Roman magistri and grammatici taught their students a wide range of subjects, primarily through the medium of Latin and Greek literary texts. A well-educated Roman in the Imperial era was expected to have a good knowledge of the literary language of Cicero and Virgil, as well as a competent command of Greek. By the late fourth and early fifth centuries, this knowledge had to be taught actively, as everyday Latin usage had changed during the intervening four centuries. After the reign of Theodosius the division between the Eastern and the Western Empires meant that knowledge of Greek was no longer as common as it had once been in the West. At the same time, by Late Antiquity, migration increased and foreigners as well as provincials moved within the empire, for example, in search of military promotion. There is evidence that recruitment to official or public careers was based less on birth than on education. These ambitious newcomers sent their children to Roman schools, which would facilitate their access to public office. Receipt of this education provided a means by which men from less privileged backgrounds could achieve promotion to such office and become prominent and influential individuals. At the same time a late Roman education also produced a high level of cultural homogeneity among those who had experienced it. So what might we learn about how language was taught—and what kinds of language were valued—in a late-antique Roman school? How might this contribute to our understanding of late-antique Roman elite society?

Goffredo Coppola, the Italian editor of this papyrus, supposed that τὸν ὄρχιν (the testicle) = τοὺς ὄρχεις; but he was puzzled when no likely erotic word seemed available to finish the line. He suggested φαλ[ῆς, from φαλός = λευκός (‘white’) to be followed by some metaphorical word for penis such as κέρκου. Romagnoli noted that it made no sense to have the testicle(s) dependent on the penis, and argued that Hipponax here intended ὄρχις to refer metaphorically to the glans penis; therefore, he emended to καί μοι τὸν ὄρχιν τῆς φαλ[ῆς ἐκλέψασα (= peeling back the penis’ foreskin); but his feminine form τῆς φαλ[ῆς is unlikely given the masculine form τοῦ φάλεω in Hipponax fr. 21 W. Medeiros suggested ὄρχις, sing. = ὄσχη ‘scrotum’; West actually exalted the role of the testicle by emending to τῆς φαλ[άκρης ἕλκουσα ‘pulling my testicle by the bald spot’; but it is not obvious why hitting the testicles merits such attention in a narrative fixed on the failure to attain an erection.

In a recent paper, M. Finkelberg has endorsed part of M.L. West's emendation of the fifth strophe of the second stasimon in Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes (= Sept.). In her opinion, accepting West's emendation also allows adopting earlier emendations proposed by Schütz and Prien, leading to a better understanding of the passage. It is recalled that this is where the chorus relates the disasters that ensued from Oedipus’ discovery of the truth about his marriage. In the following short discussion, I intend to revisit and defend once again the reading, according to which the two acts mentioned in connection with Oedipus’ discovery are gouging out his eyes and casting a curse on his sons, and not murdering his father and bedding his mother.

Two excerpts from Xenophon, in which he states that Socrates avidly practised religious ceremonies promoted by Athens, are subject to two different interpretations by modern historians. For some, they are the proof that the Athenian city was only concerned with the rituals of its fellow citizens, and in no way with their beliefs. In contrast with this view, Hendrick Versnel feels that, by writing that Socrates performed ceremonies, Xenophon thinks that he proves that his master really did believe in the gods. Both of these interpretations are incorrect, as a careful new consideration of these passages can demonstrate.

Odysseus has just entered the acting area following the choral song, during which he witnessed the Cyclops butchering, cooking and then eating two of his companions. In these lines Odysseus seemingly presents himself as being at a loss for words (τί λέξω), and claims that what he witnessed inside the cave is not to be believed (οὐ πιστά). These are, of course, nothing more than rhetorical ploys, with frequent parallels in Euripides and elsewhere. When Odysseus says οὐ πιστά he means not that what he is about to recount lacks credibility—he does, after all, expect the satyrs (and the audience) to accept his account as reliable—but that it surpasses the bounds of ordinary human experience. And the account that follows belies his apparent profession of being at a loss for words, since he is about to deliver what is in effect a messenger-speech of over fifty lines (382–436). Expressions of aphasia are common in Euripides, sometimes accompanied, as here, by lengthy exposition. Characters use such expressions to indicate that the circumstances in which they find themselves are beyond the power of language to convey. There is, therefore, something discordant in Odysseus immediately following his expression of aphasia by saying that what he has witnessed is ‘like stories’, especially when he is about to tell the story of the circumstances in which he finds himself. It is the purpose of this note to suggest that the words μύθοις εἰκότ’ have been universally misunderstood, and that Odysseus is here saying something quite other than that the events in the cave have a greater resemblance to stories than to reality.

