Professor Napier, discussing the Franks Casket a quarter of a century ago, concluded with these words:

The authorship of the twenty-nine lines following line 1664 of Cynewulf's Christ in the Exeter Book is, in common with that of much Old English poetry, disputed. The lines are variously considered an independent poem, the conclusion of Christ, and the beginning of Guthlac. Since external evidence is, of course, entirely lacking, an effort will here be made to decide the authorship by means of internal evidence.

The thought contained in Christ IV, as the disputed lines 1665–93 will for convenience be designated in this article, is much closer to that of the concluding passage of Christ III than it is to the beginning of Guthlac. Thomas Arnold has said that the line of thought of IV agrees in no way with that which marks the opening of Guthlac, while Gollancz, who insists that IV is a prelude to Guthlac, finds it necessary to say that the ‘motives’ of IV are ‘derived from the concluding portion of the Christ.’

The remarkable construction referred to in the title, þon mā þe, þon lēofre þe, etc., was first studied by the present writer in a previous article (MLN XLI, 300-313). There, by bringing together some twenty occurrences from different OE writings, prose and poetry both early and late, it was shown that the construction was something more than the sporadic expression it had previously been thought to be. Its wide-spread use in OE and the fact that different adjectives and adverbs occurred in the construction (e.g. nēar, lēofre, betran, swīður, ēð, etc.) showed that it was not confined to one time or one place or one writer. So far as the evidence in that article went the construction was used as a subordinate conjunction equivalent to than in the comparison of inequality, following only negative main clauses.

In the present paper I propose to examine once more the documents that afford evidence as to the sound of the Old French diphthong commonly represented by ue, and to develop certain fresh conclusions to which this evidence seems to point.

Current views of this matter may be briefly summarized: Vulgar Latin long open o, broken (by a process concerning which scholars are far from agreed) into ǫǫ, gave uo (dissimilation), on which we disagree again: was it uó or úo? Both pronunciations may be defended; but it is simpler to suppose that, like Italian and Spanish, Old French had a rising diphthong here (ŭó) from the very first. At any rate, the next stage must have been *uø, next ue, then *uø once more and finally ø.

In Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae (VIII, ix-xii) occurs the oldest and almost the only known legend about the most famous megalithic monument in Britain. The story accounts for Stonehenge as the funeral monument erected for hundreds of noble Britons slain by the treacherous Hengist and his Saxons, and it was for centuries accepted as the historical explanation of that great structure. Chroniclers repeated the tale and successive generations believed, to borrow Spenser's wording, that they could

“Th'eternall marks of treason . . . at Stonheng vew.” (F. Q., II, x, 66).

Among the most considerable of M. Bédier's achievements in his study of the Tristan legend was his demonstration by means of proper names that the tradition, in some form or other, must have passed from Pictland through Wales and Brittany into France and England. Although the researches of Miss Schoepperle have shown the influence of Irish aitheda, although the work of M. Loth has made it impossible to ignore the share of Cornwall, and Dr. Brugger's studies of the man Bleheris and of the name Loonois add to our knowledge of the origin and transmission of the story, yet M. Bédier's scheme still stands out as the first reasonably full and acceptable account of the derivation of any Arthurian romance. Now it is noteworthy that so important a result rested in large measure on the origin of the names inbedded in the tradition. Had the onomastic studies of Rhys, Miss Paton, Bruce, and Dr. Brugger been as generally convincing as those of M. Bédier, scholars would not still be so far apart in their interpretation of the development of the Round Table cycle. Thus far the only body of facts, apart from the Tristan branch, to which all parties subscribe is that the personal names Arthur, Kay, Bedivere, Modred, Guinevere, Merlin, Maheloas, Caradoc Briebras, Ider the son of Nu, Ivain son of Urien, Uther, and other proper names such as Escalibour, Pridwen, and Tortain, are derived from the Welsh. But the materials for further study are, as the Index to Sommer's seven volumes of French romance and Miss Blount's unpublished onomasticon show, very rich, and nothing seems to stand in the way of real advance in this field of research if only we can formulate and apply certain criteria which will at the same time fit the somewhat lax conditions of name-development and also be sufficiently rigorous to give assured results.

Among the names of stones in the Alfonsine lapidaries are a number, frequently recurring, which are given in the manuscript as Chaldean names, and are usually followed by their equivalents or definitions in Spanish. Some thirty-seven of these have been listed by M. F. de Mély, who expresses the hope that someone will undertake the task of defining and identifying them. Thus far, however, no one has made any thoroughgoing attempt to investigate these Chaldean stone-names. The only identifications made by Mély himself are the names catu and alfeyru (alfeyxu), feynac. A single identification of bezebekaury as ruby is made by Barrington, who, as others have done, has pointed out the difficulty of identifying these Alfonsine stones. Before undertaking this task it will be necessary to correct and complete the list given by Mély, which really comprises 36 instead of 37 names since one stone is twice counted. Actually, the manuscript mentions no less than forty-five Chaldean stones.

