production-to-stock for early Christian epitaphs

production-to-stock stone for epitaph of Maria, wife of Euplous

In sixth-century Corinth, a Christian epitaph for Maria, the wife of Euplous, apparently was made from a production-to-stock stone with a generic inscription.  Additional inscription personalized the epitaph for Maria.  Here’s the inscription, translated into English organized in accordance with the lines of the Greek inscription:

Here lies {Maria},
{the modest spouse of Euplous,
the charioteer}.  Purchased
the grave {Euplous} from
Anastasios the subdeacon
for one and one half gold pieces;
I gave the purchase price to Anastasios,
received full rights from him,
and put the epitaph in place.
died {my blessed wife
the eleventh day before the Kalends of September} [1]

The words enclosed in braces {} above represent the personalized inscription for Maria.  Bracketed between the conventional “here lies” and “died” in the production-to-stock inscription is important public documentation of Maria’s right to be buried in the associated grave.

fully inscribed epitaph of Maria, wife of Euplous

Knowledge about the retail market for tombstones in the ancient Mediterranean world is sparse.  The Maria epitaph’s production-to-stock inscription is specific to the minor church official Anastasios.  The stone on which the epitaph was cut is a thin, schisty-marble rectangle.  It appears to be builder’s surplus from slabs used for floors and wall decorations.[2]  Anastasios may have had a stock of such slabs with pre-cut inscriptions.  The production-to-stock epitaph slabs may have been a standard component in Anastasios’s business of selling graves.  The point of pre-inscribing documentary language may have been to ensure standard, authoritative terms for the selling of graves.

production-to-stock stone for Julianus epitaph

The Julianus Christian epitaph from Athens in the fifth or sixth century also apparently was made from a production-to-stock stone. The Julianus stone’s hypothesized production-to-stock inscription is more generic than that of the Maria epitaph.  Any seller of graves or gravestones could have offered the production-to-stock stone that was the basis for the Julianus epitaph.  Unlike the production-to-stock inscription on the Maria epitaph, the production-to-stock inscription on the Julianus epitaph makes sense as a marketing strategy.  The pre-cut figural design and acclamation create an impressive gravestone to sell from stock.[3]

Julianus funerary stone for Christian in Athens

The existence of production-to-stock stonework in the ancient Mediterranean world has been a matter of scholarly controversy.  One leading work on classical Attic tombstones has observed:

The topic of tombstones ready-bought or commissioned can be discussed in only very hypothetical terms … one cannot but conclude that memorials already completely finished — save for the inscriptions! — lacked attraction for the buyer. [4]

A recent detailed analysis of the economics of the Roman stone trade concluded:

larger stone objects—architectural elements, sarcophagi, statues—were expensive, complicated projects that consumed enormous quantities of labour and material, and usually had to be tailored to the specific needs of the customer. … production-to-stock of these objects was probably never the norm. In the main such items were entirely ill-suited to this mode of production, with the possible exception of roughly squared blocks or perhaps simply hollowed-out sarcophagus chests. [5]

However, a leading work on classical Greek sculpture noted that about sixty classical Athenian gravestones were produced per year from about 430 to 317.  This work states that evidence suggests a market for ready-made (production-to-stock) gravestones:

Standardization of any sort is rare until after ca. 400, but then increases dramatically along with the actual number of stelae produced.  Simultaneously the range of compositioned schemes decreases markedly, and high-relief stelai with multiple figures come more into vogue, where it is often impossible to tell who is dead if the inscription is missing.  Even when it survives, the deceased’s name sometimes does not even correlate in sex or positioning with the figure who is the center of attention. [6]

The Maria and Julianus epitaphs are much less costly than sarcophagi and classical Greek tombstones with elaborate sculptures.  Economic arguments against production-to-stock are capital outlay, market risk, and foregone opportunities for customization.  Those arguments are rather weak for the specific circumstances of the Maria and Julianus epitaphs.

Production-to-stock for early Christian epitaphs in Greece suggests well-developed early Christian communities there.  Relative to custom production, production-to-stock is more suitable for larger markets and lower-cost items.  Production-to-stock requires more complex institutions than custom production.  The interests and wealth of particular persons could motivate the construction of large churches.  Production-to-stock of early Christian gravestones indicates community at a more ordinary level of action.

