In this paper I shall approach Hesiod's poetry from two, rather different, directions; consequently, the paper itself falls into two parts, the argument and conclusions of which are largely independent. In (I) I offer some observations on the vexed question of the organisation of Works and Days; that is, my concern is with the coherence of the poem's form and content. In (II) my attention shifts to the function of this poem and of its companion, Theogony; given the form and content of these two poems, what can we plausibly conjecture about the end or ends to which they were composed? In particular, I shall consider whether, and in what sense, these poems may be regarded as didactic in intent. Much of what I have to say in (I) I say with a measure of confidence; in (II), by contrast, my primary aim is to undermine unwarranted confidence — although I do, even here, reach some positive conclusions.

‘My own father’, Achilles says to Priam in the last book of the Iliad, ‘was a rich man and a powerful one. He was king of the Myrmidons, and he had a divine wife. But even so the gods gave him evils too. He had no family, only one son, and that son a παναώριος one. I do not look after him in his old age, but am far away, sitting here in Troy, inflicting misery on you and your children.’

The problem I propose to discuss is the meaning of παναώριος. The word is unique to this passage, and the standard translation ‘of all-untimely fate’ or ‘doomed to die young’ is open to many objections. I shall argue that by describing himself as ‘untimely’ what Achilles means is that he is someone who is always doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, a misfit. It may seem a petty point, hardly worth the long argument that will be needed to establish it. But it has consequences for our judgement of the Iliad as a whole. If the one interpretation is correct, then Homer is content to repeat his effects without regard to the situation of his characters, which in any other author we would call careless writing. On the other interpretation he is capable of focusing down to quite detailed nuances. The question is not therefore one of lexicology alone but also of literary criticism.

The translation ‘all-untimely doomed’ has warrant from antiquity. Leaf quotes a scholium παντελ⋯ς ἄωρον ⋯ποθανούμενον, and the word ⋯ωρία is used by a scholiast at 1.505 to refer to the fate by which Achilles was to die early.

The belief that primitive men lived like beasts and that civilisation developed out of these brutal origins is found in numerous ancient authors, both Greek and Latin. It forms part of certain theories about the beginnings of culture current in late antiquity. These are notoriously difficult to trace to their sources, but they already existed in some form in the fifth century b.c. One idea common to these theories is that of progress, and for this reason a fragment of Xenophanes is sometimes cited as their remote prototype: ‘The gods did not reveal all things to men from the beginning; instead, by seeking, men discover what is better in time’. Mainly on the strength of this fragment, Ludwig Edelstein devoted the first chapter of his book The Idea of Progress in Classical Antiquity to Xenophanes, and W. K. C. Guthrie has even declared that there is good reason to attribute to him a fuller account of progress, one that would include details found in later authors who speak of the early life of mankind. One of these details is the statement that the life of primitive men was ‘brutal’ or ‘beastlike’ (θηριώδης). In these authors the implication of that term varies from ‘unschooled in the basic crafts’ to ‘inhumanly violent and bloodthirsty’. In one sense or the other it is repeatedly encountered in ancient references to this subject. Accounts of primitive brutishness which make use of the word θηριώδης (or θηριωδ⋯ς can be found in the Suppliants of Euripides, in the Hippocratic treatise On Ancient Medicine, in three passages of Diodorus, one of which is thought by some to contain Democritean doctrine, in four passages of Isocrates, in a fragment from a satyr-play Sisyphus which the ancient sources attribute variously to Euripides and to Critias, in a fragment of Athenion, in a second-century inscription, in Plutarch, in Tatian, in Themistius, and in a scholion to Euripides.

My purpose in this paper is to reassert the traditional view that Athenian women of the classical period regularly had an association with phratries (and incidentally to clarify the nature of that association). As part (though not an essential part) of my argument I adduce an overlooked piece of evidence, a much discussed passage from the Donatus commentary on Terence; for this I provide a new interpretation.

