It has long been a commonly held belief among classicists that traditional Romans frowned upon male homosexuality and associated it with the influence of Greek culture. There have always been exceptions to this belief, but when Paul Veyne published the following remarks in his 1978 article ‘La famille et l'amour sous le hautempire romain’, his views were quite heterodox:

Il est faux que l'amour ‘grec’ soit, à Rome, d'origine grecque: comme plus d'une société méditerranéenne de nos jours encore, Rome n'a jamais opposé l'amour des femmes à celui des garçons: elle a opposé l'activité à la passivité; être actif, c'est être un mâle, quel que soit le sexe du partenaire passif.

There is evidently no skene in the early plays of Aeschylus and the locale changes easily. But in the Oresteia (and afterwards) a skene fixes the locale, though only for what happens on the stage. In Ag. it represents an outer wall. In Choe. it is not at first in the arena of action and so not in the path of vision, but it represents the wall by 584 when Electra enters the house, or at least by 653 when Orestes shouts to a doorkeeper. In Eum. 1–234 the skene represents (unless I am mistaken) an inner wall; the stage is an interior; and when Apollo enters from the far side at 179 (to our surprise), he seems to be coming from the adyton. The orchestra is still a locale unbounded as it was before. The tomb of Agamemnon in Choe. 1–651 is thought an indefinite distance from the house, not merely a lion's leap away. A temple of Athene becomes the Pnyx at Eum. 566 and then the hill of Ares at 685.

The duplication ο τι…οποιν has caused much trouble. However, schol. on explains ο τι by αντι τον οποιον. The οποιον may well have begun life as an intramarginal gloss written against the beginning of 2–3, which the next scribe mistook for the first word of 3 in the text, and dropped the original first word, which on this hypothesis would not necessarily bear any literal resemblance to οποιον. As for what this word was, there are obviously many possibilities; if for instance it was οανοντος, that would make explicit the contrast between the dead Oedipus and νωνπωοαιν, in a manner helpful to the context.

Virgil, in his description of the establishment of a new city by Aeneas for those Trojans who wished to remain in Sicily, is thinking of the Roman practice of colonial foundation: ‘Meanwhile Aeneas marked out the city with the plough and allocated the houses (by lot)’. We may note the personal role of the founder, the ploughing of the ritual first furrow, the organized grants to the settlers and the equality of treatment implied in the use of lot (sortiri). Virgil was writing at the end of the first century B.C. at a time of great activity in land distribution, but the Romans had been founding colonies from the mid fourth century. Each colony involved the creation of an urban area and the settlement of people on the surrounding agricultural land, and so perpetuated the city state, which was central to ancient life and culture. Indeed a colony was a smaller image of Rome itself. In the early Republic, colonies, either of Latins or of Roman citizens, were established on the periphery of Roman territory, largely for military and strategic reasons. Between 200 and 173 B.C. more than 40,000 may have received plots of land, amounting to about 1,000 square miles of territory. Later, the motives for colonial foundations became more complex, being closely connected with increasing economic and political problems. There can have been few more important aspects in the development of colonies than the need to find land for discharged troops. These in the main were rank and file soldiers who would expect equal shares in land allocations.

A propos of his earlier attempt to demonstrate, by means of measurements, computer-enhanced images and laser technology, that the archon of IG i311 was Antiphon (418/17), not Habron (458/7), Mortimer Chambers now quotes with approval the favourable verdict of J. Tréheux: ‘la mésure des intervalles entre les lettres, la superposition des photographies multiples et, surtout, le bombardement du marbre par un rayon laser ont prouvé (les photographies en couleur A et B ne permettent pas d'en douter)

Peter Marshall has done what all those concerned with manuscripts dream of doing: he has turned up a substantial lost portion of an ancient text. His discovery is related, with great modesty, in an article in Manuscripta 37 (1993), 3–20, where he prints for the first time Tiberius Claudius Donatus' commentary on Virgil, Aeneid 6.1–157, edited from a gathering written in the sixteenth century and now bound into Vaticanus Latinus 8222 ff. 2r–9v. We offer here some emendations to the text he prints; we are grateful to Prof. M. D. Reeve and Dr S. J. Heyworth for their suggestions, which we have incorporated in what follows. The bold figures represent the lines of Aeneid 6.

