The Crusade vow has long been recognized as an important, indeed a central feature in the history of the whole Crusade movement, for, as Michel Villey pointed out, it was the vow which enabled the papacy to convert the momentary zeal of would-be Crusaders into a permanent obligation which could be enforced, if need be, by legal compulsion. Thus while the volatile enthusiasm of a crowd fired by a Crusade preacher might quickly evaporate, the mechanism of the vow made it possible for the Church to convert this enthusiasm into a binding and enduring commitment which did not disappear easily, quickly, or cheaply. The vow, then, was a juristic mechanism which was a major factor in the success of the Crusade and the perception of its potential usefulness was one of Pope Urban II's most significant innovations in framing his plans for the first Crusade in 1095.

Henry III's role in the creation of a new and powerful visual culture in thirteenth-century England remains uncontested, as does the dominant position of Westminster Abbey as its architectural centerpiece. Rivaling the soaring magnificence of the most splendid cathedrals, the thirteenth-century rebuilding of the Benedictine abbey church provided a dramatic setting for the anointing and coronation of English kings as well as for the new shrine of St. Edward the Confessor (see figs. 1 and 2). The Gothic rebuilding of Westminster Abbey is usually thought to have been financed entirely by a single ruler, but there may in fact have been two agents of patronage, abbot as well as king. Rather than having been initially determined in 1245, when Henry III's rebuilding plan is first documented, the project more probably developed and changed over a much longer period, from 1220 to 1245. Fundamental to the problem of Henry's role as patron, then, is the question of whether the rebuilding of Westminster Abbey was conceived as a single project in 1245 or whether the undertaking began earlier and became more ambitious in the course of time. Indeed, we might ask whether the royal persona of Henry III as patron was itself a calculated representation constructed by his advisors and the abbots of Westminster and documented by such biased chroniclers as Matthew Paris.

‘It will sigh like a thing that is deeply distressed:
And it always looks grave at a Pun’
LEWIS CARROLL

The name of the English Dominican Robert Holcot was still familiar to European intellectuals in the seventeenth century, thanks in part to the wide diffusion of his challenging Questions on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, but even more to the ready availability of his lectures on the biblical book of Wisdom.1 The latter commentary clearly was, as Fr. Joseph Wey observed, a ‘medieval best seller’;2 but few historians investigating late medieval thought or early modern access to it have recently studied the work. One who has done so, the late Beryl Smalley, has drawn attention to the verbal ‘pictures’ (Holcot's term) and extended plays on words that were surely among the pleasures that scribes and readers found in the book for at least three centuries.3 Any reader inclined to ‘look grave at a pun’ and not yet aware that the authors of Sentences commentaries commonly embedded their own cognomens implicitly (and often obscurely) in the biblical tags they chose as their incipits must have found cause for distress with the opening words of Holcot's Wisdom commentary.

The Latin poet Venantius Fortunatus (ca. 530–600) is known today for his Holy Cross hymns, for the classicizing epithalamium that he wrote for the wedding of the Frankish king Sigibert, and for his panegyrics of the royal and powerful in Merovingian society. Yet despite the attention that has been lavished on Fortunatus's other major works, his ambitious four hundred line poem De Virginitate (8.3) has been noticeably neglected, perhaps because of its subject matter. A highly original work nevertheless, this poem was written in the late 560s for his patroness, the royal nun Radegund. Most probably, it was recited by the poet at the installation of Radegund's “spiritual daughter” Agnes as abbess of the Convent of the Holy Cross, which Radegund had founded at Poitiers. It is a work equal in importance to Fortunatus's episcopal panegyrics and other ceremonial poems for church occasions.

