Καλλίμαχος τὸ κάθαρμα, τὸ παίγνιον, ὁ ξύλινος νοῦς,
αἴτιος ὁ γράψας Αἴτια Καλλίμαχος.

Callimachus [means] trash, trifle, wooden mind:
the cause is the Callimachus who wrote Causes.

This abusive epigram, probably composed in the first century c.e. by a certain Apollonius ‘Grammaticus’, has become famous on account of its false attribution to Apollonius of Rhodes and of its consequent identification as ‘evidence’ for the literary feud between Apollonius and Callimachus. Its literary features have attracted less interest. Cameron, for one, dismissed it, finding ‘no coherent literary thrust to the polemic’. I argue here that this epigram in fact shows close engagement with the poetics of Callimachus and his language of literary self-definition. As we find in other anti-Callimachean epigrams, the author of Anth. Pal. 11.275 crafts his insults by appropriating and transforming several Callimachean terms of literary-aesthetic value, which he then directs back against their creator.

Virgil's list of the qualities that are desirable in a brood cow corresponds closely to those in Varro's De re rustica and in the texts which, though later, can be plausibly taken as evidence of an existing tradition. Yet, there is one exception, and it is an exception to which the poet carefully draws attention. Varro's, Columella's and Palladius’ ideal cows all share with Virgil's and with each other hairy ears, very long dewlaps and tail, and other features. However, whereas they all have narrow hooves (ungulis breuibus, Palladius), moderate at most (ungulis modicis, Columella), and certainly not broad (pedibus non latis, Varro), Virgil's cow emphatically has big feet (Verg. G. 3.51–9):

optima toruae
forma bouis cui turpe caput, cui plurima ceruix,
et crurum tenus a mento palearia pendent;
tum longo nullus lateri modus: omnia magna,
pes etiam, et camuris hirtae sub cornibus aures. 55
nec mihi displiceat maculis insignis et albo,
aut iuga detrectans interdumque aspera cornu
et faciem tauro propior, quaeque ardua tota
et gradiens ima uerrit uestigia cauda.

The best shape
for a fierce cow is one which has an ugly head, which has a lot of neck
and whose dewlaps hang from her chin all the way down to her legs;
then let there be no limit to the length of her flank: let everything be big,
even the foot, and hairy ears under in-curving horns,
and I would approve of her being marked with white spots,
either refusing the yoke or sometimes fierce with her horn
and in appearance closer to a bull, and who is lofty in every respect
and when walking sweeps her tracks with the tip of her tail.

‘The tale of the Argonauts was among the most popular myths in Greek and Roman literature of all periods.’ There was, however, not inconsiderable variation in certain aspects of the narrative: in the inclusion or exclusion of entire episodes; in (un)expected divergences from more authoritative versions of the story; and in the details of minutiae. In the Argonautic choral odes of Seneca's Medea (301–79 and 579–669), and in Valerius Flaccus’ incomplete epic, there is a conspicuous, learned engagement with much of the earlier tradition that hints at versions of the myth which are divergent from those that the two poets privilege in their respective narratives. Such moments serve to assert the playwright's and the epicist's status as docti poetae, and to engage the learned reader in a (re)negotiation of the tradition; at times, an awareness of a literary past seems to be given to particular characters too so as to heighten the reader's experience of the narrative—by a sort of prolepsis—as it unfolds.

The fifth scene represented on the Shield of Aeneas describes Porsenna's siege of Rome and the resistance of the Romans, with the two classic exempla of Horatius Cocles and Cloelia (Verg. Aen. 8.646–51):

nec non Tarquinium eiectum Porsenna iubebat
accipere ingentique urbem obsidione premebat;
Aeneadae in ferrum pro libertate ruebant.
illum indignanti similem similemque minanti
aspiceres, pontem auderet quia uellere Cocles 650
et fluuium uinclis innaret Cloelia ruptis.

