BISHOP CLIFFORD’S THEORY[10]
The theories about the Alfred Jewel which have been noticed hitherto,
belong to the crude attempts at interpretation which were evoked
by the surprize of the strange discovery in the last decade of the
seventeenth century. We come now to a new theory which was broached in
our own time by Bishop Clifford, in his Inaugural Address as President
of the Somersetshire Archæological Society in 1877, when the Annual
Meeting of that Society was held at Bridgwater.
This theory demands a fuller attention than any of the foregoing,
first, because it bears manifest tokens of maturer thought, but
further, because there is much curious material woven into its fabric,
which gives it independent value. If only for the single fact that
it introduces a new explanation of the problematic ‘æstel,’ it ought
to quicken the interest of every reader. It will be better on all
accounts that the ideas of the author be presented in his own words:
Amongst the articles of church furniture used in the middle ages,
frequent mention is made of ‘Baculi Cantorum,’ or choir staves.
In the year 1222 there were eight such staves in the treasury of
Salisbury Cathedral. ‘The staves at Canterbury Cathedral (writes Dr.
Rock, _Church of our Fathers_, vol. ii) were as rich as they were
curious, in the year 1315.’ He gives a list of them, and among them
are ‘IV baculi de cornu, cum capitibus eburneis’—four staves of horn
with ivory handles; others were adorned with gold and silver and
precious stones. The use of these staves was to enable the Cantor or
master of the choir to point out to the singers and to the readers
their places in the book, and so prevent the manuscripts and their
illuminations being soiled by the touch of fingers. When the lessons
were read, the choirmaster not only pointed out the spot where
the lesson commenced, but handed, if necessary, the staff to the
lector, that he might use it to guide his eye along the lines in
reading. This precaution was not only observed with regard to those
beautifully illuminated volumes used for the church services, but
was equally, if not more so, required in the case of books which were
intended for the use of the general public. Most readers required
to use their fingers to assist their eyes in following the lines,
a practice which, if allowed, would not only soil the manuscripts,
but in course of time obliterate them. Therefore when books were
intended for public use it was customary to place by them a small
staff or pointer for the use of the reader, even as in modern days
a paper-knife forms one of the ordinary articles of furniture on a
library table. In many instances these little staves or pointers were
inserted in the binding of the books themselves, something after the
fashion in which pencils are inserted in modern pocket-books.
I may seem to be widely departing from Alfred and from Athelney, but
you will soon perceive the pertinency of these remarks. Alfred, as
you know, did much to encourage learning amongst his subjects, and he
was especially anxious that useful works should be translated into
English, and copies of them be arranged in public places, where all
might gain access to them and read them.
To encourage this good and noble work by his example he became
himself an author. And he thus describes, in the preface which he
wrote to the book he translated, the steps he took to start what I
may call the first public reading in England:—‘When I reflected,’
he says, ‘how the knowledge of the Latin tongue had fallen away
throughout England, though many still knew how to read English
writing, I began in the midst of divers and manifold affairs of this
kingdom to turn into English this book (of St. Gregory the Great)
which in Latin is named _Pastoralis_, and in English, _The Herdsman’s
Book_; sometimes word for word, and sometimes sense for sense, even
as I had been taught by Plegmund my Archbishop, and Asser my Bishop,
and Grimbald my Mass-Priest, and John my Mass-Priest. After I had
learned of them how I might best understand it, I turned it into
English. And I will send a copy to every bishop’s see in my kingdom,
and in each book there is an aestel (i.e. a staff) of (the value
of) 50 mancusses; and I command, in God’s name, that no man take
the staff from the book, nor the book from the minster, seeing that
we know not how long there shall be such learned bishops, as now,
thank God, there be. Therefore I command that these remain always in
their places, unless the bishop have them with him either to lend
somewhere, or to have other copies made from them.’
Here, then, we have the explanation of Alfred’s gem. It is the handle
of a book-staff or pointer which, like those at Canterbury, and
elsewhere, was made of horn (which has perished), the handle itself
being of precious and durable materials. The inscription on it bears
witness that it was made by Alfred’s order, ‘Aelfred had me worked;’
and this circumstance, taken in conjunction with the costliness of
its material and the beauty of its execution, makes it in the highest
degree probable that it is one of those aestels which Alfred says
were worked by his order, and inserted in the presentation copies of
his translation of _The Herdsman’s Book_, and which were valued at
50 mancusses, or (taking the value of the mancus at 7_s._ 6_d._) £18
15_s._, a large sum for those days.
But if so, how came this gem to be found in this neighbourhood?
