Gospels: Cotton MS Otho C V, f. 27r
Another lion is found in an Anglo-Saxon manuscript known as the Otho-Corpus Gospels. Sometime during the 16th century, this gospelbook was divided into two parts: one half was acquired by Matthew Parker, archbishop of Canterbury (died 1575), who bequeathed it to Corpus Christi College, Cambridge; the other portion entered the collection of Sir Robert Cotton (died 1631) before eventually passing into the ownership of the British Library. (Cotton kept his manuscripts in book-presses named after the Roman emperors, including Julius, Nero and, in this instance, Otho.)
As in the Echternach Gospels, this lion is painted in red and yellow, and it appears to bound out of the page. But you will notice that it is no longer in pristine condition. In October 1731 it was badly damaged by fire when the Cotton library was being stored at the unfortunately-named Ashburnham House in London. The heat of the fire seems to have intensified the red and yellow pigments on the lion’s fur.
St Mark and his lion, from the Coronation Gospels: Cotton MS Tiberius A II, f. 74v
The third lion in our Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition looks rather different. It has a clear mane and golden fur, and it flies into the scene from the right, clutching a book with a decorated cover. This manuscript was made approximately 200 years after the other two examples, possibly in Lobbes (in what is now Belgium). It probably arrived in England as a present to Æthelstan, the first king of all England (924–939), from his brother-in-law, the future emperor Otto I.
All these Anglo-Saxon lions can be viewed in the flesh at the British Library until 19 February 2019. We hope that they capture your imagination in much the same way as they did their original owners and readers. And if you need an extra fill of cats, why not also come to the Library's amazing Cats on the Page exhibition (on until 17 March 2019)?
Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms: Art, Word, War (19 October 2018–19 February 2019)
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15 December 2018
Name that rune!
Some readers of this Blog may remember a sword with a mysterious inscription that was displayed in the British Library’s Magna Carta exhibition in 2015. Thousands of people across the world tried to solve that particular puzzle, so we thought we'd test your brains again with another undeciphered inscription.
This time round, it's found in our Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition, on display in London until 19 February 2019. On show alongside some of the greatest manuscripts from Anglo-Saxon times, and treasures from Sutton Hoo and the Staffordshire Hoard, is this silver-gilt fitting, kindly loaned by the British Museum. It's dramatically decorated with a beast’s head: blue-glass eyes, scrolled ears, fangs and a looped tongue define its features.
A silver gilt fitting with a runic inscription: British Museum BEP 1869,0610.1 © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved.
The ‘body’ attached to the head is decorated with a line of runes. Transliterated into the Latin alphabet, they read as follows:
‘sbe/rædhtȝbcai/e/rh/ad/æbs’
But what does this mean? To date, no one has been able to translate this runic inscription into modern English. Maybe you can try?
The fitting probably dates to the late 8th century. It resembles artwork made in Mercia around that time: compare, for example, its beast head with some manuscripts from that period. The fitting’s function is uncertain, but since it is only decorated on one side, it might have been part of a scabbard for a long knife or seax. It was found in the River Thames near Westminster Bridge in the 19th century.
Compare and contrast: (1) the beast's head from the silver gilt fitting: British Museum BEP 1869,0610.1 © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved. (2) detail of an initial with a beast’s head, from a manuscript made in Mercia in the late 8th or early 9th century: Royal MS 2 A XX, f. 17r
Some people have suggested that cryptic collections such as this may have acted as talismans, offering protection to the owner. You may be aware that the word ‘rún’ (rune) is related to the Germanic words for ‘secret’ and ‘whisper’.
So what do these mysterious runes mean? We'd love you to send us your thoughts, either by tweeting @BLMedieval or by using the comments button below.
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12 December 2018
A useless letter?
Have you ever wondered, if you lived in Anglo-Saxon England, how would you communicate with distant friends and colleagues? Before the days of email and WhatsApp, letters were written onto pieces of parchment, and could take weeks or even months to arrive at their destination.
A very small number of Anglo-Saxon letters survive in their original form. Letters were often practical documents, sent with a purpose or key message in mind. Many clerks saw little reason for preserving the originals unless they had important historical or theological content, or were sent by or addressed to an important person. Somewhat inevitably, Letters written on single sheets of parchment were more prone to wear and damage than manuscripts. Original Anglo-Saxon letters are exceedingly rare, and the majority of letters from this period are preserved in later copies.