There is some evidence that Athenian women were introduced to their fathers phrateres at birth, or to their husbands' phrateres at marriage, or both. The speaker of Isaeus 3 repeatedly asserts (73, 75, 76, 79) that a certain Pyrrhus would have presented his daughter to his phrateres if she had been legitimate (which he denies). A scholium on Aristophanes, Acharnians 146 (= Suda s.v. Apatouria) may refer to such a practice. Euxitheus calls as witnesses of his mother's citizenship phrateres for whom his father celebrated the wedding feast, the gamelia, on her behalf (Dem. 57.43, 69, Isaeus 3.79); celebration of the gamelia is regarded as proof of the legitimacy of the speaker's mother at Isaeus 8.19. Neither Demosthenes nor Isaeus says that women were formally registered among the phrateres or even present at the feast; but notices in the lexicographers do connect the gamelia with registration among or introduction to the phrateres (Harpocration s.v. gamelia, Suda s.v. gamelia, Etym. Magn. 220.50 s.v. gamelia, Pollux 8.107, Anec. Bekk. 228.5, Schol. Dem. 57.43). Many scholars have accepted these passages as evidence for normal practice at Athens in the classical period.

Herodotus holds an honoured place among the pioneers of Greek epigraphy. We seek in vain for earlier signs of any appreciation of the historical value of inscriptions, and though we may conjecture that the antiquarian interests of some of his contemporaries or near-contemporaries might well have led them in this direction, our view of the beginnings of Greek epigraphical study must be based on Herodotus, whether or not he truly deserves to be regarded as its ⋯ρχηγέτηϲ.

Apart from its significance in the history of scholarship Herodotus' use of inscriptions may be expected to throw some light on his methods and on his conception of his task. He cites epigraphic evidence throughout his work and in relation to a wide range of topics; if his use of this material suggests any general conclusions, we do not need to allow for the bias of a single source or the effect of peculiar local conditions, as we must when we consider his accounts of individual episodes or areas.

We are relatively well placed to assess his procedure. We have a reasonably clear idea of the general appearance of the various scripts concerned (both Greek and Oriental), and in this respect enjoy a considerable advantage over the majority of Herodotus' original audience. Three of the inscriptions which he cites have been wholly or partly preserved, and thus provide a simple gauge of his accuracy in reporting such evidence.

ɸιλοκαλο⋯μέν τε γ⋯ρ μετ' εὐτελείας κα⋯ ɸιλοσοɸο⋯μεν ἄνευ μαλακίαας. πλούτῳ τε ἔργου μ⋯λλον καιῷ ἢ λόγου κόμπῳ χρώμεθα, κα⋯ τ⋯ πένεσθαι οὐχ ⋯μολοσεῖν τιν⋯ αἰσχρόν, ⋯λλ⋯ μ⋯ διαɸεύγειν ἔργῳ αἴσχιον ἔνι τε τοῖς αὐτοῖς οἰκείων ἄμα κα⋯ πολιτικ⋯ν ⋯πιμέλεια, κα⋯ ⋯τέροις πρ⋯ς ἔργα τετραμμένοις τ⋯ πολιτικ⋯ μ⋯ ⋯νδε⋯ς γν⋯ναι.

J. Kakridis has seen in this famous passage a reflection of the popular debate, conducted most memorably by Amphion and Zethus in Euripides' Antiope and Callicles and Socrates in Plato's Gorgias, over the respective merits of the vita activa and vita contemplativa. Normally the intellectual is faulted as lazy and helpless, the politician as an ignorant busybody; yet Pericles, according to Kakridis, claims that Athenians avoid these faults and combine the traits of both lives at their best.

This interpretation accords well with the idealism of the funeral oration, but it falters over what Pericles places between philosophy and politics, viz.πλο⋯τος. Kakridis must struggle to account for the transition directly from philosophy to wealth, on the assumption that πλούτῳ τε…χρώμεθα serves to amplify ἄνευ μαλακίας, while ἔνιτε…⋯πιμέλεια extends the description of the non-intellectual life from the private sphere of trade to the public one of politics (pp. 50–1).

