A manuscript which was once thought to have belonged to Petrarch and which is now owned by the Free Library of Philadelphia, currently catalogued as MS Lewis European 53, contains several items of interest to historians of philosophy and science. Included among the twelve mostly anonymous treatises in the codex (see below) are three hitherto unnoticed witnesses to the Aristotle commentaries of the Oxford master of arts, Adam of Buckfield. The sixth item in the collection is one of six surviving copies of Adam's commentary on the pseudo-Aristotelian De plantis, four already having been listed in Charles Lohr's inventory published in this journal and the fifth, in a Munich manuscript, having recently been brought to my attention by the same scholar. The ninth item is a copy of the first recension of Adam's commentary on the De sensu et sensato and the tenth item a copy of the first recension of the same master's commentary on the De generatione et corruptione. None of these works has been edited.

Consent to taxation traditionally has been regarded as one of the essential functions of representative assemblies. The distinguished historian of medieval Spanish institutions, Claudio Sánchez Albornoz, has indeed argued that representatives of the towns originally were summoned to the cortes of León-Castile to give their consent to extraordinary taxes. As yet, however, students of the medieval cortes have not carried out detailed investigations of the problem. Evidence to illustrate the taxing role of the cortes during the formative years from 1188 to 1252 is scanty, but it is considerably fuller during the reign of Alfonso X (1252-1284). Inasmuch as he incurred exceptional expenses and frequently summoned the cortes, an inquiry into the role of the cortes in assisting him through taxation should broaden our understanding of the functioning of government in the second half of the thirteenth century. The purpose of this paper then will be to determine when, to what extent, and for what purposes the cortes authorized the king to levy extraordinary taxes.

The monumental volume with which we are dealing is the legacy left to his science by a man who will always be counted among the most distinguished and most influential scholars of Roman law and ancient legal history in the first half of the twentieth century. As early as 1902, when he first began to teach Roman law at the University of Graz, Leopold Wenger had conceived a plan of writing a history of the whole legal order of the Romans that would comprise the total of public, procedural, and private institutions in one great unit. He proposed to see his unit in the light of its general political and cultural setting and to interpret it as bringing to its climax and final achievement, under Justinian, the evolution of law and legal thought of all antiquity; antiquity itself he understood as one single historical process interrelating the multitude of peoples and civilizations of the Mediterranean area that grew and declined, succeeded and influenced each other, until they were absorbed into the Roman Empire and were thus enabled to transmit their common heritage to later centuries. Understandably enough, this gigantic project involved more than one scholar could accomplish in one lifetime. Wenger was not able to carry it out. He did, however, succeed in completing, in this detailed description and discussion of the sources, the first instalment, and happily lived to see its publication shortly before his death on September 21, 1953, at the age of seventy-nine.

MS Chapel Hill 522, fols. 159r-202r, contains a hitherto unidentified manuscript of the Latin Kalendarium of Nicholas of Lynn, a medieval astronomical almanac known to and used by Chaucer. Sigmund Eisner has already identified fifteen MSS of the Kalendarium, none of them complete, and has published an edition for the New Chaucer Society. Although Chapel Hill's manuscript is also incomplete, it does contain important materials missing from Eisner's base text, MS Oxford, Bodleian Laud. Misc. 662 — namely, all the lunar eclipse figures and the tables of ascensions and equations of houses for Aries and Taurus. In this paper I provide a brief introduction to Nicholas of Lynn and medieval kalendaria, followed by a summary description of CH 522, fols. 159r–202r, which contains a list of the other astronomical and mathematical texts bound with Nicholas of Lynn's Kalendarium in the book. Then I present my reasons for believing that CH 522 was an early MS, perhaps one intended for use as an exemplar. Finally, I add two plates from the MS and a full list of textual variants for CH 522, collated against Eisner's edition.

In the following pages the Repertorium of Hippocratic Writings in the Latin Middle Ages, begun in Traditio 31 (1975) 99–126 and continued in succeeding issues, resumes with a number of tracts which, though for the most part spurious, circulated under Hippocrates' name. Included are the so-called XX. Epistolae (communications regarding various aspects of medicine or medical history dating from before the ninth century to the fifteenth century), and the brief tracts entitled XXI. Epitomum, XXII. De Equis, XXIII. Experimenta, XXIV De Farmaciis, XXV De Febribus, XXVI. De Flatibus, XXVII. Gynaecia, XXVIII. De Herbis, and XXIX. De Humoribus. The number and variety of these texts provide ample evidence for the continued reverence for the noted physician of Cos.

