For much of the ninth century, Anglo-Saxon interest in literary culture was apparently not as great as it could have been. Medieval and modern commentators have spoken of a pronounced early-ninth-century neglect of English libraries, which seems to have affected contemporary literature as well as the literary legacy which had been inherited from the seventh and eighth centuries. It appears that fewer books and texts were produced; the Latin texts produced may to some extent have been of inferior linguistic quality, and were, so it would seem, used with greater difficulties by a smaller and less educated readership. Comparatively fewer books seem to have survived the ninth century than any other period of Anglo-Saxon history.

In Alfred's famous Preface to his translation of the Regula pastoralis, the king writes that he translated ‘hwilum word be worde, hwilum andgit of andgiete’ (7.19–20); a similar phrase occurs in the proem to the Boethius (1.2–3). Yet words in different languages are rarely exact equivalents. Translators select words which they feel capture the primary sense of source words and match secondary meanings and connotations only if they can. Similarities between two terms in different languages can reveal where the conceptual systems of the source and target cultures overlap and which denotations and connotations of a complex word were most important to the translator. Differences can indicate how cultures differ and what other conceptual systems might have influenced the translator. In a well-established system of translation, certain terms become accepted as standard equivalents to particular terms in other languages. Alfred, however, was in the position not of employing accepted equivalidents but of trying to create them. By the time he worked on the Boethius, Wærferth had probably translated Gregory's Dialogi, and Alfred's own Regula pastoralis was most likely complete, but no other models were availabel. As one of the earliest Anglo-Saxon translators, producing translations of the De consolatione, Gregory's Regula pastoralis, Augustine's Soliloquia and the first fifty psalms, Alfred had to solve translation problems himself.

The bulk of Old English literature, both poetry and prose, has come down to us in manuscripts of the late tenth and early eleventh centuries. Most of the texts in these late manuscripts are written in a form of Old English called late West Saxon. This dialect was used not only by West Saxon scribes and authors of that period but also by their contemporaries from other dialect areas, and the scribes employed it even when they were copying much earlier Old English texts, such as the early West Saxon Alfredian prose texts or the early Anglian glosses in the Vespasian Psalter. Late West Saxon thus cannot be looked upon as a regionally restricted dialect but – with certain reservations – as a written standard current in all of late Anglo-Saxon England.

Among the relics in the treasury of the church of St Catherine at Maaseik in Limburg, Belgium, there are some luxurious embroideries which form part of the so-called casula (probably ‘chasuble’) of Sts Harlindis and Relindis (pls. I–VI). It was preserved throughout the Middle Ages at the abbey church of Aldeneik (which these sister-saints founded in the early eighth century) and was moved to nearby Maaseik in 1571. Although traditionally regarded as the handiwork of Harlindis and Relindis themselves, the embroideries cannot date from as early as their time, and they must have been made in Anglo-Saxon England. Indeed, they represent the earliest surviving examples of the highly prized English art of embroidery which became famous later in the Middle Ages as opus anglicanum.

It is a decade since the British Museum published its catalogue of late Anglo-Saxon metal-work – ‘late’ in this context meaning between the eighth century and the eleventh – and the only museum with a comparable collection has now produced an equivalent volume. Probably there will not be any more such catalogues, for no other museum has enough metal-work to make a separate publication worthwhile, although composite catalogues, like the numismatists' sylloges, could be produced; for example, Cambridge, Ipswich, King's Lynn and Norwich would make a substantial East Anglian contribution. Except for catalogues, it seems unlikely that there will ever be books devoted exclusively to the metal-work of post-pagan England, since this is not a subject that can be isolated from its archaeological and art-historical contexts. If there is a distinction between archaeology and art history, metal-work, since it is relevant to both, provides a bridge between them, although often a minor one.

