It is commonly supposed that in the eighth century B.c. there was a ‘population explosion’ in Greece which moved the Greeks to send out colonies. A. J. Graham in the Cambridge Ancient History iii, 3 (1982) is typical: ‘The basic active cause of the colonizing movement was overpopulation’; ‘at the very time when the Archaic colonising movement began, in the second half of the eighth century, there was a marked increase in population in Greece’ (p. 157). The presumed connection between overpopulation and colonisation is not immediately obvious. The evidence for the population explosion is found in the increased number of burials in Attica and the Argolid, but Athens sent out no colony before the very end of the seventh century and Argos probably none at all, certainly none in this period. So special explanations have to be formulated for Athens' and Argos' lack of colonies while their postulated ‘population explosion’ is presumed for Greece as a whole and called in to explain the burst of colonising in the eighth century. The hypothesis is not used for seventh-century colonisation when the number of burials declines.

One of the ironies of literary history is that the survival of Aristophanic comedy and indeed of all Greek drama is due to the more or less faithful transmission of a written text. Reading a play and watching one, after all, are very different sorts of activities. Unlike a book, in which the reader can leaf backward for reminders of what has already happened or forward for information about what is to come, a play onstage can be experienced in one direction only, from ‘beginning’ to ‘end’. Nor can a play be put down and picked up again at one's leisure or interrupted while the audience puzzles over a difficult or intriguing passage. Live theatre is an ephemeral and essentially independent thing, which must be experienced in its own time and on its own terms or not at all, and as a result we modern readers, dependent on the written page, are at a marked disadvantage in understanding ancient drama. Taplin's study of staging in Aeschylus has shed considerable light on the dramatic technique of Athenian tragedy. Stage-practice in Aristophanic comedy, and in particular the ways in which names and naming are used there, has received much less attention.

A hexametrical couplet from Aristophanes' lost Amphiaraus has in the past been interpreted as a fragment of an oracular response

In De myst. 1.11–18 (see also 1.25), Andokides reports a series of four judicial denunciations (μην⋯σεις), made before the Athenians on four separate occasions in 415 B.c., concerning profanations of the Eleusinian Mysteries. After statements from the slave Andromachos and the metic Teukros, ‘a third denunciation followed. The wife of Alkmaionides, who had also been the wife of Damon, a woman named Agariste, made a denunciation that in the house of Charmides beside the Olympieion, Alkibiades, Axiochos and Adeimantos celebrated mysteries. And at this denunciation all these men fled’ (1.16). A fourth denunciation was made by the slave Lydos.

Several features of this compact passage have puzzled scholars ever since the discovery of the Aristotelian Constitution of the Athenians a century ago. First, did the Athenian Assembly really deliberate on all these disparate matters in the chief meeting of the sixth prytany, and if so, why? Second, why did it limit complaints (probolai) against sycophants to a total of six divided equally between citizens and metics? Since the answers we give to these questions are fundamental to our understanding of basic Athenian institutions, they deserve careful consideration. This paper will argue that the Assembly did deliberate on these matters at the same meeting and indeed that this was natural, since they are all symbolic, as well as practical, instruments for controlling behaviour inimical to the demos' interests. It will also suggest that the limitation on probolai against citizen and metic sycophants was introduced to safeguard against the sort of abuse of the label ‘sycophant’ that took place under the regime of the Thirty, and that the measures described in Ath. Pol. 43.5 were, therefore, most likely linked together in the early years of the restored democracy.

In Bk. 3 of the Institutio oratoria, Quintilian gives a list of the Greek artium scriptores of the classical epoch (1.8ff.). It contains a controversial entry: ‘…et, quem Palameden Plato appellat, Alcidamas Elaites’ (1.10). The historicity of the rhetorician and sophist from Elaea named Alcidamas, Gorgias' pupil, is of course beyond doubt; scholars disagree only as to the ‘quem Palameden Plato appellat’.

Recent excavations in Macedonia have provided an analogy to the pillaging of the Palace at Persepolis. In plundered tombs at Aiani the excavators found a number of small gold discs with impressed rosettes and of gilded silver ivy leaves; at Katerini some thirty-five gold discs with impressed rosettes, a gold double pin, a gold ring from a sword-hilt, a bit of a gilded pectoral, gilded silver fittings once attached to a leather cuirass, many buttons and other fragments; and at Palatitsia (near Vergina) bits of a gilded bronze wreath and of a gold necklace, and an ivory fitting. It was suggested that some of these objects had been dropped when ornamental facings were being torn away from a wooden funerary couch and from clothing by the robbers, who were probably working at speed and dared not return. In the antechamber of the tomb at Katerini many of the objects I have mentioned were found inside a burnt layer, and M. Andronikos has provided the explanation that they had been burnt on the pyre outside the tomb and then brought inside with the debris of the pyre itself. Nothing else was associated with burnt material.

