B.M. B46. The catalogue describes this vase thus:—

Acquired 1867: Blacas Coll. Dinos. Ht. 13 in. Diam. 12½ in. Slightly restored, imperfectly fired. Around rim, chain of lotus and buds; on shoulder, tongue-pattern. Two friezes: above, banquet scene, of seven couches, on each of which two male banqueters; between the two end couches, group of five servants, in attendance on the banqueters; below, animal frieze. Beneath this a broad zone of black, and on bottom, polypus pattern.

The principal scene shows a series of seven couches, on each of which recline two bearded male figures, facing to 1.; seven of them wear wreaths. Alongside each couch stands a table, bearing viands for the banquet. From 1. to r., the first, fourth, sixth, tenth and thirteenth hold out phialae in varying attitudes; the third, eleventh and fourteenth hold out kerata, in the act of drinking, or to have them refilled, while the seventh and eighth also have each a keras; the fifth holds out a kantharos; the twelfth raises an apparently empty r. hand; the second also raises his r. hand, but the object he holds is hidden by the first figure; the ninth plays the double flute.

I return to this subject, on which I wrote in 1921, because there is a good deal to be said which is new and which should, I think, be pretty conclusive. I have recently been compelled to write once again on Alexander's universalism, and the two matters are interconnected; also Professor Wilcken has put forward a new view of the principal plan, that for the conquest of the Mediterranean basin, which I think is untenable. The importance of the question of this plan for our ideas of Alexander needs no emphasising.

The document which contains the plans is given in Diodorus xviii, 4, 2–5, and Wilcken, like every German scholar to-day, believes that that document comes from Hieronymus and is therefore true. I have traced this belief back as far as I can, and cannot find that anyone has ever attempted to prove it; it arises from the unquestioned fact that (Agathocles apart) the basis and much of the detail of Diodorus' books xviii–xx are from Hieronymus. But the question of xviii, 4, 2–5 stands thus, xviii, 5 is certainly from Hieronymus.

The objects described in this article have for the most part been acquired by the Trustees of the British Museum in the course of the last four years through Sir Cecil Smith, late Keeper of the Department of Greek and Roman Antiquities. Sir Cecil Smith has kindly given his assent to their publication, and Mr. Arthur Smith, the present Keeper, has added his permission.

The late fifth-century or sixth-century AD writer Fulgentius appears to quote Stesimbrotus of Thasos for a grisly detail of the death of Polycrates, describing how his corpse was carried away on a stretcher. Fulgentius is not a source to command confidence, and Jacoby dismisses this fragment as ‘unecht’ without further discussion. There is a case for being more cautious. It is not impossible that Stesimbrotus described Polycrates’ death, and, if so, Herodotus may be setting himself against that narrative when he says that Polycrates was killed ‘in a way which does not bear mentioning’. There may be a broader sense too in which both Herodotus and Thucydides are ‘defining their narratives against’ the work of Stesimbrotus among others.

Ancient authorities agree in placing the division of the people into tribes, phratries and gene among the most primitive institutions of Athens. The question presents itself, Were all the citizens enrolled in all of these organisations, or were some sections of the people excluded from any or all of them? On the answer given to this question depends to some extent the view to be taken of the origin of this triple classification.

The prevailing opinion is that, whereas tribes and phratries embraced the whole citizen-body, the gene were the exclusive organisation of the nobles. M. Cary adduces a fragment of early Attic law to prove that the phratries contained others besides gennetai (I shall deal later with this text) and asserts, in the face of the explicit testimony of Aristotle and the lexicographers, that the genos was not a subdivision of the phratry. I can find absolutely no support in the texts for this view. Most modern authorities are so completely convinced of the aristocratic nature of the genos that they do not even try to prove it. Francotte says simply: ‘D'abord, les genê sont des institutions aristocratiques. Je ne crois pas qu'il soit nécessaire d'insister.’

