The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives 9781350159020, 9781350159051, 9781350159037

Table of contents :
Cover
Halftitle page
Series page
Title page
Copyright page
Dedication
Contents
Acknowledgements
1 Introduction: Visual Experience and Ideology
1. Panhellenism, identity and elite ideology
2. The politics of the visual
3. Chapter summaries
2 Visual Contexts
1. Cultural contexts of viewing
2. The visual in Xenophon’s corpus
3. The visual in Herodotus and Thucydides
Conclusion: viewing and the reading process
3 Hellenica: Viewing Greek History
1. Viewing and contestation
2. Viewing Greek hegemony
3. Looking at non-Greeks
Conclusion
4 Anabasis: Foreign Travel and Identification
1. Greeks and non-Greeks
2. The Greek experience: unity and division
Conclusion
5 Cyropaedia: Imperial Fantasy and Danger
1. Cyrus, viewer and viewed
2. Responses to power
Conclusion
6 Conclusion: Reading Practices and Political Consequences
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

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Also available from Bloomsbury American Anabasis: Xenophon and the Idea of America from the Mexican War to Iraq, Tim Rood Anticipation and Anachrony in Statius’ Thebaid, Robert Simms Imagining Xerxes, Emma Bridges Xenophon, Fiona Hobden

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives Rosie Harman

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BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2023 Copyright © Rosie Harman, 2023 Rosie Harman has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on p. viii constitute an extension of this copyright page. Cover design: Terry Woodley Cover image © Benjamin Robert Haydon, 1786–1846, Xenophon and the Greeks Sighting the Sea, pen and brown ink on wove paper. Artokoloro / Alamy Stock Photo All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Harman, Rosie, author. Title: The politics of viewing in Xenophon’s historical narratives / Rosie Harman. Description: London : Bloomsbury Academic, 2023. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022036252 | ISBN 9781350159020 (hardback) | ISBN 9781350335417 (paperback) | ISBN 9781350159037 (ebook) | ISBN 9781350159044 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Xenophon. | Xenophon–Themes, motives. | Vision in literature. | Politics in literature. | History in literature. | Greek literature–History and criticism. | Narration (Rhetoric) Classification: LCC PA4497 .H37 2023 | DDC 938/.05092—dc23/eng/20220815 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022036252 ISBN: HB: ePDF: eBook:

978-1-3501-5902-0 978-1-3501-5903-7 978-1-3501-5904-4

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For David and Peter, with all my love

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Contents Acknowledgements 1 2 3 4 5 6

Introduction: Visual Experience and Ideology Visual Contexts Hellenica: Viewing Greek History Anabasis: Foreign Travel and Identification Cyropaedia: Imperial Fantasy and Danger Conclusion: Reading Practices and Political Consequences

Notes Bibliography Index

viii 1 16 45 83 117 161 164 207 227

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Acknowledgements My interest in Xenophon began when I was studying as a PhD student as part of Professor Stephen Hodkinson’s Arts and Humanities Research Council funded project Sparta in Comparative Perspective at the University of Nottingham (2005‒9), and my first debt of gratitude is to him, for his unwavering kindness, encouragement and support, both then and in subsequent years; he has been a true mentor and friend. I am also most grateful to Professor Tim Whitmarsh who showed immense generosity with his time and in his support and encouragement of me during my PhD years. The production of this work has benefitted from research funding from the British School at Athens (who granted me an Early Career Fellowship in 2014) and from the Greek and Latin Department at University College London (who have granted me generous research funding and leave), and I am delighted to acknowledge and thank them. I am particularly grateful to my UCL colleague Professor Phiroze Vasunia for his kindness and support in reading and advising me on earlier versions of this work. I would also like to thank Professor Christopher Pelling for kindly reading and commenting on one of the chapters, and Bloomsbury’s anonymous peer reviewer for their helpful suggestions. On a personal note, I wish to thank my dear friend Dr Cosetta Cadau for her encouragement of me in this project. Finally, I wish to thank David Mabb, who has suffered though many years of late night conversations about Xenophon, and without whom this book would never have been completed. It is dedicated to him, and to our son Peter, with all my love.

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Introduction: Visual Experience and Ideology

This book examines ideological tensions in ancient Greece in the early fourth century bce through a reading of Xenophon’s varied works of narrative history, the Hellenica, Anabasis and Cyropaedia. These texts deal with highly contentious subject matter: the representation of conflicts between Greek states, conflicts between Greeks and non-Greeks, especially Persia, relations between the elite individual and society, and concepts of community, power and imperialism. Whether narrating stories of the more distant or more recent past, these texts pose serious questions for the early fourth-century reader’s understanding of their contemporary world. In all three texts, politically significant moments are imagined in highly visual terms.1 We are shown spectacles of battles, of conquering armies or of successful generals and kings presenting themselves to their followers. The weapons of the Persian army gleam through the dust as they bear down on the Greeks at Cunaxa (An. 1.8.8); Agesilaus’ men bringing out booty and prisoners captured at the Corinthian Piraeum draw the eyes of bystanders (Hell. 4.5.6); Cyrus the Great’s imperial procession in the newly conquered Babylon is vividly described (Cyr. 8.3.9–17). As events unfold, protagonists are described as gazing. In the Hellenica, the significance of the slaughter at Corinth of the Corinthians and Argives by the Corinthian exiles and Spartans is marked via the altered visual experience it provided: ‘So many fell in such a short time that the inhabitants, who were used to seeing (εἰθισμένοι ὁρᾶν) heaps of grain, wood and stones, gazed (ἐθεάσαντο) instead upon heaps of corpses’ (Hell. 4.4.12).2 Such descriptions transform the historical action into a series of sights, and the historical agents into spectators. We can ask how this transformation of historical narrative into spectacle affects its reading. What interpretative frame is offered by Xenophon in his repeated reference to the visual qualities of the events he describes, especially given the highlighting, through their spectacularization, of moments of violence or the self-promotion of figures of power – moments which may well strike the reader as politically challenging or contentious? 1

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

This book will suggest that, through the use of visualization, the narrative draws the reader into the conflicts depicted, encourages them imaginatively to place themselves in the position of the historical protagonists and challenges them to respond to unfolding events. Through being allowed to view events from different perspectives, and therefore to occupy multiple, often conflicting, political positions, the reader not only experiences for themselves the problems faced by historical actors but becomes engaged in the political conflicts acted out in the narratives. In this way Xenophon’s texts both reveal and enact, I will suggest, conflicts within elite Greek political self-consciousness in the late Classical period. Xenophon’s historical narratives are mediated through an engagement with the personalities and actions of emperors, kings or generals from centres of power such as Sparta and Persia that had been and continued to be important in shaping the early fourth-century political landscape. The reader is invited to view events through their eyes, or is confronted with responses to the sight of these figures from other historical actors, especially through being invited to experience the effects of these leaders’ displays of power on those they attempt to conquer or rule. The visual perspectives on offer are therefore politically various and politically conflicted. In the Hellenica we move between the perspectives of Spartans, Athenians, Thebans, Persians and other poleis and ethnicities, and are invited to contemplate the powerful visual effect that leaders on different sides have on those they lead and on those they attempt to subjugate. In the Anabasis we experience the visual perspectives of Cyrus the Younger as leader of the 10,000 Greeks, of the 10,000 Greeks as a collective, and of different ethnic factions and elite figures from within the 10,000, including that of Xenophon as historical actor – all of which are frequently in contention with each other. The Cyropaedia stages and performs the power of Cyrus the Great through a repeated focus on his overwhelmingly seductive visual effect on the various peoples he subjugates in his rise to imperial conquest, which the reader too is invited to experience; but by being allowed to view Cyrus from the perspective of these different ethnicities, we are also allowed alternative ways of thinking about Persian power. In all these texts, the reading experience is often conflictual, as the reader is invited to identify with politically opposed positions in close sequence or even simultaneously. Xenophon’s texts are full of unsettling juxtapositions and contradictions. His appealing, compelling representations of Cyrus the Great and Cyrus the Younger in the Cyropaedia and Anabasis as models of successful leadership indicate that in Xenophon’s contemporary world it was possible for a Greek audience to

Introduction

3

admire a Persian.3 However, not only do these portraits coexist in these texts with statements of Greek superiority to barbarians or representations of Persian untrustworthiness and corruption,4 but – more interestingly – the appeal of these figures in their respective narratives is to a great extent based on their clever ability to deceive, charm and manipulate. Similarly, Xenophon’s account of Sparta’s actions in the Hellenica presents striking, visually impressive images of Spartan leaders, allowing the possibility of admiring and identifying with Spartan power; but the text juxtaposes these striking images with an exposé of the political use of appearances in Greek warfare, revealing Spartan manipulation of the visual as a mechanism for the domination of other Greeks. The contradictory aspects of Xenophon’s representations of cultural and political relations between and among Greeks and non-Greeks have given rise to diverse readings. Xenophon has been read as offering a sympathetic, inclusive view of foreign cultures,5 or alternatively as a Hellenocentric writer who assumes the superiority of Greek over non-Greek.6 Just as much, Xenophon has been read as indicating the fragmentation of Greek political and cultural ties, and the loss of secure identities in a period of rapid political change.7 This book will argue that such contradictions are not only a key part of the reading experience but reveal the inherent inconsistencies in early fourthcentury conceptions of Greek identity and relations with the Persian world. In doing so, rather than attempting to reconstruct Xenophon’s intentions, it will be treating Xenophon’s texts as social products. A concern with Xenophon’s personal ideas or political position has dominated recent scholarship, which has often attempted to explain Xenophon’s works via his affiliations or life experiences. However, there is little evidence for these affiliations or experiences beyond Xenophon’s texts themselves; and how they might produce intentions in writing can only be a matter for speculation. More importantly, as products of a particular historical and social context, texts can carry meanings beyond the self-conscious intentions of their authors.8 Our interest will therefore be in what Xenophon’s writings can tell us about the thought of their time, whether or not Xenophon himself was aware of this. In both the Cyropaedia and Anabasis, the invitation to identify with a Persian ruler raises ideological problems which the texts’ non-Persian protagonists, and the Greek reader, have to cope with. Although identification with these hegemonic figures might appeal to and legitimize Greek imperial aspirations and self-conception as a powerful force in the world, it still implies, on some level, acceptance of these rulers’ authority and so acquiescence to Persian power. Similarly, the Hellenica’s spectacularization of Spartan commanders in their use

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

of militarily deliberate display both invites identification with Spartan supremacy as an embodiment of Panhellenic potential and simultaneously alienates the non-Spartan reader confronted with the dangerous threat of Sparta. To downplay the shocks and intellectual struggles which these texts impose is to miss an important part of what makes them interesting.9 As we shall see, the problematic reading experience evoked by Xenophon’s writing speaks to conflicts in Greek self-conception, regarding how to imagine their place in the world in relation to Persian power, and in relation to the competing Greek imperialisms of the early fourth century.

1. Panhellenism, identity and elite ideology The discrepancies introduced in Xenophon’s works by clashing perspectives or ambiguous responses to the sight of figures of power can be read as articulating the threats to elite Greek self-legitimation posed by conflicts between poleis, in particular the pursuit of empire by different poleis to each other’s detriment, by community disharmony (especially evidenced in the Anabasis) and by Persian imperialism.10 The late fifth and early fourth century bce was a period of continuing conflicts within and between Greek states, and of continuing intellectual concern regarding the implications of these conflicts for Greek selfconception. The fourth century opens with the fall of the Athenian empire and the continuing rise of Spartan power, but the following decades are characterized by frequent shifts in the balance of power between Athens, Sparta and Thebes through the years of the Corinthian War, the King’s Peace of 387‒386 bce , the establishment and failure of the Second Athenian League and the decimation of Spartan supremacy at Leuctra in 371 bce . Persian intervention in Greek affairs on the Spartan side in the Ionian War of 413‒412 bce , against Sparta in the Corinthian War, and in support of Sparta at the King’s Peace similarly provides a continuing threat. The period was also characterized by frequent civil strife in Greek states, resulting in the exile and displacement of significant segments of those states’ populations.11 Writing from this period often exhibits Panhellenist tendencies, stressing communalities between Greek states despite their history of conflict and referring to the need for Greeks to stop fighting each other and to unite against Persia as a common enemy: we might think especially of Isocrates.12 The expression of such attitudes could be seen to imply a confident, assertive model of Greek identity; yet we might just as much regard such writing as a response to

Introduction

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the uncertainties of the period. Importantly, this writing indicates the tensions in Greek thought between a Panhellenic Greek identity and polis identities. We can note the implication of Panhellenist language in the power struggles of the period. Panhellenist rhetoric is appropriated in support of the competing imperialist ventures of Athens and Sparta.13 It also has a class basis, stressing connections between elites across the Greek world above and beyond polis identification.14 Discussions about what it means to be Greek are always ideologically loaded, and can reveal oppositions and conflicts even as they argue for unity and communality.15 The complexity of contemporary Panhellenist thought is illustrated in Isocrates’ Panathenaicus, which gives an account of Greek history to stress the continued Panhellenist virtues of Athens as an agent of communal Greek interests while attacking Sparta for putting its own interests first.16 Whereas Athens is presented as a bastion of Greek values, the Greekness of the Spartans is questioned: the text ‘goes so far as to include the invasion of Attica by the “Peloponnesians” led by Eurystheus among the wars waged by Athens against the “barbarians” ’.17 Yet not only does its account include a discussion of Athenian abuse of its imperial subjects (Isoc. Panath. 53–73), but in its closing sections the text introduces an alternative voice in the person of Isocrates’ pupil, who claims to perceive that the arguments presented so far have been deliberately structured to be unconvincing and that the text should in fact be read as offering covert praise of Sparta (Isoc. Panath. 235–63). Through staging this discussion between the narrator and his pupil, the Panathenaicus re-evaluates its own arguments, suggesting that the same historical examples could be read in a contrary way.18 Despite its triumphalizing language of Greek unity against barbarians, the text not only illustrates the continuing cultural and military opposition between Greeks in laying bare the differences and antagonisms between Athens and Sparta, but it reveals the ideological conflicts inherent within any claim about Greek virtues or Greek interests. Similarly, Xenophon’s works are clearly informed by Panhellenist discourse; yet Xenophon’s texts both celebrate the possibilities offered by Greek power or cooperative endeavour, and simultaneously reveal the limitations on Greek political self-assertion or collectivity in a period in which Greek states struggle against each other under the shadow of Persia. Xenophon’s life indicates the complexities of elite self-fashioning in his times: the possibility, at least for an elite man, of travelling, fighting and settling among different peoples, of taking up different political allegiances, or of inhabiting different political roles. Although born in Athens where he was part of the intellectual circle around Socrates, he was later exiled. Following his campaigns

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

as a mercenary for the Persian prince Cyrus the Younger and the Thracian warlord Seuthes, Xenophon joined the armies of the Spartan king Agesilaus, returning with him to Greece to fight against his own native city Athens on the Spartan side in the Corinthian War, and was granted an estate in Elis under Spartan provision. Later traditions about him stress continued close ties with Sparta, suggesting for example that his sons were educated in the Spartan agôgê.19 Like other famous, elite figures before him such as Themistocles, Pausanias or Alcibiades, Xenophon ‘crosses the boundaries of engagement between Greek and barbarian, Athens and Sparta’.20 It is tempting – but, I suggest, ultimately insufficient – to read both Xenophon’s life and his work as indicative of the openness and adaptability of political identities in this period. The late Classical period has been associated with a new focus in the way that Greekness as such is understood. Jonathan Hall has argued that in the late fifth and early fourth centuries the way in which Greek identity was conceptualized shifted, so that a concern with ethnicity – with blood-ties, ancestry and ethnos – came to be replaced with a broader cultural model of Greekness based on education and shared customs.21 Again, Isocrates is frequently viewed as a key figure in this development. His Panegyricus suggests that Athenian culture so far surpassed that of others that ‘the title “Hellenes” is applied rather to those who share our culture than to those who share a common blood’.22 On this model, Greek identity is no longer limited by ancestry but can be a matter of education. However, importantly, the definition of Greekness offered here is also constrained, tied to the acknowledgement of Athenian cultural supremacy.23 Although a cultural model of Greekness may suggest greater political openness, it is still rife with ideological struggle. Xenophon provides evidence of an interest in cultural manifestations of identity rather than a narrow focus on ethnic criteria in this period, as argued by Hall. As we shall see, Xenophon is interested in the visible signs of identity in a person’s body, dress and behaviour, as well as in exploring the implications of the act of looking at such signs for the identity of both the person viewed and the person viewing. However, Hall sees Xenophon’s representation of the cultural basis of identity as essentially inclusive – as denying fundamental differences between Greeks and barbarians. He describes Xenophon’s Cyrus the Great and Cyrus the Younger as ‘culture Greeks’ – barbarians who think, talk and act like Greeks, and are to be valued on the same level.24 Yet far from offering an easy, inclusive image of cultural openness or the flexibility of identities, Xenophon’s texts are rife with conflict, as different models of identity and political thinking collide against each other. Whereas my analysis confirms Hall’s findings on the

Introduction

7

cultural basis of identity in Xenophon, it also reveals the difficulties which arise from such a valuation of identity: as Xenophon’s protagonists look at and respond to signs of similarity and difference in others, identity becomes open to challenge and manipulation. In considering questions of identity, a key question must be: who are we imagining to be the audience of Xenophon’s works? Xenophon wrote in Attic, but he was exiled from Athens, travelled widely in the Greek world and in Asia, and lived much of his life in the Peloponnese. The dating of his works is notoriously difficult but he is usually assumed to have written some time following his settlement in the Peloponnese.25 Although we unfortunately know little about the production and dissemination of texts in this period, we can probably assume that Xenophon’s works were written with the expectation of reception by a wider Greek audience, not just an Athenian one.26 We also know little about the context of consumption of historiographic texts in the Classical period, although we have reason to believe that, like other genres, they could be received aurally.27 Some prose texts, such as Sophistic writing and some forms of oratory, could be publicly performed, for example in competitions at Panhellenic festivals, and later traditions suggest that Herodotus gave public readings of his work.28 In contrast, philosophical and other rhetorical texts were often read aloud to small groups of the educated and leisured elite in a private setting.29 Our best evidence of this practice comes from Plato: for example, the Phaedrus depicts Phaedrus reading an erotic speech by Lysias to Socrates, and the Parmenides recalls Zeno’s reading of a treatise to a gathering including Parmenides and Socrates. Thucydides may also have been read aloud to small private audiences.30 Similarly, it has been argued that alongside private reading, Xenophon’s historical writing may have been read aloud among small groups of the educated elite:31 if so, we can understand his texts as addressed to a propertied, educated and leisured class, and to men (even if, in actuality, all sorts of people, such as wealthy women or educated slaves, might have got access to them).32 The possibility of educated, elite men reading together has political implications: the experience of being part of a select audience could be understood as involving the construction of class values. Further, if we imagine a similar reading context to that depicted in Plato, this also suggests the possibility of reading sparking dialogue and debate.33 The audience experience of Xenophon’s works might not only involve inculcation in elite values, but also the questioning of those values. Unlike Herodotus, who, it has been argued, expresses a range of political positions through his collocation of competing logoi originating in oral testimony