Some recent work on the history of Athens and Tenos in the third century B.c. has brought to light new evidence and new interpretations of old evidence for this notoriously shadowy period of Greek history. Reflection on this material has suggested to me solutions to a few minor puzzles (Sections IA, IB, III), a contribution to a long-standing problem in the history of Athens in the early third century (Section IB), and a new explanation for the entry of Rhodos into the war with Antiokhos (Section II).

The hymns of Callimachus are generally divided into two groups: the ‘mimetic’ hymns (2, 5 and 6), which seem to be enactments of ritual scenes, and the ‘nonmimetic’ hymns (1,3 and 4), which seem to follow the pattern of the Homeric hymns. Occasionally this distinction has been challenged, for instance by pointing to an' element of mimesis in H. 1, but on the whole the division into two groups has been 1 adhered to rather rigidly. A drawback of this distinction is that it seems to prevent further insight into an important aspect of Callimachus' poetic technique. I think that there is in fact a subtle play with various aspects of diegesis and mimesis which pervades the whole collection of hymns and gives it a certain unity, because it draws attention to the way in which narratives or descriptions are presented in the hymns. Although the emphasis on mimesis or diegesis may vary, none of the hymns can be regarded as diegetic in all its aspects and there is a great deal of fluctuation between, the two modes of presentation both within the collection and within the individual hymns.

If one wants to know what happened in Hellenistic poetic theory, Philodemus' survey of poetic theories in the fifth book of his On Poems is an excellent guide. Even though I the survey is well preserved, it has been neglected. Jensen, who published the first complete edition of On Poems 5 in 1923, did not discuss this part of the text; and it has been treated only briefly by others. This is a pity because, as Philodemus shows, the Hellenistic period was an era of great diversity and innovation in literary theory. Philodemus gives evidence of: (1) a refined and highly systematic critical vocabulary; (2) a new concern with verbal form; (3) a new notion of mimesis; and (4) in general, a great proliferation of theories that present alternatives to those of Plato and Aristotle. Hellenistic literary theorists studied Plato and Aristotle critically; some revised or elaborated their views, whereas others opposed them. Ancient poetic theory did not come to a standstill with Aristotle any more than philosophy did.

At Aen. 6.562–627 the Sibyl gives Aeneas a description of the criminals in Tartarus and the punishments to which they are condemned. The criminals are presented to us in several groups. The first consists of mythical figures, the Titans (580–1), the sons of Aloeus (582–4), Salmoneus (585–94), Tityos (595–600) and Ixion and Pirithous (601–7). Next Virgil turns away from mythical figures to particular categories of criminal. He mentions those who hated their brothers, who assaulted a parent, who cheated a cliens, who gloated over wealth they had acquired without setting aside a part for their family, who were put to death for adultery, and those who, breaking their masters' (‘dominorum’, 613) trust, made war on their country (608–14). The reference to the contemporary scene is unmistakable. The mention of a cliens (609) indicates that we have moved from Greece to Rome. Moreover, ‘quique ob adulterium caesi’ (612) brings to mind Augustus' concern over moral standards, the subject of legislation in 28 B.c., 18 B.c. and A.d. 9; the lex Iulia de adulteriis coercendis (18 B.c., but no doubt in the air for some time previously) gave to fathers of adulteresses the right to put to death both guilty parties. Thirdly, ‘arma...impia’ (612–13) is an obvious reference to civil war (cf. Geo. 1.511–14; Aen. 1.294–6), which as Servius argues is more narrowly defined by ‘nee veriti dominorum fallere dextras’ (613) so as to exclude Caesar and Octavian: undoubtedly the allusion is to the war against Sextus Pompeius, which Augustan propaganda chose to represent as a war against runaway slaves. Virgil continues by sketching the penalties paid in Tartarus by such men (614–17). While doing so, however, he retreats once again into the realm of mythology: the punishments he describes are those more normally associated with Sisyphus and Ixion (rolling a stone uphill, suspension on a wheel). This reversion is completed at 617–20 where, confusingly, Virgil denies that he has been alluding to events of contemporary significance by naming two mythical personages, Theseus and Phlegyas (the father of Ixion). Virgil therefore implies, but then denies, contemporary relevance. It is this kind of protean elusiveness (most marked, perhaps, in the Eclogues) which makes the contemporary allusions in Virgil so difficult to pin down.

