Time has done almost its worst with the cultural and social history of Western Greece in the period from Hieron's succession in 478 to the death of Aeschylus in 456. It has left us no complete work by any Western Greek author; and for a chronicler of the period it has been able to do nothing better than a Diodorus Siculus. As a result, most of those details in the picture that are not missing are obscure. Close observation is fruitless, except only at one or two points where there still falls the brilliant but fugitive light of a Pindaric ode. Even so, if we step far enough back, a general composition emerges about which, I believe, there will not be much disagreement.

This was a precocious culture, largely called into being by artificial means, and hence short-lived. But while it lived it anticipated in many ways the culture and the problems of Old Greece a generation and more later. Here already was at least one city-state swollen to outsize proportions, with a fluid population for which the moral and social patterns of the close-knit archaic community must inevitably have been losing their meaning. Here already was that violent confrontation of old and new, tradition and free inquiry, which is more familiar to us from the Athens of the late fifth century, from the time of Euripides, Socrates and Aristophanes. There is a religious background of essentially rather primitive mortuary beliefs—that whole region, of course, is the demesne of the Two Goddesses—though these beliefs themselves are taking on new and far from primitive shapes in the minds of the Pythagoreans and their associates. In abrupt contrast to them stand the utterly modern and sophisticated minds of the native Epicharmus and the immigrant Xenophanes; and half-way between there is a Sicilian who embodies in one man the contradictions of the epoch: Empedocles, poet and scientist, author (to the consternation of the learned in modern times) both of the Περὶ Φύσεως and of the Καθαρμοί. The same time, in Syracuse, sees the beginnings of a school of rhetoric—rhetoric, carrying in itself all those fearsome questions as to the relation between the word and the thing, between beauty and truth, which were to perplex Plato well into the fourth century.

A recent article by Dr H. Plommer (‘Shadowy Megara’, JHS xcvii [1977] 75–88) has once again brought to our attention one of the many unresolved architectural problems at the Argive Heraeum—the date of the megalithic terrace on which the archaic temple was built. This terrace has been variously assigned to the Mycenaean, Geometric and Archaic periods and its role in the foundation of the cult has never been ascertained. In view of this continuing lack of consensus among modern scholars and the murkiness of the history of the origins of the Hera sanctuary, a restatement and re-examination of the evidence are in order. In this article I will first consider the date of the terrace and then attempt to place it in the perspective of early cult activity in the Argolid. This will require a survey of the proposed dates for the terrace and a close look at the remains of the Archaic Hera temple and its stratigraphic and architectural relation to the terrace. An inquiry into the form of the terrace will lead to an explanation of its unique architectural form and to a hypothesis for the reason for its construction. Inspection of the remains and a reconstruction of the original form of other early cult centers, notably Mycenae and Tiryns, will provide a context for understanding the origin and architectural form of the early Heraeum. In conclusion I will suggest that the presence of Mycenaean monuments in the Argolid, more than elsewhere, played a crucial role in the formation and architectural organization of the principal cults.

The site of Caunus has been much neglected by the field archaeologists. The ruins at Dalyan have been known and identified for more than a hundred years, since Hoskyn found there an inscription mentioning ‘the Council and People of the Caunians’. In this period they have been visited and described twice, by Collignon in 1877 and by Maiuri in 1920. These descriptions are confined to the obvious visible remains; no excavation, and little research, has yet been undertaken. In particular, the inscriptions hitherto published have been few and undistinguished.

The material for the present article was collected during a series of visits to Dalyan from 1946 to 1952. I am much indebted to the active help of the accountant to the fishery, Bay Muharrem Türköz, whose intelligent interest in the antiquities of Caunus was of the greatest assistance at all times. Many of the inscriptions were actually discovered by Ali Demir of Çandir.

This paper, concerning one element in the ancient biographical tradition of Philip II of Macedon, demonstrates the manner in which facts—that the Macedonian monarch was gravely wounded in the right eye, in the collar bone, and in the leg—become the basis of fictitious fabrications entered into the biographical tradition and accepted as elements of Philip's ‘life’. A diachronic analysis of the complete literary testimonia which convey information concerning these traumata attempts to determine when and how the biographical facts were altered and embellished over the centuries following Philip's death. Since the stunning discovery by Andronicos at Vergina in 1977 of the tomb designated Royal Tomb II, identified by the excavator as the tomb of Philip II, considerable interest has been focused on the wounds of Philip II in linking items recovered from the tomb and the physical remains of the male decedent with the great king of Macedon. A diachronic review of the literary traditions regarding Philip's injuries, useful to those arguing the identification of the occupant of Royal Tomb II, reveals a great deal about ancient biographical practices. Particularly in the case of the blinding wound to Philip's right eye, it is evident that the facts are very soon obscured by an overlay of fictitious embellishments, frequently amusing, which were created to heighten interest in an occurrence of lasting impact on Philip and became stock items in his βίος.

