In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Reading After Actium: Vergil's Georgics, Octavian, and RomeSergio CasaliChristopher Nappa. Reading After Actium: Vergil's Georgics, Octavian, and Rome. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2005. xii + 293 pp. Cloth, $75.Nappa's reading of the Georgics is a linear one: in his own words, his book is "a literary commentary that moves sequentially through the text from beginning to end" (3). After the introduction, the book is (...) divided into four chapters, each one devoted to a single book of the poem. This is how Nappa presents his work: "It is my contention that the Georgics can be profitably understood as a post-Actium 'reading,' or rather a set of them, of the situation in which Octavian found himself in the early 20s b.c.e., after the battle of Actium and before the assumption of the title Augustus. Perhaps more importantly, the Georgics represents an attempt to engage in a constructive dialogue with Octavian on the potential courses available to him and on the potential interpretations of his character, achievements, and motives, which would have been a central concern to the Roman and Italian elite"; Nappa wants to read the Georgics "as a didactic work addressed to Octavian, one that invites him (and any other reader) to react to specific problems, puzzles, and challenges" (1–3).From these proemial declarations I was expecting a linear reading of the poem constantly focused on Octavian as the model reader of the text, a consistent attempt to imagine his reactions as the "disciple" of Vergil. In fact, Nappa does not do that, at least not in a fully consistent way. Octavian as the ideal disciple and the poem as a series of "lessons" to the princeps are only a part of Nappa's actual reading of Vergil's text. I must confess that this discovery has been a bit disappointing, especially since the first chapter does in fact rather brilliantly begin with a lesson to Augustus; but this is due to the fact that the poem, of course, opens with an invocation to the princeps. Unfortunately, after that Octavian will not always be the center of attention, as I was hoping. But this does not mean that Nappa does not have interesting things to say about Vergil's poem.The introduction (1–22) clarifies Nappa's avowedly reader-oriented approach to Vergil's text: he proposes to confront the poem's difficulties and contradictions as, in a sense, the real meaning of the text: "the lessons of the [End Page 611] Georgics do not consist of the transmission of information but of the experience of confronting the often chimerical world presented by the poet.... the Georgics emphasizes the fact that in our quest for a meaning various audiences will construct (or discover) different, and even mutually exclusive meanings" (3). After a defense of intentionality as a heuristic tool for reading the Georgics, Nappa discusses the complex status of Octavian in the poem. First of all, he is the poem's addressee, "the most important audience Vergil has ever had," to whom to poet address even harsh lessons ("Octavian must understand the nature of the world he is trying to govern and the way the world sees him," 6); but he is also one of the topics of discussion, and at the same time one of the gods who are asked to favor the poet's undertaking. For Nappa, "the poem does not express a view of the princeps or his achievements so much as it invites the audience, Octavian as well as us, to consider the theme from multiple points of view" (8). Vergil's famous "mistakes" also "serve a didactic purpose: by inviting his readers to consider agricultural advice that is either obviously erroneous or presented in a highly selective and nonsequential way, the teaching poet compels them to search for deeper meaning, a term I use with some reluctance. The meaning each reader finds will, of course, depend on that reader" (11). In the last section of the introduction, Nappa locates the position of his reading within recent scholarship on the Georgics: his aporetic stance recalls above all Christine Perkell, The Poet's Truth (Berkeley... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Actium and Augustus: The Politics and Emotions of Civil WarAlain M. GowingRobert Alan Gurval. Actium and Augustus: The Politics and Emotions of Civil War. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995. xiv 1 337 pp. 6 plates. Cloth, $45.50.Because they occur at precise moments in time, battles can provide a convenient means to mark political and even cultural changes. In Roman history one thinks of battles (...) such as those of the Allia, Cannae, Zama, Pharsalus, and Philippi, all of which came to be regarded as major turning points. As is the nature of such things, however, the recollection and representation of a battle can eclipse the event itself and assume a meaning far out of proportion to the battle’s strategic or even immediate political significance. This is particularly true of the confrontation between Antony and Octavian at Actium in 31 B.C., arguably the single most important battle in Roman history.In Actium and Augustus Robert Gurval undertakes a fresh examination of the impact that the battle had on Augustan culture. His thesis is a provocative one. While not in the least denying the powerful influence of the battle, he casts considerable doubt on the notion that from the outset Augustus deliberately sought to promote Actium as part of an imperial ideology (an ideology, that is, devised by the emperor himself) and that the attention paid to the battle by Augustan poets constitutes a reaction against or collusion in such an ideology.To that end Gurval surveys all of the available evidence. The first two chapters are devoted to historical inquiry: chapter 1 covers such matters as Augustus’ triple triumph in the summer of 29, the so-called Actian arch, Augustus’ coinage, Nicopolis, and the Actian Games; chapter 2, Octavian’s relationship with Apollo and the Temple of Apollo on the Palatine. In each of these areas Gurval calls into question a substantial body of scholarly opinion that seeks to interpret these monuments and events as part of a propagandistic celebration of [End Page 638] Augustus’ victory at Actium. In Gurval’s view, this argument, often grounded in inference and speculation, simply does not stand up to scrutiny. For example, there is little hard evidence to suggest that the Temple of Apollo on the Palatine, originally vowed following the defeat of Sextus Pompey at Naulochus in 36 and dedicated in October of 28, was in any obvious way meant as an offering to the Apollo who assisted Octavian at Actium. (As Gurval observes, Apollo Actius does not appear on coins until 16 B.C.). Similarly, he refutes those who would identify as the “Actian arch” a single-span structure that abutted the Temple of Divus Julius in the Forum but was evidently torn down to accommodate the triple arch erected in 19 B.C. to commemorate the recovery of the standards from Parthia. As he demonstrates, there are problems with both the precise date and purpose of the original arch, which he prefers to see as a generalized monument to the emperor’s military achievements rather than a reminder of Antony’s defeat.Having considerably shaken the view that Augustus sought to make propagandistic capital of Actium, Gurval turns in chapters 3–6 to the treatment of the battle by Augustan poets. Chapter 3 deals with Horace; chapter 4 with Propertius’ references to the battle in books 1–3; chapter 5 with Aeneid 8; and in chapter 6 Gurval returns to Propertius and 4.6. The special value of his close readings of these texts is that, set in the context of his broader consideration of the “Actian myth,” they yield useful insights into the way the literary handling of the battle varied from author to author and evolved over time. As one would expect, given the conclusions reached in the first two chapters, Gurval maintains that these texts neither attempt to undermine an “official propaganda” (213) about Actium nor constitute any kind of “political panegyric” (208). Rather, they are to be read as fundamentally personal reflections on an event to which the poets themselves had attached a particular and not necessarily similar importance.Faced with the irrefutable and well-illustrated fact that... (shrink)

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain (...) in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant. (shrink)

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain (...) in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant. (shrink)

M. J. Dewar argues that in Georg. 1.511–4 Virgil may have been drawing a disquieting parallel between Orestes, evoked through an imitation of Aeschylus , and Octavian, present a few lines above . Pausanias probably supports this suggestion; he shows that the link Octavian-Orestes existed quite early and in a sense favourable to Octavian, even though it may soon have been used in a negative sense by anti-Caesarian propaganda on account of the dark side of the myth. (...) In front of the temple of Hera in Argos there was still visible in the second century a statue representing Orestes, but identified by the inscription as Augustus. Certainly this parallel Augustus-Orestes was not proposed-and preserved - with polemical purpose in a famous sanctuary and in the Augustan age. Given the resemblance between history and myth and the moral weight of the famous myth itself, it is unlikely that we have to do with the mere re-use of any old statue. (shrink)

Historians of antiquity are trained to be suspicious of accounts that may retroject onto the early years of figures, who were later dominant, positive traits that plausibly were exhibited only later, in essence the creation of a mythology. In the case of the Emperor Augustus, who exercised a firm control on the Roman world for over forty years after the defeat of his rival M. Antonius and introduced a new form of government, the probability that the years of his (...) ascent to supreme power were subjected to careful recasting is very high. Here I examine an argument that was presented in 2004 on the very beginning of Octavian's public life, which, if correct, reveals a stuttering start by a young man inexperienced in the realities of Roman politics at a tumultuous moment in Roman history. (shrink)

This paper aims at reconstructing how the positive image of Octavian resp. Augustus, which can be found in the Greek literature of the early 2nd century AD (e. g. in Plutarch), was formed. During their conflict with Octavian, Marc Antony and his party were creating an image of their opponent which displayed numerous forms of disparagement and of invective elements. After his victory, Octavian faced the challenge to restore his reputation also in the Greek East. As (...) a starting point for this restoration he provided his autobiography, which was probably published at an early date, i. e. about the late 20s BC. At the same time, both in poetry (Crinagoras) and prose (Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Strabo) an image of the princeps as a bringer of peace and culture was created. After a cooperation with Timagenes had failed, Nicolaus of Damascus added to the positive image of Augustus by composing a panegyrical biography of Augustus which incorporated also his childhood and youth. (shrink)

In 2003, Konstantinos Zachos published an article in the Journal of Roman Archaeology on an elaborate tropaeum in the hills north of the Actian promontory, built to celebrate Octavian's naval victory at the Battle of Actium. Octavian also significantly enlarged and renovated the old Akarnanian Temple to Apollo Actius overlooking the Actian bay, and he built an entire "Victory City" which was formed from the forced merging of several long-standing communities. Zachos writes this about the patron of the (...) victory monument: "The complex of structures was both a symbol of Octavian's victory and power and also a monument of political and religious propaganda". I suspect that his article has surely, at least in part, inspired recent re-examinations of the impact of the Battle of Actium on the notion of Roman governance, imperial identity in the lifetime of the princeps, and the Roman pantheon in general. Before Zachos' study, Robert Gurval in his study, Actium and Augustus, took the position that the importance of Actium had been overplayed in the scholarship of recent decades, and he attempted to dissociate from Actium the Augustan projects at Rome, preferring instead to empower the poets, particularly Virgil, as a significant source of Actian propaganda. How does one square the events leading up to 31, the events of 31 proper, the concerted efforts of Augustus throughout his career to bring greater glory to Apollo, and the literary results in the poetry of the so-called Augustan age? (shrink)

