There Might Be Bears

There is a question about Ursus arctos in England, the brown bear that was most common in that part of the world: when did it disappear?

The illustrations of bears found throughout the Middle Ages show that people were quite familiar with them. There is little hard evidence of their range and dates, however. The brown bear was widespread in Europe after the last Ice Age, but estimates of when the wild population in England died out range from pre-Roman occupation to late- or even post-Medieval times. The few bones found in caves or other sites do not paint a definitive picture.

It is possible the Romans brought bears with them for the purposes of entertainment, and that some of these were released to breed and expand on the island. Some stones to mark graves from Anglo-Saxon times (420-1066 CE) have bears carved on them, and small carved bears in children's graves suggest they were considered protection for children. But were these evidence of bears in England, or just symbols brought from Northern Europe, where bears were plentiful and part of the culture?

After 1066, the only certain evidence of bears in Great Britain comes from bear-baiting in London—seen in the illustration from a 14th century manuscript—and bears kept at the Tower of London as a zoo, and a medical school in Edinburgh where bones were kept.

In the 12th through 19th centuries, bear-baiting was a "sport" that involved pitting a chained bear against one or more dogs, and sometimes against other animals. In Europe, it was popular in Sweden and Great Britain. It was also common in India, Pakistan, and Mexico.

The arena for it was called a "bear garden" or "bear pit": a circular space with a high wall and raised seating outside of it. The bear would be chained by the leg or neck near one end. Henry VIII was fond of watching bear-baiting, as was Elizabeth I; she even overruled Parliament when a bill was introduced to ban bear-baiting on Sundays. Bear-baiting was eliminated by Cromwell's Puritans, but brought back after 1660. It was not long afterward, however, that people in England started to speak out against the cruelty of bear-baiting (also, the cost of importing bears was becoming prohibitive). The Cruelty to Animals Act of 1835 ended it.

Bear symbolism in the Anglo-Saxon culture, mentioned above, is probably seen no more clearly than in the greatest and best-known epic hero of Anglo-Saxon literature, the "predator of the makers of honey." You all know him, but by a different name, so I'll leave you with that riddle until tomorrow.

Divine Right of Kings

The Protestant Reformation in the 1500s undermined the authority of and people's faith in the pope and the Catholic Church. This was a boon to temporal authorities, as people increasingly looked to kings for guidance. The king was considered to be answerable for his decisions and behavior to no one but God. (Eventually, of course, the lack of limits in a ruler came under question, since it removes any power from the people, and the revolutions of the late 1700s dealt with this.)

While it lasted, however, the notion of the divine right of kings was beneficial to the tiny percentage of the human population that could take advantage of it.

For Christians and Jews, a passage in Deuteronomy was crucial:

When you come to the land that the Lord your God is giving you, and you possess it and dwell in it and then say, 'I will set a king over me, like all the nations that are around me,' 15 you may indeed set a king over you whom the Lord your God will choose. One from among your brothers you shall set as king over you. You may not put a foreigner over you, who is not your brother." (Deuteronomy, 17:14-15)

Debates took place over whether this meant the people choose a king, or whether their choice is an example of God's will being made manifest. In fact, Jewish law requires a blessing upon seeing a monarch: "Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, Who has given from His glory to flesh and blood." This suggests that the monarch has God's support.

Medieval Europe was willing to accept that God gave the ruler complete temporal authority, just as the Pope had complete spiritual authority. Richard I of England declared in 1193 "I am born in a rank which recognizes no superior but God, to whom alone I am responsible for my actions," and first used the phrase (still the motto of the monarch of the United Kingdom) Dieu et mon droit (French: "God and my right"). This is the origin of the pluralis majestatis, the "royal we" used by potentates, to indicate that they and God are speaking. Richard's Chancellor, William Longchamp, introduced the use of the plural into documents he produced during Richard's reign.

Henry VIII took this one step further (too far?) when he declared himself head of the Church in England. James VI /I of Scotland/England heavily promoted the divine right theory—although Scotland had always seen the king as simply "first among equals"—as did Louis XIV of France. James used a passage from Romans 13 about "God's ministers" to support his idea of divine right.

The earliest reference to divine rulership takes place long before James, or even Richard. Tomorrow we'll talk about Adomnán of Iona.

The Fork

17th century knife and fork

There is a point in the movie Becket (taken from the play of the same name by Jean Anouilh) that introduces the fork. King Henry II has never heard of it before, and doesn't see the point.* Forks did come to England rather late, but they were around much earlier elsewhere.

