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The play has been seen in many lights: as a re-treatment, perhaps a re-thinking, of the Oedipus story, and so in some sense a sequel to the Tyrannus; as an Athenian play, first and foremost, glorifying Athens in her traditional role as protector of the oppressed; as a study in the nature of a heros and the process of becoming one; as the final testament of a poet on the threshold of death. Perhaps all these ways of looking at the play have a legitimate basis, even those which might appear somewhat remote from one another. It is indeed full of clashes and seeming contradictions: between the love of Oedipus for his daughters and his hatred for his sons, between the beauty of the grove of the Eumenides and the terror which it inspires, between Justice and Pity; above all, between the miseries of Oedipus, past and present, and the destiny which awaits him when he goes, attended by the king of Athens, ‘to keep a strange appointment with heaven’. This last has been recognized to be the central mystery. What does it mean? And how is it related to the entire action of a lengthy play? This action – of the longest extant tragedy – is sometimes said to be episodic, which is, I suppose, a polite word for rambling. That the play unfolds with a certain amplitude, a lack of hurry, can hardly be denied, whether or not we choose to attribute this to the old age of a nonagenarian poet. The structure, however, may be tighter and more symmetrical than has always been observed.
In the Parodos the alternation of joy and sorrow is symbolized by the great alternating process of nature, day and night. It is the consoling argument of the Chorus that sorrow cannot last for ever, but will give place to joy as night gives place to day, and Deianira should therefore not reject good hope. This they have in mind as they sing, but the words which Sophocles gives them may suggest that she is right not to be so consoled. The handling of this theme, particularly in the first stanza and the last, is a striking example of the lyric subtlety of Sophocles.
In the first stanza, overtly, the Chorus appeal to the sun as the source of knowledge, to tell them where Alcmena's son may be.
It is generally believed that a substantial number of time intervals and traditional dates given for early Greek history are the result of calculations based on genealogies and on various values for a generation. Although this method is supposed to have been used by Greek chronographers from the fifth century down at least to Kastor of Rhodes in the first, Herodotos must be our main direct evidence.
‘In spite of the efforts of scholars to improve matters, the condition of Seneca's text remains in many places most uncertain or quite irrecoverable. Again and again one has to be content with conjectures which, while often giving the general sense of a passage, must not be taken as certainly Seneca's words’ (Corcoran).
1. praef. 5 o quam contempta res est homo, nisi supra humana surrexerit! quam diu cum affectibus colluctamur, quid magnifici facimus, etiam si superiores sumus? portenta vincimus: quid est cur suspiciamus nosmet ipsos, quia dissimiles deterrimis sumus? Traditional punctuation: ‘… quid magnifici facimus? etiam si superiores sumus, portenta vincimus’
It is gratifying to read, in a recent issue of this periodical, Mr. A. A. Barrett's informed exposition of the syntax of this passage, even though he balks at the need to extract a grammatical subject for the verb deducit in 157 from the relative pronoun qua in the previous line. However his persuasive presentation of what he relies on as evidence in support of his suggested interpretation from the mosaics from Zliten in Tripolitania, which portray scenes in an amphitheatre, may seduce the unwary into an over-ready acquiescence in his proposal to read raeda in 157 for taeda of the manuscript tradition. Juvenal's words were correctly understood by T. Maguire as long ago as 1881, and the solution was restated with clarity in a note by W. V. Clausen recently.
Gellius, in N. A. 6. 20, claims to have read ‘in quodam commentario’ that theoriginal text had been not ora but Nola; ‘postea Vergilium petisse a Nolanis, aquam uti duceret in propincum rus, Nolanos beneficium petitum non fecisse, poetam offensum nomen urbis eorum, quasi ex hominum memoria, sic excarmine suo derasisse oramque pro Nola mutasse’. It may be from this passagethat by way of Donatus this story reached the expanded Servius: ‘et hocemendauit ipse, quia Nolam posuerat; nam postea offensus a Nolanis, qui eidemaquam negauerant, “ora” pro “Nola” posuit.’
Heinrich Dörrie has demonstrated that the text of two long passages of Ovid's Heroides depends entirely on a single witness, the printed edition of the complete works published at Parma in 1477 by Stephanus Corallus (π). The passages in question are from the letters of Paris (16. 39–144) and Cydippe (21. 145–248). In this paper I limit myself to a single question: whether these verses are by the same hand as the rest of the epistles of Paris and Cydippe. Since, however, I see no reason to doubt that all the double epistles are by Ovid, this means in effect that I shall be asking whether the disputed passages are his.
