Sophocles' Trachiniae has provoked among the critics a broad variety of responses ranging from strong censure and denial of Sophoclean authorship at one extreme to expressions of approval and great praise at the other. In recent years the literature on the play has tended to approach the drama in a more sympathetic vein and critics have displayed a much more positive stance to both the contents and dramaturgy of the play. Although the debates about such questions as those of date, structure, purpose, theme, characterization, and unity continue, elements of the drama which earlier writers had tended to pass over, treat in an apologetic view, or even ascribe to the presence of textual flaws have been examined in a frank and open manner with positive results. The fact remains, however, that despite these advances there still persists a considerable reluctance to accept the figure of Heracles as he is presented in the drama. There can be no doubt that the characterization of Heracles is the fundamental reason why the Trachiniae has long been regarded as the great problem play of the Sophoclean corpus, and while for the most part we have moved from the blanket condemnation of this character that marked many earlier studies, the tendency to regard Heracles and consequently the Trachiniae as anomalies persists.

In the late winter of 378–7, the Athenian assembly passed a decree on the motion of Aristoteles which formalized the results of much earlier diplomatic activity and invited those states concerned with their freedom and autonomy to join Athens and her allies in a novel and permanent alliance. This Decree is often called the ‘Charter of the Second Athenian Confederacy,’ and it is rightly regarded as ‘the Queen of Fourth Century Inscriptions’ for the crucial information which it provides on one of the most important political and diplomatic developments of that epoch, a development that soon led to a resurgence of Athenian imperialism. The detailed provisions of the Decree are of inestimable value, particularly as the only extant contemporary history of this period, the Hellenica of Xenophon, contains not so much as a passing reference to the Decree itself or to most of the significant steps which led up to it. This glaring omission in Xenophon's account has attracted both the curious attention and often the unfavorable criticism of virtually every modern scholar who has investigated fourth century Greek history. The only other major extant account of the establishment of the confederacy, that of Diodorus, provides some details, but it contains inaccuracies, especially errors of chronology. The modern historian therefore must seek to recover the origins and background of the confederacy from a variety of sources which are often incomplete and sometimes biased. A century of scholarship has elucidated many problematical aspects of this Decree, but several questions connected with it still demand discussion. It is my purpose in this article to examine some of these questions with reference to Greek diplomacy, propaganda, and imperialism in the early fourth century.

Tucked away among the dubia of Migne's second volume of the writings of Alcuin is a short exposition of the seven seals of the Apocalypse. Here the seven seals first are related to seven events in the life of Christ: his nativity, baptism, crucifixion, burial, resurrection, ascension, and judgment. These in turn are shown to be analogous to the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit: wisdom, (sapientia), for Christ was miraculously born of a virgin; understanding (intellectus), because in baptism all sins are forgiven; counsel (consilium), for, as Caiphas the high-priest said of the crucifixion, ‘it is better for one man to die than for a whole people to perish’ (John 11:50); fortitude (fortitudo), in analogy to the burial, as Christ descended into hell and overcame it; knowledge (scientia), for the resurrection, through which Christ makes us believe; piety (pietas), for the ascension, since the souls of the faithful wish to follow Christ to heaven; and fear of the Lord (timor), in anticipation of the Last Judgment. Finally, the text portrays these virtues as exemplified by seven patriarchs: wisdom in Adam, understanding in Noah, counsel in Abraham, fortitude in Isaac, knowledge in Jacob, piety in Moses, and fear of the Lord in David.

The Book of Kells was probably made at the monastery of Iona at the end of the eighth century. Sometime between 807 and 814, in the wake of a series of devastating raids on the island sanctuary, ‘the giant Gospel of Columkille, chief relic of the Western world,’ was taken to the new headquarters of the Columban community at Kells. Intended as a large liturgical Gospel codex to be displayed on an altar, the Book of Kells was perhaps the last and most ambitious production undertaken by this great Hiberno-Saxon scriptorium. Its sumptuous ornamentation and magisterial format suggest that the manuscript may have been initiated but not finished in time to celebrate the second centenary of St. Columba's death in 797.