Monsieur l'abbé Jean École, professeur à l'Université catholique d'Angers (France) et membre du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique vient de rééditer chez Monsieur Georg Olms, à Hildesheim (Allemagne), l'Ontologie de Christian Wolff. Le titre complet de cet ouvrage est, on le sait, Philosophia prima seu Ontologia, methodo scientifica pertractata, qua omnis cognitionis humanae principia continentur, editio nova priori emendatior. Le texte qu'on nous présente est donc celui de 1736. En son Introduction, M. École nous renseigne sur les diverses éditions de l'Ontologia, nous donne quelques précisions sur la fortune du mot ‘ontologie,’ sur les caractères les plus marquants de l'Ontologia de Wolff: universalité en raison de son objet, primat de l'essence, rapports avec la pensée des scolastiques, d'une part, la philosophie de Leibnitz, d'autre part, sur la méthode de Wolff et les auteurs qu'il consulte. Viennent ensuite la Dédicace de l'Ontologia au roi Frédéric, la Préface (1729) de l'Ontologia, enfin l'Ontologia elle-même dont les articulations principales sont les suivantes: Prolegomena. Pars I: De notione Entis in genere et proprietatibus quae inde consequuntur. Pars II: De speciebus entium et eorum ad se invicem respectu: Sectio I; De ente composito; Sectio II; De ente simplici; sectio III; De respectu entium ad se invicem. Un Index rerum praecipuarum, des Varietates et editoris adnotationes, un Index auctorum ad quos Wolffius remittit, un Index auctorum ad quos editor remittit, un Index locorum a Wolffio citatorum, un Index locorum ab editore citatorum, un Index scholasticorum canonum, un Index generalis enfin, ajoutent à l'intérêt de cette réédition dont ils font un remarquable instrument de travail pour tous ceux qu'attirent la Métaphysique et son histoire.

Lorenzo Valla in his De Linguae latinae elegantiis is highly critical of previous Latin grammatical studies. In particular Valla seeks in this linguistic treatise to revise for his contemporaries the teachings of Donatus, Servius, and Priscian which he found in conflict with his ideal of classical Latin usage; and in general he seeks to complement the extant grammatical tradition of antiquity. In Book VI of the Elegantiae Valla treats topics explicitly drawn from ancient grammatical sources, which he further explicates and clarifies. Moreover, many of the topics of Books I–III are drawn from these same sources, as Valla's frequent citation of them indicates. In contrast with ancient and imperial grammarians, Isidore of Seville is named only twice in the Elegantiae. In the preface to Book II (II. praef. 41). Valla brands him ‘indoctorum arrogantissimus, qui quum nihil sciat, omnia praecipit.’ He mentions Isidore once more when rejecting an ‘inept’ etymology of oratio from oris ratio (VI. 36.217). Despite the paucity of explicit references to Isidore in the Elegantiae, however, a comparison of Valla's and Isidore's linguistic discussions suggests that Valla intended a direct response to Isidore's verbal distinctions (differentiae), definitions, and etymologies in his own section on signification, Books IV and V of the Elegantiae.

The legate and legation have long interested medievalists, the general focus being on papal legation approached by pontificate, by region, or by historical era. Although study has fluctuated over the years, the past decade has witnessed a renewed interest. This recent work underlines the subtlety and the complexity of medieval thought concerning both legation and the larger topic under which it may be subsumed, representation. Among recent students of papal legation is Professor Frances Underhill, who has inspected the administrative devices utilized by papal legates in England during the reign of Henry III. Of special interest is the work of Professor Richard Schmutz, who has examined the classification of legates by earlier students of papal representation and has found their categorization of legates wanting. Secular legation has received some notice as well. Professor Donald Queller, for example, has reaffirmed and expanded his earlier suggestions that legatine practices did not play a prominent role in developing secular diplomacy and that there was a sharp legal distinction between ambassadorial nuncii and procuratores as regards legal volition and power. In addition, some attention has been directed lately to the problem of legal terminology and to the place that terminology has in descriptions of power and in descriptions of the transfer of power. Most of these legatine studies discuss to a greater or lesser degree both the theory and the practice of legation. Many consider, however cursorily, the possible influences which Roman practices and Roman legal theory may have had both on the theory and on the practice of papal and secular legation in medieval Western Europe. Yet none has taken up in detail either the character of the legate or the theory of legation in medieval Roman law. It is accordingly the purpose of this paper to analyze legatus both in the Corpus Iuris Civilis and in Accursius' synthesis of legistic opinion and interpretation, the Glossa ordinaria.