The purpose of this article is to try to show that the legend of the rape of the Delphic tripod by Herakles became associated as symbolic with the First Sacred War and that this association is a chief factor in the great popularity of that subject in late archaic art.

We should begin with the First Sacred War itself, an event whose historical importance is inadequately matched by the quality of our literary sources. The earliest account of it occurs in Aeschines' speech against Ktesiphon (iii. 107 ff.), where he introduced the subject because it provided the theological justification for the line which he had taken when attending the meeting of the Delphic Amphictyony in the autumn of 340. So it is not a simple narrative, but a tendentious statement, carefully designed to bring out the points which suited the orator's case. At the same time it has real value as historical evidence, because it is based to some extent on an ancient stele, a memorial of the war, to whose text Aeschines had referred in his original speech at Delphi. A copy of the inscription was read to the jury, and the extant speech contains quotations and paraphrases of portions of it.

The article seeks to show that, contrary to the standard view, the ‘Choice of Heracles’ preserved at Xen. Mem. 2.1.21–33 is not a summary or paraphrase, but is a very close approximation to the actual wording of Prodicus' epideixis. The language and style are shown to be uncharacteristic of Xenophon, and the fact that Prodicus' original was known to exist in both written and orally performed versions serves to explain why the piece is framed by language that disclaims strict accuracy in reproducing it. It is further shown that the way in which near-synonyms are used in the piece is not necessarily inconsistent with other evidence for Prodicus' practice: it is rather the personified character Vice whose usage conflicts with that of Prodicus himself and with that of the personification of Virtue. Finally, it is proposed that the ‘Choice of Heracles’ represented the contents, not of Prodicus' advanced teaching, but of the popular, cut-rate lecture intended for a general audience.

Why did the Greeks of the Roman period make such extensive use of the vocative κύριε, when Greeks of earlier periods had been content with only one vocative meaning ‘master’, δέσποτα? This study, based primarily on a comprehensive search of documentary papyri but also making extensive use of literary evidence (particularly that of the Septuagint and New Testament), traces the development of both terms from the classical period to the seventh century AD. It concludes that κύριε was created to provide a translation for Latin domine, and that domine, which has often been considered a translation of κύριε, had a Roman origin. In addition, both κύριε and domine were from their beginnings much less deferential than is traditionally supposed, so that neither term underwent the process of ‘weakening’ which converted English ‘master’ into ‘Mr’. δέσποτα, which was originally far more deferential than the other two terms, did undergo some weakening, but not (until a very late period) as much as is usually supposed. These findings in turn imply that Imperial politeness has been somewhat misunderstood and suggest that the Greeks of the first few centuries AD were much less servile in their language than is traditionally assumed.

The Achaean war against Rome in 146 continues to provoke befuddlement and perplexity. Few problems in antiquity have proved so intractable to solution. The event was of major import: the last futile outburst of Greek resistance to Roman power, calling forth a new era, an enforced reorganisation of Greece and its subjugation, for all practical purposes, to the Roman governor of Macedon. Greek independence was thereafter chimerical. Yet the origins and motivations for that fateful struggle remain as puzzling as ever. Understandably so. A half century earlier, the Achaean League had thrown off allegiance to Macedon and opted for collaboration with Rome. A formal alliance followed in subsequent years. Relations between the two powers were sometimes rocky, but never issued in overt conflict during that half-century. In the three great eastern wars of the second century, against Philip V, Antiochus III, and Perseus, Rome and Achaea were on the same side. Yet in 146, when Rome's military might should have been incontestable, the Achaeans engaged her in a suicidal and ruinous war that brought the dissolution of the old League and the overlordship of Rome. Small wonder that the episode causes bafflement.