According to Herodotus, the expression phoinikeia grammata means ‘Phoenician letters’ and refers to the Phoenician origins of the Greek alphabet. This account has found general acceptance, but it is not the only interpretation possible and other theories circulated in antiquity. The adjective φοῖνιξ does not only mean ‘Phoenician’; it can also refer to a palm tree or the colour red. This article argues that the expression phoinikeia grammata did not originally refer to the alphabet, but to Linear B writing on palm leaves, as already suggested by Frederick Ahl. It is shown that the account of Herodotus is the result of a ‘learned reinterpretation’, triggered by the ambiguity of the word φοῖνιξ. The new understanding of phoinikeia grammata proposeds here has some important consequences: it implies that Linear B, as has long been suspected, was primarily written on palm leaves (hence ‘palm-leaf writing’) and that in classical antiquity there was at least a limited historical awareness of the existence of pre-alphabetic writing systems in the Aegean. This paper adduces additional evidence to substantiate these claims. Lastly, a case will be made that Herodotus’ incorrect reinterpretation has led to the ‘Phoenicianization’ of Cadmus, who was originally a Greek hero.

Of all the renderings of the goddess Hera, the gold and ivory statue by Polycleitus in the Heraeum near Argos was the most famous, and was considered by the ancients one of the most beautiful works of Greek art. It certainly held its place beside the masterpieces of Phidias, and is even called by Strabo the most beautiful of all.

As in the case of the Zeus and Athene of Phidias, and the Cnidian Aphrodite of Praxiteles, it is most natural that numerous attempts were made in the past to identify this Polycleitan Hera with some extant monument. And, as the most beautiful Aphrodite extant, the Melian Aphrodite in the Louvre, was at once singled out as representing the most famous statue of which there is record in ancient authors, so the famous colossal mask of Hera, known as the Juno Ludovisi, was the first to be identified with the great Polycleitan statue. This identification has been abandoned. Then followed the so-called Farnese Hera, the claims of which were powerfully upheld by Brunn.

Scrutiny of Herodotus’ ethnographic accounts of northern Syria and the region he calls ‘Palestinian Syria’ reveals oddities and inconsistencies. Here it is argued that such problems may be resolved if a fundamental fact is recognized: the enormous early literary prestige of the Phoenicians has obscured the historical roles of these other peoples in the Histories. The character and extent of this process, specifically as it bears on Syria-Palestine during Iron Age II, is analysed here. It is hoped that a new appreciation of the Syrians as an ethnicity may be gained as a result. It is suggested as well that for important historical problems researchers should ascertain whether Herodotus is not actually talking about Syrians when he discusses Phoenicians.

Scholars remain far from reaching agreement about the structure of Middle Platonist commentaries on Plato's dialogues: some take them to have been running line-by-line commentaries, while others believe that Middle Platonist commentaries were mainly specialist works. In this paper I propose a fresh and comprehensive analysis of extant sources in order to show that both views, while shedding light on important features of this literary genre in Middle Platonism, should be supplemented in order to draw a more complex picture. Extant sources suggest that the Middle Platonist commentaries were characterized by a set of features which shaped a specific conception of the literary genre: they were lemmatic and followed the development of a dialogue in its progression, yet at the same time they applied a thematic focus and hence admitted a substantial degree of selectivity.

The recent Exhibition of works of Greek art held at the Burlington Fine Arts Club—although necessarily limited to comparatively small objects—has been sufficient to prove that the traditional wealth of our English collections of classical antiquities still remains a fact. The Exhibition, moreover, has had its use in eliciting information as to works of art on a larger scale, hitherto unknown and unrecorded, that had escaped the vigilance of Waagen and of Conze, of Michaelis and of Furtwängler, and even of our English archaeologists. Thus it was that when the Exhibition was little more than planned I learnt from the well known sculptor, Countess Feodora Gleichen, that there existed at Lyme Park, Lord Newton's Cheshire seat, three fine sculptured Stelai from the best period of Attic art. I am grateful to the owner for granting me permission to publish these inedited works in this Journal, which ought indeed to be the official gazette of the English collections. I have unfortunately been unable to avail myself as yet of Lord Newton's further permission to study the originals. But as photographs of the Stelai are now extant, I have thought it wiser not to postpone the publication for fear that it might be anticipated elsewhere. The information kindly given me by Lord Newton himself has facilitated the discussion and interpretation of the Stelai which, for the rest, are perfectly straightforward examples of their class.