The treatment accorded by grammarians to the passive reflexive construction as applied to personal subjects in Old Spanish is either incomplete or inexplicit. Diez, for example, gives no indication as to the extent of its use in either early or modern Spanish. Cuervo asserts that the passive reflexive is “arraigado” in the language of the early period, but cites examples with only inanimate subjects. We infer from his remarks that with a personal subject this construction came into general use in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. According to Meyer-Lübke, its use with personal subjects was extensive only during these centuries. Hanssen is of the opinion that the passive reflexive was of little use in the early period and that with a personal subject its use was limited to the single verb uencerse. The present study will indicate the status of this construction in Old Spanish: the extent of its use as applied to persons insofar as may be demonstrated by an examination of a representative text of that period. As such a text the Primera crónica general has been chosen, because, with its plurality of authorship and great length, it represents an admirable cross-section of Old Spanish prose.

One of the most noticeable characteristics of style in Wyclif's translation of the New Testament is his occasional use of a verbal form in -yng(e) preceded by to, as a rendering of a Latin future participle, as in Luke 9.44: for it is to comynge, that mannis sone be bitrayed in to the hondis of men = Filius enim hominis futurum est ut tradatur in manus hominum; Luke 13.9: And if it schal make fruyt, ellis in tyme to comynge thou schalt kitte it doun = et si quidem fecerit fructum: sin autem, in futurum succides eam. This construction is not found in Wyclif's original English works. It does occur, however, in other writings in Middle English; and since scholars have, thus far, been unable to agree as to its origin and classification, I have undertaken a detailed study of Wyclif's use of the idiom, with the hope that some further light may be thrown on its nature and origin. Before discussing Wyclif's use of the construction, however, it seems advisable to consider somewhat in detail the history of opinion on the problem.

At the present time, the only known manuscript of Berceo's Martirio de San Lorenzo is the eighteenth-century copy that belonged to Padre Ibarreta, and Solalinde expresses the conviction that the Sánchez edition of the poem is based on the Ibarreta manuscript. On several occasions Sanchez mentions the fact that he had at hand the Ibarreta manuscript, and he likewise states that he had his own copy of several of Berceo's poems and that he used the Ibarreta version “para cotejar algunas que yo tenía, y copiar las que me faltaban.” That there is a close relationship between the Sánchez and Ibarreta versions of the Martirio de San Lorenzo is evident from the following facts; in both versions the poem is incomplete, containing only 105 stanzas; both versions have five verses in stanza 15; both versions use, consistently, the forms, ome, omes, sancto, sanctidat, lazdrar, judgar, nunqua; and they conform in the use of the exceptional forms cipdad 10d, cipdat 12d, Katolicos 2d, Karidad 10b, Karidat 47b. Furthermore, the three specific errors of construction or legibility mentioned by Sánchez are also found in the Ibarreta manuscript: the omission of Dios in 10b, omission of the rhyme word in 102d, and omission of seven letters in avrie despecho 105d.

The invasion of Italy by Charles VIII in 1494 became, shortly after, the subject of an égloga by Francisco de Madrid, and the peace of Cambray in 1529, which, it was fondly hoped, would end the Franco-Spanish wars in Italy, was celebrated dramatically by Hernán López de Yanguas. The battle of Pavia (Feb. 24, 1525), falling between these two events and marking the culmination of the struggle, is discussed, from the Spanish point of view, naturally, in the present little play which has not thus far been noticed by the students of early Spanish drama. Like the other two it is a festival-play, combining with a political preoccupation the bucolic tone of the dramatic égloga, a type of which the origin may well be the fifth égloga of Juan del Encina “adonde se introducen cuatro pastores, . . . . y primero Beneito entró en la sala adonde el Duque y Duquesa estaban, y comenzó mucho á dolerse y acuitarse porque se sonaba que el Duque, su señor, se habia de partir á la guerra de Francia; . . . . y despues llamaron á Pedruelo, el cual les dió nuevas de paz. . . . .” The play is short, however, and although possibly intended for a performance or actually performed, it is close, both in subject-matter and external appearance, to the news-sheets in ballad-form which were fairly common at the time. The print which is here reproduced formerly belonged to D. Pascual de Gayangos, and is now in the Biblioteca Nacional, in Madrid. It seems to have been mentioned only by Gallardo. On its title-page a vignette represents a battle fought under massive city- or castle-walls by knights in full armour, on foot, some wielding swords, some daggers, several carrying shields, one of which, on the right, is painted with a large human countenance. In the left group of four warriors one has already fallen, pierced by a sword. Behind the right group of three may be distinguished a throng of helmeted figures in a thicket of tall lances.