Many attempts have been made to define the precise philosophical outlook of Ovid's account of cosmogony from the beginning of the Metamorphoses, while numerous different and interconnected influences have been identified including Homer, Hesiod, Empedocles, Apollonius Rhodius, Lucretius and Virgil. This has led some scholars to conclude that Ovid's cosmogony is simply eclectic, a magpie collection of various poetic and philosophical snippets haphazardly jumbled together, and with no significant philosophical dimension whatsoever. A more constructive approach could see Ovid's synthesis of many of the major cosmogonic works in the Graeco-Roman tradition as an attempt to match textually his all-encompassing history of the universe that purports to stretch from the first beginnings of the world up to the present day (Met. 1.3−4). Furthermore, if the beginning of the Metamorphoses is designed to be both cosmologically and intertextually all-encompassing, it is surprising that the influence of arguably the major philosophical work on cosmogony from the ancient world, Plato's Timaeus, remains to be evaluated.

In the passage about the flax plant, lini natura et miracula (HN 1.19) at the beginning of Book 19 (1–25) of his Naturalis historia, Pliny launches into a moralizing diatribe on man's assault against Nature, fulminating against the evils which man brings upon himself by taking to the high seas in ships with sails. The passage culminates in the rhetorical outburst audax uita, scelerumque plena (19.4), which serves as something of a moral aphorism for the jeremiad as a whole. Although it has been the subject of much discussion in Plinian scholarship, the text still remains in need of attention (HN 19.4–5):

The Culex is now widely recognized as a piece of post-Ovidian, possibly Tiberian, pseudo-juvenilia written by an author impersonating the young Virgil, although it was attached to Virgil's name already in the first century c.e., being identified as Virgilian by Statius, Suetonius and Martial. Dedicated to the young Octavian (Octaui in line 1), the poem seems to fill a biographical gap in Virgil's career before his composition of the Eclogues. It is introduced as a ludus, which Irene Peirano suggests may openly refer to ‘the act of impersonating Virgil’, and, like many of the poems in the Appendix Vergiliana, it seems to have a parodic intent. The Culex has been interpreted as a parody of neoteric style and the epyllion, as mock-epic, as Virgil parody (John Henderson called it a ‘spoof Aeneid in bucolic drag’), as pointed Augustan satire, as mock Ovidian ‘Weltgedicht’ and as just very bad poetry (Housman's ‘stutterer’). Glenn Most has observed that the poem's three ‘acts’ structurally recapitulate Virgil's three major works in chronological succession. Little attention, however, has been paid to the Culex's final lines, which contain a catalogue of flowers the pastor places on the gnat's tomb. Recent scholarship has reintroduced an older interpretation of the gnat's tomb as a political allegory of Augustus’ Mausoleum; in this paper I suggest instead that the tomb and its flowers serve a closural and metapoetic function at the end of the poem.

As he draws toward the conclusion of a lengthy string of Roman exempla on the topic of moderatio, a virtue highly regarded by the reigning Emperor Tiberius, Valerius introduces a brief discussion on the challenges he faces in producing the kind of account he wants to create. Unfortunately, for a rare passage in which Valerius speaks about his own work, the text is uncertain: various problems have been identified and different solutions have been proposed, but not, I will argue, ones that satisfactorily recognize the prominence of Valerius’ authorial role here or understand his meaning or pay appropriate attention to the immediate context in which he makes his remarks. I propose a new emendation which helps clarify that the primary challenge concerns the scale and the style of coverage of individual exempla required by the Facta et dicta memorabilia. I will show that Valerius deliberately alludes to his own programmatic remarks in the work's preface, which then illuminate his purpose and practice, both broadly in relation to his mission to record and praise outstanding individuals and more narrowly in providing a transition to a specific exemplum.