The use of αὐτ⋯ το⋯το, ‘this very thing’, is perfectly familiar in classical Greek; but there is no general awareness, as witness the silence of the reference grammars and lexica, of the parallel usage of αὐτός juxtaposed with ⋯κεῖνος, which is in fact not infrequent in the classical period, and mentioned in Apollonius Dyscolus (Synt. 2. 88). The examination of this construction which follows is intended not only to add to our knowledge of Greek syntax, and thereby to defend some passages against erroneous emendations, but also to place in a wider context one of Plato's ways of referring to the Forms.

As far as I can establish, the only scholar who has ever paid much attention to αὐτ⋯ς ⋯κεῖνος is J. Vahlen in 1906, and that in an obscure place, to explain an obscure passage; moreover, he simply accumulated parallels from authors of the Imperial period, without discussing how the construction is employed. It will emerge that the usage is no less frequent earlier, when it is used in a greater variety of ways, especially by Plato.

This paper presents evidence, in the form of two passages from the Electra, that the editor of Euripides will do well not to resign himself too easily to pointless illogicality or violations of the formal regularities of tragedy or to comfort himself with the idea that illogic and meandering are ‘human’ touches, while formal incongruities are Euripides' incipient verismo.

The phrase ληκύθιον ⋯πώλεсεν, which Aeschylus in the contest of Aristophanes' Frogs mockingly introduces into six of the prologues of his rival Euripides (twice into one of them), has recently attracted a great deal of attention. With a couple of exceptions those scholars who have discussed it during the last fifteen years agree that it contains a sexual innuendo. Where they differ is on the exact nature of its meaning. What vase shape does ληκύθιον or λήκυθοс denote and hence what part of the male genitalia is envisaged? Or is it mistaken to press for anatomical detail? May not the phrase simply suggest ‘become detumescent’? These are the questions that have been posed regarding Ar. Ran. 1200–47. In what follows I shall try to show that the context, far from demanding that we give an underlying sexual meaning as well as its surface meaning to the phrase, could almost be said positively to exclude such a meaning. In an attempt to be as brief as possible I shall not deal with all of the suggestions made by the scholars mentioned in my second footnote and rarely indicate points of agreement, disagreement or indebtedness. When I confront the arguments of these scholars they are mostly those of two of the most recent contributors to the debate, Snell and Anderson.

At first sight there is some plausibility in the suggestion that lekythion might denote a penis or a pair of testicles or both things. Several vase shapes have a suggestive appearance. If the object denoted is actually the vase we are accustomed to call the aryballos, the reference would be to an object whose name possibly derived (in part) from a word which had a genital reference. It has also been suggested that this object was once manufactured from animals' testicles.

Greek tragedy is full of rituals perverted by intra-familial conflict. To mention some examples from the house of Atreus: the funeral bath and the funeral covering, normally administered to a man's corpse by his wife as an expression of ɸιλία, have in Aeschylus' Oresteia become instruments in the killing of Agamemnon; the pouring of libations at the tomb, normally a θελκτήριον for the dead, becomes in the Choephoroi an occasion for his arousal; Euripides has Klytaimnestra ‘sacrificed’ while performing the sacrifice for her (fictitious) newly born grandchild. On the important question of why it is that tragedians pervert ritual I hope to shed some light in future publications. The purpose of this paper is to examine the radical form taken by the perversion of mourning in Sophokles' Elektra.

In the first decade of this century the comparative anthropologists Hertz and van Gennep discovered as a widespread feature of the period of mourning its character as participation in the transitional state of the recently dead, to be ended by the incorporation of the dead person into his or her proper destination and the reincorporation of the mourners into the flow of everyday social life. The mourning relatives in a sense share the condition of the dead.

The little we know with certainty about Eupolis' Marikas can be summarised in a few lines. (1) The play was produced at the Lenaea of 421 b.c. (2) The demagogue Hyperbolus was satirised under the name of Marikas, and was represented as a man of little or no culture (Quint. 1.10.18 = Eup. fr. 193 K. Maricas, qui est Hyperbolus, nihil se ex musice scire nisi litteras confitetur). (3) Marikas/Hyperbolus was a slave. This has been denied in the past, but is now made clear by the commentary on the Marikas in P. Oxy. 2741 (no. 95, 145 f. Austin) πρ⋯ς[⋯ν] δεσπότην ⋯ Ὑπέρβολος. (4) Aristophanes complained in the Clouds we possess (i.e. in the revised edition of this play) that Eupolis had availed himself of the Knights for his Marikas (Nub. 553 ff.), and it is in fact possible that the idea of Marikas as a slave was borrowed from the Knights, because some of his traits seem to correspond to those of the Aristophanic Sausage-seller. (5) The play apparently had two semi-choruses, one of rich and one of poor people.

