This article examines the first-century c.e.Laus Pisonis, an anonymous panegyric for a certain Piso that lays particular emphasis on his skill at lyre-playing, ball games and the board game, the ludus latrunculorum (155–210). Whereas this focus has often been a cause of consternation among critics, this article argues that play is a crucial element of the poem's poetic and political operations. The first section shows that the poem employs images of poetic maturity and of temporality in order to justify a light or ludic topic for an allegedly young poet. The second section identifies a hitherto unobserved telestich (M-O-R-A) in the passage describing the ludus latrunculorum and argues that this letter game defines a positive period of play within the poem. The third section further demonstrates that this letter game is aimed specifically at the patron Piso as he is represented within the poem. That is, the poet parallels Piso's potential to uncover the telestich in the text and his ability to uncover the poet's hidden talent. The concluding fourth section explores the wider impact of this reinterpretation of the Laus Pisonis for the literary history of the Early Principate. It proposes that the poem's playfulness should not be seen as reflecting the progressive disempowerment of the political elite. Rather, the poem is an early case of Roman political discourse encroaching on the value of the trivial and the boundaries of otium. The Laus Pisonis makes play political.

Heroides 9 takes the form of a letter sent by Deianira to Hercules as a reinforcement to the tunic smeared with Nessus' blood which she has already dispatched in the mistaken belief that it will revive the hero's love for her. In this epistle she tries to persuade her husband to give up his latest girlfriend (Iole) by showing him that she loves him, by arousing pity for herself, and by making him feel ashamed of his philandering and see that he thereby disgraces himself. Obviously there is pathos here, particularly as the deaths of Hercules and Deianira loom in the background, but there is also wit, irony, and (especially dark) humour, creating a piquant tonal mixture which has been almost entirely neglected by critics. They have seen the sadness, and some of the irony (which is taken to be purely tragic), but they have not grasped the facetious aspects, whereby our irreverent poet ensures that the piece does not lapse into mawkishness and engages the head as well as the heart.

The Satyrica has long been associated with a Neronian courtier named Petronius, mentioned by Tacitus in his Annals. As such, the text is usually dated to the mid first century c.e. This view is so established that certain scholars have suggested it is ‘little short of perverse not to accept the general consensus and read the Satyrica as a Neronian text of the mid-60s ad’. In recent years, however, there has been a groundswell of support for re-evaluating this long-held position. Laird, after comparing the ‘form and content’ of the text to the Greek novel, came to the ‘unattractive’ conclusion that the text may be second century. Similarly, in two recent pieces in CQ, Roth argues that the manumission scene in the Cena establishes a new terminus post quem for the text; she suggests that the freedoms granted by Trimalchio closely parallel—and parody—descriptions of awarding ciuitas found in the letters of Pliny the Younger. Indeed, the three slaves manumitted in the novel are associated with a boar (Sat. 40.3–41.4), Dionysus (Sat. 41.6–7) and a falling star (Sat. 54.1–5); likewise, the three slaves that are the subject of Pliny's letter are C. Valerius Aper (boar), C. Valerius Dionysius (god of wine) and C. Valerius Astraeus (stars). Roth's argument suggests that the author of the Satyrica was not Nero's contemporary but a member of Pliny's intellectual circle, offering strong circumstantial evidence that troubles the accepted tradition on the work's authorship and date.

As his writings tend to prioritize the incorporeal over the corporeal, Plato seems an unlikely authority on medicine. He does not appear to have engaged in any systematic investigation of the body through direct examination of animal anatomy, like his pupil Aristotle. Notwithstanding Plato's apparent lack of interest in anatomical research, modern scholars view his dialogues as valuable witnesses for earlier and contemporary theories about the body. Famously, the Phaedrus (270c–e) mentions Hippocrates’ holistic approach to studying the body. Out of all his dialogues, the Timaeus offers the most extensive comments about the nature of the body and its functions. Many of its physiological ideas, however, seem to derive from earlier medical and philosophical authorities such as Alcmaeon of Croton (fifth century), Empedocles (fifth century) and Philistion of Locri (fourth century) rather than from Plato himself.

Greek had held an important place in Roman society and culture since the Late Republican period, and educated Romans were expected to be bilingual and well versed in both Greek and Latin literature. The Roman school ‘curriculum’ was based on Hellenistic educational culture, and in the De grammaticis et rhetoribus Suetonius says that the earliest teachers in Rome, Livius and Ennius, were ‘poets and half Greeks’ (poetae et semigraeci), who taught both Latin and Greek ‘publicly and privately’ (domi forisque docuisse) and ‘merely clarified the meaning of Greek authors or gave exemplary readings from their own Latin compositions’ (nihil amplius quam Graecos interpretabantur aut si quid ipsi Latine composuissent praelegebant, Gram. et rhet. 1–2). Cicero, the Latin neoteric poets and Horace are obvious examples of bilingual educated Roman aristocrats, but also throughout the Imperial period a properly educated Roman would be learned in utraque lingua. The place of Greek in Quintilian's Institutio Oratoria reveals the importance and prevalence of Greek in Roman education and literature in the late first century a.d. Quintilian argues that children should learn both Greek and Latin but that it is best to begin with Greek. Famously, in the second century a.d. the Roman author Apuleius gave speeches in Greek to audiences in Carthage, and in his Apologia mocked his accusers for their ignorance of Greek.

This article offers a new interpretation of Apuleius’ story of Cupid and Psyche. Most scholars have previously offered a second-time reading of this story, according to which the reader reaches Book 11 and then looks back at Psyche's story of fall and redemption as a parallel for Lucius’ life. Following Graverini's and other scholars’ emotional approach to the Metamorphoses, I argue that the ecphrasis of Cupid's palace within the story of Cupid and Psyche includes multiple re-enactments of the novel's prologue. These re-enactments invite the reader to undertake a first-time and immersive reading of this story, which focusses on Psyche's experience of Cupid and her reaction to his epiphany. In its use of immersion, this article draws from recent developments in cognitive narratology and pushes scholars of Apuleius to focus on the reader's immersive and emotional response in order to reassess the value of a second-time reading of the Metamorphoses.

This article looks to Attic comedy to explain Socrates’ first argument in Plato's Hippias Major: his refutation of Hippias’ claim that the Beautiful is a beautiful girl. As part of his argument, Socrates introduces three examples of beautiful things—a mare (θήλεια ἵππος), a lyre (λύρα) and a pot (χύτρα)—all of which are used in comedy as metaphorical obscenities for sexualized women. The author contends that an erotic reading of the text accomplishes what no other interpretation can: (1) a unified account of the passage that (2) allows for Socrates’ successful refutation of (3) a proposal in keeping with Hippias’ character. In addition, it explains (4) Socrates’ choice of examples—in particular, the rarely cited χύτρα—and (5) Hippias’ otherwise inexplicable reaction to the χύτρα, as well as (6) the analogous relationship of monkeys and men to pots and girls.

The death of Turnus is one of the Aeneid's most controversial and variously interpreted episodes – anything from the triumphant vindication of Aeneas and the Roman future, to the poet's last, resounding plaint against Augustan totalitarianism, with all the more nuanced shades of opinion in between. Virgilian scholarship has recently become tired of the opposition between ‘optimist’ and ‘pessimist’ perspectives, but one piece of potentially important evidence has not found its way into the argument. As often, it is a matter of intertexts, and it begins, unsurprisingly, with the Iliad.

Vernae—often but not exclusively taken to be home-born slaves—are usually thought to have had a privileged role within the ancient Roman household. While previous studies have highlighted how these individuals were represented with affection or as surrogate members of the freeborn family, this article uses epigraphic evidence from Pompeii to argue that the reality for at least some vernae was much more grim. A full examination of Pompeian attestations of the word verna reveals that there was a connection to prostitution in over seventy per cent of extant appearances of the noun. Furthermore, contextualizing this phenomenon within the corpus of prostitution-related graffiti more broadly reveals that verna was the single most commonly used descriptor in advertisements for sexual services at Pompeii. Ultimately, the epigraphic evidence from Pompeii suggests that vernae were not safe from sexual exploitation, and it may have been their status as vernae that made them attractive to those wishing to purchase sex.

This article investigates the semantics and pragmatics of the ‘hortative’ aorist (the aorist indicative in questions with τί οὐ ‘why don't …’) and the ‘tragic’ or ‘performative’ aorist (for example ὤμοσα ‘I swear’). Lloyd argued in 1999 that the tragic aorist is a more polite alternative for the corresponding present (ὄμνυμι ‘I swear’). Recently, he has extended this view to the hortative aorist, suggesting that, for example, τί οὐκ ἐκαλέσαμεν; is a polite alternative for τί οὐ καλοῦμεν; Lloyd argues that the politeness value of the aorist derives from its being a past tense, comparing the so-called ‘attitudinal’ past (as in I wanted to ask you something instead of I want to ask you something). The present article, building on work by Colvin, Bary and Nijk, argues instead that the semantic value of the aorist is purely aspectual in these cases: the hortative and tragic aorists serve to construe the designated event as bounded, while the corresponding present forms serve to construe the designated event as unbounded. An extensive discussion of the evidence for the hortative aorist and present is presented, as well as a case study concerning the aspectual behaviour of the verb ὄμνυμι. Moreover, I argue that the proposed semantic account of the hortative and tragic aorists in terms of aspect can be unified with Lloyd's pragmatic account in terms of politeness: the difference in tone between the present and the aorist can be derived from their respective aspectual values, rather than from their temporal values.

This article argues that the discovery of Pythagorean volumes in Numa's tomb in 181 b.c. may have played a significant role in the conception of the meeting between Numa and Pythagoras in the last book of Ovid's Metamorphoses, since several features of this event integrate very well into the discourse at the heart of Book 15 on the Greek origins of Roman culture and literature, on the immortality of poetry, and on the relationship between poetry and power. The article further argues that Ennius’ Annals Book 15 may have covered the events up to 179, if that really was the year of Nobilior's dedication of the Aedes Herculis Musarum, and included the discovery of Numa's books in 181; and hence that Ovid may have used the Ennian account of this discovery as a model for the Numa–Pythagoras episode, appropriating the poetic and political meaning that it already had in Annals Book 15.

An influential position in the scholarship on Longus is that the narrator of Daphnis and Chloe is dissociated from, and ironized by, the author. Two articles by John Morgan, in particular, have propounded this interpretation. Morgan argues that Longus’ narrator relates the story with simplicity and naivety, and in ignorance of the more complex subtleties to which only Longus and the more discerning reader have access: ‘Daphnis and Chloe is told by its narrator as if it were a simpler and more conventional story than it really is, and invites its reader to read it in the same way. One way to describe this textual duplicity is to think in terms of a surface “narrator's text” and a deeper “author's text”. We can conceive the narrator, as established by the prologue, as a distorting and simplifying lens between the story and us. As readers we effectively have the choice of accepting what we see through the lens (that is the “narrator's text” as the “narrator's narratee”) or of correcting it and reading around the narrator (that is reading the “author's text” as the “author's narratee”).’ This type of separation of author and narrator is identifiable in Petronius’ Satyrica, in which the first-person narrator Encolpius who tells his story in hindsight is ridiculed and his narration destabilized by the hidden author who ‘is also listening, along with the reader, to Encolpius’ narrative—and along with the reader is smiling at it’.

The mid-fourth-century c.e. Cento Vergilianus de laudibus Christi retells the biblical story using cento technique (recombining excerpted lines and partial lines from Virgil into a new poem). Its author, the Christian poet Faltonia Betitia Proba, states that her aim in writing the Cento is to demonstrate that Virgil ‘sang the pious deeds of Christ’ (Vergilium cecinisse … pia munera Christi). Her compositional strategy reflects the exegetical method of typology, as explored in detail by Cullhed: by reusing particular Virgilian verses for biblical characters, Proba creates an implicit typological relationship whereby a Virgilian type both prefigures and is fulfilled by a biblical antitype. This paper first presents an extended model of typology, whereby the type not only prefigures the antitype but also enfigures it, providing the reader with a novel conceptual paradigm through which to understand a particular supernatural reality. The paper then turns to a case study: the baptism scene (380–414), the only passage in the Cento depicting all three members of the Trinity. For each, Proba reuses passages which in the Aeneid describe female characters, hinting at a feminine typological Trinity, one which highlights often-overlooked aspects of the three Christian antitypes. In so doing, she convincingly advances her thesis that Virgil's poetic works reflect typological correspondences to the Christian narrative in a similar way to Old Testament prophecy.

Herodotus’ Histories begin in earnest with Lydia and the infamous tale of the fall of Candaules and the rise of the Mermnad dynasty under Gyges. Yet, for all that Gyges was evidently a transformational figure in Lydian history and, through the story of his usurpation of the throne from Candaules, came to occupy a prominent place in the received memory of the Lydian world, Herodotus tells us very little about Gyges himself or his reign. Chapters 1.13–14 tell us about the role of the Delphic oracle in legitimizing the rule of Gyges in Lydia, as well as his lavish dedications at Delphi, in which he set a precedent followed by Alyattes and Croesus, the more notable among his successors. Yet, the remainder of his reign is summarized in less than one sentence: ‘He sent an army to Miletus and Smyrna as soon as he took power, and seized the citadel of Colophon, but no other great deed was done by him during his thirty-eight year reign … ’.

This paper deals with two fragments (34/35.2.25–6 and 2.33) from Diodorus’ Bibliothêkê that are unanimously considered to belong to the narrative of the First Slave Revolt in Sicily (Book 34). It is the main concern of this paper to demonstrate that they most likely did not, but instead originate from an unknown preface to Book 34. The article begins with a brief introduction into Diodorus’ prefaces and discusses the Byzantine transmission of both fragments. Against this backdrop, three main steps are consecutively applied to prove the hypothesis. First, the narrative order of both fragments within the Byzantine collections is re-examined. Furthermore, the paper establishes a thematic and argumentative relationship between the two fragments. In the last step, the structure and the style of both fragments are analysed.