When Cicero uncovered and suppressed the Catilinarian Conspiracy as consul in 63 B.c., supporters hailed him ‘father of his country’ (pater patriae) and proposed that he be awarded the oak crown normally given to a soldier who had saved the life of a comrade in battle (corona civica). Our sources connect these honours with earlier heroes such as Romulus, Camillus and Marius, but the Elder Pliny writes as if Cicero was the first before Caesar and the Emperors to be given the title pater patriae. Pliny's point may revolve around Senatorial initiative, and assuming this to be the case he really should have stressed that Cicero received the informal support of a limited number of Senators only, whereas Caesar and the Emperors were honoured by formal vote of the entire Senate. Perhaps Pliny was fooled by the prominence of those who spoke on Cicero's behalf, such as Cato, Catulus and Gellius Publicola. Opponents, on the other hand, angrily rejected calls that Cicero be recognised as the saviour of the state. In their eyes his execution of the Catilinarians marked him as a cruel tyrant. Metellus Nepos proposed Pompey's recall from the East in order to free Rome from Cicero's tyranny. Aside from echoes of patria potestas, it seems obvious that the Romans were thinking in terms of the conventional Greek antithesis between the good king who is like a father to his people and the selfish tyrant who treats his subjects as slaves. The Younger Pliny employs the same basic ideas in his Panegyricus: the cruel tyrant Domitian suppressed freedom (libertas) and desired honour as a god (deus, numen); the gentle Trajan is a citizen and father not a tyrant and master (dominus). Tacitus has this basic distinction in mind too. Nevertheless, as is well known, Pliny regularly addresses Trajan not as ‘father’ but as ‘master’ (domine) in Book 10 of his Letters. This was plainly an acceptable practice on the social plane, if not quite yet on the political. Augustus, Tiberius and Claudius indicated their opposition to dominus as a title for themselves, evidently for its connotations of autocracy and servitude. Domitian, damned as a tyrant, was accused of demanding to be addressed as dominus et deus. The title dominus existed from at least the first century A.d. as a common form of polite address between inferiors and superiors of free birth, not only between masters and slaves. It gradually gained acceptance as an official title of the Emperor through the second century and was advertised widely by the Severi. And yet its tone throughout this period could also be critical when understood in terms of the good king/tyrant antithesis.

What happened in the aftermath of Caligula's assassination in January A.d. 41 in relation to the client kings of the period has been the subject of a stimulating note by A. A. Barrett. He has argued that a rescission of Caligula's acta invalidated the legal position of the client kings appointed by Caligula, and that Claudius’ regularising of their position has been misunderstood by the ancient literary sources and has given rise to several apparent inconsistencies in their accounts.

Among Aristides' extant works there are five speeches concerning the city of Smyrna, namely the first Smyrnaean oration (17), a monody for Smyrna (18), a letter to I Marcus and Commodus concerning Smyrna (19), a palinode for Smyrna (20) and the second Smyrnaean oration (21). The historical context and purpose of Orr. 18, 19 and 20 are well known and uncontroversial. In contrast, although the dating of Orr. 17 and 21 relative to the others is not in doubt, their context and purpose have been divergently interpreted. In this note I will reargue the case that the dominant modern scholarly tradition, which conceives the speeches as invitations to the emperors Marcus and Commodus respectively to visit Smyrna, is wrong. Rather the speeches were addresses of welcome to two proconsuls, father and son, on their respective arrivals in Smyrna. Secondly, I will briefly indicate the general significance of this identification.

In his monograph on the praetorian prefect, L. L. Howe found it necessary to include an appendix concerning the Codex Justinianus as a source for this official. The problem was that while manuscripts or early editors had labelled various recipients of third-century imperial constitutions as prefects, all save two of those appellations were expunged by Krueger in his edition of the CJ. Howe considered it ‘impossible to believe’ that only two of the numerous pre-Diocletianic rescripts preserved by Justinian's compilers should have been directed to praetorian prefects; but he also realised that without further evidence or argumentation, Krueger's scepticism could not simply be ignored. The solution was to label some cases dubious; others, following Krueger, were rejected altogether. But beyond this, Howe was able to discover several instances of entirely unlabelled addressees who could be identified with otherwise known praetorian prefects, and he supposed that many similar cases might be found.

