Games and Festivals in Classical Antiquity: Proceedings of the Conference held in Edinburgh 10-12 July 2000 1841715808, 9781841715803, 9781407326320

Table of contents :
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Contributors
List of Illustrations
Introduction
Chapter 1 Grasping the Bull by the Horns: Minoan Bull Sports
Chapter 2 Festival? What Festival? Reading Dance Imagery as Evidence
Chapter 3 Professional Foul: Persona in Pindar
Chapter 4 Orestes the Contender: Chariot Racing and Politics in Fifth-Century Athens and Sophocles’ Electra
Chapter 5 From Agônistês to Agônios: Hermes, Chaos and Conflict in Competitive Games and Festivals
Chapter 6 Dionysiac Festivals in Aristophanes’ Acharnians
Chapter 7 The Perils of Pittalakos: Settings of Cock Fighting and Dicing in Classical Athens
Chapter 8 Civic Self-Representation in the Hellenistic World: The Festival of Artemis Leukophryene in Magnesia-on-the-Maeander
Chapter 9 Dionysius of Halicarnassus: Greek Origins and Roman Games (AR 7.70-73)
Chapter 10 Epic Games and Real Games in Virgil’s Aeneid 5 and Statius’ Thebaid 6
Chapter 11 Sport or Showbiz? The Naumachiae in the Flavian Amphitheatre
Chapter 12 Dionysiac Scenes on Sagalassian Oinophoroi from Seleuceia Sidēra in Pisidia (Southwestern Turkey)
Chapter 13 Christianising the Celebrations of Death in Late Antiquity: Funerals and Society
Chapter 14 The Sala dei Cavalli in Palazzo Te: Portraits of Champions

Citation preview

BAR  S1220  2004   BELL & DAVIES (Eds)   GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY

9 781841 715803

B A R

Games and Festivals in Classical Antiquity Proceedings of the Conference held in Edinburgh 10–12 July 2000

Edited by

Sinclair Bell Glenys Davies

BAR International Series 1220 2004

Published in 2016 by BAR Publishing, Oxford BAR International Series 1220 Games and Festivals in Classical Antiquity © The editors and contributors severally and the Publisher 2004 The authors' moral rights under the 1988 UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any form of digital format or transmitted in any form digitally, without the written permission of the Publisher.

ISBN 9781841715803 paperback ISBN 9781407326320 e-format DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781841715803 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library BAR Publishing is the trading name of British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd. British Archaeological Reports was first incorporated in 1974 to publish the BAR Series, International and British. In 1992 Hadrian Books Ltd became part of the BAR group. This volume was originally published by Archaeopress in conjunction with British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd / Hadrian Books Ltd, the Series principal publisher, in 2004. This present volume is published by BAR Publishing, 2016.

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Contents

List of contributors

ii

List of Illustrations

iv

Introduction Glenys Davies

v

1 Grasping the Bull by the Horns: Minoan Bull Sports Eleanor Loughlin

1

2 Festival? What Festival? Reading Dance Imagery as Evidence Tyler Jo Smith

9

3 Professional Foul: Persona in Pindar Gráinne McLaughlin

25

4 Orestes the Contender: Chariot Racing and Politics in Fifth Century Athens and Sophocles’ Electra Eleanor Okell

33

5 From Agônistês to Agônios: Hermes, Chaos and Conflict in Competitive Games and Festivals Arlene Allan

45

6 Dionysiac Festivals in Aristophanes’ Acharnians Greta Ham

55

7 The Perils of Pittalakos: Settings of Cock Fighting and Dicing in Classical Athens Nick Fisher

65

8 Civic Self-Representation in the Hellenistic World: The Festival of Artemis Leukophryene Geoffrey Sumi

79

9 Roman Games and Greek Origins in Dionysius of Halicarnassus Clemence Schultze

93

10 Epic Games and Real Games in Statius’ Thebaid 6 and Virgil’s Aeneid 5 Helen Lovatt

107

11 Sport or Showbiz? The naumachiae of Imperial Rome Francesca Garello

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12 Dionysiac Scenes on Sagalassian Oinophoroi from Seleuceia Sidēra in Pisidia Ergün Lafli

125

13 Christianising the Celebrations of Death in Late Antiquity Julia Burman

137

14 The Sala dei Cavalli in Palazzo Te: Portraits of Champions Elizabeth Tobey

143

i

Contributors on a book on Dionysos and male maturation ritual in Athens.

Arlene Allan is currently an Assistant Professor in Classics at Trent University, Ontario. She held a Leventis PhD research scholarship at the University of Exeter from 1998-2001, and was awarded her PhD in 2003 with her dissertation, “The Lyre, The Whip and The Wand: Readings in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” Her research interests are located primarily in the socio-religious history of Greece, with a particular emphasis in epic, drama and myth/ritual.

Ergün Laflı is an Assistant Professor of Classical Archaeology in the Department of Archaeology at the Dokuz Eylül University, Izmir. He specialises in Hellenistic, Roman and late Roman ceramic archaeology of the eastern Mediterranean, especially Asia Minor, and is presently preparing a monograph on terracotta unguentaria from Anatolia.

Sinclair Bell is a doctoral candidate in the School of History and Classics at the University of Edinburgh and a fellow of the American Academy in Rome. His research focuses on the representation of chariot racing in Roman art, particularly funerary sculpture.

Eleanor Loughlin is a post-doctoral researcher and tutor at the University of Edinburgh. She is researching and publishing on several areas of Greek iconography, including the representation of Bronze Age cattle and the depiction of statues in Greek art. She is also currently working on the Popham Archive Project.

Julia Burman is a researcher in the “Death, Society and Gender in the Ancient World” project in the Department of History at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Her doctorate is concerned with changes in lifestyles and the community in late antiquity.

Helen Lovatt is a Junior Research Fellow at New Hall, Cambridge. She has recently completed a Ph.D. thesis on Games and Realities in Statius, Thebaid 6 and is currently working on a project on the gaze in ancient epic.

Glenys Davies is Senior Lecturer in Classical Art and Archaeology in the School of History and Classics at the University of Edinburgh. Her research interests cover three main areas: Roman funerary art (especially the iconography of ash chests and grave altars); collecting and restoring antiquities, especially in the 18th century; and gender and body language in Classical art. She is near to completing a detailed catalogue of the ash chests and other funerary reliefs in the Ince Blundell Collection, and is currently working with others on an A-Z of Classical Dress.

Gráinne McLaughlin lectures in the Faculty of Arts, University College Dublin. She has a particular interest in Classical and Hellenistic verse panegyric. Her doctorate included comparative material from the medieval Gaelic bardic panegyric tradition. Current research includes study of the role of the Danaids in Greek and Latin poetry. Eleanor OKell has just completed her Ph.D., entitled “Practising Politics in Sophocles”, under the supervision of Professor C.J. Gill at the University of Exeter. Her thesis examines Sophocles’ use of contemporary Athenian political positions and practices to inform his audience’s understanding of the dramatic world of his plays and to define the terms in which their content is debated. She is currently at the University of Nottingham, having previously taught Greek Drama at the University of Leeds.

Nick Fisher is Professor of Ancient History in the School of History and Archaeology at Cardiff University. He has written books on Social Values in Classical Athens (1976), Hybris (1992), and Slavery in Classical Greece (1993), and has recently published an edition of Aeschines, Against Timarchos, with introduction, translation and commentary (2001). Francesca Garello, Chief Archivist at the Fondazione Ugo Spirito, Rome, has worked on excavations with the Ministry of Cultural Property and with the Archaeological Superintendancy, Rome. Her publications include articles on the history of ancient sport and on the hypogea of the Flavian Amphitheatre, the subject of her thesis at the University of Rome.

Clemence Schultze is Lecturer in the Department of Classics and Ancient History at the University of Durham. She is mainly interested in Roman republican history, especially the city of Rome, ancient historiography, and the reception of antiquity in later literature and art. She has written papers on Dionysius of Halicarnassus, sections of whose work she is currently engaged in translating and annotating, on Dorothy L. Sayers, and on the influence of Greek myth on the Victorian novelist Charlotte M. Yonge.

Greta Ham is Assistant Professor of Classics at Bucknell University in Lewisburg, Penn. She has a particular interest in Greek religion and history and has an article “The Choes and Anthesteria Reconsidered: Male Maturation Rites and the Peloponnesian Wars,” in Rites of Passage in Ancient Greece, ed. by M.W. Padilla. She is currently working

Tyler Jo Smith is an Assistant Professor of Art History at the University of Virginia. Her research ii

political ceremony in the time of Caesar and Augustus.

interests include representations of dance and festival in Greek vase-painting, as well as Greek and Roman religion. She is currently preparing for publication her Oxford D.Phil. thesis on the subject of black-figure komos scenes.

Elizabeth Tobey is a doctoral student in the Department of Art History at the University of Maryland, where she is studying Italian Renaissance Art, with a minor in Roman Art and Archaeology. She has worked at the National Gallery of Art, the National Portrait Gallery (both in Washington, DC), and excavated at Roman sites in Italy.

Geoffrey S. Sumi is Associate Professor of Classics at Mount Holyoke College in South Hadley, Mass. His main interests are in Hellenistic and Roman history and he is currently completing a study of

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List of Illustrations Fig.1.1. Scene of wounded bull. Sealing from Haghia Triada (After AT 52). Fig. 1.2. Painted larnax from Armenoi. (Drawing by author) Fig. 1.3. Head of bull-shaped rhyton grappled by three figures, from Koumasa. (After PM I, fig. 137d) Fig. 1.4. Taureador fresco, Knossos. (Drawing by author) Fig. 1.5. Detail, Taureador fresco. (Drawing by author) Fig. 1.6. Evans’ bull-leaping schema. (After Evans 1921, fig. 5) Fig. 1.7. Bull wrestler. Sealing from Knossos (After Evans 1921, fig. 10). Fig. 2.1. Athens N.M. inv. no. 234. Drawing of Laconian pyxis, from the Sanctuary of Apollo at Amyclae. (After Boardman 1998, fig. 131). Figs. 2.1-2.5. Berlin Staatliche Museen inv. no. 4856. Corinthian pyxis: Frauenfest and Komasts. Fig. 2.6. Richmond, Virginia Museum of Fine Arts inv. no. 82.1. Laconian cup tondo: Piper and Komasts. Fig. 2.7. Drawing of Boeotian tripod-kothon: sacrifice, banquet and revellers. (After Boardman 1998, fig. 441.2) Fig. 2.8. Athens British School inv. no. A88. Boeotian lekanis interior: komasts in silhouette style. Fig. 2.9. London British Museum inv. no. B80. Boeotian lekanis exterior: worship of Athena Itonia. Fig. 2.10. London British Museum inv. no. 96.6-15.1. Detail of dancer from Clazomenian sarcophagus. Fig. 3.1. East pediment, Temple of Zeus, Olympia. (Deutsches Archäologisches Institut Athens) Table 4.1. Athenian chariot victors. Table 4.2. Other chariot victors. Table 4.3. Age of known Olympic and Pythian four-horse chariot victors (610-390 B.C.). Graph 4.4. Age of known Olympic and Pythian four-horse chariot victors (610-390 B.C.). Table 6.1. References to Athenian festivals in Acharnians (in order of appearance). Fig. 7.1. Oxford Ashmolean Museum inv. no. 1967.304. Brygos Painter, cup with scene of a boy holding knucklebones. Fig. 7.2. London British Museum inv. no. E205. Hydria with scene of women playing with knucklebones. Table 10.1. The organisation of the epic programmes. Fig. 12.1.a-i. Morphological and decorative character of Sagalassian oinophoroi from Seleuceia Sidēra (E. Laflı). Fig. 12.2.a-c. A circular oinophoros from the Round Building in Seleuceia Sidēra; front, rear and side views (E. Laflı). Fig. 12.3.a-b. A circular oinophoros with Gorgons, from Seleuceia Sidēra (E. Laflı). Fig. 12.4. An oinophoros sherd with scene of a gladiator, from Seleuceia Sidēra (E. Laflı). Fig. 12.5. An oinophoros sherd with scene of a warrior (?), from Seleuceia Sidēra (E. Laflı). Fig. 12.6. An oinophoros sherd with a Maenad, from Seleuceia Sidēra (E. Laflı). Fig. 12.7. An oinophoros sherd with a relaxing Dionysiac (?) figure, from Seleuceia Sidēra (E. Laflı). Fig. 12.8. An oinophoros sherd with a young boy, from Seleuceia Sidēra (E. Laflı). Fig. 12.9. An oinophoros (?) handle fragment with a naked male (Dionysiac?) figure, from Seleuceia Sidēra (E. Laflı). Fig. 14.1. Diagram of the Sala dei Cavalli, Palazzo Te, Isola Te. Fig. 14.2. Chestnut horse with Jupiter and Juno, with painted relief of Hercules and Nemean lion shown above, east wall, Sala dei Cavalli (E. Tobey, courtesy of the Museo Civico, Palazzo Te). Fig. 14.3. Painted bust of Federico Gonzaga as the emperor Hadrian on the north wall (E. Tobey, courtesy of the Museo Civico, Palazzo Te). Fig. 14.4. Morel Favorito, with painted relief of Hercules and Cerberus above, south wall, Sala dei Cavalli (E. Tobey, courtesy of the Museo Civico, Palazzo Te). Fig. 14.5. Battaglia, north wall, Sala dei Cavalli (E. Tobey, courtesy of the Museo Civico, Palazzo Te). Fig. 14.6. Detail, chestnut horse, east wall, Sala dei Cavalli (E. Tobey, courtesy of the Museo Civico, Palazzo Te). Fig. 14.7. Left: Detail of Zannetta brand on the flank of the chestnut horse (E. Tobey, courtesy of the Museo Civico, Palazzo Te). Right: Zannetta brand from a Gonzaga stud book, Envelope 258, Archivio Gonzaga, Archivio di Stato, Mantua (After Malacarne 1995). Fig. 14.8. Circus horse “Amicus.” Line drawing of a bone counter in the Vatican Museums, Rome. (Drawing by author after Toynbee 1973, fig. 87)

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Introduction GLENYS DAVIES Games and festivals were at the heart of Classical societies, playing a much more important role than in modern western societies (even taking football into account). Festivals structured the year and were inextricably bound up with the structures of society (as Ham’s study of the Dionysiac festivals in the Acharnians shows: in war-torn Athens the ordered conduct of the familiar festivals which bound social groups together was seen as both necessary for and a consequence of peace). Games and festivals are also closely linked, as most competitive games took place at a festival, or at least in a religious context, even, it seems, cock fighting and dicing, and many festivals contained elements of competition. Competitiveness pervades Greek and Roman life (especially the life of men in a position to compete for prestige and power)—and this is reflected in literature and art. Luck, chance, the approval of the gods, innate skill and worth all produced winners, and it is the victors we hear most about, whether it is Hermes the trickster, those commemorated by Pindar’s victory odes, or the famous horses who won chariot races and were immortalised in mosaic. Yet there are a few losers in these pages: most prominent is Pittalakos, who lost out in what Fisher describes as a “turf war” at the shrine of Athena Skiras at Phaleron. The fighting quails and cocks were not the only competitors in this dramatic story of Athens in the fourth century B.C. Competition is closely allied to politics, and it is not surprising to find a connection between the games of the classical world and political conduct. Games could be a metaphor for the competition of war, even a structured substitute for it, and those who excelled in one arena might be expected to do well in the other too. It is by his conduct in the Olympic Games that Orestes in Electra shows that he is a worthy successor to his father, and warns Clytemnestra that he is a real threat to her. Okell shows us that Sophocles uses the model of Athenian statesmen (such as Cylon and Alcibiades who entered and won important chariot races just before standing for office as generals in Athens) to alert the audience to the significance of Orestes’ behaviour. At the end of the 3rd century B.C. the city of Magnesia-on-the-Maeander attempted to use the expansion of its festival of Artemis Leukophryene to assert its own position and to promote panhellenism in the face of the decidedly volatile political climate of the time. Sumi analyses the inscribed documents recording the city’s presentation of itself and its history and the responses of city states all over the Greek world: the festival, with its dramatic, athletic and equestrian competitions was intended to have the stature of the Pythian Games at Delphi, and was to express Greek values and panhellenic unity. Much later, in 16th-century Mantua, Federico Gonzaga chose the imagery of the Classical world and six of his favourite thoroughbred horses to express his perception of his own political position. Tobey discusses how images of esteemed figures from antiquity (including emperors) were assimilated to portraits of the Gonzaga family, how they used Mantuan Virgil and especially the Georgics to glorify themselves, and in particular how the chariot races of Rome were evoked by the magnificent portraits of the Gonzaga horses. Competitiveness is not the only feature of games and festivals discussed in this volume. Loughlin looks at the famous bull-leaping “sport” of Minoan Crete from a new perspective: the practical skills needed to control and manage domestic, wild and feral cattle. Garello and Burman also emphasise the role of spectacle in the Roman world: Garello suggests that real competition would have been difficult to achieve in the famous naumachiae given the likely conditions in which they were staged, and they must often have been aquatic displays rather than fullscale re-enactments of naval engagements or competitive games. Burman compares Christian funerals of the later fourth century with earlier pagan practices, again pointing to the spectacular aspects of the funerals of saints such as Macrina and Basil, with their huge candle-lit processions, psalm singing (in preference to lamentation) and communal meals. Inevitably, as with any collection of papers on the Classical world, many papers deal with questions of the evidence and its interpretation, whether the sources used are literary, artistic or archaeological. Loughlin’s paper includes a re-evaluation of how the Taureador fresco should be read. Smith’s study concerns the interpretation of dancers on a variety of black-figure vases: dancers of various kinds, both male and female, but especially the padded male komasts who both dance and drink, and are sometimes more interested in the latter activity than the former. Smith queries how far we can interpret these activities as taking place on a religious or festival occasion, and whether specific festivals (such as the Laconian festivals of Artemis Orthia) can be identified. She concludes that scholars of the past have been rather too keen to relate some of these scenes to specific events. Garello also examines the literary and physical evidence for the venues where naumachiae were held, concluding that in some cases there was insufficient room for full-scale re-enactments of battles, or even life-sized ships. The Colosseum, however, does show signs that it was originally designed to be flooded for aquatic displays, even if there would only have been room for two full-size ships, which would not have been able to manoeuvre.

v

It is those papers dealing with literary texts that provide the most complex and subtle use of games and festival imagery, indicating how thoroughly these events had permeated Greek and Roman thinking and consciousness. The games at Rome are the institution par excellence that Dionysius of Halicarnassus uses to illustrate his hypothesis that Rome’s culture should be seen as basically Greek (and thus Greece is now dominated by fellow Hellenes, not by barbarians). Schultze examines the structure of Dionysius’ argument and his perceptions of cultural difference and the process of cultural change as demonstrated by his treatment of this one aspect of early Roman society. McLaughlin exposes the subtlety and complexity of another much earlier author, Pindar, through his treatment of the theme of the foundation of the Olympic Games, and specifically the question of who founded the Games. Seeming to contradict other versions (and indeed what he himself says elsewhere), Olympian I gives the impression that the founder was Pelops, and Pindar seems to be asserting the superiority of his own version of the myth while at the same time praising the victor: this rhetorical posturing validates poet and patron. Neither Dionysius nor Pindar is giving a straightforward, factual account of games, but they can rely on their audiences to know the details of the games they are talking about. Statius has been mined by “sports historians” hoping for just such details of games, and seems to be more “factual” than Virgil, but Lovatt explores how both these authors combine the epic convention of games (as handed down from Homer) with more recent developments in the real world, producing new epic versions set in imaginary locations that recall venues such as the Circus Maximus. Allan’s analysis of the roles of Hermes in Greece, especially as revealed in his Homeric Hymn, also shows the close association he and the myths surrounding him had with real competition and games. Allan’s analysis of his multifaceted character revolves around Hermes as a gamester and a competitor; but although Hermes is shown to be a colourful, even rather shady, character, he embodies important concepts for human society: order created from chaos, the possibility of the resolution of conflict—and that means war as well as competition at games. When we put out a general call for papers for a conference on Games and Festivals we had no idea the response would be so varied—ranging from Minoan bull leaping to Samoan kilikiti—or that the papers would turn out to be so thematically interrelated. The response has shown that it is not so much the mechanics of the games or the actions carried out at ancient festivals that fascinate modern scholars as their social and political significance and the way the theme could be manipulated by writers and artists. This volume contains about half of the papers given at the conference; others are to be published elsewhere or are part of other projects.∗ The conference was held under the auspices of the Traditional Cosmology Society, and its theme was proposed by its president, Emily Lyle. The assistance and advice of several members of the Department of Classics were instrumental in its smooth running, especially Elaine Hutchison, Kate Collingridge, Jill Shaw, and Keith Rutter. It would never have taken off in such style without the energy and dedication of Sinclair Bell— indeed, so successful was he in promoting the conference that it had to be moved to larger premises, thus necessitating further funding, which was generously and expeditiously supplied by a grant from the University of Edinburgh’s Small Project Fund.

∗

These include the following: Gebhard, E. 2002. “The Beginnings of Panhellenic Games at the Isthmus.” In Olympia 1875-2000. 125 Jahre Deutsche Ausgrabungen. Internationales Symposion, Berlin 9.-11. November 2000, edited by H. Kyrieleis, 221-37. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. König, J. 2001. “Favorinus’ Corinthian Oration in its Corinthian context.”PCPS 47:141-71. Niederstadt, L. 2002. “Of Kings and Cohorts: The Game of Genna in Ethiopian Popular Painting.” International Journal of History of Sport 19.1. Nijf, O. van 2003. “Athletics, Andreia and the Askêsis-Culture in the Roman East.” In Andreia: Studies in Manliness and Courage in Classical Antiquity, edited by R. Rosen and I. Sluiter, 263-86. Mnesmoyne Suppl. 238. Leiden: Brill.

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Chapter 1

Grasping the Bull by the Horns: Minoan Bull Sports ELEANOR LOUGHLIN components of a mixed farming economy.5 Remains from Neolithic Knossos and the majority of subsequent Neolithic and Bronze Age sites indicate that the main elements of the faunal assemblage were sheep, goats, pigs and cattle. The only notable additions to the original range of imported animals were horses and donkeys, which are attested, albeit in small numbers, as early as the Late Neolithic period.6

Cattle have been the subject of more studies of Bronze Age Greek animal iconography than any other species and bull sports have received more scholarly attention than any other type of cattle imagery.1 The prominence of the subject is evident from A Bibliography for Aegean Glyptic in the Bronze Age: of the sixteen references to works relating to cattle imagery, ten deal specifically with bull sports.2 These studies are based on a sizable body of evidence, the bulk of which comes from Late Bronze Age glyptic. Interest in this area has been fuelled further in recent years by the discovery of fragments of wall paintings at Tell el-Dab`a, on the Nile Delta. Among these are images of confrontation between men and cattle that it is argued exhibit Minoan characteristics.3

Whether the settlers imported wild or domestic cattle has been a source of considerable debate. The range of bone sizes does however suggest that both domestic and the larger wild cattle were imported throughout the Neolithic and Bronze Age.7 It is further likely that the continued importation of livestock, possibly from different regions, would have served to freshen the gene pool and, in the case of cattle, the presence of both domestic and wild animals would have provided hybrids for bull games.8 Another feasible interpretation of the evidence is that cattle hunted during the Bronze Age were the descendants of Neolithic domestic cattle that had become feral.9 In only a short period of time, feral cattle can revert to a physiological type more akin to their wild ancestors, as attested by the cattle left by the migrating islanders on the Scottish island of Swona only twenty-five years ago. Not only has this herd become feral but, after only five generations of natural selection, the animals have developed sufficient genetic distinctions to be recognised as a new breed. In terms of temperament, these animals have become not only wary of man but at times aggressive.10

As the majority of studies have concentrated purely on the images, the benefit to be gained from looking at bull sports in the wider context of Bronze Age Greek society has only recently been recognised.4 The purpose of this paper is therefore first to explore the complex way in which man (the hunter and herdsman) and animal interact in an agricultural and rural context and to consider how our knowledge of the techniques employed to control cattle is relevant to our understanding of Minoan depictions of bull sports. Secondly, the imagery of the Taureador Fresco from Knossos will be reassessed in the light of this evidence. The use of culturally unrelated material for comparative purposes is a contentious issue but, in the case of bull sports, it is advantageous to draw on the diverse range of evidence available in order both to clarify our own perceptions of the norm, and to understand more fully the range of possible manifestations. Comparative material will therefore be used judiciously, as it is important not to substitute ideas derived purely from this source for detailed study of the original material.

The archaeological record provides extensive evidence of the exploitation of cattle. The slaughtered animal served as a one-off source of meat, bone marrow, fat, glue, skin, bone and horn. In the second phase of domestication, known as the Secondary Products Revolution, the live animal provided not only faeces and milk, but was also exploited as a source of motive power.11 In modern-day India, 80% of agricultural work involves the use of cattle as a source of motive power and the evidence from Bronze Age Crete suggests a similar scenario.12 Cattle were no doubt used to pull carts and ploughs and to serve

THE UTILISATION OF CRETAN CATTLE Analysis of the floral and faunal remains from the Aceramic to Early Neolithic Period (c. 6000–5000 B.C.) shows that the earliest settlers brought both the knowledge and

5

Broodbank and Strasser 1991. Reese 1995, 193. 7 Gamble 1980, 288; Nobis 1989, 1990, 1993. 8 Nobis 1990, 17; 1993, 117-8. 9 Bloedow 1996, 31-2. 10 Dobson 1999, 9. 11 Sherratt 1981, 1982, 1983. 12 Lensch 1987, 57. 6

1

For a survey of the literature relating to the subject and a full catalogue see Younger 1976; 1983; 1995. 2 Younger 1991. 3 Bietak 1992; Bietak et al. 1994; Morgan 1997, 31; Bietak et al. 2000. 4 Marinatos 1993; Younger 1995.

1

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY as pack animals.13 In order to take full advantage of the animal, it was necessary for hunters and herdsmen to develop techniques to capture, restrain and control this formidable and often dangerous creature. The intention to capture or kill cattle is represented in many images of the interaction between men and cattle. For example, on Minoan seals and sealings the inclusion of nets serves to represent capture,14 while the painting of net patterns on the bodies of some terracotta cattle figurines may have similar connotations.15 A Late Minoan IIIA ivory pyxis from Katsamba is decorated with a scene of men and a charging bull in a rural setting. One figure brandishes a spear while another holds what may be a net.16 A galloping bull with a net stretched across its body is represented on a Late Minoan II fragment of a rhyton from Knossos.17 FIG. 1.2. PAINTED LARNAX FROM ARMENOI. (DRAWING BY AUTHOR)

On some seals and sealings man is not represented, but his presence and capacity to injure is implied by the representation of spears and projectiles above or piercing the backs of cattle (fig. 1.1).18

If the intention is to keep the animal alive and to exploit it as a source of food, motive power, as breeding stock or for sport, then it is essential to contain and control the animal for a prolonged period of time. This can involve keeping a group of animals in a particular area or controlling an individual through physical restraint. Wooden fences have not been preserved, but there are several examples of architectural elements within settlements that probably served as pens, albeit for smaller animals. The house at Katsamba has an attached open yard, possibly used as an enclosure for animals,21 while a walled rock shelter in front of the two-roomed structure at Magasá may have served a similar purpose.22 Areas 12, 13 and 14 of the Early Minoan II settlement at Myrtos consist of an unusual sequence of narrow passages, the entrances to which are too narrow for easy human access. It has been suggested that these represent an area where sheep and goats could be penned within the settlement.23 At the Late Minoan IIIC refuge site of Katalimata Area B, a terrace with a single access route shows evidence of a simple shelter that may have served as a temporary refuge area for flocks.24 In discussing the Miniature Fresco from the West House at Akrotiri, Warren made a comparison between the ‘oval fold’ to which animals are being led and the mandhra, a type of sheep and goat fold still used in Crete today.25

FIG.1.1. SCENE OF WOUNDED BULL. SEALING FROM HAGHIA TRIADA (AFTER AT 52).

A single image may represent several aspects of the relationship between man and beast. For example, a Late Minoan IIIA-B larnax from the cemetery at Armenoi is painted with a scene of three men hunting a goat and two cattle, all with young (fig. 1.2).19 Spears have been thrown while one figure brandishes an axe and another casts a net. Whereas the projectiles and axe indicate an intention to wound and kill the animals, the presence of a net suggests that capture was also an aim. This image may in fact represent the killing of the mothers and capture of the more manageable young, particularly as the figures appear to be casting nets, rather than driving the animals into secured nets, a technique more appropriate for the capture of small or young animals.20 13

PM 2:156-7; Crouwel 1981, 54; Palaima 1992, 466. CMS 8:52; CS 236; AT 55, 60, 61. 15 Marinatos 1986, 30-1; Younger 1995, 525-6. 16 Poursat 1977, 166, 168, 178, pls. X3, X4; Younger 1995, 524. 17 Popham 1973, 58, fig. 38. 18 CMS 1:492, 494; CMS 2.2:60; CMS 2.7:44, 54; CMS 4:300; CMS 5S 1A:152; CMS 5S IB:232; CMS 5:279; CMS 8:47; CMGC 3123; AT 52, 53, 159. 19 Tzedakis 1971, 216-22, fig. 4. 20 Scenes of men capturing bulls are represented on the Vaphio cups. Of particular note is the bull caught in a net tied between two trees on the violent cup (Davis 1977). Although discovered at a mainland site

The day-to-day management of cattle and, in particular, bulls can often demand a hands-on approach and the most

14

(Vaphio Tholos), one of the two cups (the quiet cup) has been described as being of Minoan origin (Davis 1977, 2-3). As this is debatable it will not be discussed as Minoan in the current study. 21 Alexiou 1954, 371; Weinberg 1970, 617; Sakellarakis 1973, 135. 22 Hutchinson 1962, 51. 23 Warren 1972, 29. 24 Haggis and Nowicki 1993, 327. 25 Warren 1979, 122; Haggis and Nowicki 1993, 309.

2

ELEANOR LOUGHLIN: GRASPING THE BULL BY THE HORNS: MINOAN BULL SPORTS effective way to control the movements of a bull is to take control of its head. This may include taking hold of the animal by the highly sensitive membrane around the mouth and nose. The image of a bull being led on a rope attached to a hoop through its nose is common to many cultures. Similarly, nineteenth-century Texan ranchers trained dogs to bite and hold onto the animals' lips, thus rendering the straying animal immobile.26 Another method is to take control of the horns and thus the head. Techniques developed by American cowboys on the range can be seen in the modern rodeo, where steer wrestlers grab one horn and the jaw of the animal, thus gaining enough control to turn the animal onto its back.27 In Minoan art, some representations of figures clasping the horns of bulls have been classed as representing capture and restraint rather than bull sports.28

There are, for example, images where cattle are represented with spears or swords sticking in their withers (fig. 1.1). Such images present us with evidence of the intention to injure or kill the animal and our instinctive response is to classify these images as representing hunting. Even so, this may not always have been the case. Younger suggests that such injuries may have been inflicted during bull sports to anger the animal and render it frantic, thus creating more of a challenge for the leapers.31 He makes a comparison with Spanish bullfights where the picadors puncture the muscle at the back of the bull’s neck using a long lance (vara) and the banderilleros place pairs of steel pointed sticks (banderillas) in the same muscle. As Younger suggests, this does indeed serve to anger the bull and make it more aggressive, but in fact it also slows the bull down and limits the extent to which it is able to raise its head, thus reducing the danger to the matador32 and theoretically the bull leaper.33 Disagreement about the context of the interaction also arises in discussion of images of capture and restraint. This has been the case in the analysis of two very similar Early Minoan III-Middle Minoan clay bull shaped rhyta or pouring vessels from Porti34 and Koumasa (fig. 1.3)35 and fragments of a third from Iuktas (Middle Minoan III).36 It has been argued that these are representations of sacrificial bulls37 or bull sports.38 Younger categorises these objects as representing bull catching but adds that they probably represent the origins of bull sports, man pitting himself against animal in a rural environment prior to the sport becoming formalised.39 The only certainty is that the image is one of restraint and control and thus serves as a clear indication of the adversarial nature of the relationship between man and cattle.

FIG. 1.3. HEAD OF BULL-SHAPED RHYTON GRAPPLED BY THREE FIGURES, FROM KOUMASA. (AFTER PM I, FIG. 137D)

Controlling the animal’s head can also involve ropes, evidence of which is limited although there are images of tethered cattle in glyptic.29 Some terracotta animal figurines are painted and modeled with harnesses.30 INTERACTION BETWEEN MAN AND CATTLE: IDENTIFYING THE CONTEXT

THE TAUREADOR FRESCO The fragments of at least four fresco panels were discovered in the Court of the Stone Spout in the east wing of the palace at Knossos and have been dated to Late Minoan II–IIIA.40 The frescoes had fallen from the

The desire to subjugate cattle is at the heart of all interaction between man and bulls and therefore features prominently in visual descriptions. Recognition of this theme, however, should not be equated with an understanding of the subject of individual images, particularly as similar techniques would have been employed to control cattle in rural, agricultural and sporting contexts.

31

Younger 1983, 72-3. Greenfield 1961, 32-50; Whitlock 1977, 72-7. 33 The same technique is employed in Portuguese bullfights to allow the focados to grasp the head and horns of the bull (Pinsent 1983, 259). 34 Xanthoudídes 1924, 62, pls. VII, XXXVII no. 5052. 35 Xanthoudídes 1924, 40, pls. II, XXVIII no. 4126. 36 Foster 1982, 81-2, 109. 37 Matz 1961, 222. 38 PM 1:189-90; CMGC:87-8. 39 Younger 1995, 509; J. Evans 1963, 140-1. John Evans will be referred to as J. Evans while Arthur Evans will be referred to as Evans. 40 Late Minoan II-IIIA is now widely accepted to be a period during which the Mycenaeans controlled Crete and in particular the Palace at Knossos (Weingarten 1990, 112-3; Popham 1994, 89, 93; Renfrew 32

26

Atwood Lawrence 1982, 34. Atwood Lawrence 1982, 34; Morris 1993, 201-2. 28 CMS 2.3:9, 271; Pinsent 1983, 265. On the Ship Procession Fresco from the island of Thera (1500 BC), a figure in front of the arrival town is represented leading a calf by the horns (Morgan 1988, 56, pl. 13). 29 CMS 5S 1A:173; CMS 7:102. 30 Guggisberg 1996, nos. 475, 482, 523. A figure binds the back legs of a bull on the Quiet Vaphio Cup (Davis 1977, fig. 10). Younger (1995, 535-6) catalogues images of tethered cattle in glyptic from the mainland and of unknown provenance. 27

3

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY wall of an upper floor and may have originally formed a frieze of panels about 0.78m high.41 As the most complete restoration, the panel displayed in the Heraklion Museum has received most attention (fig. 1.4). In the centre of the panel is a large bull running left. The three figures represented in the field are depicted with one each on either side of the bull while a third, the bull leaper, is represented above the animal’s back.

charging bull would gore anyone in its path. Rather than throwing its head back, as would be necessary to facilitate a somersault, the animal would throw its head to the sides.46 Evans reconciled his schema with this evidence by suggesting that, to avoid injury, the figure would have approached and grasped the horn from the side.47 The discrepancy between what the image appears to represent and what is physically possible he attributed to an imaginative attempt on the part of the artist to represent the sequence of movements.48

FIG. 1.4. TAUREADOR FRESCO, KNOSSOS. (DRAWING BY AUTHOR)

Discussion of this painting and bull sports tend to focus on the image of the bull leaper which sometimes results in an underestimation of the importance of other types or aspects of bull sports and the complexity of the whole process. In order to understand more fully what the image may represent as a whole, I shall therefore concentrate on the actions of the figure represented to the left of the bull rather than the leaper (fig. 1.5).

FIG. 1.5. DETAIL, TAUREADOR FRESCO. (DRAWING BY AUTHOR)

The panel was originally classed as a representation of bull leaping by Evans, who discussed it in terms of its similarity to the schema he derived from study of a bronze group of a bull and leaper and comparable seals and sealings (fig. 1.6).42 The figure to the left of the bull correlates almost completely to position one in the schema that Evans described as showing “the charging bull seized by the horns near their tips”.43

FIG. 1.6. EVANS’ BULL-LEAPING SCHEMA. (AFTER EVANS 1921, FIG. 5)

In his discussion of the Taureador Fresco, Evans argued that the figure represented before the bull grasps the horn in order to “gain a purchase for a backward somersault over the animal’s back”.44 However, he also recognised that stage one is physically impossible45 and cited the evidence of a rodeo steer wrestler who claimed that a

Many subsequent authors have followed Evans’ description of the front figure as a leaper grasping the horns in order to be propelled over the back of the bull.49 Younger, by contrast, classes the image as a whole as conforming to a “diving-leaper” schema in which the leaper dives onto the animal's back from an elevated position, such as a platform or the shoulders of an assistant. He further describes the figure to the left of the bull as an assistant rather than a leaper and suggests that this person’s role was to assist the leaper by controlling

1996, 11-4). The plain background, the border and the composition of the Taureador Fresco are comparable to Mycenaean art and similar paintings have been recovered from mainland sites (Shaw 1997). The image is classed as Minoan, however, primarily because of its context but also because it is a continuation of the Minoan tradition of representing bull sports. 41 See Marinatos (1993, fig. 58) and Shaw (1997, colour pls. C, D1) for Cameron’s proposed reconstruction of the four panels. 42 Evans 1921; PM 3:209-32. 43 Evans 1921, 252; PM 3:222. 44 PM 3:212. 45 PM 3:222.

46

PM 3:212. Evans 1921, 256. 48 PM 3:222. 49 J. Evans 1963, 141; Immerwahr 1990, 91; Shaw 1997, 179; Hitchcock and Preziosi 1999, 167-9. 47

4

ELEANOR LOUGHLIN: GRASPING THE BULL BY THE HORNS: MINOAN BULL SPORTS the bull’s head and therefore limit its movement.50 The likelihood of this assessment being correct becomes all the more certain when we consider exactly what is represented, a process that demands we recognise the distinctions between the canons governing the Minoan visual language and our own. Minoan art was not restricted by the one-point perspective and inclination towards photographic realism that shapes postRenaissance European art; instead, artists were able to combine different viewpoints within single images and possibly even create synoptic representations of events.51

fallen or injured athlete.53 In the rodeo sport of bull riding, the clowns are vital to ensuring the safety of the riders, assisting thrown riders whose hands get caught in the rope that they use to hold onto the animal.54 The clowns also attempt to distract the bull as, unlike a bronc that runs away from a thrown rider, it may continue to trample and attempt to gore anyone on the ground.55 The rodeo steer wrestler is accompanied by a hazer, a man on horse back whose job it is to keep the steer moving in a straight line. This allows the wrestler to ride up alongside the animal, a position from which he is then able to leap and take hold of the horn and jaw.56 The role played by assistants is vital in cattle sports and their level of skill and importance should not be underestimated.

We intuitively interpret the figure to the left of the panel as standing in front of and facing the bull. Yet upon closer examination, it becomes evident that the figure is not represented between the horns, as both are represented passing behind the torso, but to the outside of the horn closest to the viewer. The bull’s horns are represented as if they spring almost vertically from its head. But osteological evidence and three-dimensional representations of cattle prove that the horns of Minoan cattle extended out to the side curving forward at the tip, and thus did not project forward in such a way.52 In reality the figure, rather than standing in front of the bull, would be either facing the side of the bull or facing in the same direction, in a position similar to the figures clinging to the horns of the bull shaped rhyta from Porti, Koumasa (fig. 1.2) and Iuktas.

It is also possible that rather than representing a particular moment, the Taureador Fresco may be synoptic in nature, a composite image of a series of events that would occur during bull sports rather than a snapshot of a particular moment. If this is the case, the figure grasping the horns may be a wrestler who performed separately from the leaper. Images described as representations of bull wrestlers occur in Minoan glyptic (fig. 1.7).57

As a compositional device, the opening up of the image enabled the artist to minimise overlap and to describe the protagonists and their actions fully as well as filling the field and creating a sense of balance. Grabbing the horn from the side would allow the participant to gain a better grip not only of the horn but also the neck and jaw, the technique employed in rodeo steer wrestling. Approaching from the front would not only make grasping the animal’s head more difficult, but also mean that the participant would run a far greater risk of being gored.

FIG. 1.7. BULL WRESTLER. SEALING FROM KNOSSOS (AFTER EVANS 1921, FIG. 10).

This is a tentative suggestion as there are serious doubts about the restoration of these fragments as a single panel. The current restoration shows the figure grasping the horn with his or her left hand, an unlikely bodily contortion. It has been argued that the hand is in fact a right hand.58 If this is the case, the fragments depicting the upper right arm and torso cannot be joined and would therefore not belong to this panel. The remaining fragments, however, do show the horn passing under the left arm and therefore the relative position of the bull and figure remains the

Younger’s description of the figure as an assistant whose role it was to secure the bull to enable the leaper to perform may be correct. The struggle to control and restrain the animal is at the heart of all interaction between man and cattle, including sports and, in modern events, in addition to the leaper, fighter or wrestler others are involved, either before, during or after the performance in controlling and limiting the potential danger to the performer. In Course Landaise, a sport popular throughout southwest France, the aim of the participants is to leap over and around—rather than to kill—the animal. Throughout the performance the cow is kept on a length of rope to prevent it from attacking a

53

Felius 1995, 232-3; Talbot 2000. Atwood Lawrence 1982, 30-1. 55 Atwood Lawrence 1982, 181-2. 56 Whitlock 1977, 88; Atwood Lawrence 1982, 34; Morris 1993, 2012. 57 CMS 2.3:105; CS 52S (fig. 7); KSPI C43; Younger 1995, 526-7. 58 Hood 1994, 60. In his review of the Knossos Fresco Atlas, Warren (1969, 182) outlines D.L. Page’s objections to the current restoration, made in an unpublished paper. 54

50

Younger 1976, 129, 135; 1983, 74; 1995, 510-1. Damiani Indelicato 1988. Walberg (1986, 110) argues against the possibility of Minoan art being synoptic. 52 Boyd-Dawkins 1902; Chapouthier et al. 1962, pl. XL; Nobis 1993, 109-10; Younger 1995, 537-8. 51

5

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY im östlichen Nildelta (1989-1991).” Ägypten und Levante. Internationale Zeitschrift fur ägyptische Archäologie und deren Nachbargebiete 4:9–80. Bietak, M., N. Marinatos, and C. Palyvou. 2000. “The Maze Tableau from Tell el Dab`a.” In The Wall Paintings of Thera: Proceedings of the First International Symposium. Petros M. Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas 30 August–4 September 1997, edited by S. Sherratt, 77–90. Piraeus: Petros M. Nomikos and The Thera Foundation. Bloedow, E.F. 1996. “Notes on Animal Sacrifices in Minoan Religion.” JPR 10:31–41. Boyd-Dawkins, W. 1902. “Remains of Animals Found in the Dictæan Cave in 1901.” Man, Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 2:162–5. Broodbank, C. and T.F. Strasser. 1991. “Migrant Farmers and the Neolithic Colonization of Crete.” Antiquity 65:233–45. Chapouthier, F., P. Demargne, and A. Dessenne. 1962. Fouilles Exécutées à Mallia: quatrième rapport, exploration du Palais, bordure méridionale et recherches complémentaires (1929-1935 et 1946-1960). Paris: P. Geuthner. Crouwel, J.H. 1981. Chariots and Other Means of Land Transport in Bronze Age Greece. Amsterdam: Allard Pierson Museum. Damiani Indelicato, S. 1988. “Were Cretan Girls Playing at Bull-Leaping?” Cretan Studies 1:39–47. Davis, E.N. 1977. The Vapheio Cups and Aegean Gold and Silver Ware. New York: Garland Publishing Inc. Dobson, R. 1999. “Cattle Marooned on Scottish Island Evolve into a New Breed.” The Independent 19 October 1999:9. Evans, A. J. 1921. “On a Minoan Bronze Group of a Galloping Bull and Acrobatic Figure from Crete.” JHS 41:247–59. Evans, J.D. 1963. “Cretan Cattle-cults and Sports.” In Man and Cattle. Proceedings of a Symposium on Domestication at the Royal Anthropological Institute 2426 May 1960, edited by A.E. Mourant and F.E Zeuner, 138–43. London: Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland. Felius, M. 1995. Cattle Breeds: An Encyclopedia. Doetinchem: Misset. Fischer, E. 1992. “Dionysus in the Afternoon: Bullfighting as Ritual Sacrifice and Tragic Performance.” Melodrama 14:245–54. Foster, K. 1982. Minoan Ceramic Relief. SIMA 64. Göteborg: P. Äström. Gamble, C.S. 1980. “Comments made during Discussion of M.R. Jarman, 'Human Influence in the Development of Cretan Fauna' (Privately Circulated Paper).” In Thera and the Aegean World: Papers Presented at the Second International Scientific Congress, Santorini, Greece, August 1978, edited by C. Doumas, 288. 2 vols. London: Thera and the Aegean World. Greenfield, A. 1961. Anatomy of a Bullfight. New York: David McKay.

same regardless of whether the figure grasps the horn with their left or right hand. CONCLUSION In this paper I have sought to return Bronze Age Cretan images of interaction between men and cattle to their wider social context and examine evidence of strategies employed in other cultures to exploit and control cattle in agricultural, rural and sporting contexts. This approach provides a fuller understanding of what the Minoan images may represent and enables the modern viewer to reassess their initial responses to the images and consider the broad range of possible interpretations. The process of reassessing what an image represents also demands that we recognise that we cannot equate the Minoan visual language with our own. While synoptic representations and the combination of different viewpoints within a single image are devices used only rarely in modern northern European visual languages, we cannot assume that this was also the case in Minoan art. When studying any area of Bronze Age Greek art it is vital that we question what and how we perceive as it is only through the careful consideration of what Minoan images represent that we will be able determine their meaning.

Abbreviations AT

Levi, D. 1925/6. “Le cretule di Hagia Triada.” ASAtene 8/9:71–156. CMS Corpus der minoischen und mykenischen Siegel. CS Kenna, V.E.G. 1960. Cretan Seals: with a Catalogue of the Minoan Gems in the Ashmolean Museum. Oxford: Clarendon Press. CMGC Sakellariou, A.X. 1958. Les cachets minoens de la collection Giamalakis. ÉtCrét 10. KSPI Gill, M.A.V. 1965. “The Knossos Sealings: Provenance and Identification.” BSA 60:58–98. PM Evans, A. 1921-35. Palace of Minos. London: MacMillan.

Works Cited Alexiou, S. 1954. “Ανασκαφαι εν Κατσαµπα.” Prakt 1954:369–76. Atwood Lawrence, E. 1982. Rodeo, an Anthropologist Looks at the Wild and the Tame. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press. Bietak, M. 1992. “Minoan Wall-Paintings Unearthed at Ancient Avaris.” Bulletin of the Egyptian Exploration Society 2:26–8. Bietak, M., J. Dorner, I. Hein, and P. Jánosi. 1994. “Neue Grabungsergebnisse aus Tell el-Dab‘a und ‘Ezbet Helmi 6

ELEANOR LOUGHLIN: GRASPING THE BULL BY THE HORNS: MINOAN BULL SPORTS Guggisberg, M.A. 1996. Frühgriechische Tierkeramik: zur Entwicklung und Bedeutung der Tiergefässe und der Hohlen Tierfiguren in der späten Bronze– und frühen Eisenzeit (ca. 1600-700 v. Chr.). Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Haggis, D.C. and K. Nowicki. 1993. “Khalasmeno and Katalimata: Two Early Iron Age Settlements in Monostiraki, East Crete.” Hesperia 62:303–37. Hitchcock, L.A. and D. Preziosi. 1999. Aegean Art and Architecture. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hood, S. 1994. The Arts in Prehistoric Greece. Pelican History of Art Series. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Hutchinson, R.W. 1962. Prehistoric Crete. Baltimore: Penguin Books. Immerwahr, S.A. 1990. Aegean Painting in the Bronze Age. University Park, Pa. and London: Pennsylvania State University Press. Lensch, J. 1987. Problems and Prospects of Cattle and Buffalo Husbandry in India with Special Reference to the Concept of “Sacred Cow”: Shaping and Controlling the Course of Future Development–Possibilities and Limitations. Hamburg: Krempe/Holstein. Marinatos, N. 1986. Minoan Sacrificial Ritual: Cult Practice and Symbolism. Stockholm and Göteborg: P. Åström. ——. 1993. Minoan Religion: Ritual, Image and Symbol. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press. Matz, F. 1961. “Minoischer Stiergott?” CretChron 15/16:215–23. Morgan, L. 1988. The Miniature Wall Paintings of Thera: A Study in Aegean Culture and Iconography. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1997. “Power of the Beast: Human-Animal Symbolism in Egyptian and Aegean Art.” Ägypten und Levante: Internationale Zeitschrift für ägyptische Archäologie und deren Nachbargebiete 7:17–31. Morris, M. 1993. The Cowboy Life: A Saddlebag Guide for Dudes, Tenderfeet, and Cowpunchers Everywhere. New York: Simon and Schuster. Nobis, G. 1989. “Tierreste aus Knossos auf Kreta.” ArchInf 12.2:216–23. ——. 1990. “Der ‘Minotaurus’ von Knossos auf Kreta — im Lichte moderner archäozoologischer Forschung.” Tier und Museum. Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft der Freunde und Förderer des Museums Alexander Koenig 2.1:15–9. ——. 1993. “Zur antiken Wild- und Haustierfauna Kretas — nach Studien an Tierresten aus den archäologischen Grabungen Poros bei Iraklion und Eléftherna bei Arkadhi.” Tier und Museum. Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft der Freunde und Förderer des Museums Alexander Koenig 3.4:109–20. Palaima, M.G. 1992. “The Knossos Oxen Dossier: The Use of Oxen in Mycenaean Crete. Part 1: General Background and Scribe 107.” In Mykenaïka: actes du IXe Colloque international sur les textes mycéniens et égéens organisé par le Centre de l'antiquité grecque et romaine

de la Fondation hellénique des recherches scientifiques et l’Ecole française d’Athènes (Athènes, 2-6 octobre 1990), edited by J.-P. Olivier, 463–74. BCH Supplement 25. Paris: De Boccard. Pinsent, J. 1983. “Bull-Leaping.” In Minoan Society. Proceedings of the Cambridge Colloquium 1981, edited by O.H. Kryszkowska and L. Nixon, 259–72. Bristol: Bristol Classical Press. Popham, M.R. 1973. “The Unexplored Mansion at Knossos.” AR 19:50–61. ——. 1994. “Late Minoan II to the End of the Bronze Age.” In Knossos: A Labyrinth of History: Papers Presented in Honour of Sinclair Hood, edited by R.D.G. Evely, H. Hughes-Brock, and N. Momigliano, 89-104. Athens: British School at Athens. Poursat, J.-C. 1977. Les ivoires Mycéniens: essai sur la formation d'un art Mycénien. Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athénes et de Rome 230. Athens: École française d’Athénes. Reese, S. 1995. “The Minoan Fauna.” In Kommos I: The Kommos Region and the Houses of the Minoan Town, edited by J.W. Shaw and M.C. Shaw, 163-291. New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Renfrew, C. 1996. “Who were the Minoans? Towards a Population History of Crete.” Cretan Studies 5:1–27. Sakellarakis, J.A. 1973. “Neolithic Crete.” In Neolithic Greece, edited by D.R. Theocharis, 131-46. Athens: National Bank of Greece. Shaw, M.C. 1997. “The Bull-Leaping Fresco from below the Ramp House at Mycenae: a study in iconography and artistic transmission.” BSA 92:167–90. Sherratt, A. 1981. “Plough and Pastoralism: Aspects of the Secondary Products Revolution.” In Pattern of the Past: Studies in Honour of David Clarke, edited by I. Hodder, I. Isaac and N. Hammond, 261–305. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. 1982. “Mobile Resources: Settlement and Exchange in Early Agricultural Europe.” In Ranking, Resource and Exchange, Aspects of the Archaeology of Early European Society, edited by C. Renfrew and S. Shennan, 13–26. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1983. “The Secondary Exploitation of Animals in the Old World.” WorldArch 15.1:90–104. Talbot, R. 2003, 13 September. Corrida (Bull Fighting) and Course Landaise. http://www.touradour.com /towns/bull.htm (20 October 2003). Tzedakis, Y. 1971. Λαρνακες Υστεροµινωικου νεκροταϕειουυ Αρµενων Ρεθυµνης. AAA 4:216–22. Walberg, G. 1986. Tradition and Innovation: Essays in Minoan Art. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Warren, P. 1969. Review of: “Evans, A. Knossos Fresco Atlas.” JHS 89:182–3. ——. 1972. Myrtos: An Early Bronze Age Settlement in Crete. London: Thames and Hudson. ——. 1979. “The Miniature Fresco from the West House at Akrotiri, Thera, and its Aegean Setting.” JHS 99:115–29. Weinberg, S.S. 1970. “The Stone Age in the Aegean: The 7

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Neolithic Period in Crete.” In CAH³. Vol. 1, pt. 1, Prolegomena and Prehistory, edited by I.E.S. Edwards, C.J. Gadd, and N.G.L. Hammond, 608–18. London: Cambridge University Press. Weingarten, J. 1990. “Three Upheavals in Minoan Sealing and Administration: Evidence for Radical Change.” In Aegean Seals, Sealings and Administration: Proceedings of the NEH-Dickson Conference of the Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory of the Department of Classics, University of Texas at Austin, January 11-13, 1989, edited by T.G. Palaima, 105–20. Liège: Université de Liège, Histoire de l'art et archéologie de la Grèce antique. Whitlock, R. 1977. Bulls Through the Ages. London: Lutterworth Press. Xanthoudídes, S.A. 1924. The Vaulted Tombs of Mesará. An Account of Some Early Cemeteries of Southern Crete. Liverpool: University Press of Liverpool Ltd. Younger, J.G. 1976. “Bronze Age Representations of Aegean Bull-Leaping.” AJA 80:125–37. ——. 1983. “A New Look at Aegean Bull-Leaping.” Muse 17:72–80. ——. 1991. A Bibliography for Aegean Glyptic in the Bronze Age. CMS Beiheft 4. Berlin: Gebr. Mann ——. 1995. “Bronze Age Representations of Aegean Bull-Games III.” In Politeia. Society and State in the Aegean Bronze Age: Proceedings of the 5th International Aegean Conference/5e Rencontre egénne internationale, University of Heidelberg, Archäologisches Institut, 10-13 April 1994, edited by R. Laffineur and W.-D. Niemeier, 507–45. Liège: Aegaeum.

8

Chapter 2

Festival? What Festival? Reading Dance Imagery as Evidence* TYLER JO SMITH

In memory of Ted Petrides INTRODUCTION

komast scenes, mostly produced outside Athens, where the trappings of a festive or religious event are chosen by the painter. The appropriateness of including the often badly behaved and lascivious komast dancers as participants in organised Archaic Greek festivals should be kept in mind. Indeed, classical scholars, such as A.W. Pickard-Cambridge and T.B.L. Webster, have traditionally related komast dancers to the origins of 2 Greek drama. While the reconstructionist tendency—i.e., attempting to match the dances portrayed on vases with those described in ancient literature—should generally be avoided, the application of such methodology has been considered by some to increase our understanding of the 3 relationship between image and festival. The extent to which painted vases should be considered documents of ancient festivals, not to mention the measure of their value as evidence, deserves more careful attention than it can be given here.

The plentiful evidence for dance iconography decorating the surfaces of Greek vases invites us to decipher, or at least question, a possible religious or festive occasion. Both male and female dancers perform a range of dance styles and types, though the setting of their routines is difficult to determine. Black-figure and red-figure painters reveal somewhat different traditions of dance iconography—the latter more readily tied to specific festivals or deities, the settings being either mythic or 1 cultic. By contrast, black-figure dancing scenes can be grouped into two broad categories, and very rarely, if ever, provide the viewer with an explicit setting, context or occasion. While portraying an overall festive or joyous ambience, possibly to honour Dionysos, Hephaistos, or other Olympian divinities as has often been suggested, it is difficult to relate the black-figure dancers directly to known ancient festivals occurring in Corinth, Athens or elsewhere in the Greek world. This being said, a small number of vase-painters place the well-known komast or “padded” dancer of numerous black-figure examples into a more complicated setting, undeniably associating the male revelling figure with the iconography of religious festivals—complete with sacrifices, processions and games.

SOME EARLY DANCE ICONOGRAPHY Geometric vase-painting, associated with linear-patterned ornamentation and funerary themes, provides early 4 examples of dance iconography. Our starting point here is actually East Greece, specifically Miletus, where a Late Geometric fragment (ca. 740–700 B.C.) displays a group of figures with joined hands. The fragment is thought to be of local manufacture and Coldstream has described the iconography as “padded dancers with triangular 5 stomachs”. The oddly shaped figures with enlarged anatomical features may foreshadow the “padded” komast or reveller yet to be depicted with regularity in vasepainting discussed below. Although the gender of these action-figures cannot be determined, they are clearly not draped in the long garments typical of female figures in

This paper looks first at the emergence of dance imagery in Geometric vase-painting and eventually in black-figure, demonstrating a degree of separation in visual representation of both gender and dance style. However, the core of the paper will be that curious handful of * Thanks are owed to the McIntire Department of Art, University of Virginia, for providing funds to enable my participation in this conference, and to Dr. Glenys Davies and Mr. Sinclair Bell for their editorial comments and suggestions. For providing illustrations and permission to publish them I thank Professor Sir John Boardman (Oxford), Dr. M. E. Mayo (Virginia Museum of Fine Arts), Dr. Dyfri Williams (British Museum), Dr. Rebecca Sweetman (British School at Athens), and Dr. Ursula Kaestner (Staatliche Museen zu Berlin). 1 The terms “mythic” and “cultic” are borrowed from Carpenter 1997, 105, though see also Alroth 1992. On festival dances see Lawler 1964a, 98–115, and Lonsdale 1993. For the relationship between vases and festivals see Rumpf 1961; Webster 1972, 126–51, esp. 127; Bérard 1989; and for recent studies of iconography and festivals see Hamilton 1992, 83–111; Knauer 1996; van Straten 1995, 13–53; Carpenter 1997, 70–84; Tiverios 1997; Simon 1997, 97–108, and Tzachou-Alexandri 1997, 473– 90, each in Oakley, Coulson and Palagia 1997, all with previous bibliography.

2

Pickard-Cambridge 1927, 264–6; Webster 1970, 11–7, 70–1; cf. Csapo and Slater 1995, 90–3. 3 Past scholarship is recounted in full in Naerebout 1997, 54–77, 86–101. Reconstructionism has historically been a French preserve; for komast imagery in this regard see Emmanuel (1896, 314–6, 388), who distinguishes between “danses privées” and “danses en l’honneur des dieux”; Séchan 1930, 183–215; and Prudhommeau 1965, 22–33. Isadora Duncan desired to revive ancient Greek dance as a living art form, claiming “I might make an example of each pose and gesture in the thousands of figures we have left to us on the Greek vases ...”; see Duncan 1969, 57–9, and Duncan, Pratl, and Splatt 1993, 23–61, esp. 43. 4 Tölle 1964; Coldstream 1977, 119, 141–2. 5 Coldstream 1977, 261, 259 fig. 84d.

9

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY here, we should be struck by a circular dance relegated to a round, uninterrupted space—an exquisite correlation of 9 form and subject. Especially interesting is the painter’s inclusion of tripod-cauldrons on the cup’s exterior. 10 Though associated with the Thargelia in particular, the stately objects are well-known to have been prizes for athletic victors at agonistic festivals, so often finding their 11 resting place as divine dedications at sanctuaries. Surely this combination of dance and tripods, decorating the interior and exterior respectively, suggests an event 12 including this activity and these prize-objects. When seen from a certain angle, both figure-decorated areas of the vase could be viewed simultaneously, further emphasising the association. In Geometric painting from a variety of regions, including Attica, Boeotia, Euboea, and Laconia, male or female 13 line-dancers of this type are chosen as decoration. In many examples, such as on a Late Geometric hydria in Athens, chains of females in long patterned garments join 14 hands as they process round the vase, holding branches. The plastic snakes attached to the lip and the base of the neck of this vase instil the object with chthonic symbolism, and we question if the dance might belong to 15 funerary ritual rather than a deity’s festival. Female figures of this type, sharing similar hair and dress styles, appear on Late Geometric vases as mourners executing the obvious gestures. In some scenes the lyre may be included, suspended in mid-air rather than played, as on the Laconian pyxis (fig. 2.1) from the sanctuary of Apollo 16 at Amyclae. Again the shape allows for an uninterrupted chorus of dancers, this time exclusively male, with joined hands. We might imagine that the routine witnessed here was circular in form—in which case we must unroll the scene and turn it inside-out to achieve a literal reading. Another possibility is that the dancers formed a continuous line or open circle, as is commonly seen in 17 dances of the eastern Mediterranean today. The search for a meaningful interpretation of this vase has led to the following description:

FIG. 2.1. ATHENS N.M. INV. NO. 234. DRAWING OF LACONIAN PYXIS, FROM THE SANCTUARY OF APOLLO AT AMYCLAE. (AFTER BOARDMAN 1998, FIG. 131).

Late Geometric painting from other regions of Greece. Regardless of gender, it is important to note a chain of supposed dancing figures, with hands joined, demonstrating identical poses. This, if anything, might allow an argument against their identification as “padded” komasts who, as we shall see, dance in a spontaneous manner, as individuals or in groups, without their hands joined. The interior of an Athenian skyphos in the National Museum in Athens, dated to the last quarter of the eighth century, reveals a group of nude males and draped females for the most part with joined hands and no doubt 6 in the midst of dancing. The sombreness of the scene may be attributed to the style and date of the object, as well as to the silhouette-painting technique employed, discouraging any expression of swift movement or emotion. Although some of the males are armed, at least two are brandishing tortoise-shell lyres (the chelys) to 7 accompany the practised routine. The male and female dancers performing together here cluster into small groups. The dance itself has been labelled “danse rituelle” or “religious dance,” and specifically a component of a festival honouring Apollo, the Thargelia, held in the early 8 summer. Regardless of any specific festival referenced

repeated and discussed a number of times; e.g., Pandou 1988c. See Schweitzer (1971, 53) for the suggestion of Apollo and the Muses, and Simon (1983, 79–80), who notes this as possibly the earliest festival representation in Attic art. On the Thargelia, and its association with Apollo, see Nilsson 1957, 105–15; Deubner 1959, 179–98; Nilsson 1961, 27–30; Mikalson 1975, 153–4; and Parke 1977, 146–50. 9 Lawler 1964a, 53–7; Lawler 1964b, 12; Calame 1997, 34–8, esp. n. 74. 10 Parke 1977, 148 n. 192; Parker 1996, 96 n. 120. 11 Snodgrass 1980, 52–4, 104–5; Morgan 1993, 20–32. 12 Simon 1983, 79. 13 Grace 1939, 12–3; Ruckert 1976, 38–9; Delavaud-Roux 1994, 100– 13; Calame 1997, 22. 14 Athens NM inv. no. 18 435; Pandou 1988a. 15 Kurtz and Boardman 1971, 60, 78; Coldstream 1977, 117–8. 16 Athens NM 234; Coldstream 1977, 158–9, fig. 52d; Boardman 1998, 50, fig. 131. 17 Petrides 1993, 1–2.

6

Athens NM inv. no. 874. CVA 2, pls. 10–1; Davison 1961, 85–6, fig. 134; Borell 1978, 651 no. 62, pl. 14. 7 Comotti 1989, 60–1; West 1992, 50–8, 329. 8 The identification of ritual iconography, and of the Thargelia specifically, belongs to Karouzou in CVA Athens 2, pl. 10, and has been

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TYLER JO SMITH: FESTIVAL? WHAT FESTIVAL? READING DANCE IMAGERY AS EVIDENCE 26

Artemis, Dionysos or Demeter. In black-figure vasepainting from other regions of Greece, chains of female dancers similar to these will persist as an iconographic type throughout the sixth century; their settings may 27 include festivals or weddings.

The dance is of Laconian origin and probably religious, performed in honour of Apollo. The god’s presence is indicated by the lyre painted amid the dancers. The scorpion in the field is probably apotropaic, and the branches held between the joined hands of three figures must also have 18 some religious significance.

The second type of dancer in Corinthian black-figure is 28 the fat-bellied komast or “padded” dancer. The komasts may have been a Corinthian invention, but are not simply a Corinthian phenomenon: the bottom-slapping revellers appear throughout the sixth century in the black-figure output of Athens, Laconia, Boeotia, East and West 29 Greece. The series of komast scenes represents a new style of dancing not yet observed with any regularity in vase-painting. Performing in their short, stuffed costumes, or later as nude figures, the dancers choose solo routines or groups, normally without hands joined and with little bodily interaction of any kind. Bottom-slapping is their passion. A musician might play along with them but, in many cases, we get the distinct impression that the komasts are far more interested in drink than music, in 30 revelry rather than religion. If any setting is discernible at all, it might be the symposion, and we imagine that dancers devoid of context are connected with such 31 gatherings. It must be emphasised that the komasts from Corinth and elsewhere are rarely given any specific surroundings for their dance routines: the preponderance of drinking attributes in the scenes, as well as their often unruly and inappropriate behaviour (they can be seen to vomit or defecate), suggests an atmosphere of 32 overindulgence and loss of self-control. Generations of scholars have associated the dancers with Dionysos and their antics with satyrs. The lack of recognisable circumstances, along with the absence of Dionysos himself, make the idea difficult to accept, impossible to prove, and surely, based on our knowledge of Dionysian iconography of this period, their rambunctious antics 33 alone cannot label them servants to the god.

Again the combination of iconography and provenance has encouraged an appealing if unprovable association 19 with Apollo. Both male and female dancers with joined hands continue to be found in the next generation of Athenian painting known as Protoattic. A familiar example is the Analatos Painter’s name vase (ca. 630 BC) in the Louvre, where the men and women alternate, again holding branches, 20 and a pipes-player accompanies them at the centre. On a hydria in Athens thought to be the work of the same hand, the nude males and clothed females on the neck are 21 divided by a plucking lyre-player. The scenes, be they 22 Late Geometric or Orientalising, enjoy a generic quality. Whether male or female, nude or clothed, accompanied by lyre or pipes, tying either the dancers or an individual vase to a specific cult setting is surely beyond our grasp. GAMES, FESTIVALS AND KOMASTS: WHEN AND WHERE? With the invention of the black-figure technique comes greater variety in dance iconography. Corinthian vasepainters develop two iconographic trends that segregate the dancing sexes. The first are the so-called Frauenfest vases, where rows of females with joined hands parade around the vase surface, the shape often being a flask or 23 bottle. The draped females in these scenes stand holding hands, and their branches have been replaced by 24 wreaths. At times one woman may turn to face a companion (perhaps a painter’s attempt to insert a bit of life and motion), but the processional quality of the scenes is retained. Occasionally, a piper guides their movement, and the religious setting is suggested by the sacrificial basket (kanoun) balanced on the head of one 25 participant (kanephoros). The assumption of most scholars is that the Frauenfest represents an integral stage of some religious festival to honour some deity, perhaps

Although we may safely divide the females from the 26

On Frauenfest vases see Jucker 1963; and Amyx 1988, 653–7, who discusses them under “scenes from daily life”, and especially 653 n. 58 for association with deities and festivals. To his bibliography should be added Kron (1992, 611–50) and Pemberton (2000, 99–106, esp. 96), both for compelling discussions of the cult of Demeter based on provenance. 27 Webster 1970, 8–9, 16–7, 21–2; Delavaud-Roux 1994; Calame 1997. 28 Seeberg 1971. 29 Greifenhagen 1929; Franzius 1973; Smith 1998, 2000. 30 The ritual or religious interpretation for black-figure komast vases continues to carry weight despite the fact the expected trappings of such iconography are, for the most part, missing from the scenes; e.g., Sidrys and Škiudiené 1999, 3. On ritual iconography see Bérard 1989; and Lissarrague 1987, who defines ritual as social (namely sympotic) custom, followed by Schmitt-Pantel 1990a, 16–20; and Hägg 1992. 31 Schmitt-Pantel 1990b, 206–7; Smith 2000, 309–10. 32 E.g., New York 41.162.79; Boardman 1998, fig. 398. 33 Carpenter 1986, 86–90; Smith 1998, 78; cf. Isler-Kerényi 1999, 559–61.

18

Pandou 1988b, 82. Cf. Pettersson 1992, 52–5. 20 Paris Louvre inv. no. CA 2985. Morris 1984, 2–3; Boardman 1998, fig. 189. During the mid-sixth century, lines of alternating male and female dancers occur in great numbers on Athenian black-figure pots and cups, where the figures perform without joined hands. See, for example, the Castle Ashby neck-amphora by Elbows Out, where the dancers decorate the shoulder; ABV 248,1; Boardman 1974, fig. 158. 21 Athens NM inv. no. 313; Boardman 1998, fig. 188.1–3. 22 Boardman 1998, 54–5. 23 Jucker 1963, 47–52; Amyx 1988, 653–7. 24 Van Straten 1995, 161–2. 25 Van Straten 1995, 10–2; Roccos 1995, 651–4; Neils 1996. 19

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY

FIG. 2.2.

FIG. 2.3.

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TYLER JO SMITH: FESTIVAL? WHAT FESTIVAL? READING DANCE IMAGERY AS EVIDENCE

FIG. 2.4.

FIGS. 2.2-2.5. BERLIN STAATLICHE MUSEEN INV. NO. 4856. CORINTHIAN PYXIS: FRAUENFEST AND KOMASTS.

13

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY males in Corinthian dance scenes, the Frauenfest from the komos, there are instances where these two categories of dance iconography merge on the same vase. On a pyxis in Berlin (Figs. 2.2–2.5) a group of females in their characteristic long drapery form a processional line, 34 hands joined, and at least one is holding two wreaths. As we follow our ladies around the pyxis, we come face to face with a komast who confronts the leader of the Frauenfest with his bent legs together gesturing toward her. Behind him follows the troupe of komasts, many of whom form dancing pairs. Two hold drinking-horns, another plays pipes, and yet another stands beside the krater filling his oinochoe with wine. Even more curious are the draped figures, probably males, who queue along the opposite side of the same krater as if waiting to be served wine by the humble komast. On this vase the different groups are kept apart—dancing women, costumed revellers, thirsty males—and we question if we are being led through the stages of a single festive event, as has been suggested by Jucker and other scholars. The characteristic trappings of the symposion are missing, apart from the krater, and we should not confuse the respectfully clothed females on view here with the nude ones on Late Corinthian komast vases, who themselves 35 join the male revels.

Here we will avoid any discussion of mythological stories or early dramas, where komasts may have taken part, namely the Return of Hephaistos to Olympus, best known 38 from Corinthian vases. Rather, our attention will be on the fully mortal komasts of Athens, Laconia, Boeotia and East Greece, whose love of the revel finds them infrequently in close proximity to religious practice or athletic competition. Athenian painters, such as the KY Painter, prefer simple compositions, where groups of two or three revellers perform in the familiar costumes on the sides of cups. A skyphos in Athens attributed to a companion painter, the KX Painter, shows males in their typical short chitons, but 39 not actually engaged in dancing. Instead the males proudly display drinking vessels (such as the kantharos, the karchesion, the chalice and the drinking-horn), one brandishes a lyre, and others walk in an unexpectedly ordered fashion. The array of drinking attributes makes us question the destination for these restful revellers, possibly en route to a symposion or some such communal 40 gathering. This is one of only a few examples from Athenian vase-painting where the komast figure chooses an activity other than dancing. Many Laconian vase-painters choose the dancing komast 41 as decoration for the interiors of their black-figure cups. The dancers can sport nicely decorated chitons, or can appear as complete nudes, as they dance beside the krater or in the presence of a musician. In many scenes the symposion setting is explicit with the inclusion of recliners on couches observing the festivities. It has been suggested that Laconian revellers perform at local Laconian festivals and dance to honour Artemis Orthia; the banquets thus become sacrificial rather than 42 sympotic. The best evidence for this actually comes not from vase-painting at all, but from the thousands of small lead figurines, some in the form of komasts, dedicated at 43 the sanctuary of the goddess during the Archaic Period. Another suggestion, tied to a local festival, is that the Laconian komasts participated in the gymnopaidiai, and 44 performed their dance in the nude as the name suggests.

A second vase combining Frauenfest and komos is the phiale in Athens, assigned to the Patras Painter by Humfry Payne, where the interior displays our two types 36 of dancers. The komast scene encircles the diminutive women’s procession, filling the convex central omphalos of the object. The relationship between these individual dance styles and their practitioners remains unclear, and it must be significant that the painter has separated them, while conveniently juxtaposing them for us. An amusing aspect of the komast scene is the lewd behaviour of the revellers—one is grossly phallic, another bends over to sneak a closer peak, and there is rather more bottomgrabbing than bottom-slapping going on here. The excessive amount of interaction and spontaneity between male dancers is surprising, and stands in direct contrast to the seemingly more practised and sophisticated behaviour of the females they enclose. Let us not ignore the shape under discussion here, the phiale, a ritual object with its well-known function as the shallow bowl necessary for 37 pouring libations.

On a series of Laconian cup tondos we see komasts entranced by their routine surrounding a much larger figure, a draped and beardless lyre-player. Speculation on this series of scenes claims that the musician, owing to his stature, must be divine rather than mortal, either Apollo (for whom at least the appearance and attributes fit) or

Once we travel with the komast figure to other areas of the Greek world producing black-figure pottery, we discover our bottom-slapping reveller incorporated by vase-painters into more involved settings, many quite obviously tied to festivals, if only in the broadest sense.

38

Seeberg 1965; Carpenter 1986, 13–4; Smith 1995. Athens NM inv. no. 640; ABV 26,21; CVA 4 [4], pls. 3–4. 40 Fehr 1990; Smith 2000, 311–2. 41 Smith 1998, 75–9. 42 Pipili 1987, 71–5 and 1998, 89–90; Schmitt-Pantel 1990a; cf. Seeberg 1995, 10. 43 Smith 1998, 79–80; cf. Cavanagh and Laxton 1984, 31–3. 44 Pettersson 1992, 43–8; Kennell 1995, 67–9; Calame 1997, 156–69. 39

34

Staatliche Museen inv. no. 4856; Lonsdale 1993, 12–6; Seeberg 1995, 4 nn. 15–6; Pemberton 2000, 98–9. 35 Smith 2002. 36 Athens NM inv. no. 536; Amyx 1988, 188, no. 63, pl. 72.1. 37 Lissarrague 1987, 30–1; Amyx 1988, 465.

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TYLER JO SMITH: FESTIVAL? WHAT FESTIVAL? READING DANCE IMAGERY AS EVIDENCE

FIG. 2.6. RICHMOND, VIRGINIA MUSEUM OF FINE ARTS INV. NO. 82.1. LACONIAN CUP TONDO: PIPER AND KOMASTS. 45

Dionysos (who this character in no way resembles). A third opinion, and the one I incline toward having studied these vases collectively, is that the central figure is a 46 mortal musician, and not a god at all. The filling of the round interior space with a pleasing and balanced composition challenges Laconian vase-painters throughout their careers, and showing figures of different sizes was one solution to their problem. At the same time, the recent publication of a cup in the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts diversifies the iconography: a lyre-player is 47 replaced by a piper (fig. 2.6).

komasts. Surely, these males are extracted from an event that included dancing and prize-giving, and they 49 themselves might have been the competitors. Moving to Boeotian black-figure vases, and the promise of more complicated festival settings, we see the komasts of the so-called “Boeotian Dancers Group,” dated ca. 570 50 B.C. A favourite shape for the painters of this group is the tripod-kothon, used as a spill-proof oil container and 51 said to be based on a metal prototype. The first example welcoming the komasts is in the Dallas Museum of Art, where revellers and athletes decorate the legs of the 52 vessel. On one leg, two fully nude komasts dance, as one reaches to tickle the chin of his friend, a gesture associated

Even more intriguing is another Laconian cup, this one from the workshop of the Hunt Painter, where two excited dancers, one bearded and the other beardless, turn face to face as they perform on either side of a large tripod48 cauldron. Perhaps it is unfair to label this a komast scene, as Pipili has done. The chitons of the figures are unusually long and their poses and gestures atypical for

49

Pettersson 1992, 48. Kilinski 1978 and 1990, 14–9. 51 The term kothon is used here for convenience. There is much debate concerning the naming and function of these objects, clearly related to the exaleiptron and plemochoe. Many see the objects as serving a religious or funerary purpose. See Kilinski 1990, 56–7 n. 19; Burrows and Ure 1911; Payne 1931, 203, 297–8; Amyx 1988, 470–4. On the shape and terminology see Richter and Milne 1935, 21–2; Noble 1988, 70; relevant entries in Kanowski 1983; Sparkes 1991, 81–2. 52 Dallas inv. no. 1981.170; Bromberg and Kilinski 1996, no. 22. 50

45

Stibbe 1992; Pipili 1998, 90–2; cf. Parker 1988, 99–104. Smith 1998, 78; Pipili 1998, 92. 47 Inv. no. 82.1; Mayo 1998, 48–9. 48 Küsnacht, Hirschmann Collection; Pipili 1987, 209h. 46

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY

FIG. 2.7. DRAWING OF BOEOTIAN TRIPOD-KOTHON: SACRIFICE, BANQUET AND REVELLERS. (AFTER BOARDMAN 1998, FIG. 441.2)

A more elaborate version of the festivities is found on the 55 sides of a tripod-kothon in Berlin. The painter leads us through the stages of a single event, complete with games (the athletes appear on the legs), a sacrifice, a banquet 56 and revellers (fig. 2.7). Seemingly unrelated aspects are the three top panels on the legs, which chronicle the story of Perseus and the Gorgons. The Perseus story is drawn from Archaic stock, much like the animal groupings, and indeed the komasts themselves, all being among the most 57 popular subjects for early black-figure painters. At the same time, the Perseus panels assist the viewer in a tour around the object, from one snippet to the next, in turn relating the remaining decorated areas. The dancers themselves, in their almost chorus-line postures, are found on smaller objects with less available decorative space, such as the Munich kantharos, where they perform above a simple animal frieze between a piper and a cauldron on 58 one side, and in the company of a satyr on the other. Dances such as these, where little or no indication of

with homosexual courtship. The next pair have paused from dancing to take a drink, one from a kantharos (a typical Boeotian shape), the other rather inappropriately 53 from an oinochoe. The third leg of the tripod shows two boxers, whose strides overlap with the prize tripodcauldron between them, the object lending an air of competition. The heraldic animal groupings on the tubular body of the kothon should be considered decorative and unrelated to the human-figures on the legs below. Similarly, on a tripod-kothon in Boston with elegant lionpaw feet, dancing komasts appear on one leg, while a lion 54 and gorgon decorate the other two. The body of the vase on one side includes animals drawn from the batch of Archaic stock (lions and a siren), though boxers and judges, and wrestlers and judges fill the other two sides. The prize tripod-cauldron with tall circular handles is included in the wrestling scene, reminding us that this is more than a simple training exercise. Note that on each of these vases dance, sport and myth are separated—the episodes filling the different areas of the vase available for decoration—yet the implication of unified meaning is unusually pronounced.

55

Inv. no. F 1727; Kilinski 1990, 15.1. Sparkes (1967, 120) does not see the sides as related, but rather as “scenes of everyday life”, in contrast to the mythology decorating the legs. 57 Carpenter 1991, 103–6; Smith 1999. 58 Munich inv. no. 6010.419; Kilinski 1990, 16.3, pl. 7.3–4. 56

53

Kilinski 1990, 58 n. 37. Boston inv. no. 01.8110; Kilinski 1978, 181–2, figs. 12–3 and 1990, 17.1. 54

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TYLER JO SMITH: FESTIVAL? WHAT FESTIVAL? READING DANCE IMAGERY AS EVIDENCE

FIG. 2.8. ATHENS BRITISH SCHOOL INV. NO. A88. BOEOTIAN LEKANIS INTERIOR: KOMASTS IN SILHOUETTE STYLE.

FIG. 2.9. LONDON BRITISH MUSEUM INV. NO. B80. BOEOTIAN LEKANIS EXTERIOR: WORSHIP OF ATHENA ITONIA.

