Language and Community in Early England: Imagining Distance in Medieval Literature 1138676616, 9781138676619

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Language and Community in Early England: Imagining Distance in Medieval Literature
 1138676616,  9781138676619

Table of contents :
List of Abbreviations vii
Acknowledgments ix
Introduction: Community and Distance 1
1 Latinity and the English People 23
2 Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex 56
3 Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest 86
4 Old and Newer English in the West Midlands 129
5 "Shewing the Auncient Fayth": An Elizabethan Sequel 158
Conclusion 183
Index of Manuscripts 191
General Index 193

Citation preview

Language and Community in Early England

This book examines the development of English as a written vernacular and identifies that development as a process of community building that occurred in a multilingual context. Moving through the eighth century to the thirteenth century, and finally to the sixteenth-century antiquarians who collected medieval manuscripts, it suggests that this important period in the history of English can only be understood if we loosen our insistence on a sharp divide between Old and Middle English and place the textuality of this period in the framework of a multilingual matrix. The book examines a wide range of materials, including the works of Bede, the A ­ lfredian circle, and Wulfstan, as well as the mid-eleventh-century E ­ ncomium Emmae ­Reginae, the Tremulous Hand of Worcester, the Ancrene Wisse, and ­Matthew Parker’s study of Old English manuscripts. Engaging foundational theories of textual community and intellectual community, this book provides a crucial link with linguistic distance. Perceptions of distance, whether between English and other languages or between different forms of English, are fundamental to the formation of textual community, since the awareness of shared language that can shape or reinforce a sense of communal identity only has meaning by contrast with other languages or varieties. The book argues that the precocious rise of English as a written vernacular has its basis in precisely these communal negotiations of linguistic distance, the effects of which were still playing out in the religious and political upheavals of the sixteenth century. Ultimately, the book argues that the tension of linguistic distance provides the necessary energy for the community-building activities of annotation and glossing, translation, compilation, and other uses of texts and manuscripts. This will be an important volume for literary scholars of the medieval period, and those working on the early modern period, both on literary topics and on historical studies of English nationalism. It will also appeal to those with interests in sociolinguistics, history of the English language, and, medieval religious history. Emily Butler, Assistant Professor of English at John Carroll University, USA, is an Anglo-Saxonist working on attitudes to language and how such attitudes shape textual communities and impinge on textual production. Recent work includes articles and papers on the Old English Prose Psalms, Matthew Parker’s medieval collection, and the Encomium Emmae Reginae.

Routledge Studies in Medieval Literature and Culture

1 Biblical Paradigms in Medieval English Literature From Cædmon to Malory Lawrence Besserman 2 Sin and Filth in Medieval Culture The Devil in the Latrine Martha Bayless 3 Cultural Difference and Material Culture in Middle English Romance Normans and Saxons Dominique Battles 4 Mary Magdalene in Medieval Culture Conflicted Roles Edited by Peter V. Loewen and Robin Waugh 5 The Signifying Power of Pearl Medieval Literacy and Cultural Contexts for the Transformation of Genre Jane Beal 6 Language and Community in Early England Imagining Distance in Medieval Literature Emily Butler

Language and Community in Early England Imagining Distance in Medieval Literature Emily Butler

First published 2017 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2017 Taylor & Francis The right of Emily Butler to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data CIP data has been applied for. ISBN: 978-1-138-67661-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-55998-8 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by codeMantra

Contents

List of Abbreviations Acknowledgments

vii ix

Introduction: Community and Distance 1 1 Latinity and the English People 23 2 Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex 56 3 Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest 86 4 Old and Newer English in the West Midlands 129 5 Shewing the Auncient Fayth: An Elizabethan Sequel 158 Conclusion 183 Index of Manuscripts General Index

191 193

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List of Abbreviations

ANQ ASE BL Add. Cotton Harley Bodley CCCC CUL DDC EEMF EETS o.s. s.s. EHR ES Hatton HE JEGP Junius LSE MGH AA PLMA NM NQ OEN PMLA RES S

American Notes and Queries Anglo-Saxon England London, British Library London, British Library, MS Additional London, British Library, MS Cotton London, British Library, MS Harley Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Bodley Cambridge, Corpus Christi College Cambridge, University Library Green, R. P. H., ed. and trans. Augustine: De Doctrina Christiana. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995. Early English Manuscripts in Facsimile Early English Text Society original series supplementary series English Historical Review English Studies Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Hatton Colgrave, Bertram, and R. A. B. Mynors, eds. Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969. Journal of English and Germanic Philology Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Junius Leeds Studies in English Monumenta Germaniae Historica Auctores Antiquissimi Poetae Latini Medii Aevi Neuphilologische Mitteilungen Notes and Queries Old English Newsletter Publications of the Modern Language Association Review of English Studies Sawyer, P. H. Anglo-Saxon Charters: An Annotated List and Bibliography. London: Royal Historical Society, 1968.

viii  List of Abbreviations sig. signature Pollard, A. W., and G. R. Redgrave. A Short-title STC Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland, and Ireland and of English Books Printed Abroad, 1475–1640. 2nd ed. revised and enlarged by W. A. Jackson and F. S. Ferguson, completed by Katharine F. Pantzer. London: Bibliographical Society, 1976–1991.

Acknowledgments

I owe a great debt to my advisory committee at the Centre for Medieval Studies at the University of Toronto, Andy Orchard, Alexandra Gillespie, and David Townsend, for their wise guidance of the dissertation out of which this book has grown. My other reviewers, Murray McGillivray, Carol Percy, and Ian McDougall, contributed valuable perspectives that helped me onto the post-dissertation path. Stephanie Pentz, then fresh off of an undergraduate degree, spent a summer reading my dissertation to catch translation errors, typos, and other problems. Her questions and suggestions have continued to be useful in the years of revision that have followed, and it is a pleasure to watch her grow from a student into a colleague. Emilie Brancato was a generous interlocutor, who helped me think through many of the difficulties I encountered while drafting and redrafting the book. I was very fortunate to be able to spend two months at the Huntington Library in 2013, thanks to a Francis Bacon Foundation Fellowship, during which time I was able to expand and correct transcriptions of Parkerian publications. In addition to the scholarly benefits of my time there, the opportunity to spend lunch hours among the plants and works of art in the Huntington collections was a rare luxury. My colleagues at John Carroll University have been gracious and encouraging as I have completed this project, and I thank them for their goodwill. An earlier version of Chapter 5 was previously published in Neophilologus 98 (2014): 145–59; it is used here with permission. Finally, the editorial staff at Routledge have been unfailingly diligent and kind in their attention to this project, and I am grateful to the ano­ nymous reader who made such valuable suggestions, without ever ceasing to be supportive of the overall aims of the book. I have an excellent model to live up to in my own reviews of others’ work.

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Introduction Community and Distance

This book examines the development of English as a written vernacular, identifying that development as a process of community building that occurred in a multilingual context. Further, this book argues that this development can only be understood as a process that spanned the traditional but sometimes misleading period labels we are accustomed to in the history of English. Of central importance for this question is the realization that communal interactions can occur diachronically, as well as synchronously, but an equally important element of the discussion is the perception of linguistic distance, not only within the scope of a single language (as it changes over time or as it varies among different users), but also among different languages. This book argues that, paradoxical as it may at first seem, such perceptions of distance actually invite communal engagement and encourage the development of textual community. Insisting that multilingualism or a multilingual matrix must be part of our methodological framework for the Middle Ages is not to insist that most, or even many, people in medieval England were multilingual, in the sense of being functionally capable in multiple languages. Rather, it is to acknowledge that the English(es) preserved in surviving literary texts actually operated in a more varied linguistic landscape than is apparent from a study that only consults texts in English, or its most literarily sophisticated varieties. In Europe, English was precocious as a written vernacular, but that came about through an awareness both of placement with respect to other languages and of the power of texts and books to cement community and identity. The coverage of events and texts here is necessarily selective, but this book is focused on moments that help to adjust our understanding of medieval textuality. The book explores the way that people have used text to give mental shape to their worlds, but it is situ­ ated slightly differently than volumes like the impressive Conceptualizing Multilingualism in Medieval England, c. 800–c. 1250 insofar as it uses the multilingual framework to trace the development of ­English literary culture.1 The term “textual community” has and should be examined broadly and flexibly, but the phenomena examined in this book are communities that could only emerge in text or in textual

2 Introduction encounters. These are communities that are, in the most basic sense, textual. This book treats language as a consistently important facet of cultural life and considers the broader or longer-term trends that arise. The continuous presence of Latin texts testifies that Latinity was never far from the heart of Englishness, and this points toward a fundamental reason for the broad chronological scope of this book, namely, that it is in the long view that the enduring importance of linguistic distance becomes apparent. As Bruce O’Brien notes, the English were “almost continually” in situations that demanded translation, and a broader perspective is what allows us to discern the developments and shifts in that pattern. 2 It is now common to recognize the fundamental, if disquieting, role of “othering” in the development of shared ethnic or political identities; we might look to the work of Sarah Foot and the breadth of scope among the scholars she cites on this front, 3 as well as to Catherine Hills’ blunt statement that “group identity, including ethnicity, is defined most clearly in opposition to the identity of other groups.”4 What is perhaps easier to overlook is that this principle extends not only to the broader conceptual landscape of shared identity, but also to the realm of language more specifically. Language is not merely an automatically categorized fact of communal life; rather, the use of any one language is often a negotiated and flexible practice that is conditioned by familiarity with, proximity to, and connotations associated with other languages. In particular, a perception of distance, whether between different languages or between distinct varieties or registers of a single language, often provides the impetus for a greater engagement with texts. Alternatively, such perceptions of distance often have a bearing on the choice of which language in which to speak or write in a given context. Language was an important element in distinguishing and marking identity throughout the European Middle Ages, thanks in part to the theological significance afforded to the confounding of languages ­after the attempt to build the Tower of Babel. 5 It is perhaps in the realm of language that this book finds its greatest contemporary relevance. The sporadic flare-ups of the debate over the necessity of an official language in the United States, the striking success in Europe and the United States of politi­cal campaigns focused on adherence to supposedly traditional cultural norms, including language, and the ongoing influence of ­English as a global language all suggest that the negotiation of linguistic distance will be central to both domestic and international affairs in the years to come. In this context, it is important that we remember that such negotiations are neither unfortunate signs of the degeneration of society, nor ­astonishing emblems of a new advance. Rather, communities have long been ­imagined around and even across linguistic boundaries, and this has been a fundamental element of social and cultural life virtually as far back as records can be traced.

Introduction  3 Tim William Machan suggests in Language Anxiety that anxiety over language change or variation, an anxiety that has been nearly constant in the Anglophone world, has “euphemistically displaced anxiety about other issues and that so long as the anxiety remains centered on language, the other issues can never be fully addressed.”6 Our appeals to the past are and have always been complicated by our desire to see something of ourselves in that past, and this likely contributes to the misplaced nostalgia for a supposedly purer linguistic past that so often rears its head. As Emily Thornbury puts it, “[i]maginative sympathy is so dangerous precisely because it prevents us from seeing the extent to which we have created the past in our own image.”7 If this is true of twenty-first-century readers, then it was equally true of medieval and early modern readers, who frequently heard echoes of their own preoccupations in the words of earlier writers. That is not to say that there is not great strength in reaching imaginatively across great gaps of time and space; indeed, as Thornbury goes on to note, “without imaginative sympathy, our capa­ city for discovering anything new in the past is foreclosed.”8 As we shall see, the hope of discovering or recovering something from the past can be a powerful motivation to textual activity. Writing of Virgil’s Aeneid and Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, Nicholas Howe notes, “For each, a myth of origin offered some hope that the present could be salvaged through the resources of memory.”9 This desire to forge a connection with a time or place or language that might seem out of reach generates the energy that drives the textual communities examined here. There are, in addition, pressures other than temporal that affect our views on language. Peter Burke has claimed that the harshest criticisms of a particular language may be most likely to come from its closest neighbors, for whom it is presumably more familiar or even more intrusive than it is for more distant acquaintances.10 Nevertheless, it is also among close neighbors that such familiarity is most likely to go along with some ability to understand or even use another language, thanks to practical concerns stemming from commercial, political, or familial ties. An individual might, then, feel allegiances to a variety of different communities, defined according to quite different criteria, and the tensions between these various allegiances, or simultaneous perceptions of proxi­ mity and distance, drive not only codeswitching, but also creative textual and spoken practices to negotiate between these various allegiances. It is clear, however, that it is not only fluency in other languages that has the capacity to alter an individual’s awareness of linguistic distance and of the others who stand at a distance, as is evident from this passage in an article reporting on a study of the social benefits for children raised around multiple languages: “Multilingual exposure, it seems, facili­ tates the basic skills of interpersonal understanding. Of course, becoming fully bilingual or multilingual is not always easy or possible for everyone. But the social advantage we have identified appears to emerge from

4 Introduction merely being raised in an environment in which multiple languages are experienced, not from being bilingual per se.”11 The mere fact of growing up in a multilingual environment can profoundly affect our inter­ actions with others. One of the most common narratives of medieval cultural life is the dichotomy between Latin and “the vernacular.” Precisely what “the verna­ cular” refers to will obviously vary, depending on the time and place in question, but it is equally important to consider that Latin meant very different things at different times and places from Late A ­ ntiquity through the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance. Any student of m ­ edieval Latin will quickly realize that the fourth-century Latin of E ­ geria’s ­Itinerarium, possibly reflecting spoken norms in what is now Spain, has a very different valence than the seventh-century hermeneutic Latin of Aldhelm’s De  virginitate or Heloise’s erudite Latin in twelfth-century Paris. Egeria’s Latin, displaying the change to which ­every living language is subject, is still a language of everyday life, whereas Aldhelm and Heloise cultivate scholarly relationships with Latin, in addition to the clearly distinct English and French, respectively, of their day-to-day interactions. The use of Latin in the liturgy, in particular, engendered both “a sense of distance from everyday life and a sense of universality,” while also encouraging “a sense of tradition, which might be defined as membership of a community that includes the dead as well as the living.”12 Again, the tension between a communal sense of figurative “proximity” and a sense of distance or exclusion is central to the effects of Latin in medieval cultural life. As an approach to the negotiation of linguistic distance, rather than starting in Anglo-Saxon England itself, we will begin with Augustine of Hippo, who was as significant a figure in Anglo-Saxon thought as he was anywhere in Europe. All but one of the major Anglo-Saxon authors catalogued by Michael Lapidge in his survey of Anglo-Saxon libraries cite at least one (but generally far more than one) work by A ­ ugustine.13 Conversely, Lapidge lists 74 works of Augustine that were probably known either directly or indirectly in Anglo-Saxon England, based on Lapidge’s inventories of books from Anglo-Saxon libraries, books from ­A nglo-Saxon missions to Germany, and textual citations by A ­ nglo-Saxon authors.14 Through the continued circulation of ­Augustine’s works and through the indirect transmission via the activities of textual communities like those examined here, Augustine’s thought remained current throughout the Middle Ages and into the modern period,15 and this enduring influence makes his work an appropriate place to begin a discussion of textual community. Writing of the importance of signs for the study and teaching of scripture, Augustine suggests in De Doctrina Christiana that the purpose of signification is to enable communication and bridge distance between individuals: Nec ulla causa est nobis significandi, id est signi dandi, nisi

Introduction  5 ad depromendum et traiciendum in alterius animum id quod animo gerit qui signum dat (“There is no reason for us to signify something [that is, to give a sign] except to express and transmit to another’s mind what is in the mind of the person who gives the sign”).16 Shortly afterward, Augustine asserts that words have come to predominate among signs used by humans to express ideas,17 so that language has become fundamental to the bridging of distance and thus to the formation of community. Nevertheless, if language allows us to bridge the distance between minds, it also creates other kinds of distance:18 Aliter enim Latine ira dicitur, aliter Graece, aliter atque aliter aliarum diversitate linguarum: non autem Latinus aut Graecus est vultus irati. Non itaque omnes gentes intelligunt, cum quisque dicit: iratus sum, sed Latini tantum; at si affectus excandescentis animi exeat in faciem vultumque faciat, omnes sentiunt qui intuentur iratum. [For anger is designated by one word in Latin, by another in Greek, and by others again in the various other tongues; but the expression on the face of an angry man is neither Latin nor Greek. Thus it is that not all nations understand when a man says: Iratus sum, but Latins (sic) only; but if the feeling present in his mind as it kindles to white heat comes out upon his features and gives him a certain look, all who see him understand that he is angry.] As this book will show, linguistic distance of various sorts was a concern in England throughout the medieval period, but Augustine’s statements on the subject demonstrate that this concern did not originate in the Middle Ages. Spoken language may allow speakers to bridge the distance between them, but it can only do so when they are geographically proximate and only for the interval of time when they are speaking together:19 Sed quia verberato aere statim transeunt nec diutius manent quam sonant, instituta sunt per litteras signa verborum. Ita voces oculis ostenduntur, non per se ipsas, sed per signa quaedam sua. [But spoken words cease to exist as soon as they come into contact with the air, and their existence is no more lasting than that of their sound; hence the invention, in the form of letters, of signs of words. In this way words are presented to the eyes, not in themselves, but by certain signs peculiar to them.] Text becomes, in Augustine’s scheme, a more lasting way of bridging distance, by preserving and presenting the signs of words to the eyes of readers, both contemporary and more temporally distant. In this way,

6 Introduction text allows for communal interactions that occur both across the minutest divisions of time or space and across gaps of centuries. The ties formed in these communal interactions may be called a textual community, and thus, textual communities can function diachronically, as well as synchronously, but this is only possible because of the “text-ness” of the texts, because they have been written down and “presented to the eyes … by certain signs peculiar to them.” Marcel Proust calls this “that fruitful miracle of a communication in the midst of solitude,” enabled by the act of reading. 20 So, if linguistic distance is fundamental to the formation of these textual communities, so too is textuality and the various uses for written sources. At several points in this book, we shall see that the particular signs used can sometimes matter almost as much as the words presented by those signs. If writing can push words forward through time, then it can also be used to point backwards. As humanists had copied texts in imitation of the litterae antiquiores, which they believed to be classical scripts but which were in fact much later Carolingian hands, Matthew Parker (Archbishop of Canterbury, 1559–1575) and other sixteenth-­century antiquarians imitated Anglo-Saxon scripts both by hand and in typefaces used to print medieval texts. For the eighth-century scriptorium at Wearmouth-Jarrow, on the other hand, the choice of scripts was based at least in part on the need to swiftly produce copies of the works of Bede (c. 673–735), already popular on the Continent within just a few years of his death. In both of these cases, this attention to the manner of writing or printing texts was part of the larger pattern of activity within their respective textual communities. After Brian Stock’s work on reforming and heretical religious movements of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the term “textual community” is not new to medievalists, but rather than discussing a “threshold of literacy” past which the interpretation of a text was agreed on and sufficiently internalized that the text no longer needed to be read out to the community, 21 this book examines textual activity that remains focused on and indeed generated by physical books. Where Stock demonstrated that a written version of a text was not always necessary to the preservation of an interpretive community and that a new orality could emerge “as a superstructure of an agreed meaning,”22 this book argues, as in the discussion of Wulfstanian manuscripts that both reflect and encourage habits of aural sensitivity and oral composition, that there was a symbiotic relationship between written copies of texts and oral manifestations of textual community, including oral performance. Stock specifies that a textual community is “a group that arises somewhere in the interstices between the imposition of the written word and the articulation of a certain type of social organization. It is an interpretive community, but it is also a social entity.”23 A group thus formed may perpetuate itself beyond the time of its initial formation (as when

Introduction  7 a religious order is founded, for example), but the textual community, as defined by Stock, has its origins in synchronous interactions between individuals. This book, by contrast, examines not the ways that groups coalesce around texts, but the ways in which texts express or inspire a sense of community, even between people who have not ever or cannot ever meet. Just as genealogy captivates many who are surprised to feel a deep emotional response to documents relating to their family members, or just as we may feel a rush of excitement at the discovery of handwritten notes in a used book, the texts discussed in this book allow their readers to be “in touch with” both contemporary and long-dead colleagues. This book does not treat fanfiction, but the wish to interact with an otherwise distant world that underlies much of fanfiction also lies behind the communal, often nostalgic responses to the past that are discussed at various points in this book. Like Stock, Stanley Fish is focused on interpretive communities, but his approach is rather along the power of the interpretive community to generate meaning and to determine “the shape of reading.”24 Textual communities, as understood here, do generate meaning, but this happens in the generation of glosses, commentaries, or other fresh copies—in short, in interactions with and in the generating of books. The textual communities under examination in this book, then, are possible only through the use of books, and the discussion will focus not only on the ways that texts have enabled and shaped communities, but also on the ways that communities have continued to shape texts through various kinds of textual activity. Taking the term in a “broader receptionist sense” than Story, ­Martin Irvine has explained textual community in terms of a grammatical mentality that provides the foundation for models of textual and literary acti­vity and produces textual communities. 25 With a two-pronged theory of textual archaeology (investigating both the broader cultural signi­ ficance of the physical forms of manuscripts and the cultural systems that give meaning to texts), Irvine argues for a hybrid textuality in Old English literature, a textuality that still presupposes Latin texts and, in addition, a body of readers and writers educated in Latin grammar and related disciplines. 26 Irvine is the first of the theorists named here who does not begin with the assumption of an identifiable community that subsequently interprets texts. Instead, Irvine begins as I do, with texts and books that enable communal interactions and thereby foster textual community, but his definition of “textual community” still implies the existence of a recognizable group of people who gradually built up “a received canon of texts and an interpretive methodology articulated in a body of commentary which accompanied the texts and instituted their authority.”27 Rather than focusing on an “ongoing interpretive debate” around a set of texts claimed by a group as canonical, this book addresses the power of texts and the physical books in which they are

8 Introduction preserved to enable and invite the kinds of activities outlined above, such as glossing, translating, and reproducing. Objects do not simply produce meaning; acts of interpretation produce meaning. Nevertheless, at many points in this book, it will be clear that objects can be used to signify larger meanings or to incite particular reactions in those who encounter them. Writing of a very different historical moment, Benedict Anderson’s work makes clear that communities are imagined, without being imagi­ nary. 28 As Sarah Foot puts it while discussing ninth-century England, “Alfred was indeed trying to shape the English imagination; by collating and presenting a coherent historical whole he invented an English community, implanting into the minds of his people a personal and cultural feeling of belonging to the Angelcynn, the English kind.”29 The community Foot describes is both invented and imagined, but its effects were far from imaginary, as Deborah Harkness argues while writing of the virtual community developed by Clement Draper (c. 1541–1620) during his time in debtors’ prison: Juxtaposing the living and the dead, the textual and the experiential, the world outside the prison and the world within, Draper may not have “known” (in the traditional sense) the fourteenth-century ­alchemists who taught him so much, may not have shaken hands with the physicians and chemists whose recipes and procedures he eagerly collected from near and far, but he nevertheless felt an intellectual kinship with them and believed that they were engaged in common intellectual pursuits. Though Draper’s prison community was in part imagined, it was no less important than an actual ­face-to-face social community just because it was partially constructed from ideas and ideals.30 Similarly, the textual communities in this book are built around connections that are envisioned by people who see an opportunity to reach across distance. That distance may be imagined in temporal, g­ eographical, or more figurative terms, but it acquires its significance only when someone has conceived of its potential for communal activity. As valuable as an understanding of the imagined nature of community formation may be, we must also acknowledge the shortcomings of some of the theorizing about communities and nations, which has all too often (including in the case of Anderson himself) set the Middle Ages apart as both the inverse of modernity and the inevitable precursor to modernity. As Kathleen Davis argues this point, she also makes clear that this is precisely why it is so important for medievalists to engage these issues in our work, to “interrupt the modern nation’s discourse with reminders about its past,” by showing that the Middle Ages were not simply the other side of the coin to modernity.31 One of the most significant ways in which

Introduction  9 medieval scholarship can do this is to acknowledge and examine the linguistically rich matrix in which medieval literary cultures developed. Out of the scholars who have theorized textual community, Irvine is the first to address the question of multilingualism, when he notes that Bede’s sense of linguistic identity is fundamental to national identity. 32 In this, Bede echoes Isidore of Seville (c. 560–636), who was himself widely read throughout the medieval period: Ideo autem prius de linguis, ac deinde de gentibus posuimus, quia ex linguis gentes, non ex gentibus linguae exortae sunt.33 (“We have treated languages first, and then nations, because nations arose from languages, and not languages from nations.”)34 With expressions of linguistic identity placed at the heart of national identity, Alfred the Great (r. 871–899) then becomes, in Irvine’s analysis, the “king who writes”—and writes, moreover, in English. In causing texts to be written, Alfred clears the ground for the utraque lingua culture on which the English prose and Grammar and Glossary of Ælfric (c. 950–1010) rely.35 The processes of producing and reading texts are influenced both by linguistic concerns and by the physical forms of texts, so any theory of textual community put forward in this book must account for both of those aspects of community formation. A textual community is ­understood here as a site where it is possible to arrive by textual means at a recognition of national, linguistic, or other identity; of past time (through linguistically or palaeographically distant texts or books); and of cultural capital in the form of texts and languages mastered. The activities that signify textual community fall into four broad categories: production of text, mark-up of text, compilation, and production of books. Production of text includes composition and translation, while mark-up of text encompasses activities like glossing, annotating, and recopying. Compilation may occur on the level of the text itself or within a book as it is copied in a scriptorium or elsewhere. The formation of a library is also a compilatory activity, mirrored in the idea that a text could itself be a library of other texts. Compilation is also always shadowed by the destructiveness of selection and the discarding of unused books or unused text. The production of books is a communal activity insofar as books are made to look like other books, through the development of scripts or styles of book production and binding. Catherine Clarke demonstrates some of the ways that texts can ope­ rate at a distance to forge and maintain connections between people, but this book is directed towards the idea or perception of figurative distance, the perception of the distance between different linguistic usages.36 The activities described above, which signify textual community, all have the effect of bridging distance, of drawing forth and casting across (ad depromendum et traiciendum), in Augustine’s words, that material which is subsequently held in common. As we have already seen in the quotations from Augustine, there are different kinds of distance

10 Introduction related to texts and languages, and so there are correspondingly different reasons for wishing to cross those gaps. When Bede was concerned to further the apostolic mission to spread the Faith, he exemplified the need to disseminate text and proselytize, but such dissemination quickly becomes an attempt to draw in what has been dispersed, just as the miracle of the Pentecost and the ongoing translation of scripture and other ­spiritual texts would unite many nations in a single Christian community. Throughout this book, we will see a tension between the narrative of difference and the narrative of reclaimed dispersal or diaspora. For Bede, the dispersal is of the human family and of their languages, but for Alfred and for Parker, it is a dispersal of lost knowledge that must be gathered anew through remastery of specific linguistic skills. The reasons for such losses of knowledge are sometimes, but by no means always, believed to be due to a rupture or breach in the political, religious, or social framework of a culture. The Norman Conquest and the new changes in the English language that it brought placed the Tremulous Hand and Matthew Parker on the far side of such a breach from the books they studied, and for Parker in particular the use of pre-­Conquest books was directly tied to an attempt to repair dramatic political and religious rupture in England. For Wulfstan of York (d. 1023) and Emma of Normandy (d. 1052), the Danish Conquest brought changes to the status of English, even if it was still used as a language of governance. This book focuses on moments that exemplify the ways that we call upon language at times of crisis or self-definition. Since a certain selectivity is necessary in order to keep the book to a readable size, I have chosen to give attention to Bede’s and Alfred’s activities, which laid the foundation for the later Benedictine Reform, and to Wulfstan and Emma, who both maintained active, high-profile careers after the Danish Conquest, rather than to the Benedictine Reform itself or to Ælfric’s corpus. In the latter case, this is partly in order to fill gaps around recent work that has engaged with language and community with respect to the Benedictine Reform and the works of Ælfric, 37 and in the former case, it is largely to do with the way that Alfred became a touchstone for later scholars, as we shall see. Moving beyond the Norman Conquest, I focus on the Tremulous Hand of Worcester and the Ancrene Wisse, insofar as they illustrate some of the ways that textual community can be difficult to trace except by careful attention to manuscript sources, and the final chapter highlights the work of Matthew Parker, not because he was alone in his use of medieval sources to define an English Protestantism, but because the volume of his work and the preservation of his collection offer an especially rich set of materials for study. The exploration of textual community that I argue for here speaks to very current concerns, such as the structure and tensions of multicultural societies, as well as the work of being a medievalist, studying very old materials even when there is a certain temptation to identify other

Introduction  11 enterprises as more useful applications of scanty budgetary funds. Both language and a sense of “national” identity recur in the textual communities under discussion here, although the specific impetus and the ways that these communities play out over time can differ widely. S­ imilarly, although there was some fluidity in the concept of an ­“English” identity, influenced, for example, by proximity to Canterbury or to the West Saxon court (as when, at various times, the archbishops of York or nobility of Mercia and Northumbria saw advantages in cultivating Danish ties), but the idea “had an enduring currency” in the pre-Conquest period. 38 The connections that bind up a textual community may be similarity of script; quotation, translation, or imitation of text; identity of author; geographic proximity; or any other resonances. A textual community may function within a relatively limited geographic and temporal proxi­ mity, as in the case of the scholarly circle at Alfred’s court, for example, but it is sometimes useful to speak of a single textual community that unites activity spanning many centuries and perhaps some geographic drift. In this way, it may be most productive to speak of a Wulfstanian homily that has been recopied in a later form of English as displaying the traces of multiple layers in a single, diachronic textual community. The example of a homily recopied to reflect later linguistic norms is a useful illustration of the ways that perceptions of linguistic distance stimulate textual communities. It is the tension of linguistic difference that propels such activity forward, although it is important to recognize that this is not equivalent to the statement that the textual activity under discussion represents an attempt to erase or suppress the tension produced by linguistic difference or distance. Rather, a productive space is opened up by the linguistic or palaeographical distance displayed in texts, and it is in this space that textual communities take shape, even across geographical and chronological divides. Bede’s theology develops in the context of a complicated multilingual environment, and it is the wish to extend the miracle of the Pentecost to an ever-widening circle of nations that drives his participation in and shaping of a textual community in seventh- and eighth-century Northumbria. In the late ninth century, it is out of concern over the state of learning in England that Alfred gives an explicit justification for his program of translation from Latin into Old English, hoping that it will allow him and the entire kingdom to follow the traces of his predecessors (her mon mæg giet gesion hiora swæð).39 Wulfstan and Emma each worked in gaps between different linguistic forms. Wulfstan, in addition to dealing closely with Norse-speakers and being apparently on the leading edge of those incorporating Norse-­ derived vocabulary into his works, showed a keen interest in writing’s ability to capture or at least provide a framework for oral performance. When commissioning a text for broader circulation, Emma made a deliberate choice to use a language that was native to no one in her

12 Introduction audience, instead insisting that they grapple with a Latinity that put them all at a distance. The last two chapters give examples of intralingual distance arising from diachronic change within the English language. The Tremulous Hand and other twelfth- and thirteenth-century manuscript users in the West Midlands gloss or adapt Old English texts to reflect more contemporary norms, making clear all the while that English has not lost its signi­ficance as a badge of identity since the Norman Conquest. In the final chapter, Parker makes his attempts to reach back to Anglo-Saxon texts, particularly those in Old English, a central part of the justification and support for the new Anglican Church. Like Alfred, he offers an explicit articulation of his purposes and specifically addresses the linguistic divide that he hopes to span. These last two examples demonstrate one of the most important contentions of this book, namely, that a textual community can function diachronically. The objects of the textual activities of both the ­Tremulous Hand and Matthew Parker were books that were sometimes centuries old by the time they received the attention discussed here. More importantly, these books provided the only available entry into the study of Old English, speakers of that language being, so far as we know, nonexistent by the time the Tremulous Hand was working in the early thirteenth century, to say nothing of Matthew Parker’s distance in the mid-­sixteenth century from speakers of Old English. Even the textual community around the works of Wulfstan had a diachronic aspect: ­Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Bodley 343 is a late twelfth-­ century copy of a number of Wulfstanian homilies that show significant ­orthographical and morphological updates but almost no lexical substitutions. Roughly contemporary with Bodley 343 is the Ormulum, a now-incomplete but still lengthy series of homilies composed by the Augustinian friar Orm around 1180. At two places in the Ormulum, ­ ulfstanian material is echoed, although unlike the the same snippet of W work of the Tremulous Hand and Matthew Parker, the Ormulum borrowings seem to reflect rather an orally transmitted fragment for which Orm may not have known of a specific source. The implication of all of these examples of textual community is that cultures and communities are formed by textual activity beyond writing itself (whether it be composing or recording), including reading, glossing, adapting, translating, selecting, and preserving. Judging by the array of texts to which he must have had access,40 Bede must have been exercising a great deal of selectivity in the composition of his exegetical and historical works, but we have explicit statements on selectivity from Alfred, who sought out the books “most needful for all men to know” (niedbeðearfosta sien eallum monnum to wiotonne),41 and from Parker, who participated in a discourse that cast desirable “monuments of anti­ quity” in opposition to less salubrious “monuments of superstition.”

Introduction  13 In a somewhat different way, the imitation of Anglo-Saxon script by Joscelyn (by hand in his notebooks) and by Parker (in a printed typeface used in his publications) shows how readers can become shapers of textual community, responding in a more visual and literal way to the same sense that Augustine had of writing as bridging a gap in a more lasting way than spoken words. So, the library is as formative a space as the scriptorium. Community and meaning are shaped in the library in various ways. The conscious selectivity of early modern collectors like Parker is actually the selection of books that will serve as the basis for a textual community, both among early modern readers (or later readers who make use of these early modern collections) and as a way of reaching back to interact with medieval or classical texts. In order for readers to shape textual communities, they must necessarily have access to books that may be read. In other words, it becomes important to know where or how to find and access books. They may be collected into a single room, as was the case with Parker’s collection, but it is more difficult to provide clear examples of such an arrangement during the medieval period, though plausible possibilities include ­Wearmouth-Jarrow at the time of Bede, Winchester as Ælfric knew it, and the collection at Worcester Cathedral Priory consulted by the ­Tremulous Hand. Alternatively, books may be scattered through some network of readers, as seems to have been the case in the environs of late medieval Ripon42 and may have been the case with manuscripts of the Ancrene Wisse Group or perhaps even the manuscripts used at ­A lfred’s court. A would-be reader may be guided to and through texts and books, as Asser tells us that Alfred was guided by scholars like Grimbald, John, and Asser himself (assembled for the purpose from Saint-Bertin, S­ axony, and Wales), but when there is no guidance offered or when there is a hindrance to the finding and gathering of books, some would-be ­users are vocal in their criticism. In his The Life and Acts of Matthew Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury, John Strype reviles Lanfranc and the supposed Catholic neglect of Anglo-Saxon books that John Bale, Stephen Batman, and others were thus forced to seek out following the Dissolution of the monasteries in the sixteenth century.43 It should be acknow­ ledged, however, that such narratives of neglect and hindrance can be exaggerated or even fabricated in order to emphasize the accomplishment of those who have retrieved the “lost” knowledge. It is only when both the physical proximity and the memory of how to find books have been lost–or when there is a perception that both have been lost–that rescue operations like that of the sixteenth century become necessary, but consulting books in a library or searching out lost and dispersed books is often a way of reclaiming a particular past for the purposes of the present. Nostalgic desire to find a connection with the past is sometimes exploited by those giving shape to textual communities, as when Alfred and Parker specifically frame their textual projects

14 Introduction in terms of a return to an earlier kind of textuality that has since been lost in England. Such a return, or indeed any kind of textual community, is enabled by the books and texts on which it is founded. Books point the way towards textual community, and it is their inventive and diachronic potential that invites the activity that constitutes and signals a textual community. The blank space on the page allows the Tremulous Hand and other annotators to interact with the text and record their interpretations for later readers to see in tandem with the main text. In fact, for the Tremulous Hand, as for Matthew Parker and other antiquarians, the only access to the textual culture of Anglo-Saxon England was through the books that survived. Once there are signs of intervention, whether they be annotations like those made by the Tremulous Hand, corrections entered by the scribe of the main text, or simply the wear and tear of use, these signs are indications of continuing use of the book. So, John Joscelyn not only read the Tremulous Hand annotations in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 12, but he copied some of them into Hatton 20, amongst the glosses entered by the Tremulous Hand himself.44 Later rebindings are also indications of communal activity, and this prompts us to ask why a book has been rebound or why certain materials have been assembled together. Matthew Parker is famous for his rearranging and rebinding of medieval manuscripts, as we shall see, and his willingness to refashion them as his own is a sign of his communal engagement with not only their content, but also their form. In the case of the manuscripts that have been associated with Wulfstan because they contain texts either attributed to him or related to topics in which he seems to have taken an interest, it would appear that there is reason to believe that Wulfstan himself ordered their assembly, but with no evidence to support this supposition, greater caution is necessary. Instead, we must ask who else might have wished to assemble such a compilation of texts reflecting Wulfstan’s sensibilities and whether that wish was linked to an interest in Wulfstan himself or simply to a set of preoccupations similar to Wulfstan’s own. It is conceivable that a layman might have taken an interest in both legal and homiletic texts, but it seems more likely that another bishop or archbishop might also have felt political pressures (perhaps from serving with the witan who advised the king) on top of his pastoral and episcopal duties. Relying on a different communal strategy, a binding may imitate or reference other bindings, as does the binding on the late seventh-century Northumbrian St. Cuthbert Gospel (London, British Library, Add. MS 89000) with its use of Coptic, Byzantine, and Islamic techniques of sewing and decoration.45 Likewise, deciding whether or not to bind a book may indicate other participation in a textual community. Asser relates an episode that illustrates one way that Alfred was using his libellus:46 In this case, Alfred is struck by something that Asser has just read to

Introduction  15 him, and he asks Asser to enter the passage into his libellus. When Asser finds that there is not room to copy the passage into the libellus, he proposes to prepare a fresh quire (foliuncula) and keep it separate (segregasse gaudebimus) so that more text may be added to it. The new “handbook” or “enchiridion” (manualem librum) grows to nearly the “size of a psalter” (magnitudinem unius psalterii) as Alfred continues his studies, so it appears further that if the foliuncula were bound, then they were bound in a way that was sufficiently flexible to allow for the insertion of more parchment to accommodate Alfred’s burgeoning library of excerpts. The binding of the manualis liber must have accommodated an ongoing program of reading and copying among Alfred and his court circle, as well as making practicable Alfred’s habit of carrying the book always on his person (in sinum suum or ad manum).47 So, it seems that even if we cannot be sure of Wulfstan’s creation of a “commonplace book,” Alfred was using his libellus at least partly as a repository for texts that he encountered with the guidance of the scholars at his court. Instead of learning about the possible forms of books from the use they received, this dynamic is reversed when later ideas about books, arising from Renaissance humanism, influence scholarly assessments of the manuscripts known now as Wulfstan’s so-called commonplace book. Rather than taking our cues from the medieval manuscripts themselves or from other indications of the use they saw, we have used other, later books as indications of how to understand the manuscripts associated with Wulfstan and Wulfstanian texts. Perhaps a more productive dialogue for future work would be set up between these Wulfstanian manuscripts, on the one hand, and Alfred’s libellus and his manualis liber on the other hand. All of these indications of textual community took place throughout the medieval period and into the early modern period. Of all of the changed circumstances during the nearly one thousand years spanned by this book, one of the most obvious is the advent of printing, but this is misleading. It was not the ability to have books printed that prompted a sixteenth-century archbishop of Canterbury to position himself in a diachronic textual community within the English Church and to cast himself and other Elizabethan churchmen as the heirs of their ­A nglo-Saxon predecessors. Printing may have opened up one strategy in a different way than manuscript books had done, but it was not the genesis of Parker’s project. Indeed, well before the advent of print, communities were sketched out and pieced together in and around books: Michelle Brown has written of an emerging Northumbrian sense of identity and self-definition shaped and expressed in linguistic, palaeographical, and decorative features of manuscript production in the early Anglo-Saxon period.48 Writing of late medieval manuscripts, Ralph Hanna has elucidated the “extensive webs of connection among literate people” around fourteenth-century Ripon, among whom vernacular books circulated

16 Introduction and may have been produced.49 Similarly, the Anglo-Saxon mission headed by Boniface (c. 675–754) and Lull (c. 710–786) requested that books be sent to Germany and, in transmitting the works of Aldhelm and Bede to the Continent, helped to fuel a wider demand for copies of those works.50 This book examines textual communities that expressed complicated relationships of linguistic and national identity, collaboration, disputation, imitation or emulation, alteration, and dissemination. The discussion begins with an investigation of Bede and his concern, on the one hand, with the boundaries between distinct languages and, on the other, with the boundaries between the written and spoken forms of a single language. The first chapter situates this linguistic thought in the context of centers of royal power and textual production in seventh- and eighth-century Northumbria and argues that Bede’s stance is tied to his theology, which acknowledges the importance of multilingualism in religious history. His sense, encouraged by Old Testament and patristic texts, of the fundamental importance of reform and redemption compelled Bede to participate in a textual community that embraced multilingualism in fulfillment of the miracle of the Pentecost. Even Augustine does not go out of his way to condemn the circulation “far and wide” (longe lateque) of divine scripture in various languages:51 Quam legentes nihil aliud appetunt quam cogitationes voluntatemque illorum a quibus conscripta est invenire et per illas voluntatem dei, secundum quam tales homines locutos credimus. [The aim of its readers is simply to find out the thoughts and wishes of those by whom it was written down and, through them, the will of God, which we believe these men followed as they spoke.] Isidore of Seville portrays God speaking to language communities in their own languages so that they can understand, apparently seeing nothing reprehensible in the transmission of spiritual truths by way of languages other than the tres sacrae linguae.52 The mixture of languages represented at the Pentecost implied, for Bede and others, an apostolic mission to carry the faith throughout the world, necessitating the mastery of numerous national languages, including Bede’s own Old English. The centrality of royal power for textual production continues in the second chapter, which focuses on the textual activities of Alfred the Great (r. 871–899) and his grandson Æthelstan (r. 924/5–939). Both Alfred and Æthelstan, having gathered courtly milieux of scholars representing a variety of linguistic backgrounds, used the composition, translation, copying, and distribution of texts to consolidate royal power. Alfred was especially articulate in using his textual activities to define royal oversight of both secular and religious life, but it was Æthelstan who

Introduction  17 perfected the art of giving and receiving books in order to maintain close ties with Ireland, Brittany, other parts of the Continent, and various regions within Britain. For both Alfred and Æthelstan, these textual measures were intended to contribute directly to the political well-­being of the kingdom, in addition to the intellectual or spiritual health of its citizens. The interplay between textual and political power is also at the heart of what we know of Wulfstan and Emma. Wulfstan, in particular, is known for his high standing in both ecclesiastical and secular circles, having been instrumental in the composition of a number of law codes of the time, and for his associations with several manuscript compilations of texts of various genres. Like Alfred, Emma found a way to make her lived experience textual, as an attempt to bolster her standing at a time when her son’s royal court was unsteady, characterized by factionalism, and not always an entirely safe place for Emma and members of her family. The West Midlands in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was the site of a vibrant textual community in which a variety of transitional forms of English were cultivated, both in the glossing or updating of Old English texts (notably by the so-called Tremulous Hand of Worcester) and in the composition of new texts, such as the Ancrene Wisse. As with Matthew Parker, who is the focus of the fifth and final chapter, these West Midlands readers and compilers responded to a sense of linguistic distance within English itself. The early thirteenth-century glosses of the Tremulous Hand are intended to elucidate both the morphological form and the lexical value of words in the Old English texts they accompany, whereas in early manuscripts of the devotional and hagiographical texts of the Ancrene Wisse Group written in the so-called AB language, we see a concerted effort by multiple scribes to resolve ambiguities in ­English orthography. For all of these West Midlands readers and writers, this activity with Old English manuscripts was fueled by a consciousness of linguistic distance within English itself. For Matthew Parker, the stakes were also religious and political, rather than simply linguistic, but much as Bede and Alfred were able to convert seemingly non-textual occurrences into textual events, Parker carried out his project as a linguistic and textual rescue effort. Parker is famous for amassing one of the largest collections of medieval manuscripts of the sixteenth century and for editing, annotating, and rebinding those manuscripts in ways that would appall a modern conservator. Since most of the collection is still housed in the Parker Library at Corpus Christi College, where it has recently undergone digitization, 53 it is possible to track these alterations in a systematic way. Much of what has been written about Parker has focused on his seemingly barbaric treatment of his manuscripts, but it is possible to offer a more constructive theory of Parker’s bibliographic activities by

18 Introduction asserting that he understood his curatorial and editorial project as allowing him to position himself and other prominent members of the young Anglican Church within a textual community stretching back to Anglo-Saxon England. One of the medieval manuscripts used (and annotated) by the ­Parkerian circle provides a fitting conclusion for this discussion. Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Hatton 20 contains a late ninth-century copy of the Alfredian translation of Gregory the Great’s Cura pastoralis. The intellectual inheritance claimed by Alfred in the use of Gregory’s text and the annotations left in the manuscript by later readers tie together all five chapters of this book and exemplify the linguistic and formal influences on the creation and shaping of textual community both synchronously and across a gap of many centuries.

Notes 1 Elizabeth M. Tyler, ed., Conceptualizing Multilingualism in Medieval ­England, c. 800–c. 1250 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011). 2 Bruce R. O’Brien, Reversing Babel: Translation among the English During an Age of Conquests, c. 800 to c. 1200 (Newark, DE: University of D ­ elaware Press, 2011), 11–13. 3 Sarah Foot, “The Making of Angelcynn: English Identity before the ­Norman Conquest,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th  ­s eries, 6 (1996): 33–4. 4 Catherine Hills, “Overview: Anglo-Saxon Identity,” in The Oxford Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Archaeology, ed. Helena Hamerow, David A. Hinton, and Sally Crawford (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 3. 5 Robert Bartlett, The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonization and Cultural Change, 950–1350 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993), 198–204. For more on language as an element of collective identity in the early Middle Ages, see also Foot, “The Making of Angelcynn,” 29–31. 6 Tim William Machan, Language Anxiety: Conflict and Change in the History of English (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 22. 7 Emily V. Thornbury, Becoming a Poet in Anglo-Saxon England ­(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 2–3. 8 Ibid. 9 Nicholas Howe, Migration and Mythmaking in Anglo-Saxon England (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1989), 4. See also Kathleen Davis, “National Writing in the Ninth Century: A Reminder for Postcolonial thinking about the Nation,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 28 (1998): 622–3. 10 Peter Burke, Languages and Communities in Early Modern Europe ­(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 67. 11 Katherine Kinzler, “The Superior Social Skills of Bilinguals,” New York Times, 11 March 2016, http://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/13/opinion/­ sunday/the-superior-social-skills-of-bilinguals.html?_r=0, an associate professor of linguistics, notes also that such effects can be seen in children as young as fourteen to sixteen months. 12 Burke, 49. 13 Michael Lapidge, The Anglo-Saxon Library (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 174–274.

Introduction  19 14 Ibid., 282–91. We must be cautious, however, of relying too heavily on the exact count provided, as the example of Aldhelm’s citations of ­Augustine illustrates: Four of the ten Augustinian works referenced by Aldhelm (see Lapidge, p. 179) appear solely in a single list of Augustinian works in ­A ldhelm’s De metris, ed. Rudolph Ehwald, Aldhelmi Opera, MGH AA 15 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1919), 81. 15 See the chronological range of entries in Karla Pollmann and Willemien ­Otten, eds., The Oxford Guide to the Historical Reception of Augustine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). 16 R. P. H. Green, ed. and trans., Augustine: De Doctrina Christiana (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), book II, chapter 3, pp. 56–9. 17 DDC II.6, pp. 58–9. 18 Joseph Patrick Christopher, ed. and trans., S. Aureli Augustini De catechizandis rudibus, liber unus (Washington, D. C.: Catholic University of ­A merica, 1926), chapter 2.3, pp. 18–9. 19 DDC II.8, pp. 60–1. 20 Jean Autret, William Burford, and Phillip J. Wolfe, trans. and ed., Marcel Proust: On Reading Ruskin: Prefaces to La Bible d’Amiens and Sésame et  les Lys with Selections from the Notes to the Translated Texts (New ­Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987), 113. 21 Brian Stock, The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries (Princeton, NJ: ­Princeton University Press, 1983), 90–1. 22 Ibid. 23 Brian Stock, Listening for the Text: On the Uses of the Past (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990), 150. 24 Stanley Fish, Is There a Text in this Class? The Authority of Interpretive Communities (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1980), 13–14. 25 Martin Irvine, The Making of Textual Culture: Grammatica and Literary Theory, 350–1100 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 15. 26 Ibid., 272–98 and 405–60. 27 Ibid., 15. 28 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, rev. ed. (London: Verso, 2006). 29 Foot, “The Making of Angelcynn,” 36–7. 30 Deborah Harkness, The Jewel House: Elizabethan London and the Scientific Revolution (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), 182. 31 Davis, “National Writing in the Ninth Century,” 611–37, esp. 611–14 and 628–30. 32 Irvine, 276. 33 W. M. Lindsay, ed., Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi Etymologiarum sive Origi­ num libri XX (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1911; repr. 1966), vol. I, Book I.i.14. 34 Stephen A. Barney et al., trans., with the collaboration of Muriel Hall, The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), IX.i.14, p. 192. 35 Irvine, Making, 415–18. For the text of Ælfric’s Latin Preface to his ­Grammar, in which he explicitly lays claim to a benefit arising from both languages (utramque linguam), see Jonathan Wilcox, ed., Ælfric’s Prefaces (Durham: Durham Medieval Texts, 1994), 114. 36 Catherine A. M. Clarke, Writing Power in Anglo-Saxon England: Texts, Hierarchies, Economies (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2012). 37 See, for example, Rebecca Stephenson, The Politics of Language: ­Byrhtferth, Ælfric, and the Multilingual Identity of the Benedictine Reform

20 Introduction

38 39 4 0 41 42 43 4 4 45 46

47 48 49 50 51 52

53

(Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2015), and Rebecca Stephenson and Emily V. Thornbury, eds., Latinity and Identity in Anglo-Saxon Literature (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2016). Foot, “The Making of Angelcynn,” 48–9. Henry Sweet, ed., King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care, EETS o.s. 45, 50 (London: N. Trübner & Co., 1871; repr. 1958), I.5. Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 34–7. Sweet, 7. Ralph Hanna, “Some North Yorkshire Scribes and Their Context,” in ­M edieval Texts in Context, ed. Graham D. Caie and Denis Renevey ­(London: Routledge, 2008), 167–91. John Strype, The Life and Acts of Matthew Parker (London: J. Wyat, 1711), 531. R. I. Page, “The Sixteenth-Century Reception of Alfred the Great’s Letter to his Bishops,” Anglia 110 (1992): 47. J. A. Szirmai, The Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding (Aldershot: ­Ashgate, 1999), 95–6. William Henry Stevenson, ed., Asser’s Life of King Alfred Together with the Annals of Saint Neots Erroneously Ascribed to Asser (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959; repr. 1998), chapters 88–9. Translated by Simon Keynes and Michael Lapidge, Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources (London: Penguin Books, 1983), pp. 99–100. Stevenson, chapters 88–9. Michelle P. Brown, The Lindisfarne Gospels: Society, Spirituality and the Scribe (London: British Library, 2003), 227–30. Hanna, “Some North Yorkshire Scribes,” 167–91. Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 38–9. See also Andy Orchard, The Poetic Art of Aldhelm (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 61–7. DDC II.9, pp. 60–1. Lindsay, IX.i.11: In diversis quippe gentibus creditur quod eadem lingua illis Deus loquatur quam ipsi homines utuntur, ut ab eis intellegatur. ­Barney et al., IX.i.11: “As for the various language communities, it is rather believed that God speaks to them in the same language that the people use themselves, so that he may be understood by them.” Information on the project and images of the manuscripts are available through Parker Library on the Web at http://parkerweb.stanford.edu.

References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. Rev. ed. London: Verso, 2006. Autret, Jean, William Burford, and Phillip J. Wolfe, ed. and trans. Marcel Proust: On Reading Ruskin: Prefaces to La Bible d’Amiens and Sésame et les Lys with Selections from the Notes to the Translated Texts. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987. Barney, Stephen A., W. J. Lewis, J. A. Beach, and Oliver Berghof, trans. The ­Etymologies of Isidore of Seville. With the collaboration of Muriel Hall. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Bartlett, Robert. The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonization and Cultural Change, 950–1350. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993. Brown, Michelle P. The Lindisfarne Gospels: Society, Spirituality and the Scribe. London: British Library, 2003.

Introduction  21 Burke, Peter. Languages and Communities in Early Modern Europe. ­Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Caie, Graham D., and Denis Renevey, eds. Medieval Texts in Context. London: Routledge, 2008. Christopher, Joseph Patrick, ed. and trans. S. Aureli Augustini De catechizandis rudibus, liber unus. Washington, D. C.: Catholic University of America, 1926. Clarke, Catherine A. M. Writing Power in Anglo-Saxon England: Texts, Hierarchies, Economies. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2012. Davis, Kathleen. “National Writing in the Ninth Century: A Reminder for Postcolonial thinking about the Nation.” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 28 (1998): 611–37. Ehwald, Rudolph, ed. Aldhelmi Opera. MGH AA 15. Berlin: Weidmann, 1919. Fish, Stanley. Is There a Text in this Class? The Authority of Interpretive Communities. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1980. Foot, Sarah. “The Making of Angelcynn: English Identity before the Norman Conquest.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, 6 (1996): 25–49. Green, R. P. H., ed. and trans. Augustine: De Doctrina Christiana. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995. Hamerow, Helena, David A. Hinton, and Sally Crawford, eds. The Oxford Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Archaeology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Harkness, Deborah. The Jewel House: Elizabethan London and the Scientific Revolution. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007. Howe, Nicholas. Migration and Mythmaking in Anglo-Saxon England. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1989. Irvine, Martin. The Making of Textual Culture: Grammatica and Literary ­Theory, 350–1100. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Keynes, Simon, and Michael Lapidge. Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources. London: Penguin Books, 1983. Kinzler, Katherine. “The Superior Social Skills of Bilinguals.” New York Times, 11 March 2016. http://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/13/opinion/sunday/thesuperior-social-skills-of-bilinguals.html?_r=0. Lapidge, Michael. The Anglo-Saxon Library. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Lindsay, W. M., ed. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi Etymologiarum sive Originum libri XX. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1911. Reprinted 1966. Machan, Tim William. Language Anxiety: Conflict and Change in the History of English. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. O’Brien, Bruce R. Reversing Babel: Translation among the English During an Age of Conquests, c. 800 to c. 1200. Newark, DE: University of Delaware Press, 2011. Orchard, Andy. The Poetic Art of Aldhelm. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Page, R. I. “The Sixteenth-Century Reception of Alfred the Great’s Letter to his Bishops.” Anglia 110 (1992): 36–64. Pollmann, Karla, and Willemien Otten, eds. The Oxford Guide to the Historical Reception of Augustine. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013.

22 Introduction Stephenson, Rebecca. The Politics of Language: Byrhtferth, Ælfric, and the Multilingual Identity of the Benedictine Reform. Toronto: University of ­Toronto Press, 2015. Stephenson, Rebecca, and Emily V. Thornbury, eds. Latinity and Identity in Anglo-Saxon Literature. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2016. Stevenson, William Henry, ed. Asser’s Life of King Alfred Together with the Annals of Saint Neots Erroneously Ascribed to Asser. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959. Reprinted 1998. Stock, Brian. The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries. Princeton, NJ: ­Princeton University Press, 1983. ———. Listening for the Text: On the Uses of the Past. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990. Strype, John. The Life and Acts of Matthew Parker. London: J. Wyat, 1711. Sweet, Henry, ed. King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care. EETS o.s. 45, 50. London: N. Trübner & Co., 1871. Reprinted 1958. Szirmai, J. A. The Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999. Thornbury, Emily V. Becoming a Poet in Anglo-Saxon England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Tyler, Elizabeth M., ed. Conceptualizing Multilingualism in Medieval England, c. 800–c. 1250. Turnhout: Brepols, 2011. Wilcox, Jonathan, ed. Ælfric’s Prefaces. Durham: Durham Medieval Texts, 1994.

1 Latinity and the English People

The Venerable Bede (c. 673–735), one of the most important authors from the Anglo-Saxon period, produced a wide range of Latin works that nevertheless helped to shape a sense of English identity and to frame English-language textuality. Focusing on Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica, this chapter will begin to illustrate how Latin can take on potentially unifying roles, especially as envisioned in Bede’s understanding of the Pentecost, but it will also become clear how conceptions of Englishness and an English language can serve unifying functions in a landscape populated by speakers of a variety of languages. It is clear in the Historia ecclesiastica that Bede was interested in different kinds of linguistic boundaries, both those between different languages and those between written and spoken forms of communication. In particular, performativity is a crucial element of his understanding of the Pentecost and of some of the linguistic miracles described in the ­Historia ecclesiastica. His focus both on textual scholarship and on the related ideals of reform and redemption informs his approach to language, as he balances contact with, even immersion in, the Latin tradition with the diversity of languages in Britain and in the wider Christian world. It is with the intersection of Bede’s theological, linguistic, and textual habits that this chapter concerns itself, exploring the way that Bede envisions textual and spiritual communities.

