We have all been accustomed to associate the familiar form of the trident with a marine deity, whether the Greek Poseidon or the Roman Neptune, but it may not have occurred to many to enquire what is the particular appropriateness of such an emblem to the ruler of the sea, or in what way it was adopted as his emblem. It is my purpose to offer some suggestions which may throw light on the subject, and may further tend to show that, in artistic representations at least, the trident is merely an evolution of a somewhat different form, that it is in fact the development of an originally purely decorative ornament.

Such developments of simple decorative motives into definite mythological representations are by no means uncommon in Greek art. In a former number of this Journal Miss Harrison has traced the ‘Odysseus and Sirens’ type to a purely decorative origin. The same writer, in her Mythology and Monuments of Ancient Athens, pp. cxiv., cxxv., suggests that the tortoise of the robber Skiron slain by Theseus, and the clue which guided that hero through the labyrinth of the Minotaur, found their way into mythology from vase-paintings in which they were merely decorative. These may be only suggestions, but I am of opinion that difficult points in many myths may be cleared up in this way.

A generation ago (1922) in The Pattern of the ‘Iliad’, Dr. J. T. Sheppard proposed a fresh analysis of the contents of the poem, as a sequence of problems, rather moral than political, resulting from the Quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles, (1) from the seizure of Briseis to the failure of the Embassy; (2) from Achilles' consent to the intervention of Patroclus, leading to the death of Patroclus and the loss of the divine armour; (3) from the vengeance of Achilles, the death of Hector, and eventually the demand for the surrender of his body to Priam. These major problems are separated by loosely connected episodes, the killing of Dolon and Rhesus, and the making of new armour for Achilles. Within them the course of events is presented in a series of connected episodes, the more important of which are supplemented by the lesser incidents, preceding and following in order of narration, as the side panels of a triptych or side groups of a pediment supplement and enhance the centrepiece.

Following these clues, I attempted a further analysis of the Iliad (JHS LII, 265–96) and proposed some comparisons between its rhythms and those of Greek ‘geometrical’ art.

This feature of epic composition was appreciated in antiquity; Aristotle lays stress on it; the structure of Attic tragedies, and of great works of material art—the ‘Chest of Kypselos’ and the pediments of Aegina, Olympia, and the Parthenon, is founded on it; and it seems to be the clue to the originality and effectiveness of the prose composition of Herodotus.

An interesting contrast may be drawn between the results obtained from the study of Vitruvius in the early years of the sixteenth century and the exposition of his meaning and text by the scholars of to-day. This contrast is almost always to the advantage of the latter-day scholars. Archaeology has done everything in recent times to clear up by consideration of existing monuments a host of difficulties not dreamed of in the days of the Renaissance, and archaeologists—so far as they are agreed as to the testimony of recent discoveries—have little or nothing to learn from remote predecessors. But a serious disagreement exists among them in regard to the stage of the Greek theatre. This want of agreement is reflected in the current interpretations of a difficult passage in Vitruvius. About this very passage the scholars of the early Renaissance were agreed, and since their explanation of it differs in some material respects from any now offered, it may be of some use to us to-day.

The Florentine Leo Battista Alberti reproduced the meaning of Vitruvius, without undertaking to construe his text, then very corrupt. In 1511 was printed the text of Vitruvius which, in spite of many subsequent labours, has bravely held its own up to the present day. This text we owe to Fra Giocondo, a Franciscan friar who was equally great as an inspiring teacher, a painstaking scholar, and a daring and original architect. The condition of the text in the three first editions was lamentable, as appears in the passage describing the Greek theatre which especially concerns the present inquiry.

It was not my original intention to devote a special study to the Helenos who governed Cyprus for the Ptolemies (as I believe) during the last two decades of the second century B.C. I stated my views about him briefly in 1937, 1940 and again in 1953; and, although these views have not been well received, I was content to let the matter rest at that. However, no sooner had I made this last pronouncement than we found on the site of the Aphrodite temple at Old Paphos two new dedications of Helenos himself (our nos. 1 and 4 below); while in 1954 yet another inscription in his honour came to light at Salamis (no. 6). These compel me not merely to ascribe to Helenos both a text which I have wrongly restored (no. 3) and one, likewise from Old Paphos, by which for many years I have been baffled (no. 2), but in general to modify the opinions which I held about him. It seems proper, therefore, that I should assemble all the evidence that I know, and on my analysis of this venture what I trust may be my final reconstruction of the career of Helenos. Some fresh light will be thrown in the process upon the institutions and the history of Cyprus for the eight years which precede and the twelve which follow the death of Euergetes II in 116 B.C. But I freely admit that much of the new evidence is difficult and ambiguous; and for this present study my chief claim is that it sets out facts which others also may interpret.