Charles wanted to know everything and to know it at once. His strong, uncurbed nature eagerly seized on learning, both as a delight for himself and a means of giving stability to his government, and so, while he knew he must be docile, he was at the same time imperious. Alcuin knew how to meet him, and at need could be either patiently jocular or grave and reproving. Thus, on one occasion when he had been informed of the great learning of Augustine and Jerome, he impatiently demanded of Alcuin, "Why can I not have twelve clerks such as these?" Twelve Augustines and Jeromes! and to be made arise at the king's bidding! Alcuin was shocked. "What!" he discreetly rejoined, "the Lord of heaven and earth had but two such, and wouldst thou have twelve?" But his personal affection for the king was most unselfish, and he consequently took great delight in stimulating his desire for learning.... He studied everything Alcuin set before him, but had special anxiety to learn all about the moon that was needed to calculate Easter. With such an eager and impatient pupil as Charles, the other scholars were soon inspired to beset Alcuin with endless puzzling questions, and there are not wanting evidences that some of them were disposed to levity and even carped at his teachings. But he was indefatigable, rising with the sun to prepare for teaching. In one of his poetical exercises he says of himself that "as soon as the ruddy charioteer of the dawn suffuses the liquid deep with the new light of day, the old man rubs the sleep of night from his eyes and leaps at once from his couch, running straightway into the fields of the ancients to pluck their flowers of correct speech and scatter them in sport before his boys."