In an important study which appeared in 1956, Professor E. A. Thompson discussed imperial policy in southern Gaul during the first half of the fifth century. According to Professor Thompson the purpose of the Romans in settling four groups of barbarians in southern Gaul between the years 418 and 442 was to control the Bacaudae who, he contends, threatened to overthrow the existing social and economic order. By focusing all his attention on the Bacaudae Professor Thompson distorts Roman policy by attributing to it a precision which it lacked. A less selective study of the evidence suggests that Rome's policy in southern Gaul (and probably throughout the Empire as well) was directed toward control of all the potentially and actively hostile elements in the Empire rather than, on balance, being preoccupied exclusively with the activities of the Bacaudae.

The account of the destruction of the giants in the flood presented in lines 1689b–93 of Beowulf is probably the commentary of the narrator and not part of the inscription on the hilt. It is addressed to the audience, and it completes our understanding of the significance of Beowulf's victory beneath the mere. Hroðgar's extended gaze at the hilt before he begins his speech is a sign that he is also reaching toward a new understanding of the eotenas who have plagued his people. Regardless of whether he is able to read the runic inscription on the hilt, he can read the hilt itself against Beowulf's account of his struggle. The presence of the hilt in his hands implies an extensive social nexus for his apparently solitary enemies, who are now revealed as the enemies of God as well. Hroðgar knows nothing of the biblical stories of Cain and Abel or the flood, but his understanding of the meaning of Grendel's attacks now tracks that of the audience fairly closely. Although his “sermon” is not a direct response to the brief account of the flood, this account provides us with a context for understanding his speech.

This article investigates a specific twelfth-century hand that occurs in a group of manuscripts connected to the Norman abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel and identifies it as the hand of Robert of Torigni, the famous Anglo-Norman historian who became abbot of that monastery in 1154. The manuscripts used as evidence all contain corrections and interlinear glosses in what I contend constitutes Robert's own hand, and have neither been studied comparatively nor had their relationships scrutinized. Indeed, scholarship to date has actually argued for different examples of handwriting altogether as belonging to Robert and has not inquired as to whether the glosses and annotations contained within the codices discussed here could be indicative of Robert's scribal activity in the scriptorium of Mont-Saint-Michel during the period of his abbacy (1154–86). This article, therefore, seeks to challenge the prevailing notions concerning Robert's characteristic handwriting, both in terms of its supposed shape and character, and with regard to the manuscripts in which it is thought to survive. This fundamental reassessment of previous scholarship will be achieved by combining, for the first time, a comprehensive paleographical analysis of the manuscripts with a discussion of their broader historical and institutional contexts. Furthermore, and perhaps more significantly, in identifying Robert's hand and the contexts in which it survives, this article aims to enhance our knowledge concerning the person behind the script. It will present new and important insights into Robert's activities as head of his monastic community, as well as into his methods as a monastic historian who, as will be shown, was intimately involved in the processes of manuscript production at Mont-Saint-Michel during the second half of the twelfth century. Ultimately, this article argues that Robert, despite being the author and intellectual architect of complex and influential historical works, had in fact very little training as a book scribe, which is evidenced by his handwriting.