These notes on the beginnings of Greek sculpture contain little that has not been said before, but aim at applying a severer logic to the evidence and the conclusions drawn from it. The problems may be defined as what models were used by early Greek sculptors, why they chose those models, where the choice was made, and what the impulse was that induced them to take up this new art.

The earliest surviving Greek sculpture worth the name is of the Daedalic style, which Jenkins has analysed neatly in his Dedalica. This style began in the second quarter of the seventh century and continued into the last quarter. So much is fairly generally accepted.

The artistic influence of Egypt on Greece has been propounded since the eighteenth century, and there are still many students who see its effects in sculpture. Usually their arguments are very general, asserting similarity of types and technical methods rather than of style. Of the Archaic Greek types the kouros is most apparently comparable to Egyptian—an upright, four-square figure with arms held to its sides and one foot in front of the other. Except for the stance this is the most obvious pose for a standing figure, and there are essential specific differences, well defined by Schrader. The stock Egyptian male has a support behind the forward leg, tilts backwards, and wears a kilt; the Greek kouros stands free, has a more mobile poise and is naked (except in the Daedalic style for a belt). As for resemblances in detail, Richter and Carpenter single out the roll of stone clenched in the hand of some Greek kouroi; this does not seem a regular or very early feature, and it may be a technical coincidence to avoid hollowing the inside of the closed fist. The ‘layer wig’ of course, though of Egyptian origin, is not so common in Egyptian sculpture and was already naturalised in Phoenician and Syrian art.

It is as yet too soon to state what corrections or additions should be made to the various figures I gave in my Population of Athens as a result of new evidence since that book was published (1933), although some individual discoveries have been made and Sterling Dow has published his invaluable Prytaneis (Hesperia, Suppl. I, 1937); for the excavations in the Athenian agora are not finished–though it looks as though the hopes I expressed for the discovery of a large number of inscriptions that would throw new light on the problem will be disappointed. But two objections have been made to my treatment of the number of slaves in Athens, by Mr. Hammond in Proc. Camb. Phil. Soc, 1935, p. 1, and by Prof. George Thomson in his edition of The Oresteia, I 70, n. 1 and II 357-9, both of whom maintain that Ktesikles' figure of 400,000 must be accepted; and though the question has again been discussed, convincingly enough to my mind, by Prof. Westerraann in Athenian Studies (Harv. Stud, Suppl. Vol. I, 1940, 451-70), it is worth dealing with certain aspects afresh, especially in answer to Thomson, for some important principles are involved. Not that anything I can say will convince him; for he hopes that ‘the whole subject will be re-examined by someone who is prepared to take the ancient evidence seriously and is free from the suspicion of seeking to minimise the extent of an evil which casts a sinister shadow over the glory that was Greece.’ But I will do my best.

Scenes from the history of Pandora are rare in works of Greek art. There have at present been published, so far as I am aware, only five representations of her, in two reliefs and three vases. These all represent her birth or her coming into being. All the vases are in the British Museum. To these I have to add a fourth vase (Pl. I.), recently presented to the Ashmolean Museum by Mr. Edmund Oldfield, and bringing before us a fresh scene from the interesting history of the strange being made by the gods for the delusion and betrayal of men.

The tale of Pandora, as it appears in Hesiod, is so well known that I need only glance at its main features. When Prometheus had stolen for men fire from the gods, Zeus, determining to punish him, caused Hephaestus to make of earth a beauteous woman, whom, the goddesses adorned with ornaments, but in whom Hermes implanted a deceitful heart and a treacherous tongue.