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

from different cultures and social strata,34 Xenophon’s voice is more contained. He can be read as expressing, and constructing, the values of a wealthy elite class beyond the confines of the polis.35 This does not imply, however, that we should think of Xenophon’s writing as essentially monologic. Xenophon is concerned specifically with elite figures, especially those who exercise command; he depicts non-elites predominantly in so far as their behaviour impinges on elite relations to the community, and he does not show much interest in the independent subjectivity of lower social groups. However, he does invite identification with the experiences of elite Greeks from various poleis and with elite Persians and other elite non-Greeks, even where the political interests of these figures are directly in contest and evoke very different conceptions of community or power relations. He also shows concern with how elites can manage relations with the wider community, and with the tensions within elite experience between class and community affiliation. Elite Greek ideology is not monolithic; under pressure of competing interests or external threats, it encompasses a range of contradictory positions.36 We can note in this context Fredric Jameson’s view of the essentially dialogical formation of cultural products. Jameson argues that ‘the very content of a class ideology is relational’: the values of a class are formed through opposition to conflicting political positions.37 A text written from the position of that class will therefore be shaped by those oppositions, and can be read to discover their traces. In attempting to discover those traces, Pierre Macherey’s attention to the internal discrepancies in texts is helpful. Macherey argues that rather than attempting a totalizing view of a text, which skirts over or explains away contradiction, a focus on the silences, limitations and inconsistencies of a text, ‘what it does not and cannot say’, allows us to unveil the ideological conflicts which have shaped it: ‘The disorder that permeates the work is related to the disorder of ideology . . . The work derives its form from this incompleteness which enables us to identify the active presence of a conflict.’38

2. The politics of the visual By the time of Xenophon, a highly visual style and an interest in the experience of spectators were already established features of historiographic writing. Both Herodotus and Thucydides include these aspects (see the following chapter); later Greek writers such as Polybius, Diodorus Siculus, Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Pausanias, as well as Roman historians such as Livy, similarly present their

Introduction

9

narratives in visual terms or show an interest in spectacles or spectatorship.39 Indeed, a vivid, visual style (enargeia) became an expected and desired feature of historiographic writing for ancient literary critics.40 For Lucian, the ideal historian expresses his account vividly (ἐναργέστατα) and allows the reader to see the events described (ὁρᾶν τὰ λεγόμενα); he compares the ideal historian to Pheidias, suggesting that like the sculptor, the ideal historian produces work which operates visually.41 Lucian, Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Plutarch all praise the enargeia of Xenophon’s writing. In his Life of Artaxerxes, Plutarch demurs from presenting a detailed account of the Battle of Cunaxa on the grounds that ‘Xenophon all but brings it before our eyes [δεικνύοντος ὄψει], and by his enargeia always makes his reader feel the emotions and share the dangers of the events, as though they have not happened in the past, but are happening in the present’ (Plut. Artax. 8.1).42 Plutarch indicates how Xenophon’s use of the visual allows the reader to participate in the experiences of the historical protagonists: as historical actors gaze at sights, the reader becomes a vicarious spectator, experiencing events through their eyes. Importantly, the experiences of Xenophon’s spectators are often highly politicized: visual interaction structures cross-cultural encounters or political or military conflict. In the Anabasis, when the illegitimate brother of the Persian king watches (ἐθεώρει, 2.4.25) the Greek army as they pass by, the Spartan leader Clearchus organizes his men so that they march two abreast and periodically halt; the effect is that the army seems very large, even to the Greeks themselves (καὶ αὐτοῖς τοῖς Ἕλλησι), and the Persian viewer is astonished (τὸν Πέρσην ἐκπεπλῆχθαι θεωροῦντα) (2.4.26). Here relations of power are at stake in the configuration of visual relations. The gaze of the Persian poses a threat, but this can be countered by transforming the sight of the Greeks into an imposing and intimidating spectacle. The verb θεωρέω evokes the language of theôria (the viewing by pilgrims of sacred sights at foreign sanctuaries; see below), and so might also suggest a sense of the visual encounter as an encounter with the alien.43 As the Persian gazes with astonishment at the Greeks, as well as the question of who has the upper hand militarily, the foreignness of Greeks and Persians to each other is also addressed.44 Theoretical discussions of viewing in studies of modern culture have revealed the relationship between viewing, relations of power and the construction of political and cultural identities. Feminist scholars in film theory in the 1970s and 1980s, most notably Laura Mulvey, E. Ann Kaplan and Teresa De Lauretis,45 investigated the involvement of viewing in the construction of gender, arguing that in Western commercial cinema, especially Hollywood cinema, the act of

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

looking is gendered so that the male is presented as the one who views, and the female as the object of view:46 the male viewer is constituted as an active, empowered subject, whereas the female is denied subjectivity. This conception of visual relations imagines looking as an act of empowerment which is owned by men, a theoretical move which has been termed ‘the male gaze’. More recently scholars have critiqued and nuanced this model to consider the variety of positions a spectator can adopt, examining, for example, the experience of the female viewer.47 The act of looking has also been revealed as implicated in the construction of race and ethnicity through its use as an assertion of racial or colonial power, a concept sometimes referred to as ‘the imperial gaze’. E. Ann Kaplan has examined how Western commercial film employs a visual language which denies Black and Asian people control over how they are seen, as well as denying their ability to look at and pass judgement on white people;48 hooks analyses representations of Black people, particularly Black women, in mainstream American film, advertising and popular culture to show how they are persistently objectified and sexualized;49 and Mary Louise Pratt’s study of eighteenth–twentieth century travel writing has examined how the Western traveller’s position as an empowered and assertive agent in control of his or her environment is formulated by his or her role as a viewer of African or Latin American people and landscape, rendered passive before the Western gaze.50 However, the power created in visual relations has been revealed to rely not only on the action of a controlling gaze, but on the viewed person’s sight of and response to the fact of being observed. Frantz Fanon’s critique of the operation of colonial power in Black Skin, White Masks emphasizes the necessity of the complicity of the ‘native’ in his or her own subjugation. He describes the experience of a loss of self which overcomes the colonial subject when exposed to the gaze of colonialists,51 as well as the mixture of alienation and desire which inform his or her gaze back at the colonialists.52 Foucault’s examination of the uses of visual relations in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century criminal punishment has similarly revealed the necessity of the viewer’s complicity in his or her own incorporation into systems of domination. In his discussion of Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon, Foucault describes how the prisoners in their cells are continuously visible to the overseer in a central control tower, whose power depends not only on his sight of the prisoners, but on the prisoners’ ability to see the control tower, and simultaneously their inability to see whether there is at any moment someone inside the tower looking out at them. The effect is that they are in a continual state of anxiety about being seen, and control their behaviour: ‘He who is subjected to a field of visibility, and who knows it, assumes

Introduction

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responsibility for the constraints of power; . . . he becomes the principle of his own subjection.’53 Sight can also be disempowering when the viewer is confronted with spectacular display. Foucault discusses the necessity of the complicity of the viewer for the effectiveness of the spectacle of public torture and execution as a means of social control. He argues that the effectiveness of the display on the torturer’s scaffold for the production of state power relies upon the spectator’s identification with the executioner as the legitimate upholder of the law, so that the crowd acquiesces and participates in the ritual of execution; it also requires identification with the victim as a suffering body, in order to inspire fear and obedience. However, importantly, the subtleness of this balance of responses produces a danger that identification with the victim will move the spectator into resistance and civil disobedience: Foucault describes moments when the crowd changed its allegiance, attacking the executioner and rescuing the victim.54 These approaches can usefully inform our reading of Xenophon by pointing to the various ways in which viewing can produce political relations. Viewing can place the viewer in a position of dominance and security, but it can also be a destabilizing and disempowering experience: importantly, political positioning is produced in the viewer’s response to sight, and therefore can shift or be challenged.55 In the representation of visual encounters, just as the literary protagonists’ response becomes a cultural or political response, so too the reader is challenged to formulate their own cultural or political relationship to the protagonists and their historical situation. Via an analysis of the representation of moments of viewing, we can therefore investigate the experience of the reader as political experience. In asking about the response of the reader to Xenophon’s works, I am not suggesting an attempt to reconstruct the responses of Xenophon’s actual, historical readers (or listeners, if reading took place aloud), which could have varied enormously, especially via polis affiliation or ethnicity, and are hard to access, apart from through later ancient writers’ comments on Xenophon. Instead, I am suggesting an exploration of how Xenophon’s writing constructs its implied reader. According to Iser, the concept of the implied reader ‘designates a network of response-inviting structures, which impel the reader to grasp the text’; it does not describe any particular real-life reader, but the reader as imagined by the text.56 A text not only reflects and encodes the ideological formations of its period (whether the author is self-conscious about this or not), but it also actively constructs those formations, by reproducing and imposing on its readers certain ways of thinking about the world to which they are expected

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

to conform – although there can often be great room for manoeuvre within the possibilities of reading which a text allows. In this way, reading can be understood as a politically constitutive act.57 We can consider, therefore, how and in what ways the reader of Xenophon is constituted politically: how the reader is imaginatively positioned against the various situations of historical struggle outlined in his writing. The responses of internal audiences offer a site for investigating the political positioning of the reader by suggesting potential models or test cases of response.58 The reader is invited to consider how far they might identify with or be estranged from the perspectives of protagonists from different ethnicities, poleis, class positions or ranks in the political or military hierarchy, and to reflect on the political consequences of their response.59 In the above mentioned scene from the Anabasis (2.4.25–6), for example, we may, like their Persian viewer, be impressed by the 10,000 – as indeed the Greeks themselves seem to be, as even they are taken in a little and encouraged by Clearchus’ arrangement. As the 10,000 assertively display themselves, they produce a spectacle of Greek achievement. Yet they also appear as under threat, desperate to escape as they are harried by the Persians: our awareness of Clearchus’ stratagem allows us to perceive the credulity of the Persian’s astonished response. We are shown that this is a false image, made under duress, and is as much a display of the Greeks’ vulnerability as it is of their resourcefulness. In the possibilities of response offered by the text, the reader is allowed a sense of cultural confidence about the Greek role in the world; yet this confidence is simultaneously undercut by awareness of the foreign threats that the Greeks face. As internal responses mediate the experience of the narrative, the representation of the visual becomes an arena for a political analysis of Xenophon’s writing. This process is not always straightforward, however. Xenophon’s visual scenes are often moments of political or cultural crisis. As the example above already hints, scenes of viewing often involve political struggle between viewer and viewed. Xenophon’s viewers often risk being overwhelmed by the impressive, but deceptive, displays of powerful figures, or are confronted with perplexing and disturbing sights of foreign customs and lands, the aftermath of violence, or conflict within communities, to which a range of responses are possible. In such scenes, Xenophon’s texts seem to consider the political difficulties faced by their protagonists in responding to historical events. In staging historical experience for the reader’s sight, his texts invite the reader actively to experience these problems for themselves. This operates as a mode of historical explanation: we are allowed to understand the problems faced by historical protagonists as we

Introduction

13

experience events alongside them. But further, it offers a mode of reflection on the implications of those events for the present. By involving the reader in the difficulties of responding to Persian imperial expansion, Spartan hegemony, conflict between Greeks and relations with foreign peoples – all problems still very much facing Xenophon’s contemporary world – the reading process becomes an active engagement in the political problems of the reader’s own time.

3. Chapter summaries The chapters that follow will attempt to map out how the representation of visual experience in Xenophon’s Hellenica, Anabasis and Cyropaedia addresses and allows reflection on the ideological problems facing the Greek elite of the early fourth century bce . Chapter  2 (‘Visual Contexts’) considers how visual experience is thought about in Xenophon’s period, considering the theorization and cultural practice of viewing in contemporary literature and culture, Xenophon’s concern with the visual in his non-historiographic works and the depiction of spectator responses in earlier historiographic writing (Herodotus and Thucydides). It indicates the implication of viewing and display in the formation and contestation of social roles and political relationships in Classical Greece, and it shows how discussions of the experience of spectators both in Xenophon’s prose works in other genres and in his historiographic predecessors are used to reflect on political problems facing the reader. By exploring the ideological attractions and dangers of pleasurable viewing, the manipulation of viewing audiences by figures of power and the spectacularization of Spartan dominance, Xenophon’s nonhistoriographic writing addresses problems of elite Greek self-conception in relation to both class and Panhellenic identities. Meanwhile in Herodotus and Thucydides a concern with spectators’ responses to historical events involves the reader in the problems of correctly interpreting Greek and nonGreek action (Herodotus) or of making political judgements in a highly contested and emotionally charged context (Thucydides); the reader becomes enmeshed in the problems facing historical actors. The chapter argues that the treatment of visual experience in Xenophon’s historical narratives draws upon both these broader cultural and more specifically historiographic contexts, producing an active, critical engagement with the ideological consequences of historical action.

14

The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

Chapter  3 (‘Hellenica: Viewing Greek History’) considers the Hellenica’s presentation of its narrative of Greek (and especially Spartan) leadership and military endeavour as a series of stunning sights, gazed at with awe by spectators. In accounts of the Spartans’ attempts to wield power over other states and of Epaminondas’ campaigns in the Peloponnese, the reader is invited to be reassured and encouraged by spectacular Greek achievements. Yet the text also presents historical protagonists gazing helplessly at threatening images of violence and chaos unleashed by Greek warfare. As we are shown how control of the ways in which protagonists see and are seen is used within military strategy, and how the displays of successful leaders and armies become methods for overcoming enemies, the reader is invited to identify both with those who seek to rule and with those who suffer from their actions. The text also presents visual interaction between Greeks and Persians. Here we are shown views of Persians as culturally inferior, but we are equally shown how in the context of the divisions between Greek states, the differences between Persians and Greeks may sometimes seem less important than the antagonisms between Greeks, especially in the depiction of cross-cultural interactions among the elite. Such depictions suggest the ideological contradictions of the era: desire for Panhellenic affirmation competes with awareness that Greek power is only exercised in the context of inter-Greek conflict, as Greek states pursue hegemony at each other’s expense. Although images of successful elite individuals and communities seem to offer a positive account of what it means to be Greek in Xenophon’s era, they are also implicated in the failure of collective Greek achievement. Chapter 4 (‘Anabasis: Foreign Travel and Identification’) explores the varieties of political experience offered by the different visual perspectives through which the Anabasis’s story of Greek travel in Asia is narrated. By being allowed to experience foreign lands through the eyes of the 10,000 Greek mercenaries, the reader is sometimes placed in the self-confident position of a marauding army gazing acquisitively at foreign bounty. However, as the Greeks are exposed to the sight of dangers, the reader can also experience the Asian environment as an anxiety-laden land of threatening enemies and intimidating landscapes. The reader’s political experiences are also complicated by the text’s interest in the visual perspectives of non-Greek protagonists, especially of the Persian prince Cyrus the Younger: by being invited both to identify with Cyrus as elite leader and to identify with the 10,000 Greeks in their opposition to non-Greeks (including in their disputes with Cyrus), the text confronts the reader with the contradictions of elite Greek experience where class connections and ethnic affiliation do not align. The text also allows reflection on the struggles and

Introduction

15

oppositions within Greek identity. Greeks from different ethnicities and poleis appear to see things in different ways. Similarly, the text invites identification with the visual perspectives both of Xenophon as elite commander and of the 10,000 Greeks as a collective, even as commander and men fall into discord. The chapter suggests that by allowing engagement in the varied and conflicted actualities of Greek political experience through the microcosm of the 10,000 Greeks as a community, the text explores the potential of Panhellenic thought as well as the tendency for Greek identity to fragment. Chapter  5 (‘Cyropaedia: Imperial Fantasy and Danger’) addresses the ideological conundrum posed by the Cyropaedia: the text tells the story of the rise of Persian imperialism from the imperialist’s perspective for a Greek audience. This narrative framing holds ideological appeal for an elite Greek readership who might entertain fantasies of political supremacy in the context of competing Greek imperialisms in the early fourth century bce . Yet the reader must cope with a text which positions them to identify with the Persian conqueror rather than with those opposing the spread of Persian power, as might seem more conducive to a Greek sensibility given the continued threat posed by Persia in this period. Identification with Cyrus the Great is encouraged through the concern with the alluring and persuasive use of display through which he wins over the foreign peoples whom he must control in order to establish his empire. The functioning of imperial power is explored: while made privy to the intentions and machinations of the imperial conqueror behind the scenes, the reader is allowed to gaze at unfolding events through the eyes of the subjugated. We are invited to take pleasure in the success of Cyrus’ imperial project, but in asking us to witness Cyrus’ imperial splendour, and thereby to view him from the perspective of various conquered peoples, the text enables us both to identify with and be alienated from Persian power. The text explores, I suggest, the contradictions in the ideology of fourth-century Greeks as potentially both perpetrators and victims of imperialism. This reading allows a new perspective on the contradictions in the Cyropaedia’s both praising and critical presentation of Cyrus and Persia often noted by scholars. Chapter  6, a brief conclusion, attempts to draw out the implications of Xenophon’s engagement of the reader and what this suggests about the thought of the period.