This article adopts a revisionist approach to the intertextual relationship between Statius’ Thebaid and Silius Italicus’ Punica, two contemporary Flavian epics that interact with one another (first century a.d.). As such, this is not only an excellent illustration of intertextuality in action but also a prime example of how texts can be read in either direction depending on which takes precedence. Since both epics overlap in time, it is precisely the difficulty in establishing the direction of influence between the two poets that opens up texts in creative ways by allowing further readings. Of course, such an overlap calls for a shift in power from the author onto the reader in constructing meaning in text. However, textual evidence only allows us to do so much. It is my contention that Statius could not have interacted with Silius’ Punica beyond a.d. 92, which is the year when he published his Thebaid. This is also the year when Silius is thought to have composed Book 12 of the Punica. Therefore, Statius could only effectively engage with Silius up to Punica Book 12, it seems, while Silius carried on writing the remainder of his seventeen-book-long epic. Still, there is ample material from Statius’ Thebaid and Silius’ Punica Books 1–12 to explore in terms of mutual influence. A critical trend in Flavian scholarship has produced a list of parallels between the two epics showing Silius’ potential borrowing from Statius and vice versa. As recently discussed in Ripoll's study, the most significant parallel inviting close comparison is Hannibal's siege of Rome in Punica Book 12 and Capaneus’ assault on Thebes in Thebaid Book 10. In this article, I would like to return to these two specific episodes and read them alongside each other. The purpose of the reading is to evaluate whether this single interaction changes the model of how we think about the intertextual activity between Silius and Statius, before the final publication of the Thebaid in a.d. 92, when Statius could still revise, amend and polish in the light of the Punica.

Columella invites his readers to plant different flowers, including violets—which will be the main focus of the following discussion (10.94–102):

uerum ubi iam puro discrimine pectita tellus
deposito squalore nitens sua semina poscet, 95
pangite tunc uarios, terrestria sidera, flores:
candida leucoia et flauentia lumina caltae,
narcissique comas et hiantis saeua leonis
ora feri, calathisque uirentia lilia canis,
necnon uel niueos uel caeruleos hyacinthos. 100
tum quae pallet humi, quae frondes purpurat auro,
ponatur uiola, et nimium rosa plena pudoris.

tum quae pallet humi, quae frondes purpurat auro,
ponatur uiola, et nimium rosa plena pudoris.

According to Diogenes Laertius (7.49–51), the concept of ‘appearance’ (φαντασία) played a central role in Stoic philosophy. As staunch corporealists, the Stoics believed that appearances are physical structures in our corporeal soul which provide the foundation for all our thoughts (Sext. Emp. Math. 7.228–41). One of the crucial features of appearance is that it is a representational mental state that has the ability to provide us with accurate awareness of the world through causal interaction between our senses and external objects, and thus supply the means for acquiring knowledge about the reality. However, the Stoics recognized that we can also be aware and think of objects that are real but are not presently affecting our senses, as well as objects that are altogether fictional and thus incapable of ever interacting with our senses. Because of this, it was important for them to distinguish between representational mental states which are and those which are not caused by external objects at the moment in which they are formed. Chrysippus was one of the Stoics who paid special attention to this distinction; in a key text, Aet. 4.12, he is reported as reserving the name ‘appearance’ (φαντασία) only for the former states, while for the latter he used a different term, ‘imagination’ (φανταστικόν).

Readers have struggled to interpret an image from the end of Juvenal's fifth satire, a poem which focusses upon the poor hospitality shown to a dinner guest, Trebius, at the hands of his host, Virro. After repeatedly juxtaposing the luxurious food served to Virro with the scant fare served to Trebius, Juvenal describes the final course of the cena. He again contrasts the host's hyper-abundance with his guest's mere scraps (5.149–55):

Virro sibi et reliquis Virronibus illa iubebit
poma dari, quorum solo pascaris odore,
qualia perpetuus Phaeacum autumnus habebat,
credere quae possis subrepta sororibus Afris:
tu scabie frueris mali, quod in aggere rodit
qui tegitur parma et galea, metuensque flagelli
discit ab hirsuta iaculum torquere capella.

The so-called Latin Iliad, the main source for the knowledge of the Greek epic poem in the Latin West during the Middle Ages, is a hexametric poetic summary (epitome) of Homer's Iliad likely dating from the Age of Nero, which reduces the 15,693 lines of the original to a mere 1,070 lines (6.8%).