Ep[isto]la inutil[is] (‘A useless letter'): Cotton MS Augustus II 18
In 12th-century Canterbury, a clerk sorting through a collection of Anglo-Saxon charters and letters wrote the words epistola inutilis ('useless letter') on the back of an Anglo-Saxon letter sent in the year 704 or 705. We would certainly not refer to this letter as ‘useless’ today, as it is now well-known as the earliest surviving letter written on parchment from the Latin West. The letter was written by Bishop Wealdhere of London and addressed to Archbishop Berhtwald of Canterbury. Wealdhere wrote to ask Berhtwald’s permission to attend a meeting of bishops that aimed to resolve recent disputes between the kingdom of the East Saxons and the neighbouring kingdom of the West Saxons.
Wealdhere’s letter to Archbishop Berhtwald: Cotton MS Augustus II 18
The letter is in Insular minuscule script, which was quick to write and so perfect for letter writing. On the back, it is possible to see impressions left from when the letter was folded for delivery. Once folded, the scribe wrote the address inscription. Although faded, this inscription becomes a lot clearer with the assistance of multi-spectral imaging.
A possible transcription of the inscription is as follows:
A UALDH[ARIO] d[omino] ad berhtualdo.
FROM WEALDHERE to Berhtwald
The address inscription on Weadhere’s letter before and after multispectral imaging: Cotton MS Augustus II 18
Another original Anglo-Saxon letter that was dubbed ‘useless’ in 12th-century Canterbury is the Fonthill Letter, now well-known for being the earliest surviving letter in the English language. In it ltter, Ordlaf, an ealdorman of Wiltshire, wrote to King Edward the Elder (899–924) to explain how he had acquired some disputed land in Fonthill, Wiltshire. This letter is also written in a minuscule script and retains impressions from where it was folded for delivery.
The Fonthill Letter: Canterbury, Dean and Chapter, Chart. Ant. C. 1282
Many letters written by Alcuin of York (d. 804) survive in letter collections. Letter writing was a skill, influenced by convention and classical rhetoric, and students often consulted letter collections to learn their craft. One particular collection of Alcuin’s letters bears marginal notes made when the manuscript was used in the schoolroom.
Annotations in the margin of a letter collection of Alcuin’s letters: Harley MS 208, ff. 87v–88r
The manuscript was copied in 9th-century Francia, but was in an Anglo-Saxon England by around the year 1000. In the upper margin of one page, a student copied the alphabet (but inverted the letter 'b'), followed by 4 Old English letters and the first line of the Lord’s Prayer. In the bottom margin, the scribe wrote a line of Old English, Hwæt ic eall feala ealde sæge (‘Listen, I [have heard] many ancient tales’) which is reminiscent of a line from the epic poem Beowulf. Maybe the scribe felt that the collection of letters found in this manuscript were indeed ‘ancient tales’?
Old English annotation in the margin of a letter collection of Alcuin’s letters: Harley MS 208, f. 88r
Alcuin spent the early years of his life at York, before moving to the Frankish court in the early 780s. He regularly wrote letters to Charlemagne, king of the Franks, and members of his court, discussing practical matters or engaging in theological discussion. Although Alcuin remained in Francia until his death in 804, he maintained regular contact with friends back in Anglo-Saxon England. When long distance travel was time-consuming and often dangerous, writing or receiving a letter must have been a special, emotive experience.
In his letters, Alcuin often acknowledged the joy of receiving a letter from a distant friend. In a letter to Higbald, bishop of Lindisfarne, he wrote:
“Let my speedy letter show in writing what my tongue cannot say in your ears, that the eyes may replace the ears in communicating the secret of the heart.”
Decorated capitals beginning a letter from Alcuin to Charlemagne: London, Lambeth Palace Library MS 218, f. 191v
Although letter collections were often utilitarian manuscripts, some were clearly aimed at high-status audiences. The manuscript illustrated above was copied in 10th-century England, and it includes many of Alcuin’s letters to Charlemagne. The first two lines of every letter were copied in lavishly coloured display capitals, suggesting that the letter collection was compiled for a high status patron, perhaps a king given the focus of many of the letters.
You can see these original letters for yourself in our landmark exhibition, Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms: Art, Word, War, on at the British Library until 19 February 2019. Tickets are available here.
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09 December 2018
Women and books in Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms
Whenever I talk to members of the public who have visited the British Library's Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition, one of the most common reactions is, ‘I didn’t expect there to be so much about women!’ As Claire Breay recently discussed on Woman’s Hour on BBC Radio 4, more evidence survives about early medieval women than many people realise. Our exhibition includes a prayerbook connected to the wife of Alfred the Great; chronicle accounts of the victories of Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians; the oldest substantial woman’s will that survives from the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms; the first surviving political tract written for (and about) a woman in England; and one of the fabulously jewelled gospel-books of Judith of Flanders.
