Herodotus has often been considered the Father of Ethnography no less than the Father of History. It comes as a paradox, then, that he has been taxed with confusion in his use of two terms that recur over and over in his discussion of peoples, ἕθνος and γνος. Here is the formulation of Raymond Weil:

Hérodote definit mal l‘ethnos’. C'est pour lui tantôot une subdivision du ‘génos’, tantôt au contraire un ensemble de ‘géné’. Ainsi 1' ‘ethnos’ des Médes, comme celui des Scythes, groupe plusieurs γνεα. Mais cet ‘ethnos’ scythe porte aussi le nom de ‘génos’, et comprend des ἕθνεα. Les Athéniens sont un ‘ethnos’ hellénique qui fait partie du ‘génos’ ionien, les Lacédémoniens un ‘ethnos’ pélasgique à rattacher au ‘génos’ dorien.

With the dawn of the day of the Battle of Salamis in ch. 83 of Book 8, Herodotus heightens the tone of his language. An unfortunate result of his more elaborately worked writing has been failure to understand his words, and hence much misplaced editorial intervention. In particular, the words at 8.83.1, προηγρενε εῢ ἒΧοντα μν κ πντων Θεμιστοκλης, have regularly been mistranslated. Powell even wanted to rewrite the Greek here to read: ἠγρευε μν πρó πντων Θεμιστοκλης (‘And Themistocles was chosen to pronounce the exhortation’). Few would wish to follow such a drastic and arbitrary alteration of the transmitted text, but the conjectural emendation highlights the difficulty of understanding Herodotus' words at this point.

This paper is based on two separate, though partly overlapping, registers (Registers I and II) of male Athenian citizens known to have been in the public eye between theyears 432/1 and 405/4 B.C., inclusive. Register I comprises those who are known inthis period to have held important elective public office, or to have proposed andcarried resolutions in the Assembly; a total of 176 persons. These are singled out fromthe much wider range of ‘officials’, most of them chosen by lot, to be found in theprosopography of Develin 1989, because they are those who actively, and in somemeasure successfully, competed for the political favour of the Athenian public. Theimportant elective public offices I take to be those of general, proboulos (in 413–411), member of any embassy, and delegate for swearing to an international treaty. Register II comprises those who are known in this period to have been referred to asindividuals in Athenian comedies; a total of 224 persons. Both lists inevitably havesomewhat fuzzy edges, mainly over questions of identification and dating; doubtfulcases are briefly discussed in the notes to the Registers. Probably no other scholar willagree with every one of my decisions in these matters, but the general validity of thepicture here presented is unlikely to be affected. Within Register II can be identifiedtwo small but important subgroups: those who are referred to not, as is normal, fordisparagement but for praise; and those to whom is devoted an entire play or a largepart of one. I will be returning to these.

It hardly needs to be said that the parallel between mental and physical health plays an important part in Plato's moral philosophy. One of the central claims of the Republicis that justice is to the soul what health is to the body (443b–444e).1 Similar points are made in other dialogues.2 This analogy between health and sickness on the one hand and virtue and vice on the other is closely connected to the so–called Socratic paradoxes. Throughout his life Plato seems to have clung in some sense to the ideas that justice is our greatest good, that the unjust man is correspondingly miserable and that no one is therefore willingly unjust. It follows from these ideas that the unjust man, like the sick man, is in a wretched state which is not of his own choosing.

In the Rhetoric Aristotle frequently illustrates the points he is making with examples drawn both from oratory and from other literary genres. Although some of these citations have been used to date the work, they have never been systematically examined. It is the contention of this article that, when Aristotle gives examples from speeches, he quotes exclusively from epideictic works, and that this fact tells us much both about the circulation of written speeches at Athens and about the preoccupations of Aristotle and his pupils.

Professor N. G. L. Hammond has of late published some of his thoughts on the activities of Philip II in 347 and 346 B.C. In addition he has treated aspects of Philip's earlier involvement in Thessalian, Thracian, and Phokian affairs. In the process he has in many instances disagreed with a number of current findings. Among those challenged are some of mine. Healthy scholarly debate is always desirable, and in this f spirit I should welcome an opportunity to contest Professor Hammond's views on several points, the most important being the basic factor of methodology and the interpretation of various factual details.

Between Ennius and Vergil the Latin epic hexameter underwent dramatic changes in both prosody and diction.1 The precise history of these changes remains obscure, although it is clear from Catullan spondiazontes and Lucretian archaisms, from variation in the use of enjambment and the history of Hermann's bridge, that the versatile and expressive instrument the hexameter was to become in Vergil's hands was not the result of linear development. In fact, despite the pivotal role often assigned to Cicero, 2 in many ways the last one hundred years of the Republic is better characterized as a period of poetic variety and innovation than one of linear progress toward classical perfection. The fragments of Furius Antias can shed light on this period of change. They show remarkable prosodic characteristics and verbal finesse, and they appear to have influenced both Vergil and Ovid.

