This paper considers Cassius Dio's account of the early worship of Augustus. Its main focus is the number of cults consecrated to the worship of Rome's new undisputed leader and his father, the now deceased and deified Divus Iulius, after the triumvir, on his way back from Alexandria in 29 b.c.e., wintered in Asia Minor. In his account of how the first official worship of Augustus was organized, Dio describes how Augustus let two separate cults inaugurate: a joint cult to the worship of Divus Iulius and the goddess Thea Roma—a Greek deity, which since the second century served as a personification of Roman rule or Roman power—and a personal cult to the worship of the victorious triumvir (51.20.6-8).

Ioulios Polydeukes, more commonly known as Pollux, was a Greek sophist and lexicographer active in the closing decades of the second century a.d. His Onomasticon is one of the most important lexicographical texts of the Imperial period. It is essentially a set of word lists dedicated to collecting clusters of related words on topics from a vast range of different areas of intellectual activity and everyday life. The text survives only in epitomized form, and shows signs of interpolation as well as abridgement. Nevertheless, the consensus is that the bulk of what survives is Pollux’ own work, and that reading it in Eric Bethe's Teubner edition gives an accurate cumulative impression of Pollux’ standard procedures and preoccupations, even if we cannot be entirely confident that any particular cluster of words had exactly the same form within the text's original design. It is divided into ten books, each with its own dedicatory preface addressed to the Emperor Commodus. Each book has its own distinctive focus on certain key themes, although the ordering principles are much clearer in some than in others.

A change in the form of narrative presentation divides Heliodorus’ Aethiopica in two halves, the first embracing Books 1–5, the second Books 6–10. The shift has been described in different terms: Keyes notes that, whereas the first part uses an in medias res opening, the second follows by and large chronological order. Morgan ascribes to the first half a ‘hermeneutic impulse’ that gives way to an ‘end-directed’ drive in the second half. Using Sternberg's concept of narrative time, one could say that by and large the first five books are dominated by curiosity, the second five books by suspense: after trying to fathom the prehistory, the reader then directs her attention to the further development of the plot. The shift, however, concerns not only the orchestration of time, but also the stance of the narrator: while Hefti juxtaposes the net of embedded narratives in the first five books with the predominance of the primary narrator in the last five books, Futre Pinheiro considers the shift in terms of ‘showing’ and ‘telling’. The difference between the two halves of the Aethiopica thus hinges on the central narratological categories of time and voice.

Claudian of Alexandria's last datable poem, the Panegyric on the Sixth Consulship of Honorius, was delivered in Rome in 404, presumably on 1 January. This performance occurred in the course of the first visit to Rome by an emperor for nearly a decade and a half. Imperial visits to Rome were notoriously rare in the fourth century and, in a well-known passage of that poem, the goddess Roma herself muses on their rarity: she had only seen an Augustus three times in the last hundred years (VI Cos. 392–3). This is not quite true, but the only legitimate emperors known to have paid formal visits to Rome in that period were Constantine in 312–13, 315 and 326, Constantius II in 357, and Theodosius I, accompanied by his four-year-old son Honorius, in 389. In this article I shall begin by making an observation about the court's intentions in moving to Rome in late 403 (Section I), and then deal with two problems bound up with the interpretation of this poem and with the circumstances of imperial visits. The first problem (Section II) concerns the visit of Honorius during which the poem was first performed. In Claudian's narrative the description of Honorius' triumphal entry leads into a description of his assumption of the consulate, and scholars have sometimes asserted that he made a triumphal entry as consul on 1 January 404. This is clearly wrong: Honorius arrived in Rome weeks or months before. But even when this point is recognized, it is often asserted that the poem blends triumphal and consular imagery, and elements of the triumphal entry are confused with the assumption of the consulship (most recently by Michael Dewar in his generally outstanding commentary on the poem). My argument therefore moves from the chronology of Honorius' visit to elucidating the structure and imagery of Claudian's poem, as well as casting light on the patterns of the late antique imperial aduentus more broadly. The second problem (Section III) concerns the description of Honorius' previous visit to Rome with his father in the summer of 389. Here it has sometimes been inferred (including again by Dewar) on the basis of Claudian, and of late chronicles, that Honorius was created Caesar by his father on 13 June, the day of the aduentus. I shall show on the basis of a critical examination of the chronicle tradition, as well as a survey of contemporary numismatic, epigraphic and literary evidence, that this belief is unfounded, and that the relevant passages of Claudian require a different interpretation. However, this evidence also makes clear that signals were being sent in 389 about Honorius' imperial future.