Northumbrian Context By the time Bede reached adulthood, Northumbria was unusual in that we have relatively abundant evidence of individuals, texts, and physical books, beyond what is seen elsewhere in Anglo-Saxon England before the late ninth century and the scholarly circle at the court of Alfred the Great (r. 871–899). Consequently, we have a much fuller picture of the workings of this textual community than we do for any others from this period. Much, though certainly not all, of this information comes from Bede’s own Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum, comp­ leted in 731. In addition to Bede’s information about individuals and institutions, a number of books produced or used in this milieu can be

24  Latinity and the English People identified, some of which have survived and others of which are now lost to us. From an inventory of Bede’s sources alone, it is clear that the library at ­Wearmouth-Jarrow as Bede knew it was one of the largest in ­A nglo-Saxon England, including even the eleventh-century libraries from which inventories survive, with the Wearmouth-Jarrow collection containing something like 250 titles in as many as 200 volumes or more.1 The fact that little is known of the later whereabouts of these books mirrors the fate of the other major libraries of early Anglo-Saxon England. 2 One other factor that distinguishes Northumbria, and especially Wearmouth-Jarrow, in the seventh and eighth centuries is that it is not only possible to identify books that were products of Northumbrian scriptoria, but to fill in a more detailed and notably interconnected history for these books, such as the Codex Amiatinus, intended for St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, and its two sister pandects, which were meant to remain at Wearmouth and Jarrow but which are now lost. Produced before Ceolfrith left for Rome in 716, the Codex Amiatinus and other texts produced during Ceolfrith’s abbacy may then have provided a direct model for the script and other decorative features of the Lindisfarne Gospels. This would mean that the Lindisfarne Gospels were likely produced during or after the editorial and scribal activity of Ceolfrith’s abbacy, pushing the date of production past the traditional 698 and into the eighth century, 3 and we might wonder which other manuscripts were influenced by this seemingly busy site of production. Michelle Brown’s suggestion that the Lindisfarne Gospels were made at Lindisfarne at some point in the period 710–21, when Bishop ­Eadfrith of Lindisfarne and Bede “seem to have been actively ­collaborating in determining the future direction of the cult of St. Cuthbert as part of a broader religious and political agenda” is a reminder that the ­monastery was a nexus of royal and ecclesiastical power, as well as textual production.4 Much of this increased visibility of the activities of the textual community may be due to the influence on Northumbria of the Irish Church, which was already solidly established. The Irish, who were among the first non-Romance speakers to study Latin, brought a strong tradition of writing in both Latin and their own vernacular. 5 The accommodating attitude of many Irish clerics towards the cultivation of vernacular Irish literature may well have influenced Anglo-Saxon attitudes towards vernacular literature of their own.6 O’Neill has even argued that Ireland is the most likely site for the development of the Old English alphabet, in what must have been “a learned, deliberative process rather than–as is sometimes suggested–an ad hoc accommodation to meet a need to record in writing Old English personal and place-names.”7 Whatever the truth of this may be, the relatively high concentration of monastic foundations in the north of England or Scotland either established by the Irish or located in heavily Irish territory provided the critical mass

Latinity and the English People  25 for more large-scale, collaborative activity than was feasible south of the Humber before the founding of the school at Canterbury. Lindisfarne, founded in 635 by Aidan and also known as Holy Island, is famous for the Viking attack of 793, but it had been the center of the mission to Northumbria after Aidan was brought in by Oswald to evangelize and serve as bishop. The success of the original foundation of St. Peter’s at Wearmouth by Benedict Biscop in 674 led to the foundation of its sister house, St. Paul’s, at Jarrow in 681. Under the leadership of Abbot Ceolfrith, the double house achieved an impressive stature as a producer of high-quality books and the home of the equally impressive Bede. His reputation was already great enough that Eadfrith, bishop of Lindisfarne, commissioned Bede to rewrite the prose Life of Cuthbert in 720. Iona, founded off the western coast of what is now Scotland in 563 after Columba left Ireland, mainly served the Irish kingdom of Dalriada and was not Northumbrian territory, but by the time Augustine arrived in Kent in 597, two English Christians were already living at Iona. In addition, Iona is probably where Oswald and Oswiu spent at least part of their exile during the ascendancy of King Edwin (r. Deira 616–33), and Aldhelm and Aldfrith also appear to have spent time there, as we shall see.8 The alphabetical poem, Altus prosator, was probably composed at Iona by Columba in the late sixth century or by another Iona monk in the late sixth or seventh century, and it displays the fondness for foreign and exotic vocabulary that characterizes “Hisperic” Latin, including the Hisperica famina and the works of Aldhelm.9 Books tell us a great deal about the varied cultural influences at work in Anglo-Saxon England and especially in Northumbria, where Irish influence was strong.10 What Michelle Brown has called “cultural cross-references” appearing in books and other artifacts reveal both the wide-ranging influences at work in Anglo-Saxon England and the Anglo-Saxon culture that cultivated these contacts and allowed their influence to take hold to varying degrees.11 The Irish greatly influenced Anglo-Saxon scriptoria in the codicological aspects of book production, such as pricking, ruling, and the arrangement of leaves in quires, but the images in Northumbrian manuscripts show a debt to Italian, C ­ optic, and other wide-ranging influences. Likewise, the Irish script system was heavily influential in Anglo-Saxon England, but individual Roman scripts had their own impact, as in the distinctively Anglo-Saxon use of rustic capitals as a display script. Although some of the Irish missionaries are more famous, Anglo-Saxon missionaries such as Willibrord (658–739) and Boniface (c. 675–754) also brought Insular influence to Continental scriptoria.12 The details of the script and decorative features of the Lindisfarne Gospels lay bare a variety of influences from all corners of the C ­ hristian world, but in their combination and the innovations introduced, ­M ichelle Brown detects an expression of political and linguistic identity emerging

26  Latinity and the English People in Northumbria but positioning itself within the wider Christian “œcumen.”13 In other Northumbrian books, it is codicological features that reveal the breadth of cultural contacts in this period. The St. Cuthbert Gospel (London, British Library, MS Add 89000), previously known as the Stonyhurst Gospel (BL, MS Loan 74) but recently acquired on a permanent basis by the British Library, retains its original late seventh-­ century binding, betraying its Mediterranean influences with a sewing pattern drawn from the Coptic/Egyptian/Byzantine tradition. The decorative features on the goatskin cover, on the other hand, have been taken to show Islamic influence, making the book unique, certainly among surviving Northumbrian productions, in this combination of structural and decorative influences.14 The most prominent sites where or for whose use books were produced are the monastic foundations already mentioned: Wearmouth-­ Jarrow produced the Codex Amiatinus and its two sister pandects, as well as copies of Bede’s works, whereas Lindisfarne probably produced its famous gospel book and certainly commissioned Bede to rework the anonymous prose life of St. Cuthbert, a Lindisfarne bishop of the late seventh century. This is only one of a number of examples of collaboration between Wearmouth-Jarrow and Lindisfarne. Books were also moving between other sites in Northumbria at this time. The Durham Gospels, for instance, were produced at a Columban foundation, probably either Melrose or Lindisfarne, around 700 but brought to Durham in the early Middle Ages, most likely in the wake of Viking attacks.15 It has often been noted that there is a sharp distinction in the surviving evidence of writing from the early Anglo-Saxon period, with the ­Northumbrian survivals mostly books or fragments of books of a scholarly or ecclesiastical bent, whereas the survivals from the south of England are almost exclusively land-charters or law codes.16 The ­Northumbrian church did produce land-charters, and Liudhard, the chaplain who accompanied Bertha when she married Æthelberht, may well have taken some books with him, which would mean that books were being used in Kent even before Augustine’s arrival.17 So, the discrepancy is intriguing. Susan Kelly suggests that the Irish, with their deep sense of bilingualism (as non-Romance speakers who learned Latin), may have been especially adept at training Anglo-Saxons (more non-Romance speakers) in “literacy skills,” thus giving literacy a deeper foundation in the Northumbrian church.18 Richard Emms, on the other hand, wonders if Kent was already in possession of a sufficient number of imported books for churches and monasteries to function without necessitating significant scribal production. There is evidence of the importation of books by Liudhard in the late sixth century and by A ­ ugustine in 597 and 601, but the main evidence of textual production in Kent is the survival of Æthelberht’s laws and the presence of a notary at the Council of Hertford in 672.19

Latinity and the English People  27 In fact, it is reasonable to suggest that the scriptorium at W ­ earmouthJarrow did a great deal on its own to shift the balance of survivals from Northumbria, producing not only books for liturgical use at its own and other churches, but also supplying copies of other works, especially those of Bede. At least nine surviving manuscripts of various texts are written in the same uncial script that was used during the abbacy of Ceolfrith to complete the Codex Amiatinus, 20 but by the mid-eighth century, Wearmouth-Jarrow had shifted to an Insular minuscule script to copy the works of Bede, possibly in response to an increasing demand on the scriptorium for copies of Bede to go to the Continent. 21 Much of what we know about the linguistic situation and about the relationships between speakers of different languages in Northumbria at this period is gleaned from the works of Bede, especially the Historia ­ecclesiastica. As with any work of history, the Historia must be read with an awareness of the possible biases or agendas of its author. What makes this a valuable source is not that Bede becomes an authoritative source on the “facts,” but rather that his presentation of the events he puts before the reader illustrates many of his preoccupations. For example, it stretches credulity to think that we should understand the political divisions of early Anglo-Saxon England as simply as Bede presents them. 22 Both political and religious distinctions may have become somewhat simplified in Bede’s narrative, in order to illustrate the fundamental concepts he sees at work. D. H. Farmer, in the introduction to the 1990 Penguin edition of B ­ ede’s Historia ecclesiastica, identified the “main theme” of the H ­ istoria as “the progression from diversity to unity.”23 Christianity becomes the unifying factor, likely explaining both Bede’s concern to achieve a single celebration of Easter24 and the emphasis that he gives to the Synod of Whitby, which was arguably a less significant episode in the development of the English Church than the Council of Hertford, which was an important stage in the process by which Canterbury assumed primacy in the English Church. Not only his preoccupation with Easter, but also his general anxiety about unity within the Christian church would have lent this episode greater significance than it might have otherwise held. 25 Moreover, as Wormald noted, it is important to remember that although Bede’s account gives a slightly different impression, there was not a “Celtic Church” (or even an “Irish Church”) that stood in opposition to the single “Roman Church;” rather, there was frequent dissent within Ireland and throughout Christendom, where a variety of liturgies and observances were tolerated. 26 So, Bede’s portrayal of the Synod of Whitby may have been slightly distorted by these preoccupations. While religious faith does seem to function as a unifying principle that drives much of Bede’s work, the Historia ecclesiastica also shows a consistent focus on linguistic matters that suggests that this is not merely an ancillary or coincident feature. Closely related to this is a

28  Latinity and the English People sense of ethnic or broad national identity by which speakers of a common language might feel a connection beyond the limits of an individual kingdom. Foot notes that although Bede was neither the first, nor the only, ­A nglo-Saxon writer to use the term “English” to refer to all Anglo-­ Saxons, he was more consistent in using this name for the A ­ nglo-Saxons than most of his contemporaries. 27 Wormald notes that with both Lives of Gregory (the Historia ecclesiastica and the Whitby Life) using the ­famous puns on the ethnic and political names associated with the youths in the slave market, and with all of Gregory’s correspondence on the mission preferring the term “Angles,” this label for the different tribes gains its legitimacy not from political rule by Anglians, but from the mind of God. 28 Moreover, Bede did much to establish the idea of a gens Anglorum that constituted a single people and had a covenant like that of ancient Israel. 29 More evidence of Bede’s desire for unity may be observed in his approach to linguistic boundaries. As we shall see, Bede seems to view the negotiation of such boundaries as a way of displaying power and accruing cultural capital. This power is derived from the differences that an individual is able to bridge, but it comes as a unifying force. So, for Bede, unification is not equivalent with homogenization, but it is especially important in a world where political transitions could be both frequent and contested. Both of those terms could accurately describe seventh-century royal succession in Northumbria. Aside from internal strife, the Picts remained on the edges of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, pushed farther north, but not destroyed—in fact, Bede mentions the Picts a number of times in the course of the Historia ecclesiastica, including his account of Nechtan’s wish to reform the religious observance in his kingdom and the lengthy reply from Ceolfrith on the dating of Easter (V.21). The Irish also remained on the scene, especially in monastic foundations or as missionaries. Consequently, the languages spoken in Northumbria included Anglo-Saxon, Pictish, and Irish, with Latin used in liturgical contexts and, of course, for texts like Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica. So, the textual activity described above took place in a complex linguistic environment where speakers of multiple vernacular languages interacted with each other and with Latin, which saw most of its daily use in liturgical contexts or for documents like land-charters. Even “Old English” itself was far from a monolithic language with universal conformity throughout the regions where it was spoken; it is clear from the earliest written records (generally charters) that there was regional variation, and there are good reasons to think that at least some of this regional variation may have pre-dated the arrival of Old English as a dominant language in Britain.30 Bede’s value as a witness of early Anglo-Saxon textual community should not overshadow the influence of other scholarly figures from the period. Ceolfrith and Benedict Biscop are responsible for the creation

Latinity and the English People  29 and development of the library at Wearmouth-Jarrow, which dwarfed contemporary Anglo-Saxon libraries, and for the cultivation of the highly influential scriptorium at Wearmouth-Jarrow. That both men traveled to Rome, where Benedict Biscop acquired books and other treasures for the monastery and where Ceolfrith was delivering the Codex Amiatinus when he died in 716, testifies to a textual culture that is anything but what is now meant by the somewhat disparaging use of the term “insular.” The case of Malmesbury is especially appropriate because it reminds us also that the ties between royal power and monastic power were strong. Aldhelm of Malmesbury (c. 640–709/10) is best known for his ornate and erudite Latin style, but he was closely connected with the West Saxon royal family and may even have been the son of King Centwine (r. 676–85). Michael Lapidge’s analysis of Aldhelm’s place in the West Saxon royal family suggests that the ties between Wessex and Northumbria were closer than we are sometimes apt to suppose.31 From the Historia ecclesiastica and other sources, it is clear that individuals, at least those who were either strongly motivated or well placed, such as missionaries or members of a royal family, moved between different parts of Anglo-Saxon England. 32 As Emily Thornbury has laid out, it is also clear that there were networks of intellectual, ecclesiastical, and familial relationships that spanned the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms in this period.33 It may also be that the monastic house at Malmesbury was founded in order to provide Aldhelm’s presumptive father, King Centwine, with a place of retirement and that Aldhelm’s appointment as abbot might have been a way of removing any threat to Ceadwalla’s ascendancy to the West Saxon throne. As if to solidify the arrangement, Ceadwalla’s successor, Ine, himself another kinsman of Aldhelm, endorsed the papal privileges brought back by Aldhelm for the monasteries at Malmesbury and Frome.34 That Bede dedicated his Historia ecclesiastica to Ceolwulf (r.  ­Northumbria 729–737) is hardly distinctive in the context of so many other medieval dedications to kings or other powerful secular figures, but Michelle Brown has even suggested that Ceolwulf, who was a benefactor of Lindisfarne and stayed there in 731, may have been resident at the monastery when Bede dedicated the Historia ecclesiastica to him.35 What is more noteworthy, even in a period when kings could and did enter monasteries for their old age after either abdicating or being deposed, is that both Benedict Biscop (c. 628–690) and his successor as abbot of Wearmouth, Eosterwine (650–686), were at court before ­becoming monks, and as a monk, Benedict Biscop acted as an advisor to King ­E cgfrith (r. 670–685). 36 This suggests that monasteries may have ­offered a quieter life to some but were by no means cut off from the ­affairs of state for those who took an interest in such things.37

30  Latinity and the English People The production of charters and other royal documents offers more concrete manifestations of these close ties and of their effects on textual communities. It is not difficult to imagine a scenario in which ­secular influences leave their mark on monastic book production, just as the ­Barberini Gospels have been shown to reflect the court culture of ­Mercian Kings Offa and Coenwulf, 38 but it is perhaps less instinctive to acknowledge the influence of monastic or scholarly texts on the business of the court. Nevertheless, charters were usually written in ecclesiastical scriptoria, as opposed to royal chanceries, until the early tenth century, 39 and Simon Keynes has suggested that Aldhelm was a model for the language of English royal charters beginning with Æthelstan (r. 924/5–939).40 In fact, none of the five charters included by Ehwald in his edition of the works of Aldhelm is now considered to be an authentic document, but at least two of them may have been the work of a later imitator stitching together phrases from Aldhelm’s works.41 As with the works of Wulfstan of York (d. 1023), the authenticity of a text composed in a distinctive and imitable style is necessarily difficult to prove, but both of these men show not only an ability to work in different languages, but also an interest or a willingness to work in different genres. Bede and Aldhelm shared an interest in languages other than English, as is shown by Aldhelm’s extensive corpus of Latin writings, which frequently use rare vocabulary items, especially drawn from Greek, and his likely participation in the “Leiden Glossary,” which was produced at Canterbury. Aldhelm can probably be identified with the so-called Third Rufinus Glossator, who contributed the vast majority of the glosses on the text of Rufinus’ translation of the Historia ecclesiastica of ­Eusebius.42 This is striking in light of Danuta Shanzer’s argument that Rufinus might have influenced Bede’s Latin prose style, with its long and often periodic sentences. Shanzer even suggests that we should be discussing a “Rufinian Renaissance in Northumbrian Latin Prose.”43 It is even more instructive to consider what Bede has to say about ­A ldhelm himself and about Aldhelm’s educational and intellectual ­attributes. Bede’s explanation for Pope Vitalian’s insistence that Hadrian accompany Theodore to England is two-fold: Hadrian had travelled through Gaul twice before, and Hadrian would be able to prevent ­Theodore from introducing Greek customs that might run counter to the faith (IV.1). Elsewhere in the Historia ecclesiastica, Bede praises ­English students who know Greek and Latin as well as their own language, so it does not seem to be the Greek language itself that concerns Bede. In fact, Bede goes so far as to imply that the educational achievements of these students produce the kind of Christian kings who are feared by their barbarian neighbors (IV.2).44 In V.18, Bede offers similar praise to Aldhelm, that he was remarkable for his erudition in both liberal and ecclesiastical studies (tam liberalium quam ecclesiasticarum erat eruditione mirandus). Aldhelm writes in his letters about the superiority of

Latinity and the English People  31 English schools (compared to Irish schools) in terms of their ability to offer instruction in Greek, in addition to his use of Greek-derived words in the Latin text of his letters. This would seem to imply that the value of these languages is not merely their sacred associations, but also the erudition they signify and the creativity they enable. Northumbria is far better known for its contacts with the Irish than is southern England, but there are significant southern connections with Northumbria and with Ireland. Aldhelm is known to have spent time somewhere in Irish-controlled territory, and Michael Lapidge has recently shown that there is good reason to believe that Iona was the site of his studies.45 Aldhelm was not the only Anglo-Saxon to study in Ireland, as he makes clear in his letter to Heahfrith, at the opening of which he mocks the Irish lack of the phoneme /p/.46 The flow of students also went in the other direction, as at the school of Theodore and Hadrian at ­Canterbury, which drew students not only from all over England ­(including Aldhelm), but also from Ireland. As much as Aldhelm seems to have denigrated the decision to study in Ireland, such decisions on the part of his students would have helped to spread his texts and his style far beyond the reach of his own school, as Emily Thornbury notes.47 This spread of Aldhelm’s works and style, as well as the exchange of octosyllabic verses seemingly intended to rekindle old friendships, reminds us not only that writing itself can do much to bind together people who are physically separated, but also that writing in Latin can do that, no matter how great the pull of the vernacular might seem to be.48 It would be a mistake to overlook the fact that an “Anglo-Irish intellectual climate” extended into the south of England and provided a matrix for both the Anglo-Saxon Aldhelm and the ­Hiberno-Latin Hisperica famina and grammatical texts of V ­ irgilius Maro Grammaticus.49 It would certainly be foolish to suggest that ­every educated or well-traveled individual within this sphere of influence would have been multilingual, but it is equally certain that there must have been wide-spread awareness of and, in many cases, contact with the Irish language or Hiberno-Latin usages among the political and ecclesiastical elites of early Anglo-Saxon England. Connections with Continental Europe also helped to shape some aspects of Anglo-Saxon literate culture. Bede’s works were particularly influential, having become hugely popular very soon after his death. 50 Both Alcuin and Boniface lauded his works and helped to make them known on the Continent, 51 and Boniface and his circle also served as a conduit for Aldhelm’s works. 52 As we have seen, Malcolm Parkes has argued that Bede’s popularity on the Continent had an effect as far away as in the scriptorium at Wearmouth-Jarrow, leading to changes in palaeographical practice, where the “capitular uncial” that had deve­ loped there was later abandoned in favor of the more swiftly executed Insular minuscule for several manuscripts of Bede’s works, including

32  Latinity and the English People the St.  Petersburg Bede (St. Petersburg, National Library of Russia, MS  Lat. Q. v. I. 18). 53 Through this exporting of copies of Bede and other ­A nglo-Saxon texts, and also through the missionary activities of individual Anglo-Saxons who went to the Continent, the Anglo-Saxons contributed substantially to the Carolingian renaissance. 54

Languages in the Historia ecclesiastica Since they emerge from an environment that is so textually productive and so linguistically rich, it is no wonder that Bede’s works should display such a strong belief in the power of both languages and texts. Setting up the miracle of the Pentecost as a mirror of the confusion of languages at the Tower of Babel, Bede is also able to present it as the “beginning of world Christendom,” the moment at which the apostles established a worldwide evangelizing mission—one which continued when Gregory the Great, who strongly influenced Bede’s views on the Pentecost, dispatched Augustine to England. 55 During the miracle of the Pentecost, the languages of all those present were united in expounding catholic, universal doctrine that was understood by all simultaneously. Seen from this perspective, the diversity of languages, although it arose through human pride, is in fact an invitation to the Holy Spirit to bring about a unity of faith. For Bede, being able to bridge linguistic gaps meant assisting in this work of the Holy Spirit, and he asserts “the holiness of all languages” in his commentary on Genesis.56 Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica may be most famous for its account of Cædmon and his miraculous start as a poet (IV.24), or for its report of the Synod of Whitby and the resolution of the Easter controversy (III.25), but the Historia ecclesiastica is suffused with an awareness of language as a powerful force in the world. Bede’s views on language are intimately bound up with his views on world history, theology, and what we would now call international relations. In all cases, the question of linguistic difference, whether between distinct languages or between written and spoken forms of a single language, is fundamental to Bede’s treatment of his material. In Bede’s account, being able to navigate linguistic difference bestows power and contributes to the accumulation of cultural capital, and he has been described as being “remarkable in his generosity toward linguistic diversity” in the larger corpus of his writings.57 Bede’s famous opening image of the five languages of Britain as paired with the five books of the Pentateuch thus carries real significance for the entire project of the Historia ecclesiastica. The situation on the ground must have been far more complex than Bede’s schema would suggest, when he claims that each of the five languages of Britain “explores and reveals one and the same knowledge of highest truth and true loftiness” (unam eandemque summae ueritatis et uerae sublimitatis scientiam

Latinity and the English People  33 scrutator et confitetur) (I.1). This implies that the schema, as presented in the Historia, carries primarily symbolic weight. Bede must have been aware of spoken conversations in a variety of languages and of written texts in more than he presents in the opening chapter, but he chooses to frame the Historia ecclesiastica in scripture and with an alignment between language and identity for participation in the community of Christian belief. Samantha Zacher argues that Bede uses language more as a representation of ethnic or cultural identity, noting the parallel bet­ ween the opening image of Latin as a unifying language and the closing schema (V.23), where the dominance of English rule replaces Latin as the unifying force. Rather than diminishing the importance of language, Bede shows that language and politics are inseparable, as when he writes the gens Anglorum into being, long before there is a corresponding political reality.58 In the early eighth century, Nechtan, king of the Picts, wrote to ­Abbot Ceolfrith for guidance when he wanted to convert his people to R ­ oman practice in the observance of Easter, promising that they would a­ dhere to Roman custom as best they could learn it, being “so far distant from the Roman people and their language” (tam longe a Romanorum l­oquella et natione segregati) (V.21). The same might have been said of the ­Northumbrians themselves not very long before, for the N ­ orthumbrians had been just as far removed from the Roman people as the Picts until the journeys of Benedict Biscop to Rome a century earlier. Indeed, their access to the rites and writings of the Roman Church rested on the linguistic abilities of certain ecclesiastics, and the evangelizing mission that had brought them into the fold required the Northumbrians to do precisely this same favor for the Picts by making the teachings of the Church available to them. 59 Bede records a complete version of the letter ­Ceolfrith sent back to Nechtan, and it may be that Bede wrote the original letter itself.60 This would mean that he was involved in fairly high-level diplomatic affairs in Northumbria. In spite of this episode with the Picts, the most prominent gentes in contact with the Anglo-Saxons in the Historia ecclesiastica are the Irish and the Franks, both brought to the fore by the monastic and dynastic ties they maintained with the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. The Irish brought both spiritual and secular learning to the English (III.27), and more than one Northumbrian king had experience with the Irish language, either through a sojourn in Ireland or among Irish missionaries (Oswald in III.3 and Oswiu in III.25) or thanks to family connections (Aldfrith in IV.26 and V.15).61 The Anglo-Saxons not only accepted Frankish interpreters for the Augustinian mission (I.25) and Frankish or Frankish-consecrated bishops (Agilbert and Wine in III.7 and Wilfrid in III.28), but their nobles married into Frankish royalty (Æthelberht and Bertha in I.25) and entered Frankish monasteries (Sæthryth and ­Æthelburh, among others, in III.8).

34  Latinity and the English People In these situations of contact, Bede is often concerned to make clear who is able to translate for whom when the need arises, and his accounts also touch on the cultural capital built up by those who are able to negotiate these boundaries.62 When Bishop Aidan wishes to preach in Northumbria but requires an interpreter, Bede tells us that it was a very beautiful spectacle (pulcherrimo saepe spectaculo contigit) to watch King Oswald translating for his ealdormen and thegns (III.3). Oswald has accrued linguistic capital for himself through his ability to exercise the linguistic skills appropriate for the “market” or “field” in which he operates.63 It is worth noting that the named individuals who are ­credited with the accumulation of such capital are most ­often kings, suggesting that this may be more likely to preserve current power structures, rather than overthrow them. On the other hand, kings whose inter­ linguistic abilities are somewhat lacking do appear, including ­Oswine, whose ­ignorance of the Irish language allowed Bishop Aidan to converse privately with a priest in Oswine’s presence (III.14). In the context of the seventh-century attempt to complete the conversion of Northumbria to Christianity, when the Irish exercised great influence, the vernacular language of greatest conversational utility besides English was Irish. In another field, however, the requisite skill might, more mundanely, be English itself, as when the Frankish Agilbert was made bishop of the West Saxons but found that his “barbarous speech” began to grate on the sensibilities and patience of King Cenwealh, “who only knew the Saxon language.” In response, Cenwealh brought in Wine, an Anglo-Saxon who, though consecrated in Gaul, could certainly be expected to speak the language of the West Saxons (III.7): Cuius eruditionem atque industriam uidens rex rogauit eum ­accepta ibi sede episcopali suae gentis manere pontificem; qui precibus eius adnuens, multis annis eidem genti sacerdotali iure praefuit. Tandem rex, qui Saxonum tantum linguam nouerat, pertaesus barbarae loquellae, subintroduxit in prouinciam alium suae linguae episcopum, uocabulo Uini, et ipsum in Gallia ordinatum. [Seeing his erudition and industry, the king asked him to accept the episcopal seat and remain as bishop of his people, and agreeing to his requests, Agilbert presided over that same people for many years by priestly right [i.e., as bishop]. At last, the king, who only knew the Saxon language and was wearied with Agilbert’s barbarous speech, secretly introduced into the province another bishop of his own language, called Wine, who had also been consecrated in Gaul.] This episode is somewhat perplexing because Bede gives remarkably little detail on the origins of this rift. If Augustine used Frankish interpreters on his second attempt to enter Anglo-Saxon territory and if

Latinity and the English People  35 Anglo-Saxon clerics could go to Gaul for training and consecration, then the two languages cannot have been completely incomprehensible, unless Bede was mistaken in his account of Augustine’s mission. This might also suggest that the reason for Agilbert’s dismissal was not solely to do with language.64 It is also suggestive that wealh generally carries the sense of “slave” or “foreigner,” whereas wine, the name of Cenwealh’s deliverer, has connotations of friendship and protection. So, between Cenwealh and ­Agilbert, the problem may have been more to do with expectations about accent, fluency, and knowledge of cultural norms than any real inability to communicate. The telling phrase is “wearied with Agilbert’s barbarous speech,” which suggests that Cenwealh may have felt that the effort required to communicate was too burdensome. Although his irritation over the perceived difficulty of communication is certainly still current, the contemporary concept of communication as a “two-way street” bet­ ween both employer and employee does not seem to have factored in Cenwealh’s decisions here.65 Bede, on the other hand, perceived the relationship between the king and his bishop more along these lines than Cenwealh seems to have done. Bede does not comment on Agilbert’s language palette, but he does note that Cenwealh spoke only Old English. Moreover, his use of subintroduxit, rather than the more neutral introduxit, suggests that whatever the justification for Cenwealh’s frustration with Agilbert’s speech, Bede does not wholly approve of Cenwealh’s method of rectifying matters.66 It is true that Agilbert comes off looking a bit flat-footed when his lack of fluency in Old English again creates complications at the Synod of Whitby when he has to ask Wilfrid to speak on his behalf because, as he puts it, “[Wilfrid] can better and more clearly explain what we b ­ elieve in the English language than I can through an interpreter” (et ille ­melius ac manifestius ipsa lingua Anglorum, quam ego per interpretem, potest explanare quae sentimus).67 The other possibility here is that Agilbert is resistant to acting as interpreter in the aftermath of the quarrel with Cenwealh, and indeed, it may even be true that Cenwealh was using language as an excuse to rid himself of Agilbert, since he also tired of Wine.68 Agilbert’s concern with the accuracy of translation is familiar to all who have read Bede’s account of the poet Cædmon, but at the Synod of Whitby, the situation is less clear-cut. Agilbert’s linguistic poverty does not prevent the Roman faction from carrying the day, and rightly so, in Bede’s eyes. In other words, an individual’s linguistic capital (or lack thereof) does not necessarily extend or diminish the legitimacy of an entire faction when it comes to matters of doctrine, such as were at stake at the Synod of Whitby. In fact, Agilbert’s standing in the Roman faction seems to offer him a redemption that cannot be extended to Cenwealh. Both men are handicapped by their lack of appropriate linguistic skills,

36  Latinity and the English People but Agilbert, in an echo of Job and other Old Testament figures, “died old and full of days” (senex ac plenus dierum obiit) after he returned to Gaul, offended by Cenwealh’s treatment of him (III.7). Overall, Bede has cast the situation of royal control over ecclesiastical governance in terms not simply of linguistic friction, but of kingly misbehavior or mis­directed zeal, with Agilbert clearly in the role of the wronged party. Thus, we see that the onus is not only on others to be able to communicate with the Anglo-Saxons in English, but on the Anglo-Saxons to be conversant with the languages surrounding their own. What was important was not knowledge of any one language, but rather, the skill of moving between languages, or of bridging distance. Bede shows no discomfort with the idea of expressing spiritual matters in English; indeed, he praises Cædmon’s ability to produce sweet and moving poems in the English language (uerbis poeticis maxima suauitate et conpunctione conpositis in sua, id est Anglorum, lingua) from holy Scripture (IV.24), no less than Æthelberht’s secular use of the English language in providing laws for the Anglo-Saxons in their own tongue (II.5). Bede writes to Ecgbert that he has been preparing English translations of the Pater Noster and Creed for the benefit of both the laity and those clerics or monks who are not well versed in Latin, and Cuthbert’s Epistola de obitu Bedae claims that at the time of his death, Bede had been working on English translations of part of the Gospel of John and selections from Isidore’s De natura rerum.69 So, the ­English language does not seem to have carried any stigma, in and of itself, but the inability to reach across a linguistic gap does. Participation in this textual community was, for Bede, linked to the apostolic mission to spread the Faith to speakers of all languages throughout the earth. Even when he is not writing of situations of contact between speakers of different languages, Bede displays a more theoretical interest in language. When Imma, one of Ælfwine’s thegns is captured by Æthelred and pretends to be simply a poor peasant, his speech is one of the attributes that give him away as a nobleman (IV.22). As Machan notes, what is important here is that Bede is clearly aware of what linguists would now call sociolects, but without commenting as to their relative value.70 Bede does not choose one variety that “ought” to be preeminent, but he is clearly attuned, as Imma’s captors eventually were, to the fact of regional and social variation. By contrast, however, Bede’s narration of Imma’s experiences also carries a non-linguistic significance in that it seems to comment on the greater potency of Christian liturgy, as opposed to the pagan use of charms.71 The frequency with which toponyms are discussed in the H ­ istoria ecclesiastica is well known,72 and Bede’s interest in establishing such etymologies is not out of keeping with his extensive exegetical writings, especially his interest in Hebrew and its significance for an ­A nglo-Saxon understanding of scripture and doctrine. Language

Latinity and the English People  37 is, for Bede, a touchstone of interpretive power, able to convey fundamental information about concepts and places. The Anglo-Saxon history that he recounts in the Historia ecclesiastica establishes itself above layers of other languages used on the island of Britain. Typical passages are the ones where Bede informs the reader that, for example, the West Saxons were once known as the Gewisse (III.7) or that although the English know the City of Legions (Chester) by the name ­L egacæstir, it is more correctly (rectius) called Carlegion by the ­Britons (II.2). ­Peter Hunter Blair has suggested that Bede was born “at a time of very much more radical change in nomenclature.”73 So, Bede’s approach may have been influenced by much broader cultural trends, which would have reinforced his sense that the history of the island and of the Anglo-Saxons was always superimposed on the remnants of other languages or peoples. The other pattern that emerges from this is that Bede seems parti­ cularly interested in the significance of particular locations. Ian Wood argues for the importance in Bede’s work of a royal site on the lower Tyne,74 while Nicholas Howe has long advocated the importance of geography in our understanding of Bede and his writings.75 Crucially, geography becomes a way of achieving understanding not only of a physical landscape, but also of a spiritual landscape: “Moreover, the Book of Exodus showed that geography as a means for ordering a people’s religious experience had a reassuringly ancient status.”76 Bede was somewhat selective in his approach to these layers of history on the landscape, in that he did not translate Brittonic place-names, as he did with Latin and other place-names, but this may indicate that Brittonic was simply less familiar in Northumbria than Irish was.77 The fascination with nomenclature, etymology, and geography comes together in Bede’s seemingly faulty etymology of Old English ­Streanæshalh, which refers to Whitby (III.25).78 Bede notes that the name corresponds to the Latin sinus fari, or “the bay of the lighthouse,” as Colgrave and Mynors render it. Elsewhere, Bede uses farus to refer to a lamp or chandelier,79 and Peter Hunter Blair suggests that Bede’s Latin equivalent is in fact a clever piece of exegesis more accurately reflected in the translation “the bosom of light,” a phrase that carries several layers of meaning in this context. It labels Whitby as a cradle of learning in seventh-century Northumbria—this quality of Whitby being the focus of Hunter Blair’s article—and it also refers to the shining necklace worn by Hild’s mother in a dream recounted in the chapter of the H ­ istoria ecclesiastica devoted to Hild’s life (IV.23). Moreover, the “bosom of light” has a physical realization in the mother’s role as the nurturer of Hild, who served in turn as the overseer and nurturer of the monastery responsible for so much light, both in terms of general learning and for its role in aligning the English Church with Roman practice by hosting the Synod of Whitby in 664.80

38  Latinity and the English People Further support for this reading may be found by comparison with Bede’s other explanations for names. Out of the more than twenty instances in the Historia ecclesiastica where Bede glosses or interprets names, the most frequent formulations are “id est” (e.g., Heruteu id est Insula ­C erui, III.24) and quod lingua eorum significat (e.g., Alcluith quod lingua eorum significat petram Cluith, I.12) or similar phrases. The mention of Streanæshalh is the only time when Bede uses the more overtly exegetical phrase, quod interpretatur, suggesting that Bede was making a conscious choice to reflect a more exegetical focus in that parti­ cular passage.81 Hunter Blair’s argument demonstrates not only that geography is important for the narrative events that Bede relates, but that the way that one talks about geography is important. G ­ eography demands a knowledge of names, which has the effect of revealing the layers of history that are represented by the languages used to describe or name features of the landscape. This also brings us back to the theological implications of such geographical and etymological study, since the ability to juggle the languages necessary for such study can unlock both the communal power of the Pentecost and the exegetical power of scholarly study. Linguistic diversity is an essential part of Bede’s theological views and, in particular, of his understanding of the overarching unity of the Church, because the miracle of the Pentecost could not have occurred without the earlier division of the languages at the Tower of Babel. As we have already seen, the fact that Bede views linguistic diversity as an element of the fundamental unity or “catholicness” of the Church does not preclude his recognition of the dynamics of power between speakers (or writers) of different languages, nor of the ways in which the balance of power is affected by the varying abilities of those speakers to communicate in languages other than their own. Just as he credits those who have fluency in languages other than their own native tongues, Bede carves out a simi­larly multilingual space for his own exegesis and, as in his discussion of Streanæshalh, his own etymologizing and interpretation of geography. In this case, it is spiritual stature that is enhanced by the ability to move seamlessly between languages, as Bede’s shift to Latin opens up a series of interpretations of the Anglo-Saxon name Steanæshalh, interpretations that would otherwise have remained hidden from his readers.

Spoken and Written Forms Language has theoretical force in the Historia ecclesiastica not only through its exegetical potency, but also arising from the relationship between the written and spoken forms of English, a duality that Bede exploits at several points in the narrative. Seth Lerer has argued that the Historia represents Bede’s wish to convert oral forms into written texts, and this is on display nowhere more obviously than in the account of

Latinity and the English People  39 Cædmon.82 Cædmon’s relationship with the scriptural texts that inspire his songs is channeled through the summaries or interpretations of those scriptural texts that he is given by the monks at Wearmouth-Jarrow. From these aural mediations of written sources he composes his songs, but we have no record that these poems were ever written down. Indeed, the only written text that survives with a firm link to Cædmon is his Hymn, which depended solely on the command of the angel, not, according to Bede’s account, on any written source. The transmission of the text of Cædmon’s Hymn has long been under­ stood as rich with continuing interactions between written and spoken modes. Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe argued for a “persisting residual orality” in the reading and copying of Old English poetry and that the textual environment is fundamental to the expression of this residual orality: When transmitted as a gloss on Bede’s Latin paraphrase, the text of the Hymn seemed to show very little variation, but when the Hymn is incorporated into the Old English version of the Historia ecclesiastica, there seemed to be more flexibility.83 More recently, study of the entire manuscript tradition has revealed extensive contamination between the different versions of the Hymn, and Daniel O’Donnell notes that the results do not match the prevailing model of oral transmission.84 So, the transmission of Bede’s narrative does not necessarily provide as clear an example of the role of orality in textual transmission, but the content of the narrative itself reveals Bede’s interest in the relationship between orality and literacy. Another example of the juggling of the written and spoken forms of English occurs in the account of the miraculous cure of the mute and scabby young man, effected by John of Beverley, Bishop of Hexham (V.2). In the healing of the scabby youth, which leaves him both with the power of speech and with clear skin, language appears as a potent force in its own right, not merely as a means of acquiring greater spiritual insight or in terms of the abilities of speakers to accrue linguistic capital by distinguishing their skills and fluencies from those of other speakers. In this episode, the power of the miracle lies in the tension between the written and spoken forms of English. The passage is quoted in full, and major stages in the cure are marked with underlining: Erat autem in uilla non longe posita quidam adulescens mutus, episcopo notus (nam saepius ante illum percipiendae elimosynae gratia uenire consueuerat), qui ne unum quidem sermonem umquam profari poterat, sed et scabiem tantam ac furfures habebat in capite, ut nil umquam capillorum ei in superiore parte capitis nasci ualeret; tantum in circuitu horridi crines stare uidebantur. Hunc ergo adduci praecepit episcopus, et ei in conseptis eiusdem mansionis paruum tugurium fieri, in quo manens cotidianam ab eis stipem acciperet. Cumque una Quadragesimae esset impleta septimana,

40  Latinity and the English People sequente dominica iussit ad se intrare pauperem; ingresso linguam proferre ex ore ac sibi ostendere iussit, et adprehendens eum de mento, signum sanctae crucis linguae eius inpressit. Quam signatam reuocare in os, et loqui illum praecepit, “Dicito” inquiens “aliquod uerbum; dicito gae,” quod est lingua Anglorum uerbum adfirmandi et consentiendi, id est “etiam.” Dixit ille statim, soluto uinculo linguae, quod iussus erat. Addidit episcopus nomina litterarum: “Dicito A;” dixit ille “A.” “Dicito B;” dixit ille et hoc. Cumque singula litterarum nomina dicente episcopo responderet, addidit et syllabas ac uerba dicenda illi proponere. Et cum in omnibus consequenter responderet, praecepit eum sententias longiores dicere, et fecit; neque ultra cessauit tota die illa et nocte sequente, quantum uigilare potuit, ut ferunt qui praesentes fuere, loqui ali­quid et arcana suae cogitationis ac uoluntatis, quod numquam antea potuit, aliis ostendere, in similitudinem illius diu claudi, qui curatus ab apostolis Petro et Iohanne exiliens stetit et ambulabat, et intrauit cum illis in Templum, ambulans et exiliens et laudans Dominum, gaudens nimirum uti officio pedum, quo tanto erat tempore destitutus. Cuius sanitati congaudens episcopus praecepit medico etiam sanandae scabredini capitis eius curam adhibere. Fecit ut iusserat, et iuuante benedictione ac precibus antistitis, nata est cum sanitate cutis uenusta species capillorum, factusque est iuuenis limpidus uultu et loquella promtus, capillis pulcherrime crispis, qui ante fuerat deformis pauper et mutus. Sicque de percepta laetatus sospi­ tate, offerente etiam ei episcopo ut in sua familia manendi locum acciperet, magis domum reuersus est. [There was in a village not far away a certain mute youth known to the bishop (for he often used to come before him in order to receive alms), who had never been able to utter even a single word. But he also had so much mange and scabbiness on his head that no hair was ever able to grow on the top part of his head; only rough hairs were seen to stand around it. So, the bishop ordered this youth to be brought and a little hut to be built for him within the enclosure of the same dwelling in which the youth might receive from them his daily alms. And after one week of Lent had passed, on the Sunday following, the bishop commanded the poor young man to come in to him, and when he had come in, to put his tongue out of his mouth and show it to him. And taking him by the chin, he imprinted the sign of the holy cross on his tongue, which having been marked, he commanded him to put back in his mouth and to say something, saying, “Say some word; say gae,” which is the word of affirming and consenting in English, that is, “yes.” The youth said immediately what he had been commanded, the bonds of his tongue having been loosed. The bishop added the names of the letters: “Say A;”

Latinity and the English People  41 the youth said, “A.” “Say B;” he said this also. And when he had repeated the names of each letter after the bishop, the bishop added also syllables and words for the youth to say. And when he had responded to all of them in order, he commanded him to say longer sentences, and he did it. Nor did he afterwards cease all that day and the night following, as long as he could stay awake, as those who were present report, to talk and to reveal to others the secrets of his thoughts and wishes, which he had never been able to do before. This in similitude of that one who had long been lame who, having been healed by the apostles Peter and John, stood, leaping, and walked and entered with them into the Temple, walking and leaping and praising the Lord, rejoicing greatly to have the use of his feet, of which he had been robbed for so long. Rejoicing with the youth in his health, the bishop commanded a physician also to dedicate himself to heal the scabbiness of his head. He did as he had been commanded, and with the blessing and prayers of the bishop aiding him, a pleasing appearance of hairs grew along with the health of his skin, and the youth became clear in countenance and quick of speech, with the most beautifully curled hairs, he who had previously been unsightly, poor, and mute. And so, happy about his newfound health, the youth preferred to return home, even though the bishop offered to him that he might take a place and remain in his household.] Although the young man’s outward appearance is also affected, the bulk of the narrative is devoted to the loosening of his tongue. The only information Bede gives on the subject of the healing of the young man’s skin is that the bishop has entrusted the youth to the care of a physician and that the bishop has at some point blessed and prayed for him. There is no discussion of how long this process took, nor how deeply the bishop was involved in the outward healing; rather, the focus of his energies, at least in Bede’s version of the story, seems to have been on the healing of the young man’s powers of speech. The miracle begins when John of Beverley makes the sign of the cross and commands the young man to say gae, which Bede calls the “word of affirming and consenting.” It is not entirely clear to what the young man is meant to be assenting—to the power of the sign of the cross or perhaps that he has faith to be healed or faith in the church—but as soon as he is prepared to give his assent, the bonds of his tongue are loosed to allow the rest of the miracle to proceed. Significantly, a word of “affirming and consenting” falls under the heading of vox in Late Antique Latin grammars, and this suggests a possible explanation of the bishop’s need to make the sign of the cross. Given the lengthy and detailed account that follows, the signum crucis does

42  Latinity and the English People not seem to be functioning as a kind of magical gesture that provides an instantaneous cure. Instead, the signum crucis may be important simply as a signifier, gesturing to something else, and the young man’s use of the word of affirming and consenting may itself signify a readiness to enter into modes of communication that rely on signs.85 More broadly, Bede seems to suggest that spoken English can be “acquired through the same pedagogical processes as written Latin.”86 After he says gae, the youth follows it with increasingly large linguistic units, from letters to syllables, and finally to simple and then more complicated sentences and expressions. This follows the structural pattern in written Latin grammars, including its opening with that small word of assent. In his Ars maior, Donatus defines vox as an audible striking of air (aer ictus, sensibilis auditu), and in particular, a vox articulata is a vox that can be written down with letters (litteris conprehendi potest). The Latin grammars that were most influential in the Middle Ages all begin with the vox or vox articulata before moving on to littera, syllaba, and longer units of speech, exactly the progression through which John of Beverley guides the mute youth.87 What works like the Ars minor and Ars maior of Donatus would not help a student to do is learn Latin, at least not in the absence of other resources, since they assumed familiarity with parts of speech, gender, case, and other grammatical features central to Latin learning.88 What Bede is more likely drawing on is not a realistic classroom scene, but a symbolic, even ritualized representation of the progression from ignorance to full facility with a mode of communication. In truth, there is no reason why the youth must learn the alphabet in order to learn to speak. In the twenty-first century, we are accustomed, as adolescents and adults, to learn languages through reading as much as through speaking, often working on the two together if the language is a living language. By learning how to pronounce the letters of the alphabet, we learn to read the simple phrases with which we begin to speak the language, but there are fewer practical inducements to structure this man’s learning of spoken Old English according to the structure of a written grammar, let alone a written grammar of another language altogether. Moreover, while it seems a reasonable surmise, it is no more than a surmise that the language being taught is Old English because the only specific linguistic units that are explicitly named (the letters  and ) are not sufficient to distinguish between the Latin alphabet and the Latin alphabet as adapted for Old English. Even if we assume that the youth was learning to speak Old English, the alphabet is still problematic: While Old English has fewer discontinuities between spelling and pronunciation than we tolerate in Modern English, ambiguities remain. In mathematical terms, there is no well-defined mapping between the elements of written Old English (the graphemes) and the elements of spoken Old English (the phonemes).

Latinity and the English People  43 Nevertheless, it is the written form of the language that supplies the structure for the youth’s acquisition of the spoken form of Old English. When the bishop commanded the youth to repeat the names of the letters of the alphabet, was he really just having the youth repeat the names of the letters, rather than the sounds they represent? More to the point, we have no indication of how the bishop handled the pairs of palatal and non-palatal phonemes represented graphically by and . Nor do we have any way of knowing whether or not the bishop distinguished between thorn and eth. We have no reason to believe that the Anglo-­ Saxons differentiated them in pronunciation as consistently as speakers of Old Norse did, but these two graphs existed side-by-side as distinct elements of the alphabet. In spite of these strongly textually conditioned elements of the narrative, orality takes on a powerful significance in both the Caedmon episode and the story of the mute youth, even while it is clearly balanced against written expression. In exploiting the relationship between the written and spoken forms of English, Bede is grappling with a different kind of linguistic boundary than in many other parts of the Historia ecclesiastica, but the fact that the process of learning to speak English is mapped onto the structure of a written Latin grammar returns us to an examination of the boundaries between distinct languages. In this episode, Bede shows one way that it is possible to conceptualize English in terms of Latin, as Melinda Menzer has demonstrated that Ælfric does in his Grammar.89 Similarly, Latin grammar seems to have determined at least some of the parameters for the lexical and morphological usage within Hiberno-Latin. The Auraicept na nÉces, an early Irish primer on versification, includes an exhaustive set of paradigms for all conceivable prepositional phrases with nouns in all three grammatical genders, in both Irish and Latin.90 In this text, the Latin grammatical context by which it is framed inspires a fresh exploration of the possibilities of the vernacular language without constraining it to adhere to the conventions of Latin paradigms.91 On the contrary, an episode like Bede’s account of the scabby youth should serve as a reminder not only that Latin provides a matrix for an education in English, but that English provides a framework for conceptualizing Latin. In the context of a work as rich in multilingualism as the Historia ecclesiastica, there is as much and more reason for understanding the youth’s instruction in English via Latin grammar as an example of a way in which Latin may be put to the service of Old English. ­Certainly, the aesthetic norms of Old English literature exert some influence over Latin in the macaronic lines at the end of the Phoenix or in some of A ­ lcuin’s and Aldhelm’s Latin writings, where it is clear that Latin is “capable of participating in the patterns of Old English alliteration.”92 The significance of the Cædmon episode is similarly rooted in its straddling of both the distinction between the Latin of scripture and

44  Latinity and the English People the Old English of Cædmon’s songs, on the one hand, and the distinction between the written text of scripture and the oral performance of ­Cædmon’s songs, on the other hand. While acknowledging the difficulties of translation, Bede nevertheless praises the “sweet and moving songs” composed by Cædmon on scriptural topics—in fact, the difficulties Bede chooses to highlight are not related to Cædmon’s telling of scripture in English, but to any attempt by Bede, himself a highly skilled linguist, to represent Cædmon’s Old English verse in Latin. Cædmon’s use of scripture is mediated by the monks of Whitby, who interpret the Latin text aloud for him. Again, Bede makes no criticism of the translating, summarizing, or possibly more thoroughgoing interpreting that goes on at this stage. To convey the Word to the world, whether by explaining the content and meaning of scriptural passages to a poet who cannot read them for himself or by composing verses that will draw the spirits of many men (multorum saepe animi) to God in their own tongue, is a responsibility on the faithful that was modeled by the apostles at the Pentecost. The performative nature of Cædmon’s feats accords with Bede’s own understanding of the miracle of the Pentecost. Bede faced criticism after he quoted in his Expositio Actuum Apostolorum from Rufinus’ Latin translation of a homily by Gregory Nazianzen, suggesting that the miracle of the Pentecost might have been that each hearer perceived the speech of whichever apostle was speaking at the time as if it were in the hearer’s native language, rather than that the apostles were actually speaking in many different languages.93 Likewise, at least according to Bede, John of Beverley accesses his knowledge of written Latin grammar to enable a performative, spoken cure in Old English, but one that is nevertheless structured according to the dictates of a written genre. John is vested with ecclesiastical authority, like Christ’s apostles, and as they did, he draws on the redemptive and paradoxically unifying powers of multilingualism to heal an individual under his care. Both the Cædmon episode and the healing of the mute young man show a symbiotic relationship in which orality draws on textual resources and simultaneously offers a new life to elements of written culture. As in other passages from the Historia ecclesiastica, it is the tension of linguistic difference that pushes Bede’s narrative forward, but in this episode, it is the tension arising from the interaction between the spoken and written forms of Old English, coupled with the pairing of Old English with Latin, that yields the miraculous power to heal the mute young man’s powers of speech. By using the form of a written Latin grammar to structure his account of the young man’s mastery of Old English speech, Bede gives textual definition to a seemingly non-textual event. Bede’s interest in Ezra, as witnessed by his hefty commentary In ­Ezram, may also stem from a fascination with the play between textual and apparently extra-textual activity. Ezra was a priest and scribe who was

Latinity and the English People  45 given permission to lead some of the Israelite exiles from captivity, after which he taught the law and established magistrates over the Israelites.94 Depending on the specific task he is performing at a given moment, Ezra is variously described in the Vulgate as Ezra the Priest, Ezra the Scribe, or Ezra the Priest and Scribe: Ezra the Scribe is asked to bring the book of the law of Moses, but Ezra the Priest brings the law. It is Ezra the Scribe who ascends the podium to read aloud and, later, interprets for them the words of the law, but Ezra the Priest and Scribe who exhorts the people at the end of his first reading.95 Bede similarly claimed for himself a dual role as textual authority and proponent of religious reform,96 and he may even have filled the role of scribe in copying out emendations he himself had instigated while working on one of the sister pandects to the Codex Amiatinus.97 As we have seen, it is important not to over-emphasize the significance of the choice of the Roman observance at the Synod of Whitby because a tradition of cooperation and collaboration between strongholds of Roman and Irish observance continued well after the Synod.98 Michelle Brown has demonstrated the ways in which the monastic and larger theological environment helped to shape textual activities in ­Northumbria (or, more broadly, what she calls a seventh-century Irische schriftprovinz),99 but we must consider also the political and linguistic setting. We have a remarkably clear picture in Northumbria of the close interactions between powerful royal and monastic figures, from a king who convened and ruled on a synod or one who translated for an evangelizing bishop, to the monk who may have done diplomatic work for a king and those who gave home and education to exiled royalty. Bede shows particular sensitivity to the multilingual nature of Anglo-Saxon society, especially in his own Northumbria, and his recognition of the political and Bourdieusian ramifications of language use is always tied to his theological views on language.100 From the complicated set of varying linguistic fields in or connected with Northumbria, Bede not only weaves an account of the specific people and occurrences that appear explicitly in his Historia ecclesiastica, but he also gives linguistic diversity and the Anglo-Saxon ability to negotiate linguistic boundaries a theological significance in their fulfillment of the promise of the ­Pentecost miracle. Bede’s account of the miraculous cure of the mute young man also relies on the bishop’s successful negotiation of the boundaries of oral and textual roles, and it is only the bishop’s ability to make those transitions that allows him to structure the young man’s instruction according to the progression of a written grammar. One appeal of such an approach might simply be that it provides a tidy way of ordering the story, a story that is not necessarily meant to reflect factually accurate details so much as the power of the bishop to bring about the cure, whatever the means. If, on the other hand, this account is taken to represent a theory of

46  Latinity and the English People language or language learning espoused by Bede, then the telling could be understood as accurate or “true” without having to be what we would call factually accurate. That is, if it reflects an underlying conception of what was going on during the miraculous healing, then the account given by Bede is merely displaying what he sees as the fundamental reality of the miraculous occurrence, whether or not that fundamental reality was superficially apparent during the course of the miracle. More importantly, this episode provides a link between Bede’s interest in reform and redemption, on the one hand, and his zealous textual scholarship, on the other. For Bede, the two pursuits cannot be sepa­ rated. His understanding of the miracle of the Pentecost places a redemptive burden on Bede (and every other Christian) to extend the reach of God’s language, which transcends human languages, to those who are still outside the fold, but in order to do this, it is necessary to have the ability to reach across linguistic boundaries. Similarly, Bede’s concern to reform the Northumbrian church cannot escape the need for the laity and the religious either to possess the requisite linguistic skills to access religious texts or to be given access to those texts through the linguistic abilities of another, as when Bede sets out to translate the Pater Noster and the Creed. This means that Bede’s textual scholarship must not take place in a vacuum, but must always be focused outward. In other words, this theological position compels Bede to participate in, and shape, a textual community. Just as he binds up his ecclesiastical history with a correspondence between linguistic divisions and textual divisions, opening the Historia with the five languages spoken in B ­ ritain and closing it, in an envelope pattern, with a list of his works that ­includes Historiam ecclesiasticam nostrae insulae ac gentis in libris V, Bede links his textual activities to the effort to draw the inhabitants of Britain, or any other land, into a community within the Faith.

Notes 1 Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 37. 2 Ibid., 31–42, discusses each of the sizable Anglo-Saxon libraries individually. 3 Michelle P. Brown, “In the Beginning was the Word”: Books and Faith in the Age of Bede, Jarrow Lecture 2000 (Newcastle upon Tyne: J. and P. Bealls Ltd., 2000), 15–19. 4 Brown, Lindisfarne Gospels, 53. See also idem, “In the Beginning was the Word,” 14–19. 5 M. B. Parkes, Scribes, Scripts and Readers: Studies in the Communication, Presentation and Dissemination of Medieval Texts (London: The ­Hambledon Press, 1991), 2–6. 6 David N. Dumville, “Beowulf and the Celtic World: The Uses of Evidence,” Traditio 37 (1981): 119–20. 7 Patrick P. O’Neill, “The Irish Role in the Origins of the Old English ­A lphabet: A Re-assessment,” in Anglo-Saxon/Irish Relations before the

Latinity and the English People  47 Vikings, ed. James Graham-Campbell and Michael Ryan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 3–22, at 19–20. 8 Michael Lapidge, “The Career of Aldhelm,” ASE 36 (2007): 23–7. 9 Andy Orchard, “The Hisperica famina as Literature,” Journal of Medieval Latin 10 (2000): 1–45. See also Thomas Owen Clancy and Gilbert Márkus, Iona: The Earliest Poetry of a Celtic Monastery (Edinburgh: ­E dinburgh University Press, 1995), 39–43. 10 See, for example, M. B. Parkes, “History in Books’ Clothing: Books as Evi­dence for Cultural Relations Between England and the Continent in the Seventh and Eighth Centuries,” in Text, Image, Interpretation: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature and its Insular Context in Honour of Éamonn Ó Carragáin, ed. Alastair Minnis and Jane Roberts (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 71–88. 11 Michelle P. Brown, “The Barberini Gospels: Context and Intertextual Relationships,” in Minnis and Roberts, 95–6. 12 Michelle P. Brown, Manuscripts from the Anglo-Saxon Age (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007), 11–12, offers a concise account of the best known Insular missionaries and the houses they founded or worked in while on the Continent. 13 Brown, Lindisfarne Gospels, 227–30. 14 Szirmai, 95–6. A fuller account of the preparation of the parchment and of the binding may be found in R. A. B. Mynors, “The Stonyhurst Gospel: Textual Description and History of the Manuscript,” and Roger Powell, “The Stonyhurst Gospel: The Binding,” in The Relics of Saint Cuthbert, ed. C. F. Battiscombe (Oxford: Oxford University Press for the Dean and Chapter of Durham Cathedral, 1956), 356–74. 15 Brown, Manuscripts from the Anglo-Saxon Age, 10–11. 16 Richard Emms, “Books and Writing in Seventh-Century Kent,” in Writing and Texts in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Alexander Rumble (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2006), 26, and Susan Kelly, “Anglo-Saxon Lay Society and the Written Word,” in The Uses of Literacy in Early Mediaeval Europe, ed. ­Rosamond McKitterick (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 38, both discuss this phenomenon. 17 Bertram Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors, eds., Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969), II.5. All references to the Historia ecclesiastica (hereafter, HE) will be to book and chapter; all translations from the HE are my own. 18 Kelly, 39. 19 Emms, 25–6. 20 Parkes, Scribes, Scripts and Readers, 94–6. 21 Ibid., 106–12. 22 Catherine Hills, “Overview: Anglo-Saxon Identity,” in The Oxford Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Archaeology, ed. Helena Hamerow, David A. ­H inton, and Sally Crawford (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 10. 23 D. H. Farmer, “Introduction,” in Bede: Ecclesiastical History of the ­E nglish People, trans. Leo Sherley-Price, rev. R. E. Latham (London: ­Penguin, 1990), 27. 24 See, for example, his comments in HE III.17, III.25, and V.21. 25 Patrick Wormald, “The Venerable Bede and the ‘Church of the English,’” in The English Religious Tradition and the Genius of Anglicanism, ed. ­G eoffrey Rowell (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1992), 17–18. See also Foot, “The Making of Angelcynn.” 26 Wormald, “The Venerable Bede,” 14–17.

48  Latinity and the English People 27 Foot, 41. 28 Wormald, “The Venerable Bede,” 20–1. 29 Foot, 38; Howe, 49–71; and Wormald, “The Venerable Bede,” 21–4. 30 Machan, Language Anxiety, 52–4. 31 Lapidge, “Career,” 17–18. 32 Paulinus traveled from Kent to Northumbria so that Æthelburh could marry Edwin (HE II.9), then returned with her to Kent after Edwin’s murder (II.20). Wilfrid, who was Northumbrian and served as bishop of York, is credited also with the conversion of the South Saxons after he was driven from his Northumbrian see (IV.13). See also Michael Lapidge’s comments on the close ties between Northumbria and Wessex in “The Career of A ­ ldhelm,” 17–22. 33 Thornbury, Becoming a Poet, 135–59, esp. 139–41. 34 Lapidge, “Career,” 65–6. 35 Brown, Lindisfarne Gospels, 39, believes that Ceolwulf “continued to exert a major influence in dynastic politics from his base there” from the period of his first stay at Lindisfarne in 731 until he died in 762. 36 Ian Wood, “Bede’s Jarrow,” in A Place to Believe In: Locating Medieval Landscapes, ed. Clare A. Lees and Gillian R. Overing (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State Press, 2006), 70–1. 37 See also John Blair, The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 70–134, esp. 84–91; and Barbara Yorke, Nunneries and the Anglo-Saxon Royal Houses (London: Continuum, 2003). 38 Brown, “The Barberini Gospels,” 95–6 and 116. 39 Kelly, 42–3. 40 Simon Keynes, “King Athelstan’s Books,” in Learning and Literature in ­Anglo-Saxon England: Studies Presented to Peter Clemoes on the Occasion of his Sixty-fifth Birthday, ed. Michael Lapidge and Helmut Gneuss ­(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 156–8. 41 Michael Lapidge and Michael Herren, Aldhelm: The Prose Works ­(Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1979), 173–5. The five charters in question are printed in Ehwald, 507–16. 42 Lapidge, “Career,” 32–4. 43 Danuta Shanzer, “Bede’s Style: A Neglected Historiographical Model for the Style of the Historia Ecclesiastica,” in Source of Wisdom: Old English and Early Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Thomas D. Hill, ed. Charles D.  Wright, Frederick M. Biggs, and Thomas N. Hall (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007), 340–4. 44 Indicio est quod usque hodie supersunt de eorum discipulis, qui Latinam Graecamque linguam aeque ut propriam in qua nati sunt norunt. Neque umquam prorsus, ex quo Brittaniam petierunt Angli, feliciora fuere tempora, dum et fortissimos Christianosque habentes reges cunctis barbaris nationibus essent terrori, et omnium uota ad nuper audita caelestis regni gaudia penderent, et quicumque lectionibus sacris cuperent erudiri, ­haberent in promtu magistros qui docerent. “Proof of this is that some of their students survive today who know Latin and Greek as well as their native tongue. And never since the Angles first sought out Britain have there been happier times, and while they have such brave, Christian kings, they were a terror to all barbarian nations, and the desires of all were hanging on the joys of the heavenly kingdom of which they had recently heard, and whoever desired to be taught in sacred readings had teachers at hand.” 45 Lapidge, “Career,” 22–29. 46 Scott James Gwara, “Aldhelm’s Ps and Qs in the Epistola ad Ehfridum,” NQ 36 (1989): 290–3.

Latinity and the English People  49 47 Thornbury, 147–9. 48 See also Thornbury, 154–7. 49 Orchard, “Hisperica famina as Literature,” 25–37. See also Vivien Law, Wisdom, Authority and Grammar in the Seventh Century: Decoding ­Virgilius Maro Grammaticus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 101–105. 50 Parkes, Scribes, Scripts and Readers, 106–108. Wormald, “The ­Venerable Bede,” 26, relying on data from Helmut Gneuss, “A Preliminary List of ­Manuscripts Written or Owned in England up to 1100,” ASE 9 (1980): 1–60, highlights Bede’s influential status in Anglo-Saxon ­E ngland, as witnessed by the fact that more manuscripts of the HE survive from pre-Conquest England (nine in Latin and six in Old English) than any other non-biblical book, except for Ælfric’s homilies (25 manuscripts) and Boethius (18 manu­scripts), even more than the Pastoral Care (sixteen manuscripts, two of which date from after 1066) or the Rule of Benedict (14 manuscripts, including one from after 1066). 51 See Alcuini Versus de Patribus Regibus et Sanctis Euboricensis Ecclesiae, ed. Ernst Dümmler, Poetae Latini Aevi Carolini, Tomus I, MGH PLMA 1 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1881), 169–206. Boniface repeatedly requested that ­B ede’s works be sent to him. See Philipp Jaffé, ed., Monumenta ­Moguntina, Bibliotheca Rerum Germanicarum III (Berlin: Weidmann, 1866), 180–81, 249–51, 288–90, and 300. 52 Orchard, Poetic Art, 61–3. 53 Parkes, Scribes, Scripts and Readers, 108–16. 54 Parkes, “History in Books’ Clothing,” 88. 55 Kees Dekker, “Pentecost and Linguistic Self-Consciousness in Anglo-Saxon England: Bede and Ælfric,” JEGP 104 (2005): 352–4. For Ælfric’s similarly inclusive views, see also Tristan Major, “Rebuilding the Tower of Babel: Ælfric and Bible Translation,” Florilegium 23 (2006): 47–60. 56 Robert Stanton, The Culture of Translation in Anglo-Saxon England ­(Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2002), 70. 57 Irina A. Dumitrescu, “Bede’s Liberation Philology: Releasing the English Tongue,” PMLA 128.1 (2013): 43. 58 Samantha Zacher, “Multilingualism at the Court of King Æthelstan: Latin Praise Poetry and The Battle of Brunanburh,” in Conceptualizing Multilingualism in Medieval England, c. 800–c. 1250, ed. Elizabeth M. Tyler (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), 77–9. 59 Michelle P. Brown, The British Library Guide to Writing and Scripts: History and Techniques (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998), 42–5, notes the frequency with which the development of written vernaculars ­occurs alongside an evangelizing mission. 60 Ian Wood, “Bede’s Jarrow,” 80–1. 61 For more information about Aldfrith, see also Bede’s Historia abbatum, chapter 15, in Charles Plummer, ed., Venerabilis Baedae Opera Historica (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1896), I.380. 62 For cultural capital and related concepts, see, for example, Pierre B ­ ourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power, ed. John B. Thompson, trans. Gino ­Raymond and Matthew Adamson (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991). 63 Pliny the Elder writes approvingly of another king who had mastery of other languages: “Mithridates, duarum et viginti gentium rex, totidem linguis iura dixit, pro contione singulas sine interprete adfatus.” See Charles ­Mayhoff, ed., C. Plini Secundi Naturalis Historiae Libri XXXVII ­(Stuttgart: B. G. Tübner, 1892–1909; repr. 1967–1970), II.31 (Book VII, Chapter 27, “Memoria”).

50  Latinity and the English People 64 See also Alaric Hall, “Interlinguistic Communication in Bede’s Historia ­ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum,” in Interfaces between Language and ­C ulture in Medieval England, ed. Alaric Hall, Olga Timofeeva, Ágnes Kiricsi, and Bethany Fox (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 45. 65 The Canadian Centre for Language Benchmarks, for example, provides a framework for the government and other employers to use in assessing the language and communication skills of potential employees who are “newcomers” to Canada, but much of what newcomers must learn is either related to cultural norms in communication or part of learning to negotiate their employers’ expectations, which are often different for newcomers to Canada. Where a linguistic error made by a native ­Canadian is simply ­ anada may be taken as an error, the same mistake from a newcomer to C a sign of a fundamental lack of mastery. Assessment and training materials can be found at the CCLB website, http://www.language.ca/index. cfm?­Voir=sections&Id=19429&M=4032&Repertoire_No=2137991327 (accessed 5 April 2016). 66 In the Oxford Latin Dictionary, ed. P. G. W. Glare (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982), the entries for many of the compound verbs with the prefix sub- contain distinctly negative senses. See the entries for subdo (4. “to make subordinate” or 8. “to substitute fraudulently”), subduco (6. “to remove or cause to be removed surreptitiously; steal, purloin; to withdraw [persons, etc.] secretly; [reflexive] to steal away, sneak off”), subeo (4. “to undergo, endure [misfortune, hardship]”), and subicio (12. “to cause to come forward, suborn [for a malicious, underhand, or similar act]” or 13. “to introduce fraudulently, to put forward as genuine” or 14b. “to substitute fraudulently”), although the entry for the prefix sub- does not explicitly mention negative connotations. The OLD does not have an entry for subintroduco itself, but the Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources, Fascicule XVI, ed. R. K. Ashdowne, D. R. Howlett, et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), not only includes negative senses for subducere (5. “to lead stray, mislead”), subinferre (4. “to introduce; b. [with implications of stealth]” and 6. “to inflict, cause”), and subintroire (1. “to enter by stealth, creep in”), but also for subintroducere (1. “to bring in secretly or by stealth”). In fact, the third sense of the subintroducere entry cites this passage of Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica for the definition “to introduce (someone into a benefice, possession, or office) … surreptitiously, unwarrantably, or without leave.” Likewise, R. E. Latham, ed., Revised Medieval Latin Word-List from ­British and Irish Sources (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1965; repr. 2008), gives as the only definition for subintroduco “to bring in stealthily,” citing sources from the eighth century to the fifteenth. So, however the word may have been used elsewhere, it seems to have carried distinctly negative connotations in medieval English sources. 67 HE III.25; cf. Job 42:16 (et mortuus est senex et plenus dierum) and 1 Chronicles (Paralipomenon) 23:1 (igitur David senex et plenus dierum regem constituit Salomonem filium suum super Israhel). 68 André Crépin, “Bede and the Vernacular,” in Famulus Christi: Essays in Commemoration of the Thirteenth Centenary of the Birth of the Venerable Bede, ed. Gerald Bonner (London: SPCK, 1976), 177. 69 Bede’s Epistola ad Ecgbertum Episcopum is edited in Plummer, Venerabilis Baedae Opera Historica, I.405–23, with the relevant passage appearing on page 409. Cuthbert’s Epistola ad obitu Bedae is edited in Colgrave and ­Mynors, 580–7, with the relevant passage at 582. 70 Machan, Language Anxiety, 55.

Latinity and the English People  51 71 Seth Lerer, Literacy and Power in Anglo-Saxon Literature (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1991), 35–42. 72 Peter Hunter Blair, “Whitby as a Centre of Learning in the Seventh ­Century,” in Learning and Literature in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Lapidge and ­Gneuss, 11. 73 Peter Hunter Blair, Northumbria in the Days of Bede (London: Victor ­G ollancz, 1976), 19. 74 Ian Wood, “Bede’s Jarrow,” 67–84. 75 Nicholas Howe, Migration and Mythmaking in Anglo-Saxon England (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1989), 49–52. See also Howe, “Rome: Capital of Anglo-Saxon England,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 34 (2004): 147–172, esp. 149–153. The article was subsequently reworked in Howe, Writing the Map of Anglo-Saxon ­England: Essays in Cultural Geography (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 101–24, in which see also “From Bede’s World to ‘Bede’s World,’” 125–48. 76 Howe, Migration and Mythmaking, 176. 77 Hall, “Interlinguistic,” 66–9. 78 Colgrave and Mynors, 298–9, n. 2, refer to Bede’s “attempted explanation,” in spite of which the meaning of the name is uncertain. 79 Charles W. Jones, ed., Opera de temporibus (Cambridge, MA: Medieval Academy of America, 1943), 229–30; cited in Hunter Blair, “Whitby,” 10–11. 80 Hunter Blair, “Whitby,” 7–12. 81 Ibid., 11. 82 Lerer, Literacy and Power, 37–42. 83 Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe, Visible Song: Transitional Literacy in Old ­English Verse (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 6; for a discussion of Cædmon’s Hymn and its transmission history, see pages 23–46. 84 Daniel Paul O’Donnell, Cædmon’s Hymn: A Multimedia Study, Archive and Edition (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2005), 187–90. See pages 98–118 on manuscript filiation and transmission. 85 Dumitrescu, “Bede’s Liberation Philology,” 44. 86 Ibid., 45. 87 Donatus’ Ars maior is edited by Louis Holtz, Donat et la tradition de l’enseignement grammatical (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche S­ cientifique, 1981), 603–74. Among the other most influential grammars are the Institutiones grammaticae of Priscian, edited by Heinrich Keil, Grammatici Latini, 8 vols. (Leipzig: B. G. Tübner, 1855–1880; repr. Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1961), vols. II and III.1–377; and Book I of Isidore’s Etymologiae, edited by Lindsay. For an overview of medieval use of Latin grammars, see Vivien Law, “Grammar,” in Medieval Latin: An ­Introduction and Bibliographical Guide, ed. F. A. C. Mantello and A. G. Rigg ­(Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1996), 288–95. 88 Nicholas Orme, Medieval Schools from Roman Britain to Renaissance ­England (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2006), 28–9. 89 Melinda Menzer, “Ælfric’s English Grammar,” JEGP 103 (2004): ­106–24, and idem, “Ælfric’s Grammar: Solving the Problem of the English-­ Language Text,” Neophilologus 83 (1999): 637–52. 90 Anders Ahlqvist, The Early Irish Linguist: An Edition of the Canonical Part of the Auraicept na nÉces with Introduction, Commentary, and Indices (Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1983).