Insular Latinity – its origins, characteristics, affiliations and dissemination – has attracted much attention in the last decade. One area which has benefited from this increased interest is the investigation of the Latin grammars written by Insular scholars: consider, for example, the editions of Insular grammatical writings recently published in the Corpus Christianorum Series Latina. But it is noteworthy that the Anglo-Latin grammarians have profited far less from this upsurge in interest than their Irish counterparts. Although Anglo-Latin as well as Hiberno-Latin texts have been among those recently edited, and have been the subject of several specialized studies, they have failed to excite scholarly attention to the same extent as the Irish works. Their origin, history, relationship and cultural context have not yet been satisfactorily established. Studies such as the series of articles by Louis Holtz, tracing the evolution of the study of grammar in Ireland and the relationship of the surviving texts to one another, are lacking for the Anglo-Latin grammarians. Yet the unknown factors in early England are scarcely fewer. To take one example, the fundamental problem of the rôle of the Irish in the creation of an Anglo-Latin grammatical tradition has hardly been touched upon. Indeed, that the Anglo-Saxons can even be credited with a grammatical tradition of their own has been questioned. Too often, the few surviving Anglo-Latin grammars are held up as an isolated phenomenon and contrasted with the prolific outpourings of a diligent host of Irish anonymi. It is the purpose of this article to investigate the evidence for the study of Latin grammar in England south of the Humber up to the time of its best-known manifestations, the grammars of Tatwine and Boniface, in the early eighth century.

The Middle Ages inherited from antiquity a tradition of reading which embraced the four functions of grammatical studies (grammaticae officia): lectio, emendatio, enarratio and iudicium. Lectio was the process whereby a reader had to identify elements of the text — letters, syllables, words and sentences (discretio) — in order to read it aloud according to the accentuation required by the sense (pronuntiatio). Emendatio, a process entailed by the realities of manuscript transmission, required a reader (or his teacher) to correct the text in his copy, and sometimes tempted him to ‘improve’ it. Enarratio was the process of examining features of vocabulary, rhetorical and literary form, and above all of interpreting the subject matter of the text (explanatio). ludicium was the process of exercising judgement of the aesthetic qualities or the moral and philosophical value of the text (bene dictorum conprobatio).

In his discussion of the formal structures characteristic of Ælfric's ‘rhythmical prose’ style, John C. Pope prints the following passage from Ælfric's homily on Cuthbert, calling attention especially to the pointing, given as it appears in Cambridge, University Library, Gg. 3. 28 (?Cerne, s. x/xi):

Ac an ðære fugela. eft fleogende com.

ymbe ðry dagas. þearle dreorig.

fleah to his foton. friðes biddende.

þæt he on ðam lande. lybban moste.

symle unscæððig. and his gefera samod.

During the last century there were vigorous arguments between architectural historians about whether any buildings had survived from before the Norman Conquest. Although as early as 1817 Thomas Rickman had given reasoned proof that at least a few stone buildings had survived, many writers followed John Henry Parker in maintaining that the Anglo-Saxons built only in wood and that all their buildings had vanished. But by the end of the century careful study had established over a hundred stone churches with features which could be claimed as Anglo-Saxon, and Baldwin Brown listed 182 in the first edition of his masterly treatise in 1903 and 238 in the second edition of 1925. In spite of more than a century's study of these churches, it still remains difficult to give precise dates to more than a few; in the great majority of cases it can be asserted only that they were built before the Norman Conquest and in some others only that their builders had not yet adopted the Norman style.

Two rules of the metrical grammar of the Beowulf poet are the subject of this paper. One concerns the variation of stress on the prefix un-; the other pertains to the alliteration of compounds. The two are correlated. The paper rests on the premise that the ‘metre’ of an Old English poem is only one function of a set of regularities that make it something we call verse rather than prose. Separately these regularities may be described as ‘rules’; taken as a group, the rules comprise a metrical grammar. Each Anglo-Saxon scop absorbed such a grammar during the course of long immersion in the poetic tradition of his culture. No two scops' metrical grammars could have been exactly alike; in addition to individual differences, there must have been regional and dialectal variations, although the poetic tradition ensured remarkable uniformity over a wide area and a considerable period of time, and only at the end of the Old English period, with let us say The Battle of Maldon, are significant changes manifest. Further investigation would therefore be needed to determine to what extent the rules here described apply to other grammars.