17

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY setting is given, may well be abbreviated versions of large-scale events. Karl Kilinski has connected the vases in this group with Tanagra, where some were found, possibly all were manufactured, and where, according to 59 Pausanias (20.1), Dionysos had a temple.

Our final journey is to the Greek East, where several centres manufacture komast vases, but very few place the figures at festivals or at any identifiable event. A fragmentary krater from Berezan, belonging to the Institute of Archaeology of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine preserves five komasts in the same 68 frieze as riders and chariots. In the larger frieze below are female figures with joined hands familiar from Clazomenian black-figure vases, accompanied by two 69 white-skinned lyre-players, probably also female. A diminutive figure stands between the musicians wielding an axe. The vase is something of a hybrid stylistically; the komasts are not the same as the nude ones with extra-long beards on Clazomenian black-figure vases. The dancers slap their bottoms in the expected manner, but the addition of padding over their buttocks is best paralleled in Chian black-figure. This might be a product of local Black Sea manufacture. Again we are confronted with a cross between Archaic stock subjects of regional style, and a combination of iconographic elements pointing us to the festival.

Another series of Boeotian komast scenes appears on 60 what are known as “geometricising” vases. The style is demonstrated by the lekanis in the British School at Athens (fig. 2.8), where the revellers are depicted as interior decoration in black silhouette with reserved rather 61 than incised details. Simple compositions such as this one are common for Boeotian komasts, but the revelling figure could be inserted into grander multi-figure compositions where the painter clearly intends us to envisage their participation in the action. The bestpreserved and best-known example is found on the exterior of a lekanis in the British Museum (fig. 2.9), 62 dated to the mid-sixth century. The black silhouette figures are said to record a religious festival, the worship of Athena Itonia at Coronea, where in later times the pan63 Boeotian festival was held. A statue of Athena 64 Promachos is easily identified. The Doric column is perhaps an indication of her temple, and it has been suggested, among other things, that the snake is her 65 consort. Before her is a burning altar, and on its other side a procession complete with the sacrificial victim and human attendants. Some of the nude males, and in particular the “six lively men” leading a goat, sometimes said not to belong to the scene, are identical to the nude male revellers on the British School at Athens vase 66 discussed above. Their connection with komast imagery has not been made emphatically and perhaps should be. In light of the other Boeotian evidence observed thus far, the 67 arrival of komast figures here is hardly surprising.

A related case, and our final example, is the Clazomenian 70 sarcophagus in the British Museum. On the inside panels of the box, komast dancers and musicians are spaced individually between hoplites and chariots (fig. 2.10). The “ponytail” hairstyles of the dancers are 71 indicative of regional trends, in this case North Ionian. It is tempting to read the iconographic program on the entire sarcophagus in terms of an overriding theme, perhaps funeral games to honour the dead deposited here, or to call this a pyrrhic dance related to the seemingly 72 military subject matter. However, the figural scenes depicted here appear on other sarcophagi of this group, in a variety of combinations, and both style and theme are easily paralleled on many black-figure vases which had no obvious funerary or heroic functions—namely, the animal friezes, riders, duelling warriors and even the komasts, which are particular favourites of early blackfigure painters from every Greek region.

59

Kilinski 1978, 190–1. On the worship of Dionysos in Boeotia see Frazer 1913, 5:78–9; Schachter 1981; Symeonoglou 1985, 127–8, 135, 209–10; Garezou 1997, 377; Kilinski and Maffre 1999, 35. 60 Ure 1929, 1935. 61 A88 [ex B10]; Ure 1929, pl. 10.4. 62 B80; CVA 2 [2], pl. 7, 4.a–b. 63 The bibliography on this vase is substantial, and interpretations of the iconography have varied greatly. On the cult and sanctuary of Athena Itonea see Frazer 1913, 5:169–70; Nilsson 1957, 89; Schachter 1981, 122; Fossey 1988, 324–32. For further discussion of the lekanis see LIMC II: s.v. Athena, 1011, no. 586; Scheffer 1992, 119–20; van Straten 1995, 21– 2; and Ure 1929, 167–71, for a wholesale interpretation of the silhouette style: “All the vases ... of this remarkably homogeneous series are occupied with scenes appropriate to some festival at which competitive games were held, accompanied by processions, banqueting, drinking bouts and music” (Ure 1929, 167). 64 It is interesting to note that in the initial publication of this vase it was considered Athenian and the iconography thought to represent the Panathenaic procession; CVA British Museum 2 (2), 3, pl. 7, 4b. On the fabric see Ure 1929, 167–8. 65 Ure 1929, 169–70; Schachter 1981, 122; Scheffer 1992, 120. 66 Scheffer 1992, 119; van Straten 1995, 22. 67 In keeping with earlier thinking about komasts, the iconography on this side of the vase was first considered “a tragic chorus (?)”; CVA British

GAMES, FESTIVALS AND KOMASTS: WHY? Keeping in mind the black-figure vases and other objects presented, we might be encouraged to conclude with the following questions: 1) Is it possible to associate the odd tripod-kothon from a regional centre of art and culture such as Boeotia Museum 2 (2), IIIhe, pl. 7. Scheffer (1992, 127) identifies the figures as “dancing men.” 68 Inv. no. AM 1021/6156; Reeder 1999, no. 61, 173–5. 69 Delavaud-Roux 1994, 105–8; Cook and Dupont 1998, 95–107; Boardman 1998, 148–9. 70 Inv. no. 96.6–15.1; Cook 1981, 31–4, pls. 39–46. 71 Cook and Dupont 1998, 121–8; Boardman 1998, 148–9. 72 Cook 1981, 115–6.

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TYLER JO SMITH: FESTIVAL? WHAT FESTIVAL? READING DANCE IMAGERY AS EVIDENCE

FIG. 2.10. LONDON BRITISH MUSEUM INV. NO. 96.6-15.1. DETAIL OF DANCER FROM CLAZOMENIAN SARCOPHAGUS.

Scholars have been eager to place the komasts and other dancing figures at specific festivals or to render them in service to a deity. At the same time, there has been the temptation to match the dances on vases and other arts with those mentioned by name or described in ancient

literature. However, there has been a failure to recognise the bigger picture of dance iconography, ranging from the simplest and most repetitive Late Geometric vases to a full black-figure technique upholding a set of images that develops and spreads. Without a doubt, more detailed work on the relationship between shape and subject, provenance and find spot, might shed further light on 74 these festive images. While the search for a deep or hidden meaning should not overrule common sense, we should ponder why the misbehaved and playful komast as we know and love him from painted representations would have been deemed suitable for inclusion in religious festivals. Perhaps this is not as problematic as it sounds, and no doubt justifies the continued alliance in scholarship of the dancers and Dionysos. If any of these

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with an attested ancient festival such as the panBoeotian games? Similarly, do the revellers on Laconian cups perform in honour of their local goddess, Artemis Orthia? 2) Could the komast dancers appearing in smaller groups, devoid of setting, themselves be extracts from these much grander occasions? 3) Does regional iconography, therefore, mirror 73 regional custom?

Cf. Smith 1999.

19

Pemberton 2000.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY vases provides ancient pictures of religious festivals or cult practice—at Corinth or Athens, Boeotia or Berezan—the identification of the “real” or actual event must be long lost to us now.

Washington Press, Seattle). Burrows, R.M. and P.N. Ure. 1911. “Kothons and Vases of Allied Types.” JHS 31:72–99. Calame, C. 1997. Choruses of Young Women in Ancient Greece: Their Morphology, Religious Role, and Social Function. London: Rowman and Littlefield. Carpenter, T.H. 1986. Dionysian Imagery in Archaic Greek Art: Its Development in Black-Figure Vase Painting. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ——. 1991. Art and Myth in Ancient Greece: A Handbook. London: Thames and Hudson. ——. 1997. Dionysian Imagery in Fifth-Century Athens. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Cavanagh, W.G. and R.R. Laxton. 1984. “Lead Figurines from the Menelaion and Seriation.” BSA 79:23–36. Coldstream, J.N. 1977. Geometric Greece. London: Ernest Benn. Comotti, G. 1989. Music in Greek and Roman Culture. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Cook, R.M. 1981. Clazomenian Sarcophagi. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Cook, R.M. and P. Dupont. 1998. East Greek Pottery. London: Routledge. Csapo, E. and Slater, W.J. 1995. The Context of Ancient Drama. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Davison, J.M. 1961. “Attic Geometric Workshops.” YCS 16. Delavaud-Roux, M.-H. 1994. Les Danses pacifiques en Grèce antique. Aix-en-Provence: Université de Provence. Deubner, L. 1959. Attische Feste. Hildesheim: G. Olms. Duncan, D., C. Pratl, and C. Splatt, eds. 1993. Life into Art: Isadora Duncan and her World. New York: W.W. Norton. Duncan, I. 1969. The Art of Dance. 2nd ed. New York: Theatre Art Books. Emmanuel, M. 1896. La Danse grecque antique d’après les monuments figurés. Paris: Hachette. Fehr, B. 1990. “Entertainers at the Symposion: the Akletoi in the Archaic Period.” In The Greek City: from Homer to Alexander, edited by O. Murray and S. Price, 185– 95. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Fossey, J.M. 1988. Topography and Population of Ancient Boiotia. Chicago: Ares. Franzius, G. 1973. Tänzer und Tänze in der archaischen Vasenmalerei. Göttingen: G. Franzius. Frazer, J.G. 1913. Pausanias’s Description of Greece. 6 vols. London: MacMillan and Co. Garezou, M.-X. 1997. “Whitebait or Pottery? A Case of an Attic Import in Fourth Century Boeotia.” In Athenian Potters and Painters: the Conference Proceedings, edited by J.H. Oakley, W.D.E. Coulson, and O. Palagia, 371–84. Oxbow Monograph 67. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Grace, F. 1939. Archaic Sculpture in Boeotia. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Greifenhagen, A. 1929. Eine attische schwarzfigurige Vasengattung und die Darstellung des Komos im VI.

The komast dancers discussed here are literally a handful of the many hundreds represented on vases in no definable setting. Vase-painters entreat us to use our imaginations as they merge scenes, manipulate stories, kidnap figures from their usual comforts to fulfil visual needs. Komast dancers and their chains of female friends occur where a male or female dancing troupe in their recognisable form is needed—from sacrifices to symposia, funerals to festivals, dedications to dramas—at “performance” venues, as they are recently named by 75 Frederick Naerebout. Such figures are types. They take on new meanings in each region, and bless the marriage of convention and message. Figure-decorated vases should not be viewed in isolation, as their iconography often places them in a wider context of stock themes and images so loved by painters working in specific places, styles and times. Let us appreciate the dancers in this capacity, as the ancient painters and viewers must have done, and remember individual vases rarely hold individual answers.

Works Cited Alroth, B. 1992. “Changing Modes of Representation in the Representation of Cult Images.” In The Iconography of Greek Cult in the Archaic and Classical Periods: Proceedings of the first International Seminar on Ancient Greek Cult, Organised by the Swedish Institute at Athens and the European Cultural Centre of Delphi, Delphi, 16–18 November 1990, edited by R. Hägg, 9–46. Athens: Centre d’étude de la religion grecque antique. Amyx, D.A. 1988. Corinthian Vase-Painting of the Archaic Period. Berkeley: University of California Press. Bérard, C. et al., eds. 1989. A City of Images: Iconography and Society in Ancient Greece. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Boardman, J. 1974. Athenian Black Figure Vases. London: Thames and Hudson. ——. 1998. Early Greek Vase Painting. London: Thames and Hudson. Borell, B. 1978. Attisch geometrische Schalen – eine spätgeometrische Keramikgattung und ihre Beziehungen zum Orient. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Bromberg, A.R. and K. Kilinski. 1996. Gods, Men and Heroes: Ancient Art at the Dallas Museum of Art. Dallas: The Museum (in association with University of 75

Naerebout 1997, 342–3; cf. Schmitt-Pantel 1990b.

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TYLER JO SMITH: FESTIVAL? WHAT FESTIVAL? READING DANCE IMAGERY AS EVIDENCE Jahrhundert. Königsberg: Gräfe und Unzer. Hägg, R., ed. 1992. The Iconography of Greek Cult in the Archaic and Classical Periods: Proceedings of the first International Seminar on Ancient Greek Cult, Organised by the Swedish Institute at Athens and the European Cultural Centre of Delphi, Delphi, 16–18 November 1990. Athens: Centre d’étude de la religion grecque antique. Hamilton, R. 1992. Choes and Anthesteria: Athenian Iconography and Ritual. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Isler-Kerényi, C. 1999. “Frauen um Dionysos vom 7. Jahrhundert bis um 540 v. Chr.” AA:553–66. Jucker, I. 1963. “Frauenfest in Korinth.” AK 6:47–61. Kanowski, M.G. 1983. Containers of Classical Greece: A Handbook of Shapes. St. Lucia: University of Queensland Press. Kennell, N.M. 1995. The Gymnasium of Virtue: Education and Culture in Ancient Sparta. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Kilinski, K. 1978. “The Boeotian Dancers Group.” AJA 82:173–91. ——. 1990. Archaic Pottery of Boeotia. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Kilinski, K. and J.-J. Maffre. 1999. “Cinq Canthare e Béotiens à figures noires du second quart du VI siècle avant J.-C.” Fondation Eugène Piot. Monuments et Mémoires 77:7–40. Knauer, E. 1996. “Two Cups by the Triptolemos Painter: New Light on Two Athenian Festivals?” AA:221–46. Kron, U. 1992. “Frauenfeste in Demeterheiligtümern: Das Thesmophorion von Bitalemi. Eine archäologische Fallstudie.” AA:611–50. Kurtz, D. and J. Boardman. 1971. Greek Burial Customs. London: Thames and Hudson. Lawler, L. 1964a. The Dance in Ancient Greece. London: A. & C. Black. ——. 1964b. The Dance of the Ancient Greek Theatre. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press. Lissarrague, F. 1987. Un Flot d’images: une esthétique du banquet grec. Paris: A. Biro. Lonsdale, S.H. 1993. Dance and Ritual Play in Greek Religion. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Mayo, M.E. 1998. Ancient Art: Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. Richmond, Va.: Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. Mikalson, J.D. 1975. The Sacred and Civil Calendar of the Athenian Year. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Morgan, C. 1993. “The Origins of Pan-Hellenism.” In Greek Sanctuaries: New Approaches, edited by N. Marinatos and R. Hägg, 18–44. London: Routledge. Morris, S.P. 1984. The Black and White Style: Athens and Aigina in the Orientalizing Period. Yale Classical Monographs 6. New Haven: Yale University Press. Naerebout, F.G. 1997. Attractive Performances. Ancient Greek Dance: Three Preliminary Studies. Amsterdam: J.C. Gieben. Neils, J. 1996. “Pride, Pomp, and Circumstance: The

Iconography of Procession.” In Worshipping Athena: Panathenaia and Parthenon, edited by J. Neils, 177– 97. Madison, Wis.: University of Wisconsin Press. Nilsson, M.P. 1957. Griechische Feste von religiöser Bedeutung – mit Ausschluss der attischen. Darmstadt: B.G. Teubner. ——. 1961. Reprint. Greek Folk Religion. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Original edition, Greek Popular Religion, New York: Columbia University Press, 1940. Noble, J.V. 1988. The Techniques of Attic Pottery. London: Thames and Hudson. Oakley, J.H., W. Coulson, and O. Palagia, eds. 1997. Athenian Potters and Painters: The Conference Proceedings. Oxbow Monograph 67. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Pandou, M. 1988a. “Clay Hydria.” In The Human Figure in Early Greek Art, edited by J. Sweeney, T. Curry, and Y. Tzedakis, 84–5. Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art. ——. 1988b. “Clay Pyxis.” In The Human Figure in Early Greek Art, edited by J. Sweeney, T. Curry, and Y. Tzedakis, 82–3. Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art. ——. 1988c. “Clay Skyphos.” In The Human Figure in Early Greek Art, edited by J. Sweeney, T. Curry, and Y. Tzedakis, 80–1. Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art. Parke, H.W. 1977. Festivals of the Athenians. London: Thames and Hudson. Parker, R. 1988. “Demeter, Dionysus and the Spartan Pantheon.” In Early Greek Cult Practice: Proceedings of the Fifth International Symposium at the Swedish Institute at Athens, 26–29 June, 1986, edited by R. Hägg, N. Marinatos, and C. Nordquist, 99–104. SkrAth 38. Göteborg: Paul Aströms Förlag. ——. 1996. Athenian Religion: A History. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Payne, H. 1931. Necrocorinthia: A study of Corinthian Art in the Archaic Period. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pemberton, E.G. 2000. “Wine, Women and Song: Gender Roles in Corinthian Cult.” Kernos 13:85–106. Petrides, T. 1993. Greek Dances. Athens: Lycabettus Press. Pettersson, M. 1992. Cults of Apollo at Sparta: The Hyakinthia, the Gymnopaidiai and the Karneia. SkrAth 12. Stockholm: Svenska institutet i Athen. Pickard-Cambridge, A.W. 1927. Dithyramb: Tragedy and Comedy. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ——. 1988. The Dramatic Festivals of Athens. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pipili, M. 1987. Laconian Iconography of the Sixth Century B.C. Oxford University Committee for Archaeology Monograph 12. Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology. ——. 1998. “Archaic Laconian Vase-Painting: Some Iconographic Considerations.” In Sparta in Laconia: The Archaeology of a City and its Countryside. 21

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Proceedings of the 19th British Museum Classical Colloquium held with the British School at Athens and King's and University Colleges, London 6-8 December 1995, edited by W.G. Cavanagh and S.E.C. Walker, 82–96. British School at Athens Studies 4. London: British School at Athens. Prudhommeau, G. 1965. La Danse grecque antique. Paris: Éditions du Centre national de la recherche scientifique. Reeder, E.D., ed. 1999. Scythian Gold: Treasures from Ancient Ukraine. New York: Harry Abrams (in association with the Walters Art Gallery and the San Antonio Museum of Art). Richter, G.M. and G.M.A. Milne. 1935. Shapes and Names of Athenian Vases. New York: Plantin Press. Roccos, L.J. 1995. “The Kanephoros and Her Festival Mantle in Greek Art.” AJA 99:641–66. Ruckert, A. 1976. Frühe Keramik Böotiens: Form und Dekoration der Vasen des späten 8. und frühen 7. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. Beiheft zur Halbjahresschrift Antike Kunst 10. Bern: Francke. Rumpf, A. 1961. “Attische Feste – Attische Vasen.” BJb 161:208–14. Schachter, A. 1981. Cults of Boiotia. BICS Supplement 38. London: Institute of Classical Studies. Scheffer, C. 1992. “Boeotian Festival Scenes: Competition, Consumption and Cult in Archaic Black Figure.” In The Iconography of Greek Cult in the Archaic and Classical Periods: Proceedings of the first International Seminar on Ancient Greek Cult, Organised by the Swedish Institute at Athens and the European Cultural Centre of Delphi, Delphi, 16-18 November 1990, edited by R. Hägg, 117–41. Athens: Centre d’étude de la religion grecque antique. Schmitt-Pantel, P. 1990a. “Sacrificial Meal and Symposion: Two Models of Civic Institutions in the Archaic City?” In Sympotica: A Symposium on the Symposion, edited by O. Murray, 14–33. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ——. 1990b. “Collective Activities and the Political in the Greek City.” In The Greek City: From Homer to Alexander, edited by O. Murray and S. Price, 199–213. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Schweitzer, B. 1971. Greek Geometric Art. London: Phaidon. Séchan, L. 1930. La Danse grecque antique. Paris: E. de Boccard. Seeberg, A. 1965. “Hephaistos Rides Again.” JHS 85:102–9. ——. 1971. Corinthian Komos Vases. BICS Supplement 27. London: Institute of Classical Studies. ——. 1995. “From Padded Dancers to Comedy.” In Stage Directions: Essays in Ancient Drama in Honour of E.W. Handley, edited by A. Griffiths, 1–12. BICS Supplement 66. London: Institute of Classical Studies. Sidrys, R. V. and R. Škiudiené. 1999. “A Black Figure Krater with Padded Dancer Scene from Kaunas, Lithuania.” AK 42:3–8.

Simon, E. 1983. Festivals of Attica: An Archaeological Commentary. Madison, Wis.: University of Wisconsin Press. ——. 1997. “Eleusis and Athenian Vase-Painting: New Literature and Some Suggestions.” In Athenian Potters and Painters: The Conference Proceedings, edited by J.H. Oakley et al., 97–108. Oxbow Monograph 67. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Smith, T.J. 1995. “Komast Vases in Archaic Greece: The Question of the Lame-Footed Dancers.” AJA 99:314. ——. 1998. “Dances, Drinks and Dedications: The Archaic Komos in Laconia.” In Sparta in Laconia: The Archaeology of a City and its Countryside. Proceedings of the 19th British Museum Classical Colloquium held with the British School at Athens and King’s and University Colleges, London 6-8 December 1995, edited by W.G. Cavanagh and S.E.C. Walker, 75–81. British School at Athens Studies 4. London: British School at Athens ——. 1999. “Remembering Black-Figure: Old Methods, New Applications.” In Proceedings of the XVth International Congress of Classical Archaeology, Amsterdam, July 12–17, 1998, edited by R.F. Docter and E.R. Moormann, 387–90. Allard Pierson Series Volume 12. Amsterdam: Allard Pierson. ——. 2000. “Dancing Spaces and Dining Places: Archaic Komasts at the Symposion.” In Periplous: Papers on Classical Art and Archaeology Presented to Sir John Boardman, edited by G.R. Tsetskhladze, A.J.N. Prag and A.M. Snodgrass, 309–19. London: Thames and Hudson. ——. 2002. “Transvestism or Travesty? Dance, Dress and Gender in Greek Vase-Painting.” In Women's Dress in the Ancient Greek World, edited by L. Llewellyn-Jones, 33–53. London: Duckworth. Snodgrass, A. 1980. Archaic Greece: The Age of Experiment. Berkeley: University of California Press. Sparkes, B. 1967. “The Taste of Boeotian Pig.” JHS 87:116–30. ——. 1991. Greek Pottery: An Introduction. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Stibbe, C.M. 1992. “Dionysos mit einer Kithara?” In Kotinos: Festschrift für Erika Simon, edited by H. Froning et al., 139–45. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Symeonoglou, S. 1985. The Topography of Thebes from the Bronze Age to Modern Times. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Tiverios, M. 1997. “Eleusinian Iconography.” In Greek Offerings: Essays on Greek Art in Honour of John Boardman, edited by O. Palagia, 167–75. Oxbow Monograph 89. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Tölle, R. 1964. Frühgriechische Reigentänze. Waldsassen: Stiftland-Verlag. Tzachou-Alandri, O. 1997. “Representations of Anthesteria and a Chous from Piraeus Street by the Eretria Painter [in Greek].” In Athenian Potters and Painters: The Conference Proceedings, edited by J.H. 22

TYLER JO SMITH: FESTIVAL? WHAT FESTIVAL? READING DANCE IMAGERY AS EVIDENCE Oakley et al., 473–90. Oxbow Monograph 67. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Ure, A.D. 1929. “Boeotian Geometricising Vases.” JHS 49:160–71. ——. 1935. “More Boeotian Geometricising Vases.” JHS 55:225–8. van Straten, F.T. 1995. Hiera Kala: Images of Animal Sacrifice in Archaic and Classical Greece. Leiden: Brill. Webster, T.B.L. 1970. The Greek Chorus. London: Methuen. ——. 1972. Potter and Patron in Classical Athens. London: Methuen. West, M.L. 1992. Ancient Greek Music. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

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Chapter 3

Professional Foul: Persona in Pindar GRÁINNE McLAUGHLIN factual presentation of events5 nor by a linear presentation of its mythology.6 These two facets of Pindaric style, taken together, might deter a scholar discussing ancient sport or festivals from using Pindar as a source on the grounds that the poet does not describe any athletic or equestrian event in any great detail, nor deal expansively and systematically with the origins of any of the major games. However, the poet is in fact a source not only for scholars of ancient sport7 but also ancient religion8 and art.9 In this chapter I wish to emphasise that any such use of Pindar must be based on an appreciation of his encomiastic imperative, his duty to praise his patron. Although his work has been subjected to qualified criticism,10 Bundy has shown in his analysis of the conventional elements in epinician that “there is no passage in Pindar ... that is not in its primary intent enkomiastic—that is, designed to enhance the glory of a particular patron”.11

Despite the obvious risks in using poetry as source material for anthropology, archaeology or history, it will be seen from what follows that Pindar has proved irresistible to scholars. However, the poet’s compositional technique is particularly powerful and complex. An example of this is Olympian 1, where the effect of his impressionistic précis of the myth of Pelops is so dramatic that one might leave the poem, as indeed some have, with the impression that Pelops founded the Olympic games. But close scrutiny of Pindar’s other victory songs and a more careful reading of Olympian 1 itself advise caution. This is because it is central to the compositional technique of epinician poetry that the poem itself be an act of poetic supremacy by the poet and not just a straightforward celebration of the athletic or equestrian supremacy of the patron. This is why Pindar champions his own version of the myth of Pelops for his own particular purposes in Olympian 1, and why the poem begins and ends with direct references to the poet and poetry: rhetorical posturing simultaneously validates poet and patron. The significance of the degree to which the poet’s panegyric persona impacts on his subject matter should not therefore be underestimated.

I will demonstrate this through a discussion of Olympian 1 and, in discussing this very famous epinician ode, which celebrates the victory of the tyrant Hieron of Syracuse in the single-horse race at the Olympics of 476 B.C., I will conclude with a brief, comparative reading of the sculpture on the Temple of Zeus at Olympia.12

OLYMPIAN 1: THE TEXT When searching for sources of material on ancient Greek athletic and equestrian festivals, Pindar (518–438 B.C.) seems a very obvious place to look, even though he was a poet not a historian. He is, after all, the poet of the ancient Olympic games and the three other major panhellenic festivals at Corinth, Delphi, and Nemea; and his songs in recent years have become more accessible with the Loeb edition of Race and the edited translations by Stoneman.1 Furthermore, he composed his victory songs during what were arguably the most interesting of times (498–446 B.C.), and in a form of discourse so rich in historical and mythological allusion that he is bound to command our attention.

Since we will be looking at the problems in using a Pindaric Olympic victory song as a source of information on ancient sport and festivals, it is worth noting at the outset that the mythological background is already very complicated even before Pindar is let loose on it. There are at least six mythological figures to whom the foundation of the Olympic games has been attributed.13 The “foundation figure” who is prominent in Olympian 1 is Pelops, son of Tantalos. However, although it is said that Pelops, who undeniably features so prominently in Pindar’s Olympian 1, founded the games after he defeated Oinomaos in a chariot race, Zeus is also credited with 5

Golden 1998, 79. Howie 1983; 1991, 55, 63, 86, 103; Köhnken 1983, 49–58; Lowrie 1997, 290; Nagy 1990, 116–35; Race 1997, 22; Slater 1983; Stoneman 1997, xxxii–xxxv. 7 Golden 1998. 8 Price 1999. 9 Shapiro 1994; Woodford 1986. 10 Lloyd-Jones 1990. 11 Bundy 1986, 3. 12 Text and translations of Pindar are from Race 1997. The bibliography on Olympian 1, in Pindaric terms, is considerable. In addition to the works referred to in the text above see also: Gerber 1982, 181–8; Instone 1996, 89–116; Verdenius 1988; Young 1968, 121–2; for further bibliography see also Gerber 1969, 1989, 1990. 13 Golden 1998, 12–4; Maranti 1999, 11; Renfrew 1988, 14.

And, indeed, Pindar on occasion can be seen to give us what we want in a source. For example, he is cited as the justification for statements that chariot races were twelve laps long,2 that mares were used,3 and that wrestling came after the javelin in the pentathlon.4 Yet it has also been noted that Pindaric epinician is not characterised by a

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Race 1997; Stoneman 1997. Ol. 2.50, 3.33, 6.75; Pyth. 5.33. 3 Pyth. 2.8; Nem. 9.52; and Isth. 5.5–6. 4 Nem. 7.71–3. Golden 1998, 79; McDevitt 1994, 503; Segal 1968, 39– 40. 2

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY their foundation after he had defeated Cronus; similarly, Apollo is said to have founded the Olympics after he defeated Hermes and Ares in athletic activities.14 One may also choose between Herakles Idaeus, who came from Crete with his brothers to found the games, and his offspring Clymenus of Crete, to whom their foundation is also attributed. Finally, there is the ultimate athlete, the other more famous Herakles, performer of the Twelve Labours, who is said to have founded the games after the Argonautic expedition. There are also those who believe that Pelops founded the games and that Herakles then refounded them.15 Moreover, there are those who would see Pelops as an antagonist to Herakles,16 while others, such as Pausanias, Burkert, and Nagy, see a correlative dichotomy between Pelops and Zeus.17

plant to provide shade for men to share and a crown for deeds of excellence. Already the altars had been dedicated to his father, and the Moon in her golden chariot at mid-month had shown back to him her full eye at evening, and he had established the holy judging of the great games together with their four-year festival on the sacred banks of the Alpheos. But as yet the land of Pelops in the vale of Kronos’ hill was not flourishing with beautiful trees. Without them, the enclosure seemed naked to him and subject to the piercing rays of the sun. Then it was that his heart urged him to go to the Istrian land ... where he stood and wondered at the trees. A sweet desire seized him to plant some of them around the twelve-lap turn of the hippodrome. And now he gladly attends that festival with the godlike twins, the sons of deep-girdled Leda, for to them, as he went to Olympos, he entrusted supervision of the splendid contest involving the excellence of men and the driving of swift chariots. (9–37)

The history of the Olympic games is further problematised by the fact that not only are different figures credited with their foundation but the reasons attributed to the various contenders vary: did Pelops found the games after his victory over Oinomaos, as stated above, or were the games founded as part of the funeral celebrations of Pelops?18 In summary, Pelops’ position is not clear. Such standard a reference work as the OCD refers to Olympian 1 (90–3) in its entry for Pelops and notes that, although Pindar refers to Pelops’ burial near Zeus’ altar at Olympia “amidst blood offerings”, no burial was found in the tumulus;19 thereby illustrating how mythology, literature, and archaeology can unite to confound scholars.20 Indeed, archaeologists such as Mallwitz believe that it is in fact unnecessary to consider theories which derive the origins of the Olympic games from the myth of Pelops and prefer instead to explore the possibility that the cult of Zeus was the first and oldest at Olympia.21

In Olympian 10, before listing the winners and outlining the celebrations (60–76), Pindar explains the background to the first Olympic games: ... the ordinances of Zeus have prompted me to sing of the choice contest, which Herakles founded with its six altars by the ancient tomb of Pelops ... Zeus’ valiant son gathered the entire army and all the booty at Pisa, and measured out a sacred precinct for his father most mighty. He fenced in the Altis and set it apart in the open, and he made the surrounding plain a resting place for banqueting, and honoured the stream of Alpheos along with the twelve ruling gods. And he gave the hill of Kronos its name, because before that it had none, when, during Oinomaos’ reign, it was drenched with much snow. And at that founding ceremony the Fates stood near at hand, as did the sole assayer of genuine truth, Time, which in its onward march clearly revealed how Herakles divided up that gift of war and offered up its best portion, and how he then founded the quadrennial festival with the first Olympiad and its victories. (24–59)

At this point one might well ask: what does Pindar actually tell us about the foundation of the Olympic games? The figure with whom Pindar associates their foundation is in fact Herakles, as we hear in several of the odes. In Olympian 3 the poet expatiates on the connection between the hero, the Olympics, and the olive tree:

It is important to note that in Olympian 10 Pindar explicitly states that it was Herakles who founded the games (25: Ñκτίσσατο; 59: ñστασεν); and that in Olympian 6 he likewise names Herakles as their founder (as indeed he also does in Olympian 2.3–4: ñστασεν), while also referring to Herakles’ relation to Zeus and emphasising the greatness of the Olympics (Ol. 6.66–70):

... and Pisa too bids me lift up my voice, for from there come divinely allotted songs to men, whenever for one of them, in fulfillment of Herakles’ ancient mandates, the strict Aitolian judge places above his brows about his hair the gray-colored adornment of olive, which once Amphitryon’s son brought from the shady springs of Ister to be the fairest memorial of the contests at Olympia, after he persuaded the Hyperborean people, Apollo’s servants, with his speech; with trustworthy intention he requested for Zeus’ all-welcoming precinct a

... when bold and resourceful Herakles, the honoured offspring of the Alkaïdai [Amphitryon], should come to found for his father [Zeus] a festival thronged by people and the greatest institution of games, then it was that he [Apollo] ordered him [Iamos] to establish his oracle on the summit of Zeus’ altar.

Nor are the Olympian odes the only poems to proclaim the games as his preserve for the glory of Zeus. In Nemean 10.31–2, the poet proclaims in respect of Zeus that: “The god knows of what I sing, as does anyone who strives for the summits of the ultimate games: Pisa holds the highest ordinance of Herakles”. While in Nemean 11, composed for Aristagoras’ inauguration as prytanis, a

14

Mallwitz 1988, 91. Stewart 1997, 191; Nagy 1990, 119–20. 16 Mallwitz 1988, 103. 17 Pausanias 5.13.1; Burkert 1983, 93–103; Nagy 1990, 116–35. 18 Spivey 1997, 69. 19 Kearns 1996, 1134. 20 Antonaccio 1998; Lee 1988, 118; Mallwitz 1988, 86. 21 Mallwitz 1988, 89. 15

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GRÁINNE MCLAUGHLIN: PROFESSIONAL FOUL: PERSONA IN PINDAR ceremony which had religious and sympotic elements,22 the Olympic games are described as “the four-year festival ordained by Herakles” (27).

three lines long, it has exercised scholars greatly, though for reasons not directly relevant to this chapter.23 What I would like to highlight is the fact that these lines are sandwiched between the opening lines, whose conventional elements (praise of Zeus, praise of the victor, his home, and the site of the victory) were outlined above, and the succeeding lines, where Pindar in effect gives a potted summary of the manifesto of an epinician panegyrist. For example, he immediately draws attention to how easy it is for humans to be deceived by appearances, but distances himself from those who have fallen into this trap:

Given the clarity with which Pindar identifies Herakles as founder of the games in the above poems, we might then ask: how and why has the myth of Pelops in Olympian 1, the ode which allegedly states that Pelops founded the Olympics, come both to occupy such a prominent position in Pindaric scholarship in general, and exert such influence on scholarship concerned with the foundation of the panhellenic games in particular? Before attempting to answer these questions it may be helpful to summarise the song Pindar actually sings in Olympian 1. The ode begins with the famous praise of the games. This is of course only part of the first section, which in fact consists of an encomiastic triangle in which the three points are Zeus, Olympia, and Hieron:

Yes, wonders there are many, but then too, I think, in men’s talk stories are embellished beyond the true account and deceive by means of elaborate lies. For Charis [Charm], who fashions all things pleasant for mortals, by bestowing honour makes even what is unbelievable often believed; yet days to come are the wisest witnesses. It is proper for a man to speak well of the gods, for less is the blame. Son of Tantalos, of you I shall say, contrary to my predecessors, that when your father invited the gods to his most orderly feast and to his friendly Sipylos giving them a banquet in return for theirs, then it was that the Lord of the Splendid Trident seized you, his mind overcome by desire, and with golden steeds conveyed you to the highest home of widely honoured Zeus, where at a later time Ganymede came as well for the same service to Zeus. (28a–45)

Best is water, while gold, like fire blazing in the night, shines pre-eminent amid lordly wealth. But if you wish to sing of athletic games, my heart, look no further than the sun for another star shining more warmly by day through the empty sky, nor let us proclaim a contest greater than Olympia. From there comes the famous hymn that encompasses the thoughts of wise men, who have come in celebration of Kronos’ son to the rich and blessed hearth of Hieron. (1–11)

Having given his alternative, corrective version, the poet strengthens his position with two of the most important “Buts” in Pindar:

Further praise of Hieron leads on to references to Pherenikos, the horse that won the victory for Hieron, to Pisa and the Alpheos, the area and river at Olympia, and to the power and fame the Olympic victory has brought:

But when you disappeared, and despite much searching no men returned you to your mother, one of the envious neighbours immediately said in secret that into water boiling rapidly on the fire they cut up your limbs with a knife, and for the final course distributed your flesh around the tables and ate it. But for my part, I cannot call any of the blessed gods a glutton—I stand back: impoverishment is the lot of slanderers. If in fact the wardens of Olympos honoured any mortal man, Tantalos was that one. He, however, could not digest his great good fortune ... (46–56; my emphasis)

Come, take the Dorian lyre from its peg, if the splendor of Pisa and of Pherenikos has indeed enthralled your mind with sweetest considerations, when he sped beside the Alpheos, giving his limbs ungoaded in the race, and joined to victorious power his master, Syracuse’s horse-loving king. Fame shines for him in the colony of brave men founded by Lydian Pelops. (17–24)

As will be seen below, Pelops is said to have founded a colony in the area in which the Olympic games are held: the text actually says “Ñν...Λυδο³ Πέλοπος ÐποικίZ” (“in the ... colony of Lydian Pelops”). The proper name Pelops in this line is the antecedent of the relative pronoun which is used to introduce the first part of the myth of Pelops in the following lines: “[Pelops] with whom mighty Earthholder Poseidon fell in love, after Klotho pulled him from the pure cauldron, distinguished by his shoulder, gleaming with ivory” (25–7).

In his wisdom Pindar goes on to attribute the fate of Tantalos to greed (55–8) and evidences his sagacity further by the general observation that no mortal can deceive the gods (64), as is illustrated by his story. The return of Pelops to earth is described as part of his father’s punishment (65–6). Pindar then resumes the mythological narrative, which now progresses to the chariot race between Pelops and Oinomaos (67–93). The ode concludes with further praise of the Olympics (93–6) and also of Hieron’s victory and regal supremacy, combined with prayers for his continuing and future success (97 ad finem), all of which are described by Pindar as being within his remit, just as they were at the beginning of the ode.

For the purposes of the argument of this chapter, it is highly significant that Pindar’s telling of the above myth is interwoven with statements both on Truth and on the superiority of his own opinion on the “facts” of the myth. Although this first elliptical mythological section is only 22

23

Cf. Slater 1989 on Olympian 1.

27

Howie 1983, 281–92; Nagy 1990, 116–7.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Having examined the song Pindar actually sang in Olympian 1, it is now important to note that he does not in fact tell us in Olympian 1 that Pelops founded the Olympics, even though lines 67–88 of the poem, which describe Pelops’ race against Oinomaos, have been cited as though they do.24 We may also observe that, although Golden states that Olympian 1 has traditionally been used as evidence by those wishing to justify their opinion that Pelops founded the games, overall he argues that the hero’s place is insecure.25 It is true that there are two very pertinent references in the poem to Pelops and the territory and ground associated with him; and it is surely significant that in the original Greek the form of the two expressions is not dissimilar. As noted above, the first reference comes early on in the poem and draws our attention to the fact that Pelops is a figure, as his name suggests, of regional stature and significance. This may seem obvious, yet it is an aspect of his significance in Olympian 1 that has not received sufficient attention in recent years, as Howie has noted.26 It is to Pelops as the eponymous founder of the Peloponnese to which Pindar refers in his introductory triad (1–29), where he praises the Olympics as the games of Zeus in which Hieron has been successful (23–4): “λάµπει δέ οÚ κλέος Ñν εÕάνορι Λυδο³ Πέλοπος ÐποικίZ” (“Fame shines for him in the colony of brave men founded by Lydian Pelops”).

With respect to Olympian 1 this reading, which emphasises Pelops’ panhellenic/regional significance as a founder-figure for the Peloponnese,29 in which Olympia is situated, is consistent with the critical technique used to great effect by Carol Dougherty in recent years in her analyses of Olympian 7 and Pythian 9, among other poems.30 Dougherty, following on from the anthropological methodology of Crotty,31 sees foundation figures like Pelops as particularly powerful metaphorical analogues for the victors who are the subjects of Pindar’s poems. This reading may therefore be regarded as more “generalising” than the analysis of Köhnken, who saw the specifically equestrian element in the myth of Pelops as the key link with the horse-racing victory of the laudandus Hieron, hopefully to be followed by a chariot victory.32 Furthermore, although not teleologically driven, it is not at odds with Nagy,33 who viewed the prominence of the equestrian elements as indicative of an evolving aetiology of the games whereat equestrian events became increasingly significant.34 Pindarists, however, have concentrated on assessing the degree of Pindar’s originality in his handling of the myth of Pelops,35 given that Olympian 1 is the earliest literary account and rests uneasily with some alternative versions.36 What I would like to emphasise here is that, whatever uncertainties exist as to the degree of singularity of Pindar’s version, Stoneman has rightly concluded his introductory comments with an affirmation of the poet’s encomiastic imperative:

The fact that the later reference in the poem (93–5) recalls the form of the Greek used in the earlier lines may be a way for the poet to emphasise the wider importance of Pelops, since the later, more particularised expression simultaneously echoes the words previously used: “τÄ δÁ κλέος τηλόθεν δέδορκε τ°ν ’Ολυµπιάδων Ñν δρόµοις Πέλοπος” (“And far shines that fame of the Olympic festivals gained in the racecourses of Pelops”).27

Though it is not unreasonable to see a theological motivation in Pindar’s stated desire to make the myths more creditable to the gods and heroes, the main motive to be borne in mind is that he must make his praise adequate to his subject: Hieron is a very great ruler, and his victory must be presented as exceptionally glittering, a successor and analogy to a glittering legendary past where the only dark shadows are there as contrast to the hero’s achievement (Tantalus’ doom), not an integral part of it (the murder of Oenomaus).37

We may also note that the connection between the hero Pelops, his territory of the Peloponnese, and panhellenic success appears in Nemean 2, where victories at the Isthmian games are referred to as having taken place “in the valleys of noble Pelops” (21).

This is not the place for a detailed analysis of the significance of the gruesome, sinister, inauspicious and profoundly “politically incorrect” mythological elements in Pindar which may strike the modern reader as inappropriate in what are supposed to be praise poems. We may, however, note in passing that some scholars, for example A.P. Burnett, believe that such mythological material was regarded very differently by ancient audiences:

As Stoneman has speculated, Pindar’s point at this part of the poem may be that, as the family of the Timodemidai has already won victories in the Isthmian games at Corinth in the Peloponnese, and there is a reference to victories at Nemea, also in the Peloponnese, a victory at the greatest games in the Peloponnese, the Olympics, may not be far off.28 For the purposes of my argument it is significant that in Nemean 2 Pelops is the hero not just of Olympia but also of Corinth and Nemea.

29

Howie 1991. Dougherty 1993, 120–56. 31 Crotty 1982. 32 Köhnken 1974, 202–6. 33 Nagy 1990, 116–35. 34 Cf. Harmon 1988, 239; Kurke 1991, 133–4; Lee 1988, 118; Slater 1989, 499. 35 Nagy 1990; Howie 1991. 36 Howie 1983, 1991. 37 Stoneman 1997, 4. 30

24

Richardson 1996, 1066; cf. Slater 1989, 493; Stoneman 1997, 202 on Nemean 2. 25 Golden 1998, 14. 26 Howie 1991, 114–7. 27 Gerber 1983, 54; Köhnken 1974, 199–200; Young 1968, 123. 28 Stoneman 1997, 202.

28

GRÁINNE MCLAUGHLIN: PROFESSIONAL FOUL: PERSONA IN PINDAR

epinician wheat from mythological chaff, are a standard and important element in the poet’s construction of his encomiastic persona. This is the means whereby the poet invests himself with the authority necessary for his praise to carry weight.42 Rhetorical artifice underlies his exclamation of revulsion at versions of myths that do not serve his purpose.43

Because the myths of the victory odes were conveyors of force and links with fame, not mere embellishment, they did not have to be happy or even auspicious. Stories of crime, disaster, grief or suffering could give a richer and more serious tone to praise, as long as the poet provided some positive ballast ... 38

For our purposes what we must appreciate is the significance of Pindar’s statements concerning the correctness of his version of the myth of Pelops as it appears in Olympian 1. As noted above, according to Pindar, Tantalos did not serve up his son Pelops as the main course in a banquet for the gods; when Pelops disappeared from human view it was because Poseidon has carried him off up into the heavens as a love object (36–53). When Tantalos subsequently offended the gods by giving nectar and ambrosia to mortals, Pelops was returned to earth and it was then that he competed in the chariot race for the hand of Hippodameia in which Oinomaos was killed (54–89). In Pindar, Pelops wins the race through the support of Poseidon; in other versions, which may well have been known to the audience, Pelops won through trickery.39 Why does Pindar take such pains to champion his own version, original or not? As so often with epinician, Bundy gives us our answer when he says of Pindar:

As noted in the quotation from Bundy above, confusion arises when epinician conventions are not recognised. In a sense this is what has happened with Olympian 1. The textual tradition, in which the key figure is Aristophanes of Byzantium (fl. 194–180 B.C.), grouped the poems in accordance with the site of the victory; and the poems for victories in the most prestigious panhellenic games, the Olympics, were placed first. Within each group of poems it was not the date of the victory or performance of the ode which determined its position, but the prestige of the event in which the victory was won. Equestrian events therefore came first and within this class of event the four-horse chariot race was more important than the horse race. This partly explains why Olympian 1 is the poem which comes first in the Pindaric corpus of the odes, even though Pythian 10 was composed in 498 BC, and therefore would come before it in the chronological order the modern reader might expect,44 and which was applied to the odes by Bowra.45 It also partly explains why, even within the Olympian odes themselves, it may be out of chronological order. Olympian 14 was perhaps composed in 488 BC and Olympian 11, because of its brevity, may well have been performed very soon after the victory it celebrates, a victory won in the same Olympiad as Hieron’s victory, the subject of Olympian 1. Indeed, even on the basis of the prescribed principle, which privileges the chariot race above other events, Olympian 1 is out of order, since it celebrates only a horse race, whereas Olympians 2 and 3 do celebrate victories in the greatest event, the four-horse chariot race.46

If he protests that he is truthful, he is not making an ethical statement about his own person, but quieting murmurs from his audience with the assurance, ‘He is every bit as good as I say he is’, or ‘My words shall not fall short of his deeds.’ If he seems embarrassed by irrelevance, or by the poverty of his expression, or by his failure to do justice, these inadequacies have been rigged as foil for the greatness of the laudandus. Unfortunately for those who would prefer a Pindar that makes sense even in praise of athletes to a Pindar that rises to gorgeous irrelevance in avoiding his uncompromising subject, the enkomiast’s rhetorical poses may take forms that speak to one unschooled in the conventions with something less than the precision intended.40

In short, therefore, the prominent position of Olympian 1, not just in the corpus but in Pindaric scholarship, may be attributed to its magnificent opening praise of the Olympics, which lent the ode a certain programmatic quality.47 However, we must remember that praise of the games is of course a conventional feature of the genre. It occurs, for example, in Olympian 4.3, 8.1–12, Pythian 5.20–3, 8.61–3, 10.22–6, 11.46–51, and Nemean 2.3–5, 4.9–11, 7.80–3. Nevertheless, because such praise carries

In Olympian 1, therefore, what we have is, in my opinion, an example of standard Pindaric procedure, where the poet exerts his encomiastic auctoritas by privileging his version of the myth of Pelops over any other, for the reasons adduced by Bundy: in Pindar self-praise is recommendation.41 It is in this context therefore that his lines should be viewed: “It is proper for a man to speak well of the gods, for less is the blame. Son of Tantalos, of you I shall say, contrary to my predecessors, that when your father ...” (35–7).

42

Bundy 1986, 64–5; Gerber 1982, 59–64, 69–70; Nagy 1990, 58–66, cf. 423–7. Odysseus’ lies and trickery ensure that he is not a prominent figure in Pindar and in both Nemean 7 and 8 he functions as a negative exemplum. Arlene Allan (this volume) discusses the duplicitous aspects of Hermes’ persona; and we may note that the god is not very prominent in Pindar, although there are references at, for example, Ol. 5, 6, 7, Pyth. 2, 4, Nem. 10, and Isth. 1. 43 Gerber 1982, 69–70; Nagy 1990, 126. 44 Nisetich 1980, 16–8. 45 Bowra 1969. 46 Race 1997, 34. 47 Stoneman 1997, 3.

The audience should assent to the panegyrist’s praise of the subject of the poem, the laudandus, the man who literally must be praised, because the poet has the wisdom to differentiate between truth and falsehood. Statements on the poet’s ability to identify the truth, to separate the 38

Burnett 1985, 97. Howie 1983, 278–80. 40 Bundy 1986, 3–4. 41 Cf. Goldhill 1991, 140–2. 39

29

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY greatest weight when prominently positioned at the beginning of the corpus, this weight attaches to the poem as a whole: in modern parlance it has raised the profile of Pelops, who becomes in a sense synonymous with the Olympic games themselves. Of course, we know from the other Olympic odes discussed above that Herakles, not Pelops, is said by Pindar to have been the founder of the games, but that is not the impression with which readers of Olympian 1 have always been left, as Golden has noted.48 This holds true even if we accept Young’s hypothesis that Pythian 2 is in fact the ode which should be designated the first Olympian, as the alleged displacement antedates Aristarchus (fl. 153 B.C.).49

that against Geryones at Erytheia; he is also about to receive the burden of Atlas, and he cleanses the land from dung for the Eleans. Above the doors of the rear chamber he is taking the girdle from the Amazon; and there are the affairs of the deer, of the bull at Cnossus, of the Stymphalian birds, of the hydra, and of the Argive lion ... (5.10.6–9)

As Howie has noted,52 because the Temple of Zeus was conceived around the time of the composition of Olympian 1 in 476 B.C., and was completed within about twenty years of the ode’s composition, Pindar’s poem has been used to help interpret the east pediment of the temple.53 As in his reading of the poem, Howie emphasises that the use of the myth of Pelops on the east pediment was a reflection of Pelops’ stature at the time as a key figure in Greek, especially Dorian, mythology. Similarly, Raschke has emphasised that the Temple of Zeus promulgated local and national political ideals, with the myth of the race of Pelops and Oinomaos providing local interest and colour. She also notes that the temple in particular, of all the sculpture at Olympia, used an agonistic theme and exhibited an athletic style appropriate for the Olympics.54 Like Raschke, Osborne, in an analysis of the sculpture which in parts reads like a critique of Olympian 1, also has identified competition as the theme which unites the sculptures: Pelops against Oinomaos on the east pediment, the centaurs against the Lapiths on the west, and Herakles against his various tribulations.55 We may also at this point note that Pausanias began his description of the temple and its statue with a reference to the fact that they were funded with the spoils of war taken from the Pisans and their supporters by the Eleans (5.10.2): the agonistic theme can therefore be seen to operate simultaneously on several levels, as Osborne has observed.56

TEMPLE AND TEXT: OLYMPIAN 1 AND THE TEMPLE OF ZEUS AT OLYMPIA In ancient times the Temple of Zeus at Olympia was one of the most important structures in the Peloponnese. The fullest account dating from ancient times of the site at Olympia is the second-century A.D. description contained in books five and six of Pausanias’ Descriptions of Greece.50 This account is by no means unproblematic, even allowing for the fact that Pausanias was writing some half a millennium after the period with which we are concerned.51 Nevertheless, it is interesting to note how Pausanias signals to the reader the importance of what he is about to describe through the use of an exclamatory introduction which mimics the opening of Olympian 1: “Many are the sights to be seen in Greece, and many are the wonders to be heard; but on nothing does Heaven bestow more care than on the Eleusinian rites and the Olympic games” (5.10.1). He then describes the temple itself in some detail (5.10.2–5, 8, 12), and it is worth excerpting his description of the pediments and metopes:

Likewise, other themes can be seen to be in play. Stewart, for example, concentrates in his most recent analysis of the sculpture on the themes of civilisation and justice: Zeus and Apollo preside over the pediments, where offences against hospitality are punished, while Herakles toils to impose cosmic order.57 Spivey, on the other hand, although he primarily interprets the sculpture as a Greek statement of anti-Persian sentiments, does see the east pediment as a local story with panhellenic significance. In his view the story is local because Pelops was eponymous to the Peloponnese, had his cult at Olympia, and figures prominently in the origins of the important event of chariot racing at the Olympics; and it is of panhellenic significance because it is part of the working-out of the curse of Atreus, a staple of Greek tragedy.58

... in the front pediment there is, not yet begun, the chariotrace between Pelops and Oenomaüs, and preparation for the actual race is being made by both. An image of Zeus has been carved in about the middle of the pediment; on the right of Zeus is Oenomaüs with a helmet on his head, and by him Sterope his wife ... Myrtilus too, the charioteer of Oenomaüs, sits in front of the horses, which are four in number. After him are two men ... At the very edge lies Cladeüs, the river which, in other ways also, the Eleans honour most after the Alpheius. On the left from Zeus are Pelops, Hippodameia, the charioteer of Pelops, and two men ... Then the pediment narrows again, and in this part of it is represented the Alpheius ... on the [back] pediment is the fight between the Lapithae and the Centaurs at the marriage of Peirithoüs. In the centre of the pediment is Peirithoüs. On one side of him is Eurytion, who has seized the wife of Peirithoüs ... and on the other side is Theseus defending himself against the Centaurs with an axe ... Most of the labours of Heracles are represented at Olympia. Above the doors of the temple is carved the hunting of the Arcadian boar, his exploit against Diomedes the Thracian, and

52 53 54

48

55

49

56

Golden 1998, 12. Young 1983, 47–8; cf. Stoneman 1997, 105. 50 Jones et al. 1926, 1933. 51 Arafat 1996; Stewart 1983, 133.

57 58

30

Howie 1991, 111. E.g., Stewart 1983, 133–4. Raschke 1988, 38–9, 42. Osborne 1998, 169–74. Osborne 1998, 174. Stewart 1997, 191–5; cf. 1983. Spivey 1997, 217–24, 277-80.

GRÁINNE MCLAUGHLIN: PROFESSIONAL FOUL: PERSONA IN PINDAR

FIG. 3.1. EAST PEDIMENT, TEMPLE OF ZEUS, OLYMPIA. (DEUTSCHES ARCHÄOLOGISCHES INSTITUT ATHENS)

Works Cited

In respect of the illustration provided (fig. 3.1), therefore, the following must be regarded as speculative: Zeus is in the centre of the pediment, Sterope (wife of Oinomaos) has her arms folded and is standing beside her husband, while Hippodameia (daughter of Oinomaos) is adjusting her veil as she stands beside Pelops.59

Antonaccio, C. 1998. “The Archaeology of Ancestors.” In Cultural Poetics in Ancient Greece: Cult, Performance, Politics, edited by C. Dougherty and L. Kurke, 46-70. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Arafat, K. 1996. Pausanias’ Greece: Ancient Authors and Roman Rulers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ashmole, B. 1967. Olympia: The Sculptures of the Temple of Zeus. London: Phaidon. ——. 1972. Architect and Sculptor in Classical Greece. New York: New York University Press. Boardman, J. 1996. Greek Art. London: Thames and Hudson. Bowra, C.M. 1969. The Odes of Pindar. London: Penguin. Bundy, E.L. 1986. Reprint. Studia Pindarica. Berkeley: University of California Press. Original edition, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1962. Burkert, W. 1983. Homo Necans: The Anthropology of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Ritual and Myth. Berkeley: University of California Press. Burnett, A.P. 1985. The Art of Bacchylides. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Crotty, K. 1982. Song and Action: The Victory Odes of Pindar. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Dougherty, C. 1993. The Poetics of Colonization: From City to Text in Archaic Greece. New York: Oxford University Press. Gerber, D.E. 1969. A Bibliography of Pindar 1513-1966. Cleveland: American Philological Association. ——. 1982. Pindar’s Olympian 1: A Commentary. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. ——. 1989. “Pindar and Bacchylides 1934-1987.” Lustrum 31:97-269. ——. 1990. “Pindar and Bacchylides 1934-1987.” Lustrum 32:7-67. Golden, M. 1998. Sport and Society in Ancient Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

My point in referring to the sculptural representations of the temple of Zeus and its surroundings is a rather obvious one in the context of using Pindar as a source of information on the origins of ancient sport and festivals, but one which I think is worth making nonetheless. Pindar’s Olympian 1 is used by art historians such as Shapiro, Stewart, and Woodford to explicate the Temple of Zeus at Olympia.60 I think in fact we should use the temple to explicate Pindar. This is because, although the myth of Pelops’ chariot race features so prominently on the east pediment, in tandem with the centaurs and lapiths on the west, Herakles, the instigator of the games, is not to be found on the outside of the temple, but on the metopes below and within. Furthermore, the founder himself must be viewed in his proper place on Zeus’ temple built at the site of Zeus’ games.61 Art does imitate art. If we want to look in Pindar for the founder of the games, we must look not on the opening pages of the text of the odes, however impressive those pages are, but further within; and when we find either Pelops in Olympian 1 or Herakles in the other odes, we must remember that they too are artistic creations, cleverly moulded and crafted to do for Pindar’s patrons what the temple did for those who had it built.

59

See Ashmole 1967; 1972, 1–89, and Boardman 1996, 136–9. See Spivey (1997, 279) for an illustration of an alternative arrangement of the key figures. The question of the precise arrangement of the figures on the east pediment has been a particularly contentious one for scholars: see Ashmole (1972, 28–9) on the problems caused by the wording of the description in Pausanias; and Ashmole (1967, 173–6) and Stewart (1983, 135 n. 8) respectively for a discussion of and bibliography on the arrangement of the figures on the pediment. 60 Shapiro 1994, 78–83; Stewart 1983; Woodford 1986, 91–103. 61 Gerber 1982, 29; Mallwitz 1988.

31

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Osborne, R. 1998. Archaic and Classical Greek Art. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Price, S. 1999. Religions of the Ancient Greeks. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Race, W.H. 1997. Pindar. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Raschke, W. 1988. “Images of Victory: Some New Considerations of Athletic Monuments.” In The Archaeology of the Olympics: The Olympics and Other Festivals in Antiquity, edited by W. Rashcke, 38-54. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Renfrew, C. 1988. ‘The Minoan-Mycenaean Origins of the Panhellenic Games.” In The Archaeology of the Olympics: The Olympics and Other Festivals in Antiquity, edited by W. Raschke, 13-25. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Richardson, N.J. 1996. s.v. “Olympian Games.” In OCD, edited by S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth, 1066. 3rd edn. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Segal, C. 1968. “Two Agonistic Problems in Pindar, Nemean 7. 70-74 and Pythian 1.42-5.” GRBS 9:31-45. Shapiro, H.A. 1994. Myth into Art: Poet and Painter in Classical Greece. London: Routledge. Sicking, C.M.J. 1982. “Pindar’s First Olympian: An Interpretation.” Mnemosyne 36:60-70. Slater, W.J. 1983. “Lyric Narrative: Structure and Principle.” In Studies in Classical Lyric: A Homage to Elroy Bundy, edited by T. D’Evelyn, P. Psoinos, and T.R. Walsh, 117-32. ClAnt 2. Berkeley: University of California Press. ——. 1989. “Pelops at Olympia.” GRBS 30:485-501. Spivey, N. 1997. Greek Art. London: Phaidon. Stewart, A.F. 1983. “Pindaric Dikē and the Temple of Zeus at Olympia.” In Studies in Classical Lyric: A Homage to Elroy Bundy, edited by T. D’Evelyn, P. Psoinos, and T.R. Walsh, 133-44. ClAnt 2. Berkeley: University of California Press. ——. 1997. Art, Desire, and the Body in Ancient Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stoneman, R., ed. 1997. The Odes and Selected Fragments: Pindar. Translated by G.S. Conway and R. Stoneman. London: Everyman Press. Verdenius, W.J. 1988. Commentaries on Pindar: Vol. 2. 2 vols. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Woodford, S. 1986. An Introduction to Greek Art. London: Duckworth. Young, D. 1968. Three Odes of Pindar: A Literary Study of Pythian 11, Pythian 3, and Olympian 7. Leiden: E.J. Brill. ——. 1983. “Pindar’s Pythians 2 and 3: Inscriptional ποτέ and the ‘Poetic Epistle.’” HSCP 87:31-48.

Goldhill, S. 1991. The Poet’s Voice: Essays on Poetics and Greek Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harmon, D.P. 1988. “The Religious Significance of Games in the Roman Age.” In The Archaeology of the Olympics: The Olympics and Other Festivals in Antiquity, edited by W. Raschke, 236-55. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Howie, J.G. 1983. “The Revision of Myth in Pindar Olympian 1: The Death and Revival of Pelops (25-27; 36-66).” Papers of the Liverpool Latin Seminar 4:277313. ——. 1991. “Pindar’s Account of Pelops’ Contest with Oenomaus (with a translation of Olympian 1).” Nikephoros 4:55-120. Instone, S. 1996. Pindar: Selected Odes. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Jones, W.H.S., H.A. Ormerod, and R.E. Wycherley, eds. 1916-35. Pausanias: Descriptions of Greece. 5 vols. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Kearns, E. 1996. s.v. “Pelops.” In OCD, edited by S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth, 1134. 3rd edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Köhnken, A. 1974. “Pindar as Innovator: Poseidon Hippios and the Relevance of the Pelops Story in Olympian 1.” CQ 24:199-206. ——. 1983. “Mythical Chronology and Thematic Coherence in Pindar’s Third Olympian Ode.” HSCP 87:49-63. Kurke, L. 1991. The Traffic in Praise: Pindar and the Poetics of Social Economy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Lee, H.M. 1983. “Pindar, Olympian 3. 33-34: ‘The twelve-turned terma’ and the Length of the Four-horse Chariot Race.” AJP 107:162-74. ——. 1988. “The ‘First’ Olympic Games of 776 B.C.” In The Archaeology of the Olympics: The Olympics and Other Festivals in Antiquity, edited by W. Raschke, 110-8. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Lloyd-Jones, H. 1990. “Modern Interpretations of Pindar: The Second Pythian and Seventh Nemean Odes.” In Greek Epic, Lyric and Tragedy: The Academic Papers of Sir Hugh Lloyd-Jones. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 110-53. Originally published in JHS 93 (1973) 109-37. Lowrie, M. 1997. Horace’s Narrative Odes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mallwitz, A. 1988. “Cult and Competition Locations at Olympia.” In The Archaeology of the Olympics: The Olympics and Other Festivals in Antiquity, edited by W. Raschke, 79-109. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Maranti, A. 1999. Olympia and Olympic Games. Athens: Michalis Toubis. McDevitt, A. 1994. “Horses for Courses. A Note on Bacchylides 3.3-4.” Hermes 122:502-3. Nagy, G. 1990. Pindar’s Homer: The Lyric Possession of an Epic Past. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Nisetich, F. 1980. Pindar’s Victory Songs. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. 32

Chapter 4

Orestes the Contender: Chariot Racing and Politics in Fifth-Century Athens and Sophocles’ Electra ELEANOR OKELL Sophocles’ Electra raises innumerable questions about Sophocles’ treatment of the mythic material and the play’s relationship to the prior versions of Homer, Aeschylus and, most probably, Euripides. Among these questions are several that centre upon Sophocles’ reason for including the lengthy digression concerning Orestes’ participation in the Pythian games and, particularly, the detailed description of the chariot race in which Orestes “dies”. This paper will investigate this issue from the rarely considered standpoint of its significance for the contemporary Athenian audience.

described at 701–8, includes entrants from cities usually represented at crown games (Olympia, Delphi, Corinth, Nemea) in the fifth century: eÂw ∑n 'AxaiÚw, eÂw épÚ Spãrthw, dÊo L¤buew zugvt«n èpmãtvn §pistãtai: kéke›now §n toÊtoisi Yessalåw ®xvn ·ppouw, ı p°mptow: ßktow §j Afitvl¤aw janya›si p≈loiw: ßbdomow Mãgnhw énhr: ı d' ˆgdoow leÊkippow, Afiniån g°now: ¶natow 'Ayhn«n t«n yeodmÆtvn êpo: BoivtÚw êllow, d°katon §kplhr«n ˆxon.

The reason for Orestes’ “death” is supplied by Orestes himself: the Delphic oracle promised success through stealth and Clytemnestra and Aegisthus, on hearing the news, will be lulled into a false sense of security, relax their guard and become vulnerable to his attack (32–50). Yet, if this is the sole purpose of Orestes’ “death” the question remains, why does Sophocles have Orestes “die” in this specific fashion, when any accident would have done? Yet would “any” accident have produced the extreme emotional reactions of Clytemnestra and Electra? If not, as this paper considers, Orestes’ death as a Pythian athletic victor and chariot race competitor must have had a particular significance. This significance must have been readily understandable by the contemporary audience and, therefore, will be explicable in terms of the Athenian perception of athletic and hippic victories, their status and political potential. A reconstruction of Athenian perceptions and a consideration of historical Athenian victors will be used to illuminate both the reactions to Orestes’ death and his ambitions in so “dying”. This will demonstrate that although “Sophocles’ account is of limited value because of it’s imaginative content”,1 that imaginative content does not preclude Sophocles’ account from reflecting the reality of the relationship between athletic and hippic competition and political leadership at Athens.

There was an Achaean, a Spartan, two Masters of yoked cars were from Libya [Cyrene]. Orestes, with Thessalian mares, The fifth. Sixth an Aetolian With chestnut colts. Seventh a Magnesian man. The white-horsed eighth, of Aenian stock. The ninth from god-built Athens. And a Boeotian too, made up the field of ten. 3

Many Spartans turned to hippic competition in their later years, often following youthful success in athletics, and provide the greatest number of Olympic chariot victors.4 Spartans also won, and therefore competed, frequently at Delphi and table 4.2, which contains only those chariot victors for whom an age can be estimated, shows Spartan winners in 448 and 420. The inclusion of North African colonies indicates a date in the last quarter of the fifth century. However, Pindar, Pythian 5, recounts the victory of a Cyrenaean competitor in 462 following a crash involving the other forty chariots, indicating a competitive tradition in Libya. Athenian victory—the implicit result of Sophocles’ race (736 ff.)—was also frequent in this period (see table 4.1).5

on those of Olympia. Lacombuler (1959, 5) argued that Sophocles believably recreated the Pythian games for his audience, so much so, that he considers this speech a sublime expression of a familiar reality (14). Shenfield (2001) holds that the account shows familiarity with chariot racing commensurate with being a spectator in a contemporary hippodrome, along with the audience members, and suggests the Panathenaia as a source. 3 The text, other than where explicitly noted, is taken from the standard Oxford text of Pearson. All translations are my own. 4 Hodkinson 1998. 5 The information contained within the tables here (tables 4.1–2) is taken from Kyle 1987 and Golden 1997 and 1998. The ages of individual competitors are taken from Golden 1998, 121 table 5.

THE CONTEMPORARY FEATURES OF THE CHARIOT RACE Such a comparison is possible because of the longrecognised contemporary nature of the mechanics and driving of Sophocles’ chariot race, as recounted by the Paidagogos at 698–751.2 First, the field of competitors, as 1

Kyle 1987, 14. Martin (1912) compared Sophocles’ description with Pausanias 6.20.10–3 and so demonstrated that the Pythian games were modelled 2

33

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Date 592 564

Olympic Alcmaeon Kallias 1

Age (if known)

Pythian

Age (if known)

Over 25

Previous to this.

About 25

560 (548?)

Militiades III

Over 25 or over 35

536 532

Kimon I Kimon I Proclaimed for Peisistratus Kimon I

50 (born 585) 54 over 65

528 525–00 500 496 492 486

59 Alcibiades I

Kallias II Kallias II Kallias II

436 421

Megacles V

416 416

Alcibiades III Teisias Proclaimed for Alcibiades III

Megacles IV

25–45

Alcibiades III

30

45

35 30 35

Additional information General in First Sacred War ca. 595 1st and 2nd. Bought Peisistratus’ confiscated property ca. 559 Tried and acquitted in 493 (tyranny in the Chersonnese). General 490/89 tried and imprisoned. Militiades III’s half-brother. Wins in exile. Exchanges victory for grant to return to Athens. Father of Miltiades, hero of Marathon. Assassinated by Hippias. Involved in expulsion of Peisistratids. The Kallias of “The Peace of Kallias.” Marries daughter of Kimon II in 489. Ostracised in 487/6, wins in exile. Secretary to the treasurers in 428/7. General for 1st time 420/19. Depicted as Pythian victor in Propylaea painting after Olympic victory. 1st, 2nd and 4th: entered seven chariots. General 417/6, 416/15. Argive team bought for him by Alcibiades. Alcibiades commander for Sicily 415.

TABLE 4.1 ATHENIAN CHARIOT VICTORS. Date 582 504? 490 488 478 476 448 420 408 400

Olympic

Age (if known)

Demaratus of Sparta

45

Gelon of Gela Hieron of Syracuse

Over 40 Over 50

Archelaus of Macedon Timon of Elis

Pythian Cleisthenes of Sicyon

Age (if known) Over 35

Xenocrates of Acragas

Over 40

Theron of Acragas Arcesilaus of Sparta Lichas of Sparta

Over 50 Over 50 50–60

Over 35 Over 40

TABLE 4.2. OTHER CHARIOT VICTORS

Another contemporary detail is that Sophocles limits his field to ten, reflecting the mid-fifth century introduction of ten starting gates at Olympia, an innovation that filtered down to other crown games in the third quarter of the fifth century. Such detailing has been considered as pandering to those audience members actively involved in chariot racing or horse-breeding, but the predominance of chariot events in the Panathenaia implies that these were national interests, rather than limited to the elite.6

This wealth of contemporary detail makes it reasonable to consider Orestes’ participation in contemporary terms, as Sophocles’ audience would have understood it. ORESTES’ PARTICIPATION: THE CONTEMPORARY CONTEXT If Orestes was competing in the chariot race, or was to be considered as if he were, he must have been intending to win. So, what would such a victory have meant?

6

The Panathenaia included two chariot races among its hippic events: a race for yoked teams (two-horse chariots) and the four-horse chariot race, introduced in 450. Kyle (1987) discusses the fourth century additions to the programme: a chariot race for colts, one for grown horses and one for warriors, as well as a processional chariot race (IG 22 2311). Bell (1989, 178) suggests that the four-horse chariot race was introduced deliberately to correspond with the four-horse chariot races at Olympia and Delphi. He also suggests that the opportunity to practise at the Panathenaea was a contributory factor in Athenian chariot race victories at Olympia. Anyx (1958) lists over eighty-two Panathenaiac amphorae in Alcibiades’ possession and suggests he won the chariot race in 418. This fell between his Pythian victory in 421 and his

Initially, winning meant being crowned and having one’s city and oneself announced the victor, just as the Paidagogos (681–95) says Orestes had been for the footrace (diaulos), the long footrace (double diaulos) and the pentathlon:

Olympic victory in 416 and reflects a continual involvement in chariot racing, possibly for its publicity value.

34

ELEANOR OKELL: ORESTES THE CONTENDERS

ke›now går §ly∆n §w tÚ kleinÚn ÑEllãdow prÒw xhm' ég«now Delfik«n êylvn xãrin, ˜t' æsyet' éndrÚw Ùry¤vn khrugmãtvn drÒmon prokhrÊjantow, o@ pr≈th kr¤siw, efis∞lye lamprÚw, pçsi to›w §ke› s°baw: drÒmou d' fis≈saw téf°sei tå t°rmata n¤khw ¶xvn §j∞lye pãntimon g°raw. x pvw m¢n §n pollo›si paËrã soi l°gv, oÈk o‰da tioËd' éndrow ¶rga ka‹ krãth. ®n d' ‡sy': ˜svn går efisekÆrujan barb∞w drÒmvn diaÊlvn p°ntayl' ì nom¤zetai, toÊtvn §negk∆n pãnta tépin¤kia »lb¤zet', 'Arge›ow m¢n énakaloÊmenow, ˆnoma d' 'Or°sthw, toË tÚ kleinÚn ÑEllãdow ÉAgam°mnow strãteum' ége¤rantÒw pote.

that Orestes exhibits the qualities of a warrior, the qualities of his father, qualities that make him a threat to Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. In recounting these victories the Paidagogos reveals that Orestes is realising his potential.11 Having this revealed to Aegisthus and Clytemnestra is a calculated political move, one in which Orestes is shown to be victorious during the course of the play. His success in this is not entirely surprising in the wake of his wrestling victory, as wrestling frequently provided an analogy for the use of political tactics.12 However, to return to the trappings of victory, Orestes, as an athletic victor in crown games, would have been able to erect a statue at the games and a statue in the agora in Argos. The latter was a privilege that Lycurgus (1.51) states was not available to Athenians, although it was a right in all other Greek cities. If Orestes had been an Athenian, and these are the results associated with victory at crown games by the audience, he would have been granted sitesis and prohedria: the right to dine in the Prytaneion at public expense, to take precedence in processions and the best seats at festivals.13 Both privileges conferred political benefits on the recipient: to dine with the council members permitted informal, but possibly influential, access to political discussion prior to assemblies and to take precedence in processions and seating increased public recognition. Both privileges were granted for life and inheritable by the recipient’s eldest male relative. The Prytaneion Decree of 426/5 reconfirmed the right of athletic and hippic victors to these privileges,14 which are identical to those the people could confer by vote on victorious generals.15 A victor in the crown games was also permitted to enter Athens in the same way as a victorious general, in a chariot, through a breach in the wall.16

For having gone to the famed Greek competition In Delphi he took part in the athletic games. The man [Orestes] hearing the herald Announcing the footrace, the first event, Went forward, a shining star, a wonder to all. He reached the finish where the race had started As the winner with all the glory of the prize. As for the rest, suffice to say, I know no other man alike in deeds and power. Know this: every contest announced – Be it sprinting, distance, pentathlon – He carried off the victory in them all, He was deemed happy, heralded as an Argive, By name Orestes, son of the famous Greek Agamemnon, who gathered the fabled army.7

The announcement of the winner by the herald identified Orestes and confirmed his status, as a citizen of Argos (although he was an exile—a factor to which the argument shall return) and the son of a prominent citizen. It also identifies his father as active in the context of military leadership, a context which was identified in Athens as political, and the Athenian expectation was that sons should be like, or have the potential to be like, their fathers.8 In addition, generals, according to the pseudoAristotelian Athenaion Politeia 26.1, were elected on account of ancestral renown.9 Against this contemporary background the inclusion of this biographical detail is interesting, especially in view of the identification of athletics as the appropriate training for a warrior. In following athletic pursuits Orestes develops his potential to become a true son of his father and he is victorious in running and wrestling (the pentathlon included a distance running event and culminated in a wrestling match), the two sports that developed the most valuable attribute of the warrior, agility.10 It is through his athletic victories

The homecoming procession was accompanied by a commemorative epinician ode first sung at the games, and this was repeated on arrival at the victor’s house, as well as at various other stages of his career/life. The epinician odes of Pindar and Bacchylides indicate another link between the victorious athlete and warrior: the return of both gives pleasure to their fathers and ensures safety and care for their house and property.17 Orestes himself, the Paidagogos, the chorus and Electra, seek these things from his homecoming: vengeance to please Agamemnon 11

The term lamprÚw (685) can indicate the gleam of weapons (Hom. Il. 13.265, 16.216) or the glare of the sun (Hom. Il. 2.605, 8.485) and often refers to the handsome vigour of youth (e.g., Thuc. 6.54.2). It is also used to imply social prominence and political clout (e.g., Herod. 6.125.1). Parca (1992, 184 n. 45) considers that the latter is appropriate to this passage. 12 Arist. Eq. 261–3 and 490 ff.; Poliakoff 1982, 41, 45–6 and index. 13 Arist. Rh. 764, Eq. 535 and 573–6. 14 IG 12 78; IG 22 77; IG 13 131; Mattingly 1990. 15 Arist. Eq. 709, 766, 1404, as discussed by Ostwald 1951; Osborne 1981; Thompson 1979. 16 Kurke 1998, 141. 17 Pindar Pyth. 2.18–20, 3.78–9, Isthm. 8.1 ff., 1.47–51, Nem. 1.19–22; Bacchyl. 6.14; Perysinakis 1990.

7

In line 691, I follow the conjecture of Kells (1973) that the line is not corrupt and that victories in three events are attributed to Orestes. For other suggestions, which result in Orestes having victories only in the footrace and the diaulos, but not the pentathlon, see the apparatus critica of Pearson (1924) on line 691. 8 Strauss 1993, 26–31 and 134–6; the same theme appears in Sophocles’ Phil., especially 3 with 50–1, 86–95, 902–5, 1284–5 and 1310–5, of 409. 9 Seager 1973, 11 ff. 10 Scanlon 1988, 234–5.

35

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY The last was Alcibiades,22 who thought that his success with a first, second and fourth in the chariot race at Olympia in 416 should bring him political support.23 That this estimation was correct is apparent from the fact that Alcibiades was elected supreme commander of the Sicilian expedition in 415.24 While Alcibiades’ Olympic victory is generally considered politically motivated, this political motivation is not usually extended to include the earlier Pythian victory, although “it provokes thought to find that his hippic successes began when he was about thirty and so eligible for Athens’ most important elective office as general”.25 Alcibiades’ victory at Delphi in 421 coincided with his thirtieth year, the first year in which he was eligible for the generalship. The election followed closely on his chariot victory and Alcibiades gained the generalship of 420/19, the first of many. Whether the celebrations associated with his victory had made his name more familiar, and thereby influenced the vote, is impossible to tell. However, on the grounds that one generally is more likely to vote for someone they know or know of, the possibility should not be discarded.

and to restore the house and its members to their former state under the rule of the rightful heir (Orestes expresses these three aims in one speech at 66–72). In the case of Orestes, the victory of athlete and warrior prevents the misery of a joyless homecoming.18 In the case of the “dead” Orestes, it prefigures it and it is the tale of his athletic success and hippic failure that makes his unexpected return and vengeance a success. In his victories the “dead” Orestes fits the pattern of “special victors”, a category of victors who are deemed superior to any other victor.19 He qualifies on two counts. First, he wins a series of events in one day: the footrace is the first event on the first day of the games; he then competes in, and wins, the long footrace and the pentathlon. Secondly, he does this on his first time out. Both these feats were especially memorable and, more importantly, indicated his outstanding ability in athletics, the training ground of the warrior in manliness, toil and endurance from Homer onwards. The result of this would have been an even greater degree of public admiration than was usually associated with a victor, and hence more devastating disappointment (Electra), or greater relief (Clytemnestra and Aegisthus), at Orestes’ subsequent “death.” Death in competition in no way detracted from the nature of the deeds of the deceased or the importance of the epinician ode, which would be repeated at the homecoming of the corpse and the dead competitor’s funeral. The Paidagogos’ speech, therefore, delivered as it is before the chorus, stands in place of the epinician ode, whose function was publicity. Consequently, everyone would know the victor’s name and this recognition was often turned to political advantage (extraconstitutional but nevertheless influential) by the politically ambitious historical victor.20

There is a difference between the two, Cylon and Alcibiades, not only of failure and success but also of event—athletic and hippic, four-horse chariot. It has been noted that many Athenians of the liturgical class, those most able to afford continual political involvement, tended towards chariot racing as a preferred competitive event.26 The reasons for this are unclear, beyond the fact that the wealthy owned estates suitable for keeping horses and that chariot racing was the most visible and exciting event of the games and therefore attracted the most attention. The fact that driving could be delegated, though it is unusual before 404, implies that political careers need not be interrupted by the requirements of a rigorous training programme or a month’s attendance at the site prior to the festival and the competitive events.27 This time factor may account for the greater number of Athenians competing at Delphi as compared to Olympia—the Pythian games are the next most prestigious after Olympia and the venue is closer, so less time is lost in travel.28 However, it has also been noted that aristocratic participation declines with time, especially among the politically active and that, towards the end of the fifth century, a career in politics precluded one as an athletic or hippic competitor.29 By the end of the fifth century, the archons were appointed by lot, so the “crown price” instituted by Solon to award five

THE POLITICALLY AMBITIOUS VICTOR: THE HISTORICAL CASE The first, and most notable, of these historical victors was Cylon, the Olympic victor of 640 in the diaulos (the event described in most detail in Orestes’ series of victories). In 632, Cylon sought to capitalise upon his resultant popularity by leading a coup to establish himself as tyrant of Athens; his supporters included the general Phryon, another Olympic victor. Cylon’s decision to stage the coup followed a consultation with the Delphic oracle as to when and how to act to achieve his aim, rather than whether to risk the attempt. This is the same type of question as that put to the Delphic oracle by Orestes in Sophocles’ version and Davies lists manipulation of the Delphic oracle as a political technique on a par with horse-breeding/racing.21

22

Kyle 1987, 168. Amended in Euripides’ epinician to a first, second and third: Plut. Vit. Alc. 11; Bowra 1969. This motive is attributed to him by Thuc. 6.16.1–2. 24 See table 4.1 for further career details, both hippic and political; for supreme command of the Sicilian expedition see IG 12 98.1 f. as discussed by Hands 1959, 75. 25 Golden 1997, 334. 26 Davies 1971, xxv–vi. 27 Kyle 1987, 113. 28 Morrissey 1978. 29 Kyle 1987, 115; Henderson 1990, 280. 23

18

Pindar fr. 229; Perysinakis 1990, 46. Pleket 1975, esp. 76–7 and 79. 20 Kyle 1987, 155 ff. 21 Davies 1971, 369–700. 19

36

ELEANOR OKELL: ORESTES THE CONTENDERS

hundred drachmas to an Olympic victor, thereby opening the archonship to them, was no longer a significant factor in influencing athletic and hippic activity.30 In this context, it is interesting to note that Alcibiades and Kritias are the only two members of old aristocratic houses, after 429, still involved in both politics and hippotrophia, whereas Teisias II (see table 4.1), Alcibiades’ fellow general and potential Athenian opponent in both the Olympic chariot race of 416 and for the supreme command of the Sicilian expedition, belongs to a family only recently emerged from obscurity.

terms of the reported victory announcement, coupled with the chariot race entry, should serve as a warning of Orestes’ ambition to Clytemnestra and Aegisthus. In Euripides’ Hippolytus, chariot racing also symbolises political ambition because although Hippolytus wanted to be first in the games he only wanted second place in the city (1016 ff.). This image highlights his isolation from a community in which he consistently refuses to fulfil his role as a citizen male and indicates his unsuitability to be a member of a community that takes pride in political participation.