2

Visual Contexts

In order to understand the use of the visual in the Hellenica, Anabasis and Cyropaedia, this chapter will examine how viewing and sight were understood in Xenophon’s period and the role of viewing in earlier historiographic narrative. We will begin with a brief overview of the representation of spectatorship in contemporary literature, as well as of the cultural functions of the spectator and visual relations at real-life spectacles (section  1). We will next examine the treatment of the visual in Xenophon’s wider works (section 2). There is a lot of interaction and overlap between the highly varied forms of literary production in early prose, and Xenophon’s Anabasis and Cyropaedia are particularly difficult to pin down in terms of genre.1 Our three central texts can therefore helpfully be contextualized through a discussion of Xenophon’s other writing: whereas the Cyropaedia in particular bears a lot of similarity in its concerns to Xenophon’s Socratic dialogues and shorter rhetorical works, in fact all three of our texts overlap in interesting ways with these wider works in their treatment of the visual. Finally, we will consider Xenophon’s predecessors Herodotus and Thucydides (section 3): as we have noted, a concern with the visual is a striking feature of historiographic discourse. In these writers, in different ways and with different effects, visual language and scenes of spectatorship are used to involve the reader in the problems of response to historical subject matter. Although Xenophon’s historical narratives also have their own specific concerns, his elaboration of the visual seems highly influenced by these authors. We will see how Xenophon is drawing both on wider literary and cultural concerns and on concerns more specific to the genre of historiography in his shaping of these texts.

1. Cultural contexts of viewing We begin by briefly placing Xenophon’s representation of spectatorship in cultural context. There is a remarkable concern with the effects of sight and 16

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17

display across Greek literature.2 Ancient discussions of the mechanics of sight suggest that the act of viewing could be thought of in quite visceral terms. In Homer, Hesiod and other early poetry, the eyes beam or flash; and in early medical and philosophical writing we find the idea of the eye as fiery or emitting light, for example Alcmaeon of Croton’s account of the eye as containing fire (DK 24 A5).3 This has been described as the ‘extramissionist’ model of vision, an optical theory more fully developed by Ptolemy and Galen, whereby the viewer is thought to emit fiery rays from their eyes which strike the object of sight. A coexisting model has been termed ‘intramissionist’: according to this theory, which is associated with the Atomists, including Democritus and Leucippus in the fifth century and later taken up by Epicurus and Lucretius, effluences emanate from an object and penetrate the eye.4 A number of accounts seem to combine emissions from the eyes with penetrations from outside to allow for a more interactive approach to sight, for example Plato’s Timaeus (45 b–d), which argues that the eye emits light which coalesces with sunlight to allow emanations from the object to reach the eye.5 Scholars have noted the haptic qualities of vision suggested by these models: the idea of sight as a species of bodily contact between viewer and viewed object, akin to the sense of touch.6 For our purposes, what I would like to draw attention to is the conception of sight as a dynamic interaction where the viewer acts upon the viewed object, is acted upon, or both: to look is to do something to the object of sight, to have something done to you, or a more reciprocal relation somewhere between the two.7 It can actively affect both the viewer and the viewed. The Greeks’ notion of the transmission through sight of diseases (such as eye infections or epilepsy), religious pollution, the intoxicating effects of erôs or the malicious emotions of the envious (the evil eye) seems to depend on this conception.8 Xenophon’s descriptions of the act of looking can imagine the viewer as wielding a powerfully directed gaze, or can describe spectators as overcome by a stunning sight; but most often there is equivocation between these possibilities. As in our example of the Persian king’s illegitimate brother looking at the 10,000 in the Anabasis (An. 2.4.25–6, discussed in Chapter  1), Xenophon frequently portrays a struggle between viewer and viewed, as each tries to get control of the other. Another way in which we find the visual discussed in Greek literature relates to its epistemological value. The trustworthiness of sight as a path to knowledge could be both asserted and questioned; the derivation of the Greek verb ‘I know’ (οἴδα) from the perfect tense of the verb that means ‘I see’ in the aorist (εἴδον) suggests their close connection in Greek thought.9 In early medical and

18

The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

philosophical writing, visible phenomena are assumed to be the basis of secure evidence; analogies with what is visible (φανερός) are used to establish proofs for arguments on what cannot be seen (τὸ ἀφανές) but only theorized, and writers describe themselves as ‘displaying’ (ἀποδείκνυμι / ἐπιδείκνυμι) their arguments to the audience.10 We can compare the language of evidence and witnessing in legal discourse. The Attic law-court speeches refer to the sights that the jurors can see in the court, for example the appearance of the defendant or the plaintiff,11 and treat the sight of events by witnesses as proof. Litigants claim to have displayed (δείκνυμι / ἐπιδείκνυμι) the circumstances of their case to witnesses,12 and the claim that someone was evident (φανερός / φαίνομαι) in performing an act is used to attest to the fact that it had been witnessed and was therefore true.13 However, Classical writing also expresses doubts as to the trustworthiness of sight. Early philosophical and sophistic writing is aware of problems with the reliability of sense perception;14 indeed Plato is famously suspicious of the illusory nature of the phenomenal world. Yet Plato also uses the language of the visual to express philosophical enlightenment, in particular through the term θεωρία (from θεωρέω, I gaze), for example in the allegory of the Cave in the Republic, which represents the philosophical ascent to knowledge through the escaped prisoner’s θεωρία of the sun (7.514a–17c).15 These epistemological debates must be understood as deeply implicated in and products of a concern with the social and political impact of the visual. From Homer onwards, seeing and being seen are involved in the formation of political relationships and social roles.16 In the Iliad, the status of the heroes is visible in their impressive appearance: the heroes emit a luminous gleam at the moment of their aristeia, especially Achilles.17 When Helen and Priam look down from the walls of Troy in the teichoskopia they identify the figures of the kings and leaders standing out above all others around them.18 In contrast, the low social status of Thersites is visible in his ugly appearance.19 However, the relationship between social value and appearance can also be questioned: the Odyssey’s concern with disguise and recognition, as Athena repeatedly takes on different forms and Odysseus assumes the appearance of the beggar, suggests that appearances can be deceptive.20 The Classical period saw a new self-consciousness about the political effects of viewing, and a new anxiety about the way viewers could be manipulated, deceived and controlled. The Athenian democracy has been associated with a new political valuation of sight,21 whereby the act of being a spectator became inextricably bound up with the act of being a citizen, whether in the theatre, the law courts, the assembly, or other state rituals and institutions. In this context, an

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evaluative, judging, analytical form of viewing became an ideal of civic participation.22 The speeches of Demosthenes and Aeschines, for example, show a repeated concern with the nature of spectatorship, invoking the power of the citizens to watch and judge their own and their opponents’ actions.23 However, spectators’ ability to make sober and correct judgements is questioned: there was an association in Athenian democratic thought between persuasive display and persuasive rhetoric.24 Thucydides’ Cleon criticizes the democratic assembly for being ‘spectators of speeches’: for being led astray by their pleasure in spectatorship rather than employing spectatorship in a critical, politically useful way. Plato’s (and Xenophon’s) depictions of the impoverished, physically ugly but morally beautiful Socrates, which turn on its head traditional notions of the visibility of social value, show unquestioned, conventional responses to visual signs to be misguided.25 Gorgias’ Helen, which claims that sight acts as a form of compulsion against which resistance is futile (DK 82B 15–19), also seems to tap into these concerns: Gorgias claims that the sight of a hostile army makes the viewer forget law and honour, and flee (15–16), and that a terrifying sight even has the power to drive people mad (17), concluding that if it was the sight of Paris that caused Helen to run away with him, she cannot be held accountable (19). Democratic Athens recognized that elite individuals might use display to their advantage, potentially undermining democratic structures, and efforts were made to channel spectacles of wealth towards the service of the state, first under Solon’s sumptuary legislation limiting display at weddings and funerals, and later with the introduction of liturgies.26 Elite display held an equivocal position in democratic discourse. Wealthy ostentation could be criticized as anti-democratic, for example in Demosthenes’ attack on the flamboyant dress and lifestyle of Meidias (Dem. 21.158–9), yet political orators were keen to draw attention to the performance of liturgies as evidence of both social status and commitment to the state. Traditional markers of social superiority through displays of wealth continued to have ideological purchase in the democracy, despite and alongside the promotion of civic and egalitarian values.27 These contradictions are illustrated in the contentious responses to the display of Alcibiades at the Olympic Games of 416 bce , at which he entered seven chariots in the chariot race. Thucydides (6.16) gives Alcibiades a speech in which he claims both that his display was justified as a sign of his innate superiority, which he expects his audience to acknowledge and defer to, and that it worked to the benefit of Athens by producing a splendid show of Athenian success to the other Greek states.28 In contrast, Andocides (4.29–31) accuses him of upstaging the

20

The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

Athenian state delegation with the lavishness of his personal expenditure and with his staging of a victory procession which trumped the state procession.29 In receiving extravagant gifts from other Greek states in the capacity of an individual, Alcibiades is accused of behaving as if he superseded the state itself.30 Beyond Athens we can note a wider Greek culture of viewing at the Panhellenic sanctuaries which also carries political implications. Since the Panhellenic festival games were attended by audiences from across the Greek world, to be a spectator meant to participate in a Panhellenic community.31 But because competitors competed on behalf of their state, the spectators’ sense of Panhellenic identity coexisted with awareness of their polis identity.32 Indeed, the viewing of sacred sights at foreign sanctuaries (theôria) was undertaken both by private pilgrims and state-appointed sacred ambassadors who viewed on behalf of their polis. As audiences and competitors came from states that were frequently involved in political and military conflict, the political experience of festival spectators was sometimes fraught:33 Alcibiades’ actions at the 416 bce Olympics were particularly problematic because of the audience of non-Athenian Greeks. The proposed regulation in Plato’s Laws of spectators returning from foreign sanctuaries also imagines theôria as potentially disturbing or disruptive for the spectators’ home community: the theôros (pilgrim spectator) may only discuss what he has seen abroad if it is deemed useful to the state; otherwise he must not associate with anyone in the city.34 Here theôria refers not only to the viewing of the foreign, but to a ritual encounter with the divine; as Plato’s use of the term to describe philosophical revelation (mentioned above) reveals, it suggests the experience of an awe-inspiring but possibly estranging, discomfiting sight. Xenophon’s depictions of deceptive or persuasive displays, the viewing of leaders, the visual experience of the foreign, and the experiences of groups from different ethnicities, cultures or poleis viewing each other must be understood as informed by and responding to these wider cultural concerns. In his interest in the problem of correctly interpreting sights, in the relationship between display and political power and in the difficulties of responding to sights in a culturally diverse or politically conflicted environment, he is participating in and contributing to contemporary political debates.

2. The visual in Xenophon’s corpus Xenophon’s participation in these debates is indicated by an examination of his wider corpus, where a number of the concerns regarding the political impact of

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21

spectatorship expressed in his historical narratives arise again in rather different contexts. The dangers of being overwhelmed and disempowered by spectacular displays, the problems raised by the displays of leaders, and the abilities of powerful individuals and groups to cultivate identification, and so political acquiescence, in their spectators are explored in Xenophon’s Socratic dialogues, his technical writing on horses, hunting and the art of cavalry command, and in his short treatises on Sparta. The treatment of the visual in the Hellenica, Anabasis and Cyropaedia can therefore be understood as embedded in concerns pertinent to Xenophon’s writing in other prose genres, as well as expressing more specific historiographic concerns (for which see the next section). We will briefly examine Xenophon’s concern with the pleasure aroused by sights (2 a), with the displays of leaders (2 b) and with the visual impact of Spartan supremacy (2 c).

2 a) Pleasure and its dangers In Hiero’s complaint that tyrants have a worse lot than private citizens as they are not able to do sightseeing, Xenophon’s Hiero seems to assume that the desire to see spectacular sights is a given, which will be understood and accepted by the text’s audience: In the first place, when I reason on it, I find that tyrants are at a disadvantage in the spectacles which impress us through vision [ἐν τοῖς διὰ τῆς ὄψεως θεάμασι]. For one thing, there are different things in different countries worth seeing [ἀξιοθέατα]. Private men go to each of these places, and to whatever cities they please, for the sake of spectacles [θεαμάτων ἕνεκα]. And they go to the common festivals, where the things which people consider most worth seeing [ἀξιοθεατότατα] are brought together. But tyrants have little share in sightseeing / pilgrimages to view festivals [ἀμφὶ θεωρίας]. (Hiero 1.11)35

The private citizens referred to by Hiero who travel for the pleasure of sightseeing are Greece’s socio-economic elite, who had sufficient wealth and leisure to make such journeys. Indeed, the elite pleasure in spectatorship is a concern in several of Xenophon’s works. Elite identity is constructed through a pleasurable response to socio-politically significant forms of spectacle. However, concern is expressed that a response of pleasure might also be ideologically compromising, by suggesting a failure of critical faculties, a loss of self-control and a potential towards passivity, which may put at risk the elite man’s social dominance.36 Although in many ways a response of pleasure is both expected and celebrated in these texts, it is simultaneously shown to carry politically problematic implications.

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

When in the Oeconomicus the wealthy landowner Ischomachus compares the beautiful sight of household objects in orderly arrangement (Oec. 8.19) to the spectacle of an orderly Phoenician merchant ship in Athens’ docks (. . . εἰσβὰς ἐπὶ θέαν εἰς τὸ μέγα πλοῖον τὸ Φοινικικόν. πλεῖστα γὰρ σκεύη ἐν σμικροτάτῳ ἀγγείῳ διακεχωρισμένα ἐθεασάμην, Oec. 8.11) and to the beauty of an orderly chorus (Oec. 8.3) and of an orderly army (Oec. 8.6), he promotes pleasure and wonder as appropriate responses to ideologically marked sights: ‘Who – if he’s on the same side – could fail to be delighted at the sight [ἡδέως θεάσαιτο] of massed hoplites marching in formation, or to wonder [θαυμάσειεν] at cavalry riding in ranks?’ (Oec. 8.6).37 Whereas disorder in a chorus is unpleasant to watch (θεᾶσθαι ἀτερπές, Oec. 8.3), ordered chorus members are worth watching (ἀξιοθέατοι, Oec. 8.3). Ischomachus’ fetishization of pleasure at civic, military or domestic spectacles can be understood in terms of the production of elite discourse:38 according to Ischomachus, the ideal elite man who cultivates his household property and champions the prosperity, civic stability and military strength of his community demonstrates these qualities by his pleasurable participation in spectacles of affluence and social regulation. However, the wealthy Ischomachus’ endorsement of appropriate pleasure as a marker of elite identity stands in tension with an alternative account of ideal elite self-formation through spectatorship in the Oeconomicus, offered in the voice of Socrates. In Socrates’ exchange with the wealthy Critobulus on how he can increase his estate, Socrates tells Critobulus that the first step is to look about him in the city, an activity which he compares to theatre:39 You must watch [θεώμενον], and then you’ll discover by experience whether you find it comprehensible. I’m well aware of your current practice: when there is a comedy to be seen [ἐπὶ μὲν κωμῳδῶν θέαν], you get up very early in the morning and walk a very long way, and try hard to persuade me to come and watch it with you [συνθεᾶσθαι]; but you’ve never invited me to any production like the one I’ve mentioned. (Oec. 3.7)

When Critobulus complains that although he looks at those who grow either wealthy or impoverished through horse-breeding, he learns nothing from it, Socrates presents a theory of spectatorship which replaces pleasure with selfeducation as its aim: That’s because you watch [θεᾷ] them as you watch tragic and comic actors, which you do not do with a view to becoming a playwright, I imagine, but to enjoy what you see or hear [ἀλλ’ ὅπως ἡσθῇς ἰδών τι ἢ ἀκούσας]. That’s how it should be, I suppose, since you don’t want to become a playwright; but since you are forced to

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be involved with stud-farming, don’t you think it would be stupid not to watch out [μὴ σκοπεῖς] that you are not ignorant of the matter . . .? (Oec. 3.9)

In a similar way to Ischomachus, Socrates imagines Athens as a theatre writ large – a place full of sights to be contemplated. However, he argues for a form of viewing which is active and analytical, associating uncritical pleasure with a wayward lack of attention and self-discipline, which might lead Critobulus to failure in his economic ventures and so risks being socially compromising.40 The role of pleasurable spectatorship in elite self-fashioning is also asserted in the Cynegeticus, which evinces concern with the visual effects of the elite activity of hunting: not only is it necessary that the dogs are the correct colour (Cyn. 4.7–8) and are not misshapen and ugly to look at (Cyn. 3.3),41 but the correctly organized hunt should create a spectacle which has an overwhelming effect on its viewers: ‘So pleasurable is the spectacle [οὕτω δὲ ἐπίχαρί ἐστι τὸ θέαμα], that if anyone saw [ἰδών] [a hare] tracked, found, chased and caught he would forget whatever else he loved [ἐπιλάθοιτ’ ἂν εἴ του ἐρῴη]’ (Cyn. 5.33).42 As Johnstone notes, ‘the hunt was meant to be both beautiful, that is, an elite spectacle to be seen, and ennobling, that is, morally good in a class specific way’.43 However, interestingly, in this passage the pleasure of the spectacle is described as a form of visual overload, wiping out the spectator’s critical faculties. There seems to be an implicit erotic dimension to the spectator’s passion for the hunt: we are told that it is able to make the spectator forget anything else for which he might feel desire (ἐρῴη). Although here this is presented positively, the passage can be fruitfully compared with some more critical discussions of the erotically passionate gaze in the Memorabilia and Symposium. Whereas the Cynegeticus seems to celebrate the captivation of the viewer of the hunt as indicative of the normative pleasures of elite life, in these texts we receive, again via the voice of Socrates, a warning as to the dangers facing viewers of overwhelming sights.44 The Memorabilia posits the interaction between viewer and viewed in the context of erotic desire as transactional, and as constituting a differential of power. On going to look at the hetaira Theodote, Socrates asks his companions whether they ought to be more grateful to Theodote for displaying her beauty to them, or whether Theodote ought to be more grateful to them for looking at her (Ὦ ἄνδρες, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, πότερον ἡμᾶς δεῖ μᾶλλον Θεοδότῃ χάριν ἔχειν, ὅτι ἡμῖν τὸ κάλλος ἑαυτῆς ἐπέδειξεν, ἢ ταύτην ἡμῖν, ὅτι ἐθεασάμεθα, Mem. 3.11.2). He asks ‘Is it not so that if the display [ἡ ἐπίδειξις] is more to her advantage [ὠφελιμωτέρα], she ought to be grateful [χάριν ἑκτέον] to us, but if the sight [ἡ θέα] has been more to our advantage, we ought to be grateful to her?’ (Mem.