The Clementine Recognitions and Clementine Homilies, both of which evolved between the second and the fourth centuries after Christ, are treated all too frequently as material for historians, not for critics. A book on the ancient novel is sufficiently erudite if the author shows that he has read them; the Homilies are omitted in a volume of translations under the title of Collected Ancient Greek Novels. It might be said that this is as it should be, since the Homilies are largely what their title advertises, and even the Recognitions contain much that is extrinsic to the plot. By itself (it might be said) this threadbare plot holds little to engage us, and it is disposed of in a few pages in the works of Hägg and Perry. My object is to show that this neglect is undeserved.

In his Life of Plotinus (16), Porphyry makes reference to certain gnostic ‘revelations’ under the names of ‘Zoroaster and Zostrianos and Nicotheus and Allogenes and Messos and many others of this kind’ which were circulated in Plotinus' school and refuted by Plotinus and his students, including Porphyry himself. Porphyry claims to have made ‘several refutations against the book of Zoroaster’ while Amelius apparently wrote some ‘forty volumes against the book of Zostrianos’. The surprising discovery of Coptic gnostic texts in the Nag Hammadi Library under the specific names of Allogenes (Nag Hammadi Codex XI.3) and Zostrianos (VIII.1) and the close relation of these texts to The Three Steles of Seth (VII.5) and Marsanes (x) has led to the general consensus that we now possess some of the actual texts mentioned by Porphyry.

The Ars Veterinaria of the fourth-century writer Pelagonius has hitherto been known only from the MS. Florence, Bibl. Riccardiana 1179 (R), a codex copied in 1485 for Politian from an early (lost) manuscript. Apart from this there have only been some palimpsest fragments from Bobbio.

It has been strongly disputed that Philoponus is the author of the commentary on the third book of De Anima printed in vol. xv of CAG under his name, and Stephanus of Alexandria has been taken to be its real author. The evidence for the authorship of Stephanus is as follows: (I) Codex Parisinus gr. 1914, written in the twelfth century, has an adscript by a later hand saying βιβλ⋯ον τρ⋯τον ⋯π⋯ ϕωνης στεϕ⋯νου (‘third book from the voice of Stephanus’), and the same appears in the fifteenth-century Codex Estensis iii F 8. (II) In 543.9 there is a clause saying ὡς ⋯ν τῷ περ⋯ ⋯ρμηνε⋯ας ⋯μ⋯θομεν (‘as we learnt in the De Interpretatione’), which was taken by M. Hayduck to be direct reference to Stephanus' commentary on the De Interpretatione, edited also by Hayduck in vol. xiii/3 of CAG. (III) The third book, says Hayduck, is short (brevis) and jejune (jejunus), in contrast to the verbosity of the preceding two books. (IV) The commentary on the third book of De Anima is divided into lectures (πρ⋯ξεις), but the first two books are not. (V) Some locutions are used constantly in the third book and in Stephanus' in De Interpretatione as well. (VI) In the Codex Vaticanus gr. 241 fol. 6 (fourteenth century) we are told that Stephanus also wrote a commentary on the De Anima.

There was a time when the detractors of Bacchylides singled out his eleventh ode as inept even by Bacchylidean standards: it was like the unfortunate tenor who was so stupid that even the other tenors noticed. The time of such criticism is gone, and the unfavourable verdict against Bacchylides' ode has nearly disappeared as well. The mythical journey in time which proceeds from the building of Artemis' altar back to the madness of Proetus' daughters and back further to the quarrel between Proetus and Acrisius is no longer seen as rambling. Instead the ode's structure has been revealed as an elegant set of concentric rings. Proetus' unhappy daughters are no longer unwanted, for Bacchylides has woven images into and around their story which suggest the integration of young women into the structure of the Greek city: the girls' resistance to marriage (Hera) is overcome through the mediation of Artemis, and they are returned to their father at last fit to be wed to the men of Tiryns. The entire ode has now been described as a fitting song for a city delighting in a victory gained with the aid of Artemis.4 The ode's images have been analysed and found coherent. Epithets, once scorned as too plentiful and various to bear true meaning, have now been defended. And finally, for a wonder, the song has been singled out as an example of that very thing so routinely denied to Bacchylides: Pindaric style. But even the most complimentary treatments of the poem seem somehow to fall short of explaining how this song serves as proper and sufficient praise for Alexidamus, the boy from Metapontum who wrestled his way to victory at the Pythian games.