According to the manuscripts of On the Crown (18.260), Demosthenes mockingly claims that, as the youthful Aeschines led processions in his mother's mystery-cult celebrations, he was hailed by various old women as ἔξαρχος καὶ προηγεμὼν καὶ κιττοφόρος καὶ λικνοφόρος καὶ τοιαῦθ’ (‘leader and guide and ivy-bearer and bearer-of-the-winnowing-fan and the like’). Τhese are clearly special titles—Aeschines is not just one celebrant among many but a leading figure in the train of worshippers—and recent editors accordingly note that κιττοφόρος seems weak and follow Albert Rubens (‘Rubenius’) in printing instead κιστοφόρος (‘basket-bearer’), which Harpocration reports was read by some authorities here. κιστοφόρος appears to be supported by ΣF2 18.260 (296 Dilts) ὁ φέρων τὰς κίστας (‘the man who carries the baskets’), which is easily taken to confirm that Demosthenes meant that Aeschines stood out in the crowd of celebrants inter alia because he carried containers within which must have been sacred implements of some sort.

In a recent article, I discussed vocative uses of οὗτος in the works of Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides and Aristophanes, showing that there are two types of vocatives: ‘calls’, which are utterance-initial and directed at one whose attention is turned elsewhere, and ‘addresses’, which are non-initial, employed by a speaker who is already conversing with a hearer, and typically indicate a speaker's annoyance at the hearer. Menander uses οὗτος as a vocative in the same ways as the other dramatic poets, but there is one instance in Dyscolus that has been routinely misconstrued and merits clarification.

Aratus’ Phaenomena calls upon its reader to scrutinize the letters of the text as carefully as the stars and constellations that form its subject matter. The poem abounds with clever letter-play and wordplay, and its reception too is characterized by verbal cleverness, as later authors vie with Aratus and one another to create ingenious textual effects. Among the best-known examples is the word ἄρρητον (‘unspoken’) at Phaen. 2, a witty hidden sphragis for Aratus, who nowhere in his work directly names himself. Later poets picked up on this pun: Callimachus speaks of the λεπταὶ ῥήσιες Ἀρήτου (Anth. Pal. 9.507.3-4 = 27 Pf.), repeating the verbal root of ἄρρητον in ῥήσιες and its sound in Ἀρήτου. Leonidas of Tarentum meanwhile rates Aratus ‘second after Zeus’ (Διὸς … δεύτερος, Anth. Pal. 9.25.5-6), acknowledging the hidden sphragis, which follows directly after the invocation of Zeus in line 1 of the Phaenomena.

Modern editors of Catullus all agree on the text of line 53. The manuscripts also agree on the line, the only difference being R transmitting mutantibus, while O and G transmit nutantibus. Nevertheless, a few scholars have in the past questioned the reading of nutantibus. As the lines quoted above illustrate, Catullus generally translates Callimachus’ poem closely. But neither of the words suggested in the manuscripts seems wholly to describe the rapid and vigorous movement of Callimachus’ κυκλώσας βαλιὰ πτερά, ‘having whirled its swift wings’. The reading of nutantibus is somewhat supported by Apuleius’ pinnarum nutantium (Met. 6.15.5). But there too the nodding, swaying and wavering sense of nutare does not seem to illustrate the hurried and rapid action of Jupiter's eagle. Additionally, the wording of the passage is sufficiently disputed to make it possible that nutantium is not the correct reading.

The sentence that comprises 5.31.5 in Caesar's Bellum Gallicum has long been felt to be problematic. It was deleted entirely by H. Meusel. A. Klotz posited a lacuna after quare. Others sought smaller adjustments. Yet, the defence of the text as transmitted also drew advocates (T. Rice Holmes, A. Ernout, O. Seel) and the debate quietened. The current Teubner edition, by W. Hering in 1987, prints the transmitted text and does not acknowledge the debate in the apparatus criticus. I propose a new solution, one that reinterprets the sentence in context and requires a small textual change from et to nec. I will first set the context and identify problems with the conventional understanding of 5.31.5.