It is an established Hellenistic topos that philosophy is the ‘medicine’ of the soul, in charge of ‘healing’ the soul in the same way as medicine is in charge of healing the body. The ‘diseases’ of the soul deemed to be in need of healing are its passions, that is, its fears and desires, and the moral ‘health’ that philosophers pledge to grant their followers is freedom from passions and hence peace of mind.

Modern knowledge of the grammarian Consentius’ De barbarismis et metaplasmis, a work valuable for the study of the Latin language, dates back to a relatively recent past: it was only in 1817 that its editio princeps was published by Ph.C. Buttmann, just a few years after the legal scholar A.W. Cramer came across a mention of the then unknown treatise in a ninth-century MS in the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek of Munich, numbered Clm 14666. Based on this solitary manuscript, H. Keil published the short treatise in the fifth volume of his Grammatici Latini. With no little enthusiasm did W.M. Lindsay announce his unearthing of what, in his own words, had ‘long been a “desideratum”, a second authority’ for this text, in the MS F 15 III d at the Universitätsbibliothek Basel; this was followed by E.O. Winstedt's complete collation and M. Niedermann's critical edition. After about a century now there comes to light a third authority, surprisingly enough in a codex which has enjoyed such fame in the past decades that one might wonder how Consentius could have gone unnoticed in it for so long: this is the eleventh-century MS of Venice, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana Lat. Z. 497 (= 1811), in which the De barbarismis et metaplasmis is contained on fols. 84vb 39 - 90va 39; moreover, a so-far-unnoticed quotation from it (32.9-14), together with one from Consentius’ De nomine et uerbo (Consent. gramm. V 353.6-7), is found on fol. 41vb 16–21 of the same manuscript in a famous grammatical florilegium. The codex, written in Romanesque minuscule and probably originating in Rome, is regarded as a handbook of liberal arts designed by Lawrence Archbishop of Amalfi, formerly a monk at Montecassino, thereafter a teacher in Florence and Rome, where he died in about 1049. Based on palaeographical evidence, F.L. Newton rightfully assumed as an exemplar for this codex a MS in Beneventan script, as some features can be detected that betray the scribal imitation of that typical South Italian script, namely the use of the distinctive abbreviation for eius as ‘ei in ligature with stroke through the descender of the i’, the Beneventan ti ligature for the assibilated sound, and the 2-shaped Beneventan interrogation sign, to which I would add the typical abbreviation for in as a long i cut by a horizontal stroke and the confusion of a and t. Interestingly enough, none of these features is found on fols. 66–95, those containing the new Consentius: from a codicological point of view, this is an autonomous section, written by a different scribe from the rest of the MS and preserving some grammatical texts generally attributed to insular authors, such as Smaragdus’ Liber in partibus Donati (fols. 66–81vb) and part of the compilation entitled Pauca de barbarismo (fols. 81vb - 84vb), which precedes the De barbarismis et metaplasmis; not surprisingly, the new text of Consentius displays numerous features of the Insular script, such as the symbols for enim, autem, eius, est, nihil and et. On this basis it is most likely that this whole section was never included in the Beneventan exemplar, but was added at the time and place of copying of our MS in order to enrich the grammatical content.

The edition of Statius which Johannes Fredericus Gronovius (1611–1671) published in Amsterdam in 1653 is acknowledged as the most significant stage in the evolution of the printed text of the Thebaid before the late nineteenth century. J.B. Hall rightly stresses that, in spite of some blemishes, it is the first edition of Statius' works which ‘shows the application of much thought to the editorial process’ and ‘deserves to be called critical in the fullest sense’. In accordance with contemporary practice, Gronovius aimed not at establishing Statius' text through a reconstruction of the manuscript tradition but, rather, at selectively correcting a printed textus receptus. The prototype used for producing the text of his edition was the text of the edition of Amsterdam 1630 (a reproduction of that of Amsterdam 1624, itself derived from Gevartius' edition of Leiden 1616). Gronovius' text is not beyond reproach, even when judged from the perspective of the textus receptus. The number of passages corrected remains indeed limited. It is, however, higher than in any other printed text between the first Aldine (Venice, 1502) and the edition of Müller (Leipzig, 1870). More importantly, Gronovius' corrections are usually of great value, and many of them promote readings that are still considered correct today. From the disappointingly short commentary (‘gustus’) in which Gronovius discussed a few problematic passages, it can be clearly seen that his corrections relied on solid information and good skills. Although Gronovius' knowledge of the textual transmission of Statius did not compare with Heinsius' knowledge of that of Ovid, his edition stands out, in the tradition of the Thebaid, for the numerous manuscripts it made use of: eleven (at least), as we learn from his commentary.