The point of the name Marikas has long been debated. Ancient sources are at least agreed that it is ‘barbarian’. Herodianus 1.50,12 Lentz does not go beyond stating that Marikas is an ⋯νομα βάρβαρον παρ⋯ τῷ κωμικῷ (he refers to Ar. Nub. 553). Hesych. μ 283 Latte has more to offer: Μαρικ⋯ν· κίναιδον. οἱ δ⋯ ὑποκόρισμα παιδίου ἄρρενος βαρβαρικόν (so Meineke for βαρβαρικα⋯, rightly).

On the analogy of the colloquial register in some modern languages, where narrative and argument may be punctuated by oaths and exclamations (sometimes obscene or blasphemous) in order to maintain a high affective level and compel the hearer's attention, it is reasonable to postulate that Attic conversation also was punctuated by oaths, that this ingredient in comic language was drawn from life, and that the comparative frequency of ║ (|) M M (M) Δ in comedy is sufficiently explained thereby. There are obvious affinities between some passages of comedy, relaxed conversation in Plato and Xenophon, and the forceful, man-to-man tone which Demosthenes sometimes adopts to such good effect (e.g. xxi 209). Compare, for instance, Ar. V. 133 f. ἔστιν δ' ⋯νομα ⋮ τῷ μ⋯ν γέροντι ⋮ Φιλοκλέων / να⋯ μ⋯ Δία, τῷ δ' υἱεῖ κτλ., where the oath is a response to imagined incredulity, and X. Smp. 4.27 αὐτ⋯ν δ⋯ σέ, ἔɸη, ⋯γὼ εἶδον να⋯ μ⋯ τ⋯ν Ἀπόλλω, ὅτε κτλ. (‘Oh, yes, I did!’).

It is also important that the commonest oaths fit, in most of their forms, the end of an iambic trimeter: (να⋯) μ⋯ τ⋯ν Δία, ν⋯ (τ⋯ν) Δία,ν⋯ τούς θεούς, μ⋯ τοὺς θεούς. Add that in Aristophanic dialogue (by contrast with Menander) over half the iambic trimeters end with major pause, and half the remainder with minor pause, and we can see why Δ / established itself early as a distinctive comic pattern. Out of 105 examples of M M (M) Δ cited from comedy in Section II above, 59 have the oath at verse-end.

In the case of πάνυ, which was almost exclusively Attic and — to judge from its great rarity in tragedy — felt by Athenian poets to be prosaic, we lack evidence on its functions in the colloquial register; it may or may not have served as affective punctuation. In prose, we have to reckon with the fact that π Mπ and Mπ π constituted a genuine stylistic choice (cf. n. 32) as far back as the evidence will take us, since the two earliest instances in prose are [X.] Ath. 2.3 πάνυ δι⋯ χρείαν and ibid. 3.5 πολλ⋯ ἔτι πάνυ. The oath, as treated by the comic poets on the basis of colloquial usage, is bound to have served as a model for πάνυ, exerting an influence which pulled πάνυ to the end of the verse, but there was also a powerful metrical constraint. As a dibrach ending in a vowel which could not be elided or enter into crasis, πάνυ was especially appropriate for verse-end. That in itself was enough both to establish Mπ π as the dominant pattern in comedy and to promote Mπ … π. Out of the total of 104 examples of Mπ (…) π in comedy, 93 have πάνυ at verse-end, which makes Mπ (…) π / one of the hallmarks of comic style. Mπ … π does not occur in prose in association with any other feature identified as colloquial, but it should be noted that Aiskhines and Demosthenes are much fonder of Mπ π than other prose authors. In some cases one can see that the order Mπ π avoids a succession of short syllables (e.g. D. xviii 130, liv 1) or hiatus (e.g. D. xxx 36) or both (e.g. D. xliii 10), but there are other cases in which it has the opposite effect (e.g. D. xxiv 140, xliii 53). The possibility of comic influence on oratorical language cannot be dismissed out of hand. It is also possible that someone will find positive determinants which will explain all the cases of Mπ π in prose.