CONTEMPORARY OPINIONS OF ATHLETIC AND HIPPIC COMPETITORS

COMPETING FROM EXILE The fact that Orestes enters the games as an Argive, although he is in exile, would not have been unusual to an Athenian audience, nor would his political use of the result, due to historical precedent (see table 4.1).

Towards the end of the fifth century and into the fourth, there is evidence that hippic competitors, especially in the chariot races, were perceived as wealthy and of high esteem, whereas athletes could be perceived as men of low birth, citizens of unimportant states and of little education. Alcibiades’ son offers this as a justification of his father taking to chariot racing as a youth rather than competing athletically and then progressing to hippic events, the more usual course.31 This early success on the racecourse formed part of his attraction to younger Athenians.32 Alcibiades is not the only Athenian to have competed at a young age, without previous athletic victories, as his contemporary and fellow general Teisias II also sought victory in the Olympic chariot race of 416, in a bid to gain the same kind of popularity and support among the citizens.

Kimon I won his first chariot victory in exile and traded his second for return to Athens by having it announced in the name of Peisistratus, the tyrant, who effected his recall. A third victory, however, was one too many: it was perceived as a political threat and he was assassinated by Hippias, Peisistratus’ son.33 Megacles IV was ostracised, with hippotrophia written on at least one ostrakon, and won his victory in exile during the same year. He did not use this for recall (ostracism required a ten year exile). However, the ostracism indicates his political prominence and the relative timing suggests that he intended, or could have intended, to use the victory and its publicity in that context.

The above defence of such youthful hippotrophia implies that, in the late fifth century, Orestes, as a purely athletic victor, could have been denigrated as being of no account. However, his entry in the four-horse chariot-race shows that he can compete on an equal footing with the wealthy and wellborn. As Orestes has been in exile from childhood (11–3, 1130–7), it also shows that he has financial support, presumably from powerful friends (possibly including Pylades’ father) in his claim for recognition as an Argive and Agamemnon’s son: the legitimate heir to the throne of Mycenae. The particular

CHARIOT-RACING AS A FAMILY TRADITION Table I also shows that chariot racing runs in families.34 To take the example of the Alcmaeonidae: Alcmaeon I (Olympic victor and general of 542), son of Megacles II, the archon during the Cylonian conspiracy, won his first victory in 592. His brother, Alcmaeonides I, was a Panathenaic chariot victor c. 546, but he had this announced while he was abroad, perhaps to avoid political jealousy and the kind of repercussions experienced by Kimon I. Megacles III was the first Athenian chariot victor at Olympia and the great-nephew of Alcmaeonides I, although he was a member of the Philaidai not the Alcmaeonidae. Megacles IV added to the string of Alcmaeonid successes at Delphi with his victory in 486. Alcibiades I established chariot-racing as a tradition in his family after his Pythian victory and the family became connected with the Alcmaeonidae when his son, Alcibiades III (the Alcibiades discussed above), married Hipparete in the late 420s. Hipparete was the granddaughter of Kallias II, the Alcmaeonid Olympic victor of 500, 496 and 492, and niece of Megacles IV. Alcibiades followed his father and new in-laws into

30

Plut. Sol. 23.3; Diog. Laert. 1.55–6; Kyle 1984. Isoc. De Biga 16.33. For Athenians progressing from athletics to hippotrophia see Kyle (1987, 121–3) and Golden (1997, 332–3) who consider that victors and hence competitors in hippotrophic events are older because the competitor rather than their father needs to control the expenditure (Alcibiades is an orphan and controls his own inheritance). However, Aristophanes refers to the chariot crashes of youths, Eq. 556– 8 (425), and Nub. (performed in 423, rewritten in 417) is based around a horse-mad youth who is beggaring his father by pursuing the family tradition of chariot racing, due to ambition of his mother (63–4, 69–70), a member of the Alcmaeonidae (65), just like Alcibiades. Further, see Henderson 1990, 278 ff. In contrast, Young (1984, 160–1) sees the social status of athletic and hippotrophic competitors and their families, as suggested by military and political activity, as due to their success, a view which is in accordance with that of this paper. 32 Thuc. 6.12–13; Ogden (1997, 125) holds that it had a similar cachet to movie stardom today and was just as frequently followed by a transition to politics. 31

33

Connor 1971, 10–1. Kimon I’s family had a reputation for four-horse chariot racing according to Herodotus, 6.35. 34

37

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY chariot racing. His victory at Olympia in 416 resulted in an epinician by Euripides and paintings in the Propylaea depicting him as Pythian victor, in addition to command of the Sicilian expedition.35

CHARIOT RACING, GENERALS

AND

ATHENIAN

Indeed, the generalship features significantly in table 4.1 (Alcmaeon, Miltiades, Alcibiades III, Teisias II), occasionally preceding, but more often following, sometimes closely, on a chariot victory. The chariot victory in question in this latter case most often comes at an early age and in the Pythian games.

Orestes, too, revives an interest in chariot racing in his family. Although Orestes is announced as the son of Agamemnon, Sophocles only refers to the house of Pelops within the play (3, 310, 400, 1008) rather than the house of Atreus. This marked contrast to Euripides and Aeschylus is only broken when Clytemnestra expresses her wish to retain power over the house of Atreus at 640. The house of Pelops is a house with a tradition of chariot racing, as revealed by the chorus at 504–11, in the ode preceding the Paidagogos’ speech. Pelops was also widely considered as a founder of the Olympic games following a chariot victory and appears on the pediment of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia in that context (but see the previous chapter). This establishes that Orestes is not turning to the popularity of hippic competition in an attempt to compensate for obscure ancestry. This “revival” of family tradition is also attested in Pindar Isth. 3, where Melissus’ victory does not disgrace his arête (11–4), inherited from his ancestor Cleonymus, famed for chariot racing (15 f.).36

Examination of the ages of competitors at the Olympic and Pythian games yields surprising results for the two games (see table 4.3 and graph 4.4).40 It would be expected that the two figures would be broadly similar, as the competitors came from the pool of all Greek competitors and the same families competed in both events. However, the field of entrants for the Pythian games is statistically significantly younger than that for the Olympic games. In addition, all the victors aged between twenty-five and thirty-five at both Delphi and Olympia in the fifth century are 1) Athenian and 2) have a generalship in their career. Olympic Games. YEAR -400 -416 -420 -436 -448 -476 -488 -504 -532 -536 -560

Pythian Games YEAR -408 -421 -478 -486 -490 -564 -582 0 0 0 0

AGE 40 30 55 45 50 50 40 45 65 50 35

AGE 35 30 50 38 40 25 35 0 0 0 0

TABLE 4.3. THE AGE OF KNOWN OLYMPIC AND PYTHIAN FOUR-HORSE CHARIOT VICTORS (610-390 BC).

Olympic Games.

Age

That chariot victory could promote popularity and compensate for obscure ancestry is evidenced by the case of Teisias II, a contemporary of Alcibiades. Teisias II’s family was a relative newcomer to the political arena when Teisias II secured a generalship in 417/6 as a colleague of Alcibiades. This was the year of the Olympic competition of 416 and Teisias claimed that he gave his friend Alcibiades money to buy him a team in Argos and that Alcibiades had done so, but had raced them in his own name.37 It was claimed that this chariotteam had awarded Alcibiades the victory, a claim that implied that the victory, its accompanying acclaim and political advantages should have been Teisias’. It is possible that Teisias intended, like Alcibiades, 70 to use the victory politically—especially in view of the Greeks’ preference for military 65 commanders and founders of colonies who 60 were Olympic or triple Pythian victors.38 The 55 subsequent contention resulted in a lawsuit 50 between Teisias II and Alcibiades’ son, which 45 gave rise to the defence mentioned above.39 In 40 any case, the publicity of the argument itself 35 must have been enormous and Teisias retained 30 the generalship for 416/15: the later lawsuit 25 will have provided similar publicity at a time 20 of need. -610

AGE

Pythian Games

-590

-570

-550

-530

-510

-490

-470

-450

-430

-410

-390

Year (BC = - AD)

35

GRAPH 4.4. THE AGE OF KNOWN OLYMPIC AND PYTHIAN FOURHORSE CHARIOT VICTORS (610–390 B.C.).

Plut. Alc. 16.7, Ath. 12.534d. Dickie 1979. 37 Dem. 21.147; Plut. Alc. 16. 38 The preference is apparent in both Plutarch and Diodorus Siculus and is discussed by Kurke 1998, 136 ff. 39 Andoc. 4; Isoc. De Biga. 36

40

This represents only those competitors whose ages can be determined with any degree of accuracy (see Golden 1998).

38

ELEANOR OKELL: ORESTES THE CONTENDERS

So, why should chariot racing be linked to the generalship and its award at a young age? The answer lies not only in wealth, which implies that the individual could afford a time commitment over an extended period and was less likely to be bribed, but also in the qualities that chariot racing requires and which Sophocles has Orestes exhibit during the successful portion of his race. Both Shenfield and Machin recognise the chariot race as a showcase for Orestes’ skills, but do not consider whether this has any purpose outside the Paidagogos’ narrative, as this paper maintains.41 Winning requires the qualities of strength, skill, timing and stamina, knowledge of the team and ability to plan a strategy and to judge “safe” risks. In short, the qualities required by a chariot victor are not significantly different from those required in a general.

important point at which to introduce his Pythian chariot race. Orestes is the first to mention chariot racing (47– 52): êggelle d' ˜rkƒ prowtiye‹w ıyoÊneka t°ynhk' ÉOr°sthw §j énagka¤aw tÊxhw, êyloisi Puyiko›sin §k troxhlãtvn d¤frvn kulisye¤w: œd' ı mËyow •stãtv.

Tell them - even confirm it on oath – That Orestes has perished by necessary fortune, At the Pythian games from his rapid Chariot he was thrown. Thus, put forward the story.

Here Orestes instructs a subordinate in the execution of what amounts to an ambush, just as in the Philoctetes of 409 Odysseus instructs Neoptolemos, a military subordinate, in his story of deception. The only difference between the two is that the Philoctetes has a definite, a formal and official, military context, whereas the context of the Electra is very much that of an informal conspiracy, albeit one carried out with military precision.

As noted previously, it was unusual before 404 to use a driver, but if one was used (e.g., by Alcibiades for his multiple entries or Gelon who was on his death-bed in Sicily while being proclaimed Olympic victor) it showed the ability to evaluate the right man to whom to delegate. In the Paidagogos’ account, Orestes drives himself with a sure, clear hand transmitting his strategy to his team. Orestes shows courage in holding the line, skill and courage in turning close to the post and swerving out to block pursuers in the straight. He executes this difficult and dangerous strategy successfully until the last turn and a momentary lapse in concentration (744).

THE SIGNIFICANCE FOR SOPHOCLES’ CHARACTERISATION To summarise so far: Sophocles sets Orestes up in the prologue as a man with military ability, although of unspecified experience (the familiarity with cavalry horses shown at 25 ff. may imply to the Athenian audience that he had experience as a hipparch, but it would be unwise to attribute this without further evidence). In the tale Sophocles has the Paidagogos tell that Orestes is set up as a proficient and successful athlete, a man who publicises himself as an Argive, not an exile, and the son of a paramount military commander. Orestes enters the chariot-race, thereby demonstrating to the audience his wealth and ambitions for military command. What the audience would associate these with is apparent from Lycurgus (Leoc. 138) and Demosthenes (18.320), as both assert that hippotrophia reflects wealth and personal ambition, rather than being part of the demonstration of a man’s good character; the opposite view is held by Lysias (19.63) and Hyperides (1.16).44 The ambiguity of the general perception of hippotrophia could account for the Paidagogos’ addition of athletic victories to Orestes’ initial version: athletic victory indisputably demonstrated Orestes’ abilities and success in the training ground of the warrior and identified him as his father’s son.

In addition to using the chariot race to indicate Orestes’ qualities and suitability for military command, Sophocles’ overall portrayal of Orestes is that of a man with military potential. That the audience is to consider him as such is apparent from the opening lines of the play, where the Paidagogos’ address to Orestes calls him the son “of the general once at Troy, son of Agamemnon” (1–2).42 Prior to any mention of chariot racing, Orestes is presented and set up as a military man. He uses military vocabulary concerning such matters as troop deployment and discipline (30 ff.) and the use of signals (23) and he displays familiarity with cavalry horses (25 ff.). Orestes continues to use military vocabulary throughout the play (e.g., 74, 1293–4, 1374, 1491, 1495, 1501) and it is interesting to note that “if a man was [sic] elected general when barely thirty it was because he had already been able to prove himself in one or more of the lower offices (e.g. lochagos, taxiarch, hipparch)”.43 The vocabulary indicates that Orestes may have had previous military experience and his age, a matter to which the paper will return, could place him on the cusp of a generalship, an

Therefore, the Paidagogos’ speech effectively states Orestes’ readiness to return to Argos and make good his threats (as listed at 647–54 by Clytemnestra) to avenge his father and reclaim the Pelopid throne. His near success in the chariot-race indicates to the listener just how close Orestes came to marching on Mycenae with an army gathered from among the Greeks. The realisation of

41

Shenfield 2001; Machin 1991, 49. Haslam (1975) condemns this line as dull and unworthy of Sophocles and explains it as an interpolation from the victory announcement of 693–5. However, if the audience is supposed to recognise Orestes’ military potential from the outset and be attuned to further references to it, then the recollection of Agamemnon’s generalship at the outset and its repetition at 693–5, before Clytemnestra, is significant and fully integrated into the dramaturgy. 43 Rhodes 1986, 138. 42

44

39

Further Whitehead 1983.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY three athletic victories (cf. Pindar Pyth. 11.13, where the victor Thrasydaeus caused his paternal hearth to be remembered by casting three victory wreaths upon it) and the chariot race, and takes steps to limit their significance. This is on a similar footing to Archesilaos’ actions to undermine the significance of chariot racing in Sparta in order to stop it threatening the kingship: he achieves this by encouraging his daughter Kyniska to race and attributing her victory to wealth alone, not manly qualities.45

her close escape prompts Clytemnestra’s public expression of relief at his “death”. If Orestes had “died” in any other way Clytemnestra would still have been relieved and Electra distraught, but not so extremely, because it would only have meant that the apparently empty threat/hope of his return was no more. However, their extreme emotional reactions indicate that this “death” has greater significance. When the Athenian audience’s association of Pythian chariot victory and running for a generalship is considered the greater significance is clarified. What, before the Paidagogos’ speech, may have been mistaken as the “empty” threat/hope of a procrastinator was in fact a real threat/hope and one that was about to be realised. Hence Clytemnestra’s relieved elation and Electra’s disappointed devastation as presented by Sophocles and witnessed by the audience.

ORESTES’ AGE AND ITS SIGNIFICANCE So far, the association of Orestes with contenders for political position, especially a generalship, seems highly probable. However, a final consideration remains, that of age.

The serious nature of the threat Orestes poses by being at this point in his career is revealed by Aegisthus’ reaction to the news at 1458–63 where he bids slaves:

According to Homer Orestes killed Aegisthus in the eighth year after he usurped the throne (i.e. eight years after Agamemnon’s murder). Orestes was born before Agamemnon went to Troy and, therefore, must be at least eighteen or nineteen. However, as Sommerstein has noted,46 in Sophocles it seems that a period longer than the seven years expected from the Homeric version has elapsed.

sigçn ênvga kénadeiknÊnai pÊlaw pçsin Mukhna¤oisin 'Arge¤oiw y' ıpçn, …w e‡ tiw aÈt«n §lp¤sin kena›w pãrow §jπret' éndrÚw toËde, nËn ıp«n nekrÚn stÒmia d°xhtai témã, mhd¢ prÚw b¤an §moË kolastoË prostux∆n fÊsh+ fr°naw.

Sophocles’ play puts forward the case that Orestes’ return has been awaited/avoided for some time, indeed Electra has almost given up hope of his return. She waits for him with unwearied longing, day after day, unwed and childless because he seems to have discounted all he has suffered and heard (164–70). His messages concerning his return are all lies, she continues, they always say he is coming but he never arrives to prove them true. This idea is repeated at 303-6, when Electra says that he is always intending to strike a blow, but has worn out her hope that he will ever do so. The chorus, too, ask if Orestes is still delaying (318) and Electra reaffirms that he makes promises that he does not fulfil. Orestes, therefore, has been in a position where he could be expected to return (i.e., reached eighteen and begun to issue threats) yet has not yet done so and his failure to fulfil Electra and the chorus’ expectations has made him seem a cowardly procrastinator.

Throw wide the gates For all the Mycenaeans and Argives to behold; That if any of them once held some hope Stemming from this man, now, seeing him dead, They may receive my curb, Else it may chance punishment will make them wise.

Aegisthus feels it necessary to display that a popular hope, which had stemmed from the young man, is no more. That Orestes is able to inspire such popularity is evident both from the chorus’ enquiries after him and from the fictitious crowd’s reaction to Orestes’ “crash” (749–51): stratÚw d' ˜pvw ırò nin §kpeptvkÒta d¤frvn, énalÒluje tÚn nean¤an, oÂ' ¶rga drãsaw oÂa lagxãnei kakå.

When the army of spectators saw him fallen From the car, a cry went up for the young man, Who had done such deeds and been allotted ills.

Yet, despite this background, the choral response to Electra’s complaint of 318–9 is that a man will pause on the verge of a great deed (320). This implies that Orestes may not be delaying, as it appears, but rather checking to make sure that all is in readiness for the deed to be great, to be a success. This is precisely the tactic Orestes employs in the chariot-race (734–5) where he hangs back, trusting to the opportunities offered by the last lap— conserving his horses for a final push, once the field has thinned and the true opponent is revealed and within

Although στρατÄς is not used here in its primary sense of “army”, that sense would be the one foremost in the listener’s mind. Aegisthus has not heard the Paidagogos’ speech, with its hints of Orestes’ power, κράτη (689), with its connotations of rule, but he has had the circumstances of Orestes’ “death” described to him and his reaction reveals the conclusions he has reached from it. He has concluded that Orestes’ body needs to be publicly displayed to undermine categorically any potential uprising as a result of underground popular feeling. He has taken warning from the account of the

45

Xen. Ages. 9.6; Kyniska’s victory: IG 5.1.1564a and Anth. Pal. 13.16; Hodkinson 1998. 46 Sommerstein 1997, 208.

40

ELEANOR OKELL: ORESTES THE CONTENDERS

reach. That this approach is a prudent one, as well as a family characteristic, is shown by Chrysothemis at 330–1 and 336. Chrysothemis asks if Electra will never learn, even from the passage of time, to desist from idle wrath and says that she thinks it better not to seem active when she is unable to inflict injury. This is prudence, not cowardice, and courage is revealed as another family trait when Electra takes her “do or die” attitude towards bringing about the deposition of the tyrants. The Orestes of the chariot-race displayed this same attitude when he went head to head with the Athenian driver and did not win, but dies in the attempt. Thus, Orestes recognises that the spirit of battle can exist in women and does exist in Electra (1243–4).

Although Orestes succeeds in killing Clytemnestra, at the end of the play Aegisthus is still alive and the audience knows that Orestes cannot win unless he kills him too. Effectively, Orestes has successfully negotiated the first half of his race, but still has to negotiate the turning post and the home straight. Thus, the outcome of the play is uncertain, just as uncertain as the outcome of the race in which Orestes “died” (the Athenian victory is only implied), or that of the real Pythian chariot race in which Orestes did, or did not, compete, which formed the basis of the Paidagogos’ speech. On this view it is even possible that some audience members may have wondered whether the Paidagogos’ speech might turn out to be a prediction and wondered whether Orestes, like his counterpart in the Paidagogos’ speech, might fail to cross the finish. However, in response to Myrick’s observation that Sophocles does not make use of this motif to any great extent outside the Paidagogos’ speech, this paper hopes to have shown that this is due to Sophocles’ concern to develop the image of the chariot race as a whole and use the associated political implications to inform his play. I would also point out that the tombmarker can be equated to the turning-post.49 Orestes’ first act after deciding to carry through Apollo’s command is to visit his father’s tomb (51) before returning with the urn (54–5), in other words he negotiates the turn and his actions during the play are those of the home straight of the race.

The implication of all this is that Orestes is over eighteen and has spent time making preparations for his return, preparations to ensure success. The delay, in view of Electra’s bemoaning her lost marriage prospects, has been in terms of years and it is possible that Orestes is now somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five (seven to seventeen years later than expected). Orestes is, however, most likely to be twenty-five to thirty, because this is the age of the Athenian contenders for political position to whom he resonates: those who compete in chariot racing at the Pythian games and have ambitions for positions of military command and political power.47 The relation between athletic and hippic contest and war is retained throughout the accomplishment of Orestes’ purpose. He prays to Hermes (who presided over contests and the starts of chariot-races, 1375) and the chorus says that Ares goes into the house with him (1385), as does Hermes (1395–6), to murder Clytemnestra and her murder is described as a sacrifice to Ares (the god who presided over the prize table at Olympia, as well as the god of war). The way in which Orestes re-establishes himself as rightful heir to the Pelopid throne of Mycenae and Argos is intimately bound up with the image of the chariot-race.

The chariot race itself, however, had a cluster of accompanying associations in fifth century Athenian thought which also permeate the play and serve to clarify the underlying political nature of the plot. CONCLUSION It is these associations which enabled Sophocles to shape Orestes into an athletic victor and hippic competitor, in a reverse of the process, described by Fontenrose, whereby famous athletes become legendary heroes, who, after all, are composites of warrior, hunter and athlete.50 This was not an unusual occurrence in the fifth century, as many legendary heroes (e.g., Koroibos, Eurybates, Oibotos and Euthycles) become early Olympic athletes.51 Fontenrose holds that “[t]he hero-athlete tale is an old hero legend historicised by the substitution of an athletic victor, an historical person or supposedly so”.52 Similarly, in the Sophocles’ Electra the legendary hero, Orestes, is informed by aspects of historical and contemporary

Myrick has examined the way in which trace-horse and turning imagery inform the plot development of the Oresteia and Euripides’ Electra and Orestes but she does not consider this to be present to a large extent in Sophocles.48 I would suggest that this is because Sophocles has developed these images into that of the chariot race as a whole and used the political implications of that to inform the play. However, if Myrrick’s reading of the plays as races involving the safe negotiation of a turn is applied to Sophocles’ Electra the following interesting factor emerges.

49

See McGowan 1995. Fontenrose 1968, 89. 51 It would not have been possible for Sophocles to turn Orestes into an Olympic victor without having to deal with the curse of Myrtilus on the Pelopids. Myrtilus was the charioteer whom Pelops bribed to sabotage his opponent’s chariot so that he could win the chariot race, an aspect omitted from the Sophoclean choral ode, and his ghost was responsible for crashes at the crucial turning point of Olympic chariot races (Paus. 6.20.15 ff.). In view of which it is perhaps fortunate for Sophocles that more youthful and ambitious Athenians competed at Delphi. 52 Fontenrose 1968, 83. 50

47

While the date of the Electra is uncertain (the general scholarly consensus is 413–407) in 411 the oligarchy abolished the age restriction for generals according to Arist. [Ath. Pol.] 31.2. 411/10 also attracted generals whose fathers or grandfathers had held the generalship, as did 405. Against this background (i.e., a performance date of 411, or later) Orestes could be under twenty-five and popularly associated with vying for the generalship. 48 Myrick 1994.

41

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Henderson, J. 1990. “The D∞mow and the Comic Competition.” In Nothing to do with Dionysus?, edited by J.J. Winkler and F.I. Zeitlin, 217–313. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Hodkinson, S. 1998. “An Agonistic Culture? Athletic and Equestrian Competition in Classical Spartan Society.” Paper read at a Research Seminar, Manchester University, Manchester. Kurke, L. 1998. “The Economy of Kudos.” In Cultural Poetics in Archaic Greece: Cult, Performance, Politics, edited by C. Dougherty and L. Kurke, 131–63. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kyle, D.G. 1984. “Solon and Athletics.” AncW 9:91–105. ——. 1987. Athletics in Ancient Athens. Leiden: Brill. Lacombruler, C. 1959. “En marge de Sophocle: une course de quadriges aux jeux Pythiques.” Pallas 8:5– 14. Machin, A. 1991. “Oreste ou l’echec glorieux: Sophocle, Electre (714–5).” Pallas 34:45–60. Mattingly, H.B. 1990. “Some Fifth Century Epigraphic Hands.” ZPE 83:110–22. McGowan, E.P. 1995. “Tomb Marker and Turning Post: Funerary Columns in the Archaic Period.” AJA 99: 615–632. Morrissey, E.J. 1978. “Victors in the Prytaneion Decree IG I2 77.” GRBS 19:199-210. Myrick, L.D. 1994. “The Way Up and the Way Down: Trace-horse and Turning Imagery in the Orestes Plays.” CJ 89:131–48. Ogden, D. 1997. The Crooked Kings of Ancient Greece. London: Duckworth. Osborne, M.J. 1981. “Entertainment in the Prytaneion at Athens.” ZPE 41:153–70. Ostwald, M. 1951. “The Prytaneion Decree Reexamined.” AJP 72:24–34. Parca, M. 1992. “Of Nature and Eros: Deianeira in Sophocles Trachiniae.” ICS 17:175–92. Perysinakis, I.N. 1990. “The Athlete as Warrior: Pindar’s Pythian 9.97–103 and 10.55–59.” BICS 37:43–9. Pleket, H.W. 1975. “Games, Prizes, Athletics and Ideology: Some Aspects of the History of Sport in the Greco-Roman World.” Stadion 1:49–89. Poliakoff, M. 1982. Studies in the Terminology of the Greek Combat Sports. Meissenheim: Königstein. Rhodes, J.P. 1986. “Political Activity in Classical Athens.” JHS 106:132–44. Scanlon, T.F. 1988. “Combat and Contest: Athletic Metaphors for Warfare in Greek Literature.” In Coroebus Triumphs: The Alliance of Sport and the Arts, edited by S.J. Bandy, 230–44. San Diego: State University Press. Seager, R. 1973. “Elitism and Democracy in Classical Athens.” In The Rich, the Well-Born, and the Powerful: Elites and Upper Classes in History, edited by F. Cople Jaher, 7–26. Urbana, Ill.: University of Illinois Press. Shenfield, L. 2001. “Orestes’ Death: Did Sophocles get it Wrong?” Pegasus 45. Sommerstein, A.H. 1997. “Alternative Scenarios in Sophocles’ Electra.” Prometheus 23:193–214.

chariot victors, making him into this type of hero-athlete. Thus, Orestes, the chariot racer, resonates to such historical individuals as Alcibiades III, Teisias II and Kimon I and their utilisation of chariot racing for political purposes. The result is an Orestes understandable to the fifth century Athenian in contemporary political terms. They recognise an Orestes who has reached the point of being, not only eager, but also ready to hold office and who is about to make his play for it. The associations underlying this recognition are no less real and valid because they are applied to and through a “skilfully made-up story of a race that never was”.53

Works Cited Texts and Commentaries Jebb, R.C. 1880. Sophocles: The Electra. London: Rivingtons. Kells, J.H. 1973. Sophocles: Electra. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lloyd-Jones, H. 1996. Sophocles. Vol. 1. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Pearson, A.C. 1985. Reprint. Sophoclis Fabulae. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Original edition, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1924. Anyx, D.A. 1958. “The Attic Stelai, Part III.” Hesperia 27:178–86. Bell, D. 1989. “The Horse-Race (KELHS) in Ancient Greece from the Pre-Classical Period to the First Century B.C.” Stadion 15:167–90. Bowra, C.M. 1969. “Euripides’ Epinician for Alcibiades.” Historia 9:68–9. Connor, W.R. 1971. The New Politicians of Fifth-century Athens. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Davies, J.K. 1971. Athenian Propertied Families 600– 300 B.C. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Dickie, M.W. 1979. “Pindar’s Seventh Pythian and the Status of the Alcmaeonids as Oikos or Genos.” Phoenix 33:193–209. Fontenrose, J. 1968. “The Hero as Athlete.” CSCA 1:73– 104. Golden, M. 1997. “Equestrian Competition in Ancient Greece: Difference, Dissent and Democracy.” Phoenix 51:327–43. ——. 1998. Sport and Society in Ancient Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hands, A.R. 1959. “Ostraka and the Law of Ostracism.” JHS 79:69–79. Haslam, M.W. 1975. “The Authenticity of Euripides’ Phoenissae 1-2 and Sophocles’ Electra 1.” GRBS 16:149–74.

53

Shenfield 2001.

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Strauss, B.S. 1993. Fathers and Sons in Athens: Ideology and Society in the Era of the Peloponnesian War. London: Routledge. Thompson, W.E. 1979. “More on the Prytaneion Decree.” GRBS 20:325–30. Whitehead, D. 1983. “Competitive Outlay and Community Profit: Philotimia in Democratic Athens.” ClMed 55:55–62. Young, D.C. 1984. The Olympic Myth of Greek Amateur Athletics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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Chapter 5

From Agônistês to Agônios: Hermes, Chaos and Conflict in Competitive Games and Festivals* ARLENE ALLAN through the testing of natural abilities and technical skills, the competitive games and festivals held by the Greeks provided the opportunity for minor, and sometimes major, changes to occur in the hierarchical positioning of individuals, families and even cities.

INTRODUCTION In the late 1970s a new theoretical perspective on the nature of our world was introduced that radically altered our understanding of the universe. That perspective is commonly known today as Chaos Theory, its most stunning image that of the fractal: a computer-generated, pictorial representation of the mathematics of change. These beautifully intricate patterns revealed for the first time to human eyes what thinkers from antiquity onwards had often suspected: ours is a world of orderly disorder. There is indeed both disorder in order and design in apparent randomness.1

In Greek mythology this concept gains expression in the nature and activities of one god in particular, Hermes. Luck and chance (tukhê), opportunity at the critical time and place (kairos), the rapid and unexpected turn of events are all in his province. As the youngest of the Olympian gods, Hermes represents the possibility, even the necessity, of change in a pre-ordered and seemingly stable universe. He is the official “trickster” in the Greek pantheon, the son whom Zeus, in his wisdom, fathered having recognised the need for the reintroduction of the chaos/conflict pairing into his cosmos in order to initiate changes in his own design.4 In other words, wherever one finds evidence of Hermes, one simultaneously finds evidence of a site of potential or realised conflict. But significantly, one also frequently finds evidence of the mechanisms for conflict resolution. In this paper, I propose to demonstrate that the complex of associations known by the name “Hermes”—“the friendliest of gods to mortals” (Hom. Il. 24.334–5)—is founded upon a cluster of real and symbolic situations that entail the potential for conflict and its resolution, and which, therefore, makes Hermes a god of particular importance to the aims and activities of competitive games and festivals.

For the Greeks, chaos was not a positive state in and of itself. Their mythology clearly connects chaos with conflicts that have a tendency to escalate into wars—just witness the series of violent acts that constitute the myths of succession among the gods in Hesiod’s Theogony. As explanatory tales, however, their value is now generally accepted: order is created out of chaos through the process of establishing clear categorical divisions. Conversely, order is threatened and chaos returns when distinctions dissolve and boundaries blur. But this is not to say that the Greeks did not appreciate the beneficial after-effects of a brief eruption of the chaotic. Indeed, it would appear that these peoples came to an early appreciation of the creative potential of chaos and that they embedded the principle of “controlled chaos” in many of their socio-religious institutions and rituals. Take, for instance, the case of the initiation rituals of youths into the adult community. Chaos was institutionalised by encouraging, even demanding, that the young initiate, during the liminal stage of his initiation, “break the rules” of his society through the deliberate confusion of its categorical distinctions.2 Whereas initiation rituals formed part of the young male’s education in societal norms, the competitive games provided one venue for displaying the effects of this education.3 Again similar to the initiation rituals, which were, among other things, a means whereby the youths could be ranked, with status and kleos awarded

THE CHALLENGING OF RELATIVES Mythical evidence of this god’s activity is scattered throughout the corpus of extant literature and it offers us insights into two different, but related, paths along which we can trace Hermes’ association with conflict/resolution. One path is clearest in the late sixth-century Homeric Hymn to Hermes, while the other must be assembled from the references scattered throughout the ancient corpus. For the sake of simplicity, then, I shall begin with the Hymn.5 Hermes, according to his mother, was born to be a great concern (megélhn ... m§rimnan) for both men and gods

* I wish to thank all of those at the conference who offered many helpful suggestions for the improvement and development of this paper, especially Professors Nick Fisher and Greta Ham. I would also like to thank the editors for drawing my attention to several references. Any errors and omissions that remain are entirely my own. 1 Gleick 1988. 2 Burkert 1983. 3 Cf. Scanlon 1998.

4

Clay 1989; Hyde 1998. Scholars now generally agree that this Hymn was composed in the last two or three decades of the sixth century (cf. Janko 1982, 143; Shelmerdine 1995), although an early version of some of the events dealt with in the Hymn seems to have existed nearer the beginning of the century (Ant. Lib. Met. 23; cf. Hes. Fr. 153). All dates in this chapter are BC. 5

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY (Hymn. Hom. Merc. 160–1), which was wholly in keeping with the designs of Zeus (10). On the very day of his birth, Hermes sets about fulfilling his father’s will by slipping out of the house and stealing the cattle of his divine half-brother, Apollo. Indeed, the evidence of the Hymn bears witness to the “fact” that Hermes was born “agônistês”, a competitor, a contender for status, property and position within the social hierarchy of his Olympian family. Worthy of notice is the manner in which he sets about securing his position. Hermes initiates his quest for inclusion among the Olympians by first setting up a conflict situation between himself and one of their members.6 When his mother chastises him for his actions, Hermes further threatens to initiate total chaos by robbing Apollo of all of his divine honours if his demand for a sharing of them is not met (166–81).

A challenge is first issued and receives a preliminary response. An oath is sworn and the contest takes place on “holy ground” before a panel of judges composed of peers that leads to a preliminary decision. A series of further tests follows until a victor emerges, who receives both honours and material prizes. Finally, upon their return home, more honours are awarded to the victors. In this “ideal” situation, the loser neither forfeits his position among his peers nor surrenders personal goods of any consequence without receiving something in return. Most of the awards won by the challenger are given to him by the group’s representative, and very few are taken directly from the possessions of his opponent. Thus, at the end of the conflict, the two contestants are able to become “best friends”, each having his own role to play within the ruling hierarchy.8

When the inevitable happens and Apollo comes to confront Hermes over the theft of his cattle, neither his rummaging through the cupboards nor his threats of violence are successful in intimidating the young god. Rather, in holding fast to his plan, Hermes suggests that they should contend with each other before the divine court of judges on Olympus. Apollo agrees and the contest moves from the private sphere of Hermes’ secluded cave into the sacred environs of the gods. This is itself a victory for Hermes, in that no one but the gods (or deified heroes) ever successfully gains entrance to Olympus. Therefore Hermes’ divinity is confirmed by his very appearance before his immortal relatives.7

If we accept the premise that ideological constructs and patterns of “ideal” social behaviour are present in the literary works produced by a given society, then we may be justified in reading this story-line in the Hymn to Hermes as indicative of the Greeks’ acceptance of the necessity of conflict and contest in determining the distribution of social prerogatives and privileges. As several scholars have noted, this is decidedly an ideological construct held and propagated by the powerwielding, oligarchic élites, although the “ideal” is not necessarily attained in the “real” world.9 The ideology of dominance in a hierarchical organisation based on success in ponoi (toils, labours) and aithloi (struggles) against peers, in the presence of peers, underlies the very ethos of Greek male behaviour. Scanlon and Ellsworth have both examined the origins and use of the word agôn and its cognates, and have found that it is used for “an assembly associated with contests” that embraces both the spatial sense of “place” and the requisite material elements of competition: “spectators, competitors and prizes”.10 Moreover, Scanlon’s observation that the term is closely connected with military vocabulary and with “leadership” in particular, will prove to be particularly important to this discussion of Hermes’ connection to conflict/contests as we progress. For now, it is important to draw out some further similarities between Hermes’ actions in the Hymn and the competitive game or festival.

However, the resolution of the conflict is not wholly decided here. While Zeus is the first to give Hermes an officially respectable office, as herald, he leaves it to his two sons to arrange for the distribution of honours as they relate to things presented as already in Apollo’s possession. This is accomplished through direct negotiation, with some further posturing by Apollo and Hermes. (Apollo had previously bestowed the title, Patron of Thieves on Hermes, which he duly retains; however, while this is an acknowledgement of his exceptional ability in this area, it is far from an “honourable” position within the hierarchical organisation of the gods.) In the end, Hermes does succeed in gaining a share of Apollo’s timai, and the two vow to be the best of friends as well. This happy resolution of the conflict is effected only after a display of strength followed by the exchange of value-prizes and kleos between the two parties. When they return to Olympus, Zeus bestows a further set of timai on Hermes that builds upon those already won from, or received in exchange with, Apollo.

In our earliest extant literary evidence, Homer’s Iliad, the competitive ideology of the élites (noted above) is well attested, as the mortal heroes in that epic place the highest value on winning renown in the well-fought fight, both on the battlefield and in athletic competitions among their peers. At the funeral games for Patroklos (Il. 23.259– 897), all of the competitors are members of the nobility (i.e., Il. 23.236, 270–3). Similarly on the battlefield, nobles tend to fight against opponents of equal nobility

It does not require a great imaginative leap to see in this storyline an abbreviated pattern for competitive contests. 6

Shelmerdine (1995, 93) notes Hermes’ deliberate initiation of conflict in order to resolve it for his benefit; however, she does not pursue the significance of this activity beyond seeing it as an expression of his function as “trickster.” 7 Clay 1989, 135.

8

Cf. Gouldner’s (1965, 49–51) discussion of non-zero-sum games. Pleket 1975; Winkler 1990, 69. 10 Scanlon 1983, 154; Ellsworth 1976. 9

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ARLENE ALLAN: FROM AGÔNISTÊS TO AGÔNIOS: HERMES, CHAOS AND CONFLICT from the enemy’s ranks.11 There appears to be no “claim to fame” in defeating a social inferior; at least as far as we can determine from the catalogue of war-dead in an individual’s aristeia, none of the victim lists indicate that any of the slain foe were in anyway unworthy of their opponent. While we may see this as a strategy for the aggrandisement of the hero (by making all of his adversaries “equal” to him), the issue of equality among competitors is an essential premise in the structure of all significant conflicts/contests, especially in athletics.12

contenders (cf. Il. 23.160, 450, 482). Competitive contests, then, can be seen as a mechanism for circumventing potentially violent situations with a form of relatively non-violent conflict.15 Their success in doing so rests on two firmly held beliefs. First, provided all involved “play by the rules”, the best man will win. Second, that the winner is determined as much by divine favour as by superior personal ability.16 Victory is thus interpreted as a revelation of divine will, for the victor is perceived to have been chosen to receive a particularly potent gift from the gods at the critical moment in any contest—kûdos.

Hermes, too, is a member of the Olympian “elite”, although not as yet a holder of officially acknowledged rank and privilege. To obtain “official” recognition as one of the ruling gods (and not merely as an illegitimate son of Zeus), he must demonstrate his worthiness for inclusion in the halls of power.13 This entails first choosing an opponent from among the gods and then engaging him in a contest. To prepare for this event, Hermes first demonstrates his superior mêtis and tekhnê in designing the lyre, which he will later put on display when the contest enters a new round. With it he will also demonstrate that his musical and poetic abilities are equally matched with those of Apollo. As in the case of the heroes in the Iliad, the motivation for engaging Apollo in the first place derives from Hermes’ “hunger” to claim as his own certain things now in Apollo’s possession; these things include not only status, but material goods as well (tripods, cauldrons, etc.). It is clear from the Hymn that these items are important as much for their symbolic as their material value. They represent the honour in which the holder of them is held by the donors—in this case, the honour of mortals for the god. Competitors in the athletic contests also contend for both material and symbolic prizes. It has been suggested that material prizes were the first to be awarded at the Olympic site and that these were abandoned in favour of symbolic “crowns” only after Delphi established itself as a competing athletic venue without value-prizes.14 Certainly the funeral games of Patroklos offered material goods to the victors, and if, as many have suggested, the origin of athletic contests is rooted in funerary games, then we may be justified in arguing that competitive contests were established primarily for the purpose of redistributing material goods as well as positions within a hierarchy disrupted by an unexpected event such as death (the Iliad) or the arrival of a potentially powerful new figure (the Odyssey 7; the Hymn). As such, competitive venues provide a means of establishing a new hierarchy of honour that should, in theory, prevent the outbreak of more violent confrontations among the eligible

This kûdos, as Leslie Kurke notes, is more than “glory”: it is “instantaneous and irresistible advantage ... at a decisive moment of a combat or competitive activity”.17 And it is precisely this kûdos that Hermes seeks to receive from Apollo in the Hymn: “You, friend, make kûdos follow me” (477: sÁ d° moi, f¤le, kËdow ˆpaze).18 Not only does Hermes ask to be given the power of advantage; he also seems to be requesting that he always have kûdos as his follower or companion.19 It then becomes his to bestow on other competitors in the human realm as he so wills. That Hermes is the god thought to bestow this divine gift on others is reflected in the hymnist’s use of the adjective kudimon for Hermes alone throughout the Hymn. Long before his successful challenge to Apollo is launched, Hermes has been called “kudimon” (46, 96, 130, 150, 253, 316). Just as Hermes enacts the offices that he is eventually to hold in the very process of obtaining them, so the hymnist gives him his epithet before he has received it from Apollo.20 It is only appropriate that the god who secures his position among the Olympians by emerging victorious from the contest he initiates should become the god who dispenses the “irresistible advantage” that decides all contests in the human realm. Moreover, according to Homer, one of the prerogatives of rulership is the right to sit as judge over various types of conflicts.21 Thus, it is likewise only fitting that Hermes, the contender (agônistês), who wins kûdos along with his contest, should become Hermes, the judge of contests (agônios). The association stretches even further. There are indications in the Iliad that, in the poetic memory kept alive by the oral tradition, the age of Agamemnon operated under a principle similar to what would later be called the “divine right of kings”. The sceptre by which 15

Cf. Gouldner 1965, 48–9. Cf. Pindar Ol. 6.8–9, 9.28, 110; Nem. 1.9; Isth. 5.14–6. 17 Kurke 1998, 132 citing Benveniste 1973, 348. 18 Cf. Kurke 1998, 132-3. 19 Cf. Kahn (1978, 159–64) and Clay (1989, 141) for a different interpretation of Hermes’ request for kûdos. 20 Clay 1989, 102. 21 Il. 9.96–9; cf. Hes. Op. 16

11

Van Wees 1994. Cf. Thuc. 6.16.2–3 and Isocrates’ De Bige 16.33. Note Works 16.34 on Alcibiades’ reluctance to compete against social inferiors. 13 Cf. Kyle 1998, 105. 14 Cf. Nagy 1986. 12

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Agamemnon commands and by which those who hold it are entitled to speak before the assembled peoples came into his hands through Pelops, via Hermes (2.100–8). The Iliad thus indicates that the gods in heroic times were believed to have been actively involved in the rise and fall of rulers. Even in later periods, despite the fact that kingship gave way to other forms of government, there was still a tendency to believe that the “shepherds of the people” came to their positions of authority by divine will.

nearby rocks. As cows and cowhides are important in trade and as prizes in funeral games (Il. 22.159; 23.259– 70), it would appear that Hermes is symbolically setting up (on a pars pro toto basis) one of the “prizes” for which his contest with Apollo will be fought. In this he mirrors Achilles, who first sets out on display the prizes on offer in his games for Patroklos.25 Beyond the cowhides, when Hermes defends his actions against his mother’s reproach, he provides a list of the items held by Apollo that closely matches the types of value-prizes on offer at Patroklos’ funeral games, and which continued to be made available at numerous games in the Greek world throughout antiquity, including bronze cauldrons, precious metals and tripods.26

It has long been argued that victory in the Games could enhance the prospects of success in the political arena.22 This seems to have been particularly so during the Archaic period when many poleis were ruled by oligarchies and tyrants. The trend continued into the Classical period, especially in the western Greek colonies, where tyranny itself continued to be the most common form of government. However, as the forms of government changed, so too did the manner in which power was symbolised.

Even the sacrifice of the two cows suggests some parallels with the animals sacrificed at the Olympic Games. There, the offering to Zeus was performed at the end of a race, just as Hermes performs his own service at the end of his “race”. Like the swift-footed runner of the stade and, especially, the diaulos, Hermes runs a doublecourse, speeding off to the slopes of Pieria, a mountainrange dear to the gods, only to turn round and run back again to the gentler slopes beside the Alpheus. It is on those sacred slopes of Pieria that Hermes picks the leaves from which he will make his sandals, just as the wild olive leaves for the athletes’ crowns will be picked from Zeus’ sacred grove on the slopes near the Olympic site. We may also hear an allusion to the “sacred slopes” of Zeus’ Olympic ash-altar as the destination of the stade in the mountain destination of Hermes first “run”. On the return lap, Hermes arrives at what will be the future site of the Olympic Games and there performs a sacrifice that partly mirrors elements from both of the important sacrifices performed at these games. On the one hand, although the founder-hero Pelops receives a black ram rather than a bovine offering, his sacrifice is not made on a altar but in a pit just as Hermes’ own is presented. On the other hand, although Zeus’ portion is burnt on an altar, his is a bovine offering set alight at the end of the diaulos by the winner of the race.27 Significantly, the very first Olympic victor of 776, the runner Koroibos, is said to have been a mageiros (butcher and/or priest). Hermes, too, was to become the patron god of the Kerykes, a hereditary group of priests who presided over sacrifices and initiations at several of the Greeks’ religious festivals, including, most famously, the Eleusinian Mysteries.28 Even Hermes’ epithet in the Hymn, §rioÊniow, may suggest an early association of Hermes with swiftness and running. According to Bowra, the root oÎnh- seems to be connected with precisely this semantic range.29

It is, perhaps, significant that the divinely-bestowed authority to rule symbolised by the sceptre in Homer, which Hermes gives to Agamemnon’s ancestor and which was stripped of its foliage (Il. 1.234–8), becomes at least partially attached to the once discarded foliage in the “crown of leaves” awarded to victors in the Games. Whereas once the stalk served as the symbol of direct hereditary power, in the emerging social order of the polis, the more numerous and diffused “crown of leaves” now signalled the leadership potential of its recipient.23 It may also be significant that Hermes weaves together the twigs and leaves of two woods to create his sandals. Might we say that he puts the future symbol of kûdos under his feet? The comparison between Hermes’ actions in the Hymn and the competitive games does not end here, however. There are other elements in the Hymn that relate specifically to athletic events, as well as to other aspects of the contests. For instance, in the process of putting his plan into action, Hermes takes two of the fifty stolen cows and slaughters them to prepare a feast for the gods. Sacrifices and feasting were the central acts in all religious festivals for the Greeks, and the athletic contests themselves were but one element in several religious celebrations in honour of the gods.24 Hermes’ slaughter, cooking and serving of the animals, then, is suggestive of these festival activities. On its own, this action would not point to athletic contests in particular, but in conjunction with the other allusions that precede and follow it, the athletic context can be inferred.

Moreover, the manner in which Hermes is described as

Before they are cut-up and cooked, Hermes skins the animals, and then carefully displays these skins on some

25

Cf. Kyle (1996) on the display of prizes at athletic competitions and the importance of this display for the donors. 26 Hymn. Hom. Merc. 178–81; cf. Il.23.259–70. 27 Philostr. Gym. 6; cf. Burkert 1983, 95–8. 28 Parker 1996, 300–2. 29 Bowra 1938, 68.

22

Cf. Bowra 1938. Cf. Kurke 1998, 158 n. 41. 24 Kyle 1987, 32. 23

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ARLENE ALLAN: FROM AGÔNISTÊS TO AGÔNIOS: HERMES, CHAOS AND CONFLICT “man-handling” the cows is reminiscent of the type of hold used by a wrestler in throwing his opponent (117– 8).30 The scholiast to Pindar’s sixth Olympian (79) notes that Hermes was the inventor of wrestling and patron god of wrestlers. Theocritus (24.111–8) reports that even the greatest strong-man, Herakles himself, was taught the art of wrestling by a son of Hermes, while another late source reports that the entwined snakes on Hermes’ kêrykeion (wand) are representative of a wrestling hold known as the Herakleotic knot (Athenagoras Leg. 20.3). So important was wrestling that the place where the skill was practised and developed was named after the activity, palaistra, and took Hermes as its patron.31

investigations have yet to reveal evidence of the site. Nevertheless, the very name “gymnasion” was given to facilities that had both a dromos (running track) and a palaistra (wrestling ground), which further attests to the priority given to these two events.33 Additionally, Hermes’ own actions exemplify a “folk” knowledge that Pausanias mentions: speed develops before strength in youths (6.2.10–1) and so we see Hermes running before he “wrestles” with the cows. Two other elements in the Hymn are suggestive of athletic activity. First, there is Hermes’ overwhelming appetite for meat (67, 130). Although this serves as a metaphor for his desire to acquire material and symbolic wealth, the idea of excessive hunger came to be commonly attributed to athletes. But, perhaps, even more significant in the critique of athletes’ voracious appetites is the connection with their inappropriate consumption of other resources such as public monies and praise, which in certain ways parallels Hermes’ desire for recognition and rewards.34

Later in the Hymn, when Hermes leads Apollo back to the future Olympic site, Apollo is shocked by the evidence of his younger brother’s amazing strength when he notices the two cowhides left out on display. His immediate reaction is to try and bind Hermes before his strength can develop any further (406–8: aÈtow §g≈ ge / yauma¤nv katÒpisye tÚ sÚn krãtow: oÈd° t¤ se xrØ / makrÚn é°jesyai, KullÆnie, Maiãdow ufl°). However, as further evidence of his ability to tie and untie knots (as metaphorical wrestling holds), Hermes causes the vines with which Apollo intended to bind him to take root and twine around the cattle, preventing Apollo from driving them off and bringing their contest of wills to a premature end (409–14).

Second, there is the perceived relationship between the suppression of erotic desire and athletic victory, wherein sexual abstinence was believed to increase athletic power, while succumbing to desire led to weakness and failure in competition. In the Hymn, Hermes triumphs over Apollo by arousing in him an irrepressible desire to possess the lyre, which has strong erotic overtones.35 Unlike Apollo, who surrenders to his longing, Hermes previously had abstained from “literally” fulfilling his desire for meat, contenting himself instead with the sweet smoke of the burning sacrifice. He thus exemplifies the successful athlete who draws strength from consuming the right food at the right time.

When the Olympics were first established in 776, we are told that the first event was that of the stade, a straightline, single direction foot race from the starting line to the altar of Zeus located in the sacred area known as the altis (Paus. 5.8.6). This remained the only event at Olympia for almost fifty years until, in 724, the diaulos (a two lap foot race around a turning post and back again) and wrestling were added to the programme. It is precisely these two activities, running and wrestling, that Hermes enacts in the Hymn. It has been suggested that the first-ever athletic contests were precisely these two events, as neither special equipment nor training was required (at least, not initially). Victors were decided by the natural ability of one man to dominate another in speed and strength, both of which were gifts from the gods and signs of divine favour and divine will. In the Hymn, Hermes certainly has displayed his naturally superior abilities in both of these areas. Again, when the Olympic Games were expanded to include boys’ events in 632, the stade and wrestling were the first to be added (Paus. 5.8.9).32 Pausanias (1.2.4–5) informs us that there was a Gymnasion of Hermes in Athens near the Diplyon gates, though archaeological

Most of the above noted elements are applicable to all competitive sites as is appropriate for a god so connected to contests; however, Hermes’ relationship to Olympia is particularly strong. Pausanias notes that there was an altar to Hermes at the entrance to the stadion, where the foot races and other events took place (5.14.9). As a god of “luck”, Hermes was a deity that it may have made good sense to propitiate before beginning one’s race. But equally, in the context of a competition, one would wish to acknowledge Hermes’ power as the judge of contests and the bestower of kûdos. Crossing the finish-line, that is, being the first to break across a clearly-defined boundary, made one the winner of the race (the leader) and set one apart from the other contestants (the followers). Setting a “personal best” was not the ideal that motivated the ancient athletes. They were fully cognisant of the fact that each event they entered was a struggle to come out ahead and be declared the victor.36 Running for one’s life, in a metaphoric sense, was what these contests

30

33

Kyle 1987, 64. Cf. Xenophanes 2, esp. 6–12; Bowra 1938. 35 Cf. Kahn 1978, 119–64. 36 For a view rejecting the zero-sum descriptions of athletic contests see Dickie (1984).

See Poliakoff (1987, 23–5) on the nature of ancient wrestling. 31 Cf. Dickie 1993, 120–30. 32 For the antiquity of running as a sporting event see, for instance, Rystedt (1986); for the early participation of boys in athletics, see Papalas (1991).

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY were about, as the simile from the Iliad (22.158–66) makes clear. That a statue of Ares was set up on the games’ prize-table (Paus. 5.20.3) made everyone aware of the metaphorical life and death struggle that these contests came to represent.37 Moreover, this statue, standing beside the personified “Agôn”, further reminded both spectators and participants that should this mechanism for conflict resolution fail, then the more deadly contest of war was near to hand.

SITING CHAOTIC POTENTIAL As this path of inquiry has revealed, much of the activity represented in the Hymn is suggestive of athletic contests, and even though there is a certain playfulness in the presentation of Hermes’ activities, it is clear that much is at stake in the outcome. Yet, there is more to be gleaned from the Hymn on Hermes’ relationship to conflict than just this. A brief look at the other timai won by Hermes in the course of his challenge to Apollo reveals that each of his fourteen offices is linked, to a greater or lesser degree, with sites of potential conflict. Even a cursory glance over these “offices” will show that most embrace conflictladen potentialities centred around the acquisition and retention of various goods. Particularly important in this regard is the golden staff that Hermes receives from Apollo. The staff makes Hermes the god who controls the dispensation of riches and wealth among mortals (528–9). Then as now, competitions over these limited goods, and the conflicts that they generate, are the stuff of myth and history. Likewise, in his capacity as patron god of herders (498, 568–70), the agonistic element of this function is often overlooked.

The founding legends of all the sites involved the death of someone, but at Olympia one of the founding tales indirectly involved Hermes. I refer to the story of Pelops’ race for the hand of Hippodamia and its aftermath. Pausanias relates how Pelops, having won his chariot race by deceitful means, became responsible for the death of Myrtilos, a son of Hermes.38 The god was so enraged by his death that he placed a curse on the house of Pelops. To appease the god, Pelops then erected the taraxippos near the terma (turning post) in the stadion, which legend held was haunted by the ghost of Myrtilos and caused horses to bolt in fright, jeopardising the lives of their own and other drivers.39 As Eleanor OKell argues from the tale of Orestes in Sophocles’ Elektra (680–762), far more was at stake than the crown of victory in chariot racing.40

Sociological and anthropological studies have shown that, in early societies, it is often the herder who is the premier warrior as well. This is because he inhabits the boundary land where territory meets territory and the potential for hostile confrontation is greatest.42 It is frequently on the edge of things that one encounters Hermes, a relationship established in the Hymn by his timely meeting with the tortoise on the very threshold of his home (23–4). These studies add a new dimension to the Homeric epithet, “shepherd of the people”; that we may not be dealing here with a metaphor taken from the pastoral activities of these folk, but from their abilities as warriors, is further suggested by the frequent references in Homer to raiding parties and border skirmishes, as well as by Hermes’ own exemplum in the Hymn. Additionally, it might be suggested that the image of Hermes as the “Ram-bearer” has little to do with herding activities, but may actually be a representation of Hermes as patron of thieves.

The god of “many turnings” (polutropos, Hymn. Hom. Merc. 13) may thus be seen to be operative at this very spot in multiple-lap foot and horse races. The turning post was the most decisive point in many races, the place where a competitor could capitalise on the mistakes of others and thereby receive the “advantage” that produced victory. At the same time, the terma was the most likely spot for the god to withhold favour or to retaliate for some offence committed against him by a contestant. Lives were changed and some were even lost around the terma.41 In addition to these two connections, it is of interest to note that, aside from his altar at the entrance to the stadion, Hermes also shared one of the six altars set up to honour the Twelve Olympians. Not surprisingly, the altar partner is none other than Apollo (Paus. 5.14.8). At the very site where athletic contests were founded, where Hermes won his place among the Olympians and became the best of friends with his opponent afterwards, we see the “commemoration” of those events in an altar upon which Hermes does indeed come to share in the timai of Apollo (Hymn. Hom. Merc. 172–3).

The potential for conflict is self-evident in his role as god of barter and exchange (516–7), as it is in his position as god of the door (15). So too the “trickster” (14, 436) is traditionally associated with the introduction of conflict and the chaos that arises from it.43 Hermes is given a role in the production of oracles (530–1, 552–67) and many myths reveal that the fulfilment of oracles usually involves a conflict.44 So too, dreams, of which Hermes is called the “leader” (14), are a type of prophetic revelation that often foreshadow an impending hostile trial or 42

E.g., Goldschmidt 1986, 68–70. Cf. Hyde 1998. 44 The ‘Bee Maidens’ over whom Hermes is given charge (552–67) are equated with the nymphs of the Corycian cave by Larson (1997), a site at which numerous knuckle-bones (astragaloi) thought to have been used in ‘games of chance’ or divination have been found. See Fisher (this volume) on Hermes’ association with dice and knuckle-bones.

37

See further Bruyere-Demoulin (1976). 38 6.20.17; cf. Dio. Chrys. Or. 32.76. 39 See further Brulotte 1994. 40 See her contribution in this volume. 41 For the location of turning posts, see Millar (1990); for the role of the turning post as a grave marker, see McGowan (1995).

43

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ARLENE ALLAN: FROM AGÔNISTÊS TO AGÔNIOS: HERMES, CHAOS AND CONFLICT contest. Moreover, the term associated with “swiftness and running”, §rioÊniow (see above), which came to have the sense of “luck-bringer” (3, 28, 551, etc.), is suggestive of a characteristic much needed by those involved in conflict situations and perhaps speaks to the speed with which an event can suddenly bring about happy, though unexpected, results. As robber, cattle-thief (14) and patron of thieves (292), Hermes’ conflict potential is obvious, as it is in his role as night’s companion (291) and night watchman (15), where he supervises and stands guard for those engaged in the thieving activities over which he presides. The only office which may not immediately suggest conflict is that of the psychopompos (288–9, 516–7), but even here there seems to be another implicit relationship between the resistance of the soul to leave this realm and the need of a divine escort to ensure that it makes the transition to Hades.

even when his place in initiation rituals was recognised, the elements thought to be most relevant to his role were those of trickery and deceit, the normally anti-social behaviours that the youths were encouraged to employ while in their liminal stage, and which they were expected to reject upon the completion of their initiation. However, given the overwhelming tendency throughout the archaic and early classical periods (at least) to view initiation and athletic training as activities appropriate to the preparation of young men for war, it becomes difficult to deny Hermes a specific connection with conflict and even with war itself. In fact, on several occasions in the extant literature, we find Hermes in close association with the war god Ares. This is the second path along which we can trace Hermes’ association with chaos/conflict and contests. The earliest, though in no way indisputable, evidence of this relationship with Ares dates back to the Mycenaean age. On Pylos tablet 172 two words appear together, which may represent a noun-epithet combination or a dualdivinity, like the Dioscuri. The first term is taken to be the name of Hermes, while the second would seem to be a form of the name, Ares (e-ma-a2 a-re-jo).50 I will grant that this early Hermes/Ares connection is certainly open to objection, most significantly on linguistic grounds, but one feature of Mycenaean culture that is beyond dispute is that, despite its prosperous palace economy, this was a culture much concerned with fighting in various forms.

Even his association with poetry is conflict laden (25, 511). This divine child, who establishes his relationship to timing and chance encounters on the very threshold of his own home, is the same child who gleefully kills the first thing he encounters in order to capitalise on his luck, by turning things inside-out. In the same stroke, he converts his new toy, which he first swings round himself like a discus, into both an aesthetically-pleasing instrument that will be used to accompany the insulting remarks and competitive songs of young men in sympotic settings (436)—a situation rife with the potential for conflict—and an instrument that will overpower his opponent in the upcoming contest which he then sets about initiating.45 Additionally, as the manipulator of language and other sign systems, Hermes can invite, exacerbate, or resolve numerous conflicts.46

By the time of “Homer,” though, there are clear indications from the oral tradition that tales involving a relationship between Hermes and Ares were current. In the Iliad (5.385–91), we are given a glimpse of one of these lost episodes, wherein Hermes, wholly on his own initiative, saved Ares from certain death by his timely rescue of the god from the bronze jar in which he’d been imprisoned. One would expect that there was some significance in the fact that it is Hermes who releases “War” into the world again. In another incident from the Odyssey, when Ares is caught in a compromising position with Aphrodite, it is Hermes who lends support to Ares’ actions, declaring that he, too, given the opportunity, would do as Ares had done. Some things are just plainly worth the risk of hostile confrontations.

HERMES AND WAR GAMES In the foregoing discussion we have been following one path which associates Hermes with conflict/resolution through the imagery of athletics. However, it was once thought, and can still occasionally be heard, that Hermes came late to his association with athletes and their training grounds.47 Before his role as a god concerned with the initiation of youths was established,48 there seemed to be very little in his mythology to connect him with the “sporting” and “competitive” side of Greek life, despite the evidence of the Hymn and the implications of Aeschines’ comments that adults should be excluded from the festivals of Hermes (1.12) except for the appointment of an public overseer for his festivals.49 And

Yet again, in the Pythian Homeric Hymn to Apollo, these two gods are found together (200–1). While Apollo plays his lyre, and the Muses and Artemis sing, Hermes and Ares are said to dance (or play) together—pa¤zv can mean either activity. A strange scene indeed; that is, until we recall that the most famous and often sung songs of the Muses are those tales of men’s “toils” and “contests”. Moreover, dancing itself is connected with warfare: one need only think of the Pyrrhic dance-in-arms (introduced into several competitive programs at various dates) which the Daktyls, Kouretes and Corybantes were all said to

45

Cf. Il. 23.431–2 where the simile used by the poet compares a certain length in the chariot race with the distance a young boy showing the first signs of h(/bh can throw a discus. This is the age at which Hermes eventually comes to be represented in the arts. 46 E.g., oaths: l.274; signs: 73–86, 212–27; cf. Kahn 1978. 47 See Athanassakis 1989, 33. 48 Costa 1982. 49 1.10; cf. Pl. Lysis 206d–e.

50

51

Ventris and Chadwick 1956, 126, 288.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY have danced.51 Furthermore, each of these groups was associated with warriors and each was connected in various ways with Hermes as well.

Hades’ cap of invisibility is often referred to by this word elsewhere. This may suggest that the connection between invisibility and death was first located in the fate of the warrior and symbolised by the cap that he wore. Finally, just as if he had been victorious in battle, Hermes even sets up a type of “trophy”, by suspending the leftovers of his slaughter from the roof of the cave (135-6).

Moving beyond myth into legend, Pausanias (9.22.2–5) recounts the tale of the ephebes of Tanagra successfully defending their city while being led into a hostile confrontation by Hermes Promakhos, armed with only a strigil. We might compare the comments from a late source who suggests that the strigil might be used as a weapon (sword) against other cowardly athletes (Philostr. Gym. 18). Costa has effectively argued that the important parallel being drawn here is between the preparatory athletic contests for youths and the contests of war for adults.52 It is Hermes who both trains the youths in the skills of sport and war and who guides and protects them on the field. And moving again from the legendary to the historical, we find Hermes implicitly connected with warfare in two incidents from the beginning and the end of the fifth century in Athens. After successfully defeating the Persian forces at Eion, Kimon was granted the privilege of erecting three herms in the Athenian agora to commemorate the event (Plut. Kimon 7). That herms should have been considered the appropriate monument in this case has more to do with Hermes as god of the contest than with Hermes as the god of luck, for as the Greeks themselves often expressed it, war is the most deadly and brutal of all contests. The same logic underlies the events surrounding the mutilation of the herms in 415 (Thuc. 6.28.1–2). By offending the god of contests, who was the god of luck and a divine guide as well, the conspirators were seen to have invited the god’s disfavour. And maintaining a god’s favour was a very important ritual concern of the Greeks.

There remains one office accorded Hermes in the Hymn that has yet to be discussed and which seems to unite the two paths that connect Hermes to conflict/resolution, that of the divine herald (331). As we know them, heralds were the official initiators of war, and the ones who officially declared war’s end in the request for a truce to recover the bodies of the fallen. Before the warriors engaged in battle, heralds supervised the pouring of libations and the offering of the sacrifices. Both in peacetime and in times of war, heralds were also the official negotiators between interested parties, the ones through whom the mediation of potential conflict was first conducted or the terms for the resolution of an existing conflict agreed. Like Hermes in the Hymn, heralds can move throughout the land with impunity, uninhibited by territorial borders. The function of heralds in athletic games is little different. Heralds from the hosting city spread throughout the area inviting all qualified comers to contend for the prizes on offer, just as if they were issuing a challenge to “fight.” At the games they too pour libations and supervise the sacrifices. They officiate in the contests and at the end of the games declare the winners, just as the war herald does in the execution of his duties. Thus, the herald’s role in these two activities is just one of many that support the parallelism between war as game and game as conflict that is reflected in the shared vocabulary of these two events.55 And it is Hermes who is their patron and model.56

There are even some faint warrior associations to be found in the Hymn to Hermes. When he kills two of the stolen cattle, it is in a manner reminiscent of the way in which animals offered for sacrifice on the battlefield are slaughtered. Rather than gaining the victims consent and then quickly slicing its throat, Hermes, as discussed above, throws the cows to the ground and pierces their spinal cords (119). This is the violent death of a warsacrifice.53 Hermes, in effect, initiates “war” on Apollo. It is worth noting that prior to the use of bronze, the hide of cattle was used in the production of warriors’ shields and was thus a highly valued item which could be used in trade for other valuables (Il. 7.470–5). Moreover, before the advent of metal helmets, a warrior protected his head with a leather cap or kun∞.54 The kun∞ is often thought to be the unspecified, but implied, gift that Hermes is to have received from Hades (572–3), as

If the herald is a figure through which war and games are brought together, the athlete/warrior is a figure through which these two spheres of conflict/resolution are brought into relationship with another area of competitive activity: the dramatic festival. It is often the case in tragedy that the myth on which a dramatist bases his play concerns hostile encounters between men, often described in militaristic or athletic terms. Frequently these men are also young, and several scholars have seen in their exploits a reflection of the transition from youth to manhood associated with “rites of passage” and initiation rituals. REVISITING THE SITES If we glance again at the timai and associated attributes of Hermes gleaned from the Hymn, we find that almost all of

51

Downes 1904. 52 Costa 1982. 53 Jameson 1991; cf. Robertson 1996. 54 Although it must be noted that the skin thought to be implied by the word is that of a dog, the “dog-skin cap”; see Robertson (1992) for further discussion of Hermes’ relationship to the production of leather.

55

Scanlon 1983. For heralds in war, see Lateiner (1977); for heralds in civic and competitive games, see Lewis (1996). 56

52

ARLENE ALLAN: FROM AGÔNISTÊS TO AGÔNIOS: HERMES, CHAOS AND CONFLICT as they were placed by the real doorways of the audiences’ houses. In the centre of the orchestra is another point that marks a boundary and site of conflict, the altar/tomb. It signifies both the separations first established by the Promethean sacrifice, and the mortal condition of humankind. Hermes inhabits this place as well, in its aspects as a boundary-marker between the living and the dead and as a site at which communication between worlds can be established.

these appear as characters or action in the plays. Often there are shepherds who serve as messengers, dreams and oracles, and night watchmen and divine heralds whose words initiate or alter the course of the action on stage. Deception and cunning devices figure in a number of plays, as do tukhê and kairos, luck and opportunity. With all of these aspects of Hermes being so integral to the workings of dramatic action, it becomes clear that in many ways the dramatic festivals could not function without him, and we may wonder why the City Dionysia was named for Dionysus and not for Hermes. But that would be another story. Moreover, the very structure of the plays themselves depended upon a setting up and resolution of some conflict. The agôn is the central feature in all three genres performed in the theatre—tragedy, comedy and satyr-play—and it is generally true that the defining characteristics of each genre are determined by the form the conflict and its resolution take. Often, though not always, tragedies tend toward a failure to resolve conflict successfully or appropriately. If there was something to be learned by the audience from these enacted myths, it may well have been the horribly disruptive effects of such failures on the lives of families and cities. Perhaps this is why Aristotle favoured the type of tragedy that ended with a positive resolution to the conflict therein enacted; after having aroused the appropriate emotions of pity and fear in the spectators, the cathartic effect of a “happy” resolution would have brought the moment of near-tragic action more clearly into focus. We are reminded once again of the importance of the “turning point” in all forms of competitive encounters, and of Hermes’ association with this essential aspect conflict/resolution. The famous statue of Hermes by Praxiteles at Olympia may serve to symbolise the relationship between Hermes, Dionysus and competitive festivals. In myth it is Hermes who bears the infant Dionysus away from Mount Olympus to save Zeus from the inevitable conflict that his birth will generate with Hera. It is Hermes who introduces Dionysus into the mortal realm by entrusting him into the care of earth-bound inhabitants, either nymphs or actual mortals. As Praxiteles’ statue suggests, in a very real sense, it is Hermes who supports the activities of Dionysus.

The last word goes to Aristophanes who, in 388, put Hermes on the stage in his production of Wealth. Hermes seeks to abandon his home on Olympus in order to live among mortals after the god of Wealth has had his sight restored so that everyone deserving of material prosperity receives it. But the mortal to whom Hermes comes does not receive him with enthusiasm, so Hermes is made to run through an abbreviated list of his previously-held offices—god of the hinge, god of the market, god of trickery, and the divine guide—which are all rejected, until he hits upon a suitable position for himself in the new economic order. It is finally agreed that Hermes can remain by serving as the god of Competitions. Noting that it is good to have so many titles, the mortal accepts Hermes suggestion—that “it is appropriate for Wealth to sponsor competitions in sports and the arts”—and in this admission of Hermes into the new world of redistributed wealth, there is just a hint that all things will not remain equal for long. Despite the passage of approximately 300 years, the situation Aristophanes envisions is not substantially different to that found in Iliad 23—the funeral games of Patroklos. There, too, the “best” (read: most deserving) of the Achaeans contend with one another in sporting events not only for the symbolic rewards of kleos and status, but for “value” prizes as well. There is nothing more natural than for those who already possess material prosperity to compete amongst themselves for more, thereby confirming their right to possess both rank and riches. Aristophanes, a keen observer of and commentator on his fellow-citizens’ values and behaviours, implicitly acknowledges that there will always be a need to contend for something—if not wealth, then kleos or status or some other thing whereby a hierarchy of ranking may be instituted and maintained. And the god best suited to decide such matters is Hermes—that is, Hermes Agônios, the judge/decider of contests. The god who was born a contender and won, is the best choice of all to decide who next will triumph in the contests for kûdos and kleos among mortals.

In relation to the theatre, this “support” is built into the very design of the space and the structure of performances. The theatre is a space with its boundaries clearly defined. On its periphery are points of entry, thresholds at which encounters with the unexpected and the hostile will occur, which operate under the patronage of Hermes, god of boundaries, just as they would in the “real world” outside the theatre. In dramatic productions from the mid-fifth century onwards, one threshold in particular, the skenê door, became the central point of encounter, both literally and figuratively. There is reason to believe that a herm may have been stationed here, just

53

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY

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. 1998. “Games, prizes and athletes in Greek sport: Patterns and perspectives (1975-1997).” CB 74:103–27. Larson, J. 1997. “The Corycian Nymphs and the Bee Maidens of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” GRBS 36:341–57. Lateiner, D. 1977. “Heralds and corpses in Thucydides.” CW 71:97–106. Lewis, S. 1996. News and Society in the Greek Polis. London: Duckworth. McGowan, E.A. 1995. “Tomb-marker and turning post.” AJA 99:615–32. Millar, S.G. 1990. “Lanes and turns in the ancient stadium.” AJA 84:159–66. Nagy, G. 1986. “Pindar’s Olympian 1 and the aetiology of the Olympic Games.” TAPA 116:71–88. Papalas. A.J. 1991. “Boy athletes in ancient Greece.” Stadion 17:165–92. Parker, R. 1996. Athenian Religion: A History. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pleket, H.W. 1975. “Games, prizes, athletes and ideology.” Stadion 1:49–89. Poliakoff, M.B. 1987. Combat Sports in the Ancient World: Competition, Violence and Culture. New Haven: Yale University Press. Robertson, N. 1992. Festivals and Legends: The Formation of Greek Cities in the Light of Public Ritual. Toronto: Toronto University Press. . 1996. “Athena’s Shrines and Festivals.” In Worshipping Athena: Panathenaia and Parthenon, edited by J. Neils, 27–77. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press Rystedt, E. 1986. “The Foot-race and Other Athletic Contests in the Mycenaean World: The Evidence of the Pictorial Vases.” OpAth 16:103–16. Scanlon, T. 1983. “The vocabulary of competition: Agon and aethlos, Greek terms for contest.” Arete 1:147–62. . 1998. “Gymnikê Paideia: Greek athletics and the construction of culture.” CB 74:143–57. Shelmerdine, S. 1995. The Homeric Hymns. Newburyport, Mass.: Focus. van Wees, H. 1994. “The Homeric Way of War: The Iliad and the Hoplite Phalanx (I) and (II).” GaR 41:1–18; 131–55. Ventris, M. and J. Chadwick. 1956. Documents in Mycenaean Greek. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Winkler, J. 1990. The Constraints of Desire: The Anthropology of Sex and Gender in Ancient Greece. London: Routledge.

Athanassakis, A. 1989. “From the phallic cairn to shepherd god and divine herald.” Eranos 87:33–49. Benveniste, E. 1973. Indo-European Language and Society. Translated by E. Palmer. London: Faber and Faber. Bowra, C.M. 1938. “Xenophanes and the Olympic Games.” AJP 59:57–79. —. 1934. “Homeric words in Cyprus.” JHS 54:54–74. Brulotte, E.L. 1994. “The ‘Pillar of Oinamaos’.” AJA 98:53–64. Bruyere-Demoulin, N. 1976. “La vie est une course.” AC 45:446–63. Burkert, W. 1983. Homo Necans: The Anthropology of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Ritual and Myth. Translated by P. Bing. Berkeley: University of California Press. Clay, J.S. 1989. The Politics of Olympus: Form and Meaning in the Major Homeric Hymns. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Costa, G. 1982. “Hermes dio delle iniziazioni.” CCC 3:277–95. Dickie, M. 1984. “Fair and foul play in the funeral games in the Iliad.” JSH 11:8–17. ——. 1993. “ÑPalaistr¤thw/‘palaestrata’: Callisthenics in the Greek and Roman gymnasium.” Nikephoros 6:105–51. Downes, W.E.D. 1904. “The offensive weapon in the pyrrhic.” CR 18:101–6. Ellsworth, J.D. 1976. “Agônios, Agônarchos, Agônistêrion: Three words allegedly formed from agôn, ‘assembly’.” TAPA 106:101–11. Gleick, J. 1988. Chaos: Making a New Science. London: Abacus. Goldschmidt, W. 1986. “Personal Motivation and Institutionalized Conflict.” In Peace and War: CrossCultural Perspectives, edited by M. Foster and R. Rubinstein, 3-14. Oxford: Transaction Books. Gouldner, A. 1965. Enter Plato: Classical Greece and the Origins of Social Theory. New York: Routledge. Hyde, L. 1998. Trickster Makes This World: Mischief, Myth and Art. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Jameson, M. 1991. “Sacrifice before battle.” In Hoplites: The Classical Greek Battle Experience, edited by V.D. Hanson, 197-227. London: Routledge. Janko, R. 1982. Homer, Hesiod and the Hymns: Diachronic Development in Epic Diction, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kahn, L. 1978. Hermès passe: les ambiguïtés de la communication. Paris: François Maspero. Kurke, L. 1998. “The economy of kudos.” In Cultural Poetics in Archaic Greece: Cult, Performance, Politics, edited by C. Dougherty and L. Kurke, 131–63. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kyle, D. 1987. Athletics in Ancient Athens. Leiden: Brill. . 1996. “Gifts and Glory: Panathenaic and Other Greek Athletic Prizes.” In Worshipping Athena: Panathenia and Parthenon, edited by J. Neils, 106–36. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

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Chapter 6

Dionysiac Festivals in Aristophanes’ Acharnians* GRETA HAM retrospective mirror on Athenian culture which returns to an earlier, peace-time, internal definition of community based on shared religious and social ties. In this, one may hear an echo of the sentiment expressed by Herodotos at the end of book eight (8.144), when he defined the broader Greek nation in terms not only of shared blood and language but also of collective temples and rituals. I do not mean to suggest that Aristophanes was drawing on Herodotos, but rather that both give voice to a common Greek attitude about the nature of social identity.5 In Acharnians, the five festivals create an expanding view of Athens and its sub-civic social units moving through the play from phratry to deme, to citizens and metics, to the adult Athenian community (male and female), to all of Athens (see table 6.1). Thus the Athenians are redefined not in the negative, polemic terms of their hostility to the Spartans, but in positive terms of their communal religious experience.

TIME AND COMMUNITY IN ACHARNIANS The spatial and temporal shifts in Acharnians have inspired much scholarly comment.1 Along with movements from city to country (and perhaps back again),2 scholars have noted an apparent passage of two months represented through major festival scenes set at the Rural Dionysia and the Anthesteria, with a transitional mention of the Lenaia between these two.3 Other scholars, however, have been bothered by so great a passage of time within the plot. Thus, they suggest that either the two-month period is telescoped into a few days or that the protagonist Dikaiopolis selfishly takes liberties with the timing of these celebrations.4 While I agree that Aristophanes does in fact use festivals to define temporal transitions, I suggest this use is extended beyond the two months’ movement between the two major festivals of the play. Rather, he sets up a structure of five carefully chosen festivals, all associated with Dionysos. These five appear in calendrical order marking the passage of more than four months, from October to early March (see table 6.1).

The underlying unifying force of the festivals within the play opposes three destructive and divisive factions. The first, for the sake of aid in the war, is willing to kowtow to foreigners even to the extent of abusing the Athenian people as a collective or individually (the Athenian community is thus subordinated). The second is desirous of continuing the war at any cost even to the extent of civil strife and attacking fellow-Athenians (the Athenian community is thus violently divided). The final faction seeks peace at any cost, even if it entails isolation from and desertion of fellow Athenians (the Athenian community is thus passively divided).