In the Monumentum Ancyranum Augustus makes some interesting and, if we can unravel them, undoubtedly important statements, from which certain deductions seem possible as to the number of his legionary soldiers, the rate of mortality among them, their length of service and the provisions made for them after their dicharge. Quite early in the Monument we get the following general assertion: ‘About five hundred thousand Roman citizens were bound to me by the military oath. Of these, after the due (...) expiry of their service, I settled in colonies or sent back to their own municipia somewhat more than three hundred thousand. And to all of them I gave land purchased by myself, or in lieu of land sums of money out of my own resources.’ From the place of this statement in that part of the record relating to his earlier career we might be tempted to infer that the five hundred thousand legionaries were those who formed his armies at the time of Antony's collapse, and that the discharge of three hundred thousand of them, whether planted in colonies or sent back to their domiciles, took place at one and the same time. With regard to the second point, we shall see presently that the vague and indiscriminate statement made here is cleared up by a later passage , from which it appears that the assignation of land belongs to two distinct schemes of colonizations, separated by sixteen years, and that the restoration of discharged soldiers to their municipalities, to whom alone the words ‘pecuniam pro agris dedi’ are applicable, belongs to a still later date. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, the Underground Complex, and the Omen of the Gallina AlbaJane Clark ReederThe new excavations of the villa of Livia at Prima Porta have focused attention on the architecture and art of this imperial villa. The statue of Augustus from Prima Porta and the garden paintings from the underground complex have long been the most famous exemplars of their types. Recently (...) new studies have treated these works of art in relation to their setting. 1 But there is one source of information in particular which has not received the scrutiny in this regard that it might and that is the remarkable omen which gave the villa its name in antiquity, ad Gallinas. Although this omen is sometimes mentioned to explain the odd name, scholars have not examined in any detail the relationship of the omen to the art and architecture of the villa. In fact, the omen of the gallina alba is the foundation augurium of the villa-garden itself. 2In this essay I intend to examine the ancient literary sources concerning the villa; the only information given by the sources about the villa comes in fact by way of the omen. First the individual components of the omen and the surrounding body of augury and myth will be examined and illustrated where possible in the monuments. Secondly I hope to illuminate the symbolic interrelationships between this augural imagery and the iconography of three features of the art and architecture of the villa-garden: the statue of Augustus, the underground complex, and the laurel grove. This imagery and symbolism played an essential [End Page 89] role not only in the decoration of the villa, but formed an important part of Augustan ideology.The iconographical connections of the statue of Augustus and the underground complex of the villa-garden should be sought first of all in the ideology inherent in the statue itself. 3 Two attributes in particular give this message: the laurel branch in hand and the cuirass. Since one knows how important the laurel was as an age-old symbol of Apollo and as a new emblem of Augustus and since one is aware how pervasive the Apollonian propaganda became in Augustan ideology, 4 it is no wonder that H. Kähler (1959, 12–13; 28; pl. 32) found the laurel integral to the sacral character of the statue’s image and hence restored the laurel branch in the hand of Augustus on the statue from Prima Porta.Kähler is not the only scholar to attach the laurel to the Prima Porta statue of Augustus. 5 E. Simon restored a laurel branch in the left hand of Augustus rather than the right and in a recent summary of Augustan art this view was adopted. 6 There is also numismatic evidence for Augustus holding a laurel branch in connection with the triumph. While the certainty of a particular statue type behind the coin image is more problematic, 7 the coin in fact represents the historical event itself. On the reverse of a denarius from the great Actium series of coins Octavian is [End Page 90] represented as Triumphator and Imperator standing in the quadriga and holding a large laurel branch in his right hand. 8 On the obverse Victory, standing on the ship’s prow, holds a palm in her left hand and in her right the laurel crown which Octavian would have worn in the triumphal procession. Likewise Tiberius in the Augustan tradition stands in the triumphal quadriga and holds a laurel branch in his right hand on an aureus of a.d. 13/14. 9 At least one scholar (Neudecker 1988, 90) believes that the program of the statue of Augustus of Prima Porta is probably to be seen in connection with the triumphal ceremony.If Augustus indeed held a laurel branch in hand, the branch could only have come from the famous laurel grove of the villa of Livia ad Gallinas. The foundation augurium and legend of the Augustan laurel branch and indeed of the villa-garden itself as mentioned above is the omen of the gallina alba from which the villa took its name in antiquity... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Gender, Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus: Inventing Private LifeDavid FredrickKristina Milnor. Gender, Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus: Inventing Private Life. Oxford Studies in Classical Literature and Gender Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. xii + 360 pp. Cloth, $99.It is the often-difficult task of social history to explain how a given institution (e.g., marriage, education, the army) changed across different types of cultural expression (...) (e.g., legal and moral prescriptions, representation in visual art and literature) and in lived experience. In this fruitful and sometimes brilliant study, Kristina Milnor explores the repositioning of women during the Augustan period with respect to the distinction between public and private life. Over the course of an introduction, five chapters, and an epilogue, she develops the argument that the Augustan period "invented" private life or, more precisely, new strategies for representing private life, in order to make the imperial system look like a return to traditional Roman family values. In making this argument, Milnor looks back to the Republic and forward to Nero; she assembles a wide range of literary and material evidence and makes judicious use of theory. Milnor is primarily concerned with textual representation; as she puts it at one point, the volume is "a study of representation rather than reality" (40–41). However, she does include substantial sections on architecture and space, and in the end it is not clear whether Milnor sees architecture in the Augustan period as a mode of representation or as something that by reshaping behavior necessarily transformed private life in lived experience.The introduction uses Vergil's simile of the housewife spinning in Aeneid 8 to set up the much-debated distinction between "public" and "private" in Roman culture. Milnor notes that the original meaning of privatus during the republic is narrowly oppositional, "a man without a political or military position," but broadened during the empire to mean more generally, "anyone... who did not hold the ultimate 'public' role of emperor" (20). Hence privatus and "domestic" do not mean the same thing: "privatus is necessarily a political word," while "the domestic... functions as a kind of moralized privacy, a concept whose strength lies in its allegiance to supposedly transcendent and apolitical ethical truths" (27). Women emerge during the Augustan period as the preferred symbols of this "moralized privacy," and while the physical and social circumstances of Roman women were highly disparate, the representation of female virtues remains consistent: "the domestic ideal was a construct which did not 'truthfully' represent any woman's life, even at the same time as it purported to represent them all" (38).In the first chapter ("Reading and Writing Gender on the Augustan Palatine"), Milnor argues that Augustus' Palatine complex is "engendered" by the prominence of Niobe, Cleopatra, and the Danaids in its decorative program, pointing to the problematic display of female virtue in the princeps' house. Because of Augustus' unprecedented political position, the "private" behavior of the women in his house became a kind of public performance, a tension that persists in Augustus' larger treatment of the city. In Tristia 2, Ovid addresses Augustus as a fellow author whose "text" is the city of Rome, and just as women [End Page 605] have misread Ovid's poetry licentiously, they frequently appropriate Rome's temples and porticoes for sexual liaisons. Milnor observes that this disingenuous argument at least recognizes women as active and resisting readers of texts, noting further that imperial women (Octavia and Livia) are paradoxically empowered as "authors" of significant public spaces precisely because they were seen to be expressing politically disinterested virtues. The chapter concludes with a look back at Cicero's de Domo Sua, which casts Clodius as a feminized abuser of public space in his appropriation of the Portico of Catulus for his shrine of Libertas; the restoration of Cicero's house, meanwhile, represents the restoration of the Roman state. Milnor argues that this anticipates Augustus' use of his own house as a symbol for Rome, and thus as the site for a paradoxically public performance of the traditions of Roman domesticity.The second chapter, "Domesticity and Display in Vitruvius' de Architectura," begins with two significant questions. Why, if... (shrink)

Valerius Maximus’ Facta et dicta memorabilia provide an opportunity of seeing how an undistinguished talent responded to the demise of the republic and the establishment of an imperial system. Fergus Millar has argued that we should view Valerius as a contemporary of Ovid, that is as an author influenced by the last years of Augustus and writing in the early years of Tiberius’ reign, but the internal evidence of Facta et dicta memorabilia better fits publication in the early 30s (...) a.d. in the aftermath of Sejanus’ unsuccessful conspiracy. Although this does distance Valerius further from the key years of transition, he is not remote—and because of the relative paucity of prose authors of the period his presentation of the domus Augusta and of Augustus and Tiberius repays attention. (shrink)

At Aen. 6.562–627 the Sibyl gives Aeneas a description of the criminals in Tartarus and the punishments to which they are condemned. The criminals are presented to us in several groups. The first consists of mythical figures, the Titans , the sons of Aloeus , Salmoneus , Tityos and Ixion and Pirithous . Next Virgil turns away from mythical figures to particular categories of criminal. He mentions those who hated their brothers, who assaulted a parent, who cheated a cliens, who (...) gloated over wealth they had acquired without setting aside a part for their family, who were put to death for adultery, and those who, breaking their masters' trust, made war on their country . The reference to the contemporary scene is unmistakable. The mention of a cliens indicates that we have moved from Greece to Rome. Moreover, ‘quique ob adulterium caesi’ brings to mind Augustus' concern over moral standards, the subject of legislation in 28 B.c., 18 B.c. and A.d. 9; the lex Iulia de adulteriis coercendis gave to fathers of adulteresses the right to put to death both guilty parties. Thirdly, ‘arma...impia’ is an obvious reference to civil war , which as Servius argues is more narrowly defined by ‘nee veriti dominorum fallere dextras’ so as to exclude Caesar and Octavian: undoubtedly the allusion is to the war against Sextus Pompeius, which Augustan propaganda chose to represent as a war against runaway slaves. Virgil continues by sketching the penalties paid in Tartarus by such men . While doing so, however, he retreats once again into the realm of mythology: the punishments he describes are those more normally associated with Sisyphus and Ixion . This reversion is completed at 617–20 where, confusingly, Virgil denies that he has been alluding to events of contemporary significance by naming two mythical personages, Theseus and Phlegyas . Virgil therefore implies, but then denies, contemporary relevance. It is this kind of protean elusiveness which makes the contemporary allusions in Virgil so difficult to pin down. (shrink)

While clothing issues of the Romans have been researched in recent years, the examination of facial hair has so far been rather unexplored. Therefore, little attention has been paid to the ceremonial first shave of young Romans, although beard growth, shaving and care provided information about hierarchies and identity, alleged sexual practices or periods of life cycle. The ritual of barbatoria was hence accompanied by assumptions about the character of a person.The article shows these dimensions of barbatoria using the examples (...) of Octavian/augustus, Caligula, Nero and Elagabalus. In doing so, it aims at pointing to the possibilities of distinction as well as transgression for staging the status as a young, wealthy Roman citizen that is becoming a ‘real man’. (shrink)

Civilium ofnciorum rudimentis regern Archelaum Trallianos et Thessalos, varia quosque de causa, Augusto cognoscente defendit; pro Laodicenis Thyatirenis Chiis terrae motu afflictis opemque implorantibus senatum deprecatus est; Fannium Caepionem, qui cum Varrone Murena in Augustum conspiraverat, reum maiestatis apud iudices fecit et condemnavit. interque haec duplicem curam administravit, annonae quae artior inciderat, et repurgandorum tota Italia ergastulorum … The trials of Archelaus, the Trallians, and the Thessalians are usually assigned to the period 27–23 B.C.: their position in Suetonius' account of (...) Tiberius' early career seems to offer support to this view, though Stein connected the trial of Archelaus with Octavian's settlement of the East after Actium. Tiberius had been born only in November 42, and Gelzer more plausibly suggested that the trials occurred in Spain, where Tiberius was serving as tribunus militum during the Cantabrian war. The earthquake that Suetonius mentions in the following sentence took place in 27, and Tralles, which had been affected along with Laodicea, Thyatira, and Chios, sent an embassy to Augustus in Spain to ask for help. (shrink)