The Bellum ciuile has been the subject of three major editions in the past thirty years, attributable to D.R. Shackleton Bailey, R. Badalì and G. Luck. The existence of these three works highlights the resurgence of sustained interest surrounding Lucan as of the 1970s, with the publication of two significant works, Lucan: An Introduction by F. Ahl and the collective volume of Entretiens à la fondation Hardt, yet it also demonstrates the difficulty in establishing the text of the Pharsalia.

The Satyrica has long been associated with a Neronian courtier named Petronius, mentioned by Tacitus in his Annals. As such, the text is usually dated to the mid first century c.e. This view is so established that certain scholars have suggested it is ‘little short of perverse not to accept the general consensus and read the Satyrica as a Neronian text of the mid-60s ad’. In recent years, however, there has been a groundswell of support for re-evaluating this long-held position. Laird, after comparing the ‘form and content’ of the text to the Greek novel, came to the ‘unattractive’ conclusion that the text may be second century. Similarly, in two recent pieces in CQ, Roth argues that the manumission scene in the Cena establishes a new terminus post quem for the text; she suggests that the freedoms granted by Trimalchio closely parallel—and parody—descriptions of awarding ciuitas found in the letters of Pliny the Younger. Indeed, the three slaves manumitted in the novel are associated with a boar (Sat. 40.3–41.4), Dionysus (Sat. 41.6–7) and a falling star (Sat. 54.1–5); likewise, the three slaves that are the subject of Pliny's letter are C. Valerius Aper (boar), C. Valerius Dionysius (god of wine) and C. Valerius Astraeus (stars). Roth's argument suggests that the author of the Satyrica was not Nero's contemporary but a member of Pliny's intellectual circle, offering strong circumstantial evidence that troubles the accepted tradition on the work's authorship and date.

Pompey does not accept defeat at Pharsalus. Rather, in an effort to gain support from powers beyond Rome, he makes for Egypt and, unbeknownst to him, his decapitation. As narrated in Lucan's Bellum ciuile, after deliberating in Cilicia with his senatorial advisers (8.259–455), Pompey stops at the island of Cyprus (8.456–9):

tum Cilicum liquere solum Cyproque citatas
immisere rates, nullas cui praetulit aras
undae diua memor Paphiae, si numina nasci
credimus aut quemquam fas est coepisse deorum.

In the Roman world, slavery played a crucial role. Besides private slaves, owned by individual masters, and—from the beginning of the Principate—imperial slaves, who were the property of the emperors, there were also the so-called public slaves: non-free individuals who were owned by a community, such as the Roman people as a whole in Rome (serui publici populi Romani), or the citizen body of a colony or a municipium in Italy or in the provinces (serui ciuitatum). Public slaves in Rome were employed for numerous public services and acted under the authority of the Senate as assistants to public magistrates, officers or priests. Similarly, in Italian and in provincial cities, they juridically depended on the decisions of local councils and performed various activities within the civic administration, beholden to the magistrates.

In sections 4.80 and 4.81 of the Historia Naturalis, Pliny the Elder describes the peoples living beyond the Danube River in his own day in the later first century c.e.:

Urban landscapes in the Roman world were covered in written text, from monumental building inscriptions to smaller, more personal texts of individual accomplishment and commemoration. In the East, Greek dominated these written landscapes, but Latin also appeared with some frequency, especially in places where a larger Roman audience was expected, such as major cities and Roman colonies. When Latin and Greek appear alongside each other, whether in the same inscription or across a single monumental space, we might ask what benefits the sponsor of the monument hoped to gain from such a bilingual presentation, and whether each language was serving the same function. This paper considers the monumental entrance to the Pamphylian city of Perge as a case study for exploring this relationship between bilingual inscriptions and civic space. By surveying the display of both Greek and Latin on this entrance, examining how the entrance interacted with the broader linguistic landscape of Perge, and considering the effects that each language would have had on the viewer, I show that the use of language, and the variation between the languages, served not only to communicate membership in both Greek and Roman societies but also to delineate civic space from imperial space, both physically and symbolically.