σɸόδρα, which, like πάνυ, is peculiarly Attic, is metrically more tractable than πάνυ, since it can be elided; even so, out of the 80 comic examples of Mσ (…) σ no less than 58 have σɸόδρα at verse-end, and of those 58 there are 22 at major pause, 8 at presumed major pause and 9 at minor pause. The comic treatment of σɸόδρα is thus comparable with the treatment of πάνυ, and Timokles (CGFP) 222(b).4 τηρεῖν…σɸόδρα is in fact the closest analogy we have to Ar. Pl. 234 f. ἄχθομαι…πάνυ.

δέ and γάρ are a different matter, and in some significant respects different from each other. Postponement of δέ is especially prominent in Aeschylus (45 examples, including a few in which the text is suspect) and then abundant in fourth-century comedy. It is much less common in Euripides (18 examples), rare in Sophocles (6) and Aristophanes (6), and virtually limited in prose to the categories which I labelled (l)–(3). There is as yet no evidence to associate postponement of δέ with colloquial language; on the contrary, it seems to have begun as a feature of poetic language and to have been taken up and exploited by fourth-century comedy. If, in addition to being Aeschylean, it was colloquial in the fourth century, what happened to it afterwards? Except for such an isolated and inexplicable case as Diod. xx85.1 (v.l.!) — in a military narrative — it is not a feature of the Koine at literary, documentary or subliterate level.

Postponement of γάρ was no doubt encouraged by postponement of δέ, but it is not itself notably poetic (20 examples in tragedy, of which only three come in my class (5)). One can see how it could possibly have developed in the spoken language of the fourth century, extending the function of γάρ as an explanatory particle (rather on the lines of γε) in a way which makes it comparable with the English ‘you see’ in (e.g.) ‘He didn't dare pick it up. He hurt his back last year, you see’. For an extension of this kind we may compare the current extension of the English genitive affix in (I heard both examples a year or two ago) ‘Then the girl whose place she was taking's mother turned up’ and ‘The man that Christopher liked's Introduction is much better’. Moreover, postponed γάρ appears in a segment of conversation constructed in indirect speech by Theophrastus in Char. 8.9 τ⋯ πρ⋯γμα βο⋯σθαι γάρ (p C N γάρ). Again we must ask: what happened to it afterwards? A couple of cases in Theophrastus' botanical works (CP iii 11.3 and HP iv 6.1) could be a reflex of the influence of comedy on literary language at Athens. The influence was plainly short-lived, since it did not affect the Koine.

It is not hard to see why serious poetry in the fifth century and earlier should have experimented occasionally with the postponement of δέ and γάρ: treatment of M M q as a valid alternative to M q M is metrically very convenient. No poet, however, could afford to use common words in a bizarre, un-Greek way merely to save himself time and trouble in constructing a verse. Linguistic innovation is normally analogical, proceeding by extension from a starting-point already there, and the most obvious starting-point for postponement of δέ and γάρ is constituted by my class (3). This consideration provides comic postponement with a pedigree, but does not deny it individuality. The remarkable scale and frequency with which comedy exploited a phenomenon which tragedy used with restraint and prose hardly at all gives comic postponement the right to be regarded as a quite distinctive artificial feature of comedy.