The jewelled cover of one of Judith’s gospel-books, made in Northern Europe in the 2nd half of the 11th century: New York, Morgan Library, MS M 708, upper cover
The majority of the population in Anglo-Saxon England — including the majority of women — probably couldn’t read or write. That said, women made up a sizeable proportion of the part of the population that was literate. In Anglo-Saxon times, literacy was highest among monks, nuns, priests and other clergy, who had committed to a religious life. Religious women, such as abbesses, were at the forefront of several literary developments. Additionally, we have evidence that some lay noblewomen owned books.
Literacy among nuns and women religious
Female religious in the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms were probably able to read. Regardless of which rule of life they followed, reading scriptures and saints’ Lives was essential at most monasteries. There is also direct evidence of book ownership among female religious. For example, four out of the six surviving early English prayerbooks use female forms and may have been written by or for women. Of the two originally made for men, one (Ælfwine’s prayerbook) was subsequently used and modified at the Nunnaminster, Winchester.
Aldhelm addresses Abbess Hildelith and others, from a copy of his De Virginitate made in southern England c. 1000: Royal MS 6 A VI, f. 13r
In the early part of the period, religious houses led by women, including Whitby, Hartlepool, Ely and Barking were major intellectual centres. Hilda, abbess of Whitby, was the patron of the first English poet whose name we know, Caedmon. Meanwhile, Aldhelm’s De Virginitate, one of the most advanced works ever produced in Anglo-Latin, was dedicated to a group of women: Hildelith, abbess of Barking, Justina, Cuthburh, Osburh, Aldegethe, Scholastica, Eadburh, Byrngithe, Eulalia and Thecla.
Literacy among lay noblewomen
Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms also includes evidence of noblewomen owning or commissioning books. The Book of Nunnaminster may have been owned by Ealhswith, wife of Alfred the Great, before it was given to the Nunnaminster. According to Asser, Alfred’s mother owned a finely illuminated book of English poetry, while Queens Emma and Edith both commissioned texts in the 11th century.
Opening of ‘In Praise of Queen Emma’, depicting the author presenting his work to Emma while her sons Edward the Confessor and Harthacnut look on: Add MS 33241, f. 1v
It wasn’t just queens who had access to books and writing. The exhibition also displays Wynflaed’s will, the earliest substantial will of an Englishwoman. One third of all surviving Anglo-Saxon wills are in the name of women. This will shows Wynflaed using writing to conduct her affairs and it also reveals that she owned books. Wynflaed herself was a widow associated with a religious house, but she gave her books to her (apparently) lay daughter rather than to the nuns.
Will of Wynflæd, copied out in England in the late 10th or early 11th century: Cotton Ch VIII 38
Perhaps the most spectacular example of female book-ownership is one of the Judith Gospels, generously on loan from the Morgan Library in New York, with its fabulous silver-gilt cover with jewels. Four of these de luxe books owned by Judith of Flanders survive. Judith’s Gospels are incredibly unusual for having survived with their jewelled covers intact. However, Judith was not unusual in 11th-century Britain in being a noblewoman with an interest in books. Books also survive that belonged to Margaret of Scotland and Edward the Confessor’s sister, Godgifu.
Female scribes and artists
Just as there were women readers, there were also female scribes. We know the name of at least one female scribe from the Anglo-Saxon period: Eadburh, abbess of Minster-in-Thanet. Around 735, St Boniface wrote to her, noting that she had sent him books and asking her to copy the epistles of Paul in golden letters for him. Another correspondent, Lull, sent her a silver stylus ('graphium argenteum').
End of excerpts from Matthew’s Gospel and beginning of excerpts from John’s Gospel, from the Book of Nunnaminster: Harley MS 2965, f. 16v
At least one manuscript in the exhibition has traditionally been attributed to female scribes: the Book of Nunnaminster, a 9th-century Mercian prayerbook possibly owned by Ealhswith. Some of its text uses certain female forms. Later, someone added a record of the lands which Ealhswith, wife of Alfred the Great, gave to the Nunnaminster, as well as a prayer that uses female forms.
You can learn more in our article Women in Anglo-Saxon England. All these manuscripts can be seen in our once-in-a-generation exhibition Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms, which is on at the British Library until 19 February 2019.
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