Among the manuscripts of Ovid's Metamorphoses used by N. Heinsius (1620–1681) and as yet unidentified or given up for lost is the so-called fragmentum Caesenas (Cs), the collation of which was not carried out by Heinsius himself but provided for him by the Hamburg jurist Lucas Langermann (1625–1686), who was a correspondent of Heinsius, Gronovius and Vossius, among others. According to M.D. Reeve, he was also responsible for adding these notes, using the siglum c, to Oxon. Bodl. Auct. S.V.5, which also includes the collations—by another hand—of A (= Vrbinas ueterrimus, our V2) and B (= Berneggerianus, our P2). The variants provided by this fragment affect lines 9.235–11.169 and 13.1–403, although this does not imply that these were the exact limits of its content, as we shall see below. Some of these variants ended up in the notes of the editions by Heinsius himself and by those who continued his work (the most prominent example being the admirable edition of Ovid by P. Burman, in 1727), and it was D.A. Slater who rescued the collation of Bodl. Auct. S.V.5 from obscurity when he included the greater part of the readings of c (the siglum he himself retains) among the rich store of information presented in his work. F. Munari included the fragment in his catalogue, clearly pointing to the uncertainty surrounding its dating (‘aetatis incertae’, the same expression as used by Slater) while adding the information that it was not at that time to be found in Cesena. The succinct information offered by Slater is used by I. Marahrens for her dissertation and by W.S. Anderson for his edition. R.J. Tarrant, in turn, explicitly states that the fragment is now lost. In the following pages, however, I will attempt to show that this fragment is not lost, but still preserved in the Biblioteca Malatestiana in Cesena.

At line 1025 of Sophocles' Oedipus Tyrannus,

σὺ δ᾽ ἐμπολήσας ἢ τεκών μ᾽ αὐτῷ δίδως;,

The speaker of Demosthenes 56 had lent money to a ship-owner Dionysodorus for a commercial voyage, and now is prosecuting him for breach of contract. The prosecutor is usually thought to be a metic. In the course of the speech he does not identify himself; but Libanius in his Argumenta of Demosthenes supplies a name, Darius: Arg. 54.1 Δαρεῖος καὶ Πάμφιλος Διονυσοδώρῳ δανείζουσι and 2 ὡς δὲ Δαρεῖος λέγει. The manuscripts of the Argumenta, which begin in the tenth century, are numerous; Foerster (VIII 677) and Dindorf/Blass (III xlviii) cite no variant for the name. Libanius’ source for this information is unrecoverable.

While Caesar as man of letters is most famous for his commentarii, it should not be forgotten that he also wrote two volumes on Analogy and was the author of various verses, one set of which, on the comic playwright Terence and his relationship to Menander, runs as follows (fr. 1 Courtney):

tu quoque, tu in summis, o dimidiate Menander,
poneris, et merito, puri sermonis amator.
lenibus atque utinam scriptis adiuncta foret uis,
comica ut aequato uirtus polleret honore
cum Graecis neue hac despectus parte iaceres! 5
unum hoc maceror ac doleo tibi deesse, Terenti.

odi profanum uulgus et arceo.
fauete linguis: carmina non prius
audita Musarum sacerdos
uirginibus puerisque canto.

I hate and spurn the unversed crowd.
Mind your tongues: songs yet unheard
I sing to boys and virgin girls,
the Muses' priest.