52  Latinity and the English People 91 James Tindal Acken, “History and Terminology in the Auraicept na n-Éces” (PhD diss., University of Toronto, 2006), 73–77. 92 Michael Lapidge, Anglo-Latin Literature 600–899 (London: The Hambledon Press, 1996), 256–7. For a more detailed account of the use of Old ­English poetic and metrical devices used in a hymn composed by Alcuin, see Andy Orchard, “Reconstructing The Ruin,” in Intertexts: Studies in ­Anglo-Saxon Culture Presented to Paul E. Szarmach, ed. Virginia Blanton and Helene Scheck (Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies in collaboration with Brepols, 2008), 55–8. 93 The passage is quoted and translated in Dekker, “Pentecost and Linguistic Self-Consciousness,” 353. For a broader discussion of Bede’s interpretation of Pentecost and the performative significance of the Cædmon story, see Dekker, 352–56. 94 Ezra (I Esdrae) 7–10; Nehemiah (II Esdrae) 8, 12. 95 Nehemiah (II Esdrae) 8:1–13. See also Emily Butler, “Alfred and the Child­ ren of Israel in the Prose Psalms,” NQ 57.1 (2010): 10–17. 96 Bede’s letter to Ecgbert deals with the reforms Bede felt to be necessary in the Northumbrian church. See also Scott DeGregorio, Bede: On Ezra and Nehemiah (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2006), xxx. 97 Richard Marsden, “Bede’s Contribution to Ceolfrith’s Bibles,” ASE 27 (1998): 65–85. 98 Éamonn Ó Carragáin, Ritual and the Rood: Liturgical Images and the Old English Poems of the Dream of the Rood Tradition (London: British ­Library and University of Toronto Press, 2005), 56–7, not only provides specific examples of collaboration between “Roman” Wearmouth-Jarrow and “Celtic” Lindisfarne, but also states concisely the fundamental argument of his entire book, namely, that the “Roman versus Celtic” paradigm must be abandoned with reference to the Ruthwell Cross. 99 Brown, Manuscripts from the Anglo-Saxon Age, 54. 100 See Nicole Guenther Discenza, The King’s English: Strategies of Translation in the Old English Boethius (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2005), 6–7, for a discussion of Bourdieu’s theory of cultural capital as applied to the Old English Boethius.

References Acken, James Tindal. “History and Terminology in the Auraicept na n-Éces.” PhD diss., University of Toronto, 2006. Ahlqvist, Anders. The Early Irish Linguist: An Edition of the Canonical Part of the Auraicept na nÉces with Introduction, Commentary, and Indices. ­Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1983. Ashdowne, R. K., D. R. Howlett, et al., eds. Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Battiscombe, C. F., ed. The Relics of Saint Cuthbert. Oxford: Oxford University Press for the Dean and Chapter of Durham Cathedral, 1956. Blair, John. The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Blanton, Virginia, and Helene Scheck, eds. Intertexts: Studies in ­Anglo-Saxon Culture Presented to Paul E. Szarmach. Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for ­Medieval and Renaissance Studies in collaboration with Brepols, 2008.

Latinity and the English People  53 Bonner, Gerald, ed. Famulus Christi: Essays in Commemoration of the ­Thirteenth Centenary of the Birth of the Venerable Bede. London: SPCK, 1976. Bourdieu, Pierre. Language and Symbolic Power. Edited by John B. Thompson and translated by Gino Raymond and Matthew Adamson. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991. Brown, Michelle P. The British Library Guide to Writing and Scripts: History and Techniques. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998. ———. “In the Beginning was the Word”: Books and Faith in the Age of Bede. Jarrow Lecture 2000. Newcastle upon Tyne: J. and P. Bealls Ltd., 2000. ———. The Lindisfarne Gospels: Society, Spirituality and the Scribe. London: British Library, 2003. ———. Manuscripts from the Anglo-Saxon Age. Toronto: University of T ­ oronto Press, 2007. Butler, Emily. “Alfred and the Children of Israel in the Prose Psalms.” NQ 57.1 (2010): 10–17. Clancy, Thomas Owen, and Gilbert Márkus. Iona: The Earliest Poetry of a Celtic Monastery. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1995. Colgrave, Bertram, and R. A. B. Mynors, eds. Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969. DeGregorio, Scott. Bede: On Ezra and Nehemiah. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2006. Dekker, Kees. “Pentecost and Linguistic Self-Consciousness in Anglo-Saxon England: Bede and Ælfric.” JEGP 104 (2005): 345–72. Discenza, Nicole Guenther. The King’s English: Strategies of Translation in the Old English Boethius. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2005. Dumitrescu, Irina A. “Bede’s Liberation Philology: Releasing the English Tongue.” PMLA 128.1 (2013): 40–56. Dümmler, Ernst, ed. Alcuini Versus de Patribus Regibus et Sanctis Euboricensis Ecclesiae. MGH PLMA 1. Berlin: Weidmann, 1881. Dumville, David N. “Beowulf and the Celtic World: The Uses of Evidence.” Traditio 37 (1981): 109–60. Ehwald, Rudolph, ed. Aldhelmi Opera. MGH AA 15. Berlin: Weidmann, 1919. Foot, Sarah. “The Making of Angelcynn: English Identity before the Norman Conquest.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, 6 (1996): 25–49. Glare, P. G. W., ed. Oxford Latin Dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982. Gneuss, Helmut. “A Preliminary List of Manuscripts Written or Owned in ­England up to 1100.” ASE 9 (1980): 1–60. Gwara, Scott James. “Aldhelm’s Ps and Qs in the Epistola ad Ehfridum.” NQ 36 (1989): 290–3. Hall, Alaric, Olga Timofeeva, Ágnes Kiricsi, and Bethany Fox, eds. Interfaces between Language and Culture in Medieval England. Leiden: Brill, 2010. Hamerow, Helena, David A. Hinton, and Sally Crawford, eds. The Oxford Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Archaeology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Holtz, Louis. Donat et la tradition de l’enseignement grammatical. Paris: ­Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1981.

54  Latinity and the English People Howe, Nicholas. Migration and Mythmaking in Anglo-Saxon England. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1989. ———. “Rome: Capital of Anglo-Saxon England.” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 34 (2004): 147–172. ———. Writing the Map of Anglo-Saxon England: Essays in Cultural Geography. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008. Hunter Blair, Peter. Northumbria in the Days of Bede. London: Victor ­G ollancz, 1976. Jaffé, Philipp, ed. Monumenta Moguntina. Bibliotheca Rerum Germanicarum III. Berlin: Weidmann, 1866. Jones, Charles W., ed. Opera de temporibus. Cambridge, MA: Medieval Aca­ demy of America, 1943. Keil, Heinrich. Grammatici Latini. 8 vols. Leipzig: B. G. Tübner, 1855–1880 Reprinted Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1961. Lapidge, Michael. Anglo-Latin Literature 600–899. London: The Hambledon Press, 1996. ———. The Anglo-Saxon Library. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. ———. “The Career of Aldhelm.” ASE 36 (2007): 15–69. Lapidge, Michael, and Helmut Gneuss, eds. Learning and Literature in ­Anglo-Saxon England: Studies Presented to Peter Clemoes on the Occasion of his Sixty-fifth Birthday. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985. Lapidge, Michael, and Michael Herren. Aldhelm: The Prose Works. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1979. Latham, R. E., ed. Revised Medieval Latin Word-List from British and Irish Sources. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1965. Reprinted 2008. Law, Vivien. Wisdom, Authority and Grammar in the Seventh Century: Decoding Virgilius Maro Grammaticus. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Lees, Clare A., and Gillian R. Overing, eds. A Place to Believe In: Locating Medieval Landscapes. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State Press, 2006. Lerer, Seth. Literacy and Power in Anglo-Saxon Literature. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1991. Lindsay, W. M., ed. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi Etymologiarum sive Originum libri XX. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1911. Reprinted 1966. Machan, Tim William. Language Anxiety: Conflict and Change in the History of English. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Major, Tristan. “Rebuilding the Tower of Babel: Ælfric and Bible Translation.” Florilegium 23 (2006): 47–60. Mantello, F. A. C., and A. G. Rigg, eds. Medieval Latin: An Introduction and Bibliographical Guide. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1996. Marsden, Richard. “Bede’s Contribution to Ceolfrith’s Bibles.” ASE 27 (1998): 65–85. Mayhoff, Charles, ed. C. Plini Secundi Naturalis Historiae Libri XXXVII. Stuttgart: B. G. Tübner, 1892–1909. Reprinted 1967–1970. McKitterick, Rosamond, ed. The Uses of Literacy in Early Mediaeval Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. Menzer, Melinda. “Ælfric’s Grammar: Solving the Problem of the English-­ Language Text.” Neophilologus 83 (1999): 637–52.

Latinity and the English People  55 ———. “Ælfric’s English Grammar.” JEGP 103 (2004): 106–24. Minnis, Alastair, and Jane Roberts, eds. Text, Image, Interpretation: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature and its Insular Context in Honour of Éamonn Ó Carragáin. Turnhout: Brepols, 2007. O’Brien O’Keeffe, Katherine. Visible Song: Transitional Literacy in Old ­English Verse. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. Ó Carragáin, Éamonn. Ritual and the Rood: Liturgical Images and the Old English Poems of the Dream of the Rood Tradition. London: British Library and University of Toronto Press, 2005. O’Donnell, Daniel Paul. Cædmon’s Hymn: A Multimedia Study, Archive and Edition. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2005. O’Neill, Patrick P. “The Irish Role in the Origins of the Old English Alphabet: A Re-assessment.” In Anglo-Saxon/Irish Relations before the Vikings, edited by James Graham-Campbell and Michael Ryan, 3–22. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Orchard, Andy. The Poetic Art of Aldhelm. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. ———. “The Hisperica famina as Literature.” Journal of Medieval Latin 10 (2000): 1–45. Orme, Nicholas. Medieval Schools from Roman Britain to Renaissance ­England. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2006. Parkes, M. B. Scribes, Scripts and Readers: Studies in the Communication, Presentation and Dissemination of Medieval Texts. London: The Hambledon Press, 1991. Plummer, Charles, ed. Venerabilis Baedae Opera Historica. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1896. Rowell, Geoffrey, ed. The English Religious Tradition and the Genius of Anglicanism. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1992. Rumble, Alexander, ed. Writing and Texts in Anglo-Saxon England. ­Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2006. Sherley-Price, Leo, trans. Bede: Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Revised by R. E. Latham. London: Penguin, 1990. Stanton, Robert. The Culture of Translation in Anglo-Saxon England. ­Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2002. Szirmai, J. A. The Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999. Thornbury, Emily V. Becoming a Poet in Anglo-Saxon England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Tyler, Elizabeth M., ed. Conceptualizing Multilingualism in Medieval England, c. 800–c. 1250. Turnhout: Brepols, 2011. Wright, Charles D., Frederick M. Biggs, and Thomas N. Hall, eds. Source of Wisdom: Old English and Early Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Thomas D. Hill. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007. Yorke, Barbara. Nunneries and the Anglo-Saxon Royal Houses. London: ­Continuum, 2003.

2 Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex

The West Saxon kings were active in consolidating their power by giving gifts and drawing on the examples of the Carolingians, but Alfred the Great (r. 871–899) and his grandson Æthelstan (r. 924/5–939) stand out for their use of specifically textual methods of accruing and maintaining power. These two kings established a close relationship between royal power and textual power when they used texts and manuscripts as a kind of glue of communal bonds. In many cases, this created connections across linguistic, or even political boundaries, especially through the act of translation. The physical labor of defensive endea­ vors ­paralleled the intellectual labor of attempting to acquire learning and wisdom. Alfred’s efforts to foster a distinctively English-language community, defined in part by its need for translation from Latin, established the centrality of the search for knowledge within the West Saxon and, later, Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. As with any speech community, this ­“Englishness” ­(Angelcynn) is also defined by its otherness both from those ­A nglo-Saxons subject to Danish laws and from the Welsh, who had also submitted to Alfred’s rule.1 Alfred’s innovation was that he conceived of his legitimacy not just in terms of his own gens (as others had done), but in his efforts to promote a sense of shared history, through educational and reform efforts. 2 For both Alfred and Æthelstan, texts and books became potent symbols of power, both political and cultural, especially in the ways that they gave witness to networks of patronage. Literacy is always difficult to define and measure, but these kings exemplified the complexity both of people’s relationships to literacy and of the manifestations of literate mentalities. One of the most controversial aspects of the reign of Alfred, among all of the unverifiable and sometimes unlikely narratives that have accrued to Alfred’s name, the question of his authorship or involvement in the translation project attributed to him is unlikely to ever be fully settled. I accept here that “Alfredian” is an important and meaningful category, rather than rejecting the value of studying a body of texts, simply because Alfred himself might not have been doing much of the work of reading or translation. More generally, a corporate model of “Alfredian” reading (during and even after Alfred’s lifetime) is reflected in the literate

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  57 practices of other kings, suggesting that it is neither particular to Alfred nor a clear sign of substandard intellectual or textual ability. As we shall see in the next chapter, negotiations of linguistic boundaries must have characterized much of the business of the Anglo-Danish court in the eleventh century, possibly including oral presentations of both skaldic poetry and law-codes. 3 Janet Bately has argued strongly that there is no evidence that compels us to assume that Alfred was not in some way involved in the production of at least a certain corpus of texts.4 From Bede’s sense that multilingualism enables communal engagement and redemptive textual activities, we move now to one of the most concentrated textual programs since the abbacy of Ceolfrith at ­Wearmouth-Jarrow (690–716), during which Bede flourished. For ­A lfred, this program of multilingual textual production and use was again centered in a redemptive sense of the pastoral responsibilities of a king over the populace, but we have less material on the basis of which to hypothesize about how Æthelstan did or did not conceive of his own textual activities as a concerted program or as fitting within the framework of an overarching ideology.5 I would like, nevertheless, to suggest that Æthelstan was conscious of the significance of his textual activities and that he carried out these activities in the enduring context of the Alfredian modes of textuality.

Alfred’s Textual Kingdom Whereas it was a Northumbrian monastery that excelled in textual production in the late seventh and early eighth centuries, the textual program initiated by Alfred was securely based in Wessex and Mercia. By the late ninth century, the West Saxon kingdom showed far more stability than the other kingdoms in England, or even many in Europe. Though certainly harassed by Viking incursions, the West Saxon royal line seems to have been less troubled by internal feuds and dynastic rivalries than most other Anglo-Saxon and European kingdoms were at the time.6 What rivalries there were in the West Saxon house were largely confined to the one branch of the house where succession had remained since the days of Ecgbert (802–839).7 The West Saxon courts of several generations of kings probably could not have provided a haven for so many Insular and Continental scholars and refugees if this had not been the case, and it was these cosmopolitan court circles that provided the personnel to carry out the composition, translation, and copying necessary for the textual programs of Alfred and Æthelstan. Alfred is justly famous for the texts produced during his reign, but establishing his personal involvement in this output is difficult, whereas the participation of the scholars gathered at his court, including Asser, Plegmund, Wærferth, and John the Old Saxon, must have been crucial. The texts that are generally considered to have been translated by

58  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex Alfred or with Alfred’s input are the Pastoral Care,8 the Soliloquies,9 the ­Boethius,10 and the Prose Psalms.11 Those which Alfred seems to have commissioned from others include the translation of Gregory’s ­Dialogues,12 the Old English Orosius,13 and the Old English Bede.14 The first installment of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle is also thought to have been recorded at this time.15 Malcolm Godden has rightly called attention to the difficulty of accepting that a king who was, according to contemporary accounts, incapable of reading either English or Latin for most of his life could have composed the translations that have been ascribed to him in a tradition that extends back to the tenth century,16 but Janet Bately has argued convincingly that there was probably a single mind behind at least the Pastoral Care, Boethius, Soliloquies, and Prose Psalms.17 While the question of authorship may prompt intriguing and productive avenues of research, we should be wary of excluding texts from a discussion of Alfredian Wessex based on this criterion alone. There is no need to establish definitively any one author for a given text when we are discussing textual community. A textual community functions by enabling or enriching the textual activities, including the production of texts, of a wider circle than any one individual who may serve as a lightning rod for scholarly critique. In this chapter, all of these texts will be treated as Alfredian in that they are linked, to varying degrees and in different ways, to Alfred’s program of translation and edification, and thus to his vision for a textual kingdom.18 Alfred’s goal was not precisely equivalent with the production of a uniformly literate nation; different kinds of literacy were implied by his rules with respect to daily study in Latin or English. In addition, his program has been described as striving to cultivate a “shared ­memory” in the kingdom.19 Far from being inconsistent with the idea of corporate textuality at court, this suggests that a collaborative model, or even a model in which Alfred initiated a project that allowed trusted advisors to operate fairly independently, would fit with Alfred’s ultimate aims. A noteworthy element of the prodigious textual output of Alfred’s reign is the fact that it occurred simultaneously with increasing conflict with the Vikings and with West Saxon attempts to gain more control over Anglo-Saxon territories. Alfred was the first king to style himself “King of the Anglo-Saxons,” and we know that Æthelstan also styled himself this way, although a full conquest of all Anglo-Saxon territory by the West Saxon house did not occur until 954 when Eadred, Alfred’s youngest grandson, finally conquered the Viking kingdom of York. ­A lfred’s reign saw three major Danish invasions of Wessex:20 870–871 (including the death of Alfred’s third brother, King Æthelred, who was succeeded by Alfred); 876–879 (with the surprise attack on C ­ hippenham at the end of 877, followed by Alfred’s trudge through the forests and marshes, the fortification of Athelney, and the baptism of Guthrum and

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  59 thirty other Viking leaders with Alfred as godfather); and 892–896 (given a detailed account in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle recording seve­ ral years of raids, pursuits, and sea-fights after the Danish army crossed from the Continent back to Kent). With the Vikings never far away, this might seem like a strange time for Alfred to be so resolutely focused on texts, but Alfred was able to use texts as a vehicle by which he countered the influence of persistent invasions and established a literary and administrative culture of literacy and stability within Wessex that also helped him to consolidate West Saxon influence or direct control over other parts of Anglo-Saxon ­England. Keynes also sees the “program for the revival of religion, learning and literacy” as “just one aspect of the measures undertaken by him, and those around him, in the continuing struggle against the Danes.”21 It may be, in Discenza’s words, that “the sense of insecurity ingrained by watching his brothers die one by one and his kingdom suffer repeated Viking attacks, made him uniquely well placed to take risks simultaneously literary, religious, and social.”22 Moreover, Alfred’s approach to the defense of his kingdom, by way of educational and textual rein­ vigoration, is in some ways reminiscent of the common response of turning towards reinvigorated religious observance in the face of political or military assault. 23 More generally, Kathleen Davis has characterized the effort to ­“remember” a national past, as in the establishment of a textual canon, as the temporal corollary to the kind of territorial self-definition that Alfred and other Wessex rulers were concerned with in this period. 24 Asser writes of Alfred guiding the ship of his kingdom, with the sailors replaced by bishops, ealdormen, reeves, and his “dearest” thegns, 25 and it is through these ecclesiastical and administrative officials that ­A lfred attempts to extend the culture of his court circle to the wider kingdom. David Pratt characterizes local acts of reading as projecting “West Saxon court theatre, conducted at a distance by reading texts alone.”26 Some of the inspiration for this textually based approach came from Old ­Testament figures or from scholars who had previously looked to Old Testament models. I have argued elsewhere that Bede’s exegesis of the prophet Ezra could have influenced Alfred’s interest in the Old T ­ estament and in a particular brand of Psalter exegesis. 27 ­B ede’s commentary ­In Ezram could also have emphasized for Alfred the importance for a good ruler of self-awareness and the drive to reform imperfect institutions and individuals. Bede was highly regarded in A ­ nglo-Saxon ­England, if the number of extant manuscripts is anything to go by, 28 and Asser himself seems to have been familiar with some of Bede’s works, including the Historia ecclesiastica. 29 In addition, Alfred’s interest in Old Testament figures also drew on Carolingian models. 30 Asser may also have been aware of the similarities between his own relationship with Alfred and that of Alcuin with Charlemagne.31

60  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex In the last chapter, we saw the frequent connections between royal power and monastic power or between royal power and textual power in seventh- and eighth-century Northumbria. Alfred, on the other hand, calculatedly used textual activity, not as the beneficiary of an already established political power, but as energy with which to generate and reinforce political power. The push for reinvigorated educational and literary programs may also have been intended to boost morale and loyalty to the West Saxon house in the face of continuing Viking invasions. A strong sense of responsibility for his subjects nudged Alfred in the direction of textual activity in the form of his translation and education programs. One of the unifying themes of the texts that are generally accepted as Alfredian is their concern with pastoral oversight and with the attributes of an effective Christian king. Alfred, like Bede, seems to have worked on the assumption that it was possible to bring about redemption or to lead people to redemption by textual means. More specifi­cally, Robert Stanton has argued that Alfred viewed the cultivation of wisdom as a way to avoid further punishment in the form of Viking attacks, and this colors Alfred’s understanding of his role as a king who mediates wisdom for his subjects, as much an interpres (both translator and mediator) as the scholars who mediated on his behalf. 32 Alfred’s sense of his own personal sin and of the role of penitence in the lives of individuals and, by extension, kingdoms likely contributed to his textual activities, too.33 In the context of Christian doctrine and practice, such feelings are frequently conditioned to be textually mediated, especially through the repetition of the Psalter not only in the Divine Office, but also in the much slower cycle of the readings at Mass. According to Asser, Alfred entered psalms which impressed him into the libellus that he carried with him “day and night,”34 and he also visited churches at night to pray. 35 Alfred is also said to have carried his relics of saints with him, 36 and both Carolingian models37 and a devotional response to his extended illnesses in the form of prayer and almsgiving38 seem to have inspired much of Alfred’s personal piety. Alfred was not alone in looking to linguistic, textually achieved unity as a remedy for political or social disunity. Such approaches are rarely successful beyond the short term, but they reveal many of the deeper parts of identity, especially communal identity, that are often perceived to be based in linguistic expression. In Tim Machan’s words, There is far more than nostalgia here. Alfred’s policy collapses morality, history, and language, with a failure in one mirroring lapses in the others. While cause and effect may be moot, since variations in all three necessarily co-occur, language (he claims) provides the means to restore stability everywhere. Just as the loss of treasure and wisdom follows upon shifts away from Latin and literacy, so ­A lfred’s program of translation and education will serve as the

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  61 means to and confirmation of England’s political and moral pre-­ eminence. Through his rationalization of translation, moreover, the king situ­ates England in the translatio studii and imperii—in a cultural tradition that renders Winchester the Rome or Athens of the early Middle Ages.39 Like so many others who have made use of this strategy, Alfred may have been swayed by a sense of powerlessness. With so much disintegration to which he could attempt a response but which he could not directly control, Alfred seized on an aspect of cultural life that could be guided by the king. In addition to all of these reasons, there are practical considerations that likely favored textual means of forming, consolidating, and communicating within communities. In an era when fireside chats could not be broadcast over radio, textual dissemination was an excellent way of reaching large numbers of people, although it seems clear that the administration of a kingdom in the ninth or tenth century remained as much dependent on orally delivered messages as on letters carried by agents.40 As we shall see, Alfred linked his goals for the intellectual and spiritual life of the West Saxon kingdom to the dissemination of written texts, as his grandson Æthelstan would later use the dissemination of manuscripts to maintain royal power. Alfred was especially articulate in using his textual activities to define royal oversight of both secular and religious life, but it was Æthelstan who perfected the art of giving and receiving books in order to maintain close ties with Ireland, Brittany, other parts of the Continent, and various regions within Britain. Æthelstan followed his grandfather’s example of cultivating textual production and using texts and books as part of his efforts to consolidate the power of the West Saxon ruling house in Wessex, other regions of Anglo-Saxon England, and Europe. We have ample evidence to speak to the military and political achievements of both Alfred and Æthelstan, including the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and the Battle of Brunanburh, although the reliability of these sources may be limited by what have been identified as underlying agendas of promoting and valorizing the West Saxon house. By contrast, while Asser41 and the surviving Old English translations attest to Alfred’s literary activity, the corresponding material for Æthelstan’s reign is scanty: several Latin poems42 are matched only by some royal diplomas issued in his name and a pair of Latin letters directed to him—both from or about Brittany or Bretons.43 The reign of Æthelstan may have been less well documented than his grandfather’s, but Æthelstan does seem to have absorbed much of his grandfather’s attitude towards text and textuality. In particular, he seems to have thought carefully about how to link physically distant communities into an ideologically and textually linked bound kingdom.44 Some

62  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex of Æthelstan’s assimilation of Alfredian textuality may have come about through Æthelstan’s own experiences at Alfred’s court and through the survival after Alfred’s death of individuals who had participated in the textual community at his court. John the Old Saxon, for example, was invited to England by Alfred (according to Asser), but he stayed on after Alfred’s death and probably survived long enough to witness a charter of Edward the Elder in 904. The Adalstan acrostic, apparently composed for Æthelstan, speaks to the importance of textual commemoration and communication, with the older Æthelstan reading a poem written about the young Æthelstan. There once seemed to be some basis for thinking that John the Old Saxon might have been the John responsible for the acrostic, and Lapidge noted the similarities between this poem and two acrostics written for Alfred, suggesting that John the Old Saxon might have composed the poems to Alfred as well. Unfortunately, this theory about John the Old Saxon’s authorship of the acrostic is no longer credi­ ted, although his lengthy stay in England and at the royal court is likely to have strengthened the influence of Alfredian textuality.45 On the contrary, with John the Old Saxon’s authorship of the Adalstan poem no longer accepted, his responsibility for the poems written for Alfred must also be questioned since those attributions were based on the assumption that John was responsible for the Adalstan acrostic.46 Beyond this, the ceremony mentioned by William of Malmesbury in which Æthelstan was supposedly given arms by his grandfather was once understood as a moment when the young Æthelstan was invested with Alfred’s insignia and, as such, a moment probably modeled on ­A lfred’s anointing in Rome as a young boy.47 Wieland, in undermining the attri­ bution of the Adalstan acrostic to John the Old Saxon, has also cast doubt on this understanding of the ceremony reported by William of Malmesbury, reminding us that it would have been highly unorthodox for Alfred to have anointed Æthelstan as king with Æthelstan’s father and three elder brothers still living.48 So, we are no longer left with a relic of the Alfredian court, but the poem is nevertheless a reflex of the textuality of the Alfredian court—and an enduring reflex, if Wieland is right that Æthelstan was older when the poem was written than the four or five years old that Lapidge estimated he must have been. Whatever the details of his grandson’s textual inculcation may have been, it is important to understand Alfred’s own development as a reader and producer of books, at least as presented to us by Asser. Much has been written about Asser’s depiction of Alfred’s textual growth—­learning to read first English and then Latin, constantly adding material to his libellus, and ultimately taking on the role of magister in encouraging schooling for youth and in regulating the linguistic and literary skills required of administrative officials.49 In Asser’s Life itself, as well as in its image of the textual practices at Alfred’s court, compilation and reassembly are valorized as ways of building up authority. Such techniques of acquiring

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  63 authority are, of course, not limited to the A ­ lfredian court, nor is Asser’s practice of quoting from a variety of sources in the Life,50 but Asser’s depiction of Alfred’s almost magpie-like compilation in his l­ibellus51 and Alfred’s own vision of selecting the “most needful” books52 both suggest that the Alfredian circle valued a kind of wisdom that was assembled out of any sources that could be found. Paul Remley notes that there may have been two stages of production of Alfred’s libellus, one in which Asser copied passages in consultation with ­A lfred, and another in which Alfred edited the collection (or had it edited) to form the book that he carried thereafter.53 Whether or not this can be confirmed, we are left with the impression of a voracious textual appetite that placed text among the most pressing matters to receive a ruler’s attention. Like Bede with the account of the healing of the scabby young man, Alfred not only viewed text as important, but also fashioned non-textual events into textual experiences. This may have been part of the appeal for Alfred of the Psalter, since the prayers of the Psalter provide a way of textualizing and fitting words to the experiences of daily life. It may be that a similar sense of a fundamental connection between textuality and daily experiences underlies Alfred’s consistent, even insistent, use of physical metaphors for learning. Learning, claims Alfred, may be under­ stood as a process of manual exertion. Blending the Christian Latin tradition with the Anglo-Saxon tradition, Alfred greatly extends the few references to hunting in De consolatione philosophiae, for example, 54 while his detailed metaphor of wood-gathering and construction in the Old English translation of the Soliloquia offers an extended example of the pairing of textuality and physicality.55 This pairing is also reflected in Alfred’s own activities, which, in addition to his textual program, involved both the design and construction of implements (like the lantern that burned for exactly 24 hours)56 and the direction of major construction and fortification projects across his kingdom. 57 While there is little external documentation for some of these projects (such as the lantern, for example), the fact that Asser chose to weave this sort of narrative about the king suggests that he saw this linkage between physical labor and textual labor as being true to the spirit of Alfred’s program. 58 Thanks to this same pairing of physical labor with the search for wisdom, Alfred’s innovative use of cræft in the Old English Boethius accomplished a related set of goals. Its repeated use in a variety of contexts gave the word cræft fresh lexical scope and had the effect of making the text of the Boethius more concrete, connecting Alfred’s abstract intellectual and spiritual pursuits with the skills and labor of everyday life, in keeping with Alfred’s preference for concrete, physical metaphors for building up of wisdom. It also helped Alfred to advance his political goals by linking talents and virtues with spiritual, physical, and political power.59 Alfred seems to have learned this kind of broad use of the term from vernacular poetry,60 and his use of cræft allowed him “to connect

64  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex moral power with continuous expertise, with additional implications of physical construction.”61 In addition to enhancing his moral power, Alfredian texts represented an important part of his political legitimacy. Malcolm Parkes suggests that the story of Alfred’s hallowing in Rome appearing in the annal for 853 need not be read as “crude propaganda,” but as a way of explaining the survival of a sickly boy and the successes of a sickly man.62 Aside from his famed illnesses,63 Alfred could have had no reasonable expectations of becoming king, not even after the eldest of his four brothers rebelled and was shunted off into the western part of the kingdom. From this perspective, it is astonishing and even miraculous that the youngest of five sons succeeded to the throne while still a young man and was then able to carry out some of the most significant military, literary, and administrative reforms of the period. In such circumstances, it would be desirable to craft the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle so as to emphasize the clear line of West Saxon legitimacy inherited by Alfred,64 but it might also have seemed appealing to find a textual expression of and containment for his illness—a common reaction to life-threatening or long-term illness. In addition to his production of texts, Alfred is known as a reader and user of manuscripts. Although we have no clear sense of how well Alfred ever learned to read in either English or Latin, nor of the degree of his personal involvement in the translation and textual productions associated with the late ninth century,65 some of the best-known stories about Alfred revolve around his supposed interactions with text. The most famous story associating Alfred with any particular book is ­Asser’s account of the young Alfred’s winning a book from his mother after proving that he had learned all of it.66 This is the first event in Alfred’s life that explicitly raises the question of the distinction between reading a text and learning a text, but this and related questions persist about all of Alfred’s textual activities. Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe has offered a reading of Asser’s Life as having been partly structured around the theme of learning to read, a process culminating in Alfred’s assuming the role of teacher and guide for his subjects as they moved towards their own literacy.67 Again, Asser’s Life textualizes a lived process, just as it reflected the wide gathering of scholars and sources that Alfred engaged in for his own and his kingdom’s benefit. As is the case with Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica, Asser’s Life of King Alfred tells us a great deal, without necessarily being fully factual, still less verifiable. The Life speaks to concerns about textual, moral, and royal authority, but it is difficult to know how literally to take the details of its narrative of Alfred’s activities, including his reading. In fairness to Asser, the intense debate that the question of Alfred’s literacy triggers should not surprise us. Even in recent centuries, it has proved difficult to know how to assess literacy or types of literacy,68 while the text-speak

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  65 encroachment on what have been more formal literate modes, though probably exaggerated in many of the complaints against it, again raises the question of how to define literacy and whether the term must imply the use of a certain register or variety of a language. Arguing against a view of literacy as merely a collection of skills that apply to all cultures and situations equally, Brian Street urged a recognition of literacy as “a social process in which particular socially constructed technologies are used within particular institutional frameworks for specific social purposes.”69 More generally, the rejection of “great divide” theories of literacy (as existing in clearly delineated separation from orality) that was ushered in with New Literacy Studies opens the way for a more nuanced understanding of the relationship between Alfred and his advisors in the textual program he initiated. It may well be true that Alfred never became literate in the sense of being able to pick up a book and read it for himself, certainly not anything written in Latin, but Alfred was bold enough to rely on others’ abilities in order to accomplish his ends. This corporate model of reading should not be mistaken for a one-way street in which the king was mere putty in the hands of more learned advisors; rather, it makes the fullest use of the evidence to argue that he was an active participant in the process. Wormald has rightly warned of the lack of evidence of extensive lay literacy, in the sense of being able to read for oneself, in Anglo-Saxon England, but there are other ways of approaching the question of literacy.70 Michael Clanchy’s work on later medieval England suggests that literacy may need a more complex definition (or at least, a broader acknowledgement of its effects and importance) than simply to look for individuals who could read or write independently.71 Similarly, discussing the development from a period where oral transmission and the testimony of witnesses are of first importance to a period of greater reliance on documents, Kathryn Lowe asserts that even a layman who could not read could participate in a “literacy event,” through the clearly verifiable nature of a chirograph, especially when a document or a portion of a document was recorded in the vernacular so that it could be understood when read out.72 Even if there are serious doubts about Alfred’s competence in reading and writing that cannot be removed, it is still possible to speak of a lite­ rate mentality for Alfred. Alfred kept his libellus to record texts that impressed him, and we know from the Preface to the Pastoral Care that he had given some thought to texts as being “needful.” Even if it is difficult to know what to make of Asser’s claim that Alfred enforced a kind of literacy for his administrative officials,73 the story is part of the larger narrative of textuality and probably does reflect, if not reality, then at least what Alfred would like to effect or be perceived to have effected. In either case, Asser’s story reflects a valuing of the perception of literacy and of access to authoritative, valued texts.

66  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex Whatever literate skills he did or did not command himself, Alfred apparently exercised his power in selecting texts for copying into his libellus and for translation into Old English. This, of course, raises the question, if Alfred did not know how to read or did not read fluently, then how did he decide which texts were “most needful”? For that matter, even if Alfred was able to read comfortably on his own, the question stands, particularly in view of the frequent Danish incursions into Wessex, to say nothing of the day-to-day duties of kingship. The Preface to the Pastoral Care does not seem to suggest that many of the bishops were involved in the process of selecting “most needful” texts, but it may be that members of the witan or others in attendance at court, possibly including some bishops like Wærferth, were reading to Alfred or were delegated to bring back to the king a pre-selected set of texts from among which he could make a final determination. Alternatively, it is conceivable that Asser or some other individual took control of at least the preliminary selection process. No matter what the mechanics of the process may have been, it is clear that the Alfredian textual program was carried out with careful planning and was strongly influenced by textual authorities like Gregory the Great, Isidore of Seville, and Bede.74 In the context of a corporate model of reading and interpretation that seems to have been guided ultimately by Alfred’s own sensibilities, this suggests that the king himself saw the value of the materials that gave structure to his efforts to redeem his people. An important similarity between Alfred’s project to revive learning and that carried out by Matthew Parker in the sixteenth century is that the multilingual element of Alfred’s program of translation was vital not only to the execution of the project, but to the statement of purpose. Alfred justified his program of translation on the basis of the supposedly poor Latinity to be found in England in the late ninth century (ða swiðe lytle fiorme ðara boca wiston, forðæmðe hie hiora nan wuht ongiotan ne meahton forðæmðe hie næron on hiora agen geðiode awritene).75 As we shall see, Parker did translate Old English texts into Modern ­English, but he explicitly framed his project as a recovery of an “ancient and once familiar language.” Alfred tends to get credit for the creation of a literary value or authenticity for prose in English, but he was by no means the first to make a move in this direction. Although Bede wrote most often in Latin, we know that he also desired to see various religious texts translated into English. Alfred is, however, the first person to have given such a complete and coherent picture of the drive to use English in this way. Like Bede, Alfred was closely concerned with the crossing of linguistic boundaries, and he “established a legitimate language that was close enough to current usage for his people to recognize easily what he meant, yet distinctive enough (and close enough to Latin usage) to carry prestige.”76

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  67 The whole of Alfred’s enterprise is founded on the premise that these texts (or the effort to read them) will give access to increased wisdom, but it is a corporate effort and a corporate wisdom: ond [hie] woldon ðæt her ðy mara wisdom on londe wære ðy we ma geðeoda cuðon.77 Not everyone needs to know how to read Latin in order for there to be a benefit for everyone (wisdom on londe), but being able to read Latin does seem to bestow greater benefit on the individual who is so skilled. The difficulty with this equation is that the translation program means that the linguistic divide need not be crossed again after the texts have been translated. In learning Latin, which is necessary in order for the translations to be carried out, Alfred or any other individual who participates gains the promised greater wisdom and imparts it to the kingdom, but the fact that a translation exists means that this individual need not be called upon to translate the same text again. In addition, there is no longer the same incentive for the kingdom to foster Latin learning with its attendant increase in wisdom—in Bourdieusian terms, cultural capital has been “spent” on the production of the translation, but symbolic capital in the form of respect for the mastery required to produce the translation has been generated in the spending.78 None of the translations Alfred is believed to have taken a personal hand in or to have commissioned from others would do much to enhance the level of learning in England, except symbolically, if they never ­existed in wider dissemination outside Alfred’s court circle. What we call the “Preface” to the Pastoral Care is actually a circular letter to the bishops of the kingdom, suggesting that the work was intended to be copied and circulated widely, at least among bishops. Simon Keynes raises the analogous question in the secular sphere: If Alfred wished to see his judi­cial and administrative deputies literate, or at least exposed to “needful” texts, then that behest need not have stopped at texts focused on the spiritual wellbeing of his subjects. Keynes wonders if Alfred’s laws might have been circulated to the judges and reeves who were responsible for their enforcement. Judges and reeves fall among the group of administrative officials enjoined to read or be read to,79 but as much as they needed spiritual or intellectual guidance, such officials might have preferred to have access to legal texts. Keynes compares the expectation that judges enforce the written text of the law (while copies were scarce and written in possibly difficult language) to the predicament of sheriffs in the nineteenth-century American West, who operated largely on their own judgment, with little oversight or guidance.80 In a time of serious political threats to the West Saxon kingdom, a king already convinced of the power of text to enhance the spiritual and political wellbeing of his dominions might easily have seen the value of textualizing the enforcement of his laws.

68  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex

Æthelstan Following the Trail Alfred managed to hold off a Viking conquest of Wessex, but it was for his successors to carry Anglo-Saxon influence back into previously conquered territories. Between them, Alfred’s children, Edward the E ­ lder and Æthelflæd, conquered all Viking territories south of Yorkshire in the years between 910 and 920, while Eadred (r. 946–955), Alfred’s youngest grandson and the son of Edward the Elder, completed the feat by defeating the Viking kingdom of York in 954.81 Edward, and later his son Æthelstan, had all the while encouraged the purchase of land by Anglo-Saxon thegns from areas that had fallen under Danish control.82 Edward was accepted in 920 as “father and lord” by the Hiberno-Norse Ragnald, then ruling at York, but by Æthelstan’s reign, the relationship seems to have been one more of alliance than of overlordship, since ­Æthelstan’s sister was married to Ragnald’s successor, Sihtric. On ­Sihtric’s death, however, Æthelstan drove out his successor, Guthfrith, and took direct control of Northumbria in 927. This was the first time that a West Saxon king had become the direct ruler of Northumbria,83 and it seems clear that Æthelstan had already given thought to the textual commemoration of the event before he even traveled north. Carta dirige gressus was written when Æthelstan went north in July and secured a pledge of fidelity from Constantine, King of the Scots, and other northern leaders. The poem is closely modeled on a Carolingian text but seems in fact to have been written immediately after the event, possibly by a scribe named Peter, and speeded on its way “by land and sea” back to Wessex in order to get Æthelstan’s story circulating.84 This astute and swift deployment of text for political support suggests that Æthelstan had learned from his grandfather’s embrace of textuality. A decade later, following the decisive victory of Æthelstan and his brother, Edmund, over an alliance of Picts and Hiberno-Norse at Brunanburh in 937, the Old English poem, The Battle of Brunanburh, appeared in that year’s annal of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Given the cosmopolitan make-up of Æthelstan’s court (“probably the most cosmo­ politan of the Anglo-Saxon period,” in Zacher’s estimation) and the wider network of contacts he maintained,85 it is perhaps not surprising that The Battle of Brunanburh displays some features of skaldic verse, although there are few signs of direct influence on the poem.86 ­Brunanburh itself betrays the multilingual context in which it was composed, even while it denigrates some of the non-Anglo-Saxons in that context, who are treated as “losers who cannot talk back.”87 Just as texts could be used to consolidate power, so entire manuscripts could also serve political purposes in their production and dissemination. One way to dispose of manuscripts was to donate them to monastic houses, and both Æthelstan and Alfred are known to have made various sorts

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  69 of donations to monastic houses. The Book of Nunnaminster (BL, ­Harley 2965) contains on folio 40v the boundaries of a piece of property in ­Winchester that was given to Nunnaminster by Alfred’s queen, ­Ealhswith. The book may have belonged to the queen and been given by her to the nunnery, which she founded in 903 after Alfred’s death.88 The West Saxon kings, beginning with Alfred’s father Æthelwulf, utilized gift-giving as a method of consolidating power, very much in the Carolingian mold, but Æthelstan’s giving of books stands out from the more common gifts of land or rings that can be documented during ­A lfred’s reign.89 Gifts of books were certainly not unheard of, but what is striking about Æthelstan’s practice of book-giving is the number of ­volumes that can be traced to him in some way. While Alfred seems to have been more involved in the production of texts, Æthelstan’s bibliographic legacy can be more fully documented when it comes to manuscripts produced at Æthelstan’s behest or sent to him, manuscripts distributed by Æthelstan, and scattered references to Æthelstan in other manuscripts. Although Wormald believes Æthelstan to have been literate, he is nevertheless dismissive of Æthelstan’s apparent willingness to give away books and relics.90 Another way of understanding this behavior is as a demonstration of his view of books as valuable, rich in symbolic or cultural capital that could be brought to the minds of the recipients by way of the gift. It would be one thing to carelessly pass along an unwanted item or two, but a more sustained pattern, like Æthelstan’s distribution of books, suggests a conscious, constructive activity. Characterizing some Anglo-Saxon scribes, who worked both in ecclesiastical scriptoria and in royal workshops to produce books and documents, as “Aethelstan’s clerici” and “a kind of intellectual comitatus,” Michael Wood cites Asser’s report of the Alfredian rotation of court personnel as an indication that scribes might have followed a pattern of scheduled time at Æthelstan’s court similar to that followed by secular officials and craftsmen.91 Some of these scribes may even have traveled with the king on occasion, as seems to have been the case when ­Æthelstan went north to make peace with the Picts. A group of manuscripts from the second quarter of the tenth century, coinciding with the start of Æthelstan’s reign, show affiliations of scribe, illuminator, or content. The same hand wrote the continuation to 920 (from its original end at 891) of the A-text of the Anglo-Saxon ­C hronicle in CCCC 173 and the text of the Old English Orosius in BL, Add. 47967. A now lost leaf used in the binding at the end of Junius 86 and containing a portion of the Old English Boethius was written in a similar hand,92 as is the Tanner Bede (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Tanner 10, a copy of the Old English translation). Junius 27 (the so-called ­Junius Psalter) shares an illuminator with the Orosius in Add. 47967, and the obits of Alfred and his wife have been added to the ­calendar in the ­psalter. This calendar is part of a metrical calendar

70  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex adapted, apparently in Wessex, from an Irish félire (martyrology) and is found in full, including the royal obits, in Cotton Galba A.xviii. The Galba manuscript contains a Frankish psalter known to have belonged to Æthelstan, as well as material added in a hand similar to that of a contemporary copy of Aldhelm in BL, Royal MS 7 D.xxiv. This Aldhelm manuscript shares a scribe and possibly an illuminator with CCCC 183, a copy of Bede’s two Lives of Cuthbert, given by Æthelstan to Chester-le-Street in the mid-930s.93 CCCC 183 features a full-page illustration (fol. 1v) that seems to depict Cuthbert accepting the book from the king. With Cuthbert long dead by the time Æthelstan donated this book to Chester-le-Street, the imagined interaction in this illustration suggests an attempt to bestow additional honor or legitimacy on ­Æthelstan and his gift. More particularly, Æthelstan seems to have used the distribution of such books to shore up the idea of a kingdom of the English, especially in his use of Cuthbert as a unifying figure. There is reason to believe that CCCC 183 may have originated at Glastonbury, on ­Æthelstan’s instructions, and it was given by him to the community at Chester-le-Street that was dedicated to Cuthbert.94 CCCC 173 brings several other artifacts into the chain: The first scribe of the manuscript also wrote the boundaries added to the Book of Nunnaminster—a fact which may suggest a link with Winchester for this group of manuscripts. Moreover, the first hand copying the laws of ­A lfred and Ine in CCCC 173 may be the hand that wrote a late ­Æthelstan charter (S 449), while the rest of the text of the laws shares features of the hand that wrote the personal inscription in a manuscript Æthelstan gave to Christ Church, Canterbury (Tiberius A.ii, f. 15v).95 Malcolm Parkes sees in these manuscript affinities a process of standardization and makes a case not only for a Winchester link, but for a revived scriptorium with a strong focus on historiography, guided by Grimbald of Saint-Bertin and modeled on the “flourishing and disciplined” ninth-century scriptorium in Rheims.96 This group of manuscripts has strong connections with Alfred and his model of the West Saxon kingdom, as in the Nunnaminster links, the royal obits, and the possible rotation at court of a group of clerici along with officials and secular craftsmen. If Malcolm Parkes is right in crediting Grimbald with reviving a scriptorium at Winchester, then this complex of manuscripts owes a debt to the Alfredian circle from the late ninth century. These manuscripts also betray a keen interest in texts that have at one time or another been considered “Alfredian.” Even though the Psalter is hardly a rare text, we know that Alfred felt an affinity for the Old Testament and perhaps the psalms in particular.97 Not all of the supposedly Alfredian texts appearing in these manuscripts (Boethius, Orosius, and Bede) are still ascribed in any direct way to Alfred himself, but they are generally acknowledged to have emerged at about the same time from that milieu or out of the same mindset that Alfred seems to

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  71 have cultivated in his court. All of this suggests that Alfred’s legacy was still felt strongly during Æthelstan’s reign. Another significant influence on the textual culture of Wessex during Æthelstan’s reign came from the manuscripts imported by or for King Æthelstan. By the later tenth century, England held large numbers of Frankish and Breton manuscripts, and Æthelstan seems to have been interested in Frankish, Breton, and Irish manuscripts more generally. CCCC 183 may have been influenced by such manuscripts, with English scribes gradually becoming proficient enough to imitate what they found in foreign manuscripts then in England.98 In addition to learning from books he imported or received from abroad, Æthelstan also sent books from his court to other parts of ­England or Europe. CCCC 183, containing both of Bede’s Lives of Cuthbert, was itself given some time between 934 and 937 by Æthelstan to the community at Chester-le-Street, where the cult of St. Cuthbert was celebrated. We have already seen that Æthelstan gave Tiberius A.ii to Christ Church, Canterbury, but he also gave the MacDurnan Gospels (now London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 1370) to Christ Church. Tiberius A.ii was written on the Continent in the late ninth or early tenth century and seemingly given to Æthelstan by Otto I, who married Æthelstan’s half-sister, Edith, in 929 or 930. The textual links with the German imperial family continued for another century, and in fact, Æthelweard, one of Ælfric’s patrons, presented his Latin translation of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle to Matilda of Essen, the granddaughter of Otto and Edith.99 As we have seen, Æthelstan’s textual or bibliographic ties are not only within the heartland of Anglo-Saxon power, but also with Brittany, Cornwall, Ireland, and other parts of Europe. Already in Æthelstan’s day, Wessex had a long history of ties with Cornwall,100 including a mention in Aldhelm’s Carmen rhythmicum, repeated references in the ­Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, and Alfred’s own links, especially Asser’s decision to include Welsh glosses of some English place-names appearing in his Life of King Alfred. Moreover, Alfred, Edward the Elder, and ­Æthelstan all maintained ties with Brittany, and there were also ­Icelandic connections, at least in Æthelstan’s day, as we shall see. Both Alfred and Æthelstan also used texts for the consolidation of West Saxon power. The circular letter that prefaces the Old English ­Pastoral Care asserts royal authority and a vision for the future deve­ lopment of the intellectual and spiritual resources of Wessex. The actual effectiveness of this vision over the long run is debatable, but it was still a major influence on the textual culture of England not only during Alfred’s reign, but also during Æthelstan’s reign. Like the Preface to the Pastoral Care, the laws of Alfred and the earliest installments of the ­Anglo-Saxon Chronicle shore up West Saxon royal authority. By incorporating a large section of the laws recorded in Exodus 20–23, the laws

72  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex of Alfred lay claim to the textual and spiritual authority of the Old Testament. Similarly, the Common Stock genealogies of the Chronicle, which play a major role in the legitimization of the West Saxon royal house, also recall the Old Testament.101 For Æthelstan, it was texts like the Battle of Brunanburh, which appears in four manuscripts of the Chronicle for the 937 annal, or the poem Carta dirige gressus, composed and copied while Æthelstan was still in the north in the immediate aftermath of his successful negotiations with the Picts, that were intended to solidify West Saxon a­ uthority. Brunanburh taps into the West Saxon dynastic overtones of the C ­ hronicle with its reference to Æthelstan’s descent from Edward (and thus, Alfred), echoing the Common Stock genealogies of the earliest recensions. This may indicate that the Chronicle was the intended home for Brunanburh.102 So, Æthelstan made use of not only the same type of text, but also the very text itself that was used to establish West Saxon credentials during his grandfather’s reign. In that sense, Alfred continued to determine how Æthelstan or those around him defined and narrated his reign. Moreover, Æthelstan continued Alfred’s strategy of processing seemingly non-textual events as textual experiences and of using textual means of exerting his influence across England and in parts of Europe. Particularly in Alfred’s hand, this practice is reminiscent of Bede’s connection between a redemptive theological impulse and probing textual scholarship. Alfred’s concern for the folc of his kingdom and his sense of responsibility for the salvation of his subjects reflect a lingering redemptive mindset. In like manner, Alfred chose a text dealing with the pastoral responsibilities of bishops in which to lay out his vision for a renewed educational, scholarly, and administrative climate in England. Movement across linguistic, ethnic, and dynastic boundaries characterizes the political and textual culture of the courts of Alfred and ­Æthelstan. As we have already seen, Alfred seems to have absorbed something of Bede’s advocacy for English and other vernacular languages as legitimate vehicles for religious instruction and the transmission of spiritual learning. Intriguingly, an Old English genitive plural inflectional ending appears in the middle of a Latin inscription referencing ­Æthelstan in the MacDurnan Gospels: Æthelstanus Anglosæxna rex et rector,103 rather than the wholly Latin regnal style Angul-Saxonum rex used by Asser throughout his Life of Alfred.104 In fact, variants on the Old English-inflected rex ­Anglosæxna royal title appear in several other Latin diplomata of the late ninth and tenth centuries.105 It appears that Angul-Saxonum rex and rex Angul-Saxonum were only applied to Alfred after the 886 reoccupation of London, apparently by contrast with the more narrowly West Saxon formula, rex Saxonum, and emphasizing this “as a formative moment in the creation of a united West Saxon/Mercian realm.”106

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  73 Of particular significance for the shaping of the West Saxon kingdom was Alfred’s interest in Carolingian models of political and textual acti­ vity. Most famous is Alfred’s wish to be seen as another novus David, like Charlemagne,107 but even after Alfred’s death, Winchester in the late ninth and tenth centuries, for example, seems to have looked to the Frankish royal foundation at Saint-Denis as an example to be imitated, and the CCCC 173 compilation, as it stood in the mid-tenth century, resembled Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Fonds lat. 10758, a ninth-century compilation from Rheims.108 Similarly, Asser’s account of Alfred may be read as a literary construct influenced by Einhard’s depiction of Charlemagne.109 Æthelstan, on the other hand, provided a home for Louis, the exiled son of Charles the Simple. Grimbald of Saint-Bertin was present at Alfred’s court and may have been responsible for promoting the revision and transmission of historical texts at a revived scriptorium at Winchester. If this is true, then Grimbald had an influence both on the contents and on the palaeography of these manuscripts.110 Æthelstan’s ties with Brittany go beyond the acquisition of Breton manuscripts, and the king gave his protection to Breton refugees in the turmoil of 919–936 after the 919 Scandinavian invasion of Brittany. Alan II, Duke of Brittany, was fostered in Æthelstan’s court. Radbod, prior of the community of St. Samson of Dol, mentions in his letter the help that was given by Æthelstan’s father, Edward, to the community.111 Cotton Tiberius A.xv, which may have undergone its final compilation at Christ Church, Canterbury, in the opening years of the eleventh century,112 contains on folios 157r–158r an ano­nymous letter in Latin to intro­duce a miles (warrior) from Brittany who wanted to make a ­pilgrimage after having sought and obtained Æthelstan’s aid in establishing himself as a religious in England.113 Æthelstan apparently received Breton relics and personnel into ­English churches,114 while ­Asser records that Alfred gave gifts to Breton churches.115 Two of the three poems discussed by Michael Lapidge as evidence for the reign of Æthelstan are also evidence for the presence of foreign ­clerics in England during Æthelstan’s reign.116 Israel the Grammarian, “one of the leading scholars of the earlier tenth century,” came, in spite of his Hebrew moniker, from a Celtic background. Although he has sometimes been identified as Irish, he was probably Breton117 and went to England during the political turmoil that drove so many Bretons to England.118 In fact, it was not unusual at this period for Welsh ecclesiastics to adopt Hebrew names, and this also seems to be the explanation for Asser’s unusual name.119 While at Æthelstan’s court, Israel seems to have concocted with a Frankish colleague a board game based on the canon tables for the Gospels and known as Alea euangelii ­(“Gospel Dice”).

74  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex Thanks to this episode, we have evidence that the Irish bishop of ­ angor, Dub Innse, was also present at the court of Æthelstan, for it was B he who took the Alea euangelii to Ireland, where it was later recorded in a twelfth-century Irish book, now Oxford, Corpus Christi College, MS 122. At some point in his career, Israel also assembled a dossier of materials on the study of Greek, and given the dossier’s transmission primarily in English manuscripts, it may be that it was originally assembled while Israel was in England at Æthelstan’s court.120 After Æthelstan’s death, Israel made new Continental contacts and a life there for himself, partly on the basis of the Greek dossier and other texts he had begun to work on during Æthelstan’s reign.121 Æthelstan also cultivated some friendly contacts with S­ candinavians. Egill Skallagrímsson, known for his precocious tendencies towards drunkenness and murderousness, is reported to have spent some time in ­England in the service of Æthelstan.122 Hákon, the son of Harald ­Fairhair, king of Norway, was also sent to be fostered at the court of ­Æthelstan and was later known in Scandinavian sources as A ­ ðalsteinsfóstri. It is unclear whether this should be regarded as a way of gaining political patro­nage for the Norwegian crown or whether Hákon was in some sense a hostage at Æthelstan’s court. Hákon was given a Christian education, and later historical and saga literature portrays him as the first Norwegian ruler to encourage Christianity, although evidence of any evangelizing activity during his reign is lacking. It does appear that there are fewer heathen-type burials after about 950 on the southern and western coasts of Norway, where Hákon and his successors, the sons of Erik Bloodaxe, who were raised in England and allegedly Christian, ruled.123 As we shall see again in the next chapter, similarly close textual and personal ties between England and other kingdoms in Scandinavia or on the Continent continued to characterize Anglo-Saxon political and religious life. In fact, Alfred and Æthelstan, by their textual programs, laid the foundation for much of the English literary and bibliographic acti­vity that came after. Alfred’s program of translation and education helped to set the stage for later works in England, especially prose works, of which there are few examples in Old English before Alfred’s reign.124 Alfred established the Anglo-Saxon vernacular as a language of literary achievement, without setting aside the Latin learning on which this achievement depended. In this way, Alfred helped to enable the ­B enedictine Reform and the subsequent generation of prose writers, spearheaded by Ælfric and Wulfstan.125 Æthelstan’s preservation of the textual mentality that had prevailed at Alfred’s court thus played a crucial role in this process. The three poems discussed by Lapidge show Æthelstan at three different stages of his career: a child or young man receiving praise and happy predictions of future accomplishments (in the Adalstan acrostic, Archalis clamare ­triumuir); a mature victory in Northumbria (in Carta dirige gressus); and

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  75 a donation towards the end of his life, feeling conscious of the state of his soul (in Rex pius Æðelstan).126 In this, the textual modes of interpreting events encouraged during Alfred’s reign endured. Æthelstan and his household were again emulating the Alfredian circle, with the first poem perhaps providing an especially vivid model for the young Æthelstan. Alfred’s own sense of following the trail (spor) of earlier scholars and readers pointed the way for his successors to emulate him—and the ancestors or elders (ieldran) he claimed to be following. Alfred provided a particularly apt model to sixteenth-century thinkers of how a politi­ cal and religious project could be accomplished by textual means. In fact, Alfred owes much of his modern fame to the reputation he gained among sixteenth-century antiquarians like Matthew Parker.127 Alfred and his court provided an example of a circle of people working together (or at least working on parts of the same project) to effect through textual activity changes with a wide-reaching impact on society, and both Alfred and Parker created nostalgic narratives to justify and frame their textual projects. Alfred’s narrative of drawing Latin wisdom into Old English for the service of the kingdom and the spiritual wellbeing of its inhabitants led to a sixteenth-century narrative of the rescue and important of Old English wisdom (refashioned as Anglican wisdom) into early modern English. At the Alfredian court, gaining wisdom became linked with cræft and the physical metaphors associated with Alfred’s use of the term. Alfred’s apparent interest in physical construction and his love for books (notably, the one he received from his mother and the libellus or enchiridion he carried on his person), remind us that textual mediation of wisdom and knowledge is ultimately bibliographic mediation of that wisdom. Alfredian manuscripts or, more generally, manuscripts containing works that originally date to Alfred’s reign continued to be influential throughout the Middle Ages and into the sixteenth century. Notable in this regard are the Pastoral Care copies in H ­ atton 20 (a copy contemporary with Alfred) and CCCC 12 (a tenth- or ­eleventh-century copy),128 both of which were marked up by generations of later readers. Hatton 20, in particular, received a great deal of later attention, and we will return to the history of this manuscript in the concluding section of this book. As we have seen, a close and communal arrangement seems to have governed the production of a group of early tenth-century manuscripts that often show links both to Continental scriptoria and to the Alfredian textual program. CCCC 173, which contains an early copy of the first installment of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, betrays very active use (in the form of augmentation and rearrangements) in the ninth and tenth centuries, then again in the seventeenth century.129 If Æthelstan is harder to paint as a specific model for Parker or others than his grandfather is, it is nevertheless true that he absorbed enough of

76  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex Alfred’s court culture to participate in the same kind of textual community that Alfred had created at his own court. Æthelstan understood the significance of the physical metaphors for the process of gaining wisdom, and thus he appreciated the usefulness of the codices that allowed him to bind up a West Saxon sphere of influence. Æthelstan still cultivated the cosmopolitan and scholarly court milieu that his grandfather had utilized, but rather than setting out a new vision for the future of Wessex and the rest of England, Æthelstan built outwards on that foundation to strengthen his foreign contacts and to consolidate his influence, even control, over areas of England and Europe.

Notes 1 Sarah Foot, “The Making of Angelcynn: English Identity before the ­Norman Conquest,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th ser., 6 (1996): 28. 2 Foot, “The Making of Angelcynn,” 32–3. 3 M. K. Lawson, “Archbishop Wulfstan and the Homiletic Element in the Laws of Æthelred II and Cnut,” in The Reign of Cnut: King of England, Denmark and Norway, ed. Alexander R. Rumble (London: Leicester ­University Press, 1994), 161. 4 Janet M. Bately, “Alfred as Author and Translator,” in A Companion to ­Alfred the Great, ed. Nicole Guenther Discenza and Paul E. Szarmach (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 113–42, esp. 116–18. 5 Michael Lapidge, “Some Latin Poems as Evidence for the Reign of ­Athelstan,” in Anglo-Latin Literature 900–1066 (London: The Hambledon Press, 1993), 49–50. 6 David Sturdy, Alfred the Great (London: Constable and Co., Ltd., 1995), 5–6. 7 Barbara Yorke, Kings and Kingdoms of Early Anglo-Saxon England ­(London: Routledge, 1990), 155. See also pages 148–9 on Ecgbert’s military and political successes. 8 Sweet, King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care. 9 Thomas A. Carnicelli, ed., King Alfred’s Version of St. Augustine’s Soliloquies (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1969). 10 Malcolm Godden and Susan Irvine, eds., The Old English Boethius: An Edition of the Old English Versions of Boethius’s De Consolatione Philosophiae, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). 11 Patrick P. O’Neill, ed., King Alfred’s Old English Prose Translation of the First Fifty Psalms (Cambridge, MA: The Medieval Academy of America, 2001). The studies in favor of an Alfredian attribution completed by Janet Bately, “Lexical Evidence for the Authorship of the Prose Psalms in the Paris Psalter,” ASE 10 (1982): 69–95, and O’Neill have remained influential, but Michael Treschow, Paramjit Gill, and Tim B. Swartz, “King Alfred’s Scholarly Writings and the Authorship of the First Fifty Prose Psalms,” The ­Heroic Age 12 (2009), http://www.heroicage.org/issues/12/treschowgillswartz.php (accessed 1 January 2015), have more recently attempted to disprove this thesis. Malcolm Godden, “Did King Alfred Write Anything?” Medium Ævum 76 (2007): 1–23, has argued that Alfred’s involvement cannot be proved.

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  77 12 Hans Hecht, ed., Bischof Waerferths von Worcester Übersetzung der ­Dialoge Gregors des Grossen, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1900–1907; repr. ­Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1965). 13 Janet Bately, ed., The Old English Orosius, EETS s.s. 6 (London: Oxford University Press, 1980). 14 Thomas Miller, ed., The Old English Version of Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, EETS o.s. 95–96, 110–11 (London: N. Trübner and Co., 1890–98). 15 Thomas A. Bredehoft, Textual Histories: Readings in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2001), 6–7. See also M. B. Parkes, “The Palaeography of the Parker Manuscript of the ­C hronicle, Laws and Sedulius, and Historiography at Winchester in the Late Ninth and Tenth Centuries,” ASE 5 (1976): 153–4. 16 Godden, “Did King Alfred Write Anything?” 17 See, most recently, Janet Bately, “Alfred as Author and Translator,” in A Companion to Alfred the Great, ed. Nicole Guenther Discenza and Paul E. Szarmach (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 113–42; and idem, “Did King Alfred ­Actually Translate Anything? The Integrity of the Alfredian Canon Revisited,” Medium Ævum 78.2 (2009): 189–215. 18 For another discussion of the corpus of Alfredian texts, see David Pratt, The Political Thought of King Alfred the Great (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 115–20. 19 Foot, “The Making of Angelcynn,” 47. 20 Sturdy, 200–205. 21 Simon Keynes, “Alfred the Great and the Kingdom of the Anglo-Saxons,” in A Companion to Alfred the Great, ed. Nicole Guenther Discenza and Paul E. Szarmach (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 33. 22 Discenza, 121. 23 See the discussion in Foot, 37–8. 24 Davis, “National Writing in the Ninth Century,” 622–3. 25 Asser, chapter 91. This and all subsequent references to Asser’s Life of King Alfred are taken from the edition of William Henry Stevenson, ed., Asser’s Life of King Alfred Together with the Annals of Saint Neots E ­ rroneously Ascribed to Asser (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959; repr. 1998). A complete translation may be found in Simon Keynes and Michael Lapidge, Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources ­(London: Penguin Books, 1983). For the ship of the kingdom, see also Pratt, Political Thought, 96. 26 Ibid., 168–9. 27 Butler, “Alfred and the Children of Israel,” 10–17. 28 Wormald, “The Venerable Bede,” 26. 29 Michael Lapidge, “Asser’s Reading,” in Alfred the Great: Papers from the Eleventh-centenary Conferences, ed. Timothy Reuter (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003), 38–9. 30 Discenza, 118. See also Pratt, Political Thought, 4–6. A more general account of the role of Carolingian ties in the rise of Wessex may be found in Joanna Story, Carolingian Connections: Anglo-Saxon ­E ngland and Carolingian Francia, c. 750 –870 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003), esp. 213–55. 31 Keynes, “Alfred the Great and the Kingdom of the Anglo-Saxons,” 35–8. 32 Robert Stanton, The Culture of Translation in Anglo-Saxon England ­(Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2002), 70–96.

