The old Analytical view that the union between the Journey of Telemachus and the rest of the Odyssey is post-Homeric, superficial, and incompetently effected is nowadays widely rejected, and rightly so. However, although many defences cumulatively, I believe, successful–of the content of the second divine assembly have been put forward in recent years, no adequate answer has yet been given to the objections raised against the allegedly anomalous language of Athene's speech of 5.7–20:

The kleptocratic supremacy of the praetorian prefect C. Fulvius Plautianus (PIR2 F 554) was felt throughout the city of Rome, the Empire and (according to one author) even beyond the imperial frontiers. Indeed, for the senatorial historian Dio Cassius, there was no more picturesque demonstration of Plautianus' acquisitiveness than his seizure of strange striped horse-like creatures from ‘islands in the Erythraean Sea’. The passage, as preserved in the text of Xiphilinus' Epitome, reads as follows (Dio Cass. 76[75].14.3):

Plutarch's Moralia mentions that Theophrastus twice delivered his native city from tyrants (1097B, 1126F), a detail that has been difficult to make coherent with our existing understanding of Theophrastus’ life. Theophrastus seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time for this to have been possible, or to have been too undemocratic and scholastic a philosopher to have wanted to participate in these struggles in the first place. By more closely examining the nature of Plutarch's comment and the evidence for Theophrastus’ political orientation and character, this article argues that there are, however, grounds on which to take Plutarch's report seriously. It presents a case for Theophrastus’ participation in two liberation struggles in 334 and 332, without complicating the trajectory of his accompanying Aristotle to both Macedonia and Athens during this period.

According to Diogenes Laertius (7.49–51), the concept of ‘appearance’ (φαντασία) played a central role in Stoic philosophy. As staunch corporealists, the Stoics believed that appearances are physical structures in our corporeal soul which provide the foundation for all our thoughts (Sext. Emp. Math. 7.228–41). One of the crucial features of appearance is that it is a representational mental state that has the ability to provide us with accurate awareness of the world through causal interaction between our senses and external objects, and thus supply the means for acquiring knowledge about the reality. However, the Stoics recognized that we can also be aware and think of objects that are real but are not presently affecting our senses, as well as objects that are altogether fictional and thus incapable of ever interacting with our senses. Because of this, it was important for them to distinguish between representational mental states which are and those which are not caused by external objects at the moment in which they are formed. Chrysippus was one of the Stoics who paid special attention to this distinction; in a key text, Aet. 4.12, he is reported as reserving the name ‘appearance’ (φαντασία) only for the former states, while for the latter he used a different term, ‘imagination’ (φανταστικόν).

How to inculcate virtue in the citizens of Magnesia by means of the dance component of choreia constitutes one of the principal concerns in the Laws (= Leg.), revealing Plato's evolving ideas about the expediency of music and paideia for the construction of his ideal city since the Republic. Indeed, a steady stream of monographs and articles on the Laws has enriched our understanding of how Plato theorizes the body as a site of intervention and choral dance as instrumental in solidifying social relations and in conditioning the ethical and political self. As one scholar has aptly put it: ‘a city and its sociopolitical character [are] effectively danced into existence.’ Drawing on this recent work, I focus on an enigmatic passage in Laws Book 7 that merits more attention than it has received, in which Plato curiously singles out Bacchic dances from those that are ‘without controversy’ (815b7–d4):

The Watchman's bed is not ‘supervised’ (13 ἐπισκοπουμένην) by dreams; instead, fear ‘stands in attendance’ (14 παραστατεῖ). The images are medical. He is ill; dream-filled sleep would be a good doctor, but the bad doctor fear is already on the job, preventing him from sleeping well.

Discussing different types of metaphor, Isidore of Seville quotes an anonymous fragment that uses agricultural vocabulary to describe the sailing of a ship in order to illustrate metaphorae ab inanimali ad inanimale ‘metaphors taken from inanimate objects and applied to inanimate objects’ (Etym. 1.37.3 = inc. fr. 63 Blänsdorf):1

Reports of lunar and solar eclipses are of interest to students of both history and the history of science. Used with care, they can anchor significant historical events in time. Greek literature, like that of other civilizations, has its fair share of such reports. Often they motivate the actions of characters or expose aspects of belief. Sometimes they shed light on the assumptions of the writer. There are three places in the Histories of Herodotus where the author mentions darkenings of the sky (generally taken to be solar eclipses), which have narrative significance and which assist in dating the wars between the Lydians and the Medes (1.74) and between the Greeks and the Persians (7.37 and 9.10).

In the Neoplatonic schools, introductions to logic, and the Categories in particular, would begin with a list of ten different questions relating to Aristotle's philosophy and his ideal interpreter and student. Olympiodorus' own introduction to logic (the Prolegomena) follows this pattern; he expands on the remarks of his own teacher Ammonius of Alexandria, and closely models his discussion on his predecessor's work. In the standard list of ten questions that must be discussed in an introductory philosophy course, the third relates to the subject with which the student is to start his or her philosophical education. Which of logic, ethics, natural science and mathematics is the proper starting-point for philosophy?

