The symbolic, or perhaps more accurately, non-numerical significance of numbers has long been an accepted factor in the religion and superstition of the western world; in particular, medieval man in his search for the divine order underlying all manifestations of the external world possessed a natural propensity for numerological interpretation. It is, therefore, no surprise to find in the literature of the Middle Ages constant reference to, and interpretation of, numbers — numbers which in many cases even today have about them a sinister, friendly, or sanctified aura. The meaning of numbers and their manner of employment vary, however, greatly in different forms of writing and it is thus important to bear in mind the advice of Hopper, that although symbolic numbers are profusely scattered through the pages of nearly all medieval writings, it is necessary to distinguish, especially in secular and unscientific literature, between the philosophical or scientific use of number, the symbolic, the imitative, and the merely naïve preference for certain commonly used numbers.’ Hopper was concerned in his work with the general meaning of numbers as they appeared in medieval writings of all kinds and not with literature per se, where, at least in Germany, a further distinction must be made on the basis of recent scholarship. For considerable interest has been evinced in recent years in the structure of medieval German literature and in particular in the arithmetically symmetrical plans which seem to have been drawn up by poets as a framework for their composition. Whilst, therefore, the use of numbers in religious and edifying works may justifiably be viewed as deriving from Christian symbolism and is therefore to be distinguished on the one hand from the scientific use of number and on the other from the ‘naïve preference for certain commonly used numbers,’ a further category must be established in that the planned arithmetical form of medieval secular literature may have in fact no symbolic meaning. To take only a few simple examples: the Goldene Schmiede of Konrad von Würzburg consists of 1,000 couplets or the perfect number 10 raised to the power of the Trinity. Gottfried's Tristan on the other hand was possibly calculated to cover 25,000 lines, by which, presumably, nothing is symbolised. The fact that Otfried writes: ‘Wangta zuein thero jaro fiarzug ni was' and ‘Thria stunton finfzug ouh thri,’ for 38 and 153 respectively, is due to the innate significance of these numbers and not to the exigencies of versification. There is no significance, however, in the Nibelungenlied's ‘Sehs unt ahzec türne,’ ‘sehs unt ahzec wip,’ and ‘Sehs unt ahzec vrouwen’ (404.1, 525.1, 572.1). Similarly, the use of the seven-line stanza may be conditioned by the symbolic significance of the number seven, but the same is presumably not the case with Wolfram's groups of thirty lines. More important perhaps than these examples: the numerical structure of the Annolied has a specific meaning in relation to the religious content of the work, but there is no meaning inherent in the symmetrical line and stanza groups in the works of Gottfried, Wolfram, and Hartmann.

The metropolitans of Seleucia-Ctesiphon for the fourth century comprise Papa, Simeon bar Sabbae, Shahdost, Barbashmin followed by a long vacancy, Tomarsa, Qayuma, and Isaac. The parallel Sassanids were Sapor II (309-379), Ardashir II (379-83), Sapor III (383-88), Bahram IV (388-99) and Yezdegerd I (399-420).

The list of catholici is preserved in a number of different writers: PsEN (c. s. x), ChrS (c. 1036), Mari (c. 1150), PsED (c. 1260), BarH (1286), Amri (c. 1350), Sliba (c. 1350), and others.

The chronology has already been studied by G. Westphal in connection with his investigation of the sources and reliability of Mari, Amri and Sliba. He bases his dates principally on the Syriac acts of the Persian martyrs, but, as the present paper attempts to prove, this cannot be done: we must work the other way around, settle first the succession of the catholici and then turn to the acts. Furthermore, since the publication of his excellent work, the very valuable ChrS has been discovered and a critical edition of PsEN has appeared.

The South English Legendary (hereafter SEL) is an anonymous thirteenth-century vernacular liber festivalis, following the calendar written primarily for a ‘lewid’ audience. Beyond that limited assertion there still remain fundamental unanswered questions as to its source, place of origin, and authorship. The situation is only somewhat better concerning the date of composition. Indeed, in the face of so many vexing and unanswered questions concerning the SEL, I hope to be able to give a more precise date for the original composition than has been hitherto established.

