In a well-known passage of Plato's Protagoras the sophist of that name is made to suggest that what makes a society or community of human beings possible is their possession of δίκη and αίδώϧ, which are given to them by Zeus. But though all men have these qualities, they are not ‘natural’ in the way that ugliness or beauty of face is natural. They are acquired; and Protagoras gives a detailed description of how they are inculcated, first by parents, then by schoolmasters, and then by laws. The view that these qualities are peculiar to men was, of course, not a new one. Already in the Works and Days Hesiod writes,

And again the age of lawlessness and violence is described as

Histories of literature tend to treat Stesichorus as just one of the lyric poets, like Alcman or Anacreon. But the vast scale of his compositions puts him in a category of his own. It has always been known that his Oresteia was divided into more than one book; P. Oxy, 2360 gave us fragments of a narrative about Telemachus of a nearly Homeric amplitude; and from P. Oxy. 2617 it was learned that the Geryoneis contained at least 1,300 verses, the total being perhaps closer to two thousand. Even allowing for the shorter lines, this was as long as many an epic poem. Indeed, these were epic poems, in subject and style as well as in length: epics to be sung instead of recited. What was behind them ? Who was this Stesichorus, and how did he come to be, in Quintilian's phrase, ‘sustaining on the lyre the weight of epic song’ ?

The biographical problem must be tackled first. The question of Stesichorus’ historical setting and date is confused by legendary elements as well as by contradiction in the sources. On the whole scholars remain spellbound by the specious precision of the Suda's dates (632–556), although it has long been realized that they are founded on nothing but the assumption that Stesichorus was younger than Alcman and older than Simonides. There have been excellent discussions by Wilamowitz and Maas, but they seem to have had little influence.

The narrative of Thucydides on the period from the Peace of Nicias to the Athenian expedition to Sicily (5. 25–116) has been less intensively studied than any other part of the History. It is true that the Melian Dialogue, which contrasts so sharply with the rest of the fifth book, has accumulated a large bibliography. The problems arising from the campaign culminating in the battle of Mantinea have also received a considerable amount of attention. On the other hand, the accounts of negotiations and intrigues, mostly in the Peloponnese, which occupy much of the fifth book, have tended to be ignored, being thought to be obscure, confusing, and tedious. Scholars interested in the history of the period have experienced difficulty in tracing a coherent pattern in its catalogue of diplomatic manœuvres and in establishing the motives which prompted them. Scholars interested in the historical technique of Thucydides have been disappointed, even repelled, because his facility for mastering his material seems to have to a large extent deserted him.

1. In his recent edition of the De Mysteriis, Mr. D. M. MacDowell has advanced the hypothesis that Andocides, contrary to the generally accepted view, was not guilty of mutilating the Hermae, but guilty of parodying the Mysteries; that, even after he had told what he knew about the former affair, he was kept in prison until, eventually, he confessed to the latter, incriminating, amongst others, his father Leogoras, to gain immunity for himself; and that finally, released and repentant, he helped his father to avoid prosecution. These conclusions are reached in an ingeniously argued series of appendices, in which the author displays a refreshing scepticism towards the evidence of Thucydides.

This passage has been used—and abused—for the study of Athenian female initiations, or, more cautiously, of the practice of the arkteia at Brauron. As it is, it poses more problems that it solves. Most of all, it complicates the question of the age of the arktoi. In fact the scholium seems prima facie to contradict the text, when on v. 645 it says that the ‘bears’ were not more than ten years and not less than five years old, while the accepted text of Aristophanes decisively implies an age greater than ten years. The situation is even more obscured by another indication pointing towards an association of the arkteia with the age of ten, the equation of the verb dekateusai with arkteusai.

Iphigenia at aulis presents many problems to the literary and textual critic. Among these the problem of the prologue is as clear-cut as it is controversial. It may be summarized as follows:

(1) Our text opens abruptly with an anapaestic dialogue between Agamemnon and the Retainer (1–48), instead of the usual monologue in trimeters.

In reply to a question from the Retainer, Agamemnon launches into a long iambic narrative (49–114), describing much that the Retainer must know already, and with no sign, for more than sixty lines, that the Retainer is being addressed. Moreover 49 {Ἐγ⋯νοντο ۸ήδαι…) reads like the first line of a conventional opening monologue.

Several of the treatises and lectures that make up the Hippocratic corpus begin with more or less extended statements about the physical composition and operation of the world at large, and approach the study of human physiology from this angle. We see this, for example, in De Natwra Hominis, De Flatibus, De Carnibus, De Victu; it was the approach of Alcmaeon of Croton, Diogenes of Apollonia, and according to Plato (Phaedr. 270 c) of Hippocrates himself.