Herodotus’ fateful tale of the seven Persian emissaries sent to seek Earth and Water from the Macedonian king Amyntes has been the subject of increasingly rich discussion in recent years. Generations of commentators have cumulatively revealed the ironies of Herodotus’ account: its repeated hints, for example, of the Persians’ eventual end; and, crowning all other ironies, the story's ending: that, after resisting the indignity of his female relatives being molested at a banquet, and disposing of all trace of the Persian ambassadors and their party, Alexander of Macedon then arranges his sister's marriage to the leader of the search party sent to investigate his disappeared compatriots (Hdt. 5.21.2). More recent readings have gone further in uncovering the mythological archetypes for the logos, or in tracing its exploration of a number of themes: revenge, guest-friendship, the equation of sexual and military conquest, or the ‘explosion of violence resulting from the contact of two different cultures’. Most fruitful perhaps have been those readings that have seen the logos no longer as a detached ‘short story’ but in its wider context in the Histories: David Fearn, for example, has stressed the need to understand the presentation of Alexander I in the light of what the reader knows of his subsequent history.

In his panegyric of Avitus, his father-in-law, the poet Sidonius gives a vivid and often detailed picture of the career of the future emperor from his boyhood until he gained the supreme power in the West in the year 455, which he owed to his ability and accomplishments in warfare, diplomacy and administration. He also enjoyed strong support from both Goths and Gauls, and his repeated success in managing the volatility and the aspirations of the Goths is a major theme. This short note seeks to contribute to the understanding of his emergence as Augustus by proposing a new interpretation of a pivotal passage (lines 519–24), quoted below. The context can be briefly given. Sidonius has painted a graphic picture of the reaction among the Goths to the news of the Vandal capture of Rome in the year 455 (lines 441–57). In the ensuing assembly of Gothic elders Avitus (who happens to be with them at Toulouse at this moment) gives a speech that vigorously praises peace (lines 458–86), and this is favourably received. There follows a speech from the Gothic king, Theoderic II, in which he puts his own strong case for an agreement between Goths and Gauls, and seeks to persuade Avitus to fill the vacuum in Rome and Italy caused by the recent death of the emperor Petronius Maximus and take the name of Augustus (lines 489–518).

In an article published thirteen years ago, I tried to break new ground by showing that the texts transmitted under the title Catalepton as the work of Virgil can be seen to form an elaborately arranged and highly allusive book of verse written by a single author. This latter, I argued, was identical with the anonymous poet who, in an epilogue, represents the preceding poems as the juvenilia of the author later known for his Bucolics, Georgics and Aeneid and, consequently, is himself speaking in the alleged early works as Virgil impersonator. This anonymous poet, however, cannot rightly be labelled a literary forger, since he repeatedly and quite unmistakably recalls each of Virgil's three opera as well as other texts written after the year 19 b.c. Evidently, then, he is inviting his readers to take part in a literary lusus, one in which they are expected to be familiar not only with the texts of Bucolics, Georgics and Aeneid but also with the life of the man who wrote them. The fiction of a young Virgil is created, one who wrote his first poems—the verses referred to in the epilogue as elementa and rudis Calliope (Catal. 18[15])—primarily under the influence of Catullus, the said poems being, with the exception of Catal. 12(9) and 16(13), epigrams. My interpretation has borne fruit, with Irene Peirano and Markus Stachon each devoting, in 2012 and 2014 respectively, a monograph to this approach and offering what are often very thorough analytical readings of the poems as the creations of a Virgil impersonator. However, neither of these two Latinists has considered one particular interpretative aspect, which I myself had only been able to introduce very briefly into my paper: the recognition that, as many more recent studies have now further corroborated, Roman poetry books were designed for linear, sequential reading, that they have, as it were, a story to tell. Peirano, moreover, disregards in her study the three Priapea positioned in editions before the other fifteen epigrams and shown there with their own separate numbering. In the manuscripts, however, the title Catalepton refers without exception to a unit comprising the three Priapea and the fifteen epigrams. The title Priapea, found in the catalogue of the Murbach manuscripts and in some codices (for example the Graz fragment), is always attached solely to the poem Quid hoc noui est? In the Vita Suetoniana-Donatiana (VSD), the terms Catalepton, Priapea and Epigrammata were evidently used as three different titles; the author (or his source) may not have seen that Catalepton is the title of all the poems. Furthermore, I should like to point out that, counted together, ‘Virgil's’ Priapea and epigrams come to a total of seventeen poems and so match precisely both the total of seventeen books in the real Virgil's three works and the total number of Horace's epodes, of the poems, that is, which the not-so-real Virgil quite conspicuously evokes in his own penultimate poem (Catal. 16[13]). More significantly, however, a sequential reading of the Priapea et Epigrammata can in fact build a watertight case for taking the texts to be, as it were, a composite whole, and that is what I intend to argue in the rest of the article.

In the following, I will propose and/or defend new or previous emendations for a set of passages in Catullus, most of which are deemed corrupt or even beyond repair by many, if not all, philologists. For the sake of simplicity, I will first quote Mynors's OCT text, except for possible changes in punctuation that will be justified, either implicitly or in their own terms, in the ensuing discussion. Those sections I consider incorrect I will put between obeli (which, on several occasions, are also Mynors's ones). In addition, I will reproduce the relevant manuscript readings recorded in Mynors's apparatus, checked against Thomson's more complete collations. In each case, I will begin with summarizing the state of the question; nevertheless, owing to the vast amount of corrections or conjectures to be examined for many passages, I will concentrate on the most significant proposals. Next, I will try to show that the correction suggested conforms to the constraints of metre and language, and (in some cases at least) sheds some light on the symbolic or intertextual dimension of the poem at hand. Finally, I will provide an account of the corruption process that presumably operated, with the aim of establishing the palaeographical verisimilitude of my proposal.