Aristophanes, moreover, does not simply employ these festivals as a chronological plot-mechanism but as a means of re-examining Athenian communal identity. Not only is each festival Dionysiac in some way, but each also has a localised Athenian flavour to it. During a period in which community is defined in negative, external terms—that is, in terms of common allegiance against an external foe—Acharnians provides a

The first position is represented in the opening scene through a dominance of foreigners over the Athenian assembly. In the search for foreign aid in the war, the demos is willing to endure even indignities at the hands of foreigners (e.g., the theft of Dikaiopolis’ garlic by the Odomanti, 161–8).6 The outrage of this situation is finally expressed by Dikaiopolis, shouting “Prytaneis, do you allow me to suffer this in my own city, and, what is more, at the hands of barbarians?” (167–8) as he forces the dismissal of the assembly by announcing an ill-omened drop of rain.

* Earlier versions of this paper were presented at CAAS (April 1996) and CAMWS (April 2000). My thanks to Barbara Goff for her suggestions on the early formulation of this paper; to my fellow conferees for their advice and suggestions, especially Nick Fisher; to Joe and Leslie Day for their insights, to Deborah Brown for her comments, and to the National Endowment for the Humanities and the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, where this paper was first conceived and where it received its final polishing while I studied as a NEH Fellow. Special thanks are owed to the organisers of the conference and editors of this volume, Sinclair Bell and Glenys Davies. 1 All texts and translations of Aristophanes are Sommerstein 1980 and 1985 for Acharnians and Peace, respectively. 2 See Compton-Engle 1999. 3 Dover 1972, 81; Edmunds 1980, 2; Henrichs 1990, 277 n. 55; Bowie 1993, 36; Fisher 1993, 32. Slater (1993, 411–2) also notes the fluid transition between these three festivals; however, he states that “the time of the play has gone from the Lenaia (i.e., January), to the Rural Dionysia (which fell in Poseideon, roughly our December) to the feast of Choes, …” Thus he overlooks the actual order of appearance of these festivals in the play (reversing the Lenaia and the Rural Dionysia) and mistakenly suggests that a full calendar year has transpired. Moorton (1999, 31) accidentally conflates the Rural Dionysia with the Anthesteria, though this does not negate the points he makes about each. 4 Belknap 1935; Whitman 1964, 62; Thiercy 1986, 133–4.

The second faction is that of the Acharnian chorus who, in their first appearance in the play, sees the war in black and white terms (cf. 309–16) and whose desire for revenge leads them to be unwilling to give any quarter or compromise short of total Athenian victory. Thoukydides, indeed, indicates that the Acharnian 5 6

55

Cf. Fornara 1971. Cf. Bowie 1993, 22–3.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY TABLE 6.1. REFERENCES TO ATHENIAN FESTIVALS IN ACHARNIANS (IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE). Apatouria

(Pyanepsion/October)

A festival of the phratry (146)

Rural Dionysia

(Poseideon/December)

A festival of the deme (237–79)

Lenaia

(Gamelion/January)

An “Athenians only” festival including both citizens and metics, celebrated in a triballyorganized space (502–8)

Lesser Mysteries

(Anthesterion/February)

An Athenocentric adult festival (vs. PanHellenic Eleusinian Mysteries) (747, 764)

Anthesteria/Choes

(mid-Anthesterion/February–March)

The oldest Athenian Dionysiac festival and inclusive of all (women, children, slaves and ghosts) (960–2; 1000–end)

has not gone unnoticed by scholars.14 While Dionysos takes centre-stage, so to speak, in this regeneration of Athens, I should note that Demeter, the other major deity of Athenian agricultural life, also plays a role in Acharnians, albeit a smaller one. Her presence is implied as mother of Amphitheos, the divine messenger of peace, and as the goddess worshipped in the Mysteries, one of the festivals in Acharnians.

demesmen were at the heart of dissension over how the war should be conducted.7 And in the play, the Acharnians threaten fellow citizens Amphitheos and Dikaiopolis with violence for their peacemaking attempt. The third position, represented by Dikaiopolis, plays the most central role, perhaps because it is the most insidious or “seductive”.8 Note that even today, scholars disagree over the justice or injustice of Dikaiopolis’ position.9 Moorton seems to straddle the two sides, recognising the apparent injustice of Dikaiopolis’ position but arguing for an ultimate, underlying justice in his position. He notes that “the gods will peace” in Acharnians (51–2).10 Nevertheless, Dikaiopolis’ separate peace is not necessarily the peace for Greece sought by the gods, and thus Moorton argues “Dicaeopolis seems to betray the public good by making a separate peace, but in fact he incorporates symbolically the most advantageous policy for Athens if it will only become a “just city”, and thus is paradoxically revealed as the patriot he claims to be”.11

Of particular interest for us is Edmunds, who has suggested a metaphorical “regeneration” of Athens through the transformation of the political into the sacral. He focuses on the use of concrete metaphors in the play; that is, metaphors reduced to some physical object or prop.15 Aristophanes’ play on spondé as meaning both (peace) treaty and wine libation (186–202) appears as the central metaphor of the comedy.16 Thus, peace is given a Dionysiac flavour in general. War, on the other hand, is explicitly identified with the destruction of wine and vine, as in the chorus’ description of the war god:

But the emphasis on community in the festivals serves to undercut the peace of Dikaiopolis, a peace that Dover has called “a fantasy of total selfishness”.12 As Fisher has noted, Dikaiopolis celebrates these communal festivals in isolation.13 True peace is a peace of the community, Athens and in the larger sense the Greeks as a whole, and there can be no true separate peace. The festivals themselves underline this reality as they focus on the increasingly inclusive social units throughout Acharnians.

Never shall I receive the War-god into my home, nor shall he ever recline with me and sing the ‘Harmodius’, for he’s a menace in his cups; when we had every blessing, he burst in on us and did every possible harm, overturning, spilling, fighting; and besides, though I repeatedly invited him to ‘drink, recline; take this cup and let’s be friends’, he only set fire all the more thoroughly to our vine-props and forcibly poured the wine out of our vines. (978–87)

A similar association between peace and wine occurs in Aristophanes’ Peace. The hero of the play, Trygaeus, is a vineyard keeper, as even his name indicates (Peace 190). And Peace herself is called “the greatest and most vineloving goddess of all” (Peace 308).

DIONYSOS AND PEACE In addition to being Athenocentric, all five festivals have Dionysiac associations. Dionysos’ underlying presence

But, while Edmunds interprets the role of the festivals as regenerating the community, he reads Dikaiopolis’ role charitably, saying:

7

Thuc. 2.19–21; cf. Bowie 1993, 39–42. Moorton 1999, 36. 9 E.g., Edmunds 1980; Fisher 1993; cf. Bowie 1993, 42–4. 10 Moorton 1999, 29. 11 Moorton 1999, 35. 12 Dover 1972, 88. 13 Fisher 1993. 8

14

Edmunds 1980; Henrichs 1990; Habash 1995. Edmunds 1980, 2. 16 Edmunds 1980, 5. 15

56

GRETA HAM: DIONYSIAC FESTIVALS IN ARISTOPHANES’ ACHARNIANS abroad and with the Acharnians who are at peace neither with their fellow Athenians or the Greeks at large).

The primary aim of Dicaeopolis’ new order of things, which is founded on the Dionysiac sacrament, is to celebrate the Dionysiac festival. It is to preserve the piety of this order that Dicaeopolis is selfish. His selfishness, in terms of the play, is primarily the result of pious justice, and only an ethic external to the presuppositions of the play can find fault with him.17

After Dikaiopolis’ opening lament, Amphitheos, a divine messenger of peace, arrives. He offers to act as negotiator for the Athenians, but he is kicked out of the assembly meeting on the Pnyx. Only Dikaiopolis is interested, and he pays Amphitheos to negotiate a private peace. During this assembly, the first, albeit brief, reference to a festival occurs. The Thracian king’s son, who had been made an Athenian citizen, longs to participate in the Apatouria (146). The Apatouria is a festival of phratries, one of the smaller sub-civic social units in Athens.22 The festival is important in that it occasions the introduction of new members. From this introduction, witnesses could be called later to attest a person’s legitimacy and Athenian citizenship, as happens in a number of extant court cases. While the mention of the Apatouria is brief here, it is nonetheless striking in context amidst a series of incidents in which barbarians hold sway over the Athenian demos in the assembly.23 The normal structure and boundaries of Athenian communal identity are subordinated (or even sold out) when it is suggested that a Thracian be admitted to this Athenian kinship festival merely as an inducement for foreign aid—and indeed aid whose coming is questionable at best (cf. 147–52)—thus devaluing membership in the Athenian community.24

To the contrary, by celebrating these festivals in relative isolation, Dikaiopolis undermines the very nature of religious celebration—especially perhaps Dionysiac religious celebration—which is communal in its essence.18 Dikaiopolis’ rejection of his own community impairs the justice of his position. To examine how the festivals operate within the plot and within the developing theme of peace, I shall proceed through the play, starting at the opening monologue. THE ASSEMBLY, APATOURIA AND PYANEPSION The play opens with Dikaiopolis alone on the Pnyx, awaiting an assembly meeting. He is longing for peace and his deme, and cries out: “... gazing at the countryside and yearning for peace, loathing the town and longing for my deme—my deme, which never cried ‘buy charcoal’, nor ‘buy vinegar’, or ‘buy oil’, but produced everything itself, and Mr. Buysome was not to be found there” (32– 6). Dikaiopolis represents the pre-war demes-life as a golden age, self-sufficient and self-producing.19 This must be contrasted with his later peace, which is one centered on commerce. His market will still have elements of the golden age, as items still come to Dikaiopolis automata (976), but it will lack true benefits of peace. Dikaiopolis’ agora participates in many of the activities that he himself will have identified as the unjust causes of war, that is “traffic in sexuality, ... exclusion from markets, ... exploitation of the war to make individual profits”.20

THE COUNTRYSIDE, RURAL DIONYSIA AND POSEIDEON The second festival that appears in Acharnians is the Rural Dionysia, which Dikaiopolis prepares to celebrate as soon as he gets his peace treaty. The Rural Dionysia was celebrated locally in the demes during Poseideon, roughly December.25 Thus the action has shifted spatially from the Pnyx to Dikaiopolis’ own rural estate and deme and temporally from October (Pyanepsion and the Apatouria) to December.26 Dikaiopolis and his family act out the opening sacrifice and procession of the Rural Dionysia, with a hymn to Phales celebrating the return to the joys of peace (237–79). During the Peloponnesian war there was a strong desire for deme life and festivals. This is witnessed not only by Dikaiopolis’ opening monologue but also by Thoukydides’ famous passage in book two (2.14–6) in which he discusses the Athenians’ distress at having to move from their rural demes and households into the city at the start of the Peloponnesian war. While the Rural Dionysia recalls this longed-for peaceful deme life, Aristophanes here undercuts Dikaiopolis’ personal peace. As Bowie comments, “For one family to arrogate the whole festival to itself (as opposed, say, to always supplying the main officials) was

Aristophanes thus hints at a balance of two contrasting necessities of peace: first, the emphasis on the local community, which provides the social joys of peace (i.e., the religious festivals); and second, the need for peace with the larger community of Greeks, which provides the physical luxuries of peace (i.e., the import goods of the agora, provisions for the festivals).21 Such a balance contrasts with Dikaiopolis who rejects his own local community and exploits the larger Greek community (as well as with the Prytaneis and assembly who exploit the local Athenian community in seeking to form allegiances 17

Edmunds 1980, 28. Durkheim 1915. 19 Compton-Engle 1999, 362–3. 20 Foley 1988, 45. 21 Moorton (1999) emphasises this second aspect of peace to the exclusion of the first, arguing that Acharnians is a call for peace on economic grounds. While one cannot deny that the agora and the goods imported to it play a central role in the comedy, Moorton’s arguments seem to reflect, nevertheless, a contemporary Zeitgeist of post-Reagan capitalism. 18

22

IG II2 1237; Lambert 1993, 143–89. See Bowie 1993, 22–3. 24 Moorton 1999, 30. 25 Whitehead 1986, 212. 26 Dover 1972, 79; Henrichs 1990, 270; Fisher 1993, 34. 23

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY a denial of the nature of festival and an act excluding all others from the rites.”27

Perhaps the Lenaian celebration might have had elements of tribal organisation, like the City Dionysia. At the time of the production of Acharnians, the Lenaia probably took place, like the City Dionysia, in the Theatre of Dionysos on the South slopes of the Acropolis. PickardCambridge concludes that the Lenaian performances were held in the Theatre of Dionysos by the mid-fifth century.29 It has been suggested that the cavea at the theatre, like the assembly at the Pnyx,30 was tribally organised.31 Demosthenes (21.8–9) attests that, at least by the mid-fourth century, the Theatre was in fact used for some special assembly meetings.32 Unfortunately, little can be said archaeologically for the theatre’s cavea prior to the Lycurgan reconstruction. At that point, seating is divided into 13 wedges (kerkides), apparently representing areas for the tribes, the council, metics, and ephebes.33 Theatrical ticket stubs for the council and various tribes are evidenced by at least the early fourth century.34 Much later, during the Hadrianic period, a statue of the emperor was erected by the council in front of the central section. Additionally, the bases for three more statues have been found in front of three sections, each dedicated by a tribe in what would have been the traditional ordering of the ten tribes.35 There are parallel examples of theatre seating organised tribally and/or used for assembly meetings at other theatres in Attica and elsewhere.36 In regard to the fifth century, Aristophanes does refer to a special area of seats for the Boulé (Birds 794; cf. Peace 882–908), and a reused fifth-century inscription extends this to the servants of the Boulé.37

A hostile chorus of Acharnians interrupts Dikaiopolis’ celebration, threatening to attack first Amphitheos and then Dikaiopolis himself. Their willingness to attack him even at the very altar, amidst preparations for sacrifice, underscores the outrageousness of their actions and attitudes. In response, Dikaiopolis defends his peace by holding a charcoal-briquette hostage, playing on the Acharnians’ occupation as charcoal burners. The Acharnian chorus identifies the briquette as a fellow deme-member and thus is forced to hear Dikaiopolis out. THE THEATRE, LENAIA AND GAMELION The hostage scene leads into the scene in which Dikaiopolis borrows props from Euripides to earn sympathy and dresses up as Telephos. Dikaiopolis’ actions parallel those of Telephos who held the infant Orestes hostage in order to force the Greeks to hear his apologia.28 Dikaiopolis begins his formal defense by reminding the audience that they are at the Lenaia: This time Cleon will not allege that I am slandering the city in the presence of foreigners; for we are by ourselves and it’s the Lenaean competition, and there are no foreigners here yet; neither tribute money nor troops have arrived from the allied cities. This time we are alone, ready hulled; for I reckon the metics as the civic bran. (502-8)

29 Pickard-Cambridge 1968, 37-40. Contra the opinio communis, Slater (1986) reasserts a separate Lenaian theatre prior to the Lycurgan reconstruction of the Theatre of Dionysos. He attempts to locate this theatre at the Dionysion en Limnais, the sanctuary for the Anthesteria and Choes celebration. He connects the Lenaia to the sanctuary en Limnais by (1) an emendation in Hesychios s.v. Limnai of ta Lênaia for ta Laia and (2) a scholiast to Aristophanes’ Acharnians l. 961. However, the scholiast contains two definite inaccuracies: first, giving the tenth of Anthesterion as the date of the Choes instead of the twelfth (mentioning also the eighth of Pyanopsion as an alternative in confusion with the Theseia, see Mommsen 1898, 384; Deubner 1932, 244) and second, calling the third day of the Anthesteria the Chytra instead of the Chytroi. Thus Nilsson (1900, 57) suggests Dionysos Lenaios is also in error and that it should read Dionysos Limnaios, an epithet attested elsewhere and one more naturally expected in conjunction with the Anthesteria and its sanctuary en Limnais. 30 Stanton and Bicknell 1987. 31 E.g., Pickard-Cambridge 1968, 269-72; Winkler 1990, 37-42. 32 MacDowell (1990, 226-7) suggests that section 147 of this same speech indicates that this law (21.8-9) did not exist in Alcibiades’ time, but was passed in the late fifth or early fourth century. However, I would suggest that the latter passage (21.147) refers to the law of Euegoros given in section 10. Note how Demosthenes (21.11) distinguishes the two laws, stating that the law of 21.8-9 dealt with misconduct in sacred matters and that the Athenians created the law of Euegoros (21.10) to deal with additional concerns including the use of violence at the festival. Thus, unfortunately, we are left with no guidance as to how long the first law had been in place. 33 On an ephebic section, see Poll. Onom. 4.122; on the shape of the earliest cavea and orchestra, see Gebhard 1974 and Pöhlmann 1981. 34 Pickard-Cambridge 1968, 271–2. 35 Pickard-Cambridge 1968, 270; Winkler 1990, 39–40. 36 Dilke 1948, 181-5; Stanton and Bicknell 1987, 86 ff.; Winkler 1990, 39 n. 58. 37 Pickard-Cambridge 1946, 19–20; Dinsmoor 1951, 328.

The Lenaia took place during Gamelion (January). The Lenaian reference is unique in several ways. First, Dikaiopolis here refers to the actual performance context of the play itself rather than an occurrence within the plot. Second, apart from Dikaiopolis in Acharnians, the author’s direct voice in Aristophanes only appears in the choral parabasis. This unique and striking step out of character removes the audience, temporarily, from the internal context of the play. On the other hand, the Lenaia falls within calendrical order in relation to the other four festivals that occur in the play. I suggest, therefore, that it does serve to advance the apparent time passage within the plot. Moreover, Aristophanes creates a nice symmetry by placing the actual festival, in which the audience was presently participating, as the central festival of the five mentioned. Does the Lenaia also fit the pattern of expanding Athenian social units? This is harder to address. Does Aristophanes, by stepping out of the plot, suddenly incorporate the whole of Athens (or at the very least male Athens) in the audience at the Lenaia? Or does the Lenaia too carry associations of some intermediate sub-civic social unit?

27 28

Bowie 1993, 36. Foley 1988; Bowie 1993, 27–33.

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GRETA HAM: DIONYSIAC FESTIVALS IN ARISTOPHANES’ ACHARNIANS rebuilding of Athenian civic and social structures in terms of affiliated religious festivals.

Given the evidence that there was some fifth-century division in how the populace was seated and given the tribal ticket stubs which appear to predate the Lycurgan reconstruction, one may speculate that the fifth-century cavea, like that of the later periods, was arranged tribally. As the tribes included widespread areas of Attic territory, such festivals as the Dionysia and Lenaia would have been excellent opportunities to socialise with friends with whom one had served in the military. This arrangement would certainly fit with Dinsmoor’s suggestion that the earliest phase of the Theatre of Dionysos is Kleisthenic and a companion to the Pnyx.38

On the other hand, while the City Dionysia included dithyrambic choruses that were organised tribally, the Lenaia included only comedy and tragedy, whose choruses were not tribally organised.44 Moreover, in the City Dionysia, organised by the archon, the judges were also selected tribally.45 The Lenaia, however, fell under the jurisdiction of the basileus (Arist. Ath. Pol. 57.1), and the process of choosing judges for the Lenaian competitions is unknown. Finally, unlike the City Dionysia, metics—who, as non-citizens, could not have been tribal members—were permitted to compete as choreutai and choregoi in the Lenaia. Thus, while the festival space suggests tribal organisation, the festival itself does not appear to be so organised.

Moreover, Slater has noted how Aristophanes himself appears to transform the theatre into the Pnyx in the opening scene of Acharnians.39 Lines 1–16 in Acharnians create for the audience an ambiguously defined space in which Dikaiopolis recounts the many trials and few joys of his life. All the occasions which he mentions centre upon theoria at festivals. Slater suggests that perhaps the audience considers, “We are physically in a theatre watching a comedy. Could it be that he too is in a theatre waiting for a performance to begin?”40 But no, suggests Slater, as lines 17 and following finally define the space as the Pnyx and the “performance” which he awaits as the assembly:

Aristophanes, however, makes special note of the presence of metics at the Lenaia, differentiating them from other foreigners and including them in the Athenian community. Perhaps it is in their mention that we should see an expanding representation of social units (Athenians=citizens and metics). Moreover, in this passage (502–8), Aristophanes makes the claim that the Lenaia was an Athenians-only festival. Even if his claim misrepresents the actual situation (or perhaps especially if it does so), it draws explicit focus onto the fact that the festivals mentioned in the play are “Athenocentric”. As such, they help define Athens as a community identified by its unique religious bonds.

Nonetheless, an equation made by the initial ambiguity lingers in the minds of the audience. Theatre and assembly are remarkably congruent spaces. In two forms only was the full body of citizens gathered together, seated, and called upon to judge (in competitive fashion), the words and deeds put before them: in the theatre at the festivals of Dionysos and on the Pnyx in the sovereign democratic assembly.41

Dikaiopolis’ defence persuades half the chorus, defeating in part the extremist war-hawk point of view. However, his new supporters will find themselves as excluded from his peace as the larger Athenian community. The other half of the chorus remains hawkish and gains a new hero and spokesperson, Lamachos, to whose fate we will return below.

The scene following this prologue, indeed, employs the theatrical audience as a representation of the assembly.42 Thus, Aristophanes himself has underscored the relationship between the theatre and Pnyx at the outset of the play. As Winkler notes, it is not necessary that everyone always sat in the area assigned to their tribe or office (as indeed one will frequently find some home-fans on the visitors’ side of a football stadium), only that the configuration was “notionally related” to such a tribal division.43 If the theatrical audience for Acharnians had indeed generally been grouped tribally, then Dikaiopolis’ explicit evocation of their present celebration (502–8) may well have called to mind their tribal relationships, especially in light of the opening juxtaposition of the assembly and theatre. In that case, the festivals in Acharnians will have shifted from phratry (Apatouria: 146) to deme (Rural Dionysia: 237–9) to tribe in a

DIKAIOPOLIS’ AGORA, THE MYSTERIES AND ANTHESTERION Triumphant Dikaiopolis is left in peace to run an agora, either one of his own making or perhaps, as ComptonEngle suggests, the Athenian Agora proper.46 In this agora, he buys contraband imports. In fact, he becomes 44 By Aristotle’s time, the choregoi for the comedies at the City Dionysia were chosen tribally, but the choruses were apparently still not organised by tribe (Arist. Ath. Pol. 56.3; Rhodes 1981, 623–4). The earliest, and sole, evidence for a dithyrambic contest at the Lenaia is an inscription recording a dithyrambic victory (IG II2 3779, 7–8; end of the fourth–first quarter of the third century B.C., as dated by Bélis 1995, 1052–4). Strangely, however, this is a victory inscription for a citharode, not a flutist, and thus Pickard-Cambridge (1968, 42 n. 2) suggests that it was not an ordinary contest. A law in Demosthenes (21.10), which lists activities at the various choral festivals, cites a pompé and comedies and tragedies for the Lenaia, but no dithyrambic contest for it. 45 Arist. Ath. Pol. 56.3; Pickard-Cambridge 1968, 95–8. 46 Compton-Engle 1999, 367–8.

38

Dinsmoor 1951, 314. Slater 1993, 398–401. 40 Slater 1993, 398–9. 41 Slater 1993, 399. 42 Slater 1993, 399. 43 Winkler 1990, 40 n. 59. 39

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY twentieth.50 Mommsen suggested this date because the dates for the sacred truce for both the Lesser and the Greater Mysteries were the same (the sixteenth of the preceding month to the tenth of the following month).

the Mr. Buysome whom he loathed earlier in the play. The first to come is a Megarian who offers for sale his two daughters disguised as piglets in a rather risqué pun on choiros (e.g., 740). He specifically offers these piglets for use at the Mysteries (747 and again 764: “Di: What have you brought? Me: I’ve brought porkers for the Mysteries”). This transaction (and the others of his agora) serve as recompense for the indignities suffered in the opening assembly.47 Instead of foreigners holding sway over Athenians, the Megarians here are forced into literal submission as sexual slaves. Even the terms of the sale echo the opening scene: Dikaiopolis buys a Megarian girl for a bunch of garlic (813), instead of being robbed of garlic by Odomanti (163–5).

The Lesser Mysteries also would continue the focus on the local Athenian community. The first two festivals of the play are based in social units tied to Athenian citizenship (Apatouria and the phratries; Rural Dionysia and the demes). Dikaiopolis explicitly contrasts the “Athenians-only” (metics included) Lenaia to the larger City Dionysia. The Lesser Mysteries may also be contrasted to its panhellenic, bigger counterpart at Eleusis and seen as more Athenocentric (Clem. Al. Protr. 2.34.2). While ancient testimony indicates that initiation at the Lesser Mysteries was a prerequisite for initiation at Eleusis, it is impossible to know how strictly this was enforced.51 As Parke says, “The paucity of the allusions to Agrai in ancient literature is hard to explain if it really took place annually” on the same scale, with the same numbers assembled as at Eleusis.52 February weather certainly would be a deterrent for non-Athenians, as the January weather was for attendance at the Lenaia (Theophr. Char. 3 indicates that the seas were unnavigable until late March). There is also evidence from the Hellenistic period of the Lesser Mysteries being celebrated twice a year, which, Parke suggests, may have been a provision specifically for non-Athenians unable to attend in February.53 Thus, circumstantially, it appears that the participants in the Lesser Mysteries may have been predominantly Athenians. Moreover, the Lesser Mysteries follow the pattern in the play of increasing inclusivity, as participation in this would potentially include the entire adult—male and female—Athenian population.

I would suggest that these piglet-girls are being offered for the lesser Mysteries at Agrai (which took place near the Ilissos River during Anthesterion/February). There is some question as to whether piglets were sacrificed at the Lesser Mysteries as well as at the Eleusinian Mysteries, but a passage from Aristophanes’ Frogs supports such a sacrifice.48 As the mystai arrive in Frogs, Xanthias smells roast pork (338). As Hooker has elaborated, Frogs takes place at various shrines near the Ilissos, such as the Herakleion at Kynosarges, the Limnaion associated with the Anthesteria and the Lesser Mysteries at Agrai.49 Hooker also suggests that the flowery meadows of this scene (Frogs 352, 449) are more appropriate for the Lesser Mysteries of Anthesterion (the month named for the season of blooming flowers) than for the Eleusinian Mysteries of Boedromion (September/October). One might suppose that the audience might have associated these references to the Mysteries with the Greater Eleusinian Mysteries rather than the Lesser (since neither is actually specified). Given, however, that this same audience would be celebrating the Lesser ones in only a month (more or less; the Greater ones were eight months off), it seems likely that the impending Lesser Mysteries would readily leap to mind.

FINALE, THE CHOES AND ANTHESTERION The final festival in Acharnians is the Choes. The Choes is the middle day of the Anthesteria Festival in the month of Anthesterion (February/March). Dikaiopolis’ peace is again undercut as he selfishly refuses to share the joys of peace and celebration of the Choes. First, Dikaiopolis does not allow the slave of Lamachos—his belligerent neighbour and an Athenian general—to purchase delicacies from his agora for the Choes feast (960–2). Then Dikaiopolis describes in detail the feast he himself is preparing. In this scene, the joys of peace are laid out in full but thus tantalise the excluded semi-chorus who have been on his side—not to mention the audience. The chorus decries his selfishness:

In Acharnians the Lesser Mysteries appear to follow calendrical order, as the other four festivals do. Their exact date within the month of Anthesterion is, however, unknown. Thus, one cannot say for certain that they would have occurred in the first half of the month, before or after the Anthesteria festival (on the eleventh to the thirteenth). If the latter, the mysteries would be slightly out of order by preceding the Choes (the middle day of the Anthesteria) celebrated at the end of the play. But there is no definite evidence either way. Both Burkert and Mikalson follow Mommsen in placing the main day of Lesser Mysteries on the same date in Anthesterion as the Greater Mysteries in Boedromion; that is, on the

The man has found pleasure in his treaty, and it does not seem he will give anyone a share of it ... You’ll starve me to

47

Cf. Bowie 1993, 24–5. Suggested by Tucker 1940, with postscript by J. Harrison; followed by Hooker 1960; Kerényi 1967, 55 n. 32; Slater 1986, 260. Contra this identification with the Lesser Mysteries: Segal 1961, 219 with n. 44; Bowie 1993, 228–30; Lada-Richards 1999, 50 n. 18. 49 Hooker 1960. 48

50

Mommsen 1898, 406; Mikalson 1975, 120–1; Burkert 1983, 265. Schol. Ar. Plut. 845; Clem. Al. Strom. 5.11.71; cf. Plut. Demetr. 26. 52 Parke 1977, 122–3. 53 Parke 1977, 123. 51

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GRETA HAM: DIONYSIAC FESTIVALS IN ARISTOPHANES’ ACHARNIANS death, me and the neighbours, what with the aroma and the words, if you shout out things like that. (1037–9, 1044–6).

Dikaiopolis refuses to admit any man outside his immediate household to his private peace and the benefits thereof. He shares only with a bride, for he places no blame for the war on women (1062). Dikaiopolis’ final preparations for feasting are played off against Lamachos who must prepare to spend the holidays in battle. The play ends with Lamachos returning injured and humiliated and Dikaiopolis returning the victor in the Choes drinking contest.

but without foreigners (or so he claims in 502–8). Dikaiopolis’ purchase of the two Megarian girls as piglets/sexual slaves inverts the opening scene’s subordination of Athenians to foreigners and evokes the Mysteries. The Lesser Mysteries, which would be celebrated in about a month’s time, represent an Athenocentric celebration, like the Lenaia, and one in which men and women alike would have undergone initiation. Finally, the play ends with the Anthesteria, inclusive of all strata of Athenian society. While the Anthesteria as a whole is so encompassing, the Choes banquet to which Dikaiopolis goes is unique in that each participant eats solitarily, at an individual table, sharing neither food nor wine, and without speaking. The aetiology for these practices is that the banquet originally hosted the polluted matricide, Orestes. Dikaiopolis’ presence at the banquet may echo this earlier guest. Two allusions to Orestes have been made in Acharnians: the infant Orestes as the hostage of Telephos parodied earlier in the play (325 ff.) and the chorus’ wish that a rival poet would meet with insane Orestes, a local mugger but one which, in the midst of the Choes celebration, must recall the banquet’s aetiology (1162–73).56 Dikaiopolis the banquet guest becomes “as problematic an outsider as was Orestes in the aition of the ritual, someone with whom the city had relations of ambiguous xenia, not of integrated fellow citizenry”.57 Thus at the same time that the Anthesteria represents an integrated view of the Athenian community, it maintains Dikaiopolis’ chosen isolation from that community.

The Choes drinking contest makes an appropriate capstone festival for the play in a couple of ways. First, while the drinking contest part of the Choes festival is a male-only event, to which Dikaiopolis goes off alone, the festival as a whole is all-inclusive, involving women, children and even slaves. The role of women is attested by Ps.-Demosthenes (59.73–8) and various lexicographers who discuss the role of the gerarai (female elders) and the wife of the archon basileus during this festival, possibly centring on a hieros gamos.54 Participation of children is well documented, iconographically on the miniature choes associated with this festival and textually in Philostratos (Her. 12.2 [720]), who mentions the crowning of three-year-olds.55 The scholion to Hesiod (Op. 368) says that it is improper to keep slaves and hired hands from enjoying the new wine on Pithoigia (the first day of the Anthesteria) and Kallimachos (fr. 178.1–5 Pf.) calls the Choes a white, or lucky, day for slaves.

Each of the festivals has had Dionysiac overtones. The Apatouria is associated with Dionysos at least in its aetiological myth although his role in the cult is disputed.58 The Rural Dionysia, the Lenaia, and the Anthesteria are all celebrations of Dionysos. And the Lesser Mysteries invoked Iacchus who was identified with Dionysos at least by the end of the fifth century.59 There is also one late reference to Dionysos under his own name at the Lesser Mysteries at Agrai (Steph. Byz. s.v. Agra kai agrai).

Thus the festivals which Aristophanes chooses have grown more inclusive of the Athenian community throughout the play. The Apatouria introduces the association between festivals and Athenian identity in the opening scene. That festival is organised by phratries, a pseudo-kinship group. The Thracian king’s son has been made a citizen and wishes to participate in the Apatouria. His admission to membership of the community has been given in (vain) hopes of aid in war and represents a subordination of normal boundaries of Athenian identity to this end. Next, Dikaiopolis celebrates the Rural Dionysia, a festival of demes—a larger, geographicallyorganised group. However, the celebration of it is undermined both by the passive divisiveness of having a single family celebrate it in isolation and by the violent divisiveness of the Acharnians attacking a fellow-citizen at the altar in the process of sacrificing. With the Lenaia, Dikaiopolis steps out from the internal context of the play, reminding the audience of their present celebration as they sit organised by tribe, metics and citizens present

Each of the festivals, moreover, has had a local Athenian emphasis, as Aristophanes makes explicit in the case of the Lenaia. These festivals recreate Athens from its smaller social units through the city as a whole, distinguishing the Athenian community from other 56

On which see Fisher 1993, 42–4. Fisher 1993, 43; cf. Bowie 1993, 37. 58 Anecd. Bekk. 1l.416–7; schol. Ar. Ach. 146; Suda and Etym. Magn. s.v. Apatouria. Winkler (1990, 23–37) draws on Vidal-Naquet (1986a, 1986b) in seeking also the origin of the Athenian ephebeia in this aetiological myth and the Apatouria. Lambert (1993, 144–52, on the myth), e.g., denies any role for Dionysos in this festival, although he states, “The Dionysiac character of the festival may have been deeprooted, even if Dionysus himself was not” (Lambert 1993, 158). Space disallows a meaningful discussion here about the debate surrounding Dionysos’ role in this festival. 59 Harrison 1903, 541–5, 557–61; Segal 1961, 217–9; Moorton 1989, 317–8; Henrichs 1990, 265–6. 57

54

See also Hesychios s.v. Dionysou gamos and gerarai; Etym. Magn. 227.35 s.v. gerarai; Poll. Onom. 8. 108 s.v. gerarai; Arist. Ath. Pol. 3.5: all associated with the Anthesteria because of Ps.-Dem. 59. 55 See Van Hoorn 1951, with addenda by Green 1961 and 1971; Hamilton (1992, 117-8) rejects the participation of children, but see Ham 1999.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Greeks through a shared religious heritage and a unique social structure, while marking a passage of about four months in the play. The integrative nature of these festivals stands in contrast to the three extreme factions which threaten the Athenian community: the assembly and Prytaneis who are willing to sell out their own community to foreigners in exchange for possible aid in the war; the Acharnians who are willing to attack their fellow citizens and bring strife within the community in order to carry on their war; and even Dikaiopolis, who is willing to isolate himself completely from his community, even his own supporters, in order to return to peacetime life exemplified by communal religious celebration.

Foley, H.P. 1988. “Tragedy and Politics in Aristophanes’ Acharnians.” JHS 108:33–47. Fornara, C.W. 1971. “Evidence for the Date of Herodotus’ Publication.” JHS 91:25–34. Gebhard, E. 1974. “The Form of the Orchestra in the Early Greek Theater.” Hesperia 43:428–40. Green, J.R. 1961. “Some alterations and additions to van Hoorn, Choes and Anthesteria.” BICS 8:23–7. ——. 1971. “Choes of the Later Fifth Century.” BSA 66:189–228. Habash, M. 1995. “Two Complementary Festivals in Aristophanes’ Acharnians.” AJP 116:559–77. Ham, G.L. 1999. “The Choes and Anthesteria Reconsidered: Male Maturation Rites and the Peloponnesian Wars.” In Rites of Passage in Ancient Greece, edited by M.W. Padilla, 201–18. Bucknell Review 43.1. Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press. Hamilton, R. 1992. Choes and Anthesteria: Athenian Iconography and Ritual. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Harrison, J.E. 1903. Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Henrichs, A. 1990. “Between Country and City: Dionysus in Attica.” In Cabinet of the Muses: Essays on Classical and Comparative Literature in Honor of T.G. Rosenmeyer, edited by M. Griffith and D. Mastronarde, 257–77. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Hooker, G.T.W. 1960. “The Topography of the Frogs.” JHS 80:112–7. Kerényi, C. 1967. Eleusis. Translated by R. Manheim. London: Routledge. Lada-Richards, I. 1999. Initiating Dionysus: Ritual and Theatre in Aristophanes’ Frogs. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Lambert, S.D. 1993. The Phratries of Attica. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. MacDowell, D.M. 1990. Demosthenes: Against Meidias. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Mikalson, J.D. 1975. The Sacred and Civil Calendar of the Athenian Year. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Mommsen, A. 1898. Fester der Stadt Athen im Altertum. Leipzig: B.G. Teubner. Moorton, R.F., Jr. 1989. “Rites of Passage in Aristophanes’ Frogs.” CJ 84.4:308–24. ——. 1999. “Dionysus or Polemos? The Double Message of Aristophanes’ Acharnians.” In The Eye Expanded: Life and the Arts in Greco-Roman Antiquity, edited by F.B. Titchener and R.F. Moorton, 24-51. Berkeley: University of California Press. Nilsson, M.P. 1900. Studia de Dionysiis Atticis. Ludae: Hialmarum Möller. Parke, H.W. 1977. Festivals of the Athenians. London: Thames and Hudson. Pickard-Cambridge, A. 1946. The Theatre of Dionysus in Athens. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ——. 1968. The Dramatic Festivals of the Athenians. 2nd ed. Revised by J. Gould and D.M. Lewis Oxford: Clarendon Press.

This play of festivals in Acharnians might appear subtle to a modern audience. However, the Athenian audience annually underwent these celebrations and were well accustomed to marking out their seasons and year by the celebration of these festivals. The significance of the festivals, with their indications of temporal change and their associations with the social sub-units, would have stood out to the Athenian audience who were even at that moment celebrating the Lenaia.

Works Cited Bélis, A. 1995. “Cithares, Citharistes et Citharôdes en Grèce.” CRAI:1025–65. Belknap, G.N. 1935. “Social Value of Dionysiac Ritual.” In Studies in Greek Religion, edited by C.M. Smertenko and G.N. Belknap, 44–61. Eugene, Ore.: University of Oregon Press. Bowie, A.M. 1993. Aristophanes: Myth, Ritual and Comedy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Burkert, W. 1983. Homo Necans. Translated by P. Bing. Berkeley: University of California Press. Compton-Engle, G. 1999. “From Country to City: The Persona of Dikaiopolis in the Acharnians.” CJ 94.4:359–73. Deubner, L. 1932. Attische Feste. Berlin: AkademieVerlag. Dilke, O.A.W. 1948. “The Greek Theatre Cavea.” BSA 43:25–92. Dinsmoor, W.B. 1951. “The Athenian Theater of the Fifth Century.” In Studies Presented to David Moore Robinson: Vol. 1, edited by G.E. Mylonas, 309–30. St. Louis: Washington University Press. Dover, K. 1972. Aristophanic Comedy. Berkeley: University of California Press. Durkheim, E. 1915. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. Translated by J.W. Swain. New York: Free Press. Edmunds, A. 1980. “Aristophanes’ Acharnians.” In Aristophanes: Essays in Interpretation, edited by J. Henderson. YCS 26:1–41. Fisher, N.R.E. 1993. “Multiple Personalities and Dionysiac Festivals: Dicaeopolis in Aristophanes’ Acharnians.” GaR 40:31–47. 62

GRETA HAM: DIONYSIAC FESTIVALS IN ARISTOPHANES’ ACHARNIANS Pöhlmann, E. 1981. “Die Proedrie des Dionysostheaters im 5. Jahrhundert und das Bühnenspiel der Klassik.” MusHelv 38.3:129–46. Rhodes, P.J. 1981. A Commentary on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Segal, C. 1961. “The Character and Cults of Dionysus and the Unity of the Frogs.” HSCP 65:206–42. Slater, N. 1986. “The Lenaean Theater.” ZPE 66:255–64. ——. 1993. “Space, Character and apaté: transformation and transvaluation in the Acharnians.” In Tragedy, Comedy and the Polis: Papers from the Greek Drama Conference Nottingham 18-20 July 1990, edited by A.H. Sommerstein et al., 397–416. Bari: Levante Editori. Sommerstein, A.H. 1980. Acharnians. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. ——. 1985. Peace. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Stanton, G.R. and Bicknell, P.J. 1987. “Voting in Tribal Groups in the Athenian Assembly.” GRBS 28:51–92. Thiercy, P. 1986. Aristophane: Fiction et Dramaturgie. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Tucker, T.G. 1940. “The Mysteries in the Frogs of Aristophanes.” CR 18:416–8. van Hoorn, G. 1951. Choes and Anthesteria. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Vidal-Naquet, P. 1986a. “The Black Hunter and Origin of the Athenian Ephebeia.” In The Black Hunter, 106-28. Translated by A. Szegedy-Maszak. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. ——. 1986b. “The Black Hunter Revisited.” PCPS 212:126–44. Whitehead, D. 1986. The Demes of Attica. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Whitman, C.H. 1964. Aristophanes and the Comic Hero. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Winkler, J. 1990. “The Ephebes’ Song: Tragôidia and Polis.” In Nothing to Do with Dionysus?, edited by J. Winkler and F. Zeitlin, 20–62. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

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Chapter 7

The Perils of Pittalakos: Settings of Cock Fighting and Dicing in Classical Athens* NICK FISHER

“companion” or “escort”. As the speech proceeds Aeschines makes a great play with the claim that he was in effect a pornos or whore (which was, apparently, Timarchos’ old nickname). There are further accusations that he had dissipated his property on luxurious and pleasurable living. As a result, Timarchos was alleged to be liable, under the so-called “scrutiny of orators” law, to be disenfranchised because he had subsequently engaged in a very active public life despite having demonstrated, by this behaviour unfitting a male citizen, his unfitness to operate as a leader of the Athenian state. Aeschines, perhaps surprisingly, won his case, and Timarchos was barred from continuing his own political prosecution of Aeschines (undertaken in support of Demosthenes) for corrupt collusion with Philip II when on the embassy in 346 which negotiated the controversial Peace of Philokrates.4

THE EROTIC TRIANGLE OF TIMARCHOS, PITTALAKOS AND HEGESIPPOS The argument offered here arose from my work on a translation and commentary of Aeschines’ law court speech against Timarchos,1 and more specifically tries to take a little further some suggestions made there on one of the most fascinating and lurid episodes in that speech, the alleged travails of the supposed slave and gaming enthusiast Pittalakos. It raises many interesting questions about social contexts of leisure activities in Athens and their moral valuations; specifically it makes us think about the location, in geographical and social terms, of gambling with dice and knucklebones and betting on bird fights in fourth-century democratic Athens. The problem is whether one can with any plausibility penetrate behind the screen of lies, evasions and half-truths which is Aeschines’ prosecution speech to uncover where the games took place, what sorts of people were involved, how they were regarded, and what types of conflict they could produce.

Aeschines’ lengthy elaboration and discussion of Timarchos’ youthful sexual career (for which he seems to have had virtually no reliable evidence) is our prime source for laws and attitudes to homosexual behaviour in Athens (and has therefore been much discussed in recent years).5 The success of the case—and it was very probably unusual for such a case of scrutiny of orators even to come to trial—may be partly explained by the supposition that Aeschines latched cleverly on to a widespread and growing atmosphere of moral concern, as Athens faced a major challenge to her freedom and democracy from the growing power of Macedon, for which there is a good deal of other evidence in the period ca. 350–30 BC. It is of course notoriously difficult to discover how any jury, modern or ancient, reaches its decision. But it may be noted that Demosthenes suggested three or so years later in his prosecution of Aeschines in the Embassy trial that Aeschines’ victory was due to his successful, if wholly hypocritical and shameless, adoption of issues of public morality and the education of the young of Athens (19.283–7).6 This of course enabled Demosthenes to launch a blistering attack on the moral deficiencies of Aeschines and his brothers and brothers-in-law, and Aeschines’ shameless hypocrisy; but it remains an important fact that such an

What we have is the later published version of what Aeschines said in his prosecution of Timarchos some time in the winter of 346/5.2 He is prosecuting a man who was probably about his own age, both in their mid-forties. In fact Aeschines tried hard to persuade the jury to believe that Timarchos was a bit younger both than himself and than one of Timarchos’ alleged lovers, a certain Misgolas, Aeschines’ coeval, and a man apparently notorious for his passion for attractive young male musicians. But Aeschines is probably lying on this point, since if Timarchos and Misgolas were much the same age, the jury might be disinclined to believe that Misgolas would have been the other’s lover.3 The prosecution case rests primarily on the claims that Timarchos had much earlier, when a young man, lived off a succession of men with whom he committed numerous acts of (allegedly indescribable) sexual immorality; this behaviour rendered him liable to the accusation of being involved in relations of hetairesis, of being a male sexual * I am grateful for helpful comments to the participants at the highly enjoyable Edinburgh conference and to those at a subsequent meeting of the Classical Association at Exeter; and especially to Greta Ham, Stephen Lambert, Sian Lewis, Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones and David Whitehead for encouragement, information and critical comments on various drafts. Their agreement to the ideas expressed here should not be assumed. 1 Fisher 2001. 2 On the date of the speech, see Harris 1985 and Wankel 1988. 3 See Harris 1988 and Lane Fox 1994, against Lewis 1958.

4

On the legal and political issues behind the speech see Harris 1995, Lane Fox 1994 and Fisher 2001, with fuller bibliography cited there. 5 From a now massive bibliography, see especially Dover 1978, Foucault 1985, Winkler 1990, Halperin 1990, Davidson 1997, and my attempt at a synthesis, Fisher 2001 introduction. 6 I have explored these ideas in the final section of my introduction, Fisher 2001.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY interpretation of the verdict could be publicly discussed a few years later, and the verdict itself could well have had its own impact on the climate of opinion on these issues of sex, leisure and education in Athens.

persuaded him to depart. When they produced nothing he started a legal action (a dike): ÜOte dÉ §dikãzeto, sk°casye megãlhn =≈mhn ÑHghsãndrou: ênyrvpon oÈd¢n aÈtÚn ±dikhkÒta, éllå tÚ §nant¤on ±dikhm°non, oÈd¢n prosÆkonta aÈt“, éllå dhmÒsion ofik°thn t∞w pÒlevw, ∑gen efiw doule¤an fãskvn •autoË e‰nai. ÉEn pant‹ d¢ kakoË genÒmenow ı Pittãlakow, prosp¤ptei éndr‹ ka‹ mãla xrhst“. ÖEsti tiw GlaÊkvn XolargeÊw: o&tow aÈtÚn éfaire›tai efiw §leuyer¤an. TÚ d¢ metå toËto dik«n lÆjeiw §poiÆsanto. ProÛÒntow d¢ toË xrÒnou §p°trecan diagn«nai tÚ prçgma Diope¤yei t“ Sounie›, dhmÒt˙ te ˆnti toË ÑHghsãndrou ka‹ ≥dh pot¢ ka‹ xrhsam°nƒ, ˜tÉ ∑n §n ≤lik¤&: paralab≈n d¢ tÚ prçgma ı Diope¤yhw, énebãlleto xarizÒmenow toÊtoiw xrÒnouw §k xrÒnvn. (1.62–3)

Among the lurid stories of misbehaviour with which he shocked and entertained the jury (and no doubt also a crowd of bystanders) was that featuring Timarchos’ sexual relations, after he had been dumped by Misgolas, first with a supposed state slave Pittalakos and then with a rough, bullying but well-connected, politician Hegesandros, a man who was also by the mid-340s a political associate of Demosthenes. The story is that Timarchos, evidently an attractive youth, and one who loved gaming and other forms of debauchery, was taken up by, and lived for a period with, Pittalakos. He was then spotted at Pittalakos’ house, and immediately fancied, by Hegesandros, when he returned from serving as treasurer to the general Timomachos on campaign at the Hellespont.7 Hegesandros was evidently a man of greater wealth and status than Pittalakos, though an old “gambling companion” of his; Timarchos readily agreed to leave Pittalakos and move in with the richer and better connected lover. Pittalakos reacted with a sense of ingratitude and strong jealousy, and kept pestering the others; the dramatic climax of Hegesandros’ and Timarchos’ response to Pittalakos’ jealousy was an episode of savage violence and brutality:

But when the case was coming to trial, observe another great blow inflicted by Hegesandros. Pittalakos was a man who had done him no wrong, but on the contrary had been wronged by him, and did not belong to him, but was a public slave, the servant of the city: still, Hegesandros tried to lead him off to slavery, claiming he belonged to him. Being thus in every sort of trouble, Pittalakos met with someone who actually was a very good man, one Glaukon of Cholargos; he sought to bring Pittalakos back into freedom. (63) After this the lodging of the legal actions took place. As time went by, they handed the matter over for arbitration to Diopeithes of Sounion, a fellow-demesman of Hegesandros, and a man who once had relations with him, when he was in his prime; Diopeithes took on the case, but kept putting it off time after time, to do a favour to these men.

ÜOti d¢ aÈto›w ±n≈xlei, sk°casye megãlhn =≈mhn ÑHghsãndrou ka‹ Timãrxou: meyusy°ntew gãr pote ka‹ aÈto‹ ka‹ êlloi tin¢w t«n sugkubeut«n, œn oÈ boÊlomai tå ÙnÒmata l°gein, efisphdÆsantew nÊktvr efiw tØn ofik¤an, o& ’kei ı Pittãlakow, pr«ton m¢n sun°tribon tå skeuãria ka‹ dierr¤ptoun efiw tØn ıdÚn, éstragãlouw t° tinaw diase¤stouw ka‹ fimoÁw ka‹ kubeutikå ßtera ˆrgana, ka‹ toÁw ˆrtugaw ka‹ toÁw élektruÒnaw, oÓw ±gãpa ı triskakoda¤mvn ênyrvpow, ép°kteinan, tÚ d¢ teleuta›on dÆsantew prÚw tÚn k¤ona aÈtÚn tÚn Pittãlakon §mast¤goun tåw §j ényr≈pvn plhgåw oÏtv polÁn xrÒnon Àste ka‹ toÁw ge¤tonaw afisy°syai t∞w kraug∞w. (1.58–9)

Eventually, in view of the political and social influence wielded by Hegesandros and his more important brother Hegesippos, Pittalakos decided to cut his losses and drop the case, and Timarchos remained living with Hegesandros. PITTALAKOS – STATE SLAVE OR WHAT? The first remarkable feature of the story—and one over which Aeschines excites much fake indignation—is that someone who was said repeatedly to have been a slave owned by the state could have owned his own house, have been deeply involved in gambling alongside wealthy and prominent Athenians, have possessed gaming equipment, and apparently have engaged in an affair with an attractive Athenian youth. But the treatment of Pittalakos is in fact inconsistent and almost certainly misleading. Initially the story is slanted to emphasise the degradation involved in Timarchos, a free young Athenian, submitting to the unspeakable desires of a state slave, as well as spending much of his time in the gambling den (1.54). Hence the blunt labelling of him as a slave suits the argument at this stage. With the introduction of Hegesandros, however, increasingly Pittalakos becomes more of a victim, for whom the jury seems to be invited to feel some (albeit patronising) sympathy, as he is savagely whipped, and ruthlessly frustrated in his attempts to get legal revenge (1.59–63).

When he was proving a nuisance, just observe the great force inflicted by Hegesandros and Timarchos. Drunk, on one occasion, themselves and some others of their fellowdicers, whose names I do not wish to mention, burst in at night into the house where Pittalakos was living. First, they smashed up his equipment and threw it all into the street, some shaking knucklebones, dice-boxes, and other dicing apparatus; the quails and cocks, of whom that thricemiserable man had been very fond, they killed; finally they tied Pittalakos himself to a pillar and gave him the worst beating imaginable in the world, for such a long time that even the neighbours heard the outcry. Pittalakos sought redress first by sitting in supplication by the altar of the Mother of the Gods, but Hegesandros, Timarchos and fellow-gamblers, promising they would make reparations, 7

On which event of 361/0 BC see Apollodoros’ account in PseudoDemosthenes speech 50.

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NICK FISHER: THE PERILS OF PITTALAKOS: SETTINGS OF COCK FIGHTING AND DICING IN CLASSICAL ATHENS Athens: he begins an action against his assailants and the destroyers of his property, though he has to give it up because of the political influence of his opponents. A comparable case occurs in Demosthenes 34, where the trader Lampis, who is able to give evidence in court, is described there as a slave. If Pittalakos were a public slave, then it would appear that some public slaves at least might operate as if they were exempt from some of the important legal restrictions imposed on more normal slaves, and could play a surprisingly equal part in social and erotic activities.

One may compare the attitudes Apollodoros seems to attempt to evoke towards Neaira, the famous hetaira who had formerly been a slave and a prostitute in a brothel (Pseudo-Demosthenes 59). Generally that speech is full of callous contempt towards her career first as a common prostitute and subsequently as a hetaira who lived off a succession of men, but occasionally a slight tinge of sympathy may be heard. The main case is the party at Chabrias’ house, where everyone present, including the slaves who waited at the table, had sex with her while her lover Phrynion was asleep (59.33–5). Aeschines’ switch towards sympathy for Pittalakos is markedly more pronounced, as the main purpose of his account turns to the condemnation of Hegesandros’ and Timarchos’ brutal revenge and evasion of punishment by manipulation of legal procedures.

But Pittalakos’ defender Glaukon opposes the claim of Hegesandros that he is his personal slave by employing the process known as “taking away to freedom”, not by asserting he belongs to the city.12 There is thus a strong probability if not a certainty that Pittalakos is, now at least, free, and perhaps a freedman: the same may well have been the case with Lampis in Demosthenes 34.13 Perhaps Pittalakos had been able to accumulate enough wealth to purchase his freedom, whether he had been a public slave or as a private slave.

There are in any case good grounds for doubting whether Pittalakos was at this time still a public slave. Athens maintained a fairly large number of publicly owned slaves.8 They included the low-grade “police” who assisted the Eleven, and who were known, until the early 4th century, as the Scythian archers; other officials of the courts and the administration, slaves working in the dockyards, the mint, the prison, as road-workers, building-repairers, and so on, amounting to a thousand or more. Some of these had fairly high-grade, skilled and responsible jobs—especially one might mention the duties of the coin-testers in the Agora and the Peiraieus enumerated in the document of 375/4,9 or, if he was in fact ever a slave, Nikomachos, the man involved for many years in the revisions of the laws between 411 and ca. 399.10 But it is not stated what post Pittalakos held or had held, nor that there was any connection between his slave job and the gambling; this failure to specify his specific role is in itself suspicious.

Thus Aeschines seems to exploit Pittalakos’ status in the same contradictory way that he does his role in the story. It helps Aeschines’ case to treat him, qua lover of Timarchos, as a slave, because he can then claim that Timarchos further degraded himself by accepting a slave as his lover and submitting to his shameful demands; but Aeschines would not wish to concede Hegesandros’ case that he used to belong to him. So he labels him a public slave—but gives no details of his specific duties. On the other hand, qua victim of Hegesandros’ violence and contempt, the impression may be given (though not made explicit) that Pittalakos rather resembles a free man of low status, or a freedman. But in fact, in view of Hegesandros’ claim that Pittalakos had belonged to him, there is a good chance that he was never a public slave at any time.

Further, as the narrative proceeds, the picture of Pittalakos develops. Aeschines ascribes to him considerable wealth, with his own gambling equipment and birds and his own house; he shows him able to take advantage of remarkable sexual opportunities, living as the lover of Timarchos. If he were a slave, this would appear to be contrary to the laws cited at 1.139, forbidding those sexual relations between slaves and free born younger men or boys where the slave is the “lover” or the “pursuer” of the youth or boy. But Aeschines does not here say the acts are illegal, as well as degrading, though it might help his case, and despite the fact that in many other places he falsely asserts that Timarchos’ clients or lovers, even though Athenian, were breaking laws.11 Though he asserts slave status for Pittalakos, he does not pursue as one would expect relevant legal implications of the claim. Again, he ascribes to Pittalakos legal rights which would be remarkable in any slave in

PLACES OF GAMBLING IN CLASSICAL ATHENS: DICE, KNUCKLEBONES AND THE COCKFIGHT At the time of these events, then, Pittalakos was heavily involved in gambling, though it is not clear precisely in what way. The introductory phrase runs: T«n d¢ §k t∞w diatrib∞w taÊthw §st¤ tiw Pittãlakow, ênyrvpow dhmÒsiow ofik°thw t∞w pÒlevw.

One of those who comes from this place of leisure is one Pittalakos, a public slave-fellow, a servant of the city.

12

See 1.62; Aeschines none the less repeats the claim there that he was the property of the city. 13 So Jacob 1928, 147–76, 187–9, and Todd 1993, 192–4; but see, maintaining the view that Pittalakos was probably a slave, Hunter 1994, 231 and 2000, 12, and Cohen 2000, 120–1.

8

Jacob 1928; Lewis 1990, 254–8; Hunter 2000, 11–3. 9 Stroud 1974=SEG 26 72. 10 See Todd 1996 on this man’s activities. 11 E.g., at 1.72, 87, 90.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Diatribe may indicate a leisure pursuit or activity, or its location, and this phrase suggests at least that Pittalakos was devoted to spending as much time as possible gambling; as in Carey’s recent translation—“one of the people who pass their time there.”14 But it could indicate that he made some sort of a living from the activity. Many commentators15 interpret the description of Pittalakos’ commitment to the pursuits of gaming and fighting birds, and his possession of much relevant equipment and birds, with some plausibility I think, as indicating that he was somehow involved in running or helping to run some sort of gambling business, or at least offered gaming possibilities in his own house.16 Possible implications of this are explored below. He may as well, or alternatively, have provided birds for others to use in the fights. Ancient readers of this speech perhaps took such a view, as they label him “the bird-man” or “birddealer” (o( o)rniqi/aj), which probably suggests the idea that he supplied birds for fights.17 However, the text strictly need imply no more than that Pittalakos was a passionate enthusiast, who brought his own birds, table, dice and bones to wherever gambling might take place.18 The arguments which follow seek to take account of these various scenarios; my preference remains to suppose that the text rather suggests that he had some share in organising gaming activities.

chance, and offered equal opportunities for betting. Knucklebones were especially associated with children’s play, from the heroic model of the Iliad where Patroklos recalls how, when a child, he had killed Amphidamas’ son because he was angered by a dispute over knucklebones.23 They were also associated with sanctuaries (whose sacrifices would have been the main source of the bones), and are frequently found buried with the dead. Large or small finds of knucklebones have formed parts of archaeological assemblages at a number of sanctuaries in Greece and across the Mediterranean; the largest set is the many thousands found in the Korykian cave of Pan and the Nymphs high in the Parnassus mountains above Delphi, and the fullest discussion is that of Amandry.24 Many knucklebones found in sanctuaries had been pierced, smoothed or otherwise worked, or reinforced with lead or other metals, and these had presumably been used to play with, before being dedicated or otherwise abandoned in sanctuaries. Amandry suggested the Delphic cave votives may represent in part the depositions of boys who have come of age, marking their abandonment of their childhood games,25 and in part the use of knucklebones in making predictions; he doubts, plausibly enough, that that particular cave-shrine, isolated so high up the mountain, was itself a scene of extensive gaming. On a good many of the so-called Choes vases, we find boys and youths carrying bags containing knucklebones, or such bags hanging down from a wall; these presumably indicate in some way the typical activities of the young, in relation to the child-centred aspect of that part of the Anthesteria.26 This does not necessarily demonstrate that these games were played specifically during the Anthesteria, but it remains a reasonable possibility. Deposits of knucklebones have been found in graves of chlidren and women with fair frequency across the Greek world. Some individual graves in Locri Epizephyrii have produced them in very large numbers; especially notable is the number—587—included inside and outside one old woman’s sarcophagus.27

Pittalakos was not alone in his fondness for such activities. Dicing in particular was a very popular pastime throughout the ancient world, as in very many societies. It could be played on six-sided manufactured dice (kuboi), or on four-sided knucklebones (astragaloi). Frequent allusions to dicing in classical Athens focus on it as one of the typical debauched and expensive activities of the degenerate young; these topoi occur in invective in law court speeches19 and elsewhere,20 and in jokes in comedy.21 “Dicers” (Kubeutai) is the title of a good many Middle Comedy plays, for example plays by Alexis and Euboulos; of the four fragments of the latter, three concern the names of “throws” and the other an elaborate “Thericlean” drinking cup.22

Leslie Kurke has recently tried to establish a consistent “discursive pattern” of class differentiation in many areas of social life in archaic Greece.28 In the areas of drinking

Throwing knucklebones (astragaloi), normally sheep or goat bones, was an alternative, equally popular, game of 14

Carey 2000, 43. E.g., Jacob 1928, 147–9; Kurke 1999, 283; Hunter 2000, 12. 16 Cf. also 1.57, where Hegesandros visited Pittalakos at his house—but was likely to have been looking for some gaming action. 17 See the Hypothesis to Dem. 19 and Tzetzes Chil. VI. 56. This word, however, is extremely rare, and it may only mean here “the man mad keen on birds.” It is interesting that this story so intrigued these ancient commentators that they singled it out for special mention in their brief summaries of the case. 18 I am grateful to Onno van Nijf for emphasising this point to me at the conference. 19 E.g., Lys. 14.27, 16.11; Isocr. Antid. 15.287; Areop. 7.48. 20 Xen. Mem. 1.2.57; Arist. EN 1122a7. 21 E.g., Ar. Wasps 74–6, Eccl. 672, Wealth 243; Eupolis 99K–A line 85; Philetairos 2 K–A. 22 Also plays by Amphis and Antiphanes: see Hunter 1983, 142–4; Arnott 1996, 347.

23

Il. 23.83–92. See Golden 1990, 53-6; Kurke 1999, 291–3; the passage was quoted by Aeschines in his speech against Timarchos (1.149), and the theme was evidently revisited in an third-century tragedy by Alexander of Pleuron in Aetolia (TrGF 101 F1–2). 24 Amandry 1984; See also the brief but wide-ranging discussion of Gilmour 1997, considering finds from across the Near East as well as Greece; Foster 1984 on an assemblage of bones from an altar in the Agora in Athens, perhaps dedicated to Artemis Ourania; and Davidson 1952, 217-21 on Hellenistic and Roman finds at Corinth. 25 Amandry 1984. Cf. Robert (1968, 229) for dedications by boys of knucklebones and other childhood games and toys; and Anth. Pal. 6.276, for a poem representing a girl’s dedication of her hair and abandonment of her knucklebones; and cf. 6.280, for a similar dedication of a ball, dolls and other toys. 26 See van Hoorn 1951, cat. nos. 123, 192, 244, 281, 573, 629, 641. 27 Robert 1968, 230–1; Kurtz and Boardman 1971, 208–9. 28 Kurke 1999.

15

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NICK FISHER: THE PERILS OF PITTALAKOS: SETTINGS OF COCK FIGHTING AND DICING IN CLASSICAL ATHENS out of the wealthy and politically active groups.31 Timarchos, Aeschines claims, by living in a mercenary fashion off a load of men, by (virtually) prostituting himself, will endanger this fine practice if he is then allowed to act as Athens’ public representative; he will bring a vital part of the whole educational system and culture into disrepute.32 Concomitantly, increasing numbers of citizens seem to have engaged in training at the gymnasia and wrestling grounds, and drinking in variously sophisticated forms of conviviality—the two primary settings where men would pursue and gossip about their pederastic love affairs. Aeschines himself admits—or indeed boasts—that he is still much involved in love affairs, poetry and fights, and assumes ordinary Athenians share this interest, and want their sons to be attractive and famous as beautiful youths, as kaloi (1.136–7).33

parties and sexual relations, for example, she finds a persistent ideological contrast between affairs with hetairai and pornai, which are associated with the contrasts between gift exchange and commodity exchanges based on cash deals, and more generally between the more elitist, or aristocratic, non-market orientated leisure activities, and the more commercial or lower-class activities. In the area of dicing, she points to evidence from archaic poets, supported by many finds from sanctuaries, that knucklebones might be more “positively valued”: as objects found in nature, made available by the ritual process of sacrifice, and already equipped with their shapes already helpfully differentiated.29 Further, they were often associated with other activities at shrines, such as giving oracles, or with the games of innocent children, or more aristocratic settings such as the palaistrai and the gymnasia. On the other hand, she argues that gambling with kuboi was more negatively valued, associated with lower-class people and the harder gambling for gain. This distinction (like many of her examples) she draws in an over-sharp way even for the archaic period, though it is fair to emphasise that Kurke herself sees them as essentially “discursive,” or “ideological”; the argument is not that these distinctions should be taken as fully reflected in social life, determining what people actually do and how they interact.

In relation to discourses about gambling, the connection of knucklebones with children certainly remained strong.34 Kurke does not deal, however, with the not infrequent representations of women carrying or playing with knucklebones, or being buried with them; though the assocation is more problematic than that with children, it nonetheless complicates the picture. Pollux includes in his listing of women’s games one called penthalitha (presumably like our fivestones, or jacks), in which five stones, pebbles or astragaloi are thrown and caught on the back on the hand (9.126). Women playing knucklebones appear on a number of red-figure hydriai, lekythoi, pyxides and other pots from the second half of the fifth century: examples include a hydria of the Washing Painter (here fig. 7.2);35 a Naples lekythos;36 a pyxis from New York;37 a Louvre pyxis;38 an onos fragment by the Eretria Painter in Amsterdam;39 and a skyphos from the Athenian Acropolis.40 On Tanagran terracotta figurines from the mid-fourth century onward, women as well as boys appear carrying or throwing knucklebones.41 The

However that may be, it is harder to believe that the distinction is maintained with much consistency even at the level of “discourse” in classical Athens. The argument may first be put in a broader context. It seems to me probable that many of the settings for leisure activities which are often seen as retaining a predominantly aristocratic or elitist character, such as gymnasia, palaistrai, and symposia, became at least from the later fifth century B.C. opened up to wider circles of users, both Athenians and non-Athenians.30 It can also be argued that the way Kurke categorises as essentially “aristocratic” key values of reciprocity like charis or the idea of “moral” resistence to monetary or commercial transactions is deeply contestable. This speech of Aeschines itself offers a powerful argument for such views as far as fourth-century Athenian views are concerned. The speech in its entirety is based on the argument that “noble pederasty”, the modest and restrained sexual love and pursuit by older males of youths, in opposition to mercenary relationships based on cash or presents, is accepted as a proper and noble activity by and for “the citizens” as a whole, not just an activity restricted to the rich or the “aristocrats”. In any case the application to Athens of the later fifth and fourth centuries B.C. of the concept of an “aristocracy”, rather than of fluid and labile elites, is especially problematic; the period was one of very considerable mobility in and

29 30

31

See e.g., Davies 1981 and Ober 1989, with the details of family properties in Davies 1971. 32 See especially 1.132–40, 155–59, 185–87. 33 This line of interpretation is adopted by Dover 1978, Winkler 1990, 64, and defended at length in my edition, Fisher 2000; recent restatements (e.g., Hubbard 1998 and Sissa 1999) of the view that such practices were seen as exclusively “aristocratic” and regarded with distaste by the majority of Athenians, in my view misconceive the coherence of the speech’s arguments and are unconvincing on other grounds. 34 See, e.g., Ar. Wasps 295, knucklebones are a cheap present for a father to give his son; also, Menekrates (1 K–A), Pherekrates (48 K–A), and the cynical view attributed to various tough guys such as Dionysios I, Lysander and Philip II that one should deceive boys with knucklebones, men with oaths: Diod. 10.9.1; Plut. Lys. 8.3–4, Mor. 229b, 330f., 741c; Aelian VH 7,12. 35 London BM inv. no. E205=ARV2 1132, 175. 36 Naples inv. no. 3123=ARV2 671,12. 37 New York MM inv. no. 06.1021.119. 38 Paris Louvre inv. no. 587=ARV2 1094,104. 39 Amsterdam Allard Pierson Museum inv. no. 2021=ARV2 1251.35. 40 Athens Acropolis inv. no. 512=ARV2 806,2. 41 Higgins 1986, 143–4, 150.

Kurke 1999, 283–95. See e.g., Fisher 1998 and 2000.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY images are of course hard to interpret, and are not necessarily to be taken as straightforward representations of “daily life”; but they may suggest that such harmless games were felt to be acceptable forms of leisure for respectable women on their own.42

class pastimes, or between knucklebones as played in more religiously sanctioned places and dice in more commercialised settings, have become considerably subverted by Aeschines’ time. We shall soon consider evidence which may suggest the areas around sanctuaries formed locations for all types of gambling.

More importantly, some texts seem to place dice and knucklebones in the same context without giving much idea of a moral distinction between them.43 One text is our Aeschines passage: Pittalakos’ equipment and hence his gaming activities included both dice-boxes and knucklebones as well as the birds (1.59); Kurke recognises this, but she treats it as an exception.44 On another passage her argument that a moral distinction can be read is unconvincing.45 It is true that the behaviour described in Theopompos FGH 115F12146 of Hegesilochus and his fellow-Rhodian oligarchs, who gambled among themselves to determine who had the task of bringing free-born women to them to be debauched, is “transgressive” in the extreme; but the text does not make it clear or even likely that their use of astragaloi rather than kuboi for their disgraceful kubeia is in itself a further form of abuse. In an interesting piece of dream analysis in Artemidoros (Interpretation of Dreams 3.1), it is not bad to see children playing with knucklebones, dice or pebbles (or perhaps draughts, if we read pessois for psephois); but it is dangerous for a grown man or woman to dream of knucklebones (unless the dreamer hopes for an inheritance), as they derive from dead bodies. As Kurke half recognises, the origin from sacrificial animals seems to imply a connection with death, at least for adults, rather than a divine or natural sanction.47 In this connection, Kurke also cites Polygnotos’ fifth-century painting on the Lesche of the Knidians at Delphi for the fifth-century association of knucklebones and heroic and youthful dead; he showed the daughters of Pandareos garlanded with flowers and playing with knucklebones (Paus. 10.30.1). On the other hand, elsewhere in the depiction of the Underworld (Paus. 10.31.1), Polygnotos depicted Salaminian Ajax, Palamedes (allegedly the inventor of the game) and Thersites playing dice (kuboi), while the lesser Ajax watched. One conclusion seems to be that while knucklebones remained a popular and wholly acceptable game for children (as they have remained in Greece and elsewhere to this day), any distinction between knucklebones as predominantly elitist and dice as lower

Cock fighting and quail fighting were also very popular sports in Athens, and offered exciting opportunities for competition and betting, for male self-assertion and the temporary challenging of established hierarchies of status or age. The fighting of the cocks themselves ideologically afforded demonstrations of masculine courage and virility which find reflections in many aspects of Athenian cultural life.48 Quails were used both for fighting, like cocks, and for the betting game of “quail tapping”, at which one contestant placed his bird on a board, and the other sought to drive it off the board by flicking it with his finger, or pulling its feathers.49 Contestants (and their supporters) no doubt as in Bali (and elsewhere) identified their own strength and virility with that of their birds, and put their temporary reputations as well as their cash or their birds on the line, and so, to a lesser extent, did those less involved who chose to bet on the outcome. In general gambling evidently played an important part in the social life of many Athenians, and especially no doubt the younger and more leisured of them. But our understanding of the settings and organisation of bird fights and dicing is very limited. Aeschines’ account of Pittalakos’ troubles is an important item of evidence, but it leaves a lot of unanswered questions on the issues of settings and clientele—preferring to create a general atmosphere of degeneracy and wild living. Aeschines asserts that the jury know “the place”, or at least have heard of it, where this all took place (1.53); how realistic this claim is, it is hard to say, nor is it clear whether the phrasing is supposed to indicate that there was one main place, or that many of them would have heard of the particular site where Timarchos and Pittalakos had been known to hang out. Other evidence is decidedly scrappy and uncertain. Two late sources state intriguingly that cock fighting had an official place in some festivals. Aelian (True History 2.28) relates how after the victory of the Persians the Athenians passed a law that there should be cock fighting contests on one day a year held publicly (demosiai) in the theatre; the origin of the law was that Themistokles observed the fighting spirit and desire to win of the fighting cocks and thought the contests would be a spur to young Athenians to arete. Solon in Lucian’s Anacharsis 37 justifies this practice on the argument that it is a good law which makes it compulsory for the young

42

See the discussion of women’s pastimes in Lewis 2002, 152-7; I am most grateful to Sian Lewis for information on this point in advance of publication. There are also at least three intriguing red-figure pots from the fifth century made in the shape of astragaloi, one (by Syriskos: Rome, Villa Giulia 866=ARV2 264.67) showing Eros, a lion and a Nike; one (by the Sotades Painter: London BM E804=ARV2 765.20) showing clouds, women and a man; and one (from New York, MM. 40.11.12=ARV2 965) showing Eros playing a lyre. 43 See also Lamer 1927, 1937–9. 44 Kurke 1999, 283. 45 Kurke 1999, 291 n. 91. 46 =Athenaeus 444e–5a. 47 Kurke 1999, 290.

48

See Taplin 1987, Fowler 1989, and above all Csapo 1993, an excellent article, much influenced by Geertz’ 1973 pioneering study of the cockfight as ‘Deep Play’ in Bali. 49 See Ar. Birds 1297–9 with Dunbar 1995, 643–4, and Pollux 9.102, 109.

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NICK FISHER: THE PERILS OF PITTALAKOS: SETTINGS OF COCK FIGHTING AND DICING IN CLASSICAL ATHENS such gifts (e.g., fig. 7.1), and that boys and youths would naturally enjoy playing all these games, combine to make this an inevitable conclusion.57 Plato (Lysis. 206e) shows boys at a new palaistra, celebrating the Hermaia,58 and playing with “all types of knucklebones” at moments of relaxation. Suetonius (On Games 1.10, p. 65) asserts that Hermes and Pan are the patrons of dicing, and knucklebones were, as we saw, particularly associated with children. There is little evidence to suggest that slaves might be involved in actively helping to run games at gymnasia,59 though they were involved in more menial duties, such as cleaning, servicing and perhaps sparring duties at gymnasia.60

men to watch cock and quail fights until the end, in order to encourage them to face dangers in battle with no less courage than the birds. These late anecdotes in themselves are undeniably of dubious worth, but it may none the less be just conceivable that at some times cock fighting played an institutional part at the Dionysia and perhaps other festivals as well.50 Fighting cocks certainly appear prominently in the iconography of the festival. They were displayed on columns on many Panathenaic vases. Two cocks appear on the table cloth of the table at which are seated the three judges for the Rural Dionysia in the so-called “Calendar frieze” now on the Church of Hagios Eleutherios in Athens.51 Another pair of cocks are held ready for combat by young boy Erotes on the stone throne of the priest of Dionysos Eleuthereus in the theatre of Dionysos.52 It is clear, then, that cock fighting was a pervasive and powerful metaphor for the masculine and competitive courage encouraged in many of Athens’ contests and festivals;53 the invention of stories about the introduction of public cock fights at the time of Themistokles might conceivably come from the period of the mid-late fourth century B.C., when very many documents and stories of Athens’ glorious past were invented.54 It is just possible that cockfights did become part of the programme at some point during the fourth century; in which case a state slave might have been involved, for example under the direction of the epimeletai (see Arist. Ath. Pol. 56.4), in ensuring that birds were provided. But more explicit evidence would make it easier to believe that it was already in place around 360; as Deubner and Pickard-Cambridge suggest, the representations of cock fights may well have had essentially symbolic value.55 There is, however, some evidence for other Greek states: Pliny (Nat. Hist. 10.21) states that there were official cock fights every year at Pergamon, and that the best cocks came from Rhodes, Tanagra, Media and Chalcis. Again, boys are associated with fighting cocks on a number of Choes vases;56 this does not necessarily indicate that there were informal cockfights at the Anthesteria, but it remains a possibility.

Another possibility for gambling and dicing would seem to be the rather elusive public leisure houses, leschai, where men (and particularly old men) would gather, especially in winter, to chat and tell stories.61 There is some evidence for public leschai at Athens:62 a fifthcentury horos-stone from the Peiraieus, which marks off “public leschai” (IG I³ 1102); a reference in Antiphon’s speech against Nikokles “On Boundaries” (Horoi) (Harp. s.v. leschai); two fourth-century horoi-stones (IG II² 2620a and b) found between the Areopagos and the Pnyx in the deme of Melite; and a fourth-century inscription from Aixone (IG II² 2492 l. 23), which stipulates that details of a forty-year leasing contract of land be inscribed on two stelai, one to be set up in the Temple of Hebe and one in the lesche (probably also in the deme). That men played board games or diced in these leisure centres is likely enough,63 though there is little to connect them specifically with organised gambling or bird fights, or with public slaves. SKIRAPHEIA, ATHENA SKIRAS AND THE SALAMINIOI But what seems the most exciting possibility takes us in a different direction, that of festivals and sanctuaries, and here an opportunity exists to introduce Hegesandros and Hegesippos back into the argument. Terms often used in 57

For knucklebones as presents, there are possibilities such as the cup by the Brygos Painter in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford (inv. no. 1967.304=ARV2 378 no. R520, in both Dover 1978 and Kilmer 1993; here fig. 7.1), which shows a boy, apparently pleased with the present contained in the bag he is holding, consenting affectionately to the older man’s genital approaches; Kilmer (1993, 20) suggests that, as in similar scenes, the bag is likely to contain knucklebones or nuts. On courtship gifts see e.g., Dover 1978, 92-3; Koch-Harnack 1983; Kilmer 1993, 11– 21. 58 The main festival of a gymnasion, where the boys showed what they had learnt: Aesch. 1.10; Gauthier and Hatzopoulos 1993, 95–123. 59 See, however, the reference to a public slave in relation to varied low-life activities, which might occur round gymnasia, in n. 72 below. 60 See recently Golden 1998, 54, and 2000. 61 See in general Burkert 1993, 19–38, and Buxton 1994, 40–4. 62 See also Lewis 1990, 250, the “enigmatic lounges.” 63 One may notice Eur. Med. 67–71, where the Paidagogos describes how he heard the latest gossip about Kleon’s plans by “going to the pessoi where the older men sit,” whereas the scholia suggest pessoi (which can mean a board game like draughts or dice) stands for the place where these games are played.

It is more certain that bird fighting and gambling with dice and knucklebones were part of the peripheral activities at the gymnasia. The facts that bird fights could be seen as suitably encouraging for the young, that birds were among the most popular love-gifts from men to youths, that bags of knucklebones also seem to appear as 50

Cf. e.g., Fowler 1989, 256–8. See, e.g., Deubner 1932, 248–54; Simon 1983, 101; the frieze is probably late Hellenistic in date. 52 Maass (1972, 60–76), who argues for a date in the later fourth century B.C. for the throne, at the time of the rebuilding of the theatre in the Lycurgan period. 53 See especially Csapo 1993. 54 See Davies 1996. 55 Deubner 1932, 138, 248–9; Pickard-Cambridge 1968, 51. 56 Van Hoorn 1951, nos. 262, 348, 565, 649, 889, 900. 51

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FIG. 7.1. OXFORD ASHMOLEAN MUSEUM INV. NO. 1967.304. BRYGOS PAINTER, CUP WITH SCENE OF A BOY HOLDING KNUCKLEBONES. “spending their time” “in the skirapheia”.64 But it is difficult to believe that this term—skirapheia/skiraphoi— originated solely in a local Athenian context, because Harpokration, Eusthathius and Suetonius also quote a few words from the Ionian poet Hipponax of Ephesus,65 in which skiraphoi apparently means some form of devious tricks (a character asks: “Why do you entice me with your skiraphoi?”). Nonetheless, an association with specific sites in Attica could well have developed (if it was somewhat fortuitous in origin), and needs to be followed up.