This text, containing Cicero's oft-repeated canard, is deeply problematic. Both Reynolds and Moreschini resort to daggers here. Madvig's abeat for habeat has failed to convince, since Cicero appears to use abeo metaphorically without specifying the place of origin or destination of movement within a narrowly circumscribed semantic field which does not encompass our passage. C.F.W. Müller, on the other hand, offered aberret, which can appear without such specification in the sense ‘be deceived’ or the like. Editors evidently hesitate, however, because of the difficulty of explaining the corruption. Perhaps one might rather consider the merits of haereat. haereo can mean ‘be stuck in difficulties’, but the usage is uncommon enough that it could easily have been a stumbling block for an inattentive scribe. Moreover, in some scripts where r is written with somewhat elongated hasta and an arc curving down, it can be easily confused with b; and once haebeat appeared, the ‘correction’ to habeat was all but inevitable.

(1) qua re flecte te, quaeso, et maiores tuos respice atque ita guberna rem publicam ut natum esse te ciues tui gaudeant: sine quo nec beatus nec c[l]arus nec †unctus† quisquam esse omni<no> potest. (1.35)

nos numerus sumus et frugis consumere nati,
sponsi Penelopae nebulones Alcinoique
in cute curanda plus aequo operata iuuentus,
cui pulchrum fuit in medios dormire dies et        30
ad strepitum citharae cessatum ducere curam.
ut iugulent hominem, surgunt de nocte latrones:
ut te ipsum serues, non expergisceris?

Scylla's nurse Carme has just learned that Scylla is in love with Minos, who in turn was once in love with Carme's daughter Britomartis and chased her to death. Carme opens her speech with an address to Minos (286–9).

The fourth choral ode in Seneca's tragedy Troades ends thus (1050–5):

tum puer matri genetrixque nato
Troia qua iaceat regione monstrans
dicet et longe digito notabit:
‘Ilium est illic, ubi fumus alte
serpit in caelum nebulaeque turpes.’
Troes hoc signo patriam uidebunt.

At Petron. Sat. 48.4 Trimalchio makes a famous boast about owning three libraries:

‘Of course laniabor is not a name.’ Thus very recently Cristiano Castelletti in a discussion of this notorious acrostic, which he associates with Aratean ἄρρητον (Phaen. 2) and Virgilian MA VE PV (G. 1.429-33). If, however, laniabor is itself ‘not a name’, the aim of the present annotatiuncula is to argue that it is an etymological play on a ‘name’. Laniabor spans the description of Amycus’ cave, which is adorned with the dismembered limbs of his victims: Amycus himself will shortly suffer the same fate at Pollux’ hands. The name ‘Amycus’ was etymologized from ἀμύσσω (‘tear’; LSJ s.v. I), which exactly matches lanio (‘tear’; OLD s.v. 1a). Hence by a cutely etymological jeu onomastique ‘Tearer’ says ‘I'll be torn’.

In Virgil's third eclogue, the goatherd Menalcas responds to his challenger Damoetas by offering as his wager in their contest of song a pair of embossed cups, caelatum diuini opus Alcimedontis (Ecl. 3.37), decorated with a pattern of vine and ivy. In the middle of this design, he says, are two figures. One is the astronomer Conon, and the other—at this point Menalcas, afflicted with a sudden loss of memory, professes to have forgotten the name of the second figure, and breaks off into a question (Ecl. 3.40-2): quis fuit alter, | descripsit radio totum qui gentibus orbem, | tempora quae messor, quae curuus arator haberet? Various candidates for the identity of this second astronomer have been suggested, one of the most favoured being Eudoxus of Cnidus, whose Phaenomena had been versified by the Hellenistic poet Aratus. In 1930 it was proposed by Léon Herrmann that Menalcas in fact answers his own question in his reference to curuUS ARATor at Ecl. 3.42: the solution to Virgil's riddle is already written into the question, in the form of the anagram of Aratus concealed within these two words. Strictly speaking, Hermann notes only that ‘Arator au v. 42 évoque le nom d’Aratos’; he and later exponents of the theory tend to ignore the preceding ‘-us’—but there seems no reason to exclude it if an allusion to the Greek poet is to be seen in the two following syllables.

The beginning of the second entry of Apollonius Sophista's Lexicon Homericum reads as follows in the codex Coislinianus gr. 345, the only direct witness to this section (1, 14–15 Bekker):