Robert I of Dreux, third surviving son of Louis VI of France, is a little-known figure. The causes of this obscurity lie in part in the fragmentary and dispersed nature of the sources on Robert but also in the lack of interest which historians have shown regarding both him and the baronial dynasty which he founded. Indeed, no significant work on the counts of Dreux and Braine has appeared since the publication, in 1631, of André Duchesne's antiquarian history of that family. Numerous broader studies of the Capetian monarchy mention Robert in passing, because of the cession of Dreux to him by Louis VII and because of his aborted conspiracy, in 1149, to seize the throne; but it is symptomatic of the state of the scholarship on him that the first event has consistently been misunderstood, while the second is so poorly documented that judgments have ranged from calling it a major crisis for the monarchy to dismissing it as a trivial episode, with inadequate evidence for either view.

The disease of love (amor hereos) proved a topic of longstanding interest at the medical school of Montpellier between the thirteenth and the fifteenth centuries. From Arnald of Villanova and Bernard of Gordon in the late thirteenth century to Valescus of Taranta and Jacques Angeli in the fifteenth, generations of Montpellier masters and students studied, expounded, and debated the lover's malady. Gerard of Solo, who received his master's degree in medicine from Montpellier in 1335, and who remained at the university to become a leading figure of medical scholasticism, compiled a university exercise on lovesickness, the Determinatio de amore hereos. Though best known to students of lovesickness as the author of a commentary on the ninth book of al-Rāzī's Liber ad almansorem, Gerard's Determinatio, which is probably his magisterial version of a disputation on love, treats the subject more systematically than does the commentary on al-Rāzī. The Determinatio, which represents how the topic of lovesickness was taught outside the framework of textual commentary, provides a useful summary of fourteenth-century scholastic medical doctrine on love.

During late antiquity, an interesting doctrinal shift can be observed: Aristotelian logic and its Neoplatonic complements, in particular the teachings of Aristotle's Categories and Porphyry's Isagoge, were progressively accepted as a tool in Christian theology. This acceptance met drawbacks and was never unanimous. Among the authors who used concepts that originated in logic in order to support their theological thinking, we can mention, on very different accounts, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, Cyril of Alexandria, John Philoponus, Leontius of Byzantium, Maximus the Confessor, Theodore of Raithu, and John of Damascus, the author of an important Dialectica. In the Byzantine context, handbooks of logic were written specifically for Christian theologians, showing that logic was perceived to be an important tool for theological thinking.

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.

The peculiar piece of late Byzantine legal literature which is known by the strange name of Tipoukeitos, is concerned with the so-called Basilica. It indicates, in a very succinct form, the topics dealt with in the sixty books of Emperor Leo the Philosopher's voluminous codification. It seems that the author of T. used a copy of B. which differed somewhat, particularly in its enumeration of the single texts, from those MSS on which the brothers Heimbach based their edition of B. but, in general, the order of books and titles in T. is the same as in the Heimbachs' edition.

It is right to know, indeed, that everyone should prepare for the certain meeting and the uncertain meeting which is before him — namely, the meeting with death. For its coming is certain; it is uncertain, however, at what hour or what time one will go. Everyone should prepare for the two companies which come to meet every soul, namely, the company of God with beauty and magnificence and brightness, and the company of the devil with its darkness and with its baseness and its evil counsel. (The Two Deaths, 1)

The development of the pre-Carolingian seigneurie has received little attention, although this neglect is due in large part to a scarcity in source material. This lack may be supplemented by relying on other material, such as that supplied in the Lex Baiuvariorum. The latter, the Bavarian code, was promulgated within the first half of the eighth century and slightly before the appearance of the Carolingian estate organization. The development of manorial obligations in eighth-century Bavaria is illustrated by one major law in the Lex Baiuvariorum, and this law is I, 13. However, the study of the seigneurie in Bavaria is complicated by differing interpretations of the evidence. What follows is an attempt to re-evaluate the evidence as supplied in L. Baiu. I, 13 and to show its relationship with the Carolingian estate organization.

The Bedford Hours (British Library MS Additional 18850) has been called one of “the very finest examples of French art of the earlier half of the fifteenth century….” Its lavish use of gold and bright colors, its beautifully conceived calendar pages and large miniatures, its connection with the marriage of John of Lancaster, the duke of Bedford, to Anne of Burgundy, and its fascinating history as a manuscript have received much attention. Scholars, however, have virtually ignored the almost 1,250 marginal illustrations that decorate the manuscript's 289 folios. These tiny pictures are generally woven into the ivy-leaf border, painted within roundels of approximately one inch in diameter. Thematically related, they are usually placed two to a folio side, one within the left or right border, and one within the lower border. The roundels, furthermore, are accompanied by one-line Old French texts. These are always placed together below the lower border and are arranged so that the first text, written in blue, identifies the roundel within the side border, whereas the second text, written in gold, explains the roundel painted within the lower border.