In the course of a detailed investigation of the sources of the extensive Old English Martyrology (saec. ix), Latin passiones in early manuscripts have had to be consulted, since there are still comparatively few modern collated editions apart from those in the very latest volumes of Acta Sanctorum, in the Monumenta Germaniae Historica series, and in individual works in books and periodicals. For the discussion of the martyrology, not only are variant texts of known versions of passiones to be distinguished and considered, but, on some occasions, distinctive versions are to be identified.

In the latter part of the twelfth century, a significant change of emphasis occurred in the art of preaching, which in turn had a profound influence on the transmission of knowledge and moral values. Whereas, in an earlier era, preachers had addressed themselves largely to clerical audiences, at this time popular audiences came to receive greater attention. Parisian masters and doctors were in the vanguard of this influential movement whose ideal, the vita apostolica, became a rallying cry to those who sought to restore the Church and its clergy to an earlier purity.

Originality and influence are obverse and reverse of one coin. When extensive influence is claimed for any thinker the question at once arises: Were there no other sources from which these putative disciples might have drawn their inspiration? Since no thinker springs entirely unheralded out of the head of Zeus, he must have drawn on an already existing cluster of ideas and therefore, in turn, his possible influence may merge into a wider intellectual ambience. The problem of influence thus becomes one of establishing marks of originality which can be applied as a kind of ‘litmus test’ to distinguish direct dependence from general affinity. The ideas of the Abbot Joachim have lately attracted wide-ranging claims in respect of their influence in later generations. To cite only one example: Professor Roger Garaudy is quoted as saying that the ‘first great revolutionary movements in Europe’ were ‘all more or less imbued with the ideas of Joachim of Fiore.’ In the last decade or so many medievalists, including myself, have spun the Joachimist coin in order to turn up ‘tails,’ and we have perhaps found Joachimist ‘tails’ in too many quarters. By the law of probabilities it was more than time to turn up heads, and Robert Lerner in an article of 1976 slapped down a challenging ‘head study’ for which I personally am grateful since it set me off spinning the same old coin again. The purpose of this study, therefore, is to examine the background of ideas out of which Joachim's theology of history was generated, to pinpoint the original aspects of his thought, if any, and thence to define and apply criteria for claiming later individuals, groups, or writings as ‘Joachite’ or ‘Joachimist.’

The most outstanding event in the history of the military orders at the end of the thirteenth and start of the fourteenth centuries was, of course, the dissolution of the Temple. This was not, however, an isolated happening. Although the accusations which led to the abolition of that order had been publicly voiced only shortly before the Templars‘ arrest, the proceedings against the Temple took place at a time when criticism of the military orders in general was mounting, and this growth of hostile opinion no doubt facilitated Philip IV's attack on the Templars. Ever since their foundation the military orders had been subjected to some criticism, but much early censure had been of a kind which might be directed against any religious establishment, especially by members of the secular clergy who found that their authority and resources were being impaired by the privileges which the military orders and other religious institutions enjoyed: it was not primarily concerned with the orders’ contribution to the struggle against the infidel. But as the fortunes of the crusading states declined, the military orders became increasingly criticised for their inadequacies as defenders of Christendom. Defeat in the Holy Land had to be explained by faults on the Christian side rather than in terms of Muslim superiority, and the military orders were an obvious target for attack. The authors of the numerous crusading proposals which were put forward in the late-thirteenth and early-fourteenth centuries were inevitably influenced by this growing criticism, and many crusading plans therefore included suggestions concerning the military orders. Those who drew up proposals did not themselves provide a reasoned or detailed account of the orders' faults or attempt to judge to what extent these failings contributed to Christian defeats, but the criticisms on which they based their plans were clearly not altogether groundless: although some strictures were ill-informed or excessive, the policies which the orders themselves pursued certainly provided a starting-point for the growth of hostile opinion. Yet some writers did not seek merely to remedy existing defects in the orders; they sought also to discuss what the role of the military order should be in the struggle against the infidel, and thus viewed the subject in a rather wider context.

The Repertorium of Hippocratic Latin texts in the Middle Ages, begun in Traditio 31 (1975) 99–126 and continued in the issues following, here resumes with a number of tracts clearly labelled as by Hippocrates in medieval Latin manuscripts. In general, these texts contain traditional or characteristic features of Hippocratic medical theory and practice, particularly the emphasis upon the relation of climate and seasons to health, upon the four humors and the importance of maintaining a harmonious relation between food and exercise. They also, especially in the Oath (Iusiurandum) and the Law (Lex), reveal the importance placed on ethics and the moral and correct professional conduct of the physician. The fact that most of these treatises were available in the Latin West before the close of the fourteenth century should serve to modify traditional views regarding the lack of direct knowledge of Hippocrates before the so-called Renaissance of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.

