 a written language. The creation of what is called a Schriftssprache , a language bound by general rules of form, syntax, and orthography was the creation of the late tenth century. This was truly a precocious and remarkable thing in western Europe, and is bound up in a sense with the last of the fields for consideration, that of literature and learning. The names that come first to mind here are those of theologians and homilists, but this may be misleading. The sermons and homilies of Aelfric and Wulfstan exceed in bulk the rest of the prose of the period but the accidental consequences of the preservation of material by use should be taken into account. Aelfric's work was still being used by conscientious clerics in the reign of King John. In fact the material produced was quite wide-ranging, including grammar, colloquies and even a little scientific work. Byrhtferth of Ramsey, for example, wrote a book that was something of a hotchpotch, including much on computations, on the seasons, the signs of the zodiac and the divisions of the day. He even gave advice on how to build a house.
We first of all survey the site of the house and also hew the timber into shape and neatly put together the sills and lay down the beams and fasten the rafters to the roof and support it with buttresses and afterwards delightfully adorn the house.
Byrhtferth wrote in English, but was indeed self-conscious about it and a shade arrogant. He knew a little Hebrew and Greek as well as Latin and occasionally betrays a certain linguistic pride not unfamiliar in those who have learned their Latin well. He tells us in English that the day is divided into 24 hours, 96 points, 240 minutes, 360 parts, 960 moments, 1,440 ostents and 541,440 atoms. With the condescension of the learned he goes on to say:
I take it, o rustic priest, that you will not know what atoms are, but I will make clear the meaning of the word to you. Tomos in Greek is interpreted divisio in Latin and todaelednyss in English:atomos in Greek equals indivisio in Latin.
The same attitude appears elsewhere in his writing. At one paint he says that he could add many things from the writing of men of learning, but because he knows these things seem sufficiently complex to clerks and rustic: priests, he addresses his words to young monks who have occupied their childhood with scientific works, such as those of Sergius, Priscian, Cato and Bede. In his emphasis on 'rustic priests' (uplendisca preost ) he gives a valuable clue to the reasons for the strength of the vernacular in late Anglo-Saxon England. The Church was stronger than its Latinity.
Medical knowledge was also available in English to 'uplandish priests', presumably as well as to others, in the shape of the Leechdoms. There was also considerable botanical knowledge. Betony was the herbal maid of all work, useful for twenty-nine distinct aches and pains.
If a man's head be broke [we read] take the same weed [i.e. betony], scrape it and rub it very small to dust, then take two drams weight and swallow it in hot beer. Then the head heals very quickly after the drink.
Or again there is a splendid passage, illustrating linguistic sense as well as botanical knowledge, on the humble fleawort.
This wort is called psyllion, since it has seeds like fleas [psylla meaning flea], whence in Latin also it is named pulicone [from pulicem , flea] and some men call it flea-wort. It has minute leaves and rough, and it has a stalk tufted with side shoots, and it is by nature dry and tender and is produced in cultivated places.
In prose this last century of Anglo-Saxon England had produced work of variety and vitality, even if little enduring creative work was written after about 1020. In poetry, too, the period had much to offer, mare perhaps in the preservation of the best poetry in the great codices written about AD 1000 than in new creation. Variety again abounded, epic poetry from Beowulf to Maldon, poems on exotic beasts, riddles, gnomic verses, one exquisite lyric, the love-poem of Wulf and Eadwacer, and one of the greatest religious poems, t