Greek for gambling places and gamblers were skirapheia and skiraphoi. Much of the evidence is found in late lexicographers and commentators, who often tie the terms closely to specific Athenian gambling locations. Harpokration (s.v. Skirapheia) quotes both Theopompos (FGH 115 228) and Deinarchos fr. 48 Conomis, a speech against Proxenos (of ca. 292/1) for the claim that gambling places could be called skiraphia. Eusthathius, the 12th century A.D. bishop of Thessalonike, in his Commentary on Odyssey (1.107), suggests that the term skirapheia for gambling places, and skiraphoi for gamblers and villains, and gamblers’ tricks, arose from the fact that the Athenians, who were very keen on dicing, played in shrines and especially at the temple of Athena Skiras at Skiron; and that as a result other gambling places were known as skirapheia. Suetonius (On Games 1.10), Pollux (9.96), and other lexicographers repeat the view that the Athenians used to dice especially in the temple of Athena Skiras at Skiron. The term was certainly in current use in classical Athens; in addition to the fragments of Theopompos and Deinarchos already cited, Isocrates twice described degenerate contemporary youth, more decadent than in earlier times, as “dicing” or

There were two temples of Athena Skiras, each just outside the city, and each associated with a particular festival. The one specified by these sources as being “at Skiron” was evidently the one located to the north-west, on the road to Eleusis, to which the priestess of Athena and the priest of Poseidon/Erechtheus would solemnly process, under parasols, at the festival of the Skira in the month of Skiraphorion. Other evidence attests a general 64

7.48–9, 15.286–7. See in general the full citation of sources and discussion in Jacoby’s commentary on Philochoros (FGH 328 F 14–6). 65 Fr. 128 West; probably sixth century B.C.

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FIG. 7.2. LONDON BRITISH MUSEUM INV. NO. E205. HYDRIA WITH SCENE OF WOMEN PLAYING WITH KNUCKLEBONES. atmosphere of licence at Skiron, with dicing and prostitutes.66 The sources rather give the impression that the dicing and other amusements there were not restricted to the time of the festival alone, and we might well wish to imagine Timarchos and Pittalakos engaged in their gaming activities there.

(notably at Phaleron and Sounion), and important responsibilities for various cult-sites and festivals, above all the Oschophoria at Phaleron; what the original connection was with the island, myths and cults of Salamis remains deeply obscure. The activities and cult duties of the genos are attested in the two famous Salaminian inscriptions both found in the area of Kolonos Agoraios in the Agora, the first dated to 363/2 B.C., the second a little over century later.68 Now among the oathtakers to the settlement from the Sounion branch of the genos is one Hegias son of Hegesias; Hegesandros and Hegesippos of Sounion were also sons of Hegesias, and so all of them may be presumed to have been members of the genos.

The other temple of Athena Skiras located at Phaleron is, however, even more tempting, as it enables us to bring Hegesandros and Hegesippos into the picture. This shrine played a central part in the young men’s festival of the Oschophoria (in the month Pyanopsion) which was associated with Theseus’ return to Athens from Crete and featured with some male transvestism; it was managed by the genos of the Salaminioi, who provided the two youths dressed in women’s clothes who carried bunches of grapes (oschoi) and young women to carry the food (deipnophoroi).67 This cult-association or genos of the Salaminians had branches in various parts of Attica

These two sanctuaries of Athena Skiras may well then have been (or been among) the places referred to as skirapheia in Athenian sources, where young men gathered regularly to play dice. Isocrates twice (7.48–9 and 15.286–7) castigates the most degenerate of young Athenians for wasting their time dicing in gambling dens (diatribein/kubeuein en tois skirapheiois). We have seen

66

See the collection of material and discussion in Calame 1996, 341–4, and also Burkert 1983, 142–9, esp. 145. 67 The sources are cited and discussed by Jacoby (commentary on Philochoros, FGH 328 F 14–6) and on the transvestite oschophoroi see Vidal-Naquet 1986, 114–6, Calame 1996, 324–64, and Csapo 1997, 262–4.

68

They have been subjected to a series of major studies, notably by Ferguson 1938, the first publication, Osborne 1994, Parker 1996, 308– 16, Taylor 1997, and Lambert 1997, with a new text, and 1999.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY already the connections between play with knucklebones and the games of the young, their possible dedications in parts of rites of passage, and hence with sanctuaries in general. If the area of the Athena Skiras sanctuary at Skiron was, as the later sources suggest, the most famous gambling haunt in Athens, it seems very likely that Athena Skiras at Phaleron saw similar activities, especially, but perhaps not solely, at the time of the Oschophoria. The two shrines were closely related: they were attached to the same deity and epithet, and each had an association with similarly named heroes, namely Skiros the Eleusinian prophet at Skiron, Skiros a Salaminion King and perhaps also Skiron the Megarian bandit associated with the Phaleron shrine and the Salaminioi.69 Rituals involving rites of passage of young men, races and Dionysiac processions at the Oschophoria, or of the women leaving home to celebrate the Skira at Skiron, alike share associations of temporary marginality or licensed subversion. The same ideas are suggested also by the recurrent language of skir- words, which carry associations of border country or badlands, and of lime or “white” earth. The dubious or marginal activities of the young, such as dicing, might fit in well enough. These associations may also help to account for the earlier use attested in Hipponax for the term as denoting trickery.

§n aÂw prÒteron oÈdÉ ín ofik°thw §pieikØw oÈde‹w §tÒlmhsen: ofl m¢n går aÈtvn §p‹ t∞w ÉEnneakroÊnou cÊxousin o‰non, ofl dÉ §n to›w kaphle¤oiw p¤nousin, ßteroi dÉ §n to›w skirafe¤oiw kubeÊousin, pollo‹ dÉ §n to›w t«n aÈlhtr¤dvn didaskale¤oiw diatr¤bousin. Ka‹ toÁw m¢n §p‹ taËta protr°pontaw oÈde‹w p≈pote tvn kÆdesyai faskÒntvn t∞w ≤lik¤aw taÊthw efiw Ímçw efisÆgagen: ≤m›n d¢ kakå par°xousin, oÂw êjion ∑n, efi ka‹ mhdenÚw êllou, toÊtou ge xãrin ¶xein ˜ti toÁw sunÒntaw t«n toioÊtvn §pithdeumãtvn épotr°pomen. (15.286–7)

We cannot on present evidence be confident that gambling establishments in Athens were generally associated with sanctuaries in this way. But Greek festivals, both panhellenic and polis-based, like those of many other cultures, were frequently conducted in an atmosphere of widespread fun and merriment, associated with lively, often phallic, processions, masked mummery and ritual abuse of individuals. Above all they involved collective feasting, serious drinking, and perhaps sexual adventures; they naturally attracted as well a lavish range of leisure and commercial activities at and around the religious sites.70 It seems only too plausible that a number of sanctuaries saw ad hoc or more organised gambling games, along with much eating, and drinking, and that on these occcasions the distinction between the supposedly more respectable knucklebones and the more disreputable dice lost whatever force it had once had.

In this denunciation of the debauchery of contemporary youth Isocrates distinguishes two forms: the unlocalised, and less disgraceful, drinkings, social gatherings, idle pursuits, and games, indulged in even nowadays by the most respectable of the young men, and the more public and shameful activities indulged night and day by those with “worse natures”. These debaucheries are said to be such that a decent house slave in previous times would not have dared to do: such youths cool their wine from the water at the Nine Fountains, drink in bars (kapeleia), dice in the skirapheia, and spend their time hanging round the training schools for the girl pipers. Kurke’s recent analysis observes disapproval here of the monetarisation of pleasures, divorced from traditional social groupings, which she finds in general both in the more elite discourses such as this of Isocrates and also in the genuine law court speeches.71 On this view, the “better” youths indulge in more private settings, such as the symposia of friends, but the more debauched youths purchase their pleasures in the bars, abuse the public provision of clean water at the Nine Springs for their drinkings (to add water to their wine when on their komoi), spend time even during the day with the professional girl pipers, as well as gamble in the dens (skirapheia). Isocrates’ argument may conceivably thus work by assimilating gambling dens, as privately-owned “commercial” establishments, to the bars (kapeleia)72 and the fee-charging girls. But the argument would work equally well, and perhaps better, if we place the emphasis not so much on “commercialisation” as on confusions between public and private spaces, and between exclusive

For you have brought it about that the most respectable of our young men are wasting their youth in drinking sessions, in parties, in easy living and games, neglecting any efforts to make themselves better; while those who are worse in nature spent their time all day in such disorderly pursuits which in former days a respectable slave would not dare to do. Some of them chill their wine at the “Nine-Fountains”, others drink in bars, others play dice in the gambling dens (skirapheia); and many hang around the training-schools of the flute-girls. And as for those who encourage them in these things, no one of those who profess to be concerned for our youth has ever brought them before you for trial, but instead they bring troubles on me, who deserve, if nothing else, at least gratitude for this, that I turn those who associate with me away from such practices.

A closer look at one of the Isocrates passages already referred to in Antidosis may yet suggest some interplay between setting and gaming. ka‹ gãr toi pepo‹Ækate toÁw m¢n §pieikestãtouw aÈt«n §n pÒtoiw ka‹ sunous¤aiw ka‹ =&yum¤aiw ka‹ paidia›w tØn ≤lik¤an diãgein, émelÆsantaw toË spoudãzein ˜pvw ¶sontai belt¤ouw, toÁw d¢ xe¤rv tØn fÊsin ¶xontaw §n toiaÊtaiw ékolas¤aiw ≤mereÊein 69

See Kearns 1989, 197–8. Cf. e.g., Plato Laws 835e, and the narratives in Aesch. 1.42–5 and Dem. 19.287, with Frontisi-Ducroux 1992, Csapo 1997; and cf. Davidson (1952, 218) on dice found in debris from the Odeion at Corinth, suggesting informal gaming in the intervals of shows; for sexual licence at festivals and its possible representations, see von Blankenhagen 1976, Kilmer 1993, 23–5. 70

71 72

74

She compares Lys. 14.27, 16.11; Kurke 1999, 284–6. On these see also Davidson 1997, 52–60.

NICK FISHER: THE PERILS OF PITTALAKOS: SETTINGS OF COCK FIGHTING AND DICING IN CLASSICAL ATHENS and sophisticated forms of pleasure, and more raucous forms which would be likely to involve people of mixed wealth and status. The comparable passage of Isocratean denunciation of contemporary youth highlights the presence of jokers and buffoonery at such settings (Isocr. 7.49).73

care. Further, the details about the breaking up of the tables and equipment and the killing of the birds are especially vivid and memorable, but perhaps not the material that would immediately spring to Aeschines’ mind if he were merely inventing from nothing stories of erotic jealousy and fighting. The relative sympathy afforded at times to Pittalakos in the speech is compatible with the suggestion that he did actually have a serious quarrel with the brothers Hegesandros and Hegesippos, had at least a good claim to be a free man or a freedman, but eventually had to give up a possible lawsuit. Conceivably, Timarchos was perhaps involved as a friend and fellow-gambler of Hegesandros, but was not at the centre of the story: a plurality of “fellow gamblers” are said to accompany Hegesandros both on his intrusion into Pittalakos’ house and on his attempt to prise him away from the altar in the Agora. It seems quite likely then that at the heart of the row was some sort of territorial or other dispute over the gaming activities at or around the Salaminians’ shrine in Phaleron.

If some, many or even all of the skirapheia were known to be associated with sanctuaries, and were particularly active at festival times, the points made here may include the idea of the ostentatious misuse of such public areas with sacral associations by ad hoc groups of gaming enthusiasts of varied social status; similarly the debauchery of komasts at the Nine Springs Fountain might seem especially subversive because it suggested misuse of public places by extravagant, loud and quarrelsome male pleasure seekers—especially at a place where respectable women congregated to draw water, wash clothes, and talk, and perhaps (as Greta Ham suggests to me) a place where young men might observe, or even engage in decorous conversation with, respectable young women.

One further allegation made by Aeschines about the denouement of this story may be relevant here. The arbitrator chosen for the dispute between Hegesandros and Pittalakos was Diopeithes of Sounion, and Aeschines makes a substantial point that he was a fellow-demesman and old “friend” of Hegesandros,75 and showed his favouritism by constant delays, so that in the end Pittalakos abandoned his lawsuit (1.63–5). This man was most probably a prominent Athenian, Diopeithes son of Diphilos of Sounion, who served as general in the years from 343/2 to 341/0, and in this period was engaged in military activities against Philip.76 Alternatively he may have been another Diopeithes, the son of Phasurkides of Sounion. Both these men, interestingly, were also members of the Salaminian genos, and they had both played parts (one as archon for the branch based at Sounion, and the other as among the oath-takers) in the settlement procedures of 363/2 as described on the inscription.77 This case seems to have been one of private arbitration, agreed to by both parties. The question then arises why Pittalakos should be supposed to have agreed to an arbitrator who was a fellow demesman (and alleged former lover) of Hegesandros (and it appears also a member of the same genos), when parties seem to have been expected to select as private arbitrators those known and friendly to both sides.78 The jury may be supposed to imagine both that Pittalakos was extremely naïve and perhaps also that Diopeithes was known to him as a fellow gambler. If in fact, on the other hand, the activities of the genos of the Salaminioi were central to the affair, it might have made a little more sense that the parties agreed on another member of the genos to try to resolve

CONCLUSION: MORE A TURF WAR THAN A LOVE FIGHT? If, then, gambling and related activities took place around Athena Skiras at Phaleron, the quarrel between Hegesandros and Pittalakos may conceivably have been located there, and had as much to do with dicing and bird fights, and consequent quarrels and violence, as with specifically sexual rivalries over Timarchos. Various scenarios could be postulated. The strongest elements in the story appear to be the slave-like whipping of Pittalakos, his attempt to seek help by an act of supplication at the Altar of the Mother Goddess, and the attempt by Glaukon and others to rescue Pittalakos from Hegesandros by the legal procedure of “bringing back to freedom” (see 1.62), especially in view of the fact that Glaukon seems to have been the only person to have provided testimony for Aeschines for these events. But this evidence may only have supported the case that Hegesandros had been whipping Pittalakos as a slave, and was falsely claiming some form of ownership of the man.74 Glaukon did not necessarily testify that the cause of the dispute had anything to do with Pittalakos’ lovesick complaints over the removal of Timarchos from his 73

One may note also that Demosthenes’ abuse of crooks and debauchees who had found congenial refuge at Philip’s court (2.18) includes one Kallias who is also described, correctly or not, as a public slave (demosios), along with other similar tellers of jokes and singers of disgraceful songs; and one can compare the accounts of the association of the sixty joke-tellers, supposedly admired by Philip, who used to meet at the gymnasion and shrine of Herakles Kynosarges (see Athenaeus 614d–e). 74 The fact that a defeated cock in a fight was known as a “slave” (e.g., Plut. Alc. 4.3, quoting a line from tragedy, Ar. Frogs 71–2, with Dunbar 1995 ad loc.) may have added extra point and spice to the gamblers’ combination of whipping Pittalakos as a slave and killing his birds. One may compare Konon’s imitation of a victorious fighting cock as he, his son, and friends beat up Ariston (see Demosthenes 54.1–9).

75

Aeschines uses the deliberately ambiguous verb chresthai to hint that he was not just an old friend but also a former lover of Hegesandros. 76 See Dem. 8 passim and Davies 1971, 167–9. 77 See Lambert 1997, text no. 1, 69–71, and also Lambert 1999, 110–1. 78 See Humphreys 1985; Hunter 1994, 59–60; and Scafuro 1997, 131– 5.

75

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY to us a wide variety of social and religious associations based on shared cult, pseudo-kinship bonds and/or commensality, which enjoyed complex networks and interconnections; they appear to have been increasingly important both for Athenians and metics. Many of them had complex inter-relationships with the institutions of demes and phratries and their democratic procedures and discourses; others may have played their part in integrating metics into parts of Athenian society.79 The orators, however, only mention such groups in contexts of citizen registration and inheritance, or internal disputes (often known only from fragments).80 The chance survival of names and activities from the inscriptions concerned with the Salaminian genos may then, when combined with some lexicographical remarks and the highly misleading forensic narrative of Pittalakos’ troubles, lift the curtain on some competitive, riotous and violent activities on the fringes of Athenian sanctuaries; they may also demonstrate how gambling, like other leisure activities, might bring together individuals from very different levels of Athenian society, whose friendships however might change rapidly into hostility, cruelty and the reassertion of status differences.

the matter amicably; naïvete and a serious miscalculation on Pittalakos’ part may still be suspected. One possibility then might be that some prominent members of the genos like the two brothers objected to an uncontrolled spread of gambling activities near the shrine their organisation controlled. Another, rather less reputable, but perhaps more plausible, might be that they were themselves involved, directly or indirectly, in such activities and profited from them, and took offence when Pittalakos, whom they professed to regard, rightly or wrongly, as one of their ex-slaves, began operating his own gaming business on or near their ground, perhaps even using experience he had acquired while working for them. It thus might be seen as a form of “turf warfare”. Alternatively, if he was an enthusiast, but not actually engaged in running any games, they may have objected to his ostentatious display of his money, his birds and his equipment, in games taking place at or around their shrine. On all of these scenarios, and whatever Pittalakos’ legal status at various stages of the story, the impression remains that gambling and other festival and leisure activities enabled people of very different social status to spend time together and share the fun, excitement and risk; yet equally, when serious conflicts arose (whether over money, sex, control of the setting, or whatever), the richer and the more powerful might not hesitate to use all the legal and extra-legal resources at their command to re-assert superiority, exact severe revenge, and evade paying any penalty.

Works Cited Amandry, P. 1984. “Os et coquilles.” In L’antre corycien, 347-80. BCH Suppl. 9. Athens and Paris. Arnaoutoglou, I. 1998. “Between koinon and idion: Legal and Social Dimensions of Religious Associations in Ancient Athens.” In Kosmos: Essays in Order, Conflict and Community in Classical Athens, edited by P. Cartledge, P. Millett, and S. von Reden, 68–83. Cambridge. Arnott, W.G. 1996. Alexis: The Fragments: A Commentary. Cambridge. Blanckenhagen, P.H. von. 1976. “Puerilia.” In In Memoriam Otto J. Brendel: Essays in Archaeology and the Humanities, edited by L. Bonfante and H. von Heintze, 44–6. Mainz. Burkert, W. 1983. Homo Necans. Translated by P. Bing. Berkeley and Los Angeles. ——. 1993. “Lescha-Liškah. Sakrale Gastlichkeit zwischen Palästina und Griechenland.” In Religionsgeschichtliche Beziehungen zwischen Kleinasien, Nordsyrien und dem Alten Testament, edited by B. Janowski, K. Koch and G. Wilhelm, 19– 38. Freiburg im Breisgau. Buxton, R.G.A 1994. Imaginary Greece: The Contexts of Mythology. Cambridge. Calame, C. 1996. Thésée et l’imaginaire athénien: légende et culte en Grèce antique. 2nd ed. Lausanne.

If there is any truth in these speculations, it seems significant that Aeschines suppresses the brothers’ membership of the genos of the Salaminians, or any connection between the genos’ cults and the island of Salamis; he could, for example, have contrasted their behaviour with the respected image of Solon and his statue on Salamis, as he earlier did with Timarchos (see 1.25). One reason might be that it would of course have lessened the impact of this story for the case against Timarchos, if the jury were to suspect that it was not sexual rivalry over Timarchos which was at the heart of this shocking story of invasion of privacy, savage violence and slavish whippings offered to a free man, and the destruction of property, but rather a dispute about sanctuaries, gaming, morality or profits. Secondly, it may be that to mention the association, even in criticism, might have reminded the jury of the brothers’ cultic position and hence social legitimacy, as members of an ancient and respected body in Athenian cults and society. This might have counted in their favour. It was a major strategy of the speech that Aeschines claimed to be himself the defender of Athenian cultural traditions and public morality; the last thing he wished was for Timarchos or his friends to make any comparable claims to valuable ancient tradition.

79

See the diverse accounts of Osborne 1990, Arnaoutoglou 1998, Jones 1999, Lambert 1999, and Jameson 2000. 80 E.g., the dispute between the gene of the Krokonidai and the Koironidai, for which both Lykourgos and Demades made speeches: see Parker 1996, 302–4.

This story then may serve as a reminder of how illuminating, yet also how restricted and partial, a picture of social life the orators may give us. Epigraphy reveals 76

NICK FISHER: THE PERILS OF PITTALAKOS: SETTINGS OF COCK FIGHTING AND DICING IN CLASSICAL ATHENS Halperin, D. 1990. One Hundred Years of Homosexuality. London. Harris, E.M. 1985. “The Date of the Trial of Timarchus.” Hermes 113:376–80. ——. 1988. “When was Aeschines born?” CP 83:211–4. ——. 1995. Aeschines and Athenian Politics. Oxford. Higgins, R.A. 1986. Tanagra and the Figurines. Princeton. Hubbard, T.K. 1998. “Popular Perceptions of Elite Homosexuality in Classical Athens.” Arion 6:48–78. Humphreys, S.C. 1985. “Social Relations on Stage: Witnesses in Classical Athens.” History & Anthropology 1:313–69. Hunter, V.J., ed. 1983. Eubulus: The Fragments. Cambridge. ——.1994. Policing Athens: Social Control in the Attic Lawsuits, 420-320 B.C. Princeton. ——. 2000. “Introduction: Status Distinctions in Athenian Law.” In Law and Social Status in Classical Athens, edited by V. Hunter and J. Edmondson, 1–29. Oxford. Jacob, O. 1928. Les esclaves publics à Athènes. Liège. Jameson, M.H. 2000. “An Altar for Herakles.” In Polis and Politics: Studies in Ancient Greek History Presented to M.H. Hansen, edited by P. FlenstedJensen, T.H. Nielsen and L. Rubinstein, 217-28. Copenhagen. Kearns, E. 1989. The Heroes of Attica. London. Kilmer, M.F. 1993. Greek Erotica. London. Koch-Harnack, G. 1983. Knabenliebe und Tiergeschenke. Berlin. Kurke, L. 1999. Coins, Bodies, Games, and Gold: The Politics of Meaning in Archaic Greece. Princeton. Kurtz, D.C. and J. Boardman. 1971. Greek Burial Customs. London. Lambert, S.D. 1997. “The Attic Genos Salaminioi and the Island of Salamis.” ZPE 119:85–106. ——. (1999) “IG II² 2345, Thiasoi of Herakles and the Salaminioi.” ZPE 101:93–130. Lamer, H. 1927. “Lusoria tabula.” RE 13.2:1900–2029. Lane Fox, R. 1994. “Aeschines and Athenian Politics.” In Ritual, Finance, Politics: Athenian Democratic Accounts presented to David Lewis, edited by R.G. Osborne and S. Hornblower, 137–55. Oxford. Lewis D.M. 1958. “When was Aeschines born?” CR 8:108. ——. 1990. “Public Property in the City.” In The Greek City from Homer to Aristotle, edited by O. Murray and S. Price, 245–64. Oxford. Lewis, S. 2002. The Athenian Woman: An Iconographic Handbook. London and New York. Maass, M. 1972. Die Prohedrie des Dionysostheaters in Athen. Munich. Ober, J. 1989. Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens. Princeton. Osborne, R.G. 1990. “The Demos and its Divisions in Classical Athens.” In The Greek City from Homer to Aristotle, edited by O. Murray and S. Price, 265– 293. Oxford.

Carey, C. 2000. The Oratory of Classical Greece: Aeschines. Translated by C. Carey. Austin. Cohen, E.E. 2000. “‘Whoring under Contract’: The Legal Context of Prostitution in Fourth-Century Athens.” In Law and Social Status in Classical Athens, edited by V. Hunter and J. Edmondson, 113–49. Oxford. Csapo, E. 1993. “‘Deep Ambivalence’: Notes on a Greek Cockfight.” Phoenix 47:1–28, 115–24. ——. 1997. “Riding the Phallos for Dionysos: Iconology, Ritual and Gender-Role De/construction.” Phoenix 51:253–95. Davidson, G.R 1952. Corinth Vol. 12: The Minor Objects. Princeton. Davidson, J. 1997. Courtesans and Fishcakes. London. Davies, J. K. 1971. Athenian Propertied Families. Oxford. ——. 1981. Wealth and the Power of Wealth. London and New York. ——. 1996. “Documents and ‘Documents’ in FourthCentury Historiography.” In Le IVe siècle av. J.-C.: approches historiographiques, edited by P. Carlier, 29– 40. Paris. Deubner, L. 1932. Attische Feste. Berlin. Dover, K.J. 1978. Greek Homosexuality. London. Dunbar, N. 1995. Aristophanes’ Birds. Oxford. Ferguson, W.S. 1938. “The Salaminioi of Heptaphylai and Sounion.” Hesperia 7:1–74. Fisher, N. 1998. “Gymnasia and social mobility in Athens.” In Kosmos: Essays in Order, Conflict and Community in Classical Athens, edited by P. Cartledge, P. Millett and S. von Reden, 84–104. Cambridge. ——. 2000. “Symposiasts, Fisheaters and Flatterers: Social Mobility and Moral Concern in Old Comedy.” In Aristophanes and his Rivals, edited by D. Harvey and J. Wilkins, 355–96. London. ——. 2001. Aeschines, Against Timarchos. Clarendon Ancient History Series. Oxford. Frontisi-Ducroux, F. 1992. “Un scandale à Áthènes: faire le comos sans masque.” DHA 18.1:245–56. Foster, G.V. 1984. “The Bones from the Altar West of the Painted Stoa.” Hesperia 53:73–82. Foucault M. 1985. The Uses of Pleasure. London and New York. Fowler, D.P. 1989. “Taplin on Cocks.” CQ 39:257–9. Gauthier, P. and M.B. Hatzopoulos. 1993. La loi gymnasiarchique de Beroia. Athens. Geertz, C. 1973. “Deep Play: Notes on the Balinese Cockfight.” In C. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays, 412–53. New York. Gilmour, C.H. 1997. “The Nature and Function of Astragalus Bones from Archaeological Contexts in the Levant and Eastern Mediterranean.” OJA 16:167–75. Golden M. 1990. Children and Childhood in Classical Athens. Baltimore and London. ——. 1998. Sport and Society in Ancient Greece. Cambridge. ——. 2000. “Demosthenes and the Social Historian.” In Demosthenes: Statesman and Orator, edited by I. Worthington, 159-80. London and New York.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY ——. 1994. “Archaeology, the Salaminioi, and the Politics of Sacred Space in Archaic Attica.” In Placing the Gods, edited by S. Alcock and R.G. Osborne, 143– 60. Oxford. Parker, R. 1996. Athenian Religion: A History. Oxford. Pickard-Cambridge, A.W. 1968. The Dramatic Festivals of Athens. 2nd ed. Revised by J. Gould and D.M. Lewis. Oxford. Robert, L. 1968. “Epigrammes satiriques de Lucillius.” In L’épigramme grecque: sept exposés suivis de discussions, edited by A.E. Raubitschek, 179-291. EntrHard 14. Geneva. Scafuro, A. 1997. The Forensic Stage: Settling Disputes in Graeco-Roman New Comedy. Cambridge. Simon, E. 1983. Festivals of Athens: An Archaeological Commentary. Madison and London. Sissa, G. 1999. “Sexual Bodybuilding: Aeschines against Timarchos.” In Constructions of the Classical Body, edited by J.I. Porter, 147–68. Ann Arbor. Stroud, R. 1974. “An Athenian Law on Silver Coinage.” Hesperia 43:157–88. Taplin, O. 1987. “Phallology, Phlyakes, Iconography and Aristophanes.” PCPS 30:92–104. Taylor, M.C. 1997. Salamis and the Salaminioi. Amsterdam. Todd, S.C. 1993. The Shape of Athenian Law. Oxford. ——. 1996. “Lysias Against Nikomakhos: The Fate of the Expert in Athenian Law.” In Greek Law in its Political Setting: Justifications not Justice, edited by L. Foxhall and A.D.E. Lewis, 101–31. Oxford. Van Hoorn, G. 1951. Choes and Anthesteria. Leiden. Vidal-Naquet, P. 1986. The Black Hunter. Baltimore and London. Wankel, H. 1988. “Die Datierung des Prozessus gegen Timarchos (346/5).” Hermes 116:383–6. Winkler, J.J. 1990. The Constraints of Desire. London.

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Chapter 8

Civic Self-Representation in the Hellenistic World: The Festival of Artemis Leukophryene in Magnesia-on-the-Maeander GEOFFREY SUMI INTRODUCTION

oracle to mean that they should expand their local festival in her honour. They first attempted to create a “panAsian” festival, including all the Greek city-states of Asia Minor, but their overtures were rebuffed. They then waited some fourteen years, and at some point in that interval decided to expand their festival in honour of Artemis to a penteteric and panhellenic gathering with athletic and equestrian contests and dramatic productions which were equal in stature to the Pythian games and offered gold diadems as prizes (I. Magn. 16.24–9). In ca. 208 B.C.,5 the Magnesians began dispatching embassies throughout the hellenistic world, requesting that kings, leagues, and independent city-states recognise the expanded festival and acknowledge Magnesia’s inviolability (asylia) as sanctioned by the oracle of Apollo.6 Around 203–200 B.C., the Magnesians collected and inscribed on stone the responses from the hellenistic states, some 70 documents in toto, and set up these inscriptions in their agora. These documents form an archive monument that tells the story of the genesis and execution of the expansion of the festival of Artemis. Two inscriptions introduce the monument: one tells the story of the epiphany of the goddess Artemis in a dream of the priestess, Aristo, and the Magnesians’ response to this important event; the other reaches farther back into the past of Magnesia and tells of the founding of that city, which occurred at the behest of the Delphic oracle. The responses to Magnesia’s request, letters from the hellenistic kings and decrees from leagues of cities and independent city-states, which form the rest of the archive monument, are unanimous in support of Magnesia’s efforts.

The presence of a theatre and gymnasium among the material remains of most hellenistic Greek cities, as well as the survival of many inscriptions attesting to the establishment of new athletic festivals and the maintenance of old ones, are clear indications that such festivals remained an important part of social life in this period. An increasing number of these festivals in the third and second centuries B.C. became panhellenic, inviting participants from city-states stretching across the Greek world, as cities attempted to increase the importance of their local cults.1 The epigraphical record of Magnesia-on-the-Maeander, which includes an “archive monument” attesting to the expansion of a festival in honour of Artemis Leukophryene (the Leukophryeneia), allows us to examine this phenomenon in some detail.2 The archive monument and festival were a means by which Magnesia expressed its civic identity, asserted its longstanding claims to the territory that surrounded its city, and more generally, represented itself to the larger Greek world.3 The ultimate purpose was to make their cult of Artemis a panhellenic one. It is also important to bear in mind that a keen sense of their own past and how it intersected with the “pasts” of other Greek city-states—a “historical consciousness”—lay at the heart of Magnesia’s self-representation. This historical consciousness was expressed not only in the documents that were included as part of the archive monument but also, I would argue, in the performance of the festival itself. THE ARCHIVE MONUMENT

The inscriptions were set up in two groups. The first, numbers 16–34, were placed on pillars in front of the southern outer wall of the agora, stretching east to west, and the second, numbers 35–87, were placed along the western outer wall, stretching from south to north. Thus, the inscriptions lined the southwestern corner of the agora.7 The precise location of particular inscriptions is not always possible to determine with certainty, in particular nos. 16–29, many of which were not found in situ. Many of the inscriptions include the stated approval

In response to an epiphany of Artemis Leukophryene in 221 B.C., the people of Magnesia consulted the oracle of the god Apollo, who instructed them to honour his sister and their patron deity.4 The Magnesians interpreted this 1

In addition to Magnesia, Kos (242 B.C.) and Miletos (212 B.C.) expanded local festivals to panhellenic status. On this phenomenon in general, see Tarn and Griffith 1952, 82–3; Stewart 1977, 515–6. For Kos, see Sherwin–White 1975, 111–4; for Miletos, see SIG3 590. 2 For a brief discussion about the use of the term “archive,” see Sherwin–White 1985, 74–5. 3 On the larger issue of the place of the polis in the history of the hellenistic world, see Gruen 1993. Cf. also Ager (1998), who uses Lebedos as a kind of case study for considering issues of civic identity in this period. 4 Such epiphanies were common in this period; a list is compiled by Pfister 1924, cols. 298–300.

5

On this fourteen-year delay between the epiphany of Artemis and the sending of the embassies, see Kern 1900, 13. 6 For a thorough discussion of the concept of asylia in the hellenistic period, see Rigsby 1996, 1–29. 7

79

Kern 1900, 11.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY of Magnesia’s requests by other neighboring city-states, increasing the total of approving states to some 158, stretching across virtually all of Alexander’s empire from Antioch in Persis8 in the east to Syracuse in the west. The monument gives the distinct impression that all the responses were received at once,9 thus capturing a particular moment in the history of Magnesia. In fact, three of the inscriptions (I. Magn. 85–87) probably date a half-century later.10 The Magnesians’ purpose was to create a monument that was itself a historical document—one that reminded those who frequented the agora of Magnesia of the history of that city and the place of the expansion of the festival in it.

archive monument by placing the expansion of the festival of Artemis in a larger historical context. I. Magn. 16 describes the recent events that led to the expansion of the festival, namely, the epiphany of Artemis and the oracle of Apollo: But when later, upon Artemis Leukophryene appearing to them, they (the Magnesians) sent Agaristos, (the god) responded in the following way to their enquiry: ‘It is better and more auspicious for those who revere Pythian Apollo and Artemis Leukophryene and recognise the city and country of the Magnesians on the Maeander as sacred and inviolable.’ After Artemis appeared, and they received the oracle (of Apollo), when Zenodotos was stephanephoros, and Thrasiphon was archon in Athens, the first year of the [Pythi]a in which [——] of Boeotia was victor in the kithara contest, one year before Olympiad 140 when Hagesidamos of Messenia was victor in pankration [for the third time]; they (the Magnesians) first voted to hold a moneyed contest for those who live in Asia, making this interpretation of the oracle, that these (the Asians) would honour Artemis Leukophryene in this way, being in general piously disposed toward the divine, if, accompanying the Magnesians to the [old] altar, they should render gifts pleasing to the Foundress—inasmuch as other contests had been established originally with moneyed prizes, but later as a result of oracles became crowned. But when having undertaken this they were fobbed off, when Moiragoras was stephanephoros (ca. 208 B.C.), the fourteenth from Zenodotos under whom the oracle was given them, remembering their ancestral [friendships] they revealed to others all that had been prophesied; and, in Moiragoras’ year, son of Stephanos, they established the crowned contest, equal to the Pythia, giving a crown worth fifty gold staters, with the approval of the kings and all the other Greeks to whom they sent ambassadors, voting by nations and cities to honour Artemis Leukophryene and to make inviolable the city and country of the Magnesians, because of the god’s urging and the [friendships and] relationships obtaining from ancestral times between them all 13 and the Magnesians — — — —. (I. Magn. 16.4–35)

MAGNESIAN HISTORICAL CONSCIOUSNESS The political landscape of the hellenistic period was one of great volatility, as hostilities between greater and lesser powers alternately erupted and subsided, treaties and alliances were made and broken. The rise of the hellenistic kingdoms, and the power that they arrogated to themselves, required that city-states reassert claims to ancestral territory, demands for prestige or privileges, even the right to exist, within a historical context that demonstrated a glorious past.11 This further required, in some instances, that city-states reformulate their local histories in a fashion that connected these histories to the common past of all Greeks, to the heroic age or to events in which all Greeks shared.12 The Magnesians’ archive monument and in turn the expansion of the festival should be understood in this context. The monument included two inscriptions, which we shall call the “originating documents”, that established the historical context for the expansion of the festival of Artemis, a historical context that encompassed both a recent and a remote past. These inscriptions each relate a different part of the Magnesians’ story, each expressing some of the values which are echoed in the other documents of the archive monument and for which the Magnesians hoped to be remembered. Thus, the originating documents exhibit the way in which the Magnesians sought to represent themselves through their archive monument, but these documents did so in a clearly established historical context in order to show that for the Magnesians on this occasion, the past very much informed the present. The Magnesian ambassadors, who were sent to announce the expansion of the festival, used the originating documents in their presentations to the various kings and city-states that they visited to introduce the issues at stake. These documents also introduced the

This inscription details the long and complicated process through which the panhellenic games were established, following an initial, failed, attempt on the part of the Magnesians to establish pan-Asian games. Anyone looking to this inscription for a description or explanation of the reasons behind the Magnesians’ expansion of their festival, beyond the Magnesians’ own characterisation of it as a pious response to the behest of the gods, will be disappointed. All political motives have been suppressed;14 any intervention on the part of the kings is passed over in silence. The Magnesians’ failure to acknowledge the role of the kings is especially striking when we consider that many of the newly established panhellenic festivals in the third century B.C. centred on

8

Perhaps to be identified with the modern city of Bushire, situated on the Persian Gulf, or Borazjan, some 20 km. inland from Bushire (Salles 1987, 92, n. 24; cf. Cohen 1978, 18 n. 75). 9 Robert 1969, 12–5. 10 Kern 1900, 69; cf. Kern 1901, 515. 11 Alcock discusses in particular the tholos tombs dedicated to Homeric heroes that were constructed and dedicated in the hellenistic period. Her concluding remarks (1997, 33–4) have relevance here. 12 Robert 1981.

13

Rigsby’s translation (1996, 186–7), slightly adapted. For the Greek text and bibliography, see Appendix, text no. 1. 14 Dusanic (1983, 1985) has done the most to elucidate the political motives behind the Magnesians’ expansion of the festival in honour of Artemis.

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GEOFFREY SUMI: CIVIC SELF-REPRESENTATION IN THE HELLENISTIC WORLD the hellenistic kings and their cult worship.15 For instance, Demetrios Poliorketes established a festival in his own honour, probably around 295 B.C. In Alexandria, around the year 280 B.C., Ptolemaios II (Philadelphos) instituted a panhellenic festival in honour of his father Ptolemaos I Soter with games equal in status to the Olympic Games.16 Finally, in 181 B.C., Eumenes II, king of Pergamon, established games in honour of Athena Nikephoros.17 Even the festivals of some independent city-states were probably instituted with an eye toward honouring a king. In 242, for example, the Koans expanded their Asclepieia soon after Seleukos II acceded to the throne. A similar motivation might have spurred the Milesians to expand their festival in honour of Apollo Didymos in 212, for in that year Achaios, Antiochos III’s renegade general had been defeated and Antiochos became the undisputed ruler of the Seleukid realm, having rejoined the eastern and western halves of his kingdom.18 Since Magnesia’s original attempt to expand the games (in 221) also came soon after a new Seleukid king was crowned, the Magnesians also might have wanted to win the favor of a new monarch. However, the inscriptions do not provide any evidence that this was the case, aside from the fact that the letters from the Seleukid king, Antiochos III, and his son (I. Magn. 18 and 19) seem to have been placed in a prominent position, first among the responses. Otherwise the inscriptions emphasise other factors in the Magnesians’ decision to expand the festival.

their ancestral ways rather than to any of the hellenistic kings. In this way, they also emphasised continuity with the past and obscured the changes, especially political, that had more recently occurred. The independent tone, as I have put it, of inscription number 16 is only part of the story, for the other originating document also placed the expansion of the festival in a larger historical context by describing the travels of the Magnesians before coming to Asia Minor and the founding of the city itself. This was local history writ large—a history that brought the past of Magnesia into contact with the pasts of other Greeks: ... [they (the Magnesians) waited] for the statement by the god which was the signal for their [departure]; since it took time, they founded a prosperous city in the plain between [Gortyn] and Phaistos [on Krete], having got children and wives, and they inspired in [their descendants] the will of the god concerning [their departure]. When the [white] ravens appeared about eighty years after their (i.e., the Magnesians’ ancestors’) arrival, they performed sacrifices of thanksgiving, and then immediately sent an embassy to Delphi in order to consult (the oracle) about returning to their native land. (This took place) when Themistes was [priest] in Argos and when Xenyllos was proarchon in Delphi for a [nine-year] term. Again, (the god) prophesied contrary to their wishes: ‘You have come, Magnesians, having turned away from Krete, having seen a bird with white wings in the dark, and a wonder was made manifest for mortals, and you inquire whether it is more auspicious (for you) to return to your fatherland. In fact, it is necessary for you to dwell in another place away from your ancestral land. But my father, sister and I will see to it that the Magnesians obtain no inferior plot of land than that which Peneios and Pelion possess.’ Therefore, giving up on their return home because of the oracle and hastening to accomplish for themselves the instructions of the god, they again sent (a delegation) to ask where they were to go and how. The god responded: ‘You ask, blameless Magnesians, where you are to dwell; a man stands before the doors of the temple, who is to govern you and lead you on the path of the Pamphylians to the land above the steep hill of Mykale; there is the sacred home of Mandrolytos within the sight of many inhabitants of a winding river. There those who fend off and are not first to engage in treachery will receive victory and great praise from Olympian (Zeus).’ When they asked, ‘who is this man who will lead us and where is he from?’, the god responded: ‘There is someone in the sacred precinct, a mighty man, descended from Glaukos, who will lead you, the first man you meet once you have left my temple; for this is fitting. 20 This man will lead you to a rich field of dry land’. (I. Magn. 17.5–41)

The independent tone not only of this document but also the responses from most of the city-states perhaps can best be explained as an expression of traditional Greek autonomy at a time when such concepts were fast becoming ideals contingent upon a number of political factors. The history of the hellenistic world is often told with the opposing, yet related, themes of continuity with and change from the classical period. The advent of hellenistic monarchy clearly altered the balance of power, yet the polis remained an abiding feature of the political landscape. The freedom, independence and political autonomy of the Greek city-states was part of the political ideology of the hellenistic world, a slogan embraced both by the hellenistic kings and (not surprisingly) by the cities themselves.19 In the hellenistic period, a public expression of independence and autonomy on the part of Greek city-states often obscured a dependence on one of the hellenistic royal houses. In any event, if the Magnesians owed their festival to any of the hellenistic kings, or hoped to honour one, they kept it well concealed in these documents. The Magnesians were more intent on attributing their expansion of the festival to a revival of

This inscription alludes to the Magnesians’ homeland in Thessaly,21 near the Peneios River and Mt. Pelion. Other sources confirm the basic outlines of this story.22 The man who led the Magnesian expedition from Krete to

15

Nilsson 1961, 87–8. Austin 1981, nos. 218, 44.56–7, 113.26–9, 122.3, cf. 234; SIG3 390. 17 SIG3 630. 18 Magie 1950, 1.102 n. 37. 19 For Antigonos’ use of this slogan, see Welles 1934, no. 1.54–6 (311 B.C.); Diod. 19.61.3. For the use of it after the Chremonidean war (266/5 B.C.), see SIG3 434–5.17-9. 16

20

For the Greek text and bibliography, see Appendix, text no. 2. Magnesia continued to be known as an Aeolian city (πόλις ’Αιολίς) (Strabo 14.647). 22 Kern 1894, with the remarks of Meyer 1895; cf. also Wilamowitz– Moellendorf 1895. 21

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Asia Minor and supervised the founding of a new city on the Maeander River was named Leukippos, a crucial character in Magnesia’s foundation story, for two reasons. First, since he was descended from the Thessalian heroes, Glaukos and Bellerophon, he forms a link with the heroic age and also makes explicit the ties of Magnesians with the Greek mainland. This document, then, reaches back to the very foundation of Magnesiaon-the-Maeander, to a remote past that combines myth and history, and brings to light the virtues of the Magnesians then which are emphasised in I. Magn. 16, thus making clear the connection between the Magnesian present and past. To put it another way, the originating documents exhibit a historical consciousness that deliberately draws together the founding of the city with the expansion of the festival. Thus, the Magnesians clearly hoped to see the expansion of the festival of Artemis in the larger light of the whole history of their city.

honour; again, it is Artemis whom the Magnesians honoured in this way. Finally, no record of a tomb of Leukippos exists, as a focal point of cult activity, although archaeological excavations might change this. We should keep in mind that I. Magn. 17 breaks off before the story of the founding of the city is fully told. Another source informs us that when Leukippos arrived in Asia Minor, after founding a city called Kretinaion, he fell in love with a young woman named Leukophrye, the daughter of Mandrolytos,27 whose house figures in I. Magn. 17.32 as a destination for the Magnesian expedition after it departed from Krete. As proof of her love for him, Leukophrye betrayed her city to the enemy, the people whom Leukippos had led from Krete to Asia Minor—presumably the Magnesians. We cannot know how Leukophrye might have figured into the Magnesians’ official history, but a tomb for the young woman was set up in the Temple of Artemis28—an indication, perhaps, of the esteem with which the Magnesians held her and also of cult activity.29

The mention of Leukippos is also important, I believe, because it helped legitimate the territorial claims that the Magnesians were making through the expansion of their festival in honour of Artemis. Leukippos was the mythical founder of Magnesia, who oversaw the first claims that the Magnesians made on the territory that they still inhabited when they decided to expand their festival at the end of the third century. F. de Polignac has demonstrated that Greek colonies often established cults for their mythical founders as a way of maintaining claims to their territory by creating a close kinship with those who first settled the land.23 Offerings made at the tombs of these local heroes and other cult activity, including the establishment of a festival, renewed this kinship and revived the past on a regular basis.24 De Polignac is, of course, describing activity that took place in the eighth and seventh centuries B.C., during the period of Greek colonisation. It was also characteristic of the hellenistic period for city-states to establish a civic identity by creating a kinship with a figure from the heroic past, especially one of the heroes in the Homeric epics, through the construction of a tomb of that hero.25 By retelling the story of Leukippos and the founding of their city upon the occasion of the expansion of the festival, the Magnesians were not only re-staking a claim to their city and its territory (chora) but also demonstrating that their present request for asylia had roots deep in the past.

Much of the preceding discussion must remain speculative, since the foundation stories of Magnesia do not provide all the details necessary for firm conclusions. What is clear is that the Magnesians attempted to locate the expansion of the festival in honour of Artemis in the larger context of their city’s history. Therefore, it is possible to understand the expansion of the festival at the end of the third century as celebrating a kind of refounding of the city—a reclaiming of territory that belonged to Magnesia from ancient times, as the sacred history of Magnesia made clear. The glorious past of the people of Magnesia was proof of the legitimacy of their claims in the present. The Magnesians’ historical consciousness also manifests itself in another inscription, which was apparently placed among the first documents in the archive monument. This purports to be a decree from Krete, which made the initial provisions for a settlement on the Maeander under the leadership of Leukippos, providing a sequel of sorts to I. Magn. 17: Whereas the Magnesians are kinsmen and friends of all Kretans, some of them (i.e., the Kretans) have decreed to send a colony to Asia, and for all Magnesians to retain a kinship and friendship that is ageless and the right to public maintenance in the prytaneion, and to grant freedom from taxation to those coming and going, while being free from reprisals and without formal treaty, and (they decree to the Magnesians) the right to own land throughout all of Krete and the right to citizenship; (further, they decree) that each city give the colonists four talents of silver and prepared food and all the sacred objects they wish for sacrifice, and to send them off to Asia in long ships and send with them up to 500 archers, and to send them off and hail them—men, women,

This interpretation is not without its difficulties. The figure of Leukippos, though clearly important in the early history of Magnesia, is never referred to as the founder (archegetis) of that city in the extant documents—that designation rather is conferred on Artemis Leukophryene26—nor is there evidence of a cult in his 27

Parth. 5. Zeno of Myndos, as quoted by Clement of Alexandria, Protr. 3, 34.18 St. 29 As de Polignac (1995) points out, a tomb was often the focus of cult activity (cf. also Alcock 1997).

23

De Polignac 1995. 24 De Polignac 1995, 128–49, esp. 139–40. 25 Alcock 1997. 26 I. Magn. 16.21, 18.7, 19.8, 37.10, 50.18, etc.

28

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GEOFFREY SUMI: CIVIC SELF-REPRESENTATION IN THE HELLENISTIC WORLD consciousness, then, became an integral part of their selfrepresentation.

and children, according to their age, and priests and priestesses. (They also decree) to inscribe this decree on a stone stele and set it up at the temple of Apollo Bilkonios and to give to Leukippos, the Lycian, who is the leader (of the 30 journey) to Asia, a talent of silver from all the Kretan cities. (I. Magn. 20.6–29)

Each Magnesian embassy, which had been dispatched to invite all Greeks to participate in the expansion of the Leukophryeneia, read from a prepared text, which we can reconstruct based on the prescripts of the cities’ responses; this text probably included some of the same material that appeared in the originating documents. The “presentation text”, as we shall call it, included the following: a report of the epiphany of Artemis and the oracle of Apollo to the Magnesians, which proclaimed the temple of Artemis, the city of Magnesia, and its surrounding land sacred and inviolable; a request for the particular city-state to recognise the asylia of Magnesia; a profession of Magnesia’s friendship or kinship with the particular city-state; an enumeration of services rendered (ευεργησία) by the forefathers of the Magnesians for the Greek states; an announcement of the expanded festival in honour of Artemis and an invitation to the city-state to participate in it.

This decree presents certain difficulties, most notably its origin and manner of composition.31 It provides for the Magnesians’ departure from Krete, as they set out to found their city on the Maeander, and thus predates all of the other documents in the archive. However, since it is inscribed in the same hand as the other inscriptions,32 it is either a (presumably verbatim) copy of a decree that once really existed or an effort, on the part of the Magnesians, to reproduce in plausible language and form a decree that they assume once existed. In the latter case, I. Magn. 20 is a document that the Magnesians created to form an important part of their archive monument, inasmuch as it provides corroboration from a third party of the history of their city as told in I. Magn. 17.33 Whatever the precise origin of I. Magn. 20 might be, its inclusion as part of the archive monument demonstrates that the Magnesians were consciously attempting to create, out of the responses from kings, leagues and city-states, a historical document that drew together the expansion of the festival of Artemis with the journey of their ancestors from Thessaly, the consultation of the Delphic oracle concerning their return home, their sojourn on Krete and finally their foundation of a new city on the Maeander river.

Two particular aspects of the presentation text, the claim for kinship and the enumeration of services rendered, demonstrate the shared past that the expansion of the festival of Artemis and the archive monument were intended to foster. Virtually all of the decrees of the citystates refer to the Magnesians in a kind of generic way as friends and kinsmen (φίλοι καà οÓκε²οι or συγγενε²ς). In the surviving decrees, such claims to kinship were not always so formulaic. An example of this can be found in the decree of Same, a town situated on the island of Kephallenia in the Ionian Sea, on the western edge of the Greek world. In the decree of the people of Same, which supports in every way the proposal made by the Magnesian embassy, they allude to a kinship that reaches back to a remote past that was more myth than history: namely, that Magnes and Kephalos, the mythological progenitors of the two peoples in question, were brothers.35 It is important to note that the responses of the city-states are to a certain degree arranged geographically, when a principle of arrangement can be discerned.36 Thus, the decree of Same is grouped with those of the Epirotes, Ithaka, Epidamnos, Apollonia and Kerkyra, all prominent cities of western Greece. At the same time, the decree of the people of Same is placed in the first position of the second group of documents covering the west wall of the agora. The prominent location of this decree seems to indicate an especial importance in the context of the larger archive monument. It is possible that the Magnesians wanted to display this decree in a prominent location because they valued so highly the extraordinary claim of kinship with the people of Kephallenia. If this was the case, then the decree of Same can be viewed as being programmatic in that it articulates a theme of kinship among Greeks that

It is clear from the evidence of the originating documents as well as I. Magn. 20 that Magnesians used events from the past to contextualise, and to a certain extent justify, their expansion of the festival of Artemis. But it was not enough simply to contextualise historically the expansion of the festival; the Magnesians also needed to acknowledge a common past that they shared with other Greek city-states in order to demonstrate that they were a part of the larger Greek world. The Magnesians apparently were especially sensitive to their connections with the Greek mainland, since a document is extant which claims that the Magnesians were the first of the Greeks to settle Asia Minor.34 This awareness, acknowledgement, and even exploitation, of a shared past as a claim for Greekness is evident not only in the text that the Magnesian ambassadors presented to the assembly of each city-state but also in the responses from those city-states. The Magnesians’ historical

30

For the Greek text and bibliography, see Appendix, text no. 3. For a discussion, see Kern 1894, 14–9. 32 Kern 1900, 12. 33 Other documents of similar type are known to exist; cf., for instance, the foundation decree from Kyrene (Meiggs and Lewis 1988, no. 5) or the edict of Alexander from Priene (Sherwin–White 1985). Meiggs and Lewis provide the salutary reminder that our sense of literal authenticity is probably inappropriate in such cases. 34 CIA 3.16. This inscription dates to the Antonine period. 31

35 36

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I. Magn. 35.13–5; cf. Apld. Bibl. 1.7.3. Kern 1901, 504–5.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY lay at the heart of the expansion of the festival of Artemis.

commemorate it. So, to a certain extent, the Magnesians’ claims of good deeds done by their forefathers and the participating city-states’ praise of these good deeds in their decrees are formulaic.41 In fact, most of the decrees that make up Magnesia’s archive monument simply acknowledge the Magnesians’ claims of good deeds done without providing any specifics. There is one event, however, that does receive special mention in a few of the decrees—the Gallic invasion of Greece. In 279/278 B.C., Gauls invaded Greece and attacked the sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi. The combined forces of the Aetolian league and several participating city-states, including our own Magnesia, successfully thwarted the attack and rescued Greece from the perils of a barbarian invasion. This victory and the salvation of Greece, in some ways equal in stature to the defeat of the Persians in the fifth century, was commemorated every four years at a new panhellenic festival known as the Delphic Soteria.42 To prove the claim that Magnesia had been involved in this important victory, the Magnesian ambassadors presented written accounts (both prose and poetry, we are told)43 of the history of Magnesia and the role of its people in thwarting the Gallic invasion:

Another document that also shows a remarkable tie of kinship is the decree of Antioch in Persis (I. Magn. 61), a town on the Persian Gulf over 2,000 km from Magnesia, where the ambassadors from Magnesia first met with Antiochos III and then the assembly of the people of Antioch. In addition to praising the Magnesians for their piety and recognising the newly expanded festival of Artemis, in formulaic language, the people of Antioch describe the founding of their city, which binds them to the people of Magnesia: Formerly, when Antiochus (I) Soter was eager to increase our city, as it was called after him, and sent (an embassy) to them (i.e., the Magnesians) about (the sending of) a colony, they passed an honourable and glorious decree, offered a sacrifice and sent a sufficient number of men of great personal excellence, as they were anxious to help in increasing the 37 people of Antioch. (I. Magn. 61.14–20)

Other scholars have noted the royal compulsion implicit in this decree: an embassy from the king asking for colonists to increase the population of a city he has just founded could not be refused.38 It has also been argued that the Magnesian ambassadors might have approached the city of Antioch only because they knew that they would find the Seleukid king there.39 For Magnesia the link with Antioch was especially important, not only because some of its own people now formed the population of that city, but also because of that city’s connection with the Seleukid royal house. Magnesia legitimately could claim, through their kinship with Antioch, a special connection with the Syrian kings. At the same time, Magnesia was able to draw a new Greek city into its celebration of Artemis. The past that these two cities shared was recent and proximate compared to the claim of an ancient tie between Magnesia and Same. Yet this was a crucial part of the Magnesians’ efforts to turn their city into a panhellenic cult center, since through the decrees of Antioch and Same Magnesia could represent itself as the intermediary between east and west—between the old and the new in the Greek world.

Whereas the Magnesians-on-the-Maeander, being friends and kinsmen of the Epidamnians and both exhibiting reverence to the divine and choosing the most noble path in human affairs, have dispatched the same men as ambassadors and theoroi, Sosicles son of Diocles, Aristadamos son of Diocles, Diotimos son of Menophilos, who have come to our boule and assembly and presented the decree and themselves spoke with all distinction, revealing the epiphany of Artemis and the aid provided by their forefathers to the temple in Delphi, having defeated in battle the barbarians who had advanced to 44 pillage the riches of the god ... (I. Magn. 46.3–10)

Besides the decree of Epidamnos, quoted above (I. Magn. 46), only those of Same (I. Magn. 35), Ithaka (I. Magn. 36), Kerkyra (I. Magn. 44) and Apollonia (I. Magn. 45) acknowledged Magnesia’s role in this important event. It should be noted that those city-states were all visited by the same team of ambassadors. It seems, therefore, that the Magnesians’ boast of helping fend off the barbarians from Delphi was included in the presentation texts only for certain city-states, ones that would be especially receptive to such a claim. It is possible that these citystates were so receptive to this claim, or were regarded to be so by the Magnesian ambassadors, since they had been in the greatest peril from the Gallic invasion of 279/278. I would rather suggest that we attempt to consider this from a different perspective, namely that this historical

In addition to these claims of kinship as a way of expressing a shared past, Magnesia also made known its many benefactions for the Greek world.40 It was a common occurrence in the public life of any Greek citystate in this period for one of its own citizens, or a citizen of another city, to be honoured for some benefaction (εÕεργησία) and have an inscription erected to

41

On the language of euergetism, see Ma 1999, 182–94. SIG3 398, 492, 408; Nachtergael 1977. 43 The epic poet Simonides, from Magnesia near Sipylos, is known to have written an account of the exploits of Antiochus I against the Galatians (there is a question about the identification of the Seleukid king who was the subject of Simonides’ account; see Burstein 1985, 18 n. 1; Bar-Kochva 1973; such an account might have included the deeds of the Magnesians as well. 44 For the Greek text and bibliography, see Appendix, text no. 5. 42

37

Translated by Austin (1981, no. 190). For the Greek text and bibliography, see Appendix, text no. 4. 38 Orth 1977, 114–6; Austin 1981, 313 n. 3. 39 Nilsson 1961, 87. 40 Miletos did the same when it sent ambassadors to the Greek citystates with an invitation to their festival in honour of Apollo Didyma (SIG3 590.33–4).

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GEOFFREY SUMI: CIVIC SELF-REPRESENTATION IN THE HELLENISTIC WORLD event, the Gallic invasion, served as a kind of framework for understanding, evaluating and discussing events that were then current. In other words, we have to read the account of the Gallic invasion, as these decrees relate it, with a subtext in mind. In this case, the subtext would be the threat of another possible invasion from the west, but this time the invading forces would be Roman or perhaps Carthaginian. The city-states just mentioned are all located on the western edge of the Greek world, on or near the strategically important Straits of Otranto, the waterway that connects the Adriatic and Ionian Seas, possession of which had long been of great interest to Rome. A Roman naval expedition landed on Kerkyra as early as 229 B.C., during the First Illyrian War. At the time of the Magnesian embassies, the First Macedonian War was in full swing. Bomilcar, the Carthaginian admiral, landed on Kerkyra in 209 before moving on to Corinth.45 More to the point, Polybios has the Achaean general Agelaos of Naupactos make an eloquent plea for Greek unity at the conference that resulted in the peace of Naupactos in 217: “For it is evident even to those of us who give but scanty attention to affairs of state, that whether the Carthaginians beat the Romans or the Romans the Carthaginians in this war, it is not in the least likely that the victors will be content with the sovereignty of Italy and Sicily, but they are sure to come here and extend their ambitions beyond the bounds of justice.”46 At a time when these western Greek city-states were the focal point of military activity, it is no wonder that they might look to the past, in particular, to the Gallic invasion of 279/278, for a historical model that demonstrated how the Greek cooperation which Agelaos was calling for might be fostered. More importantly for our purposes, it was the Magnesians’ expansion of their festival that provided another impetus for an expression of panhellenic unity and co-operation.

customary, most of the decrees carried provisions for their publication; usually they were inscribed on stelai, which were then set up in a prominent public place, such as the agora or the forecourt of a temple.48 The inscription then became a public document that commemorated the particular city-state’s participation in honouring Magnesia’s patron deity. The city-states, which are unanimous in their praise of the Magnesians for their piety and loyalty, can claim to share these qualities by decreeing to honour the games for Artemis and stand by their allies, the Magnesians. It would be interesting to know whether the city-states were aware of the Magnesians’ plan to build a monument consisting of the decrees that they collected. The participating city-states’ knowledge that they were part of such a large undertaking could have influenced their decision, and this may be why some of Magnesia’s ambassadors presented copies of decrees approving their undertaking to the city-states they were presently visiting.49 They did this in order to encourage a favourable decision by giving the cities the impression that they were offering an opportunity to join a panhellenic movement, and that it was to their advantage to participate. In some instances, the ploy may have worked. THE FESTIVAL OF ARTEMIS The Magnesians’ archive monument has dominated our discussion to this point, because it remains our best source for the expansion of the festival of Artemis Leukophryene. It also allows us a starting point for a discussion of the capacity of the festival to provide an opportunity for civic self-representation. Before we begin our discussion of the festival itself, however, we should point out that any such discussion is hampered by a lack of direct evidence.50 For instance, no victor lists are extant to show how successful the Magnesians were in attracting participants from all over the Greek world. Nor is there any document that describes the festival in detail. One decree from an unknown Pergamene city (I. Magn. 87), which also recognised the festival, can be dated after 159 B.C., indicating that the festival must have been

Thus far, we have focused mainly on the historical consciousness of the Magnesians, especially the way in which it informs the archive monument and ultimately shaped the Magnesians’ self-representation. We should remember as a general rule that the Magnesians were not the only ones engaging in civic self-representation through these documents, for the cities that responded to the Magnesians’ request also took this opportunity to represent themselves to the larger Greek world.47 As was

recognise and then participate in Magnesia’s expanded festival because Ziaelas articulates explicitly what is only implicit in other Greek documents. For a discussion, see Hannestad 1996, 77–8. 48 See (e.g.) I. Magn. 50.69–74: [φυλάσσ]ειν δÁ καà τÄ ψ[ή]φισµα τÄ Ñγ Μαγ[νησίας] | Ñν τ´ι δηµοσίωι [τοÅς] ðρχοντας µε[τÀ] το³ | [γρ]αµµατέως, τÄν [δÁ α]Úρεθέν[τα] θ[εωρÄν] | Ðξιο³ν Μ[ά]γνητας Ðναγρά[ψαι τ]όδ[ε τÄ ψή]|φισµα κα[à θ]ε²ναι εÓς τÄ [Úε]ρÄν τ±ς ’Αρ[τέµι]|[δ]ος [τ]±ς Λευκοφρυην±[ς; “[The people of Paros decree] that the archons along with the secretary preserve the decree of the Magnesians at public expense and that the elected envoy deem it right to record this decree of the Magnesians and set it up in the temple of Artemis Leukophryene (in Paros).” 49 I. Magn. 46.14–6: ...παρανέγνωσαν δÁ | καà τÀ ψαφίσµατ[α] τÀ Üπάρχοντα αÕτο²ς παρÀ τα²ς πόλ[ε]σιν Ñν ο½ς ¶ν καταγε|γραµµ[έ]ναι τιµαί τ[ε] καà στέφαν[ο]ι εÓς δόξαν Ðν κοντα [πό]λ[ε]ι...; “[The ambassadors] also presented decrees in their possession from the cities, in which had been written honours and garlands intended for the reputation of the city ...” 50 For a discussion of the particulars of this festival, as far as it can be reconstructed, see Kern 1901, 511–5.

45

For a further discussion of the political implications of the Magnesians’ expansion of their festival, especially as regards the western Greek city-states, see Dusanic 1985. 46 Polyb. 5.104.3 (Loeb translation). The authenticity of this speech has been called into question; see Walbank 1979, 774, for bibliography. Whether Agelaos actually delivered this speech on this occasion is less important for our purposes; we need only assume that Polybios is having Agelaos express a sentiment that was current at the time. 47 In a letter granting Kos’ request for the inviolability of its temple of Asclepius, Ziaelas, the king of Bithynia, admits that an important reason for his approval is the honour that he will gain by a display of reverence for the gods: “We do in fact exercise care for all the Greeks who come to us as we are convinced that this contributes in no small way to one’s reputation...” (Welles 1934, no. 25.11–7). I include this letter written by a “barbarian” king as evidence for what might have motivated Greeks to

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY ongoing at this time.51 The cult of Artemis Leukophryene does not seem to have spread far beyond the boundaries of Magnesia.52 On this basis, Kern concludes that the Magnesians’ fame was short-lived.53 However, the existence of the archive monument and the construction of a new temple for Artemis remain eloquent testimonies to the Magnesians’ intentions.54 Therefore, although we cannot fully evaluate their success, we at least can attempt to understand what they were hoping to achieve.

priestess of Artemis Leukophryene; they were followed by the sacred college (γερουσία) and other priests, archons (both those elected and those appointed by lot), ephebes, young men, and boys; finally, the victors in the Leukophryeneia and other crowned contests brought up the rear. The stephanephoros was also instructed to provide singers, a flautist, piper and kithara player, but it is not clear if these musicians took part in the procession or were only present for subsequent ceremonies.58 In the festival for the installation of the cult statue of Artemis (instituted in the first half of the second century B.C.), the procession began in the temple of Artemis, where a sacrifice was made and hymns sung to the goddess, and then proceeded to the adjacent agora, where the assembled citizen body gathered in front of the bouleuterion for a prayer and invocation of the goddess.59 It is probable that the procession at the Leukophryeneia was fundamentally the same, with the important addition of agonothetes in charge of the games, foreign dignitaries (theoroi) and the athletes who would take part in the contests.

The festival in honour of Artemis most likely took place in the month of Artemision, the goddess’s month. The dispatch of the embassies to Greek states probably occurred through the spring and summer of 208 B.C., with the first celebration of the festival planned for spring of 207.55 Since most of the documents in the archive monument seem to date to ca. 203–200 B.C., at least the first and perhaps the second celebration of this festival would have taken place while the monument was still under construction. Magnesia’s Leukophryeneia, like all Greek festivals, local and panhellenic, had certain generic features. For instance, most of the responses from the city-states recognised, in honour of Magnesia’s Artemis, a sacrifice (θυσία), festival (πανήγυρις), and contests (ðγων) in drama (µουσικόν), athletics (γυµνικόν) and equestrian events (Úππικόν) that were equal in stature to the Pythian games (Óσοπύθιον) and “crowned” (στεφανίτης). Another important feature of a festival was the procession (ποµπή) of civic officials (political and religious), townspeople, athletes and dignitaries (θεωροί) from other city-states.56 It was also customary at such festivals for honourary seats to be set aside for distinguished citizens both from the host city-state and from others. Finally, special honours could be bestowed upon the city’s benefactors and other announcements made of a general public interest.57

Of particular interest is the “topography” of this procession—that is, the route that it followed in and around the city. Again, without direct evidence firm conclusions are impossible, but we can offer some suggestions. Since the panhellenic festival in honour of Artemis Leukophryene involved a sacrifice to the goddess, the temple of Artemis had to figure in the route of the procession, either as the starting point or as the ultimate destination. There is the third possibility that the procession began at the temple, proceeded through the city and then returned again to the temple.60 The procession that was part of the festival that celebrated the installation of the cult statue of Artemis (described in I. Magn. 100a) began in the temple with a sacrifice and then proceeded to the agora, where (as far as we can tell) it ended. One possible scenario for the procession at the Leukophryeneia was that it began in the temple, proceeded through the agora and then on to the “entertainment” buildings—theatre, stadium and gymnasium—where the contests would take place. Since these buildings were all to the south and west of the agora, the procession most likely would have exited the agora at the southwest gate, thus passing through the archive monument, which covered the southwestern corner of the agora’s perimeter wall. If the procession stopped here momentarily, such a route would have allowed Magnesians to reflect on the history of their city, as told in the archive documents. Furthermore, the procession ritually connected the temple of Artemis, associated with the founder (archegetis) and thus the founding of the city, with the archive monument, which contained many documents attesting to Magnesia’s current place in the hellenistic world. In this way, the

Of these generic features of a Greek festival two are especially important for our purposes: the procession that took place as part of the festivities and the honours bestowed on the city’s benefactors. We have no direct evidence for the procession at the festival of Artemis, but the processions at other Magnesian festivals can serve as models. For instance, at the festival in honour of Zeus Sosipolis (instituted ca. 197 B.C.), the stephanephoros for the year led the procession along with the priest and 51

Kern 1900 ad loc.; I. Magn. 85 and 86 were written in the same hand and therefore also dated from the same time; cf. Kern 1901, 515. References to this festival appear in other Magnesian inscriptions (e.g., I. Magn. 149.10; 193.14); there are also a few attestations in inscriptions outside of Magnesia (IG XII.1 73.b.6; I. Didyma 97.B.4; J. and L. Robert, Bull. épigr. 1972, 366; cf. I. Priene 108.160). 52 See Kern 1901, 506–8. 53 Kern 1901, 508. 54 On the excavations of the temple, see Humann 1904, 39–90. 55 Ebert 1982, 212; Rigsby 1996, 181, with n. 12. Contra Dusanic 1985, who argues that embassies were dispatched in 207 B.C. 56 Cf. I. Magn. 98.8, 41 and 100a.33. 57 On the generic features of a panhellenic festival, see Giovannini 1993.

58

I. Magn. 98.32–46=Sokolowski 1955, no.32. I. Magn. 100a.21–48=Sokolowski 1955, no. 33; cf. also Dunand 1978. 60 Cf. Rogers 1991, 80–2. 59

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GEOFFREY SUMI: CIVIC SELF-REPRESENTATION IN THE HELLENISTIC WORLD We should also acknowledge the remarkable capacity of a festival to function as a forum for the expression of Greek values and panhellenic unity, a forum that arguably became even more important in the hellenistic period as centres of political power began to shift. In this context, it is not surprising that the self-representation of the Magnesians was so deeply rooted in the past, for it was there that Greeks found a model or framework for understanding events that were then ongoing—it was there also that they found reassurance.

procession could have drawn together topographically the remote and recent pasts of Magnesia. The second generic feature of interest is the bestowal of honours on the city’s benefactors. Some of the decrees on the archive monument include provisions for particular city-states to honour Magnesia at the next meeting of a local festival. One decree, probably originating in Klazomenai, contains a provision for the agonothete in charge of the Dionysia to announce at the next meeting of that festival the honours granted to the Magnesians (I. Magn. 53.30–1; cf. 50.39–41, which calls for a similar announcement at the Great Dionysia in Paros). The people of Ithaka similarly decree to grant the Magnesians the privilege of sitting in the first seats (προεδρία) at the next celebration of the Odyssea, games in honour of Odysseus (I. Magn. 36.15–6). This provided the Magnesians with an important opportunity to represent themselves to the Greek world at large, one city-state at a time. There is no indication, however, that these announcements were repeated at subsequent celebrations of the festivals in question. These opportunities for selfrepresentation, while important, were perhaps fleeting.

CONCLUSION The basis of the Magnesians’ self-representation in the archive monument and also, I believe, in the festival of Artemis was a historical consciousness, which consisted not only of their efforts to locate the expansion of the festival in the larger context of their city’s history but also their use of the past to establish and renew relationships and alliances with distant city-states. I have tried to demonstrate that the archive monument and festival acknowledged several “pasts” of Magnesia—the distant, mythological and legendary past of Magnes and Leukippos, the more recent and proximate past of the Gallic invasion and the founding of Antioch in Persis. The Magnesians’ claims on their territory as well as their implicit appeals for Greek unity were deeply embedded in the past. Even the monument itself became part of a past, especially from the perspective of those celebrating the festival many years after the monument was erected, for the monument captured a particular moment in Magnesian history, when that city held the attention of the kings, leagues and city-states of the Greek world. Each subsequent celebration of the festival brought these pasts to life and wove them together to create the history of Magnesia.

It is important to bear in mind, however, that these festivals, at Klazomenai, Paros and Ithaka, served as a venue for the public promulgation of the values already expressed in the decrees that were inscribed on stone and erected in a conspicuous place. Thus, these announcements of honours bestowed on the Magnesians and the granting of privileges at particular festivals mentioned above demonstrate that the Magnesians’ might have used their own festival for Artemis as a means of self-representation and that they represented themselves in a manner similar to the archive monument. The appearance of a contingent from Same on Kephallenia, for instance, would have provided an opportunity to retell the story of the kinship between that city and Magnesia, which dated back to the distant past, and linked the Magnesians with Greeks of the mainland. Representatives from Antioch in Persis, a city Magnesia helped colonise, showed a more recent kinship but one that extended far to the east. Furthermore, the participation of any of the other western Greek cities, Kerkyra, Apollonia, or Epidamnos, would have provided a context for more discussion of the good deeds performed by Magnesians throughout history on behalf of all Greeks, especially their assistance in thwarting the barbarians from the sanctuary of Apollo. Through the participation of all these city-states, Magnesia’s connection to all Greeks, of the west and the east, the motherland and the colonies, and its good deeds performed on behalf of Greeks throughout history were celebrated anew: Magnesia’s past came to life. The archive monument by itself was a form of civic selfrepresentation, since it detailed the history and values of the Magnesians and their ancestors, but it was largely a static one that was animated by the celebration of the festival.

Works Cited Ager, S. 1998. “Civic Identity in the Hellenistic World: The Case of Lebedos.” GRBS 39:5–21. Alcock, S. 1997. “The Heroic Past in a Hellenistic Present.” In Hellenistic Constructs: Essays in Culture, History, and Historiography, edited by P. Cartledge, P. Garnsey, and E. Gruen, 20-34. Berkeley: University of California Press. Austin, M.M., ed. 1981. The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bar-Kochva, B. 1973. “On the Sources and Chronology of Antiochus I’s Battle Against the Galatians.” PCPS 19:1– 8. Burstein, S., ed. 1985. The Hellenistic Age from the Battle of Ipsos to the Death of Kleopatra VII. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cohen, G. 1978. The Seleucid Colonies: Studies in Founding, Administration and Organization. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Dunand, F. 1978. “Sens et Fonction de la féte dans la Gréce Hellénistique. Les cérémonies en honneur d’Artemis Leukophryéné.” Dialogues d’Histoire Ancienne 4:201– 15. Dusanic, S. 1983. “The Ktisis Magnesias. Philip V and the Panhellenic Leukophryene.” Epigraphica 15:11–48. ——. 1985. Recueil de Travaux de la Faculté de Philosophie 15.1:43–64 [in Serbian with English summary] (cf. SEG 35.1127). Ebert, J. 1982. “Zur Stiftungsurkunde der Leukofruvhna in Magnesia am Mäander (Inschr. v. Magn. 16).” Philologus 126:198–216. ——. 1985. “Ein Alter Name des Mäander.” Philologus 129:54–63. Giovannini, A. 1993. “Greek Cities and Greek Commonwealth.” In Images and Ideologies: SelfDefinition in the Hellenistic World, edited by A.W. Bulloch et al., 265-86. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gruen, E. 1993. “The Polis in the Hellenistic World.” In Nomodeiktes: Greek Studies in Honour of Martin Ostwald, edited by R. Rosen and J. Farrell, 339-54. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Hannestad, L. 1996. “‘This Contributes in No Small Way to One’s Reputation’: The Bithynian Kings and Greek Culture.” In Aspects of Hellenistic Kingship, edited by P. Bilde, T. Engberg-Pedersen, L. Hannestad, and J. Zahle, 67-98. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Holleaux, M. 1938. Etudes d’épigraphie et d’histoire grecques. Vol. 1. Edited by L. Robert. Paris: E. de Boccard. Humann, C. 1904. Magnesia am Maeander; Bericht uber Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen der Jahre 1891–1893. Berlin: G. Reimer. Kalokowski, S. 1896. Mythographi Graeci. Vol. 2, Fasc. 1. Leipzig: Teubner. Kern, O. 1894. Die Gründungsgeschichte von Magnesia am Maiandros. Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung. ——. 1900. Die Inschriften von Magnesia am Maeander. Berlin: W. Spemann. ——. 1901. “Magnetische Studien.” Hermes 36:491–515. Ma, J. 1999. Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Magie, D. 1950. Roman Rule in Asia Minor. 2 vols. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Meiggs, R.M. and D. Lewis, eds. 1988. A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions to the end of the Fifth Century B.C. Rev. ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Meyer, E. 1895. Review of Kern 1894. Berliner Philologische Wochenschrift 15:449–55. Nachtergael, G. 1977. Les Galates en Grece et les Soteria de Delphes: recherches d'histoire et d'epigraphie hellenistiques. Brussels: Palais des academies. Nilsson, M. 1961. Geschichte der griechischen Religion. 2nd ed. Munich: C.H. Beck. Orth, W. 1977. Königlicher Machtanspruch und städtische Freiheit. MünchBeitr 71. Munich: C.H. Beck. Piejko, F. 1988. “Decree of Antioch in Persis Accepting Magnesian Asylia.” RivStorAnt 17/18:179–84. Pfister, F. 1924. s.v. “Epiphanie.” RE Suppl. 4:cols. 277– 323.

Polignac, F. de. 1995. Cults, Territory, and the Origins of the Greek City-State. Translated by J. Lloyd. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Rigsby, K.J. 1996. Asylia: Territorial Inviolability in the Hellenistic World. Berkeley: University of California Press. Robert, L. 1969. “Smyrne et les Sôteria de Delphes.” In Opera Minora Selecta, Vol. 2:768-91. Amsterdam: A.M. Hakkert. Originally published in RÉA 38 (1936) 5–28. ——. 1981. “Une épigramme satirique d’Automédon et Athènes au début de l’empire.” RÉG 94:338–61. Rogers, G. 1991. The Sacred Identity of Ephesos. London: Routledge. Salles, J-F. 1987. “The Arab-Persian Gulf under the Seleucids.” In Hellenism in the East: Interactions of Greek and Non-Greek Civilizations after Alexander’s Conquest, edited by A. Kuhrt and S. Sherwin-White. Berkeley: University of California Press. Sherwin-White, S. 1975. Ancient Cos. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. ——. 1985. “Ancient Archives: the Edict of Alexander to Priene, a reappraisal.” JHS 105:69-89. Sokolowski, F. 1955. Lois Sacrées de l’Asie Mineure. Paris: E. de Boccard. Stewart, Z. 1977. “La religione.” In Storia e civiltà dei Greci. Vol. 8, La società ellenistica: economia, diritto, religione, edited by R. Bianchi Bandinelli, 502-617. Milan: Bompiani. Tarn, W.W. and G. Griffith. 1952. The Hellenistic World. 3rd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Walbank, F.W. 1979. A Historical Commentary on Polybius. Vol. 3. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Welles, C.B. 1934. Royal Correspondence in the Hellenistic Period: A Study in Greek Epigraphy. New Haven: Yale University Press. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von. 1895. “Die Herkunft der Magneten am Maeander.” Hermes 30:177–98.

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Appendix of Magnesian Inscriptions 1.

I. Magn. 16.4–35.

Kern 1900, no. 16; Dittenberger SIG2 256; Hiller SIG3 557; Jacoby FGrHist 482 F 2; Ebert 1982; Rigsby 1996, no. 66 (with full bibliography); cf. Burstein 1985, no. 30. ll. 4–10, Kern’s text (1900); ll. 10–35, Ebert’s text:

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY 2.

I. Magn. 17.5–41.

Kern 1894; Kalokowski 1896, XXI–XXIII; Kern 1900, no. 17; Jacoby FGrHist 482 F 3; Ebert 1985 (partial text; with full bibliography on 56 n. 10). ll. 5–14, Ebert’s text; ll. 15–41, Kern’s text (1900):

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3.

I. Magn. 20.6–29.

Kern 1894, 14–5; Salokowski 1896, XXIV; Kern 1900, no. 20; Jacoby FGrHist 482 F 4. Kern’s text (1900):

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY 4.

I. Magn. 61.14–20.

Kern 1900, no. 61; Dittenberger OGIS 233; Holleaux 1938, 318–9; Piejko 1988; Rigsby 1996, no. 111 (with full bibliography); cf. Austin 1981, no. 190; Burstein 1985, no. 32. Kern’s text:

5.

I. Magn. 46.3–10.

Kern 1900, no. 46; Dittenberger SIG2 259; Hiller SIG3 560; Holleaux 1938, 317; Rigsby 1996, no. 96 (with full bibliography); cf. Jacoby FGrHist 482 F 1. Kern’s text:

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Chapter 9

Dionysius of Halicarnassus: Greek Origins and Roman Games (AR 7.70-73) CLEMENCE SCHULTZE

Historiography rather than history is the focus of this examination of the Augustan Greek historian Dionysius upon the Roman games (ludi). The overall thesis of his work is that the Romans—by then unchallenged conquerors and rulers over the oikumenê—are really Greeks, by virtue of their descent and their institutions. His twofold intention is thus to compliment Romans by including them within the Greek cultural ambit, and to reassure Greeks that they are not under the domination of barbarian rulers. The Roman games form an important constituent element in Dionysius’ proof of Rome’s Greekness. What we have here is a late first century B.C. historian—an eyewitness of the games in his own day— adducing a written description of the allegedly Greekstyle conduct of the games in the late third century B.C. in order to demonstrate the continuity of such Greek practice right from the time when the games were established back in the fifth century B.C. The fragility of this evidence for the actual conduct of ludi at Rome in the fifth, third or even the first centuries B.C. is apparent and has been amply demonstrated.1 I am not here concerned with the historical reality of the games at any of these epochs, but with the role they are made to play as a part of Dionysius’ argument.