Of all the leading personalities who left their imprint on the history of the Peloponnesian war Tissaphernes was to Thucydides the most enigmatic. Although judgements on the ability and character of individuals occur more frequently in the eighth book of the History than in other parts, Thucydides apparently did not feel himself to be in a position to include an explicit judgement on Tissaphernes. Nor does Tissaphernes, unlike many major and minor characters, receive even a brief descriptive introduction, though such introductions are also exceptionally plentiful in the eighth book. Thucydides has been successful in collecting an abundance of detailed information about the part played by Tissaphernes in the opening phase of the Ionian war and yet has failed to produce a satisfactory picture of him. In this paper attention will first be drawn to special problems arising in the case of Tissaphernes which do not arise in the presentation of other leading characters. My main purpose, however, is to attempt to establish that the account of him by Thucydides is basically inconsistent and that this inconsistency occurs because the material in the eighth book has not been fully integrated.

One source of difficulty for Thucydides in writing about Tissaphernes was that he seems to have had little opportunity to acquire knowledge of Persia and the Persians. There is no indication that he spent any part of his exile in or near Asia, and the notorious sparsity of his references to Greek relations with the Persians before the outbreak of the Ionian war suggests that his contacts with them were scanty. In this respect he was not exceptional. Before the end of the fifth century even the best educated Athenians seem to have possessed only a dim or distorted impression of Persia, as is illustrated in different ways by the Persae and the Acharnians.

In a long note in his epoch-making book on ancient Pythagoreanism Walter Burkert raised some grave doubts about the authenticity of Archytas Fr. 1 which have recently been challenged in an article by A. C. Bowen. In this paper I have two goals. First, I will evaluate Burkert's doubts and the success of some of Bowen's arguments against them. Second, I will present a further consideration that both clarifies the text of the fragment and also removes the most serious problem raised by Burkert. The upshot of both these points is to increase the likelihood that the fragment is authentic.

I reproduce the text of just the first part of the fragment as given in DK followed by the text as it appears in the two primary sources, Nicomachus and Porphyry.

There have been two recent attempts to disentangle the evidence for the procedures in fourth-century Athens for the enactment and revision of nomoi, by D. M. MacDowell and by M. H. Hansen. I have learned from both, but think that further progress can be made.

MacDowell distinguishes five separate measures:

(b) The Old Legislation Law, requiring action at a specified time, advance publicity for the new proposal, concurrent repeal of any existing law with which the new proposal conflicts, and a decision by nomothetae who are omomokotes, men who have sworn the dicastic oath <for the current year and are on the register of potential jurors>: this is described as a παλαι⋯ς νόμος, and as the law καθ' ὃν ἦσαν οἱ πρότεροι νομοθέαι.

(c) Replacing that c. 370, the New Legislation Law, no longer requiring action at a specified time, advance publicity, concurrent repeal, or that the nomothetae should be omomokotes: as a result of the change conflicting laws have been enacted, and for some time continuing to the mid 350s commissioners have had to be elected to sort out the conflicts.

(d) Still valid in the 350s, the Review Law, requiring an annual epicheirotonia of the laws in four subject divisions in the assembly on 11 Hecatombaeon (i), advance publicity for new proposals, and at the third assembly after 11 Hecatombaeon the appointment of nomothetae who are omomokotes to decide between the existing laws and the new proposals.

Aristotle's Rhetoric defines fear as a kind of pain (lypē) or disturbance (tarachē) and pity as a kind of pain (2.5.1382 a 21 and 2.8.1385 b 13). In his Poetics, however, pity and fear are associated with pleasure: ‘ The poet must provide the pleasure that comes from pity and fear by means of imitation’ (τ⋯ν ⋯π⋯ ⋯λέου κα⋯ ɸόβου δι⋯ μιμήσεως δεῖ ⋯δον⋯ν παρασκευάζειν 14.1453 b 12–13). The question of the relationship between pleasure and pain in Aristotle's aesthetics has been studied primarily in connection with catharsis. Catharsis, however, raises more problems than it solves. Aristotle says nothing at all about the tragic catharsis in the Poetics except to state that tragedy accomplishes it. Though he gives a more complete account of catharsis in the Politics, the context of this passage is so different from that of the Poetics that its relevance is questionable. A more promising, but largely neglected, approach to Aristotle's theory of tragic pleasure and pain is through a study of his psychological works. Here, Aristotle describes a number of emotional and cognitive responses to kinds of objects that include works of art. These descriptions support an interpretation of the Poetics according to which (1) a tragedy is pleasurable in one respect and painful in another, and (2) pity and fear, though painful and not in themselves productive of pleasure, are nevertheless essential to the production of the oikeia hēdonē, ‘proper pleasure’, of tragedy. This interpretation has the advantage of not depending on a particular view of catharsis. It also makes much better sense than alternative views, once its seemingly paradoxical aspects are explained with the help of the psychological works.