The work known as De Hebdomadibus would appear to be a prime example of the type. The first twelve chapters are cosmological. They are dominated by two ideas: that everything in nature is arranged in groups of seven, and that the human body is constructed on the same pattern as the whole world. In the later part of the book (13–52) we pass to the subject of fevers, their causation and treatment. But as Roscher observed, the cosmology and the pathology do not belong together.

Socrates, in the Republic (509 d–511 e), uses the symbol of a divided line to illustrate the distinction between the Visible and Intelligible Worlds, and between the kinds of perception appropriate to each. This paper will present a new hypothesis: that the proportions of the line are derived from optical theory.

The construction of the Divided Line is described as follows: Socrates asks his interlocutors to represent the Visible and Intelligible Worlds by a line divided into two unequal segments. (See Diagram I, below, where line AA' is divided at C.) The ratio in which the division is to be made is not specified, and it seems that any ratio is acceptable provided that one segment is longer than the other. Socrates then tells them to cut each part again according to the same ratio as the original division. (In Diagram I, below, AC is divided at F, and CA' is divided at F'.) After describing the division of the line thus into four parts, Socrates goes on to explain the philosophical significance of each part. For the purposes of this paper the following brief identification of each segment of the line will suffice.

AT Historia Animalium 561b27, during the course of his account of chick embryology, Aristotle notes (Bekker's text):

.

D'Arcy Thompson (Oxford, 1910) translated this passage as follows:

About the twentieth day, if you open the egg and touch the chick, it moves inside and chirps, and it is already coming to be covered in down when, after the twentieth day is past, the chick begins to break the shell.

Aristotle believed that there were actually only three colours present in the rainbow, : of these, the first is produced by the dulling of white light when it is reflected in or obscured by a dark medium such as smoke, cloud, or water, and exemplified in the redness of the sun as seen through haze around the horizon. Successive failures of sight weaken the colour further, first to πράσινov and then to άλoυργóν. Between the first two colours a fourth, ξανθóν, is often apparent, being the result of the juxtaposition of the two colours. This last statement, where it has not been ignored as one of the inexplicable or misguided things Aristotle says from time to time, has met with considerable criticism

The difficulty of τєἠν at 8 is notorious, and it has never been answered. The word refers back to Apollo, who has been invoked in the first line, but ‘it is not in accord with epic convention that, after the invocation, reference should be made to it’ (Seaton, CR xxviii [1914], 17). I suggest that we simply should not expect Apollonius to conform to the conventions of older epic: he does not do so in a number of other important respects. One is reminded here of the nervous restlessness of Callimachean poetry, particularly Cer. 25. There the goddess is addressed out of the blue with τìν δ’ αύτᾳ, and emendation is unconvincing. Perhaps τєἠν in Apollonius is even more abrupt than the example in Callimachus. Yet Apollonius seems on many occasions to carry further the devices of his master. The astonishing parenthesis at 1. 623 f. is a good example (for Callimachus see Lapp, De Call. Cyr. Tropis et Figuris (1965), 52 f, F. Bornmann, Call. Hymnus in Dianam, 1–li).

Professor Trypanis has recently (Class. Philol. 65 [1970], p. 51) suggested changing àνούαтον into àνούтαтον. Since the problem has not been dealt with atisfactorily by any commentator,1 I should like to clarify the matter by demonstrating that the text is sound: the adjective àνούαтον is, in fact, not only morphologically impeccable, but, in particular, singularly pointed. From the morphological point of view, the Hinterglied ούαтος is paralleled (and therefore supported) by δολιχούαтος (Opp. Cyn. 3. 186), μονούαтος (A.P. v. 135. 1), and χρυσούαтος (Hom.,fr. 17 Allen): these adjectives occur in hexameter poetry, and each of them is attested once, exactly as is the case with Theocritus‘ àνούαтος.

The point brought out by àνούαтον is extremely felicitous: statues of Priapus could be either of an elaborate type, in which the god was represented as having two protruding physical features, namely his ears3 and his mentula, or of a more uncouth type, which consisted of a ‘truncus dolatus’, i.e. a truncus whose only protuberance was the ‘mentula edolata’. The statue described by Theocritus belongs to the latter type: it is uncouthly hewn and devoid of one of the two protruding features {à½οÍαтοт), but (àλλà) it does possess the other one.

SOME years ago Giangrande acutely suggested1 that we should read at the beginning of this line έσтààθη δ’ φθοολλος in place of Buttmann' proposal έσàκη δ’ θολλος accepted by Pfeiffer. Giangrande' emendation received upport from Meillier, who wrote:2 ‘Giangrande … a trouvé de bonnes raisons pour conserver έσтààθη … et propose έσтààθη δ’ φθοολλος.’ No one seems to have realized that there is a metrical difficulty involved in Buttmann' emendation—an ironic fact, as his original intention was, of course, to restore the metre of the line. According to Buttmann' text, the first five feet of the line, in terms of dactyls and spondees, emerge as S S D S D. Callimachus does not seem to use this formation either in the elegiac metre of this hymn or in his Epigrams.3 The figures given by Beneke, based on Schneider' text, need correction in that there is only one example of an S S D S D line in the Epigrams of Callimachus (51. 3), not two.