*  *  *  *  *

Read more:


[1] John Kent’s translation, as cited in Walbank & Walbank (2006) p. 268, with Walbank & Walbank’s suggested corrections  (teamster -> charioteer, servant -> subdeacon) and my lineation.  The separation between the production-to-stock inscription and the custom inscription is based on Walbank & Walbank’s expert evaluation of the lettering.  Id. pp. 275-8.

[2] Id. pp. 278-9.

[3] Sironen (1997) no. 79 is reconstructed as, “{The sepulcher of- – -}us for sal{e}.”  Perhaps “for sale” indicates a retail epitaph “sales room” specimen.

[4] Clairmon & Conze (1993), Introductory Volume, p. 67.  Id. p. 68 suggests that production-to-stock may have occurred for children’s tombstones.  Many tombstones had inscriptions added, e.g. an additional family member buried in the tomb.  Id. Vol. VI, pp. 71.  Many tombstones also had inscriptions erased and re-inscribed.  Id. Vol. VI, pp. 148-9.  Like Shakespeare’s tomb, early Christian gravestones warned against tampering with the tomb.  For example, a Christian epitaph from Attica, probably from the fourth century, begins with a cross and declares:

Sepulcher of Andreas and Athenais and their child Maria; they have lived through a good life. If anybody has the impudence to open up (the grave) and bury another (person), he shall have the lot of Judas and total darkness shall overwhelm him and God shall destroy him on that Day (of Judgment).

Sironen (1997) no. 231, p. 266.  See also id. nos. 51, 84, 90, 96, 106, 114, 226, 236.

[5] Russell (2013) p. 358.

[6] Stewart (1990) p. 62.  Carroll (2006), pp. 106-108, discusses texts shared across epitaphs.  Id. p. 109 notes the existence of prepared gravestones lacking only personalized inscriptions. Id. , p. 110, Fig. 38, shows a “ready-made stele from Mainz with a blank epitaph panel that was never inscribed.”  The stone is from the  1st century GC and is held in the  Rheinisches Landesmuseum, Mainz.  The top of the stone has a carved pediment and vegetal motifs.  Id. p. 112.  discusses other such examples.

[image] 1) Proposed reconstruction of precut plaque of Maria epitaph, made by J. Herbst, Fig. 5 in Walbank & Walbank (2006) p. 276. 2) Maria Epitaph, Corinth Museum, inv. no. I-2301, Figure 4 in Walbank & Walbank (2006) p. 275, available under Creative Commons BY-NC license. 3) Proposed production-to-stock stone for Julian epitaph, my creation from stone image. 4) Julianus epitaph, from Feissel (1981) p. 485, available under Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license.


Carroll, Maureen. 2006. Spirits of the dead Roman funerary commemoration in Western Europe. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Clairmont, Christoph W., and Alexander Conze. 1993. Classical attic tombstones. Kilchberg, Switzerland: Akanthus.

Feissel, Denis. 1981. “Notes d’épigraphie chrétienne (V).”  Bulletin de correspondance hellénique 105(1), pp. 483-497.

Russell, Ben. 2013. The economics of the Roman stone trade. Corby: Oxford University Press.

Sironen, Erkki. 1997. The late Roman and early Byzantine inscriptions of Athens and Attica: an edition with appendices on scripts, sepulchral formulae and occupations. Helsinki: Hakapaino Oy.

Stewart, Andrew F. 1990. Greek sculpture: an exploration. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Walbank, Mary E. Hoskins, and Michael B Walbank. 2006. “The Grave of Maria, Wife of Euplous: A Christian Epitaph Reconsidered.” Hesperia. 75 (2): 267-288.

Ulrich von Liechtenstein’s servitude to women: don’t be that man

In Frauendienst (Service of Ladies), written in German about 1250, the knight Ulrich von Liechtenstein describes mis-education, delusion, and suffering.  Poets and wise men, the teachers of that time, urged Ulrich to subordinate himself to a woman.  Ulrich recalled:

This I heard the wise men say:
none can be happy, none can stay
contented in this world but he
who loves and with such loyalty
a noble woman that he’d die
if it would save her from a sigh.
For thus all men have loved who gain
the honor others can’t obtain. [1]

Men’s lives are thus valued lower than a woman’s sigh.  Only a very brave man would dare to reject that honor.  Ulrich sought it:

“I’ll give my body, all my mind
and life itself to womankind
and serve them all the best I can.
And when I grow to be a man
I’ll always be their loyal thane:
though I succeed or serve in vain
I’ll not despair and never part
from them,” thus spoke my childish heart.