To justify certain steps of the computation developed in his Sand-Reckoner, Archimedes cites (without proof) the following inequalities relative to the sides of right triangles:

if of two right-angled triangles, (one each of) the sides about the right angle are equal (to each other), while the other sides are unequal, the greater angle of those toward [sc. next to] the unequal sides has to the lesser (angle) a greater ratio than the greater line of those subtending the right angle to the lesser, but a lesser (ratio) than the greater line of those about the right angle to the lesser.

That is, with reference to the two right triangles ABG, DEZ (Fig. 1), where AG equals DZ and the angle at B is greater than that at E, ZE:GB < angle B:angle E < DE:AB.

Since we cannot hope to witness a catasterism for ourselves, we are fortunate to have a detailed first-hand account of the inauguration of Coma Berenices, the last constellation to be added to the ancient list until the seventeenth century. However, the description of the critical stages in the process presents various difficulties resulting not so much from obfuscation on Callimachus' part (natural though this might be in an account of a miracle) as from the circumstances of the poem's transmission and the problems to be expected in interpreting occasional verses more than two millennia after the event to which they refer. In this note I shall attempt to clarify some of the obscurities surrounding the Lock's translation.

In his discussion of Roman military institutions Polybius described how the desire for fame might inspire Roman soldiers to heroic feats of bravery, including single combat: (6.54.3–4) τ⋯ δ⋯ μέγιστον, οἱ νέοι παρορμ⋯νται πρ⋯ς τ⋯ π⋯ν ὑπομένειν ὑπ⋯ρ τ⋯ν κοιν⋯ν πραγμάτων χάριν το⋯ τυχεῖν τ⋯ς συνακολουθούσης τοῖς ⋯γαθοῖς τ⋯ν ⋯νδρ⋯ν εὐκλείας. πίστιν δ' ἔχει τ⋯ λεγόμενον ⋯κ τούτων. πολλο⋯ μ⋯ν γ⋯ρ ⋯μονο-μάχησαν ⋯κουσίως Ῥωμαίων ὑπ⋯ρ τ⋯ς τ⋯ν ὅλων κρίσεως κτλ. Modern scholars, however, have taken little notice of this remark and some have tried to belittle the importance of single combat at Rome. Thus G. Dumézil alleged that the Romans fought few single combats and that this was significant for their outlook upon war, while R. Bloch described the duels in the seventh book of Livy as ‘un mode de combat absolument étranger à la tradition romaine, mail auquel les Romains ont été contraints par les habitudes et par les défis des Celtes’. W. V. Harris is the only scholar to have understood the importance of monomachy in the Roman Republic, but even he has not assembled all the evidence necessary for an accurate assessment of the phenomenon. This essay is intended to provide a full treatment and thus to make some contribution in a limited but interesting area to our understanding of Roman attitudes to warfare. I have included a list and discussion of all instances of single combat from the Roman Republic which I have discovered and have argued that the custom continued from prehistoric times at least to 45 b.c.

Few years pass without an attempt to interpret Theocritus, Idyll 7. The poem's narrative and descriptive skill, dramatic subtlety and felicity of language are mercifully more than adequate to survive these scholarly onslaughts, so I have less hesitation in offering my own interpretation.

The poem's chief problems seem to me to arise from uncertainty as to:

(a) Who is the narrator, and why are we kept waiting until line 21 before we are told that he is called Simichidas?

(b) Who, or what sort of man, is the goatherd Lycidas, whom he encounters on his way from town to the harvest festival?

Answers to these questions fundamentally affect our interpretation of their exchange of songs, which occupies almost half the idyll, and of Lycidas' gift of his stick to Simichidas; and these interpretations will go far towards interpreting the poem as a whole.