Summary The article examines unofficial imperial nicknames, sobriquets and appellatives, from Octavian Augustus to Julian the Apostate, in the light of traditions of Roman political humour, and argues that in the political field during the Principate there were two co-existing competing modes of emperors’ naming: along with an official one, politically loyal, formalised and institutionally legitimised, there existed another – unofficial, sometimes oppositional and even hostile towards individual emperors, frequently licentious, humorously coloured and, in this regard, deeply rooted (...) in Roman Republican traditions of political humour. Many of the known imperial nicknames and appellatives belong to a specific kind of folklore and express popular public opinion. They survived for us because of ancient authors’ interest in using such material for their literary and ideological intentions, particularly to express better the individual characteristics of the historical personages. But, for the very same purposes, Greek and Roman writers could invent some names and sobriquets, following special rhetorical and moralising principles, or mere love of ridicule. All in all, most imperial nicknames, both authentic and made-up, reveal a rather good quality of humour and mockery constructed by expressive linguistic devices and various rhetorical tropes. An apt derisive nickname marked anti-values, mocked the ruler’s badness and could vilify his reputation to the extreme, stigmatise his personality, or else become a widely-used quasi-cognomen. Many nicknames and appellatives were of ephemeral, ad hoc nature, their sense and effect largely dependent on the particular context; but, taken as a whole, they demonstrate the possible scope of and common trends in naming practice. The political system of the Principate and its very atmosphere of hypocrisy did promote double meaning and double thinking reflected in the double system of the rulers’ nomenclature. Imperial nicknames were a counter-hegemonic transcript and a weapon in the struggle for symbolic capital. All the efforts which many emperors took to control their nomina were ultimately powerless against the strength of the inevitable humorous counter-naming by the ruled. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Triumphus in PalatioJohn F. MillerAs one of the many tokens of its symbolic centrality in Roman culture, the Capitoline Hill received the triumphator at the end of his ceremonial return to Rome. For centuries generals who had been granted a triumphus concluded the elaborate sacral procession through the city with a sacrifice at the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, the god most intimately associated with this religious institution.1 The (...) strongly local character of Roman cults made it nearly unthinkable to celebrate the solemn event anywhere else in Rome, but artistic imagination feels itself less bound by religious scruples. Two such ingenious revisions of the triumphal parade displace its endpoint to the Temple of Apollo on the Palatine Hill. Virgil imagines Octavian's great triple triumph of 29 B.C. taking place there, while other ancient evidence leads us to believe that the victor really proceeded to the Capitoline like countless imperatores triumphantes before him.2 The poet sets the celebration at the shrine of the deity credited with the victory at Actium, the shrine which Octavian built adjacent to his own house. The Palatine was becoming the imperial palace complex, the triumph a prerogative of the imperial family.3 When these developments had been fully realized, Nero in December A.D. 674 staged an eccentric victory procession which likewise climaxed at Apollo's Palatine temple. As returning victor in the festivals [End Page 409] of Greece he aimed to align himself with Apollo as patron of the arts, expressing now in topographical terms his frequent association with that deity.5 The lyre-playing god greeted the lyre-playing emperor, and vice versa. On the other hand, it is not irrelevant that one whom Pliny termed imperator scaenicus, "an actor-emperor" (Pan. 46.4), rode in the path of Virgil's fictional Augustus. The present essay explores the phenomenon triumphus in Palatio by explicating the two instances in the light of their ideological impulses. A further aim is to throw into relief the Augustan dimensions of Nero's triumphal ceremony, to show how the emperor in effect acted the part of Octavian riding in triple triumph.On the shield in Aeneid 8 Virgil inventively describes the triple triumph which Octavian celebrated in August 29 B.C. for victories in Illyricum, Actium, and Egypt:at Caesar, triplici invectus Romana triumphomoenia, dis Italis votum immortale sacrabat,maxima ter centum totam delubra per urbem.laetitia ludisque viae plausuque fremebant;omnibus in templis matrum chorus, omnibus arae;ante aras terram caesi stravere iuvenci.ipse sedens niveo candentis limine Phoebidona recognoscit populorum aptatque superbispostibus; incedunt victae longo ordine gentes...(8.714-22)One finds here familiar features of any triumphus: the imperator triumphans formally entering the city precinct (714-15), bystanders en route applauding the procession (717), the sacrifice of bulls (719), concluding dedications at a temple (720-22), and the display of captives, placards, and models illustrating the victor's conquests (722-28). But Virgil has also rewritten this triumph to take in a wider sacral and historical context. In verse 719 the general prayers and sacrifices and the prominent role of women suggest a supplicatio, a ritual often associated with but [End Page 410] formally distinct from triumphs.6 While triumphing commanders fulfilled vows which they made on the Capitol before their campaigns, Octavian's triumph is marked by the impressive votum of numerous mighty shrines throughout the city (715-16).7 Caesar's celebration looks ahead as well as backwards; it in effect announces the emergent leader's vast program of building and restoring temples, which was especially prominent in the period immediately after the triumph of 29.8 For Virgil, Caesar's triumphus inaugurates the religious renewal of Rome.By far the most momentous changes to the regular triumph occur in the scene at Apollo's gleaming temple, which in this context must be the new Palatine shrine.9 Whether dona... populorum (721) are the [End Page 411] ceremonial crowns which captives presented to the victor or euphemistically denote battle spoils from various peoples, the act of affixing them to the temple suggests that the triumphator has reached the triumph's end point. So does... (shrink)

Aeneas' stopover at Actium has struck most readers as an Augustan interlude in the odyssey of Aeneid 3. The scene is conspicuous among the other episodes in the trip for its brevity and for the fact that it does not advance the action toward the Trojan exiles' Italian goal. Instead the accent falls on prefiguring actions of Aeneas' distinguished descendant, Octavian, after he achieved victory over Antony at the same site in 31 B.C. Where the future Augustus dedicated (...) spoils from the battle to Actian Apollo and instituted a festival called the Actian Games, the Trojans celebrate athletic games at Actium and their leader affixes an enemy trophy to the temple of Apollo there. This last act, however, Aeneas' dedicatio, points allusively to the mythical past as well as to the Augustan future. To appreciate the full force of that complex reference, which enriches the thematics of the entire scene, hinges on our recognition of a mythological figure whose identity has been long in doubt. The narrator Aeneas reports that he hung up on Apollo's shrine ‘the bronze shield worn by great Abas’ . Who is this Abas, and why is his mention here significant? (shrink)

TheCulexis now widely recognized as a piece of post-Ovidian, possibly Tiberian, pseudo-juvenilia written by an author impersonating the young Virgil, although it was attached to Virgil's name already in the first centuryc.e., being identified as Virgilian by Statius, Suetonius and Martial. Dedicated to the young Octavian (Octauiin line 1), the poem seems to fill a biographical gap in Virgil's career before his composition of theEclogues. It is introduced as aludus, which Irene Peirano suggests may openly refer to ‘the act (...) of impersonating Virgil’, and, like many of the poems in theAppendix Vergiliana, it seems to have a parodic intent. TheCulexhas been interpreted as a parody of neoteric style and the epyllion, as mock-epic, as Virgil parody (John Henderson called it a ‘spoofAeneidin bucolic drag’), as pointed Augustan satire, as mock Ovidian ‘Weltgedicht’ and as just very bad poetry (Housman's ‘stutterer’). Glenn Most has observed that the poem's three ‘acts’ structurally recapitulate Virgil's three major works in chronological succession. Little attention, however, has been paid to theCulex's final lines, which contain a catalogue of flowers thepastorplaces on the gnat's tomb. Recent scholarship has reintroduced an older interpretation of the gnat's tomb as a political allegory of Augustus’ Mausoleum; in this paper I suggest instead that the tomb and its flowers serve a closural and metapoetic function at the end of the poem. (shrink)

A calm has succeeded the clamour of the Virgilian Bimillenary, to be shattered all too soon by the commemoration of Augustus. In this brief interval there may be leisure to examine a question touching the career of Asinius Pollio and the history of the years 42·39 B.C. The Virgilian celebrations evoked two outstanding studies of the Fourth Eclogue, a poem dedicated to Pollio and written during—or perhaps just after—the consulate of Pollio . Carcopino restated and sought to reinforce an (...) opinion widely held in late antiquity among commentators of Virgil—the miraculous child of the poem was Saloninus, a son of Asinius Pollio: the child was born, he suggests, soon after the conclusion of the Pact of Brundisium, and shortly before the end of the year 40, while Pollio was still consul. At the time Pollio was at Salonae, on the coast of Dalmatia, which city his son's name commemorates. Tarn, however, adopting and reinforcing the theory put forward by Slater in 1912, argued that the Fourth Eclogue shows traces of being an epithalamium in form, designed to celebrate the wedding of Antony and Octavia, the seal and bond of the Pact of Brundisium which was concluded in the autumn of the year 40 between the dynasts Antony and Octavian; Pollio, a friend and a partisan of Antony, acted as his plenipotentiary in the negotiations; the new epoch was thus introduced under the auspices of Pollio, ‘te duce’; the child was the child to be expected from the marriage of Antony and Octavia; it turned out in fact to be a girl. (shrink)