L'idée de la nécessité pour un missionnaire de connaître la langue de ceux qu'il évangélise nous apparaît aujourd'hui comme une évidence. En fait, cette idée ne s'est imposée que tardivement. En Occident, l'évangélisation a d'abord suivi les cadres géographiques de la domination romaine et a, par suite, bénéficié de la langue du pouvoir. Seules les tentatives — d'ailleurs fructueuses — des moines irlandais dans le monde germanique constituaient une approche d'un monde totalement nouveau, quoique déjà pénétré d'influences méditerranéennes. L'Empire d'Occident et le triomphe de la Papauté au IXe siècle imposent l'idée d'une ‘Chrétienlé’ souveraine. En Méditerranée orientale, nous voyons les Byzanlins partagés entre le complexe de supériorité des Grecs envers tout ce qui est ‘barbare’ et le désir de convertir les hordes slaves, désir qui aboutira à la formalion de l'alphabet cyrillique et à tout un effort de traduction de textes d'abord, d'adaptation musicale ensuite, etc. Mais, ce faisant, les Byzantins se sont liés à tout un mécanisme politique d'influence et de prédominance entre Églises sœurs mais rivales. L'idée d'ouverture aux non-chrétiens comme tels ne sera reprise qu'au XIVe siècle par des moines russes suivant la colonisation du Nord-Est, notamment avec la formation d'une ériture ziriane par Saint Étienne de Perm.

If a diary of a prominent late-medieval religious figure were to be discovered that revealed his thoughts about the present and the future, such a discovery would seem to be too good to be true. But if labeled differently, such a document does exist: not a diary, but a prophetic commentary. The commentary by the fourteenth-century Augustinian friar Gentile of Foligno on the prophecy “Ve mundo in centum annis,” has never been the subject of sustained attention. Consequently the following presentation aims to examine it carefully within the context of the author's career and to show how it reveals some intriguing working habits as well as Gentile's firm hopes for the advent of angelic popes and ecclesiastical renewal.

In his magnum opus on the history of magic, Lynn Thorndike devoted a few pioneering pages to the Liber vaccae or Book of the Cow. He identified and described several of the manuscripts of this singular Arabic compilation of magical experiments, pointed out the many different titles under which it was known in the medieval West, and discussed its false attribution to Plato, Galen, and Hunayn ibn Ishâq. By contrast, given his habit of paraphrasing the texts he examined at great length, Thorndike's account of the content of the work is uncharacteristically patchy. He hastily referred to “elaborate experiments in unseemly generation and obstetrics,” the aim of which was “to make a rational animal from a cow or ape or other beast, or to make bees.” In his opinion, the experiments of the Liber vaccae were, in fact, “unmentionable,” and “hardly such as can be described in detail in English translation.”

“One can only grant the theological faculty the arrogant claim that the philosophical faculty is its maidservant (leaving aside the question of whether the latter bears the torch before, or carries the train after her mistress) on the condition that she is not banished or gagged.” Thus wrote Immanuel Kant, paraphrasing Peter Damian, in his Der Streit der Fakultäten of 1798, shortly after being freed from a ban on writing about religion. Kant argued that the role of the philosophy faculty in universities was to lay down the truth for the use of the more practically orientated higher faculties, including that of theology. It could only perform this function if it was totally free.

In his literary portrait of Abbot Adalhard, written soon after the abbot's death in 826, Paschasius Radbertus of Corbie compared his subject's moral and spiritual progress to the method of the ancient painter Zeuxis as this had been described in Cicero's De inventione. According to Cicero, the people of Cortona commissioned Zeuxis to decorate a temple with the image of Helen, who was reputed to be the most beautiful of mortal women. Because nature withheld overall perfection from any individual, Zeuxis studied several handsome models and combined the best features of each in an image that was more perfect than the form of any actual maiden. Adalhard too was an artist who sought to realize a work that somehow went beyond nature, but in his case the objective was a reformation of the image of God in himself. To achieve this, Adalhard too used models, in his case the lives and deeds of the saints, whose examples of virtue he discerned with the mind's eye and assimilated in an effort to resemble the transcendent archetype.

The reform movement of the later tenth and early eleventh centuries distinguishes itself from other such episodes in monastic history not so much by its impact on the existence of ecclesiastical communities throughout western Europe as by its diversity. Whereas Cluny, Gorze, and the movements initiated or inspired by William of Volpiano, Romuald of Camaldoli, Johannes of Vallombrosa, and Peter Damian have rightly attracted the most interest from scholars, there existed a number of regional movements led by individuals with a reformist agenda, carried out with as much determination, and with results as significant as their international counterparts. One such example is that of the so-called Lotharingian reforms initiated by Richard, abbot of Saint-Vanne (d. 1046), which, over the course of the first half of the eleventh century, spread across large parts of the archbishoprics of Reims, Metz, and Cologne. The exact nature of the movement has long been a subject of debate, with Kassius Hallinger proposing controversially to designate it as a Mischobservanz, or mixed observance, based primarily on the customs observed at Cluny and Gorze. The current consensus, however, seems to be that the “Richardian” understanding of monastic life was indeed original and that, like other movements of its time, it originated in a genuine reflection on ways to return to a more authentic experience of the vita regularis. To achieve this goal, Richard and his principal collaborator Poppo, abbot of Stavelot (d. 1048), introduced groups of monks and former canons to their interpretation of the Rule of Saint Benedict, fostered the creation of collective identities around the figure of patron saints, intervened in the production of scriptoria and the creation of libraries, rationalized the monastic economy, and generally attempted to create a more favorable legal and political situation for the communities coming under their care.