Cicero's Topica is transmitted as part of the so-called Leiden corpus; but it appeared in only two of the three Carolingian manuscripts carrying that corpus (Leiden, Voss. Lat. F. 84 = A and Lat. F. 86 = B; their agreement is dubbed β), and in both it lacked 1–3, 28 (magis)tratuum–73 Haec. During the ninth century, however, B was supplemented by the addition of folios (BA) which completed the text. In 1860 these folios were officiously transferred to A. There are a large number of integri, dating from the tenth century on. Editors have picked more or less at random from this pile to back up the evidence of β. They are also blessed with a detailed and intelligent commentary on the Topica written by Boethius. ‘That the text of the commentary influenced manuscripts of Cicero has been suspected but not proved’ (M. D. Reeve).

Caesar left off writing de Bello Gallico at the end of the Alesia campaign in 51 B.C., and his account of the civil war begins in January 49. There was therefore a gap ofa year and more between the narratives in the two collections of Caesar's own Commentaries. Some time soon after Caesar's death, his officer A. Hirtius decided toknit together these unlinked narratives, supplying a preface to account for hisprocedure. It is usually assumed, and it is assumed here, that this Preface, whichappears at the start of B.G. 8 in the MSS, should be taken to mean that its author wasthe author too of the book immediately following, which connects de Bello Gallico with de Bello Civili by narrating, essentially, the transactions of the year 50.

Between the first eight lines of Propertius 3.7, addressed to ‘pecunia’, and the lover's farewell couplet to Aquilo, the narration of Paetus′ shipwreck and death has first bewildered and then inspired generations of readers either to defend the basic order of verses given in the manuscripts or to create a more satisfactory arrangement through transposition. To some, the inherited poem presents a catastrophe equal to Paetus′ own dismemberment: Aquilo blew the pages around, a scribe playing Neptune took pleasure in his own power to change, while the uncontrollable seas of error scattered couplets far and wide and altered the shape of words and letters. To others, the textual problems of 3.7 can be explained with appeals to parallels or to Propertius′ stylistic intentions.

This has all the appearance of being a straightforward, even conventional, transition. Indeed, the conceit of Night′s chariot is common and has a history stretching back at least as far as the beginning of the fifth century B.C. Night is elsewhere described by Virgil as umida, the epithet reflecting the traditional view that Night, like Dawn (cf. Theocr. 2.148), arises from and sinks back into the stream of Ocean. In fact, the chariot of Night had been referred to as recently as lines 721 and 738 of this book, in the latter instance with the epithet umida applied to Night. What is new and interesting in our passage is the ‘meta caeli’ round which Night′s chariot turns. The effect of this novelty is to make of Night′s vehicle a racing chariot, as it is the chariots in the Circus that must negotiate a meta. The programmatic reasons for Virgil′s having done this in Book 5 are obvious. Earlier in the book Virgil had described the games held in honour of the anniversary of Anchises′ death. The first and most elaborately portrayed event in these games had been the boat-race, which is plainly modelled on the chariot-race in Iliad 23, the first and most elaborately portrayed event in the funeral games for Patroclus. Just as Achilles had required the competing chariots to race once around a distant turning-post, so Aeneas requires the competing ships to race once around a rock out at sea, which rock is three times called a meta (5.129, 159, 171). A simile comparing the sailors and their ships to charioteers and their teams (5.144–7) makes the connection explicit.

The idea of a returning golden age (or, more properly, a renascent golden race1) is widely understood and commonly presented both as a staple of Augustan propaganda and as a pervasive aspiration of Augustan society. The Carmen Saeculare—an official commission for a public festival—is presented as a means by which the regime proclaimed to an enthusiastic populace the imminent renascence of the golden race. The aim of this article is to draw attention both to the failure of the Carmen Saeculare explicitly to proclaim the renascence of the race, and to the critique implicit in the poem of the very idea of a renascence. The golden race, according to this reading, might be undesirable on account of its very goldenness. The golden race was the subject of a complex myth at the centre of a complex discourse: neither the ‘official’ nor the popular response to the idea of its return can have been as simple as they are frequently portrayed.

After his return from exile in A.D. 96 Dio of Prusa claims that even before it he had known the homes and tables of rich men, not only private individuals but satraps and kings (i.e. governors and emperors, Or. 7.66). Following the lead of Philostratus (V.A. 5.27–38) modern scholars have seen Dio as a confidant of the Flavian dynasty: amicus to Vespasian, possibly a special envoy of Vespasian to the Grek east, amicus to Titus, and friend and adviser to a minor member of the house T. Flavius Sabinus. These views are important not only for the biography of Dio, but also for the general question of relations between powerful Romans, above all emperors, and Greek philosophers and other intellectuals.