One of the earliest works of the Majorcan Ramon Lull (1230/35–1315/16) was a Compendium logicae Algazelis (1271/72), a work based on the first section of the Maqâsid al-falâsifa (that is, “Opinions of the Philosophers”) of the great Muslim theologian, Abû Ḥâmid al-Ghazâlî (d. 1111). Algazel was Persian and his Maqâṣid an Arabic form of a Persian work by the celebrated philosopher Ibn Sînâ (d. 1037), known to the Latins as Avicenna. Algazel summarized the philosophy of Avicenna with the intention of refuting it in his Tahâfut al-falâsifa (that is, “Destruction of the Philosophers”). As is generally known, the Cordovan philosopher and jurist, Averroes (Ibn Rushd, d. 1198), sought to refute this latter work in his Tahâfut al-tahâfut or “Destructio destructionis.”

The amount of research and publication on the problem of Herodotus' historicity has been gigantic. Recently Jameson's publcation of the newly discovered ‘Themistocles Decree’ has added a new phase to this ever vital controversy. The present paper, however, will evaluate another incident in the Histories and in the history of the Histories: the debate preceding the accession of Darius the Great to the Persian throne in 522 B.C.

(Barcelona, El Escorial, Gerona, Huesca, Lérida, Madrid, Montserrat, Pamplona, Poblet, Seo de Urgel, Silos, Tarazona, Toledo, Tortosa, Vallbona de las Monjas, Vich)

This article is mainly concerned with Office Books, but does not include books for the Mozarabic rite. A few books for the Mass etc. were included as a result of earlier incorrect descriptions; these were inspected and eliminated without further investigation.

The Carolingians regarded much of Italy as a military frontier following their overthrow of the Lombard kingdom in 776. Although there was little national Lombard resistance to Frankish rule, other factors — which will be noted later — forced the Franks to keep up their military establishment in Italy. In some ways this military establishment followed the pattern of Carolingian arrangements in other conquered territories, in other ways the Italian situation was quite unique. Since the Carolingian failure to solve the problem of Italian unity was in at least a degree due to the Carolingian failure to meet the challenge of the Italian military frontier, the study of this problem throws some interesting light on the turbulent conditions in northern and central Italy before and after its incorporation in the German Holy Roman Empire.

Critical approaches to alliterative poetry can and do include all the approaches imposed on literature in general. But to these must be added approaches particular to the fact that we confront a body of literature defined by a distinctive, some would say peculiar, metrical form. Alliterative poetry has been accorded a separate status precisely because it is alliterative, flourished in a relatively short time-frame, and is associated with a geographic region. For most of this century, the Alliterative Revival has reigned as an historical fact — a nationalistic metrical response, fostered by the North West Midlands baronial families, to the increasing power of the Court in the East Midlands and the pernicious influence of foreign, mainly French fashions, particularly poetic. In the last fifteen years, and at a galloping pace in the last ten, we have seen one of the massive certainties of literary history first quietly mined by the late Elizabeth Salter, and then besieged, assaulted, and overrun by an increasing band of scholarly invaders numbering among them Norman Blake, Derek Pearsall, T. Turville-Petre, and David Lawton. The Theory of the Alliterative Revival, once a Castle of Truth, now lies in ruins, picked over by its destroyers for useful material with which to build a new Tower on a Tofte. While the orthodox view of the alliterative revival has been disestablished, and no single creed has yet emerged as an authoritative substitute, there is currently underway a major re-assessment of alliterative poetry, which has both been caused by and also generated a substantial increase in scholarly knowledge of the field. The questions that have been posed and continue to be explored are mainly of the following kind: Was there a revival or simply a continuation? How and where was this revival/continuation generated and located? Should we distinguish sub-groups of alliterative poetry according to metrical variants? How do we scan alliterative verse? What are the origins of or influences on the metres and rhythms of the great alliterative works of the late fourteenth century?

The present town of Bertrée lies about mid-way between Liège and Louvain on the undulating plateau of Hannut, toward the center of the ancient region of the Hesbaye, where the rich soil, temperate climate, and relative flatness have attracted settlers since the earliest times. It lies south of the Roman road (later known as the chaussée Brunehaut) between Boulogne and Cologne and is surrounded by the remains of Roman and Gallo-Roman habitations, tombs, and cemeteries. Nearby there were roads to Nivelles and Bavay. In the Middle Ages it belonged both politically and ecclesiastically to the province of Liège, though it was situated almost in an enclave between the counties of Louvain to the north and west, Looz to the north and east, and Namur to the south and west. Nothing specific is known about its history, however, before Walter of Trognée established a priory there in 1124.