Protagoras has just been presented with a new pupil, Hippocrates, and he states what he proposes to teach him—such prudence in domestic affairs as will best enable him to regulate his own household, and such wisdom in public affairs as will best qualify him to speak and act in affairs of state (318e). Socrates asks is this the art of politics and is Protagoras undertaking to make men good citizens, and Protagoras agrees (319a). Socrates replies that he had supposed that this art could not be taught, and he gives two grounds: (1) the Athenians are agreed to be wise men, yet, while they call in experts in the assembly to advise them on technical matters, they regard all citizens alike as capable of advising them on matters pertaining to the city (319b–d); (2) the wisest and best of the citizens are not able to hand this virtue on to others. So Pericles educated his sons well in all that could be taught by teachers, but he did not try to teach them, or have them taught his own wisdom, but left them to pick it up unaided (319d–320b).

Now Protagoras, it has been pointed out, is in a difficult position. He is apparently confronted with the choice of admitting that virtue cannot be taught and that his profession is a fraud, or of declaring that the theory of Athenian democracy is false, and his patron, Pericles, is ignorant of the true nature of political virtue. His reply takes the form of a myth, followed by a set argument (Logos). Some have regarded his reply as ‘a tissue of obscure and contradictory ideas,’ while others who have recognised its skill, have regarded it as failing in one way or another to give a satisfactory answer to Socrates' objections. It is the aim of what follows to show that Protagoras' answer is perfectly satisfactory if rightly understood, and that the contrary opinions are due to misunderstandings of what Protagoras actually says in the dialogue.

Nearly ten years ago the first specimens of a new group of painted Mycenaean sarcophagi, or larnakes, began to become known in Greece. They attracted immediate attention, and some disbelief. The group has not yet been studied as a whole, or evaluated as a relic of Aegean art, for the circumstances of discovery and dispersal have made close examination difficult. The scenes of mourning figures painted on them have considerable interest, however, and it seems timely to put together what is known about them in spite of the incomplete evidence. Once the larnakes become better known it will be a pleasurable task for scholars to relate them as harmoniously as possible to neighbouring monuments of Aegean painting and to the late Mycenaean environment which produced them.

Until the discovery of these Greek larnakes, scholars rightly believed that the practice of using clay coffins for burial was essentially a Minoan one, not Mycenaean. The great number of larnakes on display in the Herakleion Museum in Crete demonstrates how widespread larnax-burial was in the Late Minoan period, apparently gathering momentum after the destruction of the Cretan palaces. While the earliest terracotta larnakes known in Crete are as old as the latter part of the Early Minoan period, they were not used extensively among the middle classes until the fourteenth and thirteenth centuries B.C. The first preserved wooden coffins of Crete are found in chamber tombs of sea-captains and soldiers who died in the late fifteenth century. Perhaps they adapted the custom from Egypt in an age when relations between coastal Crete and the Nile Valley were particularly active. One of the coffins in the harbour cemetery of Katsaba near Knossos was painted blue; otherwise there are no traces of rich surface elaboration in the Egyptian fashion. As far as one can tell from the rotted condition of wood in the Aegean climate, the Minoans did not use external face masks, or gilding, but made simply carpentered containers for simple inhumations.

Iphigenia Aulidensis was produced after the poet's death, probably in 405 BC. The aim of this paper is to recover the text of this production, which I call FP for First Performance. Probably Euripides left behind an incomplete draft, which was finished by Euripides Minor, the poet's son or nephew. The text we have contains, as Page showed in 1934, material added for a fourth-century revival and other still later interpolations. Diggle's edition tries to separate original Euripides from all later hands on the basis of style. But if we want to recover the amalgam that was FP we need to be attentive to the plot that is implied by the most clearly genuine portions: we can't confine ourselves to what appears to be Euripidean since more than one hand contributed to FP.

A discovery about the plot gives us some objective basis for reconstructing FP. Our transmitted text contains two different conceptions of Calchas' prophecy, only one of which belonged to FP. Several passages scattered throughout the play imply that it was public, made to the entire army, but other passages say that it was private, restricted to Agamemnon's inner circle, with the army left in the dark. The secret prophecy motif, I argue, is the work of a fourth-century producer, whom I call the Reviser. Its purpose was to introduce into the play scenes where Greek soldiers, ignorant of the real reason for Iphigenia's coming to Aulis, might make naive comments or ask questions that are highly ironic in view of the actual situation, this being an emotional effect he found congenial. We find two such passages in places that are under grave suspicion: the entrance of Clytaemestra, where there is a chorus of Argives who felicitate Iphigenia on her wonderful prospects, and the first messenger, who reports naive questions from the soldiery. Both these passages have linguistic and dramaturgical features that make it virtually certain that neither Euripides nor Euripides Minor wrote them. Working from these we can detect the Reviser's hand at other places in the play and reconstruct its original lineaments. One satisfying result is that the business of baby Orestes, played by a doll, can be shown to be the work of the Reviser. The play ended with Iphigenia's departure for the altar, and there was no substitution of a stag. Like Menoeceus, Macaria and their kin, Iphigenia pays for the victory of her country with her blood, and there is no happy ending.