Dio reports that, at the time Augustus was declared Divus, Livia, who was already called Julia and Augusta, was appointed his priestess (Cassius Dio 56.46.1). The term Dio uses is hiereia, which occurs in the same passage as his account of the priests and sacred rites (en tais hierourgiais) that were assigned to Augustus on his deification. As Livia was also permitted to employ a lictor, an honour that Tiberius apparently restricted to her function as priestess, everything suggests that Livia played a part in the state cult. In contrast, the festival Livia established in honour of her deceased husband was certainly a private gathering: three days of scenic games to which were invited only persons of the highest station. To distinguish between the two is crucial to the precise title of Livia's office. Just as Mark Antony had been made flamen of Divus Iulius—to all appearances for life (Cassius Dio 44.6.4)—so Germanicus was appointed life-long flamen Augustalis (Tac. Ann. 2.83.2)—a distinctive term of office compared with the single year accorded provincial flamines in the Latin West. The office of Livia ought correspondingly to have been that of flaminica, even if it was unprecedented for a woman to serve a god who in the light of his will was technically her father. A precise parallel to all this, it is important to note, exists in the case of Divus Claudius, whose cult Agrippina was appointed to tend and who in her capacity as priestess of Divus Claudius was granted in addition two lictors. Fortunately in this case the exact terminology of her office is given by Tacitus in his account of the honours bestowed by the Senate on Agrippina, who evidently was named flaminica (Ann. 13.2.6):

In the late nineteenth century J.L.G. Mowat published a short note in the Journal of Philology pointing out that in the Bodleian's MS of the Dissertationes of Epictetus there is an ink smudge (on fol. 25r) where all the other MSS have lacunae in several lines, leading to the conclusion that the Bodleian MS is the archetype for all other surviving copies.

In two chapters of Enn. II.9 [33], Plotinus discusses the Gnostic idea that the creation of the world is due to the ‘decline’ (νεῦσις) of a principle that he variously calls Soul or Sophia. The identity of Plotinus' Gnostics is notoriously difficult to establish with any degree of precision; I can only note here that the idea of Sophia's ‘decline’ features in a number of extant Gnostic texts, such as those from Nag Hammadi and the Berlin Codex (Papyrus Berolinensis 8502), as a recent survey of the evidence by Poirier has demonstrated.

Claudian's panegyric for Olybrius and Probinus, the young consuls of 395, includes a passage describing Rome armed in the image of the goddess Minerva. Lines 83–90 read as follows:

ipsa, triumphatis quae possidet aethera regnis,
assilit innuptae ritus imitata Mineruae.
nam neque caesariem crinali stringere cultu 85
colla nec ornatu patitur mollire retorto;
dextrum nuda latus, niueos exserta lacertos;
audacem retegit mammam laxumque coercens
mordet gemma sinum; nodus, qui subleuat ensem,
album puniceo pectus discriminat ostro. 90

Near the end of the first book of his De reditu the poet Rutilius is delayed in Triturrita, on the Tuscan coast, because of the dark and stormy weather. The South-West Wind with its dripping wings—says the poet in an Ovidian imitation—does not cease from summoning pitch-black clouds and obfuscating the sun's light for several days (631–2). Elegant images of constellations (633–8)—perhaps not just ornamental, but also indicating the dates and the duration of the delay—and the reference to the tempestuous sea and to two possible explanations of ocean's tides (639–44) round the first book off (1.631-9):

interea madidis non desinit Africus alis
continuos picea nube negare dies.
iam matutinis Hyades occasibus udae;
iam latet hiberno conditus imbre Lepus,
exiguum radiis, sed magnis fluctibus, astrum, 635
quo madidam nullus nauita linquat humum;
namque procelloso subiungitur Orioni
aestiferumque Canem roscida praeda fugit.

In 1924 The Classical Quarterly published a note by Alexander Haggerty Krappe titled ‘Euripides’ Alcmaeon and the Apollonius Romance’. Drawing attention to the obscure origins of the ancient Greek and Roman novels in general and pointing out the scholarly agreement on the role love plays in both the ancient novels and Euripidean tragedy, Krappe observed that ‘Euripides was drawn upon for whole episodes in order to enrich the plot of the [ancient] novel’. Krappe then goes on in his note to attribute the plot of Euripides' lost Alcmaeon as a source of inspiration for one of the major episodes of the Historia Apollonii Regis Tyri (to wit, the separation and reunion of Apollonius and his daughter, Tarsia). Today, this reliance of the ancient novels on Euripides is generally recognized, but, curiously, Krappe, while identifying an episode from the lost Alcmaeon, failed to identify a clear plot-borrowing from another extant Euripidean play, the Alcestis.