78  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex 33 For a fuller discussion of Alfred’s feelings of sinfulness and his devotional practices, see Pratt, Political Thought, 242–63, and idem, “The Illnesses of King Alfred the Great,” ASE 30 (2001): 39–90. 34 Asser, chapter 24. 35 Ibid., chapter 76. 36 Ibid., chapter 104. See also Simon Keynes, “King Athelstan’s Books,” in Lapidge and Gneuss, 144. 37 Pratt, “Illnesses,” 40–9. 38 Ibid., 63–72. See also Pratt, Political Thought, 242–5. 39 Machan, Language Anxiety, 141–4, at 143. 40 Simon Keynes, “Royal Government and the Written Word in Late ­A nglo-Saxon England,” in McKitterick, 245. 41 For accounts of the controversy over the authorship of Asser’s Life, see Keynes and Lapidge, 50–1, and Seth Lerer, Literacy and Power in ­Anglo-Saxon Lite­rature (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1991), 61–2. 42 For a discussion of the poems and their implications for our understanding of learning and literature at Æthelstan’s court, see Lapidge, “Some Latin Poems,” 49–86. 43 Caroline Brett, “A Breton Pilgrim in England in the Reign of King ­Æthelstan,” in France and the British Isles in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, ed. Gillian Jondorf and D. N. Dumville (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1991), 43–6. 44 Catherine A. M. Clarke, Writing Power in Anglo-Saxon England: Texts, Hierarchies, Economies (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2012), 81. 45 See Gernot R. Wieland, “A New Look at the Poem ‘Archalis clamare triumuir,’” in Insignis Sophiae Arcator: Essays in Honour of Michael W. ­Herren on his 65th Birthday, ed. Gernot Wieland, Carin Ruff, and Ross G. Arthur (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 178–92. For Alfred’s invitation to John the Old Saxon, see Asser, chapter 78. 46 Lapidge, “Some Latin Poems,” 69–71. 47 Ibid., 65–71. 48 Wieland, 180–3. 49 See Lerer, Literacy and Power, esp. 74–6; and Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe, “Listening to the Scenes of Reading: King Alfred’s Talking Prefaces,” in Orality and Literacy in the Middle Ages, ed. Mark Chinca and ­Christopher Young (Turnhout: Brepols, 2005), 17–36. 50 Keynes and Lapidge, 53–6, enumerate many sources, including the Vetus Latina, Sedulius’ Carmen paschale, Aldhelm’s prose De virginitate, the anonymous Vita Alcuini, and Einhard’s Life of Charlemagne. 51 Asser reports of the book, erat enim omnino multis ex causis refertus “It was utterly crammed with all kinds of things” (chapter 88) and usque adeo protelavit quousque propemodum ad magnitudinem unius psalterii perveniret “It grew so much that it nearly reached the size of a psalter” (chapter 89). 52 Forðy me ðyncð betre … ðæt we eac sumæ bec, ða ðe niedbeðearfosta sien eallum monnum to wiotonne, ðæt we ða on ðæt geðiode wenden ðe we ealle gecnawan mægen. “Therefore, it seems better to me … that we should also translate into that language that we all understand certain books which are most needful for all men to know.” Sweet, Pastoral Care, 7. 53 Paul G. Remley, “Aldhelm as Old English Poet: Exodus, Asser, and the Dicta Ælfredi,” in Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in A ­ nglo-Saxon Lite­rature for Michael Lapidge, ed. Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe and Andy ­Orchard (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005), I.97.

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  79 54 Discenza, King’s English, 101–105. 55 The wood-gathering metaphor is discussed by Valerie Heuchan, “God’s Co-workers and Powerful Tools: A Study of the Sources of Alfred’s Building Metaphor in his Old English Translation of Augustine’s Soliloquies,” NQ 54.1 (2007): 1–11. 56 Asser, chapter 104. 57 Asser, chapters 91–92. See also Keynes and Lapidge, 24–5, and David Hill, An Atlas of Anglo-Saxon England (Toronto and Buffalo: University of ­Toronto Press, 1981), 85–6. 58 See also Stanton, 95–6, on the parallel that Alfred sets up between the cultivation of wisdom and the concrete objects he used or produced. 59 Discenza, King’s English, 105–22, esp. 118–21. 60 Peter Clemoes, “King Alfred’s Debt to Vernacular Poetry: the Evidence of ­ nglo-Saxon ellen and cræft,” in Words, Texts and Manuscripts: Studies in A Culture Presented to Helmut Gneuss on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. Michael Korhammer, with the assistance of Karl Reichl and Hans Sauer (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1992), 213–38. 61 Pratt, Political Thought, 199–201, at 200. 62 Parkes, “Palaeography,” 166. 63 Pratt, “Illnesses,” 39–90. 64 West Saxon genealogies make up fully half of the Common Stock genealogies in the Chronicle, with the genealogy at 855 for Æthelwulf (­ Alfred’s father) the last and longest of the Common Stock genealogies. For the politi­cally motivated interest in Alfred’s or, more generally, West Saxon rule, see Bredehoft, Textual Histories, esp. 32–3. 65 See again the conflicting accounts offered by Bately, “Lexical Evidence;” Godden, “Did King Alfred?”; Lerer, Literacy and Power; and Treschow, Gill, and Swartz, “King Alfred’s Scholarly Writings,” among others. 66 Asser, chapter 23. 67 O’Brien O’Keeffe, “Listening to the Scenes of Reading,” 19–23. 68 D. F. McKenzie, “The Sociology of a Text: Oral Culture, Literacy, and Print in Early New Zealand,” in Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts ­(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 104–110. 69 Brian Street, Literacy in Theory and Practice, Cambridge Studies in Oral and Literate Culture 9 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 97. 70 C. P. Wormald, “The Uses of Literacy in Anglo-Saxon England and its Neighbours,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th ser., 27 (1977): 111–14. 71 M. T. Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record: England 1066–1307, 3rd ed. (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013). 72 Kathryn A. Lowe, “Lay Literacy in Anglo-Saxon England and the Deve­ lopment of the Chirograph,” in Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts and their ­Heritage, ed. Phillip Pulsiano and Elaine M. Treharne (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), 178–79. 73 Asser, chapter 106. 74 Stanton, 63–72. 75 Sweet, 5. “They had very little benefit from the books because they were not able to understand anything from them because the books were not written in their own language.” 76 Discenza, King’s English, 119. 77 Sweet, 5. “And they [our ancestors] wished that the more languages we knew, the greater wisdom there would be in the land.” 78 See Discenza, 6–7, for a useful discussion of Bourdieu’s theory of cultural capital as applied to the Old English Boethius.

80  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex 79 Keynes, “Royal Government,” in McKitterick, 232. 80 Ibid., 244. 81 Sturdy, 216. 82 Matthew Townend, Language and History in Viking Age England: ­Linguistic Relations Between Speakers of Old Norse and Old English (Turnhout: Brepols, 2002), 5. F. M. Stenton first noted Edward’s repurchasing policy, for which see Anglo-Saxon England, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1947), 318–19. Dorothy Whitelock, “The Dealings of the Kings of England with Northumbria,” in History, Law and Literature in ­10 th –11th Century England (London: Variorum Reprints, 1981), III.81, likewise mentioned Edward’s policy but noted that it was uncertain whether or not Æthelstan maintained the practice. Townend cites as evidence of Æthelstan’s policy three charters: S 396, S 397, and S 407. 83 Whitelock, “Dealings,” III.70–71. 84 Lapidge, “Some Latin Poems,” 71–81. 85 Samantha Zacher, “Multilingualism at the Court of King Æthelstan: Latin Praise Poetry and The Battle of Brunanburh,” in Conceptualizing ­M ultilingualism in Medieval England, c. 800–c. 1250, ed. Elizabeth M. Tyler (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), 82–5. See also Paul Hill, The Age of Athelstan: Britain’s Forgotten History (Stroud: Tempus, 2004), 106–11. 86 John Niles, “Skaldic Technique in ‘Brunanburh,’” Scandinavian Studies 59 (1987): 356–66, looks for lexical similarities in order to claim affinities with Skaldic verse, but this approach has been adjusted to a search for “broad generic influence” by Matthew Townend, “Pre-Cnut Praise-Poetry in Viking Age England,” RES 51 (2000): 349–70. 87 Zacher, “Multilingualism,” 100–103. 88 Barbara Raw, “Alfredian Piety: The Book of Nunnaminster,” in Alfred the Wise: Studies in Honour of Janet Bately on the Occasion of her Sixty-fifth Birthday, ed. Jane Roberts and Janet L. Nelson, with Malcolm Godden (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1997), 145. 89 Pratt, Political Thought, 38–43. 90 Wormald, “The Uses of Literacy,” 109. 91 Michael Wood, “The Making of King Aethelstan’s Empire,” in Ideal and Reality in Frankish and Anglo-Saxon Society: Studies Presented to J. M. Wallace-Hadrill, ed. Patrick Wormald, Patrick, Donald Bullough, and Roger Collins (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983), 254–8. 92 N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957; repr. 1990), no. 337, notes that the leaf was detached in or after 1886 and was mislaid before the 1899 publication of Sedgefield’s Boethius. A transcription was printed by A. S. Napier, “ ­ Bruchstück einer altenglischen Boetiushandschrift,” Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum 31 (1887): 52–4. 93 Wood, “The Making of King Aethelstan’s Empire,” 252–4. 94 Mechthild Gretsch, Ælfric and the Cult of Saints in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 82–95. See also Karmen Lenz, “Liturgical Readings of the Cathedral Office for Saint ­Cuthbert,” Heroic Age 12 (2009) (http://www.heroicage.org/issues/12/ lenz.php, accessed 1 June 2016). 95 For more information on this manuscript, see Keynes, “King Athelstan’s Books,” 147–50. 96 Parkes, “Palaeography,” 156–64. 97 The introductions to the Prose Psalms are focused heavily on David and Hezekiah; see Butler, “Alfred and the Children of Israel;” idem, “‘And thus

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  81 did Hezekiah’: Perspectives on Judaism in the Old English Prose Psalms,” RES 67 (2016): 617–35; and O’Neill, King Alfred’s Old English Prose. Pratt, Political Thought, 242–63, offers more general background to ­A lfred’s interest in the Old Testament. 98 Wood, “The Making of King Aethelstan’s Empire,” 269–70. 99 Keynes, “King Athelstan’s Books,” 147–9. 100 Charles Insley, “Athelstan, Charters and the English in Cornwall,” in Charters and Charter Scholarship in Britain and Ireland, ed. Marie Therese Flanagan and Judith A. Green (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 17–19. See also Christine Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon: Parallels and Analogues (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2000), 95–98. 101 Bredehoft, Textual Histories, 30–38. 102 Ibid., 73. 103 Keynes, “King Athelstan’s Books,” 153–9. 104 Asser, chapter 1 et passim. 105 Maurizio Lupoi, The Origins of the European Legal Order, trans. Adrian Belton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 147–53, compiles a list of 96 different royal titles from the period, but Lupoi does not claim that it is comprehensive. Documents 9, 58, 68, and 74 in Lupoi’s list use the Old English inflection. 106 Foot, “The Making of Angelcynn,” 26–7. Whereas it was once thought that London had been occupied by the Vikings until 886, Keynes, “Alfred the Great and the Kingdom of the Anglo-Saxons,” in A Companion to ­Alfred the Great, ed. Discenza and Szarmach, 22–4, has argued convincingly that London is more likely to have remained in English hands from 874 onwards, with Alfred merely moving the activity of the settlement back within the walls. 107 Richard Abels, Alfred the Great: War, Kingship and Culture in ­Anglo-Saxon England (London and New York: Longman, 1998), 238–9. 108 Parkes, “Palaeography,” 166–8. 109 Yorke, Kings and Kingdoms, 153. On the connection with Einhard in parti­cular, see J. M. Wallace-Hadrill, Early Medieval History (Oxford: Blackwell, 1975), 211–12. 110 Parkes, “Palaeography,” 163–6. 111 Brett, “A Breton Pilgrim,” 45–6. 112 Ibid., 53. 113 Ibid., 43–4. 114 Ibid., 46–8. 115 Insley, 27–8. 116 Lapidge, “Some Latin Poems,” 85–6. 117 Michael Lapidge, “Israel the Grammarian in Anglo-Saxon England,” in Anglo-Latin Literature 900–1066, 87–8, 99. See also Zacher, “Multilingualism,” 85. 118 See Hill, The Age of Athelstan, 109–11, and Neil S. Price, The Vikings in Brittany (London: The Viking Society for Northern Research, 1989), 357–63. 119 Keynes and Lapidge, 48–9, note that the name derives from As(h)er, the name of Jacob’s eighth son in Genesis 30:13. Asser means “blessed” or “blessedness,” as does the Welsh name Gwyn, and this has sometimes been taken as an indication of Asser’s original name, but there is no evidence to support this assumption. 120 Lapidge, “Israel,” 99. 121 Ibid., 103–104.

82  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex 122 Sigurður Nordal, ed., Egils saga Skalla-Grímssonar, Íslenzk fornrit 2 (Reykjavik: Hið Íslenzka Fornritafélag, 1933), chapters 50 and 61–3. See also the English translation by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards, Egil’s Saga (London: Penguin, 1976), and Townend, Language and History, ­152–4. Æthelred II (r. 978–1016) may also have patronized an Icelandic poet, Gunnlaugr Ormstunga, at his court: Gunnlaugs Saga Ormstungu contains part of a drápa supposedly composed by Gunnlaugr for King Æthelred; see Peter G. Foote and Randolph Quirk, eds., Gunnlaugs Saga Ormstungu (London: Nelson, 1957), 14–15; and M. K. Lawson, Cnut: The Danes in England in the Early Eleventh Century (London and New York: Longman, 1993), 6. 123 Lesley Abrams, “The Anglo-Saxons and the Christianization of Scandinavia,” ASE 24 (1995): 217–20. 124 Janet Bately, “Old English Prose Before and During the Reign of Alfred,” ASE 17 (1988): 93–138, esp. 93–118. 125 See Discenza, 127–8, for useful references on the reformers’ debt to Alfred. 126 Lapidge, “Some Latin Poems,” 85. 127 Pratt, Political Thought, 1. 128 Ker dates the manuscript to the second half of the tenth century, following Kenneth Sisam, “The Publication of Alfred’s Pastoral Care,” in ­A nglo-Saxon Manuscripts: Basic Readings, ed. Mary P. Richards (New  York: ­Garland Publishing, Inc., 1994), 379–80, as does Helmut ­ nglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A List of Manuscripts and ­Gneuss, ­Handlist of A Manuscript ­F ragments Written or Owned in England up to 1100 (Tempe, AZ: ­A rizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2001), no. 37, but the description of CCCC 12 on Parker Library on the Web, http://parkerweb. stanford.edu/parker/actions/manuscript_description_long_display.do?ms_ no=12 (accessed 10 January 2010), gives as a date “s. xi?” with no further comment. 129 Parkes, “Palaeography,” 149–53.

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Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  83 Carnicelli, Thomas A., ed. King Alfred’s Version of St. Augustine’s Soliloquies. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1969. Chinca, Mark, and Christopher Young, eds. Orality and Literacy in the Middle Ages. Turnhout: Brepols, 2005. Clanchy, M. T. From Memory to Written Record: England 1066–1307. 3rd ed. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013. Clarke, Catherine A. M. Writing Power in Anglo-Saxon England: Texts, Hierarchies, Economies. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2012. Davis, Kathleen. “National Writing in the Ninth Century: A Reminder for Postcolonial thinking about the Nation.” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 28 (1998): 611–37. Discenza, Nicole Guenther. The King’s English: Strategies of Translation in the Old English Boethius. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2005. Discenza, Nicole Guenther, and Paul E. Szarmach, eds. A Companion to Alfred the Great. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Flanagan, Marie Therese, and Judith A. Green, eds. Charters and Charter Scholarship in Britain and Ireland. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. Foot, Sarah. “The Making of Angelcynn: English Identity before the N ­ orman Conquest.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, 6 (1996): 25–49. Foote, Peter G., and Randolph Quirk, eds. Gunnlaugs Saga Ormstungu. London: Nelson, 1957. Gneuss, Helmut. Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A List of Manuscripts and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England up to 1100. Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2001. Godden, Malcolm. “Did King Alfred Write Anything?” Medium Ævum 76 (2007): 1–23. Godden, Malcolm, and Susan Irvine, eds. The Old English Boethius: An Edition of the Old English Versions of Boethius’s De Consolatione Philosophiae. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Gretsch, Mechthild. Ælfric and the Cult of Saints in Late Anglo-Saxon E ­ ngland. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Hecht, Hans, ed. Bischof Waerferths von Worcester Übersetzung der Dialoge Gregors des Grossen. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1900–1907. Reprinted Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1965. Heuchan, Valerie. “God’s Co-workers and Powerful Tools: A Study of the Sources of Alfred’s Building Metaphor in his Old English Translation of Augustine’s Soliloquies.” NQ 54.1 (2007): 1–11. Hill, David. An Atlas of Anglo-Saxon England. Toronto and Buffalo: University of Toronto Press, 1981. Hill, Paul. The Age of Athelstan: Britain’s Forgotten History. Stroud: Tempus, 2004. Jondorf, Gillian, and D. N. Dumville, eds. France and the British Isles in the Middle Ages and Renaissance. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1991. Ker, N. R. Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon. Oxford: ­Clarendon Press, 1957. Reprinted 1990. Keynes, Simon, and Michael Lapidge. Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources. London: Penguin Books, 1983. Korhammer, Michael, ed. Words, Texts and Manuscripts: Studies in ­Anglo-Saxon Culture Presented to Helmut Gneuss on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth

84  Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex Birthday. With the assistance of Karl Reichl and Hans Sauer. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1992. Lapidge, Michael. Anglo-Latin Literature 900–1066. London: The Hambledon Press, 1993. Lapidge, Michael, and Helmut Gneuss, eds. Learning and Literature in ­Anglo-Saxon England: Studies Presented to Peter Clemoes on the Occasion of his Sixty-fifth Birthday. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985. Lawson, M. K. Cnut: The Danes in England in the Early Eleventh Century. London and New York: Longman, 1993. Lenz, Karmen. “Liturgical Readings of the Cathedral Office for Saint C ­ uthbert.” Heroic Age 12 (2009). Accessed 1 June 2016. http://www.heroicage.org/­ issues/12/lenz.php. Lerer, Seth. Literacy and Power in Anglo-Saxon Literature. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1991. Lupoi, Maurizio. The Origins of the European Legal Order. Translated by Adrian Belton. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Machan, Tim William. Language Anxiety: Conflict and Change in the History of English. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. McKenzie, D. F. Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts. Cambridge: ­Cambridge University Press, 1999. McKitterick, Rosamond, ed. The Uses of Literacy in Early Mediaeval Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. Miller, Thomas, ed. The Old English Version of Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. EETS o.s. 95–96, 110–11. London: N. Trübner and Co., 1890–98. Napier, A. S. “Bruchstück einer altenglischen Boetiushandschrift.” Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum 31 (1887): 52–4. Niles, John. “Skaldic Technique in ‘Brunanburh’.” Scandinavian Studies 59 (1987): 356–66. ­ eykjavik: Nordal, Sigurður, ed. Egils saga Skalla-Grímssonar. Íslenzk fornrit 2. R Hið Íslenzka Fornritafélag, 1933. O’Brien O’Keeffe, Katherine, and Andy Orchard, eds. Latin Learning and ­English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge. 2 vols. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005. O’Neill, Patrick P., ed. King Alfred’s Old English Prose Translation of the First Fifty Psalms. Cambridge, MA: The Medieval Academy of America, 2001. Pálsson, Hermann, and Paul Edwards. Egil’s Saga. London: Penguin, 1976. Parkes, M. B. “The Palaeography of the Parker Manuscript of the Chronicle, Laws and Sedulius, and Historiography at Winchester in the Late Ninth and Tenth Centuries.” ASE 5 (1976): 149–71. Pratt, David. “The Illnesses of King Alfred the Great.” ASE 30 (2001): 39–90. ———. The Political Thought of King Alfred the Great. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Price, Neil S. The Vikings in Brittany. London: The Viking Society for Northern Research, 1989. Pulsiano, Phillip, and Elaine M. Treharne, eds. Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts and their Heritage. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998. Rauer, Christine. Beowulf and the Dragon: Parallels and Analogues. ­Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2000.

Crafting a Textual Kingdom in Wessex  85 Reuter, Timothy, ed. Alfred the Great: Papers from the Eleventh-centenary Conferences. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003. Richards, Mary P., ed. Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: Basic Readings. New York: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1994. Roberts, Jane, and Janet L. Nelson, eds. Alfred the Wise: Studies in Honour of Janet Bately on the Occasion of her Sixty-fifth Birthday. With Malcolm Godden. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1997. Rowell, Geoffrey, ed. The English Religious Tradition and the Genius of ­Anglicanism. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1992. Rumble, Alexander R., ed. The Reign of Cnut: King of England, Denmark and Norway. London: Leicester University Press, 1994. Stanton, Robert. The Culture of Translation in Anglo-Saxon England. ­Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2002. Stenton, F. M. Anglo-Saxon England. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1947. Stevenson, William Henry, ed. Asser’s Life of King Alfred Together with the Annals of Saint Neots Erroneously Ascribed to Asser. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959. Reprinted 1998. Story, Joanna. Carolingian Connections: Anglo-Saxon England and Carolingian Francia, c. 750–870. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003. Street, Brian. Literacy in Theory and Practice. Cambridge Studies in Oral and Literate Culture 9. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. Sturdy, David. Alfred the Great. London: Constable and Co., Ltd., 1995. Sweet, Henry, ed. King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care. EETS o.s. 45, 50. London: N. Trübner & Co., 1871. Reprinted 1958. Townend, Matthew. “Pre-Cnut Praise-Poetry in Viking Age England.” RES 51 (2000): 349–70. ———. Language and History in Viking Age England: Linguistic Relations Between Speakers of Old Norse and Old English. Turnhout: Brepols, 2002. Treschow, Michael, Paramjit Gill, and Tim B. Swartz. “King Alfred’s Scholarly Writings and the Authorship of the First Fifty Prose Psalms.” The ­Heroic Age 12 (2009). Accessed 1 January 2015. http://www.heroicage.org/­issues/12/ treschowgillswartz.php. Tyler, Elizabeth M., ed. Conceptualizing Multilingualism in Medieval England, c. 800–c. 1250. Turnhout: Brepols, 2011. Wallace-Hadrill, J. M. Early Medieval History. Oxford: Blackwell, 1975. Whitelock, Dorothy. History, Law and Literature in 10 th –11th Century ­England. London: Variorum Reprints, 1981. Wieland, Gernot, Carin Ruff, and Ross G. Arthur, eds. Insignis Sophiae ­Arcator: Essays in Honour of Michael W. Herren on his 65th Birthday. ­Turnhout: Brepols, 2006. Wormald, C. P. “The Uses of Literacy in Anglo-Saxon England and its Neighbours.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th ser., 27 (1977): 95–114. Wormald, Patrick, Donald Bullough, and Roger Collins, eds. Ideal and Reality in Frankish and Anglo-Saxon Society: Studies Presented to J. M. ­Wallace-Hadrill. Oxford: Blackwell, 1983. Yorke, Barbara. Kings and Kingdoms of Early Anglo-Saxon England. London: Routledge, 1990.

3 Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest

Recent years have seen a resurgence of scholarly attention paid to the Danish Conquest of 1013–1016, partly due to the approach of the ­millenary of the final triumph of the Danish faction after Edmund’s death at the end of 1016 and also in the aftermath of the discovery of another manuscript of the Encomium Emmae Reginae.1 This turbulent period saw many reversals of political power, so it is all the more striking when certain individuals were able to remain influential under both the Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Danish regimes. Moreover, textual assertions of community stand out amidst the many violent displays of military prowess of the early eleventh century. It is from this perspective that we must consider the output of Archbishop Wulfstan II (d. 1023), one of the foremost Old English prose stylists of the period, as well as the complex social, political, and linguistic conditions that shaped the Encomium Emmae Reginae in the quarter century after the Danish Conquest. As we will see in the course of this chapter, these texts invite us to rethink our sense of textual authority. This is especially true in the context of a state where political changes were shifting the status of English and its valence at the royal court, but the afterlife of Wulfstan’s works and the use of sources in the Encomium also point us toward some of the ways that the diachronicity of textual communities can function. Wulfstan’s prose corpus incorporates strongly poetic qualities, while the existence of different versions of some of his works (notably, the Sermo Lupi) hints not only at his own compositional practices, but also at the generative possibilities his style might have offered to other authors. In both of these ways, Wulfstanian texts undercut some of our sense of the generic or authorial distinctions that can bestow authority. We see a similarly shifted sense of authority in the Encomium’s female patron and its use of Latin not as a hegemonic or overpowering statement of authority, but as an alternative that avoids empowering any mother tongue above the others represented in its audience. By allowing such a decentering of textual authority, we arrive at a richer set of possibilities for the production and use of texts in this turbulent period of English history, with both Wulfstan and Emma attempting to bring communities into existence through the texts they produced.

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  87

Wulfstan’s Improvisatory Style Wulfstan’s origins are unclear. The first certain date we have in ­Wulfstan’s life is his consecration as Bishop of London in 996, followed by his translation to the diocese of Worcester and the archdiocese of York in 1002. From 1016, he seems to have either given up his seat at Worcester or installed a suffragan. 2 Emma Mason suggests that Cnut may have been trying to show himself as a “civilized, Christian king” by avoiding any blatant pluralism.3 In addition to homilies, Wulfstan may have composed or contributed to the introductions for the Old ­English Benedictine Office, a work giving commentary and partial texts of the canonical Hours.4 Wulfstan is also credited with the composition of non-religious texts, including a number of law codes associated with Æthelred II (r. 978–1016) and Cnut (r. 1016–1035), 5 and he bridges the gap between religious and legal genres with the work Jost edited as the Institutes of Polity, Civil and Ecclesiastical.6 It has even been suggested that Wulfstan may have been involved in the production of the ­“Northern Recension” of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.7 If he did not compose much poetry, Wulfstan certainly seems to have appreciated it, judging by his own rhythmical and often alliterative prose style.8 Since we do not know the precise circumstances of the compilation of these manuscripts, we cannot, of course, know whether Wulfstan himself ordered the inclusion of poetic texts in Wulfstanian manuscripts such as Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Junius 121, or Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 201, but the compiler recognized their consonance in both theme and style with the Wulfstanian texts that surround them.9 In British Library, Cotton MS Vespasian A.xiv, a Latin poem in praise of Wulfstan appears on folio 148v, while three lines of verse playing on Latin parallels for the elements of Wulfstan’s name (lupus and ­lapidem for wulf and stan) appear on Cotton Tiberius A.xiii, folio 101v. Wulfstan could certainly have been the scribe of the Vespasian poem, whether or not he also composed it.10 Simply fulfilling his episcopal duties must have involved a certain amount of travel, and this is before we consider that Wulfstan served among the witan of King Æthelred and is thus likely to have been present at councils held in various parts of England.11 In particular, the law codes that Wulfstan is believed to have written on behalf of both Æthelred and Cnut must have kept him at least in contact with and often physically present in the south of England, even after his accession at York.12 Wulfstan was based in London in the late 990s, then he took responsibility for the sees of Worcester and York. It is difficult to know just how much time he spent at Worcester, though the apparent dissatis­ faction of the monks there suggests that he may not have spent much time there or may have appeared heavy-handed when he was present.13 Wulfstan’s possession of the two sees in plurality is usually rationalized

88  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest according to the considerations of financial support for the relatively impoverished archbishopric at York and of ensuring Wulfstan’s continuing loyalty to the king by keeping him safely within the king’s southern sphere of influence.14 After some years in York, Archbishop Wulfstan I (931–956) seems to have lent his support to Olaf Guthfrithsson and his successors in the 940s, and by allowing Wulfstan the Homilist to maintain his status in Worcester, Æthelred may have been taking steps to prevent another incident of such embarrassment and danger to the crown. The Liber Eliensis records Wulfstan’s death on Monday, 28 May 1023, and he was subsequently buried at Ely among the other Anglo-Saxon “benefactors.”15 The connection with Worcester may have been contentious during Wulfstan’s episcopate, but a large portion of the surviving manuscripts associated in one way or another with Wulfstan come from or have survived at Worcester. Whether this stems from an eagerness in Worcester to preserve Wulfstanian material (either for its own qualities or because of its association with Wulfstan) or whether it comes about as a coro­ llary of Worcester’s prodigious manuscript production and well-stocked library is uncertain. Another factor may be the importance at Worcester of the cult of St. Wulfstan (Bishop of Worcester, 1062–1095), who may have been Archbishop Wulfstan’s nephew and godson, and who seems to have regarded him highly.16 St. Wulfstan may have, if he admired the works of his predecessor, promoted or even used them himself. A shortlived cult was devoted to Archbishop Wulfstan at Ely, which caused some friction with Peterborough, where Wulfstan had also maintained ties. According to the Liber Eliensis, Wulfstan visited Ely at an unspecified time (quodam tempore), and his miraculous experience there, when his pastoral staff sank into the ground, is said to have determined him to endow the monastery with gifts, attest its charters, and resolve to be buried there after his death. These gifts, as well as the miracles said to occur at his tomb, inspired the brief devotional attention given to Wulfstan.17 Ælfric of Eynsham (c. 950–c. 1010) was conscious of the ways in which translation could either be limited by or supplement Old English vocabulary,18 and in the Preface to his translation of Genesis, Ælfric expresses concern at the idea of translating texts that may be misleading ­(gedwolsum) to those who are not experienced in reading Latin.19 ­Wulfstan, on the other hand, never explicitly addresses the question of translation, but with both Latin and Old English homiletic texts attri­ buted to him, he must have been conscious of the implications of composing texts in different languages. His Latin was competent, though not at the scholarly level achieved by Ælfric, and it is a debated question whether or not Wulfstan was steeped in the Latin rhetorical tradition. 20 He asked Ælfric to translate the pastoral letters into Old English, and on at least one occasion, Wulfstan asked another person to do some

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  89 translation work for him, but this may have been related to the busy life Wulfstan led. 21 Wulfstan seems in several cases to have first composed Latin homilies and then adapted them into Old English (as with Bethurum Homilies Ia and Ib, VIIIa and VIIIb, Xb and Xc, and XVIa and XVIb), 22 but new work is also showing that he may have been more comfortable operating in Latin registers than was previously thought and that not all of his Latin homilies were necessarily “perfected” in English. 23 The demands on an archbishop’s time are heavy under any circumstances, but it is noteworthy that Wulfstan presided over his sees and made his contributions to the witan at one of the most turbulent periods of Anglo-Saxon history. 24 In fact, Wulfstan shows remarkable staying power. The Liber Eliensis reports that he was beloved of Æthelred, Edmund Ironside (r. 23 April–30 November 1016), and Cnut: quibus singulis eque amabatur ut frater, eque honorabatur ut pater. 25 In spite of the almost hagiographical tone of the account in the Liber Eliensis, Wulfstan’s sizable body of legal and ecclesiastical work shows that he did manage to maintain a position of prominence and trust at both the Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Danish courts. Wulfstan is well known as a homilist, especially after an influential article by ­Dorothy Whitelock, 26 but generic divisions do not seem to have troubled him. In fact, the basis of attribution for his law codes and other works is often the same prose style that is used to identify his homiletic texts. His homiletic output is minuscule next to Ælfric’s, but the editorial confusion is greater. 27 The two major editions are those of Napier and Bethurum, but Jonathan Wilcox has added still more texts or fragments to Wulfstan’s corpus.28 ­Napier’s edition included all of the texts that he thought might be connected in any way with W ­ ulfstan, but he never completed the second volume, in which he had intended to establish which texts were genuinely the work of ­Wulfstan. 29 Bethurum’s edition excised a large number of Napier’s texts as being non-­Wulfstanian, but her edition is problematic in many ways, not least of which is the fact that Wilcox has since restored many of the excised items to ­Wulfstan’s corpus.30 The other disadvantages of Bethurum’s edition (now the most readily available) include her questionable treatment of glosses in gene­ ral and those of the Tremulous Hand of Worcester in particular, 31 her division of texts (which often ignores manuscript rubrication), 32 and ­occasional errors.33 Dorothy Bethurum suggested that “there is something anti-poetic in Wulfstan’s temperament and interests” and asserted that he shies away from heroic modes, but the evidence of the Wulfstanian manuscripts suggests rather that he was interested in poetry, as do the stylistic tendencies of Wulfstan’s corpus, as acknowledged by most scholars, including Bethurum herself.34 While Wulfstan rarely uses vocabulary that is exclusively poetic, his “traditional, formulaic style, his rhythm and in

90  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest particular his liking for echoing pairs of words, naturally lends itself to compounds in a way that is similar to that in which poetry responds to its own metrical and syntactic pressures.”35 The fact that compounds are used in corresponding ways in both poetry and prose suggests “yet another convergence of the two styles in the late Anglo-Saxon period,” as Don Chapman puts it.36 Chapman emphasizes elsewhere that ­Wulfstan’s use of rhetorical techniques, particularly echoing compounds, need not be seen as either a device from native, oral tradition or a learned Latin technique from a literate tradition. Instead, Chapman argues that ­Wulfstan’s familiarity with the Latin grammatical and rhetorical tradition would strengthen the vernacular tradition we usually associate with poetry, rather than swallowing it up. 37 So, while Wulfstan is most closely associated with a particular and distinctive brand of Old English prose, that brand of Old English is shaped by stylistic traditions in Latin as much as by Germanic traditions. In fact, Wulfstan’s distinctive style of Old English deserves some attention before we proceed. The attribution of a particular work to Wulfstan is often based on stylistic grounds. Fundamental to Wulfstan’s style is the use of alliterative or rhyming doublets and other sorts of sound-play. These doublets are often redundant, as in the common pair magan 7 motan, providing emphasis and color, rather than new information. Texts attributed to Wulfstan are littered with intensifying adverbs, such as georne or even swiþe georne, which again convey relatively little semantic information. The rhythmical nature of the prose of these works is also fundamental to the stylistic identifications. Many of the manuscript witnesses reflect the rhythmical qualities of these works with very careful punctuation to break sentences into smaller, more regular aural and sense units. It is not immediately clear whether this practice should be attributed to the homi­list, some intermediary, or the scribes of the surviving manuscripts, but the importance of manuscript punctuation in editing ­Wulfstan’s homilies is clear when we consider the consistency with which it highlights the rhetorical structure of the homilies.38 Even non-homiletic texts asso­ciated with Wulfstan are carefully punctuated, including the pastoral letter that precedes Bethurum XIII in CCCC 201 on page 19, lines ­31–36, which is pointed several times within most manuscript lines:39 Wulfstan árcebisceop · greteð freondlice · þegnas on ðeode · / gehadode 7 læwede · ealle gemænelice · þa ðe him betæhte sindon · / for gode to wissianne · 7 ic bidde eow for godes lufan · þæt ge þises / gewrites giman 7 on hwiltidum hit on gemynde habban · forðam þeah / ðe hit leohtlic :: :: :: :: ::40 mínegung þince · hit is þeah þearflic · / gime se þe wille · / The religious verse in CCCC 201 provides a very early example, possibly the earliest example, of pointing for purely metrical reasons in

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  91 Old English manuscripts, and the system of punctuation is similar to the somewhat less formal system followed by the same scribe in the copy of the Regularis concordia that appears at the beginning of the manuscript, providing us with yet another link between the prose and poetic traditions.41 If we rearrange the text of the Wulfstan letter into mostly four-stress lines, as in Old English verse, then we produce the following: Wulfstan árcebisceop . greteð freondlice . þegnas on ðeode . / gehadode 7 læwede . ealle gemænelice . þa ðe him betæhte sindon . / for gode to wissianne . 7 ic bidde eow for godes lufan . þæt ge þises / gewrites giman 7 on hwiltidum hit on gemynde habban . forðam þeah / ðe hit leohtlic :: :: :: :: :: mínegung þince . hit is þeah þearflic . / gime se þe wille . / Every manuscript line corresponds to roughly 1.5 quasi-metrical lines. Here, it is clear that the pointing in the manuscript occurs where the metrical half-lines would fall in more disciplined verse. The large erasure in line 7 of the rearranged text covers one of the two places where a metrical line ends without the benefit of a punctus, so we cannot be sure that there was not originally a point to mark the metrical line-ending. Two of the three times when the punctus is “missing” in between the two halflines come at the ends of their respective manuscript lines (in the middle of the current lines 5 and 7). As the letter is laid out in the manuscript, the first five lines all run past the vertical double-ruling into the outer margin of the folio, but there is still room (though only just, in the case of forðam þeah) for punctus to be added in the margin. So, it is unclear why the scribe has neglected or chosen not to do so. The other missing mid-line punctus (current line 6) seems simply to have been omitted bet­ ween hwiltidum and hit, perhaps forgotten after the suspension mark was added at the end of hwiltidum. In addition to stylistic features, the very choice of words has been regarded as setting Wulfstanian material apart from texts that are chronologically or generically close to his homilies. To refer to Christ, for example, Wulfstan overwhelmingly preferred the martial-heroic borrowing drihten (Lord) over the more directly relevant hælend (Savior, from hælan, “to heal”),42 and he also favored the Norse lagu over the English æ (“law”).43 Wulfstan’s use of such Norse vocabulary has often been cited as evidence of links with East Anglia or of his sensitivity to a York audience, but just as recent work on poetic vocabulary has ­qualified previous statements, recent study of Wulfstan’s Norse vocabulary has shown that there is no significant correlation between Wulfstan’s

92  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest time at York and his use of Norse-derived vocabulary, which is present from early on in his career, as far as we can tell.44 Another indication of a broader reach for Norse influence is the possibility that Æthelred II (r. 978–1016) may also have patronized an Icelandic poet, Gunnlaugr Ormstunga, at his court.45 Townend reads the Chronicle poems for the years 937, 942, 973, and 975 as reflexes of Viking-led political destabilization in England, under the influence of skaldic poetry.46 So, it seems likely that there was significant linguistic and literary influence from Old Norse in Anglo-Saxon England well before the Danish conquest, and that Wulfstan was simply an early adopter. Dorothy Whitelock associates Wulfstan with the laws of Cnut partly on the basis of this idiolect, particularly the unusual compounds that are so common in Wulfstan’s homilies. Whitelock particularly mentions some of Wulfstan’s “favourite” words: woroldlagu (secular or civil law), weofodþegn (priest, from “altar-servant”), and ægylde (without compensation), which are unusual combinations limited to works that seem to be within Wulfstan’s sphere of influence.47 It must be noted, however, that these words appear only rarely, even in Wulfstan’s works, perhaps calling into question the use of a term like “favourite.”48 In light of all of the scholarship documenting Wulfstan’s idiosyncratic usage, it is especially important to take note of moments when he draws on another writer’s work in order to frame his own. Nicholas Howe’s discussion of the allusion to Gildas (by way of Alcuin) in the Sermo Lupi is a particularly compelling example of this, with Wulfstan drawing a historical parallel not only to enlighten his audience, but also to “calibrate” his own role as þeodwita. Usually translated as “historian”, in Howe’s discussion, it is more precisely a figure who “owes allegiance to a communal group, the þeod, and relates its past to give its members some sense of cohesion or to rouse them to action.”49 Wulfstan’s penchant for repetition not only within individual works but across his corpus is often overlooked. For instance, while his habit of returning to earlier material on a large scale, as in the surviving versions of the Sermo Lupi, is well known, the repetition of individual forms in Wulfstan’s corpus easily dwarfs the corresponding rates in both prose and lengthy poems like Beowulf.50 Repetition and the other elements of Wulfstan’s style have aural properties that make them especially useful for an orally performed genre like preaching. Repetition, alliteration, sound-play, and rhythmical lists all help a congregation to remember the phrases in which they appear, while Wulfstan’s often fiery rhetoric is nothing if not attention-grabbing. At the same time, Wulfstan uses large-scale structural markers in his homilies, frequently opening and closing sections of his homilies with recognizable formulae that provide his listeners with a kind of aural punctuation to catch hold of in the flow of the homily. This technique allows not only the congregation, but also the preacher to pause and redirect their attention, which would

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  93 also be a useful opportunity to realign the preacher’s discourse with his original topic, if he found himself straying. A useful example of this large-scale aural punctuation comes from the copy of Napier 22, 51 corresponding to lines 53–106 of Bethurum XIII, which appears on pages 21–22 in CCCC 201. The text opens with a common formula, Leofan men, followed by a string of phrases that ­parallel each other in their use of the hortatory verb uton (Bethurum, lines 53, 55, 57, 63, and 65). After several long lists in Wulfstan’s characteristic echoing, rhyming, and alliterating style, three more uton phrases appear in the space of six lines (Bethurum, lines 98, 100, and 103, corresponding to lines 10, 11, and 15 of CCCC 201, page 22) to bring both the text of Bethurum XIII and that of Napier 22 to an end. These elements of aural punctuation serve as points at which the flow of the sermon may be anchored—no doubt a useful function for both the congregation and the preacher, like the various turns and cadences of a recitation tone that signal different stops in a chanted reading. These aural punctuation marks allow the preacher to pause for breath, both literally and figuratively, while the congregation also has a chance to digest the material. These punctuating phrases and the other aural and rhetorical habits outlined above also suggest a particular compositional method where once a new topic had been established (after one of Wulfstan’s characteristic opening formulae, no doubt), the discussion could then be elaborated according to the patterns of speaking that Wulfstan had already established in other homilies. Unfortunately for those who wish to attribute works to Wulfstan, the very suitability of this style of rhetoric for the kind of composition and performance a preacher would be called upon to carry out makes it dangerous as a method of identification of Wulfstan’s corpus. Wulfstan’s style had both the advantage and the disadvantage of being replicable. It was consistent enough that the attribution of works in either his “high” or his “plain” style is often based on the features of that style, rather than on external factors, 52 but this means that Wulfstan’s style could, by nature, be replicated easily by Wulfstan himself and by others. For the Sermo Lupi and for several other homilies, we have written records of slightly differing versions, and it seems likely that there were other cases when Wulfstan delivered different versions of the same material. The stylistic features noted above probably would have made it simpler for Wulfstan to improvise on an outline or prompt, should that busy man have needed to compose an address swiftly, but they might also have made it easier for others to imitate his style, so that it is hard to rule out the possibility that another person could have been aping Wulfstan’s style while composing a given text. Nevertheless, the attributions of many “Wulfstanian” texts are on the basis of these stylistic qualities, although doubt has been thrown on some attributions because the texts are deemed “too Wulfstanian” to have been the work of the

94  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest archbishop himself.53 In fact, Donald Scragg has argued that Wulfstan was capitalizing on a technique of using pairs of words and phrases in a way that had already been proven effective in tenth-century texts, 54 whereas Jonathan Wilcox has identified fifteen composite sermons in nine eleventh-century manuscript collections that draw on Wulfstan’s homiletic works.55 In contrast with the history of Ælfric’s homiletic writings, which were copied many times, often in larger collections of his texts, another important point that emerges from Wilcox’s analysis is that many of the later borrowings from Wulfstan’s works take the form of short clauses that could easily have been preserved by memory. This suggests that Wulfstan’s style did serve its aural purposes by allowing listeners to internalize his phrases to such an extent that they were later worked into a number of homiletic texts that are often preserved only in single manuscripts.56 Again, this should give us pause before assuming that style alone is an unassailable yardstick of Wulfstan’s authorship. ­Raising these points is less about the determination of authorship, as such, than about the fact that it can be difficult to determine authorship of ­Wulfstanian texts. These very debates and uncertainties should prompt us to ask slightly different questions about the composition and performance of homiletic texts, such as what wider connections or networks might be revealed, or what kinds of transmission might be possible, beyond verbal echoes. In Wulfstan’s case, we can document a contemporary sense of a parti­ cular style that characterized his works, but there is limited evidence to determine whether or not others might have set out to imitate the style. We do, however, have a letter written to Wulfstan in 1002 and preserved in Vespasian A.xiv, folio 179r. The anonymous writer declines to carry out some translation for Wulfstan, ostensibly because his style is too wonderful to live up to: sed reuera postmodum diligenter dulcissimam eloquii uestri considerans sagacitatem, decenterque dispositae narrationis prolixitatem, simulque profunditatem, me ad haec transferenda nullam reputo habere facultatem. 57 Whitelock takes this as evi­ dence against the existence of Wulfstan imitators, but there are other reasons on account of which this author might have refused W ­ ulfstan’s request. 58 Although recent work has suggested that W ­ ulfstan was more proficient in Latin than previously supposed, it may have been irksome to a more skilled Latinist to see a less educated man nonetheless exercising great sway, while remaining to some extent dependent on the abilities of his less famous counterparts for some of his material. Nevertheless, this letter demonstrates that Wulfstan’s reputation as a prose stylist was well established by 1002, the date of his translation to Worcester and York. Poetic passages added in the early eleventh century to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle at the years 959 and 975 appear to have been composed e­ ither by Wulfstan himself or by another author

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  95 imitating the same style associated with Wulfstan, again raising the possibility that Wulfstan’s stylistic reputation may already have been yielding new works by other authors. 59 Even if there were Wulfstan imitators already by 1002 or after ­Wulfstan’s death, this need not greatly alter the way we discuss the texts that we associate with Wulfstan, largely on stylistic grounds. In the same way that we can speak of Alfredian texts, whether or not Alfred himself had a hand in all of them, it is possible and perhaps preferable to speak of Wulfstanian texts that we believe to be associated with Wulfstan or with a wish to emulate his style. The picture that we have painted of Wulfstan is already one of communal engagement, both through books that provided him with source material (as in the case of his frequent borrowings from Ælfric, to name just one example) or in which he left annotations, and through his contacts with other individuals or institutions, such as congregations at Mass, the king and other advisors at meetings of the witan, or in his correspondence with Ælfric and others. Wulfstanian texts were composed and recorded in ways that allow for later adaptation by Wulfstan or by other preachers, and nothing better exemplifies communal tendencies in textual production than imitation. Moreover, most of the Wulfstanian texts that survive were prepared for public (or, at least, relatively public) consumption. Even his annotations, by contrast with those by the Tremulous Hand or John Joscelyn, were mostly about ensuring a certain effect in performance, not providing clarification or linguistic updates.60 The hand that Ker identifies as Wulfstan’s may have been responsible for much of the apparently added punctuation in the manuscripts of his works, and the hand is also the one that made many corrections and additions to the texts of his works, including the addition of characteristic Wulfstanian phrases like gyme se þe wille.61 The identification of this hand raises larger questions about Wulfstan and the manuscripts associated with him. If this is not Wulfstan’s hand, then there is again the possi­ bility of Wulfstan imitators, one of whom has annotated a significant amount of material written by Wulfstan or in Wulfstan’s style. Given the particular focus of this hand on Wulfstanian texts, and especially its addition of the poem in praise of Wulfstan to Vespasian A.xiv, it is reasonable to think that the hand must be Wulfstan’s or that of someone very closely connected to him. Patrick Wormald argues forcefully that the hand belongs to Wulfstan himself, not merely to an amanuensis. That the hand belongs to someone very like or very closely connected to Wulfstan follows from the apparent interest in Worcester, York, secular legal texts, the worldly wealth of clerics, and the spiritual welfare of laymen, coupled with the fact that the York Gospels, which also contain the hand, date from at least 1020. The next joint tenures of Worcester and York after Wulfstan’s lasted only one year each (1040–1041 and 1061–1062), making it less likely that either of the incumbents would

96  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest have put down roots sufficient to accomplish this much work, still less to wish to accomplish this much work related to those two episcopacies. Wormald claims that it is more likely that the annotations were made by Wulfstan himself, not an amanuensis, because they seem more like the assured work of an author, rather than a copyist, especially in the “flagrant immodesty” of the poem in Vespasian A.xiv, which is then tempered somewhat by the addition of si volueris (“if you will”) and the reference to a flock under the pastor’s care.62 On the other hand, identifying Wulfstan as the copyist of the poem is not necessarily to suggest that Wulfstan was its author, even though both this poem and that preserved on Tiberius A.xiii, folio 101v, display literary traits that resonated with Wulfstan, such as quotation from Alcuin and internal repetition.63 If this hand is indeed that of Wulfstan, as seems most likely, then we might ask when these annotations were made, amongst all the perambulations Wulfstan seems to have been making across England. These annotations must have taken some time to enter, even for the author or compiler himself, so are we to conclude that there are manuscripts that traveled with him from London to York, or from the scriptorium at Worcester to find him at York? If we are right to think that his relative unpopularity at Worcester implies that he was not often present, then any Worcester-produced manuscripts that were with him might well have been outside of Worcester for an extended period. Unfortunately, even the Wulfstanian manuscripts that are dated to the eleventh century are often dated to around or later than the time of Wulfstan’s death, including Hatton 113, Hatton 114, and CCCC 201. So, we cannot be certain just what was in the library at Worcester or what might have been produced there during Wulfstan’s lifetime, although this does testify clearly to the vitality of the English Church and of English-language manuscript production throughout the eleventh century, including after the Norman Conquest. In his Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing ­Anglo-Saxon, Neil Ker even uses the presence of the Wulfstan hand tentatively to assign some manuscripts to either Worcester or York.64 Even more tantalizing is the case of British Library, Harley MS 55, which contains annotations in the Wulfstan hand and may have been at York when a statement on lands acquired by the archiepiscopal see was entered, but which was almost certainly in Worcester by the early thirteenth century, when several glosses were entered by the Tremulous Hand of ­Worcester.65 The Tremulous Hand is believed to have consulted most or all of the manuscripts that bear his distinctive handwriting in situ at the cathedral priory in Worcester, and Tremulous glosses are often taken to indicate Worcester provenance. So, it is tempting to speculate that ­Harley 55 might have traveled down to Worcester with Wulfstan, although there is no evidence to prove such a conjecture. Another complicating factor in sorting out Wulfstan’s career is his tendency to reuse material. Whether he is reworking his own or others’

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  97 material, Wulfstan habitually adapts it according to the stylistic and rhetorical patterns discussed above,66 and the parallels this inevitably introduces into his corpus make it difficult to determine a chronology of his works. His eschatological homilies have traditionally been regarded as early compositions that helped to establish Wulfstan’s reputation as a preacher,67 but this has recently been called into question.68 There are few internal clues to the ordering of the homilies, let alone to their dates of composition, but the case of the Sermo Lupi is both especially complicated and unusually clear in the amount of information we have upon which to attempt to establish a chronology of versions. The Sermo Lupi survives in five manuscript witnesses that represent three recognizable versions of greatly varying length: a short version preserved in CCCC 419 (MS B, dated to the first half of the eleventh century)69 and Bodley 343 (MS H, dated to the second half of the twelfth century);70 a medium version recorded in CCCC 201 (MS C, dated to the first half of the ­eleventh century);71 and a long version recorded in Hatton 113 (MS E, dated to the third quarter of the eleventh century)72 and Cotton Nero A.i (MS I, dated to the first half of the eleventh century).73 The chronological ordering of the versions, the date of the first composition or performance, and other differences in editorial philosophy are unsettled questions in the scholarship on the Sermo Lupi. The Sermo Lupi ad Anglos, printed in its three different versions in order of increasing length as Bethurum XX (BH), XX (C), and XX (EI), has most often been dated to 1014,74 although there are compelling arguments in favor of an original composition in 1009.75 Whitelock, Bethurum, and Godden have all held that the text grew longer over time,76 while Hollis and Wilcox have viewed it a process of repeated cutting.77 In assigning a linear chronological ordering of the versions, it is easy to forget that the distribution of non-orthographical, non-­dialectal variants is significant enough that the three versions must be acknow­ ledged as self-sufficient adaptations of common material, not merely as varyingly faulty copies of a single text whose “true” character was at some point permanently fixed. Next to the multitude of marginal and interlinear corrections and additions to Wulfstanian material in a hand that may be Wulfstan’s or that of someone closely connected to him, this plurality of texts based on a single recognizable outline is most likely to be a sign of Wulfstan’s willingness, even eagerness, to tinker with and rework his own writings to suit various occasions. Recent work positing the particular circumstances of the composition and recomposition of versions of the Sermo Lupi has helped to redirect the debate,78 but the field is still haunted by traces of a stemmatic approach that threatens to obscure the evidence of the manuscript witnesses. The discussion given to the dates in the manuscript rubrics is particularly revealing and often betrays a wish to harmonize the differing rubrics. The rubrics in two manuscripts (CCCC 201 and Cotton

98  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest Nero A.i) date the homily to 1009 and 1014, respectively, but the date in Nero A.i has been added over an erasure. This change could mean any of a number of things, but the fact of the erasure is often overlooked and the date taken without question to be accurate. Meanwhile, the date in CCCC 201 has been called into question on the grounds that the homily includes a reference to an event that took place later than 1009, namely, the expulsion of Æthelred in late 1013: and Æþelred man dræfde ut of his earde.79 The crucial point here is that the reference to Æthelred occurs only in the shortest version of the Sermo Lupi, namely, the version witnessed in CCCC 419 and Bodley 343. The slightly longer version in CCCC 201 does not include this line, and the argument that the sense of the passage is incomplete without this clause (meaning that the passage must have had this line removed in the medium and long versions, rather than added in the short version) is by no means conclusive. We should be accordingly wary of using the evidence of one version of the homily to make definitive statements about all versions. Once again, Wulfstan’s own annotations in the manuscripts of his works and other manuscripts containing texts of interest to him should remind us that his reuse of material was habitual and habitually adaptive. A number of manuscripts containing works believed to have been written by Wulfstan or containing works forming part of his supposed Commonplace Book are linked to Worcester in one way or another. In the case of Hatton 113 and Junius 121, this is on the basis of the signature of Wulfgeat, a Worcester scribe active in the third quarter of the eleventh century.80 An early attribution placed CCCC 201 at Worcester, but Winchester is considered a more likely point of origin. Bodley 343 cannot be pinned down more specifically, but it appears to have originated somewhere in the West Midlands.81 In fact, out of the four manu­scripts on which Dorothy Bethurum bases her edition of Wulfstan’s homilies (CCCC 419 and 201, Hatton 113, and Bodley 343), CCCC 419 is the only one that has not been linked in some way to the West Midlands. Beyond giving us ample evidence of the vitality of ecclesiastical centers of book production and use throughout the eleventh century, ­Wulfstanian manuscripts raise larger questions about textual production in late Anglo-Saxon and early Anglo-Norman England. CCCC 201 is a prime example of the rich study that is possible in Wulfstanian manuscripts. Both since such a large proportion of its texts are in some way Wulfstanian and since it is simply an intriguing mixture of items, this manuscript ought to be edited in its entirety. There are larger questions tied up in this endeavor than merely the internal context, complications, and confusions of this one manuscript. The texts in CCCC 201 prompt questions about genre, purpose, and authority, especially in sections like pages 19–25, where several of the texts are surprisingly short and end quite abruptly, sometimes without having developed their themes at all.82

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  99 With such short and arguably incomplete homiletic texts, we are led to ask what constitutes a homily and how the genre is defined. Could a homiletic text serve a purpose other than to be read aloud as a homily delivered in the context of the Mass before a congregation? A major purpose for the copying of homiletic texts must have been to enable other preachers to draw on them, so it is conceivable that even short, deficient texts could serve as valuable prompts to help preachers formulate their own addresses on the corresponding texts or topics. This makes it unclear whose authorship is to be acknowledged when a deficient or, more optimistically, incipient text is prepared for delivery. By whose authority is such a text presented in a particular performance or in a manuscript that may be read and used for generations? We must ask whether each performance constitutes a separate text and whether the incomplete written version in fact constitutes a text in its own right. Even if a complete homily had been written down, it is conceivable that it was performed without the manuscript lying open in front of the preacher, and memory must surely have played an important part for many preachers, as it does today. The texts on pages 19–25 of CCCC 201 are all brief texts that are not attested outside a homiletic and pastoral context. In this section of CCCC 20, seven homiletic texts are recorded (portions of Napier 19–27), with six rubricated separately. Similar sequences occur in Hatton 113 (ff. 61–6), CCCC 419 (pp. 229–46), and Tiberius A.iii (ff. 88v-93v), although there are some differences in rubrication or in which of the texts appear in each manuscript. The first homily in this section of CCCC 201 (Napier 19) follows without a rubric, directly from a pastoral letter of Wulfstan. Four of the rubrics in this section are simply TO FOLCE, and the last two are nearly identical: TO EALLUM FOLCE. All of the texts are topical, not exegetical, and all appear to be directed to a wider audience than the bishops and clergy. Stephen Yeager has suggested that the texts are rubricated this way because they sit under the umbrella of the rubric to Napier 2 (Bethurum VI), Incipiunt sermonis [sic] lupi episcopi (CCCC 201, page 10), indicating that all of the texts are directed from Wulfstan to the people.83 A survey of Napier’s and Bethurum’s editions makes it clear that the state of scholarly editions is quite distanced from anything that ­Wulfstan or any Wulfstanian imitator might have ever actually preached to a congregation. Napier follows the rubrication in this manuscript (mirrored in Hatton 113), publishing these short texts as separate texts (19–22 and 24), but Bethurum conjoins them all into her homily XIII. Bethurum claims that Homily XIII runs to page 25 of CCCC 201, but she cuts off her text at page 22 and does not acknowledge the authenticity of the other Napier texts in this section of the manuscript. Bethurum may have been responding partly to the fact that these texts are not fully developed and could not have stood alone as sermons, but they seem

100  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest so obviously unrelated that to string them together leads to an absurd series of non-sequiturs. So, we are left to ask what exactly constitutes a complete homily and what should get edited, which may not necessarily be the same as what is called a complete homily. The clear hand and thorough punctuation do not suggest that these texts were added hurriedly or as an afterthought. Occasionally, punctuation appears to have been added later, but for the most part, the main scribe of this section (Scribe 2 in Wormald’s description of the  manuscript) appears to have entered the punctuation while copying the main text itself.84 The texts have been copied with economy—rubrics generally appear at the end of the line preceding the opening of the new text, but more than ample space is left at the end of these lines. So, it appears that the rubrics, like the red and green initials that appear at the start of each homiletic text, were planned from the start. By using generic rubrics, as we’ve seen, the compiler has produced a series of texts that are treated as being appropriate for a variety of occasions on which a preacher would address a wide audience. Tiberius A.iii contains an even more extended series of short texts than the one we see in CCCC 201. Twelve homiletic texts appear on folios 88v–93v, divided by rubrics and composed of various divisions of Napier 19–27, 36, and 51–53. The first ten rubrics are all TO EALLAN FOLKE or another spelling of the same, and the last two texts are desig­ nated TO MÆSSEPREOSTUM. The first seven texts (folios 88v–92r) correspond for the most part with the series of texts on pages 19–25 of CCCC 201, although they are sometimes grouped slightly differently under the rubrics. That the texts in Tiberius A.iii also run in a series, all with identical rubrics, suggests that there was some precedent for their transmission as separate but linked texts. In fact, this might explain one feature of the reception of these texts. Jonathan Wilcox notes that Bethurum XIII is the most popular of ­Wulfstan’s sermons as a source for later compilers.85 If we take Bethurum XIII as several distinct texts, perhaps preserved only in part, then this is a less striking statistic. It is far less surprising that a group of many different homilies, presumably delivered on separate occasions, should inspire the single largest set of later borrowings than that a single address should do so. If there are problems with Bethurum’s treatment of these texts, she was nevertheless right about one thing. If we expect the manuscript to preserve near-verbatim records of sermons as they were or could have been preached in their entirety, then this section of CCCC 201 is sure to disappoint. These texts, particularly Napier 19 (pages 19–20 in CCCC 201) and the version of Napier 24 (page 22), both of which break off very abruptly, do not appear in forms that seem likely to have been delivered before a congregation. Certainly, these texts lack the hortatory endings that we associate with Wulfstanian homilies.86 On the other hand, it is not difficult for anyone familiar with them to

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  101 come up with such endings, as a preacher building on one of these short texts would need to do as part of a complete address performed in front of a congregation. The fact that a text does not seem to be a complete address does not negate its value for scholarship, but it does change it. It forces us to the question of how a homilist or preacher might move from one of these prompts to a sermon delivered aloud and quite possibly with a certain amount of improvisation based on the written material. This sequence in CCCC 201 is a collection of texts that have been alternately split apart and run together without regard for their rubrics, as if they actually formed one massive sermon—and a rather disjointed sermon at that. A careful reading shows that there is little sense in trying to understand them as one address to be delivered continuously, but it also reveals what scanty logic there is behind labeling them individually as whole homilies. It is possible that these fragments were presented as possible introductions to various topics, like the baptismal rite or the relations between men awaiting their final Judgment, but the generic rubrics that appear with these texts may suggest the wide range of occasions for which they would have been appropriate and useful. For any bishop or archbishop, such occasions must have been frequent, especially for any who, like Wulfstan, were involved in meetings of the witan and the drafting of law-codes.87 The section begins with what is known as Wulfstan’s pastoral letter, which follows the text edited as Napier 3 and Bethurum VII. After the end of Bethurum VII, there is no rubric, but with one line left blank and a large initial wynn, it is difficult to miss the transition. At the end of the letter, the text of Napier 19 and Bethurum XIII begins on a fresh line but without a rubric. This text, comprising all of Napier 19 and the first thirty-one lines of Bethurum XIII, is a useful one to work with because, although it breaks off precisely at the moment where new and meaty material is introduced, it is just long enough to provide us with clear examples of some of Wulfstan’s most effective rhythmical and aural techniques. Even without the consistent and frequent manuscript punctuation, it would take a poor orator to lose the rhythmical flow that enables the listener to follow the train of dependent clauses, but this text also gives us another glimpse of the large-scale aural punctuation of the homilies. It begins, predictably, with Leofan men and ends with understande se þe cunne. In between these two extremes, the most frequently occurring piece of aural punctuation is uton, and this text gives us two of them (Bethurum, lines 14 and 19), along with a similarly punctuating eala (line 12). We see here a collection of texts that demonstrate a significant amount of skill in their rhythmical and aural effect but which almost uniformly break off without any logical conclusion. It is possible that they were delivered in the forms attested here, but that seems unlikely. If we discard

102  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest that possibility, then we must explain the utility of including partial texts in a manuscript. The neatest answer seems to be that this section of the manuscript may have been intended as a sort of starter kit for preachers. That would mean that this section shows a unity of purpose that is not readily apparent from the subject matter of the individual texts. A speaking style like Wulfstan’s own allows the speaker to plan not only word-by-word, but also on the levels of theme and set piece. It is then possible for such a speaker to deliver an address that is not already written down in front of him. In fact, from the very beginning of the process of composition, the address could be planned so as to be partially improvised from material previously used, read, or heard, as well as from fresh material either concocted on the spot or prepared in advance. This may explain why we see series of short, inchoate texts circulating amongst fuller homiletic texts. We have ample modern examples of this style of composition, most famously Martin Luther King Jr.’s address from the Lincoln Memorial. He had preached versions of the “dream” motif on various occasions, and supposedly, he had something else planned for that day, until ­Mahalia Jackson said, “Tell them about the dream!”88 More intriguingly, we have fairly detailed knowledge of the process by which C. L. Franklin, Aretha Franklin’s father, prepared his sermons. Franklin planned his sermons very carefully beforehand, distilling his thoughts down to a few bullet points on an index card, in order to be able to improvise on those points when the time came for performance.89 While this may lend credence to the idea that Wulfstan or a Wulfstanian preacher might have been building up sets of shorter texts from which longer homilies could be developed, it does not move the discussion out of the realm of speculation and onto firmer ground. Nevertheless, in addition to giving us a sense of how an exceptionally busy man might have balanced his vari­ ous obligations, this gives us some insight into what it actually means to talk about a preaching tradition in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. To get a better look at some of the medieval sources in that tradition, we will look at two examples from Wulfstan and two examples from other sources. The slightly different versions of a Wulfstanian set piece describing Hell that appear in Bethurum III, VII, and XIII 90 may give us a counter­ part to Dr. King’s use of the “dream” motif, but a possible instance of a vernacular outline for a vernacular homily is Bethurum VII, which Andy Orchard has suggested could be regarded as two separate texts, with the first 25 lines of Bethurum’s edition mirroring in microcosm what lines 26–174 develop at greater length.91 Aside from the structural parallels, the evidence of the manuscripts suggests that Bethurum VII could plausibly be considered to be two distinct texts: Both CCCC 201 and Hatton 113 rubricate the two sections as separate texts, although CCCC 419 does not include a second rubric. It is tempting to think that Wulfstan

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  103 might have used the first section to launch homilies on other occasions, but that is far beyond what can be proven at the moment. More telling is Napier 30, which combines material from some of the Vercelli homilies with material attributed to Wulfstan. The compiler of Napier 30, as Scragg has noted, makes use of Wulfstanian stylistic techniques when incorporating the non-Wulfstan material.92 So, it is not only Wulfstan who can riff on material in a Wulfstanian way. The compositional prompts provided by the short texts in CCCC 201 hint at both the performative habits of preachers like Wulfstan and the afterlife of Old English homilies that could be repeatedly trotted out without ever being performed in the same way twice. The mixing of ecclesiastical, homiletic, and legal texts in this and other manuscripts associated with Wulfstan speaks to the varying roles played by such prelates. We see both Wulfstanian material and, in a small way, Wulfstanian style in the Ormulum, a twelfth-century collection of homilies attributed to a monk named Orm. A homily on Luke 3:14 contains two versions of a small set piece, familiar from Stephen Morrison’s 1995 article, “A ­Reminiscence of Wulfstan in the Twelfth Century.” ­Junius 1 is the unique manuscript of the Ormulum, which contains at lines 9316–24 and 10200–208 several phrases from a characteristically ­Wulfstanian list in Bethurum V, lines 102–104.93 The resonance with the ­Wulfstanian text is clear, but more importantly in the present context, Orm’s two versions also show repetition with variation. In order to make these points more clearly, I quote the Wulfstanian original and both of the passages from the Ormulum. The text of Wulfstan’s homily is taken from CCCC 201, page 70, line 40, to page 71, line 1, divided into quasi-metrical lines. Parallels with Orm’s text are indicated in bold. Eac sceal aspringan wide . 7 side . sacu . 7 clacu . hol 7 hete . 7 ripera reaflac . here 7 hunger . brine 7 blodgite . 7 stirnlice stirunga . stric 7 steorfa . 7 fela ungelimpa .94 The two passages from the Ormulum are both drawn from the same homily on the Gospel of Luke, and they betray another Wulfstanian touch in the small variations introduced into the passage in its second appearance. These variations are indicated below with underlining. [a] Lines 9316–24 Ȝiff þatt ȝe wel ȝuw lokenn Fra clake 7 sake, 7 fra þatt toþþ Þatt follȝheþþ ȝiferrnesse, Þatt holeþþ o þe laȝhe leod,

104  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest 9320  7 rippeþþ hemm 7 ræfeþþ, 7 ȝiff ȝe tellenn forr inoh   Þatt tatt te king ȝuw findeþþ, Þa muȝhe ȝe wiþþ clene lif   Wel hellpenn ȝure sawless.95 [b] Lines 10200–208 10200  Ȝiff þatt ȝe wel ȝuw lokenn Fra clake 7 sake 7 fra þatt toþþ   Þatt follȝheþþ grediȝnesse, Þatt holeþþ o þe laȝhefollc,   7 rippeþþ hemm 7 ræfeþþ; 10205  7 ȝiff ȝe tellenn forr inoh   Þatt tatt te king ȝuw findeþþ, Þa muȝhe ȝe þurrh clene lif   Wel hellpenn ȝure sawless.96 Just as Wulfstan himself, or any Wulfstan imitator, made frequent use of repetition with variation, Orm has done the same, whether or not he was aware of the origin of his echoed phrases. He has certainly echoed phrases used by Wulfstan, but his reuse of them later in the homily shows similar flexibility and reflects the oral and communal environment in which Wulfstan’s texts also operated. Whereas this “reminiscence of Wulfstan” has been taken as evidence of Orm’s ignorance of Wulfstan’s works (and thus of Wulfstan’s declining popularity in the twelfth century),97 it should also be recognized as a sign of the power of Wulfstan’s homiletic style. Not only do these passages from the Ormulum demonstrate that certain phrases used in a Wulfstanian homily were still echoed in one form or another more than 150 years after his death, but perhaps more importantly, they show that the rhetorical and compositional techniques employed by Wulfstan still resonated within the homiletic tradition in England. So, it is not simply his words that determine his legacy, but also his style and perhaps even his process of composition. Moreover, these passages from the Ormulum remind us that even texts for which we have no evidence of performance might have been composed with the principles of oral performance in mind, just as may have been the case with the short texts from CCCC 201. This suggests that Wulfstan’s legacy might be more thoroughly revealed not so much in his status as a textual authority, as Ælfric seems to have been regarded, judging by the frequent copying or adaptation of his works in the twelfth century, but rather, as part of a broader school of preaching. If portions of Wulfstan’s works continued to resonate in the preaching tradition in such a way that they inspired a certain approach to composition in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, then we should

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  105 be looking for an author’s significance more broadly than merely in the copying of whole or partial texts attributed to that author. That Wulfstan seems to have annotated numerous manuscripts of his own and others’ works, in spite of his demanding schedule of ecclesiastical and political duties and his famous predilection for aural effects, suggests that Wulfstan understood manuscripts as fundamental to the formation and preservation of a textual community, even if his style was notable for its aural qualities. Through not only their preservation of these annotations, but also their witness to distinct versions of homilies and their careful punctuation, which facilitates oral performance of the texts, the manuscripts associated with Wulfstan point out to us the contours of a textual community that encompassed composition, copying, later reading, annotation, and performance. We have seen in the example of the short texts from CCCC 201 that manuscripts of Wulfstan’s works could open channels for later interaction. Similarly, Ælfrician manuscripts, especially those where Ælfric expresses concern over the copying of his Catholic Homilies or the reading of his scriptural translations, suggest to us both the kind of activity that occurred while ­Ælfric was still alive and that which likely continued after his death as his homilies were copied in manuscripts and preached aloud. Like ­Matthew Parker in the sixteenth century, modern readers are completely dependent on this bibliographic testimony for access to the texts of Ælfric and Wulfstan and, more importantly, to their role in a textual community, but there are nevertheless important clues to performative practices preserved in these manuscripts.

