For three hundred years and more the meaning of the figures on the Portland Vase has been a matter for speculation of the most strange and varied character.

During the first half of this century there was something of a lull, but ten years ago Professor Erika Simon, after a wide-ranging and sensitive study of all the evidence, put forward a highly ingenious theory connecting the scenes with the ancestry of Augustus and, shortly after, Professor L. Polacco embroidered it further. In 1964 Mr Denys Haynes produced the excellent little book which is on sale at the British Museum: this was reviewed by Professor H. Möbius, who had his own theory, elaborated since in a longer article; and Professor H. Biesantz has exposed the weaknesses of all the solutions, without however propounding one of his own.

The wide differences of opinion among these scholars have prompted me to place on record some observations I made twenty years ago, when we first acquired the vase at the British Museum; and I shall take Mr Haynes' book as a starting-point, because it is the latest comprehensive account, and, being persuasively argued, bids fair to hold the field.

However, before we begin to examine the vase in detail, a few words must be said on its technique, its date, and the circumstances in which it was made (plates I–IV, VI–VII). The technique was to make a bubble of very dark blue glass, clear but so thick that it cannot be seen through, and over it a skin of white translucent glass reaching as far upwards as the base of the neck: then to join two deep-blue glass handles from the middle of the neck to the shoulder of the vase; and, finally, using the technique of the cameo-carver, to carve, and carve away, the white glass layer in order to produce figures and landscape. The blue glass becomes the background of the scene where the white has been completely removed: where the white has been thinned but not completely removed, the blue provides suggestions of shadow and distance.

In one of the most popular anthology passages in Latin, Servius Sulpicius, writing to console Cicero for his daughter's death, describes how, as he reached Greek waters, sailing from Asia, he began to look about him at the ruins of Greece. ‘Behind me was Aegina, in front of me Megara, on the right the Piraeus, on the left Corinth, cities which had once been prosperous, but now lay shattered ruins before my sight.’ Oppidum cadavera he goes on to call them—corpses of cities! The picture, it will probably be objected, is overdrawn; certainly the ruin of Greece was, by Cicero's time, already a rhetorical commonplace, to be echoed by Horace, Ovid and Seneca in turn. But it was based upon an essential truth. The Saronic Gulf, once the centre of the world, was now, for all that Greece meant, a dead lake lapping about the foundations of dead cities. In that tragic decay—which was not confined to mainland Greece—we are confronted with one of the most urgent problems of ancient history, and one with a special significance for our generation, who were already living in an age of economic, political and spiritual upheaval, even before the bombs began to turn our own cities into shattered ruins.

This, then, is my reason for reopening a subject on which there is scope for such diverse opinion: adeo maxima quaeque ambigua sunt. If any further justification is required, then I will only add that the recent publication of Professor Michael Rostovtzeff's classic study of the social and economic life of the Hellenistic Age is at once an invitation and a challenge.

The tombs at Vergina in Macedonia continue to produce more questions than answers. At the 1990 Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute in San Francisco a colloquium entitled ‘The royal tombs at Vergina: continuing issues’ was presented on these tombs, their dating, and their possible inhabitants. The participants in this colloquium were not in agreement about the identity of those laid to rest in the tombs, or when these burials took place, or the nature of the grave goods which accompanied the funerary rituals. We must continue to anticipate and hope for progress in the debate over these crucial questions.

For a long time there has been a dispute about the gravity of the disaster suffered by the Athenians and their allies in Egypt in 454 BC. Thucydides i 104 and 110.4 says that 200 ships sailed there (a figure now commonly accepted); that, six years later, a further force of 50 arrived just after the disaster; and that the majority of these was lost. As all the ships which were already in Egypt at that time were also lost the total would seem to be about 230–40.

This was generally accepted by scholars of the last century, but in this century many scholars have come to doubt so overwhelming a loss in relation to the League's total resources. This scepticism is made possible by Thucydides' failure to say specifically how many ships were actually in Egypt when the disaster befell—whether, in fact, 200 had remained there for six years (Thuc. i 109 says that the Athenians and their allies remained, but this is not conclusive for 200 nor for 6 years).

Thucydides' account of the events at Melos in 416–15 B.C. falls into two parts, the famous dialogue in which representatives of Melos and of Athens discuss the submission of Melos, and a series of notes about the siege of the city culminating in the account of its destruction. But as I shall try to show, the two sections form part of a single whole. The discussion between the negotiators centres on two topics. In the first half of the dialogue the speakers discuss the expediency of forcing Melos into the Athenian Empire, in the second they discuss the likelihood of the Melians resisting successfully. But since the Melians are offered no alternative to becoming subjects except complete destruction, and since they are clearly not ready to choose the safe but dishonouring alternative, even though they have no chance of defending their city successfully, the inevitable destruction of Melos casts its shadow over the whole of the negotiations.

