Galen's highly influential treatise On the Affected Parts (Περὶ τῶν πεπονθότων τόπων, often referred to by its Latin title De locis affectis, hereafter indicated with the abbreviation De loc. aff.) is currently being critically edited by the Corpus Medicorum Graecorum at the Berlin-Brandenburg Academy of Sciences. Over the last decade, a team of scholars, including the present authors as well as the late and lamented Aḥmad ʿEtmān, have worked on producing a critical edition of the Arabic translation of this text, and their efforts are now drawing to a close. Here we present new insights into how this Arabic translation relates to the Greek textual tradition.

The days, not so far back, in which Arabic philosophical works were skimmed essentially with a view of ‘uncovering’ lost gems of Greek philosophy are fortunately behind us. Today these works are studied on their own, as essential building blocks of the history of philosophy. None the less, medieval philosophic works in Arabic continue to allow significant new discoveries concerning the history of Greek philosophy. The same holds, naturally enough, of medieval Hebrew works written by Jewish scholars who lived under the Crescent and accessed Arabic sources.

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.

The Cyrus anecdote recounted in the final chapter of Herodotus’ Histories (9.122) has received the frequent notice of critics, with particular attention paid to the anecdote's relation to the work as a whole. Scholars have long since noted that the episode involves ‘the intersection of two basic narrative modes on which Herodotus has relied throughout the Histories: ethnographic description and detailed accounts of political activity and decision-making’. Thus scholars have illuminated the significance of the anecdote by comparing it to other thematically related passages in the Histories. Reading the closure of the Histories in terms of didactic enterprise, recent treatments of the anecdote tend to view Herodotus’ use of it as a moral lesson to his contemporary Athenians.

Scholars continue to make progress addressing the lacunae in our papyrological sources for Callimachus’ prologue to the Aetia, both by lending additional support to old supplements and by discounting others or demonstrating their weaknesses. To the first category belongs the crucial verb at the end of line 5, where, in my view, Callimachus first characterizes the making of his poetry (Aet. 1–6):

πολλάκι μοι Τελχῖνες ἐπιτρύζουσιν ἀοιδῇ,
νήιδες οἳ Μούσης οὐκ ἐγένοντο φίλοι,
εἵνεκε]ν οὐχ ἓν ἄεισμα διηνεκὲς ἢ βασιλ[η
⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅]ας ἐν πολλαῖς ἤνυσα χιλιάσιν
ἢ⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅]⋅ους ἥρωας, ἔπος δ᾽ ἐπὶ τυτθὸν ἑλ[ίσσω
παῖς ἅτε, τῶν δ᾽ ἐτέων ἡ δεκὰς οὐκ ὀλίγη.

Often the Telchines mutter at my poetry,
being ignorant and no friends of the Muse,
because I have not completed one continuous poem
in many thousands … on kings and …
… heroes, but I … my poem only a little
like a child, though the decades of my years are not few.

According to Livy (26.18.3–26.19.2), in late 211 Publius Cornelius Scipio was elected priuatus cum imperio pro consule by the comitia centuriata and sent to Spain in charge of the legions formerly led by his father Publius and his uncle Gnaeus. This was the beginning of a new phase in the Hannibalic War, which would ultimately lead Rome to victory against its most dangerous enemy. As has long been recognized, Livy assigns Scipio a central role in the narrative development of the Third Decade. For most critics, this centrality coincides with (and is the result of) Livy's admiration: in his view, Scipio is the fatalis dux, the commander sent by Providence to lead Rome to victory; he is Hannibal's rival par excellence, the only leader capable of matching the enemy's military genius and blocking his relentless advance against the Republic; he is, above all, the most shining example of the Roman virtues.

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.

The list of Apollo's virtues (ἀρεταί) in the second hymn of Callimachus describes, in the context of the appearance of the god, a mysterious healing substance which trickles from the hair of the patron of medicine (lines 45–6). Hymn 2.38–41:

αἱ δὲ κόμαι θυόεντα πέδῳ λείβουσιν ἔλαια⋅
οὐ λίπος ᾿Απόλλωνος ἀποστάζουσιν ἔθειραι,
ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὴν πανάκειαν⋅ ἐν ἄστεϊ δ᾽ ᾧ κεν ἐκεῖναι
πρῶκες ἔραζε πέσωσιν, ἀκήρια πάντ᾽ ἐγένοντο.

In the opening sentences of Book 2 of Posterior Analytics, Aristotle defines the four types of question that one can pose within the demonstrative science. In the edition by William D. Ross, the text reads as follows (89b23–31):

In the anapaestic sequences of Eur. Alc. 93–7 and 105–11, a fast-paced exchange takes place between two choreuts (or two groups of choreuts) eager to learn about Alcestis’ fate. The two passages pose several metrical and textual problems. The most serious is the presence at lines 94 and 106 of the ᴗ ᴗ – – sequence (a ‘catalectic monometer’), which finds no parallel in anapaestic poetry from any age or literary genre. The same sequence occurs at the beginning of the short anapaestic coda of lines 132–5, which, whether authentic or not, from a metrical point of view presents certain affinities with the two previous sequences.

Modern readers view ancient theories of blood flow through the lens of circulation. Since the nineteenth century, scholarly work on the ancient understanding of the vascular system has run the gamut from attempting to prove that an ancient author had in fact, to some extent or another, pre-empted Harvey's discovery of the circulation of the blood or towards attempting, often with some empathetic embarrassment, to explain the failure on the part of an ancient author to notice something that seems so obvious to the modern eye. Thus C.R.S. Harris's 1973 book The Heart and Vascular System in Ancient Greek Medicine, which remains the standard on the topic, opens with a sentence in which he marvels at how the otherwise admirable ancient Greek physicians could have ‘failed entirely to arrive at any conception of the circulation of the blood’. This modern vantage point has had an unfortunate effect. In the case of Aristotle in particular, understanding of his cardiovascular system has been diminished by a tendency to define it in contradistinction to our own modern understanding of circulation. By deliberately uncoupling from the framework of modern physiology, this paper will offer a richer and more accurate picture of his views.

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):

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.

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.

In the course of describing the events of the 160s b.c.e., 2 Maccabees presents the texts of four letters: the Seleucid general Lysias to the Jews granting some concessions and referring their other demands to the king (11.16–21); two letters of Antiochus, to Lysias (11.22–6) and to the Jews (11.27–33), granting various concessions; and Roman envoys to the Jews (11.34–8) endorsing Lysias’ concessions. The third and fourth letters have at their ends (suspiciously) the same date, 15 Xanthikos of Seleucid year 148, c. March 164 b.c.e. The second has no date. The first, Lysias’ letter, is dated ἔτους ἑκατοστοῦ τεσσαρακοστοῦ ὀγδόου, διοσκορινθίου τετράδι καὶ εἰκάδι: year 148 on the 24th of a month; but the month name, standardly printed as Διὸς Κορινθίου, is impossible.

The Suda tells us the following about the elder Theodectas, the Phaselian orator and tragedian:

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.