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives

3.11.2).45 He goes on to insist that it is Theodote who gains most benefit: she gains their praise and will profit yet more when they spread the news about her, whereas Socrates and his companions will be overcome by longing to touch what they have seen (ὧν ἐθεασάμεθα ἐπιθυμοῦμεν ἅψασθαι) and will leave excited and full of desire (Mem. 3.11.3).46 According to Socrates, the viewer will be placed at a disadvantage, losing control over himself.47 A stronger version of this argument can be found in Xenophon’s discussions of the dangers of looking at beautiful boys. In Socrates’ condemnation of Critobulus for having kissed the handsome son of Alcibiades, Socrates compares looking at a beautiful boy to being bitten by a venomous spider:48 Don’t you realize that this creature which they call the bloom of youth is even more dangerous than spiders? They produce their effect by contact, but this needs no contact; if one looks at it [ἐάν τις αὐτὸ θεᾶται], even from quite a distance, it can inject a kind of poison that drives one crazy [ὥστε μαίνεσθαι ποιεῖν]. (Mem. 1.3.13)49

As in the viewing of Theodote, the expected effect is a loss of self-control, in this case through madness; the act of looking is described in pathological terms as the onset of poisoning or illness. The viewing of Cleinias by Critobulus in the Symposium (4.12, 4.21–4) functions in a similar way. For Critobulus, the act of gazing at Cleinias subsumes everything else: I get more pleasure from looking [ἥδιον μὲν θεῶμαι] at Cleinias than from all the beauty in the world; and I would rather be blind to everything else than to this one person, Cleinias. Night and sleep exasperate me, because then I can’t see [οὐχ ὁρῶ] him; but I overflow with gratitude to the day and the sun, because they show [ἀναφαίνουσιν] me Cleinias. (Symp. 4.12)50

Critobulus’ gaze at Cleinias is depicted as a pathological affliction which renders him helpless, and from which Socrates is working to release him: ‘Before he used to gaze at Cleinias with a stony stare [λιθίνως ἔβλεπε], just like those who look at the Gorgons [οἱ τὰς Γοργόνας θεώμενοι], and never left his side; but now I’ve seen him actually blink!’ (Symp. 4.24). As with Socrates’ criticism of Critobulus’ unreflective response to sights in the city in the Oeconomicus, Socrates’ opposition to the enamoured passivity of the viewing lover can be read in political terms, as concerned with the proper self-formation of the elite man in his role in the city.51 Whereas the Cynegeticus’ celebration of the hunt through the enraptured gaze of

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the hunter presents one model of the ideal elite life, Socrates’ arguments in contrast suggest that the viewer who can be overwhelmed and loses control of himself is not sufficient to the active demands of elite citizenship. Across these works, different ideological propositions for elite self-fashioning are juxtaposed and contend against each other.

2 b) Displays of power The concern with sights which might overwhelm the critical faculties of the viewer also emerges in texts which consider the deliberate manipulation of audiences by individuals in a position of power. Like the Cynegeticus in its description of the hunt, the On Horsemanship describes horse riding as a brilliant display (πάντα τὰ κάλλιστα καὶ λαμπρότατα ἐπιδείκνυσθαι, Peri Hipp. 11.6; cf. Peri Hipp. 11.10, 11.11). An important criterion in the choice of a horse is how it looks: a double back is ‘more pleasant to look at’ (ἰδεῖν ἡδίων, Peri Hipp. 1.11), whereas wide nostrils ‘display the horse as more formidable / gorgon-like’ (γοργότερον τὸν ἵππον ἀποδεικνύουσι, Peri Hipp. 1.10). The text’s repeated use of the adjective γοργός (which derives etymologically from ἡ Γοργώ, the Gorgon)52 to describe the desired visual effect of the horse hints at the transfixing power of the sight: A prancing horse is a thing so beautiful, terrible, admirable and wondrous [[ἢ καλὸν ἢ δεινὸν ἢ] ἀγαστὸν [ἢ θαυμαστόν]] that it rivets the eyes of all beholders [ὡς πάντων τῶν ὁρώντων . . . τὰ ὄμματα κατέχειν], young and old alike. At all events no one leaves or is tired of gazing [ἀπαγορεύει θεώμενος] at it, so long as it displays its brilliance [ἐπιδεικνύηται τὴν λαμπρότητα]. (Peri Hipp. 11.9)53

The On Horsemanship hints at the potential use of display to manipulate audiences’ responses. After a description of a technique for making the horse bound forward elegantly, we are told, ‘Those who gaze upon [οἱ θεώμενοι] such a horse call it noble, a willing worker, worth riding, spirited, magnificent, and at once both pleasing and formidable / gorgon-like to look at [ἅμα ἡδύν τε καὶ γοργὸν ἰδεῖν]’ (Peri Hipp. 10.17). As Vilatte notes, ‘Xénophon cite avec ironie les exclamations populaires, car il sait que cette belle attitude n’est que le fruit de la maîtrise de l’homme sur le cheval et non la marque de la spontanéité de l’animal’ (‘In quoting what people say, Xenophon is being ironic, because he knows that it is the skill of the rider rather than the spontaneous behaviour of the horse that produces their positive reaction’).54 Display is understood as a persuasive tool. As with Xenophon’s discussion of hunting, horse ownership and cavalry training are socio-economic markers, indicating wealth. The horse is imagined

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to display the excellence of the master and is therefore an important ideological signifier.55 The compulsive nature of the spectacle and the possibility of influencing viewers’ responses here seem something to celebrate as an assertion of the elite rider’s social supremacy. However, the picture is complicated somewhat in the description of cavalry processions, where the text evinces concern as to the political consequences of such display for the relationship between the cavalry leader, his troop and the wider community. Emphasis is placed on the display of the individual: a horse managed in the correct way makes the rider look like a god or hero (‘This is the attitude in which artists represent the horses on which gods and heroes ride, and men who manage such horses gracefully have a magnificent appearance [μεγαλοπρεπεῖς φαίνονται],’ Peri Hipp. 11.8). Yet in a cavalry troop, the hipparch or phylarch ‘must not make it his object to be the one brilliant figure [ὅπως αὐτὸς μόνος λαμπρὸς ἔσται], but must attach much more importance to making the whole troop behind him worth looking at [ὅπως ὅλον τὸ ἑπόμενον ἀξιοθέατον φανεῖται]’ (Peri Hipp. 11.10).56 Despite the interest in elite self-assertion, this recalls the democratic ideology of the Athenian state which staged the cavalry processions. The passage hints at a fear that such display might be open to misuse, becoming a personal vehicle for the cavalry commander rather than a display of civic strength.57 There is a similar tension in the Cavalry Commander, which instructs the potential cavalry leader on how to make the cavalry displays for various Athenian festivals worth watching (ἀξιοθεάτους, Hipparch. 3.1) and how to make the other city displays as beautiful as possible (κάλλιστα ἐπιδείξει, Hipparch. 3.1).58 The concern is with the benefits that accrue to the city, which depend not only on the display of the leader but on the display of the group. Phylarchs must be persuaded that ‘From the point of view of the city, it is much more glorious for them to be adorned by the brilliance [λαμπρότητι κεκοσμῆσθαι] of their tribe than by their own equipment alone’ (Hipparch. 1.22).59 As in On Horsemanship, this statement might indicate a concern to regulate the social self-assertion of the individual, ensuring that the display is politically productive for the community. However, the description of the cavalry troop as an adornment to its leader introduces some ambiguity. Despite the focus on the appearance of the group, the cavalry procession is still conceived as the leader’s display.60 The advice seems to cut two ways. Elite display must be channelled towards the needs of the community;61 but the commander can also offer a more successful and effective display of himself through communal display.62 We can compare this analysis with Xenophon’s account of the techniques of tyranny in the Hiero. In two linked passages, the Hiero counterposes different

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types of tyrannical spectacle, the first of which is criticized, the second recommended. The first passage describes the false spectacles put on by rulers who attempt to deceive their subjects. After Simonides appears to praise the benefits of a tyrant’s life, the tyrant Hiero complains that, as a wise man, Simonides ought not be taken in by a tyrant’s deceptive show:63 I do not wonder at all [οὐδέν τι θαυμάζω] that the multitude of people are utterly deceived by tyranny, Simonides. For the crowd seems to me to form the opinion that some men are happy and others wretched entirely by sight [ὁρῶν]. Now tyranny displays openly, evident for all to see [ἀνεπτυγμένα θεᾶσθαι φανερὰ πᾶσι], the possessions which are held to be of much value. But it keeps what is harsh hidden in the tyrants’ souls, where human happiness and unhappiness are stored up. That this escapes the notice of the multitude is, as I said, not a wonder to me [οὐ θαυμάζω]. But that you too are unaware of this, you who are reputed to get a finer view of most matters through your understanding than through your eyes [οἳ διὰ τῆς γνώμης δοκεῖτε θεᾶσθαι κάλλιον ἢ διὰ τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν], this I do hold to be a wonder [θαυμαστόν]. (Hiero 2.3–5)

A tyrant’s display is deliberately contrived to impress, and therefore maintain control over, his subjects. As Gray has pointed out, Hiero’s attack on Simonides for failing to see the truth needs to be read in the context of the text’s ironic framing. In its initial chapters (of which this passage forms a part) the Hiero stages the wise Simonides as apparently incorrectly believing popular notions about the blessed lives of tyrants, and being ‘educated’ by Hiero – but in the text’s later portions the roles are reversed as Simonides takes control over the dialogue to reveal where Hiero has been going wrong in his understanding of how to rule.64 It is therefore hinted that, although the common crowd is taken in by superficial sights, the wise Simonides is indeed capable of ‘seeing through’ the tyrant’s charade. As in Socrates’ criticism of Critobulus in the Oeconomicus for his unreflective response to sights, an uncritical attitude is presented as a mark of naivety, whereas the ability to judge a sight analytically is the sign of the sophisticated viewer.65 The tyrant’s display is discussed again in Simonides’ subsequent education of Hiero on more effective strategies for ruling. Simonides advises Hiero that a beautifully decorated palace is less of an adornment (κόσμου, Hiero 11.2) to him than a lavishly cared for city; that he will appear more terrible to his enemies if the whole city is well armed than if he himself is adorned with the most terrifying arms (ὅπλοις δὲ πότερον τοῖς ἐκπαγλοτάτοις αὐτὸς κατακεκοσμημένος δεινότερος ἂν φαίνοιο τοῖς πολεμίοις ἢ τῆς πόλεως ὅλης εὐόπλου σοι οὔσης;

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Hiero 11.3); and that he will adorn (κοσμεῖν, Hiero 11.5) himself more if the greatest numbers of competitors go to festivals from his city than if he personally sends the greatest number of chariot teams, and if he outstrips other rulers not in chariot victories but in the prosperity of his city (Hiero 11.5–8). The positive results of this new method of ruling are imagined in terms of a change in how Hiero looks and is looked at by his subjects: You would be looked at from all sides [περίβλεπτος] and cherished not only by private men, but by many cities; you would be an object of wonder [θαυμαστός] not only in private, but in public among all as well; it would be possible for you, as far as safety is concerned, to travel wherever you wish, for the sake of sightseeing [θεωρήσοντι]; and it would be possible for you to do this remaining here. For there would be a continual festival [πανήγυρις] by you of those wishing to display [ἐπιδεικνύναι] whatever wise, beautiful, or good thing they had, and of those desiring to serve you as well. Every man present would be your ally, and every man absent would desire to see you [ἐπιθυμοίη ἂν ἰδεῖν σε]. (Hiero 11.9–11)

We have already noted Hiero’s complaint that a tyrant is not able to participate in sightseeing at festivals (theôria; Hiero 1.11). Under Simonides’ instruction, he will be able to look at sights to his heart’s content, since the festival crowd (πανήγυρις) will come to him, and rather than being forced to present false appearances to his subjects, all will look at him with love. This passage implies a degree of equivalence between Hiero’s pleasurable gaze at spectacles and his subjects’ and others’ gaze at him: Simonides imagines Hiero ‘as much an object of admiration as those public festivals and natural or artistic sights he felt himself so painfully excluded from’.66 However, there are also differences between these forms of viewing. The loving, longing and wondrous gaze of Hiero’s viewers implies submission to him (as those around him long to please him and to serve him), but also, simultaneously, identification with him: as Sevieri shows, the Hiero is intimately concerned with the problem of how to establish common bonds between the tyrant and his alienated subjects.67 The repeated language of adornment in Simonides’ instruction to Hiero on how to display himself is reminiscent of the Cavalry Commander’s account of the commander’s adornment by his troop (Hipparch. 1.22). Hiero is advised on the best way to gain prestige and assert his position by a clever use of display, whereby his own display is transmuted into and functions through civic display. Although individual display is displaced in favour of community display, we are shown a strategy for political self-promotion which benefits the elite leader.68

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The Hiero and the Cavalry Commander seem in many ways to celebrate the self-assertion of elite individuals in the control of spectacle, assuming the reader’s identification with strategies of dominance. But as we have seen, these texts also complicate and undercut the confident position in which this might place the reader. In the discussion of the cavalry commander’s display as a display of the community as well as of the individual, Xenophon seems interested in how elites can make displays of status which are still governed by and articulate civic ideology: as we have discussed above, the incorporation and appropriation of the displays of the wealthy within democratic discourse is a frequent concern in Athenian oratory. Yet despite the possibility of the successful democratization of elite display, we still seem to see acknowledged the potential gap between the commander and the community which he is meant to lead and represent, but from which his interests may at times be distinct. The Hiero’s discussion of the tyrant’s display raises related issues. Although Simonides’ suggestion that a tyrant’s display should function through civic display similarly seems to propose a happy melding of elite self-assertion with civic mutuality, its framing as a strategy for ruling makes us aware that Hiero and his viewers have different political interests. Further, the earlier description of the tyrant’s deceptive spectacle, which requires wisdom and a critical attitude in order for the viewer not to be taken in, imagines the act of looking at the tyrant from the position of his subjects. Here the reader seems to be invited to identify not only with Hiero but also with his viewers – and especially with Simonides as a sophisticated viewer. Yet in the description of the common, mistaken understanding of the tyrant’s deceptive show, the passage indicates awareness that not everyone is able to perceive as Simonides does. If the reader is not able to look in the appropriately analytical way, as Simonides is able to here, then their relationship with the powerful may not always be to their advantage. We have already noted Socrates’ critical reaction to erotic and pleasurable sights in the Memorabilia, Oeconomicus and Symposium. As we shall see, the contest between a pleasured, compliant gaze and a self-aware, critical response is a key concern in Xenophon’s historical narratives in their representation of and reflection on the displays of leaders. Powerful and charismatic figures, both Greek and non-Greek, are presented as manipulating or overwhelming their viewers. Compelling spectacles of military success or alluring displays of individual dominance invite internal audiences’ and the reader’s pleasure and identification, while simultaneously hinting at the need for a more critical engagement.

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2 c) Sparta The final works of Xenophon which are helpful in contextualizing our central readings of his historical narratives are his short treatises on Sparta: the Lakedaimonion Politeia (Lak. Pol.) and Agesilaus. These texts represent the Spartans, and Agesilaus as Spartan king, as available to be viewed by fellow Spartans, by other Greeks and by the reader, and stress the role of sight in the acquisition of knowledge.69 The nature and role of Spartan power in Greece is addressed. In the Lak. Pol. the Spartans are shown both as ideal Greeks and as intent on projecting an impressive image, using display as a means of selfassertion and control. In the Agesilaus the sight of the Spartan king emblematizes idealized virtues and Panhellenic military might, but also Spartan violence against non-Spartan Greeks. In their concern with both the appeal and the problem of the alluring sight of the powerful, these texts reflect interestingly on Xenophon’s representation of leaders and armies across his narrative works, and in particular on his representation of Agesilaus and the Spartans in the Hellenica. The Lak. Pol. describes what the reader would think on seeing the Spartans (‘Seeing these things you would think . . .’, ὁρῶν ταῦτα ἡγήσαιο, Lak. Pol. 13.5; ‘Somebody watching would find . . .’, ἐπισκοπῶν τις ἂν εὕροι, Lak. Pol. 9.1) and invites the reader to look at and judge Spartan qualities (‘Let anyone who wishes look for himself,’ ὁ βουλόμενος ἐπισκοπείτω, Lak. Pol. 1.10; cf. ὁ βουλόμενος καὶ ταῦτα ἐπισκοπείσθω, Lak. Pol. 2.14).70 This phraseology recalls Thucydides’ reference to the readers of his History as ‘those who wish to look’ at the past (ὅσοι . . . βουλήσονται σκοπεῖν, Thuc. 1.22.4); it also recalls the language of public inscriptions, which from the fifth century onwards often describe themselves as set up ‘for anyone who wishes to look’ (τῷ βουλομένῳ σκοπεῖν).71 In recalling a citizen viewing the laws of their polis, this phraseology imagines the reader’s relationship to Sparta as one of close involvement and participation. However, the reader’s observation of Sparta can also be imagined as like that of a traveller to a strange land, such as in the description of the modesty of the Spartan paidiskoi (adolescent boys), which imagines the reader as faced with the attractive but surprising experience of virtuous behaviour beyond the norms of social practice, where Spartan youths appear a bit like icons – idealized but alien (‘You would be less likely to hear a sound from them than from stone statues; you would be less likely to make their eyes turn than those of bronze statues’, Lak. Pol. 3.5).72 The relation to the Spartans offered by the text is complicated further as Spartans are presented as highly aware and in control of the image that they