THE first Epode provides no clear indication of date. We learn only that Maecenas is about to join Octavian on a dangerous expedition and has suggested that Horace should not accompany him, while Horace retorts that he will be unable to enjoy himself in the absence of his patron and would be ready to follow him to the ends of the earth, whatever the danger, in the hope of earning his gratitude. The Epodes were published about 30 B.C. and, (...) perhaps for that reason, the scholiast Pseudo-Acron confidently assigns the poem to the period immediately before the battle of Actium with the comment: ‘Maecenatem prosequitur euntem ad bellum navale cum Augusto adversum Antonium et Cleopatram.’ It is curious that in referring to the activities of Octavian in 31 the author uses the title Augustus, which was not conferred on him before 27,: but the substance of his comment accords with the known facts. In the spring of 31 Octavian asked all Romans of influence to meet him at Brundisium, thereby to demonstrate their willingness to take part in the war against Antony and Cleopatra, and more than seven hundred senators are known to have offered their services. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:A Commentary on Virgil, EcloguesJames J. O’HaraWendell Clausen. A Commentary on Virgil, Eclogues. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994. xxx + 328 pp. Paper, $27.95, Cloth, $60.00.This “first full-scale scholarly commentary on the complete book of poems known as the Eclogues to appear in English,” as the dust jacket proclaims, is a deeply learned, elegant, helpful, affectionate, humane and judicious guide to the language, style, text, plain meaning, and literary (...) antecedents of what are among the most elusive of ancient works. A sixteen-page introduction discusses “Pastoral Poetry,” “The Book of Eclogues” as a collection of carefully interrelated poems, and “The Composition of a Landscape” (mostly on trees and plants in Theocritus and Vergil). C. prints Mynors’ 1972 Oxford text, but at 3.102 argues for emending his certe neque amor causa est; vix ossibus haerent to hi certe (neque amor causa est), and would delete the refrain at 8.28a and 76. The volume is dedicated to Mynors; the Preface says that it was originally intended as a companion to his Georgics, published posthumously in 1990. C. offers a concise and original Introduction to each poem, focusing on major problems or features and presenting a modest bibliography, with more references to secondary works to come line by line, but the bibliography is highly selective. The commentary’s strengths lie in the discussion of textual problems and the interpretation of difficult Latin, in the remarks on style, diction, tone, rhetoric, and structure, and in the information on Vergil’s use of models, especially Hellenistic sources like Theocritus (extensive and helpful comments), Callimachus (C. naturally has more to say than earlier commentators), and Aratus, but also Roman sources like Lucretius or Plautus (more prominent here than in earlier commentaries, to good effect). Greek is translated in the notes; thus the commentary, like C.’s Virgil’s “Aeneid” and the Tradition of Hellenistic Poetry (Berkeley and Los Angeles 1987), is at the same time both supremely learned, and accessible to highly literate non-specialists.Comments on specific poems:Eclogue 1: C. suggests that “the principal difficulty” here is that in alluding to Tityrus’ status Vergil has “deliberately confused” the private sense of libertas as freedom from slavery with its public or political sense as “the slogan of Octavian and his party.” The goal is to praise Octavian subtly and indirectly, and for more than just a personal favor, despite what the allegorical tradition has alleged. [End Page 332] On Tityrus’ planned offerings to the iuvenis in 42–43, C. champions Wissowa’s 1902 demonstration that Vergil alludes to once-monthly Hellenistic ruler cult, and points to honors decreed Octavian in 36 after the defeat of Sextus Pompey (but of course this depends on down-dating the collection; see below).Eclogues 3 and 7: The Introductions to the two amoebaean singing contests discuss the poetic problem of competitions in which neither singer may falter or fail, “for then the poem would be ruined.” C. argues that Vergil avoids this problem in 3 by having the contest end in a draw, and in 7 by having the poem describing the defeat of Thyrsis by Corydon be “dramatic—the imperfect recollection, that is, of a witness to an event and not, like the Third Eclogue, an omniscient poet’s description of it.” On 3.84 C. offers surprisingly little comment on the startling mention of Pollio; he is more helpful in the Introduction (xxi) but provides no cross-reference here; by contrast, on 9.35 he explains how “the pastoral illusion is momentarily shattered” by the mention of L. Varius Rufus.Eclogue 4: In an Introduction adapted from C.’s essay in J. L. Kugel, ed., Poetry and Prophecy (Ithaca 1990), C. focuses on a pre-collection version of the poem, which he suggests lacked the “brief pastoral apology” of 1–3 and “the emphatic—the rather too emphatic—reference to Pan and Arcadia near the end.” “To contemporary readers” of that poem, circulated during or soon after Pollio’s consulship, “the vexed question ‘Who is the boy?’ would not have occurred. They knew well enough who was meant: the expected son of Antony and Octavia and heir to... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Horace and the Rhetoric of AuthorityKenneth J. ReckfordEllen Oliensis. Horace and the Rhetoric of Authority. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. xii 1 241 pp. Cloth, $64.95.In a gratifying book, crafted with unusual care, Ellen Oliensis investigates Horace’s self-fashioning in his poetry. “Horace is present,” she argues, “in his personae... not because these personae are authentic and accurate impressions of his true self, but because they effectively construct that (...) self—for Horace’s contemporary readers, for us, and also for Horace himself” (2). As she carefully observes the “faces” Horace makes from early satires and epodes to late epistles, she never assumes that they simply screen a “real” Horace, ambitious and/or subservient, from the public gaze. Horace’s strategies are unmasked, and [End Page 313] his tact (together with some rudeness), and what Oliensis characterizes as a fine, shifting blend of authority and deference; but “the final sum of Horace’s calculations is the making of good poetry, by which I mean poetry that is not exhausted in or fundamentally compromised by the social exchanges in which it participates” (14). This is (as I see it) a rescue operation that succeeds most admirably.Chapter 1 is titled “Face-saving and Self-defacement in the Satires.” In book 1, Horace distinguishes himself from his satiric targets as a discriminating poet and person, worthy of his equally discriminating patron. While his defensive maneuvers ward off envious outsiders, they also and more importantly appeal to Maecenas’ judgment as “overreader.” Oliensis often argues negatively, in terms of what Horace does not do. (Cf. Sherlock Holmes and the dog that didn’t bark.) There is, for example, no mention in Satires 1.6 of the part played by Horace’s poetry in winning Maecenas’ approval, no suggestion that Horace’s father was eager to see him advance socially. So too, in 2.6, Horace’s travails are not attributed to Maecenas; his villa is not connected with Maecenas; there is no self-incriminating “thank you”; the city day does not end with dinner at Maecenas’ house. Horace’s tact, his self-effacement here, are remarkable. Yet even as his satires decry the pursuit of wealth and status, they mark and promote “the poet’s own progress from the obscure margins to the shining center of Roman society” (17). Satires 1.10 proclaims Horace’s newfound authority together with his acceptance into an aesthetic and social elite.In book 2, Oliensis argues, Horace retreats from the role of satirist, giving it (ostensibly) to others, displacing upon them (Ofellus in 2.2, Damasippus in 2.3, Ulysses in 2.5, Davus in 2.7, Nasidienus in 2.8) the attempt to “mend misfortune with art” (51–63). Only later, in Epistles 2.2.49–52, will he admit to his early ambitiousness. For now, “by displacing these autobiographical ‘facts’ onto a series of surrogates in Satires 2, he retroactively exposes the satirist of Book 1” (54). The picture is convincing. We see Horace growing in subtlety and assurance as he moves away from satire—or moves satire in a new direction? I would only ask: did the process begin earlier, with the partial rejection of diatribe satire in 1.3 and Lucilian satire in 1.4? How and where should we draw the line between Horace’s half-ironic denials of aggressive intent and his genuine self-education through satire writing?Chapter 2, on the Epodes, is distinguished by Oliensis’ regard for diversity, the ugly and low stuff along with the bright and lofty. To simplify a complex, intuitive argument: Horace associates himself deferentially with the new center of Octavian and Maecenas, and repels outsiders, but his project fails: because he is forced to recognize too much of himself in scapegoated figures like the upstart slave-tribune of Epodes 4; because attack breeds attack in an unending cycle of vengeance; and because Horace is finally impotent before the dark, irrational forces represented by Canidia. He fails signally to achieve closure in the expected ten-poem book, turning instead (mainly) to erotic subjects, [End Page 314] unsubdued passions. Dactyls compete symbolically with iambs. Finally Horace lets Canidia win—and triumphs... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Only a Wet Dream? Hope and Skepticism in Horace, Satire 1.5Kenneth J. ReckfordLong enjoyed as an entertainment piece, Horace’s “Trip to Brundisium” has continued to baffle its readers by recounting trivialities while ignoring politics. A brief, tactful hint at great affairs is quickly abandoned:huc venturus erat Maecenas optimus atque Cocceius, missi magnis de rebus uterque legati, aversos soliti componere amicos. hic oculis ego nigra meis collyria lippus illinere. interea (...) Maecenas advenit...(S. 1.5.27–31)In his first hic ego (7), Horace missed dinner because of stomach trouble. In the second (30), he misses Maecenas’ arrival—and its meaning—because of eye trouble. Is he unable to see what is going on around him? 1Horace’s persona in Satires 1.5 is well crafted: the naive, good-humored traveling companion, concerned primarily with his own intrusive comforts and discomforts. He likes good food, drink, and sleep, good health and good company, and he especially enjoys his friends: nil ego contulerim iucundo sanus amico (44). He was taken along, it would appear, rather passively from the first (egressum magna me accepit Aricia Roma), on a mission that had something to do with “reconciling [End Page 525] friends” who had fallen out. That is all he knows, and all he needs to know. 2We may well suspect that Horace was keeping a diplomatic silence, that Maecenas confided in him, here and elsewhere, precisely because he did not have a “leaky ear.” 3 He would be teasing, then: teasing prospective readers who would suspect that he was withholding privileged information with intent to annoy, and (rather beyond his intent?) teasing modern scholars who cannot even take the satire’s date for granted, let alone follow the diplomatic maneuvers of Octavian and Antony in 38-37 B.C. 4 If we follow Horace’s lead, all those amusing particulars that render the political picture so opaque convey us insistently into the “little world” of poetry, friendship, and simple human satisfactions. It is tempting to confine our attention to this “little world,” accepting Horace at face value as an amiable entertainer, with brief excursions, perhaps, into comparing the esthetics of his narrative with the reconstructed narrative of the casually autobiographical Lucilius—an attempt that, from insufficient evidence, must also end in frustration. But there is more. I propose here that the poem is both more public and more private than it seems. Reading between the lines, though without abusing allegory, we find Horace deeply implicated in issues of war and peace. Through the distorting lens of the satiric and comic imagination he portrays how a sensitive and thoughtful person might waver between hope for a peaceful, even “friendly” resolution of conflict and skepti-cal awareness of the gap between personal wish-fulfillment (the “wet [End Page 526] dream” of my title) and political reality. Yet this same wavering, and Horace’s consequent, very human vacillation between emotional involvement with Rome and Epicurean disengagement, are the stuff of which genuine poetry—and, consistently over time and through different genres, Horatian poetry—is made.My argument focuses on three aspects of Satire 1.5: the theme of amicitia, private and public; the agon, or insult-match between Sarmentus the scurra and Messius Cicirrus; and the “wet dream” and “failed miracle” sequences toward the end. But first, because Horace’s satires are in part exploratory, like all good poetry, and because meanings notoriously shift as a work progresses in time and is made available to different audiences or circles of readers, I begin with a hypothetical framework consisting of (1) the occasion and first plan, (2) the sketching-out and refining of the satire, (3) its first reading(s) to friends, and (4) its first publication in book form. Further questions of reader reception and the organization of the libellus are deferred until the close of the essay.Hypothetical Stages Of Composition And Reception(1) The poem is conceived. We begin with the happy conjunction of two opportunities (kairoi), Roman and Horatian. The larger kairos involves the diplomatic mission of 37, a renewed attempt to prevent (or postpone) conflict between Octavian and Antony, to settle their differences, and to provide... (shrink)