A lingua franca at the Anglo-Danish Court There are similarly subtle echoes of probable performance, even discussion, in the text of the Encomium Emmae Reginae. When we ponder eleventh-century regime change in England, the Norman Conquest of 1066 tends to be the focus, but between 1013 and 1016, an earlier conquest of England saw Danish men installed as kings of England. The Encomium Emmae Reginae and the political tensions surrounding the Anglo-Danish regime have received comparatively little scholarly attention, although these tensions in fact laid the foundation of the more widely acknowledged Norman Conquest that followed a half century later. The Encomium was written in 1041 or 1042, probably by a monk of the abbey of Saint-Bertin in Saint-Omer in Flanders, near where Emma had been in exile in Bruges from 1037 to 1040.98 Moreover, Emma probably oversaw the composition of the text and provided information for it. The Prologue is addressed to Emma herself, the following Argument to the reader, then follows the body of the text, which hardly mentions Emma at all.99 Because of this, the Encomium is often understood as a piece of propaganda on behalf of the Danish

106  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest regime in England, but it is important to remember that Emma became a sort of pivot point in the dynastic shifts that took place in England in the ­eleventh century and that if the text appears to glorify the Anglo-­ Danish regime, then it does so because Emma saw this as serving her own ends in 1041 or 1042, when Harthacnut, her son by Cnut, had ascended the throne and eventually allowed his stepbrother Edward, later “the ­Confessor,” back into England. The fact that the text underwent revision, perhaps after the death of Harthacnut, in order to emphasize the status of Edward indicates that the Encomium was not merely a disregarded failure, but that it was considered to have enough currency to be worth revising. Later manuscripts reported that there had been an alternate ending, but no contemporary manuscript was known to record it until a ­fourteenth-century manuscript was discovered in 2008 and found to contain this alternate ending.100 The daughter of a Norman father and a Danish mother, Emma was also the wife of two kings of England (one Anglo-Saxon and the other Danish), the stepmother of two kings of England (one by each husband), and the mother of two kings of England (again, one by each husband). It was not only Emma’s second marriage that complicated her family tree and her web of international connections; in fact, her first marriage was her husband’s second, possibly his third. Through the marriage, she gained at least ten stepchildren, before her three children by Æthelred were born.101 Moreover, these complicated, shifting family ties with Emma at the center were key to the rationale by which William, Duke of Normandy, hoped to claim the English throne in 1066. Emma, in her own person, represents the longstanding, complex links between the rulers of England, Normandy, and Scandinavia, for we should remember that these kings of Denmark were also expanding and maintaining empires that encompassed Norwegian and Swedish territory. Describing Cnut’s search for a wife, the Encomium itself reminds us that Emma of Normandy was descended from Scandinavians, “a victorious people” who had won their Norman territory “in despite of the French and their prince” (et pro hoc præcipue quod erat oriunda ex uictrici gente, quæ sibi partem Galliæ uendicauerat inuitis Francigenis et eorum principe).102 Nevertheless, the Encomiast is walking a very fine line in the passage just quoted. There is no mention of Emma’s first husband, the Anglo-Saxon king who had been defeated by the father of her second husband, nor even any indication that Emma had ever been married before she married Cnut. Perhaps in the interests of encouraging peace and reconciliation, particularly as resentment of Harthacnut was growing, it would make sense to minimize the reminders of the displaced Anglo-Saxon royal house, but it is striking that this passage makes no explicit acknowledgement that those victorious ancestors of Emma’s were in fact Scandinavian Vikings who emerged from the same regional and ethnic background as Cnut and the rest of the Danes in England.

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  107 Emma’s Scandinavian roots are referenced only obliquely, which suggests that the propagandistic qualities of the text are operating in a more complicated and subtler way than the simplistic phrase “Danish propaganda” might suggest. Rather than bruiting every Danish connection, the Encomiast seems to be using the Norman, francophone elements of Emma’s past to suggest the desirability of allowing her to marry into the Danish regime. Given the fact that the Encomiast is believed to have been Flemish and may thus have been ambivalent about the Normans, this would be an even more striking position to take.103 In fact, such delicate negotiations of ethnic identity and origin were well established in the tradition of the Anglo-Danish court. We have ample evidence of efforts on behalf of the Anglo-Danish regime to weave together disparate linguistic, ethnic, historical, and cultural strands of life in England during the reign of Cnut. At some point between 973 and 1044, changes were made to the rite for the coronation of kings and queens. Pauline Stafford believes that we can date these revisions to the preparations for the 1017 consecration of Cnut and Emma. Signi­ ficantly, although there were no major changes to the prayers said for the new queen, the new ordo had a greater emphasis on associating the queen with or in the king’s rule, and on indicating her relationship to the people, both of which would seem to suggest a clear peace-weaving role for the queen crowned under the new ordo.104 If Stafford is right that the revisions were made expressly for the 1017 coronation of Cnut and Emma (almost certainly Emma’s second coronation), then they would imply a desire for a strong symbol of unity and continuity, in spite of the undoubted ruptures and traumas of conquest. Cnut’s first Letter to the English (written in Old English and sent from Denmark in 1020) was primarily meant, in the words of Elaine Treharne, to create “a sense of unity through the joint efforts of all to ensure the rule of law.”105 Although Cnut’s second Letter to the English (apparently composed on the journey from Rome back to Denmark after attending the imperial coronation of Conrad II in 1027) survives only in Latin, there may be reason to believe that it originally circulated in ­English, and it is noteworthy that Cnut continued to issue laws in ­English throughout the entirety of his reign.106 Whereas William ceased issuing writs in English only a few years after the Norman Conquest, Cnut apparently did not see sufficient reason to uproot the Anglo-Saxon administrative apparatus and its practices. Treharne goes on to write of Cnut’s “pragmatic ethnicity,” which both sought to promote this image of unity and achieved its “pragmatic” quality in the tension between public, written declarations of penitence and unity (notably, the two ­Letters to the English), as opposed to the oral and relatively private skaldic verses composed at the royal court in praise of Cnut.107 It seems that part of Cnut’s power was derived from his ability to balance these different cultural and linguistic nuances, as if bringing different identities to the fore, to suit different

108  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest communicative situations. As with Bede, Alfred, and Æthelstan, Cnut seems to have perceived this as a way of accruing cultural capital, to say nothing of being a matter of survival for Danish rule in England. Outside of the royal court, there were other sensitive performances of identity in eleventh-century England, as when some French people in England before the Norman Conquest were known to give their children Anglo-Saxon or Anglo-Scandinavian names, such as Edmund, Wulfric, or Swein.108 Given this and given Cnut’s sense of the political power of English, we must think carefully why the Encomiast later chose to work in Latin for the Encomium. By the time of the reign of Harthacnut, Cnut’s conquest was not so fresh in memory, but factionalism had become a major feature of the court, especially after the scandal of the death of Æthelred’s son, Alfred, when he attempted to return from exile in Normandy in 1036. Emma’s return from her subsequent exile in Flanders and her commissioning of the Encomium took place in an environment of mistrust and wariness at court. A heavy burden of taxation and continuing political maneuvering and intrigue produced increasing hostility towards Harthacnut, and likely contributed to the invitation for Æthelred’s son Edward to return from Normandy, as well as to the commissioning of the Encomium.109 This may also be why the ­Encomiast frames Emma and Harthacnut’s 1040 return from Bruges as a return “to the shores of the ancestral realm” (horas auiti regni), even though it was certainly not Emma’s ancestral realm and might only just qualify as such for Harthacnut.110 In addition to this, the linguistic situation had also become more complex. Not only English and Norse, but also Latin, French, and Flemish literary cultures were represented at the court of Harthacnut. ­Elizabeth Tyler has written convincingly of the centrality of this multi­ lingual context for the shaping of the Encomium and Emma’s expectations for the text, and extending her argument, it seems that a text like this one would make little sense outside of such a context.111 Just as this A ­ nglo-Danish would-be dynasty could not be viable without the willing­ness of members of the family (or families) and their various supporters to close ranks, the Encomium takes its shape from the complex negotiations not merely of personal loyalties, but also between disparate linguistic communities. In particular, as the culture of the royal court in England become more international, there was a greater need for a style of Latin that could take on some of the communicative and communal roles that English had played in the past.112 This may, in fact, have been one reason why Flemish authors were so attractive to English patrons in the eleventh century, since they were highly trained in Latin rhetoric but had not been steeped in the hermeneutic style that had characterized and complicated so much of Anglo-Latin up to that point.113 One of the most notable literary features of the Encomium is its web of allusions to Virgil’s Aeneid. Aside from its status as one of the most

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  109 culturally significant classical texts in the Middle Ages, the Aeneid is associated with a propagandistic goal, namely, to shore up the reputation of Octavian, later known as Augustus, the first Roman emperor. Elizabeth Tyler and Andy Orchard have written in detail about this and about the Encomium’s similarly propagandistic goal to shore up ­Emma’s reputation at the Anglo-Danish court, often without regard for what we would call the facts. Strikingly, this support for Emma looks superficially like praise for her second husband, Cnut, and his father Swein. Their fleets, for example, are described in terms that echo the splendors of the ships at the funeral games for Anchises in the Aeneid, portraying the Danish usurpers as rightfully establishing a dynasty in England.114 So, the question is, who is being glorified in this text? The answer is not so simple as merely presenting all Scandinavians as powerful and glorious: Harthacnut (who was king when the Encomium was written) is afforded no place in the Virgilian framework that depicts his grandfather Swein as a new Anchises, and his father Cnut as a new Aeneas. On the one hand, as we have seen, Emma is subsumed into this narrative of Scandinavian ascendancy and dynasty-building, as if Cnut were her first husband and the father of her sons by Æthelred, and as if she had no other role than to become Cnut’s consort. See, for example, the statement that Cnut and Emma “sent in fact their other legitimate sons [i.e., ­Edward and Alfred] to Normandy to be brought up” (alios uero liberales filios educandos direxerunt Normanniae).115 On the other hand, it is Emma herself who is explicitly and emphatically linked with Octavian, the object of the glorification of the Aeneid, even though her Scandinavian ancestry is only hinted at, and without suggesting a shared background with her Scandinavian husband-to-be. Although she appears to be subsumed into a Scandinavian-centric framework for the text, this seems to be limited to her capacity as the wife and, later, widow and mother of Scandinavian kings of England. One possibility is that the Encomiast or Emma herself, since she seems to have actively guided the Encomiast in the preparation of the text, wished to leave distinct the identity and power of the Norman dukes. The Norman court provided a home in exile to Æthelred, Emma, and their sons, which became part of William’s claim to the English throne in 1066. Moreover, the marriage between Cnut and Emma may have been intended to secure the goodwill, or at least forbearance, of the ­Normans, more than the Anglo-Saxons, although there is evidence of mixed reactions to the marriage in Norman circles.116 This ambivalence among Norman observers may actually be further reason to believe that Cnut was deliberately seeking to bring the Normans “on side” by marrying the Norman-born Emma. Additionally, Cnut’s insistence on maintaining his relationship with Ælfgifu of Northampton after installing Emma as queen may also imply that Cnut felt a need to pacify the Normans

110  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest after 1016, which the coronation of Ælfgifu of Northampton as Queen and official consort would not have accomplished. Emma is never referred to in the Encomium as a “peace-maker” or “peace-weaver,” as such, but it is worth remembering that even famous Old English compounds such as friþu-webbe or friþu-sibb are very rare, even in the poetic corpus. Most friþu- compounds occur only as hapax legomena, with the exception of friþu-webbe, which occurs twice in the corpus, once in Beowulf and once in Widsith. The similar friþu-webba occurs in Elene in reference to an angel, rather than to a woman filling a peace-weaving role in human society.117 Without using any kind of corresponding phrase, however, the Encomiast nonetheless figures Emma in this role, situating her as the one who laid “the disturbances of war to rest” (bellicos sedaret motus) through her marriage to Cnut. The sentiment is carried into the next sentence, asking whether anything could be more desirable than that “the accursed and loathsome troubles of war should be ended by the gentle calm of peace” (dampnosos ingratosque labores belli placida finiri tranquillitate pacis).118 The last phrase is echoed at the very end of the Encomium, when, with motherly and brotherly love unbroken and, indeed, unbreakable, Emma and her sons Edward and Harthacnut rule “in the calm of peace” (pacis tranquillitate).119 Although the Encomiast has carefully avoided any acknowledgment that Edward and Harthacnut had different fathers, it must have been clear to the contemporary audience that for these two sons to rule together would be a kind of maternal peace-weaving on Emma’s part. In spite of all this, we should not forget that Emma seems to have been a strong advocate for her own interests, no matter how her ­second marriage and coronation came about. She seems to have been more prominent at court during Cnut’s reign (witnessing charters, acting as patron) than she had been during Æthelred’s, although it is possible that this was partly to do with her increasing age, rather than other factors. She certainly seems to have been exerting herself to influence matters on behalf of her own son by Cnut (rather than one of the sons of Ælfgifu of Northampton), partly through the bit of theater when Cnut, Emma, and a very young Harthacnut led the procession for the translation of the remains of Archbishop Ælfheah from St. Paul’s in London to Canterbury in 1023. In the end, Harold Harefoot was Cnut’s immediate successor in England, indicating that Emma had been right to be worried, but we must nevertheless view Emma as exercising agency and insisting on her own authority, not remaining passive. It is likely that the propagandistic “bombast” of the Encomium actually speaks to Emma’s vulnerability in the deeply factionalized political landscape of England after Cnut’s death,120 but also–and crucially–to her struggles against that sense of vulnerability. In the context of what seems to be a kind of peace-weaving endeavor, the Encomium allows the Encomiast to plead Emma’s case,

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  111 not necessarily telling “the” truth, but pleading a client’s perspective and attempting to win over Anglo-Danish courtiers without sacrificing her Norman ties. So, the mixture of Germanic tropes with classical allusions is another instance of weaving together the rhetoric, politics, and family ties of different peoples. That said, it is unlikely that many at ­Harthacnut’s court would have known Latin and been able to understand the Encomium if it had simply been read out to them, leaving us to ask what work is being done by the Latinity of the text, especially when we think about the Norse and Saxon allusions that run throughout it. We must return here to Elizabeth Tyler’s argument that the text derives its efficacy and power precisely from the need for explanation at court, for discussion of the text’s sometimes fictional version of events and of the nature of its allusions both to classical literature, on the one hand, and to regional, vernacular texts and oral traditions, on the other hand. To clarify the argument somewhat, in the context of a court with ­English-, Norse-, French-, and Flemish-speakers present, rather than being in an oppositional or oppressive relationship to those vernaculars, Latin takes on a unifying role as nobody’s mother tongue. We might think of the corresponding situation in modern India, where the language of the former colonial power was nonetheless selected as an official language for the new nation precisely because it was no one’s mother tongue, Hindi being a charged language because it is the native language of many, but certainly not all, Indians. Moreover, to return to the ­eleventh-century Anglo-Danish court, the need to explicate a sophisticated Latin text in oral, vernacular conversation is merely one additional instance of what must have been a necessity throughout the Danish tenure in England, when English remained the language of governance (both secular and ecclesiastical) and when skaldic verse flourished. Skaldic verse is notoriously difficult to interpret, and Danish speakers made “a notoriously poor audience” for the skaldic tradition, which was primarily based in a different branch of the Norse languages, implying that even the Danish-speakers at the English court might have needed help to understand it.121 In spite of the general standard of difficulty, there does seem to have been a range of difficulties represented among the ­Knútsdrápur, some of which are likely to have been somewhat easier for even English-speakers to follow than others.122 There is a sound argument to be made for England as the center of Cnut’s empire, which would suggest that there were indeed drápur performed in England.123 This would almost certainly mean that some discussion of meanings and forms took place, at least on occasion, and this display of multilingual ability would likely have enhanced the status of those who were able to facilitate such discussions. Beyond that, when we consider law-codes, homilies, charters, and other documents of governance, it is not necessary to assume total

112  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest mutual incomprehensibility between Old English and Old Norse to realize that there must have been frequent discussion of the technicalities of the language of these utterances. Even if Lawson’s suggestion that Wulfstan might have read out I and II Cnut at Winchester one ­Christmas cannot be proven, more informal readings and debates must have been vital parts of the process by which these codes were produced.124 So, discussion of a Latin text that treated the ascendancy of the Danish ­dynasty-to-be within a fabric of allusive references to the literary traditions of various constituencies probably would not have been anything new for the court. The Latinity of the Encomium demands attention to detail in order to appreciate the interweaving of literary traditions that seems to have been an integral part of the composition of the text, and it does not always allow for immediate comprehension, certainly not in order to grasp the subtleties of the allusions to classical and Germanic traditions. Andy Orchard’s work, in particular, has demonstrated the artistry of the Encomiast, who “parades his learning at every opportunity.”125 Although we sometimes assume that the concept of a lingua franca must imply simplicity or a deficit of logic in an “imperfectly” mastered form of a language, the power of the Latinity of the Encomium may come directly from its ornate, allusive style and its challenge to easy comprehension. As we have already seen, the need to negotiate meaning and the implication that there is distance to be bridged are hallmarks of textual community. Moreover, the allusive, interwoven qualities of the text typify something important about the Scandinavian regime in England: we see the operation of Scandinavian power to be sure, but that operation was enabled by taking on the ready-made Anglo-Saxon administrative infrastructure and expertise. Emma and the Encomium she commissioned and oversaw also operate within this dynamic. The Encomium is a text written with a very particular context and audience in mind, and like much of Cnut’s rhetorical positioning during his reign, the Encomium presents an image of community in order to in fact form such a community of tightly-knit collaborators in rule: Qui fratris iussioni obaudiens Anglicas partes aduehitur, et mater amboque filii regni paratis commodis nulla lite intercedente utuntur. Hic fides habetur regni sotiis, hic inuiolabile uiget faedus materni fraternique amoris. [Obeying his brother’s command, he was conveyed to England, and the mother and both sons, having no disagreement between them, enjoy the ready amenities of the kingdom. Here there is loyalty among sharers of rule, here the bond of motherly and brotherly love is of strength indestructible.]126

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  113 This passage from the Encomium is in fact a reference to Lucan’s epic poem on the civil wars between Julius Caesar and Pompey: Dum terra fretum terramque levabit aer et longi volvent Titana labores noxque diem caelo totidem per signa sequetur, nulla fides regni sociis, omnisque potestas inpatiens consortis erit.127 The Encomiast reverses Lucan’s pessimistic assessment of the human capacity for cooperation, in favor of a strong statement of specifically familial love between Harthacnut and Edward the Confessor, two individuals who, in real life, cannot have felt much like family, bound together by their mother’s two marriages, but separated by the conquests and factions of decades of armed conflict. No one is likely to have understood this better than Emma herself, who was not only the mother in question, but who had also spent decades navi­ gating the shifting politics of identity in England. Emma’s marriage to Æthelred in 1002 was the first foreign marriage of an ­A nglo-Saxon king since Æthelwulf married Judith, daughter of Charles the Bald, in 856,128 and in England, she was known not by the Norman name Emma, but by the Anglo-Saxon name Ælfgifu, after her husband’s grandmother, first wife of Edmund and benefactress of Shaftesbury, where a cult developed towards the end of the tenth century.129 When she married Cnut, it is likely that in addition to the peace-weaving value of the match, she was also useful to Cnut as a source on Anglo-Saxon royal convention. She must have been an even more valuable source for the Flemish monk she commissioned to write the Encomium, but to phrase it that way is to undervalue Emma’s own part in the production of the text. Emma may have learned something about literary patronage from observing her mother, Gunnor, who was a patron for historical accounts of the Norman family into which she had married, and Emma likely served as a model for her daughter-in-law, Edith, who later commissioned the Vita Ædwardi.130 In fact, both Emma and Edith appear to have worked with Flemish writers, and Elisabeth van Houts has identi­ fied a strong sympathy with the plight of English women (especially royal women) negotiating difficult circumstances as a common thread in Flemish-authored texts of the eleventh century, noting that these men had left first their own families to join monastic communities and then subsequently their own homelands to travel to England.131 On the other hand, Emma’s francophone upbringing may have been a major factor in her decisions about the language, style, and form of the Encomium, not only because of Gunnor’s example, but also because of a broader franco­ phone tradition that treated history-writing as a kind of court counsel,

114  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest through the linguistic proximity of Latin and French.132 Thus, Emma’s deployment of a Latin text that worked to bridge factional gaps and to unite disparate ethnic and linguistic communities emerged from sophisticated, complicated negotiations of gender, linguistic, and cultural identity. Diane Watt’s study, Medieval Women’s Writing, leads her to the conclusion that women’s voices, like women’s writing, should perhaps be seen, not as a transparent expression of female subjectivity or consciousness, but as a product of negotiation, as collaborative, as dialogic and as textual and intertextual. […] All medieval English writing emerges out of complex processes of composition and is to a greater or lesser extent the result of writers and their subjects, patrons, secretaries and readers working together.133 Accordingly, the Encomium must be regarded as “Emma’s” as much as it can be regarded as being “the Encomiast’s” or anyone else’s text. The Encomium stakes a claim to a linguistic territory that is outside both the Anglo-Saxon and the Danish vernaculars but able to draw on their rich literary traditions and unite them (at least in theory), much as Emma herself both stood distinct from those ethnic identities and yet spent much of her adult life immersing herself in the survival and balancing of those identities. The text of the Encomium takes its shape within the multilingual and multifactional context of Harthacnut’s court, but Emma herself was an essential conduit of knowledge and authority in the production of the text. For that reason, the text mirrors linguistically and stylistically what Emma herself had had to negotiate with her body, her allegiances, and her family roles over the years she had spent as the consort, stepmother, and mother of kings of England. As Pauline ­Stafford puts it, the Encomium is a text that takes us “closer to the problems which a woman’s several identities could pose” and to “the inadequacy of maternal ideals to provide a script for a woman faced with several children, especially by different husbands.”134 In other words, the Encomium stands not only as the result of the Encomiast’s process of assimilating various strands of classical and ­medieval literature and learning, of deploying rhetorical skills, of crafting an effective text, but also, and perhaps more importantly, as Emma’s method of textualizing what she had spent nearly forty years doing in her own person. The Encomium represents not only an attempt to mask or overcome Emma’s personal vulnerabilities at a factionalized royal court, but also an effort to situate her as an arbiter of succession to the throne and of the literary tradition of England. In the eleventh century, as much as in the twenty-first, a degree of subtlety was often required to advance the claims of women, and this may suggest another reason for the careful artistry and allusive style of the Encomium. This is not

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  115 to suggest that such a style is the unique preserve of women, but Emma’s own status may have made nudged her in the direction of these stylistic choices, rather than towards a more overt or explicit statement of desired ends. Wulfstan’s career and the corpus of texts that survive testify to his corresponding awareness of the disparate and shifting identities at play in eleventh-century England. Unlike Emma, he was frequently in a position to rail openly against what he perceived as internal or external threats, but he and Emma shared a wish to use texts to write a desired kind of community into existence. Tolerating, or even embracing, a lack of centralized textual authority allows us to understand how different variations on Wulfstanian texts play to different circumstances and even invite future variations or elaborations, while it offers us insights into how the Encomium was shaped by Emma’s experiences as much as by the literature and traditions of classical and Germanic cultures. The texts associated with both Wulfstan and Emma took shape in complex linguistic environments where the traditional dichotomy bet­ ween Latin and the Old English vernacular was insufficient to account for the politically powerful languages of England. Wulfstan held high ecclesiastical office in an area that had seen heavy Scandinavian influence, and he maintained his role as a legal advisor and author after the Danish Conquest. Emma spent much of her adult life immersed in court cultures that encompassed several languages with which she likely had varying levels of comfort, and her use of Latin as a neutral language signals a keen awareness of the multilingual nature of the Anglo-­Danish court. Additionally, both Wulfstan and Emma seem to have hoped to bring about a different future through their textual expression. As the Wulfstanian short homiletic texts both held reminiscences of earlier texts and demanded future alterations and additions, the Encomium Emmae Reginae both drew from earlier traditions or experience and sought to craft a more stable future.

Notes 1 See, for example, Timothy Bolton, “A Newly Emergent Mediaeval Manu­ script Containing Encomium Emmae reginae with the Only Known Complete Text of the Recension Prepared for King Edward the Confessor,” Mediaeval Scandinavia 19 (2009): 205–21; Simon Keynes and Rosalind Love, “Earl Godwine’s Ship,” ASE 38 (2009): 185–223; Elizabeth M. ­Tyler, “Crossing Conquests: Polyglot Royal Women and Literary Culture in ­Eleventh-Century England,” in Conceptualizing Multilingualism in Medieval England, c. 800 – c. 1250, ed. Elizabeth M. Tyler, 171–96 (Turnhout: ­Brepols, 2011); Elaine Treharne, Living Through Conquest: The Politics of Early English, 1020–1220 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012); Jacob Hobson, “National-ethnic Narratives in Eleventh-century Literary Representations of Cnut,” ASE 43 (2014): 267–95; and Elaine Treharne, “The Performance of Piety: Cnut, Rome, and England,” in England and Rome in

116  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest the Early Middle Ages: Pilgrimage, Art, and Politics, ed. Francesca Tinti, 343–64 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014). 2 Leofsige, Abbot of Thorney, was made Bishop of Worcester in 1016, but Wulfstan continued to issue leases after that date, implying that Leofsige may only have been a suffragan. See Dorothy Whitelock, ed., Sermo Lupi ad Anglos, 3rd ed. (London: Methuen and Co., Ltd., 1963), 9, and P ­ atrick Wormald, “Archbishop Wulfstan: Eleventh-Century State-Builder,” in Wulfstan, Archbishop of York: The Proceedings of the Second Alcuin Conference, ed. Matthew Townend (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), 12. 3 Emma Mason, St. Wulfstan of Worcester c. 1008–1095 (Oxford: ­Blackwell, 1990), 23. 4 James Ure, ed., The Benedictine Office: An Old English Text (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1957). Joyce Hill, “Archbishop Wulfstan: ­Reformer?” in Townend, Wulfstan, 316–17, asserts Wulfstan’s contribution to the work. 5 See the editions of Felix Liebermann, ed., Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen, 3 vols. (Halle: M. Niemeyer, 1903–1916; repr. Aalen: Scientia, 1960), and Roger Fowler, ed., Wulfstan’s Canons of Edgar, EETS o.s. 266 (London: Oxford University Press, 1972). 6 Karl Jost, Die “Institutes of Polity, Civil and Ecclesiastical” (Bern: Francke, 1959). 7 Simon Keynes, “An Abbot, an Archbishop, and the Viking Raids of 1006–7 and 1009–12,” ASE 36 (2007): 179, and see also pp. 158–9. Karl Jost, “Wulfstan und die angelsächsische Chronik,” Anglia 47 (1923): ­105–23, first made the case that Wulfstan could be linked to the Chronicle ­poems appearing at the annals for 959 and 975, and Dorothy Whitelock, ­“Wulfstan at York,” in Franciplegius: Medieval and Linguistic Studies in Honor of Francis Peabody Magoun, Jr., ed. J. B. Bessinger and R. P. Creed (New York: New York University Press, 1965), 224, once again took up the question while making a larger argument that Wulfstan had not always been absent from York, as had sometimes been suggested. 8 Andy Orchard, “Wulfstan as Reader, Writer, and Rewriter,” in The Old English Homily: Precedent, Practice, and Appropriation, ed. Aaron J. Kleist (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 332–4, comments on a passage from Bethurum VII that parallels several lines from Christ C, though he notes that this shared content is probably from a common tradition, rather than direct imitation. See also the discussion below of Wulfstanian phrases in the Ormulum. 9 William Robins, “Ancient Romance and Medieval Literary Genres: Apollo­ nius of Tyre” (PhD diss., Princeton University, 1995), 96–103, notes that even the seeming generic and topical contrast brought by the Apollonius may, like the other texts in CCCC 201, be understood to represent a response to the charged political atmosphere in early eleventh-century ­England with Scandinavian, Norman, and Flemish influences all vying for dominance. 10 Both poems are edited and discussed by Orchard, “Wulfstan as Reader,” 328–32. N. R. Ker, “The Handwriting of Archbishop Wulfstan,” in ­England Before the Conquest: Studies in Primary Sources Presented to Dorothy Whitelock, ed. Peter Clemoes and Kathleen Hughes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 326–7, believes that Wulfstan was the scribe of the poem on Vespasian A.xiv, folio 148v. 11 See, for example, Keynes, “An Abbot,” 170–71 and 177–80, on Wulfstan’s presence at meetings of bishops or at councils where new law codes were promulgated.

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  117 12 David Hill, An Atlas of Anglo-Saxon England (Toronto: University of ­Toronto Press, 1981), maps 162–3, p. 91, illustrates the largely southern concentration of known meetings of the witan. 13 Archbishop Wulfstan was remembered as reprobus (reprobate) by the monks at Worcester; see Mason, 23–5. 14 Hill, “Archbishop Wulfstan: Reformer?,” 312. 15 E. O. Blake, ed., Liber Eliensis (London: Offices of the Royal Historical Society, 1962), II.87, translated by Janet Fairweather, Liber Eliensis: A  History of the Isle of Ely from the Seventh Century to the Twelfth (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2005). 16 Mason, 24, notes that St. Wulfstan is said to have admired Archbishop Wulfstan’s writings. In fact, St. Wulfstan, according to Mason, 30, was probably named after Archbishop Wulfstan, but although Nicholas Brooks, “Introduction: How Do We Know about St. Wulfstan?,” in St. Wulfstan and His World, ed. Julia S. Barrow and N. P. Brooks (Aldershot: ­Ashgate, 2005), 19–21, acknowledges that St. Wulfstan may have been the son of Wulfgifu, the sister of Archbishop Wulfstan, he believes that the more probable identification of St. Wulfstan’s mother is with the Wulfgifu to whom Archbishop Wulfstan leased a Worcester property. 17 For details of the cult at Ely, see John Crook, “‘Vir optimus Wlstanus’: The Post-Conquest Commemoration of Archbishop Wulfstan of York at Ely Cathedral,” in Townend, Wulfstan, 501–24. On the friction with ­Peterborough, see also Wormald, “Archbishop Wulfstan: Eleventh-­Century State-Builder,” in Townend, Wulfstan, 12–13. 18 Ælfric discusses translation in the Latin preface to his Grammar, edited by Wilcox, Ælfric’s Prefaces, 114–15, with a translation on page 130. 19 Richard Marsden, ed., The Old English Heptateuch and Ælfric’s Libellus de veteri testamento et novo, Volume One: Introduction and Text, EETS o.s. 330 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 7, lines 100–103, and translated by Wilcox, Ælfric’s Prefaces, 118. For more on Ælfric’s concern over error (gedwyld), see Scott DeGregorio, “Ælfric, Gedwyld, and Verna­ cular Hagiography: Sanctity and Spirituality in the Old English Lives of Saints Peter and Paul,” in Old English Newsletter Subsidia 30, Ælfric’s Lives of Canonised Popes, ed. Donald Scragg (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 2001), 75–98. 20 For references on both sides of the question, see Andy Orchard, “Crying Wolf: Oral Style and the Sermones Lupi,” ASE 21 (1992): 239, nn. 2–3. 21 Dorothy Whitelock, “A Note on the Career of Wulfstan the Homilist,” EHR 52.207 (1937): 464. 22 Thomas N. Hall, “Wulfstan’s Latin Sermons,” in Townend, Wulfstan, ­95–6. See also James E. Cross and Jennifer Morrish Tunberg, “Introduction,” in The Copenhagen Wulfstan Collection: Copenhagen Kongelige ­Bibliotek Gl. Kgl. Sam. 1595, ed. Cross and Tunberg, EEMF 25 (­ Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1993), 13. 23 Hall, 109. 24 For more on the duties of a bishop, see Treharne, Living Through Conquest, 107–110. 25 Blake, Liber Eliensis, 156. “By each of whom he was equally loved as a brother and honored as a father.” (Translation is my own.). 26 Dorothy Whitelock, “Archbishop Wulfstan, Homilist and Statesman,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 4th ser., 24 (1942): 25–45. 27 Orchard, “Crying Wolf,” 247, counted, including all variants from Bethurum’s edition, just over 28,000 words, approximately 20% of

118  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest which come from the three Sermo Lupi versions. Orchard, “Wulfstan as Reader,” 320–1, estimates Wulfstan’s active vocabulary at 2043 headwords in Dobyns’ glossary of the homilies edited by Bethurum, contrasting it with a count of 5056 head-words used in Ælfric’s C ­ atholic Homilies alone, according to Malcolm Godden, ed. Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies: Introduction, Commentary and Glossary, EETS s.s. 18 ­(Oxford: ­Oxford University Press, 2000), 671. For the Wulfstan glossary, see Mabel ­Falberg Dobyns, “Wulfstan’s Vocabulary: A Glossary of the Homilies with Commentary” (PhD diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-­C hampaign, 1973). 28 A. S. Napier, Wulfstan: Sammlung der ihm zugeschriebenen Homilien nebst Untersuchungen über ihre Echtheit (Berlin: Weidmann, 1883; repr. 1967); Dorothy Bethurum, The Homilies of Wulfstan (Oxford: ­Clarendon Press, 1957; repr. 1971); and Jonathan Wilcox, “The Dissemination of Wulfstan’s Homilies: The Wulfstan Tradition in Eleventh-Century Verna­ cular Preaching,” in England in the Eleventh Century: Proceedings of the 1990 Harlaxton Symposium, ed. Carola Hicks (Stamford: Paul Watkins, 1992), 200–201. 29 Wormald, “Archbishop Wulfstan: Eleventh-Century State-Builder,” 10. See also Orchard, “Wulfstan as Reader,” 318. 30 Wilcox, “Dissemination,” 200–201. 31 Bethurum, Homilies, 104–106, is the only discussion of glosses in the edition. The critical apparatus to Bethurum XIII, for example, does not ­ hristine even acknowledge the marginal note in CCCC 201, p. 20, while C Franzen, The Tremulous Hand of Worcester: A Study of Old English in the ­Thirteenth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 32–3; J­ onathan ­ nonymous ­Wilcox, “Napier’s ‘Wulfstan’ Homilies XL and XLII: Two A Productions of Winchester?” JEGP 90 (1991): 8, n. 31; and Ian ­McDougall, “Some Remarks on Dorothy Bethurum’s Treatment of Glosses in MS. Bodleian ­H atton 113,” ANQ 8 (1995): 3–4, all comment on similar deficiencies. 32 The example of Bethurum XIII is discussed below, pp. 105–108. 33 Andy Orchard, “On Editing Wulfstan,” in Early Medieval English Texts and Interpretations: Studies Presented to Donald G. Scragg, ed. Elaine Treharne and Susan Rosser (Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2002), 314, n. 16; 315, n. 20; and 318, n. 33, points out several errors such as incorrectly listing pages on which a homily appears, mixing up variants from different versions of a homily, and mistaken readings. We will see below that Bethurum’s text of her Homily XIII stops in the middle of CCCC 201, p. 22, although Bethurum states in her apparatus that the homily runs from p. 19 to p. 25 in this manuscript. 34 Bethurum, Homilies, 48, cites the “unsure” scansion and “highly irregular” alliteration of the Chronicle poems Wulfstan is believed to have composed, in addition to differences in vocabulary between the poetic versions of the Gloria, Pater Noster, and Credo, on the one hand, and Wulfstan’s homilies on the other. Bethurum, 94, cites Homily V, ll. 102–107, as the best example of verse-like writing in the homilies, but notes that it cannot be arranged into regular verse lines. 35 Richard Dance, “Sound, Fury, and Signifiers,” in Townend, Wulfstan, 60. 36 Don W. Chapman, “Stylistic Use of Nominal Compounds in Wulfstan’s Sermons,” (PhD diss., University of Toronto, 1995), 158–62. 37 Don W. Chapman, “Germanic Tradition and Latin Learning in Wulfstan’s Echoic Compounds,” JEGP 101 (2002): 1–18.

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  119 38 Andy Orchard, “Re-editing Wulfstan: Where’s the Point?,” in Townend, Wulfstan, 63–91. 39 I have normalized word separation according to the conventions of modern editions of Old English texts, and I have also replaced each wynn with a w. “Archbishop Wulfstan amicably greets the thegns among the people, ordained and lay, all those who are entrusted to him to direct for good. And I bid you for the love of God that you heed this letter and at times hold it in your memory because although it seems like an inconsequential warning, it is nevertheless necessary. Let him who will, take heed.” 40 Approximately five letters were first expunctuated and then scraped away. The ruling was then traced in ink to connect leohtlic to mínegung. 41 O’Brien O’Keeffe, Visible Song, 185–6. 42 Loring Holmes Dodd, A Glossary of Wulfstan’s Homilies (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1908), 48 and 115. Dobyns is generally more reliable because, unlike Dodd (who relied on Napier without distinguishing between genuine and spurious homilies), Dobyns restricts her material to that contained in Bethurum’s edition. Dobyns, however, omits both drihten and hælend. 43 Dobyns, 79. Dodd, 3 and 136. 44 For an analysis of Wulfstan’s Norse-derived vocabulary and its sources, see Sara Pons-Sanz, Norse-Derived Vocabulary in Late Old English Texts: Wulfstan’s Works, A Case Study (Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2007), esp. 199–203. 45 Lawson, Cnut, 6. 46 Matthew Townend, “Pre-Cnut Praise Poetry in Viking Age England,” RES 51 (2000): 349–70. 47 Dorothy Whitelock, “Wulfstan and the Laws of Cnut,” EHR 63 (1948): 448. 48 Dodd, 227 and 236, counts only one instance of weofodþegn and only three of woruldlagu, all in Napier 50 and 51, both excluded from Bethurum’s edition and, thus, from Dobyns’ glossary. According to Dodd, 5, and Dobyns, 18, ægylde appears nowhere except in the medium and long versions of the Sermo Lupi, Bethurum XX (C) and XX (EI), respectively. 49 Howe, Migration and Mythmaking, 8–20, at 10. 50 Orchard, “Crying Wolf,” 247–8. 51 In Napier’s edition, the homilies are labeled with Roman numerals, but to distinguish them more clearly from Bethurum’s now more familiar text, I will use Arabic numerals for Napier’s homilies. 52 Bethurum, 89; Dance, “Sound, Fury, and Signifiers,” 55–6; and Ida ­Masters Hollowell, “Linguistic Factors Underlying Style Levels in Four Homilies of Wulfstan,” Neophilologus, 61 (1977), 287–96, all discuss the so-called plain and high styles of Wulfstan’s homilies. 53 Donald Scragg, Dating and Style in Old English Composite Homilies (Cambridge: Department of Anglo-Saxon, Norse, and Celtic, 1998), 20. 54 Ibid., 7–12. 55 Wilcox, “Dissemination,” 205–13. 56 Ibid., 216. 57 Bethurum, Homilies, 377. See also Whitelock, “Note on the Career,” 464. “But in truth, after carefully considering the sweetest shrewdness of your eloquence and the breadth and likewise the depth of your properly arranged narrative, I do not think I have the ability to translate these things.” (Translation is my own.) 58 Whitelock, “Archbishop Wulfstan, Homilist and Statesman,” 28.

120  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest 59 Jost, “Wulfstan und die angelsächsische Chronik,” 105–23. See also ­Catherine A. M. Clarke, Writing Power in Anglo-Saxon England: Texts, Hierarchies, Economies (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2012), 74–6. 60 Neil Ker first suggested that the hand might be that of Archbishop ­Wulfstan in “Hemming’s Cartulary: a description of the two Worcester Cartularies in Cotton Tiberius A.xiii,” in Studies in Medieval History Presented to Frederick Maurice Powicke, ed. R. W. Hunt, W. A. Pantin, and R. W. Southern (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1948), 49–75. A valuable consolidation of his observations appears in Ker, “Handwriting,” 315–31. 61 The “Wulfstan” hand adds this phrase to the Cotton Nero A.i rubric for Bethurum XXI, on which see Orchard, “On Editing Wulfstan,” 316 and Appendix II at p. 333. The text appears in Bethurum, 276, and the addition in Ker, “Handwriting,” 322, under “115v.” This phrase also closes the pastoral letter from CCCC 201, p. 19. 62 Patrick Wormald, “Archbishop Wulfstan and the Holiness of Society,” in Legal Culture in the Early Medieval West: Law as Text, Image and Experience (London: The Hambledon Press, 1999), 227–9. 63 Orchard, “Wulfstan as Reader,” 328–32. 64 These manuscripts are Cotton MSS Claudius A.iii (Ker, Catalogue, no. 141), Nero A.i (Ker, no. 164), and Vespasian A.xiv (Ker, no. 204). 65 Ker, Catalogue, no. 225. 66 Orchard, “Crying Wolf,” 240–2 and 257, but see also Scragg, Dating and Style, 12, for a dissenting, or at least qualifying, opinion. 67 Bethurum, Homilies, 101–104. 68 Malcolm Godden, “Relations,” in Townend, Wulfstan, 365–70, suggests that Wulfstan may have gotten most of his texts of Ælfric from the two small collections in Hatton 115 and CCCC 178, both with Worcester connections, and that he may have done so well after the millennium, that is, well after the time when any works establishing his reputation must have been composed. Orchard, “Wulfstan as Reader,” 336–340, adds to this list CCCC 188, which is the source for a passage in Bethurum V. For other recent accounts of the possible chronology of Wulfstan’s works, see Wormald, “Archbishop Wulfstan: Eleventh-Century State-Builder,” 26–7, and Pons-Sanz, Norse-Derived Vocabulary, 18–25, both of whom accept at least some of the supposedly early eschatological homilies as having been composed early in Wulfstan’s known career. 69 Ker, Catalogue, no. 68; Helmut Gneuss, Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Manu­ scripts: A List of Manuscripts and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England Up to 1100 (Tempe, AZ: Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2001), no. 108; Mildred Budny, Insular, Anglo-Saxon, and Early Anglo-Norman Manuscript Art at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge: An Illustrated Catalogue (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1997), vol. 1, no. 33; and Joyce Tally Lionarons, The Homi­ letic Writings of Archbishop Wulfstan: A Critical Study (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2010), 14. 70 Ker, no. 310; Susan Irvine, Old English Homilies from MS Bodley 343, EETS o.s. 302 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), xv; and ­Lionarons, 16–17. 71 Ker, no. 49; Gneuss, no. 65/65.5; Budny, no. 29; and Lionarons, 13. 72 Ker, no. 331; Gneuss, no. 637; and Lionarons, 12–13. 73 Ker, no. 141; Gneuss, no. 340/341; and Lionarons, 15–16. 74 Bethurum, Homilies, 255–75. See also her discussion of the text on pages 22–24, although her assumption that the text must have gotten longer over

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  121 time and thus that the variant readings in the presumed middle version must be spurious is problematic. 75 Keynes, “An Abbot,” has most recently taken up the 1009 argument, although he ultimately favors 1014. 76 Whitelock, Sermo Lupi, 1–5; Bethurum, Homilies, 22–4; and Malcolm Godden, “Apocalypse and Invasion in Late Anglo-Saxon England,” in From Anglo-Saxon to Early Middle English: Studies Presented to E. G. Stanley, ed. Godden, Douglas Gray, and Terry Hoad (Oxford: ­Clarendon Press, 1994), 143–6. 77 Stephanie Dien, “Sermo Lupi ad Anglos: The Order and Date of the Three Versions,” NM 76 (1975): 561–70, esp. 565–70; Stephanie Hollis, “The Thematic Structure of the Sermo Lupi,” ASE 6 (1977): 175–6; and Wilcox, “Wulfstan’s Sermo Lupi,” in Townend, Wulfstan, 389. 78 Wilcox, “Wulfstan’s Sermo Lupi,” 380–3, places the first performance at the meeting of the witan after the death of Swein Forkbeard (d. 3 February 1014), and Keynes, “An Abbot,” 203–13, argues for several stages of deve­ lopment, each responding to different circumstances, but he uses the rubric in Nero A.i to place a “definitive” version in 1014, although the date in that rubric is entered over an erasure. 79 Bethurum, 258, l. 1. 80 For Wulfgeat’s dates, see Lionarons, Homiletic Writings, 22. 81 Bethurum, 2, does not accept the localization of CCCC 201 to Worcester but does provide references for it. Mary Swan, “Constructing Preacher and Audience,” in Constructing the Medieval Sermon, ed. Roger Andersson (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 187, has argued that Bodley 343 originated in the West Midlands. 82 See Donald Scragg, Dating and Style, 16–23. 83 Stephen Yeager, From Lawmen to Plowmen: Anglo-Saxon Legal Tradition and the School of Langland (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014), 73–4. 84 For the scribal breakdown and manuscript description, see Patrick Wormald, The Making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century, Volume I: Legislation and its Limits (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999), 204–210. 85 Wilcox, “Dissemination,” 215. 86 See, for example, lines 97–106 in Bethurum XIII, lines 163–178 in XX(C), lines 159–174 in VII, and lines 42–48 in VIIa. 87 Elaine Treharne, Living Through Conquest, 112, writes of bishops’ need for quando volueris items. See also Treharne, “Bishops and their Texts in the Later Eleventh Century: Worcester and Exeter,” in Essays in Manuscript Geography: Vernacular Manuscripts of the English West Midlands from the Conquest to the Sixteenth Century, ed. Wendy Scase (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 13–28. 88 Richard Lischer, The Preacher King: Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Word that Moved America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 115–16, credits Jackson with this encouragement and writes of Dr. King’s “[d]exterity with near-memorized formulas.” Keith D. Miller, Voice of Deliverance: The Language of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Its Sources (New York: Free Press, 1992; repr. Athens, GA, and London: The University of Georgia Press, 1998), 142–8, lists several major sources for the “I have a dream” address, including Old Testament prophets Daniel, Amos, and Isaiah; New Testament quotations from Isaiah (Luke 3: 4–6); sections of the libretto for Handel’s Messiah; the Declaration of Independence; the Gettysburg

122  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest Address; the Emancipation Proclamation; and a 1952 speech to the Republican National Committee by African-American pastor Archibald Carey. 89 C. L. Franklin, Give Me this Mountain: Life History and Selected ­Sermons, ed. Jeff Todd Titon (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1989), 42. 90 See Bethurum III, lines 66–73; VII, lines 122–8; and XIII, lines 84–92, discussed in Orchard, “Crying Wolf,” 255–7, and in Andy Orchard, “Oral Tradition,” in Reading Old English Texts, ed. Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 109–11. 91 Orchard, “Crying Wolf,” 255. 92 D. G. Scragg, “Napier’s ‘Wulfstan’ Homily XXX: Its Sources, Its Relationship to the Vercelli Book and Its Style,” ASE 6 (1977): 197–211. 93 Stephen Morrison, “A Reminiscence of Wulfstan in the Twelfth Century,” NM 96 (1995): 229–34. 94 “Also will arise, far and wide, conflict and injury, slander and malice, and plunder of robbers, devastation and famine, burning and bloodletting, and harsh disturbances, plague and pestilence, and many misfortunes.” 95 “If you carefully secure yourself from injury and strife, and from that appetite that follows gluttony, that steals from the common people, and robs them and plunders, and if you consider it enough that the King finds you, then you will be able, with a clean life, to help your souls very much.” The Middle English text is quoted from The Ormulum, with the notes and glossary of Dr. R. M. White, ed. Robert Holt (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1878), I.324–5. 96 “If you carefully secure yourself from injury and strife, and from that appetite that follows greediness, that steals from the common folk, and robs them and plunders, and if you consider it enough that the King finds you, then you will be able, through a clean life, to help your souls very much.” Text quoted from Holt, I.355–6. 97 Jonathan Wilcox, “Wulfstan and the Twelfth Century,” in Rewriting Old English in the Twelfth Century, ed. Mary Swan and Elaine M. Treharne (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 87. 98 Alistair Campbell, ed., Encomium Emmae Reginae (Cambridge: ­Cambridge University Press, 1949; reprinted with supplementary introduction by ­Simon Keynes, 1998), xiii. All quotations and translations from the Encomium are cited from this edition by book and chapter. 99 Andy Orchard, “The Literary Background to the Encomium Emmae ­Reginae,” Journal of Medieval Latin 11 (2001): 161, notes that Emma is mentioned by name just nine times throughout the Encomium, compared to Cnut’s thirty. Swein Forkbeard and Thorkell are both mentioned eight times. 100 Bolton, “A Newly Emergent Mediaeval Manuscript.” See also Keynes and Love, “Earl Godwine’s Ship,” 193–9. 101 Pauline Stafford, Queen Emma and Queen Edith: Queenship and W ­ omen’s Power in Eleventh-century England (Oxford: Blackwell, 1997), 65. 102 Encomium, II.16. 103 Elisabeth van Houts, “The Flemish Contribution to Biographical Writing in England in the Eleventh Century,” in Writing Medieval Biography 750–1250: Essays in Honour of Professor Frank Barlow, ed. David Bates, Julia Crick, and Sarah Hamilton (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2006), 115–16. 104 Stafford, 174–7. 105 Treharne, Living Through Conquest, 27.

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  123 106 Wormald, 348, certainly believes that Cnut’s second Letter was originally in Old English, although it survives only in the twelfth-century histories of John of Worcester and William of Malmesbury. 107 Treharne, Living Through Conquest, 46. 108 Hugh M. Thomas, The English and the Normans: Ethnic Hostility, ­A ssimilation, and Identity 1066 –c. 1220 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 31, drawing on C. P. Lewis, “The French in England before the Norman Conquest,” Anglo-Norman Studies 17 (1994): 136–9. ­ ngland: 109 Elizabeth M. Tyler, “Talking about History in Eleventh-century E the Encomium Emmae Reginae and the Court of Harthacnut,” Early Medieval Europe 13 (2005): 361; and Simon Keynes, Encomium, xxxvii–xxxviii. 110 Encomium, III.11. To produce the more accurate oras, the initial h has been erased in BL, MS Add. 33241, though whether by the original scribes or by a later reader is unclear. 111 Tyler, “Talking about History,” 359–83, esp. 367–74. 112 Elizabeth M. Tyler, “From Old English to Old French,” in Language and Culture in Medieval Britain: The French of England c. 1100–c. 1500, ed. Jocelyn Wogan-Browne et al. (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2009), 171–2. 113 van Houts, “The Flemish Contribution,” 119. 114 Elizabeth M. Tyler, “‘The eyes of the beholders were dazzled’: Treasure and Artifice in Encomium Emmae Reginae,” Early Medieval Europe 8 (1999): 260–5. See also Orchard, “The Literary Background,” 156–83, esp. 159–61. 115 Encomium, II.18. 116 Elisabeth M. C. van Houts, “A Note on Jezebel and Semiramis, Two Latin Norman Poems from the Early Eleventh Century,” Journal of Medieval Latin 2 (1992): 18–24. See also Stafford, 12–13, on different reactions from Norman writers. 117 Dictionary of Old English: A to G online, ed. Angus Cameron, Ashley Crandell Amos, Antonette diPaolo Healey et al. (Toronto: Dictionary of Old English Project, 2007). See, in particular, the entries for friþu-beacen, friþu-sibb, friþu-tacen, friþu-webba, friþu-webbe, and dryht-sibb. 118 Encomium, II.16. 119 Encomium, III.13–14. 120 Orchard, “The Literary Background,” 175–6. 121 Tyler, “Talking about History,” 373, citing Matthew Townend, “Norse Poets and English Kings: Skaldic Performance in Anglo-Saxon England,” Offa 58 (2001): 269–75. 122 Matthew Townend, “Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur: Skaldic Praise-­ poetry at the Court of Cnut,” ASE 30 (2001): 175. 123 Ibid., 165. 124 M. K. Lawson, “Archbishop Wulfstan and the Homiletic Element in the Laws of Æthelred II and Cnut,” in The Reign of Cnut: King of England, Denmark and Norway, ed. Alexander R. Rumble (London: Leicester ­University Press, 1994), 161. 125 Orchard, “The Literary Background,” 158–9. 126 Encomium, III.14. 127 “As long as the earth lifts the sea, and the air lifts the earth, and his long labors turn the sun, and night follows day in heaven through the same number of signs, there will be no loyalty among sharers of rule, and all power will be intolerant of a partner.” Latin text quoted from J. D. Duff, ed. and

124  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest

128 129 130 131 132 133 134

trans., Lucan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1943), 8. The translation is my own. Stafford, 209. Stafford, 72–3, 172. Tyler, “Talking about History,” 375–7. van Houts, “The Flemish Contribution,” 125. Tyler, “From Old English to Old French,” 171–2. Diane Watt, Medieval Women’s Writing: Works by and for Women in ­England, 1100–1500 (Cambridge: Polity, 2007), 155–6. Stafford, 39.

References Andersson, Roger, ed. Constructing the Medieval Sermon. Turnhout: Brepols, 2007. Barrow, Julia S., and N. P. Brooks, eds. St. Wulfstan and His World. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005. Bates, David, Julia Crick, and Sarah Hamilton, eds. Writing Medieval Bio­graphy 750–1250: Essays in Honour of Professor Frank Barlow. ­Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2006. Bessinger, J. B., and R. P. Creed, eds. Franciplegius: Medieval and ­Linguistic Studies in Honor of Francis Peabody Magoun, Jr. New York: New York ­University Press, 1965. Bethurum, Dorothy. The Homilies of Wulfstan. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957. Reprinted 1971. Blake, E. O., ed. Liber Eliensis. London: Offices of the Royal Historical Society, 1962. Bolton, Timothy. “A Newly Emergent Mediaeval Manuscript Containing ­Encomium Emmae reginae with the Only Known Complete Text of the ­Recension Prepared for King Edward the Confessor.” Mediaeval Scandinavia 19 (2009): 205–21. Budny, Mildred. Insular, Anglo-Saxon, and Early Anglo-Norman Manuscript Art at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge: An Illustrated Catalogue. 2 vols. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1997. Cameron, Angus, Ashley Crandell Amos, Antonette diPaolo Healey, et al., eds. Dictionary of Old English: A to G online. Toronto: Dictionary of Old English Project, 2007. Campbell, Alistair, ed. Encomium Emmae Reginae. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1949. Reprinted with supplementary introduction by Simon Keynes, 1998. Chapman, Don W. “Stylistic Use of Nominal Compounds in Wulfstan’s ­Sermons.” PhD diss., University of Toronto, 1995. ———. “Germanic Tradition and Latin Learning in Wulfstan’s Echoic Compounds.” JEGP 101 (2002): 1–18. Clarke, Catherine A. M. Writing Power in Anglo-Saxon England: Texts, Hierarchies, Economies. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2012. Clemoes, Peter, and Kathleen Hughes, eds. England Before the Conquest: Studies in Primary Sources Presented to Dorothy Whitelock. Cambridge: ­Cambridge University Press, 1971.

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  125 Cross, James E., and Jennifer Morrish Tunberg, eds. The Copenhagen Wulfstan Collection: Copenhagen Kongelige Bibliotek Gl. Kgl. Sam. 1595. EEMF 25. Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1993. Dien, Stephanie. “Sermo Lupi ad Anglos: The Order and Date of the Three Versions.” NM 76 (1975): 561–70. Dobyns, Mabel Falberg. “Wulfstan’s Vocabulary: A Glossary of the Homilies with Commentary.” PhD diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 1973. Dodd, Loring Holmes. A Glossary of Wulfstan’s Homilies. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1908. Duff, J. D., ed. and trans. Lucan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1943. Fairweather, Janet. Liber Eliensis: A History of the Isle of Ely from the Seventh Century to the Twelfth. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2005. Fowler, Roger, ed. Wulfstan’s Canons of Edgar. EETS o.s. 266. London: ­Oxford University Press, 1972. Franklin, C. L. Give Me this Mountain: Life History and Selected Sermons. Edi­ ted by Jeff Todd Titon. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1989. Franzen, Christine. The Tremulous Hand of Worcester: A Study of Old English in the Thirteenth Century. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991. Godden, Malcolm, ed. Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies: Introduction, Commentary and Glossary. EETS s.s. 18. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Godden, Malcolm, Douglas Gray, and Terry Hoad, eds. From Anglo-Saxon to Early Middle English: Studies Presented to E. G. Stanley. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994. Hicks, Carola, ed. England in the Eleventh Century: Proceedings of the 1990 Harlaxton Symposium. Stamford: Paul Watkins, 1992. Hill, David. An Atlas of Anglo-Saxon England. Toronto and Buffalo: University of Toronto Press, 1981. Hobson, Jacob. “National-ethnic Narratives in Eleventh-century Literary Representations of Cnut.” ASE 43 (2014): 267–95. Hollis, Stephanie. “The Thematic Structure of the Sermo Lupi.” ASE 6 (1977): 175–95. Hollowell, Ida Masters. “Linguistic Factors Underlying Style Levels in Four Homilies of Wulfstan.” Neophilologus 61 (1977): 287–96. Holt, Robert, ed. The Ormulum, with the notes and glossary of Dr. R. M. White. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1878. Howe, Nicholas. Migration and Mythmaking in Anglo-Saxon England. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1989. Hunt, R. W., W. A. Pantin, and R. W. Southern, eds. Studies in Medieval History Presented to Frederick Maurice Powicke. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1948. Irvine, Susan. Old English Homilies from MS Bodley 343. EETS o.s. 302. ­Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. Jost, Karl. “Wulfstan und die angelsächsische Chronik.” Anglia 47 (1923): 105–23. ———. Die “Institutes of Polity, Civil and Ecclesiastical.” Bern: Francke, 1959. Ker, N. R. Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon. Oxford: ­Clarendon Press, 1957. Reprinted 1990.