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present. They continuously watch each other. The ephors (ἔφοροι, ‘Overseers’, from ἐφοράω, ‘to watch over’) keep an eye on Spartan citizens: ‘By watching [ὁρῶντες] what each person does, they make them all behave with moderation’ (Lak. Pol. 13.5). The hêbôntes (twenty‒twenty-nine-year-olds) ‘watch [παραφυλάττουσιν] one another closely, in case they should take it easy, contrary to any of the things deemed noble’ (Lak. Pol. 4.4).73 Their rivalry is described as producing spectacle: ‘among those in whom the love of victory is most ingrained, their choruses are most worth hearing and their athletic contests are most worth watching [ἀξιοθεατοτάτους]’ (Lak. Pol. 4.2). The effects of the Spartans’ control of their own and each other’s visual presentation become apparent through comparison with a passage from the Cynegeticus which similarly describes the inculcation of virtue through seeing and being seen: It is quite clear [εὔδηλον] that all men desire Virtue, but because it is through toils that one gains her, many men stand aside. For while conquering her is invisible [ἄδηλον], the toils she entails are visible [φανεροί]. Perhaps then, if her body were visible [δῆλον], people would be less negligent of Virtue, knowing that just as she was apparent [ἐμφανής], so too are they seen [ὁρῶνται] by her. For whenever someone is seen [ὁρᾶται] by his beloved, every man is better than himself, and neither says nor does anything shameful or bad, lest it be seen [ἵνα μὴ ὀφθῇ] by the beloved. But men, not supposing that they are watched [ἐπισκοπεῖσθαι] by Virtue, do many bad and shameful things in her presence, because they do not see [ὁρῶσιν] her. But she is present everywhere on account of being immortal, and she honours those who are good with regard to her and she dishonours the bad. So if they knew this, that she watches [θεᾶται] them, they would hasten to the toils and the education by which she is with difficulty captured, and they would conquer her. (Cyn. 12.18–22)74

In a description reminiscent of Foucault’s discussion of the Panopticon,75 sight is imagined as ensuring self-policing: the men’s sight of Virtue is the prerequisite for the effectiveness of her gaze in controlling them.76 Their visual availability entails social self-formation and the performance of socio-political identity: coming towards the end of the Cynegeticus’ account of the hunt, the passage describes the formation of an ideal member of the elite.77 In the Lak. Pol. we are shown an idealizing image of a paradigmatically virtuous Greek community which might appeal to and invite identification in the reader; but we are also shown that this image is a deliberately contrived selfassertion. We might compare the spectacle that the Spartans present to their enemies: ‘Whenever a goat is sacrificed when the enemy is already looking on

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[ὁρώντων ἤδη τῶν πολεμίων], it is a law both that all the aulos players who are present play and that no Lacedaimonian be without a garland; also, it is announced that weapons are to be polished’ (Lak. Pol. 13.8). Spartan spectacle appears both as an alluring image and as a strategy of dominance. A similar dynamic is at work in Xenophon’s Agesilaus. The Spartan king Agesilaus’ actions are repeatedly described as displays of his virtues, especially through the term ἐπιδείκνυμι.78 This term is used in forensic oratory to claim that the facts of a case have been observed by witnesses, and are therefore true.79 The text also describes itself as a display: the narrator asks, ‘How might one display more clearly [σαφέστερον ἐπιδείξειεν] the way that he exercised his generalship than by relating the actions he undertook?’ (Ages. 1.9)80 and offers to give an account of Agesilaus’ actions in order to make clear / visible (καταδήλους) his character (Ages. 1.6), transforming the reader into a witness. The text turns repeatedly to the visible evidence for its claims, insisting on the epistemological value of the visual. We are told that after each of Agesilaus’ battles ‘he raised a trophy [τρόπαιον], thus leaving behind deathless memorials [μνημεῖα] of his own virtue, and bearing on his own body clear signs [σαφῆ . . . σημεῖα] of having fought with spirit. As a result, it was possible to judge [δοκιμάζειν] his soul not by hearing but by seeing [ὁρῶντας]’ (Ages. 6.2). (Note the language of the dokimasia, the public inspection by Athenian democratic institutions.) This visualization of Agesilaus’ virtues invites the reader’s engagement and identification. Interestingly, however, many of the statements of visual evidence are introduced as a reply to the imagined objections of the reader. For example, the claim of Agesilaus’ visibility is brought in to counter an expectation of disbelief regarding his sexual abstinence: Should only a few know these matters, then many could distrust them; but we all know that the most visible [οἱ ἐπιφανέστατοι] least of all escape notice in whatever they do, and nobody ever reported seeing [ἰδών] Agesilaus do anything of this sort, and neither would anyone be held to speak in a trustworthy way if he made such conjectures. For when away from home, [Agesilaus] did not lodge in any home but was always either in a temple, where it is of course impossible to do such things, or out in the open [ἐν φανερῷ], thus making the eyes of everyone witnesses [μάρτυρας τοὺς πάντων ὀφθαλμοὺς] of his moderation. And if I am lying about these things, when Greece knows contrary things about him, then I offer no praise at all but censure myself. (Ages. 5.6–7)81

Similarly, the reader is directed to look at Agesilaus’ house in order to overcome doubt as to the claim that Agesilaus lived very simply:

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If somebody distrusts these things, let him see [ἰδέτω] the sort of house that satisfied [Agesilaus], and let him gaze [θεασάσθω] at its doors. For someone might conjecture that these doors are still those ones that Aristodemus, the descendant of Heracles, got hold of and set up, when he returned from exile. And let him undertake to gaze [πειράσθω δὲ θεάσασθαι] at the provisions within . . . (Ages. 8.7)

While the images on offer are attractive and appealing, the expectation that further persuasion of the reader is needed suggests that the text’s celebration of Agesilaus might also be discomfiting; the text inscribes an awareness that Agesilaus, the famous proponent of Spartan hegemony, is potentially a difficult subject to praise.82 The force of many of the text’s arguments on Agesilaus’ virtue is to claim him as an icon of Panhellenism.83 In its discussion of his military ventures against the Persians the text makes repeated use of the language of Greek‒barbarian opposition: Agesilaus is a Greek who loves Greeks (Ἕλληνα ὄντα φιλέλληνα, Ages. 7.4) and hates Persians (μισοπέρσην, Ages 7.7). It lists the crimes of the Persian king, which it claims can be visually witnessed: ‘These things everyone sees [ὁρῶσι]. But who else, apart from Agesilaus, has ever taken action . . .?’ (Ages 7.7).84 However, as well as praising Agesilaus’ wars against the Persians, the text also describes Agesilaus’ involvement in wars against non-Spartan Greeks.85 Agesilaus’ victories in Greece are described in a way that reveals both his impressive military career and its terrible results. The reader is invited to imagine the spectacle of the battlefield at Coronea following Agesilaus’ slaughter of fellow Greeks:86 Now that the battle was over, there where they fell upon one another it was possible to gaze upon [παρῆν δὴ θεάσασθαι] the earth made damp with blood, corpses of friend and enemy lying beside one another, shields smashed to pieces, spears broken, daggers stripped of their sheaths, some on the ground, some in bodies, others still in men’s hands [τὴν μὲν γῆν αἵματι πεφυρμένην, νεκροὺς δὲ κειμένους φιλίους καὶ πολεμίους μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων, ἀσπίδας δὲ διατεθρυμμένας, δόρατα συντεθραυμένα, ἐγχειρίδια γυμνὰ κολεῶν, τὰ μὲν χαμαί, τὰ δ᾽ ἐν σώματι, τὰ δ᾽ ἔτι μετὰ χεῖρας]. (Ages. 2.14)

The asyndeton and the repetition of τὰ μὲν . . . τὰ δ᾽ phrases suggest rapidity and overload. They evoke the emotive experience of an imagined viewer whose eyes are torn swiftly from one gruesome sight to another, and they enable the reader to share in that experience.87 The reader is confronted both with the noteworthiness of the events in which Agesilaus was involved and with the terrible violence that Greeks have wrought on each other: friend and enemy lie

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dead together in a tangled confusion, hardly distinguishable. The phrase παρῆν δὴ θεάσασθαι presents a visual tableau: the human detail, such as the hands still holding their daggers, seems to call for a response of pathos. However, immediately following this spectacle we are presented with another spectacle of quite a different emotional timbre – Agesilaus’ victory display: ‘At dawn, he ordered Gylis the polemarch to put the army in battle formation, to set up a trophy, to have all wear a wreath in honour of the god, and to have all the aulos players play’ (Ages. 2.15). As we move from the pitiful sight of human destruction to Agesilaus’ celebration, we become aware of the potentially politically uncomfortable direction in which the text’s praise for Agesilaus is pushing us. The actions that the text is celebrating take place in the context of Sparta’s pursuit of power, to the detriment of other Greek communities. To take pleasure in Agesilaus’ victories is to identify with him in this role: one cannot identify with Agesilaus as an icon of Greek military success without implicitly acquiescing to Spartan supremacy. The juxtaposition of the spectacle of celebration with the spectacle of violence calls the reader’s attention to these political difficulties. In our discussion of aspects of Xenophon’s wider writing, I have suggested that the discontinuities in the representation and theorization of the act of viewing indicate conflicts within Greek ideology with respect to the elite man’s role in the city, his relation to his community and his conception of his identity as Greek. In our readings of the Hellenica, Anabasis and Cyropaedia we will find ways of responding to and characterizing sights in the context of conflicts between Greek states, conflicts between Greeks and non-Greeks and conflicts within Greek communities which point in different directions, often simultaneously. As we shall see, the contradictory ways of seeing on offer in these texts engage the reader in the contestation of ideological values in Xenophon’s period.

3. The visual in Herodotus and Thucydides Our contextualization of the Hellenica’s, Anabasis’s and Cyropaedia’s interest in the visual must finally consider the ways in which Xenophon is responding to and building upon prior models of writing about the past.88 Both Herodotus and Thucydides imagine their texts and the events they describe as available to be viewed by the reader:89 we can note the influence of enargeia and visualization in Homeric narrative, which allows the listening audience to imagine themselves as eyewitnesses.90 Herodotus’ proem describes his work as a display (ἀπόδεξις

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Hdt. 1.1),91 frequently comments on sights worth seeing (ἀξιοθέητος) or objects which provoke wonder (θῶμα) in foreign lands,92 and famously refers to his own sight in order to guarantee the trustworthiness of his account (Herodotean autopsy).93 His use of the language of visibility (φανερός; cf. the criticism of the knowability of τὸ ἀφανές) to certify the reliability of evidence imagines historical investigation as a process of visual scrutiny.94 Similarly, Thucydides imagines his readers as viewers, suggesting that his text will be useful to those who want to look clearly (τὸ σαφὲς σκοπεῖν, Thuc. 1.22.4) at the past.95 Like Xenophon, Herodotus and Thucydides present their narratives in a visually engaging way, show a lot of interest in scenes of spectacle and spectatorship and describe the responses of viewers to sights within the narrative. In both authors, in slightly different ways and with different emphases, the representation of historical actors visually witnessing and responding to events becomes a means of reflecting on the processes of historical interpretation and the meaning of those events for the present. The representation of spectator responses invites reflection on the impact of the sights of the narrative.

3 a) Herodotus Herodotus’ account, which opens by setting out its intention to investigate the wondrous achievements of Greeks and non-Greeks as well as the reasons why they went to war with one another, contains numerous moments where the reader is allowed vicariously to gaze at foreign peoples. The programmatic opening story of Gyges and the wife of Candaules allows the reader to peer with Gyges into the bedchambers of the Lydian royalty. Candaules orders Gyges to look at his wife naked on the grounds that ‘the ears are more untrustworthy than the eyes’ (ὦτα . . . ἐόντα ἀπιστότερα ὀφθαλμῶν, Hdt. 1.8): as with Herodotus’ claims of autopsy, sight is imagined as a method of investigation and enquiry.96 But this enquiry is imbued with a sense of transgression and danger. Gyges’ initial warning that each man should ‘look to his own’ (σκοπέειν τινὰ τὰ ἑωυτοῦ, Hdt. 1.8) is terrifyingly fulfilled as the queen exacts retribution, beginning a pattern of violence which reverberates across Herodotus’ account. Like Gyges, the reader is transformed into a voyeur: we enjoy a titillating peek into an exotic and erotic foreign world.97 The eroticism of the scene and the reader’s enjoyment of it implicates the reader in Gyges’ recklessness, his hubristic abandonment of proper cultural boundaries.98 As we are shown the injudiciousness of looking at what you should not, and the unforeseen risks that this might incur, viewing the foreign becomes disquieting just as much as alluring. This opening narrative

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dramatizes the problems facing the reader as a viewer of the foreign sights of the text, as the confident position of the viewer as ethnographer-enquirer is both asserted and unsettled.99 It allows reflection on the relationship of the Greek reader to the non-Greek world displayed by the text (cf. the text’s selfcharacterization as ἀπόδεξις, Hdt. 1.1). Herodotus’ representation of cross-cultural encounters, as members of different ethnicities witness and respond to each other, similarly involves the reader in considering their self-positioning against foreign sights.100 When the Athenian Solon gazes at the extraordinary wealth of Croesus of Lydia (θεησάμενον δέ μιν τὰ πάντα καὶ σκεψάμενον . . ., Hdt. 1.30), but, to Croesus’ consternation, responds by selecting not Croesus but Tellus, Cleobis and Biton (Greeks of moderate means who are dutiful towards city, family or gods) as representatives of the most blessed life (Hdt. 1.29–33), the reader is offered a potential model for a Greek response to barbarian luxury – a response of criticism and rejection.101 The use of the term θεωρία to describe Solon’s experience (κατὰ θεωρίης πρόφασιν ἐκπλώσας, Hdt. 1.29; τῆς θεωρίης ἐκδημήσας ὁ Σόλων εἵνεκεν, Hdt. 1.30; φιλοσοφέων γῆν πολλὴν θεωρίης εἵνεκεν ἐπελήλυθας, Hdt. 1.30) suggests the foreignness of what Solon sees, by implying that he can be understood as a θεωρός, a pilgrim-viewer who travels to foreign sights.102 However, as the perspectives and understandings of Solon and Croesus are juxtaposed, the reader’s positioning is complicated. The worldview of Solon is, after all, rather socially unconventional in its de-privileging of the wealthy. The narrative of Solon’s preference for Tellus over the manifestly affluent Croesus gets its bite from the surprise that this must engender, not only for Croesus but for the reader too; and the strange and disturbing early death of Cleobis and Biton is hard to reconcile with a model for the ideal life. The text’s descriptions of Lydian luxury may represent an alien world, but they may also seduce and impress, offering their own appeal (see, for example, the text’s evocative and vivid interest in the wealthy Lydian dedications at Delphi: Hdt. 1.14, 25, 50–1, 92). Solon’s account presents a harsh rejoinder to traditional social hierarchies and concepts of value; its educative force is aimed both at Croesus and at us. Although we know that in dismissing Solon’s radical, disconcerting and in many ways counter-intuitive arguments Croesus is making a mistake, it is hard not to empathize with his predicament: the reader may identify, at least to a certain extent, with Croesus as well as with Solon – and of course, as with the arrogant and flawed heroes of tragic drama, it is our identification with him which allows us to connect to his story, and learn something from his downfall.103 The encounter stages a conflict between Greek and non-Greek values, but it also

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offers the possibility of interrogating what exactly Greek values are or should be, and how they work. A question is raised, therefore, regarding the political experience of Herodotus’ audience: how far is reading about foreign cultures a comfortable, self-affirmatory experience which authorizes and entrenches Greek ideals, and how far do such encounters allow for a more challenging experience?104 In this episode, both forms of experience seem to be on offer simultaneously. Herodotus is also interested in how relations of power affect interpretation, particularly in the depiction of the use and abuse of visual relations by powerful rulers. We are shown rulers putting on misleading displays in order to attain or bolster their control over others. Peisistratus wins tyranny over the Athenians by mocking himself up as if he had been attacked and by putting on a show of being led into the city by Athena (Hdt. 1.59–60). Xerxes rearranges the bodies on the battlefield at Thermopylae in order to create a false image of minor Persian losses – although in his case no one is taken in (Hdt. 8.24–5). We are also shown rulers as wielders of the gaze. Darius gazes at the Black Sea and Bosphorus (Hdt. 4.85, 87), and Xerxes is presented as looking at sights in a number of scenes leading up to and during his invasion of Greece: he stops to see Troy (Hdt. 7.43); at Abydus he gazes at his army and makes his ships put on a race (Hdt. 7.44); he watches his troops cross the Hellespont (Hdt. 7.56); at Doriscus he reviews his army and navy (Hdt. 7.100); he goes to see the mouth of the Peneus river in Thessaly (Hdt. 7.128); he watches the battle at Thermopylae (Hdt. 7.212); and he watches the battle at Salamis (Hdt. 8.87–90). While such scenes suggest the empowered position of the ruler-spectator whose gaze instantiates his control over his environment,105 Herodotus also shows moments where such control is questioned, as viewing leads to mistaken interpretations. At Salamis, Xerxes observes the behaviour of his officers and has a scribe take notes, but mistakes the actions of Artemisia: when she rams a vessel from her own side in order to give a pursuing Athenian ship the impression that she is on their side, Xerxes thinks that she has rammed an enemy, and praises her (Hdt. 8.87–8). Such scenes of viewing and response reflect back on the experience of the reader. By showing viewers taken in by deceptive displays or making mistakes in their reading of sights, the text figures the difficulties of the task of interpretation and response facing the reader.106 It also raises the question of the reader’s critical self-confidence in relation to the text, and its political and cultural implications. We may risk being insufficiently canny and questioning like Peisistratus’ Athenian viewers, who are impressed and persuaded by a falsely dazzling sight and allow themselves to become subject to tyranny. Their response is framed in terms of their Greek identity: Herodotus notes that although Greeks might have