DIONYSIUS IN AUGUSTAN ROME In making his career in Rome, Dionysius of Halicarnassus the historian follows a pattern recognisable among many contemporary Greek intellectuals.2 In other respects his comportment with regard to Rome and the Romans is ambiguous, not to say paradoxical. Native of GreekCarian Halicarnassus in the Roman province of Asia, and born around 55 B.C., a child and a youth during two civil wars, he settles in Rome as soon as Augustus has established peace.3 A convinced Atticist, acknowledging the value only of classical Greek literature, he thanks the Romans for the paideia he has enjoyed there.4 He benefits from association with notable Romans for at least twentytwo years down to 7 B.C. (1.3.4), and thus knows a Rome on the cusp of change, the Urbs as it is being shaped into the world city.5 But in explaining Rome to the Greeks, he goes back to the earliest pre-foundation traditions of Italy, and concludes his work just before the outbreak of the first Punic war.6 The explanation he offers of Rome’s greatness is couched in terms of her all-pervading Greekness, then and now: she is a Greek city, a polis hellênis, by ancestry and origin;7 all her institutions are modelled on Hellenic practice. From this fact, and not by mere chance or fortune, arises her supremacy.

The present paper first addresses the way in which Dionysius integrates the description of the games as one evidential element among the many which contribute to his overall proof that Rome is a Greek city. In the second place, and most importantly, the paper is concerned with Dionysius’ notions of cultural identity and change. These issues arise because the third-century account—that of the Roman historian Q. Fabius Pictor—was in fact written in Greek. How then, it must be asked, did the Augustan historian’s notions of cultural identity and cultural change allow him to exploit Pictor’s material as demonstrating customs authentically Roman, customs untainted by any borrowings from or contacts with the Greek world, customs which, by their close resemblance to Homeric practices, once and for all prove the fact of Rome’s descent from founding Greek heroes? Finally, there is a brief look at Dionysius’ treatment of the way in which the constitution determines and limits the operation of cultural change.

1

THE CONTENT OF DIONYSIUS’ HISTORY His history, Archaiologia Rhômaïke, conventionally termed in English the Antiquitates Romanae, but perhaps better, the Roman Archaeology,8 or History of archaic Rome9 aims both at inclusion within the historiographical tradition, and at innovation with regard to subject-matter and treatment. Inasmuch as Dionysius ends at the first Punic war where Polybius starts (Polybius 1.5.1), and devotes substantial attention to constitutional matters, asserting the value of his chosen period as an essential

2

Goold 1961. 1.7.2; 1.8.4. All references where author and/or work are not specified are to the Antiquitates Romanae. 4 1.6.5; Bowersock 1965, 130-2; Gabba 1991, 23–45. 5 Gabba 1991, 190–213. 6 1.8.1; Schultze 1995, 201. 7 1.89.1; 1.90.2. 8 Schultze 2000, section 2. 9 Gabba 1991, xiii. 3

Thuillier 1975; 1982; 1987; 1989; Jannot 1992.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY component of universal history, his work is a precontinuation of that of Polybius. In that the time-span covered includes much material largely unknown or inadequately understood in the Greek world, the author can claim novelty: he is rectifying the false or prejudiced notions which Greeks have, over time, acquired with regard to Rome, and which certain anti-Roman Greek historians have unscrupulously transmitted.10

by allowing appropriate input from the democratic element; the Twelve Tables and the reforms after the overthrow of the Decemvirate develop the mixture further. This theme of the constitution’s growth towards mixture as a result of episodes of stasis averted through negotiation and compromise is used to structure the narrative into a number of major episodes. Similar structuring was doubtless carried on in the later, largely lost, portion of the work. In the second half, however, Rome’s wars may well have been attributed a larger role than they enjoy in the first half, where their occurrence merely counterpoints the constitutional developments.

Given Dionysius’ starting and stopping points, the overall thrust of his narrative is bound to be a tale of Roman success and achievement, subject-matter he deems appropriate to history (Ep. Pomp. 3). The variety and comprehensiveness of his work will, he claims, render it attractive to a range of readers, serious and casual. Material on origins and the pre-foundation period caters for those with antiquarian and genealogical interests; there is also much for those who wish (merely) for enjoyment; students of philosophical politics can concern themselves with his extensive treatment of political and constitutional matters.11

It is less easy to define how and where the bios of Rome is treated: there is no sustained survey (at least in what survives of the work). Under the bios heading must be included a number of allusions to social customs, cultural practices, and religious observances: these are generally linked either to the establishment of a particular institution, or to some notable occurrence involving it, and so occur as and when appropriate throughout the work.15 Religious rituals are naturally one of the most frequently occurring instances of the bios, and for Dionysius, this bios of Rome must be manifestly Greek: the lengthy account of the games in Book 7 is the chief instance of overt demonstration of this theme. There are, however, some other notable cases: the second king Numa is the great systematiser of Roman religion (2.63– 83), and his predecessor Romulus too plays a significant role with regard of course to politeia but also to bios.

I begin my history, then, with the most ancient tales (muthoi), which the writers before me have left aside as difficult to be investigated without great study; and I bring my narrative down to the beginning of the Punic war ... I narrate all such foreign wars (polemoi) as the city waged in those times, and such internal uprisings (staseis) as rose up in her: from what causes they occurred and in what ways and by what speeches they were resolved. All the forms of the constitutions (politeiai) I also go through: those she used when ruled by kings and after the dissolution of the monarchy, and what was the arrangement of each. I narrate the best customs and the most remarkable laws, and altogether I demonstrate the whole early life (archaios bios) of the city. (1.8.1–2)

ROMULUS AND ROMAN FESTIVALS As founder par excellence, Romulus is made responsible for some of Rome’s religious institutions (2.18–23). He is also associated with three important festivals which include some of the competitive elements associated with the ludi: Lupercalia, Parilia, and Consualia. The occasions are traditional elements of the Romulus story, but Dionysius characteristically links each of them to a significant stage in the development of the polis. At the Lupercalia, both twins take part in the traditional run, and Remus is captured. This crucial event leads to the twins’ recognition and the restoration of their grandfather Amulius as king of Alba Longa. Here is a striking instance of the approving adoption by Dionysius of a variant from the history written by Q. Aelius Tubero, his friend and patron.16 Tubero, in contrast to Fabius Pictor, whose version is given first,17 exculpated the future founders of Rome from any legal or moral guilt for the clash between Numitor’s and Amulius’ herdsmen by

Five elements are thus named explicitly: combined, they make manifest the comprehensiveness of the work. The muthoi are the subject matter of Book 1.12 Throughout the work, war is necessarily a constant theme, and, despite short-term setbacks, the overall picture is one of Roman success. Within the better surviving Books 1 to 11 the dominant feature is the politeia of Rome.13 There is particular emphasis upon the theme of the miktê politeia or mixed constitution.14 As early as Romulus the constitution is set up on miktê principles, in so far as is suitable for a newly founded city; changes thereafter are in the direction of a more and more perfect mixture. The successive kings contribute their share; the republic is established: mixed, but with some bias towards aristocracy; the tribunate is set up to redress the balance

10

1.4.2; Ferrary 1988, 227–9. 1.8.2–3; 11.1.1–4; Schultze 1986, 136. 12 Schultze 2000, sections 6–7. 13 The first ten books and much of Book 11 survive entire, plus substantial excerpts from Books 12 to 20. 14 Schultze 1986, 130–3.

15

Dionysius’ concept of bios resembles Livy’s quae vita, qui mores (Livy, pref. 9) rather than bios understood as the successive developmental stages of civilisation, as in Dicaearchus’ Bios Hellados (Gabba 1991, 101). 16 Bowersock 1965, 129–30. 17 1.79.12–4; 1.80.3.

11

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CLEMENCE SCHULTZE: DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS: GREEK ORIGINS AND ROMAN GAMES (AR 7.70-73) having the brothers attacked when innocently running the Lupercalia circuit.18 This occasion also associates the founders-to-be with the city-to-be, with the distant past and with the present: the Lupercal, sacred since the time of Arcadian Greek immigrant Evander, was still revered in Dionysius’ own day (1.31–2). The second festival is the Parilia, the foundation day and birthday of the city of Rome. Here stress is put on the day’s pastoral and festive nature, and Dionysius interestingly marks uncertainty (1.88.3): was the day chosen as the foundation day because already a festival, or did the festival grow up to celebrate the foundation?19 The Parilia is thus transitional, in more than one sense, from pre-city to city. Then the Consualia—where contests and horse races were celebrated in honour of Consus (here identified with Poseidon/Neptune)—denotes the successful implementation of Romulus’ consilium, the plan which brings about intermarriage between the Romans and their Sabine neighbours, the first of many peoples to be incorporated within the Roman state (2.30–1). Thus these Roman festivals mark points of inception, creation, and expansion, all linked with the figure of the founder Romulus: furthermore, the politeia aspect takes precedence over that of the bios. In a not dissimilar way, the description in Book 7 of the ludi—clearly part of the bios aspect—is linked to the development of the politeia.

somewhat disproportionate but strikingly so: speeches account for its great length. The Coriolanus story is, moreover, not merely extended but is to a considerable extent self-contained. It encapsulates virtually all the themes of Dionysius’ history, having an example of every important scene type apart from a major battle. There is one lengthy senate session, and a shorter one with a speech characterising Coriolanus, a public meeting, a trial, an interlude of war preparations (assemblies, embassies, raids, reaction), a scene of distress when Veturia (Coriolanus’ mother) is appealed to by the other Roman matrons, and two large-scale embassies—one unsuccessful, the other the climax of the story, with Veturia’s successful plea to her son. The narrative concludes with Coriolanus’ death at the hands of the Volscians, and an “obituary” from the historian. Interspersed among the set-pieces are briefer interludes— descriptions of reactions, crowd behaviour, and so on. In addition, there are three long, carefully-spaced and varied digressions. One is on Aristodemus of Cumae, a classic instance of a tyrant and his overthrow (7.2–12); at the midway point of Coriolanus’ tale comes another, on the institution of popular trials under tribunician presidency, with reflections upon the peaceable resolution of Rome’s first stasis (7.65–66). Not long after that, and concluding Book 7, is the account of the ludi Romani. It is worth noting how these three digressions are also linked with the larger overall theme of politeia and bios. Aristodemus represents a case study of tyranny, and the disturbances linked with both his reign and his overthrow form an implied contrast to the way things were done in Rome, for Rome is represented by Dionysius as a political society neither liable to tyranny nor requiring resort to violence in her internal affairs. The resolution of stasis forms the occasion for some Dionysian reflections upon the tribunate and the right of popular trial, presented as part of the mixed constitution’s development in the direction of greater democratic participation. Moreover, Dionysius’ stress on the importance of the role of prostatês tou dêmou (7.65.4–5) may well constitute a veiled allusion to Augustus.21 Thus both these digressions have a politeia aspect, while the one on the games arises out of an exemplary instance of Roman religious scrupulousness and piety. Since laws shape the character of men and of states (said apropos of Romulus at 2.18.1), here is a clear instance of interaction between politeia and bios.

THE PLACING OF THE DIGRESSION ON THE GAMES Dionysius’ description of the ludi magni (or ludi Romani), the “great” or “Roman” games, is the longest and most important description of a Roman festival in the Antiquitates Romanae. It runs from 7.70.1 to 7.73.5 (the end of the book), and occupies 12 pages in C. Jacoby’s Teubner edition. It concludes the narrative of the consular year of Q. Sulpicius Camerinus and Sp. Larcius Flavus (490 B.C. Varronian), and constitutes a break in the lengthy account of the rise and fall of C. Marcius Coriolanus. The Coriolanus story, which stretches over the best part of two books (7 and 8), is one of the four major episodes in what survives of the Antiquitates Romanae to which extended treatment is accorded. The other three are Romulus and the foundation; the establishment of the Republic; the Decemvirate and its overthrow.20 The common factor in these major episodes from the first half of the history is that they represent important stages in Rome’s political development. But in a work where Dionysius’ treatment grows more compressed the closer he approaches his own times, the Coriolanus narrative (6.91–8.62) is on a scale not just

THE STRUCTURE OF THE DIGRESSION ON THE GAMES Tabular presentation will help to clarify how the major elements of the games passage interrelate.

18

1.80.1–3; Schultze (forthcoming). The Parilia was still celebrated in Dionysius’ time, and the day remains the birthday of Rome, a public holiday. 20 Conjecturally, Camillus and the Gallic Sack, the Caudine Forks, and Pyrrhus may have been similarly treated in the largely lost second half of the work. 19

21

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Schultze 1986, 139–40.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY

A B C D

E

7.68.1–3 Year begins; plague occurs; admonitory dream of Latinius told to senate. 7.69 Slave’s punishment then recalled. 7.70.1–7.71.1 METHODOLOGICAL DIGRESSION “Since I have come to this part of my history .... from his [FP’s] own knowledge.” 7.71.2–7.73.4 FESTIVAL ACCOUNT (Dionysius, Fabius Pictor, Homer) 7.73.5 JUSTIFICATION OF DIGRESSION “But as regards these things, it was not fitting either to give no account of them when the subject demanded it, or to lengthen it beyond the needful. It is now the moment to revert to the narrative which we left aside.” 7.73.5 Instauratio of festival. Year ends.

TABLE 11.1. The outer shell (A and E) is an aetiological account of instauratio, the repetition of a flawed or defective religious ceremony; the story is found also in Livy 2.36 and elsewhere.22 During a plague Jupiter reveals to Latinius in a dream that an “unacceptable dancer” had constituted a religious flaw vitiating the celebration of his ludi. This turns out to be the inhumane and public punishment of a slave, who had been tied to a beam and driven by his master in such a way that he willy-nilly formed the first element in the sacred procession. Once the flaw has been identified, it is decided that the games must be repeated; at E, it is said that they have so been, at double the expense.23 The next layer (B, picked up and concluded at D) is a discussion of historiographical methodology, specifically Dionysius’ use of sources. The innermost kernel (C) is constituted by the actual account of the games, drawn largely from Fabius Pictor’s history, interwoven and compared with Homeric material. I shall engage chiefly with the methodological layer (B/D): the relationship between historical authority and testimony, how Dionysius grounds his conclusions, and what this reveals about his notions of cultural identity and change.

™pithdeÚmata palai¦ parecÒmenoj aÙtîn, § mšcri toà kat' ™m ful£ttousi crÒnou, oŒa par¦ tîn progÒnwn ™dšxanto: oÙc ¹goÚmenoj ¢pocrÁn to‹j ¢nagr£fousi t¦j ¢rca…aj kaˆ topik¦j ƒstor…aj, æj par¦ tîn ™picwr…wn aÙt¦j paršlabon, ¢xiop…stwj dielqe‹n, ¢ll¦ kaˆ marturiîn o„Òmenoj aÙta‹j de‹n pollîn kaˆ dusantilšktwn, e„ mšllousi pistaˆ fan»sesqai. 3 ™n aŒj prîta kaˆ kuriètata p£ntwn enai pe…qomai t¦ ginÒmena kaq' ˜k£sthn pÒlin perˆ qeîn kaˆ daimÒnwn patr…ouj sebasmoÚj. taàta g¦r ™pˆ m»kiston crÒnon di¦ fulakÁj œcei `Ell£j te kaˆ b£rbaroj cèra, kaˆ oÙqn ¢xio‹ kainotome‹n e„j aÙt¦ ØpÕ de…matoj kratoumšnh mhnim£twn daimon…wn. 4 m£lista d toàto pepÒnqasin oƒ b£rbaroi di¦ poll¦j a„t…aj, §j oÙ kairÕj ™n tù parÒnti lšgein, kaˆ crÒnoj oÙqeˆj mšcri toà parÒntoj ¢pomaqe‹n À paranomÁsa… ti perˆ toÝj ÑrgiasmoÝj tîn qeîn œpeisen oÜt' A„gupt…ouj oÜte L…buaj oÜte KeltoÝj oÜte SkÚqaj oÜt' 'IndoÝj oÜt' ¥llo b£rbaron œqnoj oÙdn ¡plîj: e„ m» tinej Øf' ˜tšrwn ™xous…v pot genÒmenoi t¦ tîn kraths£ntwn ºnagk£sqhsan ™pithdeÚmata metalabe‹n. tÍ d `Rwma…wn pÒlei toiaÚthj oÙdšpote peiraqÁnai sunšbh tÚchj, ¢ll' aÙt¾ t¦ d…kaia t£ttei di¦ pantÕj ˜tšroij. 5 e„ d¾ b£rbaron aÙtîn tÕ gšnoj Ãn, tosoÚtou ¥n ™dšhsan aÙtoˆ t¦ patrùa ƒer¦ kaˆ toÝj ™picwr…ouj ™qismoÝj ¢pomaqe‹n, di' oÞj e„j tosaÚthn proÁlqon eÙdaimon…an, éste kaˆ to‹j ¥lloij ¤pasin, ïn Ãrcon, ™n kalù katšsthsan toÝj qeoÝj to‹j sfetšroij tim©n nom…moij: kaˆ oÙqn ¨n ™kèlusen ¤pan ™kbebarbarîsqai tÕ `EllhnikÕn ØpÕ `Rwma…wn ˜bdÒmhn ½dh kratoÚmenon Øp' aÙtîn gene£n, e‡per Ãsan b£rbaroi. 7.71.1. “Eteroj mn oân ¢pocrÁn ¨n Øpšlabe kaˆ aÙt¦ t¦ nàn prattÒmena ™n tÍ pÒlei mhnÚmata oÙ mikr¦ tîn palaiîn ™pithdeum£twn Øpolabe‹n: ™gë d', †na m» tij ¢sqenÁ t¾n p…stin enai taÚthn Øpol£bV kat' ™ke…nhn t¾n ¢p…qanon ØpÒlhyin, Óti pantÕj toà `Ellhnikoà krat»santej ¢smšnwj ¨n t¦ kre…ttw metšmaqon œqh tîn ™picwr…wn ØperidÒntej, ™x ™ke…nou poi»somai toà crÒnou t¾n tškmarsin, Ót' oÜpw t¾n tÁj `Ell£doj econ ¹gemon…an oÙd ¥llhn diapÒntion oÙdem…an ¢rc»n, Ko…ntJ Fab…J bebaiwtÍ crèmenoj kaˆ oÙdemi©j œti deÒmenoj p…stewj ˜tšraj: palaiÒtatoj g¦r ¡n¾r tîn t¦ `RwmaÞk¦ suntaxamšnwn, kaˆ p…stin oÙk ™x ïn ½kouse mÒnon, ¢ll¦ kaˆ ™x ïn aÙtÕj œgnw parecÒmenoj. [C follows here.] 7.73.5 (D) ¢ll¦ g¦r Øpr mn toÚtwn oÜte mhqšna poi»sasqai lÒgon ¢paitoÚshj tÁj Øpoqšsewj kalîj ecen, oÜte mhkÚnein pšra toà dšontoj ¼rmotte. kairÕj d' ™pˆ t¾n ¢poleipomšnhn di»ghsin ™pan£gein.

TEXT AND TRANSLATION The core methodological passage is 7.70.1–71.1. This is given here in the Greek of C. Jacoby’s Teubner text, and in an English translation which aims to convey the repetitions and allusions of the Greek vocabulary, and, as far as possible, to preserve the structure of the original. 7.70.1 (B) Epeˆ d kat¦ toàto gšgona tÁj ƒstor…aj tÕ mšroj, oÙk o‡omai de‹n t¦ perˆ t¾n ˜ort¾n ™piteloÚmena Øp' aÙtîn parelqe‹n, oÙc †na moi cariestšra gšnhtai prosq»kaj laboàsa qeatrik¦j kaˆ lÒgouj ¢nqhrotšrouj ¹ di»ghsij, ¢ll' †na tîn ¢nagka…wn ti pistèshtai pragm£twn, Óti t¦ sunoik…santa œqnh t¾n `Rwma…wn pÒlin `Ellhnik¦ Ãn ™k tîn ™pifanest£twn ¢poikisqšnta tÒpwn, ¢ll' oÙc, ésper œnioi nom…zousi, b£rbara kaˆ ¢nšstia: 2 ØpescÒmhn g¦r ™pˆ tù tšlei tÁj prèthj grafÁj, ¿n perˆ toà gšnouj aÙtîn suntax£menoj ™xšdwka, mur…oij bebaièsein tekmhr…oij t¾n prÒqesin, œqh kaˆ nÒmima kaˆ

7.70.1 (B) Since I have come to this part of my history, I do not think there is any need to pass by the things done by them at this festival—not so that my narrative shall become more pleasing by gaining dramatic additions and flowery words, but so that one of the essential matters is credited: the fact that the peoples co-founding the city of the Romans were

22

Ogilvie 1965, 327–8. Cardauns (1976), on Varro, Antiquitates rerum divinarum fr. 81 (=Augustine, CD 4.26): quadruplicata. Livy has no mention of doubling or quadrupling the cost. 23

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CLEMENCE SCHULTZE: DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS: GREEK ORIGINS AND ROMAN GAMES (AR 7.70-73) Greek, sent as founders from the most distinguished places, and not, as some opine, barbarians and hearthless. 2 For at the end of the first book, which I composed and published about their origin, I promised that I would corroborate that thesis by myriad testimonies, presenting ancient customs, laws and institutions of theirs, which they have preserved until my own time just as they received them from their forefathers, and not regarding it as sufficient for those writing up early and regional histories to go through recounting them in a manner worthy of credence as they have received them from the natives, but thinking that they need many indisputable testimonies too if they are going to be manifestly credible. 3 Among these the first and most valid of all are—I am convinced—the things done in each city regarding the gods and divinities: ancestral rites. For these are what both Greece and barbarian localities preserve for the longest time, and do not deem it right to bring anything new into them, overcome as they are by awe of the anger of the divinities. 4 Above all it is the barbarians who have experienced this, for many reasons which it is not at present the moment to say, and no length of time to the present has convinced the Egyptians or the Libyans or the Celts or the Scythians or the Indians or any other barbarian people at all to unlearn or to break the laws regarding the celebrations of the gods—unless some of them have at one point come under the authority of others and have been compelled to exchange their own institutions for their conquerors’. But it has never befallen the city of the Romans to make trial of such a fate, but she herself commonly disposes right things for others. 5 If, then, their origin had been barbarian, they would have been so far from unlearning the ancestral rites and their native customs, by which they have advanced to such success, that they would have established the honouring of the gods by their laws as an advantage for all the others too whom they rule. Then nothing would have prevented all Greekdom—which has now been conquered by the Romans into the seventh generation—from being barbarianised, if indeed they had been barbarians. 7.71.1 Anyone else might have assumed that actual current practices in the city were by themselves sufficient to provide no small indication of the ancient institutions. But I, lest anyone assume that this provides only weak proof— according to the unconvincing assumption that having overcome the whole of Greekdom they would have gladly relearnt better customs, having come to look down upon their native ones—I shall take my testimony from that time when they did not yet hold dominion over Greece nor any other overseas rule at all, using Quintus Fabius in corroboration and not needing any further proof: for that man is the most ancient of those composing Roman affairs, providing proof not only from what he heard but also from what he himself knew. [C follows here: the Fabian account interwoven with Homeric material.] 7.73.5 (D) But as regards these things, it was not fitting either to give no account of them when the subject demanded it, or to lengthen it beyond the needful. It is now the moment to revert to the narrative which we left aside.

Fabius Pictor and adduces comparative material from Homer. The employment of extensive direct quotation constitutes a striking reversion to the practice adopted by Dionysius when dealing in Book 1 with the muthoi surrounding Rome’s origins, but one which he largely abandoned thereafter. His reading for the Antiquitates Romanae evidently ranged widely over the genres (epic, drama, philosophy, and, of course, all the sub-divisions of history) in the pursuit of material relevant to his thesis that Rome was a Greek city. The material is concerned with mythical events, with the tracing of genealogical links, with the legends surrounding city foundations. Over fifty authors—including some very obscure ones—are named; unnamed variants or generalising allusions are frequent; most of these citations come in Book 1. But it is not merely a matter of collection: Dionysius is concerned to characterise and to evaluate his authorities, testing each author individually. Then they are all pitted one against another in the course of his demonstration of Rome’s Greek character. The reader is taken through the argument step-by-step, and is on occasion invited to suspend judgement until apparent counter-examples have been answered and the full proof provided.24 After Book 1, the practice of quotation and comparison of variants ceases except for the discussion of a few crux passages (e.g., 4.7; 8.79). The extended incorporation of Fabian and Homeric material on the games is therefore a notable resumption of Dionysius’ earlier practice: his motive requires investigation. In general, as a Greek writing about Rome for a largely Greek audience, Dionysius naturally needs to stand by the native tradition. It is an important part of his own claim to authority that he is presenting material which is both new and reliable; given his subject-matter, such material is quite likely to come from local sources. He does not, however, automatically accept the testimony of any individual Roman author as particularly valuable solely because he is a local. The issue arises in the games passage, and Dionysius defines his position thus: … not regarding it as sufficient for those writing up early and regional histories (archaias kai topikas historias) to go through recounting them in a manner worthy of credence (axiopistôs) as they have received them from the natives (epichôrioi), but thinking that they need many indisputable testimonies (marturia) too if they are going to be manifestly credible (pistai). (7.70.2)

Valid testimonies are, for example, institutions and practices, religious rituals and the like, antiquarian materials and Realien. When, as here, the object of the exercise is to assess the Greekness of any institution, a standard of the best and purest Greek practice is required. This is supplied by Homer, invoked at 7.72.3 as

HISTORICAL AUTHORITY The passage B just quoted explains and justifies the inclusion of the section called, for convenience, C: i.e., 7.71.2 to 7.73.4. In C, Dionysius quotes at length from Q.

24

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Schultze 2000, sections 4–6.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY “worthiest of credence and most ancient” (axiopistotatos te kai archaiotatos). Homer, of course stands apart from all other writers, even when technical subjects are at issue: Strabo, Dionysius’ near contemporary, adduces Homer’s authority on geographical matters in not dissimilar fashion.25

FABIUS PICTOR’S CULTURAL CONTEXT An absolutely crucial aspect of Dionysius’ argumentation is the notion that Fabius Pictor transmitted a reliable description of the rituals which he beheld, and that, at the time he saw them, they were still being celebrated as they had been in the earliest days of the Roman republic; they were thus as yet uncontaminated by any contact with the Greek world. Here, then, arises the major problem which I indicated at the outset: how can Dionysius seriously be claiming that Fabius Pictor, a Greek-writing author, is unaffected by Hellenic culture and practice? Elsewhere (1.6.2) Dionysius shows his clear awareness of the fact that Fabius Pictor wrote in Greek, and that he had his akme “at the time of the Punic wars.” He is no more precise than that, and does not mention Pictor’s role as envoy to Delphi during the second Punic war, in 216 B.C.29 How and with what purpose Pictor gained his acquaintance with the language, and why and when he chose to write his history in Greek is nowhere addressed by Dionysius; still less is there discussion of any Greek sources he might possibly have used.30 Pictor could well have known the work of Timaeus of Tauromenium, writing in the mid-third century B.C. That historian is largely ignored or disparaged by Dionysius, who is concerned to controvert his opinions both on artefacts (1.67.4 on the Penates) and on chronology.31 The mysterious Diocles of Peparethus, named by Plutarch as a precursor of Pictor,32 is never mentioned by Dionysius.33

For the Roman practices themselves, Dionysius (with his 20-plus years’ residence in Rome) is himself an observer.26 On the present occasion, Dionysius is anticipating counter-arguments such as might be raised by a hard line sceptic. Some (he says) might regard his own eyewitness testimony as fully sufficient proof (7.71.1). Strict opponents could however claim that Greek practices had been adopted over the intervening years, the years since Rome’s conquest of Greece, during which she might have been subject to Greek cultural influences. Hence more rigorous proof adduces Fabius Pictor, as (supposedly) prior to the period when Rome was liable to such influences. Dionysius, noting that Pictor possesses the authority deriving from his position as most ancient Roman historian, also emphasises the autoptic status of his knowledge: I shall take my testimony from that time when they did not yet hold dominion over Greece nor any other overseas rule at all, using Quintus Fabius in corroboration and not needing any further proof: for that man is the most ancient of those composing Roman affairs, providing proof not only from what he heard but also from what he himself knew. (7.71.1)

It is even possible that some Dionysian sleight-of-hand is going on here. First, the allusion in 1.6.2 is somewhat misleading, for no individual could possibly have enjoyed his akme at the time of both the first and the second Punic wars (264–41 and 218–201 B.C.): hence the inference must be that Dionysius wishes to push Pictor back a little earlier in time than he really belongs. Next, the failure in 7.71.1 to remind the reader of the fact that Pictor was writing in Greek would help to avoid awkward questions about his cultural context. Thirdly, there is the fact that the aetiology of instauratio, the story of the slave and the stake, is based on a bilingual word-play: the Greek for a stake or cross of punishment is stauros. This aetiology must obviously go back to a writer acquainted with Greek, and it is suggested by Frier that Fabius Pictor is probably the author responsible.34 But if indeed Dionysius found the word stauros in Pictor, he ignores it, using instead the rather neutral term xulon (wood). Since elsewhere Dionysius is interested in the relationship between Greek and Latin terms and names (e.g., 1.20.3;

So, according to Dionysius’ argument, if the ritual Pictor recorded was demonstrably Greek, this proves that these customs and practices had come down unimpaired from much earlier times. Thus Dionysius and Pictor, temporally separated by about 200 years, stand as successive eyewitnesses. The demonstration then rolls on through section C, aspect by aspect. Quotation (or paraphrase) of Pictor, plus Dionysius’ own supplements (some from experience, others perhaps from his reading)27 are juxtaposed with short Homeric passages perhaps quoted from memory.28 Thus, while formally the passage greatly resembles the methodology of Book 1, it also lines Dionysius up with the most authoritative early sources, and asserts his authority as comparable to theirs. This, then, is a major motive for Dionysius’ employment of this method.

25

Strabo 1.1.2; Clarke 1999, 75–6. 7.72.2; 7.72.18; cf. 7.72.12; Marincola 1997b, 101–2, 115 n. 72. Claims elsewhere in the work to autopsy of monuments are discussed by Andrén 1960. 27 It is thus difficult to identify Pictor’s ipsissima verba: Peter 1914, fr. 16; Jacoby FGH 809 F13b; Chassignet 1996, fr. 20. 28 This is suggested by slight misquotations and misattributions of the Homeric lines: the Loeb translator (Cary 1937–50, vol. 5) identifies these ad loc. 26

29

Livy 22.57.5; 23.11.1–6. Chassignet 1996, liv–lxxiii. 31 Schultze 1995, 196–9. 32 Rom. 3.1; 8.9=FGH 820 T2. 33 Chassignet 1996, fr. 7, with notes p. 76–9 and p. xlvii. 34 Frier 1999, 242 n. 40. Varro’s etymology for instauratio was pure Latin, for he derived it from instar: see Maltby 1991. 30

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CLEMENCE SCHULTZE: DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS: GREEK ORIGINS AND ROMAN GAMES (AR 7.70-73) “fiercest of barbarians” (14.6.5). Dionysius then proceeds to define Greekness:

5.47.2), his silence here could conceivably be because it does not suit him at this point to remind his readers that Pictor wrote in Greek.

For I claim that Greekness (to Hellênikon) differs from barbarianness (to barbarikon) not by name, nor in regard to speech, but by intelligence (sunesis) and by the preference for the best institutions (epitedeumata), and particularly by never transgressing the laws of human nature (anthrôpine phusis) against one another. Those in whose nature these things for the most part prevail, I think ought to be termed Greeks; the opposite, barbarians. And the fair and humane plans and deeds of theirs, I reckon to be Greek; the fierce and savage ones—especially when they concern kinfolk and friends— barbarian. (14.6.5).

This raises the whole question of how Dionysius conceives of cultural difference and cultural change: a crucial issue, and one which becomes especially acute when one of the cultures in question is Greek, and the other is—or may be—barbarian. Dionysius’ application of the terms “Greek” and “barbarian” will be examined before proceeding to an investigation of his models of cultural change, and then to their application in the methodological passage about the games.

Thus the usual ethnic and linguistic criteria—that a people claims the description (onoma) “Greek” and that they speak the Greek language (dialektos)—are disregarded by Dionysius in favour of a criterion of behaviour. This strongly recalls the story, cited in Strabo 1.4.9, of Eratosthenes’ advice to Alexander the Great: treat Greeks and barbarians not according to ethnic origin but according to conduct, judged by “the lawful, the political, and that pertaining to education and discourse” (to nomimon, to politikon, to tês paideias kai logôn oikeion) as the appropriate criteria.35 This formulation could be programmatic for Dionysius’ entire treatment of the Romans, their state and way of life.

GREEKS AND BARBARIANS Dionysius’ language often suggests that there is a polar opposition between Greeks and barbarians: a racial criterion would seem to be implicit here—the notion that everyone must be either Greek, or barbarian, and that together these two groups make up the totality of mankind. Extremely common usages in his work are “among both Greeks and barbarians” (e.g., 1.16.1; 6.8.2) or “in Greece and in barbarian areas,” to convey the universality of customs or occurrences; or, expressed negatively, as in “neither among Greeks nor barbarians [is phenomenon X observed]” (e.g., 7.3.2); or, comparatively, “neither among Greeks nor barbarians [is phenomenon Y more prevalent than in the case of suchand-such a people …]” (e.g., 2.19.2; 2.63.2). So these seem to be merely somewhat elaborate ways of saying “all mankind does [or, does not do] this”; “the Romans [or whoever it might be] are the most Z [e.g., virtuous, religious, or whatever] people known among mankind” and so on. In other words, such usages are scarcely to be regarded as expressing carefully considered theories about Hellenic and barbarian culture.

COMPARISON OF CUSTOMS Here, then, is one notable instance of Dionysius’ preference for Roman behaviour to Greek. Although this case is particularly striking in its explicit redefinition of Greekness, it is by no means uncommon for Dionysius to compare Roman institutions or customs favourably with Greek, or for him to recommend them to Greeks. The increase of population by incorporation of conquered peoples and the creation of colonies is expressly said (2.16.1) to be more advantageous than the exclusivity which led to the decline in citizen numbers of notable Greek states such as Sparta (2.17).36 Related to this is the endorsement of the extension of citizenship to manumitted slaves, regarded by Dionysius as an important means of increasing Roman manpower, at least in former generations,37 but in his own time as a practice

Secondly, when “barbarian” is employed without any immediate juxtaposition to “Greek” or “Greece”, it is often—as might be anticipated—a term used persuasively to express disapproval or repudiation of a practice. For example, wise men waive enmities, but the barbarian and foolish destroy both friends and enemies (5.4.3, in a reported speech); Kaeso Quinctius displays barbarian hubris (10.6.2, in a speech).

35

“Greek” is sometimes used as a term of outright praise for a practice or action but with explicit disjunction from actual ethnic Greekness. In a most significant passage, Roman behaviour is endorsed as more truly Greek than that of the (actual) Greeks themselves: Hellene is as Hellene does, in fact. The occasion is the granting or “equal sharing” (isomoiria) of citizenship to the Tusculans in 381 B.C., where Romans are contrasted very favourably with Greeks (Athenians and Spartans), who in similar circumstances had treated Samians and Messenians with extreme harshness, behaving like the

Strabo’s own take on this has received a number of differing interpretations: perhaps he reasserts the importance of Greekness (Vanotti 1992, 82–3; Dueck 2000, 76); or treats the advice with sarcasm (Desideri 1992, 28–9); for Aujac, he fails to recognise the irony in Eratosthenes’ advice (Aujac 1966, 55). Thollard 1987, 27–39 usefully sets Strabo within the immediately preceding and contemporary intellectual context of this issue, although without discussing Dionysius. See also Dauge 1981, 514–6. 36 This was at least implied—perhaps even made explicit to a doubtless interested Greek world—in the manpower figures supplied by Fabius Pictor for the Gallic tumultus (Polybius 2.24; see Walbank 1957, 196). 37 This observation had been made by Greeks at least as early as Philip V of Macedon in his letter (ca. 215 B.C.) to the citizens of Larisa in Thessaly (Dittenberger 1915, no. 543).

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY community to rule over another or others.39 Mettius asserts that the right lies with Alba: the greater and older rule the lesser and younger; fathers (ancestors) rule children (descendants); those of purer descent rule inferior communities whose blood is mixed; in particular, Greeks, or those of Greek descent, rule over barbarian or partly barbarian communities; Alba, moreover, has throughout its whole period of existence maintained its customs and traditions unchanged. Tullus replies that mother cities do not necessarily rule their colonies; that city-progeny can come to be greater and more successful than their mother city, and hence rightly in a position to rule over them, and that the assimilation of outsiders, even of barbarians, into a community does not render that community barbarian; Rome’s receptiveness to incomers has made the city great and powerful; even her political divisions conduce to healthy emulation where men are judged in terms of merit, not of birth. Richard’s examination of the passage sets the speeches in a context of the philosophical rhetoric advocated by Dionysius, who here derives lines of argument from analogous historical situations in the Greek world;40 Roman inclusiveness is specifically compared with Athenian (3.11.4). The underlying issue is the nature of Hellenism—is it to be ethnically defined, or culturally defined? Advantage is of course with Tullus and the politico-cultural definition. Richard acutely notes that the policies of asylum and political incorporation derive from Romulus: in this respect as in others, it is the founder who has laid the groundwork.41 And, strikingly, the very practice which evoked Greek contempt for the Romans (“hearthless wandering barbarians, not even free men, as founders”: 1.4.2) is here turned to their praise.

to be kept within limits (4.24). This passage, one of Dionysius’ rare allusions to socio-political issues of his own age, should perhaps be linked with Augustus’ limitations on manumission.38 Roman patria potestas is said to be better than Greek practice with regard to familial authority (2.26–7). Romans are more religious than any other people, Greek or barbarian (2.63.2): this is plainly perceived by Dionysius as a good thing. Roman avoidance of political extremity is contrasted with Greek excesses during staseis (7.66.4–5). It is evidently both appropriate and worthwhile for the historian to point out superior customs and practices, since reflection might lead to their deliberate adoption. These passages suggest that Dionysius takes a rather rational, not to say utilitarian, view of the nature of institutions and the possibility of institutional change, and that he regards such change as a matter of choice. When it comes, however, to cultural change, two main models are identifiable. Cultural change results from (1) incorporation (usually following conquest); (2) education. THE CONQUEST AND INCORPORATION MODEL OF CULTURAL CHANGE This model is certainly the predominant one in the actual narrative. There are numerous examples of the coming together of two peoples or communities. It is apparent that Dionysius’ main model for this phenomenon views it as the result of a deliberate political choice of one people to incorporate the other, with the latter’s acquiescence; this often follows conquest by the former of the latter. Examples are the following: 1.9.4 (general); 1.20 (Aborigines incorporate suppliant Pelasgians); 2.16 (incorporation in general); 2.35-6 (Roman colonies); 2.46 (Sabines); 4.58 (Gabii); 5.43 (Fidenae); 8.70.2 (Sabines by conquest, Latins by isopoliteia); 14.6 (Tusculum). In a few cases, a more equal model, perhaps better described as assimilation, is to be seen. Notable instances are Faunus’ kindly reception of Evander’s Arcadians (1.31.2); and the intermingling of Aeneas’ followers with the Latins, on equal terms (1.57-9, and especially 1.60.12). Since Arcadians and Trojans (who are, of course, Greeks: see 1.61) are foremost among the Greek races as ancestors of Rome, it may be significant that they are received on equal terms by the earlier inhabitants, and that there is no question of conquest before incorporation.

The passages so far considered suggest that Dionysius’ main model for the coming together of communities is one that results from a conscious decision by one state to incorporate another; that this normally entails the adoption by the incorporated entity of the laws, customs and practices of the incorporating state, and that the culture of the superior or dominant incorporating partner is not weakened, and should not be deemed to be changed—certainly not to be barbarianised—by that of the incomers. By and large, then, this model represents “top downwards” cultural influence. THE EDUCATION CHANGE

The debate between the Alban Mettius Fufetius and Rome’s king Tullus Hostilius (3.10–11) bears upon the right to rule and the incorporation of alien, and indeed, barbarian elements within a state. The issues arise apropos the union of Rome and her mother-city Alba. Speeches put into the mouths of the two rulers express contrasting views as to what constitute just claims for one

OF

CULTURAL

This model recognises the possibility that cultural change may result from effects exerted by the conquered upon the conqueror: thus, it represents “bottom upwards”

39

38

MODEL

At 4.26.2, arguments which combine those of Mettius Fufetius and Tullus Hostilius are attributed to Servius Tullius when he institutes the Latin league on the model of the Delphic Amphictiony. 40 Richard 1993, 129–32. 41 Richard 1993, 141 n. 50.

Treggiari 1996, 893–7.

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CLEMENCE SCHULTZE: DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS: GREEK ORIGINS AND ROMAN GAMES (AR 7.70-73) influence, of inferiors upon their superiors. As the influence of post-conquest Greece upon Rome it constitutes the core of the sceptical argument in the games passage, and is summed up in the words of 7.71.1:

Black Sea are also known to Strabo 11.2.2 for their piratical life. Dionysius treats them as having been influenced away from the true Greek phusis. This, it turns out, inheres in three main factors: language;45 worship of the gods; and, above all, fair laws (nomoi epieikeis). Romans, the reader should at this point conclude, are evidently very much more impervious to deleterious foreign influences than were these unfortunate Achaeans. Dionysius states that the Romans have managed to maintain a partially Greek language; they have always lived a Greek life (bios Hellên), with the aim of friendly intercourse (pros philian); and their institutions aim at virtue or aretê (epitêdeuontes pros aretên 1.90.1; cf. also 5.75.1). The terminology of learning, relearning and unlearning is very apparent in this model.

... lest anyone assume that this [Dionysius’ eyewitness testimony to Greek ritual] provides only weak proof — according to the unconvincing assumption that having overcome the whole of Greekdom they [the Romans] would have gladly relearnt (metemathon) better customs, having come to look down upon their native ones.

The hypothesised sceptic here would not deny that Dionysius has witnessed Greek-type rituals at the games in Augustan Rome but he would argue that these are not inherited from way back, but instead have been learnt in the two or so centuries of Rome’s domination over Greece. Although Dionysius terms this assumption “unconvincing”, the fact that he organises his evidence so as to answer it strongly suggests that he recognises its validity, and that he accepts the possibility of “bottom upwards” cultural change, from the conquered upon the conqueror.

MODELS OF CULTURAL CHANGE WITHIN THE GAMES PASSAGE It is now appropriate to turn to a close examination of the methodological passage relating to the games with the following aims in view: (1) to examine how and with what degree of consistency Dionysius draws the boundary between Greek and barbarian; (2) to identify which model(s) of cultural change Dionysius stresses; also (3) to see why he plays down other available models.

At the end of Book 1.89–90 a similar model of change is discussed within the Italian context. Rome, founded by a number of Greek peoples, underwent “admixtures” (epimixiai) of very many, highly diverse barbarian races (Opicans, Marsians, Samnites, Tyrrhenians, Bruttians, Umbrians, Ligurians, Iberians, Gauls), each with their own bios.42 Some of these races are autochthonous, in Dionysius’ view,43 some are not.44 All this variety of language and habit was bound to cause changes in the ordering (kosmos) of the city—to the extent that Dionysius expresses amazement that the Romans were not totally barbarianised. At issue here is barbarianisation resulting from an intermixing which is a consequence of incorporation. Dionysius does not explicitly state that incorporation follows on after Roman conquest, but the identities of the various peoples render this clear: intermarriage and participation in citizenship are implied. So here again is bottom upwards influence, from the conquered and incorporated peoples upon their conqueror. At any rate, the intermingling with all these bioi have a major effect on Rome’s Greek epitêdeumata (institutions).

The argument of 7.70.1–2 alludes back to the preface (1.5; 1.8). Dionysius is a serious historian, with a thesis (prothesis) to demonstrate: the Romans are not hearthless (an epic word) barbarians but Greeks.46 So this first Greek-barbarian contrast appears to be a simple matter of deciding which side of the line (good Greek, bad barbarian) any particular race falls, and the Romans fall on the Greek side. Customs, laws and institutions prove their origin to be Greek: i.e., both politeia and bios are Greek. Now the theme of Rome’s colonial foundation47 and the creation of her constitution by Romulus, as from the outset a mikte politeia inherently Greek which was to develop as the city grew and matured, is found throughout the work, in the narrative and in the speeches. It transpires that religious observances are a central aspect of the (non-political) bios. These (7.70.3) are scarcely liable to change, owing to the restraining fear (or awe: deima) felt for the daimones on the part of both Greece and barbarian land(s): Hellas te kai barbaros chôra. So such institutions endure for long ages, especially among some classic instance of barbarian races: Egyptians,

There is no doubt here but that barbarian is bad and Greek good; but this model evidently allows for varying degrees of perviousness or imperviousness to alien customs. Dionysius supplies a counter-example: some true Greeks, as it was supposed, Achaean by origin, were notorious for having unlearnt their Greekness (hapan to Hellênikon apemathon). This people, the Achaioi of the

45

Gabba 1963; Schöpsdau 1992, 117–9. This hostile description probably derives from the anti-Roman historiographical tradition associated with the court of Mithridates. See also 1.4.3, usually taken to be a reference to Metrodorus of Scepsis (Gabba 1991, 91). 47 Terminology appropriate to colonisation (apoik- compounds) and of synoecism (synoik-) is frequent. This establishes Rome within the context of Mediterranean-wide foundations by Greek peoples. 46

42

1.89.2–3; 2.2.2; Gabba 1991, 109–10. Musti 1970; Gabba 1991, 111. 44 Gabba 1991, 104–5. 43

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Libyans, etc. (7.70.4). (There may be a sense that these barbarians are, as it were, tied to, or at one with their respective chôrai.)

barbarians to submit to enforced change when and if conquered (as, it is plainly stated, they have been: hapan … to Hellênikon … kratoumenon). So barbarians and Greeks are now on the same side of the fence, and it is not a case either of Greeks good, barbarians bad, or the reverse, but rather: Romans successful (query: good?), Greeks and barbarians unsuccessful, (query: bad?) And note further that this is definitely a case of top downwards cultural change, change which eventuates when the winning power imposes a different state upon the loser.

Some points are worthy of note. In the first place, Dionysius is here speaking, if not as an actual traveller, at least as a student of ethnography. He is, of course, a traveller in the fairly limited sense that for many years he resided at Rome: as far as can be told from the Antiquitates, he went nowhere else. Moreover, even if no Odysseus, no Polybius,48 he does use the language of travel in relation to his historical project.49 By this further claim to pronounce on ethnographical and anthropological matters, he extends his own authority as a historian.50 He is, secondly, taking up a stance on religion implicitly opposed to that of Polybius (his respected precursor, whose work he is in effect claiming to fill out by means of his “pre-continuation)”. His choice of the term hupo deimatos daimoniôn is, surely, made advisedly: the phrase lacks the sometimes negative connotations of deisidaimonia, so it is not superstition, but due and proper awe of the gods. Dionysius is far removed from the Polybian attitude towards Roman religion (Polybius 6.56): half-disdainful of it, halfadmiring for its useful civic result.51 Thirdly, the Greek/barbarian contrast is here not a simple one of good Greeks versus bad barbarians, for the behaviour of the barbarians in maintaining their customs is surely being approved and endorsed. The Greeks have evidently fallen away in this respect, in contrast to the notable barbarian races listed. A tiny, implicit criticism of Greeks lurks here but Dionysius does not pursue it.52

At 7.71.1, it transpires that this top downwards model of change is intimately related to its converse, the education model. This part of the passage (examined above in relation to Fabius Pictor) is where Dionysius implicitly recognised the validity of the sceptic’s position that Greek rituals at Rome might have derived from post-conquest influences rather than from inherited and long maintained Hellenism. The significant point now is that captured Greece is evidently also conceived of as exerting her own (presumably milder, slower, more insidious) influence only after a situation of confrontation. Dionysius’ notion is that Greece did not, could not, influence Rome to adopt Greek rites and customs until Rome had gained the hegemonia and archê over Greece and the Mediterranean. Thus Dionysius’ two models of change prove to be not opposite and incompatible but related: the “conquest/incorporation” model which imposes change from above, and the “education” one where influence seeps up from underneath are both revealed as dependent upon confrontation. It is as if mere proximity does not matter at all; peaceful contacts, sharing of practices, assimilation between neighbours—all these are nowhere mentioned nor admitted to be important.53 This, then, is how Dionysius can ignore the possibility that complex cultural influences may have operated upon the Romans (including of course Fabius Pictor) from at least the middle of the third century; how he can fail to draw the obvious inferences from the fact that Pictor wrote his history in Greek. For Dionysius, influence—in either direction—can only operate once the issue of sovereignty has been resolved following conquest.

Passing on to the middle of 7.70.4: foreign conquest is a prime reason for the enforced abandonment of traditional religious institutions, since conquerors impose their own practices. Dionysius employs verbs such as krateô (overpower), anankazô (force) to express the very strong notion of forcible change. This fate, (tuchê: here clearly “misfortune”) has never befallen the Romans, who instead are conquerors, and thus in a position to impose their rites and customs (hiera, ethismoi) on others. “If Romans had indeed been barbarians, all the Greek world would have been barbarianised; it has not been, so the Romans were not barbarians.” That is the form of the argument: Dionysius’ readership has of course already been given other grounds for believing this, but a quite separate proof is plainly intended here. So the polarity has shifted yet again: Greeks, it appears, are no less liable than

When, in that case, did Dionysius suppose that the conquest had occurred? At 7.70.5 he states that Greekdom (to Hellênikon) has been under Roman rule for seven generations, in very similar wording to that which he employs at 1.3.5: “Rome ruling every region persists already for the seventh generation in my time”. The notion of a generation, and of its length, is of course a notoriously slippery one: figures between 25 and 40 years are variously used by ancient authors.54 For some purposes, Dionysius appears to accept a 27-year

48

Marincola 1997a. Schultze 2000, section 1. 50 Marincola 1997b, 83–5. 51 Pédech 1965. 52 The way in which the topic is ended at 7.70.4 with the words “for many reasons which it is not at present the moment to say” resembles 1.77.3—another instance of avoidance of sustained religious speculation, though that is theological, this perhaps sociological. 49

53

Strabo 7.3.7 recognises the possibility of influence operating through means such as trade and proximity, and regards it as often harmful (Müller 1972, 331–2; Dueck 2000, 75–6). 54 Cazanove 1992, 86–90; Mosshammer 1979, 101–5.

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CLEMENCE SCHULTZE: DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS: GREEK ORIGINS AND ROMAN GAMES (AR 7.70-73) generation, and, on that basis, seven full generations would amount to 189 years.55 Dionysius published Book 1 in 7 B.C.: hence, even if the seven generations have to be understood as fully completed (which is not necessarily the implication of 1.3.5 and 7.70.5), 189 years take us back to 196 B.C. and thus to the conclusion of the second Macedonian war. Slight confirmation that Dionysius indeed has this date in mind as the key one is provided by 1.90.1, where “undoing the rule of the Carthaginians and the Macedonians” is posited as a crucial stage in Rome’s rise to power. Accordingly, Dionysius’ position can be saved: he can just about deem Pictor, active during the second Punic war or very shortly thereafter, as unaffected by any Greek cultural influences.56

presents Romulus’ involvement in key festivals was discussed above; he further depicts the founder as devising means to inculcate piety, moderation, justice and bravery (eusebeia, sôphrosune, dikaiosunê, and gennaiotês) into the polis and its citizens (2.18.1). He encourages these by his religious institutions: temples, cults and festivals; he defined the powers of the various deities and prescribed their appropriate rituals. In all this “he followed the best customs (kratista nomima) in use among the Greeks” (2.18.2). But he eschewed all the handed down stories (paradedomenoi muthoi), and any tales which were indecent, or which depicted the gods as inflicting or undergoing suffering. A number of unsuitable or indecent Greek myths and religious practices are then described (2.19.1–2).

BIOS, POLITEIA AND CONTROLLING CHANGE

The passage then slips from Romulus via a passing acknowledgement that “their customs (ethê) are now corrupted” to a description of Roman religion in Dionysius’ day. Their observances include no mourning, indecency, begging, ecstasy, mysteries, being instead performed “reverently in all their doings and sayings with regard to the gods, in a manner unlike both Greeks and barbarians” (2.18.2).

According to Dionysius’ argument, then, the Romans originated from Hellenic stock, although he allows that the ethnic Hellenism has been tempered by the incorporation of non-Greek peoples, making the Romans a racially mixed people.57 He refuses, however to count this as of any great significance, emphasising their Hellenic cultural and political inheritance rather than their racial descent (1.89–90); despite exposure to barbarian bioi, their constitution and customs are Hellenic through and through, entitling them to be considered Greek.58 Any community, however, is liable to feel the effects of an alien culture when—according to Dionysius’ way of thinking about cultural change—a relationship has been established as a result of conquest; bilateral post-conquest influence appears to be inescapable but to vary in degree. But the extent of resistance or imperviousness to such foreign influence is regarded by Dionysius not just a matter of luck or chance (tuchê). It is (partly at least) a matter of rational decision, based on good laws and institutions from the very outset, and hence is determined by the politeia. As was briefly mentioned earlier, Dionysius depicts Rome’s politeia as a mixed constitution even under Romulus, to the extent that was suitable for a small young polis at that time. Successive changes (other kings’ reforms, institution of republic, tribunate, staseis resolved by compromise) take it in the direction of ever more perfect mixture. So too, for Dionysius, Romulus was necessarily responsible for the basic framework of Rome’s religious institutions (which should in any case be seen as integral to the polis). The way in which Dionysius

Rome selects only the more reverent and purer traditions and practices. Even though she is especially exposed to foreign rituals, because of the many ethnê who have come to live there, and who maintain their patrioi theoi (2.19.3; cf. 7.70.4, examined above), she has only adopted foreign cults unofficially, and with due modifications in accordance with her own nomima. The Magna Mater is a case in point (2.19.4). Reverting to consideration of the muthoi, Dionysius holds that it is a very good thing to follow the theologia of the Romans, as “the many” cannot properly understand the allegorical, consolatory or purificatory functions of the Greek muthoi: these are indeed useful ends, but are only available to those versed in philosophy. If taken literally, the myths lead the many to despise the gods, or use their example in order to transgress (2.20). Thus, both in the practice of ritual, and in the theologia which underlies it, Roman is better than Greek; and Rome’s first founder was the one to regulate her politico-religious institutions in this way. Dionysius here endorses the Polybian view that culture (ethê kai nomima) is integral to the politeia, and that its regulation affects national character and inculcates the desired qualities.59 Given the scope of his history, Dionysius is not required to address how and if constitutional degeneration causes ethê kai nomima to degenerate too. He can instead suggest that the pristine Greekness of Rome’s institutions validates the claim that she has maintained a Greek life (bios Hellên) throughout

55

Schultze 1995, 209 n. 29. With a 24-year generation it would be even easier to maintain this: 168 would be the crucial date for definitive conquest, and so Pictor’s floruit would fall comfortably before it. 57 The concept of a mixed Greek-barbarian genos was usually regarded as inferior (Desideri 1992, 25–7). 58 Contrast Polybius, who at 12.4b-c argues against Timaeus’ view of the “October Horse” in such a way as to imply his own belief in Roman barbarianness (Champion 2000). 56

59

See Martinez Lacy 1993: 85-6 on Polybius 1.65.7; 6.11.3–4; 6.47.1– 6. Cf. also Aristotle, Politics 3.9 and 5.9 on the relation between laws and goodness.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY PAAR 27. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Original edition, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1979. Gabba, E. 1963. “Il latino come dialetto Greco.” In Miscellanea di studi alessandrini in memoria di Augusto Rostagni, 188–94. Turin: Bottega d’Erasmo. Gabba, E. 1991. Dionysius and the History of Archaic Rome. Sather Classical Lectures 56. Berkeley: University of California Press. Goold, G.P. 1961. “A Greek Professorial Circle at Rome.” TAPA 92:168–92. Jannot, J.-R. 1992. “Les danseurs de la ‘pompa’ du cirque. Témoinages textuels et iconographiques.” RÉL 70:56–68. Maltby, R. 1991. A Lexicon of Ancient Latin Etymologies. ARCA Classical and Medieval Texts, Papers and Monographs 25. Leeds: Francis Cairns. Marincola, J. 1997a. “Odysseus and the historians.” HISTOS. The electronic journal of ancient historiography at the University of Durham http://www.dur.ac.uk/Classics/histos/1997/marincola.ht ml (27 December 2000). ——. 1997b. Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Martínez Lacy, J.R.F. 1991. “Ethe kai nomima. Polybius and his concept of culture.” Klio 73:83–92. Mosshammer, A.A. 1979. The Chronicle of Eusebius and Greek Chronographic Tradition. Lewisburg, Pa.: Bucknell University Press. Müller, K.E. 1972. Geschichte der antiken Ethnographie und ethnologische Theoriebildung. Wiesbaden: Steiner. Musti, D. 1970. Tendenze nella storiografia romana e greca su Roma arcaica. Quaderni Urbinati di Cultura Classica 10. Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo. Ogilvie, R.M. 1965. A Commentary on Livy: Books 1–5. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pédech, P. 1965. “Les idées religieuses de Polybe. Étude sur la religion de l’élite gréco-romaine au IIe siècle av. J.-C.” RHR 167:35–68. Peter, H. 1914. Historicorum romanorum reliquiae. Vol. 2. Leipzig: Teubner. Richard, J.–C. 1993. “Sur deux discours-programmes: à propos d’A.R. 3, 10, 3–11, 11.” In Denys d’Halicarnasse. Historien des origines de Rome, edited by P.M. Martin, 125–41. Pallas 39. Toulouse: Presses Universitaires du Mirail. Schöpsdau, K. 1992. “Vergleiche zwischen Lateinisch und Griechisch in der antiken Sprachwissenschaft.” In Zum Umgang mit fremden Sprachen in der griechischrömischen Antike: Kolloquium der Fachrichtungen klassische Philologie der Universitäten Leipzig und Saarbrücken am 21. und 22. November 1989 in Saarbrücken, edited by C.W. Müller, K. Sier and J. Werner, 115–36. Stuttgart: Steiner. Schultze, C.E. 1986. “Dionysius of Halicarnassus and His Audience.” In Past Perspectives: Studies in Greek and Roman Historical Writing, edited by I. Moxon, J.D.

the years of growth, overseas expansion, and the present high tide of fortune (1.90.1). The account of the games is one—and a highly important one—of the “many indisputable testimonies” (7.70.2) which he can adduce.

Works Cited Andrén, A. 1960. “Dionysius of Halicarnassus on Roman monuments.” In Hommages à Léon Herrmann, 88–104. CollLatomus 44. Brussels: Latomus. Aujac, G. 1966. Strabon et la science de son temps. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Bowersock, G.W. 1965. Augustus and the Greek World. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Cardauns, B. 1976. M. Terentius Varro: Antiquitates rerum divinarum. Wiesbaden: Steiner. Cary, E. 1937–50. The Roman Antiquities of Dionysius of Halicarnassus. 5 vols. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann. Cazanove, O. de. 1992. “La determination chronographique de la durée de la période royale à Rome.” In La Rome des premiers siècles: légende et histoire. Actes de la table ronde en l’honneur de Massimo Pallottino, Paris, 3-4 mai 1991, 69–98. Biblioteca di “Studi Etruschi” 24. Florence: Olschki. Champion, C. 2000, December. “Histories 12.4b.1–c.1: an overlooked key to Polybios’ views on Rome.” HISTOS. The Electronic Journal of Ancient Historiography at the University of Durham 4 (2000). http://www.dur.ac.uk/Classics/histos/2000/champion.ht ml (27 December 2000). Chassignet, M. 1996. L’annalistique romaine. T.1. Les annales des pontifes et l’annalistique ancienne (fragments). Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Clarke, K. 1999. Between Geography and History: Hellenistic Constructions of the Roman World. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Dauge, Y.A. 1981. Le barbare. Recherches sur la conception romaine de la barbarie et de la civilisation. CollLatomus 176. Brussels: Latomus. Desideri, P. 1992. “Eforo e Strabone sui ‘popoli misti’ (Str. XIV, 5.23–26).” In Autocoscienza e rappresentzione dei popoli nell’ antichità, edited by M. Sordi, 19–31. Contributi dell’Istituto di storia antica 18. Milan: Vita e Pensiero. Pubblicazioni della Università Cattolica. Dittenberger, W. 1915. Sylloge inscriptionum graecarum. 3rd edn. Leipzig: Hirzel. Dueck, D. 2000. Strabo of Amasia: A Greek Man of Letters in Augustan Rome. London: Routledge. Ferrary, J.-L. 1988. Philhellénisme et impérialisme. Aspects idéologiques de la conquête romaine du monde hellénistique. BÉFAR 271. Rome: École française de Rome. Frier, B.W. 1999. Reprint. Libri Annales Pontificum Maximorum: The Origins of the Annalistic Tradition.

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CLEMENCE SCHULTZE: DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS: GREEK ORIGINS AND ROMAN GAMES (AR 7.70-73) Smart and A.J. Woodman, 121–41. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1995. “Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Roman Chronology.” PCPS 41:192–214. ——. 2000, December. “Authority, Originality and Competence in the Roman Archaeology of Dionysius of Halicarnassus.” HISTOS. The Electronic Journal of Ancient Historiography at the University of Durham. http://www.dur.ac.uk/Classics/histos/2000/schultze1.ht ml (27 December 2000) ——. Forthcoming. “From muthos to historia in Dionysius of Halicarnassus.” Thollard, P. 1987. Barbarie et civilisation chez Strabon. Étude critique des livres III et IV de la Géographie. Centre de recherches d’histoire ancienne 77. Annales Littéraires de l’Université de Besançon 365. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Thuillier, J.-P. 1975. “Denys d’Halicarnasse et les jeux romaines (Antiquités romaines, VII, 72–73).” MÉFRA 87:563–81. ——. 1982. “Le programme ‘athlétique’ des ludi circenses dans la Rome républicaine.” RÉL 60:105–22. ——. 1987. “Le programme hippique des jeux romaines: une curieuse absence.” RÉL 65:53–73. ——. 1989. “Les jeux dans les premiers livres des Antiquités romaines.” MÉFRA 101:229–42. Treggiari, S. 1996. “Social Status and Social Legislation.” Iin CAH, Vol. 10, The Augustan Age, edited by A.K. Bowman, E. Champlin and A. Lintott, 873–904. 2nd edn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vanotti, G. 1992. “Roma e il suo impero in Strabone.” In Autocoscienza e rappresentazione dei popoli nell’antichità, edited by M. Sordi, 173–94. Contributi dell’Istituto di storia antica 18. Milan: Vita e Pensiero. Pubblicazioni della Università Cattolica. Walbank, F.W. 1957; 1967; 1979. A Historical Commentary on Polybius. Vols. 1–3. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

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Chapter 10

Epic Games and Real Games in Virgil’s Aeneid 5 and Statius’ Thebaid 6 HELEN LOVATT epic games themselves as evidence of this “reality”; how to deal with the problems of diachronic change; how to establish what “epic convention” is. To deal with the last problem first: with much of the wider epic cycle fragmentary or lost, it is difficult to establish what the norms were for epic games. Willis has convincingly shown that the Homeric games for Patroclus in Iliad 23 were exceptions and not representative.7 However Virgil and Statius were explicitly following and appropriating Homer: for them, Homer was epic convention. As far as the other two problems are concerned, and they are in many respects insurmountable, it is necessary to look at the evidence through time and to see how the changing worlds of Virgil and Statius seem to fit in with the changing world of Greco-Roman culture.

There are usually two distinct groups who are interested in studying epic games for very different reasons. There are the sports historians who toil to mine these literary descriptions for nuggets of fact about the techniques of sportsmen and the rules of the events.1 On the other hand, there are the literary critics who are interested in the games as a closed system of symbols working only within a poetic world, who study the characterisation of the competitors, the imagery, the links with other poems.2 These two groups have very different attitudes to Virgil and Statius. While Statius was generally seen to be a very second-rate poet and Virgil is undeniably great, Virgil is no sports journalist, and Statius is clearly “a man who had often thrown a discus himself”.3 Harris, for instance, says of the end of Virgil’s ship-race: “That the issue of a race should be decided by such heavenly interference is thoroughly repugnant to religious belief and sporting instinct alike”.4 Of Statius, however, he has a very different opinion: “[f]or the student of the techniques of athletics by far the most interesting of the epics is the Thebaid of the Roman poet Statius”.5 Still in 1996 Thuillier is looking to the Thebaid for insights into whether rider-less horses could win the chariot races and how exactly the foot race started.6 What is it that makes Statius’ games so much more “real” than Virgil’s?

This paper will briefly examine three junctions between epic and history, three historical constructions and how Virgil and Statius fit in. First, “the Epic Programme”, which will look at the choices of events in these sets of epic games and suggest how they might fit into the system of Roman spectacle, moving between different eras and different spectacles. Secondly, “Spectacular Spaces” which investigates which types of games happened in which spaces, how Statius and Virgil present the spaces in which their games take place and how these affect the spectacle as cosmos, the power structure of audience, editor and competitors. Thirdly, “Dressed to Win”, which examines the complex interplay of Greek and Roman elements in Games and Epic through the medium of the controversy about athletic nudity at Rome.

The precise relationship between epic games and real games has always been problematic. Those attempting to reconstruct sports practices from the evidence in epic games are interested to separate the real from the literary. Rather than separating the two, this paper studies the negotiations themselves between epic convention and the representation of historical games. The different tactics which Virgil and Statius use to make their games simultaneously Greek and Roman, distant and immediate, epic and real as their audiences might have experienced them, tells us about their attitudes to both convention and audience. Inevitably this project has problems: how to construct a “reality” against which to read epic games, not using the

THE EPIC PROGRAMME The programme of events at a spectacle is one of the most easily retrievable pieces of information: I begin this investigation by showing that the programme of events in the Homeric games was fundamentally different from the Olympic programme which forms the model for Greek games celebrated at Rome. Given Homer’s foundational status in Greek culture, the events from the Homeric games which have failed to make it into the everexpanding Olympic programme (sword fight and archery) are perhaps more significant than those Olympic events with no Homeric prototype (most importantly pankration—the jump makes it into the Odyssey). We can see from the table (10.1) that Virgil’s programme moves as far away from the Olympic model as possible: the ship race probably pays homage to Augustus’ Actian games at

1

On the history of classical athletics: Gardiner 1955, Harris 1964, Harris 1972. Later historians are more wary of using Latin poetry as evidence for Greek practice: see for instance Kyle 1987, Golden 1998. On Roman sport see Thuillier 1996a. 2 Key literary treatments of Virgil’s games include: Heinze 1993, Putnam 1965, Galinsky 1968, Cairns 1989; on Statius’ games there are: von Stosch 1968, Vessey 1970 and 1973. 3 Harris 1964, 58. 4 Harris 1972, 131. 5 Harris 1964, 55. 6 Thuillier 1996b.

7

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Willis 1941.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Nikopolis, and marks a move away from both Homer and the Olympic model.8 Running and boxing were both events represented by Roman sources as taking place in the ludi circenses.9 The archery is pure Homer, taking on all the apparatus of tree, dove and cord, but transforming it into something essentially Roman at the very last minute by awarding the prize to Acestes for his display shot that turns into an omen. In his programme Statius mediates between Virgil and Homer. On first glance, his games seem supremely Homeric, including all the Homeric events, even a vestigial javelin. However, where Virgil has changed the Homeric order, swapping the running and the boxing, Statius follows Virgil’s order. On the other hand, he does transpose the wrestling as well, so that boxing and wrestling remain together as in Homer. Statius manages to be both Homeric and Virgilian. In the emphasis he places on returning to the epic programme, Statius seems inevitably to move away from contemporary Roman games towards the epic model, more Greek than Roman, more ideal than real. However, the games pull back towards the Roman and the real in other ways. For instance, the chariot race in the Thebaid is specifically a four horse race, unlike the Homeric race.10

SPECTACULAR SPACES Let us now examine in more detail the different tactics which Virgil and Statius use when negotiating between epic and reality in the space they create for their games. Epic games take place within an imagined space, an arena whose only limit is the imagination of the poet. By examining the boundaries and fluctuations of this imagined space, we can begin to link epic games with particular contexts and types of spectacle. This project is complicated by the difficulty of assigning real games to real spaces consistently and the Roman reluctance to create permanent spaces for their games. The ludi circenses clearly took place in the circus; the Circus Maximus was the paradigm of this type of venue, unusual because Roman sources present it as coming into existence as early as the time of Tarquinius Priscus.12 Other types of spectacle are not as easily placed. Look, for instance, at the description of the different places in which Augustus staged spectacles according to Suetonius: Fecisse se ludos ait suo nomine quater, pro aliis magistratibus, qui aut abessent aut non sufficerent, ter et vicies. Fecitque nonnumquam etiam vicatim ac pluribus scaenis per omnium linguarum histriones, munera non in Foro modo, nec in amphitheatro, sed et in Circo et in Saeptis, et aliquando nihil praeter venationem edidit; athletas quoque exstructis in campo Martio sedilibus ligneis; item navale proelium circa Tiberim cavato solo, in quo nunc Caesarum nemus est. Quibus diebus custodes in urbe disposuit, ne raritate remanentium grassatores obnoxia esset. In Circo aurigas cursoresque et confectores ferarum, et nonnumquam ex nobilissima iuventute, produxit. 13

The games and the chariot race begin with what is quite clearly presented as a pompa, a procession of divine and ancestral images, just as the ludi circenses did.11 The epic programme of Statius’ games, then, is offset by intruding elements of the Roman and the real. Statius melds these realms together, bringing Homer into Rome and creating an entirely different mix of the epic and the real, the Greek and the Roman from Virgil.

He says that he gave games four times in his own name and twenty three times for other magistrates who were either absent or not sufficiently wealthy. ... he gave gladiatorial games not only in the Forum and the amphitheatre, but also in the Circus and in the Saepta, and he sometimes offered nothing except a wild-beast hunt; he presented athletes also on wooden seats constructed in the Campus Martius; again he presented a sea battle in a lake hollowed from the soil near the Tiber, in which now the grove of the Caesars stands. ... In the Circus he produced charioteers, runners and hunters of beasts, and often from among the noblest young men. (Aug. 43.1–2)

8

Briggs 1975 examines the Augustan associations of Virgil’s games. 9 Livy 1.35.10: boxers as well as horses; Cicero De leg. 2.38: running, boxing, wrestling and chariot races. 10 When Apollo catches sight of the race from Olympus, Statius describes it as ingens certaminis instar / quadriiugi (6.369–70). In addition, when the phantom sent by Apollo causes Arion to rear up, he is described as suspending both his yoke-mate and the horses on either side (nam flavus Arion / ut vidit, saliere iubae, atque erectus in armos / stat sociumque iugi comitesque utrimque laboris/ secum alte suspendit equos: 6.501–4). The four-horse race was the most celebrated in the chariot race at Rome: novice charioteers began as aurigae driving twohorse chariots (bigae) and graduated to driving quadrigae when they might earn the right to the title of agitator (Thuillier 1996a, 125; on chariot racing at Rome, see also Cameron 1973 and 1976). 11 There is a procession of images of gods and ancestors at 6.268–95 which is clearly set within the context of the games. The opening sequence of scenes begins with Fama calling the audience to see the games, during which Statius refers to the Olympic games as occurring in the circus of Oenomaus (aut Oenomai fremuerunt agmina circo: 6.254); then follows a description of the setting and the scene as the spectators gather, and a sacrifice of three hundred bullocks, bulls and cows. Next comes the procession of statues (magnanimam series antiqua parentum: 6.268), leading straight into the beginning of the chariot race. Thus the procession is clearly made part of the games rather than being part of the preceding funeral episode. The ludi circenses began in exactly this fashion: the pompa opened the proceedings and led straight into the chariot race. It was a particular distinction to win this first race and many victory inscriptions include among their copious statistics the number of races won a pompa.

12

Humphrey 1986 is the authoritative and comprehensive work on the circus. For a narrative of the early founding of the Circus Maximus, see Livy 1.35.8–9: Tum primum circo qui nunc maximus dicitur designatus locus est. Loca diuisa patribus equitibusque ubi spectacula sibi quisque facerent; fori appellati; spectauere furcis duodenos ab terra spectacula alta sustinentibus pedes. 13 Suetonius is paraphrasing Res Gestae 22–3: he is more interested in keeping in the variety of places than the detailed numbers which grace the RG version.

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HELEN LOVATT: EPIC GAMES AND REAL GAMES IN VIRGIL’S AENEID 5 AND STATIUS’ THEBAID 6 Homeric 1. 2 horse Chariot Race: 262–650 2. Boxing: 651–9 3. Wrestling: 700– 39 4. Running: 740–97

5. Sword fight: 798–825 6. Discus: 826–49 7. Archery: 850–83 8: Javelin: 884–97

Olympic 4 horse & 2 horse Chariot Race Boxing Wrestling

Ludi Circenses 4 horse & 2 horse Chariot Race Boxing Wrestling

Virgilian 1. Ship Race: 114–285

Long, 400m & 200m Running

?m Running

3. Boxing: 362–84

2. Running: 286–361

Statian 1. 4 horse Chariot Race: 296–549 2. Running: 550–645 3. Discus: 646–730 4. Boxing: 730–825 5. Wrestling: 826– 910 6. Sword fight: 911– 923

Pankration Pentathlon (Discus, Javelin, 200m, Jump, Wrestling) 4. Archery: 485–544 5. Lusus Troiae: 545–603

(in Pentathlon)

7. Archery: 924–946 6.5 Mention of Javelin 928

Other events: Horse Race, Race in Armour. TABLE 10.1. THE ORGANISATION OF THE EPIC PROGRAMMES.

In this passage we have gladiatorial games in the widest variety of places: the Forum, amphitheatre, Circus and Saepta. A special wooden structure in the Campus Martius was built for athletics, but runners also featured in the Circus. Chariot races take place only in the Circus. There seems to be a special prestige associated with constructing a temporary space especially for a spectacle, such as the lake dug near the Tiber apparently for one sea battle (see Garello, in this volume). In the time of Virgil, then, there was no permanent structure for athletics, but athletics could feature in the programme of the ludi circenses. In the time of Domitian, however, there was a revolution in the spectacular architecture of Rome. The Colosseum, started by Vespasian and inaugurated by Titus, was completed by Domitian, providing a space for gladiatorial games that dominates the urban landscape in its magnificence and sheer size.14 Domitian was also responsible for the building of the only permanent stadium in Rome and probably in the west of the Empire. This too has left its mark on the urban landscape of Rome, still visible in the shape of the Piazza Navona.15 It was built in A.D. 86 for the celebration of Domitian’s newly founded ludi Capitolini, the first set of Greek games in Rome to endure past the death of their founder.16 The permanence of both the festival and the buildings associated with it mark a profound change in

Roman attitudes to Greek games. Domitian succeeded where Nero failed in bringing the heart of Greekness into the heart of Rome itself. In what sort of setting do we find the epic games of Virgil and Statius? I will look for clues about the setting of the games in Aeneid 5 and then move on to Thebaid 6. But first a very brief summary of the general context of these games. The games in Aeneid 5 take place in Sicily, on the occasion of the anniversary of Anchises’ death. The Sicilian location speaks of the importance of mythological and historical links between Sicily and Rome.17 The founding of Acesta in the second half of book 5 enacts integration between Sicilians and Trojans. The chronological setting of the anniversary of Anchises’ death is subtly different from the funeral games of Patroclus, and closer to Roman practices, where the festival of the parentalia is dedicated to annual remembering of the dead, and where games in memory of the dead were often held a substantial amount of time after their death.18 The context of the games in the Thebaid, however, is distinctly Greek in tone: they are funeral games (even if for the death of a baby, not a hero—a Callimachean celebration of the small) written as an aetion of the founding of the Nemean games, set at Nemea.19 Statius’ mythic world of Greece in the Thebaid 17

Galinsky 1968. On the parentalia, see Beard et al. 1998, 31, 50; Weinstock 1971, 291–6; Toynbee 1971, 63-6. Weinstock (1971, 89) mentions two instances of Caesar holding games some time after the actual death of the person commemorated: games in memory of his father (d. 85 B.C.) held in 65 B.C., and games in memory of Julia (d. 54 B.C.) held in 46 B.C. 19 On the context of the games, see Brown 1994, 30–56. 18

14

Coarelli et al. 1999. Thuillier 1996a, 77–80; Rieger 1999, 197–200. 16 See Rieger 1999 and Caldelli 1993 on the ludi Capitolini, which continued into the fourth century. Nero’s Greek games, the Neronea, were celebrated three times, but ceased when he died. See Bolton 1948 on the Neronea, Robert 1970 on both. 15

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY is in a new dimension somewhere between epic and reality, Greece and Rome—it is very difficult to pin down its associations conclusively, but ultimately it does claim a Greek setting. The first passage in Aeneid 5 describing the setting and the arrival of the audience uses the word circus but simultaneously sets the audience on the shore (litora).20 The trumpet sounds from an agger which suggests the temporary ambience of a military camp: Exspectata dies aderat nonamque serena Auroram Phaethontis equi iam luce uehebant, famaque finitimos et clari nomen Acestae excierat; laeto complerant litora coetu uisuri Aeneadas, pars et certare parati. munera principio ante oculos circoque locantur in medio, sacri tripodes uiridesque coronae et palmae pretium uictoribus, armaque et ostro perfusae uestes, argenti aurique talenta; et tuba commissos medio canit aggere ludos. They filled the shore with their happy gathering, part come to see the followers of Aeneas, part prepared also to compete. They placed the prizes at the beginning before their eyes in the middle of the Circus ... and the trumpet sounded from a mound in the middle that the games should commence. (5.104–13)

The ship-race focuses on the ships themselves, their crews and captains, describing in detail only the turning post (meta), a rock out in the sea with a tree branch set upon it (5.124–31). Only after the ship-race are we given any more detail about the space of the games: Hoc pius Aeneas misso certamine tendit gramineum in campum, quem collibus undique curuis cingebant siluae, mediaque in ualle theatri circus erat; quo se multis cum milibus heros consessu medium tulit exstructoque resedit. When this contest was over, pious Aeneas went to a grassy field, which the woods surrounded everywhere on curved hills, and in the valley in the middle there was a circus for a theatre; when the hero brought himself there with many thousands in a crowd, he sat down on a wooden structure. (5.286–90)

The geographical details suggest a primitive Circus Maximus, a grassy valley set in hills—the word circus, though it can also mean a circle, was far more frequently used of the circus, and particularly of the Circus Maximus.21 At the beginning of the lusus Troiae the crowd flood into the space for the games and Virgil again describes it like a circus: ipse omnem longo decedere 20

The phrase in medio reminds us of the Greek es meson, a term used to describe a ritual space set up in the public domain, often used of subjects under debate (e.g., Herodotus 7.152). 21 Also defined by the OLD as ‘[a] circular or oval space in which games, esp. chariot races are held’, but all their examples but one of this use come from epic games.

circo/ infusum populum et campos iubet esse patentis (“he himself ordered the whole people who had poured into the long circus to go back and let the fields lie open”: 5.551–2). However, this is also a theatre, emphasising the spectacular, staged nature of the games, presenting the games as exotic spectacle rather than traditional ritual. Greek athletes had been presented in the theatre during the republic.22 During the aftermath of the running, the audience is described as consessum caueae (“the gathering in the seats of the theatre”: 5.340), using the world cauea which refers to the seating space in the theatre, placing the games in the theatre once more. However, the structure on which Aeneas sits assimilates Virgil’s primitive circus to the Circus Maximus of Tarquinius Priscus as described by Livy. In Livy’s vision the Circus Maximus came into being with fully segregated seating arrangements for different classes of Romans. While Aeneas sits on a wooden platform, the other spectators (including Acestes) sit on the grassy bank (hic grauis Entellum dictis castigat Acestes, / proximus ut uiridante toro consederat herbae: 5.387–8). Aeneas’ seating structure puts him above the crowds, separates him from them, a primitive version of the emperor, watching the audience and being watched by the audience, as much as the spectacle itself.23 When Entellus finally comes forward to take part in the boxing, he strips off and is described thus: ingens media consistit harena (“he stood huge in the middle of the arena”: 5.423). The word harena can either mean simply a sandy place or more specifically the arena of the amphitheatre, the setting for gladiatorial fights. This seems to push the boxing out of athletics and into gladiatorial battles: the caestus of Eryx spattered with blood and brains (413), and the violent sacrifice of the prize ox (473–84) also emphasise the violence of this contest. The imaginary space of Virgil’s epic games seems to move from event to event: the ship race is like an extension of the circus, the running is in a theatre as much as a circus, the boxing moves to the arena of the amphitheatre and the lusus Troiae returns to the circus. Aeneas sits on a wooden structure, while the audience sit on the grassy bank. Only the running with its theatrical location is alienated from traditional Roman spectacle; only the archery with its complete lack of detail about the spatial arrangements is located entirely in the realm of epic, reproducing the Homeric archery shot for shot.