Although Nicholas Grimald has been mentioned as a forerunner of English classicism, his use of the closed and balanced decasyllabic couplet has not been emphasized sufficiently to challenge the position commonly assigned to Beaumont, Sandys, Waller, or Jonson. I shall attempt to point out his neoclassic qualities, and to account for them in terms of his sources. In so doing I hope to throw light upon the early history of the heroic couplet, Grimald's position as a pioneer, and the relation of the Latin elegiac distich to English classical verse.

Early in the year 1573 there appeared from the press of Richard Smith an anonymous quarto bearing the title: A Hundreth sundrie Flowres bound up in one small Poesie . . . . Yelding sundrie sweet savours of Tragical, Comicall, and Morall Discourses, both pleasaunt and profitable to the well smellyng noses of learned Readers. The third “flower” of this delectable bouquet was called A pleasant discourse of the adventures of master F. J. The reader whose well-smelling nose sampled this offering soon found that its fragrance was highly spiced. The story relates the intrigue between Master F. J. and the daughter-in-law of his host at a summer house-party in the north of England. After a passionate love affair of some weeks, during which the reader is left in no doubt as to the adulterous nature of their relations, his lady is unfaithful to him as well as to her husband, and the disappointed lover departs. This story attracted considerable attention and was thought to shadow forth an actual contemporary scandal, although the only names used were those of Elinor, Fraunces, the Secretary, etc. Outside of the fact that the printer tells us we may expand “F. J.” into Freeman Jones, “for the better understanding of the same,” there are no surnames used in the whole story.

Discussing the contents of La minerva o El revisor general (1805-08; 1817-18), Le Gentil remarks: “Notons enfin un premier essai, visiblement inspiré de Jouy, dans un genre qui devait faire une singulière fortune en Espagne, celui des costumbristas.” The reference is to an article entitled “La ciencia del pretendiente o el arte de obtener empleos,” which appeared in 1817 (X-33). Though the implication that this article is the first costumbrista sketch is open to question, Le Gentil's suggestion that it marks the beginning of Jouy's influence in Spain seems acceptable, for Jouy himself does not speak of translations of his works until 1815, and even then he mentions none in Spanish. After 1817 the costumbrista vogue was apparently well established, as may be gathered from the many articles of the new pattern which appeared in El censor (1820-22). Accordingly when Mesonero, in Mis ratos perdidos, allowed himself to be influenced by Jouy in style, tone, and even content, it would seem that he followed a fairly established vogue.

García Gutiérrez, because he wrote El Trovador (at the age of twenty-two) is commonly considered a typical Romantic dramatist. It may be affirmed with considerable justice, however, that he upheld the standard of Romanticism for a relatively short time and that he repented at the age of thirty. The record for long service is held by Zorrilla, who died still a Romanticist in 1893.

In various papers published during the past twelve years I have discussed certain aspects and applications of what I call “literary theory.” This piecemeal method of publication inevitably leaves loose ends; and my purpose on the present occasion is to tie up some of them by further discussion of sundry points and by the citing of sundry passages which further illuminate them. Without promising any startling novelties, I hope to be able to straighten out a few matters over which uncertainty or controversy might possibly arise.

In that rich volume, The Decline and Fall of the West, we observe that the color preferences of a given people or age are considered as a part of the accumulated evidence that finally places the cultural stage of the group in the whole vast Spenglerian cycle. The Greeks, we learn, were fond of primitive reds and yellows, while the Christians, partly in revolt against Greek paganism, came to prefer the other end of the color scale, the greens and blues, and the purity of white. Red had become for them a symbol of sin and bloodshed, and yellow a mark of shame. These observations are further tied up with Spengler's time-space theories. The Greeks, whose time-space conceptions are labelled as present, as contrasted with our own efforts to link the dim past and the remote future by the aid of our historical and evolutionary perspective, are said naturally to prefer red and its variants as symbolic of life, love, and splendid action; while the Christians as naturally preferred the more remote greens, blues, and whites as symbolic of meditation and worship, the projection of interest into the mystic, the supernatural, the life yet unrealized. A later romantic development also associated blues and greens with nature and its poetry, while whites, grays and blacks inevitably spell the abstract, the psychic, and the mystery of the unknown.