Luca Signorelli's frescoes portraying the last days and the end of the world which decorate the Cappella di San Brizio in Orvieto Cathedral are often described as reflecting Dante's Commedia or as having a Dantesque quality. Commissioned in 1500 to complete the decoration of the cathedral begun by Fra Angelico half a century before, Signorelli painted — along with such scenes traditionally associated with the Last Judgment as the Resurrection of the Dead, the Damned in Hell, and the Saved in Paradise — two frescoes which portray the deeds of Antichrist and the signs of the end. Together with his illustrations from Dante's Purgatorio, also at Orvieto, these frescoes depict the key events of Christian eschatology. The entire cycle reflects, in other words, the artist's awareness of eschatology as encompassing not only the fortune of the soul after death, but also the events which occur in the last days of the earth's history, a view of eschatology which is both personal and cosmic. It is certainly appropriate to see Dante's influence upon the artist's representation of such scenes as the ‘anti-Inferno’ and the suffering of the damned in hell. Although the subject matter need not have been drawn exclusively from Dante, a knowledge of the Commedia helps one to understand these frescoes better. Both Dante and Signorelli reflect a concern with the last events which is typical of their times, and along with other artists and poets, they share a common background in Christian eschatology. In some respects, therefore, their individual achievements are analogous, so that an understanding of the frescoes can also help us to understand the Commedia, even though the painter worked a century and a half after the poet. Particularly, Signorelli's ‘Fatti dell’ Anticristo,’ a portrayal both of the traditional Christian beliefs concerning the great deceiver of the last days and of late medieval apocalypticism, provides insights into Dante's description of the contemporary church in Inferno 19 (Fig. 1). The artist and the poet each draw upon long-established Christian iconography and symbolism to infuse their work with an apocalyptic expectancy which, by placing contemporary scenes in a cosmic perspective, underscores its religious significance and ultimate consequence.

In the dedicatory letter to the De spiritalis historiae gestis, addressed to his brother Apollinaris, bishop of Valence, Avitus of Vienne discusses the peculiar problems raised by Christian poetry (201.16–202.15 Peiper). The implications of this passage have not, I believe, been fully grasped. Let me begin by citing the relevant section of the letter to Apollinaris (201.16–202.9 Peiper).

Like most medieval vernacular narratives, the Lais of Marie de France begin with a prologue designed to explain the proximate causes of the author's undertaking and to set the work within a recognized context of literary tradition. This literary tradition is represented, again quite typically, by appeal to an auctor, here the grammarian Priscian, whom Marie cites as witness to the stylistic habits of ancient writers:

Custume fu as ancïens,
Ceo tes[ti]moine Precïens,
Es livres ke jadis feseient
Assez oscurement diseient
Pur ceus ki a venir esteient
E ki aprendre les deveient,
K'i peüssent gloser la lettre
E de lur sen le surplus mettre.

Although numerous studies have investigated the problem of Chrétien de Troyes' religious inclinations, it is surprising to discover that little attention has been devoted to the religious elements of the Good Friday scene in Li Contes del Graal. Scholars rarely discuss the scene on its own merits, but use it as a basis for elucidating, if not compounding, the mysteries of the Grail castle.

The compiler of the fourteenth-century Middle English manual of popular religious instruction known as The Pore Caitif was somewhat erratic in his acknowledgment of the sources from which he drew the various sections of his fourteen tracts. Although he excerpted passages from Rolle's Encomium nominis Jesu, Emendatio vitae, and Form of Living, he never mentioned Rolle by name or recorded the titles of the books. In one tract, only, ‘Of Vertuous Patience,’ did he state: ‘Al ϸis sentence seiϸ a seynt in his boke’ (fol. 85r). I have dealt elsewhere with the four Pore Caitif tracts which draw on Rolle's Emendatio vitae. In this paper, I will examine the nature and extent of the indebtedness to The Form of Living.