Ancient Greeks used two-tined forks as serving utensils, though not for transporting food directly to the mouth. Forks show up in the Middle East by the 7th century CE, used by aristocracy. In the 11th century, the Doge of Venice, Domenico Selvio, married a Byzantine princess, Theodora, who brought to Venice a case of forks, surprising the locals with her refusal to eat with her hands. Bishop Peter Damian of Ostia attributed her death to her "excessive delicacy."

"An Englishman named Thomas Coryate brought the first forks to England after seeing them in Italy during his travels in 1608." [link] This is not true of the "first forks," since documentary evidence of forks exists in England prior to that. This site shows examples of forks in wills and household accounts:

• The Will of John Baret of Bury St. Edmunds, 1463: "Itm J. yeve and beqwethe to Davn John Kertelynge my silvir forke for grene gyngor" [my translation: "Item: I give and bequeath to Davin John Kerteling my silver fork for green ginger."
• The Jewelhouse inventory of Henry VIII: "Item one spone wt suckett fork at the end of silver and gilt" [Note: a "suckett" fork was used to get preserves like ginger out of jars; John Baret's was probably also a suckett fork.]
• Inventory of property left by Henry VII: "Item, one Case wherein are xxi knives and a fork, the hafts being crystal and chalcedony, the ends garnished with gold"
• "Item, one Case of knives furnished with divers knives and one fork, whereof two be great hafts of silver parcel-gilt, the case covered with crimson velvet"

This is not to say that everyone in England had seen forks; only that forks were known at least to the upper classes. No doubt they were often made with expensive materials, and not accessible to everyone.

They started with two tines to prevent whatever was speared from twisting. The tines were straight, however, and some foods tended to slip off. More tines were eventually added for stability, and in the late 17th century in France we start to find curved tines meant for scooping and holding food more reliably.

Our word "fork" comes from Old English forca, meaning a pitchfork, from the Latin furca for pitchfork. The French called them forchette for "little pitchfork."

*You can see a clip here.

Scottish Independence...

...is a big topic these days. Today, in fact, Scotland is voting whether to stay in the United Kingdom or strike out on its own. If it did, it would be the 20th largest economy in the world, thanks especially to its top three imports. In order of their importance, they are oil, gas, and whiskey. Let's talk about the third one.

Lindores Whisky

Unlike wine, the fermented juice of grapes, whiskey is a distillation of fermented grain. Before the Common Era we find evidence of distillation in Babylon and Mesopotamia, originally for developing perfumes and medicines. We are not sure when and where the process was first adapted for drinking, but the Ancient Celts might have been using it to produce their version of the Latin aqua vitæ ["water of life"] for which their term was uisgebeatha or just uisge [pronounced "whiskey"].

Distillation of alcohol was done in 13th century Italy, using wine. Ramon Lull (1232 - 1315) even wrote about the process.

We think Christian monks brought the process to Ireland and Scotland between the 11th and 13th centuries, where the lack of grapes made it the best option for creating a strong alcoholic drink. The first recorded batch of Scotch whisky shows up in the Exchequer Rolls for 1494-95, granting eight measures of malt to Friar John Cor to make aqua vitæ. Friar John was a monk at Lindores Abbey in Fife. Irish whiskey was mentioned earlier: the Annals of Clonmacnoise in 1405 record the death of a chieftain from "a surfeit of aqua vitae" at Christmas.

The Dissolution of Monasteries (1536 - 1541) in Scotland by Henry VIII forced many monks into private production. Sad, because by this time Scotland was the world leader in production of whisky. Keep in mind, however, that whiskey at that time was not aged, and so was a very different drink from what we expect today.

You may also have noticed that I have spelled the word two ways. "whiskey" is the word used in Ireland and the United States; "whisky" is the spelling used in Canada, Scotland, and the rest of the world. Some U.S. brands use the e-less spelling despite this convention. "Scotch whisky" is whiskey made in Scotland. There is discussion these days about whether some Scottish distilleries would even move to England after independence in order to keep the same export policies and fees in place. We should know soon whether this will be an issue.

Medieval Cannabis

Cannabis sativa from the 6th-century
De Materia Medica of Dioscorides

I was contemplating a post about Easter, which takes place this Sunday. Since Easter takes place on the date 4/20, however, and since "4/20" is a counter-culture reference for smoking marijuana, I started wondering about the use of marijuana in history, specifically (of course) in the Middle Ages.

One website tells us that:

... cannabis use was reintroduced into Europe after the Dark Ages, when the Knights Templar, founded by Hugh de Payns (“of the Pagans”) around the beginning of the twelfth century, became involved in a trade of goods and knowledge with the hashish ingesting Isma’ilis. [Source]

Another explains its uses:

In the Middle Ages cannabis was used for its psychoactive effects as well as commercially. Its use as a mind-altering drug was widespread in Egypt and seems to date from around the 13th century. In medieval Europe cannabis appears to have been employed as a folk medicine, particularly for the treatment of toothache and rheumatism, and in childbirth. [Source]

Dioscorides in his De Materia Medica [Concerning Medical Materials] describes and illustrates cannabis sativa:

Kannabis; is a plant of much use in this life for the twisting of very strong ropes, it has leaves like to the Ash, of a bad scent, long stalks, empty, a round seed, which being eaten of reduces sexual activity, but being juiced when it is green is good for the pains of the ears. [Book III]

Here we recognize the lethargy that accompanies cannabis use.

Use of the plant for its fibers seems to have been very important to the Medieval and Renaissance eras. Henry VIII decreed in 1533 that "for every sixty acres of arable land a farmer owned, a quarter acre was to be sown with hemp." (Henry wanted to make sure he had plenty of source material for the rope that was vital to a strong naval effort.) A BBC report in 2001 presented the claim that pipes dug up in the backyard of Shakespeare's Stratford home had the remains of burned cannabis seeds. The investigation was in response to a reading of Sonnet 76 which mentions "invention in a noted weed." (Note: the pipes could not be traced definitively to Shakespeare's time at that address.)

Knowledge of cannabis was certainly available to the Middle Ages, but there is no evidence that it was used in a manner similar to its contemporary recreational use.

Running to Portugal

The Inquisition in Portigal [source]

When the Alhambra Decree gave Jews the choice of converting to Christianity or leaving the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon, tens of thousands—there are no accurate estimates; they vary between 130,000 and 800,000—began the search for a new home. Fortunately, shelter was closer than expected for some.

Portugal had experienced an on-again/off-again anti-Semitism. Many Jews who fled to Portugal wound up being persecuted or imprisoned under King John II (1455 - 1495), but King Alfonso V (1432 - 1481) had appointed a Jew as his treasurer. His successor, King Manuel I, was a very religious man, building religious buildings and trying to round up a Crusade against the Turks, but he was friendly to the Jews and released them from prison. Things seemed to be looking up.

Manuel had ambitions, however, that put his future at odds with his past as a tolerant ruler. Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragon had a daughter, the Infanta Isabella. Through her parents, she was the heir to Castile and Aragon. A marriage between Manuel and Isabella would unite most of the Iberian Peninsula, and their children would rule a large part of Europe and be allied to even more of Europe.*

Ferdinand and Isabella, however, would never allow their daughter to marry the monarch of a land that allowed Jews. A contract was written up for the marriage; one of its stipulations was that the Jews of Portugal would no longer be tolerated. Four years after the Edict of Expulsion sent Jews migrating to Portugal, Portugal in 1496 decreed that all Jews had to convert to Christianity or leave Portugal by October of 1497. (This edict applied to Muslims as well.)

The tide had turned for Jews in Portugal. Thousands fled to Amsterdam, Constantinople, France and Morocco; even to the New World. Not all left, which led to the Lisbon Massacre in 1506, when up to 2000 Jews (or people perceived to be Jews) were tortured and burned at the stake by a Catholic mob. Thirty years later, the Inquisition came to Portugal, creating more risks for anyone not seen to adhere strictly to Roman Catholicism.

If the Jews were supposed to be expelled, how was it that the Lisbon Massacre seemed like a good idea? That would be because there was a third, unofficial option between expulsion and conversion. We will look at the Marranos tomorrow.

*Her sister was Catherine of Aragon, King Henry VIII's first wife.

Fair Rosamund

Fair Rosamund's Well today.

Blenheim Palace is of fairly recent vintage—the early 1700s is "recent" in the context of a blog devoted to the Middle Ages—but the site contains some much older features. A spring on the property fills a well that existed at least as far back as 1166, when royal accounts list a building project designed to enclose the spring, known at the time as Everswell. The name can be accounted for by a local legend that says it never runs dry. Nowadays, it has a different name; from the 16th century on, it has been referred to as "Rosamund's Well."

