In these pleasing labors Alcuin was assisted by many of the most learned men of the time, and especially by Arno, Archbishop of Salzburgh, in writing to whom Alcuin exclaims, "O that I could suddenly translate my Abacus, and with my own hands quickly embrace your fraternity with that warmth which cannot be compressed in books. Nevertheless, because I cannot conveniently come, I send more frequently my unpolished letters (rusticitatis meæ litteras) to thee, that they may speak for me instead of the words of my mouth." This Arno, to whom he thus affectionately writes, was no despicable scholar; he was a true lover of literature, and proved himself something of an amator librorum, by causing to be transcribed or bought for his use, 150 volumes,[280] but about this period the bookloving mania spread far and wide—the Emperor himself was touched with the enthusiasm; for, besides his choice private collections,[281] he collected together the ponderous writings of the holy fathers, amounting to upwards of 200 volumes, bound in a most sumptuous manner, and commanded them to be deposited in a public temple and arranged in proper order, so that those who could not purchase such treasures might be enabled to feast on the lore of the ancients. Thus did bibliomania flourish in the days of old.

But I must not be tempted to remain longer in France, though the names of many choice old book collectors would entice me to do so. When I left England, to follow the steps of Alcuin, I was speaking of York, which puts me in mind of the monastery of Whitby,[282] in the same shire, on the banks of the river Eske. It was founded by Hilda, the virgin daughter of Hereric, nephew to King Edwin, about the year 680, who was its first abbess. Having put her monastery in regular order, Hilda set an illustrious example of piety and virtue, and particularly directed all under her care to a constant reading of the holy Scriptures. After a long life of usefulness and zeal she died deeply lamented by the Saxon Church,[283] an event which many powerful miracles commemorated.

In the old times of the Saxons the monastery of Whitby was renowned for its learning; and many of the celebrated ecclesiastics of the day received their instruction within its walls. The most interesting literary anecdote connected with the good lady Hilda's abbacy, is the kind reception she gave to the Saxon poet Cædmon, whose paraphrase of the Book of Genesis has rendered his name immortal. He was wont to make "pious and religious verses, so that whatever was interpreted to him out of Scripture, he soon after put the same into poetical expression of much sweetness and humility in English, which was his native language. By his verses the minds of many were often excited to despise the world and to aspire to heaven. Others after him attempted in the English nation to compose religious poems, but none could ever compare with him, for he did not learn the art of poetry from man but from God."[284] He was indeed, as the venerable Bede says, a poet of nature's own teaching: originally a rustic herdsman, the sublime gift was bestowed upon him by inspiration, or as it is recorded, in a dream. As he slept an unknown being appeared, and commanded him to sing. Cædmon hesitated to make the attempt, but the apparition retorted, "Nevertheless, thou shalt sing—sing the origin of things." Astonished and perplexed, our poet found himself instantaneously in possession of the pleasing art; and, when he awoke, his vision and the words of his song were so impressed upon his memory, that he easily repeated them to his wondering companions.[285] He hastened at day-break to relate these marvels and to display his new found talents to the monks of Whitby, by whom he was joyfully received, and as they unfolded the divine mysteries, "The good man," says Bede, "listened like a clean animal ruminating; and his song and his verse were so winsome to hear, that his teachers wrote them down, and learned from his mouth."[286]

Some contend that an ancient manuscript in the British Museum is the original of this celebrated paraphrase.[287] It is just one of those choice relics which a bibliomaniac loves to handle, but scarcely perhaps bears evidence of antiquity so remote. It is described in the catalogue as, "The substance of the Book of Genesis, with the Acts of Moses and Joshua, with brief notes and annotations, part in Latin and part in Saxon by Bede and others." The notes, if by Bede, would tend to favor the opinion that it is the original manuscript, or, at any rate, coeval with the Saxon bard. The volume, as a specimen of calligraphic art, reflects honor upon the age, and is right worthy of Lady Hilda's monastery. There are 312[288] fine velum pages in this venerable and precious volume, nearly every one of which dazzles with the talent of the skilful illuminator. The initial letters are formed, with singular taste and ingenuity, of birds, beasts, and flowers. To give an idea of the nature of these pictorial embellishments—which display more splendor of coloring than accuracy of design—I may describe the singular illumination adorning the sixth page, which represents the birth of Eve. Adam is asleep, reclining on the grass, which is depicted as so many inverted cones; and, if we may judge from the appearance of our venerable forefather, he could not have enjoyed a very comfortable repose on that memorable occasion, and the grass which grew in the Garden of Paradise must have been of a very stubborn nature when compared with the earth's verdure of the present day; for the weight of Adam alters not the position of the tender herb, which supports his huge body on their extreme summits. As he is lying on the left side Eve is ascending from a circular aperture in his right; nor would the original, if she bore any resemblance to her monkish portraiture, excite the envy or the admiration of the present age, or bear comparison with her fair posterity. Her physiognomy is anything but fascinating, and her figure is a repulsive monstrosity, adorned with a profusion of luxurious hair of a brilliant blue!