That such hexameters occur in the Aitia6 is of no consequence. Callimachus clearly regarded the distichs of the Aitia as bound by less strict metrical rules than the distichs of the Epigrams and Hymn 5, as his employment of σπονδєιàζονтєς indicates. From all the above it follows that Giangrande' restoration is the more convincing as it is the first to be metrically acceptable.7

Gow and Page are of the opinion that Planudes’ àένναος in the fifth line of this epigram may be not his conjecture but the true reading, and reject Jacobs' commonly received emendation àєί λáνος, with κηρο in the following line. But I have no doubt that for the two words μέν àλανóς (the μέν is unobjectionable but not obligatory) we should read μєμαλαγαγμένος for ó μєμαλαγαγμένος κηρóς is the regular gloss1 on the waxy substance called μàλθα or μàλθα which was used in Athens—at the time of Sophocles himself2—particularly for spreading on wooden writing-tablets. It was surmised by Schwabe that μàλθη had been the word glossed in Ael. Dion.

Two entries in Pollux are especially important for establishing the use ofmaltha. In 10. 58–9, describing it as ό ένών т πινακίδί κηρϳς, he quotes passages from Herodotus (7. 239), Cratinus (fr. 204), and Aristophanes (fr. 157) referring to the soft wax which could easily be scraped from writing-tablets to erase writing. In 8. 16 he says it is the wax spread on the dicasts’ πινáκιον тιμηтικóν, from scratching on which the ‘long line’ of condemnation it will be remembered that Athenian philheliasts got wax under their finger-nails (Ar. Vesp. 108 and schol.).

In 88 B.C. the dying embers of the Social War kindled an even more dangerous civil war. Violence with gangs was no longer the final solution in Roman political struggles, but war with a regular army took its place. The link between the two wars and the critical escalation of political conflict was created by the tribunate of P. Sulpicius Rufus. Most modern accounts differ little in describing the sequence of events in his tribunate, though they vary in the interpretation of his motives and policy. They agree because they accept the common basis to the narratives of Appian, Plutarch, and Velleius as true, even though they usually discard the Tendenz in these authors, through which Sulpicius is portrayed as an unscrupulous man who put his services at Marius’ disposal. It is the aim of this paper to propose that the wheat in these authors cannot be so easily separated from the chaff: that in fact the bias, which is most obvious in Plutarch’s Lives, and there can be largely ascribed to the influence of Sulla’s fjown memoirs, has not only distorted motives but misplaced and misrepresented facts. Important inconsistencies in Appian, when taken in conjunction with the little information we have outside these sources, suggest a different outline for Sulpicius’ tribunate—one which involves more uncertainties than the commonly accepted view, because it is obtained by rejecting the validity of more of our scanty source material, but which may enable us to judge more fairly not only Sulpicius and Marius but also Sulla himself.

uenena magnum fas nefasque, non ualent

conuertere humanam uicem.

In his article entitled ‘Two Horatian Problems’ (CQ, N.S. xvii [1967], 327–31) Dr. Guiseppe Giangrande argues persuasively on palaeographical and other grounds for the reading miscent in place of magnum. ‘In conclusion,’ he summarizes, ‘the emendation proposed here solves all the difficulties which have puzzled scholars so far and at the same time is capable of a palaeographical explanation’ (loc. cit. 328).

When Propertius tells Cynthia in 2. 29A that, on his drunken way to another woman (line 14) the previous night, he was seized and hauled back to Cynthia by a band of Cupids, it is fairly clear that the poet is giving dramatic embodiment to the erotic commonplace that the lover fired by wine is unable to stay away from his mistress but is dragged back to her perforce by love.

The nature of the drama in which the topos is embodied is, however, not at all clear. Most commentators have seen it as nothing more than a fantasy or fairy-tale having no connection whatsoever with real life. Two, while recognizing that elements of fantasy are present, nevertheless have felt that the action of the drama is derived from real life with the Cupids playing a real-life role.

I believe that those who have seen 2. 29A as merely fantasy are incorrect. This is not to say that pure fantasy does not occur in Propertius’ work. But when it does it takes place in a dream or fantasy landscape. In 2. 29A the scene is the streets of Rome and this realistic setting suggests that, as in another realistic setting (3. 1. 9–12) Propertius although giving rein to his fantasy links it with reality by taking on himself the role of triumphator, so here it is more likely that the characters in a drama with a real setting will have real-life roles to play.