With each investigation into the literary activities of Monte Cassino during the second half of the eleventh century, the reputation of the Desiderian milieu has taken on new and greater proportions. In this circle of learned monks the name of Alberic the Deacon has been brought into sharper focus. Speculation about his family background has yielded little beyond the conjecture that he was of Beneventan origin. In the records of his monastery he appears for the first time as one already arrived at maturity, since he is introduced as vir disertissimus ac eruditissimus and as vir illis temporibus singularis. It would seem, however, that at least by 1065 — possibly as early as 1057 — Alberic had taken up residence at Monte Cassino and had at about that same period launched his literary career in the stimulating atmosphere of the ‘Desiderian renaissance.’

The Tribal Hidage is a list of about thirty tribes of Anglo-Saxon England together with the number of lands of one family (hides) belonging to each tribe. Historians agree that it is a seventh or eighth century Mercian document so difficult to understand that it is a ‘puzzle’ and ‘a mysterious catalogue—barely intelligible’. Part of the mystery is caused by failure to identify even large tribes in the list, and perhaps more mystery is produced by the inability to fit the data into its alleged historical setting. As a piece of literature it belongs to the intellectual movement sometimes known as the Mercian Renaissance which has received little attention. The great epic, Beowulf, has recently been assigned to it, and another, Widsith, falls in the same period. Alfred drew a majority of his scholars from Mercia. This Mercian Renaissance is thus worth further study for its general significance, but it has a peculiar interest for students of the Tribal Hidage as the environment for this singular document. It is the thesis of this study that the Tribal Hidage, although a Mercian survival, is actually a revision of data of the time of Aethelbert of Kent of about 590 A.D. and that it gives a valuable picture of the political divisions of England of that important time.

The Moralia is an unfortunate term for the writings that have come down to us under the name of Plutarch of Chaeronea (ca. A.D. 50–120). They discuss rhetorical topics and general philosophical issues. A few are expressedly devoted to medical themes, for example, the tract entitled De sanitate tuenda praecepta (Mor. 122B–137E). But the medical material is sadly scattered throughout the extensive oeuvre, and it is difficult to gain a clear perspective.

In the second century, A.D. (c. 177), the Christian philosopher and apologist, Athenagoras, inveighing against the pagans for immoralities forbidden by their own codes, incorporated in his harangue an expression which was to have a long and interesting history in Christian literature.1 These are his words:

Fundamental to Christianity is the belief in the redemptive death of Christ. But not always has there been complete agreement among theologians as to the precise reason or reasons for Christ's death. For centuries the soteriology of the Church may be said to have been in large part demonocentric. The devil had certain rights over fallen man, rights which could not be violated, still less taken away. If his dominion over man was to be destroyed, it must be done not by any arbitrary exercise of the divine Omnipotence, but in a manner reasonable and just. Some theologians even spoke of Christ's death as a ransom paid to the devil for man's release. With varying nuance such ideas as these were dominant from the days of St. Irenaeus of Lyons' until the very end of the eleventh century, when St. Anselm of Canterbury struck out upon entirely new lines of thought. In his Cur Deus Homo new concepts were introduced into the discussion of the problem. By sin man had offended the infinite majesty of God: God's rights had been violated. Satisfaction must be made, and that by man, for it was he who had sinned. But since the infinite offence which we call sin could not really be atoned for by a finite creature, the necessary satisfaction called for a God-man.

English grammatical miscellanies, of which numerous examples survive from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, are a major source of the history of education in later medieval England. We mean, by miscellanies, collections of treatises and exercises relating to the study and teaching of Latin. Works of this kind were compiled for their use by university scholars, members of the religious orders, and the masters and pupils of ordinary grammar schools. The study of such works today, most of whose contents have yet to be printed, adds greatly to our knowledge of medieval English life and thought. The Latin treatises on grammar which they contain reveal the history of the study and usage of Latin in England. They make it possible to reconstruct the grammar curriculum of the English schools and universities, for which other evidence is rarely available. They contain the earliest grammatical treatments of the English language, too, in the form of English glosses and translations of Latin grammatical works, long before the publication of the first definitive grammar of English in 1586. Of wider interest still, the miscellanies contain numerous school exercises which aimed to teach Latin to pupils through references to the speech, activities, and surroundings of everyday life. Such texts are especially valuable, since they preserve many illuminating details of English social history that have not survived elsewhere.