It is foreign to our subject to enter into any analysis of the literary beauties of this poem; let it suffice that Cædmon, the old Saxon herdsman, has been compared to our immortal Milton; and their names have been coupled together when speaking of a poet's genius.[289] But on other grounds Cædmon claims a full measure of our praise. Not only was he the "Father of Saxon poetry," but to him also belongs the inestimable honor of being the first who attempted to render into the vulgar tongue the beauties and mysteries of the Holy Scriptures; he unsealed what had hitherto been a sealed book; his paraphrase is the first translation of the holy writ on record. So let it not be forgotten that to this Milton of old our Saxon ancestors were indebted for this invaluable treasure. We are unable to trace distinctly the formation of the monastic library of Whitby. But of the time of Richard, elected abbot in the year 1148, a good monk, and formerly prior of Peterborough, we have a catalogue of their books preserved. I would refer the reader to that curious list,[290] and ask him if it does not manifest by its contents the existence of a more refined taste in the cloisters than he gave the old monks credit for. It is true, the legends of saints abound in it; but then look at the choice tomes of a classic age, whose names grace that humble catalogue, and remember that the studies of the Whitby monks were divided between the miraculous lives of holy men, and the more pleasing pages of the "Pagan Homer," the eloquence of Tully, and the wit of Juvenal, of whose subject they seemed to have been fond; for they read also the satires of Persius. I extract the names of some of the authors contained in this monkish library:

Come, the monks evidently read something besides their Credo, and transcribed something better than "monastic trash." A little taste for literature and learning we must allow they enjoyed, when they formed their library of such volumes as the above. I candidly admit, that when I commenced these researches I had no expectations of finding a collection of a hundred volumes, embracing so many choice works of old Greece and Rome. It is pleasant, however, to trace these workings of bibliomania in the monasteries; and it is a surprise quite agreeable and delicious in itself to meet with instances like the present.

At a latter period the monastery of Rievall, in Yorkshire, possessed an excellent library of 200 volumes. This we know by a catalogue of them, compiled by one of the monks about the middle of the fourteenth century, and now preserved in the library of Jesus College, Cambridge.[291] A transcript of this manuscript was made by Mr. Halliwell, and published in his "Reliqua Antiqua,"[292] from which it may be seen that the Rievall monastery contained at that time many choice and valuable works. The numerous writings of Sts. Augustine, Bernard, Anselm, Cyprian, Origin, Haimo, Gregory, Ambrose, Isidore, Chrysostom, Bede, Aldhelm, Gregory Nazienzen, Ailred, Josephus, Rabanus Maurus, Peter Lombard, Orosius, Boethius, Justin, Seneca, with histories of the church of Britain, of Jerusalem, of King Henry, and many others equally interesting and costly, prove how industriously they used their pens, and how much they appreciated literature and learning. But in the fourteenth century the inhabitants of the monasteries were very industrious in transcribing books at a period coeval with the compilation of the Rievall catalogue, a monk of Coventry church was plying his pen with unceasing energy; John de Bruges wrote with his own hand thirty-two volumes for the library of the benedictine priory of St. Mary.

The reader will see that there is little among them worthy of much observation. The MS. begins, "These are the books which John of Bruges, monk of Coventry, wrote for the Coventry church. Any who shall take them away from the church without the consent of the convent, let him be anathema."[293]