Many of the arguments used in the discussion are equally relevant to the destruction and to the subjection of Melos. This is partly a result of the Athenian aim: to impress their island-subjects with their power. This they can achieve by forcing Melos to become a subject—but equally well by destroying it. On the level of expediency the Athenian argument would be equally applicable to either course, and the tactlessness of the Athenians suggests that they are not much concerned which of the two they will adopt. The Melians on the other hand appear to anticipate their own rejection of the ultimatum and to include the consequences of this inevitable rejection within the scope of their arguments. So a debate about the expediency of forcing an independent state to forgo its freedom is at the same time a debate about the expediency of destroying an independent city that refuses to become a subject.

This paper examines the distribution of thematic infinitive endings in early Greek epic in the context of the long-standing debate about the transmission and development of Homeric epic diction. There are no aorist infinitives in -έμεν in Homer which would scan as ◡◡ – before a consonant or caesura (for example *βαλέμεν): instead we find unexplained forms in -έειν (for example βαλέειν). It is argued that this artificially ‘distended’ ending -έειν should be viewed as an actual analogical innovation of the poetic language, resulting from a proportional analogy to the ‘liquid’ futures. The total absence of aoristic -έειν in Hesiod is unlikely to be coincidental: the analogical form must have been the product of a specifically East Ionic Kunstsprache, and so could have been simply unknown in some other Ionian school of epic poetry where Hesiod was trained. Finally, the striking avoidance of anapaestic aorist infinitives in -έειν is argued to be explained better under the ‘diffusionist’ approach to the Aeolic elements in Homeric diction than under the ‘Aeolic phase’ theory.

The difficulty of transcribing words written in the Cypriote syllabary makes our acquaintance with the Cypriote dialect precarious and faulty, and in many cases leaves us uncertain about the exact form of a word, but in spite of this uncertainty it is clear that Cypriote, both in inscriptions and in glosses, shews in its vocabulary a notable similarity to the language of the Homeric poems. Inscriptions discovered since Hoffmann's day have enabled us to increase his already long list of such similarities (Die Griechischen Dialekte, I, pp. 278–283), and it is time to examine the evidence and see what bearing these have on the question of the nature of Homeric vocabulary. The problem presented by Homeric words in Cypriote is similar to that presented by their existence in Arcadian, but, though the meaning of Cypriote words is sometimes uncertain, Cyprus is richer in inscriptions than Arcadia and the ancient lexicographers and scholiasts have preserved a singularly large number of Cypriote glosses. The problem is simply stated: how far are we justified in believing that Homeric words in Cypriote are independent of the Homeric poems ? Are they indigenous words, naturally used, or are they ‘literary’ imitations of a well-known poetical style, used for effect in defiance of local dialect usage?

The alabaster bowl which is our subject is at present in the possession of Dr. J. Hirsch of Geneva and is published with his kind consent. Until recently it was in a private collection in Leipzig; it was presumably acquired in the Mediterranean area several decades ago. Its principal dimensions are:—

Diam. at top, 22 cm.; h. 8 cm.; greatest depth, 5·5 cm.; diam. of the central knob of the base, 4 cm., and of the outer base-ring, 16 cm.; h. of arcade, 4 cm. Measurements seem to be based on an inch of about 2 cm.

The bowl was worked freehand, without the lathe, and is accordingly somewhat uneven and irregular in shape. A deep point in the middle of the bottom indicates that the compass was used to control distances. The carving was done with some form of knife; the cutting is plainly visible round and between the letters of the inscription (fig. 1), at the edges of the hair, and elsewhere.

There have been several recent discussions concerning the text of the Athenian Treaty with Samos (IG i2 50+ 102, ML 56, IG i3 48) and the reconstruction of its fragments. The discussions have dealt largely with inadequacies of the restoration offered ‘exempli gratia’ by Wade-Gery in 1931, but too little attention has been paid to the stones and the evidence they offer the historian. Three of the four stones associated with the Treaty were edited in IG i2 50+102; the fourth was there mentioned but not identified until Wade-Gcry’s article. Wade-Gery’s transcription of the stones has become the foundation of all recent discussion and only Bradeen and McGregor have contributed observations on the stones themselves.

An examination of the fragments conducted in June 1978 and in April 1979 uncovered in Wade-Gery’s transcription an error which served as the basis for his reconstruction of a list of generals attributed to the year 439/8 B.C. The incorrect reading is the next-to-last letter of the word presumed to be Κεκροπίδ]ος in line 31 of the ML text. Wade-Gery presented in his article first a dotted omicron in that space and later an undotted one; in his commentary he stated ‘The first letter in line 2 [line 31 of fragment d in the ML text] is almost certainly 0’. He did not mention that this contradicted the readings of both editions of IG, nor did he state any grounds for deciding the letter to be omicron. Bradeen and McGregor placed the omicron in brackets, thus disagreeing over whether the letter had ever been readable on the stone, but they retained Wade-Gery’s restoration, presumably to declare their approval.

The excavations, the results of which are described in the following paper, were conducted in the spring of 1894 by the British School at Athens. The work was under the charge of Mr. A. G. Bather and myself; Mr Ernest Gardner, then director of the School, was also present during a portion of it. I have thought it better to give first a history of the two towns, as known from literature and the evidence of inscriptions, and then to describe the sites, and the discoveries which are the result of our work. The unpublished inscriptions which we dug up or copied on or near the sites are collected in an appendix, and we give (Pl. XIV.) a sketch map of the district. A plan of the gate and a plan of the τέμενος at Abae also accompany the paper. These plans and map are the work of Mr. F. W. Green, who is an expert in such matters, and undertook to do the work for me from general directions which I gave him about the sites.

In a lecture on the Working of the Athenian Democracy delivered to the Hellenic Society at Burlington House on 3 May, 1949, Professor A. W. Gomme attacked the view ‘ that μοναρχια or principate describes with sufficient accuracy, not only Pericles' actual position, but Herodotus' and Thucydides' conceptions of it ’. To the word μοναρχια Gomme attached the meaning of absolute rule, typified in fifth-century thought, and in Herodotus, by the Persian kingship: by ‘ principate’ he meant the direct, single rule of an Augustus. To both he drew the parallel of modern dictatorship in a totalitarian state. Since he cited me as subscribing to this view in its most extreme form, in so far as I approved of E. M. Walker's remarks on the strategia in the Cambridge Ancient History and took Darius' arguments in favour of a monarchy for Persia in Herodotus iii 80–2 as ‘ Herodotus’ own justification for Pericles' unique position at Athens ', I feel that I should make some reply; and am grateful to the editor of the Journal for this opportunity of doing so. I am also grateful to Professor Gomme for letting me consult his MS. so that I have been able to take up the point with him on a surer foundation than that of memory, and have had the privilege of a second acquaintance with a brilliant lecture.

This paper is principally concerned with two fifth century Athenian inscriptions and their interpretation. The first, IG i2 19, was discovered on the Akropolis and first published by Ulrich Köhler in 1867. Some twenty years later it was re-examined by H. G. Lolling, who was the first to see that it concerned relations between Athens and Egesta. It has subsequently been the object of the usual ingenious attempts at restoration. I give below a conservative text.

The two vases reproduced on Pl. 13 and Pl. 14. 2 are the earliest redfigured lekythoi on which a grave-stele is represented. Shape and patterns and composition are the same in both; and if we compare the drawing of legs, arms, heads, and feet in the two vases, we shall find the closest resemblances. Now put the legs of the youth on a third lekythos (Fig. 2) beside the male legs on the two stele-vases: and the woman on Pl. 13 beside the standing women on a fourth lekythos, Pl. 14. 1, and a fifth, Fig. 3. Then let us turn to the Nolan amphora on p. 183, Fig. 4; surely the youth on A is strangely like the two youths and the man on our lekythoi: and now look at the figure on the reverse of the vase (Fig. 5(l)): have we not seen that himation before? and where if not in Pl. 14. 1 and Fig. 3? But no fewer than fifteen such himatia are collected in Fig. 5: each of the fifteen figures who wear them is the ‘mantle-figure’ drawn on the back of a vase. Would it not be interesting to know what the figures on the front of these vases were like?

This set of instruments and the large beaker were found about three years ago near the site of Kolophon in Ionia. The objects are thirty-seven in number. With two exceptions all are of bronze. The blades of the knives were originally of steel, but this metal has in each case been almost destroyed by oxidation. The date is uncertain—it may have been before the Christian era but is more probably the first or second century A.D. The glass beaker belongs to a type which is said to occur so late as the fourth century.

This paper is an endeavour to discover (1) the origin, (2) the value, and (3) the affinity of the Talent of the Homeric Poems to other systems. In those Poems we find two systems of denominating value, the one by the ox (or cow), or the value of an ox, the other by the talent (τάλαντον). The former is the one which has prevailed and does still prevail in barbaric communities, such as the Zulus, where the sole or principal wealth consists in herds and flocks. For several reasons we may assign to it priority in age as compared with the talent. For as it represents the most primitive form of exchange, the barter of one article of value for another, before the employment of the precious metals as a medium of exchange, consequently the estimation of values by the ox is older than that by a talent or ‘weight’ of gold, or silver, or copper. Again in Homer all values are expressed in so many beeves, e.g.

(Il. vi. 236.)

The talent on the other hand is only mentioned in relation to gold; for we never find any mention of a talent of silver. But the names of monetary units hold their ground long after they themselves have ceased to be in actual use, as we observe in such common expressions as ‘bet a guinea,’ or ‘worth a crown,’ although these coins themselves are no longer in circulation.

Why was Athens called the City of the Violet Crown? The question, though often asked, has not—so far as I am aware—been satisfactorily answered. Two widely divergent and mutually exclusive explanations already hold the field: but the one is open to grave objections, and the other, though true, is not the whole truth. There is therefore room for a fresh attempt to throw light upon the matter. It will be advisable to begin by summarising the essential facts of the case, then to review the hypotheses that have been framed to account for them, and finally to propound, if possible, a more adequate solution of the problem.

The admitted facts are these. Pindar in one of his dithyrambs composed later, perhaps several years later, than 480 B.C. praised Athens for her prowess in the war with Persia.

The second neolithic period in Eastern Thessaly is sharply severed from the first by the intrusion of a new culture which appears as something foreign and alien on the shores of the Pagasean Gulf. The pottery, for example, seems utterly different from that of the first period. The forms belong to a distinct series and are typologically older. The absence of feet and strap handles, so well developed in the A wares, precludes us from deriving Dimini ware from any of the latter. The characteristic designs, too, based on the spiral and the meander, are entirely foreign to the earlier series. Moreover, the use of fortifications beginning with this pottery (the traces of an earlier wall at Sesklo are exceedingly problematical), and restricted to its area, heightens this impression of foreignness. So too do the ‘megaron’ houses of Dimini and Sesklo, which do not seem to find their explanation in the curvilinear or square huts of the first period.

As to the provenance of this culture, the recent declaration of Sir Arthur Evans, that the origin of the spiral motive in Minoan ceramics is not to be sought in Crete itself, should dispose of the only reason for deriving it from the south; for there seems no ground for supposing that the Cycladic spirals antedate those of Dimini. Indeed I have argued in a previous paper, and my conclusion has been supported by more recent investigations, that Thessaly II. must be dated well back in the Early Cycladic Period. On the other hand, the theory of a northern origin has been strengthened by the discovery of Dimini ware in the Strymon valley. Indeed the general analogies between Dimini ware and the widespread group of painted and incised spiral-meander pottery north of the Balkans have been long recognised, and elaborate theories of an invasion, not only of Thessaly, but even of Crete itself, have been built up thereon.

The aim of this study is to challenge the current scholarly consensus depicting Plato as having renounced the political ideal of his Republic, and modified it in favour of a ‘mixed constitution’ in his last work, the Laws. The study shows that Plato's critique of democracy remains as firm in the Laws as it was in the Republic and the Statesman, refusing to concede any room to any form of popular sovereignty that could threaten the government of knowledge.

The title of Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana as it stands in all editions since Kayser’s 1844 edition, Tὰ ὲç τòν Tυανέα Ἀπολλώνιοώ is not correct. The genuine title of the work is Eἰç τòν Tυανέα Ἀπολλώνιον. The suggestion by Ewen Bowie, that the title of the work characterizes it as a novel, must therefore be dismissed. The meaning of the title is ambiguous: it means both ‘About Apollonius of Tyana’ and ‘In honour of Apollonius of Tyana’. This ambiguity may very well have been intended by Philostratus.

The monumental work of Professor Michaelis, Ancient Marbles in Great Britain, must always remain the basis of any study among English collections of antiques. But since its publication in 1882 not a few collections have changed hands, others have been dispersed, while others, more fortunate, have been enlarged; in these various processes much that was unknown even to Michaelis has come to light, and he himself soon supplemented his great work by two important papers printed in this Journal in 1884 and 1885. He prefaced the first of these supplementary papers with the following words:

‘I cannot help thinking that there must be in Great Britain a good deal of bidden treasure…which would perhaps easier come to light if there were a place expressly destined to receive such communications…I have therefore ventured to propose to the Editors to open in this Journal a corner for storing up such supplements…As a first instalment, I here offer some notes which may begin the series…May other lovers and students of the Classic art, especially in Great Britain, follow my example.’