Montfaucon's edition of St. John Chrysostom and Migne's Patrologia after him put among the dubia six sermons De fato et providentia (Πεϱὶ εἱμαϱμένης τε ϰαὶ πϱονοίας). In the Admonitio we read: ‘Et vero cum de fato Chrysostomus disserit, alio orationis utitur modo: unde forte nascatur quaedam νοθείας suspicio.’ Henry Savile, in his edition (1612), rejected the view of Fronton du Duc, who had written of these orations: ‘Videntur concionum a Chrysostomo habitarum ἀπανθίσματα potius et florilegia, seu morales digressiones, quam integrae homiliae: necdum tamen areolae et loca unde sunt decerptae, nobis occurrerunt.’ Savile's rejection reads: ‘Non assentior Frontoni Ducaeo has πεϱί πϱονοίας orationes ἀπανθίσματα esse: neque enim memini ea quae hic afferuntur alibi apud hunc nostrum legisse eodem modo dicta.’

Like the Preacher, son of David, Nicholas of Cusa knew that wisdom excels folly as light excels darkness and he gave his heart to search it out. In phrases reminiscent of the classical definition of philosophy, the wisdom literature of the Old Testament, and medieval venery, he pictured his intellectual life as a venatio sapientiae and himself as a keen and pious hunter. Virtually all his important philosophical and theological works, from the De docta ignorantia of 1440 to the De venatione sapientiae of 1463, document the chase. Wisdom is the principal subject of the dialogues Idiota de sapientia. And when the Pseudo-Petrarch incorporated most of the first of these two dialogues in his De vera sapientia (put together around 1470 and printed in all the collected editions of Petrarch's works), his definition of wisdom was given added publicity and authority.

Scholars tracing the development of the doctrine of the Holy Spirit in the fourth century tend to pass over the Catechetical Homilies of Cyril of Jerusalem (c. 350) rather quickly, with the observation that, from the perspective of systematic theology, Cyril made no new contributions to the doctrine, and even warned against going beyond the texts of Scripture when speaking of the Spirit. But such lack of attention to Cyril as a theologian leaves several questions unexplored. Cyril's homilies were a central part of the preparation of adult converts for baptism, a task crucial for the Church's survival; in the baptismal rite the converts would receive the Holy Spirit. Given the foundational nature of Cyril's homilies in forming the members of the Jerusalem church, might it not be useful, when tracing how the understanding of the Holy Spirit developed in the fourth century, to consider how Cyril uses Scriptural material concerning the Spirit? Which Scriptural texts on the Spirit does he employ? Are there any texts later considered significant which he omits? What is Cyril's purpose in citing these texts on the Spirit and how does he present them to his hearers? Even though he confines himself to presenting Scriptural material, what understanding of the Spirit is communicated by his shaping of that material? Is there any sense in which the understanding of the Spirit inculcated by Cyril's preaching prepares the way for the conceptual doctrinal distinctions concerning the Spirit's nature and divinity made in the next generation?

A comprehensive theory which can reduce massive amounts of detailed evidence to simple and pleasing clarity has the ability to survive long after critics have damaged or destroyed essential portions of its arguments or evidence. A radically new comprehensive thesis may arise to displace it, but even then quibbles with details of the new continue to breathe life into the old. Such is at least partially the case with study of the prophets' episode in the twelfth-century Anglo-Norman Adam (Ordo representacionis Ade). Perhaps the single most edited piece of twelfth-century literature, the play has an established importance: linguistically, dramatically, theatrically, and theologically, it deserves the close attention it has been given. And not only is it important, it is also an enjoyable and imaginative work that delights the reader as much as it fascinates the scholar. However, it is a victim of being assigned a fundamental role in a comprehensive theory regarding the development of medieval vernacular drama.