22

For instance, Suetonius (Aug. 44.3) implies that boxing was shown in the theatre. Other examples of athletes shown in the theatre: Pompey presented athletes in his newly built theatre in 55 B.C. (Plutarch Pomp. 52.4), and C. Scribonius Curio showed athletes and gladiators together in a wooden theatre in 53 B.C. (Plin. HN 36.24.120).

23

Clavel-Lévêque (1984, 152–73, on the physical spaces of the games) shows how ideology and religion are reproduced in the structures of the games.

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HELEN LOVATT: EPIC GAMES AND REAL GAMES IN VIRGIL’S AENEID 5 AND STATIUS’ THEBAID 6 At the beginning of the games Statius’ description of the setting seems to work in way that is very similar to Virgil’s opening description. It both evokes the contemporary Circus Maximus while simultaneously being marked as primitive and different. At the beginning the circus is a convenient geographical arrangement rather than a building constructed for the purpose: collibus incuruis uiridique obsessa corona uallis in amplexu nemorum sedet; hispida circum stant iuga, et obiectus geminis umbonibus agger campum exire uetat, longo quem tramite planum gramineae frontes sinuataque caespite uiuo mollia non subitis augent fastigia cliuis. A valley besieged by a ring of curved hills sits in the green embrace of the woods; rough ridges stand around and a rampart thrown in the way with twin mounds forbids the field to go out; grassy brows and battlements soft with living turf and gentle slopes increase this plain with a long path. (Theb. 6.255–60)

The phrase hispida circum / stant iuga encapsulates the ambiguity caused by the way Statius simultaneously distances his reader from the setting, while suggesting familiarity. For when he places circum at the end of the line, separating it from the verb stant, he suggests two readings: on the first glance we have a rough circus, on the second, merely ridges that stand around. This pun suggests an etymology for the name circus while also explaining how the shape came to be; what is more, the rough ridges literally enclose the circum, reinforcing the play on the word. This is a flirtation with the idea that the setting both is and is not a circus.24 Elsewhere in the games, Statius does describe the setting as a circus: at 620 the Arcadians threaten to invade the pitch to protect the rights of Parthenopaeus, threatening the whole circus (toto parant descendere circo); at 702 the discus covers no small part of the huge length of the circus (non partem exiguam circi transuecta) and at 932 Adrastus prepares to shoot the whole length of the circus (ingentem iactu transmittere circum). Statius’ circus too becomes a theatre when the violence of the discus landing threatens the foundations of the space itself (theatri: 715); similarly in the discus, the audience are described as cauea when they persuade Hippomedon to compete (cauea stimulante: 654). It seems that only the discus slips briefly into the theatrical, the only event of Statius’ games which would have only been present as part of the pentathlon in the Olympic programme. However, these initial similarities with Virgil’s games are deceptive. The space of Statius’ games is far more richly endowed with the technical vocabulary of sporting

equipment, and in particular the physical accoutrements of the Circus Maximus. The starting gates are described at the beginning of the chariot race without using the term carceres; the starting line is called the line of the boundary liminis ordo (6.390) and the horses are shut in by one boundary (uno margine clausi: 392); when they strain to get free, they almost break postes / claustraque (398). The actual word carceres comes in the comparison of Adrastus’ energy at the end to the freshness of chariots just starting the race: ceu modo carceribus dimissus in arua solutis (“as if just now he had been sent out into the fields with the starting gates released”: Theb. 6.522). The description of the metae evokes the Circus Maximus, for in the Thebaid, unlike in the Aeneid and Iliad, there are two turning posts: metarum instar erant hinc nudo robore quercus, / olim omnis exuta comas, hinc saxeus umbo / arbiter agricolis; (6.351–3). This is also the case in the Circus Maximus, where there were two turning posts, one at either end of the spina.25 However, Statius maintains the primitive nature of his circus by making them natural objects, a tree and a rock, rather than the highly stylised hemi-cylindrical stone columns of the Circus Maximus. The regula at the start of the footrace sounds convincingly like a reference to the bar dropped to begin contemporary races (ut ruit atque aequum summisit regula limen: 593).26 The description of the finishing line in the foot race as ostia portae (“the mouth / door of the gate”: 617) also suggests a built structure. What is more, the audience in the chariot race are presented as sitting on seats. When Polynices overtakes Amphiaraus there is a crash and the audience jump to their feet baring their seats: omniaque excusso patuere sedilia uulgo (“and all the seats came into the open with the people shaken off”: 6.649). Also different from Virgil is the way that Statius’ games seem to take place almost entirely in one space: the text makes clear that the foot race following the chariot race happens in the same place (uolucres isdem modo tardius aruis/ isse uidentur equi; “The swift horses seemed to go more slowly just now in the same fields”: 6.595–6). While Virgil’s events seem to move from space to space, all Statius’ events seem to take place in a circus, continually evoking the Circus Maximus. The increasing impact of permanent venues for the staging of spectacle is shown by the change in the balance between portraying the primitive and evoking the contemporary. Statius’ games are more unavoidably part of contemporary Roman spectacle. Yet the stadium is not their venue: despite the Greekness of their dramatic setting (Nemea), the spectacle of Greek athletics unrolls here in the most traditional and Roman of venues, the Circus Maximus.

24

The military vocabulary of Virgil’s description is multiplied: obsessa, umbonibus, agger, fastigia. The landscape seems alive and almost erotic: uiridi, incuruis, amplexu, sinuata caespite uiuo, mollia. The space is a circus, a military camp and a fertile feminine body, simultaneously welcoming and threatening, male and female.

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25

Thuillier 1996a, 66–8; Humphrey 1986, 174–294; see also Lyle 1984 on the circus as cosmos. 26 Thuillier 1996b, 161.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY DRESSED TO WIN? Finally a brief look at how Virgil and Statius deal with the controversial issue of dressing their athletes: to clothe or not to clothe? This is the question. Epic athletes begin life with clothes. In the Homeric games, as Dionysius points out, the zoma or loin-cloth (pair of shorts?) was worn.27 This means that there is a distinct dichotomy between epic games on the one hand, as exemplified by Homer, and Greek games on the other hand which were carried out in the nude.28 The evidence for athletic nudity at Rome is scanty and controversial. Caldelli says ‘Inoltre, a Rome come in Grecia, gli atleti dovevano contendere divisi per categorie d’età e forse in completa nudità’,29 while Bonfante holds that “there is no doubt that the Romans did not practice athletic nudity” (her emphasis).30 It seems likely that competitors in Greek games (athletas, certamina more Graeco) were naked: according to Suetonius, Augustus banned women from watching them and even changed the timing of a display of boxing at the ludi pontificales in the theatre in order to exclude women from watching (Aug. 44.2–3). Tacitus famously complains (or presents us with the complaints of others) about the nudity of the Neronea at Annales 14.20. It is much more difficult to come to a conclusion about the running, boxing and wrestling included in the ludi circenses: Thuillier believes that the competitors continued to wear a subligaculum (fetchingly translated in the OLD as “drawers”). Crowther postulates the introduction of athletic nudity by the first century A.D.31 Virgil and Statius deal with the sensitive subject of athletic nudity in very different ways. In neither of them is there a specific mention of the zoma or subligaculum. In Virgil there is no explicit reference to the nudity of athletes either. Even Euryalus in the running is not specifically described as naked, although the reference to his male beauty might imply it (pulchro veniens in corpore virtus: Aen. 5.344). The boxer Entellus is made to strip off, but the gap remains here between un-dressed and naked: haec fatus duplicem ex umeris reiecit amictum et magnos membrorum artus, magna ossa lacertosque exuit atque ingens media constitit harena. 27

First in the boxing match, the zoma itself is mentioned at Iliad 23.683; then Epeius and Euryalus are described as ζωσαµένω (Dionysius misidentifies this line as being from the wrestling match) and in the wrestling match itself Odysseus and Ajax are also ζωσαµένω (Il. 23.710). Dionysius also cites the boxing match of Odysseus and Irus in Odyssey 18, where Odysseus is wearing a zoma of rags (ζώσατο: Od. 18.67) and servants put the zoma on Irus forcibly when he is taken by a fit of cowardice (ζώσαντες: l.76; see Thuillier 1975). 28 On Greek athletic nudity: Crowther 1982; McDonnell 1991, 1993; Shapiro 2000, 320–9. 29 Caldelli 1993, 85. 30 Bonfante 1989, 563. See also Crowther 1980/1; Thuillier 1980; McDonnell 1993, 406; Rieger 1999, 188–9. 31 Crowther 1980/81.

When he had said these things, he threw off the double cloak from his shoulders and laid bare the great lengths of his limbs, his great bones and muscles and he stood huge on the sand. (Aen. 5.421–3)

Nowhere does Virgil specifically describe an athlete as naked and nowhere does he refer to a loin-cloth. Those readers who would expect to see athletes nude are free to read nudity, those who would be outraged are free to supply their own imaginary subligacula. Hence Virgil leaves the issue of nudity open, using ambivalence to negotiate between epic and reality, Greek and Roman. Statius, however, is much more explicit. The first reference to the games to come, at the beginning of Book 6, uses nakedness to distinguish games from real battles: et nunc eximii regum, quibus Argos alumnis conexum caelo, quorumque ingentia tellus Aonis et Tyriae suspirant nomina matres, concurrunt nudasque mouent in proelia uires. And now the most distinguished of the kings, whom as her offspring make Argos next to heaven, and at whose huge names the Aonian land and the Theban mothers sigh, come together and rouse their naked strength in battles. (Theb. 6.15–8)

The boys in the running are all naked (nuda cohors: Theb. 6.595), and Alcidamas the boxer is described twice as nudus: he leaps out from amongst the naked crowd of Spartans (nuda de plebe Laconum: 739) and he is portrayed as being held naked by his teacher (nudumque in pectora pressit: 746). Much is made also of the undressing and oiling of the wrestlers (835–6; 847). It is no doubt significant that those whose nakedness is emphasised are young men and that there is a heavily erotic tone to the descriptions of both Parthenopaeus and Alcidamas. Those who have discussed athletic nudity shy away from the erotic aspects made so obvious by Plato for one.32 Alcidamas in particular represents the Greek in Statius’ games, and when he is first described as naked, his whole troop becomes naked along with him as the epithet slips from one to the other: nuda de plebe Laconum / prosilit Alcidamas (6.739–40). By choosing to make nudity an explicit part of his games, Statius aligns himself against the epic norm, proclaims the Greekness of at least some of his competitors and dares to go further than Virgil. What is more, the running, boxing and wrestling, where nudity is closest to the surface, are the three most Roman athletic events, the trio of events included in the ludi circenses since time immemorial. This change seems to suggest that there was a change in Roman attitudes to athletic nudity in the years intervening between Virgil and Statius. By the time of Statius, it was more 32

Except Arieti (1975), whose thesis is that the Greeks exercised in the nude to prove continually their physical and sexual restraint.

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HELEN LOVATT: EPIC GAMES AND REAL GAMES IN VIRGIL’S AENEID 5 AND STATIUS’ THEBAID 6 acceptable to be Roman by going Greek. Statius creates a Greco-Roman amalgamation in his epic world (both more Greek and more Roman than Virgil’s) which reflects this new reality – or perhaps influences and changes the thought-world of his readers in bringing this new reality about.33 A.S.Byatt said “Sport is true narrative” and a recent programme on Radio 4 investigated the phenomenon of sports commentators who read sport as an unlikely story: no-one would believe this if they read it in a book. Perhaps one should say: sport is stranger than fiction. But inevitably narratives about sport are in the minds of those watching sport, and in a world where epic was the basis of education, how could you not remember epic games at each dramatic denouement of a sporting event?

Works Cited Arieti, J.A. 1975. “Nudity in Greek athletics.” CW 68:431–6. Beard, M., J. North, and S. Price. 1998. Religions of Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bolton, J.D.P. 1948. “Was the Neronia a freak festival?” CQ 42:82–90. Bonfante, L. 1989. “Nudity as costume in Classical art.” AJA 93:543–70. Briggs, W.W. 1975. “Augustan athletics and the games of Aeneid 5.” Stadion 1:277–83. Brown, J. 1994. “Into the Woods: Narrative Studies in the Thebaid of Statius with Special Reference to Books IVVI.” Ph.D. diss., University of Cambridge. Cairns, F. 1989. Virgil’s Augustan Epic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Caldelli, M.L. 1993. L’agon Capitolinus: storia e protagonisti dall’istituzione domizianea al IV secolo. Rome: Istituto Italaiano per la storia antica. Cameron, A. 1973. Porphyrius the Charioteer. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ——. 1976. Circus Factions: Blues and Greens at Rome and Byzantium. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Clavel-Lévêque, M. 1984. L’Empire en jeux: espace symbolique et pratique sociale dans le monde Romain. Paris: CNRS. Coarelli, F. et al. 1999. Il Colosseo. Milan: Electa. Crowther, N.B. 1980/1. “Nudity and morality: athletics in Italy.” CJ 76:119–23. ——. 1982. “Athletic Dress and Nudity in Greek Athletics.” Eranos 80:163–68. Galinsky, G.K. 1968. “Aeneid V and the Aeneid.” AJPh 89:157–85. Gardiner, E.N. 1955. Athletics of the Ancient World. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Golden, M. 1998. Sport and Society in Ancient Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 33

On the interplay of ideas of Greekness and Romanness, see Gruen 1993; Woolf 1994; Wallace-Hadrill 1998.

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Gruen, E.S. 1993. Culture and National Identity in Republican Rome. London: Duckworth. Harris, H.A. 1964. Greek Athletes and Athletics. London: Hutchinson. ——. 1972. Sport in Greece and Rome. London: Thames and Hudson. Heinze, R. 1993. Virgil’s Epic Technique. Bristol: Bristol Classical Press. Humphrey, J.H. 1986. Roman Circuses. Arenas for Chariot-racing. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kyle, D.G. 1987. Athletics in Ancient Athens. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Lyle, E.B. 1984. “The Circus as Cosmos.” Latomus 43:827–41. McDonnell, M. 1991. “The Introduction of Athletic Nudity: Thucydides, Plato, and the Vases.” JHS 111:182–93. —. 1993. “Athletic Nudity Among the Greeks and the Etruscans: the Evidence of the ‘Perizoma Vases’.” In Spectacles sportifs et scéniques dans le monde étruscoitalique. Actes de la table ronde organisée par l´Équipe de recherches étrusco-italiques de l´UMR 126 (CNRS, Paris) et l´École française de Rome, 3-4 mai 1991, 395–407. Collection de École Française de Rome 172. Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. Putnam, M.C.J. 1965. The Poetry of the Aeneid: Four Studies in Imaginative Unity and Design. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Rieger, B. 1999. “Die Capitolia des Kaisers Domitian.” Nikephoros 12:171–204. Robert, L. 1970. “Deux concours Grecs a Rome.” CRAI:6–27. Shapiro, H.A. 2000. “Modest Athletes and Liberated Women: Etruscans on Attic Black-figure Vases.” In Not the Classical ideal: Athens and the construction of the other in Greek art, edited by B. Cohen, 313–37. Leiden: Brill. Stosch, G. von. 1968. Untersuchungen zu den Leichenspielen in der Thebais des P. Papinius Statius. Dusseldorf: Offset-Druck Thuillier, J.-P. 1975. “Denys D’Halicarnasse et les jeux Romains (Antiquités Romaines, VII, 72–73).” MEFRA 87:563–81. ——. 1980. “La nudité athlétique: Grèce, Etrurie, Rome.” Nikephoros 1:29–48. ——. 1982. “Le programme ‘athlétique’ des Ludi Circenses dans la Rome Republicaine’. REL 60:105– 22. ——. 1996a. Le sport dans la Rome antique. Paris: Editions Errance. ——. 1996b. “Stace, Thébaïde 6: les jeux funèbres et les réalités sportives.” Nikephoros 16:151–67. Toynbee, J.M.C. 1971. Death and Burial in the Roman World. London: Thames and Hudson. Vessey, D.W.T.C. 1970. “The Games in Thebaid VI.” Latomus 29:426–41. ——. 1973. Statius and the Thebaid. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Wallace-Hadrill, A. 1998. “To be Roman, Go Greek: Thoughts on Hellenization at Rome.” In Modus Operandi: Essays in Honour of Geoffrey Rickman, edited by M. Austin, J. Harries, and C. Smith, 79–91. London: Institute of Classical Studies. Willis, W.H. 1941. “Athletic Contests in the Epic.” TAPA 72:392–417. Woolf, G. 1994. “Becoming Roman, Staying Greek: Culture, Identity and the Civilizing Process in the Roman East.” PCPS 40:116–43.

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Chapter 11

Sport or Showbiz? The Naumachiae in the Flavian Amphitheatre FRANCESCA GARELLO So no more of Fucinus and the lake of direful Nero; Let this be the only sea fight known to posterity.* (Mart. Spect. 28.11–2) The naumachiae were naval battles held in artificial basins before large audiences.1 Among the features of these typically Roman events were the use of military vessels with both oarsmen and soldiers, and the depiction of episodes in classical Greek history. Clearly, the naumachiae were extremely sophisticated events requiring huge resources, special equipment and suitable venues. Indeed, historical sources confirm that their complexity was such that naumachiae were sponsored only by the emperors within the context of games held for special occasions. The same sources indicate that the naumachiae spanned less than one and a half centuries: the first recorded public naumachia was offered in 46 B.C. by Julius Caesar for his triumph and there are no reliable reports of naval battles being staged in Rome after A.D. 89.

whereas today what is meant by the word “sport” would have been referred to by Romans with the Greek word “agòn”. It should also be borne in mind that the naumachiae were one of several types of aquatic displays that were held and enjoyed enduring popularity in Rome. These displays included, among others, the venationes or exhibitions of marine animals, and the thetimimi or pantomimes. As the theatrical nature of these aquatic performances is well known, they are of only peripheral interest to this discussion. But precisely because the non-sporting nature of these displays is beyond doubt, they raise the issue of whether the naumachiae were not aquatic sports but rather spectacular displays, framed as historical plays or broadly based upon military traditions that reinterpreted their basic elements according to theatrical canons.

What the sources do not make clear is the nature of the naumachiae. The list of unanswered questions begins with whether the events were faithful re-enactments of past battles and continues with others equally as difficult: Did the two opposing fleets behave as real fleets, with actual combat tactics? Did the outcome depend on the contestants’ ability to the point of being unpredictable or was it designed to duplicate the historical result? Or were the performances just flights of fancy, produced to entertain spectators without any pretense of accuracy?

Aquatic displays are mentioned, sometimes with an abundance of detail, by several ancient authors, making them an important source for an investigation of the issues raised here. Yet recent archaeological investigations represent a vital source of information as well, for they offer alternative solutions to some of the interpretive dead-ends brought about by the limitations of the historical sources. CHRONOLOGY

These are not idle questions, especially considering that one archaeologist has gone as far as to suggest that the naumachiae were but plays, similar to those of the Renaissance, with no water at all and thus only notional representations of ships.2 Indeed, establishing the answers to these questions is crucial in enabling scholars to determine whether the naumachiae were a type of sport or a form of theatrical performance. The process of reaching a definitive answer to any of these questions is not an easy one, in the first place because Roman culture did not perceive a marked difference between sport and entertainment. Ludus, the Latin word commonly used to indicate a sporting event, did not imply any idea of competition and also encompassed performances,

The first recorded public naumachia was offered by Julius Caesar in 46 B.C. for his triumph.3 For that occasion, a basin was dug in the Codeta Minor for a combat between two fleets, representing Tyre and Egypt, that comprised a mixture of biremes, triremes and quadriremes manned by approximately 4000 oarsmen and 2000 soldiers, all of whom were prisoners of war with death sentences. To celebrate the occupation of Sicily, Sextus Pompey staged games at Rhegium in 40 B.C. of a lavishness approaching that of a triumph. The games included a naval battle with small boats and war prisoners and were a sort of satirical performance of his victory over Salvidienus Rufus, a delegate of Augustus (Cass. Dio 48.19).

* Fucinus et diri taceantur stagna Neronis: hanc norint unam saecula naumachiam. 1 The Romans used the word naumachia to indicate both the naval combats and the buildings in which they were held. For clarity, I will use naumachia solely to indicate the battle. 2 Rea 1988.

3

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Suet. Caes. 39.4; Cass. Dio 45.17.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY During the games held in 2 B.C. to celebrate the inauguration of the Temple of Mars Ultor, Augustus staged a recreation of the battle of Salamis. This was another production of colossal proportions, involving 30 ships, both biremes and triremes, with rostra and a large number of smaller boats, which totalled 3000 soldiers and an untold number of oarsmen.4 To accommodate the show, Octavian actually conceived a purpose-built building, the Naumachia Augusti, which was fed by a new aqueduct, the aqua Alsietina (Frontin. Aq. 11, 22) .

Heliogabalus is known to have offered unspecified navales circenses (Lamprid. Heliogab. 23.1), these were probably regattas. After the Domitianic period, the evidence for imperiallysponsored naumachiae becomes unreliable. For instance, sources mention that Philip the Arab dug a new basin on the right bank of the Tiber in order to supply water to the Transtiberim district (Aur. Vict. Caes. 28.1). Elsewhere, Philip and his son are said to have offered magnificent games in A.D. 247 to celebrate the thousandth anniversary of the foundation of Rome (H.A. Gordiani tres 33.3). Considering that exceptional events were often marked by special performances, it is possible that a naumachia may have been staged in the new basin. Another possibility is that Philip the Arab’s naumachia represented a repair of a previous structure, namely the naumachia Augusti.11 Because of the dearth of evidence, neither theory can be confirmed.

Intending to offer a naumachia, Caligula began work on a basin in the Saepta Julia of the Campus Martius in A.D. 38, but for unknown reasons the project was not completed and the basin could not house more than a single ship (Cass. Dio 59.10). One of the most grandiose naval combats ever staged was the show offered by Claudius in A.D. 52 to celebrate the opening of the canal which was due to dry the Fucine lake: a combat between two fleets, each with 50 ships, with a total of 19,000 soldiers representing opposing fleets from Rhodes and Sicily.5

In the fourth century, naumachiae seem to have been staged on the Moselle, but this was probably just a performance which involved no actual combat (Auson. Mos. 208-219).

Nero offered two naumachiae, one in A.D. 57 for the inauguration of his wooden amphitheatre built in the Campus Martius6 and one in A.D. 64 (Cass. Dio 67.15.1). While the former is known to have been yet another reenactment of the battle of Salamis, no specific description of the latter survives.

THE VENUES In Rome, naval combats were staged both in purposebuilt facilities and in buildings employed for a range of other performances. The former include the Codeta Minor basin, which was excavated under Julius Caesar and which some locate in the Transtiberim, others in the Campus Martius.12 The scant information available makes it impossible to determine the nature of the facility, and particularly whether it was a fully-fledged building or a temporary installation of grandstands around a simple, albeit large, “pool”. In any case, this basin did not last long, for it was suspected to have caused the spread of an epidemic and was back-filled (Cass. Dio 45.17) under Augustus.

For the inauguration of the Flavian amphitheatre, Titus staged particularly memorable games. Those held in the naumachia Augusti re-enacted a battle fought in 413 B.C. by the fleets of Athens and Syracuse and required 3,000 soldiers, plus an unspecified number of rowers. But in this naumachia of A.D. 80, Athens, contrary to the historical outcome, succeeded in landing at Ortygia.7 Another naumachia, ostensibly representing the battle fought between the navies of Corcyra and Corynthos in 434 B.C., was organised in the amphitheatre itself (Cass. Dio 66.25.3).

The next facility was the naumachia Augusti, a vast basin built by Augustus in the transtiberim section of the city that was fed by the aqua Alsietina, an aqueduct specially constructed for this purpose.13 According to historical sources, this venue was surrounded by a nemus or grove of trees, and was the site for the most spectacular naval combats.14 This venue was later referred to as the “vetus naumachia” as it continued to see use as others grew up in the city.15 In addition, a basin is known to have been dug near the Tiber by Domitian.16

Domitian also gave two naumachiae: one in the Flavian Amphitheatre8 and one as part of the games for his triumph over the Dacians in A.D. 89.9 The latter games were held in a new building that had been erected near the Tiber.10 The naval combats held under Domitian are the last confirmed such events. For although 4

Mon. Anc. 4.43 ff.; Ov. Ars am. 1.171 ff.; Vell. Pat. 2.100; Mart. Spect. 28; Tac. Ann. 12.56; Suet. Aug. 43.1; Cass. Dio 55.10, 61.20, 66.25. 5 Tac. Ann. 12.56; Suet. Claud. 21; Cass. Dio 60.33; Plin. HN 3.63; Mart. Spect. 28.11. 6 Suet. Ner. 12.1; Cass. Dio 61.5. 7 Mart. Spect. 28; Suet. Tit. 7; Cass. Dio 66.25.4. 8 In 84 or 85: Suet. Dom. 4.2; Mart. Epigr. 1.5. 9 This is obviously the inauguration of the building, for the date can be derived from the publication date of Book One of Martial’s Epigrams, which appeared in A.D. 84–5. 10 Suet. Dom. 4.1; Cass. Dio 67.8.

11

Platner-Ashby, s.v. Naumachia Philippi; cf. Curran 2001, 23. Transtiberim: Festus De Verb. Sign. s.v. Codeta; Campus Martius: Cass. Dio 63.23; Suet. Jul. Caes. 39. 13 Taylor 1997. 14 Suet. Aug. 43; Tacit. Ann. 12.56, 14.15. 15 Suet. Tit. 7; Cass. Dio 66.27. 16 Suet. Dom. 4; Cass. Dio 67.8. 12

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FRANCESCA GARELLO: SPORT OR SHOWBIZ? THE NAUMACHIAE IN THE FLAVIAN AMPHITHEATRE The list of buildings used primarily for other purposes but which also hosted aquatic performances includes a basin dug by Agrippa in the Campus Martius as a swimming pool for his baths. As the location was probably too small to stage actual naumachiae, it was used to hold banquets during the reign of Nero.17 Following this were the Circus Flaminius, in which Augustus offered shows with aquatic animals during the festivities for the inauguration of his naumachia; a wooden amphitheatre built by Nero in which two naumachiae were held to celebrate its inauguration; and the Flavian amphitheatre or Colosseum.18

exhibition of water performances during the early Roman Empire.22 This question was raised as early as 1810, when the first digs brought to light the complex structures under the arena, and continued unabated throughout various digging campaigns up to the 1930s.23 In the 1970s, further investigations of the hypogea were carried out with attention concentrated especially on the four great drains in the arena and the building’s foundations, overlooking the issue of naumachiae altogether.24 In recent years, the question has been re-examined by Rossella Rea and especially by K.M. Coleman. Although Rea, who for several years was the archaeological inspector in charge of the Colosseum, concluded that the amphitheatre hosted naumachiae only in their theatrical version, until now the debate has been centred mostly on textual analysis, without any attempt to study further the surviving structures themselves.25 Coleman, on the strength of incontrovertible descriptions provided by ancient authors, argues that naval battles were actually held in the Colosseum, but remains sceptical about the possible use of full-size warships.26

In two cases naumachiae were staged in natural settings: Sextus Pompey organised one in the sea facing Rhegium in 40 B.C. and Claudius held a grandiose one in the Fucine Lake in A.D. 52.19 The Notitia and the Curiosus Urbis Romae, texts dating to the fourth century A.D., mention that a single city borough, the XIV Regio, was equipped with five naumachiae. Even if the number is taken to indicate not just the facilities built especially for naumachiae, but also generic water-filled basins capable of hosting limited water performances, the overall number of aquatic theatres in Rome would still have been very high. Yet the Flavian Amphitheatre, which hosted the last known naumachiae, is the only such structure extant and is for this reason key to understanding their nature and the yardstick for measuring the reliability of the historical accounts.

HISTORICAL ACCOUNTS Suetonius, Martial and Cassius Dio dwell extensively upon the naumachiae and the games staged for both of the inaugurations of the Flavian amphitheatre. The construction of the amphitheatre was begun by Vespasian around A.D. 72-5 in an area previously occupied by the artificial lake built by Nero within the Domus Aurea complex. Although still lacking the attic and menianum summum or higher rank of seats, the amphitheatre was inaugurated by Titus in A.D. 80 and then completed under Domitian, who inaugurated it again in A.D. 84 or 85. Aquatic performances were prominently featured in both of the celebrations.

THE FLAVIAN AMPHITHEATRE Because authoritative historians claimed that aquatic displays had indeed been staged in the Colosseum, early archaeologists tended to accept the occurrence of these performances and did not attempt to derive additional information from a closer analysis of the hypogea, the two-storey complex of subterranean rooms and passages.20 Despite this uncritical approach, the cumbersome presence of many large walls appeared difficult to reconcile with the supposed use of the amphitheatre for aquatic performances. This led a number of scholars to conclude that the structures could not date from the classical age and that they had been added much later, even as late as the Middle Ages,21 while others resorted to sophisticated models to explain how the physical structures might be compatible with the

The most complete descriptions are to be found in the Liber spectaculorum, the work which Martial (38/41101/104) composed specifically to celebrate the games produced by Titus. In five epigrams (24, 25, 25b, 26 and 28), Martial provides a day-by-day, chronological account of the games. In epigram 24, the poet extolls the swift passage from land to water in the same building; in epigrams 25 and 25b, he mentions the staging of the myth of Hero and Leander; 26 offers a description of a chorus of Nereids, possibly held at night by torchlight; and 28 dwells at length upon the presence of fleets, of land

17

Suet. Ner. 12.4; Cass. Dio 61.20; Tac. Ann. 15.37. Augustus: Suet. Ner. 12.1; Nero: Suet. Ner. 12.1; Cass. Dio 61.5. 19 Pompey: Cass. Dio 48.19; Claudius: Tac. Ann. 12.56f.; Suet. Claud. 21; Cass. Dio 60.33; Plin. HN 3.63; Mart. Spect. 28.11. 20 The first systematic investigation of the hypogea were carried out in 1927 by engineer Giuseppe Cozzo, who correctly attributed the hypogea to Domitian, but erroneously dated the remaining construction phases to the restoration carried out in the sixth century A.D. by the Praefectus Urbi Basilius (see Cozzo 1927). In 1939 the task was entrusted to A.M. Colini, who finally completed the excavation of the hypogea (Colini 1939, 188). For more recent research, see Mertens et al. 1998. 21 Fea 1813; Nibby 1819; Canina 1865; Gori 1875. 18

22

Re 1812; Parker 1876; Colagrossi 1913. The first excavations in the Flavian amphitheatre were undertaken under Napoleonic rule. The entire building and part of the arena were affected by the work, which was directed by Luigi Maria Valadier. A specific dig in the arena was only carried out in 1811–13 under Carlo Fea, then Commissioner for Antiquities of the Holy See. For a history of the excavations, see now Schingo 2000. 24 Mocchegiani Carpano 1977, 1979; Mocchegiani Carpano and Luciani 1981. 25 Rea 1988. 26 Coleman 1993; cf. 2000. 23

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY animals in a marine environment and of carts running upon the water. Despite the extent of his descriptions, Martial leaves some doubt in epigrams 24, 25, 25b, 27 and 28 as to whether some or all of the acquatic displays might have been staged in the Stagnum Augusti, and indeed epigram 28 has led some to believe that Titus’ naumachiae did not take place in the Colosseum, but rather in Augustus’ naumachia. This conclusion is based upon a narrow reading of the two opening verses, which mention that “It had been Augustus’ labour to pit fleets against each other here / and rouse the waters with naval clarion” (Spect. 28.1–2).27

on the fact that naumachiae were ever held in the Flavian amphitheatre. However, upon closer analysis, the presence of an “aquatic” building does not in itself invalidate the use of the Colosseum as a venue for aquatic displays. To the contrary, it could be taken to indicate that Domitian preferred to use each facility for a single type of games. In this case, the attribution of the hypogea structures to Domitian is perfectly consistent with his construction of the necessary facility. Cassius Dio (A.D. 164–229), the third author, lived much later than the naumachiae he describes and must therefore have relied upon secondary sources. While this makes him somewhat less reliable than his predecessors, Dio provides a complete account of the fights on the first day of Titus’ inauguration, including the naumachia:

Yet in order to place the games in the Stagnum it is necessary to sever the opening lines of the epigram from the final ones, which make it clear that Martial was indeed referring to the Flavian amphitheatre. After an admiring description of the games, the poet comments: “So no more of Fucinus and the lake of direful Nero / Let this be the only sea fight known to posterity” (Spect. 28.11–2).28 Therefore, he cannot have meant anything but the Colosseum. The idea of a court poet offering such fulsome praise to the work of a sovereign who had died over half a century earlier is difficult to support by any standard; it would seem far more reasonable to conclude that Martial’s verses celebrated the aquatic games offered through his own monarch’s generosity.

For [Titus] suddenly filled this same theatre with water and brought in horses and bulls and some other domesticated animals that have been taught to behave in the liquid element just as on land. He also brought in people on ships, who engaged in a sea-fight there, impersonating the Corcyreans and Corinthians; and others gave a similar exhibition outside the city in the grove of Gaius and Lucius, a place which Augustus had once excavated for this very purpose. (66.25.2-3)

Dio also mentions, albeit with scant details, that another naumachia was held on the third day of the celebrations:

The games of A.D. 80 are also described by Suetonius (b. ca. A.D. 70), usually a reliable source since he enjoyed full access to the imperial archives as secretary to the emperor Hadrian. Although recounting the same naumachia as Martial, Suetonius states that it took place in the “old naumachia”, by which he could have only meant the Stagnum Augusti:

… and on the third day a naval battle between 3000 men, followed by an infantry battle.The “Athenians” conquered the “Syracusans” (these were the names the combatants used), made a landing on the islet [Ortygia] and assaulted and captured a wall that had been constructed around the monument. (66.25.4)

Amphitheatro dedicato, thermisque iuxta celeriter exstructis, [Titus] munus edidit apparatissimus largissimumque. Dedit et navale proelium in veteri naumachia. At the dedication of the Amphitheatre and of the Baths which were hastily built near it, he gave a most magnificent amd costly gladiatorial show. He presented sham sea-fights too in the old naumachia. (Tit. 7.3–4)

On the other hand, elsewhere Suetonius clearly places the water displays offered by Domitian in A.D. 84–5 in the Colosseum. He writes that “he constantly gave grand and costly entertainments, both in the amphitheatre and in the circus ... and he even gave a naval battle in the amphitheatre” (Dom. 4.1–2).29 Suetonius also mentions a naval display staged by Domitian in a purpose-built facility near the Tiber (Dom. 4.2). At first glance, the availability of a building constructed for these displays mentioned in the two passages would seem to cast doubt

Even from this cursory summary, it is evident that the three sources are not in perfect agreement on the subject of aquatic displays in the Colosseum. For Martial, it is necessary to infer them; for Suetonius, only Domitian held them in the Flavian amphitheatre; and for Dio, they should be attributed to Titus. But despite their contradictions, the authors appear to agree that, at some point, naval battles were indeed held in the amphitheatre. In other words, the issue is not “if” but “when.” ARCHAEOLOGICAL EVIDENCE The conflict between these testimonies and the largely sceptical modern scholarship can be resolved by examining this long-standing problem in the light of recent archaeological evidence. While the hypogea in the present configuration are encumbered by large structures which undoubtedly would have prevented their use as a basin, physical evidence shows the walls to have been added after the construction of the building, indirectly confirming that the earliest structure of the building was indeed compatible with aquatic displays.

27

Augusti labor hic fuerat committere classes / Et freta navali sollicitare tuba. 28 Fucinus et diri taceantur stagna Neronis/hanc norint unam saecula naumachiam. 29 Spectacula assidue et sumptuosa edidit ... at in amphitheatro (spectaculum) navale quoque.

Almost a quarter century ago, Mocchegiani proved conclusively that the drains were built directly into the 118

FRANCESCA GARELLO: SPORT OR SHOWBIZ? THE NAUMACHIAE IN THE FLAVIAN AMPHITHEATRE foundations of the Amphitheatre and were thus fully contemporary with the earliest stages of its erection. Furthermore, the perimeter wall was shown to date to the same time as the foundations. Considering that the concrete foundation was poured directly against the soil and that the few excavated underground rooms would not have required building a massive internal perimeter wall, it must follow that the central cavity was originally intended to be exposed. Hence, the foundations needed a containment wall on the inside of the arena.

been a necessity in an amphitheatre that was intended to be flooded frequently, this observation lends further support for attributing the staging of naumachiae to this building.33 In this phase (ca. A.D. 75–80), the wooden floor must have been placed on a temporary wooden scaffolding which would have allowed the arena’s vast surface to be rapidly reconfigured between the “dry” version used for traditional gladiatorial games and the flooded basin employed for naval battles.34 Scaffolding that could be rapidly removed or reinstalled would have provided a practical solution to the problem of changing from one configuration to the other. The internal walls and partitions began to be added under Domitian, and the interventions made at this time altered the configuration of the arena permanently.

Moccheggiani’s dating of the internal perimeter wall is supported not merely by the fact that the wall represents the internal dressing of the foundation level upon which the amphitheatre rests, but also by the overall characteristics of the walls themselves, which appear to be fully consistent with those of the podium, first menianum (the lower tier of seats), and radial walls above it.30 The four large radial collectors belonging to the monument’s complex hydraulic system were built at the same time as the perimeter wall. These drains measured approximately two metres in diameter—much in excess of what is required to deal with rain, but in line with the need to empty the basin to reconfigure it for conventional fights.

The main change was to divide the entire space into corridors by erecting long walls in opus quadratum of tufa. Their height reached the level of the arena as they were intended to support its wooden floor, obviating the need to dismantle and reassemble the scaffolding. Structures built in this phase still show numerous holes and grooves: these are all that remains of a different type of wooden scaffolding, which formed part of the machinery used to set up and perform the shows. Some of these marks indicate the presence of a lifting system used to carry men and animals to the arena floor for the performances, as well as to install the sets themselves.35 Because of the elevators added in the mid-Imperial period, it is now difficult to identify the position and operating mechanisms of these early elevators. Still, it is evident that they must have relied upon a system of open platforms raised by a single winch resting upon the hypogea floor, not unlike the device found in the underground galleries in the Forum.

A number of vaulted spaces, somewhat resembling tall niches housing small vertical drafts which run upwards to reach the arena floor, open along the perimeter wall. These drafts must have formed part of the building’s maintenance system or of its water drainage system. However, because the hydraulic system of the monument has been extensively tampered with, in part through the heavy-handed restorations carried out in the past, it is now difficult to establish how these were linked to others coming from the arena floor level. The dividing walls between each pair of niches show hollows and grooves apparently intended to hold some kind of simple protective device for the podium and the front rows of seats, possibly consisting of a series of vertical poles to support nets or other such equipment.31 All of these structures can be ascribed to the building’s first phase during the reign of Vespasian, and their synchronicity is proven by the consistency of the walls and the structural links between the various structures. In both the perimeter walls and those circumscribing the niches the bricks appear to be homogeneous in shape and size, indicating that they were mostly new; this is in keeping with a project of the magnitude of this phase of the hypogea’s construction.32

The modifications carried out in the Domitianic period affected all the structures present in the previous underground arrangement. For example, the height of the outer vaulted spaces was reduced in order to create two levels, and even the corridors were changed to a “doubledecker” configuration, made evident by lodging holes for wooden passageways. Presumably, the Imperial staff had by then discovered that staging performances in the 33

The hypogea of the amphitheatre of Augusta Emerita (Merida) show a similar coating (Golvin 1988, n. 77). Although very different in shape from the Colosseum, the presence of a water inlet and drainage system confirms that this straightforward rectangular basin which measured just 5.0 x 7.1 x 1.25 metres, was designed to be flooded. This amphitheatre also shows evidence of modifications carried out around the second century A.D., when the basin was radically enlarged, possibly following a decision to relocate the water games elsewhere. The small dimensions of the original basin rule out the eventuality of using it to stage water battles. The opus signinum is also present in three cavities visible in the centre of the arena of the amphitheatre of Luceria (modern Lucera, Apulia), which also dates to the Augustan age (Golvin 1988, n. 12). The evidence suggests that the cavities were actually used as cisterns. 34 Beste 2000. 35 Carettoni 1956–8.

In addition, the initial structures show traces of coating in opus signinum with a high pozzolana content, unlike later structures which were left uncoated. Considering that adequate protection of the underground areas would have 30

Rea et al. 1991, 173. Cf. the system that protected the spectators in the front rows as described in Calp. Ecl. 7. 2. 47–56; see further Scobie 1988. 32 Rea 1991,173–80. 31

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY amphitheatre was a complex operation that required two levels of rooms to allow crews to set up the games and maintain the structures of the building.

If you are here from distant land / ... let not the naval warfare deceive you with its ships / and the water like to a sea: here but lately was land. / You don’t believe it? Watch while the waters weary Mars. / But a short while hence you will be saying: ‘Here but lately was sea.’ (Spect. 24.1, 3–6)

These radical modifications were carried out only a few years after the original construction, and the analysis of the masonry has brought to light some remarkable analogies between that used in the Flavian Amphitheatre and that still visible on the lower floor of the Palatine residence of Domitian, the Domus Augustana (inaugurated in A.D. 92).36 In particular, the dating is supported by a brick stamp found in situ in the hypogea bearing the name of one Statilius Marcius Lucifer, who operated as an independent contractor until he was employed by the imperial brickworks in A.D. 79.37

THE NAUMACHIAE IN THE AMPHITHEATRE Although archaeological investigations prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the Colosseum was, at least initially, capable of hosting naumachiae, excavations have so far failed to uncover any representations or specimens of the equipment utilised in these games. This is in marked contrast to the gladiatorial fights, for which there survive examples of the weapons, the dress specific to each of the four gladiator types, and even the barracks in which gladiators lived and trained. Indeed, the presence of the amphitheatre led the surrounding valley to be filled with numerous auxiliary buildings to support the games and spectacles held in the main facility.39

Another very interesting detail apparent in this phase is the construction of a drainage system for rain falling from the upper floors, which was conveyed towards the four large radial drains through a small ring-shaped sewer. Because the flow rate in the new sewer is much lower than that in the main drains, the impression that the mains are oversized for rain alone is reinforced. This could possibly explain why the main drains, faced with a much smaller mass of water than originally planned, rapidly became obstructed, their large diameter conspiring to produce an inadequate flow that in turn allowed water to stagnate and begin the silting-up process.

For the naumachiae, not even a fragment of a ship, weapon or other trace associated with the aquatic games has been recovered so far. To explore the nature of the naumachiae it is therefore necessary to return to the historical sources; in some cases, information about events held elsewhere can also shed light on those in the Flavian Amphitheatre.

This mass of physical evidence points to a building intended from the very beginning to host aquatic displays, a conclusion reinforced by comparison with other earlier amphitheatres in which underground levels were either absent or had a simple, dug-out cruciform plan.38 In the Colosseum, both of these approaches were discarded to allow for ever more sophisticated and technically complex shows to be staged. In turn, the decision to erect corridors inside the arena in the late Flavian period, thereby foregoing the possibility of using the amphitheatre for aquatic displays, can perhaps be explained by Domitian’s decision to build a water basin for this purpose.

According to Cassius Dio, Titus offered two naumachiae, one in the Flavian amphitheatre and one in the Stagnum Augusti. The first one depicted a clash between Corcyra and Corinth, which originally took place in 434 B.C. during the Peloponnesian war, while the second one reproduced the 413 B.C. battle between Athens and Syracuse. The latter production involved 3,000 marines and untold numbers of oarsmen, but possibly the most interesting detail is the outcome, for here the Athenians, repulsed in history, landed victoriously on the island of Ortygia. Domitian also used two different venues, for Suetonius describes both a naval “spectacle” in the amphitheatre and the excavation of a small lake near the Tiber in which battles with nearly full-size fleets were staged:

The new configuration would thus have allowed for the permanent placing of stage equipment, further simplifying operations and allowing for a much more intensive utilisation. Most important, the structural changes would have obviated the need to flood and drain the amphitheatre every time, as well as to build and dismantle the wooden supporting structure of the arena—a complex exercise, Martial’s enthusiastic descriptions notwithstanding:

Spectacula assidue magnifica et sumptuosa edidit . . . at in amphitheatro navale quoque ... ; Edidit navalis pugnas paene iustarum classium, effosso et circumstructo iuxta Tiberim lacu. He constantly gave grand and costly entertainments ... ; and he even gave a naval battle in the amphitheatre ... ; He often

Si quis ades longis serus spectator ab oris, / … ne te decipiat ratibus navalis Enyo / et par unda fretis: hic modo terra fuit. / non credis? specta, dum lassant aequora Martem: / parva mora est, dices “hic modo pontus erat. 36

Rea 1991, 180–92. Rea 1991, 189 n. 28 and fig. 19. 38 For comparative diagrams of floor plans and underlying hypogea, see Golvin 1988; Bomgardner 2000. 37

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39

These included several barracks (the Ludus Magnus, Ludus Dacicus, Ludus Gallicus and Ludus Matutinus), the morgue for deceased gladiators (Spoliarium), the hospital (Sanitarium), the armoury (Armamentarium), the barracks for the sailors who manoeuvred the velarium and the warehouse in which stage equipment was stored and repaired (Summum Choragium). Some of this machinery was also held in the podium of the nearby temple of Venus and Rome. See further Rea 2000.

FRANCESCA GARELLO: SPORT OR SHOWBIZ? THE NAUMACHIAE IN THE FLAVIAN AMPHITHEATRE the effortless and swift change from water displays to gladiator fights.

gave sea-fights almost with regular fleets, having dug a pool near the Tiber and surrounded it with seats. (Dom. 4.1–2)

Quite apart from the issue of hydraulic suitability, the dimensions of the arena itself seem to rule out the possibility that the Colosseum could hold realistic “naval battles” that employed a number of large ships capable of suitable manoeuvring. In turn, this both explains and supports the nuanced terminology chosen by Suetonius.

From these reports it appears that events held in the Colosseum differed from those of the Stagnum: not only does Dio feel bound to stress the great number of participants in the second battle, but Suetonius uses two different terms for the spectacles offered by Domitian. The amphitheatre hosts a “naval spectacle”, while the new lake features a “battle”. The explicit mention of almost full-size warships can also be interpreted to mean that this was not the norm.

SOME GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS ON NAUMACHIAE Considering that Augustus himself described the now-lost Stagnum (RG 23) as measuring 1800 by 1200 Roman feet (536 by 357 metres), even the Stagnum Augusti could not have held many full-size ships. Despite being much larger than the amphitheatre, it is difficult to imagine how the Stagnum might have accommodated the number of ships required to carry Titus’ 3,000 marines, or the 30 warships carrying 3,000 men in the naumachia offered by Augustus in 2 B.C.

Such a conclusion is quite reasonable as far as the Colosseum is concerned, and can be confirmed by a brief dimensional comparison. The major axis of the Flavian amphitheatre measures 75m. and the shorter just 44m. A trireme measured about 35m. and was about 5m. wide, and double that including the oars.40 These measurements could differ according to the ship’s date and geographical origin, but the variations here are not particularly significant and do not change the substance of the matter.

It is even more difficult to imagine the ships manoeuvring in the three standard battle formations described by Syrianos (Naumachica 9), namely the horizontal line (with the strongest ships in the centre, around the flagship), the concave crescent (with the strongest ships in the wings) and the convex crescent (with the strongest ship in the centre). To complicate matters further, Syrianos recommended that fleets deploy at the last possible moment in order to exploit surprise or to counter enemy actions. Simple arithmetic suffices to illustrate that 30 ships in line would occupy 300 metres with oars touching, and over one kilometer in a row, and the figures double if allowance is made for any kind of interval. It is clear therefore that the Colosseum would not have been the only basin too small for fleet manoeuvres. Hence, the naumachiae must have employed scaled-down versions of warships.

For ships of Greek origin, those brought to light in the docks at Athens are six metres wide and just under 40m. long; in Cape Sounion, ship berths are much smaller, with a width of 2.6m. and a length of 21m. The dimensions of Roman warships are difficult to determine accurately. Underwater finds in the Mediterranean have revealed only merchantmen, whose hull structures have been preserved, trapped between the seabed and their own cargo; where ships were empty, the wood remained exposed and so was slowly destroyed by natural agents. The only known Roman warships, found at Marsala off the coast of Sicily, date to the Punic wars (ca. 3rd century B.C.) and are probably too far removed from the naumachiae to provide any useful information. In addition, the shipwrecked naves longae resembled triremes and reveal nothing about the larger quadriremes and cinqueremes, which sources describe as taking part in the naumachiae. The only other material for comparison for Roman warships is thus the vessel called the “relic of Aeneas.” Preserved in Rome as the legendary ship used by Aeneas for his voyage from Troy to Italy, it is described by Procopius of Caesarea (Goth. 8.22–9.16) as having a single row of oars, a length of 120 and a width of 25 Roman feet (approximately 36 by 7.5 metres). These dimensions compare reasonably well with the 35 metre length and 4.80 metre width of the Marsala wrecks.

Closely linked to the problem of ship size is that of tactics. Even if large numbers of miniature ships could somehow be packed into the amphitheatre, the resulting high density would have severely limited the options available to the opposing “admirals” or individual ship captains. Because tactics are a major component of any competition and a key determinant of talent, the fact that the names of neither individuals nor of teams of victors have gone recorded—in marked contrast to the names of famous gladiators and charioteers preserved on monuments and in art—can be held to be, in itself, an important clue to the nature of the naumachiae.

These dimensions indicate that the Colosseum could have held only two full-scale ships, provided that they did not manoeuvre. Furthermore, it would have been very difficult to bring ships of such a large scale through the building’s gates. Presumably the vessels would instead have been assembled inside and possibly have remained there as a kind of semi-permanent stage dressing, a situation that stands in contrast to Martial’s claim about 40

Another factor that militated against the development of discrete tactics and talent for the participants in the naumachiae was that the extraordinary complexity of their staging led them to be associated with unique celebrations. Through the cumulative reinforcement of their uniqueness, praise for the realisation of the event was linked to and lavished on the sponsor. Each of the ten

See Reddé 1986 for a full discussion of ship dimensions.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY naumachiae sprang from the desire to celebrate something extraordinary: Caesar for his quadruple triumph;41 Pompey to celebrate the conquest of Rhegium; Augustus for the dedication of the Temple of Mars Ultor; Claudius for the engineering feat of draining a lake through an artificial canal; Nero for the inauguration of his wooden amphitheatre; Titus and Domitian for the inauguration of the Flavian Amphitheatre, and Domitian later on for his Dacian triumph.

appear from a modern perspective, for the Romans liked and expected to witness death, even mass carnage, in the shows.44 Other acts included a group of actresses-swimmers who, in all likelihood, were scantily-clad performers who assumed provocative poses and who might impersonate a chorus of Nereids in a style perhaps not unlike that of an Esther Williams film (Mart. Spect. 26). The displays also featured animals trained to perform a sort of aquatic dressage, as well as venationes or wild beast hunts.45 Land animals might be seen running in shallow water, or crocodiles or hippopotami situated in their natural element.

Further doubts arise about the competitive nature of the naumachiae on account of the nature of their participants, starting with the fighters themselves, called Naumachiarii (Suet. Claud. 21). Unlike the gladiators, these practitioners were not professionals. In the first known naumachia, that produced by Julius Caesar, the crews consisted of barbari, or prisoners of war, and noxii, convicts already sentenced to death (Cass. Dio. 43.23.4). The same is true of the vast naumachia staged by Claudius in A.D. 52, which required 19,000 men to participate on 100 ships (Tac. Ann. 12.56.5).

It is not insignificant that while the securely known naumachiae spanned only circa 135 years (46 B.C.–A.D. 89), the other forms of water displays enjoyed a much longer existence. Aquatic venationes are known to have been held in Rome until the third century AD, while the tetimimi or pantomimes in water settings which appeared in the early imperial age reached their peak in the third to fourth century A.D. Like the naumachiae, the tetimimi also required purpose-built facilities, the kolymbetrai.46

One of the naumachiae offered by Nero also employed barbari as combatants.42 Quite apart from the question of their nautical prowess, which must be assumed to have been limited at best, the prospect of dying in battle translated into very little positive motivation to participate. It is therefore hardly surprising to read in the sources that the initial engagements between the crews were rather lukewarm, forcing Claudius to deploy the Imperial guard on rafts to bring about the scheduled naval combat in A.D. 52.43

SHOWBIZ, NOT SPORT Based upon the evidence presented, it must be concluded that the naumachia was not a type of sport, but rather a spectacle which allowed its sponsor to achieve his main goal of stunning the spectators, amazing them with surprise endings, shocking them with the use of animals outside their natural environment, titillating them with erotic elements, overwhelming them with the sheer complexity of the production. The key message, then, was one of imperial omnipotence, that the emperor can do all: turn land into water, sail ships in the city centre, bring before the eyes of his subjects a distant and mythical past and even, if it so please him, change the course of history. This has little to do with sports and falls instead within the domain of show business.

An additional indication of the lack of a competitive nature in the naumachiae can be found in the repetition of the scripted narrative, rather like that of a play. Possibly because of their fame, some stories were re-enacted: for instance, both Augustus and Nero staged the battle of Salamis. In favour of the interpretation of these naval battles as a type of sport, however, stands the possibility of the different outcomes exemplified by the Athenian victory over Syracuse in the second naumachia of Titus. This could explain why no Roman battle was recreated, it being unthinkable that a historical Roman victory might become a defeat.

Such spectacles drew crowds comparable to those that attend the mass events of our age, such as rock concerts or football world championship games. The naumachia offered by Caesar in 46 B.C. for his triumph attracted so many visitors to Rome that hotels and travellers’ hostels ran out of space. Large numbers were thus forced to sleep in the streets, where many were crushed or killed in the confusion, including two senators (Suet. Caes. 1).

A final consideration is the limited autonomy of the naumachiae, for they were part of a larger set of games that might include the performance of wild, exotic or trained animals, or aquatic displays of a “light” nature which were drawn from mythological themes or amorous stories. Among those staged by Titus was the myth of Hero and Leander, although the end was changed by “Caesar’s wave”, allowing Leander to be saved from being drowned—a gesture not as predictable as it may

The naumachia offered by Claudius on Lake Fucinus was a grandiose production, intended to impress the local population with the power of Rome and especially of its leader. Its exceptional nature arose not just from the setting (a natural lake that Rome was about to drain), but also from the cast: no less than 50 ships and 19,000

41

The Gallic, Alexandrian, Pontic and African triumphs were celebrated in rapid succession, just a few days apart, in the month of September of 46 B.C. 42 Sen. Ep. 70.26; cf. Cass. Dio 48.19. 43 Tacit. Ann. 12.56.2.

44

Mart. Spect. 25.2; see Coleman 1990, 70–2. Jennison 1937. 46 Traversari 1960. 45

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FRANCESCA GARELLO: SPORT OR SHOWBIZ? THE NAUMACHIAE IN THE FLAVIAN AMPHITHEATRE combatants underscored the immensity of the event. Claudius, who had overcome nature to make it possible, followed the battle dressed as a general, while Agrippina wore a gold dress. The starting bugle was sounded by a silver triton that rose from the waters. The spectators watched the show, even from afar, the hillsides serving as natural grandstands for observing the most incredible sight of water spectacles.47

Borghese Museum, shows with a wealth of detail the murder of both gladiators and beasts. These were carried out respectively by jugulatio (slashing the throat) and by striking at the breast, so that the animals would gradually lose blood and energy during the fight.49 The naumachiae were not particularly suited to satisfying the bloodthirsty Roman public, because their intrinsic nature was such that even a greater number of deaths did not necessarily result in a theatrical shedding of blood.

The organisers’ inventiveness went as far as to stage certain events at night, lit by torches. To the modern mind, used to having effective artificial lighting systems, night games are an ordinary affair. But in antiquity, the nocturnal thetimime of Hero and Leander offered by Titus in the trembling and fascinating torchlight must have seemed like magic. Even darkness had to bow its head before imperial power, which could turn night into day for its spectacles (Mart. De Spect. 25, 25b, 26).

In this context, even with the spoiled Roman audiences, the naumachiae filled no specific need. The bloodthirsty could satisfy their taste with abundant gladiatorial fights, while chariot races catered to those who enjoyed all-out competition. Those who relished a rich and well-crafted show could turn to pantomimes, whose combination of music, dance and choreography made them popular with even the less sophisticated social strata of the population. Pantomimes offered another advantage over traditional plays in the form of the minimal costumes worn by the actresses, thus pandering to another timeless interest.

The overall preference of Roman popular culture for amusing and marvellous spectacles, taken together with the lack of any distinct sporting elements in the naumachiae, illustrates how these distinctly Roman displays are better understood when placed in the same category. The naumachiae served the same purpose as the other aquatic displays: to exhibit their sponsor’s power and wealth by dazzling the audience.

Combined with the ever-increasing remoteness of Rome’s proud naval traditions, these factors caused the naumachiae to fall from favour, or at least to make their sponsors uncertain as to the extent of their success with the population. As a consequence, later emperors came to replace the naumachiae with other forms of aquatic displays both easier to stage and guaranteed to appeal to the large Roman plebs. Permanently converted for “dry” shows after less than a decade of existence, the Flavian amphitheatre stands today as the last witness of the greatest shows ever held on water.

Given the Roman passion for theatrics, if the overall context of naumachiae was more theatrical than sporting, this begs the question of what led this particular form of entertainment to disappear after the early Imperial period. Considering that the emperors continued to offer sumptuous and sophisticated games, their high cost was probably not a decisive factor. Given that the associated buildings can safely be assumed to have been fully equipped with all necessary devices, the technical challenges can also be ruled out with a certain degree of confidence. Nor was there any lack of events to celebrate, considering that in the mid-Empire the emperors garnered several military victories and built magnificent buildings such as the grandiose thermal complexes. The most reasonable explanation would thus appear to be founded in a shift in popular taste, which accentuated the more frivolous and light aspects of the performances, leading in turn to the abandonment of war-like and grandiose themes in favour of stories which were more romantic, erotic and easily digested by a largely uncultured audience.

Works Cited Beste, H.-J. 2000. “The Construction and Phases of Development of the Wooden Arena Flooring of the Colosseum.” JRA 13:79–92. Blake, M.E. 1940. Mosaics of the Late Empire in Rome and Vicinity. MAAR 17. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Bomgardner, D.L. 2000. The Story of the Roman Amphitheatre. London: Routledge. Canina, L. 1865. Edifici di Roma antica. Rome. Carrettoni, G. 1956–8. “Le gallerie ipogee del Foro Romano ed i ludi gladiatorii forensi.” BullCom 76:23– 44. Colagrossi, P. 1913. L’Anfiteatro Flavio. Rome and Florence. Coleman, K.M. 1993. “Launching into History: Aquatic Displays in the Early Empire.” JRS 83:49–74. ——. 2000. “Entertaining Rome.” In Ancient Rome. The Archaeology of the Eternal City, edited by J. Coulston and H. Dodge, 210–58. Oxford University School of Archaeology Monograph 54. Oxford: Oxford University School of Archaeology.

Another aspect of the shift in spectators’ tastes must also be considered. From the mid-imperial age onwards, the public showed a marked preference for bloodshed. Increasingly, gladiatorial fights became sine missione, which did not contemplate a draw and must necessarily end with the death of one of the two participants.48 A fourth century A.D. mosaic found in Rome along the Via Casilina, and now in the entrance hall of the Villa 47

Tac. Ann. 12.56; Suet. Claud. 21; Cass. Dio 60.33; Plin. HN 3.63; Mart. Spect. 28.11. 48 Sabbatini Tumolesi 1988, 134.

49

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Blake 1940, 113 ff.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Taylor, R. 1997. “Torrent or Trickle? The Aqua Alsietina, the Naumachia Augusti, and the Transtiberim.” AJA 101:465–92. Traversari, G. 1960. “Probabili riflessi di spettacoli in acqua in monumenti figurati romani.” Memorie dell’Accademia Patavina 69:137–43.

Colini, A.M. 1939. “Amphitheatrum Ipogei.” BullCom 67:188–91. Cozzo, G. 1927. Ingegneria romana; maestranze romane, strutture preromane, strutture romane, le costruzioni dell’ anfiteatro Flavio, del Pantheon, dell’ emissario del Fucino. Rome: Libreria Editrice Mantegazza di P. Cremonese. Curran, J. 2001. Pagan City and Christian Capital: Rome in the Fourth Century. Oxford Classical Monographs. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fea, A. 1813. Osservazioni sull’arena e sul podio dell’Anfiteatro Flavio fatte dal sig. Pietro Bianchi di Lugano, illustrate e difese dal sig. Lorenzo Re romano e confutate dall’Avv. Carlo Fea. Rome. Golvin, J.-C. 1988. L’amphithéâtre romain: essai sur la théorisation de sa forme et de ses fonctions. 2 vols. Paris: Diffusion de Boccard. Gori, F. 1875. Le memorie storiche del Colosseo. Rome. Jennison, G. 1937. Animals for Show and Pleasure in Ancient Rome. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Mertens, D., R. Rea, G. Schingo, B. Heinz and C. Piraino. 1998. “Colosseo. Lo studio degli ‘ipogei’.” RM 105:67–125. Mocchegiani Carpano, C. 1977. “Nuovi dati sulle fondazioni dell’Anfiteatro Flavio.” Antiqua 2.7:10–6. ——. 1979. “Anfiteatro Flavio: tentativi per una nuova rilettura.” In Romana Gens. Mocchegiani Carpano, C. and R. Luciani. 1981. “I restauri dell’Anfiteatro Flavio.” RivIstArch 4:9–69. Nibby, A. 1819. Del Foro Romano, della via Sacra, dell’Anfiteatro Flavio e dei luoghi adiacenti. Rome. Parker, J.F. 1876. Archaeology of Rome VII: The Flavian Amphitheatre. London. Re, L. 1812. Osservazioni sull’arena e sul podio dell’Anfiteatro Flavio, fatte dal sig. P. Bianchi di Lugano, illustrate e difese. Rome. Rea, R. 1988. “Recenti osservazioni sulla struttura dell’Anfiteatro Flavio.” In Anfiteatro Flavio. Immagine, testimonianze, spettacoli, edited by M.L. Conforto and A.M. Reggiani, 9–22. Rome: Edizioni Quasar. ——. 2000. “Studying the Valley of the Colosseum (1970–2000): Achievements and Prospects.” JRA 13:93–103. Rea, R., F. Garello and L. Ottaviani. 1991. “Gli ipogei dell’Anfiteatro Flavio nell’analisi delle strutture murarie: l’impianto di età flavia.” Meded 50:161–72. Reddé, M. 1986. Mare Nostrum; les infrastructures, le dispositif et l’histoire de la marine militaire sous l’Empire romain. Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome 260. Rome: École française de Rome. Sabbatini Tumolesi, P. 1988. Epigrafia anfiteatrale dell’Occidente romano. I: Roma. Rome: Edizioni Quasar. Scobie, A. 1988. “Spectator Security and Comfort at Gladiatorial Games.” Nikephoros 1:191–243. Schingo, G. 2000. “A History of Earlier Excavations in the Arena.” JRA 13:69–78.

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Chapter 12

Dionysiac Scenes on Sagalassian Oinophoroi from Seleuceia Sidēra in Pisidia (Southwestern Turkey)* ERGÜN LAFLI INTRODUCTION: SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA Seleuceia Sidēra, located approximately 45 km northeast of Sagalassus in Pisidia (southwestern Turkey), and 18.5 km northeast of the city centre of Isparta, occupies most of the hill today known as Asar (or Hisar) Tepe and its environs. This site was discovered during the late 19th century by the German geographer G. Hirschfeld.1 Its identification as “Seleuceia Sidēra” is based upon the local association of the town’s environs with the name “Selef”, a Turkish version of the name Seleuceia.2 While the site was later visited and briefly described by several travellers, detailed investigation of the remains did not begin until the rescue excavations of 1985–7 (mainly at the theatre) conducted by the local archaeological Museum of Isparta.3 Seleuceia Sidēra was re-excavated by O. Bingöl of Ankara University in 1993, during which time seven different areas of the site were investigated: the first southern terrace (and the round building); the second southern terrace; the eastern gate; the eastern terrace; the necropolis; the cistern and the theatre.4 CERAMIC FINDS FROM THE 1993 EXCAVATIONS AND SAGALASSIAN OINOPHOROI These excavations generated a considerable amount of ceramic material. All of the sherds, with the exception of those discovered in the necropolis, were found in unstratified contexts and belong to the following ceramic groups: fine ware; coarse ware; relief ware; terracotta oil lamps; terracotta figurines; terrracotta unguentaria; and miscellaneous terracotta objects.5 Almost all, or more than 90%, of the recognised red-slip table ware, relief ware, terracotta oil lamps, terracotta figurines, unguentaria and miscellaneous objects found at Seleuceia Sidēra were imported from the neighbouring town of Sagalassus.6 Previous surveys and excavations at Sagalassus have shown that the town was a flourishing centre for the production of pottery in this region * I am grateful to Dr. Glenys Davies and Dr. Emily Lyle for supporting my participation in the conference through a bursary from the Deirdre Green Fund, and to Sinclair Bell for bibliographic suggestions and for assistance in revising the text, which incorporates sections of my formerly unpublished B.A. thesis, completed under the supervision of O. Bingöl at Ankara University in 1996. 1 Hirschfeld 1879, 312–4. 2 Bean 1976, 821; Laflı Forthcoming c. 3 Kaya 1999, 163. 4 Bingöl 1994; Laflı forthcoming b. 5 Laflı forthcoming a. 6 Laflı 2000.

throughout the Roman period and that the potters of Sagalassus were involved in the “manufacturing” of a wide variety of ceramic products using five different clay fabrics.7 These have been classified by Belgian archaeologists as follows: tableware sets, oil lamps, figurines and relief ware (fabric 1); containers (fabric 2); tiles, bricks and water pipes (fabric 3); cooking pots and amphorae (fabric 4); and pithoi (fabric 5).8 The ceramic production of Sagalassus occurs in large quantities in all of the periods of Roman occupation. Among others, one of the most important groups of Sagalassian pottery recovered thus far has been the relief ware of the late Roman period.9 A large number of mould fragments of oinophoroi (one- or two-handled flagons with a cubic, rectangular or circular body, a narrow neck and relief decoration)10 have been found at Sagalassus, which proves that several highly productive ceramic workshops inhabited this site.11 In Seleuceia the relief ware recovered constitutes only a small fraction of the total ceramic finds: a total of 136 relief ware sherds were recovered, primarily from the trench at the first southern terrace. The main forms of relief wares are (1) round-based, circular (so-called “pilgrim” flasks) oinophoroi (e.g., figs. 12.1.a–b, 12.2.a– c); (2) flattened and cornered, square or rectangular oinophoroi (e.g., fig. 12.1.e–h); and (3) relief bowls. All 7

Poblome et al. 2000, 39. See Poblome 1999, 24. 9 Laflı 1999. 10 All dates are A.D. For the definition of oinophoroi: Mandel 1988, 3– 5; Mandel 2000; Poblome 1998; Heimberg 1976; Hausmann 1954/55 and 1956. 11 Poblome 1999, 273-5. For Sagalassian oinophoroi: Poblome 1998; Poblome 1999, 273-5; and Poblome and Waelkens forthcoming. The distribution pattern of oinophoroi has yet to be studied. All finds known earlier than 1998 have been reviewed by Poblome (1998, 207–9) and Laflı (1999, 228). For some recently published finds of Sagalassian relief ware: M. Özsait’s survey in central Pisidia (from Kaleburnu in Pisidia) (Özsait 1999, 86 n. 7); a mould for Sagalassian oinophoroi (Poblome 1999, 438, fig. 88); from the excavations at St. Nicholas’ Cathedral (i.e., in a non-profane context) in Myra (Lycia) (Ötüken 1999, 500 n. 10); an oinophoros sherd of Sagalassian origin at Selinus in western Rough Cilicia (Lafli 2002, fig. 2); and Hacimusalar (?). A Sagalassian circular oinophoros with basic floral decoration as well as a moulded skyphos are documented in the collection of Alanya Museum in southern Turkey (shortly to be published by this author). Another Sagalassian example includes an intact, circular oinophoros exhibited in the Römisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum in Mainz (inv. no. unavailable); cf. the very similar morphology of an example in the British Museum (Poblome 1999, 437, fig. 87). In addition, this author has observed and documented some unpublished fragments of Sagalassian oinophoroi at the excavations of Pisidian Antioch, to be published shortly. 8

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FIG. 12.1.A-I. MORPHOLOGICAL AND DECORATIVE CHARACTER OF SAGALASSIAN OINOPHOROI FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA (E. LAFLI).

126

ERGÜN LAFLI: DIONYSIAC SCENES ON SAGALASSIAN OINOPHOROI FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA IN PISIDIA

FIG. 12.2.A-C. A CIRCULAR OINOPHOROS FROM THE ROUND BUILDING IN SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA; FRONT, REAR AND SIDE VIEWS (E. LAFLI).

127

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY of these types originated at Sagalassus. The oinophoroi found here are normally of the circular type: their body is decorated with two panels in relief, one each side of the vessel, mostly of spirited Dionysiac scenes flanked by some ornaments. Over 90% of the total relief ware finds (an estimated 130 sherds) from Seleuceia Sidēra belong to type 1, the oinophoroi dating to the late Roman Period (e.g., figs. 12.1a–b and 12.2a–c). The shape of this relief ware is frequently illustrated in the publications of the pottery from other late Roman and Byzantine sites in southern Asia Minor, including Anemurium and Perge12 as well as at Kapharnaon and the Fayum in Egypt.13 Yet in spite of the information provided by these excavations, only tentative conclusions can be offered about the morphological and the stylistic evolution, function, chronology or distribution of Sagalassian oinophoroi.

wheel-made in two sections, which were possibly made separately in two-piece plaster moulds (in the manner of terracotta figurines). After drying, the sections were put together using wet clay in the inner corners and the outside was smoothed.16 Although very few examples were found with a preserved neck, it can still be argued with relative certainty that the concave neck was thrown on the wheel separately and later luted on (cf. the neck on fig. 12.1.c). Two sections of the flask were joined running up the sides and along the length of the handle. After they were joined, a wet clay sausage was applied to the inner edge of both sections. There were either one or two handles on the top. The band or strap-like handles of the flasks are standard, attached from the round shoulder of the vessel to just below the neck, and occasionally have hatched grooves on the surface. Very few examples of flattened, cornered, polygonal, or square (sometimes hexagonal) jugs (or flagons) were recovered, although they can be identified as the second main form of the oinophoros and are also documented at Sagalassos (see figs. 12.1.e–h). Polygonal flasks have small and simple feet at each of their bottom corners (fig. 12.1.f). It is not clear, however, whether the flat base was added after removal from the mould. No evidence of handles (or of a completely intact example of this type) has yet to be found in Seleuceia.

CLAY AND MORPHOLOGICAL FEATURES The characteristic clay features of this form found at Seleuceia Sidēra are its hard fire (i.e., sherds cannot be scratched with a fingernail) and reddish body. Sagalassian terracotta oil lamps and terracotta figurines can also have a quite similar fabric of fine clay. Petrological analysis of the fabric and slip carried out at Sagalassus indicated that the raw clay materials are identical to those used for Sagalassus red slip ware.14 This ware is also distinguished by its relatively thick walls and prominent interior wheel-marks. The fabric can be classified as hard, and the fracture is conchoidal or subconchoidal to smooth. Distinctive, larger inclusions (such as lime fragments) are visible in the clay or (very rarely) on the surface itself, and are generally smaller than 0.5 mm.15 The colour of the core is usually red 2.5 YR 5/8. The slipped surfaces vary from 7.5 YR 7/4 pink to 7.5 YR 7/6 reddish yellow and tends to be well preserved. After the moulding of the flasks was complete, they were submerged in a clay suspension to cover them completely with slip.

ORIGINS AND CHRONOLOGY While the origin and emergence of this form in Asia Minor remains unclear, the early and middle Roman period flasks are considered to have been produced at Pergamon and Cnidus.17 Their iconography is mostly Dionysiac, which implies that the function of these flasks is likely related to the consumption of wine. It is probable that the Pergamene and Cnidian oinophoroi, which were distributed to a wider extent in the eastern Mediterranean, served as morphological and decorative models for Sagalassian oinophoroi workshops and their potters.18 In the early Christian period, however, this form became more popular in the Near East. The relationship between the Christian pilgrim flasks (so-called eulogiai) of the late Roman period and earlier or contemporary oinophoroi remains unknown. A morphological and decorative relationship between the Sagalassos oinophoroi and metallic and glass vessels is also likely. Chronogically, these sherds do not appear in Seleuceia Sidēra before the late third and early fourth centuries, and continue in use until as late as the fifth and, in some cases, the sixth century. According to the stratigraphical data from Sagalassus, these flasks belonged to the class of materials produced by the late Roman workshops there (i.e., during the third to fifth or sixth centuries),19 which corresponds with the dates for these wares established in other sites,

In Seleuceia only two round flasks were found to be nearly intact (figs. 12.1.a–b, 12.2.a–c); all of the rest were fragmentary. General morphological features of these vessels can be understood best through a study of the two well-preserved examples: the diameter of the body of round oinophoroi ranges from ca. 10 to 34 cm., and the rim diameter varies between ca. 3.5 and 7.5 cm. The width of one side of a polygonal oinophoros ranges from ca. 4 to 8 cm. The first example (figs. 12.1.a–b) has a globular-ovoid body with a rounded bottom and a thinnish rim, which is broken off. One half of the round flask is rather flat, the other half is more hemispherical. The entire body is 12

Atik 1995, figs. 16, 391, 393, 395-7. Poblome 1998, 209. 14 Poblome 1999, 273-4. 15 On the inner side of a Sagalassian oinophoros from Selinus a large stone can be observed (Laflı 2002, fig. 4).

16

13

Poblome 1998, 207-8; for an example of a mould, see 218, pl. 4 Mandel 1988, 99; Mandel 2000, 57. 18 Poblome 1998, 210. 19 Waelkens and Sagalassos-Team 2000, 274. 17

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ERGÜN LAFLI: DIONYSIAC SCENES ON SAGALASSIAN OINOPHOROI FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA IN PISIDIA namely Anemurium and Perge.20 Even so, some fragments were found in the earlier deposits of the library and in other assemblages of Sagalassus.21

(fig. 12.1.i); garden scenes, which include a blend of various floral and animal motifs (figs. 12.1.d, 12.2.a–c); and individual representations of animals.

ARCHAEOLOGICAL CONTEXT

It is interesting to note that the provision of gladiatorial games for religious occasions and their concomitant representation in art is not unknown in Pisidia: epigraphic and architectural evidence confirm that Roman venationes and munera gladiatoria were held at the theatre of Sagalassus.27 However, it would be stretching the evidence too far to link the representations of gladiators on these oinophoroi with the local games, since this motif enjoyed considerable popularity throughout the art of Asia Minor.28

The social context of these flasks found in Seleuceia is not clearly defined: they are more or less regularly found in association with the round building of the first southern terrace. A few examples have been found elsewhere as well: the first almost complete example (figs. 12.1.a–b) was recovered at a late Roman magazine among the eastern terrace buildings. The round building lies in a habitation area in the southern part of the late Roman city.22 In spite of its unassuming architecture, lively religious activity seems to have existed in this structure, as witnessed by the large quantity of objects found, including terracotta figurines and large red-slip tablewares. The fact that the stratigraphy of the building is uncertain unfortunately prevents us from clarifying the significance of this material further. However, a remarkable feature of the context should be noted: all of the relief ware was found to be highly fragmented, the breaks being of more or less of the same size. It seems to me that the function of all the vessels, in spite of their morphological variety, was the same and that after their use they were destroyed for the same, but now unknown, reason.23 Whether these oinophoroi with moulded decoration contained only wine is unclear.24

Some local mythological scenes are noteworthy: for example, a deified male wearing a Phrygian cap, standing frontally under an arcade of composite nature, or carrying a crescent (?) in his hand.29 Gorgons (figs. 12.3.a–b), whose representation is in fact very rare in southwestern Asia Minor, also appear. On these scenes, floral and geometric motifs are frequent and were employed freely in figural compositions with humans and animals. The decoration is often less carefully and, occasionally, less tastefully executed than that which is seen in similar wares from Pergamon and Cnidus. Special attention should be drawn to the decoration of the oinophoroi from Seleuceia Sidēra, the iconography of which—representations of Dionysiac celebrations—has yet to be studied fully. The most common schemes of decoration on oinophoroi from Seleuceia Sidēra are Dionysiac. These include individual and groups of personages associated with the Dionysiac thiasos (in particular, ecstatic maenads and satyrs, flying erotes), Dionysiac attributes (e.g., the thyrsus), as well as animals (fish, pigeons, hares, dogs, birds, leopards, goats) and vegetal motifs (grapevines) considered part of the Dionysiac artistic repertoire (no certain representations of Dionysos himself have been found thus far in Seleuceia; cf. a number of possibilities mentioned below). These motifs can appear interspersed with floral or geometric ornaments, of which the most common include medallions framed with foilage, vine scrolls, clusters of grapes and triangles. In general, representations of Dionysiac figures share in a common feature: the Maenad (fig. 12.6) faces frontally, wears a long light tunic fastened at her left shoulder, and dances on her right foot to the rhythm of probably a bell and roptron.30 Both of her arms are held out, the left hand carrying an

DIONYSIAC CELEBRATION SCENES In most cases, the compositional character of the decoration of Sagalassian oinophoroi consists of a central figurative medallion (figs. 12.1.a–b, 12.1.d) surrounded by other concentric circles of dots, lines, chevrons, spirallike motives, drop-like or heart-like patterns, concentric and segmented circles, vines, vertical and horizontal line fragments, rosettes, lozenges or other, less common patterns of decoration or symbols in an irregular way.25 In some cases, the main figurative elements were represented under the arcades of buildings of unknown origin (fig. 12.1.d). The main figurative themes in these central medallions are Dionysiac scenes; mythological scenes, including gods and heroes; one or more fighting gladiators, sometimes hunting an animal (fig. 12.1.b); warriors, such as a bearded archer (fig. 12.5)26; athletes

20

Atik 1995, 178, 180. Poblome 1999, 274. 22 For plan, see Laflı forthcoming c, fig. 7. 23 Cf. Chapman 2000, 122. 24 Laflı 1999, 229. 25 For an overview of the decorative patterns: Poblome 1998, 222, pl. 9. 26 One remarkable feature about the bearded men on Sagalassian terracotta figurines is that there are also some terracotta figurines of Kakasbos or “warrior” representations, who wear the same kind of beard: see Poblome 1998, 223, pl. 10; Waelkens and Sagalassos-Team 2000, 274; and Laflı 1998, 75–6, fig. 4. 21

27

Devijver 1996, 118. See Mandel 1988, 88-9 (Pergamene gladiators); 172 (Cnidian); 192– 8 (“die Werkstattgruppe der Gladiatoren-Feldflaschen”). 29 See Laflı 1999, pls. 21e–f. 30 For parallels of this iconography in late antique metalworking, see Garezou 1993. 28

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FIG. 12.3.A-B. A CIRCULAR OINOPHOROS WITH GORGONS, FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA (E. LAFLI).

FIGS. 12.4-5. 4: AN OINOPHOROS SHERD WITH

SCENE OF A GLADIATOR, FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA (E. LAFLI). WITH SCENE OF A WARRIOR (?), FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA (E. LAFLI).