Recent work on the two major Old English homilists, Ælfric and Wulfstan, has not been lacking, with new editions of their homilies and continued study of their sources and style. The anonymous homilies have received rather less attention, and this has meant that one important Old English homiletic type, the penitential homily, has been largely neglected. These ‘exhortations to repentance, illustrated by devotional commonplaces’ as the penitential homilies have been called, are fairly rare in the work of Ælfric, the most popular of the Old English homilists, but are common in the Vercelli collection and other anonymous collections like the Blickling Manuscript. They have been neglected, presumably, both because they are anonymous and because they are often composed of standard motifs and topics, unlike Ælfric's sophisticated syntheses of patristic sources and Wulfstan's use of contemporary detail. But we have recently come to accept that the process of selecting and adapting standard formulas and themes which lies behind Old English poetry can be of considerable interest, and the similar process involved in the composition of these penitential homilies seems also deserving of study.

Riddle 74 is one of a handful of Old English riddles of the Exeter Book that have stubbornly resisted a solution. As Bruce Mitchell and Fred C. Robinson remark, ‘scholars have suggested answers…but none satisfies all the conditions set forth in the poem’. Peter Clemoes finds the attributes that are ascribed to this particular riddle-subject to be ‘so paradoxical that it seems impossible to name their possessor at all’. Riddles normally do have answers, however, and this one is no exception. My first aim in this article is to offer an answer to Riddle 74 that will put debate to rest as to its intended solution.

The editio princeps of the works of the Venerable Bede was published in 1563 by Johann Herwagen the Younger († 1564) in Basel; the edition had been begun by his father, the well-known printer and publisher, Johann Herwagen (†1557), who was active first in Strasbourg, then in Basel, and was a friend and associate of Johann Froben. In his edition of Bede's De temporum ratione and De natura rerum, Herwagen printed glosses on these two works under the name of Byrhtferth of Ramsey along with Bede's texts. To date, no manuscript of these glosses has ever been found, so our knowledge of them depends entirely upon Herwagen's edition.

In this paper, we aim to reconstruct the form of affirmative replies in the English spoken in England in the period 500–800. Examination of the extant texts shows that the two forms of the Old English word for ‘yes’, i.e. gea and gyse, are distinguished functionally, in that the former is used to reply to positive utterances and the latter to negative utterances. It is not clear, however, where the word gyse comes from. It has no cognates in other Germanic languages and the two main existing proposals for its etymology are problematic in several respects, and also fail to explain its functional patterning in the texts. We suggest a new, more plausible, etymology for gyse and use it to reconstruct the positive response system of proto-Old English. Apart from solving the puzzle ofgyse's origins, our proposal has two wider implications. The first is methodological, in that we demonstrate the value in historical reconstructive work of paying close attention not only to grammatical, phonological and semantic factors but also to the pragmatics of the forms being postulated. Secondly, the attested Old English data show a correlation that has been observed more widely through cross-linguistic comparison, i.e. the existence of a designated response item to negative utterances coupled with the existence of ‘high’ clausal negation. Drawing on our reconstruction of the emergence of gyse in proto-Old English, we suggest that one possible source of cross-linguistic correlations of this kind is diachronic development, in this case grounded in properties of day-to-day interaction in discourse.

Consisting of six short Old English texts written in the early eleventh century, the Ely memoranda illustrate how a major and recently refounded Benedictine abbey managed its landed endowment. Two of the memoranda relate to generous help provided by Ely to Thorney, and four concern Ely's own lands. The collection as a whole reveals much about interaction between monasteries, monastic perspectives on material resources and investment in them, the economy of eastern England, and the context of record-keeping. This article offers a new edition and translation of the texts, and surveys the contribution the memoranda make to understanding of cultural and economic history.