The Rosamund of the name is Rosamund Clifford, who would have been unknown to history but for an event that pushed her into prominence. Daughter of Walter Clifford, she was born sometime before 1150. Her father's position in government was sufficient that the king had reason to call on him. Sometime in 1163 (according to best guesses), Henry II did just that, stopping at Clifford Castle on the River Wye on his way to deal with a Welsh problem. That is likely where and when he first met Rosamund...

...and when they fell in love.

Henry was married—Eleanor of Aquitaine had divorced the king of France in 1152 and married Henry in 1154—but kings never let marriage stop them. There is much gossip and legend surrounding "Fair Rosamund," but there are a few things we can say for certain. One is that she was a very patient lover: given Henry's campaigns in England and on the continent, between 1163 and her death in 1176, they would not have been able to be in each other's presence for more than 2-3 years total. Stories that she traveled with him can not be substantiated by contemporary evidence.

The likelihood that she bore children for Henry is slim. Later suggestions that his son Geoffrey was hers make no sense, given that she would have had to been pregnant with Geoffrey while she was a baby.*

It is very likely that Henry kept her in Woodstock, which at the time was essentially a hunting lodge about 10 miles north of Oxford. The legend that he built a maze around it to keep her safe is untrue. It is possible, I suppose, that she really did bathe at Rosamund's Well. Blenheim Palace is just west of Woodstock, built on the grounds that once were part of the Woodstock lodge and the enclosed deer park.

She went to live in seclusion among the nuns at a monastery in Godstow in 1176, once her status as the king's mistress became known. She died shortly thereafter, and the king contributed to a family-built  tomb for her at Godstow. In 1191, the bishop of Lincoln found that her tomb, situated in the choir of the church, had become a popular site for locals to leave flowers. Shocked at the veneration given to a mistress, he had her tomb moved outside the monastery. Like so many other sites, it was destroyed by another Henry known for mistresses: Henry VIII's Dissolution of the Monasteries.

*The illegitimacy of Geoffrey is not an invention; Eleanor was not his mother. The chronicler Walter Map (1140 - c.1209) claims Geoffrey's mother was someone named Ykenai.

The Leiden Glossary

You can get your own copy here

The Leiden University Library in the Netherlands, founded in 1575, was an important part of the Enlightenment (late 17th to early 18th century), due to its enormous collection of texts that include 2500 medieval manuscripts. One of their medieval manuscripts, the Leiden Glossary, preserves a document from 9th century England that might otherwise be lost to us.

A "glossary" is a collection of "glosses," or explanations of a word or term. The Leiden Glossary contains glosses and commentaries by two priests and scholars, Adrian of Canterbury and Theodore of Tarsus (mentioned here), who were both at St. Augustine's Abbey in Canterbury.

The 48 chapters are lists of sayings and phrases used by Adrian and Theodore in their teaching, as well as commentaries they made on other works: think of it as a teacher's handout to his students so they don't have to take notes. There are, for instance, 8 chapters by Theodore with glosses on the "Pastoral Care" of Pope Gregory I (Gregory has been mentioned here).

There are also glosses from different people. For instance, there are three glosses on the same subject of the Historia Ecclesiastica ["History of the Church"] of Eusebius. The three are of differing quality, as if the book records the attempts by three different scholars—maybe students— to explain the passages in Eusebius. One of them echoes a different commentary found elsewhere that is known to be by Aldhelm, so it may have been Aldhelm himself who contributed it to the Leiden.

The Leiden is a mixture of glosses in Latin and Anglo-Saxon, another indication that the original glossary must have come from England. The Leiden Glossary was made in the library at the Abbey of St. Gall, presumably from that original. One of the things that we learn collaterally from the Leiden Glossary—because of the manuscripts about which the glosses have been written—is that the library at St. Augustine's Abbey must have been extensive. Alas, it did not survive the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII.

Evesham Abbey

The early history of the founding of religious buildings goes hand-in-hand with visions and miracles, such as the August snowfall in Rome. The history of Benedictine structures is no exception.

Evesham Abbey was founded when Bishop (later saint) Ecgwine received a visit from a shepherd or swineherd named Eof. Eof told him of a vision he had of the Virgin Mary requesting that a monastery be built in her honor on a certain spot where he grazed his animals. ("Evesham" means "Eof's town.") Bishop Ecgwine built the monastery; we don't know when construction started, but we do have the charter of Pope Constantine granting privileges to the abbey in 709, firmly establishing its founding as an abbey.