Alfred presented one to each bishop’s see in his kingdom, and
there was no bishop’s see in those days in these parts nearer than
Sherborne, in Dorsetshire. You will have remarked that Alfred in his
preface mentions four persons who assisted him in translating the
book: Plegmund, Archbishop of Canterbury; Asser, Bishop of Sherborne;
the Priest Grimbald, who presided over the school which Alfred had
founded for the training of the English youth; and the Priest John,
who was placed by Alfred as abbot over the monastery which he founded
at Athelney. Copies of the book, each having a book-staff, were sent
to Plegmund and Asser, for they both were bishops. Can there be any
reasonable doubt that this mark of attention was equally observed in
the case of the other two collaborators? More especially as Grimbald
was at the head of Alfred’s school, and it was in order to promote
English reading that Alfred had undertaken the translation of the
book, and John, though not a bishop, was abbot over the monastery
which Alfred himself had built in gratitude to God for the victory he
had gained. A copy of the book, with the costly aestel in it, was no
doubt sent by Alfred to his friend John, at Athelney, as well as to
the other three collaborators. The book and the staff were, agreeably
to Alfred’s order, preserved in the minster, till, in the days of
trouble, (probably at the dissolution of the monastery,) both were
hidden out of sight, and for that purpose buried in the grounds of
some neighbouring friend at Newton Park, in the hopes of recovering
them in better days. As time passed on, the secret of the place
where they were hidden died with the man who had hidden them; and
when after many years chance revealed the place of the deposit, the
book itself and the perishable portion of the staff had rotted away,
leaving only the gold and crystal handle, with the words, ‘Aelfred
had me worked,’ to tell the tale. This I believe to be the true
history of Alfred’s gem.
When I visited the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford, in the month of July,
I was shown by the courteous Curator, by the side of Alfred’s jewel,
a smaller specimen of ancient goldsmith’s work which was dug up a few
years ago at Minster Lovel, in Oxfordshire, on the site of an ancient
abbey. It is smaller than Alfred’s gem, but, like the latter, it is
evidently the handle of a reading-staff. The handle of Alfred’s staff
was made of a size that might be conveniently grasped in the hand;
the one from Minster Lovel was intended to be held between the finger
and thumb. It is smaller and less costly, but the workmanship of the
gold is so like the larger one of Alfred as almost to suggest its
being the work of the same man.
Thus Bp. Clifford would fain persuade us to see in our Jewel the
costly handle of a pointing stave. This satisfies the requirement of
the socket and rivet, which is a fit provision for the insertion of a
fine stave. The only question at this point that could be raised in
opposition is, whether the socket is not too small to admit a stave of
useful thickness for the purpose contemplated. And as the author of
this theory has applied it equally to the Minster Lovel jewel, this
objection gains in force, as the rod that could be inserted in that
little jewel would be of very doubtful service as a pointer.
But when we consider the common elements in the design and workmanship
of these two jewels, we are compelled to reject the theory that they
were intended as handles to pointers. And first of the design. Both
of these jewels have an obverse and a reverse, which in such an
instrument would not only be unnecessary and unmeaning, but absolutely
inconvenient and detrimental. Both of them are obviously designed to
gratify the eye; as objects to be displayed in positions which they
are to adorn and beautify. The Alfred Jewel contains the picture of
a man in enamel, framed in golden filigree, glazed with crystal, and
backed with a plate of gold curiously engraved; the whole composition
plainly dictates which side is to be foremost and which end is to be
uppermost when it is fixed in the position for which it is intended.
Bp. Clifford’s theory cannot be accommodated to these conditions.
So much for the design: now as to the materials and workmanship. In
both of these jewels the outer surface is filigree work of very fine
texture; can it be imagined that this agrees with the suggested use
of a handle to a choirmaster’s wand, whether we consider the implied
defacement of the finest goldsmith’s work, or the galling friction to
the musician’s hand?
But besides appropriateness of design and workmanship, there is yet
another condition to be satisfied, and one which this theory can
only meet by means of a roundabout and arbitrary hypothesis. Any
interpretation of the Jewel, to be satisfactory, must harmonize
naturally and spontaneously with the Alfredian associations of the
spot on which it was found. Bp. Clifford has felt this, and he has
employed an elaborate machinery to meet it. The place of the find is
one that naturally suggests direct and immediate connexion with the
goings and comings of the king himself, for it lies near the centre
of that region in which he spent some months of acute effort in the
most critical juncture of his diversified and adventurous life. If our
interpretation harmonize with the associations which are linked to the
spot, and through the spot to the Jewel, probability is strengthened
while the interest is heightened; but what possibility is there of
bringing these associations to bear upon a costly book-pointer? If
anything so extravagant existed, it might be preserved in the treasury
of the minster or in the book-room of the cloister; but it could have
no place about the person of a fugitive king and a struggling warrior.