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the reputation of being cleverer than non-Greeks, and Athenians of being cleverer than other Greeks, the Athenians were still taken in by Peisistratus (Hdt. 1.60). As differences between Greek and non-Greek modes of response are both suggested and undercut, the nature of a ‘Greek’ response is questioned. Although a Greek viewer should, it is implied, be able to judge sights critically, maintaining a self-confident distance, there remains the risk of being bowled over by an impressive sight – a risk which might affect the historical judgement of the reader too. The reader is also involved in the dangers facing overly confident viewers, whose hubristic certainty in their own position leads to errors of judgement and ultimately their downfall. At Salamis, Xerxes’ misreading of Artemisia’s actions gains its irony from the imperious way in which he sits in state to survey his forces at battle. Before Thermopylae, when his scout gazes in amazement at the Spartans combing their hair before battle (ἐθηεῖτό τε καὶ κατώρα, Hdt. 7.208; ταῦτα δὴ θεώμενος ἐθώμαζε, Hdt. 7.208) and reports this to Xerxes, Xerxes finds their behaviour laughable (ἀλλ᾽αὐτῷ γελοῖα γὰρ ἐφαίνοντο ποιέειν, Hdt. 7.209) – but he will shortly get his comeuppance. Here, Xerxes’ mistake may seem easy to avoid. The reader is encouraged to distance themselves from Xerxes’ arrogant attitude: Xerxes has not fully understood the Spartans, and we see Greek virtues celebrated at Persian expense. Yet his attitude is recalled in the Spartan Pausanias’ derision at Persian eating habits, following the capture of Mardonius’ tent (Hdt. 9.82). Pausanias displays an austere Spartan meal next to a sumptuous Persian meal prepared by Mardonius’ cooks, and after inviting his followers to compare them, laughs (γελάσαντα, Hdt. 9.82) at the wealthy Persians for wanting to conquer such a poor land as Greece. As with Solon’s criticism of Croesus, Pausanias’ viewing seems to present a strongly normative model of Greek response to foreign wealth; yet elsewhere Herodotus indicates the inadvisability of laughing at foreign customs.107 And as with Solon, there is room for a flicker of uncertainty: the comparisons between Persian and Spartan expectations in both these scenes throw light on the strangely extreme nature of Spartan culture, idealized though it may be in its absolute rejection of pleasures and its celebration of a beautiful death, which may alienate the non-Spartan reader.108 Just as Xerxes does not understand the Spartans, Pausanias does not understand the Persians, and although identification with Pausanias may come much more readily to the reader, we are allowed a glimpse of the oddity of the Spartans through Persian eyes. As Xerxes’ responses indicate the dangers of overconfidence in one’s cultural or political position, the reader is asked to reconsider their own standpoint as a Greek. We have already

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noted the recklessness of Gyges and the complacency of Croesus, and the potential implication of the reader in the difficulties that they face. They form part of an array of hubristic figures in the text who look at the world around them with inappropriate self-assurance and self-regard. As we read the Histories’ account of Greek and non-Greek affairs, we are invited to ask ourselves how far reading of these events can be done from a position of security and certainty, and how far they may offer a challenge to the Greek reader’s sense of their place in the world. By offering us both modes of experience, the text reveals and embroils the reader in the tensions within Greek self-conception in relation to the foreign – issues very current in the fifth-century context in which the oppositional rhetoric of Greek and barbarian was used both to promote and question Athenian imperial ambitions.109

3 b) Thucydides Like Herodotus, Thucydides refers to viewing as a mode of historical enquiry. He describes the importance of eyewitness testimony in informing his historical investigation (Thuc. 1.22), and his speakers refer to the importance of visual evidence in making decisions: Themistocles advises the Spartans not to trust verbal reports about the building of Athens’ walls but to send envoys who could see for themselves, for example (Thuc. 1.91.2).110 For Thucydides, however, not all forms of viewing are valued the same. Brasidas educates his men to be able to disregard the fearsome display of Arrhabaeus, counterposing an emotional response to spectacle with the clear sight of its superficiality: ‘You should be able to see clearly [σαφῶς . . . ὁρᾶτε] that everything about them which you thought frightening amounts in real fact to very little, alarming as it may be to look at [ὄψει] and listen to’ (Thuc. 4.126.6).111 Whereas Brasidas gets a clear view of the activities of Cleon at the second Battle of Amphipolis (κατεφαίνετο πάντα αὐτόθεν, ὥστε οὐκ ἂν ἔλαθεν αὐτὸν ὁρμώμενος ὁ Κλέων τῷ στρατῷ, Thuc. 5.6.3), Cleon fails to see what Brasidas is doing, even though he looks (ἐθεᾶτο, Thuc. 5.7.3) from a hilltop.112 The verb used of Cleon here is θεάομαι.113 In Thucydides this verb often seems to denote a look of enjoyment, reflection or emotional involvement – what Crane calls a ‘fascinated gaze’ – rather than the analytical look associated with the rational scrutiny of evidence.114 It is used by the Athenians, for example, in order to disparage the Melians’ foolishness in trying to oppose them: ‘Judging from this decision of yours, you seem to us quite unique in your ability to consider the future as something clearer [σαφέστερα] than what is before your eyes [τῶν ὁρωμένων], and to gaze upon [θεᾶσθε] things

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which are invisible [ἀφανῆ] as realities, simply because you would like them to be so’ (Thuc. 5.113).115 This distinction between different forms of viewing is reminiscent of Cleon’s own criticism of the Athenian assembly (see above) for being ‘spectators of speeches’ (θεαταὶ . . . τῶν λόγων, Thuc. 3.38.4) rather than using sight in order to analyse evidence and make decisions (τὰ δὲ πεπραγμένα ἤδη, οὐ τὸ δρασθὲν πιστότερον ὄψει λαβόντες ἢ τὸ ἀκουσθέν, ἀπὸ τῶν λόγῳ καλῶς ἐπιτιμησάντων, Thuc. 3.38.4).116 Different possibilities for audience response are indicated to the reader, allowing reflection on the reader’s own engagement with the text: will we be able to examine Thucydides’ account with the distanced, analytical eyes which his methodological introduction suggests are required by the historian? The distinction also has political implications: the correct form of viewing is a mark of the critical citizen, who must make sober and well-grounded political judgements.117 It therefore carries beyond the text, affecting the reader’s wider response towards their world. This concern with appropriate and inappropriate ways of looking is recalled in a number of scenes where viewers are confused, deceived or otherwise led astray in their responses to sights.118 In the opening phases of the Sicilian Expedition narrative, the Athenians are misled by persuasive and arousing spectacles. Alcibiades’ spectacular self-presentation, including his boasts about his dazzling chariot display at Olympia (Thuc. 6.16.2, discussed above), wins over the citizens to agree to the venture under his leadership. The Egestans’ manipulative display of their silver temple dedications and their gold and silver cups falsely convinces the Athenian envoys of the city’s funds for the war effort (Thuc. 6.46.3‒5). As the expedition gets under way, the Athenians’ doubts as to its prudence are swept away in the face of the impressive spectacle of their fleet departing from Piraeus (διὰ τὸ πλῆθος ἑκάστων ὧν ἑώρων, τῇ ὄψει ἀνεθάρσουν, Thuc. 6.31.1).119 At these moments, the reader gets a glimpse of the decisionmaking process which leads to war. We see decisions made under the influence not of dispassionate calculation but of excitement and enthusiasm, as Athenian audiences get swept up in war fervour. A striking aspect of Thucydides’ descriptions of visual experience is his focus on the emotional effects on participants. We are told how at Pylos the Athenians were encouraged by the sight of their numbers (αὐτοὶ τῇ τε ὄψει τοῦ θαρσεῖν τὸ πλεῖστον εἰληφότες πολλαπλάσιοι φαινόμενοι, Thuc. 4.34.1), whereas the Spartans were overcome by confusion when engulfed by a cloud of ash which prevented them from seeing what was happening around them (ἄπορόν τε ἦν ἰδεῖν τὸ πρὸ αὑτοῦ, Thuc. 4.34.2; ἀποκεκλῃμένοι μὲν τῇ ὄψει τοῦ προορᾶν, Thuc. 4.34.3).120 In the description of the night battle at Epipolae, the uncertainty experienced in the

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darkness is similarly evoked: ‘The moon was bright, but they saw [ἑώρων] each other in the way that is to be expected in moonlight: that is they would see the sight of a body [τὴν μὲν ὄψιν τοῦ σώματος προορᾶν], before they could be sure if it belonged to one of their own men’ (Thuc. 7.44.2).121 Such description impacts on the reader’s experience of the events. As Rood has shown, in Thucydides the emotional repercussions of an event on participants frequently affect outcomes, and so the evocation of emotional responses functions as a form of historical explanation.122 But further, the affective nature of the writing, which draws us into the experiences of those involved, allows identification with each side in turn – even as we also are shown, and warned against, their failures and mistakes. In the detailed description of the departure for Sicily of the Athenian fleet from Piraeus, the sights that can be seen by the Piraeus crowds – the number and variety of the ships, the impressiveness of their equipment, manpower and adornment – are presented for the reader’s perusal, alongside the description of the audience’s feelings (shifting from uncertainty to confidence). By being allowed to observe the latter, we are shown how the Athenians’ propensity for an emotional rather than analytical response led them, eventually, to disaster.123 But by being allowed also to witness, in all its glory, the former – the spectacular visual experience which the Athenians too had before their eyes – the Athenians’ response becomes understandable to us. As Grethlein has observed, Thucydides’ enargeia or vivid writing style, which tends to avoid prolepsis and frequently includes ‘side-shadowing’ (reminders that other things could readily have happened), recreates for the reader the narrow temporal perspective of the historical participants, who do not know the future outcomes of the events that they are living through, and know only the openness of the present.124 As we watch the fleet’s departure alongside the text’s internal audience, we cannot help, like them, but be impressed by the sight125 – even as we are aware, with the benefit of hindsight, that the expedition will turn out to be a mistake. Although the account of the audience’s change of heart allows critical reflection on their mistakes, the recreation of interior experience simultaneously places the reader in the position of the historical agents, facing up to and potentially won over by alluring sights.126 The problems of historical experience, and the crisis of political decision-making, are conjured and laid bare.127 We are shown how this was able to happen – what it felt like at the time: we are allowed to identify with the Athenian experience even while being shown where they went wrong. A similar reflection on the difficulties and implications of historical judgement occurs in Thucydides’ description of the responses of Athenian spectators to the battle in the harbour at Syracuse:

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives As the battle swung this way and that, so, inevitably, did their impressions alter as they watched it [τὴν ἔποψιν] from the shore. The sight [τῆς θέας] was close in front of them and, as they were not all at once looking [σκοπούντων] in the same direction, some saw [ἴδοιέν] that at one point their own side was winning, and took courage at the sight and began to call upon the gods not to deprive them of their salvation, while others, looking [βλέψαντες] towards a point where their men were being defeated, cried out aloud in lamentation, and were more broken in spirit by the sight [τῆς ὄψεως] of what was being done than were the men actually engaged in the fighting. Others were looking [ἀπιδόντες] at some part of the battle where there was nothing to choose between the two sides, and, as the fight went on and on with no decision reached, their bodies, swaying this way and that, showed the trepidation with which their minds were filled, and wretched indeed was their state, constantly on the verge of safety, constantly on the brink of destruction. (Thuc. 7.71.2–3)128

Those standing in different spots on the shore get different impressions of the battle, and therefore respond in different ways: those who see their side winning are encouraged and those who see them losing lament. This might remind us of Thucydides’ comments on the difficulties of taking evidence from eyewitnesses, who see only a part of what happened, or interpret it in a partisan way (Thuc. 1.22.3).129 By describing the variety of sight-lines and associated interpretations, Thucydides allows the reader a more overarching perspective on the battle, revealing the partiality and inadequacy of the Athenians’ emotion-laden responses. This allows reflection on the ‘short-sightedness’ of the Athenians and their lack of critical judgement, both here and in the events leading to this point. However, as with the scene in the Piraeus, it is difficult in reading this passage not to be caught up in its emotionalism – its sense of imminent danger, of lives teetering in the balance. Thucydides focuses on what the audience sees, and what they feel. As we look through the eyes of different groups of spectators in turn, although we see and understand more than each of them can, we are simultaneously made to participate in the gripping terror of the moment.130 As Plutarch comments on this passage, ‘Assuredly Thucydides is always striving for this vividness in his writing, since it is his desire to make the reader a spectator, as it were, and to produce vividly in the minds of those who peruse his narrative the emotions of amazement and consternation which were experienced by those who beheld them’.131 The passage offers both critical distance on the battle and the behaviour of its spectators and also ensnarement in their fears and passions. As such, it reflects in a curious way on these historical events, and on the reader’s political relationship

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to them. We are allowed to perceive the qualities in the Athenians which led to their present dire straits by being shown their failure as critical spectators; but we are also allowed to identify with them. As the experience of the historical moment is recreated, we are offered the possibility of overcoming the critical difficulties of the participants while also being thrust face to face with their circumstances, whose implications will have remained heart-wrenchingly poignant for Thucydides’ contemporary audiences. Just as the Athenians failed to distance themselves and come to a reasoned judgement, so too the reader is shown both the need for and the difficulty of doing so – even (or especially) in the reader’s present.

Conclusion: viewing and the reading process This chapter has indicated some of the significance with which sight and display were invested in Classical Greece. We have noted a concept of the relationship between viewer and viewed whereby the one might be capable of having a forceful impact on the other, and vice versa; and an expectation of the ability of sight to reveal knowledge, coupled with an anxiety about the deceptiveness of sight or its overpowering effect on the viewer. We have noted in particular a concern with the social and political repercussions of these effects, regarding the ability of the powerful to manipulate or exploit their visual impact, and regarding the potential for the viewing of foreign sights to threaten as well as to confirm identities. Our reading of Xenophon’s wider corpus has pointed to some of the ways in which these concerns are formulated in his thought. In his Socratic and other dialogues and in his rhetorical and technical works, powerful individuals or communities, whether the cavalry commander, the figure of the tyrant, the Spartan state or its king Agesilaus, draw the eye of the reader, inviting pleasure and political identification. However, as the self-aware, critical viewer is contrasted with the disempowered viewer of stunning spectacle, we are also offered insight into the problems posed by these compelling sights. Identification with the spectacular commander or ruler engages the reader in a fantasy of domination but might distance us from the community over whom he triumphs or suggest our own vulnerability to his impact; and the sights of Spartan exceptionalism both offer an appealing image of idealized Greek virtues and military power and hint at the alien and threatening force to which the nonSpartan viewers of Spartan imperial expansion are exposed. We have noted how

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different ways of thinking about the impact of visual experience and different ways of conceptualizing oneself as a participant in elite values, as a member of a polis and as a Greek overlap, interact and contend with each other. Our readings of Herodotus and Thucydides have similarly pointed to the way that reflection on the impact of visual experience becomes a means of reflecting on the social or political meaning of historical sights. Both Herodotus and Thucydides allow a range of responses in their readers. Reading is an open experience: in both authors, engagement in the difficulties of coming to a response is part of the meaning of the text. Reading becomes a process of political self-positioning where the outcome is left unresolved, revealing historical contradictions and involving the reader in them. We will find a similar openness in Xenophon’s Hellenica, Anabasis and Cyropaedia. Rather than narrowly directing readerly responses, by exploring the problems facing historical spectators Xenophon’s writing invites the reader to experience the difficulties of response to its often contentious historical subject matter. We will also see many of the concerns apparent in Herodotus and Thucydides raised in Xenophon’s historiographic works: spectators’ responses are affected by cultural or political perspectives, amazing sights overwhelm viewers, and powerful figures manipulate their subjects with deceptive displays. As in Herodotus and Thucydides, the problems faced by historical protagonists in their responses to the political and cultural conflicts of their times are pertinent to the reader’s contemporary world. Whereas Herodotus’s visual scenes are often concerned with relationships of power between Greek and non-Greek and the problems of a hubristic attitude of cultural self-confidence when looking at other cultures, Thucydides’ visual scenes are interested in the emotional sway which striking spectacle might exert on audiences and how this affects considered judgement and, ultimately, democratic decision-making. Similarly, Xenophon’s writing shows concern with the different ways of seeing available to Greek viewers when responding to contentious cultural or political situations in the context of the competition for hegemony between Greek states under the threat of Persian power in the early fourth century. We will now go on to explore these issues in more detail through a close reading of each of our central texts.

3

Hellenica: Viewing Greek History

Xenophon’s Hellenica describes the competition for hegemony between Greek states in the early fourth century bce . Opening with the fall of the Athenian empire (books 1–2), the Hellenica charts Spartan campaigns in Asia during their attempt to take over the Asian Greek cities previously under Athenian control and now threatened by the Persians following Cyrus the Younger’s failed uprising (books 3–4). It goes on to narrate the attempts of Sparta to impose hegemony on the cities of the Greek mainland and Peloponnese following their pact with Persia, the King’s Peace, and the final destruction of Sparta’s attempt at empire by an increasingly powerful Thebes (books 5–7). The Hellenica seems to present a pretty bleak picture of Greece as a site of continuing conflict and violence, and of Greek states as driven by self-interest. It can be read as a critique of imperialism.1 The curbing of Spartan power by Thebes at Leuctra is described by the text as divine retribution for Sparta’s sacrilegious occupation of the Theban Cadmea, inviting the reader to understand Sparta’s fall as just punishment for their abuses of other Greeks.2 Moreover, following Thebes’ failed attempt to impose control over the Peloponnese, the text’s climactic account of the Battle of Mantineia describes the confusion and disorder which resulted from the competition and self-interest of the Greek states.3 Yet within the midst of this, there are some striking and appealing depictions of powerful and impressive Greek individuals and armies who use their extraordinary military abilities to pursue hegemony for their state,4 inviting the reader’s identification with the Greek pursuit of power. The depiction of Greek encounters with Persia can also suggest the superiority of Greek values. In the light of these diverse and contradictory depictions, we can ask how the text’s narrative of competing Greek hegemonies and of both conflict and cooperation with the Persians imagines what it means to be Greek. One way in which the Hellenica mediates audience ideas about Greek identity is through the use of the visual.5 The main contenders for hegemony in Greece ‒ Sparta, Athens and Thebes ‒ present brilliant military spectacles, and their 45