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5: AN OINOPHOROS SHERD

ERGÜN LAFLI: DIONYSIAC SCENES ON SAGALASSIAN OINOPHOROI FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA IN PISIDIA undetermined object (a purse?).31 Another Maenad (?) dances closely next to her, in much the same pose. On a sherd of a polygonal-shaped flask (fig. 12.7), a resting or sleeping Dionysiac figure (perhaps a Maenad, satyr, or Dionysos himself) is represented.32 We also have the image of a young boy (fig. 12.8) resting amongst vines, beneath an arcade with fishbone-like pattern; the purpose of his pose and his identity (a satyr?) are unclear. The final example of a Dionysiac figure, a naked male figure standing,33 appears on a handle fragment (fig. 12.9), which was probably joined to an oinophoros. Again, the identity of the figure is difficult to judge (Dionysos or Eros?).

imperial coins, inscriptions, sculptures, architectural decoration, coroplastics and other cult and profane objects in Pisidia, perhaps because of their association with local viticulture. In Seleuceia there is ample documentation of Dionysiac cult and its popularity, especially on grave stones. The evidence provided by the excavations at Sagalassos suggests that Dionysos was worshipped until the early Christian era (as late as the fifth century).36 These products of a long-standing ceramic tradition are evidence for the endurance of pagan elements within the late antique and early Christian society of Pisidia as well.37 They demonstrate the persistence of pagan culture in Pisidia until the fourth, fifth and sixth centuries, during which time Pisidian local history was characterised by the sudden emergence and extensive presence of Christianity.38 At the same time, the appearance of this motif illustrates the stability of religious and ideological preferences in early Christianity. A study of Dionysiac iconography on these late Roman products can provide us with a model of Pisidian late Roman art that is useful for making comparisons with other regions and their material culture. In this way, one may understand the wider context of such objects decorated with elements of mythological celebrations.

INTERPRETATION Dionysiac iconography, especially scenes of celebration and games, are very popular elements of Hellenism in Roman and Christian antiquity.34 The most frequent subject of Sagalassian oinophoroi is the thiasos, a celebration scene of Dionysos and his mythological band, dancing to the rhythm of bells, roptra and cymbals, and playing music. Oinophoroi from Seleuceia, as well as from Sagalassus and Pisidian Antioch, demonstrate that Dionysiac imagery was an outstandingly popular motif in Pisidian material culture of Roman and late Roman periods. This motif can be associated with the same variety of traditions in other regions and material groups, such as other pottery types, oil lamps, sculpture, sarcophagi, coins, emblemata, mosaics, wall paintings, marble tables, silver vessels and glass objects in the eastern Mediterranean.

It should further be noted that oinophoroi with Dionysiac celebration scenes were not an exclusive class of material; they were not the only ones whose production continued in early Christian Pisidia, for there are other objects, such as terracotta unguentaria39 and terracotta figurines of an unknown divinity, which indicate the same patterns of viability in Pisidian early Christian contexts (i.e., Seleuceia, Pisidian Antioch and Sagalassus). In Seleuceia and Pisidian Antioch, these objects emerge in the same “religious” contexts as Sagalassian oinophoroi, but this reason is not yet understood. The general archaeological context of Sagalassian oinophoroi in southern Asia Minor is not altogether random. In Seleuceia, most of these objects were found in a (pagan) religious building, which might have been converted later into a Christian building of an

The significance of Dionysiac cult and iconography on Pisidian objects of Hellenistic and Roman Imperial periods has not yet been studied.35 Dionysos and Dionysiac themes were favoured greatly on Roman 31

The closest parallel to this iconography is an oinophoros (inv. no. J.E. 54502) in the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities at Cairo: Poblome 1998, 216, pl. 2. Some classical Attic reliefs feature iconographical similarities with fig. 12.6 here; cf. the Maenads in Krauskopf et al. 1997, 144. This type of Maenad is represented holding an animal corpse and a dagger in either hand, in a composition where she dances with other Maenads (Krauskopf et al. 1997, 795). For other interpretations of this iconography, see Krauskopf et al. 1997, 29, 785. A Maenad classified by F. Matz (1968, 22, TH8) as one of the “Krotalistriai” also seems to share similarities with fig. 12.6 here. 32 An Egyptian ivory panel of Roman period has iconography identical to fig. 12.7 here; see Augé and de Bellefonds 1986, 518, 38b. 33 An Egyptian-Coptic ivory figure maintains a similar stance to that in fig. 12.9 here; cf. the Dionysos figure in Augé and de Bellefonds 1986, 85, 522. 34 For Dionysos in the early Christian Eastern Mediterranean area, see Bowersock 1990, 41–53; Engemann 1998, 100-6. Dionysiac iconography displays a wide circulation in Early Christian art and objects: Mandel 1988; Parrish 1995, esp. 307 n. 1; Garezou 1993, 111– 9; Hamdorf 1986, 37–9, 94–109; Weitzmann 1960, 45–68. On clay objects, however, it was scarcely recorded. On terracotta oil lamps from early Christian Greece (Karivieri 2001, 179) and North Africa (Lund 2001, 199), there is almost no indication of Dionysiac iconography. For Dionysiac “associations” during the Hellenistic period: Le Guen 2001. 35 For Dionysiac cult in Sagalassos during antiquity, see Waelkens 1999, 199.

36

Waelkens and Sagalassos-Team 2000, 274; Poblome 1998, 212–3. For pagan and early Christian interaction generally: van Oort and Wyrwa 1998; Fine 1999; Hopkins 1999; Kraus 1999; Lee 2000; Rothaus 2000. 37 The persistence of other pagan decorative elements during early Christianity were also documented on terracotta oil lamps and some other Sagalassian clay products. On mould-made terracotta oil lamps from Seleuceia Sidera, see Laflı forthcoming a. 38 For the history of early Christian Pisidia, see Mitchell 2000; Belke and Mersich 1990, 36; Waelkens and Sagalassos-Team 2000, 269–75. For the spread of Christianity in Pisidia: Mitchell 2000, 141–3 and Belke and Mersich 1990, 34–53. 39 For late Roman terracotta unguenteria from Seleuceia Sidēra: Laflı Forthcoming d. Hellenistic, Roman imperial, and late Roman terracotta unguentaria from Seleuceia and Pisidian Antioch are the subject of my Ph.D. thesis at the University of Cologne, a summary of which I am currently preparing for publication. For general information on the same variety of objects from Sagalasossos, see Degeest et al. 1999, 247–62, and from Corinth: Rothaus 2000.

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FIGS. 12.6-9. 6: AN OINOPHOROS SHERD WITH A MAENAD REPRESENTATION, FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA (E. LAFLI). 7: AN OINOPHOROS SHERD WITH A RELAXING DIONYSIAC (?) FIGURE, FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA (E. LAFLI). 8: AN OINOPHOROS SHERD WITH THE REPRESENTATION OF A YOUNG BOY, FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA (E. LAFLI). 9: AN OINOPHOROS (?) HANDLE FRAGMENT WITH A NAKED MALE (DIONYSIAC?) FIGURE, FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA (E. LAFLI).

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ERGÜN LAFLI: DIONYSIAC SCENES ON SAGALASSIAN OINOPHOROI FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA IN PISIDIA unknown type. In Pisidian Antioch at Tiberia Platea, as well as at a church in Myra, sherds were found in “sacred” places, such as temples or churches, the stratigraphy of which must be clarified further.

Degeest, R., R. Ottenburgs, H. Kucha, W. Viaene, P. Degryse, and M. Waelkens. 1999. “The Late Roman Unguentaria of Sagalassos.” BABesch 74:247–62. Devijver, H. 1996. “Local Elite, Equestrians and Senators: A Social History of Roman Sagalassos.” Ancient Society 27:105–62. Engemann, J. 1998. “Eine Dionysos-Satyr-Gruppe aus Abū Mīnā als Zeugnis frühmittelalterlicher christlicher Dämonenfurcht.” In ΘEMEΛIA. Spätantike und koptologische Studien. Peter Grossmann zum 65. Geburtstag, edited by M. Krause and S. Schaten, 97– 115. Sprachen und Kulturen des christlichen Orients 3. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Fine, S. 1999. Christians and Polytheists in the Ancient Synagogue: Cultural Interaction during the GrecoRoman Period. Baltimore Studies in the History of Judaism. London: Routledge. Garezou, M.-X. 1993. “Le roptron et la clochette: musqiue dionysiaque sur un plat byzantin.” Antike Kunst 36:111–9. Guen, B. Le. 2001. Les associations de technites dionysiaques à l'époque hellénistique. II: Synthèse. Etudes d'archéologie classique 12. Nancy: Association pour la diffusion de la recherche sur l'Antiquité. Hamdorf, F.W. 1986. Dionysos-Bacchus. Kult und Wanderungen des Weingottes. Munich: Georg D.W. Callwey. Hausmann, U. (1954/55) “ΟΙΝΟΦΟΡΟΙ.” AM 67/70:125–46. . 1956. “Iterum Oinophoroi.” AM 71:107–12. Heimberg, U. 1976. "Oinophoren. Zur kaiserzeitlichen Reliefkeramik." JdI 91:251–90. Hirschfeld, G. 1879. “Vorläufiger Bericht über eine Reise im südwestlichen Kleinasien.” Monatsbericht der preussische Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin – 20. März 1879. Gesammtsitzung der Akademie. 299– 333. Hopkins, K. 1999. A World Full of Gods: Pagans, Jews and Christians in the Roman Empire. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Karivieri, A. 2001. “Mythological Subjects on Late Roman Lamps and the Persistence of Classical Tradition.” In Late Antiquity. Art in Context, edited by J. Fleischer, J. Lund and M. Nielsen, 179–98. Acta Hyperborea 8. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Kaya, D. 1999. “Die Theaterausgrabung von Seleucia Sidera (Klaudioseleukeia).” In Forschungsstelle Asia Minor im Seminar für Alte Geschichte der Westfälischen Wilhelms-Universität Münster, 163–74. Asia Minor Studien 34. Studien zum antiken Kleinasien 4. Bonn: Dr. Rudolf Habelt. Kraus, W. 1999. Zwischen Jerusalem und Antiochia: die “Hellenisten”, Paulus und die Aufnahme der Heiden in das endzeitliche Gottesvolk. Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 179. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk. Krauskopf, I. 1997. “Mainades.” In LIMC VIII, 1: Thespiades-Zodiacus et supplementum Abila-Thersites, edited by E. Simon and B. Simon, 780–803. Zurich: Artemis.

One interpretation is offered by Poblome, who prefers to associate the Dionysiac iconography of the Sagalassian oinophoroi with the consumption of wine during and after dinner. He assumes that they conform to the interior design and decoration of the dining room, thus serving a profane function.40 However, this argument is difficult to reconcile with the archaeological context of Sagalassian oinophoroi recorded at Seleuceia and Pisidian Antioch, which shows a general concentration at cult areas in the transitional phase between the pagan and the early Christian eras. The distribution pattern of Sagalassian oinophoroi seems to have been concentrated on southern Asia Minor, and its archaeological context conforms more or less to a picture of religious use. In summary, the study of the iconography and contexts of this particular type of material culture at Seleuceia Sidēra provides a useful picture of the degree of popularity of Dionysiac celebration scenes in Pisidia and in southern Asia Minor. They demonstrate the close interaction between the Greek, Roman and early Christian traditions and material cultures in southern Asia Minor, and in particular reflect the enduring presence of pagan elements in the early Christian era and its traditions.

Works Cited Atik, N. 1995. Die Keramik aus den Südthermen von Perge. IstMitt 40. Tübingen: Ernst Wasmuth. Augé, C. and P. Linant de Bellefonds. 1986. s.v. Dionysos (in Peripheria Orientali). In LIMC III.1: Atherion-Eros, edited by E. Simon and B. Simon, 514– 31. Zurich: Artemis. Bean, G.E. 1976. “Seleuceia Sidera.” In The Princeton Encyclopedia of Classical Sites, edited by R. Stillwell, 821. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Belke, K. and N. Mersich. 1990. Phrygien und Pisidien. Tabula Imperii Byzantini 7. Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-Historische Klasse, Denkschriften 211. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Bingöl, O. 1994. “Seleukeia Sidera (Bayat) 1993 Yılı Arkeolojik Kazıları.” In Göller Bölgesi ArkeolojikKültürel-Turistik Araştirma ve Değerlendirme Projesi. 1993 Yılı Çalışmaları, 43–75. Ankara: Ankara Üniversitesi Basımevi. Bowersock, G.W. 1990. Hellenism in Late Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chapman, R. 2000. Fragmentation in Archaeology. People, Places, and Broken Obejcts in the Prehistory of South Eastern Europe. London: Routledge. 40

Poblome 1998, 211.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Laflı, E. 1998. “Les figurines romaines en terre cuite de Seleucia Sidēra en Pisidie (Turquie).” Orient-Express 3 (décembre):73–8.  . 1999. “Sagalassos Roman Relief Wares from Seleuceia Sidēra in Pisidia (Turkey).” In Proceedings of the XVth International Congress of Classical Archaeology, Amsterdam, July 12-17, 1998. Classical Archaeology towards the Third Millennium: Reflections and Perspectives, edited by R.F. Docter and E.M. Moormann, 227–9. Allard Pierson Series: Studies in Ancient Civilization 12. Amsterdam: Allard Pierson.  . 2000. “Sagalassos Table and Common Wares from Seleukeia Sidēra in Pisidia (southwestern Turkey)—A Preliminary Report.” Rei Cretariae Romanae Favtorvm, Acta 36:43–7.  . 2002. “Regional Distribution of Local Roman Pottery through the Sea: A Case Study—Sagalassos Red Slip Ware from Cilicia.” In The Seas in Antiquity. Proceedings of the Liverpool Interdisciplinary Symposium in Antiquity held at the University of Liverpool, 20th May 2000, edited by M. Georgiadis and G. Muskett, 49–59. Liverpool: Liverpool Humanities Graduate.  . Forthcoming a. “Vorläufiger Bericht über die römisch-kaiserzeitlichen und spätantiken Tonöllampen aus Seleukeia Sidēra in Pisidien (Südwesttürkei).” In Near Eastern Archaeology in the Beginning of the Third Millennium AD. Proceedings of the Second International Congress on the Archaeology of the Near Eastern Archaeology (Copenhagen, May 22nd-26th 2000), edited by I. Thuesen. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns.  . Forthcoming b. “Notes on the History of Seleuceia Sidēra in Pisidia (southwestern Turkey): Second Preliminary Report on the Inscriptions and Inscription Fragments.” In Proceedings of the 18th International Congress of Roman Frontier Studies, 2nd-11th September, 2000, Amman, Jordan, edited by P. Freeman, B. Hoffman, Z. Fiema and J. Bennett. British Archaeological Reports, International Series. Oxford: BAR Publishing.   Forthcoming c. “Pisidian Seleuceia during the Hellenistic Period.” EpigAnat.  . Forthcoming d. “Spätantike Tonunguentarien aus Seleukeia Sidēra in Pisidien.” Mitteilungen zur christlichen Archäologie 8. Lee, A.D. 2000. Pagans and Christians in Late Antiquity: A Sourcebook. London: Routledge. Lund, J. 2001. “Motifs in Context. Christian Lamps.” In Late Antiquity. Art in Context, edited by J. Fleischer, J. Lund and M. Nielsen, 199-214. Acta Hyperborea 8. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Mandel, U. 1988. Kleinasiatische Reliefkeramik der mittleren Kaiserzeit. Die “Oinophorengruppe” und Verwandtes. Pergamenische Forschungen 5. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. . 2000. “Die frühe Produktion der sog. Oinophorenware-Werkstätten von Knidos.” Rei Cretariae Romanae Favtorvm, Acta 36:57–68.

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Matz, F. 1968. Die dionysischen Sarkophage. Erster Teil: Die Typen der Figuren. Die Denkmäler 1-71B. ASR 4.1. Berlin: Gebr. Mann. Mitchell, S. 2000. “The Settlement of Pisidia in Late Antiquity and the Byzantine Period: Methodological Problems.” In Byzanz als Raum. Zu Methoden und Inhalten der historischen Geographie des östlichen Mittelmeer-raumes, edited by K. Belke, F. Hild, J. Koder and P. Soustal, 139–52. Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophischhistorische Klasse, Denkschrift 283. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Oort, J. van and D. Wyrwa, eds. 1998. Heiden und Christen im 5. Jahrhundert. Studien der Patristischen Arbeitsgemeinschaft 5. Leuven: Peeters. Ötüken, S.Y. 1999. “1997 Yılı Demre-Myra Aziz Nikolaos Kilisesi Kazısı.” In T.C. Kültür Bakanlığı, Anıtlar ve Müzeler Genel Müdürlüğü, XX. Kazı Sonuçları Toplantısı, II, 25-29 Mayıs 1998, Tarsus, 481–503. Ankara: Kültür Bakanlığı Milli Kütüphane Basımevi. Özsait, M. 1999. 1997. “Yılı Isparta ve Çevresi Yüzey Araştırmaları.” In T. C. Kültür Bakanlığı, Anıtlar ve Müzeler Genel Müdürlüğü, XVI. Araştırma Sonuçları Toplantısı, II. Cilt, 25-29 Mayıs 1998, Tarsus, 77–88. Ankara: Kültür Bakanlığı Milli Kütüphane Basımevi. Parrish, D. 1995. “A Mythological Theme in the Decoration of Late Roman Dining Rooms: Dionysos and his Circle.” RA 1995:307–32. Poblome, J. 1998. “Dionysiac Oinophoroi from Sagalassos found in Egypt.” In Egyptian Religion. The Last Thousand Years. Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Jan Quaegebeur, edited by W. Clarysse, A. Schoors, and H. Willems, 205–25. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 84. Leuven: Uitgeverij Peeters en Departement Oosterse Studies. . 1999. Sagalassos Red Slip Ware. Typology and Chronology. Studies in Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology 2. Turnhout: Brepols. Poblome, J., P. Degryse, M. Schlitz, R. Degeest, W. Viaene, I. Librecht, E. Paulissen, and M. Waelkens. 2000. “The Ceramic Production Centre of Sagalassos.” Rei Cretariae Romanae Favtorvm, Acta 36:39–42. Poblome, J. and M. Waelkens. Forthcoming. “Sagalassos and Alexandria. Exchange in the Eastern Mediterranean.” In Productions de céramiques locales en Anatolie aux époques hellénistique et romaine. Actes de la Table Ronde Internationale d'Istanbul. Institut français d'études anatoliennes. Georges Dumézil-Istanbul, Varia Anatolica 14. Paris and Istanbul: De Boccard. Rothaus, R.M. 2000. Corinth: The First City of Greece. An Urban History of Late Antique Cult and Religion. Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 139. Leiden: Brill. Waelkens, M. 1999. “Sagalassos. Religious Life in a Pisidian Town during the Hellenistic and Early Imperial Period.” In Les syncrétismes religieux dans le monde méditerranéen antique. Actes du colloque international en l'honneur de Franz Cumont à

ERGÜN LAFLI: DIONYSIAC SCENES ON SAGALASSIAN OINOPHOROI FROM SELEUCEIA SIDĒRA IN PISIDIA l'occasion du cinquantième anniversaire de sa mort. Rome, Academia Belgica, 25 – 27. septembre 1997, edited by C. Bonnet and A. Motte, 191–226. Institut belge de Rome. Études de philologie, d'archéologie et d'histoire anciennes 36. Turnhout: Brepols. Waelkens, M. and Sagalassos-Team. 2000. “Sagalassos und sein Territorium. Eine interdisziplinäre Methodologie zur historischen Geographie einer kleinasiatischen Metropole.” In Byzanz als Raum. Zu Methoden und Inhalten der historischen Geographie des östlichen Mittelmeerraumes, edited by K. Belke, F. Hild, J. Koder and P. Soustal, 261–88. Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophischhistorische Klasse, Denkschrift 283. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Weitzmann, K. 1960. “The Survival of Mythological Representations in Early Christian and Byzantine Art and their Impact on Christian Iconography.” DOP 14:45–68.

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Chapter 13

Christianising the Celebrations of Death in Late Antiquity: Funerals and Society JULIA BURMAN Funerals, broadly defined here as the proper way of celebrating death, have always been controlled by the society in which they were conducted. The importance of funerals in ancient society is clearly illustrated by the fact that funerary laws represent some of the earliest documented legislation from archaic and classical Greece. There were several festivals in the ancient world that had a connection with death, and many others that contained elements wherein the dead were remembered. Even the most famous of the games in the Roman amphitheatres—the gladiatorial combats—had their roots in funerary celebrations. The funerals of eminent people may also be considered public spectacles,1 not to mention the funerals of the emperors.2

The Christians, who adhered to individual practices as dictated by local traditions, were no exception to this fact. This is evident in the description by the fifth-century church historian Socrates of the variations in Christian religious assemblies.6 This heterogeneous world is the context in which the Church fathers issued their advice about how Christians ought to live and die. In the western empire, Saint Augustine and Saint Ambrose were probably the best known reformers in this regard, but eastern Church fathers also wrote about the correct procedure for commemorating death.7 When considering funerals, we must assume that they differed according to social class and place. In order to take into consideration such differences, I concentrate here on two different funerals, those of two Cappadocian Saints, Macrina and Basil. Their deaths and funerals are recorded by two Cappadocian Fathers, St. Gregory of Nazianzen and St. Gregory of Nyssa, respectively, and their texts, both of which date to around A.D. 380, are perhaps the most illuminating descriptions of their kind.8

Death in the ancient world has been studied from many points of view.3 For the period of late antiquity, in which society and religion had both undergone a tremendous change, the standard work has long been that by Alfred Rush.4 More recently, Frederick Paxton has studied the influence of Christian ideas on the conceptualisation of death, but his work concentrates on the area of the western Roman Empire during the early Middle Ages.5 Instead, this paper takes the eastern Roman Empire as its focus, and attempts to demonstrate how a study of the Christianising of funerals—celebrations of death—can offer insight into social change during the late antique period.

TRADITIONAL CELEBRATIONS OF DEATH While the afterlife beliefs of the Romans known to us through funerary inscriptions are heterogeneous and often in conflict,9 traditional Roman funerary practice was governed by two basic notions: that death brought pollution and demanded purification, and that a corpse required a proper burial.10 To leave a deceased person unburied not only had unpleasant repercussions on the fate of the departed soul,11 it also could prove a threat for the living, as the “ghost stories” illustrate the unburied, preserved in a restless state, were a hostile force.12 The observation of the proper rituals at burial, then, were crucial.

This period, in particular the fourth century, was a crucial one in the formation of new early Christian traditions. The martyr cults constituted an essential part of the system of Christian veneration, while the ascetic movement was becoming an important element throughout the Christian world. In addition, Christianity had gained a new status during the first quarter of this century and its popularity was about to start growing. However, to initiate and maintain this growth, Christians had to persuade adherents of other religions to attend their festivals and to prove that their way of worship was better than the old civic religions or mystery cults.

As far as we know, these funeral rituals could be performed by anyone—that is, no professional person or priest was needed. In fact, the civic priests were thought to be polluted were they to come into contact with the dead, or to take part in the burial; even to see a funeral

Despite the cultural unanimity of the upper class, the Greco-Roman world was one of great diversity where local customs and traditions were strongly maintained.

6

Soc. HE 5.22; PG 67, cols. 625–45. Kotilla 1992; Rebillard 1994. 8 Greg. Nys., Vita Macrina 25–38; Greg. Naz., In laudem Basilii Magni 78–80. 9 Lattimore 1962. 10 Hope 2001. 11 Toynbee 1971, 43. 12 Johnston 1999, 127; Dennis 1996, 246–9. 7

1

Cf. Bodel 1999. Davies 2000. 3 Garland 1985; Toynbee 1971; Davies 1999. 4 Rush 1941. 5 Paxton 1990. 2

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY cortêge was an ill omen and brought pollution for priests (CTh 9.17.5). For the majority of cases, the funeral was a private family affair, though official pallbearers, gravediggers and hired mourners were used, and a public funeral could be granted to highly-respected members of a society.13

reputation and memory of a deceased member was to the family.17 NEW IDEAS ABOUT DEATH With Christianity many things changed, particularly from a theological point of view. First of all, death was not considered to be an undesirable condition that polluted. Death was the way to resurrection. It meant a new birth to eternal life, which was better than the hardships of this world. Death promised salvation, which was the ultimate goal of a Christian. This set of beliefs altered the traditional attitude towards the corpse, which was now considered to be holy. To take care of a corpse did not pollute but brought one closer to immortality. In the Apostolic Constitution (6.30.5–7), it is explicitly stated that bishops and others should take care of the dead without fear of pollution.

Although there were local variations, the format, timing and duration of the burial and wake was highly prescribed—e.g., during the night at Thurii and before sunrise at Athens (Men. Rhet., Peri epideiktikon). We have epigraphic evidence that the boule in Greek cities during the Roman period and the Roman Senate were each empowered to pass decrees concerning the honours allowed to be bestowed on the deceased and whether a funeral was to be paid for with public funds. The decree could regulate who should be among the mourning in attendance at the funeral procession. For example, there is an inscription dating to the first century A.D. from Kyzikos that lists the rank, gender and age of different groups of citizens who should be mourning a virtuous woman (named Apollonis) and to follow her funeral cortege.14 The magistrates ought to come first. In this case, all free-born individuals should be mourning, but this duty could be passed only to selected groups. Menander Rhetor advises that the rhetor giving the funeral speech should take into account which groups were attending (Men. Rhet., Peri eipdeiktikon 365). In this way, public funerals were great celebrations of death that affected many of the different groups that inhabited a city.

The promise of resurrection thus changed the function of the grave. It could no longer be the home for eternity, but a place where the Christian dead awaited resurrection. This is nicely illustrated by the new Greek word for a grave: koimeterion, a sleeping place. Death was conquered by Christ, so being dead was likened to a sleep, as we learn from John Chrysostom.18 THE MARTYR CULTS The martyr cults developed from the anniversaries of the death and/or the deposition of the martyrs in their tombs. The day of their passio was considered to be their new dies natalis, their birthday into eternal life. While local churches had neither original nor official descriptions of the majority of the saints, their names and associated cults developed over time.19 A local church usually celebrated its saints: martyrs, ascetics and bishops.20 Hagiography became an important part of Christian literature.21

The lavish expenditure on funeral celebrations also marked the importance of the deceased and his/her family. Noble Roman families had great funeral processions that included not only the family and friends following the funeral cortege, but also actors who were hired to wear the masks of ancestors and professional mourners to sing funeral dirges. Funerals were used to enhance a family’s status.15 In Tacitus we have a short description of the funeral of Junia, the sister of Cassius and wife of Brutus: at her funeral procession the signs of twenty noble families were carried and she was given a funeral speech in the Forum (Tac. Hist. 3.76). The tradition of giving funeral speeches both to men and women continued in Christian practice, such as the funeral speech of Gorgonia by her brother Gregory of Nazianzen.16

These cults of martyrs, as well as those of the saints, greatly resemble ancient hero cults. This is not to suggest, however, that the martyr cults developed from the hero cults. In the latter, a hero was unable to act as an intercessor between man and God in the same way as a Saint was for a Christian.22 The architecture of the monuments (martyria) was inspired by the heroa, especially in the East.23 But more interesting is the public nature of these celebrations: in both cults, the family of the deceased as well as the entirety of the community gathered together at the grave or monument.

The grave was a sacred place that became the permanent home of the deceased, where the monument preserved the memory and deeds of the deceased family member to those passing by. Epitaphs tell us how important the

17 18 19

13

20

14

21

Hopkins 1983; Bodel 1999. Horsley 1987, 10–13. 15 Hopkins 1983, 201–7. 16 Greg. Naz. St. Gorgonia; PG 35, cols. 789–817.

22 23

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Davies 1999, 172. Joh. Chrys., eis to onoma tou koimeteriou; PG 49, cols. 393–4. Delehaye 1933, 31–6, 410. Duchesne 1889, 273. Delehaye 1921, 3. Brown 1983, 6. Grabar 1946, 31–3.

JULIA BURMAN: CHRISTIANISING THE CELEBRATIONS OF DEATH IN LATE ANTIQUITY: FUNERALS AND SOCIETY The Christian community had a perpetual responsibility for maintaining the memory of its heroes and leaders. The practice of depositio ad sanctos also raised the more profound question of the balance of social power, namely the relationship between family feeling and communal control. The cult of the saints also made a saint a patronus of the community, whose heavenly patronage was exercised on earth by the bishop.24 We do not know all the details about these celebrations, but as they originated from anniversaries at the grave, their observance would have included a procession with tapers and a meal at the grave. The Church was more interested in assuming control over the communal feasts than the private, graveside family feasts. St. Augustine disapproved of the heavy drinking that could take place during these feasts and encouraged moderation.25 These feasts seem to have been rather unrestrained, as John Chrysostom advised that virgins should be kept away from funeral obsequies and nocturnal festivals for the protection of their chastity.26

that to see such a funeral ceremony was, from his pagan perspective, a pollution (CTh 9.17.5). Of course, when death means a new birth into a better eternal life and is merely a sleep, the mourning and lamentation for the deceased becomes problematic. It was common for one to mourn aloud, cry, lament, beat breasts, tear hair, scratch cheeks and rend clothes. While these forms of behaviour had already been ridiculed by pagan philosophers and for example by satirical texts (e.g., Lucian Luct.), they were also expected of people. The church fathers rejected this kind of mourning, since it was incompatible with the Christian view of resurrection. Christians should not be desperate when facing death, they argued, but rather should adopt an air of calm.31 Though singing psalms became a part of funerals, even to the degree that psalm singers could be hired,32 other practices lived on, such as the ritual lament in Greece.33 One of the changes seems to have been influenced by the way that martyrs were celebrated. Among the pagans, it was common to celebrate memorials at the grave on the birthday of deceased. But Christians started to celebrate memorials on the day of death, the day of birth to eternal life.34

EARLY CHRISTIAN FUNERAL PRACTICE How did the changes in theology affect ritual practices? Did people change their ways? As the source material is rather scattered, it is difficult to reconstruct exact early Christian funeral practice as such, in one particular time or place. However, the general outline that funerals followed is known.27

The Apostolic Constitution (6.30) mentions the Eucharist at the funeral and at the graveyard, and the singing of psalms. Although the Apostolic Constitution (8.410) has some of the prayers, we do not know all that were recited. The earliest Greek liturgy extant is from the eighth century (Vat. Barb. gr. 336).35 It is difficult to reconstruct rituals from the archaeological evidence, but the evidence from catacombs and from the early Christian cemeteries of Thessalonica demonstrates that there were funeral meals and libations, with oil, milk or honey, at the grave.36 The burials in Thessalonica also contained numerous types of gifts: jewellery, fabrics, gold, coins, ceramic and glass vessels and lamps.37 The ordinary pottery used at the funeral meal was destroyed after use. Up until the fifth century, the deceased was beautifully dressed and outfitted with jewellery.38 From the literary sources we know that the Christians used to distribute goods for the poor at funerals, a practice encouraged by the church fathers.39

Evidently it took some time before the death of a Christian was transformed into a distinctly “Christian” form of death: people just followed old practices. The early, small Christian communities buried their deceased in accordance with Roman laws—that is, without any externally distinguishing features. From the third century onwards a particularly Christian form of burial began to emerge.28 Christian material culture, however, such as tombstones and lamps, only becomes common at the end of the fourth and start of the fifth century.29 Fredrick Paxton has shown that new rituals were created at the deathbed, such as emergency baptism and the use of communion as a viaticum.30 These rituals needed someone in an official position, a bishop, to effect them. For an ideal Christian death a priest was needed, the family and friends being insufficient in themselves. It is possible that Christian religion encouraged the celebration of private funerals even during the daytime. The Emperor Julian the Apostate forbad the habit of carrying corpses into the midst of crowds, as he thought

24 25 26 27 28 29 30

31

John Chrysostom, Hom. 62; PG 59, coll. 347–8; Ambrose, Satyrus II, 203. 32 Dagron 1991, 161, 178. 33 Alexiou 1974. 34 Rush 1941, 83–6. 35 Velkovska 1996, 355. 36 Kourkoutidou-Nicolaidou 1997, 129–31. 37 The custom of placing a coin on the corpse was practised regularly up until the sixth century. 38 Kourkoutidou-Nicolaidou 1997, 131. 39 Ambrose, Satyrus I, 60; PL 16, coll. 1366; John Chrys. Hom. 85.8; PG 59, cols. 464–8.

Brown 1983, 31–8. Kotila 1992, 64–70. LaPorte 1982, 76–7. Rush 1941. Vogel 1983, 259. Karivieri 1996; Sironen 1997, 377. Paxton 1990, 32–7.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY THE FUNERAL OF ST. MACRINA

recovered and instructed the virgins to stop lamenting and to start singing Psalms.

Different conventions exist for describing funerals, especially funeral speeches, according to literary genre, but these descriptions reveal at the very least the way in which an ideal death should be celebrated.40 For while they do not provide material that can be used to reconstruct the practices at any particular, historical funeral, these descriptions point to that society’s values. The ways in which a society mourns its members reveals much about its internal values and hierarchies.41

St. Gregory gives a detailed account of the dressing of the deceased, how he stayed with the trustees of his sister and how they prepared the body for the funeral. Macrina had lived an ascetic life and had not saved any fine garments for her funeral. This seems to suggest that it was not uncommon that people had reserved fine costumes for their deaths. As Gregory wanted to adorn his sister’s body with beautiful garments to reflect its holy status, he provided fine linen for Macrina’s shroud. Macrina was thus dressed like a bride. However, she was ultimately covered with a dark coat, considered by the deaconess to be more suitable since virgins would be seeing her.

One of the earliest biographies of female saints is the Life of St. Macrina, written by her brother St. Gregory of Nyssa. The description of the death and burial of Macrina encompasses almost one third of the text. If we consider the description, we find numerous details of interest, including information about burial customs and rites. The narrative begins with the vision that Gregory has at night, about carrying the shining relics of a martyr (Greg. Nys. VSM 15.12–22). Gregory finishes his story by telling of a miracle that Macrina had performed in the convent (Greg. Nys. VSM 37–8). Gregory had heard it from a soldier, who told it to him as a consolation when Gregory was returning from the grave of his sister. The description of her death is otherwise related by Gregory, who speaks as an eyewitness to the events.

The ascetic Macrina was first dressed beautifully, as was the common practice, but then covered to reflect more closely her own humility. The dressing of an ascetic in such clothing was thought to demonstrate the piety of the deceased and became a topos in later hagiography.42 St. Gregory then described the lamentation of the virgins and how they were persuaded to sing Psalms. People gathered in the monastery, where there was psalmody, and vigil was held all night, with hymns and panegyrics just as in the celebrations of martyrs. Priests and the local bishop, along with the rest of the community, attended the funeral, thus demonstrating that Macrina was both admired and loved.

St. Macrina was a sister of both St. Basil of Caesarea and St. Gregory of Nyssa. She was a famous ascetic and also the founder of one of the first female monasteries. The monastery was founded on the family estate, where there was also a monastery for monks. Macrina’s younger brother Peter was its head. In the Life of St. Macrina, St. Gregory of Nyssa introduces his sister Macrina as his and, indeed, the entire family’s spiritual mother and educator in Christian virtues.

The holiness of Macrina was demonstrated by the fact that the vigil was celebrated just as in the celebrations of the martyrs, with candles carried in the procession. Bishops and priests carried the bier of Macrina, while church attendants carried the tapers in line on both sides. By all accounts, the procession was a great spectacle: the women and men were separated in groups singing antiphonally and harmoniously until the procession reached the grave. There the great pain of the participants was reflected by their lamentations. These outbursts were quelled by the bishops, who administered the proper rites and prayers for her burial.

The description by St. Gregory follows the chronology of the death and burial of Macrina (Greg. Nys. VSM 25–36). After the vision mentioned above, Gregory arrived at the monastery, where he learned that Macrina was seriously ill. It is told how she endured all of her pain peacefully and that she spoke philosophically with Gregory. As a “Bride of Christ”, Macrina was not afraid of death; rather, she was looking forward to meeting her bridegroom. So St. Gregory praises the faith of his sister. It appears that women were assisting Macrina continuously at her bedside, offering her prayers, as Gregory later states. Prayers were an important rite, conducted around the deathbed, which was turned towards the east. Macrina wanted to participate with a lamp in the nocturnal prayer, the eucharistia, at which point she made the sign of the cross. With this last prayer, she passed away. The virgins cried and Gregory felt that this was a natural reaction, so that he too expressed his pain. However, he soon

40 41

THE FUNERAL OF ST. BASIL Alongside this long description by St. Gregory of Nyssa it is useful to reflect on the description of the death and funeral of St. Basil, Macrina’s brother, by St. Gregory of Nazianzen. St. Gregory was a close friend of St. Basil, and a fellow student at Athens. He gave a funeral oration for St. Basil on one of the days of his commemoration, for he was not in attendance for the funeral itself, which he refers to on the basis of other descriptions.43 As a result, the description becomes even more interesting, since his retelling suggests the way that the funeral ought to be remembered.

42

Gregg 1975, 63. Huntington and Metcalf 1981, 2.

43

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Effros 1996, 3. McCauley 1953, 3.

JULIA BURMAN: CHRISTIANISING THE CELEBRATIONS OF DEATH IN LATE ANTIQUITY: FUNERALS AND SOCIETY There are elements in common between the descriptions of the death and burial of St. Basil and St. Macrina. Both taught and prayed at their deathbed while faithful Christians and clerics surrounded them. Both funeral processions were great public celebrations.

The most striking difference between these two narratives and the earlier descriptions of imperial Roman practices is the eminent position assumed by clerics. In these two particular examples, a bishop and a nun, the presence of such clerics is assumed. However, when St. Gregory of Nazianzen describes the death of his sister Gorgonia, a decent wife and mother, he states that the family and friends who stood around her deathbed were joined by a priest, the spiritual father of Gorgonia. He was the one who heard her last words—the closing words of a psalm that, in her moment of departure, proved her confidence in God.45

St. Gregory of Nazianzen underlines how St. Basil joyfully gave up his soul to the angels. Basil is described as carried by holy hands in the funeral procession. So many came to attend the funeral procession and display their grief that the occasion evolved into a spectacle, where everyone wished to touch the Saint; if not the hem of his garment, then at least his shadow. The psalmsinging gave way to lamentation and a great tumult arose. Not only Christians were mourning, but also Jews and pagans. The funeral then turned into a contest of who demonstrated the greatest sorrow. This developed into violent pushing and rioting, in which many people were killed. These individuals were regarded as blest ones, since they were companions to Basil in his departure and thus could be considered funeral victims.44

The Christian view evolved from the Roman imperial funerary ceremonies. These included an adventus to an emperor’s final resting place and that can be considered a survival of the pagan consecratio of the emperor.46 The body of an emperor was treated as holy. But the new role of the Church and the priests is nicely demonstrated in the descriptions of the death of Constantine the Great. While the glory of the emperor Constantine was demonstrated by the guards that surrounded his golden coffin and the funeral cortège resembling a military parade, the new emperor Constantius, accompanied by his military officers, had to draw back in the ceremony and allow the central position to be assumed by the ministers of God, who performed the rites of divine worship with prayers. Later sources recount the importance of his burial place in the Church of Holy Apostles.47

St. Basil, just like St. Macrina, was described as someone admired by all the community, as everyone wanted to lament him. The tumult that transpired at his funeral contrasts sharply with his own peaceful demeanor and wise mind, clearly expressing his separation from and yet importance to the city’s various social groups. If we think about the elements that these descriptions have in common, we can sketch an ideal funeral. A good Christian death occurs after prayer, where the life is given up joyfully. Close friends, relatives and priests or bishops are present. The eminence of these two deceased saints is underlined by the fact that they were carried by “holy hands” and not by pallbearers. The funeral corteges were followed by a large gathering which sang psalms, but many among them still felt a sense of loss that required the open expression of grief. In this way, these early Christian funerals are best regarded as public festivals.

These early descriptions also illustrate that the patterns of celebrating Christian deaths originated from old traditions. The original elements of these celebrations were considered important and in part retained, despite their Christianised form. On one level, this is unsurprising, since burial practices require long periods within which to evolve. At the same time, these Christianised celebrations of death indicate a remarkable degree of social change. Once a family affair, funerals came to involve the entire community, where bishops held the highest rank. As a result, these funerals displayed the new hierarchies of their world at a symbolic level. This is the reason why early Christian funerals held importance as public festivals, for they were the arenas in which the new social order in the late antique period was strengthened and its social values and hierarchies maintained.

EARLY CHRISTIAN PUBLIC FUNERALS: NEW SOCIAL HIERARCHIES The descriptions of death and funerary practices in the writings of the Cappadocian Fathers St. Gregory of Nyssa and St. Gregory of Nazianzen provide us with a vivid picture of early Christian approaches to celebrating death. The texts prove that funerals formed an integral part in the feasts of the community: people demonstrated their participation through mourning in great numbers. While the descriptions are certainly ideal, it is this very characteristic that makes them so interesting: they portray the funerals in the way that they ought to be remembered. In the process, these narratives also construct a model of the ideal Christian funeral for later writers.

45

Greg. Naz., St. Gorgonia 117. MacCormack 1981, 133. 47 Eus. VC 4.70-1; PG 20, cols. 1225–8; Soz. HE 2.34; PG 67, col. 1032. 46

44

Greg. Naz., Or. 43, In laudem Basilii Magni 80; PG 36, cols. 601–4.

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Abbreviations PG PL VSM

N.S.W.: Ancient History Documentary Research Centre, Macquarie University. Huntington, R. and Metcalf, P. 1981. Celebrations of Death: the Anthropology of Mortuary Ritual. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Johnston, S.I. 1999. Restless Dead: Encounters Between the Living and the Dead in Ancient Greece. Berkeley and London: University of California Press. Karivieri, A. 1996. The Athenian Lamp Industry in Late Antiquity. Helsinki: Suomen Ateenan-instituutin säätiö. Kotila, H. 1992. Memoria Mortuorum: Commemoration of the Departed in Augustine. Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum 38. Rome: Institutum patristicum Augustinianum. Kourkoutidou-Nicolaidou, E. 1997. “Elysian Fields to Christian Paradise.” In The Transformation of the Roman World, AD 400–900, edited by L. Webster and M. Brown. London: British Museum Press. LaPorte, J. 1982. The Role of Women in Early Christianity. New York: Edwin Meller Press. Lattimore, R. 1962. Themes in Greek and Latin Epitaphs. Illinois Studies in Language and Literature 28. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. MacCormack, R. 1981. Art and Ceremony in Late Antiquity. Berkeley: The University of California Press. McGuire, M.R.P. 1953. “Introduction.” In Funeral Orations by Saint Gregory of Nazianzen and Saint Ambrose. Translated by L.P. McCauley et al. Fathers of the Church Vol. 22. Washington: Catholic University of America Press. Paxton, F.S. 1990. Christianizing Death: The Creation of a Ritual Process in Early Medieval Europe. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Rebillard, E. 1994. In hora mortis: évolution de la pastorale chrétienne de la mort aux IVe et Ve siècles dans l'Occident latin. BÉFAR 284. Rome: École française de Rome. Rush, A.C. 1941. Death and Burial in Christian Antiquity. Washington: Catholic University of America Press. Sironen, E. 1997. “The Late Roman and Early Byzantine Inscriptions of Athens and Attica.” Ph.D. diss., University of Helsinki. Toynbee, J.M.C. 1971. Death and Burial in the Roman World. London: Thames and Hudson. Velkovska, E. 1996. “Funerali in Oriente 353–355.” In Scientia Liturgica, Manuale di Liturgia IV: Sacramenti e Sacramentali, edited by A.J. Chupungco, 243–52. Piemme: Pontificio Istituto Liturgico Sant’Anselmo. Vogel, C. 1983. “The Cultic Environment of the Deceased in the Early Christian Period.” In Temple of The Holy Spirit: Sickness and Death of the Christian in the Liturgy. New York.

Patrologiae cursus completus series Graeca, edited by J.-P. Migne. Paris: Garnier Frères. Patrologiae cursus completus series Latina, edited by J.-P. Migne. Paris: Garnier Frères. Gregoire de Nysse, Vie de Sainte Macrine, edited by P. Maraval. Sources chrétiennes 178. Paris: Éditions du Cerf.

Works Cited Alexiou, M. 1974. The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bodel, J.P. 1999. “Death on Display: Looking at Roman Funerals.” In The Art of Ancient Spectacle, edited by B. Bergmann and C. Kondoleon, 258–81. Studies in the History of Art 56. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Brown, P.R.L. 1983. The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity. Bungay: University of Chicago Press. Dagron, G. 1989. “‘Ainsi rien n’échappera à la réglementation’. Etat, Eglise, Corporations, conréries: à propos des inhumations à Contantinople Ive-Xe siècle.” In Hommes et richesses dans l'Empire byzantin. Vol. 2. VIIIe-XVe siècle. Réalités Byzantines, edited by V. Kravari, J. Lefort and C. Morrison. Paris: Lethielleux. Davies, J. 1999. Death, Burial and Rebirth in the Religions of Antiquity. London: Routledge. Davies, P.J.E. 2000. Death and the Emperor: Roman Imperial Funerary Monuments from Augustus to Marcus Aurelius. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Delehaye, H. 1921. Les passions des martyrs et les genres littéraires. Brussels: Bureaux de la Société des Bollandistes. ——. 1933. Les origines du culte des martyrs. Brussels: Société des Bollandistes. Dennis, G.T. 1996. “Popular Religious Attitudes and Practices in Byzantium.” In The Christian East: Its Institutions & its Thought: A Critical Reflection, edited by R.F. Taft. Rome: Pontificio Istituto Orientale. Duchesne, L. 1889. Origines du culte chrétien: étude sur la liturgie latine avant Charlemagne. Paris: Thorin. Effros, B. 1996. “Symbolic Expressions of Sanctity: Gertrude of Nivelles in the Context of Merovingian Mortuary Custom.” Viator 27:1–10. Garland, R. 1985. The Greek Way of Death. London: Duckworth. Grabar, A. 1946. Martyrium: recherches sur le culte des reliques et l'art chrétien antique. Paris: Collège de France. Gregg, R. 1975. Consolation Philosophy: Greek and Christian Paideia in Basil and the Two Gregories. Cambridge, Mass.: Philadelphia Patristic Foundation. Hope, V.M. 2001. “Contempt and Respect: The Treatment of the Corpse in Ancient Rome.” In Death and Disease in the Ancient City, edited by V.M. Hope and E. Marshall, 104–27. London: Routledge. Hopkins, K. 1983. Death and Renewal. Sociological Studies in Roman History 1. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Horsley, G.H.R. 1987. New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity, Volume 5: Linguistic Essays. North Ryde,

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Chapter 14

The Sala dei Cavalli in Palazzo Te: Portraits of Champions* ELIZABETH TOBEY Upon entering the Sala dei Cavalli, the main receiving room of the Palazzo Te, six painted horses greet the visitor. They stand against a frescoed backdrop of Corinthian pilasters, coloured marble panels, and trompe l’oeil statuary. A sonnet by the sixteenth-century poet, Torquato Tasso, describes the blurring of artifice with the real:

poetic and visual images of the circus champions of Roman antiquity. THE ORIGINS OF THE SALA DEI CAVALLI AND ITS LAYOUT The Sala dei Cavalli is located on the ground floor of the north side of the Palazzo Te, a suburban villa that the artist Giulio Romano designed and had built on Isola Te.3 Romano came to Mantua in 1524 from his native Rome. He incorporated the walls of an earlier villa and stable complex into the northern side of the new palace, which was begun in 1525. The Sala dei Cavalli was the largest of the original rooms in the old villa, and became the main reception room in the new. The paintings were executed between June 1527 and March 1528.4

Son destrier forse questi o li dipinse così maestra man, che veder parmi che spirino i colori e’ntorno i marmi. che di bei fregi d’oro ella distinse? È questo vero passo, o pur sì il finse ch’udir ne credi il calpestio? son d’armi strepiti veri questi e veri carmi questi? ma qual fra tanti il pregio vinse? Questo: le palme e i pregi ecco del corso. spiegati al vento in sì superba mostra: vedi che l’ostro e l’oro al sol riluce. E se talora in vera pugna o in giostra Federico gli presse il nobil dorso, Cillaro parve l’un, l’altro Polluce.1

The experience of entering the Sala dei Cavalli’s space is crucial to understanding its meaning (fig. 14.1). A Renaissance visitor might have entered the palace through the Loggia of the Muses on the north side. From the Loggia, one passes into the Sala dei Cavalli through a doorway in the west wall. The first sight to greet the visitor is that of a chestnut horse placed above the opposing doorway on the east wall (fig. 14.2). There are six horses depicted altogether: one each on the entrance walls, and two each on the north and south long walls. These horses stand on plinths in front of views onto painted landscapes, many of which represent the scenery around Mantua. Above each horse is a painted relief depicting a scene of Hercules. Trompe l’oeil “statuary” depicts the Roman gods: Jupiter and Juno appear on the east wall, and Venus and Mars (later replaced in the 18th century by Minerva), appear on the west wall. Vulcan stands in the middle of the south wall over the fireplace. Painted portrait busts in shell niches appear above each of the five windows: three on the north wall, and two on the south.

Are these perchance steeds, or did the masterly hand paint them, so that it seems to me the colours breathe, and that it distinguished the marble around them from friezes of gold? Is this their real step, or did the artist pretend so well that I believed to hear the pounding of their hooves? Are these the true sounds of arms, true songs I hear? But which among so many won the prize? This here!: the palms and prizes of the race, Opened to the wind with such superb display: See that the purple cloth and the gold shine to the sun.2

In the poem’s concluding lines, Tasso extends the metaphor to the horses and their owner, Marchese Federico Gonzaga, comparing them to horse and rider from Roman mythology: “And if at times in real battle or in joust / Federico mounted the noble back, / One seemed his Cillarus, and the other, his Pollux”. Thus, the equine portraits of the Sala dei Cavalli may be interpreted on two levels: literally, they show the familial and political significance of these animals in the lives of the Gonzaga family of Mantua, Italy, while metaphorically, they evoke

THE GONZAGA AS “MEMBERS” OF AN IMPERIAL FAMILY Presiding over the Sala in the centre of the north wall is a painted portrait bust that I interpret as representing Federico Gonzaga (fig. 14.3). Frederick Hartt identified this portrait bust as Hadrian (reigned A.D. 117–138).5 His identification is a logical one, as the painting resembles

* Special thanks to Ugo Bazzotti, Director of the Museo Civico di Palazzo Te, for permission to reproduce the photographs of the Sala dei Cavalli, and to Dr. Anthony Colantuono for consultation on the translation of the Italian. 1 Torquato Tasso, “Sopra la camera dei cavalli del signor duca di Mantova”, in Malacarne 1995, xx. 2 Solerti 1900, 120.

3

Verheyen 1977, 43. Verheyen 1977, 115; see the photographs in Belluzzi 1998. 5 Hartt 1958, 113. 4

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FIG. 14.1. DIAGRAM OF THE SALA DEI CAVALLI, PALAZZO TE, ISOLA TE.

career as a mercenary general. Hadrian, like Federico’s future employer, Emperor Charles V, was Spanish. Federico Gonzaga, though at the time legally bound to serve the papacy of Clement VII and its alliance with France, purposefully allowed the Imperial troops to proceed southward down the Italian peninsula to Rome. Charles V sacked the Eternal City in 1527, the very same year in which the decoration of the Sala began. Following the Sack of Rome, Federico switched allegiances, and in 1530, Charles V named him the Duke of Mantua. When the Emperor visited the Palazzo Te in 1530, the Sala dei Cavalli was the first room he visited. It would seem

antique busts of this Roman Emperor. However, comparison of the bust with the Prado Museum portrait of Federico by Titian leads to the conclusion that the Marchese is shown here in the guise of Hadrian. The visual metaphor is fitting, as Hadrian was among the rulers whose example the humanist, Mario Equicola, advised Federico to follow.6 The visual association of Federico with Hadrian must have carried political overtones for the Marchese and his 6

Verheyen 1977, 38.

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ELIZABETH TOBEY: THE SALA DEI CAVALLI IN PALAZZO TE: PORTRAITS OF CHAMPIONS

FIG. 14.2. CHESTNUT HORSE WITH JUPITER AND JUNO, WITH PAINTED RELIEF OF HERCULES AND NEMEAN LION SHOWN ABOVE, EAST WALL, SALA DEI CAVALLI (E. TOBEY, COURTESY OF THE MUSEO CIVICO, PALAZZO TE).

FIG. 14.3. PAINTED BUST OF FEDERICO GONZAGA AS THE EMPEROR HADRIAN ON THE NORTH WALL (E. TOBEY, COURTESY OF THE MUSEO CIVICO, PALAZZO TE).

fitting, therefore, for Federico to appear in the guise of Hadrian, a great Roman emperor from Spain.

youth and of a bare-breasted woman. Hartt has identified these as Antinous, Hadrian’s male lover (d. AD 130), and Cleopatra (reigned 51–30 BC), the Egyptian queen.7 The bust of the youth also resembles Lysippus’ portraits of the young Alexander the Great (d. 323 BC), another great ruler whom Federico Gonzaga was advised to emulate. Perhaps this might allude to Federico Gonzaga’s illegitimate son, Alessandro Magno, who was born in

The other four busts may show certain members of Federico’s family. Two busts on the south wall might depict Federico’s parents, Francesco Gonzaga and Isabella d’Este, as the Emperor Antoninus Pius (reigned AD 138–161) and Empress Faustina (d. 140), respectively. On the north wall, flanking the central bust of Federico Gonzaga as Hadrian, there appear busts of a

7

145

Hartt 1958, 113.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY 1520 of his mistress, Isabella Boschetti.8 The choice of an antique persona for each Gonzaga family member seems less intended to orchestrate a cohesive imperial family group than to allude to specific ancient busts that were owned by the Gonzaga. The Gonzaga’s collection of antiquities will be addressed further on in this paper.

Barb, stallion named Morel Favorito listed as a sire in a 1540 Gonzaga stud book.10 The bay horse on the north wall is Battaglia (fig. 14.5), and the grey is Dario. The names of Morel Favorito and Dario are applied faintly in dry fresco below the portraits, and the identities of Battaglia and Glorioso are confirmed by lost inscriptions recorded in 16th–century drawings by the artist Ippolito Andreasi.11 The identities of the two remaining stallions, the chestnut on the east wall and the grey on the south wall, are unknown.

THE GONZAGA HORSES: BARBERI AND ZANNETTE

Two distinct breeds appear in the Sala dei Cavalli: the Zannetta and the Barbero. The chestnut horse on the east wall (fig. 14.6) and Glorioso on the west wall are Zannette, or Spanish Jennets, a riding breed that is the ancestor of the modern Andalusian horse. The hindquarters of the chestnut stallion on the east wall bear a very faint marking or brand.12 The diamond-shaped brand with the letters “FE” corresponds to the Zannetta brand in Gonzaga stud books, which appears as a crowned diamond inscribed with the initials “FC” (fig. 14.7). The discrepancy in initials may be due to different Marchesi: “FE” may stand for Federico, “FC” for Francesco.13 The “G” on the chestnut’s jowl undoubtedly stands for “Gonzaga.” The Zannetta brand is also found on Glorioso in the Andreasi drawings. Federico’s desire to impress Charles V would explain the placement of Zannetta horses, a Spanish breed, on the entrance walls to the Sala.14 The four horses on the north and south wall do not have brands; they do however stand in a direction opposite to that of the two Zannette. If we assume that brands were applied consistently to one side of a horse, these four horses’ brands would be hidden from view. These four stallions have plumes in their headstalls, and three out of the four—including Battaglia and Morel Favorito—have red, diamond-shaped headpieces placed over their ears, covering their upper foreheads (fig. 14.5). This equipment identifies the four stallions as belonging to the Barbero, or racing, breed. These plumes, or pennacchi, are mentioned in a 1509 document as intended for the celate (headpieces) and testeri (headstalls) of the

FIG. 14.4. MOREL FAVORITO, WITH PAINTED RELIEF OF HERCULES AND CERBERUS ABOVE, SOUTH WALL, SALA DEI CAVALLI (E. TOBEY, COURTESY OF THE MUSEO CIVICO, PALAZZO TE).

Tasso’s verse on the Sala dei Cavalli likens Federico to Pollux, but what of Cyllarus, his mythical mount? Who were these horses so prominently displayed? They are all stallions, undoubtedly sires within the various allevamenti, or breeding farms, owned by the Gonzaga in and around Mantua, where the family raised horses of several breeds. Four horses can be identified by name. Mantuan historian Giancarlo Malacarne has connected two of the depicted stallions to horses stabled in the Stalle, or stables, of the Te: Glorioso and Morel Favorito (fig. 14.4). Morel may be a posthumous portrait of a stallion that died in 1524.9 There is also a Barbero, or 8 9

10

Stud Book of 1540, 60r, Envelope 258, Archivio Gonzaga, Archivio di Stato, Mantua. 11 Belluzzi 1998, figs. 215–7. 12 The lettering on the hindquarters is difficult to see and is barely visible in photographs. Its poor visibility is probably due to paint loss, since some of the finishing touches of the Sala’s decoration was executed using pigment on dry plaster, rather than true fresco technique. For more on the Sala’s condition and on the findings of the cleaning and restoration of the Palazzo Te’s frescoes in the late 1980s, see Borea 1994. 13 These brands, illustrated in Malacarne 1995, were photographed from stud books in Envelope 258 of the Archivio Gonzaga. Malacarne does not specify a date for these brands, but as much of the material in Envelope 258 is from the marquisate of Francesco Gonzaga, it seems likely that the initials “FC” indicate “Francesco.” 14 Tobey 1997, 63; for the visit, see Verheyen 1977, 22.

Berselli 1991, 157. Malacarne 1995, 153–4.

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ELIZABETH TOBEY: THE SALA DEI CAVALLI IN PALAZZO TE: PORTRAITS OF CHAMPIONS

FIG. 14.5. BATTAGLIA, NORTH WALL, SALA DEI CAVALLI (E. TOBEY, COURTESY OF THE MUSEO CIVICO, PALAZZO TE).

FIG. 14.6. DETAIL, CHESTNUT HORSE, EAST WALL, SALA DEI CAVALLI (E. TOBEY, COURTESY OF THE MUSEO CIVICO, PALAZZO TE).

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY

FIG. 14.7. LEFT: DETAIL OF ZANNETTA BRAND ON THE FLANK OF THE CHESTNUT HORSE (E. TOBEY, COURTESY OF THE MUSEO CIVICO, PALAZZO TE). RIGHT: ZANNETTA BRAND FROM A GONZAGA STUD BOOK, ENVELOPE 258, ARCHIVIO GONZAGA, ARCHIVIO DI STATO, MANTUA (AFTER MALACARNE 1995).

Gonzaga Barberi horses. The documents also mention bridles of crimson and green silk with bells, which may be the gold ornament on the bridles.15

England with the crossing of three foundation sires with native mares probably descending in part from Gonzaga Barberi.17 Thus, Mantuan blood may flow in the veins of the great thoroughbred champions of today.

Besides being valued mounts and racehorses, the Gonzaga horses were political tools that helped the family attain status at the European royal courts. The horses became “hot items”, diplomatic gifts which the Gonzaga judiciously parcelled out. Perhaps the single most historic gift of the Gonzaga was the group of Barberi sent to the English royal court. In 1532, Federico Gonzaga gave King Henry VIII a group of broodmares and a Barbero stallion, Argentino. Gonzaga offered the king this Barbero stock to found a royal stud.16 Historians have argued quite convincingly that these Gonzaga Barberi are ancestors of the modern-day thoroughbred racehorse. The thoroughbred originated in 18th-century

Gonzaga horses were also well received at the French royal court. As an adolescent courtier, Federico Gonzaga wrote to his father in 1515 from Milan, recounting that King Francis I wanted a certain Gonzaga horse, Falbo depinto, “saying that he liked this horse more than any woman that he had ever seen ... [and] that the king desired greatly that I give the horse to him and that he was in love.”18 After having ridden another Mantuan steed, Non t’intendo, the king reportedly proclaimed, “This one is Mantuan, and he is a Virgil among horses!”19 17

Cavriani (1974, 34) writes, “later the English followed through their [the Gonzaga’s] ideas in founding their breed of thoroughbred, in as much as the Arabian stallions imported in England during the eighteenth century were put almost exclusively to mares of Mantuan origin or their direct descendants.” In his writings, the prominent twentieth-century Italian horse breeder Federico Tesio mentioned the gift of Barberi to King Henry VIII. He also mentions a stud book compiled by Neapolitan horseman Prospero D’Osma for the Duke of Leicester that lists the broodmares and stallions belonging to the royal farms of Elizabeth I. Many of the horses have Italian names and are, “obviously the offspring of the mares sent to Henry VIII by the Duchess of Savoy and the Duke of Mantua” (Tesio 1994, 2–3). 18 Letter, Federico Gonzaga to Francesco Gonzaga, October 24, 1515, Envelope 2121, AG, in Tamalio 1994, 86. 19 “Questo è mantovano, et è Virgilio tra li cavalli.” See Letter, Stazio Gadio to Francesco Gonzaga, December 16, 1516, Autografi Volta, Section 2, 117, Archivio di Stato, Mantua in Tamalio 1994, 368 and Malacarne 1995, 75.

15

The trappings of the Barberi are described in a list that appears in a letter of May 26, 1509, from Isabella d’Este Gonzaga to Berardo Ruta (Envelope 2416, Book 205, 58, AG in Malacarne 1995, 230), that is entitled “Nota de le robe de li barberi de veluto cremesino e verde, tempestati de tremolanti cum la impresa del Crosolo” (“Note on the Adornments of the Barberi of Crimson and Green Velvet, Studded with Shining Ornament with the Crest of the Crosolo”). The item, or list number, that describes the pennacchi, reads “penachii sei verdi e rossi, cioè 3 celate e 3 per li testeri da li cavalli” (“six red and green feathers, that is, three (attached to) headpieces and three for the headstalls of the horses”). The above-mentioned letter of May 26, 1509 lists as an item, “brillie 3 da barberi de tesuti de seta verde e cremesina cum li sonagli” (“Three bridles of the Barberi of crimson and green silk fabric with bells”). All translations of the Italian in this chapter are by the author, unless indicated otherwise. 16 Cavriani 1974, 28–9.

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ELIZABETH TOBEY: THE SALA DEI CAVALLI IN PALAZZO TE: PORTRAITS OF CHAMPIONS THE IDEAL STALLION OF VIRGIL’S GEORGICS

Cyllarus et, quorum Grai meminere poetae, Martis equi biiuges et magni currus Achilli. (Verg. Georgics 3.83–91)

The French king’s praise for the Mantuan horse is less odd than it sounds. The association of the Gonzaga horses with the poetry of Virgil appears to have been culturally explicit in the 16th century, and the Sala dei Cavalli portraits provide the visual evidence for a Virgilian connection. Virgil, we must remember, was Mantuan, born in the village of Andes on the banks of the Mincio River. In the Georgics, the poet celebrates the agriculture of his native Italy, and devotes verses to the breeding of horses for battle and for the circus races. We know that the Gonzaga knew the Georgics, as they owned manuscript and printed editions.20 Upon seeing the stallions of the Sala dei Cavalli—two of which now appear white in color, but were actually grey (paint loss having weakened the dappling on their bodies)—a Renaissance viewer might recall a particular passage from the third book of the Georgics, describing the criteria for selecting a stallion:

If he hears armour clang in the distance He can’t keep still, the ears prick up, the limbs quiver, He drinks the air, he jets it in hot steam out of his nostrils. The mane is thick, and tumbles on the right side when tossed; The spine runs over the loins, sunk between two ridges; The solid hoof makes a deep clatter and hurls up divots. Such a horse was Cyllarus, that Pollux broke in . . .

When Tasso wrote his verse on the Sala dei Cavalli, comparing Federico Gonzaga and his steed to Pollux and Cyllarus, he likely alluded to this particular passage from Virgil. The decor of the adjacent Loggia of the Muses further supports the Virgilian influence. Eurydice’s flight from Aristaeus, an episode recounted in the fourth book of the Georgics, appears on the wall of the loggia. According to Verheyen, the lunette above the doorway which leads into the Sala dei Cavalli shows a fountain from which emerges the laurel-wreathed head of Virgil. This motif was apparently popular on coins of the period, and appears as well in drawings attributed to Andrea Mantegna.21 Amedeo Belluzzi labelled the female figure in the lunette as the “muse of Mantuan arts”.22

Nec non et pecori est idem dilectus equino: tu modo, quos in spem statues summittere gentis, praecipuum iam inde a teneris impende laborem. continuo pecoris generosi pullus in aruis altius ingreditur et mollia crura reponit; primus et ire uiam et fluuios temptare minacis audet et ignoto sese committere ponti, nec uanos horret strepitus. illi ardua ceruix argutumque caput, breuis aluus obesaque terga, luxuriatque toris animosum pectus. honesti spadices glaucique, color deterrimus albis et giluo . . . (Verg. Georgics 3.72–83)

Near the opening of the third book of the Georgics, preceding the description of the ideal stallion, Virgil vows to bring glory to his native city through the Muse of poetry:

It’s essential that those you wish to rear for stud should receive Particular attention from the very start Notice a thoroughbred foal in the paddock—how from birth He picks up his feet high, stepping fastidiously . . . He shows a proud neck, A finely tapering head, short barrel and fleshy back, And his spirited chest ripples with muscles: (bays and roans Are soundest, white or dun Horses the worst).

primus ego in patriam mecum, modo uita supersit, Aonio rediens deducam uertice Musas; primus Idumaeas referam tibi, Mantua, palmas, et uiridi in campo templum de marmore ponam propter aquam, tardis ingens ubi flexibus errat Mincius et tenera praetexit harundine ripas. (Verg. Georgics 3.12–5) I’ll be the first to bring the Muse of song to my birthplace From Greece, and wear the poet’s palm for Mantua; And there in the green meadows I’ll build a shrine of marble Close to the waterside, where the river Mincius wanders With lazy loops and fringes the banks with delicate reed.

The Barbero stallions depicted on the two long walls of the Sala dei Cavalli could well fit Virgil’s description. The lively eye and alert demeanour of these stallions suggest the spirited temperament of Virgil’s ideal sire. Their ears prick forward or pin back in reaction to the “sound” around them:

When visitors entered the Palazzo Te through its northern, city-facing entrance, they walked through the Loggia of the Muses and passed under Virgil’s wreathed head into this reception room of painted marble, the Sala dei Cavalli (see fig. 14.1). The painted portrait bust on the room’s north wall could very well allude to the image in the continuation of the above-mentioned passage:

. . . tum, si qua sonum procul arma dedere, stare loco nescit, micat auribus et tremit artus, collectumque premens uoluit sub naribus ignem. densa iuba, et dextro iactata recumbit in armo; at duplex agitur per lumbos spina, cauatque tellurum et solido grauiter sonat ungula cornu. talis Amyclaei domitus Pollucis habenis

in medio mihi Caesar erit templumque tenebit: illi uictor ego et Tyrio conspectus in ostro 21

20

Tobey 1997, 100; 1541 Inventory of Federico Gonzaga’s personal effects, Envelope 330, 183r, AG.

22

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Verheyen 1977, 15. Belluzzi 1998, 1.362.

GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Federico Gonzaga’s humanist training under Fabio Calvo undoubtedly contributed to his interest in collecting ancient art, as the Marchese repeatedly inquired about antiquities in Rome and in Spain. In 1526, Gonzaga shipped twenty-six boxes of antique art from Rome to Mantua, a gift from Giulio Romano.27 Giulio’s knowledge of antiquities was well known and, while working in Rome, he procured works for collectors. His teacher, Raphael, was among the first to attempt a systematic survey of the ancient monuments of Rome. Giulio reportedly accompanied him to various sites, including Hadrian’s villa near Tivoli.28

centum quadriiugos agitabo ad flumina currus. (Verg. Georgics 3.16-18) Caesar’s image shall stand there in the midst, commanding my temple, While I, like a victor, conspicuous in crimson robes, shall drive A hundred four-horse chariots up and down by the river.

It seems fitting that Giulio Romano chose to paint four Barberi, as it is the number of horses making up the typical quadriga or four-horse team used in the majority of circus races. Thus, the Sala dei Cavalli translates Virgil’s poetic images into visual ones.

Each element of the Sala dei Cavalli’s decoration seems to be based on a classical precedent. The painted marble panels resemble the First Style masonry painting found in Republican Roman villas, which are described in Vitruvius: “Consequently the ancients who introduced polished furnishings began by representing different kinds of marble slabs in different positions, and then cornices and blocks of yellow ochre arranged in various ways” (De arch. 7.5.1). The “relief” scenes above the horses, depicting labours of Hercules also resemble monochrome narrative relief panels recorded in Republican-era First Style wall painting,29 and their compositions can be traced to examples of Roman sculpture known to Giulio Romano, such as the relief of Hercules and the Nemean lion (see fig. 14.2). Giulio Romano based the composition of Hercules struggling with the lion upon a relief sculpture that was once in the collection of Cardinal Andrea della Valle in Rome.30 Romano may have based the scene of Hercules straddling the Cretan bull upon Roman images of the god Mithras killing a sacrificial bull, such as a second-century A.D. marble freestanding sculpture in the Capitoline Museum.31

FEDERICO GONZAGA AS COLLECTOR The Sala dei Cavalli not only alludes to the great literature of ancient Rome, but also to its art. Perhaps Federico Gonzaga, in casting himself as Hadrian, wished to emulate that emperor’s love of all things Hellenic. Indeed, the coexistence of the active military life with the contemplative life of the villa is a major theme found throughout the Palazzo Te. Federico Gonzaga received a classical education as a boy from the humanist Fabio Calvo, who was also one of the Renaissance’s foremost antiquarians. Calvo had been the translator of an edition of Vitruvius for Raphael and, just prior to the sack of Rome, he published a treatise known as the Simulachrum (1527). In this work, he drew upon various literary sources to “reconstruct” the fourteen ancient regiones or sections of Rome with diagrams of the layout of the ancient city during four periods of Roman history.23 A depiction of the circus as an embodiment of the cosmos was one of the images included.

Giulio Romano appears to have based the portrait busts in the Sala dei Cavalli on actual objects: for instance, we know that Isabella d’Este purchased an antique bust of Faustina from the artist Andrea Mantegna.32 Also, the female bust on the south wall of the Sala has a distinctive hairstyle quite similar to the symmetrical rosettes of hair

The diagram shows four quadrigae encircling a euripus or central divider upon which are displayed seven monuments. The circus diagram is inscribed within an oval labelled with the four directions, beneath which is an inscription in Latin that translates as, “The circus is of oval form the equal of Heaven with seven planets, the obelisk in the centre being symbolic of the sun. Where quadrigae circled running in front of the monuments to six planets with three metae on either side”.24 Calvo, like many Renaissance antiquarians including Pirro Ligorio,25 associated the circus with the cosmos.26

27

Tobey 1997, 81; the letters are reproduced in Ferrari 1992, 1.214. These visits are mentioned by the seventeenth-century biographer G.P. Bellori (1976, 64–5; see also McDonald and Pinto 1995, 214). 29 19th century watercolours record narrative scenes in Pompeian First Style wall painting (see Ling 1991, 17–8). 30 Tobey 1997, 70; Cavalieri 1594, pl. 41. Amedeo Belluzzi (1998, 177) independently came to the same conclusion regarding the Hercules and Nemean lion composition and the Della Valle relief. The Mantuan ambassador to Rome, Francesco Gonzaga (not to be confused with Marchese Francesco Gonzaga), sought the Cardinal Della Valle’s assistance in 1525 in helping to procure antiquities from Rome for Federico Gonzaga (see Letter, Francesco Gonzaga to Federico Gonzaga, February 15, 1525, Envelope 869, 81r,v, AG, published in Ferrari 1992, 1.78). It appears that the Della Valle relief inspired works by other Renaissance artists: one example is a bronze plaquette by Carlo Moderno (Middeldorf 1983, fig. 85). 31 Tobey 1997, 72. 32 Chambers and Martineau 1981, 170–1; now in Mantua’s Palazzo Ducale, inv. no. 6749. 28

23

Jacks 1990, 452–81. “Circus Ovata forma est Coeli instar cum Septem Planetis Obeliscus medio Loco Solis Insigne. Metae tres utriunque pro reliquis Sex Planetis, quas currendo QUADRIGAE circuibant.” Calvo’s diagram, originally published in 1527, was reprinted by G.B. Cavalieri in 1592. This print is now plate 48 of a collection compiled by Antoine LaFrery in the 16th century, known as the Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae (see further McGinness 1976). 25 Ligorio 1553, reprinted in 1998. 26 See further Möseneder 1985. 24

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ELIZABETH TOBEY: THE SALA DEI CAVALLI IN PALAZZO TE: PORTRAITS OF CHAMPIONS above the forehead of the Faustina bust. The Mantuan sculptor Pier Jacopo Alari-Bonacolsi (known as Antico) cast a bronze bust of Antoninus Pius, which is now in the Seminario Vescovile in Mantua.33 These served as visual inspiration for the two busts on the south wall.

Bacceavtes and Thy[modes], flanking a cylinder holding palm fronds.40 Another mosaic in the Sousse Museum, from a house in Sousse, depicts the various circus factions with four rearing horses: Pupillus, Cupido, Amator, and Avra.41 Each horse wears a bridle with a laurel branch in its headstall and is led by a groom wearing the colours of one of the four factions. Cupido has a triangular-shaped brand on his flank. A floor from the oecus of the House of Horses at Carthage combines opus sectile stone paving with alternating mosaic squares, each of which shows a charioteer or a circus horse (often named) accompanied by various symbols or figures in the upper left hand corner of the panel.42

Two more busts appear to be based on antique works that are presently in the museum at the Palazzo Ducale, Mantua: the youth on the north side may be based on a torso of an Ephebe, whose head inclines towards the left and is missing its arms;34 and the female bust, also on the north wall, appears to be based on a bust of Venus.35 The Venus bust shares the widely-set eyes and straight profile of the female bust on the north wall, and both have in common a distinct fold of drapery cascading down from the left shoulder. If Romano based the painted bust on this Venus sculpture, he took some liberties in leaving the right breast bare! Because of insufficient and missing documentation of the present-day collection of antiquities in Palazzo Ducale, it is difficult to determine with certainty that pieces might have been in the Gonzaga’s collection at the time that Giulio Romano was decorating Palazzo Te. The Faustina bust is among the few pieces that can be fairly securely documented as belonging to the Gonzaga at this time.36

The circus horse portraits appear not only in North Africa but also at sites on the Iberian peninsula. A late thirdcentury mosaic from the reception hall of a rural villa at Torre de Palma, Portugal portrays five named stallions (Hiberus, Leneus, Lenobatis, Pelops, Inacus), each placed within a square panel amidst an elaborate geometric matrix of guilloche patterns.43 Each stallion wears a bridle with a victory palm and bears a brand on his flank. Jocelyn Toynbee believes that the owner of the villa may have been a fan of these particular racehorses or may have even owned a stud that raised them.44 Although such mosaics most commonly appear in rural villas in the North African and Iberian provinces, at least one example appears in Italy itself, at the Villa of the Septimii at Baccano on the Via Cassio.45 This mosaic, now in the Museo Nazionale Romano, shows four unnamed horses led by charioteers of the four factions.

ANTIQUE PRECEDENTS FOR THE HORSE PORTRAITS The horses are the only “flesh-and-blood” elements of the room’s decoration. Yet they too may also be based on an ancient visual precedent, as they recall the mosaic portraits of circus horses that decorated the reception rooms of grand agricultural villas in Roman Spain and North Africa.37 These villas produced fine horses for export to Rome.38 One example, a second to third century A.D. mosaic from the Villa of Sorothi at Sousse (Roman Hadrumetum) in Tunisia, now in the Sousse Museum, shows two medallions flanking a central bucolic scene of horses grazing. The Sorothi villa apparently raised horses for the Circus Maximus in Rome. Within each medallion prances a pair of named stallions: Adorandus and Crinitus in one, Amor and Dominator in the other. The left horse in each medallion has the breeder’s name, “Sorothi”, written across its body, and the right horse has a brand on its flank. Therefore, both the Roman Sorothi and the Mantuan Gonzaga bring attention to their family name by displaying it in the brands on the representations of their champion horses.39

If the horse portraits of the Sala dei Cavalli have antique lineage, mosaics are not their only possible source. Roman mosaics often echo compositions and subject matter that appear in other media, such as painting, relief sculpture, pottery, and coins. Although Giulio Romano could not have seen the Sorothi mosaics, he may have modelled his equine portraits upon smaller objects. For instance, a bone counter now in the Vatican Museum (fig. 14.8) shows a prancing circus horse, “Amicus”, with a victory palm in his headstall and a brand, “Anton[i]”, on his flank.46 Similarly, Belluzzi has shown how Giulio Romano consistently based stucco reliefs in Palazzo Te upon motifs found on Roman coins, probably taken from his own vast personal collection.47

40

A late fourth-century threshold panel from the Villa of Ariane in Carthage shows two circus horses, labelled 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

Dunbabin 1978, 101, fig. 90. Cf. a late fourth-century mosaic with a similar composition, showing horses named Diomedes and Aicides flanking a palm-holding cylinder, now in the Bardo Museum (Fantar 1995, 193). 41 Dunbabin 1978, 95, fig. 83; Fantar 1995, 195. 42 Dunbabin 1978, 44, 95–6, figs. 84-6; Fantar 1995, 44, 52–3. 43 Illustrated in Helleno 1962. 44 Toynbee 1973, 180. 45 Aurigemma 1963, pl. 97. 46 Toynbee 1973, fig. 87. 47 Belluzzi 1998, 1.174.

For both busts, see Chambers and Martineau 1981, pls. 122–3. Levi 1931, cat. no. 12. Levi 1931, cat. no. 35, fig. 33. Levi 1931, 3–6. Dunbabin 1978, 88–108. Toynbee 1973, 167–84; Hyland 1990, 5–29, 201–30. Fantar 1995, 104–5, 194; Dunbabin 1978, 93–4, 113, figs. 81–2.

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GAMES AND FESTIVALS IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY They were progenitors of offspring that kings and emperors coveted. The Gonzaga’s runners brought glory to Mantua throughout the Italian peninsula by winning Palio races, and were valuable gifts that could help the Gonzaga attain favour at the most powerful courts throughout Europe. Upon entering the Sala dei Cavalli, it is the horses—not the portrait busts—which engage the visitor’s gaze. They are not statues, but sentient individuals so “alive” that it seems, as Tasso writes, that we can hear the “pounding of their hooves”. It seems fitting that the Gonzaga Barberi are not just painted reminders of past ages, but flourish through their descendants, the modern-day thoroughbred racehorse. Perhaps not even Federico Gonzaga could have anticipated the duration of his legacy as horse breeder, artistic patron and collector.

FIG. 14.8. CIRCUS HORSE “AMICUS.” LINE DRAWING OF A BONE COUNTER IN THE VATICAN MUSEUMS, ROME. (DRAWING BY AUTHOR AFTER TOYNBEE 1973, FIG. 87)

The “dual portraiture” that casts Federico Gonzaga and his family in the roles of the rulers of ancient Rome also extends to the images of the horses. We must look at these horses as “living antiquities” and heirs to the victors of the Circus Maximus. CONCLUSION: AN ENDURING LEGACY The imagery of the Sala dei Cavalli functions on several levels—allegorical, political, poetic, and literal—to celebrate its patron’s political importance in 16th-century Europe. The trompe l’oeil statues and portrait busts create a visual illusion in which Gonzaga family members appear immortalised as members of Roman imperial families. Federico Gonzaga, emphasising his military prowess as general and cultural sophistication as collector of antiquities, presides over the Sala in the guise of Hadrian. Likewise, the four Barberi appear with the attributes (bridle plumes, headpieces, and names) of their predecessors, the champions of the Roman circus. Their attributes distinguish them from the other two horses in the room, the Zannette, who may be identified by their brands. Politically, the Sala dei Cavalli was a reception room designed to make a lasting impression upon important visitors, including Federico Gonzaga’s employer, the Emperor Charles V. Poetically, the Gonzaga stallions that stand against a backdrop of pastoral landscapes evoke passages on horse breeding from the Georgics of Mantua’s native son, Virgil. This allusion to Virgil’s Georgics also casts Federico’s rule as a revival of Roman Imperial artistic patronage. The Zannette and Barberi stallions depicted in the room were literally showpieces to glorify the Gonzaga’s rule.

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