Tree-chopping in the Aeneid has long been seen as a disturbingly violent symbol of the Trojans' colonization of Italy. The paper proposes a new reading of the poem which sees Aeneas as progressive extirpator not just of foreign rivals but also of his own Trojan relatives. Although the Romans had no family “trees” as such, their genealogical stemmata (“garlands”) had “branches” (rami) and “stock” (stirps), and their vocabulary of family relationships takes many of its metaphors from planting, adoption, and uprooting, (...) while plant life is often described in human metaphors. Imperial historians use the growth and collapse of trees to mark the rise and fall of dynasties; natural historians like Columella and Pliny use metaphors of adoption, abortion, and adultery to characterize the perversions of agriculture and horticulture. It is thus no coincidence that Aeneas' encounters with Hector, Priam, Deiphobus, and others often take place against a background of real or metaphorical trees (tree similes, headless or mutilated human trunks, ancient trees and woods). These encourage us to see an element of dynastic encroachment in scenes that look pious and peaceable but confirm Aeneas' ascendancy and claim to Trojan succession. The Polydorus episode in particular can be read not just as a grotesque interlude but as a nightmare about endlessly reproducing heirs; one loose strand from Priam's house is allowed to remain, while Virgil deals imperfectly with the problem of Aeneas' own successors. The paper ends by re-examining Virgil's account of grafting in Georgics 2 and arguing that it is viewed positively, perhaps in order to cast Augustus' adoption of heirs as a miracle solution. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Christ Who Meets Us in the Sacraments:The Influence of St. Ambrose on the tertia pars of St. Thomas's Summa theologiaeDamian Day O.P.IntroductionThe recent increased interest in St. Thomas Aquinas and the Fathers of the Church has produced a number of excellent studies of the Angelic Doctor's understanding of the authority of the Fathers and his use of them.1 In this article, I hope to contribute to the ongoing (...) study of Aquinas and the Fathers by examining how Thomas employs St. Ambrose in the tertia pars of his Summa theologiae [ST]. Thomas's use of Ambrose has received little detailed [End Page 103] attention. One of Leo Elders's last contributions to the study of Aquinas and the Fathers provided an overview of Ambrose's presence in Thomas's writings.2 I hope to expand upon Elders's work of cataloging and describing Thomas's numerous citations of Ambrose—Thomas names Ambrose over eleven hundred times in his writings3—by making a particular argument about Thomas's Christological and sacramental use of Ambrose. While Elders gives an excellent summary of where Ambrose appears in Thomas's corpus, he does not connect Thomas's use of Ambrose in his treatises on Christ and the Eucharist. I argue that Thomas's citations of Ambrose in the tertia pars help him develop an understanding of the Incarnation that supports his sacramental realism, especially emphasizing contact with Christ in the Eucharist.4Much recent reflection on the Eucharist has sought to deemphasize the substantial presence of Christ and emphasize his presence in other ways. Michael C. McGuckian, for example, argues that the Western emphasis on Christ's presence in the Blessed Sacrament has damaged the understanding of participation in the heavenly liturgy and obscured other ways in which Christ is present, such as in the bishop presiding and the proclamation of the word. He claims that "those other presences surpass the presence in the elements in their personal quality, their dynamic force and their effect on our [End Page 104] spirits and are not to be undervalued."5 Looking at Thomas and Ambrose, we will see that Christ's substantial presence in the Eucharist is preeminently personal, dynamic, and efficacious for our spirits. Colman O'Neill's masterful work of sacramental realism, Meeting Christ in the Sacraments, provides an entrée into such a study. The title derives from Ambrose. In his work A Defense of the Prophet David to Theodosius Augustus, Ambrose reflects on Psalm 51. Suddenly, in the middle of confessing his sins, David foresees the cleansing sacrament of baptism. In prophetic wonder, he cries out, "face-to-face you have shown yourself to me, Christ; I have discovered you in your sacraments."6 Even prior to their institution, David prophetically glimpses what the sacraments of the Old Law prefigure. In this vision, David sees "no longer in shadow, nor in figure, nor in type," but meets Christ in his sacraments.7 For Ambrose, the sacraments are real encounters with Christ. As O'Neill puts it, "Christ, who was worshipped from afar, comes near and touches the believer; and at his touch power goes out from him."8 For [End Page 105] Thomas, too, one meets Christ in the sacraments.9 While all the sacraments apply the merits of his Passion,10 the Eucharist is the locus par excellence for meeting Christ, since the whole Christ is there contained.11 The encounter is both personal and powerful.While the language of meeting or encountering Christ in the sacraments may seem to echo modern phenomenological philosophy, Thomas grounds the encounter in a realism of the Incarnation.12 His treatment of the encounter with Christ in the sacraments flows from his treatment of the Incarnation.13 Guy-Thomas Bedouelle summed up O'Neill's approach, which reflects Thomas's, as simply stressing, again and again, "that sacramental realism implies that the Church draws its life from the dynamism of the Incarnation itself."14 I argue that Thomas, in drawing his sacramental realism from the Incarnation, employs Ambrose as a key authority. First, I examine Thomas's knowledge and use of Ambrose's works. Second, I... (shrink)

Constantius, as though the Temple of Janus had been closed and all enemies had been laid low, was longing to visit Rome and, following the death of Magnentius, to hold a triumph, without a victory title and after shedding Roman blood. For he did not himself defeat any belligerent nation or learn that any had been defeated through the courage of his commanders, nor did he add anything to the empire, and in dangerous circumstances he was never seen to lead (...) from the front, nor even to be among the front ranks. But he wanted to display an exaggeratedly long procession, standards stiff with gold and the beauty of his attendants, to a population who were living more peacefully, neither anticipating nor wishing to see this or anything like it. For perhaps he was unaware that some earlier emperors had been content with lictors in peacetime, but when the heat of battle could not allow inactivity, one of them had entrusted himself to a small fishing boat, blasted by raging gales, another had followed the example of the Decii and offered up his life in a vow for the state, and another had himself explored the enemy camp alongside the regular soldiers; that, in short, various of them had won renown for magnificent deeds, and so committed their glories to the distinguished memory of posterity. …When he was approaching the city, observing with a serene expression the respectful attendance of the Senate, and the venerable likenesses of the patrician families, he thought, not like Cineas, the legate of Pyrrhus, that a multitude of kings had been assembled together, but rather that this was the refuge of the whole world [cumque urbi propinquaret, senatus officia, reuerendasque patriciae stirpis effigies, ore sereno contemplans, non ut Cineas ille Pyrrhi legatus, in unum coactam multitudinem regum, sed asylum mundi totius adesse existimabat]. Next, when he turned his gaze to the general populace, he was astonished at the speed with which every type of men from everywhere had flowed into Rome. As though he were trying to terrify the Euphrates or the Rhine with the sight of arms, with the standards in front of him on each side, he sat alone in a golden chariot, glittering with the shimmer of many different precious stones, whose flashes seemed to produce a flickering light. After many others had preceded him, he was surrounded by dragons, woven from purple cloth and affixed to the golden, bejewelled tips of spears, open to the wind with their broad mouths and so hissing as though roused with anger, trailing the coils of their tails in the wind [eumque post antegressos multiplices alios, purpureis subtegminibus texti, circumdedere dracones, hastarum aureis gemmatisque summitatibus illigati, hiatu uasto perflabiles, et ideo uelut ira perciti sibilantes, caudarumque uolumina relinquentes in uentum]. Then there came a twin column of armed men, with shields and plumed helmets, shining with glittering light, clothed in gleaming cuirasses, with armoured horsemen, whom they call clibanarii, arranged among them, masked and protected by breastplates, encircled with iron bands, so that you might have thought them to be statues finished by the hand of Praxiteles, not men [sparsique catafracti equites, quos clibanarios dictitant, personati thoracum muniti tegminibus, et limbis ferreis cincti, ut Praxitelis manu polita crederes simulacra, non uiros]. Slender rings of metal plates, fitted to the curves of the body, clothed them, spread across all their limbs, so that, in whatever direction necessity moved their joints, their clothing moved likewise, since the joins had been made to fit so well.When he was hailed as Augustus with favourable cries, [Constantius] did not shudder at the din that thundered from hills and shores, but showed himself unmoved, as he appeared in his provinces. For, when passing through high gates, he stooped his short body, and, keeping his gaze straight, as though his neck were fixed, he turned his head neither right nor left, as though an image of a man, and he was never seen to nod when the wheel shook, or to spit or wipe or rub his face or nose, or to move his hand [nam et corpus perhumile curuabat portas ingrediens celsas, et uelut collo munito, rectam aciem luminum tendens, nec dextra uultum nec laeua flectebat, tamquam figmentum hominis, nec, cum rota concuteret, nutans, nec spuens, aut os aut nasum tergens uel fricans, manumue agitans uisus est umquam]. Although this behaviour was an affectation, it, and other aspects of his more private life, were however indications of extraordinary endurance, granted to him alone, as it was given to be supposed. This passage, which describes the aduentus of Constantius II into Rome in 357, is one of the best-known episodes in the Res Gestae of Ammianus Marcellinus. This historical work was completed by the retired military officer in around 390, with the surviving books covering the period from 353 to the aftermath of the Battle of Adrianople in 378. Unsurprisingly, this passage is also one of the most debated. Throughout his work, Ammianus regularly criticized Constantius as a weak, vicious ruler, influenced by women and, in particular, eunuchs, and so contrasted him with his cousin and successor Julian, the emperor who receives the most favourable treatment within this text. The degree and nature of criticism within this particular passage has, however, been the subject of a variety of wildly differing interpretations. It is clear that, at the outset, Ammianus is inveighing against the notion of holding a triumph for victory in a civil war, but there has been debate over whether Constantius was actually celebrating a triumph or merely the anniversary of his accession. Similarly, the description of the Senate as ‘the refuge of the whole world’ has been read in contrasting ways, being regarded as derogatory by Johannes Straub, as neutral, or even positive, by Pierre Dufraigne, and as respectful by R.C. Blockley. While this passage as a whole is generally read as an attack on Constantius for his pretentions to ill-deserved military glory, it also raises the question of whether Ammianus was also criticizing Constantius for the way in which he performed his aduentus, emphasizing his pompous and autocratic behaviour in order to contrast him with Julian, who preferred to behave more like a ciuilis princeps in public. Of course, such a reading almost inevitably produces a portrait of Ammianus as an impractically nostalgic figure, harking back to a style of rule which was anachronistic in the post-Diocletianic Later Roman Empire. In addition, Ammianus also presented Julian as performing an aduentus into Constantinople in 361, employing some phrases that were similar to those used to describe Constantius’ procession in 357. Furthermore, as John Matthews has illustrated, Ammianus’ presentations of the occasions when Julian eschewed late-antique imperial protocol are not without tinges of criticism, and his judgement on the propriety of different modes of imperial behaviour varied dependent on the context. (shrink)

This is the way to say in Latin ‘you see my face, though you cannot see the rest of me’. So her. X 53 ‘tua, quae possum, pro te uestigia tango’, 135 ‘non oculis sed, qua potes, aspice mente’, art. III 633 ‘corpora si nequeunt, quae possunt, nomina tangunt’, trist. IV 2 57 ‘haec ego summotus, qua possum,. mente uidebo’, 3 17 sq. ‘esse tui memorem… quodque potest, secum nomen habere tuum’, 10 112 ‘tristia, quo possum, carmine fata leuo’, ex (...) Pont. IV 4 45 ‘absentem, qua possum, mente uidebo’.1 But that is not what Ovid seeks to say: he means ‘you see my face in such fashion as you can’, not in the flesh but in counterfeit presentment; and Latin expresses this meaning otherwise. As Ovid here speaks of his own likeness on a ring, so in ex Pont. II 8 55 he speaks of the likenesses of Augustus Tiberius and Liuia on a medal; and he says ‘nos quoque uestra iuuat quod, qua licet, ora uidemus’. Arellius Fuscus in Sen. suas. 4 I puts the same thought in the same way, ‘cur non ab infantia rerum naturam deosque, qua licet, uisimus, cum pateant nobis sidera et interesse numinibus liceat ?’ In her. XIII 41 sq. ‘qua possum, squalore tuos imitata labores dicar’ many MSS have changed the adverb into quo agreeing with the substantive hard by; and similarly here the ‘quae potes’ of the text has come from ‘qua potes’. (shrink)