The immediate publication of the results of an extensive excavation is sometimes very difficult, often impossible. In the present instance the nature and quantity of our discoveries was not such as to preclude this possibility, and therefore we felt that we should best consult the interests of the archaeological public in making all that we can accessible in the number of the Journal of Hellenic Studies appearing after the conclusion of our season's work. The Report published by the Cyprus Exploration Fund has served to indicate the manner and attainments of our excavations; but it seemed desirable to publish at once all the material which has been gained for the advance of historical, archaeological, and artistic knowledge. For this purpose we have divided that material amongst ourselves; and while each of us is individually responsible for the section he has undertaken, we trust that we have so divided the field that our accounts may be found to mutually explain and supplement one another. We have attempted no more than to add such comments to the facts as were necessary for their due comprehension. If we had wished to finally systematize the whole of our results, or to deduce from them more remote inferences as to the history or institutions of Cyprus, we could not have published them so soon. This larger task may afterwards be completed either by others or by ourselves. At present our desire is to place on record the material available for its accomplishment.

Modern scholars have long recognised that much of the coinage minted by Seleucus I Nicator and Lysimachus was originally designed as some form of propaganda. They have met, however, with only partial success in trying to delineate more precisely the nature and purpose of that propaganda. Especially problematical have been those coin motifs which appear to advertise various omens, prophecies, and logoi about Seleucus and Lysimachus, which, in turn, would have lent a charismatic sanction to the kingships of both men. These will be our main concern here; I wish to propose some refinements and some complete revisions of my predecessors' conclusions about this coinage as propaganda. But, in so doing, I will need to review much of the evidence for other kinds of propaganda employed by these two men.

At the end of the play, when the Eumenides are to be ushered to their cave beneath the Areopagus, Athena joins to the procession a special escort of her own temple-servants, and sets forth the procession with these words:

The unsolved questions in lines 1028–1030 are two:—first, how to punctuate them, that is, who are to be the wearers of the crimson cloaks, the Escort or the Eumenides themselves: and second, what is the reason for the crimson colour? Neither question, perhaps, may seem to be of great importance; but Aeschylus is not a poet who does things at random; he is apt to have more than superficial meanings; and enquiry may, I hope, reward us with a new significance.

Chaeremon is a shadowy figure in early fourth century tragedy, but one of considerable interest. I attempt here an appraisal of his work, in so far as the fragments and the ancient testimonia allow.

I. Bibliography

Text of the fragments: Nauck, TGF 781–92; P. Hibeh ii 224.

The only general assessments of Chaeremon of any extent date from the nineteenth century with its more expansive approach. Best is G. Bernhardy, Grundriss der griechischen Literatur ii 2 (Halle 1859) 61–3, who there refers to the ‘sorgfältige Monographie’ of H. Bartsch, De Chaeremone poeta tragico (Mainz 1843) (inaccessible to me). Older literature is listed by A. Dieterich s.v. ‘Chairemon’, PW iii 2, 2025 (published 1899).

Since Bernhardy the space accorded Chaeremon not just in general works but even in detailed studies of tragedy diminishes sharply. He still warrants a page or so in A. and M. Croiset, Histoire de la littérature grecque (Paris 1913) iii 402 f.; in Lesky he gets a brief mention, Geschichte 680. He is not mentioned by name in Lesky's Tragische Dichtung, and only in connection with fr. 2 by Pohlenz, Griechische Tragödie (Göttingen 1954) 407; he is ignored, for example, by Kitto, Greek Tragedy (London 1961).

Our knowledge of the early military organisation of Thessaly rests mainly on two passages of Aristotle's ‘Constitution of the Thessalians’ which are closely connected. I give the numbers (Fragments 497 and 498) according to V. Rose, Aristotelis Fragmenta, 1886; but I have purged the text of emendations.