In the intellectual history of the Latin West, Aristotelianism holds a unique position. From Boethius to Galileo — from the end of the classical civilization to the scientific revolution of the seventeenth century, and in some circles even beyond — the influence of the Philosopher was decisive not only for the development of theology, philosophy, and the natural sciences, but also for the university structure and system of education. The vast amount of scholarly writing published each year on aspects of this history is an obvious measure of its significance. However, a natural division between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance has led to an unfortunate dichotomy in the way historians have dealt with the intellectual history of this era. Students of medieval thought have concentrated on the philosophy of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries and have generally regarded as decadent the scholasticism of the following period. Renaissance scholarship, on the other hand, has focused its attention on the humanism and Platonism of that time, and tended to regard Italian Aristotelianism as an unimportant holdover from the medieval period. Furthermore, because the influence of Aristotle was so all-pervading, historians have, of necessity, treated aspects of his thought during this time —his significance in logic and philosophy, the repercussions of his thought in theology and the natural sciences, and so on. Nevertheless, in recent years a tendency in research seems to be developing toward an attempt at understanding philosophy and theology in the way in which they were understood in the medieval and Renaissance period and toward bridging the gap between Aquinas and Descartes. One who undertakes a survey of this research is naturally confronted with a large number of works dealing with different aspects of this history, but to make this brief survey possible I have restricted its scope to a very few recent books which either illuminate the various significant turns that the Aristotelian tradition took or seem to contribute to a sense of continuity within this period.

L'immense mérite de Mgr André Combes d'avoir édité en cinq volumes une grande partie des écrits du Docteur supersubtil et d'avoir étudié dans de nombreux articles les questions annexes à cette édition ne peut cependant pas cacher le fait, aujourd'hui incontestable, que tous les problèmes que nous pose l'œuvre de Jean de Ripa et qui se sont déjà posés à son éditeur ne sont pas encore résolus ou le sont d'une manière provisoire et peu satisfaisante. Parmi eux il y en a un qui domine tous les autres puisque, une fois bien posé et bien résolu, les autres le seront: c'est celui de la chronologie des écrits du docteur franciscain, présent dans toutes les préfaces précédant les textes édités et dans la ‘Présentation de Jean de Ripa’. Il est lié tout naturellement à deux autres demandant, eux aussi, une élucidation: celui du genre littéraire ou de la ‘nature’ des écrits de Jean de Ripa, et celui de ses socii et adversaires.

In the annals of medieval medical as well as cultural history the name and authority of Hippocrates of Cos knows no rival other than his later disciple, Galen. Yet there has so far been no systematic attempt to gather together, with any degree of completeness, the names and locations of manuscripts of the individual treatises that circulated in the Latin West before 1500 under the name or aegis of the famed physician of Cos. The present investigation of this subject, that is of the constituents of a ‘Repertorium of Hippocratic Writings in Latin’ or of a ‘Hippocrates (Ypocras) Latinus,’ was begun nearly four decades ago, particularly in the ill-fated years 1938 to 1939, while on a sojourn in Europe before the outbreak of World War II. The intention, then as now, was to provide the basis for determining the extent to which there was continuity in the transmission of Greek medicine, albeit in Latin dress, from antiquity to the early and later Middle Ages. The research was thereafter continued sporadically whenever there was an opportunity to examine manuscripts in European depositories. In recent years the work has been greatly facilitated by the published results especially of the researches of two late scholars of medieval medical manuscripts, Augusto Beccaria and Ernest Wickersheimer, as well as by the cataloguing of various manuscript collections. However, there still remains the task of drawing out the individual works appearing under Hippocrates' name together with their commentaries, not only in the pre-Salernitan, but also in the succeeding centuries before about 1500. To this endeavor the present investigation is directed.

It has been said of Meister Eckhart, the most eloquent proclaimer of German mysticism, its deepest thinker and its only creatively gifted speculative mind, that his genius lay in his being imbued with but one single truth, a truth ‘monumental in its simplicity, profound in its implications, impressive in its sincerity.’ This one central idea, from which all others of the Master are derived and towards which all are orientated, is that of the generation or birth of the Divine Word, or Son, in the soul. Anyone who has not grasped that the generation of the Son through the Father in the Tittle spark of the soul’ (‘daz vünkelîn’) constitutes the sole motive, subject-matter and purpose of Eckhart's sermons and gives to them in various formulations, which are merely variants of the one great theme, a certain grand one-sidedness, has failed to understand the Master. To him there is lacking the knowledge of the unitive and orientating centre of Eckhart's intellectual heritage, whose meaning, inaccessible to him, becomes ever more and more entangled in an inextricable medley of contradictions and obscurities, until he is unable to see the wood for the trees. He does not comprehend that all the tracks of this mystic's speculative thought lead toward one predetermined goal: the mystic union of the intellect and will of man with the Godhead through the birth of the Divine Logos in the soul.