Scholars often turn to Livy’s famous digression on Aulus Cossus and the spolia opima (4.17–20) to shed light on his larger political inclinations. These readings generally regard Livy as either an Augustan (or at least a patriotic Roman) or an apolitical skeptic. Yet neither view, I argue, fully explains the Cossus affair. What is needed is an interpretation that recognizes the political nature of the Cossus digression and its skepticism toward Augustus. Attending to Livy’s rhetorical strategy in the digression (...) allows us to see it as an instance of oblique criticism of Augustus and his control over Roman life. The explanatory power of this reading extends to episodes from the life of Romulus as well. I argue Livy uses these stories to make a theoretical argument about the nature of despotism, namely, that it seeks to control narratives of the past just as much as it aims for political domination. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Punishing PisoJohn BodelWhen cn. piso cheated justice by taking his life before the formal condemnation that awaited him, the Senate imposed six posthumous penalties, which are duly recorded in the senatus consultum of 10 December A.D. 20. 11. Piso was not to be publicly mourned by the women of his family (SCPP 73–75).2. All statues and portraits of Piso anywhere were to be taken down (75–76).3. Members of the (...) Calpurnian family by blood or through marriage were urged to exclude the portrait mask of Piso from the parade of imagines at family funerals (76–82).4. Piso’s name was to be erased from a statue of Germanicus near the Ara Providentiae in the Campus Martius (82–84).5. Piso’s property, with the exception of an estate in Illyricum given to him by Augustus, was declared public property and was then returned, in the name of the Senate and princeps, to his two sons and daughter, in exchange for which the elder son was enjoined to change his praenomen, Gnaeus (84–105).6. The structures built by Piso over the Porta Fontinalis to connect his private houses were to be torn down (105–8).Tacitus’ abbreviated and selective account (Ann. 3.17–18) omits all but two of these penalties—those concerning the confiscation of Piso’s [End Page 43] property and the striking of his name from public records—and reports only partial truths about these. Why Tacitus omits what he does and distorts what he reports are questions of considerable interest for understanding his historiographical aims and methods (see Woodman and Martin 1996, 114–18, 185–88). This essay has the more limited and preliminary objective of delineating the background against which they must be posed by considering the implications of the four penalties not mentioned by Tacitus (1, 3, 4, 6) for the shaping of public image in Tiberian Rome. For this purpose, two basic similarities with Tacitus’ account may be briefly noted.First, despite the professed aim of the senators condemning Piso to eradicate all memory of him and his misdeeds, the clause of their decree mandating its publication in major cities and at military headquarters throughout the empire, “so that the order of the whole affair could be handed down to the memory of future generations and they would know what the Senate had decided about... the crimes of the elder Cn. Piso,” fundamentally undermines its ostensible purpose. 2 Like Tacitus, who explicitly embraced the historian’s traditional task of branding infamy in order to deter future misconduct (Ann. 3.65.1), the senators condemning Piso meant his punishment to set an example for posterity. 3 Since the bulk of Piso’s estate was to be returned to his intended heirs, their punitive measures were directed more at his reputation than at his substance and thus belong to that category of condemnation we call damnatio memoriae. Paradoxically, however, the Senate’s desire to advertise its exemplary severity in this instance undermined its efforts to expunge the memory of the condemned, rendering the punishment symbolic and paradigmatic rather than practically effective.Second, like Tacitus, who proclaims the geographical focus of his Annales in the opening words, the Roman Senate concentrated its condemnation of Piso’s memory on the city of Rome. Although the instructions [End Page 44] for publication of the document mention only provincial cities and the army (and wherever else Tiberius wished), and although the six or seven copies of the text that survive all derive from Baetica, the penalties themselves are largely and practically centered on the capital. 4 In this Romanocentric perspective the new senatus consultum shares the orientation of the document that served as the model for all monumentalized public declarations in Tiberian Rome, the Res Gestae Divi Augusti (see Elsner 1996). Like that inscriptional monument, the decree condemning Piso—principally displayed at a chosen location in the capital (SCPP 169–70, quo loco Ti. Caes(ari) Aug(usto) videretur) and yet destined for publication (and fated for preservation) at the far ends of the empire—implicitly balances the conduct of res transmarinae (31) with monuments at the capital and thus directs... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Horace and the Dialectic of Freedom: Readings in Epistles 1Barbara K. GoldW. R. Johnson. Horace and the Dialectic of Freedom: Readings in Epistles 1. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993. xiv 1 172 pp. Cloth, $27.50. (Townsend Lectures)A colleague once expressed shock that I was reading Horace’s Epistles. They are, she said, the most boring works in all of Latin literature. It seems likely that this was not an (...) idiosyncratic pronouncement: the Epistles are rarely the subjects of critical work and even less frequently taught.But now we have the second book to appear in the past decade on the first book of Horace’s Epistles. Ross Kilpatrick’s 1986 volume on The Poetry of Friendship: Horace, Epistles 1 focused closely on the theme of amicitia in these poems. Now Ralph Johnson has produced a new appreciation of Horace by tracing another theme through Horace’s letters to his friends: freedom. The book is less a critical exegesis of the Epistles than a highly personal and emotionally charged meditation on what drove Horace to write these so-called letters in the twilight of his composing years. The chapter headings indicate the unorthodox approach Johnson has chosen: “Running on Empty,” “In the Rag and Bone Shop,” “Gardens.”Johnson presents us with a Horace who is engaged in a “messy” and irresoluble dialectic with himself, his friends, and his readers. Neither Horace nor Johnson offers any comforting or banal bipolarities; Johnson cautions often against the sic et non approach whereby we, like boll weevils, bore through the haze of confusions looking for the “nugget” (Virginia Woolf’s word) behind the complexities instead of accepting the power of antinomies and their meaning for human experience (144). Johnson’s Horace is thus an ambivalent and protean creature: still a satirist, but somewhat softer now than he was in the 30s; an outsider looking in but never really a part of the hive; a man suffused with anger and resentment, yet capable of a dry and impartial skepticism and a sanguine hope about our ability to live our lives well; carnal and crazy, but mature and clear-headed; an Orphic shaman figure, who mediates between lowly humans and figures of the great (Augustus) or nature herself and delivers the truth from his lofty position, but also a poet of lowly beginnings, caught in embarrassing positions and forced to kowtow to his superiors; a man absolutely insistent on his [End Page 335] freedom and individuality yet part of a court circle of sorts; a wry picaro who nonetheless sometimes plays the role of Stoic progrediens: a naughty scarecrow in the garden, an agrarian sophist, with one foot in the city and one on his Sabine farm, trying to figure out how to be a proper gardener.But, for me, there are too many Horaces here, and they cannot all exist simultaneously. It is hard to see the spontaneous, wry picaro next to the poet who desires a return to civility and decorum or the committed city dweller who develops a love for the rural life. While it may be true that Horace changed masks when the occasion suited, his representations of himself seem to me to be fairly consistent by Ep. 1.20. The Horace I see here is more comfortable with himself than Johnson’s Horace is. He has come to terms with Maecenas, with his father, and with his life in Rome. He understands why it is necessary to avoid chasing after wealth (fuge magna, 10.32) in order to achieve the internal peace and true freedom that he seeks. But he is always a city dweller and never comfortable with his Sabine farm as more than a symbol of what the rural life could offer. (In an interesting aside, Johnson admits that he might be sentimentalizing Horace’s view of the farm: “I’m an ardent urbanite without even a window box” [150 n. 5].) Horace saw and used elements of nature throughout his poetry as evocative symbols of the place of human life in the larger natural universe, but I’m certain that he never got his hands dirty.It is, however, no wonder that so... (shrink)

Tristia3.3 purports to be a ‘death-bed’ letter addressed by the sick poet to his wife in Rome, in which Ovid, banished from Rome on Augustus' orders, foresees his burial in Tomi as the ultimate form of exilic displacement. In order to avoid such a permanent form of exclusion from his homeland, Ovid issues instructions for his burial in the suburbs of Rome, dictating a four-line epitaph to be inscribed upon his tomb. However, despite the careful instructions he outlines for (...) his burial and physical memorial, Ovid asserts:maiora libelli | et diuturna magis sunt monumenta mihi, expressing his belief in his continued poetic afterlife. Scholars have seen this poem's concerns as above all literary, concentrating on Ovid's exploitation and development of elegiac and Augustan models which also treat the themes of death and poetic immortality. However, although Ovid's portrayal of what purports to be personal experience draws extensively upon earlier poetry, and, as we shall see, the poem gains much of its power from its engagement with the tradition that poetry alone can memorialize, previous studies have failed to analyse how Ovid consistently plays up the element that marks him out from the predecessors who had imagined their own deaths and poetic afterlives: that is, his status as an exile. Ovid's insistence on burial in his native land – from which he had been excluded in life – and his assertion of his poetic immortality in a poem which repeatedly stresses his exilic status, thus take on a markedly political angle, which had been absent or more muted in the models he exploits. (shrink)