126  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest Keynes, Simon. “An Abbot, an Archbishop, and the Viking Raids of 1006–7 and 1009–12.” ASE 36 (2007): 151–220. Keynes, Simon, and Rosalind Love. “Earl Godwine’s Ship.” ASE 38 (2009): 185–223. Lawson, M. K. Cnut: The Danes in England in the Early Eleventh Century. London and New York: Longman, 1993. Lewis, C. P. “The French in England before the Norman Conquest.” ­Anglo-Norman Studies 17 (1994): 123–44. Liebermann, Felix, ed. Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen. 3 vols. Halle: M. Niemeyer, 1903–1916. Reprinted Aalen: Scientia, 1960. Lionarons, Joyce Tally. The Homiletic Writings of Archbishop Wulfstan: A Critical Study. Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2010. Lischer, Richard. The Preacher King: Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Word that Moved America. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995. Marsden, Richard, ed. The Old English Heptateuch and Ælfric’s Libellus de veteri testamento et novo, Volume One: Introduction and Text. EETS o.s. 330. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Mason, Emma. St. Wulfstan of Worcester c. 1008–1095. Oxford: Blackwell, 1990. McDougall, Ian. “Some Remarks on Dorothy Bethurum’s Treatment of Glosses in MS. Bodleian Hatton 113.” ANQ 8 (1995): 3–4. Miller, Keith D. Voice of Deliverance: The Language of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Its Sources. New York: Free Press, 1992. Reprinted Athens, GA, and London: The University of Georgia Press, 1998. Morrison, Stephen. “A Reminiscence of Wulfstan in the Twelfth Century.” NM 96 (1995): 229–34. Napier, A. S. Wulfstan: Sammlung der ihm zugeschriebenen Homilien nebst Untersuchungen über ihre Echtheit. Berlin: Weidmann, 1883. Reprinted 1967. O’Brien O’Keeffe, Katherine, ed. Visible Song: Transitional Literacy in Old English Verse. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. ———. Reading Old English Texts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Orchard, Andy. “Crying Wolf: Oral Style and the Sermones Lupi.” ASE 21 (1992): 239–64. ———. “The Literary Background to the Encomium Emmae Reginae.” Journal of Medieval Latin 11 (2001): 156–83. Pons-Sanz, Sara. Norse-Derived Vocabulary in Late Old English Texts: ­Wulfstan’s Works, A Case Study. Odense: University Press of Southern ­Denmark, 2007. Robins, William. “Ancient Romance and Medieval Literary Genres: Apollonius of Tyre.” PhD diss., Princeton University, 1995. Rumble, Alexander R., ed. The Reign of Cnut: King of England, Denmark and Norway. London: Leicester University Press, 1994. Scase, Wendy, ed. Essays in Manuscript Geography: Vernacular Manuscripts of the English West Midlands from the Conquest to the Sixteenth Century. Turnhout: Brepols, 2007. Scragg, Donald, ed. “Napier’s ‘Wulfstan’ Homily XXX: Its Sources, Its Relationship to the Vercelli Book and Its Style.” ASE 6 (1977): 197–211.

Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest  127 ———. Dating and Style in Old English Composite Homilies. Cambridge: ­Department of Anglo-Saxon, Norse, and Celtic, 1998. ———. Ælfric’s Lives of Canonised Popes. Old English Newsletter Subsidia 30. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 2001. Stafford, Pauline. Queen Emma and Queen Edith: Queenship and Women’s Power in Eleventh-century England. Oxford: Blackwell, 1997. Swan, Mary, and Elaine M. Treharne, eds. Rewriting Old English in the Twelfth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Thomas, Hugh M. The English and the Normans: Ethnic Hostility, Assimilation, and Identity 1066–c. 1220. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Tinti, Francesca, ed. England and Rome in the Early Middle Ages: Pilgrimage, Art, and Politics. Turnhout: Brepols, 2014. Townend, Matthew. “Pre-Cnut Praise Poetry in Viking Age England.” RES 51 (2000): 349–70. ———. “Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur: Skaldic Praise-poetry at the Court of Cnut.” ASE 30 (2001): 145–79. ———. “Norse Poets and English Kings: Skaldic Performance in Anglo-Saxon England.” Offa 58 (2001): 269–75. ———, ed. Wulfstan, Archbishop of York: The Proceedings of the Second ­Alcuin Conference. Turnhout: Brepols, 2004. Treharne, Elaine. Living Through Conquest: The Politics of Early English, 1020–1220. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Treharne, Elaine, and Susan Rosser, eds. Early Medieval English Texts and Interpretations: Studies Presented to Donald G. Scragg. Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2002. Tyler, Elizabeth M., ed. “‘The eyes of the beholders were dazzled’: Treasure and Artifice in Encomium Emmae Reginae.” Early Medieval Europe 8 (1999): 247–70. ———. “Talking about History in Eleventh-century England: the Encomium Emmae Reginae and the Court of Harthacnut.” Early Medieval Europe 13 (2005): 359–83. ———. Conceptualizing Multilingualism in England, c. 800–c. 1250. ­Turnhout: Brepols, 2011. Ure, James, ed. The Benedictine Office: An Old English Text. Edinburgh: ­E dinburgh University Press, 1957. van Houts, Elisabeth M. C. “A Note on Jezebel and Semiramis, Two Latin ­Norman Poems from the Early Eleventh Century.” Journal of Medieval Latin 2 (1992): 18–24. ­ ngland, Watt, Diane. Medieval Women’s Writing: Works by and for Women in E 1100–1500. Cambridge: Polity, 2007. Whitelock, Dorothy. “A Note on the Career of Wulfstan the Homilist.” EHR 52.207 (1937): 460–465. ———. “Archbishop Wulfstan, Homilist and Statesman,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 4th ser., 24 (1942): 25–45. ———. “Wulfstan and the Laws of Cnut.” EHR 63 (1948): 433–52. ———, ed. Sermo Lupi ad Anglos. 3rd ed. London: Methuen and Co., Ltd., 1963. Wilcox, Jonathan, ed. “Napier’s ‘Wulfstan’ Homilies XL and XLII: Two ­A nonymous Productions of Winchester?” JEGP 90 (1991): 1–19.

128  Preaching and Politics in a Time of Conquest ———. Ælfric’s Prefaces. Durham: Durham Medieval Texts, 1994. Wogan-Browne, Jocelyn, et al., eds. Language and Culture in Medieval Britain: The French of England c. 1100–c. 1500. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2009. Wormald, Patrick. Legal Culture in the Early Medieval West: Law as Text, Image and Experience. London: The Hambledon Press, 1999. ———. The Making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century, ­Volume I: Legislation and its Limits. Oxford: Blackwell, 1999. Yeager, Stephen. From Lawmen to Plowmen: Anglo-Saxon Legal Tradition and the School of Langland. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014.

4 Old and Newer English in the West Midlands

As with any discussion of language contact, it is tempting to frame the post-Conquest survival of English as a contest with French, from which one language would emerge as the victor. Perhaps because language is a deeply rooted element of our sense of identity, both personal and communal, such narratives of conflict seem all too common in our conceptualizations of language contact. What the post-Conquest use of English shows us is, instead, a productive and creative environment where ­English and French not only coexisted, but also were enriched by the many opportunities for contact. Although it was not the privileged language of court life in the first centuries after the Conquest, English never fully lost its significance for cultural, religious, and political life in England. The various orthographical systems that were put forward in the texts this chapter examines are the products not of random fumblings for order or meaning, but rather, of the continuing significance of English for the writers who went to the trouble of producing the texts and manuscripts in question. For these writers, English was not a relic, nor an artifact, but a language in which change was clearly documented in the manuscript record and demonstrably still underway. Beyond the question of language contact, as such, an examination of English in post-Conquest England also reveals the complexities and breadth of literary communities of the period. In particular, this chapter explores moments when community appears non-obvious or even impossible on first glance. The so-called Tremulous Hand of W ­ orcester is all too easily dismissed as a kind of obsessive, almost anti-social figure whose work seems utterly isolated, even isolating. Instead, the Tremulous glosses and annotations demonstrate their own communal engagement with earlier texts, and more obviously communal, these annotations provided important support for later work on Old English texts, as we shall see in the next chapter. In a similar way, anchorites and others cloistered from the world to greater and lesser degrees, nevertheless played important roles in the production of texts and in the formation of communities that transcended the physical separation and denial of cloistered lives. This dynamic empowered women to participate in the making of texts such as the Ancrene Wisse, whether or not they possessed the skills to

130  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands carry out such work on their own. By seeking out these seemingly implausible communities, we gain a clearer image of the place of English in post-Conquest England, as well as the ways that identity and a sense of distance can be negotiated. This chapter focuses primarily on works or manuscripts produced in the West Midlands, but to do so is not to suggest that the West Midlands was the only site of textual production during the period. For example, there are several extant twelfth- or ­thirteenth-century homiliaries copied in Kent, one of which was completed in Ely.1 The West Midlands makes for a productive focus in this chapter because of its rich evidence of a longstanding textual community. We have seen Bede and Alfred taking pains to establish English as a legitimate and viable language of literature, religion, and law, and having been established on this foundation, the use of English in such contexts was sufficiently entrenched that even after Cnut’s accession, laws were still promulgated in Old English. After the Norman ­Conquest, however, the status of Old English becomes a vexed question, surrounded by uncertainty as to the duration of its use, its ability to compete with Anglo-French and Latin in either documentary or literary spheres, and its transition to Middle English. 2 Texts of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries bear witness to the most dramatic changes in morphology, orthography, and lexicon, and these changes went along with widely varying forms of early Middle English. As a result, this period in the history of English is often characterized as lacking any sense of a standard language, but as this chapter will demonstrate, there were many people who were concerned to find ways, if not of determining any sort of national standard, at least of ensuring the intelligibility of the language. In addition, we must be careful not to presume that linguistic variability was necessarily perceived as problematic for post-Conquest readers and writers.3 In the library of Worcester Cathedral, a thirteenth-century hand has glossed and annotated numerous manuscripts containing Old English, providing either Latin or Middle English equivalents, updating the spellings of Old English words, and making notes on topics relevant to his interests. Known as the “Tremulous Hand of Worcester” because of the unmistakable tremble in his handwriting, he also copied out several texts in Middle English, although the bulk of his surviving work is glossarial. Many, though not all, of the manuscripts on which the Tremulous Hand worked contain homilies. After this example of adaptation of older texts, this chapter moves on to consider a piece of original composition with the Ancrene Wisse, an early thirteenth-century text outlining the prayers and strictures of an anchoritic life for lay women. In this case, there is no evidence that the text was an adapted version of a text already extant in an older form of English, but there are indications that some early scribes of this and related texts were taking special care to record them in a systematically

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  131 updated form of English, known as the AB language.4 In addition to this, the Ancrene Wisse was a popular subject of translation and adaptation for different audiences in French and Latin, as well as English, and the scribal attention it drew and the readership this implies further illuminate aspects of the textual communities under discussion. We see in the Tremulous Hand an example of someone who read texts in an unfamiliar language and sought to make their meaning clearer, and in the versions of the Ancrene Wisse an element of a nexus of textual production and linguistic innovation. Such a nexus, of course, did not exist in a vacuum. Changes in pastoral care in this period following the Fourth Lateran Council and the local statutes it inspired suggest that the Lambeth and Trinity homilies (those contained in London, Lambeth Palace, MS 487 and Cambridge, Trinity College, MS B.14.52, respectively, and produced around 1200)5 might have been produced at the diocesan level, rather than the parochial level, as before, and that they were meant for public preaching tum ad clericos, tum ad populum, tum ad hos et illos.6 Bella Millett has further suggested a “unified theory” according to which the works of the Ancrene Wisse Group follow the Trinity and Lambeth homilies as part of a larger pastoral movement in which reforming bishops, working with friars, were the catalysts for the production of vernacular devotional literature, not only after 1215 but beginning after the Third Lateran Council in 1179 or possibly even earlier.7 This adds a layer of synchronous communal interaction to the diachronic work of the Tremulous Hand to bring texts preserved solely in archaic language into conformity with more current usage. Additionally, an active role for bishops in textual production might help to explain the interest in manuscripts of earlier vernacular material, often preserved at cathedrals.8 Whether or not earlier large-scale production of vernacular devotional literature can be found, it is clear that the twelfth century saw great activity in Old English manuscripts. Liuzza has called this activity “the shredding of a tattered veil” that had obscured changes already taking place in the English language,9 although Celia Sisam feared that the reworking around the year 1200 of Old English texts by Ælfric and Wulfstan in the early Middle English homilies contained in Lambeth 487 might have been a “last flicker” for Old English homilies.10 The Lambeth homilies may represent a late effort to engage with Old E ­ nglish literature, but they do not represent the last gasp of interest in Old ­English, as witnessed by the somewhat later industry of the ­Tremulous Hand of Worcester. Another clear witness to the ongoing interest in Old English homilies is Bodley 343, which was copied in the late twelfth century and preserves a version of Wulfstan’s Sermo Lupi ad Anglos, as well as a number of Ælfrician homilies and a collection of Latin homilies that have been identified as a version of the Homiliary of Angers.11 The presence of fifteenth-century glosses on folios 141v–143v seems to imply

132  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands that Old English texts (though in a somewhat altered state in this manuscript) were still being studied throughout the Middle Ages.12 Determining the provenance of Bodley 343 is not easy, although Worcester has emerged as a sort of “consensus candidate,” based on the range of texts, lines of transmission, and dialect of the manuscript.13 Susan Irvine suggests that section (f), which contains several items written for or adapted by Wulfstan, is likely to have come from Worcester, but she notes that the story is more complicated than that. The o ­ riginal part of CCCC 419 and 421, with which Bodley 343 shares close textual affinities, was probably written at Canterbury, with additions made at Exeter, and Exeter is also the origin of CCCC 190, with which Bodley 343 shares a common source for one of the letters written by Æ ­ lfric for Wulfstan’s use.14 In spite of these farther flung connections, it seems that the cathedral at Worcester was an important influence on the compilation of Bodley 343 in the form we have it. It is clear from the surviving contents of the library that English-language texts, particularly those associated with pastoral duties, were being copied there after the ­Norman Conquest, in the late eleventh century and into the twelfth century. Moreover, late eleventh-century Worcester calendars include saints native to the British Isles in greater numbers than earlier eleventh-­ century calendars from Worcester do.15 This seems to suggest that there was an increased emphasis, possibly from St. Wulfstan (then bishop of ­Worcester), on the native English tradition, as against the ­Norman and broader Continental traditions that had the weight of the new political regime behind them. Wulfstan and his mentor, Ealdred, then ­A rchbishop of York, by their embrace and strong support of the Norman regime at key moments, likely protected the see of Worcester from some of the potential encroachment of Norman power (such as the appointment of a N ­ orman bishop) after the Conquest.16 It is therefore striking that Wulfstan seems to have used this cushion of political accommodation to cultivate an equally powerful embrace of the native English literary and religious heritage in the decades following the Conquest. Indeed, Wulfstan was described by Eadmer of Canterbury as “unrivalled in his knowledge of the ancient customs of the English.”17 More broadly, the West Midlands was the home of active communities of producers and users of manuscripts in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and this activity was often spurred by a sense of the continuing utility of Old English books and texts, in spite of the linguistic changes manifested in these centuries. In arguing that the origin of Bodley 343 was most likely the West Midlands, Mary Swan characterizes the region as one “engaged in relatively substantial, and probably relatively organized,” production of Old English texts in the twelfth and even early thirteenth centuries, often drawing on the homiletic collections produced in the wake of the Winchester-based Benedictine Reform of the tenth century.18 Unsurprisingly at a time when the English language

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  133 was undergoing radical changes in morphology and lexicon without actually losing all trace of its Germanic origins, a tension between past and present characterizes not only the Lambeth homilies, but also the larger textual community under discussion.19 Liuzza likens late twelfth-century scribes who worked on texts copied in the eleventh century to a modern reader looking at a First Folio of Shakespeare, gradually learning a new “visual dialect” with increasing fluency. 20 There is no reason to believe that later scribes would not have undergone the same experience, and the work of the Tremulous Hand, the Bodley 343 compiler, and the AB scribes indicates that this may have gone hand-in-hand with ongoing experimentation. In other words, not only is the language flexible, but the manuscript page itself is as much a canvas for alteration as it is an immutable record of a fixed set of forms. The orthographical innovations in the Ormulum are likewise symptoms of this understanding of the written page. 21 Additionally, it is clear that the manuscript book itself was not as final a unit of production or circulation as we might expect, given our own notions of bound books as the vehicles of textual circulation. We shall see that several manuscripts containing texts from the Ancrene Wisse Group were compiled and assembled out of sometimes complicated combinations of booklets, which may or may not have always been kept together in the same library. The implication of all of this is that this textual community is characterized by a tolerance of flux in the states of books and texts. In spite of this tolerance of flux, there remain significant parallels bet­ ween the works of these readers. For example, given the similarities of language and script between the early work of the Tremulous Hand and the Nero text of the Ancrene Wisse, we have to consider the possible existence of centers of scribal training or production in the West Midlands, and it is possible that such centers might also have been pastoral or educational in nature. In light of Bella Millett’s work on the Ancrene Wisse Group, we must also consider the possibility that reforming bishops were the driving force behind the production of pastoral and devotional literature in the vernacular and that the textual activity of this milieu may indicate not tension between older, monastic preaching and newer, mendicant preaching but a shared currency and even collaboration. 22 In identifying and examining this West Midlands textual community, it is useful to consider the model that Ralph Hanna has provided for North Yorkshire. Looking for a literary community he believes he can localize to fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Ripon, Hanna begins with the vague localization known for four manuscripts. To this evidence he adds that of scribal stints, common lines of transmission, and dialect analysis to narrow the localization to Ripon. Crucially, he goes on to supplement this with a discussion of literate activity at the M ­ inster ­(including its elevated status as the devotional center at the heart of the cult of Wilfrid, who died there in 745 or 746) and of surprisingly

134  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands vigorous literary and devotional activity among prominent local families with connections far beyond the neighborhood. 23 Likewise, the current chapter addresses both the evidence internal to the manuscripts and the implications of known human activity. The most significant sites of such activity are, as with Ralph Hanna’s example, cathedrals and their libraries, where we have evidence of devotional practice, statutes governing preaching, more or less concerted scribal activity, and a unique mixing of monks, secular clergy, and laity. The demands of monastic reading culture and of pastoral care provide the motivation and direction for scribal efforts to understand and make accessible the texts contained in Old English manuscripts. Internal to the manuscripts are annotation and glossing of texts, thematic or linguistic adaption, and codicological data. The Tremulous Hand and the scribes who recorded the Ancrene Wisse found a productive space in the nonunity of the English language, both in terms of contemporary regional and other varieties, and in terms of the diachronic shifts through the centuries, which they could trace through the written record. The first task for such scribes would be to read the texts contained in Old English manuscripts, and we begin with the work of a particular scribe more famous for his attempts to read texts in Old English than for his production of texts in Middle English.

Negotiating Terms at Worcester In more than twenty medieval manuscripts, there appears a hand that is made distinctive by its varyingly prominent but ever-present tremble. The hand is usually glossing or annotating, but it is the main hand of some texts, as well. Both the handwriting and the individual responsible for it are known as the Tremulous Hand of Worcester. The Tremulous Hand appears in the following manuscripts, where the glosses accompany texts in Old English:24 CUL MS Kk.3.18 (Old English Bede); CCCC MSS 12 (Old English Pastoral Care); 178, which was then bound with 162, pp. 139–60, (homilies and Rule of Benedict); 198 (homilies); and 557 (Legend of the Cross); BL, MSS Cotton Otho B.x (homilies) and C.i, part II, (Gregory’s Dialogues and Vitae Patrum); and Harley 55 (recipes and Laws of Edgar); and Bodleian, MSS Hatton 20 (Pastoral Care); 76 (Gregory’s Dialogues and an herbal); 113; 114; 115; 116 (homilies); Junius 121 (homilies and ecclesiastical institutes); and Laud Misc. 482 (penitential). Lawrence, Kansas, University Library, MSS Y.103 and 104 are detached leaves from CCCC 557 and Hatton 115, respectively, and also contain Tremulous Hand glosses.

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  135 In the following manuscripts, the Tremulous Hand either copied at least some of the main text or glossed Latin texts: Worcester Cathedral Library, MS F.174 (written by the Tremulous Hand; Ælfric’s Grammar and Glossary, St. Bede Lament, and Soul’s Address to the Body); CCCC MS 391 (prayers and prognostics, with four lines of Old English written by the Tremulous Hand on the last leaf); Cambridge, Clare College, MS 30 and Glasgow, University ­Library, MS Hunterian 431 (Latin manuscripts of Gregory’s D ­ ialogues and Cura pastoralis, respectively, containing annotations by the ­Tremulous Hand). The Tremulous Hand built up a collection of over 50,000 annotations, 25 so presumably, he would have become relatively comfortable with late Old English spellings and inflections fairly quickly, much as Liuzza suggests would have been the case for late twelfth-century scribes. The Tremulous Hand glosses are most often into Latin, although his earliest layer of notes includes glosses into Middle English, seemingly updating Old English spellings to match at least some features of his own dialect. 26 It is worth noting here that most of the non-homiletic manuscripts on this list contain Alfredian translations or Latin source-texts translated by the Alfredian circle. Most of the texts glossed by the Tremulous Hand are in Old English, and the overwhelming majority of these manuscripts date to the eleventh century, although there are several twelfth-century manuscripts among them, and the two copies of the Alfredian Pastoral Care (Hatton 20 and CCCC 12) are dated to the late ninth and late tenth centuries, respectively. On occasion, the Tremulous Hand glosses Old English words with French or Latin words that are not otherwise attested in English (or even in Anglo-French sources) until much later.27 This progressive adoption of French forms is something the Tremulous Hand shares with the AB language of the Ancrene Wisse Group and is very suggestive of broader trends in textual and linguistic activity in the West Midlands at this time.28 In 2003, Christine Franzen made a more specific connection with the ­Ancrene Wisse Group when she suggested a link between the Tremulous Hand and the scribe of the text of the Ancrene Wisse contained in Cotton Nero A.xiv, although she stopped short of a positive identification.29 Yet another resonance with contemporary textual activity lies in the suggestion that the Tremulous Hand was preparing a preacher’s manual. This mirrors the theory that Bodley 343 (another post-Conquest manuscript showing updated Old English texts) may have been intended not for direct use in preaching but as a book to be read in preparation for preaching.30 The first time we can be sure that someone was aware of the markings of the Tremulous Hand (and in fact reading them) is when

136  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands John  Joscelyn, a Latin secretary employed by Matthew Parker, was working through some of the same manuscripts in the sixteenth century that the ­Tremulous Hand had worked on in the thirteenth century. We have no indication of the Parkerian circle’s opinions on the dating of the Tremulous Hand or of the purpose for the annotations, although they found his work extremely useful in their own study of Old English. When John Joscelyn glossed Hatton 20, he not only cribbed many of the Tremulous Hand glosses, but he also left off extracting dictionary words soon after the Tremulous Hand ceased glossing the manuscript.31 The Tremulous Hand did not receive explicit scholarly comment until the late nineteenth century, when manuscripts displaying his marks and glosses were linked with Worcester. At that point, the Tremulous Hand was understood as a transitional figure, “ein alter Man,” an old man who had known Old English in his youth and outlived its comprehensibility to straddle the transition to Middle English because the Tremulous Hand was initially dated, based on linguistic and palaeographic criteria, to the late twelfth century. 32 Previous notions on the dating of the hand were swept aside when Ker declared that the additions made by the Tremulous Hand in Hatton 114 had to have been made in the thirteenth century, around 1225 and possibly as late as 1250. Although Ker dated the ductus of the script to the late twelfth century, the Tremulous Hand had made additions and corrections to a table of contents that Ker dated, also on ­palaeographical grounds, to somewhere between 1225 and 1250.33 In light of this verdict, the theory of the old man is much less tenable because even if we recall that Old English seems to have endured longer in the West ­M idlands than in other parts of the country, it is difficult to imagine that a man old enough to have grown up speaking Old English in the eleventh or even twelfth century could still be working in the middle of the thirteenth century. Ker’s revision in the dating of the hand has clear ramifications for our understanding of the linguistic import of the Tremulous Hand’s work— whether he grew up speaking Old English or had to learn it later in life, how this skill was cultivated, and what was its relevance for his contemporaries. In his first article on the Tremulous Hand, Julius ­Zupitza had noted that the Old English inflections were generally observed and that the scribe seemed to understand what he was writing, 34 but after Ker’s article, the Tremulous Hand began to look more like a later scholar of Old English than a native speaker making a last bequest to posterity. The “old man” theory was effectively ruled out by Christine Franzen, whose identification of seven different layers of glossing or writing by the Tremulous Hand helped her to detail a methodical learning process during which the Tremulous Hand cribbed Latin glosses from other manuscripts available to him and later states of the hand corrected the glosses of earlier states. 35 Thorpe and Alty revealed in 2015 that

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  137 Franzen had reassessed the evidence and arrived at the conclusion that it was only possible to distinguish between earlier glosses into ­M iddle English and later glosses into Latin, with a much greater tremor, 36 but the fundamental shape of the trajectory remains the same. Although Franzen documented early errors by the Tremulous Hand, his spelling was consistently good. 37 The implication is that the errors were unlikely to stem from a cognitive impairment, but rather, from inexperience or unfamiliarity with the words. The implications of this evidence are significant: It seems that the Tremulous Hand’s initial knowledge of Old English was not extensive and that at least his early work was partly motivated by his own unfamiliarity with the language. The Tremulous Hand was not the first reader to respond to a sense of widening distance between his own early Middle English and the Old English of these texts, but he is the first we know to have embarked on such a sustained course of study.38 There were earlier scribes who left annotations in Old English manuscripts, as in Liuzza’s study of late twelfth-century scribes, but it is unusual to be able to clearly trace the work of a single individual across such a large number of manuscripts. The Tremulous Hand was probably working with Old English manuscripts for a period of at least five to ten years, 39 but even so, an essential tremor is more consistent with the state of the handwriting than either Parkinson’s disease or old age.40 One of the most fundamental aspects of his work is that if he was not old enough to have learned to speak Old English or at least to have studied with someone who spoke Old English, then his study of the language was only possible through the pages of books. It is theoretically possible that a tradition of study of spoken Old English was sustained near Worcester into the thirteenth century, when the Tremulous Hand was working, but we have no evidence for such a practice. The evidence we do have is that the Tremulous Hand was reliant not on other experienced speakers or even other experienced readers of Old English, but rather on other texts. This seemingly exclusive reliance on texts for experience with the language and for access to earlier preaching material places the Tremulous Hand in a textual community centered on the manuscripts he examined. The possible connection between the Tremulous Hand and the Nero Ancrene Wisse scribe adds to this textual emphasis a more contemporary communal dimension. More specifically, this connection gives us a link between two scribes who seem to have been working on different kinds of texts for different audiences. The Ancrene Wisse text was, in its apparently original form, directed at female recluses, not at parish priests or at coenobitic monks or nuns, but in spite of this, it seems to have more of a presence in the world than did the Tremulous Hand anno­ tations and texts. Whereas there are clear indications that the Ancrene Wisse was circulating widely throughout that period, subject to frequent revision and translation in spite of its ostensibly reclusive audience, we

138  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands have no evidence that any Tremulous Hand texts were being read until John Joscelyn began using them in the sixteenth century, although this certainly does not rule out the possibility. A closer examination of specific examples of the Tremulous Hand’s work will give a clearer picture of his methods. While working with Æ ­ lfric’s Old English text of the Nicene Creed, the Tremulous Hand read Ic gelyfe on ænne god in Hatton 114, and he added the familiar Latin text as an interlinear gloss. Then, when the Tremulous Hand wrote his own version of the Nicene Creed in English on a flyleaf in Junius 121 that opening had become Ic ileue on enne god. The Tremulous Hand’s version of the Nicene Creed is the earliest known Middle English version, and that this first appearance in Middle English occurred in the context of a great deal of experimentation in written English by the Tremulous Hand and others is not coincidental. In the following transcription, we can see the T ­ remulous Hand’s interlinear markings above the Ælfrician text of the Creed ­(Hatton 114, f. 247r), followed by the opening lines of the updated Middle E ­ nglish text of the Creed as written by the Tremulous Hand (Junius 121, f. vir). The glossing at the beginning of the text is unusually dense by the standards of the Tremulous Hand and is probably due to the fact that the Tremulous Hand would have known this text by heart, which was not likely to have been true in other cases where he used Latin texts as cribs for his glossing.41 One anomaly is that although most of the Latin glossing by the Tremulous Hand adheres to the Nicene Creed, creatorem in the second line is drawn from the Apostles’ Creed, where the Nicene has factorem. [a] From Old English Creed with Interlinear Tremulous Hand Glosses (Hatton 114, f. 247r)   credo i |42 vnum deum patrem omnipotentem 247r/  Ic gelyfe on ænne god fæder ælmihtigne . 43/   creatorem   celi terre omnium i   wyrcend heofonan . & eorþan . & ealra ge- /   i   sewenlicra þinga . & ungesewenlicra . & /     in vnum     |    vniginitum   on ænne crist . hælend drihten þone an- /    | 5  cennedan godes sunu . of þam fæder acen- /     |   ned .’ ær ealle worulda . god of gode . leoht .’ /   of leohte . soðne god .’ of soðum gode . acen- /   | i consubstancialem   nedne . na geworhtne . efen edwistlicne /     patri   þam fæder .

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  139 [b] From the Tremulous Hand’s Early Middle English Version (Junius 121, f. vir) 16 20

Ic íleue on enne god fæder almihti . wurchend heo- / uene & eorþe . & alle iseienliche þíng . & vniseienliche . / & on enne crist . helend drihten . þene ancenneden / godes sunu . of þam fæder akenned ær alre worlde . / god of gode . liht of lihte . soþ god of soðe gode . / akenned nout iwrouht . efenedwistlicne þan fæder . /

Glossing for lexical reasons is certainly an important part of the ­Tremulous Hand’s work, but another significant aspect of his work is his collection of orthographical or phonological updates. Writing of similar updates that are common in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries, Elaine Treharne interprets such updates as a sign of a “relatively competent and confident scribe, who is something of an editor of the material being copied.”44 The single most common mark on the pages written on by the Tremulous Hand is the little tick that appears above Old English verbs beginning with the perfective prefix ge- to indicate the Middle E ­ nglish spelling . The Tremulous Hand is very thorough, even relentless, in including this update, which also helps the Tremulous Hand to account for word separation and to distinguish between homographs. When the second person plural pronoun appears, the Tremulous Hand is consistent in glossing it with uos, and it is very characteristic for the Tremulous Hand to distinguish carefully between homographs like this and to indicate word separation where there might be confusion. Bethurum gives as examples wære (“aware, wary”) and wær(e) (“were” or the feminine noun for “covenant”).45 The Tremulous Hand seems to distinguish between orthographical or phonological updates, on the one hand, and glosses, on the other hand. In lines 1, 3, and 8 of Hatton 114, folio 247r, the Tremulous Hand has entered below the level of the other glosses. In line 1, this replaces the original in on, whereas in lines 3 and 8, it replaces the initial in ­ungesewenlicra and geworhtne, respectively. By contrast with these annotations, line 4 has Tremulous Hand glosses that clearly indicate in vnum, with suspension marks to indicate the final consonants in each word. This indicates a systematic and subtle approach to the project of annotating Old English texts, rather than a haphazard scattering of notes. The Tremulous Hand is also very consistent in handling Old ­English when used between vowels. Between back vowels, as in agan, it is a voiced velar fricative, which the Tremulous Hand replaces with a supra­ lineal wynn. Between front vowels, when is a palatal, as in ege, the Tremulous Hand adds an . Vocalic updates are sprinkled throughout the texts he glosses, but the changes are less consistent than with the bet­ween vowels or the perfective prefix. In the following passage from an Old English homily by Wulfstan, we see frequent substitutions by the

140  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands Tremulous Hand for the perfective prefix, as well as occasional Latin glosses and an example of a vocalic update, for in gelyfað in the first line of folio 65r. In this example, as in most of his work, all of the ­Tremulous Hand’s glosses are into Latin, and the mixture of interlinear and marginal glossing is characteristic. John Joscelyn, on the contrary, generally glosses into English, as in the following Wulfstan passage with Tremulous Hand annotations, where Joscelyn’s additions are indicated in bold.46 [c] From Bethurum’s Homily VIIa (Junius 121, ff. 64v–65r)   Leofan men utan don swa us mycel þearf is /     constantem i    hope   habban ánrædne geleafan & fulne hiht /   on urne drihten · & se ðe þurh ledenspræce / i   rihtne geleafan understandan ne cunne /   i   i 20  geleornige huru on englisc · & cweðe þus gelome · / credo   Credimus in unum deum patrem et filium /    i   et spiritum sanctum · We gelyfað on ænne god /    i     i   ælmihtigne þe ealle ðinc gesceop & geworhte /   i e /65r/  & we gelyfað & georne witan · þæt crist godes /   sunu to mannum com · for ealles mancyn /    i   nes ðearfe · & we gelyfað þæt hine clæne /   i    |   mæden gebære SANCTA MARIA · þe næfre nahte /  i      i 5  weres gemanan · & we gelyfað þæt he mycel / strongly   i  pertulit  du  re47     |   geðolode & stiðlice þrowode for ure ealra /   neode · We know nothing about the process by which the Tremulous Hand learned to read Old English, but his work as seen in the examples above gives us at least indirect evidence. We can guess from the kinds of changes the Tremulous Hand makes—it seems reasonable to infer that

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  141 the orthographical changes such as the substitution for the Old ­English perfective prefix or the substitutions for medial indicate that the ­Tremulous Hand was guessing based on similarities in his own form of English. We can also guess from the kinds of errors he makes (most frequently, mistaken meanings when he tries to guess based on context, but also occasional difficulties with Anglo-Saxon graphs). Additionally, we must not mistake the accurate recognition of older linguistic forms for a genuine understanding of either lexis or syntax, although the Tremulous Hand gives us a glimpse of an unusually sustained interest in the study of the Old English language. As someone literate in both Latin and English, the Tremulous Hand is most likely to have been a cleric of some sort, and given the range of topics covered in the passages he annotated, including practical and specific doctrinal points relating to the daily lives of laypeople and thus of interest to priests, the Tremulous Hand may well have been a priest. In spite of this, it is unlikely that he could have held an appointment to an outlying parish and still have spent the necessary hours in the cathedral library to produce his glosses and annotations. Based on the extended period of time during which he must have had access to manuscripts from the cathedral library at Worcester, the Tremulous Hand may have been a monk.48 If he was, then he would have been of the right age to have been influenced by Senatus, the prior who is known for his interest in Anglo-Saxon saints.49 Marilyn Butler has even suggested that the Tremulous Hand might have completed his version of Ælfric’s Grammar and Glossary under the direction of Senatus. In such an environment, where Anglo-Saxon texts were under scrutiny and where the concerns of the Fourth Lateran Council over the education of priests were speedily addressed at the diocesan level, 50 it is possible that the Tremulous Hand was assembling a preaching notebook either for himself or for use as a manual, and he may even have been interested in teaching Latin via English.51 Whether for his own benefit or for that of students, the Tremulous Hand displays a staggering thoroughness in his linguistic work. This work must have taken many years, but throughout the various layers of his glossing, the Tremulous Hand continued to make phonological updates, 52 implying that he had a real interest in the linguistic gap itself, in the simultaneous familiarity and unfamiliarity of the language of these texts. The very fact that he continued any kind of updating or glossing for such a long time attests to this interest. If such an effort seems to speak of pedantry and isolation, then we should remember that, whether for preaching or pedagogy, the ultimate aims of the Tremulous Hand look outward and gesture towards a wider network of scribes and literates who found reasons and, more importantly, ways to maintain contact with the texts and books of Anglo-Saxon England well past the period when Old English was spoken.

142  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands

A Community of Solitaries From the work of later scribes on Old English texts, we move now to an example of fresh composition. The linguistic updating visible in the Middle English versions of the Ancrene Wisse is all the more striking since the text is not, so far as the negative evidence of the lack of versions in older forms of English may be construed as proof, simply adapted from a text previously extant in some variety of Old English or early Middle English. The so-called AB language, in particular, gives evidence of systematic linguistic conformity across the work of multiple scribes, implying a coordinated project to utilize a single, coherently updated language, as we shall see. The Ancrene Wisse, likely composed in the early thirteenth century, betrays an extensive community of readers and also of writers, who adapted, translated, and copied the text repeatedly for new readers. At first glance, this seems contradictory, since the text was directed ­towards anchorites, 53 who theoretically live in isolation from the world, but there is little indication that their lives were truly cut off from external contact. This chapter provides further evidence that anchorites, though they may or may not have taken on active roles, were nevertheless implicated in larger textual communities. Anne Savage writes of a “community of solitaries” with whom (though not by whom) the Ancrene Wisse was written by someone who had long experience hearing their confessions and who may well have undertaken the task at their request and with their help. 54 Cate Gunn’s argument that the life of the anchoresses and the text of the Ancrene Wisse show similarities with the life and sermons of the continental beguines also suggests that there may have been wider networks along which anchoritic texts circulated. 55 This tension between, on the one hand, the anchoritic rejection of the world or isolation from society and, on the other hand, the apparent networks of anchoritic textual production and circulation illustrate the virtual qualities of textual communities. In other words, the Ancrene Wisse and its diffusion among a variety of audiences show us how textual communities offer to individuals who do not share physi­ cal proximity or linguistic identity the chance to engage in a kind of communal interaction. In discussing the readership of the Ancrene Wisse, the question of lite­ racy, particularly female literacy, becomes important. As in discussing Alfred’s literacy, women’s literacy in the thirteenth century may sometimes be a matter of literate practices or a literate mentality such that texts were valued for the transmission of ideas and for the symbolic value of having access to written texts. Elizabeth Robertson sees reading as ultimately liberating for these women, even though she believes that women would have been more likely to be reading in English or French (rather than having been trained in Latin), with their access mediated

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  143 by men. In spite of these apparent limitations, reading offered literate women a new way of experiencing the world.56 Middle English versions of the Ancrene Wisse survive in nine manu­ scripts, most of which date to the thirteenth or fourteenth century: CCCC 402 (MS A; s. xiii); BL Cotton Cleopatra C.vi (MS C; s. xiii1); Cambridge, Gonville and Caius College, MS 234/120 (MS G; s. xiii 2); Oxford, Bodleian Library, Eng. th. c. 70 (MS H; s. xiv1); BL Cotton Nero A.xiv (MS N; s. xiii 2/4); Cambridge, Magdalene College, Pepys 2498 (MS P; c. 1365–75); BL, Royal 8 C.i (MS R; s. xv); BL Cotton Titus D.xviii (MS T; s. xiii 2/4); and Bodleian, Eng. poet. a.I (MS V; s. xiv4, probably after 1384). A Latin translation appears in four extant manuscripts with a fifth now lost: Oxford, Magdalen College, Latin 67 (MS Ma; c. 1400); ­Oxford, Merton College, C.I.5 (MS Me; s. xiv1); BL, Royal 7 C.x (MS R 2; s. xvi); and BL Cotton Vitellius E.vii (MS V1; s.xiv). Two different translations into French were made, the earlier preserved in BL Cotton Vitellius F.vii (MS F; s. xiii or s. xivin) and the later translation appearing in three manuscripts: Oxford, Bodleian Library, Bodley 90 (MS Bd; s. xiii or s. xiv); Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, Fonds français 6276 (MS BN; s. xiv); and Cambridge, Trinity ­College, MS 883 (MS Tr; s. xiii or s. xiv). 57 These versions, spanning several centuries and three languages, speak to the contemporary popularity of the text, particularly in a period when we so often expect that the direction of translation was more likely to be from, not into, Latin. That the number of non-English manuscripts nearly equals the number of English manuscripts suggests further that the text’s appeal in other languages was not merely limited to the occasional enthusiast but must have been fairly broad. 58 This also serves as a warning against the assumption that written English was less influential than written French or Latin in the centuries after the Norman Conquest, since we have ample evidence in the Ancrene Wisse manuscripts that English could be a source-language as much as target-language. Even by themselves, the Middle English versions inform our understanding of the linguistic situation in England from the thirteenth century on. The pull between past and present seen in the form and contents of Bodley 343 is also visible in the so-called AB language, identified by Tolkien in 1929 from CCCC 402 (MS A, an early manuscript of the Ancrene Wisse) and Bodley 34 (MS B, which contains the “ ­ Katherine Group” texts).59 These manuscripts are written in clearly differing hands, yet they display close linguistic similarities, suggesting an adherence to some kind of school.60 As we shall see, there seems to be a conscious and coordinated attempt to devise a systematic orthography for English. The question of how to craft a form of English that would be comprehensible and pronounceable seems to have been especially on the mind

144  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands or minds of those preparing texts that are now considered to be examples of the AB language. The AB texts display particularly interesting solutions to the problem of the Old English consonants that are sometimes palatalized between vowels. Whereas the Tremulous Hand marks the palatal with a superscript and what would once have been a voiced velar fricative with a superscript wynn, the AB scribes mark the fricative with (an unusual strategy for the Middle English period but one with precedents in the Old English period),61 and follow the traditional Old English distinction of representing the plosive /g/ by the ­Caroline and the palatal semi-vowel by the Insular . The AB scribes also distinguish the palatal , which stands for /tʃ/, from or spellings for the plosive (before back and front vowels, respectively) by using a French-derived spelling for the palatal.62 In light of these details, recent scholars have not resisted the urge to pigeon-hole the AB language, maintaining the emphasis on its associations with “the ascetic and the studious” and its “acquaintance with ‘the pen.’”63 As a language preserved in books, AB could hardly avoid an acquaintance with the pen, and the sense of otherworldliness strikes wide of the mark when dealing with a text, like the Ancrene Wisse, which has been translated and reshaped for so many different audiences. Even though the text was directed towards recluses, it is clear from the warnings given to them about dining with others,64 keeping cows or other animals,65 and selling goods66 that there must have been some kind of contact with people outside of the anchorhold. Warning the anchoresses against the words of evil tongues, the author instructs them to warn each other immediately, Vre meistre haueð iwriten us as in heast to halden þet we tellen him al þet euch of oþer hereð, and goes on to advise them, Euch noðele[s] warni oþer, þurh ful siker sondesmon, ­sweteliche ant luueliche as hire leoue suster, of þing þet ha misnimeð, ȝef ha hit wat to soðe.67 Such a system of mutual advice and warning belies the idea that the anchoresses lived entirely without human contact. We should be careful not to equate the AB language with the content of the Ancrene Wisse, but it is nevertheless difficult to reconcile the image of an otherworldly scribe with the communal practicalities of a text that seems surprisingly connected to worldly life. Further evidence of some sort of communication between those associated with the Ancrene Wisse comes from the use of the AB language, which appears to have been a fairly coordinated effort, possibly with a single center as the authoritative body. d’Ardenne is certain that texts were moving back and forth between the AB center and other centers where they were copied68 —and texts must have moved with people, although this is not to say that the texts were moving back and forth from the anchoresses to whom the Ancrene Wisse was directed. Rather, this suggests, again, an active network of textual production, perhaps like that identified by Ralph Hanna in Yorkshire.69

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  145 As noted above, Anne Savage recognizes a “community of solitaries” who were, if not authors of the text, central to and influential on its composition,70 and as we have seen, the very content of the Ancrene Wisse makes it clear that the anchoresses must have had opportunities of engaging with those who still lived openly in the world. Moreover, the language of the text suggests that there was already some understanding on the part of the anchoresses of the structure of what became the Ancrene Wisse, as when the author identifies the eight divisions of the rule, þet ȝe cleopieð dalen (“which you call parts”), a statement that only makes sense if the author knew that there had already been some kind of discussion of the form that a rule for anchoresses should take.71 A parallel with Bodley 343, on the other hand, emerges in the ­pecia-style copying of the Cleopatra manuscript of the Ancrene Wisse. The use of peciae was a consequence of the rise of universities in the late twelfth century, and the term refers to the unbound quires of a manuscript that could be hired out by students to copy or have them copied, thereby building up complete copies of a text without removing the full manuscript from circulation for as long as it would take to have the entirety copied.72 The evidence in the Cleopatra manuscript gives a clearer picture of the production of this copy than do the Vernon and Simeon manuscripts, where losses in both manuscripts have obscured some of the possible parallels,73 and it appears that the Cleopatra manuscript was one of two copies being prepared at one time, with two scribes passing sections back and forth so that only a third of the exemplar need have been out of the anchoresses’ possession at any one time.74 A distinctive feature of the various texts of the Ancrene Wisse, among Middle English texts more generally, is their strikingly early adoption of French words and spellings. The difficulty lies in distinguishing bet­ ween one author’s “idiolectal” bilingualism and one text’s reflection of societal bilingualism within the scribal class of the period. This is compounded when, as in the present case, there is so little written evidence to shed light on the relative states of Middle English and Anglo-French, and this is what makes the Middle English versions of the Ancrene Wisse so valuable as evidence of language contact and of the coexistence of the two languages long before we have much other documentary evidence.75 The Middle English CCCC 402 text, for example, shows lexical and other similarities with the Anglo-Norman Vitellius F.vii text.76 Trotter suggests that a plausible interpretation of these similarities would be that the Corpus text was composed in a “substantially bilingual environment,” leading to large numbers of French loan-words and other morphological and syntactical features in the Middle English text, and that the Vitellius text was composed on the basis of either an ancestor of the Corpus text or a text closely related to the Corpus text.77 Thus, far from undermining the status of the Corpus text as a witness to innovation and revitalization in the use of English, this familiarity with French is in

146  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands fact another indication of the rich linguistic matrix for English textual production, as rich after the Norman Conquest as it had been before. The willingness to live with linguistic variance has resonances in the content of some of these texts. The Ancrene Wisse expects the anchoresses to find their own, varying ways of living out its guidelines: For sum is strong, sum unstrong ant mei ful wel beo cwite ant paie Godd mid leasse. Sum is clergesse, sum nawt ant mot [t]e mare wurchen ant on oðer wise seggen hire bonen. Sum is ald ant eðelich ant is þe leasse dred of, sum is ȝung ant luuelich ant is neod betere warde.78 In a similar spirit, the Latin interpolations in the Ancrene Wisse were sometimes translated and sometimes left untranslated, suggesting that the text is ready for readers of all abilities, each navigating along a slightly different path through the work. As with the parables of the New Testament, the text of the Ancrene Wisse offers various levels of meaning to those with the appropriate sensibilities.79 In this way, the content of the text parallels the external linguistic situation. In comparison with the apparently more learned AB language, the Nero text of the Ancrene Wisse, contained in the Cotton manuscript Nero A.xiv, has been dismissed rather slightingly with its “busy redactor”80 and “fussy and interfering scribe,”81 in spite of the fact that the Nero scribe is also trying to find a coherent written representation of his form of English. The manuscript is dated to the second quarter of the thirteenth century and localized to Worcestershire, and as mentioned before, the suggestion of even a link between the Tremulous Hand and the scribe of the Nero Ancrene Wisse has significant ramifications for our understanding of the textual culture of the West Midlands in the early thirteenth century and for our sense of the kinds of textual communities that were at work. The slighting characterizations of the Nero scribe, anxious to mold the text to match his own linguistic profile, are strikingly reminiscent of the Tremulous Hand’s project to bring Old ­English texts into a form of E ­ nglish recognizable and comprehensible to readers of his day, whether or not this meant matching his own dialect in every particular. If the Tremulous Hand or someone trained with the Tremulous Hand was producing copies of the Ancrene Wisse, then it would be the first specific link between the Ancrene Wisse and Worcester Cathedral and ­Priory. Worcester was one of the dioceses precocious in adopting the decrees of the Fourth Lateran Council, and such a link at least in reproduction (if not in composition) would reinforce Bella Millett’s “unified theory” of the production of Ancrene Wisse Group texts.82 It would not tell us any more about who might have served as the spiritual director for the anchorites in the West Midlands, but it would indicate that even if the director were not affiliated with the cathedral, the resources of a cathedral scriptorium would not necessarily have been beyond the reach of someone wishing to copy, or have copied, a text such as the Ancrene Wisse.

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  147 Returning to the question of the Tremulous Hand’s possible involvement in copying of the Ancrene Wisse, we have two possibilities. If the Tremulous Hand is the hand of the Nero text of the Ancrene Wisse, then we have found the first hint that anything written by the Tremulous Hand was being read and transmitted before John Joscelyn discovered his work in the sixteenth century. The identification of the Tremulous Hand with the Nero scribe would also link the texts read and written by the Tremulous Hand with the remarkably active community of readers, adherents, adaptors, and copyists of the Ancrene Wisse. In this scenario, either the Tremulous Hand was so involved in the textual communities around him that he managed to get his hand in on at least this one version of the Ancrene Wisse, or the circulation of versions of the Ancrene Wisse was so pervasive that it reached the Tremulous Hand as well as the many other competent linguist-scribes who produced versions of it. If, on the contrary, the Tremulous Hand was not responsible for the Nero text, then we are nevertheless left with the conclusion that multiple people in the same geographic area at around the same time were attempting to find distinctive written expressions of their language. Not even the original text of the Ancrene Wisse would have been in the Old English that the Tremulous Hand encountered, but that only makes the urge to update all the more intriguing. In this second scenario, we have, on Franzen’s evidence, signs of common training in terms of both linguistic and palaeographical aspects of production. It is possible that the Tremulous Hand and the Nero scribe both received training at a single center, and this raises the question of the other activities of such a center and whether it might have served a broader educational purpose, training clergy as well as scribes. It could, in fact, have been linked to the kind of environment that Irvine, Richards, and Webber see in the mixing of religious, clergy, and laity at cathedral monasteries. In fact, cathedral libraries played a central role in the textual communities discussed in this chapter. As the sites of libraries, cathedrals provided manuscripts out of which preaching texts were drawn, and they were also home to parishes in which such texts were used and from which they were dispersed to outlying parish churches. Many of the manuscripts on which the Tremulous Hand worked and out of which the compiler of Bodley 343 (or its exemplar) drew material were housed in the library at Worcester Cathedral. Bella Millett, Ralph Hanna, and Elaine Treharne have all argued for the importance of cathedral communities in textual production and circulation. Particularly in Millett’s discussion of the West Midlands, the need for preaching texts is seen to drive much of the textual activity emanating from diocesan centers, such as the Trinity and Lambeth homilies, but it was not so simple as merely recopying homilies out of manuscripts in the cathedral libraries. Large numbers of eleventh-century collections of Old English homilies survive from cathedral libraries. In order for the diocesan statutes on vernacular

148  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands preaching that followed the Third and Fourth Lateran Councils to be put into effect, it would make sense for the written forms preserved in these manuscripts to be updated to produce spoken forms that would be familiar to the listeners. Beyond that, the combination of factors needed to sustain the kind of manuscript production that continued to develop the English-language tradition was probably not very common, since it required not merely Old English exemplars and the resources to produce new copies, but also scribes and compilers or supervisors who saw value in the project of annotating and copying English texts.83 Treharne has also cautioned against a casual assumption that homiletic manuscripts were intended for public, lay use, although such use may have occurred on occasion.84 Another crucial connection made in the cathedrals is that between the Ancrene Wisse Group and homiletic production. If Millett’s reading of the cooperative relationship between reforming bishops and the new orders of friars is accurate, then texts were either emanating from or at least receiving impetus and justification from diocesan centers, although they circulated more widely with friars or other readers.85 We should bear in mind Mary Swan’s note that the West Midlands saw substantial vernacular textual production, including in Old English, during this period,86 and also the suggestion that the booklets used in the compilation of Bodley 343 may have been traveling more widely than within a single library.87 Once again, the example of the Vernon and Simeon manuscripts is enlightening: sometimes borrowing from each other, sometimes mining sources independently, neither manuscript can be consistently viewed as a precursor to the other with regard to their shared texts.88 The layouts of the two manuscripts are distinct, but although it is unlikely that either was intended as a replica of the other, the shared material suggests that the two manuscripts were not conceived independently. The implication is that even in a single library or workshop, related material may often have been compiled in varying and discontinuous, if inter-related, ways. This suggests a model of textual production that is inextricably linked with communities of readers (or listeners) and writers, not only at major centers of manuscript production at the most prominent cathedrals or monasteries, but also through networks of friars, recluses, and others who collaborated in the production, copying, translation, and use of texts in all three of the most high-status languages in England at the time. In spite of occasional scholarly comment on the Tremulous Hand’s interest in “Englishness” and on the ways this is reminiscent of Alfred’s concern that a body of texts has become linguistically inaccessible,89 there are very significant differences. The languages at stake are different: the Tremulous Hand, the AB scribes, and the Nero Ancrene Wisse scribe are trying to work out the shape of English, or the respective shapes of various sorts of English. As linguists well know, the English

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  149 language is changing constantly, but behind these manuscripts, we see an assortment of literate people who are particularly conscious of that fact. These writers are not necessarily concerned to halt a decline (as when we insist on standard usage while marking undergraduate essays) so much as they are intent on safeguarding an intelligible form. From our vantage point in a society that relies on a highly standardized written language, it is all too easy to describe this period in the history of English as one best characterized with reference to a very fragmentary and fundamentally localized linguistic map. That is to say, “English” in this period is marked by very distinctive dialectal variation and has more the look of an assortment of closely related languages than of a single normative usage, and the period has even been labeled as a time when “any sort of national or even provincial standard could scarcely be imagined.”90 It is true that this period proves that the possible solutions to linguistic and orthographic conundrums are multiple and distinctive, but we need not assume that such scribes were working to create a national standard in order to credit them with an awareness of the problem of intelligibility. If there are differing forms of English coexisting, then the problem of intelligibility is also one of contemporary relevance, with fewer overtones of antiquarianism, and we should be wary of any impulse to treat these activities as quaint hobbies lacking the immediate significance that they in fact show. Instead, the textual community that drove these acti­ vities not only reached back to draw on the support for English verna­ cular writings in the Anglo-Saxon period, but also provided what was to become, as we shall see in the next chapter, a crucial link between these Anglo-Saxon texts and their early modern readers. Moreover, the evidence of this period is not only that English remained a vital force in textual production and communal identity, but also that there is no need to ask why English “won out” over French, since it never ceded the field.

Notes 1 Elaine Treharne, Living Through Conquest: The Politics of Early English, 1020–1220 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 130–1. 2 See for example Norman Blake’s introduction to The Cambridge History of the English Language, Vol. II: 1066–1476, ed. Norman Blake (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 5–15 et passim. 3 Elaine Treharne, “Reading from the Margins: The Uses of Old English Homiletic Manuscripts in the Post-Conquest Period,” in Beatus Vir: Studies in Early English and Norse Manuscripts in Memory of Phillip Pulsiano, ed. A. N. Doane and Kirsten Wolf (Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2006), 333–7. 4 J. R. R. Tolkien, “Ancrene Wisse and Hali Meiðhad,” Essays and Studies 14 (1929): 104–26. 5 Bella Millett, “The Pastoral Context of the Trinity and Lambeth Homilies,” in Essays in Manuscript Geography: Vernacular Manuscripts of the English

150  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands West Midlands from the Conquest to the Sixteenth Century, ed. Wendy Scase (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 44–5, places the Trinity manuscript in the East Midlands, written probably in the late twelfth century, and the ­Lambeth manuscript in the West Midlands, written in the first quarter of the thirteenth century or possibly a bit earlier. Millett believes that they could still have common or at least related pastoral contexts, in spite of the geographic spread, because of the five sermons shared uniquely between these two manuscripts. 6 Ibid., 52–60. “Sometimes to clerics, sometimes to the populace, sometimes to the former and the latter.” 7 Ibid., 60–1. Bella Millett, ed., Ancrene Wisse: A Corrected Edition of the Text in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 402, with Variants from Other Manuscripts, EETS o.s. 325–326 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005–2006), II.xxvii, lists West Midlands bishops known to have favored reform in the thirteenth century. 8 N. R. Ker, English Manuscripts in the Century After the Norman Conquest: The Lyell Lectures 1952–3 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1960), 4–9. 9 Roy Michael Liuzza, “Scribal Habit: The Evidence of the Old English ­G ospels,” in Swan and Treharne, Rewriting Old English, 145. 10 Celia Sisam, “The Scribal Tradition of the Lambeth Homilies,” RES n.s. 2 (1951): 110, n. 2. 11 Aidan Conti, “The Circulation of the Old English Homily in the Twelfth Century: New Evidence from Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Bodley 343,” in Kleist, The Old English Homily, 365–402. 1 2 Bethurum, 106, and Franzen, Tremulous Hand, 109–10, both discuss this. 13 See Irvine, Old English Homilies, liii, and Aidan Conti, “Circulation,” 371–2. 14 Irvine, Old English Homilies, li. See also Pope, Homilies of Ælfric: A Supplementary Collection, 82–3, and Ker, Catalogue, nos. 68–69, on the origin of CCCC 419 and 421, for Bodley 343 items 66, 71, 72. See also Ker, no. 45, on the origin of CCCC 190, which shares a source for item 67 in Bodley 343. 15 Emma Mason, St. Wulfstan of Worcester, c. 1008–1095 (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1990), 205. 16 Ann Williams, “The Cunning of the Dove: Wulfstan and the Politics of ­Accommodation,” in Barrow and Brooks, St. Wulfstan and his World, 26. 17 Ibid., 30–31. See also, in the same volume, Andy Orchard, “Parallel Lives: Wulfstan, William, Coleman and Christ,” 40, on Wulfstan’s alleged “habit of expounding in English the mealtime readings from improving texts, which were presumably in Latin.” 18 Mary Swan, “Constructing Preacher and Audience,” in Andersson, Constructing the Medieval Sermon, 187. 19 For the state of the English language in this period, see Blake, Cambridge History of the English Language, Vol. II: 1066–1476. Laura Wright discusses multilingualism and historical sociolinguistics in “The Languages of Medieval Britain,” in A Companion to Medieval English Literature and Culture, c. 1350–c. 1500, ed. Peter Brown (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2007), 143–58. For scribal strategies of dealing with language, see Michael Benskin and Margaret Laing, “Translations and Mischsprachen in Middle English Manuscripts,” in So meny people longages and tonges: Philo­logical Essays in Scots and Medieval English Presented to Angus McIntosh, ed. Michael Benskin and M. L. Samuels (Edinburgh: Middle English Dialect Project, 1981), 55–106. This work is summarized and supplemented with a

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  151

2 0 21 22 23 2 4 2 5 2 6

27 2 8 2 9

3 0 31 32

“Reception Theory of scribal reading” by Liuzza, 143–65. Jeremy J. Smith also takes up the relationship between speech and writing in “Issues of ­Linguistic Categorisation in the Evolution of Written Middle English,” in Medieval Texts in Context, ed. Graham D. Caie and Denis Renevey ­(London: Routledge, 2008), 211–24. Liuzza, 145. For Orm’s attention to orthography, see Thomas Hahn, “Early Middle ­English,” in The Cambridge History of Medieval English Literature, ed. David Wallace (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 85–7. Bella Millett, “The Ancrene Wisse Group,” in A Companion to Middle ­English Prose, ed. A. S. G. Edwards (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2004), 10. See also Millett, “Pastoral Context,” 60–1. Ralph Hanna, “Some North Yorkshire Scribes and Their Context,” in ­Caie and Renevey, 167–91. For discussion of these manuscripts, the bulk of which contain at least some homilies, see Franzen, The Tremulous Hand of Worcester, 29–83, summarized on pages 79–83. Franzen, 2. See Franzen, Tremulous Hand, 11–12, on the earliest layer of g­ lossing, known as the D state. Christine Franzen, “The Tremulous Hand of ­Worcester and the Nero Scribe of the Ancrene Wisse,” Medium Ævum 72 (2003): 16–17, characterizes the Tremulous Hand as not a literatim copyist, but “one whose copies were strongly marked by his local dialect.” Franzen, Tremulous Hand, 2–4, 27–8, and 99–102. Franzen, Tremulous Hand, 99–102. See also Franzen, “Nero Scribe,” 14–9, on Smith’s feeling that the Nero Ancrene Wisse scribe had a “dialectallyconfident handling of the vernacular.” Franzen, “Nero Scribe,” 19–26, notes similarities with D-layer English glosses and affinities of lexical choice and script. The D-layer glosses were more orthographically progressive and consistent than the Tremulous Hand’s later English work, like texts in Worcester Cathedral MS F.174 and the B- and M-layer glosses (14). Franzen concludes that “the Nero manuscript and the D layer glosses cannot be far apart in either time or place” (27). Aidan Conti, “Preaching Scripture and Apocrypha: A Previously Unidentified Homiliary in an Old English Manuscript, Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Bodley 343” (PhD diss., University of Toronto, 2004), 27. N. R. Ker, ed., The Pastoral Care, EEMF 6 (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1956), 16. J. Zupitza, “Das Nicaeische Symbolum in Englischer Aufzeichnung des 12. Jhds.,” Anglia 1 (1878): 286–7 and “Zu Anglia I 5ff., 195ff. u. 286f.,” ­Anglia 3 (1880): 32–3. The argument was later extended by Wolfgang Keller, Die Litterarischen Bestrebungen von Worcester, Quellen und Forschungen 84 (Strasbourg: K. J. Trübner, 1900), 20, who also applied the “alter Man” label. George MacLean, “Ælfric’s Version of Alcuini Interrogationes Sigeuulfi in Genesin,” Anglia 6 (1883): 425–73, and Anglia 7 (1884): 1–59, notes in volume 6, pp. 436–7, “The marks accompanying the glosses … were for the convenience of the reader of a later age, and mark the transition from A. S.” Franzen has shown that the Tremulous Hand was not likely to have been a native speaker of Old English. See Franzen, Tremulous Hand, 89–90, on the Tremulous Hand’s treatment of Ælfric’s Grammar and Glossary and Franzen, 173–82, on the types of errors to which the Tremulous Hand was prone in glossing.