Whoever spoke of women’s praise
I followed, just to hear each phrase,
for it would make my heart so light
and fill me with true delight.
I heard from many a learned tongue
their excellence and honor sung;
they praised one here and praised one there,
they praised the ladies everywhere. [2]

This is the sort of literature that gave rise to Hitler.  If children were to read Theophrastus’s Golden Book rather than Dr. Theophrastus Seuss’s One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, they would recognize that praise of ladies is a funny thing.[3]  Or at least they would develop a sense of humor lacking today.

representation of knight Ulrich von Liechtenstein in Frauendienst

Ulrich pledged servitude to a lady.  He engaged his aunt to plead his love suit.  The lady replied to the aunt:

That he excels I’ll take your word
(although it’s more than I have heard)
in every virtue, every skill,
yet for a woman it must still
prevent a close relationship
to see his most unsightly lip.
You must forgive my saying so:
it isn’t pretty, as you know.  [4]

The lady rejected Ulrich for his cleft lip.  Oblivious to the lady’s cruelty, he underwent a painful operation to have his cleft lip joined.  Critical post-structuralists and ananavelist scholars have determined that the lady’s rejection of Ulrich on the grounds of his cleft lip figures and problematizes the prevalence of male genital mutilation in medieval European Christian culture.  More to the point, Ulrich served a heartless lady.

Ulrich enacted his loving devotion to his lady in various ridiculous ways.  In one joust, he damaged a finger.  After his lady expressed doubt about the seriousness of his wound, he had his finger cut off.  He sent the cut-off finger to his lady along with a poem praising her.  She responded to his messenger with a message of scorn:

Go back and tell him my regret;
he’d serve the ladies better yet,
were it not that his hand is shy
a finger. Tell him too that I
shall always keep the finger near,
buried in my dresser here,
that I shall see it every day,
and that I mean just what I say.

Tell him from me now, courtly youth:
I’ll keep the finger — not, in truth,
because my heart at last is moved
so that his prospects are improved
by a single hair. Make sure he hears
this: should he serve a thousand years,
the service I would always scorn.
By my constancy I’ve sworn.

Ulrich was delighted.  He thought that his lady continually viewing his amputated appendage was a sign that she loved him.  But women preoccupied with amputation of men’s appendages do not truly love men.[5]

Ulrich sought to please his lady by pretending to be a woman. He dressed himself as a woman, called himself Lady Venus, and traveled around Europe participating in dangerous jousting tournaments.  He was wounded in the chest and took at least one lance blow to the head.  While Ulrich was in a bathtub bathing a wound, an admirer showered him in rose petals.[6] Bodily wounds to men aren’t socially understood to bleed real blood.

One day, Ulrich’s lady summoned him to appear before her in secret.  She told him to appear in rags like a leper.  Ulrich raced to his lady to fulfill her summons.  He donned rags and ate with lepers outside his lady’s castle.  His lady forced him to sleep outside the castle overnight in the rough, in the rain.  The next morning he was instructed to wait until the evening.  That evening, as instructed, he laid in hiding outside the castle.  The castle warden making rounds took a long piss on him.  After more misadventures, he was finally pulled up with a bedsheet onto the castle balcony.[7]  Ulrich then declared to his lady:

Lady, grant me grace.

Lady, you’re my chief delight,
may I be favored in your sight,
may your compassion take my part.
Consider the longing of my heart
which constant love for you inspired.
Consider that I have not desired
a thing more beautiful than you,
a lovelier I never knew.

You’re dearer far than all that I
have ever seen. If I could lie
with you tonight then I’d possess
all that I’ve dreamed of happiness.
My life will gain by your assent
a lofty spirit and content
more and more until it ends.
It’s you on whom my joy depends.

That’s a courtly speech by a man drenched in piss.  Ulrich obviously hadn’t learned from Ovid.  His lady refused to lie with him.

Exploiting Ulrich’s inferiority in guile, his lady got rid of him with deceptive hand-holding.  She explained that she would do his will if he would re-enact his entrance and give her the opportunity to greet him as a lover.  That meant for him to get on the bedsheet and be lowered down slightly, and then brought up again.  Ulrich rightly was suspicious that she would let him down and never pull him up again. She offered to hold his hand as a good-faith guarantee.  Ulrich agreed:

Though worried, I then took my seat
inside the tightly knotted sheet.
They let me down a little ways
to where they were supposed to raise
me up. My sweet continued slyly,
“God knows, I never thought so highly
of any noble in the land
as of the knight that holds my hand.