The wine referred to in the second line of the epigram was produced near Verona, at the foot of the Rhaetian Alps. It was well regarded by most and was a favourite of the Emperor Augustus: for references see Mynors at Verg. G. 2.96 and my note at Mart. 14.100.2. It appears, however, to have undue prominence in this poem, supposedly about the earthenware drinking vessels which, presumably, were manufactured in the same area. There is also the question of (...) why Martial refers to Verona in such a circumlocutory way. Is he merely following a well established elegiac/epigrammatic convention in associating Verona with Catullus , or does his circumlocution here have any particular point? (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Playing with Time. Ovid and the FastiSara MackNewlands, Carole E. Playing with Time. Ovid and the Fasti. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1995. Pp. xii 1 254.I learned a great deal from Carole Newlands’ Playing with Time about a poem with which I have always had difficulty. Newlands takes the Fasti seriously as a poem. She sees it as an artistically shaped creation, not a mishmash of (...) religious and mythological lore, and she regards its constantly shifting perspectives as intended and effective. I think she is right.The introduction, “The Problem of Ovid’s Fasti,” looks briefly at past assessments of the poem before setting out Newlands’ own thesis: The Fasti is “an exciting, experimental game with genre that offers a profound meditation on the changes and tensions in Roman society in the latter years of Augustus’ reign and the early years of Tiberius’” and that expresses “disenchantment with a political system that could guarantee neither the peace nor the freedom in which the elegiac [End Page 149] poet could flourish” (18). The rest of the chapter is devoted chiefly to outlining the argument of the remaining chapters.Chapter 1, “Stellar Connections,” examines the star myths of the Fasti. “Far from providing attractive digressions from Roman ritual, the myths interact with the Roman material, occasionally confirming but more often challenging or undermining the points of view encoded there” (31). Whether they in fact “contribute substantially to the dynamic tension in the poem between Ovid’s former erotic preoccupations and his new national themes,” it is certainly true, as she claims, that Ovid’s introduction of the astronomical theme at F. 1.295ff. has more to do with poetics than it does with astronomy. As always Ovid writes with an eye on his predecessors.In chapter 2, “Narrator and Interlocutors,” Newlands argues that “Ovid invites us to follow his development as a student and teacher of ‘sacra’ who discovers in the Roman past not an inspirational repository of noble heroes, but a patchwork of license and repression, nobility and violence, that is contingent on a variety of competing interests” (52). The narrator becomes increasingly reliant on sub-narrators for information as he becomes less confident in his own ability as narrator and in the feasibility of his project: an elegiac poem on Roman themes.In chapter 3 Newlands argues the need to look at the description of the temple of Mars Ultor in the context of the whole of book 5 and with an eye to the bias of its narrator in order to assess its presence in a poem that initially claims to oppose aras to arma. “The star myths of Chiron (379–414) and Orion (493–544), offer divergent perspectives upon the key concepts of war, Roman history, and revenge that are enshrined in the temple” (89). Mars, who takes over the narrative, has his own perspective on things. Furthermore, Mars has taken over the role of the Scorpion in Ovid’s rewrite of the catasterism myth of Orion and Scorpio “in a substitution that... gives a hint that the concept of revenge, glorified in the war god’s new Augustan temple, cannot be wholly refined of brutal elements” (114). I found this a very interesting chapter, although I was not convinced by some of the details, such as the contrast between Achilles’ and Romulus’ pietas. The analogy with the dream vision in the Aeneid is a bit misleading because the proper parallel is not Aeneas in tears vs. Romulus dry-eyed, as the argument suggests, but rather Aeneas in tears vs. the twins’ parents in tears.Chapter 4, “Priapus Revisited,” examines book 6 as “a negative mirroring of the themes of Book 1” (125). One of its major topics is Ovid’s treatment of Vesta. Newlands examines the Priapus-Vesta episode in book 6 which is usually read as a failed and expendable doublet of Priapus-Lotis in book 1. I think she is right that each has a spot in the poem and that part of the fun of the Vesta episode is that Vesta doesn’t fit into a world where nymphs may get raped while they sleep off the... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil WarMark MastersonCharles McNelis. Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. x + 203 pp. Cloth, $90.In this well-focused study, Charles McNelis gives what is due both to the poetics of Statius’ epic and to what John Henderson has called its “political intelligence” (PCPS 37 [1991]: 52). Regarding the poem as a product of its time (...) both in terms of poetics and politics, McNelis shows that Statius uses the considerable arsenal of the Latin poets’ ability to be intertextual to create a work that addresses [End Page 436] the particular situation of post–civil wars Flavian Rome. McNelis finds that Statius proposes that the epic teleology of the Golden Age’s reestablishment under Augustus that Virgil presents (albeit with some ambiguity) “has been thwarted and/or challenged, thus suggesting the fragile nature of any claim—even claims that define a society—to have brought an end to civil war” (177). Instead, Statius suggests that while it is possible for a particular civil conflict to come to an end, the results of it are ever with us and, further, that resolution comes in the form of clementia which is available to all on an individual basis from an entity that takes no blood sacrifice and is aniconic (163; Theb. 12.487–88, 493–94). A multifaceted challenge to the Virgilian/Augustan narrative of communal imperium sine fine guaranteed by Jove is manifest here.In order to make the case that Augustan/Virgilian teleology does not fit Flavian Rome, Statius’ particular strategy is a resort to Callimachus whose criticism of the epic genre had already made frequent appearances in Latin poetry. McNelis sees Statius restaging over the course of the epic the conflict that Callimachus (in Aetia 1 and elsewhere) presents between finely worked poetry and overdone epic. This conflict then reflects the presence of civil war in the literary-generic contouring of the poem. The presence of this conflict also ensures, in McNelis’ estimation, that the Thebaid is most emphatically not the “one continuous song” (Aetia 1.1.3: ) that Callimachus presents as the undesirable goal of epic composition and instead “replicate[s]” civil war “in the very fibres of the poem” (1).After the introduction, McNelis presents in the first chapter (“Gods, Humans and the Literary Tradition”) a discussion of Thebaid 1 with special attention paid to the story of Coroebus and the particularly malevolent Apollo therein. McNelis underscores in this story (significantly an aetion) the essentially hostile nature of the gods in the poem and the blending of them with chthonic forces, exemplified by Apollo’s killing of Python and his revenge, via a baby-eating monster, for the death of a baby born to a young woman he had raped. This story promises—and it is a promise that the epic delivers—that humans can hardly expect a settled existence with Jove as beneficent ruler.The second chapter (“Beginning”) foregrounds discussion of the necklace made by Vulcan, the Cyclopes, and the Telchines for Harmonia. McNelis sees in the necklace a product from the god of the forge’s workshop that comments on this epic in as serious a manner as the shields of Achilles and Aeneas comment on their respective epics. It is here that McNelis makes a key connection to the Aetia, for it is the Telchines whom Callimachus takes to task at 1.1.1. While at times he overstates the power of the necklace to cause things to happen (e.g., 51), McNelis is right to emphasize its significance. The necklace promises communal dissolution from the hands of the gods just as surely as the shield of Aeneas promises reintegration, likewise overseen by divine forces. Too, it is fitting that the poet of the Silvae would focus on a luxurious item such as this.In the third chapter (“Nemea”), McNelis sees the Callimachean aspects of the plot derail the warlike plan of Vulcan and the Telchines in the famous [End Page 437] digression at Nemea. McNelis draws the reader’s attention to the fact that the great body of water that is epic has been reduced to but... (shrink)

I suppose you realize, as I do, how few of our school children have had the privilege of seeing even casts of the masterpieces of ancient art? They never see the sculptures of the Parthenon, the Hermes of Praxiteles, the Victory of Samothrace, the Venus of Melos, the Augustus Caesar, the works of Donatello, the achievements of Michelangelo. The same is true of our university students—thousands of them. They hear endless talk about these things as the recognized treasures of (...) civilization, the inheritance of the ages, but they never see them.... We... used to be familiar with casts in our art museums, for they once had fine collections and exhibited them in proud array. They have disappeared and are now packed.. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Children in the Visual Arts of Imperial RomeJenifer NeilsJeannine Diddle Uzzi. Children in the Visual Arts of Imperial Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. xiv + 252 pp. 75 black-and-white ills. Cloth, $80.As anyone who has looked at images of the Christ Child in early medieval art or Baroque portraits of young royalty knows, the imagery of children is highly constructed and a minefield of interpretive challenges. In (...) classical art, [End Page 289] representations of children are never as straightforward as they might at first seem. A girl on a swing painted on an Athenian vase, for instance, is not an innocent child at play but an expiation rite for Erigone, the daughter of Ikarios, who after her father's murder committed suicide by hanging herself. Except for funerary memorials, children are rare in classical art, and their presence usually connotes a special event or situation, often one with dire consequences. The earliest images of children in Greek art are those shown on Geometric funerary vases mourning a dead parent or the slaughter of the innocents at Troy. Likewise, in Roman art children appear not as principal players but as adjuncts to ceremonial events or military exploits.Although ancient Roman childhood has been thoroughly investigated of late, most notably by the social historian Beryl Rawson, studies of the depictions of children in Roman art are not numerous. By its title, Uzzi's book might seem to fill the void, but its contents are limited to children depicted on coins, historical reliefs, sarcophagi, and one silver vessel—some one hundred thirty in all. Chronologically it covers the reign of Augustus to the Severan dynasty, and it excludes as much it includes, namely, mythological children, slaves, camilli/ae, and, perhaps most surprisingly since the author claims to examine only official art, children who can be identified as members of the imperial family. A more apt title might be something like Narratives of Roman Identity: Roman and Non-Roman Children on Historical Reliefs.The basic premise of this book is the visual distinction between Roman and non-Roman children, which Uzzi relates to narratives of inclusion and exclusion—or, what it means to be Roman. In brief, Roman children are generally shown with their fathers in public rituals such as those of imperial largesse (congiarium, alimenta, liberalitas), adlocutiones, processions, games, and sacrifices. By contrast non-Roman children are depicted in rites of submission, as captives in triumphal processions, and in scenes of military activity often with their mothers (e.g., on the two helic columns in Rome). These distinctions are particularly evident on the Column of Trajan because it includes scenes of both Roman and non-Roman children. Scene XCI uniquely shows both together in a scene of sacrifice made upon the arrival of the emperor: three children in Roman dress are accompanied by male figures at the front, nearest to Trajan, while the three provincial children, in non-Roman attire, are farther back with women. While it is not surprising among the Dacians to find only mothers tending their children (all the able-bodied fathers presumably being actively engaged in combat), it is noteworthy that Roman children, both boys and girls, make public appearances with their fathers in Dacian territory. Are they simply led out to see the emperor (as we line up our children to see the presidential motorcade) or is there another agenda here, a process of Romanization, as Uzzi suggests?In the introductory chapter, Uzzi considers modern theories and definitions of nationhood, setting the background for her inquiry into Roman identity. In the next chapter, entitled "Primary Sources," she in fact surveys the secondary literature on Roman children and their imagery (Rawson, Currie, Kleiner), [End Page 290] various methodological approaches to Roman art (Zanker, Evans, Gregory, Hannestad, Brilliant, Beard), and definitions of childhood (Carp, Eyben, Pleket, Locke, Foucault). She then goes on to identify markers of ethnicity, namely, hairstyle and costume. For the purposes of this study she identifies children as "those figures who are approximately one-half to two-thirds the size of adults of the same gender (if known), with round faces and bodies (again, if possible to determine), and without... (shrink)