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leaders wield an empowered gaze over their enemies. As spectators within the text experience awe at these impressive spectacles, the reader too is invited to identify in turn with Spartan, Athenian or Theban power as emblematic of the possibilities of Greek achievement. Similarly, when the Greek sight of the Persians is described in the account of Dercylidas’ and Agesilaus’ campaigns in Asia and in the context of diplomatic engagement with Persia, the reader is invited to observe Persian cultural inferiority in contrast to the self-discipline and moderation of Greeks, as well as to witness Greek unity and military confidence in opposition to the Persians. However, other ways of seeing are also possible. The Greek powers can be depicted as using their visual impact in a manipulative way, as a tool of military or political control. As the spectacle of the powerful Greek leader or army is revealed as functioning as part of their state’s attempt to impose hegemony on other Greeks, military spectacles become signs both of impressive Greek achievement and of the divisions between Greeks, suggesting both the affirmation of Greek identity and its undermining. The text also allows the possibility of looking back at the armies of Sparta or Thebes through the eyes of those Greeks whom they attack and defeat. At those moments when the account of hegemonic Greek military action is mediated via the fear or suffering of its victims, alternative ways of thinking about Greek power are offered. Further, the sight of the Persians can reveal appealing depictions of the Persian elite and Greek weakness before Persian power, whereas Greek responses to the sight of Persians can expose conflicts between Greeks. Underlying many of the text’s representations of viewing is a concern with the importance of visual evidence in the acquisition of knowledge, an interest which emerges particularly in the depiction of military attempts to control lines of sight on the battlefield.6 The visual field is shown as open to contest. Each side attempts to position themselves so as to look with assurance at their surroundings, while ensuring that their enemies must struggle to see things correctly; similarly, each side attempts to control how their army is seen, so that the sight intimidates their enemies.7 This focus on the control of the visual in military strategy has metahistorical significance, linking the experiences of viewing audiences within the text who must look and reach a judgement about what is happening about them with the experience of the reader as a literary viewer:8 the reader is invited to look via expressions such as ‘it was possible to see’ (παρῆν ὁρᾶν, 3.4.16; ἦν ὁρᾶν, 6.2.33, 6.4.16; παρῆν θεάσασθαι, 7.2.9), through the description of events as ‘worth seeing’ (ἀξιοθέατος, 4.5.6; ἄξιος θέας, 3.4.17, 6.2.34), or by direct address in the second person (‘you would have seen’: ἂν εἶδες, 6.4.16). By showing

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the fraught nature of visual experience in the context of military attempts to control viewers’ ability to see and interpret, the text suggests that for the reader, too, viewing and judging historical action might be a problematic process, implicating them in the contests between different Greek states, and between different ideas about what it means to be Greek, which are acted out in the narrative. The production of confident spectacles and an assertive gaze seems especially to be associated with the pursuit of hegemony, and is predominantly described in the context of Athenian, Spartan or Theban militarism; since the narrative of the Hellenica is largely occupied with an account of the rise and fall of Spartan power,9 descriptions of spectacles or the military use of the gaze particularly feature the Spartans. Interestingly, in some of the depictions of Spartan military action after Leuctra the Spartans are no longer shown in such control of appearances or the gaze. In contrast, in book 7 Epaminondas’ Thebans emerge as masters of the visual. The text’s visual focus on the Spartans invites reflection on the implications of Spartan militarism for non-Spartan Greeks. In the account of Sparta’s campaign in Asia, the language of Greek‒barbarian opposition suggests a Panhellenic reading of Spartan actions: as Dillery has shown, the Hellenica evidences interest in the potential for Panhellenic solidarity after a period of continual conflict between Greeks in the Peloponnesian War.10 The Spartan campaign in Asia is framed by the claim that Dercylidas’ actions aimed to secure freedom and autonomy for the Asian Greeks.11 Before setting out on his voyage to Asia, the Spartan king Agesilaus calls on other Greek states to follow him as he sacrifices at Aulis like Agamemnon before the voyage to Troy, framing the Spartan campaign as a new Panhellenic Trojan War,12 and during his Asian campaign Agesilaus describes the Spartans as the leaders of the Greeks (4.1.8). Yet Agesilaus’ call to the other Greeks to join him goes unanswered and the Boeotians disrupt his sacrifice at Aulis, rejecting Spartan leadership.13 Agesilaus is recalled from Asia to fight fellow Greeks in the Corinthian War, his return to Greece significantly compared to the invading march of Xerxes.14 Subsequently, Spartan hegemony over other Greeks is achieved through a pact with Persia.15 Similarly, Spartan customs and behaviour can offer an appealing image of Greek virtues. The Spartan focus on military discipline invites the identification of the Greek reader; in the context of their confrontations with the Persians, Spartan values can appear to represent Greek culture in opposition to the nonGreek world. However, the absolute military commitment of Spartans can also potentially alienate the reader by suggesting both the Spartans’ cultural

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idiosyncrasy in relation to other Greeks and the threat that they pose to others. This is illustrated in the account of the reaction in Sparta to the news of their defeat at Leuctra: On the next day, it was possible to see [ἦν ὁρᾶν] the relatives of those who had died going around in full view with bright and happy faces [λιπαροὺς καὶ φαιδροὺς ἐν τῷ φανερῷ ἀναστρεφομένους], while you would have seen [ἂν εἶδες] on the street only a few of those whose relatives had been reported as still alive, and these few were making their way with gloomy expressions and downcast faces. (6.4.16)16

The visual evocation of Spartan behaviour through the impersonal third person ‘it was possible to see’ (ἦν ὁρᾶν) and the second person ‘you would have seen’ (ἂν εἶδες) invites the reader to imagine themselves as present in Sparta, walking the streets and gazing at the Spartans. This creates a sense of active engagement and involvement in Sparta,17 but it also suggests an exterior perspective, an ethnographic observation of an unusual people. We are shown Spartan exceptionalism.18 In its suggestion of commitment to the state and to military values, the sight has ideological appeal; but the counter-intuitive nature of their response might also be alienating and estranging, suggesting both Spartan cultural difference and an excessive militarism.19 As we shall see, through its focus on spectacles and viewing experiences, the text poses the problem of the implications of Greek hegemony for concepts of Greek identity. Accounts of Spartan and, towards the end of the text, Theban military virtues and triumphs can offer reassuring images of Greek empowerment, yet these states’ pursuit of power can also be seen as a threat to the selfdetermination of other Greeks.20 The ideological desire for Panhellenic achievement – the desire which the text arouses to read the Greek pursuit of hegemony as offering a positive account of what it means to be Greek – competes and sometimes conflicts with a simultaneous readerly awareness of the fissures within Panhellenic unity revealed by such actions. Depictions of impressive military effectiveness both celebrate Greek hegemony and hint at the dangers posed to its victims: Greeks from other states. The depiction of the relationship between Greeks and Persians is similarly framed by the Greek competition for hegemony. Although the text offers the possibility of thinking of Greeks as sharing collective cultural values which makes them superior to non-Greeks, encounters between Greeks and Persians can reveal what divides as well as what unites the Greeks, as the Spartans and other Greeks pursue their own military or political aims in relation to the Persians to the detriment of fellow Greeks.

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The discussion that follows will begin with an overview of some of the contexts in which viewing and display appear in the text, in order to discuss the ideological effect of spectacle in the light of the text’s concern with the contestation of responses to sights in political and military contexts (section 1). The subsequent two sections will examine some scenes of viewing and spectacle in more detail, considering how viewers of historical action are positioned in relation to the events and figures of their time. In section 2 we will examine the control of the gaze by the hegemonic Greek powers, especially Sparta. In section 3 we will examine visual encounters between Greeks and Persians, especially in the account of the Spartan campaigns in Asia.

1. Viewing and contestation In this section we will introduce the key contexts in which viewing and spectacle occur in the Hellenica, and examine the problems that they raise. We will open with some examples of spectacles in the Hellenica (section  1 a): spectacular militarism or leadership are offered for the reader’s admiration and identification, offering empowering experiences to the reader. However, we will also examine how viewing in the Hellenica provokes contending interpretations in the context of political conflict, where things can be seen in different ways (section 1 b). In particular, the Hellenica depicts sight as an arena for contestation in military contexts: military opponents attempt to influence how things are seen on the battlefield, making deliberate use of their visual effect for military purposes (section 1 c). In section 1 d we will examine the Hellenica’s account of the return of Alcibiades to Athens. This scene offers an analysis of the problems facing audiences of spectacular individuals, showing how ideological appeal competes with critical awareness, obscuring the political disadvantage potentially involved in identification.

1 a) Viewing spectacles The text presents a number of spectacles of brilliant military action. After the pro-Spartan Phliasians successfully fight off an invasion of their acropolis by anti-Spartan Phliasian exiles, the Arcadians and Argives, the reader is invited to view the aftermath of their victory: ‘Then it was possible to see [θεάσασθαι παρῆν] men grasping one another by the hand in joy at their deliverance and women bringing them drink, weeping in their joy’ (7.2.9). The reader is imagined

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as a viewer of Phliasian success:21 the invitation to view seems to offer Phliasian courage and tenacity for the reader’s contemplation and identification as an emblem of what a Greek community can and should be.22 The sight indicates the triumph of traditional social structures even under threat, as men celebrate their cooperation, and as women tend to their needs: links of citizenly solidarity and proper roles of gender are maintained.23 Yet as well as an image of success, the spectacle also reveals the terrible dangers faced by Greek communities and the precariousness of Greek lives. Whereas the majority of accounts of spectacle in the Hellenica occur in descriptions of the actions of the major powers, Xenophon introduces the discussion of Phlius by arguing for the importance of narrating the actions of small states despite this not being the usual subject for history writing (7.2.1): Phlius is suggested to be a special, exceptional example of military bravery and steadfastness. We see in the account of Phlius the ideological pull of brilliant military images: out of the carnage of the Hellenica’s narrative of continuing violence and competition between Greeks, positive examples of what it means to be Greek can be found. Another spectacular sight frequently described in the Hellenica is the spectacle of the successful Greek leader, either in his own person or more often in the obedience and enthusiasm of his men. Many such moments appear in accounts of Spartan action, but other states, especially Athens and Thebes, also produce spectacles of leaders or their armies. For example, when the Spartan leader Teleutias leaves the Spartan fleet after being replaced by Hierax, his men garland him and throw garlands into the sea in his wake (5.1.3–4). On Teleutias’ recall to the fleet, his men look at him with joy: ‘When the sailors saw [εἶδον] that he had arrived, they were overjoyed’ (5.1.13).24 A similar image is offered of the Athenian commander Iphicrates. After he gives orders to his captains to follow him in launching a naval attack and threatens punishment to anyone who does not follow, when the signal is given the men run to board their ships: we are told ‘Their eagerness was a sight worth seeing’ (ἀξία ἐγένετο θέας ἡ σπουδή, 6.2.34). This phrase invites the reader to witness and be impressed by the absolute authority that Iphicrates is able to wield over his men.25 Such moments of spectacle invite the pleasure and identification of the reader. In its focus on powerful individuals, the Hellenica offers the possibility to its male elite ideal reader of self-imagination as one of the ‘makers of history’.26 As Ferrario has shown, Xenophon’s focus on the history-making power of individual leaders forms part of a wider concern with the elite individual as historical agent in the early fourth century bce , as also evidenced in honorific and funerary

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commemoration.27 In Xenophon, we can understand this as part of a class discourse: for an elite reader, there is ideological appeal in the possibility of reading history in terms of the dazzling achievements of a series of outstanding men. Yet as we shall see in the discussion below, in the context of potentially abusive relations of power, especially the pursuit of hegemony by Sparta or Thebes, the aims of the spectacular leader or state might complicate the reader’s sense of identification. Although the Hellenica in some places imagines sight as offering straightforward access to the real, far more often the text demonstrates its epistemological difficulties, revealing how the interpretation of sights is open to be contested by different factions and is shaped by political or military purposes and contexts.

1 b) Knowledge and power The importance of maintaining a clear view of events is shown repeatedly throughout the Hellenica. After the assassination of the Spartan-backed polemarchs at Thebes, for example, the conspirators announce what has happened and call on the citizens to come out of their houses, but the Thebans do not believe them until they are able to see for themselves: ‘As long as it was night time, the citizens distrusted them and did not stir; but when day came and it was visible/evident what had happened [φανερὸν ἦν τὸ γεγενημένον], then all of them, hoplites and cavalry, immediately came out to help, bearing their arms’ (5.4.9).28 Visual language and the appeal to visual evidence is also used to describe the processes of enquiry employed by the historian. We are told that although it is unclear (ἄδηλον) why Lysander held his ground at Haliartos despite the approach of the Thebans, ‘this at least is clear [τοῦτο δ᾽ οὖν σαφές] – that a battle took place at the wall; for a trophy stands at the gates of Haliartos’ (3.5.19).29 At various moments historical events are imagined as taking place in a visual frame, to be witnessed and judged by onlookers.30 Procles of Phlius, in his speech to the Athenians in which he calls on them to help the Spartans against Thebes, uses the suggestion that their actions will be widely witnessed, especially by the gods, to elicit their compliance: ‘I think that they will receive benefits from you not in the presence of a few witnesses [μαρτύρων] only; for the gods, who see all things both now and in the future [οἱ πάντα ὁρῶντες καὶ νῦν καὶ εἰς ἀεί], will know what has happened here’ (6.5.41). He suggests that the Spartans’ response will also be witnessed (‘If the Spartans in return should be seen [φανείησαν] as behaving wickedly to you, who in the world would ever be eager to take their side?’ 6.5.42), and reminds them that the allies are witnessing their actions (‘It is

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worth your while to display [ἐνδείξασθαι] eagerness to help them for the sake of their allies who are present here with them,’ 6.5.44). Procles also presents himself as a witness to the Athenian decision. He says that previously he used to hear how Athens would assist any who fled to her for aid, but now he no longer needs to rely on hearsay, since he is present and can see the Spartans asking them for aid, and can see the Thebans asking them to allow Sparta to be destroyed (νῦν δ᾽οὐκέτ᾽ἀκούω, ἀλλ᾽αὐτὸς ἤδη παρὼν ὁρῶ Λακεδαιμονίους . . . ὁρῶ δὲ καὶ Θηβαίους, 6.5.45–6). His contrast between seeing and hearing implies that hearsay can now be tested; Athens can prove its reputation to be well or badly founded.31 Procles’ visual language imagines historical actors as audiences viewing and judging each other’s actions. The implicit claim behind Procles’ words is that a witnessed sight is hermeneutically transparent and can only be interpreted in one way: if Athens helps Sparta before the eyes of the gods, this can only mean that Athens will be well thought of and will gain from it; if the Spartans are seen to respond without the appropriate gratitude, others can only turn against them.32 Interestingly, however, in the wider narrative responses to sights are not so straightforward, but are often affected by relations of power. For example, following his trial, Theramenes is dragged away for execution and calls on both gods and men to see what is happening, but the council keeps quiet, since they can see the council chamber surrounded by armed men (καὶ θεοὺς ἐπεκαλεῖτο καὶ ἀνθρώπους καθορᾶν τὰ γιγνόμενα. ἡ δὲ βουλὴ ἡσυχίαν εἶχεν, ὁρῶσα . . ., 2.3.55). Theramenes’ appeal for his treatment to be visually witnessed presupposes that his audience will react in his favour; but the responses of his audience are affected by political intimidation produced through a competing sight. Similarly, in the defence speech to the Theban council given by one of the assassins of Euphron of Sicyon, the speaker justifies his actions on the grounds that the guilt of Euphron was plain to see. He claims that those who are manifestly (περιφανῶς) evil and plainly (φανερῶς) traitors are worthy of death (7.3.7), and he asks who was more obviously (περιφανέστερος) a traitor than Euphron (7.3.8). The council are convinced by his arguments and agree that Euphron suffered a just fate. But, nevertheless, we are told that Euphron’s fellow citizens buried him in the marketplace and honoured him as if he were a founder of the city: the narrator comments, ‘It seems that most people define “good men” as those who are their benefactors’ (7.3.12). Whereas the assassin claims that the correct interpretation is obvious, the surrounding narrative reveals that this is not the case: the people of Sicyon see things differently. As the narratorial comment shows, how things are seen and interpreted is not always transparent and inevitable, but can be affected by political circumstances.33

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1 c) Sight in military strategy The emphasis on the visual as a means of accessing knowledge appears most frequently in the text’s military narratives. The Athenian commander Iphicrates only gives credence to eyewitness reports (‘He had not heard the circumstances surrounding the death of Mnasippos from any eyewitness [αὐτόπτου], and he suspected that it might have been fabricated to deceive him, so he kept up his guard,’ 6.2.31). Iphicrates attempts to maximize what he can see. On his way to Corcyra, he sets up lookouts from the land, but also from the masts of ships who could see much further from their higher position (πολὺ οὖν ἐπὶ πλέον οὗτοι καθεώρων ἢ οἱ ἐκ τοῦ ὁμαλοῦ, ἀφ’ ὑψηλοτέρου καθορῶντες, 6.2.29); and at Corcyra, when expecting the enemy to approach, ‘he went out himself to examine [σκεψάμενος] the ground and select a spot from which it was possible to see [δυνατὸν ἦν ὁρᾶν] any approaching ships and from which those signalling to the city would be visible [καταφανεῖς]. There he stationed his lookouts [σκοπούς]’ (6.2.33). Access to visual knowledge allows control of the field of battle. Military control is also expressed through control of what others can see. At Abydos, Antalkidas has lookouts signal to him when the Athenian ships under Thrasyboulos approach, keeps as inconspicuous (ἀφανέστατα, 5.1.27) as possible, and then takes the Athenians by surprise. Agesilaus’ forces at Thespiae are routed when the Thebans, previously invisible (ἀφανεῖς, 5.4.39), suddenly attack through their stockade. When the Thebans attack Sparta, the defending Spartans both are and are seen to be few in number (ὀλίγοι καὶ ὄντες καὶ φαινόμενοι, 6.5.28; ὀλίγοι φαινόμενοι, 6.5.31), but successfully overcome this by launching an ambush (6.5.31). Deliberately deceptive or manipulative displays are used to influence responses in both military and political contexts. After hearing news of the Spartan defeat at the Battle of Arginousai, the Spartan commander Eteonikos orders messengers to sail into the Spartan camp wearing garlands in order to give the impression that the Spartans have won and so keep up morale (1.6.36). In Athens, Theramenes suborns men at the Apatouria Festival to dress in black cloaks and wear their hair cut short to give the impression that they are the relatives of those who died at Arginousai, to encourage a climate of hostility to the generals (1.7.8). The Spartans trick the Argives in the battle at Corinth by taking up the defeated Sicyonians’ ‘sigma’ shields, so that, thinking that the Spartans are Sicyonians, the Argives can be taken by surprise (οἱ δὲ Ἀργεῖοι ὁρῶντες τὰ σίγμα τὰ ἐπὶ τῶν ἀσπίδων, ὡς Σικυωνίους οὐδὲν ἐφοβοῦντο, 4.4.10). Appearances can become an arena to be contested between opposing factions. It is in this context that we encounter the many manipulative displays staged by