Statius′ Silvae 5.4 is one of the best-known poems in the collection, although it is also one of the least representative. Its nineteen lines make it the shortest poem in the Silvae, and although there are other brief poems, such as those describing the parrot of Melior and the tame lion (Silvae 2.4 and 5), it is quite different from the many longer poems that deal with subjects and persons from contemporary society. Of course insomnia must always be a universal issue, but this is nevertheless a poem that does not draw the reader into the ‘ life and times’ of Statius as do the poems which precede and follow it, the laments for his father and for a child (Silvae 5.3 and 5.5).

A familiar image from the Roman world is a Pompeian portrait of a man and woman sometimes identified as Terentius Neo and his wife. He has a papyrus roll under his chin, while she looks out with a writing tablet in one hand, a stylus held to her lips in the other. The message of the attributes presented would seem to be: ‘ We can and do read and write’. But how should the message be interpreted? To judge from the houses in which this and similar portraits were found, the couple was not of the elite decurion class, but belonged to that difficult to define group of varying social, economic and cultural statuses recently described by Keith Hopkins as ‘sub-elites’. Does the display of book and pen then reflect the social reality of the sub-elite orders of Pompeian society, or is the self-representation rather an expression of social pretension, with the couple attempting to emulate the Roman elite? If the latter is the case, what does the image say about the habits of the Roman ruling class? This question has been raised in relation to the issue of literacy, particularly women's literacy, but the image invites another question.

Comparison of literary passages is a critical procedure much favoured by Gellius, and is the main theme in several chapters of his Noctes Atticae: ch. 2.23 is dedicated to a comparison of Menander's and Caecilius′ versions of the Plocium; 2.27 to a confrontation of passages from Demosthenes and Sallust; in 9.9 Vergilian verses are compared with their originals in Theocritus and Homer; parts of speeches by the elder Cato, C. Gracchus and Cicero are contrasted in 10.3; two of Vergil's verses are again compared with their supposed models in ch. 11.4; a segment of Ennius′ Hecuba is contrasted with its Euripidean original in 13.27; Cato's and Musonius′ formulations of a similar sententia are confronted in 16.1; in 17.10 Vergil's description of Etna is compared to Pindar's; the value of Latin erotic poetry is weighed against the Greek in ch. 19.9, in which an Anacreontean poem and four Latin epigrams are cited; and finally in 19.11 a ‘Platonic' distich is set side by side with its Latin adaptation, composed by an anonymous friend of Gellius, though in this case no comparison of the poems is attempted.

It is a cliché that most Greek art (indeed most ancient art) was religious in function. Yet our histories of Classical art, having acknowledged this truism, systematically ignore the religious nuances and associations of images while focusing on diverse arthistorical issues from style and form, or patronage and production, to mimesis and aesthetics. In general, the emphasis on naturalism in classical art and its reception has tended to present it as divorced from what is perceived as the overwhelmingly religious nature of post-Constantinian Christian art. The insulation of Greek and Roman art from theological and ritual concerns has been colluded in by most historians of medieval images. Take for instance Ernst Kitzinger's monographic article entitled ‘The Cult of Images in the Age before Iconoclasm’. Despite its title and despite Kitzinger's willingness to situate Christian emperor worship in an antique context, this classic paper contains nothing on the Classical ancestry of magical images, palladia and miracle-working icons in Christian art. There has been the odd valiant exception (especially in recent years), but in general it is fair to say that the religiousness of antiquity's religious art is skirted by the art historians and left to the experts on religion.

At the end of Book 15 of his Res Gestae Ammianus Marcellinus reports how Strategius Musonianus became the successor of the murdered Domitianus as Praefectus Praetorio Orientis (PPO). He tells that Strategius was a man versed in the two languages, i.e. Greek and Latin, and that because of this he had won a higher distinction than was expected. When Constantine the Great, so says Ammianus, was looking for an expert interpreter for his investigation into the Manichaean and similar heresies, he chose Strategius as a person recommended to him as competent. Constantine was so pleased with Strategius' skilful work that he gave him the honourable nickname Musonianus, which became his official name. This assignment was the start of a great career which eventually led to his denomination as PPO under Constantius II.

The focus of this paper will be the critical material in the particular Life of Thucydides which is attributed to ‘Marcellinus’.1 After some preliminary remarks about the extant Lives, I shall identify the critical material to be discussed, and proceed to examine its composition and possible origin. I shall suggest that, like the biographical material, the critical passages are a compilation of material from different sources and show a variety of approaches. In discussing these approaches, I shall show that the critical passages contain different emphases, analytical skills and priorities, and vocabulary.

Allusions to the Panathenaia 1 in the final scene of the Eumenides have been pointed out by a number of scholars.2 Headlam identified the red robes of the Eumenides (, E. 1028) with the cloaks worn by the Metics in the Panathenaic procession.3 In Athena's pronouncement at 1030–1