The difficulty of this little poem is shown by the facts that Ausonius had no idea what it was about, and that Westendorp Boerma's commentary takes 22 pages to explicate its five lines. The latter relies on Quintilian 8.3.27ff., who quotes the poem, saying that Vergil wrote it to attack a certain Cimber for his taste in obsolete words. This is no doubt the Annius Cimber whom Augustus ridiculed when reprimanding Mark Antony for a similar foible and who, as (...) an antiquarius is contrasted with the Asiatici oratores. For convenience, I have kept Westendorp Boerma's text, but I take issue with his interpretation on two points. 4 tau Gallicum: since Bücheler tentatively suggested it in RhM 38 , 508, the standard explanation of this has been to point out that a number of Latin inscriptions in Gaul use a Greek θ or else a barred D , to represent what appears to have been a dental fricative elsewhere indicated in Latin by -sd- or -st-. Thus Frank, AJP 56 , 255, quotes HYÐRITANVS for what is elsewhere spelled Thysdritanus, and says that ‘Ð clearly represents the best that one Celt could do with sd’. On the basis of this supposed Gallic incompetence, Frank went on to see the repeated -st- sounds in the poem as some sort of joke on the orator's inability to pronounce this sound. His view seems to have been generally accepted. There seems to me a profound error in this viewpoint which shows cultural imperialism at its worst. First, let us note that none of the examples of alleged substitution are in Latin words; they are native names for people or places or things. The Latin names by which we know some of them are only the approximation of foreigners, and not in any sense the ‘correct’ names of those people or places. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Child and the Hero: Coming of Age in Catullus and VergilChristine PerkellMark Petrini. The Child and the Hero: Coming of Age in Catullus and Vergil. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1997. 152 pp. Cloth, $37.50.This brief study of youthful figures in the Aeneid proposes that Vergil represents the “coming of age” or initiation into adulthood as the devastating collision of the innocent child with the treacherous, (...) deceitful adult world. Failure of youth to thrive, analogous to (according to this reading) the portended failure of Augustus to achieve his goals of Roman renewal, has causes embedded in “human nature, in nature itself, and therefore in history” (2), so that the question implicitly posed by the poem, specifically in this motif of early death, becomes, for Petrini: can the future ever be different from the past? Iulus, poised on the edge of childhood, functions in the poem as a symbol of the possibility of reconciliation of Roman hopes of renewal (as in the prophecy of Apollo, 9.641–44), on the one hand, versus a set of “facts,” as constructed by Vergil, of politics, nature, and history that would suggest that such hopes are illusory (2). Whether there could be a glorious Roman future if Iulus could shake free of the past or whether he is doomed to repeat the worst of Troy remains unresolved through the end of the poem by virtue of Iulus’ suspension in youth. [End Page 464]This argument is set forth in Petrini’s introduction, summarized above. The main part of the book runs to six chapters, represented here by citing some of the author’s own summary remarks.Chapter 1: The Child and the Hero. Child characters, writes Petrini, “exemplify various ideals of innocence—cultural simplicity, enduring love, pietas, an idealized heroic past—and they flourish briefly and die as they come of age” (8). The deaths of the young signify the loss of renewal (9). Another related theme revolves around what the author terms Homeric heroism, read as an expression of cultural innocence. The failure of Homeric heroism in the world of the epic thus marks for Petrini a kind of cultural decline: “Vergil presents the ideals and tokens of conventional heroism—spolia, laudes, virtus—as illusions that betray and deceive in an inverted heroic world” (12).Chapter 2: Catullus. Petrini suggests that failure of innocence, pathology of adulthood (19), faithless love, friendships betrayed, death as separation (17)—motifs found in Catullus 64, 65, 66—were imitated by Vergil. It is from these texts especially that Vergil develops his own themes of the innocence of youth and the deception of the adult world.Chapter 3: Nisus and Euryalus. Petrini finds an elaboration of this initiation into death and corruption theme in the Nisus and Euryalus episode, wherein “Euryalus’ departure from his mother and participation in the night mission become the death of innocence in a corrupt world..., and his initiation from childhood to adulthood is a travesty of natural growth” (47). Euryalus “is out of context in battle and the throng of heroes, and in his death we feel the passing of simplicity and delicacy, the destruction of an ideal of amor” (48). Euryalus is initiated into adulthood by Nisus, whom Petrini reads as a cultural primitive, as denoted, for example, by his wearing of a lion skin, thus a representative of precivilized innocence (25). He attributes the failure of the mission of Nisus and Euryalus to the corrupt world they find in Italy and not, in the first instance, to their own reckless choices. In fact he reads the question of whether their actions are right or wrong as negligible; his interest rather is in what he sees as the inevitability of their behavior in the corrupt world of the epic (25–32).Chapter 4: Pallas. “Aeneas’ tutelage of Pallas and the introduction of the younger hero to the world of the older is presented as an assault on innocence, and Pallas’ death as the violation of a figurative childhood. The puer, innocent and inexperienced, is drawn to the attractions of heroism; the rewards and values of the heroic world emerge as illusions, which threaten and... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Political Theory in the Senatus Consultum PisonianumD. S. PotterThe object of this essay is to illustrate the interaction between specific events and broader imperial ideology in the Senatus Consultum Pisonianum (SCP), a decree of the Senate issued on 10 December A.D. 20 concerning the disposition of the case against the elder Piso and his associates. A subsidiary point is to place the use of such a decree within the (...) discourse of government in the Greco–Roman world.Public decrees emerged as an important venue for the exposition of state ideology centuries before Tiberius asked the Senate to record its views on Piso's fate. Indeed, we can detect the beginning of this development in Greece before the end of the Peloponnesian War and trace what appears to be some cross–fertilization between the style of civic decrees from the Greek cities of the eastern Mediterranean and the style of senatus consulta in the second and first centuries B.C. The process may be seen as an extension of the "motivation clauses" in honorific decrees passed for individuals to many other kinds of document.1 At the same time, the late fifth or early fourth century, we can see that public decrees offered a form for the continuation of a dialogue between states: thus the decree of Erythrae in which the Athenians are thanked for passing a decree in which they state that they will not turn the Erythraeans over to the "barbarians" or the elaborate denunciation of Spartan behaviors that is embedded within the charter of the Second Athenian Confederacy.2 By the second half of the fourth century, at least in Athens, and we know that the practice had extended to its former dominion on Samos by the time of Alexander, a "motivation clause" could run to many lines in explaining the actions of the [End Page 65] state.3 Our best evidence for this practice comes from honorific decrees for individuals, but the language of Diodorus suggests very strongly that some sort of historical preface was added to the decree that was passed declaring war on Macedon in 323, very similar to the one that would later figure in the decree of Chremonides declaring war in 268.4 The evidence for the use of extended prefaces, both for individuals and in other contexts, increases in the course of the third century, as civic decrees take on a role in the structuring of a community's memory that was transformed from a reflection to a mechanism of construction.5Our attention to such statements on stone is perhaps conditioned by our ability to recover them in a way that we cannot recover the words of representatives speaking extemporaneously in a public assembly, or the opinions of representatives meeting in closed conference, thus raising the question of just how important such documents really were as vehicles for communication. There is a substantial body of scholarly opinion suggesting that the inscribing of decrees was primarily a symbolic activity since these decrees were often written in hands that were difficult to read and, for that matter, a majority of the inhabitants of the Mediterranean world lacked the capacity to read.6 While no one would deny that one purpose of public inscription was symbolic—indeed the sloppiness that mars both copies A and B of the senatus consultum concerning the disposition of the Piso affair in A.D. 20 may be taken as a sign of this—likewise it needs to be stressed that such texts [End Page 66] were also regarded as permanent records to be read by those classes whose views were regarded as important by ancient governments, and scripts difficult to the eyes of one generation might be less so to those of another.7 The average late twentieth–century classicist may find it easier to decipher the Res Gestae of Augustus on the walls of the temple of Roma in Ancyra than to read the volumes of Leopold Ranke printed in fraktur: the ability to read a script is largely a matter of training and habit. It is clear that the mid–fourth–century Athenian or the second– century Bithynian might care a great deal... (shrink)

Collingwood's attitude toward literary sources is related to the method of selective excavation. But as an excavator, Collingwood came in for some criticism from his fellow archaeologists. Collingwood's treatment of four historical problems is considered: why Caesar invaded Britain, why Augustus did not, how the Claudian conquest proceeded, and why Hadrian built his wall and vallum. Collingwood concluded that Caesar intended to conquer, Augustus did not, and that the vallum served a civil rather than military purpose. In trying (...) to identify past thought Collingwood approaches literary sources and archaeological remains with particular questions in mind. Questions and answers being correlative, this often amounts to having made up his mind in advance. When he comes to the evidence itself, he sees what he expects to see ; occasionally what he sees is not in fact there. Where Collingwood creates a history, Peter Salway sometimes seems to be summarizing a subject. With Collingwood, however, we more than participate in processes of thought, we actually see the connections. Collingwood makes the real rational, and no historian of Roman Britain has done that better. (shrink)

In the period from January 1920 to December 1921 a cooperation between Jessie Fauset, Augustus Dill and W.E.B. Du Bois resulted in the publication of a periodical called “The Brownies’ Book” the first publication for North American black, and not white children and young people. The creation of “The Brownies' Book” was a pioneering event in African American literature in general and, more specifically, in the field of African American children's literature, as it was the first periodical composed and (...) published by African Americans for black children who, until then, searched in vain for material that included a perspective on their experience and history. This article argues that the TBBs were one of the harbingers of the movement called the Harlem Renaissance, constituting a children's literary materialization of the path towards the emergence of what the philosopher Alain Locke called the New Negro. What was being formulated was both the deconstruction of stereotypes associated with blacks and the active projection/creation of a positive identification with their local and ancestral community. This paper seeks to identify the post-WWI discursive strategies and practices of de-racialization proposed for “the children of the sun”, as W.E.B. Du Bois called them, in order to stop seeing themselves “through the eyes of others”. (shrink)

The Pompeius Macer whom prosopographers have discerned among the friends of Ovid boasts connections as stellar as anyone in Ovid's ambit. His induction into the Roman establishment was preceded by the achievements of his father Theophanes of Mytilene, who for two decades had been one of Pompey's closest confidants. Macer himself served Augustus first as equestrian procurator of Asia and then as director of state libraries in Rome, and when the phil-Hellene Tiberius replaced Augustus, his position at court (...) grew firmer still. He lived to see his son gain a seat in the Roman senate, to become the first known senator of Greek origin. And while tending to his political career, he made a name for himself in Roman literary circles and maintained a long-lasting friendship with Ovid. (shrink)

All interpretations of the Portland Vase frieze to date have failed to see, much less explain, a crucial figural attribute in the frieze, one that proves to be both explicit and explicatory, and whose location and appearance secures the identification of not one but, indeed, three figures. Furthermore, the attribute lies at the heart of a distinct schema of figural grouping and arrangement which has also gone unheeded in previous treatments of the Portland Vase frieze. By dint of this previously (...) unknown attribute, one can straightforwardly read the opening scene of the frieze using the attributes therein provided, but the opening scene only. To complete the task, a second methodology–that which I laid out in Arion in 1992–is a categorical sine qua non. One can, as I have already shown, successfully navigate the entire frieze using the second methodology alone but, as so many others have shown, not contrariwise. These new findings–the attribute and figural plan–are clear proof that the artistic vision of the Portland Vase was purposefully executed in a two-part program. (shrink)

Sophocles’s Oedipus Tyrannus shows that humans' problems do not appear when they listen to the gods, but when they listen to themselves imagining that they follow the gods. Instead of placing themselves in the service of the god, as Socrates does in Plato’s Apology, they only think that they follow the divinity, while they actually act according to their own understanding. If Sophocles’s play is a synopsis of this danger, Plato’s dialogue proposes a different attitude before divinity: instead of interpreting (...) the gods and acting on this interpretation, you would need to enter into their service by studying the meaning of their communication. (shrink)

Back in the Good Old Days of Logical Positivism, theories of meaning were part of a normative project that sought not merely to describe the features of language and its use, but so to speak to separate the wheat from the chaff. In this paper, I side with Herman Cappelen (2013) in thinking that we need to rethink and reintroduce the important distinction between sense and nonsense that was ditched along with other normative aspirations during Logical Positivism’s spectacular demise. Despite (...) this, my delineation of the bounds of sense is different from Cappelen’s. One of my goals in the present paper is to argue that category mistakes are paradigmatic examples of nonsensical sentences. To this end I describe one candidate for what it might be that makes category mistakes nonsensical. (shrink)