In his admirable commentary, Jeffrey Henderson notes the significance of posture and of physical setting. He does not remark that the statue of Leaina near to which Lysistrata and Kalonike are standing on the Akropolis was intimately tied to the obscure story of the later years in the Athenian tyranny. With minor variations of detail or colour the story was that Leaina, a hetaira beloved of Harmodios or Aristogeiton, had been tortured by Hippias after the murder of Hipparchos but, brave girl, had preferred to die than say yes, or indeed say anything. She bit out her tongue. The Athenians set up a bronze lioness, the work of Amphikrates, to commemorate her martyrdom.

It may seem faintly absurd to claim or imply that a Vergilian cento has suffered unjustified neglect from scholars. These works—of which there are sixteen, covering a period of over three centuries within Late Antiquity—are usually treated at best with amused tolerance, and at worst (as in the new Anthologia Latino) with angry disdain. Though always ingenious, sometimes funny, and occasionally informative about the reception of Vergil, they are seldom admired. Even among Italian scholars, some of whom have paid much attention to centos, a recession has set in since the annus mirabilis of 1981, which saw two editions of the Medea of Hosidius Geta. Proba has, deservedly, attracted more attention than most; her aims and methods as a Christian poetess were carefully and illuminatingly studied twenty years ago by Reinhard Herzog, and her interest as a female Roman aristocrat has brought her further attention, especially in recent years. The main aim of the present article is to suggest a particular context and a serious purpose for her cento. A postscript will show that it went on to enjoy considerable popularity until the end of the century, and an introductory section will discuss its date, but very briefly, since Matthews has convincingly said most of what needs to be said about a recent attempt to redate it. Proba's preface, much of it not in cento form, calls for detailed treatment from various angles—textual, literary, historical—and will be explored in a separate article.

This sentence has long been regarded as problematic; Kirchhoff's emendation is palaeographically simple and has met with general approval, but if ίερά is taken to mean ‘temples’, as is usual, the phrase is not without its difficulties. ỉστασθαι is normally used of inscriptions, statues and trophies rather than buildings; LSJ cite only one instance of the latter usage, Thucydides 1.69.1, and there it might be argued that the Long Walls were not a building as such (although Thucydides does use οίκοδομεîν of them at 1.107.1). Furthermore, it does seem rather pointless to say that individual poor members of the demos are unable to build temples, for that was something that even the richest were unlikely to be able to afford.

In the extensive cast of characters named in Isaeus' On the Estate of Hagnias are two brothers, Chaereleos and Macartatus. The speaker, their brother-in-law, is anxious to impress upon the members of the court that neither was a rich man. ‘You are all my witnesses,’ he asserts, ‘that…they were not in the class of those who perform liturgies but rather of those who possess a modest estate.’ Chaereleos on his death left land worth no more than 3000 drachmas. Macartatus left nothing at all. ‘For you know,’ the speaker reminds his audience, ‘that he sold his land, bought a trireme, manned it, and sailed off to Crete, (you know it) because it was by no means a covert act—indeed, it furnished a topic for discussion in the Assembly, namely that he might cause a state of war instead of peace between us and the Spartans.…It turned out…that he died along with this property of his that he sailed off with. For he lost everything, both the trireme and his life, in the war’.(Is. 11.48–9)

Aristotle begins his criticism of the communism of property in Plato's Republic1 with the following (which I have divied into two sections for convenient reference):

(i) τπων μν οὖν ὂντων τν νεωπγοὑντων ἂλλς ἂν εἴη ςπóπος καì πᾀων, αὐτν δ’ αὑτοις διαπονοὑνων τ πεπì τς κτσεις πλεíονς ἃν παπχοι δνσκολíας. (ii) καì γπ ν ταις πολαεςι ν τοις ἒπγοις μἠ γινομνων ἴςων λλ’ νíσων ναγκααιον γκλματα γíνεσθαι ππòς πολαὑσντας μν ἢ λαμβνοντας πολλ, òλíγα δ πονσντας ταῖς λττω μν λαμβνσι, πλεíω δ πονοσιν.

In 180 B.C., in response to a treaty-breaking incursion into Galatia and a threat to Cappadocia, Eumenes of Pergamum marched against Pharnaces of Pontus. The route he took is described thus by Polybius (24.14.8–9):

παραγενμενοι δ' κ Καλπτου πεμπταῖοι πρς τν Ἅλυν ποταμν κταῖοι πλιν νζευξαν εἰς Παρνασσν. ἔνθα κα Ἀριαρθης τν Καππαδοκν βασιλεὺς συνμιξεν αὐτος μετ τς οἰκεας δυνμεως, κα (παρεισ)λθον εἰς τν Μωκισσων χώραν.

The phrase ei mihi is used fifteen times by Plautus. On all but one occasion these words introduce a new speaker. The single ‘exception’ is, I suggest, rather an error of transmission. I quote the line in context, Bac. 1171–4

NIC. Ni abeas, quamquam tu bella es,

malum tibi magnum dabo iam. BACCH. Patiar,

non metuo, ne quid mihi doleat

quod ferias. NIC. Ut blandiloquast!

ei mihi, metuo. SOR. Hie magis tranquillust.

1173 non – blandiloquast uno versu B 1174 SOROR B: B D

In this note I wish to reopen discussion of the role of Cornelius Nepos in Catullus' dedicatory poem. The Callimachean features of Catullus' assessment of his own work have been well documented. However I believe that, since this is a poem where Catullus evaluates not only his own work, but also that of Nepos, a closer examination of the latter is called for.

Readers of Plautus’ Poenulus are struck by the generally ‘sympathetic’ portrayal of the title character Hanno, a portrayal somewhat surprising to us since the play was produced shortly after the Second Punic War.1 Contrary to what we might expect, Hanno the Carthaginian is neither villain nor scapegoat, and he even exhibits the Roman virtue of pietas.2 However, Hanno's portrayal is not wholly positive, for Plautus delineates his character principally by endowing him with the negative stereotypes of Punic physiognomy, dress, speech, and behaviour familiar to his Roman audience.3 Hanno's Punic ethnicity is not merely an incidental matter of fact, as it is with his relative Agorastocles, but an essential part of his characterization that serves to isolate him from all the other characters of the palliata. While some of Hanno's vices—deceit, licentiousness, and effeminacy—are not exclusive to Carthaginians and are shared by other Greek characters in the palliata, there is one vice peculiar to Hanno. In this paper I argue that Plautus ridicules Hanno through arecurrent insinuation of incest. The insinuation of incest has not, to my knowledge, been noted previously, but our text does imply it in three conspicuous places.

‘It is not likely that anything absolutely new can be added to the interpretation of this familiar poem.’ So G. L. Hendrickson forty five years ago. It need scarcely be noted that in spite of these cautionary words much has been written on this ode in the intervening years. With hesitation I add here a few words on what seems to me an overlooked yet central aspect of this poem.

This passage occurs in a series of examples of optical illusions which Lucretius provides in order to illustrate the way in which the mind can misinterpret the evidence of the senses. There are no manuscript variations relevant to the problem which I wish to discuss.

The situation envisaged is that in fording a swift river, a horse has come to a halt in mid-stream. ‘We’, that is, the rider, look down into the rushing water and get the impression that our horse is moving sideways and upstream, although the horse is in fact stationary. And wherever we turn our eyes across the water, everything seems to be in motion. The question is, what is meant by the word ‘everything’, that is, omnia in line 424? Bailey interprets: ‘when after looking down for some time at the rushing stream, we then look up at the objects on the bank, they all seem to be moving.! Similarly Leonard and Smith take the reference to be to’ all objects on the bank or all stones, etc., sticking out of the stream.’ In this case the words ‘assimili nobis ratione’ must be taken closely together: the objects on the bank seem to be moving upstream in the same way that we ourselves appear to do.

After an opening of the elegiac epistle which recalls the Euripidean-Ennian Medea-prologue, Ovid's heroine thus states her purpose (Her. 12.23–4):

est aliqua ingrato meritum exprobrare voluptas;

hac fruar, haec de te gaudia sola feram.

These lines come from the passage describing the mourning of the natural world following the death of Orpheus. A. D. Melville (Ovid, Metamorphoses [Oxford, 1986]) translates as follows:

[‘ … ] and naiads wore,

and Dryads too, their mourning robes of black

And hair dishevelled.’

The fifth poem in Horace's first book of Epistles takes the form of an invitation to Torquatus to attend a dinner which the poet is preparing for that evening, the eveof the Emperor's birthday (line 9 eras nato Caesare). The fare will be simple but Horace will see to it that the furnishings, napkins, vessels and plates will be clean and bright and that the company and the seating-plan will be to Torquatus’ taste (21–6). Horace will get Butra and Septicius to be there, and Sabinus, too, as long as he is not kept away by a prior dinner engagement or by a girl he'd rather spend the evening with. With Torquatus and Horace, that makes four or five diners, so that there is room for others before the triclinium is full, although there shouldn't be too many; or, as Horace puts it (28–9):

locus est et pluribus umbris;

sed nimis arta premunt olidae conuiuia caprae.