The Battle of Maldon is usually taken by modern scholars to be a reasonably accurate account of the way in which the battle developed. While not everyone today would necessarily agree with Gordon's statement, ‘the account of the battle in the poem, in so far as its statements can be checked, is accurate in every particular’, it nevertheless remains indicative of a not uncommon attitude. This attitude has been accentuated both by such fantasies as that of the late Professor Tolkien, who invented a poetic aftermath for the poem, and by attempts to localize the site of the battle following the indications provided in the poem. Reviews of Byrhtnoth's generalship also presuppose that the poem presents a realistic account of the battle, so that tactical decision can be evaluated. Some voices have been raised against taking the poem's account too literally, and many commentators now tend to assume a general, if not a detailed, accuracy. Most would perhaps agree with Professor Cross when he writes ‘the poet has selected from, elaborated on, and presumably omitted from a knowledge (not necessarily detailed) of the real events to suit his own purpose as distinguished in the poem’. Even this presupposes that the author was using historical evidence as the basis of his poem.

On 24 August 410 the Goths under their king Alaric entered the city of Rome and spent three days pillaging it. They then moved south towards Sicily, possibly in the hope of escaping to Africa, but Alaric died and the Goths retreated back through Italy to Gaul, from where they were driven into Spain by Roman forces in 414. The sack of Rome was by all accounts of little material significance in the long and complex history of Roman engagement with barbarians; it was in fact the Goths' third visit to the city in three years, and on the previous occasion the senate had allowed them into Rome and collaborated with them in setting up the prefect of the city as emperor in opposition to Honorius, whose administration was based in Ravenna. Contemporary historians emphasized that the forces of the western empire had recovered their dominance within just three or four years at most, and recent historians have seen the attack on Rome as representing a failure on the part of the Goths, who had hoped to use the threat to Rome as a bargaining tool with the emperor in their pursuit of land and supplies. Honorius and his government seem to have been relatively untroubled. On the day after Alaric's seizure of Rome Honorius had time, from his palace in Ravenna, to issue an edict ordering that religious dissension among Christians in North Africa should cease and summoning a conference of all the Catholic and Donatist bishops to examine their dierences. The Liber pontificalis manages to give a quite detailed account of the time of Pope Innocent I (402–17) and his good works without once mentioning the Goths or the attack on Rome (Orosius explains that he happened to be away in Ravenna at the time). But the event acquired remarkable prominence, and a distinctive significance, in the Anglo-Saxon perception of their past, especially in the Alfredian period: it is mentioned prominently in two of Bede's historical works, in four of the Old English prose works associated with King Alfred, and in Æthelweard's Chronicle; it is the context and end-point of the Old English version of Orosius's History of the World; and it is the starting-point of King Alfred's account of Boethius. I want here to explore its developing significance for the Anglo-Saxons, and particularly for the Alfredian world.

The embroidered hanging known as the Bayeux ‘Tapestry’ was an obvious candidate for inclusion in an Anglo-Saxonists' conference titled ‘Imagined Endings, Borders, Reigns, Millennia’. Almost certainly constructed in English workshops for a Norman master, the ‘Tapestry’ illustrates a chronological period that begins with the final years of Edward the Confessor's reign and ends with the closing of the Anglo-Saxon era. The physical termination of the ‘Tapestry’ is missing, but this does not preclude the imagining of it, usually as a scene showing the accession of William the Conqueror to the English throne, a new reign and a new, Norman, era.

The purpose of this article is to describe the architectural evidence contained in a ninth-century poem which has recently been published in a new critical edition. The poem relates to a Northumbrian abbey dependent on Lindisfarne and its content provides some welcome additions to the present small number of contemporary descriptions of churches and their fittings. The poet, who was a member of the community, describes in some detail two churches of the abbey as well as a greater church which he saw in a vision. The poem is dedicated to Egbert, bishop of Lindisfarne 803–21, who would presumably be familiar with the abbey; and this dedication therefore serves not only to date the poem within the first quarter of the ninth century but also to indicate indirectly that it should be free from the wilder exaggerations that have sometimes brought discredit on contemporary descriptions of buildings.

Old English saints' lives, as a group, have not generated a great deal of critical enthusiasm; and Cynewulf's Juliana has often been regarded as the worst of a bad lot. One of the poem's recent editors sees in it a ‘uniformity verging on monotony’ and finds it ‘unrelieved by any emotional or rhetorical emphasis or by any other gradations in tone’. While critics concede that all Cynewulf's signed poems have a smooth texture and contain ‘fine passages’, they regard Juliana as something of an embarrassment and generally assign it to the poet's adolescence – or senescence.