The composite volume now known as Cambridge, Corpus Christi College [CCCC] 190, contains on pages 143 to 151 a mixture of liturgical exposition and prescription. The Latin passages constitute neither a polished work nor, like much else in the manuscript, an obvious antecedent to Old English texts, and so the group has never attracted much notice. I offer here the first discussion and edition of the passages in the belief that they shed new light on the sources and applications of liturgical commentary in late Anglo-Saxon England. Of equal or perhaps greater interest, the excerpts also include portions of the ordo for a pontifical mass on Christmas Day. The ordo, as we shall see, resists close dating or localization, but the very type of document has rarely survived in pre-Conquest English manuscripts and so merits attention. Both the expository and ordinal passages occasionally hint of access to unusual sources at some late Anglo-Saxon church, possibly Worcester cathedral during the pontificate of Wulfstan I (1002–16).

The major sources for an inquiry into the customs of the Spanish military Order of Calatrava are the difiniciones or statutes enacted in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The difiniciones were formulated by the Cistercian abbots of Morimond, or by their representatives, and, on two occasions, by the masters of Calatrava.

The legislative authority of the abbots of Morimond resulted from the incorporation of Calatrava into the Order of Citeaux in 1187. At that time, the Cistercian general chapter affiliated Calatrava with the abbey of Morimond. Henceforth, the abbots of this monastery possessed the right of visiting the knights and of regulating their observances. Oftentimes this right was delegated to the abbots of Spanish Cistercian monasteries affiliated with Morimond.

In a description of a trip through the Midi of France in 1835, Prosper Merimée devotes a lengthy paragraph to the analysis of the Christ in Vézelay's Pentecost tympanum (fig. 1). He marvels at the carving of the figure's feet and “blessing” hands, as well as the placement of the thighs in relation to the torso. Later in his treatment of the abbey church and its sculpture, the author notes that figures on the nave capitals convey a “savage zeal” (zèle farouche) by means of posture and facial expressions. Gestures, in the widely construed, medieval sense of the word, clearly struck the celebrated French author as a salient feature of Vézelay's sculpture. Merimée sympathized with Romantic visions of the Middle Ages as a period less tainted by the stifling effects of civilization, and perhaps his fascination with the dramatic body movement carved throughout the abbey church reflects the belief that these were unfettered by the artistic or social constraints of the early nineteenth century. Yet throughout his description of Vézelay's sculpture, he never attempts to explore the meanings that the carved body might have held for a medieval audience; their meaning is not considered to be historical, but rather to be self-evident. The operative assumption that gestures in medieval art are transparent in meaning anticipates much subsequent scholarship.

Critics have amply considered how Christian authors in late antiquity adapted the forms, language, and themes of classical poetry to create an ecclesiastical poetic tradition. Studies related to this topic have largely focused upon biblical epic and the carmina of well-known poets like Prudentius and Paulinus of Nola. In this paper, I wish to proceed into the less trodden area of Christian bucolic poetry, and specifically to one of the first examples of the form, Pornponius's Versus ad Gratiam Domini. This text, dating to the late fourth or early fifth century, is a 132-line Virgilian cento (with a concluding lacuna), or a work created out of unconnected verse units of varying length taken from the Eclogues, Georgics, and Aeneid that an author pieces together to compose a new narrative. These units can be up to three lines long, but usually consist of a segment of a hexameter line. Sixteen centos ranging in date from ca. 200–ca. 530 survive from antiquity, with four handling Christian topics. Because the ecclesiastical centonists reuse Virgilian verses directly, their texts serve as extreme examples of how Christian authors created poems by reworking the classical past. It is this transformative gesture that will concern me in this paper. I will investigate how Pomponius redeploys Virgil's language to compose his Christian Versus ad Gratiam Domini and, in the process, endows his text with specific features manifesting the continuity with and change of classical bucolic that is so fundamental to the development of the Christian pastoral form.

Chaucer's Summoner tells the tale of a corrupt friar who, while trying to obtain a donation from his bedridden and irate patron Thomas, demonstrates his hypocrisy by giving Thomas's wife a very specific dinner order and immediately following it up with a long sermon on the importance of fasting. Like most medieval preachers, Friar John appeals to biblical exempla:

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.

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.

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.

“Habent sua fata libelli.” This often-quoted line from the work of the North African grammarian Terentianus Maurus can safely be applied to two biographies of St. Augustine written by two men outstanding in the literary world of their age. They are Jordanus of Saxony (1300–1380 ca.) and John Capgrave (1393–1464).

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 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.

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.’

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?

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.

It is now almost three hundred years since Dom Garet published as part of the complete works of Cassiodorus the last printed edition of Cassiodorus' treatise On the Soul. The present edition is intended to offer a critical text of the work based on a study of the manuscript evidence. The restrictions of this publication make it impossible to give an explanation of the entire history of the text transmission. The apparatus criticus does, however, represent the readings of the best specimens of the various manuscript families which constitute the major evidence for the text. It is my hope that it will be possible at some future time for me to defend in greater detail my choice of the MSS used here, and to outline the history of the transmission from the ninth through the twelfth century.

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 allegories of Alain de Lille, though their historical importance is generally acknowledged, have been more admired, and at times deprecated, than closely examined, and there has been a remarkable divergence of opinion as to their intrinsic significance and literary quality. The De planctu naturae and Anticlaudianus present a remarkable blend of rhetoric, metaphysics, and dogma which led Barthélemy Hauréau to call Alain ‘le plus fecond et le plus brillant de tous les mystiques de ce temps,’ and Emile Mǎle to call him ‘le plus grand poète latin du moyen ǎge.’ So sensitive a critic as Huizinga, however, while recognizing the richness and subtlety of Alain's language, nonetheless relegated him to the second rank among the poets of his century. His very virtuosity seems finally to have exasperated C. S. Lewis who, despite certain concessions, dismissed Alain the poet as a ‘cold-hearted stylist,’ and it appeared now frivolous, now pedantic to the more sympathetic Raynaud de Lage.

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.

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: