It is well known that the future indicative and conditional (or future-in-thepast) paradigms of most Central and West Romance languages reflect a Latin infinitival construction with habeo, e.g. Italian canterd <cantare habeo, cantaria < cantare habebam.Although the development was essentially a Vulgar Latin one and so belongs to the subliterate register of the language, it is reflected now and again in the written material from the classical and post-classical periods. It is, therefore, possible by a study of its occurrences in the written material to make inferences about its origins within the antecedent morpho-syntactic system and the structural pressures that gave rise to its development.

Much of the early scholarship on Virgilian borrowings from Theocritus offered mere lists of parallel passages and, where criticism was attempted at all, the Eclogues often attracted such uncomplimentary labels as ‘cento’ or ‘pastiche’. In more recent scholarship the tendency to concentrate on insoluble problems and arithmetical correspondences lingers and, while some critical works of the sixties are characterized by a welcome upsurge in sensitivity, one occasionally suspects that Virgil has had attributed to him concepts which are two millennia ahead of his time. To redress the balance, the following pages adhere to the text of Virgil and aim at being fairly conservative. Despite the volume of literature on the Eclogues, ample scope remains for differing interpretations, for the filling in of details and for a more methodical approach to the specific subject of borrowings from Theocritus.

The difficulties of this poem have led scholars to employ surgery of various sorts upon it.

This article attempts to show that surgery is unnecessary and that, given a fuller exegesis and a partial reinterpretation of subject-matter, the poem can be read as a single and consistent piece.

In his recent book, Professor J. S. Morrison has brought to a happy conclusion a quarter of a century and more of inspired research into the problem of how the oars of a classical trireme were arranged. The essence of his solution of this perennial problem is that the fifth-century Athenian trireme had her oars and benches alike disposed at three different levels, each rower having his own oar, and each oar its separate thole set at a distance of feet, not inches, from its neighbours. The evidence is marshalled with such mastery that it may be thought unlikely that there will ever be any general recrudescence of the di (or al) scaloccio and a zenzile (or alle sensile) theories that were as fashionable once as they are seen now to have been unhistorical. In his inquiry, however, Professor Morrison has wisely confined himself to the ancient sources, and no more than touched upon the analogy of the Byzantine dromon, the direct descendant of the classical trireme and to some extent the parent of the a zenzile galley. Other protagonists, and notably Tarn, have been far from sharing his discretion, and there is still room perhaps for a brief note calling attention to the possibility that the dromon of the Middle Ages may shed indirect light upon the trireme of fifteen hundred years earlier.

Propaganda and history are often inseparable. Most governments are in a position to control the dissemination of evidence, and if an event is embarrassing or damaging, the relevant evidence is certain to be distorted or withheld. Moreover the writers of history, however innocent their motives, cannot disregard the official apologia of their rulers. One notes with interest that the learned authors of the official Soviet history of the world portray the invasion of eastern Poland on 17 September 1939 as a crusade of liberation. Of course it might be true that the people liberated by the Red Army were glad to be rid of ‘the arbitrary despotism of the Polish Pans’ and that in the subsequent elections there was absolute freedom of choice and overwhelming support for union with the Ukraine, but the fact remains that it was impossible for membersof the Moscow Academy to contradict their government's justification of the invasion.

One of the most enigmatic figures in Macedonian history is Alexander of Lyncestis, son of Aeropus and son-in-law of the great Antipater. During the reign of his royal namesake he achieved sensational prominence, deposed from his command of the élite Thessalian cavalry under suspicion of treasonable correspondence with the Persian court. Still more sensational, however, is his involvement in the murder of Philip II. Our sources are unanimous that together with his brothers, Heromenes and Arrhabaeus, he was party to the murder, but secured pardon by his immediate recognition of Alexander as king.The immediate recognition is certain, the participation in the murder much less so.

IT may be taken as a great verity of Greek syntax that ἄν is not construed with the present or the perfect of the indicative. Exceptions are either apparent, needing explanation, or errors in transmission, requiring correction. There are no discordant voices in the expert choir on this point, all say the same. As usual the collections of examples are most copious in Kühner-Gerth, other authorities attempting only to adduce a few new examples. Since these are so readily available there is no need to review all the pertinent passages here. The apparent exceptions are either cases of confusing word-order or anacolutha. Confusing word-order occurs for example when ἄν attaches itself to a verb of speaking (µαι), or to a negative when it belongs logically elsewhere in the sentence. The anacolutha are principally formulaic in character, as when kaν єi is used simply as ═ kαiє and so brings an extra ἄν into the sentence which may seem to belong to an indicative.

The private physicians of the Roman emperors with the exception of Galen are shadowy figures whose origins, friends, and political influence can only rarely be glimpsed. G. Stertinius Xenophon obtained immunity from taxation for his native island of Cos, and ‘L’. Statilius Griton may have secured certain privileges from Trajan for the Museum of Ephesus, but these are isolated instances. Their social position is similarly hard to define: no doctor entered the senate and equestrian rank was the most that could be obtained. But, if social prejudices prevented them from becoming senators, their descendants were free from such restraints, and in the turbulent Roman society of the late second century upward mobility was not difficult.

In a previous paper (CQ.N.S. 17 [1967], pp. 91 ff.) I have shown that this is the correct reading, and that the variant єλєν is a clumsy attempt made by a copyist (or ancient critic) who did not understand Apollonius. Since my elucidation of the matter has now been questioned by Campbell (CQ 19 [1969], pp. 274 f.), I find it necessary to return to Apollonius’ line in more detail, and I shall endeavour to demonstrate geometrico more that (a) my explanation of the poet's words is right because supported by the use of Homeric Wortgut made by Hellenistic poets; (b) Campbell's contention is wrong in that it starts from a false assumption and rests on basic methodological errors.

In this noblest of Epistles Horace has been warning Quinctius to trust his own judgement about his happiness—is he sapiens bonusque? (20). The plaudits of the people are fickle and can be withdrawn overnight. Only a man who is flawed and in need of treatment is delighted by false honour or upset by untrue defamation: the philosophic man is impervious to both. Horace, prompted by the words ‘pone, meum est’, illustrates the idea of defamation by reference to a very ancient and traditional form of Italian popular justice—flagitatio ordefamatory dunning.The three charges made in the Horatian passage—thieving, homosexuality, and unfilial behaviour—also appear in the classic Plautine catalogue of flagitatio at Pseud. 360 ff., where the pimp Ballio is abused: ‘fur’ (365), ‘impudice’ (360), ‘parricida’ (362).

The Iliad is rich in references to stories that have only incidental relevance to the main narrative. These digressions, as they are often called, have usually been assumed to reflect a wealth of pre-Homeric legend, some of which must a have been embodied in poetry. The older Analysts tended to explain the digressions in terms of interpolation. Whether regarded as genuinely Homeric or as interpolated these myths were considered as something existing in an external tradition. More recent scholars have been prepared to admit that Homer may invent from time to time. For example, Sir Maurice Bowra observes that ‘the poet seems sometimes to invent a detail which looks as if it referred to some story outside his immediate subject but is in fact an invention brought to serve a passing need’.

Cic. Att. i. 16. 5. Nosti calvum ex Nanneianis ilium, ilium laudatorem meum, de cuius oratione erga me honorifica ad te scripseram. …

In a recent article (CQ,xviii [1968], 296–9) Dr. T.P.Wiseman has (a) vigorously attacked the almost universally accepted view that the person to whom Cicero here alludes is Crassus, urging instead that the villain of the piece is C. Licinius Macer Calvus, and (b) proposed νєανίαις for the manuscript reading Nanneianis with which he would, I imagine, be unhappy, as others have been before him, even if he accepted the identification with Crassus.