Ecgwine was all too happy to resign his bishopric and become abbot until his death in 717.

Of Evesham Abbey only a bell tower remains since the Dissolution of the Monasteries under Henry VIII. Evesham had trouble when the Danish invasions led to the monks being replaced. Within a generation, fortunately, St. Dunstan (previously mentioned in association with abbeys here) re-established the Benedictines there.

Later, when William the Conqueror took over the country, then-Abbot Æthelwig wisely hastened to pledge loyalty to him. Evesham and its Benedictines flourished under Norman rule, so much so that it supposedly earned the envy of the bishops of Worcester.

Romsey Abbey: Its Ups & Downs

Romsey Abbey was, for a brief time, the home of Matilda of Scotland and her sister Mary. It is called "Romsey" because it was originally known as "Rum's Eg"—that is, the "area of Rum surrounded by marshes." It was founded by a granddaughter of Alfred the Great, Elflæda, in 907.

It went through some different stages, being refounded in 960 by King Edgar (943-975) as a Benedictine house under the control of the very pious (St.) Ethelflæda. The community thrived until it was sacked by Vikings in 993 and destroyed by fire. Rebuilt about 1000, it became a place to send the children of aristocrats for education (hence Matilda's time there).

A much larger building was erected in the original foundations around 1130 by Bishop Henry of Blois. That building still stands today. Between then and now, however, the Black Death wiped out all but 19 nuns of the religious community. The abbey never regained prominence, finally being suppressed (like so many others) in 1539 by Henry VIII (whose radical changes to the religious house of England was also mentioned here). The nuns were dispersed.

Even though the religious community was dissolved, however, the Abbey retained prominence in the town. Its church was being used as a parish church (St. Lawrence) by the larger community—an extra aisle had been added to the main structure so that townspeople had a place to attend services—and so Romsey did not suffer like many others: being left to fall into ruins or having its stone re-used in other building projects. Oddly, however, a few years later the townspeople purchased the building from the Crown and dismantled the extra aisle used as St. Lawrence, leaving the original Abbey church in which to worship.

In 1643, the English Civil War resulted in internal damage when soldiers tore up the seats and destroyed the organ. Many windows were damaged over the years and not replaced. The 19th century saw an attempt to restore the neglected structure, and now it has a thriving parish community.

Bishop & Bibliophile

The desirable treasure of wisdom and science, which all men desire by an instinct of nature, infinitely surpasses all the riches of the world; in respect of which precious stones are worthless; in comparison with which silver is as clay and pure gold is as a little sand; at whose splendour the sun and moon are dark to look upon; compared with whose marvellous sweetness honey and manna are bitter to the taste. ... Where dost thou chiefly lie hidden, O most elect treasure! and where shall thirsting souls discover thee? ... Certes, thou hast placed thy tabernacle in books, where the Most High, the Light of lights, the Book of Life, has established thee.

So begins Chapter I of the Philobiblon (Greek for "The Love of Books") of  Richard de Bury (1287-1345). As a young man he studied at Oxford and became a Benedictine. His learning and piety made him a suitable tutor for Prince Edward, son of Edward II and Isabella of France, who after the stormy events of 1327 would become King Edward III. Royal patronage worked well for de Bury: he became Bishop of Durham in 1333, High Chancellor in 1334, and Treasurer of England in 1336. He went on diplomatic missions for the Crown, even in his later years.

Along the way, however, he never gave up the love of learning that first sent him to Oxford and later made him a tutor to royalty. He had libraries in each residence, filled with contemporary authors but mostly classical works. "He kept copyists, scribes, binders, correctors, and illuminators, and he was particularly careful to restore defaced or battered texts." [source]

That love of learning, found in books, needed to be spread far and wide. His purpose for writing the Philobiblon was three-fold:

• To instill in clergy the love of learning, and of book as the source of learning
• To explain his own love of books that drove him to spend so much time collecting and preserving them
• To lay out the policies for management of a library he wanted to establish at Durham College, Oxford

His goal in founding Durham College was to create a place where Benedictines from Durham Abbey could better themselves through education. To that end, he bequeathed his books to the library at Durham College. Sadly, Durham College was dissolved, like many other religious institutions, by Henry VIII. Its memory remains as the Durham Quadrangle on the grounds of Trinity College. Tradition says that the library was broken up, some books going to Balliol, some to the part of the Bodleian called Duke Humphrey's Library, and some to the Welsh antiquarian George Owen (1552-1613).

Despite his connections with royalty, which many men would use as a path to a comfortable life, Richard de Bury's passion for the purchase and preservation of books would outweigh his means. When he died, on 14 April 1345, he was very much in debt. The Philobiblon did not see the light as a printed book until 1473 in Cologne, but numerous editions in various languages appeared over the next centuries, including an English edition in Albany, New York in 1861. It is available at the Gutenberg Project, and may be read (in English) here.

Autumnal Equinox Lightshow

Holy Trinity Church in Barsham, Suffolk

The equinox, from Latin aequinoctium (the time of equal days and nights), the day twice each year when the amount of daylight and darkness equalizes. We are used to marking the solstices, because the longest day of sunlight and the shortest day in winter carry real-life significance for us. But the equinoxes in spring and fall rarely get the same attention.

But in Suffolk, England, in Holy Trinity Church in the tiny town of Barsham, the equinoxes have provided a special show since the Middle Ages—if one knew where to look.

To be truthful, the "special show" was forgotten for a long time because of some changes. Holy Trinity is an early church, using stone from Caen that tells us it was built post-1066, although the round tower is by many considered to be an earlier Saxon style. The church suffered when Henry VIII broke with Rome and made changes consistent with the new Anglican Church. A rood screen, an ornate partition between the main part of the church and the nave behind the altar, was torn down, and the large crucifix that hung on it was eliminated. In 1870, however, the vicar of Holy Trinity decided to rebuild the rood screen and restore the crucifix to the same spot it hung in centuries earlier. Unfortunately, the vicar also decided to hang a large painting over a narrow west window whose significance he did not realize.

On the equinoxes, light strikes the crucifix for 4 minutes

Then, in 1979, a fire destroyed the nave roof. During the reconstruction, someone took the painting down. Years later, during a mass at dusk on the autumnal equinox, someone saw it. Now that the church was restored to its original configuration, the narrow western window throws a shaft of light for 4 minutes each equinox—and only on the equinox—right onto the crucifix near the top of the rood screen.

It was easy to miss for several years: it doesn't show when there is cloud cover at twilight, and you need to be looking up. Now that the phenomenon has been re-discovered, however, the church is filled each equinox by people waiting to see the fascinating result of an unknown medieval architect who decided to use light to illuminate his art.

Mirrors for Princes

Machiavelli's Il Principe (c.1513) was far from innovative. Writers since classical times had produced works that explained the proper behavior—or improper behavior—of rulers. The genre was called specula principum, or "mirrors for princes." These took the form of instruction books, often aimed at a young ruler who was just coming into power, or could be biographies of rulers who should (or should not) be emulated.

The reign of Charlemagne seems to have motivated the desire to "raise the bar" for rulers and inspired many writers to produce mirrors for their local rulers in the 9th century. Charlemagne's life was, of course, the example to be followed as far as Einhard's Vita Karolini (Life of Charles) was concerned. No one wanted to see the Carolingian empire suffer after Charlemagne's demise, and so his descendants had no lack of advice. His son Louis the Pious was the target of one speculum by Smaragdus of Saint-Mihiel; Louis' son Pepin I of Aquitaine was the target of one by Jonas of Orléans; Louis' grandson Lothair II of Lotharingia was addressed by Sedulius Scottus in a work called "On Christian Rulers."

Alcuin of York, a prolific writer and famous teacher, wrote De virtutibus et vitiis (On virtues and vices, c.799) for Count Wido of Brittany. A friend of Alcuin's, whom he met at Charlemagne's school in Aachen, was Paulinus of Aquileia who wrote the Liber exhortationis (Book of exhortations, 795), for Count Heiric (Eric) of Friuli. Paulinus (c.730-802) had been born in the Friuli region of northeast Italy and he and Heiric were friends, so he felt entitled to tell Heiric a thing or two, including advising him to free his slaves. (Having slaves was common.) Paulinus also wrote an elegy when Heiric was killed in 799.

Mirrors for princes were popular right through the Renaissance by scholars who felt qualified to give advice to powerful men. We know of ones that were written for the future Henry VIII (by John Skelton; a copy exists in the British Museum), for King Charles V of Spain (1516, by Erasmus), for King Christian IV of Denmark-Norway (1597, by Johann Damgaard), and King James I of England wrote one for his eldest son, Henry, who died of typhoid at 18; maybe Charles I read it when he ascended the throne.