The vast number and variety of sequences, those liturgical interpolations which in the middle ages commonly followed the repetition of the Alleluia in the Mass, and the freedom of their development, show that they were an outlet for the creative talents of musicians and poets. A sample of sequences from successive periods allows the literary historian to trace the development of rhyme and accentual meter, and a musicologist has described the sequence ‘as the parent of oratorio and the grandparent of modern drama.’ But while a view which encompasses centuries reveals to us variety and change, the compositions of any given time were largely shaped by inherited traditions. Not the least value of studies on the early history of the sequence is their demonstration of the close connection between various Alleluia melodies and their sequences and the way in which appropriate texts were fitted to melodies for specific feasts.

Most twentieth-century readers who know of Pier della Vigna at all know of him through the intermediary of Dante's Inferno. As the suicidal tree who bleeds out words with the sap from his broken branches, Piero is one of Dante's most memorable creations, a figure whose name, like those of Francesca da Rimini and Ugolino da Pisa, is for us associated more with one fictional frozen moment than with the realities of a lifetime. And yet, to Dante and his contemporaries, Piero was neither fictional nor obscure. His fame was sufficient, for example, that Dante never felt the need to name him in Inferno 13: enough that he once held ‘ambo le chiavi del cor di Federigo’ (Inferno 13.58–59).

In the north of England, as the thirteenth century was drawing to a close, an enterprising and pastorally zealous cleric was engaged in the composition of the most extensive preaching codex in the English language since Aelfric's Catholic Homilies. The text now known as the Northern Homily Cycle (hereafter NHC) was left untitled by an anonymous author who wrote in his native dialect and was well versed in the lore of the north country. He used a rhymed octosyllabic line throughout. His plan encompassed a free rendering of the Gospel pericope for the particular Sunday (the homilies are chiefly dominical), a complementary exegesis drawn from the Fathers, and an exemplum, reflecting a shrewd sense of his audience and the fashion of the time. In these exempla he revealed a catholic taste by selecting stories of saints and monks, stories from antiquity and the east, pieces of local Northumbrian folklore, legends of the Virgin, accounts of miraculous beasts, risqu6 fables, and child-like pious tales.

In July or August 1474 in Senigallia, a town on the coast of the Adriatic sea, a translation into Hebrew was completed of the Ars brevis, a work by the medieval Christian philosopher, mystic, and missionary Ramon Llull. Within a couple of years, this translation had been copied a number of times, and from the colophon of one of these copies, it appears that this work was rated very highly by its Jewish readers as an aid for achieving mystical experience. Any interest shown by the adherents of one faith in the texts of another is important for shedding light on common intellectual interests and contacts. This translation is of especially great significance in that there appears to have been in Italy in the fifteenth century a circle of Jewish scholars willingly engaging with a Christian text in order to achieve divine illumination. Here, I will try to shed some light on this group of Jewish savants and to situate their interests within the wider context of the Renaissance.

The two poems edited here celebrate the English victories in 1346 over France (Crecy) and Scotland (Durham) in the early part of the Hundred Years War. Together with another on the siege of Calais in 1346–47 (Cantica leticie) they are by a writer I have labeled the “Anonymous of Calais.” They were first printed in 1859, but Wright's edition is flawed not only by errors of transcription and a clear failure to follow the sense (notably by accepting Valeys “Valois” at Crecy 272, where Kaleys “Calais” is essential), but also by his textual procedure, which implies that there was a single authorial original from which the manuscript witnesses deviated. I have tried to show here that there are two distinct versions, one an adaptation of the other.