Munro adopts the emendations veris for Veneris (1. 737) and Zephyrus for Zephyri (1. 708), making Zephyrus the ‘winged harbinger of Spring.’ As to the order of the procession, Munro takes one view in his translation and another in his notes: according to the latter it is ‘Zephyrus, Spring, Venus, Flora,’ the flowers springing up where Spring, Venus, and Zephyrus have trodden: according to the translation it is ‘Flora, Zephyrus, Spring, Venus.’ Duff, in his edition, adheres to the MSS. reading as printed above: Veneris praenuntius pennatus is Cupid, and the order of the procession is ‘Zephyrus, Flora (his wife), Cupid, Spring and Venus (or Venus and Spring).’ With this reading and interpretation, which are probably right, quibus goes in construction with praespargens: Munro, reading Zephyrus, takes quibus with uestigia propter, ‘in whose tracks’ (perhaps with praespargens as well), so that with his reading his note is right and his translation—‘along the path they tread mother Flora straws all the way before them’—is wrong, or at least not so probable, as quibus propter uestigia would be more naturally said of one following behind.

IN the heroic Latin hexameter, after the essential alternation of long and short syllables, by far the most important feature is unquestionably the caesura. Nevertheless, ancient writers on metre dismiss it with the most cursory notice; all we get from them is that the chief caesura is the penthemimeral, the trochaic and hephthemimeral coming next; the fourth trochaic and the bucolic are usually rejected, and the trihemimeral is mentioned only by Ausonius, Modern writers, among whom are Müller and Winbolt, deal with the question at greater length, but do not agree even on fundamental points, and often base their statements on an insufficient analysis of the extant remains of Latin hexameter verse. The purpose of the following paper is to attempt a more complete analysis, at least in the case of Virgil, the acknowledged master of the Latin hexameter. But before we proceed further there are two preliminaries which must be settled—what are the main types of caesura, and how many caesurae are admissible in one verse?

In the fourth book of the Aeneid Virgil presents the epic's titular hero as fated to found Rome, initially neglecting and ultimately reassuming his mission, all the while being accorded praise or blame for his progress. In this article I shall re-examine Virgil's use of the specifically Chrysippan Stoic doctrine of Fate and human responsibility in Aeneid 4, with a focus on three key points: the role of assent in creating a compatibility of Fate and human responsibility; the ‘Lazy Argument’, the position that Chrysippus combatted, that if things are fated they will happen without any effort on my part; and the Stoic conception of Fate as a chain of causes that includes human assents. I shall argue that Virgil's impeccable, almost obsessive, scholarship results in a detailed homage to Chrysippan Stoic doctrine that actually alludes to its finer points. I restrict my comments to Book Four on the grounds that the Dido-episode tests to the limit Aeneas’ resolve to ‘follow … Italy’ (361), even if non sponte, and that the juxtaposition with Dido sheds added light on the picture. I hope thereby to contribute to a topic of research that deserves renewed investigation using the discoveries in Hellenistic philosophy over the last two generations.

Juvenal's third satire is a privileged piece of verbal diarrhoea. As the longest satire in Juvenal's well-attended Book 1, as the centre of this book, and as the one Juvenalian jewel that sparkles ‘non-rhetorically’, it has always been the critics’ darling. Its protagonist, on the other hand, has not always been so popular. Recently, reader sympathy for old Umbricius (the poem's main speaker) has shifted to laughter in his face; the old sense of ‘pathetic’ has ceded to the new. One of the central strategies of the ‘Umbricius-as-caricature’ camp has been to point to the overtime worked by ‘mock-epic’ in this poem: Umbricius self-inflates to become another Aeneas, fleeing a crumbling Troy (Rome). But an oppositio is wedged in imitando. Umbricius makes his lengthy verbal preparations to depart from Rome for Cumae; Aeneas had come to Rome through Cumae. Umbricius withdraws to set up shop in the meagre countryside; Aeneas had escaped to cap his exile teleologically with the (pre-foundation of the) Greatest City That Will Ever Be. Still, Virgil's paradigm tale of displacement, drift and re-establishment underlies Umbricius' self-definition as an exile. Indeed exile, with a large and ever-increasing stock of mythical and historical examples, was a situation ripe for self-mythologizing. Umbricius stands in Aeneas' shadow then, standing it on its head. His recession also makes him into a Iustitia/Dikē figure, the final trace of the golden age, off to alloy himself elsewhere. In his mind, exile is rationalized by distinguished past examples; in ours, we laugh at how disparate example and man really are. That side of Umbricius has been done to death; or at least, for present purposes, to exile.

