The occurrence of Greek and Trojan names on the Linear B tablets at Knossos and Pylos raised a problem. Professor T. B. L. Webster, writing in 1955, a few years after the decipherment of Linear B, stated: ‘For the moment it may be safest to assume that Mycenaean poetry already possessed these names but that poetry was continually remodelled to tell of recent events, so that if the sack of Troy VIIa found its way into poetry, its defenders, as well as its attackers, would be given for the most part, as Nilsson long ago suggested, existing Mycenaean names.’ Four years later Professor D. L. Page deepened the issue when he stated: ‘An apparently Greek name on the Trojan side may be merely an adaptation, the assimilation of a foreign name to a Greek form. Let the name of Alexandras be a warning to us: he looks Greek enough, but we know that he is merely a foreigner in a Greek dress.

I Know that it is a commonplace to begin with apologies, but the Head Master of Eton did so last night, and hence let me say that you are doomed to disappointment this morning if, at the end of your splendid and varied programme, you are expecting a sonorous peroration on ‘The Spirit of Antiquity’ or ‘The Greeks and what they mean to us’. You know the kind of thing I mean: ‘Greek simplicity recalls to us the central interests of the human heart. Greek truthfulness is a challenge to see the world as it is and to shun the falsities of rhetoric or sentiment. Greek beauty is a memorial of an aspect of the Universe to which ages of thought are often blind.’ Noble words, and as you hear them, some of you are no doubt murmuring ‘Dr. Livingstone, I presume’, and like Stanley you would be right. Originally I was billed to talk about Verse Composition but this was changed to something about the Greek Anthology, and finally I find myself responsible for the concluding lecture. I fear it will be for me not to heighten the tone but to lower it. I have myself attended conferences of this kind and drawn much profit from them.

This of course was Renaissance enthusiasm. The fame and influence which Plutarch enjoyed in the days of the rediscovery of antiquity could not survive the revolutions in historical and scholarly attitudes that marked the nineteenth century. Instead of being thought of as a mirror of antiquity and of human nature, he became a ‘secondary authority’, to be used where the ‘primary sources’ failed, himself to be quarried by the Quellenforscher and left a ruin. The present neglect of the Lives in education is a consequence of this. And yet it should be obvious that, for the very historical purposes for which the book is now chiefly studied, it is misleading and dangerous to use what is plainly one of the most sophisticated products of ancient historiography without constant regard to the plans and purposes of its author. Fortunately, a good deal has been written, especially in the last twenty years, to redress the balance.

In his perceptive discussion of Catullus' eighth poem (Greece & Rome xiii, no. i [1966], 15–21) R. L. Rowland several times speaks of the ‘two halves’ of the poem, the second of which he takes to start with uale, puella, iam Catullus obdurat. These ‘two halves’, however, are very unequal in length, occupying eleven and eight lines respectively; and Catullus has made it hard for the reader to fail to notice this, for there are few Latin poems in which the structural parts are more clearly, or as clearly, marked. It may be legitimate to discern a poetic intention behind these ‘signposts’, and, if so, an analysis of them may perhaps supplement Mr. Rowland's observations and itself contribute something to our critical appreciation of the poem.

More that thirty years ago W. Arend decisively showed that in Homer routine operations such as sacrificing and arming conform to a regular pattern. When a warrior arms himself, first are mentioned his greaves, then his cuirass, sword, shield, helmet, and spear(s), invariably in this order; at a sacrifice, first comes prayer and barley sprinkling, then the slaughter of the victim and its flaying, the cutting of the meat, its preparation, roasting, and serving. The embellishing varies a good deal, I suppose in accordance with the pace of the narrative or other aesthetic considerations; thus the Opfermahl scene has 21 possible operations: in the Iliad A 447 ff. has 18, B 402 ff. 17, H 314 ff. 6, Ω. 621 ff. 4, and ψ 166 a mere ἔδερόν τε κα⋯ ἄμεπον.

One of the incidental advantages of working in Ibadan is the wide variety of legitimate routes between Lagos and London. These have enabled us to explore the Roman Empire in some thoroughness; we have in the past visited Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, Turkey, Israel, Egypt, Greece, Italy, Sicily, Tripolitania, Tunisia, and Spain. But we had long had our sights set on Algeria; only the political situation kept us away. By 1965 we decided that the political situation was settled. In fact our bookings came through on the day of Ben Bella's deposition. Equally when we were there in September 1965 the country gave every sign of being tranquil, and we had a time so thrilling that it seemed right to share it publicly in the hope of encouraging others to follow. For the welcome we received was warm beyond belief, and the Roman remains are wonderful, and wonderfully situated in beautiful country.

A brief glance into almost any modern history of Latin literature will show that the age of Silver Latin came to an end with Suetonius, whose death marked the beginning of two centuries during which Roman letters trickled away to nothing in a wind-swept desert. A sad fate for a great literature at such an early date, for Suetonius still belonged to the first quarter of the second century a.d. Fortunately we may beg to differ from our historians: there was yet life in the old body even after Suetonius.

There are a number of instances in Tacitus' treatment of Tiberius which concern the emperor's behaviour when some mention of his predecessor was made. Critics of Tacitus have apparently overlooked Tiberius' extreme sensitivity on this subject, with the result that interpretations have been offered which tend to obscure what Tacitus is trying to say about Tiberius. It is the intention of this note to examine such passages, in an attempt to clarify Tiberius' attitude and Tacitus' presentation of it.

The music of the ancient Greeks, apart from a dozen or so fragments from the Hellenistic and Graeco-Roman period, is lost to us. It is unlikely that we shall ever be in a position to appreciate it as we can appreciate their architecture, sculpture, and literature. We can only conjecture as to the extent of our loss from the high regard in which it was held by the Greeks themselves. From Homer onwards Greek authors give an honourable place to it. In lyric poetry, drama, and dithyramb it was a vital element, and Plato and Aristotle were deeply concerned about its use in education and its effect on character. The music teacher (κιθαριστ⋯ς) provided an important part of every boy's education. In some states musical education was compulsory (e.g. in Arcadia up to the age of thirty and in Crete). Without a knowledge of music the Greek was considered uneducated.

If the Phaedra is Seneca's best-known play, it has suffered more than any other from inadequate or misdirected critical attention. Most accounts have been preoccupied with its similarity or dissimilarity to the Hippolytus of Euripides, or else with its rhetorical luxuriance. The first group has spoken of it as a not very meritorious rewrite of Euripides' play (Version I, II, or mixed). Méridier, for example, in his Hippolyte d'Euripide devotes a chapter to the Phaedra, giving a résumé of the plot, listing parallels and discrepancies with the Hippolytus, and providing by way of conclusion an ‘étude littéraire’. In this he treats the play as mere adaptation, remarking ‘on voit ce que l'œuvre de Sénèque a perdu au changement’. Where Seneca has introduced originalities, ‘ces scenes nouvelles ne témoignent pas toujours … d'un art très heureux’.