Early medieval Irish society was highly stratified, possessing a formalized ranking structure, and ritual played an important part in legitimizing the possession of rank and office, especially kingship. Power was ultimately dependent on physical force, but was maintained through the control of land, agricultural production, exchange, and—in particular—livestock. The basis of power, however, was inherently unstable. Although some kingdoms and dynasties exhibited powerful centralizing tendencies, political power was essentially transitory, a product of the pattern of royal succession and the segmentary nature of royal dynasties. According to Ó Corráin, “great overkingdoms are dismantled by fission and segmentation, and are built up again by later dynastic expansion and reconquest.”

Few taxes have been as enduring and as evocative of identity as the Christian ecclesiastical tithe, arguably “the most important tax in the economic development of western Europe.” The secular enforcement in 779 of the tithe's collection by the church clearly marked a decisive moment in its evolution, but its earlier origins as religious law have been much more elusive. Scholarship over the past five decades has made clear that mandatory tithing to the church was not a custom of early Christianity but rather something that developed in late antiquity, with our first unambiguous evidence of a developed theory of the tithe coming from sixth-century Gaul. The key figure providing that evidence was Caesarius of Arles (ca. 469–542).

The medieval military orders were religious institutions whose members had professed a life of combat and prayer that integrated them into a religious landscape sharply defined by diversity. And yet still very little is known about the military orders’ religious functions in the dioceses in which they held ecclesiastical possessions. By focusing on one military order in particular, the Order of the Temple, this study aims to achieve two goals: first, to provide a critical overview of recent scholarship in the emerging field of military order (and especially Templar) religion, and second, to examine aspects of Templar religious involvement in medieval society in general and the reactions of senior clergymen to the Templars’ religious engagement on the parish level in particular. It argues that the Templars proved very keen to expand their network of parish churches and that in so doing they proved willing to engage with the lay public on a much larger scale than has hitherto been believed.

What was Dante's interpretation of the third Aristotelian disposition of Nicomachean Ethics 7, which he calls ‘la matta bestialitade’ and how does it function in the structure of the Inferno? Correlatively, what range of meaning did Dante assign the second disposition, ‘malizia’? The problem is difficult at best and, from a modern point of view, apparently literarily unrewarding. What is more, after a long tradition of scholarly discussion and dispute a kind of consensus has emerged. With the solution which it proposes most are willing to rest content and indeed many simply take its correctness for granted. It is the thesis of this study that the consensus is based on an improvisation and that the high probability of an alternative solution can be effectively demonstrated. Underlying this is the conviction that this is not a scholarly quibble, of interest only to the ‘experts’ or merely a matter of interest for the history of ideas. Rather it is a problem with profound significance for the total structure of the Inferno both intellectual and literary.

In her Radcliffe monograph The Sources of the Parson's Tale, Miss Kate Petersen concluded that the ultimate sources of the Parson's ‘litel tretys’ were two thirteenth-century Latin works: the Summa Casuum Poenitentiae of St. Raymond of Pen afort, from which Chaucer drew the material on penance; and the Summa de Vitiis of Guilielmus Peraldus, from which came the discussion of the Seven Deadly Sins. Because of its highly persuasive parallels and careful construction, Miss Petersen's study has won very general acceptance. In the present writer's opinion, however, there is one aspect of Miss Petersen's work which is perhaps worth some reconsideration, and that is the positiveness of her identifications of the ultimate sources of the tale. Can it be successfully maintained, as Miss Petersen would have us believe, that exactly here and here we may fix the ultimate limits of the sources upon which Chaucer drew in the Parson's Tale?

For more than sixty years now Heinrich Hagenmeyer's ‘Chronologie de la première croisade’ has been a standard reference. As a compilation and critique of dates recorded by the crusading historians and their contemporaries, the great German scholar's account is as satisfactory today as when it first appeared. It is in the area, however, of the hypothetical dates which Hagenmeyer assigned to the various occurrences on the expeditions of Peter the Hermit and Godfrey of Bouillon to the Orient that the ‘Chronologie’ stands in error and needs revision.