Accordingly the author of this theory is compelled to detach the
interpretation from the personal history of the king, and to rest his
solution of the problem upon a highly speculative assumption combined
with the chances and vicissitudes of a later age.
The author of this theory has to face the inevitable question—On the
supposition that the Alfred Jewel is the handle of a book-pointer, how
do you account for its being found in the neighbourhood of Athelney?
In preparing to answer this question, he fetches a wide compass,
enclosing in his sweep the literary achievements of the king, and
seven centuries of the after-time. He begins by recalling Alfred’s
acknowledgements to Plegmund, Asser, Grimbald, and John, for their
help in his translation of Gregory’s _Pastoral Care_, and he recites
the king’s statement that he would send a copy of the translation to
each bishop’s see, and with each book an ‘æstel’ worth 50 mancusses.
It is an essential part of his theory that the ‘æstel’ was a
book-pointer with a costly handle, and moreover that the Alfred Jewel
was one of these handles. But there was no bishop’s see at or near
Athelney, the nearest being at Sherborne: how then did this relic find
its way to Newton Park by Athelney? The answer is that John the Priest
became abbot of Alfred’s foundation at Athelney, and that there can be
no reasonable doubt that Alfred gave the book and ‘æstel’ not only to
Plegmund and Asser, but that he also extended his bounty to Grimbald
and John, his two other collaborators[11]. So the Alfred Jewel
having thus arrived at Athelney as the handle of a book-pointer, was
religiously preserved there until the time of Henry VIII, when it was
buried to await better times, and in the course of nature forgotten.
My objection to this is not that it is imaginative, but that it is ill
suited to its purpose, because it is needlessly cumbrous, and because
the Jewel can be traced to Athelney by a much simpler and more obvious
process.
But while I find it impossible to admit Bp. Clifford’s theory as an
interpretation of the Alfred Jewel, seeing that this relic absolutely
refuses to be classed with the decorated handles of the _baculi
cantorum_, I must add that the question of the ‘æstel’ stands apart.
I am by no means prepared to maintain that the explanation of that
problem which I have recently offered in _Alfred the Great_ is
preferable to Bp. Clifford’s. There is a close affinity between the
two explanations; they both rest upon a common basis in the ancient
gloss: ‘_Indicatorium_, æstel.’ I interpreted the _indicatorium_ to be
a light slab, much like a flat ruler, which was to be brought to bear
across the page so as to guide the reader’s eye, and perhaps furnish
a rest for his fingers. The Latin term would fit a pointer as well as
a flat ruler, and perhaps better. It may therefore well be that in
the endeavour to interpret the Jewel, Bp. Clifford has incidentally
explained that problematical object which king Alfred sent as a
fitting accompaniment with each of the presentation copies of his
version of Gregory’s _Pastoral Care_. The remark that the pointer
might be fitted to the volume by an arrangement like that now in
common use for attaching a pencil to a notebook must, I think, be felt
to add a certain persuasive concreteness to his suggestion. Only then,
if the ‘æstel’ was a book-pointer with a costly handle, that handle
was certainly not fashioned after the manner of the Alfred Jewel, or
of its natural associate the minor jewel of Minster Lovel—it was not
fashioned with obverse and reverse.
A subsequent interpretation by Llewellynn Jewitt, F.S.A., appeared in
the _Reliquary_ for October, 1879, vol. xx, p. 66:—‘Many, and very
curious as well as various, have been the conjectures as to the use
or origin of this remarkable jewel, and of the figure intended to be
represented upon it, but it is not worth while to here repeat them.
The probability, to my mind, is that it simply formed the head of a
sceptre, and that just possibly it might have been ultimately given by
Alfred to the head of the monastery founded by himself, to be used
as a pastoral staff or staff of office, as was the crosier in later
days. The design and the workmanship are of exquisite beauty, and in
all respects the jewel is unsurpassed by any other existing example of
Anglo-Saxon art.’ Again, this interpretation, like that of Hearne and
others, appears to be excluded by the formation of the Jewel with a
front and a back.
By the rejection of so many hypotheses the field of choice is
narrowed, and our path should be so much the clearer to find the true
design and use of the Alfred Jewel.
[10] William Joseph Hugh Clifford, second son of the seventh Baron
Clifford of Chudleigh, was the Roman Catholic bishop of Clifton
from 1857 to 1888. He was a member of the Somerset Archæological
and Natural History Society, and for many years a constant
attendant at the yearly meetings. In 1877 he was President of the
Society. His obituary, by Canon Holmes, is in vol. xxxix of the
Society’s Proceedings.
[11] This machinery for bringing the _baculus cantoris_ to Athelney
was first employed in the interest of the stylus theory. See S.
Pegge in _Archæologia_ ii, quoted above in chapter iii.