παρειλήΦασι ϒἀρ ψευδῆ λόϒον, ὡς ἒστιν αὐτοῖς ἡϒεῖσθαι πἀτριον This is Isocrates' judgment (IV. 18) on the claim of the Spartans to be the leaders of Greece. He rightly saw that the tradition of hegemony had been the force behind most of Sparta's active foreign policy for more than two hundred years down till his own day. He might truthfully have added that the hegemony exercised by contemporary Sparta was of a kind which Spartans no more than a generation earlier had never imagined. Though they had long desired to control all Greece, the particular form of control which they came to possess over the members of their second empire was determined for them by the Peloponnesian war.

Sparta did not enter upon that long struggle with the deliberate intention of creating for herself a subject empire. She desired to destroy the Athenian ἀρχή, which appeared as a threat to her own Peloponnesian league: and in opposition to Athens, she asserted a principle of city autonomy, which was to prove both then and later wholly incompatible with the conception of a subject empire. At the outset, the Spartans can have contemplated no higher success than that the Athenian democracy might be so humbled as to abandon part, at least, of its ἀρχή and perhaps even to return to its earlier position as a member of the Peloponnesian league. But the war with Athens compelled Sparta to develop her social, political, and military organisation, and the conquest of Athens offered Sparta the temptation of securing a new kind of supremacy—not ἡγεμονία, but ἀρχή.

Following the lead of Walter Burkert, scholars have believed that the ancient Greeks required that sacrificial animals assent to being killed, or at least appear to assent. The literary evidence for this view, however, is weak, being confined mostly to dramatic scholia and Pythagorean sources, and ample visual evidence suggests an alternate view: the Greeks required that sacrificial animals make some display of vitality that would show that they were fit to present to a god. The Greek practice of inspecting sacrificial animals supports this alternate view.

Editions of Aristophanes need illustrations. By this I do not mean illustrations of theatrical antiquities in the shape of terracottas, vases, etc., that help us to visualise the appearance of the actors and the Greek theatre. Such a visualisation is, I think, proper in dealing with drama, but there are in Aristophanes two other visual aspects. There is first a wealth of vocabulary that refers to objects that the audience of his day would have seen in the theatre in the form of properties. One need only mention such things as Dicaeopolis' chopping board (τὸ ἐπίξηνον τοδί, Ach. 366), Strepsiades' whirl (διὰ τουτονί τὸν δῖνον, Nub. 1473), Prometheus' parasol (τοντί τὸ σκιάδϵιον, Av. 1508), and the pots and pans in Ecclesiazusae (τὰ σκϵυάρια ταυτὶ, Ecc. 753). These properties can be thought of as naturalistically made or fantastically exaggerated. The second group of words comes in the form of mental pictures—images, however weak, that the mention of an object will raise. Much of the richness of effect and of a play's texture is conveyed by these two groups of words, the immediacy of the comic situation is sharpened by the visual and mental images. Old Comedy more than most Greek literature is rooted in contemporary life, and one is anchored in late fifth century Athens as much by the impedimenta as by the political jests.

May I be allowed to correct and hereby to do penance for a blunder which defaces three or four passages in the recent British Museum publication on Ephesus ? A mental confusion between Lygdamis, the leader of the Cimmerians or Treres, who probably burned one of the earlier Artemisia, and Pythagoras, a pre-Persian tyrant, who is said to have had to build a temple at Ephesus in expiation for desecrating ‘the Hieron,’ took possession of me during the lapse of a year between writing Chapters I. and XIV., and led me to make the absurd suggestion on p. 245 that Temple B was completed ‘perhaps at the cost of Lygdamis by the middle of the seventh century,’ and to call the latter a ‘tyrant’ and a ‘traitor.’ The last epithet is particularly uncalled for, since the little we know of Lygdamis shows him as a bold tribal leader who died at the head of his horde. If he burned Temple A, neither he nor Pythagoras was the builder of Temple B; and if the latter built any Artemision it can only have been either Temple A (after desecrating a pre-existent hieron) or Temple C. But, as I have stated on p. 7, it is so doubtful whether there is any reference to the Artemision at all in the solitary extant passage regarding Pythagoras, that the suggestion of his responsibility for any of the primitive shrines on the site is hardly worth making. This mental confusion passed away from me in Syria while reflecting on the westward expeditions of Assurbanipal, in attacking whose Cilician vassal Lygdamis came by his death; but it was then too late to make amends even in a list of errata, as I had left the book passed for press on quitting England.