“My friend,” she spoke, “be welcome so.
We both are freed from care and woe
and I can now invite you in.”
While speaking thus, she raised my chin
and said, “Dear one, give me a kiss.”
I was so overjoyed with this
I let her hand go free and I
quite soon had cause to grieve thereby.

They dropped Ulrich down and pulled the sheet back up over the wall.  Ulrich was in deep despair.  If not for his comrade’s intervention, he would have drowned himself in a dark lake.

Ulrich von Liechtenstein’s Service of Ladies is far more than a playful game.  Like the thirteenth-century Old French nouvelle The Three Knights and the ChainseService of Ladies represents the social construction of male disposability.  Men will not achieve gender equality until men reject a life of service to ladies.[8]

*  *  *  *  *

Read more:


[1] Ulrich von Liechtenstein, Frauendienst (Service of Ladies) s. 9, trans. Thomas (1969) p. 52.  Ulrich’s book is now commonly recognized to be fictional rather than autobiographical.  Ulrich von Liechtenstein was historically a knight in thirteenth-century Germanic lands.

[2] Id. ss. 11, 13.

[3] Dr. Theophrastus Seuss’s One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish declares, “From there to here, from here to there, funny things are everywhere.”

[4] Frauendienst, s. 80, trans. Thomas (1969).  Subsequent quotes are from id. ss. 453-4, {1198, 1205-6}, 1267-8.  The aunt acts as the old woman go-between common in medieval Iberian literature.

[5] On pre-occupation with castration, see the discussion of the serranas stories in Libro de buen amor, note [8] and comparative criticism of the Old French works, Fisherman of Pont-sur-Seine and Lecheor.

[6] Frauendienst, ss. 733-5.

[7] Stories of Virgil and Hippocrates being suspended in a basket from a women’s window are part of the literature of men’s sexed protests.  The summons for the secret meeting is ss. 1114-5; sleeping in the rain, 1168-70; getting pissed on, s. 1189.

[8] Classen (2004) emphasizes the theatrical, ludic element of Frauendienst.  But Frauendienst, like Pamphilus, has significance extending all the way to scholarly life today.  For example, a recent scholarly analysis of Frauendienst centered on the pleasures of ridiculing masculinity:

Ulrich’s lady openly mocks her male suitor, ridiculing his masculinity.  What pleasures does such mockery offer to male and female audiences?

Perfetti (2003) p. 129.  As scholarly work, id. could be regarded as a joke.  But it’s wide-ranging effects are apparent.

[image] Ulrich von Liechenstein, painting on folio 237rCod. Pal. germ. 848, Große Heidelberger Liederhandschrift (Codex Manesse).  Zürich, ca. 1300 bis ca. 1340,


Classen, Albrecht. 2004. “Moriz, Tristan, and Ulrich as Master Disguise Artists: Deconstruction and Reenactment of Courtliness in Moriz von Craûn, Tristan als Mönch, and Ulrich von Liechtenstein’s Frauendienst.” The Journal of English and Germanic Philology. 103 (4): 475-504.

Perfetti, Lisa. 2003. “‘With them she had her playful game’ The Performance of Gender and Genre in Ulrich von Lichtenstein’s Frauendienst.” Ch. 4 in Women & laughter in medieval comic literature. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Thomas, J. W., trans. 1969. Ulrich von Liechtenstein’s Service of ladies. Translated in condensed form into English verse with an introduction to the poet and the work. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

Bernard of Cluny’s De contemptu mundi trivializes men’s sexed protests

Now we flee from standing firm and we stream toward evil; let us stand up for goodness.  It is the final hour, the most wicked of times — be watchful! [1]

Bernard of Cluny’s De contemptu mundi is a long, twelfth-century Latin poem that complains about everything.  Its complaints are conventional: everything used to be better, the world’s gone to hell, everyone now is obsessed with money, sex, power, and their stomachs.  A scholar has described this work as containing “one of the most vehement, nasty outpourings of antifeminism in the Middle Ages.”[2]  But its vehemence and nastiness has a hollow core.  De contemptu mundi lacks the outrageously transgressive pseudo-realism of Jaume Roig’s Spill, the intricate poetic parodies of Libro de buen amor, and the keen psychological insights of Marie de France’s work. Bernard of Cluny’s De Contemptu Mundi trivializes men’s sexed protests.

De contemptu mundi favors narrow technical proficiency over broad social change. De contemptu mundi complains about everything while maintaining a difficult leonini cristati trilices dactylici meter throughout its 3,000 lines.  Bernard fundamentally misunderstands virility:

Bernard speaks of this metre with great pride, pointing out in his prologue that other poets had not used it for more than a handful of lines, whereas he has managed to keep it up for three thousand. [3]

Literature from the Islamic world describes the much more impressive feat of Abu’l Hayloukh.  Bernard wrote De contemptu mundi for his monastic brethren.  Enforcing the intensely difficult leonini cristati trilices dactylici on himself often required Bernard “to torture syntax, vocabulary, and word order.”[4]  Torture, like going down on sinking ships, hurts men.

De Contemptu Mundi Virī

Bernard places women at the center of the world.  His gynocentric imagination ignores men and connects abstract evils to shameless whores, woman, the evil woman, and even a specific woman:

Excess thrives, impiety stands erect, injustice abounds.  The impious crowd, the troop of whores, defiles all.  The life of shameless whores is to walk without restraint; their tongue is defilement, their heart is drunkenness, their life is the belly.  Their one and only glory is to love the lewd desires of the flesh, to defile hearts in their abyss, to defile bodies in their lust.  Woman is filthy, woman is faithless, woman is feeble; she pollutes the clean, she contemplates the impious, she wears away one’s abundance.  An evil woman becomes a spur to wickedness, a rein to goodness.  An evil woman is a wild beast; her sins are as sand.  I am not going to revile righteous women whom I ought to bless, but since I must, in my poem I sting those who think like Locusta. [5]

While “impiety stands erect” surely suggests a masculine contribution, Bernard doesn’t dilate that figure.  He immediately moves on to whores.  Men throughout history have served as whores, but historians, who have been predominately men, have ignored them.  Underscoring his lack of recognition of men, Bernard abruptly moves from whores to women.  Two verses later, the subject is the evil woman.  Bernard claims that he isn’t going to revile righteous women.  That’s transparently incredible since he has reviled “woman” only a few verses earlier.  From the highly abstract claim “excess thrives” to the specific, historical reference “those who think like Locusta,” Bernard never thinks of men.

Bernard distracts attention from his disregard for men with an insincere distinction between person and acts.  Immediately following the above passage, Bernard declares:

Now the evil woman becomes my theme, she becomes my discourse.  Her I regard as good, but her acts I condemn, and therefore I censure them. [6]

After only a few more verses, Bernard tramples the distinction between person and acts.  He describes “woman” as pulchra putredo (“beautiful rottenness”), dulce venenum (“sweet poison”), semita lubrica (“a slippery path”), fossa novissima (“the deepest ditch”), and publica janua (“a public doorway”).[7]  All these descriptions are directed at the person.  With their specific forms, these figures are gendered to exclude men.[8]

Bernard himself doesn’t appreciate the seriousness of his disparagement of the literature of men’s sexed protests.  Bernard rattles off verses that seem to be merely technical exercises:

Foemina perfida, foemina foetida, foemina foetor
{Woman is faithless, woman is foul, woman is foulness} [9]

Bernard joins a long history of ridiculing cuckolded men:

What woman keeps sacred agreements … so that offspring given to her husband, sired by him and not by a servant, shows his father’s face and manifests the father’s deeds? For what woman does the promise or the blessing at the altar remain firm? What woman has pious eyes, what woman is good? A rare one, believe me! This bird is very rare, this plant is difficult to find. I attack such things, I ridicule such things, but not without weeping. [10]

A leading scholar of Latin literature observed:

In view of the violent diction and strained ornamentation we have seen, and the conscious imitation of satirical conventions, I suspect that the misogynistic poems which flourished in the twelfth century were comic in effect, if not in purpose. Perhaps they were all for show. [11]

The effects of literature like De contemptu mundi aren’t comic.  The literature of men’s sexed protests addresses real, serious issues in men’s lives.  It concerns issues such as men’s paternity interests, violence against men, men’s need for compassionate and helpful direction, and men’s inferiority in guile. Bernard of Cluny’s De contemptu mundi doesn’t broach any of these issues.  De contemptu mundi implicitly reveals contempt for men.

*  *  *  *  *

Read more:


[1] Bernard of Cluny, De contemptu mundi, I.1077-8, from Latin trans. Pepin (1991) p. 75.  I’ve replaced “the times are most wicked” with “the most wicked of times” for better w-alliterated rhythm.  Bernard, who is also known as Bernard of Morlaix (or Morval and related variants), wrote De Contemptu Mundi about 1140.  On Bernard and his works, Belnaves (1997) Ch. 1.

[2] Pepin (1991), intro. p. xvii.

[3] Mann (1994) p. 163.

[4] Id.

[5] De contemptu mundi, II.439-50.  In describing shameless whores walking without restraint, Bernard may have been referring to a medieval version of the post-modern slutwalkLocusta was a strong, independent businesswoman in first-century Rome.  She acquired considerable wealth working directly for the Roman Emperor Nero.  The Roman Emperor Galba (probably not related to Galbi, which is more likely a name of Roman Arabic slaves who quarried rocks) condemned Locusta to death.

[6] De contemptu mundi, II.451-2.

[7] Id. II. 459, 460, 461.  Phrases like pulchra putredo (beautiful rottenness) play in a rhetorical game that goes back to Hesiod’s Theogony and its reference to the first woman as a καλός κακός (beautiful evil).  On 12th-century Latin rhetoric disparaging woman, Pepin (1993).  A long series of paired Latin antonyms describing love occur in the 12th-century poem, “Vix nodosum valeo….”  See ll. 6-9, trans. Wetherbee (2013) pp. 521-33.

[8] This problem may have cosmic generality.  Bloch (1987), p. 19, declares that a writer “can only be defined as a woman.”  Bloch sees the exclusion of men as defining the whole literary enterprise:

The discourse of misogyny runs like a rich vein throughout the breadth of medieval literature. … it is the equation of women with the illusory that serves to identify the misogynistic with the literary. … The danger of women, according to this reading of the phenomenon of misogyny, is that of literature itself.

Id. pp. 1, 15, 20.  Professors could address this problem by making literature classes more welcoming to men and by encouraging more men to read fiction.  Bloch’s analysis seems to draw upon earlier work pushing fully human men to the margins:

Unlike the pusillanimous pastor he {Bernard of Cluny} does not refrain from condemning such powerful depravity for fear of losing an earthly stipend.  Yet like the meek pastor he remembers with compassion his equality in nature to those whose faults he disciplines with the rigor of zeal.  In his Christian fashion he accommodates to the iniquity of carnal lust the tears of Heraclitus and the laughter of Democritus, the alternative responses of pagan satire to the vanity of human prudence: he laments the evil woman while deriding her viciousness.  … although Bernard voices the conventional disclaimer that his diatribe is directed only against evil women and only against their sins, he nevertheless proclaims in the era of the false Christian the universality of the evil woman foreshadowed in Eve and in the licentious contemporaries of Noah and Juvenal, who now takes her part in the ambiance of iniquity which portends the coming of Christ in judgment as it anagogically had attended His coming in mercy.

Engelhardt (1964) p. 166.  Fully human men, most of whom have been low-status men, have had low social valuation throughout history.

[9] De contemptu mundi, II.517.

[10] Id. II.531-40. The metaphor of a rare bird goes back to Juvenal’s Satire 6.

[11] Pepin (1993) p. 663.


Balnaves, Francis John. 1997. Bernard of Morlaix: the literature of complaint, the Latin tradition and the twelfth-century “renaissance.” PhD thesis, Australian National University, March 1997.

Bloch, R. Howard. 1987. “Medieval Misogyny.” Representations. 20 (1): 1-24.

Engelhardt, George J. 1964.  “De Contemptu Mundi of Bernardus Morvalensis, Book 2.”  Mediaeval Studies 26: 109-152.

Mann, Jill. 1994. Review. “Ronald E. Pepin, Scorn for the World: Bernard of Cluny’s De contemptu mundi. The Latin Text with English Translation and an Introduction.” The Journal of Medieval Latin. 4 (1): 163-169.

Pepin, Ronald E., trans. 1991. Bernard of Cluny. Scorn for the world: Bernard of Cluny’s De contemptu mundi: the Latin text with English translation and an introduction. East Lansing, Mich: Colleagues Press.

Pepin, Ronald E. 1993. “The Dire Diction of Medieval Misogyny.” Latomus. 52 (3): 659-663.

Wetherbee, Winthrop, trans. 2013. Alain de Lille. Literary works. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.