Ion enters in pursuit of Kreousa who following the advice of the chorus has just taken up position at the altar (1257 ff.). His speech on entering falls into five sections which L exhibits in the following order:
Central to any understanding of archaic Roman criminal law is the trial, as recorded by Livy, of Horatius for killing his sister. It is not just that the case raises so many legal issues; the jurisdiction of the father (paterfamilias) and of the king, the institution of a separate state procedure with two judges (the duoviri), the right of appeal to the people, the scope of the crime of perduellio (usually roughly translated as ‘treason’) and of parricidium, murder, and the use of sacral punishment. But also, on the ability to determine how accurate for the period of King Tullus Hostilius is this account of law and legal procedure will depend our wider appreciation of the reliability of the sources. It must be admitted that almost all modern scholars regard Livy's account as quite untrustworthy.
In CR N.S. 10 (1960), 7, I supported L. Purgold's emendation of to in O. T. 230, accepted by Elmsley, wrongly discarded by all editors since, and now omitted even from the apparatus criticus of R. D. Dawe's recent Teubner edition of Sophocles. May I now add that the emendation was also defended, at greater length, by M. Furness in CR 13 (1899), 195–7? The 1899 editor of CR reproduced, at the end of Furness's article, the sueeinct and trenchant Latin in which, in the year 1802, Purgold defended his emendation.
The events in Ionia during the first decade of the fifth century have been the subject of perennial controversy, largely because of the deficiencies of the account Herodotus gives us. The nature of these deficiencies, however, has for the most part been ignored, and the debate has centred itself on what we should add to and subtract from the account of Herodotus. Such an approach is dangerously subjective, and tends to produce an account of the ‘Revolt’ untenable in the light of our evidence. It would be very satisfying to prove that ‘widespread hatred of a despotic constitution’ indicates that ‘Ionia was seething with discontent’, causing ‘the Ionians’ great struggle for freedom, undertaken of their own free will'; can we justify such conclusions from the evidence?
Two problems involving Thucydides and medicine have attracted intense treatment by classical scholars and medical men working separately or in combination. They are, first, the nature of the Athenian Plague which Thucydides describes and, second, the possibility of his having been influenced by the doctrines and outlook of Hippocrates and his followers. It is the purpose of the present paper to reconsider both these problems, to indicate some false assumptions made in the methodology of previous attempts to identify the Plague, and to suggest a somewhat radical revaluation of Thucydides' approach to medical matters compared with that of Hippocrates (if, indeed, the surviving evidence about Hippocrates' method has any validity).
The most important historical work in Latin that was actually written in the first half of the first century B C. was L. Cornelius Sisenna's history of the War of the Allies and the Civil Wars which followed it, up to Sulla's dictatorship or conceivably death-the most important one that was not written being of course Cicero's. Sallust praised Sisenna's work highly in the Jugurtba, though complaining that it was not sufficiently frank about Sulla, and his own lost histories began, very probably, where Sisenna's left off. Varro's logistoricus on the writing of history, of which, alas, only a brief and unenlightening fragment remains, bore Sisenna's name.
Any educated Roman in late antiquity would immediately have recognized the figure of Catiline, for the simple reason that Sallust, together with Vergil, Cicero, and Terence, formed the core of the school curriculum. When his grandson starts school, Ausonius rejoices in a second chance to read the Catiline and the Histories (Ep. 22.61 ff.):
The intriguing myth of the first temples at Delphi is first attested in Pindar's fragmentary eighth Paean. This text, and Pausanias 10.5.9–13, are the only two sources that actually tell the story of the first temples, while a few others simply mention, en passant, one or more-but not all-of these legendary temples, without setting out to give an account of the myth.
In CQ N.S. 28 (1978), 242, Frances Mueeke, quoting Beroaldus, rightly understood this line to refer to a funerary practice. In default of ancient parallels the author offered us a modern one from a novel I vicerè by Federico De Roberto, first published in 1894. 1894. But even before De Roberto's novel was published, Vincenzo Padula, in his curious work Pauca Quae in Sexto Aurelio Propertio Vincentius Padula ab Acrio Animadvertabat (Naples, 1871), had explained Prop. 4.7.26 by reference to popular custom: