It would seem as if Troy, familiar to our childhood as the point of contact in poetry between the East and West, were reappearing in the science of archæology as a link between the eastern and western branches of the antiquities of the great Aryan family, extending its influence to our own island in another sense than the legend of Brute the Trojan. How great an increase of light may soon be expected from the deciphering of the Inscriptions found at Hissarlik may be inferred, in part, from the brief account, in the Appendix, of the progress thus far made. In fine, few dissentients will be found from the judgment of a not too favourable critic, that “Dr. Schliemann, in spite of his over-great enthusiasm, ... _has done the world an incalculable service_.”[14]
The decipherment of the inscriptions will probably go far to determine the curious question of the use of the terra-cotta _whorls_, found in such numbers in all the four pre-Hellenic strata of remains at Hissarlik. That they had some practical purpose may be inferred both from this very abundance, and from the occurrence of similar objects among the remains of various early races. Besides the examples given by Dr. Schliemann, they have been found in various parts of our own island, and especially in Scotland, but always (we believe) without decorations. On the other hand, the Aryan emblems and the inscriptions[15] marked upon them would seem to show that they were applied to, if not originally designed for, some higher use. It seems quite natural for a simple and religious race, such as the early Aryans certainly were, to stamp religious emblems and sentences on objects in daily use, and then to consecrate them as _ex voto_ offerings, according to Dr. Schliemann’s suggestion. The astronomical significance, which Schliemann finds in many of the whorls, is unmistakeable in most of the terra-cotta balls; and this seems to furnish evidence that the people who made them had some acquaintance, at least, with the astronomical science of Babylonia.
The keen discussion provoked by Dr. Schliemann’s novel explanation of the θεὰ γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη might be left “a pretty quarrel as it stands,”[16] did there not appear to be a key of which neither party has made sufficient use. The symbolism, which embodied divine attributes in animal forms, belonged unquestionably to an early form of the Greek religion, as well as to the Egyptian and Assyrian.[17] The ram-headed Ammon, the hawk-headed Ra, the eagle-headed Nisroch, form exact precedents for an owl-headed Athena, a personation which may very well have passed into the slighter forms of owl-faced, owl-eyed, bright-eyed. Indeed, we see no other explanation of the constant connection of the owl with the goddess, which survived to the most perfect age of Greek sculpture. The question is not to be decided by an etymological analysis of the sense of γλαυκῶπις in the Greek writers, long after the old symbolism had been forgotten, nor even by the sense which Homer may have attached to the word in his own mind. One of the most striking characters of his language is his use of _fixed epithets_; and he might very well have inherited the title of the tutelar goddess of the Ionian race with the rest of his stock of traditions. If γλαυκῶπις were merely a common attributive, signifying “bright-eyed,” it is very remarkable that Homer should never apply it to mortal women, or to any goddess save Athena. We are expressing no opinion upon the accuracy of Schliemann’s identification in every case; but the _rudeness_ of many of his “owl-faced idols” is no stumbling-block, for the oldest and rudest sacred images were held in lasting and peculiar reverence. The Ephesian image of Artemis, “which fell down from Jove,” is a case parallel to what the “Palladium” of Ilium may have been.