. ‘This saying is obscure’, as Marcovich observes, and much πολυμαθίη has been expended on it, which would have amazed and dismayed Heraclitus. Perhaps, as so often, we are being too clever, and overlooking the obvious, to which Heraclitus keeps trying to bring us back (‘the sun is a foot wide’—fr. 3 DK). Why do souls smell in Hades ? Well, ‘it is death to souls to become water’ (fr. 36 DK), ‘it is death for souls to get wet’ (fr. 77 DK). It seems to be generally agreed that Heraclitus thought the soul to be, in principle, fire. And what happens when fire gets wet ? A lot of smoke. ‘And if all things became smoke, the nostrils would discern them’ (fr. 7 DK). That is to say, in a place of quenched souls (Hades), it is the sense of smell that has to come into play. And perhaps that is what we were looking for.

In a masterly study of the language and motifs of Theocritus’ Thalysia, Dr. G. Giangrande has demonstrated that what the poem relates is the mock-investiture of Simichidas, the naïve young townsman and littérateur, performed with almost malicious irony by the goatherd Lycidas, who sees through, and ridicules, Simichidas’ rustic and poetic pretensions.1 My object in this paper is to examine, in the light of Giangrande's findings, some aspects of the presentation of Lycidas; this examination will, I believe, enable us to bring the poem into still sharper focus.

Winfried bühler's edition of Moschus’ Europa [Hermes, Einzelschrift 12 [1960]) has had the rare accolade of unstinted praise from reviewers in all languages. And deservedly so. Its text is eminently sound, its commentary relevantly erudite and richly instructive particularly about Moschus’ stylistic debts and paternities. Bühler's review of the Europa saga in ancient literature supersedes all that was written previously. And finally, his detailed collation of the nine independent manuscripts of the text establishes for the first time the full evidence for a completely effective stemma which few will challenge and none substantially alter.

Commentators on the Trachiniae, when dealing with Heracles' second request of Hyllus, normally take it that the dying hero asks his son to marry Iole, Heracles' concubine.

Such a request on the part of any Greek in Heracles' situation would be puzzling. It is specially so on the part of Heracles, who has not been notable in the drama up to this point for tenderness to his womenfolk, having given no consideration to Deianeira's sentiments in the matter of his liaison with Iole, and less to Iole's, in that he has sacked her city, slain her kinfolk, and enslaved herself. Albrecht von Blumenthal expresses the bewilderment which all who have read the passage in this light must initially have felt: ‘Warum Herakles den widerstrebenden Sohn zur Erfüllung dieses mit hellenischer Sitte unvereinbaren Vermächtnisses durch die schrecklichsten Drohungen zwingt, ist ein noch nicht enträtseltes Geheimnis des Sophokles.’ Explanations must be sought.

In his illuminating discussion of ‘the Caspian question’ Sir William Tarn, basing his case mainly on Aristotle, Meteorologica, 2. 1. 10 and Strabo, 11. 7. 4, argued that Alexander knew of the existence of the Aral Sea. Tarn's conclusion, however, was soon challenged by Professor Lionel Pearson, who disagreed in particular with Tarn's interpretation of the passage in Strabo. But, although he undoubtedly succeeds in showing that some of Tarn's arguments are not valid, Pearson fails, as it seems to me, to disprove his main contention. Indeed, Pearson misunderstands the line of Strabo's argument and is led to propose an unnecessary emendation of the text.

‘There are important differences between Aristotle's account of homonymy and synonymy on the one hand, and Speusippus' on the other; in particular, Aristotle treated homonymy and synonymy as properties of things, whereas Speusippus treated them as properties of words. Despite this difference, in certain significant passages Aristotle fell under the influence of Speusippus and used die words “homonymous” and “synonymous” in their Speusippan senses.’

Vahlen (Beiträge zu Ar. Poetik (1914), 21–4) regards this as one of the most obscure passages in the treatise. But he himself has furnished the material for an understanding of it, and perhaps a little more can be done.