152  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands 33 N. R. Ker, “The Date of the ‘Tremulous’ Worcester Hand,” LSE 6 (1937): 28–9. Franzen, “Nero Scribe,” n. 6, notes that Malcolm Parkes believes Ker’s date to be too late and suggests that it may be closer to 1200. 34 “Ich glaube nicht, dass man die volleren vocale in jener zeit noch sprach, vielmehr scheint mir das nur eine nachwirkung der alten schriftsprache, die jedenfalls von dem aufzeichner unseres stückes noch verstanden wurde, wie seine vielfachen glossen in der hs. zeigen,” Zupitza, “Das Nicaeische Symbolum,” 287. “I don’t believe that they still pronounced the fuller vowels in that time; rather, it seems to me just an after-effect of the old written language, which in any case was still understood by the person writing our piece, as his multiple glosses in the manuscript show.” 35 Franzen, Tremulous Hand, 83, 101. 36 Deborah E. Thorpe and Jane E. Alty, “What Type of Tremor did the Medieval ‘Tremulous Hand of Worcester’ Have?” Brain: A Journal of Neurology 138 (2015): 3124. 37 Franzen, Tremulous Hand, 15–19, 98, and 101. 38 Hatton 113, in particular, contains a large amount of glossing that probably predates that of the Tremulous Hand, but such heavy glossing makes it unusual (though not unique) among Tremulous Hand manuscripts. See Franzen, Tremulous Hand, 30–34. 39 Franzen, “Nero Scribe,” 13. 40 Franzen, Tremulous Hand, 198–9, and Thorpe and Alty, “What Type,” make the case clearly, and Thorpe and Alty, “Reply: Essential Tremor in ‘The Tremulous Hand of Worcester’: Additional Comments,” Brain: A Journal of Neurology (2015), respond to a correspondent who supported the theory of an essential tremor. 41 Wendy Collier, “The Tremulous Worcester Hand and Gregory’s Pastoral Care,” in Swan and Treharne, 195–208. Wendy Collier prints parts of both versions in “A Thirteenth-century User of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts,” Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 79, no. 3 ­(Autumn 1997): 153. For an edition and facsimile of the Tremulous Hand’s complete version, see S. J. Crawford, “The Worcester Marks and Glosses,” Anglia 52 (1928): 5–6. 42 Most Tremulous Hand word separation marks on this page consist of three vertical dots. 43 The Tremulous Hand has left a marginal note: “credo in unum deum.” 4 4 Treharne, Living Through Conquest, 112. See also Treharne, “Reading from the Margins,” esp. 340–3. 45 Bethurum, Homilies, 105. 46 The transcription is my own, but the homily is edited as number VIIa in Bethurum, 166–8. “Dear friends, let us do as there is great need for us to do: have steadfast faith and full hope in our Lord. And he who cannot understand proper belief in Latin, learn it at least in English, and speak it frequently thus: Credimus in unum deum patrem et filium et spiritum sanctum. We believe in one God almighty who shaped and prepared all things, and we believe and readily know that Christ, the Son of God, came to men because of all mankind’s need. And we believe that the pure virgin SANCTA ­M ARIA bore him, she who never had relations with a man, and we believe that he suffered greatly and severely for the sake of us all.” 47 The word is split to accommodate the back of the eth in stiðlice. 48 Wendy Edith Jane Collier, “The Tremulous Worcester Scribe and his Milieu: A Study of his Annotations” (PhD diss., University of Sheffield, 1992), 72–3, discusses this context. Thorpe and Alty, “What Type,” 3123, concur with

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  153

49 50

51

52 53 54 55 56 57 58

59

60

61 62 63 64

the assessment that the Tremulous Hand was likely to have been a monk at Worcester Cathedral Priory. Marilyn Sandidge Butler, “An Edition of the Early Middle English Copy of Ælfric’s Grammar and Glossary in Worcester Cathedral MS. F. 174” (PhD diss., Pennsylvania State University, 1981), 87–8. As early as 1219 and again in 1229, constitutions were issued at Worcester containing decrees of the Fourth Lateran Council. See Marion Gibbs and Jane Lang, Bishops and Reform 1215–1272 with Special Reference to the Lateran Council of 1215 (London: Humphrey Milford, 1934), 109–10. Both Bethurum, 105, and Collier, 88–9, have commented on the ­Tremulous Hand’s interest in teaching Latin, but Franzen, Tremulous Hand, 82–3, notes that although his worksheets and translation of Ælfric’s Grammar and Glossary could have been used to teach reading in Latin, the bulk of his work with Old English manuscripts would not have been suitable for classroom use. Franzen, “Nero Scribe,” 14. Millett, Ancrene Wisse, II.xix–xxiv. Anne Savage, “The Communal Authorship of Ancrene Wisse,” in A Companion to Ancrene Wisse, ed. Yoko Wada (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2003), 45–55. Cate Gunn, Ancrene Wisse: From Pastoral Literature to Vernacular Spirituality (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2008), 36–40. Elizabeth Robertson, “‘This Living Hand’: Thirteenth-century Female Literacy, Materialist Immanence, and the Reader of the Ancrene Wisse,” Specu­lum 78 (2003): 1–36. For descriptions of all manuscripts, see Millett, Ancrene Wisse, I.xi–xxvii. Catherine Innes-Parker, “The Legacy of Ancrene Wisse: Translations, Adap­ tations, Influences and Audience, with Special Attention to Women Readers,” in Wada, ed., A Companion to Ancrene Wisse, 145–73, has catalogued a lengthy set of late medieval borrowings from or adaptations of material from the Ancrene Wisse, including even a source for Wynkyn de Worde’s 1493/4 printing that was circulating in Burgundian court circles. Tolkien, “Ancrene Wisse and Hali Meiðhad,” 104–26. The texts of the Katherine Group are Seinte Katerine, Seinte Margarete, Seinte Iuliene, Hali Meiðhad, and Sawles Warde. See Bella Millett, “The Ancrene Wisse Group,” in Edwards, ed., A Companion to Middle English Prose, 1–17. Tolkien, 106–12, is pessimistic about the ability of most scribes to translate from one dialect into another and concludes that it is unlikely that the scribes of the A and B manuscripts, respectively, could have been working independently of oversight. S. R. T. O. d’Ardenne, ed., Þe Liflade ant Te Passiun of Seinte Iuliene, EETS o.s. 248 (London: Oxford University Press, 1961 [for 1960]), xxxiii–xxxv, is more willing to trust the abilities of scribes to translate, but she still mistrusts the scribe of Bodley 34 (MS B) and concludes that he would not have been capable of either editing or translating. See, for example, Alistair Campbell, Old English Grammar (Oxford: ­Clarendon Press, 1959; repr. 2003), §§446–447. Richard Dance, “The AB Language: the Recluse, the Gossip and the ­Language Historian,” in Wada, ed., A Companion to Ancrene Wisse, 66–8. Dance, 72. Sum ancre makeð hire bord wið hire gest utewið. Þet is to muche freondschipe; for of alle ordres, þenne is hit uncundelukest ant meast aȝein ancre ordre þe is al dead to þe world. Me haueð iherd ofte þet deade speken wið cwike, ah þet ha eten wið cwike ne fond Ich ȝet neauer (“Sometimes an

154  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands

65

66 67

68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75

76

77

anchoress has a meal with her guest outside her quarters. This is showing too much friendliness, because it goes against the nature of any form of religious life, and most of all that of an anchoress, who is utterly dead to the world. One has often heard of the dead speaking with the living, but I have never found yet that they ate with the living”), Part 8.6. All Middle ­English quotations from the Ancrene Wisse are cited by part and section from M ­ illett, Ancrene Wisse, and all Modern English translations are quoted from the corresponding part and section in Bella Millett, Ancrene Wisse, Guide for Anchoresses: A Translation based on Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 402 (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2009). Ȝe, mine leoue sustren, bute ȝef neod ow driue ant ower meistre hit reade, ne schulen habbe na beast bute cat ane … for þenne mot ha þenchen of þe kues foddre, of heordemonne hure, olhnin þe heiward, wearien hwen he punt hire, ant ȝelden þah þe hearmes…. Ancre ne ah to habben na þing þet utward drahe hire heorte (“You, my dear sisters, unless you are forced by necessity and your director advises you to, should not keep any animal except a cat … because then she has to think about the cow’s fodder and the herdsman’s wages, cajole the hedge-warden, curse him when he impounds the cow, and pay damages all the same. … An anchoress ought not to own anything that attracts her heart outwards”), Part 8.11. Na chaffere ne driue ȝe. Ancre þet is chepilt … ha chepeð hire sawle þe chapmon of helle (“Do not carry on any business. An anchoress who is a tradeswoman … is selling her soul to the tradesman of hell”), Part 8.12. “Our director has given us written instructions to tell him everything that each of us hears about the other. … Nevertheless, each of you should warn the other through a thoroughly reliable messenger, kindly and affectionately as her dear sister, about anything she is doing wrong, if she knows it for a fact,” Part 4.72. d’Ardenne, xxxiv. Hanna, “Some North Yorkshire Scribes.” Anne Savage, “The Communal Authorship of Ancrene Wisse,” in A Companion to Ancrene Wisse, 45–55. Ibid., 53. The original statement appears in Millett, Ancrene Wisse, Preface, section 8, l. 158. See, for example, Raymond Clemens and Timothy Graham, Introduction to Manuscript Studies (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2007), 23. A. I. Doyle, “The Shaping of the Vernon and Simeon Manuscripts,” in Studies in the Vernon Manuscript, ed. Derek Pearsall (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1990), 1–2. E. J. Dobson, The English Text of the Ancrene Riwle edited from B.M. ­C otton MS Cleopatra C.vi, EETS o.s. 267 (London: Oxford University Press, 1972), xxix–xxxvi. D. A. Trotter, “The Anglo-French Lexis of Ancrene Wisse: a Re-­evaluation,” in A Companion to Ancrene Wisse, 95–9, makes a strong case for the Middle English Ancrene Wisse as evidence on the status of Anglo-French in England. Ibid., 91. Tolkien, 113, dismisses the suggestion that the Corpus Ancrene Wisse was a translation, a theory that Trotter also is not fully prepared to accept. Millett, I.xxix, gives a stemma (modified from Dobson’s) that places the Vitellius text (MS F) as a separate offshoot from the same archetype as the Corpus text (MS A). Trotter, 91.

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  155 78 “For one person is strong, another is not and can reasonably be excused and please God with less. One is well-educated, one is not and must do more manual labour and say her prayers differently. One is old and unprepossessing and gives less cause for anxiety, another is young and beautiful and needs to be guarded more carefully.” Millett, Ancrene Wisse, Preface, section 5, ll. 55–57. 79 See Matthew 13:10–14 (especially verses 11–12: vobis datum est nosse mysteria regni caelorum illis autem non est datum [12] qui enim habet dabitur ei et abundabit qui autem non habet et quod habet auferetur ab eo “to you it has been given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it has not been given; for, it will be given to the one who has, and he will abound, but from the one who has not it will be carried away”) and Mark 4:10–12 (especially verse 12: ut videntes videant et non videant et audientes audiant et non intellegant “in order that, seeing, they may see and not perceive, and, hearing, that they may hear and not understand”). The Latin text is drawn from Robert Weber, ed., Biblia sacra iuxta ­Vulgatam versionem (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1994). 80 Dance, 59. 81 E. J. Dobson, “The Affiliations of the Manuscripts of Ancrene Wisse,” in English and Medieval Studies Presented to J. R. R. Tolkien, ed. Norman Davis and C. L. Wrenn (London: Allen and Unwin, 1962), 133. 82 Millett, “The Ancrene Wisse Group,” in Edwards, ed., A Companion to Middle English Prose, 9–13. 83 Treharne, “Reading from the Margins,” 348–50. 84 Ibid., 350–4. 85 On the similarly episcopal impetus behind textual production in the ninth and tenth centuries, see also Elaine Treharne, “Producing a Library in Late Anglo-Saxon England: Exeter, 1050–1100,” RES 54 (2003): 155–72. 86 Swan, “Constructing Preacher and Audience,” 187. 87 Irvine, Old English Homilies, li. 88 A. I. Doyle, “The Shaping of the Vernon and Simeon Manuscripts,” 10–11. 89 For the Tremulous Hand’s interest in Englishness, see Collier, “Thirteenthcentury User,” 149–65, esp. 152 and 158–9, and Seth Lerer, “Old ­English and its Afterlife,” in The Cambridge History of ­Medieval English Literature, ed. David Wallace (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 22–6. 90 Dance, 65.

References Andersson, Roger, ed. Constructing the Medieval Sermon. Turnhout: Brepols, 2007. Barrow, Julia S., and N. P. Brooks, eds. St. Wulfstan and His World. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005. Benskin, Michael, and M. L. Samuels, eds. So meny people longages and tonges: Philological Essays in Scots and Medieval English Presented to A ­ ngus ­McIntosh. Edinburgh: Middle English Dialect Project, 1981. Blake, Norman, ed. The Cambridge History of the English Language, Vol. II: 1066–1476. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Brown, Peter, ed. A Companion to Medieval English Literature and Culture, c. 1350–c. 1500. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2007.

156  Old and Newer English in the West Midlands Butler, Marilyn Sandidge. “An Edition of the Early Middle English Copy of Ælfric’s Grammar and Glossary in Worcester Cathedral MS. F. 174.” PhD diss., Pennsylvania State University, 1981. Caie, Graham D., and Denis Renevey, eds. Medieval Texts in Context. London: Routledge, 2008. Campbell, Alistair. Old English Grammar. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959. Reprinted 2003. Clemens, Raymond, and Timothy Graham. Introduction to Manuscript Studies. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2007. Collier, Wendy. “The Tremulous Worcester Scribe and his Milieu: A Study of his Annotations.” PhD diss., University of Sheffield, 1992. ———. “A Thirteenth-century User of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts.” Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 79.3 (1997): 149–65. Conti, Aidan. “Preaching Scripture and Apocrypha: A Previously Unidentified Homiliary in an Old English Manuscript, Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Bodley 343.” PhD diss., University of Toronto, 2004. Crawford, S. J. “The Worcester Marks and Glosses.” Anglia 52 (1928): 5–6. d’Ardenne, S. R. T. O., ed. Þe Liflade ant Te Passiun of Seinte Iuliene. EETS o.s. 248. London: Oxford University Press, 1961 [for 1960]. Davis, Norman, and C. L. Wrenn, eds. English and Medieval Studies Presented to J. R. R. Tolkien. London: Allen and Unwin, 1962. Doane, A. N., and Kirsten Wolf, eds. Beatus Vir: Studies in Early English and Norse Manuscripts in Memory of Phillip Pulsiano. Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2006. Dobson, E. J. The English Text of the Ancrene Riwle edited from B.M. Cotton MS Cleopatra C.vi. EETS o.s. 267. London: Oxford University Press, 1972. Edwards, A. S. G., ed. A Companion to Middle English Prose. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2004. Franzen, Christine. The Tremulous Hand of Worcester: A Study of Old English in the Thirteenth Century. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991. Franzen, Christine. “The Tremulous Hand of Worcester and the Nero Scribe of the Ancrene Wisse.” Medium Ævum 72 (2003): 13–31. Gibbs, Marion, and Jane Lang. Bishops and Reform 1215–1272 with Special Reference to the Lateran Council of 1215. London: Humphrey Milford, 1934. Gunn, Cate. Ancrene Wisse: From Pastoral Literature to Vernacular Spirituality. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2008. Irvine, Susan. Old English Homilies from MS Bodley 343. EETS o.s. 302. ­Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. Keller, Wolfgang. Die Litterarischen Bestrebungen von Worcester. Quellen und Forschungen 84. Strasbourg: K. J. Trübner, 1900. Ker, N. R. “The Date of the ‘Tremulous’ Worcester Hand.” LSE 6 (1937): 28–9. ———, ed. The Pastoral Care. EEMF 6. Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1956. ———. Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon. Oxford: C ­ larendon Press, 1957. Reprinted 1990. ———. English Manuscripts in the Century After the Norman Conquest: The Lyell Lectures 1952–3. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1960.

Old and Newer English in the West Midlands  157 Kleist, Aaron J., ed. The Old English Homily: Precedent, Practice, and Appropriation. Turnhout: Brepols, 2007. MacLean, George. “Ælfric’s Version of Alcuini Interrogationes Sigeuulfi in Genesin.” Parts 1 and 2. Anglia 6 (1883): 425–73; 7 (1884): 1–59. Mason, Emma. St. Wulfstan of Worcester, c. 1008–1095. Oxford: Basil ­Blackwell, 1990. Millett, Bella, ed. Ancrene Wisse: A Corrected Edition of the Text in ­C ambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 402, with Variants from Other Manuscripts. 2 vols. EETS o.s. 325–326. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005–2006. Millett, Bella. Ancrene Wisse, Guide for Anchoresses: A Translation based on Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 402. Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2009. Pearsall, Derek, ed. Studies in the Vernon Manuscript. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1990. Pope, John C., ed. Homilies of Ælfric: A Supplementary Collection. 2 vols. EETS o.s. 259–260. London: Oxford University Press, 1967–1968. Robertson, Elizabeth. “‘This Living Hand’: Thirteenth-century Female Literacy, Materialist Immanence, and the Reader of the Ancrene Wisse.” Speculum 78 (2003): 1–36. Scase, Wendy, ed. Essays in Manuscript Geography: Vernacular Manuscripts of the English West Midlands from the Conquest to the Sixteenth Century. Turnhout: Brepols, 2007. Sisam, Celia. “The Scribal Tradition of the Lambeth Homilies.” RES n.s. 2 (1951): 105–13. Swan, Mary, and Elaine M. Treharne, eds. Rewriting Old English in the Twelfth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Thorpe, Deborah E., and Jane E. Alty. “What Type of Tremor did the Medieval ‘Tremulous Hand of Worcester’ Have?” Brain: A Journal of Neurology 138 (2015): 3123–3127. ———. “Reply: Essential Tremor in ‘The Tremulous Hand of Worcester’: Additional Comments.” Brain: A Journal of Neurology (2015). Tolkien, J. R. R. “Ancrene Wisse and Hali Meiðhad.” Essays and Studies 14 (1929): 104–26. Treharne, Elaine. “Producing a Library in Late Anglo-Saxon England: Exeter, 1050–1100.” RES 54 (2003): 155–72. ———. Living Through Conquest: The Politics of Early English, 1020–1220. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Wada, Yoko, ed. A Companion to Ancrene Wisse. Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2003. Wallace, David, ed. The Cambridge History of Medieval English Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Weber, Robert, ed. Biblia sacra iuxta Vulgatam versionem. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1994. Zupitza, J. “Das Nicaeische Symbolum in Englischer Aufzeichnung des 12. Jhds.” Anglia 1 (1878): 286–7. ———. “Zu Anglia I 5ff., 195ff. u. 286f.” Anglia 3 (1880): 32–3.

5 Shewing the Auncient Fayth An Elizabethan Sequel

The sixteenth century was vitally important for our access to and ­knowledge of medieval texts, with manuscript collections that now form the basis for major research libraries being formed during this turbulent period. Antiquarians such as Robert Talbot, John Leland, Robert Recorde, and John Bale identified and studied both Latin and vernacular texts from many of the most significant manuscripts surviving from medieval England. Matthew Parker was at least as important a figure in this preservation or revival, in spite of the criticism that has been leveled at him concerning the sincerity of his reforming beliefs, his intellectual ability, and, most of all, his editorial and curatorial judgment. This chapter outlines a different approach to Parker’s somewhat fraught legacy as a figure in the revival of Anglo-Saxon studies. By situ­ ating his practices within a larger cultural context with respect to history, the art of memory, and other antiquarian practices, we see that ­Matthew Parker was advocating a distinctive strategy for interacting with the past. In fact, rather than simply lamenting the fact that Parker was not so enlightened a curator and editor as we are accustomed to in the twenty-first century, a more productive way of making sense of his bibliographic decisions is to understand them in the context of a diachronic textual community that linked him with the medieval churchmen from whom he sought validation for the nascent Church of England. Parker’s textual activities were intended to repair a religious and politi­ cal rupture resulting from the creation of the Church of England with the monarch also at the head of the church, but his use of medieval sources meant that he was also attempting to repair a linguistic rupture. As we shall see, this need to both emphasize and bridge rupture frames an innovative reimagining of the medieval past within the antiquarian milieu of the sixteenth century.

Parker and the Anglican Reformation An architect of the Elizabethan Religious Settlement and one of the most zealous sixteenth-century collectors of manuscripts, Matthew Parker was born in 1504 in Norwich, educated at Corpus Christi  College,

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  159 Cambridge, and eventually appointed Archbishop of Canterbury by Elizabeth I. Parker amassed an impressive collection of medieval manuscripts that had been dispersed following the Dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII between 1536 and 1541. Most of his manuscripts were given to Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, of which he had been Master from 1544 until 1553, and preserved there under strict regulations.1 His eighteenth-century biographer, John Strype, describes Parker as having been reluctant, at least partly because of concerns over his health, to take up any post that would draw him out of private or University life. In Strype’s account, after having been summoned several times, increasingly peremptorily, Parker was finally prevailed upon to face a meeting and then to agree to become Archbishop of Canterbury. 2 Whatever the truth may have been, Parker was consecrated in 1559, just a year after Elizabeth’s accession, and as archbishop, he presided over the Elizabethan Settlement and the final form of the Thirty-nine Articles, as decided in the 1563 Convocation of Canterbury. Parker had been collecting manuscripts for some years before he persuaded the Privy Council in 1568 to grant him the authority to commandeer medieval manuscripts from individuals who had collected them after the Dissolution of the monasteries. 3 Monastic libraries were most likely in flux at all times, and the late medieval tendency to send books to colleges at Oxford or Cambridge may have seriously depleted the in-house stores of books in some institutions.4 Beyond this, notable losses of books occurred in the course of various upheavals, such as the 1327 attack on the monastery of Bury St.  Edmunds and the burning of records during the Peasant Revolt of 1381. 5 Nevertheless, the Dissolution of the monasteries in the sixteenth century led to the dispersal of large numbers of books. Although John Leland (c.  1503–1552) and John Bale (1495–1563) attempted to stem this tide, it was not until Elizabeth’s reign that serious efforts were made to gather and use medieval manuscripts.6 Much of the early modern impetus for the attempt to mine medieval English texts arose following the second Act of Supremacy in 1559 and the final break with the ­Roman Church, when there was considerable pressure to locate antecedents for the reformed English Church. So, the reformers turned to medieval manu­scripts, hoping to find pre-Conquest parallels for their own positions.7 In fact, scholars and clergymen of all opinions on the Reformation published polemical treatises and editions of medieval texts, but ­Elizabeth’s ascendancy lent more power to the side of those who wished to use medieval manuscripts to demonstrate a distinctively ­English identity that was not beholden to Rome. So, we must keep Parker in the context of this much larger effort to establish an English religious and political identity.8 While he left an unusually large amount of material, in terms of medieval manuscripts known to have passed through his hands and publications based on medieval texts, he was far from

160  Shewing the Auncient Fayth alone in his efforts to shape an Anglican community around ideas about ­national and religious identities. On the side of the reforming faction and with the blessing of the state, much of the motivation and justification for this interest in medieval manuscripts arose from the need to establish Anglican doctrine and the grounds on which an English Church could function independently of the Church of Rome. Although Parker was not the first of the ­sixteenth-century antiquarians either to seek out medieval manuscripts or to use medieval texts in publications, his role as Archbishop of ­Canterbury added a different urgency to his examination of the surviving records of the medieval church. In an attempt to justify positions taken by the reformed English Church, Parker had to find ways of arguing that there were English precedents for Anglican positions on transubstantiation (that the body of Christ is partaken of only in a spiritual sense [Art. XXVIII]), clerical marriage (that it was not unlawful and that marriage should not bar men from becoming priests [Art. XXXII]), and submission to the authority of Rome (that the Church of Rome had erred [Art. XIX] and that the Bishop of Rome had no jurisdiction in England [Art. XXXVII]).9 Many of the early antiquarians relied more on the British church than on the Anglo-Saxon church, so it is noteworthy that to find the precedents he sought, Parker turned to the writings of the Anglo-Saxon church and principally to the homilies of Ælfric of Eynsham (c. 950–c. 1010).10 ­Ælfric is an obvious choice, because of his standing as one of the foremost and most prolific prose stylists in Old English, but at the same time, he makes an unlikely choice, in the wake of the Dissolution of the monasteries, because of his background as a student of Æthelwold’s monastic school at Winchester following the tenth-century Benedictine Reform. The English Benedictine Reform led to particularly English practices, such as the expulsion of lay canons from the Old Minster at Winchester in 964 and the appointment of monks to episcopal sees, encouraging a monastic, celibate lifestyle among clergy and bishops.11 The fledgling Church of England, by contrast, supported clerical marriage and mistrusted what Parker called the “superstition & hipocrisie of monkes,” including Ælfric, who had been “traded vp in lerning” and become “an earnest louer and a great setter forwarde of monkerye.”12 The balancing act that Parker carried out in order to both criticize and capitalize on Ælfric’s works has been detailed elsewhere,13 but the methods that he employed in working with medieval manuscripts more gene­ rally need further attention and a careful reconsideration. In order to access the works of Ælfric and others, Parker worked with no fewer than fifteen Old English manuscripts containing homilies, ten of which he labeled in sequence (Primus liber homiliarum and so on): CCCC MSS 162, 178, 188, 198, 302, 303, 421, and 419 (with pages 1–2 from MS 421); CUL MS Ii.1.33; and Cambridge, Trinity College MS B.15.34. The other

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  161 five manuscripts Parker is known to have consulted were left unlabeled: CCCC MSS 201 and 367; CUL MS Ii.4.6; and British Library, Cotton MSS Faustina A.ix and Vespasian D.xiv.14 Many of these manuscripts were also used by Parker’s secretary, John Joscelyn (1529–1603), including CCCC MSS 178, 198, 201, and 421, and Cotton MSS Faustina A.ix and Vespasian D.xiv. Joscelyn can also be shown to have handled Cotton MS Otho B.x and Bodleian MSS ­Rawlinson Q.e.20, Bodley 340 and 342, and Hatton 113, 114, and 115, including the portion of Hatton 115 now housed in Lawrence, Kansas, at the Kenneth Spencer Research Library as MS Pryce C2:2.15 In addition to several publications dealing with ecclesiastical discip­ line, Parker published a number of books written in various combinations of Latin, Old English, and Modern English: A Testimonie of Antiquitie (London, [1566]; STC 159 and 159.5; an edition and translation of an Old English Ælfrician homily for E ­ aster touching on the doctrine of transubstantiation; preface probably composed by John Joscelyn; the first book printed either in Old ­English or in Anglo-Saxon types); A Defence of Priestes Mariages (London, [1567]; STC 17518–19; treatise justifying clerical marriage, based on scriptural and patristic texts, with additional Latin and Old English material inserted in a second edition); Holie Bible (London, 1568; STC 2099; known as the “Bishops’ Bible”; consists of a translation of the entire Bible into English); The Gospels of the Fower Evangelistes (London, 1571; STC 2961; an edition of the Old English Gospels; preface written by John Foxe); De antiquitate Britannicae ecclesiae (London, 1572; STC 19292; treatise on the history of the church in England); and Ælfredi regis res gestae (London, 1574; STC 863; edition of Asser’s Latin Life of King Alfred, also in Anglo-Saxon types). This sizeable body of work has stirred up considerable controversy in subsequent scholarship, where Parker’s methods of caring for manuscripts and editing texts have received harsh condemnation, as noted by Graham and Bjorklund.16 His red crayon annotations have become infamous, and he also had contents lists added to many of his manuscripts. On occasion, manuscripts were provided with frontispieces from other manuscripts or rebound with unrelated manuscripts. Moreover, Parker’s astonishingly free use of Ælfric’s writings and the intellectual caliber of the people he drew into his circle have also left him open to criticism of his own intellectual and ideological integrity. Parker was certainly not the first to study medieval manuscripts, including those that contain ­A nglo-Saxon texts, but he differed from his predecessors (­ principally, Talbot, Leland, Recorde, and Bale) in putting a larger scheme into

162  Shewing the Auncient Fayth practice and organizing at his palace in Lambeth what has been like­ ned to an institute of manuscript studies.17 Parker’s was a relatively systematic process of searching for and studying these books (down to his successful 1568 petition for the right to demand “auncient recordes or monumentes” where he found them), but his reputation for seeming atrocities in his editorial and curatorial practices has largely determined his legacy. In order to add contents lists to some of his manuscripts, he washed out initial leaves of manuscripts in order to accommodate them, as is the case with CCCC 201, page 1. This manuscript, in fact, survives as a Parkerian joining of two previously unrelated manuscripts.18 ­Similarly, Parker removed the first leaf from CCCC 419 and added it to CCCC 421, the original part of which was a companion volume to CCCC 419. Then, a frontispiece was provided for CCCC 419 out of a thirteenth-century psalter. In other instances, deficient leaves or passages of text were supplied, as when a passage from CCCC 190 was supplied where it was missing from CCCC 265.19 In a 1566 letter to William Cecil (1520–1598), Parker reveals that Cecil, like Parker himself, employs a scribe who is able to “counterfeit in antiquity” and who, in Parker’s estimation, should be put to work supplying missing leaves for deficient manuscripts. 20 Nevertheless, we should be mindful, before rushing to judgment, that even our own studies of medieval books can introduce alterations, however much we strive for transparency and minimal impact. As Nancy Basler Bjorklund notes, Parker and his fellow antiquarians were not working within the framework of “best practices” that now governs manuscript studies. 21 Much of what looks reckless or irresponsible today was quite ordinary in the context of sixteenth-century antiquarianism. More fundamentally, all of Parker’s undertakings point to a well-­developed program of study of the Old English language and of Old English manuscripts, and he had clear inducements to engage in this sort of study, reasons both polemical and based on probably genuine historical enthusiasm. Parker is unusual among early modern antiquarians in his desire to have the antiquity of manuscripts in his possession proved and to be able to trace the provenance of such manuscripts. Moreover, although Christopher de Hamel demonstrates the error of Parker’s conclusions about eight manuscripts he wished to identify as having belonged to Theodore of Tarsus, a seventh-century Archbishop of Canterbury, de Hamel nevertheless validates Parker’s methodology in examining those manuscripts. 22 Contrary to the accusations that his editorial activities constituted mere propaganda or justifications constructed after the fact to solidify positions taken by the nascent Church of England, Parker showed a lifelong dedication to reform, and his academic career demonstrated genuine scholarly promise beyond the image of a man merely able to

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  163 gather and coordinate more intelligent subordinates. It is certainly true that Parker had the intelligence to recognize the talents of others, but as evidence of his own intellectual capacity, we should also remember that he received an ability-based scholarship in his first year at Cambridge and that he completed his four-year degree in three and a half years. 23 Later, he collaborated with Martin Bucer, a Continental reformer, to assemble a Florilegium Patristicum, a collection of patristic opinions intended as a source-book for reformers, 24 and he was sufficiently close to Bucer to deliver the English eulogy at his funeral in 1551. 25 Beyond that, he can scarcely be accused of cynical or disinterested propagandizing on the question of clerical marriage, having first lived with Margaret Harleston from 1544, then having married her in 1547, two years before the practice was legalized in 1549 under Edward VI. Nevertheless, ­Parker’s interest in reform did not extend to a repudiation of the previous generations of ecclesiastical leadership in England, and his De antiquitate ­Britannicae ecclesiae “seemed to unsympathetic Puritan readers to provide scandalously little sense that the Reformation provided a drastic break with the old Church.”26 In this, he was not alone in the early decades of the Reformation in England, where many of the most famous reformers were relatively conservative. Whatever Parker’s own intellectual promise, it is also important to consider the work and motivations of the other notable antiquarians at work during the sixteenth century, many of whom also offered nationalistic motivations for their work. Robert Talbot (c. 1505–1558) was one of the earliest antiquarians to study Old English, and his influence was substantial. Talbot probably had a better knowledge of the language than either of his contemporaries, John Leland (c. 1503–1552) or Robert Recorde (c. 1510–1558). An early reformer, Talbot nevertheless escaped severe punishment under Mary, and his contributions to Anglo-Saxon studies were important early steps. For example, Talbot’s transcription of a set of Anglo-Saxon charters with Old English boundary clauses is the only surviving witness to those texts. Moreover, Talbot may also have influenced both Leland and Recorde, 27 and in Strype’s biography of Parker, both Leland and John Bale are named as associates of T ­ albot. 28 Unlike most of his fellow Anglo-Saxonists, Talbot was sufficiently intrigued by runic alphabets to have made note of where he found them, and it may have been Talbot who pasted an alphabet originally from CUL MS Kk.3.18 onto the recto of a leaf of British Library, MS Cotton Domitian A.ix, with another runic alphabet on the verso. 29 Although the tradition that John Leland was “King’s Antiquary” to Henry VIII has been discredited, Leland did style himself “antiquarius” and made several trips across England in the early 1530s surveying manu­scripts.30 Leland conceived of his antiquarian activities in a nationalistic light and hoped to establish by his writings not only the religious autonomy but also the historical and intellectual stature of

164  Shewing the Auncient Fayth England.31 He is also believed to have acquired the copy of Asser’s Latin Life of King Alfred that was once the first item in Cotton MS Otho A.xii but is no longer extant.32 Carrying on with a similar project, John Bale published or referred to some of Leland’s antiquarian writings in his own published works, in addition to making early catalogues of English manuscripts and authors.33 On the basis of this expertise, Parker consulted Bale for guidance on the owners of medieval books that Parker was seeking, and others, such as Sir John Prise and Stephen Batman, also helped to gather large numbers of manuscripts. As Jennifer Summit notes, while individual books may have been preserved, these collecting activities were directed not towards the preservation of the monastic libraries as such, but rather towards the furtherance of the reforming process that had led to the dissolution of those monastic libraries. What these antiquarian collections did help to bring about was the development of libraries that functioned within the context of the English state, not subject to the hierarchy of the Catholic Church. 34 As established by Jennifer Summit’s analysis, Parker and other Reformation bibliophiles were highly selective in what they chose to preserve from medieval libraries and drew a marked distinction between “monuments of antiquity” and the “superstitious” or “fabulous” histories that represented corruptions of pure doctrine. Summit asserts that “[r]eformation library making is thus aligned with, and even contingent upon, the act of library breaking,”35 but there is a more constructive model for the creation of Matthew Parker’s collection and for his use of it. What has not been discussed previously is that this nationalistic project, both in the roughly contemporary ties between the various antiquarians identified above and, crucially, in the emphatically non-­contemporary ties with medieval writers and readers, may be understood as constituting a textual community. Textual community can function in response to, and even in dialogue with, textual activity that is temporally distant, as when the Tremulous Hand of Worcester left his mark in Old English manuscripts. A similar sense of remoteness from the language and script of the text is precisely what opened up the productive space in which sixteenth-century antiquarians studied and made use of medieval texts. The textual community in which they worked was formed around the effort that was necessary to make Old English or early Middle English texts accessible once more, and around the models of textuality found in the manuscripts they used. Matthew Parker and other antiquarians, though working towards different ends than the compilers of their medieval manuscripts, nevertheless took their cues from the possibilities opened up by those manuscripts. This attention to the textualities displayed in medieval manuscripts plays out along several different axes, as Parker and his associates found models in the actions of both the scribes who had originally copied them and the medieval readers who had already used the manuscripts.

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  165 To begin with, the Parkerian circle participated in a textual community by learning from the annotating habits of earlier readers, including Wulfstan and the Tremulous Hand, and then showing others how to use the manuscripts through their own annotations and through their publication of medieval texts. The textual community thus formed was necessarily diachronic, as Parker laid claim to centuries-old texts that required the cultivation of particular linguistic and palaeographical skills. As a result of this diachronicity, there were no longer any speakers of Old and Middle English, meaning that manuscripts were not merely one possible entry point into the material, but the sole entryway available to antiquarians. Their textual community was thus constituted in acti­ vities carried out in or relying on the manuscripts: Parker’s selectivity in embracing only appropriate texts, the annotations entered in various manuscripts by both Parker and his assistants, the translations that were prepared for the edited texts published by Parker, the dissemination in print and the imitation of Anglo-Saxon hands in manuscript and in print, and Parker’s famous reorganizations and rebindings. Matthew Parker and other early modern antiquarians found an invaluable resource in the annotations of the famous Tremulous Hand of Worcester. John Joscelyn was not the only person to work on Old English lexicography, but he was one of the earliest to make real progress towards a dictionary, and he is the first person we know to have been using the thirteenth-century glosses of the Tremulous Hand. Neil Ker first noticed that John Joscelyn seemed to be using the Tremulous Hand glosses in Hatton 20 and that it “may not be a coincidence” that Joscelyn’s use of the manuscript as a source of dictionary words ends soon after the Tremulous Hand glosses leave off.36 In this cribbing of vocabulary, where the Latin glosses are used to understand the Old ­English words, Graham has noted the likeness with Joscelyn’s technique in working with Ælfric’s Grammar.37 So, he seems to have learned from his experience with Tremulous Hand-glossed texts. The fact that Old English was a much more foreign language for John Joscelyn than it was for the Tremulous Hand allows us a glimpse of his baby steps in Old English. In his notebook, now preserved as London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 692, John Joscelyn records page upon page of word-pairs or paired Old English-to-Latin declension tables. As with Parker’s assemblage of assistants in his own household, this careful use of all the linguistic information available in the manuscripts speaks to a systematic approach to the study of Old English. Unfortunately, a reliance on the Tremulous Hand glosses can lead to the perpetuation of errors, as occurred on folios 30v–31r of A Testimonie of Antiquitie, where the Parkerian translation preserves the Tremulous Hand’s misunderstanding of CCCC 198, folio 220r. The Old English text is a homily written by Ælfric for Easter Day, in which he discusses the various symbols used to represent Christ, including a lamb, a lion,

166  Shewing the Auncient Fayth and bread. The Tremulous Hand takes all of this in stride but is confounded by the phrase gehu elles, which must mean in this context “and other things.” For reasons that are not clear, the Tremulous Hand takes the phrase as referring to a mountain.38 In the Parkerian edition of the same homily in A Testimonie of Antiquitie, the translation given is again “mountayne,” and since there is nothing in the context of Ælfric’s ­homily to suggest a mountain above all other possible symbols of Christ, it seems that the Parkerian circle have arrived at this translation purely by following the Tremulous Hand’s gloss. Richard James (1591–1638), the first librarian of Cotton’s collection, provides a similar reading in his 1629 Sermon Concerning the ­Eucharist: “in the reigne of King Æthelrede, we yet read Abbot Alfric, though a man papall enough, still instructing his Saxon cure, that Christ is not otherwise corporally this bread of the Sacrament in the new Testament, than he was in the old, Manna, a Lambe, a Lyon, or a Rocke.”39 In the absence of any evidence that James had access to CCCC 198, this version seems to draw on the Parkerian reading of Ælfric’s homily, rather than relying directly on the Tremulous Hand gloss.40 The source of the original mistranslation is unclear, but this example illustrates both ­Parker’s influence on later scholars and his reliance on the work of earlier readers. In this sense, Parker and his secretaries were participating in a community of readers as they engaged with the work of earlier students of Old English. This piece of inaccurate translation is an example of when a textual community may work in less than fortuitous ways, although perhaps it is fortuitous for scholars, since it gives us a much clearer indication than we would otherwise have had that the P ­ arkerians were relying directly on the translations recorded by the Tremulous Hand approximately 350 years earlier. In addition to participating in a community of readers, Parker also engaged with the particular skills exercised by medieval scribes when he not only employed a scribe who could “counterfeit in antiquity” and imitate Anglo-Saxon hands, but also commissioned a typeface based on those Anglo-Saxon hands. Peter Lucas’s work on the design of an Anglo-Saxon typeface shows that Parker and his circle gave careful attention to manuscript models,41 and in creating such a typeface, they behaved as members of a community of scribes and also found a way to adhere to Anglo-Saxon palaeographical conventions, without rejecting the medium of the printed book in favor of the manuscript. As is well attested, Anglo-Saxon scribes working after c. 950 tended to copy Anglo-Latin texts in Caroline minuscule, rather than the Anglo-Saxon minuscule that was reserved primarily for texts in the vernacular,42 but Parker took a somewhat different approach to the situation. Although he claims to represent the content of manuscript exemplars exactly,43 he uses the Anglo-Saxon typeface for Anglo-Latin texts, as well as Old English texts. It seems that Parker was focused less on exactly replicating

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  167 the look of any individual manuscript witness than he was on using his Anglo-Saxon typeface as a way of demarcating an ancient and untainted native tradition of writing in both Latin and Old English. From this perspective, and in spite of the medieval palaeographical differentiation between Latin and vernacular texts, Old English is a language defined almost as much by its proper script as by its linguistic qualities, meaning that even Anglo-Latin texts may be brought into the graphemic fold of Anglo-Saxon textuality. In the preface to his edition of Asser’s Life, Parker carefully distinguishes between the scripts proper to two different varieties of English, reserving the label Anglica litera [sic] for the letters as written in modern English and using Saxonica litera [sic] to refer to any letter from Anglo-Saxon minuscule or the printing sorts based upon those letters.44 Here, Parker goes against the ­A nglo-Saxon convention, which was generally to use Angli in reference to all Anglo-Saxons, whereas most non-Anglo-Saxons preferred Saxones (compare modern Sassenach, for example), although there were notable exceptions, including Gregory the Great, who used Angli or Anguli in his writings.45 Parker draws on the centuries-old association between Angli and those currently inhabiting England, but in doing so, he must displace the Anglo-Saxons who first used the term in that way. He is also forced to fall back on the term used most often by those who were “outside” Anglo-Saxon England, calling the Anglo-Saxon script Saxonica. In spite of their Anglo-Saxon typeface, we would never mistake the early modern editions for facsimiles, with their parallel or interlinear translations and their failure to reflect lineation and other features of the manuscript pages, but such editions evoked the idea of a facsimile, literally a “making alike,” or, as it is described on the title page of A Testimonie, a “shewing.” Tracing a similar phenomenon in the afterlife of the image of plowmen at work in Cambridge, Trinity College MS R.3.14 as a frontispiece to various editions of Piers Plowman, Echard calls this phenomenon the “impulse to facsimile.”46 For Parker, intent on reproducing Anglo-Saxon texts in a visibly “Anglo-Saxon” way, a nod to facsimile in fact carries great significance as a token of the content (and worth) of his edition. When he prints Asser’s Life of Alfred, Parker not only prints the original Latin text in his Anglo-Saxon typeface, but he specifically addresses the topic in his preface: Latina autem cum sint, S­ axonicis literis excudi curauimus, maximè ob venerandam ipsius archetypi anti­ quitatem, ipso adhuc (vt opinio fert mea) Ælfredo superstite, ijsdem literarum formulis descriptam (“But although they are in Latin [in the manuscript], we have taken care to have them punched in Saxon letters, mostly on account of the venerable antiquity of the exemplar itself, which moreover was copied in the same letter-forms when Alfred was, so the story goes, still alive”).47 He chooses to print the text in a typeface modeled on medieval manuscripts because the text will then appear in the same letter-forms as the first witnesses of many of the texts he uses.

168  Shewing the Auncient Fayth

Walking in the “Olde Way” Writing of William L’Isle’s apparently fruitless attempts to publish Old English texts in Anglo-Saxon types, Timothy Graham notes that not only would this have entailed specialist skill and great expense, but “potential printers might also have been discouraged by the likelihood that the audience to which a publication in Old English might appeal would be small.”48 Nevertheless, Parker’s use of the model of textuality that is displayed and discussed in Asser’s Life goes beyond his use of an A ­ nglo-Saxon typeface. Both the depiction of Alfred’s textual practices and the fabric of the Life itself valorize compilation and reassembly as methods of building up ­authority—Alfred supposedly assembled a library of “needful texts” for his subjects and carried around his own libellus of gathered quotations, while Asser (not unlike other medieval authors) drew a variety of sources into the Life.49 From this perspective, Parker’s incorporation of other sources into Asser’s text (including the Annals of St. Neots and excerpts from Matthew Paris)50 and his concern over the form of the book he was producing (that is, the typographical decision to use the Anglo-Saxon typeface and his care to articulate explicitly the rationale for that decision) are very much in keeping with the ethos of the text he was editing. As scholars, in the modern and academic sense of the word, we expect to partici­pate in a textual community where we can trust that such practices will not be enacted, but for Parker, these practices signified not only expertise, but also a kind of community of authors who worked by recognizing the contributions of fellow authors to their own works. In fact, this compilatory way of building up a text is a well-known ­practice from the Middle Ages. In his discussion of compilatio as practiced in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, Malcolm Parkes emphasizes something that is crucial in the context of the Asserian/Alfredian and ­Parkerian models of textuality: A compiler fills a distinct textual role, a role characterized by its return to the auctores from whom textual ­authority is derived, and a role made useful by the arrangement imposed on this authoritative material.51 During the sixteenth century, manuscripts containing medieval English writings are frequently referred to as monuments, although there is an important distinction between “monuments of antiquity” (which are worth preserving) and “monuments of superstition” (which are dangerous).52 The selectivity displayed by Parker and other antiquarians active in the sixteenth century, as they sought out the most suitable texts (the “monuments of antiquity”) to be edited as part of a growing library of relevant medieval texts, is another kind of compilatio, building a library of desirable and useful texts unsullied by seditious or misleading works. Nevertheless, where Jennifer Summit writes of “library breaking” in the formation of early modern libraries, Peter Sherlock writes of the continuity that developed from the “reintegration of the living and dead in new roles” as funerary monuments were erected to “change the memory of their subjects.”53 It is in the tension between these forces that

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  169 Parker operated, and it is in his negotiation of the “memory” of the past that Parker left his mark on the materials under his control. Parker’s selective memory of the past was rooted and mirrored in the larger Elizabethan effort to “remember”—a remembering that required forgetting, as do all nation-building or nation-defining projects.54 This textual community allowed Parker to frame himself within a long line of English ecclesiastics and designate a body of canonically English texts and doctrines. In other words, the textual community was based on the principle of participating in a long tradition that could still be reclaimed, even centuries after its supposed lapse. Parker’s sense of following in the track of his predecessors (articulated in part on the title page to A Testimonie of Antiquitie, where he quotes the prophet Jeremiah on inquiring for the “olde way” in order to “goe therin”) echoes Alfred’s meta­ phor of the spor representing the examples of “ure ieldran” in the preface to the Pastoral Care: ac we him ne cunnon æfterspyrigan, forðæm we habbað nu ægðer forlæten ge þone welan ge þone wisdom, forðamþe we noldon to ðæm spore mid ure mode onlutan (“But we cannot follow them because we have now lost both the wealth and the wisdom because we would not bend our minds to the trail”).55 Just as it is the failure to “bend our minds to the trail” and follow the footsteps of more learned forebears that costs Alfred and his contemporaries “both the wealth and the wisdom,” Parker sees a similar need for a return to “olde conformitie.”56 This not only links Parker to Alfred’s ninth-century program, but also gives him a more emotional connection to and justification for the project. With admiring rhetoric that frames Alfred’s life as a sort of exemplum, Parker holds up Alfred as a model to be emulated both on a personal level and on the national stage, as we can see from the two passages that follow. Etenim cum videas regem summo splendore […] quo te lector animo esse oportebit? quàm in bonarum artium studia flagranti semper, & incenso?57 [Indeed, when you see a king of the highest splendor … of which kind of mind does it befit you to be, reader, [other] than a mind ardent and inflamed for studies of fine arts?] Quæ quidem historia non mediocrem menti tuæ voluptatem ­i nfundet, neque minorem adferet cum voluptate vtilitatem, si in præclarissimarum rerum contemplatione defixus, te ad earum imitationem, & quasi imaginem totum effinxeris. 58 [Indeed, this history will impart no middling pleasure to your mind, nor will it bring any less utility with the pleasure, if, fixed in contemplation of most honorable things, you will shape yourself entirely in imitation of them, as if in their image.]

170  Shewing the Auncient Fayth In the second passage, the notion of shaping oneself dovetails nicely with the tactile rhetoric we will see in Parker’s account of his edi­torial work, but it is also intriguing to note the litotes in the passage, which is characteristic not only of the entire Parkerian preface, but also of Anglo-Saxon poetry. In the context of sixteenth-century appeals to the past, it is noteworthy not only that Parker was part of a shift towards an embrace of the Anglo-Saxon church, which had previously been neg­lected in favor of the British church, but also that in this use of Asser’s Life, he appealed so strongly to the record of a man who seems to have been religiously motivated but who was not a cleric or theologian, as such. This may serve as a reminder of the nationalistic and pragmatic elements of ­sixteenth-century antiquarian scholarship. 59 Paradoxically, this pressing and sometimes emotional connection is only enabled by the use of dusty, decaying manuscripts that very few people know how to read, especially without the help of the Tremulous Hand or other scholarly forebears. Parker does claim that knowledge of Old English had been preserved within living memory by a college of nuns at Tavistock, but aside from the fact that modern scholars regard the claim with skepticism, Parker does not seem to have attempted to make contact with anyone who might have learned Old E ­ nglish there.60 So, Parker and his assistants were left with a reliance on what manuscripts they could retrieve. This need for the physical manuscripts and the perceived difficulty of reading them shape the textual community Parker operates in. Tied up with this need for the physical artifacts are perceptions of distance and discontinuity in fueling the project. ­Parker’s manuscript studies had very practical, timely ends: to help repair religious and political rupture in the wake of Henry VIII’s break with Rome and the vicissitudes of the reigns of Edward VI, Mary I, and finally, Elizabeth I, when there had been very real consequences not only spiritual, but also financial, social, and physical for those caught on the wrong side of the current power structure. Thus, the community-building activities of the sixteenth-century antiquarians went beyond esoteric, intellectual notions of unity to provide in addition some of the societal building blocks of worship, the exercise of law, and daily culture. Moreover, Parker frequently proves himself to be acutely aware of linguistic rupture in the history of English, in an era when language and identity were considered to be strongly linked, albeit in ways that differ somewhat from modern formulations of such links.61 On the other hand, in his preface to the edition of Asser’s Life, he stresses the recoverability of medieval English in general and Old English in particular. Parker emphasizes that “it will be worth the effort to compare this, our native language (which we use today) with that obsolete and now almost extinct language and to perceive by comparing them how similar they are to each other—and almost the same.” He has “joined [modern]

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  171 English letters with the Saxon ones in the margin […] in order that the sentences of the different languages may be matched with each other.”62 So, although the language is “obsolete and now almost extinct,” he reassures the reader that it is still possible to see and hear the resonances in early modern English. In fact, according to Parker, you could almost feel that you remembered what medieval English was like, that “ancient and once familiar language.”63 Parker may be utilizing the rhetoric of memoria, but he is not suggesting that by some kind of osmosis his Anglo-Saxon typeface will literally teach readers to understand Old English. In fact, memoria always referred to recollection and reminiscence, not to a rote repetition or reproduction of old material,64 and this is where Parker situates his work with medieval manuscripts, especially in the preface to the edition of Asser’s Life. Where Mary Carruthers notes that early writers identified visual stimulus as the best way to retain and retrieve information and that written words constitute a form of visual stimulus,65 Parker highlights his use of Anglo-Saxon letter-forms in order to “renew the memory” of Old English.66 Similarly, his urging that his readers admiringly contemplate Alfred’s life mirrors the classical and medieval belief that the emotional response to reading is part of memory and that emotions “are the matrix of memory impressions.”67 Carruthers has argued that books and the rigorous cultivation of ­memoria were not mutually exclusive and that objects could be, as she puts it, “profusely pictured,” regardless of the level of learning of the audience.68 Carruthers quotes Richart de Fournival’s Li Bestiaires d’Amours: “For I send you this writing, both painture and parole, so that when I am not present this writing by its painture and by its parole will make me present to your memory.”69 Likewise, Parker’s Anglo-Saxon types are to make Old English present for his sixteenth-century readers, for whom Old English would certainly not be present otherwise. Parker further explains the significance of the letter-forms in his preface to the Bishops’ Bible, when he laments that “very many bookes be yet extant, though for the age of the speache and straungeness of the charect of many of them almost worne out of knowledge,” as though they had been imprinted on a surface being worn smooth by the passage of centuries.70 An even more intriguing example of Parker’s use of tactile language comes when he notes that reading his Old English texts in his Anglo-Saxon typeface “will supply you with no mean furniture ­(suppellectilem) for hidden knowledge.”71 Peter Lucas argues that the reference to furniture means household furniture, not the wooden wedges used to hold blocks of type in place. This latter usage is not attested in the ­Oxford English Dictionary until 1683, more than a century after Parker’s death, and Lucas suggests that Parker is instead assembling the textual equivalent of reproduction furniture, building something new as a way of “recreating something old and venerable.”72

172  Shewing the Auncient Fayth By the second half of the sixteenth century, however, there are a number of attested uses of “furniture” based around the provision of equipment, supplies, or even munitions. This sense of equipment or supplies seems to be the way in which Leland uses supellex to refer to the contents of the library of Christ Church, Canterbury when he laments, “Indeed, the entire contents (supellex) of this library have been removed.”73 This may suggest that Parker is using the term in a similar way, particularly given that the Latin term was already employed in an extended sense in classical texts to refer to equipment. With this reference to needed supplies or materials, Parker highlights the importance of his Anglo-Saxon typeface and of the visual appearance of his editions, while directing readers to a method for future study. Similarly, Parker’s rhetoric on memory draws on enduring trends: Parker may have been responding to the role of memoria in medieval thought, but the art of memory was also an important element in the intellectual culture of the Renaissance.74 Sir Thomas North, translating James Amyot’s preface to Plutarch’s Lives of the Noble Greeks and ­Romans (1579), likened history to memory: “And like as memorie was a storehouse of mens conceits and deuises … so may it also be sayd, that an historie is the very treasury of mans life.” Moreover, history is used “to stay the fleting of our memorie.”75 This notion is echoed in the works of two men of a younger generation, both born around the time Parker was working with medieval manuscripts: Francis Bacon ­(1561–1626) believed that it was possible for writing to bring the reader “into sympathy with antiquity,”76 and Ben Jonson (1572–1637) sought out a “pattern of intellectual resemblance and community” with works from the past.77 It is hardly surprising that an educated man like Parker would also be attuned to these intellectual currents, but in fact, he moves beyond them to state explicitly his wish to “renew the memory” of the past within his readers’ minds. The printing of Anglo-Saxon texts in a typeface based on the models of medieval English manuscripts represents the culmination of this line of thinking. After the manual labor of making the types and printing the text, the visual representation of the medieval origins of the text made its own imprint in the minds of readers, who were thereby supplied with the equipment that would enable them to furnish their minds with newly uncovered knowledge. This also gives us a hint as to one of the possible resonances of the frequent use of the term “monument” as applied to medieval manuscripts or texts. Writing to Parker in 1560, John Bale lists other Elizabethan men who “are thought to haue many notable monumentes also.”78 The Preface to A Testimonie refers to Parker’s “diligent search for such writings of historye, and other monuments of antiquitie, as might reueale vnto vs what hath ben the state of our church in England from tyme to tyme.”79 As we have seen already, the 1568 broadsheet from the Privy Council granting Matthew Parker permission

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  173 to take possession of medieval manuscripts referred to them as “auncient recordes or monuments,” and these persistent references to “monuments of antiquitie” are telling. We look at documents and at texts, of course, just as much as we look at tombs or statues of commemoration, but we sometimes do so without considering it a visual or sensory experience. This emphasis on the “monumental” nature of these records serves both to underscore the significance of those records for the nascent Anglican church and the political aims of the Elizabethan state, and also to remind readers that these records were to be seen as well as read, that they were visual tokens of a connection with an earlier community of English writers and ecclesiastics. It may appear that this monumentalizing of texts stands in opposition to the way that the books were actually being used: texts were annotated, passages excerpted, and books separated, joined, or ­supplemented—in short, manhandled and manipulated. Nevertheless, for Parker, such considerations played a secondary role to the more fundamental drive to make medieval texts and the experience of reading them “present” for a new audience. The repeated labeling of the Anglo-Saxon texts and manuscripts as “monuments” also reinforced the perceptions of age and authority, which were transferred, thanks to the emphasis on visual presentation, to the printed editions of these texts. The memorial practices and ideas implicit in so much of Parker’s work are indicative of the particular way in which he wished to both reexamine and reimagine ­England’s medieval heritage. Much of the attention paid by sixteenth-century antiquarians to ­A lfred’s preface to the Old English translation of Gregory the Great’s Cura pastoralis stemmed from a number of shared concerns, such as the education of priests and the translation of spiritual texts into English. If we accept the information provided to us by Asser’s Life and by texts such as the Pastoral Care preface, then we have a picture of Alfred worrying over the level of education of administrative and ecclesiastical officials; searching for a library of texts that would edify and strengthen the people of his kingdom; and, throughout all of this, establishing a strong link between the secular and ecclesiastical authorities in the kingdom, on the one hand, and the defensive mechanisms in the kingdom, on the other. All of these aims had something in common with the goals and methods of sixteenth-century antiquarians, but for someone like Parker, with his almost institutional framework for studying medieval manuscripts, Alfred provided a particularly compelling model of how text could provide the basis for religious and political restructuring. This precedent set by Alfred did not simply establish the importance of text in both religious and political life, but it also presaged the process of learning that Parker and his circle had to go through in order even to begin to use medieval manuscripts and texts, including the Alfredian texts. Both at the beginning of his life and well into his reign, Alfred relied on

174  Shewing the Auncient Fayth the expertise of more skilled readers, but the transformation of a man who could not read without the mediation of others into a man who, as king, mediated and directed the reading of his subjects is mirrored in the Parkerian reading of medieval manuscripts. Parker undoubtedly relied on the skills of his assistants, as already noted, but he and his circle relied just as surely on the mediating assistance of the Tremulous Hand in order to read Old English texts. Again, just as Alfred set himself up as the preserver of and guide to the books “most needful for all men to know,” Parker wrote both of his own role in preserving medieval books80 and of the way in which his published texts would help readers to follow the trail back to a renewed ability to read Anglo-Saxon texts.81 When Parker informs the reader that his Anglo-Saxon typeface “will supply you with no mean furniture for hidden knowledge,” the nature of this “hidden” knowledge is a crucial element in the project. Although Parker presumably means previously hidden knowledge (or else there is little reason for the reader to trust his scheme for the use of medieval manuscripts), much of his project is based on the assertion that this knowledge has indeed been hidden or even neglected for centuries. These texts, in John Joscelyn’s words, “laye hidden euery wheare contemned and buried in forgetfullnes and throwgh the ignoraunce off the ­Languages not wel vnderstanded.”82 In the minds of reformers like Parker, the very difficulty of reading Old English texts may have been what protected them from censorship or pollution after the ­Conquest. It  was only by reaching back across that gap to the surviving pre-­ Conquest manuscripts that Parker could restore the lost knowledge and, as he put it, renew the memory of the old and once familiar language with his new and yet familiar types. As Benedict Scott Robinson notes, “the continuity of a proper, reformed theology in England is doubly predicated on the vernacular, not only through a rediscovered ability to read old books, but also by the Catholic failure to do so.”83 That there was sustained attention to ­English manuscripts throughout the post-Conquest period may not have been clear to Parker,84 but in any case, it does not seem to have stopped him from emphasizing his expertise. This rediscovered ability, which is central to the Parkerian project, is about language and script. That ability is rediscovered through the pages of books, and as noted above, this reliance on books is one of the fundamental characteristics of the textual community surrounding Parker. If there is no possibility of the T ­ remulous Hand’s having learned Old English as or from a native speaker, then there can hardly be any possibility for the sixteenth-­ century antiquarians to have learned Old English except on the pages of medieval manuscripts. Indeed, their reliance on the glossing of the ­Tremulous Hand, to the point of following in his errors, speaks to their dependence on the written record of Old English. Robinson continues, “The Elizabethan settlement is thus legitimized by the work of

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  175 translation, of deciphering the national texts, and displaying them in all their ancient yet reclaimable strangeness.”85 Once again mirroring Alfredian textuality, Parker gave his attention to translation “as not disruption but a linguistic and moral stabilizing process,” and these two men were not alone in reacting to social and political upheaval with linguistic conservatism.86 Parker was simply in an unusually powerful position for enacting his plans in the sixteenth century. The effort to establish justifications for the new English Church (as in fact not so new) required Parker to engage in a “continuous struggle against an insuperable distance, an effort to recapture from an alien past the traces of a recognizable, Protestant identity.”87 In the words of John Foxe, the editions of Anglo-Saxon texts were to demonstrate “how the religion presently taught and professed in the Church … is no new reformation of thinges lately begonne, which were not before, but rather a reduction of the Church to the Pristine state of olde conformitie, which once it had, and almost lost by discontinuance of a fewe later yeares.”88 Parker’s task was to embody anew the English ecclesiastical heritage, bridging that “discontinuance” to free old conformity from obscurity or pernicious influences. To do this, he presented Old English texts not only in a medium more amenable than manuscripts to wide dispersal, but also in a form that recalled their “antique” and “monumental” status. Thanks to his rhetoric of reclamation and renewal, and with all of the weight of the political and religious establishment behind him and others who were engaged in this historical and literary work, Parker’s efforts as a curator and editor of medieval manuscripts yield not only a renewed collection of “needful texts,” but also a recollection of something that almost seems to have been nagging at the back of his (or his reader’s) memory. Far from setting out with a callous disregard for the artifacts he had gathered, Parker took his cues from these books and their record of the medieval production, use, and conception of texts. Alfredian English and Alfredian reading provided a precedent for the crafting of an Elizabethan textuality. In Parker’s edition of Asser’s Life and in A Testimonie of Antiquitie, it is the continuity of doctrine and learning across a great distance measured in linguistic change that signifies truth and authority. Alfred’s “most needful books for men to know” themselves become the examples of lost wisdom as identified by Parker, and instead of unlocking Latinate knowledge, Parker becomes one of the most prominent of those in Elizabethan England who sought to preserve English lore for a newly Anglican nation. Alfredian English, as an object of study, takes on a powerful role as the yardstick of a different kind of orthodoxy, one that is peculiarly English, rather than catholic and universal. While busy re-collecting Alfredian texts, Matthew Parker is also crafting an imagined space of memory where he can almost recollect the practices and forms of Alfredian textuality.

176  Shewing the Auncient Fayth

Notes 1 R. I. Page, Matthew Parker and his Books: Sandars Lectures in Bibliography Delivered on 14, 16, and 18 May 1990 at the University of Cambridge ­(Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1993), 2. For more on Parker’s collection, see Timothy Graham, “Matthew Parker’s Manuscripts: An Elizabethan Library and its Use,” in The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland, Volume I: To 1640, ed. Elisabeth Leedham-Green and Teresa Webber (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 322–41. 2 John Strype, The Life and Acts of Matthew Parker (London, 1740), 35–37. 3 Plate 24 in Page, Matthew Parker and his Books, is a facsimile of the broadsheet issued by the Privy Council in 1568. 4 James P. Carley, “Monastic Collections and their Dispersal,” in The ­C ambridge History of the Book in Britain, Volume IV: 1557–1695, ed. John Barnard and D. F. McKenzie, with the assistance of Maureen Bell ­(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 339–347. See also ­Christopher de Hamel, “The Dispersal of the Library of Christ Church, Canterbury, from the Fourteenth to the Sixteenth Century,” in Books and Collectors 1200–1700: Essays Presented to Andrew Watson, ed. James P. Carley and Colin G. C. Tite (London: British Library, 1997), 263–79. 5 For efforts to suppress monasteries in medieval and early modern England, see Raymond Irwin, The English Library: Sources and History (London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd., 1966), 128–9, and C. E. Wright, “The Dispersal of the Libraries in the Sixteenth Century,” in The English Library Before 1700, ed. Francis Wormald and C. E. Wright (London: The Athlone Press, 1958), 148–50. The attacks on Bury St. Edmunds are also discussed in Jennifer Summit, Memory’s Library: Medieval Books in Early Modern England (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), esp. 21–3. 6 A recent account of the Elizabethan Society of Antiquaries and their aims may be found in Richard Ovenden, “The Libraries of the Antiquaries (c. 1580–1640) and the Idea of a National Collection,” in Leedham-Green and Webber, The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland, Volume I: To 1640, 527–61. 7 Thomas Stapleton, a Catholic, also printed a translation of Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica as The history of the church of Englande, edited by D. M. Rogers in volume 162 of English Recusant Literature 1558–1640 (Menston, UK: The Scolar Press, 1973). 8 See, for example, May McKisack, Medieval History in the Tudor Age ­(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971); Cathy Shrank, Writing the Nation in Reformation England 1530–1580 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004); and Hugh Magennis, “Not Angles but Anglicans? Reformation and Post-Reformation Perspectives on the Anglo-Saxon Church, Part I: Bede, Ælfric and the Anglo-Saxon Church in Early Modern England,” English Studies 96 (2015): 243–63. 9 William P. Haugaard, Elizabeth and the English Reformation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), 247–57. For the text of the Thirty-nine Articles, see Edgar C. S. Gibson, The Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England, Explained with an Introduction, 6th ed. (London: Methuen, 1908). 10 Magennis, “Not Angles but Anglicans?” 244–9. 11 Michael Lapidge and Michael Winterbottom, eds., Wulfstan of Winchester: The Life of St. Æthelwold (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), xli and xlv–xlvii. 12 A Testimonie of Antiquitie (London: J. Day, [1566]; STC 159 and 159.5), 6v–7r. On the dating of this publication, see John Bromwich, “The First Book Printed in Anglo-Saxon Types,” Transactions of the Cambridge Biblio­graphical Society 3.4 (1962): 265–91.

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  177 13 Theodore H. Leinbaugh, “Ælfric’s Sermo de Sacrificio in Die Pascae: ­A nglican Polemic in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” in ­Anglo-Saxon ­Scholarship: The First Three Centuries, ed. Carl T. Berkhout and Milton McC. Gatch (Boston: G. K. Hall, 1982), 51–68. See also R. I. Page’s review of Anglo-Saxon Scholarship in NQ 30 (1983): 444–5; Aaron J. Kleist, “Monks, Marriage, and Manuscripts: Matthew Parker’s Manipulation (?) of Ælfric of Eynsham,” JEGP 105 (2006): 312–27; and Hugh Magennis, “Ælfric Scholarship,” in A Companion to Ælfric, ed. Hugh Magennis and Mary Swan (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 8–13. 14 Aaron J. Kleist, “Anglo-Saxon Homiliaries in Tudor and Stuart England,” in The Old English Homily: Precedent, Practice, and Appropriation, ed. Aaron J. Kleist (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 462–4. 15 Ibid., 452–4. 16 Timothy Graham, “The Beginnings of Old English Studies: Evidence from the Manuscripts of Matthew Parker,” in Back to the Manuscripts: Papers from the Symposium “The Integrated Approach to Manuscript Studies: A New Horizon,” ed. Shuji Sato (Tokyo: The Centre for Medieval English Studies, 1997), 42–7, discusses alterations made by Parker in manuscripts. Nancy Basler Bjorklund, “Parker’s Purposes for His Manuscripts: Matthew Parker in the Context of his Early Career and Sixteenth-Century Church Reform,” in Old English Literature in its Manuscript Context, ed. Joyce Tally Lionarons (Morgantown, WV: West Virginia University Press, 2004), 218, n. 4, cites a number of criticisms of Parker’s editorial methods. 17 Graham, “Beginnings,” 30. 18 For descriptions of the manuscript, see Ker, Catalogue, no. 49; Gneuss, no. 65/65.5; and Budny, no. 29. 19 Peter J. Lucas, “A Testimonye of Verye Ancient Tyme? Some Manuscript Models for the Parkerian Anglo-Saxon Type-Designs,” in Of the Making of Books: Medieval Manuscripts, their Scribes and Readers: Essays Presented to M. B. Parkes, ed. P. R. Robinson and Rivkah Zim (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1997), 155–56. 20 J. Bruce and T. T. Perowne, eds., Correspondence of Matthew Parker, D.D. Archbishop of Canterbury (Cambridge, 1853), no. 194; cited in L ­ ucas, “A Testimonye,” 152. See also Carley, “Monastic Collections and their Dispersal,” 346. 21 Bjorklund, 236–40. 22 Christopher de Hamel, “Archbishop Matthew Parker and his Imaginary Library of Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury,” Lambeth Palace Library Annual Review 2002 (London, 2003), 62–6. 23 Bjorklund, “Parker’s Purposes,” 220–21. 24 Martin Bucer and Matthew Parker, Florilegium Patristicum, ed. Pierre Fraenkel (Leiden: Brill, 1988). 25 Martin Greschat, Martin Bucer: A Reformer and His Times, trans. Stephen E. Buckwalter (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 246–9. For more on Parker’s commitment to reform, see Bjorklund, 222–36. 26 Diarmaid McCulloch, The Later Reformation in England, 1547–1603, 2nd ed. (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2001), 29. 27 Timothy Graham, “Robert Talbot’s ‘Old Saxonice Bede’: Cambridge University Library, MS Kk.3.18 and the ‘Alphabetum Norwagicum’ of British ­Library, Cotton MSS, Domitian A.IX,” in Books and Collectors 1 ­ 200–1700, ed. James P. Carley and Colin G. C. Tite (London: British Library, 1997), 295–296. 2 8 Strype, 529. 2 9 Graham, “Talbot,” 304–305.

178  Shewing the Auncient Fayth 30 James P. Carley, ed. and trans., De uiris illustribus: Of Famous Men, by John Leland, Studies and Texts 172 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2010), xxv–xxvi. 31 Shrank, 65–103, esp. 65–80. 32 Graham, “Talbot,” 303–304. 33 John Bale, Illustrium Maiorum Britanniae scriptorum, hoc est, Angliae, Cambriae, et Scotiae Summarium (Wesel, 1548; STC 1295). 34 Summit, Memory’s Library, 102–104. 35 Summit, Memory’s Library, 110. 36 Ker, Pastoral Care, 15–17. 37 Timothy Graham, “John Joscelyn, Pioneer of Old English Lexicography,” in The Recovery of Old English: Anglo-Saxon Studies in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, ed. Timothy Graham (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 2000), 102. 38 Page, Matthew Parker and His Books, 101. 39 Richard James, A Sermon Concerning the Eucharist, Delivered on Easter Day in Oxford (London: Robert Allot, 1629; STC 14441), p. 8. 40 My thanks to Stephen Pelle, who first drew James’ sermon to my attention. 41 Lucas, 147–88. 42 See, for example, Jane Roberts, Guide to Scripts used in English Writings Up to 1500 (London: The British Library, 2005), 40 and 85. 43 Ælfredi regis, sig. Avr. 4 4 Sig. Aiir, Aiiiv-Aivv. 45 Foot, “The Making of Angelcynn,” 41–5. 46 Siân Echard, Printing the Middle Ages (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), xi and 1–15. 47 Sig. Aiir-v. All translations from Matthew Parker’s writings are my own. 48 Timothy Graham, “William L’Isle’s Letters to Sir Robert Cotton,” in Early Medieval English Texts and Interpretations: Studies Presented to Donald G. Scragg, ed. Elaine Treharne and Susan Rosser (Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2002), 374. 49 Simon Keynes and Michael Lapidge, Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources (London: Penguin Books, 1983), 53–6, enumerate many sources, including the Vetus Latina, ­Sedulius’ ­C armen paschale, Aldhelm’s prose De virginitate, the anonymous Vita ­Alcuini, and Einhard’s Life of Charlemagne. See pp. 50–51 for a discussion of the controversy over Asser as the author of the Life. 50 William Henry Stevenson, ed., Asser’s Life of King Alfred Together with the Annals of Saint Neots Erroneously Ascribed to Asser (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959; repr. 1998), xiv and xix-xx. 51 M. B. Parkes, “The Influence of the Concepts of Ordinatio and Compilatio on the Development of the Book,” in Scribes, Scripts and Readers: Studies in the Communication, Presentation and Dissemination of Medieval Texts (London: The Hambledon Press, 1991), 58–59. 52 Summit, 108–11. 53 Peter Sherlock, Monuments and Memory in Early Modern England ­(Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 3–4. 54 Davis, “National Writing,” 622–6. For more on the larger pattern of ­Elizabethan polemical use of medieval texts, see Magennis, “Not Angles but Anglicans?” 55 Sweet, King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care, I.4–5. Translation is my own. For more on Parker’s use of the Pastoral Care, see R. I. Page, “The Sixteenth-Century Reception of Alfred the Great’s Letter to his Bishops,” Anglia 110 (1992): 36–64.

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  179 56 The Gospels of the Fower Evangelistes (London: J. Day, 1571; STC 2961), sig. ¶iir. 57 Ælfredi regis res gestae, sig. Aiiv. 58 Ibid., sig. Aiir. 59 On the shift of attention from the British church to the Anglo-Saxon church, see Magennis, “Not Angles but Anglicans?” 245–8. 60 Ibid., sig. Avr. For a modern assessment of the claim, see Graham, “Beginnings,” 29. 61 Shrank, 15–17. 62 Operæ pretium erit patrium hunc nostrum (quo hodie vtimur) sermonem, cum illo obsoleto iam pene & extincto conferre, & conferendo quàm sint inter se similes, & pene eædem, animaduertere […] Anglica cum Saxonicis in margine coniunximus […] vt perfacile inter se diuersarum linguarum sententiæ comparari queant, sig. Aiiiv. 63 Sig. Aivr. 64 Mary Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 19–21. 5 Ibid., 17–18. 6 6 6 Ælfredi regis, sig. Aiiiv–ivr. 6 7 Carruthers, 167–8, 259. 68 Ibid., 9. 69 Ibid., 277–78. 70 The Holie Bible Conteyning the Old Testament and the Newe (London, 1568; STC 2099), *2r; cited in Benedict Scott Robinson, “‘Darke Speech’: Matthew Parker and the Reforming of History,” Sixteenth Century Journal 29.4 (1998): 1081. 71 [H]aud paruam suppeditabit abstrusæ cognitionis suppellectilem, sig. Aivr. 7 2 Lucas, 169, n. 83. 73 [T]ota enim huius bibliothecae supellex … translata est, quoted in de Hamel, “Dispersal,” in Carley and Tite, 266. The translation is my own. 74 See Frances Yates, The Art of Memory (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966). 75 “Amyot to the readers,” in Plutarch, The lives of the noble Grecians and Romanes … translated out of Greeke into French by Iames Amyot … and out of French into Englishe, by Thomas North, 2nd ed. (1579), sig. *IIIv, quoted in Andrew Hiscock, Reading Memory in Early Modern Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 26–7. 76 James Spedding, Robert Leslie Ellis, and Douglas Denon Heath, eds., The Works of Francis Bacon, (London: Longman, 1857–1874), IV.302, quoted in Hiscock, 231. 77 Hiscock, 216. 78 Letter dated 30 July 1560, edited in Timothy Graham and Andrew G. ­Watson, The Recovery of the Past in Early Elizabethan England: Documents by John Bale and John Joscelyn from the Circle of Matthew Parker (Cambridge: Cambridge Bibliographical Society, 1998), 30. 79 A Testimonie, sig. A3r. 80 A Testimonie, sig. Aiiir. 81 Ælfredi regis, sig. Aiiiv. 82 The Life off the 70. Archbishopp off Canterbury presentlye Sittinge ([Zürich: C. Froschauer,] 1574; STC 19292a), C1r-v; cited in Robinson, 1066. 83 Robinson, 1062. 84 See Treharne, “Reading from the Margins.” 85 Robinson, 1062.

180  Shewing the Auncient Fayth 86 Machan, Language Anxiety, 141–5, at 145. 87 Robinson, 1082. 88 Gospels of the Fower Evangelistes, sig. ¶iir.

References Ælfredi regis res gestae. [London: John Day, 1574.] STC 863. Bale, John. Illustrium Maiorum Britanniae scriptorum, hoc est, Angliae, ­C ambriae, et Scotiae Summarium. Wesel, 1548. STC 1295. Barnard, John, and D. F. McKenzie, eds. The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Volume IV: 1557–1695. With the assistance of Maureen Bell. ­Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Berkhout, Carl T., and Milton McC. Gatch, eds. Anglo-Saxon Scholarship: The First Three Centuries. Boston: G. K. Hall, 1982. Bromwich, John. “The First Book Printed in Anglo-Saxon Types.” Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society 3.4 (1962): 265–91. Bruce, J., and T. T. Perowne, eds. Correspondence of Matthew Parker, D.D. Archbishop of Canterbury. Cambridge, 1853. Bucer, Martin, and Matthew Parker, Florilegium Patristicum. Edited by Pierre Fraenkel. Leiden: Brill, 1988. Budny, Mildred. Insular, Anglo-Saxon, and Early Anglo-Norman Manuscript Art at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge: An Illustrated Catalogue. 2 vols. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1997. Carley, James P., ed. and trans. De uiris illustribus: Of Famous Men, by John Leland. Studies and Texts 172. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2010. Carley, James P., and Colin G. C. Tite, eds. Books and Collectors 1200–1700: Essays Presented to Andrew Watson. London: British Library, 1997. Carruthers, Mary. The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Davis, Kathleen. “National Writing in the Ninth Century: A Reminder for Postcolonial thinking about the Nation.” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 28 (1998): 611–37. de Hamel, Christopher. “Archbishop Matthew Parker and his Imaginary ­Library of Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury.” Lambeth Palace Library Annual Review 2002 (London, 2003). Echard, Siân. Printing the Middle Ages. Philadelphia, PA: University of ­Pennsylvania Press, 2008. Foot, Sarah. “The Making of Angelcynn: English Identity before the Norman Conquest.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, 6 (1996): 25–49. Gibson, Edgar C. S. The Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England, Explained with an Introduction. 6th ed. London: Methuen, 1908. Gneuss, Helmut. Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A List of Manu­ scripts and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England up to 1100. Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2001. The Gospels of the Fower Evangelistes. London: J. Day, 1571. STC 2961.

Shewing the Auncient Fayth  181 Graham, Timothy, ed. The Recovery of Old English: Anglo-Saxon Studies in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 2000. Graham, Timothy, and Andrew G. Watson. The Recovery of the Past in Early Elizabethan England: Documents by John Bale and John Joscelyn from the Circle of Matthew Parker. Cambridge: Cambridge Bibliographical Society, 1998. Greschat, Martin. Martin Bucer: A Reformer and His Times. Translated by Stephen E. Buckwalter. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004. Haugaard, William P. Elizabeth and the English Reformation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968. Hiscock, Andrew. Reading Memory in Early Modern Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. The Holie Bible Conteyning the Old Testament and the Newe. London, 1568. STC 2099. Irwin, Raymond. The English Library: Sources and History. London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd., 1966. James, Richard. A Sermon Concerning the Eucharist, Delivered on Easter Day in Oxford. London: Robert Allot, 1629. STC 14441. Ker, N. R, ed. The Pastoral Care. EEMF 6. Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and ­Bagger, 1956. ———. Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957. Reprinted 1990. Keynes, Simon, and Michael Lapidge. Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources. London: Penguin Books, 1983. Kleist, Aaron J. “Monks, Marriage, and Manuscripts: Matthew Parker’s ­Manipulation (?) of Ælfric of Eynsham.” JEGP 105 (2006): 312–27. ———, ed. The Old English Homily: Precedent, Practice, and Appropriation. Turnhout: Brepols, 2007. Lapidge, Michael, and Michael Winterbottom, eds. Wulfstan of Winchester: The Life of St. Æthelwold. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991. Leedham-Green, Elisabeth, and Teresa Webber, eds. The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland, Volume I: To 1640. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. The Life off the 70. Archbishopp off Canterbury presentlye Sittinge. [Zürich: C. Froschauer,] 1574. STC 19292a. Lionarons, Joyce Tally, ed. Old English Literature in its Manuscripts Context. Morgantown, WV: West Virginia University Press, 2004. Machan, Tim William. Language Anxiety: Conflict and Change in the History of English. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Magennis, Hugh. “Not Angles but Anglicans? Reformation and Post-­ Reformation Perspectives on the Anglo-Saxon Church, Part I: Bede, Ælfric and the Anglo-Saxon Church in Early Modern England,” English Studies 96 (2015): 243–63. Magennis, Hugh, and Mary Swan, eds. A Companion to Ælfric. Leiden: Brill, 2009. McCulloch, Diarmaid. The Later Reformation in England, 1547–1603. 2nd ed. Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2001.

182  Shewing the Auncient Fayth McKisack, May. Medieval History in the Tudor Age. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971. Page, R. I. Review of Anglo-Saxon Scholarship: The First Three Centuries, edi­ ted by Carl T. Berkhout and Milton McC. Gatch. NQ 30 (1983): 444–5. ———. “The Sixteenth-Century Reception of Alfred the Great’s Letter to his Bishops.” Anglia 110 (1992): 36–64. ———. Matthew Parker and his Books: Sandars Lectures in Bibliography Delivered on 14, 16, and 18 May 1990 at the University of Cambridge. ­Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1993. Parkes, M. B. Scribes, Scripts and Readers: Studies in the Communication, Presentation and Dissemination of Medieval Texts. London: The Hambledon Press, 1991. Roberts, Jane. Guide to Scripts used in English Writings Up to 1500. London: The British Library, 2005. Robinson, Benedict Scott. “‘Darke Speech’: Matthew Parker and the Reforming of History.” Sixteenth Century Journal 29.4 (1998): 1061–83. Robinson, P. R., and Rivkah Zim, eds. Of the Making of Books: Medieval Manu­scripts, their Scribes and Readers: Essays Presented to M. B. Parkes. Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1997. Rogers, D. M., ed. English Recusant Literature 1558–1640, Vol. 162: The history of the church of Englande, reproduced from a copy at Downside Abbey. Menston, Yorkshire: The Scolar Press, 1973. Sato, Shuji, ed. Back to the Manuscripts: Papers from the Symposium “The Integrated Approach to Manuscript Studies: A New Horizon.” Tokyo: The Centre for Medieval English Studies, 1997. Sherlock, Peter. Monuments and Memory in Early Modern England. ­A ldershot: Ashgate, 2008. Shrank, Cathy. Writing the Nation in Reformation England 1530–1580. ­Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Spedding, James, Robert Leslie Ellis, and Douglas Denon Heath, eds. The Works of Francis Bacon. London: Longman, 1857–1874. Stevenson, William Henry, ed. Asser’s Life of King Alfred Together with the Annals of Saint Neots Erroneously Ascribed to Asser. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959. Reprinted 1998. Strype, John. The Life and Acts of Matthew Parker. London, 1740. Summit, Jennifer. Memory’s Library: Medieval Books in Early Modern ­England. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008. Sweet, Henry, ed. King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care. EETS o.s. 45, 50. London: N. Trübner & Co., 1871. Reprinted 1958. A Testimonie of Antiquitie. London: J. Day, [1566]. STC 159 and 159.5. Treharne, Elaine, and Susan Rosser, eds. Early Medieval English Texts and Inter­pretations: Studies Presented to Donald G. Scragg. Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2002. Wormald, Francis, and C. E. Wright, eds. The English Library Before 1700. London: The Athlone Press, 1958. Yates, Frances. The Art of Memory. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966.

Conclusion

English did not emerge as a precocious written vernacular, still less ­survive multiple conquests, because it emerged from a pristine, “insular” field with only scholarly or religious Latin to compete in very limited spheres. On the contrary, English developed so precociously because of the responses of the Anglo-Saxons to a far more complex linguistic landscape, from the period of the earliest writings through to the Norman Conquest and beyond. The connections that sustained multilingual influences on English went well beyond Britain and Ireland, through trade, the travel of scholars and ecclesiastical appointees, pilgrimage, missionary work, royal marriages, and more. Bede, a foundationally important author for the traditions of Old English and Anglo-Latin literature, saw English within a broader constellation of languages, and he was, moreover, interested in the ability to cross linguistic boundaries. The miracle of the Pentecost lent a powerful theological significance to that emphasis and transformed it into a driving ideal. In the ninth and tenth centuries, Alfred and Æthelstan showed that text, translation, and books were part of establishing and maintaining political power. Both of these kings attracted (and apparently welcomed) cosmopolitan groups of scholars and nobles at their courts, but far from diluting their championing of English, this enriched the literature of Anglo-Saxon England. Wulfstan and Emma, by contrast, dealt with a much clearer shift in the status of English, as the Anglo-Danish regime adapted to the use of English for governance, while increasing numbers of non-English-speaking Scandinavians settled in England and became a much greater proportion of those at court. After the Norman Conquest, English was not engaged in any kind of death-struggle with French, in spite of the sometimes prickly rhetoric, especially during the Hundred Years’ War. Particularly in the first two centuries after the Conquest, English and French coexisted in certain circles and drew from each other. More specifically, English never ceased to carry potent symbolic value as a sign of identity, and by the later sixteenth century, when Matthew Parker sought a different way to use ­English as a marker of identity, it was with the rhetoric of distance that was intended to highlight both the venerable status of the tradition

184 Conclusion on which he drew and also his own ability to bridge that gap. We can demonstrate that there were readers leaving their marks in ­English manuscripts through most of the later medieval period, but for Parker, the sense that bridging a supposed linguistic rupture could also help to bridge political and religious rupture provided momentum for his reforming agenda. The authors, patrons, and readers discussed here have all imagined the possibility of communal ties, and consciously or not, they have recog­ nized the potential of distance as an incentive for textual engagement. In some cases, perhaps most notably in Parker’s misleading narrative of neglected books, the distance itself exists more in the mind of an indivi­ dual than in any kind of historical fact, but even where the distance can be documented according to external metrics, that distance is not important until it has been, in some sense, imagined and put to use by an individual. As is so often true today when national or ethnic tensions flare up, the perception of distance is far more powerful than any resume of facts about the distance or lack thereof. However, as the textual communities of this book show, imagined distance can lead to more constructive ends than hostility. From the tension of distance, productive energy is generated, by which those making and using books establish connections and redefine their proximity to one another. One way that proximity can be redefined is when the ability to cross linguistic boundaries has value attached to it. Alfred and Parker explicitly use the act of translation to bolster their symbolic capital and to expend that capital for politically significant ends. For Bede and for Emma, it is clear that Latin holds a unifying potential, standing outside of the narrower confines of mere national languages, as long as there are people who can bridge the gap between Latin and those verna­culars. Wulfstan and the Tremulous Hand may not have commented upon the fact, but they both worked in the space between different usages, ­Wulfstan at royal courts and dioceses with wildly differing linguistic profiles, and the Tremulous Hand both with the changing face of English and with translation to or from Latin. What this book has shown is that textual communities not only flourished throughout the medieval period and into the early modern period, but also were closely linked to both the physical objects of their activity and to the linguistic environment in which they operated. Bede, Alfred, and Matthew Parker used linguistic distance to valorize their textual practices. For Bede, this was a fundamental element in his fusion of textual criticism with reformist tendencies, and it ultimately extended back to the Biblical miracle of the Pentecost, by which all nations were united in a single, Christian community. Alfred identified and utilized the distance between his Latin exemplars and the Old English translations he instigated to offer a new rationale for a textual kingdom, strengthened in wisdom and thereby in military prowess. Alfred’s grandson, Æthelstan,

Conclusion  185 then used the physical distribution of books to bind up the West Saxon sphere of influence as a wider textual community. The repetition with variation in manuscript witnesses to Wulfstan’s work in particular, as well as Wulfstan’s annotations and the careful punctuation of many of Wulfstan’s homilies, offer a way of understanding a textual community as operating both through painstaking attention to written detail and through repeated oral performance and adaptation. This suggests that we should look for textual communities even in unlikely manifestations, as we can see also if we work past the temptation to assume that the Tremulous Hand or early thirteenth-­ century anchoresses must have been totally isolated or cut off from communal ties. As an example of the continuing importance of textual community from early medieval England up to Parker’s day, I conclude with a brief discussion of a single medieval manuscript: Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Hatton 20.1 This manuscript contains an Old English translation of the Cura pastoralis originally composed by Pope Gregory the Great ­(590–604). Regarded as “the apostle of the English” for his crucial role in their conversion to Christianity, Gregory was highly influential on and deeply beloved of Bede and many other Anglo-Saxon s­ cholars, but this translation was not made until Alfred’s program of translation of the “most needful” texts into Old English in the late ninth century. Dated to the late ninth century and opening with the words ÐEOS BOC SCEAL TO WIOGORA CEASTRE (“This book must go to W ­ orcester”), ­Hatton 20 is one of the only surviving contemporary copies of an Alfredian text, making it one of the most treasured of Anglo-Saxon manuscripts. Its value for Anglo-Saxonists is increased further by the survival on its first folios of glosses and annotations made by Wulfstan, the Tremulous Hand, and John Joscelyn. A text written by Gregory, who was admired and cited by Bede, 2 who was himself influential in both Anglo-Saxon and early modern ­England, 3 was translated by Alfred and his scholarly court milieu in the late ninth century. The translation survives in a copy that was officially sanctioned and prepared at the Alfredian court. This copy was repeatedly used and marked by later readers, who began to rely on each other’s annotations, even up until the sixteenth century. It was at that point that the ­Parkerian circle discovered the text of the Old English Pastoral Care, using the glosses made originally by the Tremulous Hand in the early thirteenth century and, in some cases, perpetuating errors made by the Tremulous Hand.4 In and of itself, the first folio of this manuscript contains the traces of a textual community that spans nearly one thousand years, as well as tremendous changes in the English language and its relationship with Latin. Within every layer of the writing on that folio, including the main text of Alfred’s translation with its foreshadowing in Bede’s and other early writings, lies the tension of linguistic distance.

186 Conclusion At every stage, it is this linguistic tension that drives the textual activity we see in the manuscript. The linguistic concerns central to B ­ ede’s writings and to his participation in an early Northumbrian textual community are only implicit in the record of this manuscript, but his partici­pation in and his role in giving shape to that Northumbrian textual community were crucial to the formation of the Alfredian textual community. Bede’s emphasis on textuality as a means of driving reform and of reaching out into the world, as well as his articulation of an identity for an English gens, were foundationally important for Alfred’s project to translate a Latinate body of knowledge and wisdom into an English vehicle for not only intellectual and educational reform, but also both the spiritual and military defense of the kingdom. Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica depicted kings involving themselves in interlinguistic transactions and in ecclesiastical affairs, modeling for Alfred elements of the persona he famously chose to adopt as novus David and Christian king. Moreover, the fact that Bede pushed for reform by textual means gave license to Alfred’s textually driven program of reforms. The inscription at the beginning of Hatton 20, specifying that the manuscript was to be sent to Worcester, is in itself a testament to the movement (or at least intended movement) of books through the ­community of ecclesiastical and political leaders Alfred wished to link by means of textual bonds. The very production of this manuscript relied on the smaller community of scholars gathered around Alfred to advise, assist, and perhaps ventriloquize the king’s voice as part of the creation of his translations. The production of this copy and all other copies inscribed Alfred’s model of textual community for later readers to see. This, as Alfred knew, was a necessary step since spoken words, as Augustine noted, “last no longer than they sound” (nec diutius manent quam ­sonant), while letters make it possible to present words to the eyes of readers and thus cast across (ad traiciendum) what was in the mind of the writer.5 Alfred claimed that in the texts he wished to translate he could still see the traces of those who had previously loved wisdom and used it to bequeath wealth to their descendants (her mon mæg giet ­gesion hiora swæð), and he criticized the failure of so many in his own time to bend to the track and follow in their footsteps (to ðæm spore mid ure mode onlutan).6 This account of Alfred’s sense of following the spor of his predecessors left an additional layer of tracks that could be followed by readers who wished to emulate Alfred and participate in the textual community again. Alfred’s explanation of this phenomenon and the trail he left in offering that explanation provided the matrix in which all later interactions with the manuscript took place. In the late tenth or early eleventh century, Wulfstan of York apparently spent time reading this manuscript, or at least the Preface, which he annotated. It is unlikely that a speaker of Old English would have needed to carry out extensive glossing for comprehension of the text, but

Conclusion  187 Wulfstan’s habit of annotating was not limited to manuscripts containing his own works. His annotations in the Pastoral Care Preface include additions or corrections (as he judged them) to the text, some spelling changes (especially to change to ), and new or altered punctuation.7 Just as manuscripts of Wulfstan’s works show signs of and in fact encourage aural experimentation, so Wulfstan’s annotations in his own and other texts declare a sense that books are to be used and intervened in, once again inviting active interaction by later readers. Like Alfred, Wulfstan seems to have developed a “growing vision of a Holy Society” fashioned through both ecclesiastical and legal authority and guidance.8 So, a text like the Preface to Alfred’s Pastoral Care, laying out a vision of Anglo-Saxon society that was to be realized through textual activity and the oversight of spiritual and political leaders, would have resonated with Wulfstan, an archbishop whose facility with spoken and written text was directed towards the construction of a holier social framework. For the Tremulous Hand, the content of the Pastoral Care would certainly have been in keeping with the other kinds of texts he tended to annotate—homiletic and other works dealing with doctrinal and pastoral matters—but its greatest utility might have been in the linguistic information the text held. For the Preface, no Latin original existed, so far as we know, but the main text of the translation had a Latin original, which the Tremulous Hand is known to have consulted in preparing his glosses to the Old English text.9 The Latin crib presumably allowed the Tremulous Hand to grasp more easily the syntactical and lexical value of the Old English words, at least where the Old English text gave an accurate reflection of the linguistic details of the Latin original. So, the trail left by the Tremulous Hand also betrayed his reliance on other manuscripts that he drew into the textual community. The Tremulous Hand seems to have needed no encouragement to mark up the manuscripts he read, but in his turn, he left further inducements for later readers and annotators by adding his own glosses to the manuscript alongside ­Wulfstan’s earlier annotations. We have already seen that Alfred presented a useful model for Parker and his sixteenth-century circle, and the Preface to the Pastoral Care had its own appeal for the Parkerian group.10 John Joscelyn, who made the sixteenth-century annotations in Hatton 20, was heavily involved in Matthew Parker’s textual projects and also worked towards an Old English dictionary with Parker’s son, John. In Lambeth 692, the notebook quoted in Chapter 5, Joscelyn entered words drawn from Hatton 20—not only do the spellings match Hatton 20, rather than CCCC 12 (the other manuscript of the Alfredian Pastoral Care), but Joscelyn also underlined the words where they appeared in Hatton 20.11 Here, as elsewhere, Joscelyn seems to have used the Tremulous Hand as a crutch in reading the manuscript and mining it for his lexicographical project, for he abandoned it soon after the last of the Tremulous Hand glosses.12

188 Conclusion So, the sixteenth-century layer of annotating in Hatton 20 speaks both to the interest of the Parkerian circle in Alfredian texts and to their dependence on the earlier communal interactions of the Tremulous Hand with this and other Anglo-Saxon manuscripts. The manifestation of the already diachronic textual community as layers of writing in Hatton 20 allowed Parker and Joscelyn to follow the spor of their predecessors and participate in the communal interactions with the manuscript. The opening folios of Hatton 20, then, illustrate the central i­mportance of textual community in the literary culture of England throughout the Middle Ages and into the sixteenth century. Moreover, the record of these folios also illustrates the necessity of using physical books to enter the textual community. For Wulfstan, it was simply the presence of the text that was needed, but for the Tremulous Hand and John Joscelyn, the Old English text was only partially accessible without careful study of this and other manuscripts. The visibility of the annotations left by the Tremulous Hand in his study of the manuscript was also crucial to the success of the sixteenth-century participants in the textual community. The text and annotations in Hatton 20 also exemplify the varied ways in which linguistic distance operates to demand textual community. The multilingual environment in early medieval England is reflected in the translation from Latin to Old English and in Alfred’s discussion of the need to perform this work. In this, Alfred echoes Bede’s comfort with translation and with the use of the vernacular for texts of spiritual import, as well as Bede’s sense of the urgency of any project to make spiritual texts accessible to all. The Tremulous Hand glosses span both an interlingual distance (with his use of a Latin crib and his entry of Latin glosses into the manuscript) and an intralingual distance within English, whose differing forms he grappled with for many years. Parker and his circle also struggled with the changes that had occurred in the English language over many centuries, but this imaginative struggle to renew the memory of “that ancient and once familiar language” became their way of demonstrating their integration into the textual community. Parker set out to “inquyre for the olde way,” and like Alfred, he too found there the spor of those who had preceded him in the textual community, beckoning him to take part.

Notes 1 See Ker, ed., The Pastoral Care, for a description and facsimile of the manuscript, which is number 324 in Ker, Catalogue. The text is edited by Sweet, King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care. For a discussion of the layers of writing in the preface, see Timothy Graham, “The Opening of King Alfred’s Preface to the Old English Pastoral Care: Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Hatton 20,” OEN 38, no. 1 (2004): 43–50. 2 Bede writes of Gregory in HE II.1, recte nostrum appellare possumus et debemus apostolum (“rightly we can and ought to call him our apostle”), and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 209–12, lists numerous citations of Gregory’s writings, including the Cura pastoralis, in the works of Bede.

Conclusion  189 3 Thomas Stapleton printed a translation of Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica as The history of the church of Englande, reproduced from a copy at Downside Abbey, appearing in Rogers, ed., English Recusant Literature, vol. 162. Abraham Wheelock published an edition of the Old English Bede in 1643, and an edition of the Latin followed in 1722, on which see George Hardin Brown, A Companion to Bede (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2009), 123. 4 Page, “The Sixteenth-century Reception,” esp. 41–8. 5 DDC II.3 and 8. 6 Sweet, King Alfred’s Pastoral Care, 5. 7 Ker, Pastoral Care, 24–5. 8 Wormald, “Archbishop Wulfstan and the Holiness of Society,” in Legal ­Culture, 244–6. 9 Wendy Collier, “The Tremulous Worcester Hand and Gregory’s Pastoral Care,” in Swan and Treharne, 199–206. 10 Page, “Sixteenth-century Reception,” 37–40. 11 Timothy Graham, “John Joscelyn,” in Graham, The Recovery of Old ­English, 104–27, esp. 113–14 and 118–20. 12 Ker, Catalogue, 15–17.

References Brown, George Hardin. A Companion to Bede. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2009. Colgrave, Bertram, and R. A. B. Mynors, eds. Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969. Graham, Timothy, ed. The Recovery of Old English: Anglo-Saxon Studies in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 2000. ———. “The Opening of King Alfred’s Preface to the Old English Pastoral Care: Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Hatton 20.” OEN 38.1 (2004): 43–50. Green, R. P. H., ed. and trans. Augustine: De Doctrina Christiana. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995. Ker, N. R, ed. The Pastoral Care. EEMF 6. Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and ­Bagger, 1956. ———. Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957. Reprinted 1990. Lapidge, Michael. The Anglo-Saxon Library. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Page, R. I. “The Sixteenth-Century Reception of Alfred the Great’s Letter to his Bishops.” Anglia 110 (1992): 36–64. Rogers, D. M., ed. English Recusant Literature 1558–1640, Vol. 162: The history of the church of Englande, reproduced from a copy at Downside Abbey. Menston, Yorkshire: The Scolar Press, 1973. Swan, Mary, and Elaine M. Treharne, eds. Rewriting Old English in the Twelfth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Sweet, Henry, ed. King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care. EETS o.s. 45, 50. London: N. Trübner & Co., 1871. Reprinted 1958. Wormald, Patrick. Legal Culture in the Early Medieval West: Law as Text, Image and Experience. London: The Hambledon Press, 1999.

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Index of Manuscripts

Cambridge Clare College 30 135 Corpus Christi College: 12 14, 75, 82, 134–5, 187; 162 134, 160; 173 (Parker Chronicle) 69–70, 73, 75; 178 120, 134, 160–1; 183 70–1; 188 120, 160; 190 132, 150, 162; 198 134, 160–1, 165–6; 201 87, 90–1, 93, 96–8, 116, 118, 120–1, 161–2; short homiletic texts in 99–105; 265 162; 302 160; 303 160; 367 161; 391 135; 402 143, 145; 419 97–9, 102, 132, 150, 160, 162; 421 132, 150, 160–2; 557 134 Gonville and Caius College 234/120 143 Magdalene College, Pepys 2498 143 Trinity College: B.14.52 (Trinity Homilies) 131, 147, 149–50; B.15.34 160; R.3.14 167; 883 143 University Library: Ii.1.33 160; Ii.4.6 161; Kk.3.18 134, 163 Copenhagen, Kongelige Bibliotek, MS Acc. 2011/5 (Courtenay Compendium) 86, 106 Durham, Cathedral Library A.II.17 (Durham Gospels) 26 Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Amiatino 1 see Codex Amiatinus Glasgow, University Library, Hunterian 431 135 Lawrence, Kansas Kenneth Spencer Research Library, Pryce C2:2 161 University Library: Y.103 134; Y.104 134

London British Library: Additional 22283 (Simeon Manuscript) 145, 148; Additional 33241 (Encomium Emmae Reginae) 123; Additional 47967 69; Additional 89000 (St. Cuthbert Gospel) 14, 26; Cotton Claudius A.iii 120; Cotton Cleopatra C.vi 143, 145; Cotton Domitian A.ix 163; Cotton Faustina A.ix 161; Cotton Galba A.xviii (Æthelstan Psalter) 70; Cotton Nero A.i 97–8, 120–1; Cotton Nero A.xiv 135, 143, 146; Cotton Nero D.iv (Lindisfarne Gospels) 24–6; Cotton Otho A.xii 164; Cotton Otho B.x 134, 161; Cotton Otho C.i 134; Cotton Tiberius A.ii 70–1; Cotton Tiberius A.iii 99–100; Cotton Tiberius A.xiii 87, 96; Cotton Tiberius A.xv 73; Cotton Titus D.xviii 143; Cotton Vespasian A.xiv 87, 94–6, 116, 120; Cotton Vespasian D.xiv 161; Cotton Vitellius E.vii 143; Cotton Vitellius F.vii 143, 145; Harley 55 96, 134; Harley 2965 69; Loan 74 (Stonyhurst Gospel) see Additional 89000; Royal 7 C.x 143; Royal 7 D.xxiv 70; Royal 8 C.i 143 Lambeth Palace Library: 487 (Lambeth Homilies) 131–3, 147, 150; 692 165, 187; 1370 71–2 Oxford Bodleian Library: Bodley 34 143, 153; Bodley 90 143; Bodley 340 161; Bodley 342 161; Bodley 343 12, 97–8, 131–3, 135, 143, 145, 147–8; Eng. poet. a.I (Vernon

192  Index of Manuscripts Manuscript) 143, 145, 148; Eng. th. c. 70 143; Hatton 20 14, 18, 75, 134–6, 165, 185–8; Hatton 76 134; Hatton 113 96–9, 102, 134, 152, 161; Hatton 114 96, 134, 136, 138–40, 161; Hatton 115 120, 134, 161; Hatton 116 134; Junius 1 103; see also Ormulum; Junius 27 (Junius Psalter) 69; Junius 86 69; Junius 121 87, 98, 134, 138–40; Laud Misc. 482 134; Rawlinson Q.e.20 161; Tanner 10 (Tanner Bede) 69 Corpus Christi College 122 73–4 Magdalen College, Latin 67 143 Merton College C.I.5 143

Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France: Fonds français 6276 143; Fonds latin 10758 73 St. Petersburg, National Library of Russia, MS Lat. Q. v. I. 18 (St. Petersburg Bede) 31–2 Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Barberini lat. 570 (Barberini Gospels) 30 Worcester, Cathedral Library, MS F.174 135, 151 York, Minster Library, Additional 1 (York Gospels) 95–6

General Index

AB language 17, 131, 135, 142–4, 153; scribes of 133, 148; and Tremulous Hand 146 Abels, Richard 81 Abrams, Lesley 82 Acken, James Tindal 52 Adalstan acrostic see Archalis clamare triumuir Adamson, Matthew 49 Ælfgifu see Emma of Normandy Ælfgifu, Saint 113 Ælfgifu of Northampton 109–10 Ælfheah, archbishop of Canterbury 110 Ælfric of Eynsham 10, 13, 49, 118, 138, 153; Grammar and Glossary 9, 19, 43, 135, 141, 151; studied by antiquarians 160–1, 165–6; and translation 88; and Wulfstan 88, 94–5, 104–105, 120, 131–2 Ælfwine 36 Aeneid 3, 108–109 Æthelberht 26, 33, 36 Æthelburh 33, 48 Æthelflæd 68 Æthelred of Mercia 36 Æthelred I of Wessex 58 Æthelred II 82, 87–9, 92, 98, 106, 108–10, 113, 166 Æthelstan 16–17, 56–8, 61–2, 183–4; cosmopolitan circle surrounding 68, 73–4; distribution of books 68–9; manuscripts associated with 69–71; poems associated with 62, 68, 72, 74–5 Æthelwold, bishop of Winchester 160 Æthelwulf 69, 79, 113 Agilbert 33–6 Ahlqvist, Anders 51 Aidan, bishop of Lindisfarne 25, 34 Alan II, duke of Brittany 73

Alcuin 31, 43, 52, 59, 78, 92, 96 Aldfrith 25, 33, 49 Aldhelm of Malmesbury 4, 16, 25, 29–31, 43, 71, 78, 178 Alea euangelii 73–4 Alfred, son of Æthelred II 108–109 Alfred the Great 183–8; and Anglo-Saxon Chronicle 58, 64, 71–2; controversy over authorship 56–8, 70–1, 95; court circle 57; cræft 63, 75; donations 68–9, 73; educational reforms and translation project 66–7, 74, 135; illness of 60, 64; libellus or enchiridion 14–15, 60, 62–3, 65–6, 75, 168; as model for antiquarians 167–9, 173–5; as novus David 73; Old English Bede 58, 69–70, 134, 189; Old English Boethius 52, 58, 63, 69–70; Old English Dialogues 58, 134; Old English Orosius 58, 69–70; Old English Soliloquies 58, 63; Pastoral Care 49, 58, 66, 169, 173, 185, 187; personal piety 60; Prose Psalms 58, 81; as reader 62–6, 142; and Vikings 58–61; see also Asser Altus prosator 25 Alty, Jane E. 136–7, 152 Amyot, James 172 anchoresses 142, 144–6, 153–4, 185 Ancrene Wisse 10, 17, 129–31, 133–5, 137, 142–7; manuscripts of 143; Nero Scribe 137, 146–8 Ancrene Wisse Group 13, 17, 133, 135, 146, 148 Anderson, Benedict 8, 19 Angelcynn 8, 56 Angles 28, 48, 167 Anglican Church see Church of England

194  General Index Anglo-Danish court 57, 86, 89, 105–109, 111, 115 Anglo-French: influence on English 130, 135, 144–5; speakers in England before Norman Conquest 108, 111; translation from or into 131, 143 Anglo-Latin 108, 166–7, 183 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle 58–9, 61, 64, 68–9, 71, 75, 87; Common Stock 72, 79; poems in 61, 68, 72, 92, 94, 116, 118 Annals of St. Neots 168 annotation 14, 18, 95–6, 98, 105, 129, 134–7, 139–41, 161, 165, 185, 187 antiquarians 6, 14, 75, 149, 158, 160, 162–5, 168, 170, 173–4 Apollonius of Tyre 116 Archalis clamare triumuir 62, 74; d’Ardenne, S. R. T. O. 144, 153–4 Asser 13–15, 57, 59–66, 69, 71–3, 81, 168, 178; Life of King Alfred 62–4, 71–2, 77–9, 81, 161, 164, 167–8, 170–1, 173, 175, 178 Augustine of Canterbury 25–6, 32, 34–5 Augustine of Hippo 4–5, 9, 13, 16, 19, 186 Auraicept na nÉces 43 authority, textual 7, 45, 62–4, 72, 86, 98–9, 104, 110, 114–15, 168, 173, 175 Autret, Jean 19 Babel, Tower of 2, 32, 38 Bacon, Francis 172 Bale, John 13, 158–9, 161–4, 172 Barberini Gospels see Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Barberini lat. 570 Barney, Stephen A. 19–20 Bartlett, Robert 18 Bately, Janet 57–8, 76–7, 79–80, 82 Batman, Stephen 13, 164 Battiscombe, C. F. 47 Battle of Brunanburh 61, 68, 72 Bede 50, 63, 108, 183–6, 188; attitude to the vernacular 36, 43–4, 46, 72; Cædmon story 38–9, 44; healing of mute and scabby youth 39–42; Historia ecclesiastica 64, 176, 186, 189; influence in England 49,

59–60, 66; interest in languages 27–8, 30, 36–8; on holiness of languages 9–11, 16, 32–3; In Ezram 44, 59; library of 13, 24; Lives of Cuthbert 25–6, 70–1; popularity on the Continent 6, 27, 31–2; praise for those who know Greek and Latin 30 Belton, Adrian 81 Benedict Biscop 25, 28–9, 33 Benedictine Reform 10, 74, 132, 160 Benskin, Michael 150 Beowulf 92, 110 Bertha 26, 33 Bethurum, Dorothy 89, 97–100, 102, 117–21 bilingualism see multilingualism bookbinding 9, 14–15, 17, 26, 47, 69, 165 Bishops’ Bible 161, 171 Bjorklund, Nancy Basler 161–2, 177 Blair, John 48 Blake, E. O. 117 Blake, Norman 149–50 Bolton, Timothy 115, 122 Boniface 16, 25, 31, 49 Bonner, Gerald 50 Bourdieu, Pierre 45, 49, 52, 67, 79 Bredehoft, Thomas A. 77, 79, 81 Breton manuscripts 71, 73 Bretons 61, 73 Brett, Caroline 78, 81 Brittany 17, 61, 71, 73 Britons 37 Bromwich, John 176 Brooks, Nicholas 117, 150 Brown, George Hardin 189 Brown, Michelle P. 15, 20, 24–5, 29, 45–9, 52 Bruce, J. 177 Buckwalter, Stephen E. 177 Bucer, Martin 163, 177 Budny, Mildred 120, 177 Burford, William 19 Burke, Peter 3, 18 Bury St. Edmunds 159, 176 Butler, Marilyn Sandidge 141, 153 Cædmon 32, 35–6, 39, 43–4, 52 Cædmon’s Hymn 39, 51 Campbell, Alistair 122, 153 Canterbury, school at 25, 31; see also Christ Church, Canterbury

General Index  195 capital, cultural 9, 28, 32, 34–5, 39, 49, 52, 67, 69, 79, 108, 184 Carley, James P. 176–9 Carnicelli, Thomas A. 76 Carolingian script 6 Carolingians 32, 56, 59–60, 69, 73, 77 Carruthers, Mary 171, 179 Carta dirige gressus 68, 72, 74 cathedrals 131–2, 134, 146–8 Ceadwalla 29 Cecil, William 162 Ceolfrith 24–9, 33 Ceolwulf 29, 48 Centwine 29 Cenwealh 34–6 Chapman, Don W. 90, 118 Charlemagne 59, 73, 78 charters 26, 28, 30, 88, 110–11, 163 Chester-le-Street 70–1 Christ Church, Canterbury 70–1, 73, 172 Christopher, Joseph Patrick 19 Church of England 12, 18, 158, 160, 162, 173 Clanchy, M. T. 65, 79 Clancy, Thomas Owen 47 Clarke, Catherine A. M. 9, 19, 78, 120 Clemens, Raymond 154 Clemoes, Peter 79, 116 clergy 99, 134, 147, 160 Cnut 87, 89, 111, 122; Letters to the English 107, 123; laws issued by 92, 112, 130; marriage to Emma 106, 109–10, 113; see also Ælfgifu of Northampton; Knútsdrápur Codex Amiatinus 24, 26–7, 29, 45 Coenwulf 30 Colgrave, Bertram 37, 47, 50–1 Collier, Wendy 152–3, 155, 189 Columba 25–6 compilatio 9, 168 Conti, Aidan 150–1 Copenhagen Wulfstan collection see Copenhagen, Kongelige Bibliotek, Gl. Kgl. Sam. 1595 Coptic influence in England 14, 25–6 Cornwall 71 Corpus Christi College, Cambridge 17, 158–9 Council of Hertford 26–7 Crawford, S. J. 152 Creed 36, 46, 138 Crépin, André 50

Cross, James E. 117 Cura pastoralis 18, 135, 173, 185, 188; see also Gregory the Great Cuthbert, St. 24, 36, 50, 70–1; see also Bede Dance, Richard 118–19, 153, 155 Danish Conquest 10, 86, 92, 115 David 73, 81, 186 Davis, Kathleen 8, 18–19, 59, 77, 178 DeGregorio, Scott 52, 117 Dekker, Kees 49, 52 Denmark 58, 68, 105–107 diachronicity 4–6, 12–15, 165, 186–8 Dien, Stephanie see Hollis, Stephanie Discenza, Nicole Guenther 52, 59, 76–7, 79, 81–2 Dissolution of the monasteries 159–60 distance 1–6, 8–9, 11–12, 36, 59, 130, 137, 170; rhetoric of 112, 175, 183–4 Dobson, E. J. 154–5 Dobyns, Mabel Falberg 118–19 Dodd, Loring Holmes 119 Donatus 42, 51 Doyle, A. I. 154–5 Draper, Clement 8 Dub Innse 74 Duff, J. D. 123–4 Dumitrescu, Irina A. 49, 51 Dümmler, Ernst 49 Dumville, David N. 46, 78 Durham Gospels see Durham, Cathedral Library A.II.17 Eadfrith 24–5 Eadmer of Canterbury 132 Eadred 58, 68 Ealhswith 69 Ealdred, archbishop of York 132 East Anglia 91 Ecgbert 36, 52, 57, 76 Ecgfrith 29 Echard, Siân 167, 178 Edith, half-sister of Æthelstan 71 Edith of Wessex 113 Edmund I 68, 113 Edmund Ironside 86, 89 Edward the Confessor 106, 108–10, 113 Edward the Elder 62, 68, 71–3 Edward VI 163, 170 Edwards, A. S. G. 151, 153, 155

196  General Index Edwards, Paul 82 Edwin 25, 48 Egeria 4 Egill Skallagrímsson 74 Ehwald, Rudolph 19, 30, 48 Einhard 73, 78, 81, 178 Elizabeth I 159, 170; religious settlement of 158–9, 174–5 Ellis, Robert Leslie 179 Ely 88, 117, 130 Emma of Normandy 10–11, 17, 106, 183–4; coronation of 107; and English succession 106; in exile 105, 108, 109; francophone upbringing 107, 113; involvement in Encomium 105, 108, 113–15; marriage to Æthelred 106, 113; marriage to Cnut 106, 113; as peace-maker 110; Scandinavian ancestry of 106–107; sons of 106, 110, 113; status of 109–10 Emms, Richard 26, 47 Encomium Emmae Reginae 105–106, 113–15; author of 105, 113; choice of Latin in 108, 111–12; as propaganda 109–10; use of Virgil 108–109 English: alphabet and spelling 24, 42–3, 144; influence on Latin texts 52; knowledge of 35, 186–7; and Old Norse 111–12; orality 39, 42–4; poetry 39; post-Conquest 12, 17, 131–2, 137, 170, 174; prose 74; regional variation 28; in regnal styles 72; status as written vernacular 24, 36, 43–4, 65, 74, 90, 96, 111–12, 131–3, 143, 147–9, 173–5, 183–4, 188; studied by antiquarians 160–6, 170–1; toponyms 37; translation from or into 39, 66, 88, 188 Eosterwine 29 episcopal duties 72, 87, 101, 131, 133, 148 Erik Bloodaxe 74 Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica Exodus, Book of 37, 71 Ezra 44–5, 59 Fairweather, Janet 117 Farmer, D. H. 27, 47 félire 69–70 Fish, Stanley 7, 19

Flemish, authors with English patrons 108, 113; speakers in England 108, 111 Florilegium Patristicum 163 Foot, Sarah 2, 8, 18–20, 28, 47–8, 76–7, 81, 178 Foote, Peter G. 82 de Fournival, Richart 171 Fowler, Roger 116 Foxe, John 161, 175 Fraenkel, Pierre 177 French language see Anglo-French Franklin, C. L. 102, 122 Franzen, Christine 118, 135–7, 147, 150–3 Gaul 30, 34–6 gens Anglorum 28, 33, 56, 186 geography, as a spiritual landscape 37–8 Gibbs, Marion 153 Gibson, Edgar C. S. 176 Gildas 92 Gill, Paramjit 76, 79 Glastonbury 70 glosses 7–9, 30, 71, 89, 96, 129, 165, 185–8; see also Tremulous Hand of Worcester Gneuss, Helmut 48–9, 51, 78, 82, 120, 177 Godden, Malcolm 58, 76–7, 79–80, 97, 118, 120–1 Graham, Timothy 154, 161, 165, 168, 176–9, 188–9 grammar 7, 31, 41–5, 90 Green, R. P. H. 19 Greek language 5, 30–1, 48, 74 Gregory the Great 18, 28, 32, 66, 167, 173, 185, 188; Cura pastoralis 18, 135, 188; Dialogues 134–5; see also Alfred the Great Gregory Nazianzen 44 Greschat, Martin 177 Gretsch, Mechthild 80 Grimbald of St. Bertin 13, 70, 73 Gunn, Cate 142, 153 Gunnlaugr Ormstunga 82, 92 Gunnor, duchess of Normandy 113 Guthfrith, king of York 68 Guthrum 58–9 Gwara, Scott James 48 Hadrian of Canterbury 30–1 Hahn, Thomas 151

General Index  197 Hákon Haraldsson 74 Hall, Alaric 50–1 Hall, Thomas N. 48, 117; de Hamel, Christopher 162, 176–7, 179 Hanna, Ralph 15, 20, 133–4, 144, 147, 151, 154 Harkness, Deborah 8, 19 Harleston, Margaret 163 Harold Harefoot 110 Harthacnut 106, 108–11, 114 Haugaard, William P. 176 Hecht, Hans 77 Heloise 4 Henry VIII 159, 163, 170 Herren, Michael 48 Hertford, Council of 26–7 Heuchan, Valerie 79 Hiberno-Latin 31, 43 Hill, David 79, 117 Hill, Joyce 116–17 Hill, Paul 80–1 Hills, Catherine 2, 18, 47 Hiscock, Andrew 179 Hisperic Latin 25 Hisperica famina 25, 31 Historia ecclesiastica see Bede Hobson, Jacob 115 Hollis, Stephanie 121 Hollowell, Ida Masters 119 Holt, Robert 122 Holtz, Louis 51 homilies 88–9, 92–5, 97–105, 130–4, 139–40, 147–8, 160–1, 165–6, 185; see also Wulfstan, homilies of Homiliary of Angers 131; van Houts, Elisabeth 113, 122–4 Howe, Nicholas 3, 18, 37, 48, 51, 92, 119 Hunter Blair, Peter 37–8, 51 identity 1–2, 9–12, 25, 28, 33, 60–1, 159, 170, 183–6 Imma 36 Ine 29, 70 Innes-Parker, Catherine 153 Insley, Charles 81 Iona 25, 31 Ireland 17, 24–5, 27, 31, 33, 61, 71, 74 Irish: attitudes towards the vernacular 24; influence in England 24–6, 28, 31, 33–4, 37, 45, 74; manuscripts 71, 74

Irvine, Martin 7, 9, 19 Irvine, Susan 76, 120, 132, 147, 150, 155 Irwin, Raymond 176 Israel, ancient 28, 45 Israel the Grammarian 73–4 Isidore of Seville 9, 16, 36, 51, 66 Islamic influence in England 14, 26 Jaffé, Philipp 49 James, Richard 165–6 Jezebel 109, 123 John of Beverley 39–42, 44 John the Old Saxon 57, 62, 78 John of Worcester 123 Jones, Charles W. 51 Jonson, Ben 172 Joscelyn, John 95, 136, 138, 140, 161, 165, 174, 185–8 Jost, Karl 87, 116, 120 Katherine Group 143, 153 Keil, Heinrich 51 Keller, Wolfgang 151 Kelly, Susan 26, 47–8 Kent 25–6, 48, 130 Ker, N. R. 80, 82, 95–6, 116, 120, 136, 152, 165 Keynes, Simon 20, 30, 48, 59, 67, 77–81, 115–16, 121–3, 178 King, Martin Luther, Jr. 102 Kinzler, Katherine 18 Kleist, Aaron J. 116, 150, 177 Knútsdrápur 111 Laing, Margaret 150 Lambeth Homilies see London, Lambeth Palace Library 487 Lang, Jane 153 language: as marker of identity 2–3, 9, 18, 33, 170–1; as unifying force 111, 115, 184 Lapidge, Michael 4, 18–20, 29, 31, 46–8, 51–2, 62, 73–4, 76–82, 176, 178, 188 Lateran Council, Fourth 131, 141, 146, 148, 153; Third 131, 148 Latham, R. E. 47, 50 Latin: and English 2, 56, 58, 75, 130–1, 135, 143; glosses 30, 136–8, 165, 187–8; grammatical training 7, 41–3, 51, 88, 90; translation from or into 39, 43–4, 56, 143, 146;

198  General Index and vernacular languages 4, 11–12, 24–33, 86, 108–12, 184 Law, Vivien 49, 51 Lawson, M. K. 76, 82, 112, 119, 123 Leiden Glossary 30 Leinbaugh, Theodore H. 177 Leland, John 158–9, 161, 163–4, 172, 178 Lenz, Karmen 80 Leofsige, bishop of Worcester 116 Lerer, Seth 38, 51, 78–9, 155 Lewis, C. P. 123 Liber Eliensis 88–9 libraries 4, 9, 13, 24, 29; cathedral 88, 130–4, 141, 147–8; dispersals from 159, 164, 172 Liebermann, Felix 116 Lindisfarne 24–6, 29, 48, 52 Lindisfarne Gospels see London, British Library, Cotton Nero D.iv Lindsay, W. M. 19–20, 51 Lionarons, Joyce Tally 120–1, 177 Lischer, Richard 121 L’Isle, William 168 literacy 6, 26, 56–60, 64–5; women’s 142–3 Liudhard 26 Liuzza, Roy Michael 131–7, 150–1 Love, Rosalind 115, 122 Lowe, Kathryn A. 65, 80 Lucan 112–13 Lucas, Peter J. 166, 171, 177–9 Lull 16 Lupoi, Maurizio 81 McCulloch, Diarmaid 177 MacDurnan Gospels see London, Lambeth Palace Library 1370 Machan, Tim William 3, 18, 36, 48, 50, 60, 78, 180 MacLean, George 151 Magennis, Hugh 176–9 Major, Tristan 49 Malmesbury 29 Márkus, Gilbert 47 Marsden, Richard 52, 117 Mary I 170 Mason, Emma 87, 116–17, 150 Matilda of Essen 71 Mayhoff, Charles C. 49 McDougall, Ian 118 McKenzie, D. F. 79, 176 McKisack, May 176 Mediterranean influence in England 26

memory 3, 58, 168–72 Menzer, Melinda 43, 51 Mercia 11, 57, 72 Miller, Keith D. 121 Miller, Thomas 77 Millett, Bella 131, 133, 146–55 missions: Anglo-Saxon to Continent 4, 16, 32, 47; influence on script styles and written vernaculars 49; Irish to England 25, 28, 33; Roman to England 28, 33 monasteries 24, 26, 29–30, 33, 147–8, 160; see also Dissolution Morrison, Stephen 103, 122 multilingualism 1, 3–4, 9, 11, 16, 26, 43–5, 66, 68, 111–15, 145, 188 Mynors, R. A. B. 37, 47, 50–1 Napier, A. S. 80, 89, 99, 118–19, 122 nationalism 163–4 Nechtan, king of the Picts 28, 33 Niles, John 80 Nordal, Sigurður 82 Normandy 106, 108–109 North, Sir Thomas 172, 179 Northumbria 15, 23–31, 33–4, 37, 45, 48, 52, 68, 186 Norway 74, 106 Nunnaminster, Book of see London, British Library, Harley 2965 Ó Carragáin, Éamonn 52 O’Brien O’Keeffe, Katherine 39, 51, 64, 78–9, 119 O’Brien, Bruce R. 2, 18 Octavian 109 O’Donnell, Daniel Paul 39, 51 Offa 30 Old English Benedictine Office 87 Old Norse 91–2, 108, 111–12 O’Neill, Patrick P. 24, 46, 76, 81 orality 6, 39, 43–4, 65 Orchard, Andy 20, 47, 49, 52, 102, 109, 112, 116–20 Orm 12, 103–104 Orme, Nicholas 51 Ormulum 12, 103–104, 133 orthography 129–30, 133, 135, 139–41, 143–4, 151 Oswald, king of Northumbria 25, 33–4 Oswine, king of Deira 34 Oswiu, king of Northumbria 25, 33 Ovenden, Richard 176

General Index  199 Page, R. I. 20, 176, 178, 189 Pálsson, Hermann 82 Paris, Matthew 168 Parker Library see Corpus Christi College, Cambridge Parker, Matthew: Ælfredi regis res gestae 161, 167–71, 174; and Alfred the Great 169, 173–4; Anglo-Saxon typeface 166–7, 171–2; De antiquitate Britannicae ecclesiae 161, 163; as Archbishop of Canterbury 159–60; as collector 161–2; library 17, 159; as manuscript custodian 17–18, 162, 173; marriage 163; publications 161; reformist views 160, 162–3; rhetoric of rupture 10, 13–14, 170–1, 174–5, 183–4; A Testimonie of Antiquitie 161, 165–7, 169, 172, 175 Parkes, Malcolm 31–2, 46–7, 49, 64, 70, 77, 79–82, 152, 168, 178 patronage 56, 74, 86, 92, 108, 110, 113–14 Paulinus, bishop of York 48 peace-weaving 106–107, 110 Peasant Revolt 159 pecia 145 Pelle, Stephen 178 Pentateuch 32–3 Pentecost 10–11, 16, 32, 38, 44–6, 183–4 performativity 44, 92–3, 101–105 Perowne, T. T. 177 Picts 28, 33, 68–9 Plegmund 57 Pliny the Elder 49 Plummer, Charles 49–50 Plutarch 172 Pons-Sanz, Sara 119–20 Pope, John C. 150 Powell, Roger 47 Pratt, David 59, 77–82 Price, Neil S. 81 Priscian 51 Prise, Sir John 164 Proust, Marcel 6 Psalter 60, 63, 70 Quirk, Randolph 82 Radbod, prior of St. Samson of Dol 73 Ragnald 68 Rauer, Christine 81 Raw, Barbara 80

Raymond, Gino 49 Recorde, Robert 158, 163 Remley, Paul G. 63, 78 Rheims 70, 73 Roberts, Jane 47, 80, 178 Robertson, Elizabeth 142, 153 Robins, William 116 Robinson, Benedict Scott 174–5, 179–80 Rogers, D. M. 176, 189 Rufinus 30, 44 Rule of Benedict 49, 134 Ruthwell Cross 52 Sæthryth 33 Saint-Bertin 13, 70, 73, 105 St. Cuthbert Gospel see London, British Library, Additional 89000 Savage, Anne 142, 145, 153–4 schools 25, 30–1, 160 Scragg, Donald 94, 103, 117, 119–22 script 6, 24–5, 27, 133, 151, 166–7 scriptoria 6, 9, 25, 27, 30, 69–70, 146 Second Act of Supremacy 159 Sedulius 78, 178 Semiramis 109, 123 Senatus, prior of Worcester 141 Sermo Lupi ad Anglos 92, 117–18, 131; dating 97–8; versions of 86, 92–3, 97, 119 Shaftesbury 113 Shanzer, Danuta 30, 48 Sherley-Price, Leo 47 Sherlock, Peter 168, 178 Shrank, Cathy 176, 178–9 Sihtric 68 Simeon Manuscript see (London, British Library, Additional 22283) Sisam, Celia 131, 150 Sisam, Kenneth 82 skaldic poetry 57, 68, 111 Smith, Jeremy J. 151 Society of Antiquaries 176 Stafford, Pauline 107, 114, 122–4 Stapleton, Thomas 176, 189 Stanton, Robert 49, 60, 77, 79 Stenton, F. M. 80 Stephenson, Rebecca 19–20 Stevenson, William Henry 20, 77, 178 Stock, Brian 6–7, 19 Stonyhurst Gospel (London, British Library, MS Loan 74) see St. Cuthbert Gospel (London, British Library, MS Add. 89000)

200  General Index Story, Joanna 77 Street, Brian 65, 79 Strype, John 13, 20, 159, 163, 176–7 Sturdy, David 76–7, 80 Summit, Jennifer 164, 168, 176, 178 Swan, Mary 121, 122, 132, 148, 150, 152, 155, 177, 189 Swartz, Tim B. 76, 79 Sweet, Henry 20, 76, 78–9, 178, 188–9 Swein Forkbeard 109, 121–2 Szirmai, J. A. 20, 47 Talbot, Robert 158, 163 textual community 4–13, 183–8 et passim Theodore of Tarsus 30–1, 162 Thirty-nine Articles 159–60 Thomas, Hugh M. 123 Thompson, John B. 49 Thorkell 122 Thornbury, Emily V. 3, 18, 20, 29, 31, 48–9 Thorpe, Deborah E. 136–7, 152 Titon, Jeff Todd 122 Tolkien, J. R. R. 143, 149, 153–4 Townend, Matthew 80, 82, 92, 119, 123 translation 35–7, 44, 60–1, 66–7, 88, 143, 165–6, 174–5, 183–4 Treharne, Elaine 79, 107, 115–18, 121–3, 139, 147–9, 152, 155, 178, 179, 189 Tremulous Hand of Worcester 12–14, 89, 95–6, 130–1, 141, 185; use of French forms 135; connection with Nero Ancrene Wisse scribe 133, 135, 147; dating 136; essential tremor 137; layers of glossing 136–7; manuscripts associated with 134–5; orthographical or phonological updates 138–41, 144; use by later scholars 135–6, 165–6, 187 tres sacrae linguae 16 Treschow, Michael 76, 79 Trinity Homilies see Cambridge, Trinity College, MS B 14.52 Trotter, D. A. 145, 154 Tunberg, Jennifer Morrish 117 Tyler, Elizabeth M. 18, 49, 108–109, 111, 115, 123–4

Ure, James 116 Vercelli homilies 103 Virgil 3, 108–109 Vernon Manuscript see Oxford, Bodleian Library, Eng. poet. A.I Vetus Latina 78 Vikings 25–6, 57–60, 68, 81, 92, 106 Virgilius Maro Grammaticus 31 Vita Ædwardi 113 Wærferth, bishop of Worcester 57, 66 Wales 13, 56, 71, 73, 81 Wallace-Hadrill, J. M. 81 Watson, Andrew G. 179 Watt, Diane 114, 124 Wearmouth-Jarrow 29, 52; foundations of 25; library of 13, 24, 28–9; scriptorium of 6, 26–7, 31–2 Webber, Teresa 147, 176 Wessex 29, 56–9, 61, 69, 71–3 West Midlands 17, 98, 130, 132–3, 135–6, 148 Wheelock, Abraham 189 Whitby 37, 44; Synod of 27, 32, 35–6, 45 Whitelock, Dorothy 80, 89, 92, 94, 97, 116–17, 119, 121 Wieland, Gernot 62, 78 Wilcox, Jonathan 19, 89, 94, 97, 100, 117–19, 121–2 Wilfrid I, St. 33, 35, 48 Wilfrid II 133 William the Conqueror 106–107, 109 William of Malmesbury 62, 123 Williams, Ann 150 Willibrord 25 Winchester 61, 70, 73, 98, 160 Wine, bishop of Winchester 33–5 Winterbottom, Michael 176 wisdom 56, 60, 63, 67, 75–6, 169, 175 Wolfe, Phillip J. 19 women: literacy of 142–3; as patrons or authors 113–14, 129–30 Wood, Ian 37, 48–9, 51 Wood, Michael 69, 80–1 Worcester: diocese of 87–8, 95–6, 132; manuscripts associated with 13, 88, 96, 120, 132, 134–6, 146, 186

General Index  201 Wormald, Patrick 27–8, 47–9, 65, 69, 77, 79–80, 95–6, 100, 116–18, 120–1, 123, 189 Wright, C. E. 176 Wright, Laura 150 Wulfgeat 98 Wulfgifu 117 Wulfstan of Worcester, St. 132 Wulfstan I of York 88 Wulfstan II of York 10–12, 87–8, 183–4; and Ælfric 88, 105, 120; and Anglo-Saxon Chronicle 87, 94–5; annotations by 98, 105, 185–7; burial at Ely 88; episcopal roles 87–8, 116; handwriting of 95–6; law codes 92, 112; manuscripts associated with 14–15, 88, 96, 98, 132; Norse-derived vocabulary 91–2; oral performance 92–3; and Ormulum 12, 103–104; present at meetings of witan 87; relations with monks at

Worcester 87; reputation of 94, 103–104; style of 89–94, 103–105, 185; see also Sermo Lupi ad Anglos Wulfstan, homilies of: Bethurum Ia 89; Ib 89; III 102; V 103–104; VI 99; VII 101–103; VIIa 139–141; VIIIa 89; VIIIb 89; Xa 89; Xb 89; XIII 93, 99–102; XVIa 89; XVIb 89; XX see Sermo Lupi ad Anglos; Napier 2 99; 3 101; 19–27 99–102; 22 93; 30 103; 36 100; 51–53 100 Yates, Frances 179 Yeager, Stephen 99, 121 York 58, 68, 87–8, 91–2, 94–6 York Gospels see York, Minster Library, Additional 1 Yorke, Barbara 48, 76, 81 Yorkshire 133–4 Zacher, Samantha 33, 49, 68, 80–1 Zupitza, Julius 136, 151–2