A recently published fragment of the fourth-century speechwriter Hyperides contains a speech for the prosecution of Timandrus, accused of mistreating four orphans in his care. This article draws out from the fragment three important contributions to our understanding of Athenian conceptions of family relationships, particularly the relationships of marginalized groups: girls and enslaved people. First, the fragment constitutes a rare portrayal of a relationship between two sisters. Second, the fragment clearly articulates the idea that affective family relationships are not a biological inevitability but arise from socialization, a departure from other fourth-century thinking. Third, the speaker applies this statement to enslaved people, claiming that the separation of children from close family members is so cruel that even slave-traders avoid it in their sale of human beings. Though this claim seems to have been untrue except in a very limited sense, its place in the argumentation of the speech assumes broad recognition of the existence and value of family relationships between enslaved people, vivid evidence of the paradox that slave societies recognized the humanity of people they simultaneously insisted were subhuman.

This article asks what the graffito incised on the Dipylon oinochoē (IG I2 919, eighth century b.c.e.) reveals about the nature of the dance competition that it commemorates. Through a systematic analysis of the evaluative and descriptive meaning of the adjective ἀταλός and its cognates in early Greek epic, it is argued that a narrower definition compared to previous suggestions can be established. The word refers to the carefreeness that is specific to a child or young animal, and its uses typically imply a positive evaluation which is connected not only to the well-being that this carefreeness entails but also to the positive emotion of tenderness and the sentiment of care that it engenders in a perceiver. It is concluded that, when used to specify the criterion by which a dance contest will be adjudicated, the term refers to an aesthetic property that is repeatedly praised in archaic Greek texts in other words: that of dancing with the adorable but short-lived carefree abandon of a child.

Modern readings of Cicero's reception of Greek culture tend to reflect the way we frame the larger question of Roman reception of Greek culture. In the nineteenth century, and indeed well into the twentieth, when Hellenism was in the ascendant and Latin awarded a decidedly second place, Cicero was often read as a slavish copyist in thrall to the Greek classics. Recent work, however, has emphasized Cicero's sense of control over and entitlement to the cultural capital of this conquered province, and his manipulation of it in ways that position Rome (and himself) as a cultural and intellectual rival to Greece.

This paper identifies a neglected manuscript, Viterbo, Centro Diocesano di Documentazione (CeDiDo), Capitolare 51 (R), as the extant archetype of the Libri Romani version of the glossary of Placidus. It first demonstrates that R is the parent of the three witnesses to the Libri Romani text used by editors, and it considers the implications of the neglected manuscript for future editions of the text. It then corroborates the importance of R by tracing its travels in humanistic and antiquarian circles in Italy in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. This history provides a framework for future research on the textual transmission of the Libri Romani text of Placidus.

In Carm. 4.1 Horace asks Venus to stop waging war against him, who is now over fifty (1–7), and suggests that she should set her aim instead on Paulus Maximus, a young and passionate nobleman who will be happy to obey Venus' orders (9–20).

This article reconsiders the historical and typological relation between Greek maturation rituals and Greek mystery religion. Particular attention is given to the word κλεινός (‘illustrious’) and its ritual uses in two roughly contemporary Late Classical sources: an Orphic-Bacchic funerary gold leaf from Hipponion in Magna Graecia and Ephorus’ account of a Cretan pederastic age-transition rite. In both contexts, κλεινός marks an elevated status conferred by initiation. (This usage finds antecedents in Alcman's Partheneia.) Without positing direct development between puberty rites and mysteries, the article argues on the basis of shared vocabulary and other ritual elements that age-transitions influenced the ideology of mystery cults. It is further claimed that puberty rites and mysteries performed similar functions in their respective social contexts, despite obvious differences of prestige and visibility. Age-transition rites have been analysed in Bourdieu's terms as ‘rites of institution’, in which young elites were publicly affirmed in civic roles: private mysteries can be described in analogous but opposed terms as rites of ‘counter-institution’, in which familiar ritual language and symbols of elite status were used to construct an alternative ‘imagined community’ of mystery initiates.

At Aristophanes, Birds 172ff., Peisetaerus persuades the Hoopoe that the birds would be better off building a city in the clouds. The Hoopoe announces that he will go off to summon the other birds to an assembly, so that the proposal may be approved. ‘How will you summon them?’, asks Peisetaerus. ‘That's easy’, replies the Hoopoe:

ΕΠΟΨ
δɛυρὶ γὰρ ἐμβὰς αὐτίκα μάλ' ɛἰς τὴν λόχμην,
ἔπɛιτ' ἀνɛγɛίρας τὴν ἐμὴν ἀηδόνα,
καλοῦμɛν αὐτούς· οἱ δὲ νῷν τοῦ ϕθέγματος
ἐάνπɛρ ἐπακούσωσι θɛύσονται δρόμῳ.     205

ΠΕΙΣΕΤΑΙΡΟΣ
ὦ ϕίλτατ' ὀρνίθων σύ, μή νυν ἕσταθι·
ἀλλ', ἀντιβολῶ σ', ἄγ' ὡς τάχιστ' ɛἰς τὴν λόχμην
ɛἴσβαινɛ κἀνέγɛιρɛ τὴν ἀηδόνα.

There is a striking resemblance between the physical theory of Plato's Timaeus and that of the Stoics; striking enough, indeed, to warrant the supposition that the latter was substantially influenced by the former. In attempting to trace the main lines of this influence, scholars have tended to focus attention almost exclusively on the Stoics' choice and characterization of the world's ultimate constituents: a rational principle (strongly reminiscent of Plato's World Soul) that pervades and controls a material principle (reminiscent of Plato's Receptacle). In this paper, I offer some suggestions about how the early Stoics may have reacted as readers to Plato's literary presentation of the dialogue's cosmogonic myth. On this basis I consider the proposal that the crucial philosophical appeal of the Timaeus for the Stoics – and perhaps the reason it attracted their interest in the first place – lay not in its claims about the Receptacle and World Soul, but rather in its portrayal of the Demiurge who designed the cosmos.

My investigation into the cognitive aspects of landscape description takes as its focus the landscapes that the poet evokes on the Shield of Achilles (Il. 18.478–608). Drawing on studies in cognitive psychology I note the extent to which an audience might derive a ‘spatial mental model’ from the topographical or ‘locative’ indicators that the Homeric poet offers. Then I consider the ‘non-locative’ information that the poet conveys about the landscapes of the Shield. In this connection I develop Barbara Tversky's notion of landscape representation as a ‘cognitive collage’. What makes the scenes on the Shield vivid, however, is human presence. Finally, therefore, I draw on enactivist theories of cognition, recently introduced into Classics, which offer a valuable supplementary approach to ‘reading’ and enjoying landscape descriptions in Homer.

This article aims to offer a fresh analysis of two passages in the extensive necromancy episode in Lucan's Bellum Ciuile: the ritual to reanimate the dead soldier's corpse (6.667–73), and the surgical procedure Erichtho then proceeds to undertake (6.750–7), resembling the practice of a vivisection. The study will focus mostly on the strong connection of magic to medical traditions in antiquity, with a commentary on, and analysis of, these verses through the lenses of medical vocabulary, themes and motifs. It ultimately concludes that Lucan was familiar with the language and characteristics of the medical tradition, enriched his report with them, and was playing with his audience's knowledge of the same.

Vergil has a strong idea of personal fate. A certain fate becomes attached to a certain person (or community) and follows him all his life; then the fates are spoken of as the fates of that person. As a parallel one might quote the idea in Maeterlinck's essay ‘La Chance’ (in the volume, he Temple enseveli, 1902, pp. 229 sqq.). For both Maeterlinck and Vergil men are marked out, one might almost call it annexed, by good or bad fortune; yet both authors refuse to endow this good or bad fortune with personality: they deal with personal fates which yet lack personality.