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Spartan leaders, especially but not only King Agesilaus. For example, when Agesilaus wishes to make war on Phlius for the sake of the restored Phliasian exiles, he must counter the objection of many of the Spartans that they risk incurring the hatred of a state of more than 5,000 men: ‘for the Phliasians, in order to make their number evident [ἔνδηλον], would conduct their assemblies in plain view [ἐν τῷ φανερῷ] of those outside the city’ (5.3.16). Agesilaus gets around the Phliasian display by organizing one to compete with it. He devises a scheme (ἀντεμηχανήσατο, 5.3.16): he encourages the exiles to form common messes with their supporters and provide them with training and arms, at the end of which ‘they displayed [ἀπέδειξαν] more than a thousand men of splendid physique, well disciplined and extremely well armed’ (5.3.17). The result of this display is that the Spartans are persuaded that they need such soldiers. Agesilaus successfully presents a display which outweighs the display of the Phliasians.34 Spectacles of military victory can function persuasively, to the extent that they stand in for or instantiate victory. When the Phliasians set up a trophy and sound the paean after defeating the Pelleneans, the Thebans and Sicyonians allow this to go on even though they had just been racing to aid the Pelleneans: ‘And the men with the Theban general and with Euphon just stood there and watched them [περιεώρων], as if they had been racing to see a spectacle [ἐπὶ θέαν]’ (7.2.15). The defeat of the Thebans and Sicyonians is marked and enacted by their transformation into passive spectators of the triumph of the Phliasians. Similarly, after putting the rearguard of the Argive army to flight after the Argives had invaded their territory, the Phliasians claim victory through display: ‘Although they killed only a few of them, with the Argives looking on [ὁρώντων τῶν Ἀργείων] they set up a trophy, precisely as if they had killed them all’ (7.2.4). The Phliasians strategically display, and thereby construct, their success. In these various examples, the Greek world is imagined as a visual arena: being able to see as much as possible while manipulating what the enemy can see is shown as key to establishing military or political supremacy. Each side attempts to manage visual meaning while maintaining the ability to see clearly, so as to wrest from others command over the environment. While the text reveals the confident position of those who are able to control the visual field, and their own historical trajectory, in early fourth-century Greece, it also reveals that control of the act of viewing is contested and must be continually fought for. This impacts upon the reader’s experience of the Greek world as offered in the text, as a vicarious viewer of Greek sights. Greece is conceptualized as a site of continuous conflict, competition and struggle. As well as showing us Greek protagonists – often Spartans but also Greeks from other militarily successful states – who

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wield a confident gaze or confidently stage-manage militarily strategic sights, the text also depicts Greek protagonists (sometimes, indeed, the same Greek protagonists who elsewhere appear powerful) as subject to outside influence in their interpretation of sights, failing to make sense of their environment or struggling to project an appearance of strength. Such depictions suggest the impermanency and instability of power: those who reach a position of dominance do so under constant threat of having their position usurped or undermined, and often do not retain supremacy for long. The presentation of spectacle as a deliberate tactic against other Greeks is quite often treated as something to celebrate, as a plucky and effective military strategy: Phlius’ manipulative display to the Argives (7.2.4) suggests the exceptional bravado of a small state outmanoeuvring its much more powerful opponents, for example. However, as we shall see below, in the discussions of spectacular action by hegemonic powers such as Sparta, the effect is often more complex. The ideological appeal of images of Greek military ability competes with awareness of the involvement of spectacle in the domination of others.

1 d) Ideological investment: Alcibiades’ return The ideological impact of spectacles of hegemonic figures and states on their viewers is a concern in the Hellenica. In its accounts of such sights, the text offers an analysis of the processes affecting both relations of power and historical interpretation. Some of the issues raised by such scenes are illustrated in the account of the return of Alcibiades to Athens in book 1. Although the act of looking at Alcibiades is not itself described, the text presents Alcibiades as attracting a crowd of onlookers who want to catch a glimpse of him and informs us of what they said about him. The scene therefore allows reflection on the political impact of a spectacular individual. Alcibiades is a highly controversial figure: the scene in question depicts his arrival in the Piraeus following his aborted leadership of the Sicilian Expedition, his exile to avoid trial for involvement in the mutilation of the Herms and profanation of the Eleusinian Mysteries, his defection to Sparta, his subsequent defection to the Persian satrap Tissaphernes, his attempt to cause the overthrow of the democracy and his naval successes in the Hellespont against Athens’ enemies. Alcibiades is treated by the gathering crowd as a potential spectacle.35 However, in the account of the attitudes of the crowd it becomes clear that, in the case of this divisive figure, exactly what he could be a spectacle of – whether he operates as a sign of Athenian potential or of the threats to Athens’ position – is

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disputed. The conflicted responses to Alcibiades offer reflection on the precarious condition of Athens as the Peloponnesian War, and Athenian hegemony, nears its end.36 On hearing news of his imminent arrival by ship, the Athenians rush to the Piraeus: ‘When he sailed in, a crowd both from the Piraeus and the city gathered together at the ships, full of wonder and desiring to see the famous Alcibiades [θαυμάζοντες καὶ ἰδεῖν βουλόμενοι τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην]’ (1.4.13).37 The divergent responses of the crowd are given. We are told in quite a lengthy and detailed account that some of them said (λέγοντες οἱ μὲν, 1.4.13) that Alcibiades was the best of citizens, had been banished without due cause, and had acted for the good of the state. This is followed by a short summation in a single sentence of what others said (οἱ δὲ, 1.4.17): that he alone was responsible for the ills that had befallen them, and that he would most likely prove to be the cause of the ills which even now threatened them. The presentation of alternative responses offers an invitation to the reader both to consider their own interpretation of Alcibiades38 and to reflect on the conditions affecting the act of interpretation. The much lengthier account of the positive response to Alcibiades seems to hint that this is what most Athenians are thinking.39 Indeed we shortly learn that this positive response wins out. After Alcibiades justifies himself before the council and assembly, ‘no one spoke in opposition, because the assembly would not have tolerated it. Alcibiades was chosen general with supreme authority over the other generals [ἁπάντων ἡγεμὼν αὐτοκράτωρ],40 on the grounds that he was the man to restore the former power of Athens’ (1.4.20). The repetition of language previously used to describe the fears of some of the crowd at the Piraeus (‘there was the danger that he alone would be the author [ἡγεμών] of future evils that they feared would befall the state,’ 1.4.17) might hint at the potential dangers of this decision.41 This scene bears comparison with Thucydides’ description of the reaction of the Athenian crowd at the Piraeus to the departure of the Athenian fleet on the Sicilian campaign, discussed in Chapter 2:42 the Hellenica’s scene shows Alcibiades’ first return to Athens since his departure with the fleet depicted in Thucydides.43 Both scenes can be read as critiques of the Athenian democratic populace. Thucydides’ Piraeus viewers allow their critical concern regarding the wisdom of the Sicilian expedition to be overwhelmed by the enthusiasm engendered in the arousing spectacle of the fleet. In the Hellenica, the use of the term ὄχλος (‘mob’) to describe the crowd of onlookers similarly suggests their lack of considered judgement.44 But unlike Thucydides, the Hellenica’s Piraeus scene depicts reactions to a single individual.45 The scene shows ‘the isolation of

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Alcibiades as the object of the collective gaze of the wondering crowd’,46 indicating the ‘otherness’ of Alcibiades,47 his extraordinary position as a locus for the construction of historical meaning, whether fantasies of future glory or fears of future disaster. The elite leader becomes a repository of ideological value. The crowd’s interpretation seems to be influenced by ideological identification or alienation. Those who respond with a positive reading of Alcibiades, treating Alcibiades as offering hope for a secure and successful future, seem to be imagining him as representing their interests. The subsequent decision of the assembly, granting him absolute authority, implies that a celebratory reading is ultimately more appealing to the majority in Athens. In such a context, it seems to be suggested, critical judgement is difficult. By revealing how the reassuring interpretation wins out, the text reveals the impact of ideological investment in an elite individual. Although the problems faced by the crowd who gather to see Alcibiades in many ways relate to their specific circumstances as democratic citizens whose judgements about Alcibiades lead to political decision-making in Athens, similar problems are faced by audiences more widely across the text, and by the reader. We are shown images of leaders and armies from Sparta and other powerful Greek states which offer ideological appeal as emblems of the political agency of Greek elites and as manifestations of Panhellenic confidence and selfdetermination; but just as we are invited to take pleasure in these images, we are also shown how they can imply political advantage over other Greeks suggestive of disunity, weakness and self-interest. In its spectacles of Spartan and other hegemonic Greek action the text offers the possibility of an ideologically reassuring account of the Greek world, and also reveals how indulgence in this ideological reassurance might inhibit critical awareness of the conflicts in the context of which these spectacles take place, or of their role in the pursuit of hegemony by Greek states in contention with each other. In this section, we have noted the text’s interest in militarily successful individuals and states whose spectacles of brilliantly effective leadership or victorious achievement in battle invite the identification of the viewer. However, in the context of a broader concern with the relationship between sight and knowledge, the text imagines the field of battle and the scene of political confrontation as a visual arena, where participants must struggle for control of how they are seen and how clearly they are able to see. This suggests the instability of both the processes of historical interpretation and of the Greek world which forms its object, undercutting and complicating readerly engagement in images of Greek power by showing how they are used to secure the domination of other

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Greeks. The text also shows how the capacity for measured and reliable judgement can be put at risk by the ideological desire aroused by a spectacular figure. This suggests the problems facing the reader in engaging with images of spectacular achievement by Spartans and other Greek states whose pursuit of hegemony is described in the text.

2. Viewing Greek hegemony In this section we will examine some representations of spectacle and spectatorship involving powerful Greek states in order to consider how these scenes frame the Greek world and the reader’s relationship to it. In particular we will examine the representation of Sparta; we will also examine the depiction of the Thebans under Epaminondas in the run-up to the text’s conclusion at the Battle of Mantineia. We begin by examining the representation of the Spartans in their military relations with other Greeks (section 2 a). Following Agesilaus’ return to Greece to pursue Spartan military aims in the mainland and Peloponnese, the Spartans are frequently shown in confident control of a dominant gaze, or attracting the eyes of impressed onlookers. Such moments invite the reader’s identification with the Spartans as models of Greek achievement. However, the text shows some equivocation over the impact and implications of the Spartan gaze and Spartan spectacles for the conceptualization of the Greek experience. Spartan displays can be revealed as manipulative, projecting a constructed image of success, and their gaze can suggest an abuse of power; the text also allows the possibility of experiencing Spartan actions from the perspective of the defeated. We will also examine the representation of the Spartans following their loss of hegemony after the Battle of Leuctra (section 2 b). Here the Spartans are shown attempting to manipulate visual responses in their favour, but ultimately no longer in full control of either their gaze or their visual effect. A final section (2 c) will consider the representation of Epaminondas and his forces in the run-up to the text’s climactic battle at Mantineia. As with the depiction of the Spartans, we are shown appealing spectacles of the military virtue of Thebans and their allies, as well as their clever use of lines of sight and appearances in battle: interestingly, the text marks the rise of Theban power through a similar focus on the control of the visual.48 But we are also allowed to glimpse the equal visual appeal of their opponents and to look back at the Thebans through their opponents’ eyes. Theban militarism suggests a terrifying

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threat to Greek independence as well as an impressive display of Greek mastery. We will also examine the text’s closing image of the situation on the battlefield after the fighting is over, where all sides attempt to project an image of victory but no side is able successfully to persuade its audience. Here the Hellenica’s depiction of the struggle to control the visual, which we have seen repeated in military accounts from different perspectives across the text, shifts from a potentially encouraging image of Greek self-assertion to an image of collective Greek failure.

2 a) The Spartan gaze The text presents Spartans imposing an assertive gaze on those they have defeated, and offering impressive spectacles of military dominance. In the depiction of Agesilaus following his successful capture of the Corinthian Piraeum, the Spartan gaze suggests both merited and impressive confidence and a tyrannical attitude towards other Greeks.49 When Agesilaus is approached by Boeotian ambassadors suing for peace, he pretends not to see them: Agesilaus, in a very disdainful manner, pretended not to see them [ὁ δὲ Ἀγησίλαος μάλα μεγαλοφρόνως τούτους μὲν οὐδ᾽ ὁρᾶν ἐδόκει], even though Pharax, the man who looked after Theban interests at Sparta, was standing next to them so that he could present them to Agesilaus. Agesilaus merely sat on the circular structure near the lake and gazed [ἐθεώρει] at the abundance of goods that were being brought out. Some Spartans from the camp, holding their spears, were following as guards, and they were being gazed at intensely by those present [μάλα ὑπὸ τῶν παρόντων θεωρούμενοι], for those who are fortunate and victorious always seem for some reason to be worth looking at [ἀξιοθέατοι]. (4.5.6)

The control of the visual is presented as a mark of power: Agesilaus’ victorious position is articulated in his ability to look at what he wishes, and the Spartans’ success is marked by their transformation into an impressive spectacle. However, everything changes after a messenger arrives reporting the Spartan defeat at Lechaeum. Now when the Boeotian ambassadors are at last interviewed they make no further mention of peace (περὶ μὲν τῆς εἰρήνης οὐκέτι ἐμέμνηντο, 4.5.9), saying instead that they wish to enter the city to join their troops. Agesilaus replies: I am well aware that you do not wish to see [ἰδεῖν] your soldiers but, rather, to gaze [θεάσασθαι] at how great was the success that your friends have achieved.

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives So wait here for a while, and I myself will take you there: for in my presence you will learn even better how great it has proved to be. (4.5.9)

The distinction drawn in this statement between ἰδεῖν and θεάσασθαι marks an expectation of the politically loaded nature of the ambassadors’ viewing, implying that the ambassadors will glory in the sight.50 Agesilaus responds by leading the ambassadors to the city where he cuts down and burns all the fruit trees, and ‘displayed [ἐπεδείκνυεν] that no Corinthian dared to come out of the city to oppose him’ (4.5.10). Agesilaus’ change in fortunes is expressed through the ambassadors’ potential ability to gaze at the success of their friends; Agesilaus attempts to reassert his dominance by maintaining control over the sight that the ambassadors will see, producing a spectacle of his power.51 Agesilaus subsequently tries to maintain morale in his army by limiting what they see: when he must lead his army away past Mantineia, ‘he passed by while it was still dark, so hard did he think the Spartans would find it to watch [θεάσασθαι] the Mantineians rejoicing at their misfortune’ (4.5.18). We must ask how the reader might respond to Agesilaus and the Spartans in this scene. Will the reader be impressed by Agesilaus, identifying with him as he gazes at the parade of prisoners and booty, and as he cleverly regains control of visual relations? Agesilaus’ empowered gaze is both offered as a positive model of elite Greek experience and revealed as a mark of his abusive treatment of other Greeks. The imperious way in which Agesilaus gazes, reminiscent of Xerxes in Herodotus52 or of Zeus on Mount Ida in the Iliad (Hom. Il. 11.336–7), may alienate the reader: the mention of the circular structure in which he sits makes him appear a bit like a god in a temple, viewing with the empowered, panoptic gaze appropriate to the gods.53 Similarly, the description of the victorious Spartans as worth looking at invites the reader too to look at them with awe, yet we are shown the role of the control of viewing in the formation of power relations. To be impressed by such sights means to acquiesce to Agesilaus’ control of visual discourse, and to the Spartan exercise of power over others. Further, the text offers the possibility of experiencing Sparta’s actions from the perspective of those who are defeated. Slightly earlier in the narrative sequence describing Spartan actions around Corinth, the aftermath of the Spartan attack on the Argives at Corinth in support of the pro-Spartan Corinthian exiles is described in visual terms: ‘So many fell in such a short time that the inhabitants, who were used to seeing heaps of grain, wood and stones, gazed instead upon heaps of corpses’ (τότε γοῦν οὕτως ἐν ὀλίγῳ πολλοὶ ἔπεσον ὥστε εἰθισμένοι ὁρᾶν οἱ ἄνθρωποι σωροὺς σίτου, ξύλων, λίθων, τότε ἐθεάσαντο

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σωροὺς νεκρῶν, 4.4.12).54 Here the account of the visual impact of the slaughter, which seems to be from the perspective of the Corinthians of the city, enables understanding of and empathy with the suffering of Sparta’s victims. The unusual use of the term σωρός to refer to heaps of corpses rather than of materials such as grain marks the uprooting of the everyday experiences of agricultural life and their horrific refiguring brought about by Sparta’s actions.55 A similar depiction of the dominant Spartan gaze occurs after Sparta punishes Mantineia in the aftermath of the King’s Peace by forcing the destruction of their walls and the break-up of their city into villages. In this scene, the gaze of the Spartans at the Mantineians might suggest both brilliant military success and an abusive arrogance. The Spartans line both sides of the road out of the city gates holding their spears, and watch the defeated Mantineian democrats leave the city (καὶ ἀμφοτέρωθεν μὲν τῆς ὁδοῦ ἀρξάμενοι ἀπὸ τῶν πυλῶν ἔχοντες τὰ δόρατα οἱ Λακεδαιμόνιοι ἕστασαν, θεώμενοι τοὺς ἐξιόντας, 5.2.6). We are told that although they hate them, they keep their hands off them, an achievement which is described as significant evidence of their good discipline (μέγα τεκμήριον πειθαρχίας, 5.2.6). This would seem to present the Spartans in an impressive light; their power over their enemy is shown in the orchestration of their gaze. The spectacle is as much a spectacle of Spartan success as of Mantineian defeat: the depiction of the Spartans standing on each side of the road is brought vividly to life through the focus on spatial arrangement, which allows the reader imaginatively to place themselves at the scene.56 However, it might be difficult for the reader fully to identify with the Spartans here: the Spartans’ attack on Mantineia is a flagrant breach of the King’s Peace, which has just been described in the preceding chapters of book 5. The action is potentially shown as dubious by Agesilaus’ refusal of the command on account of the services that Mantineia had rendered to his father in the Third Messenian War (5.2.3), both in the hint that perhaps Agesilaus disapproved, and in the indication that Sparta is choosing to ignore the historical friendship of Mantineia.57 The concluding comment by the narrator, which refers to the way in which the Spartans were able to bring about Mantineian capitulation, by damming the river that flowed through their city until it flooded, seems to be focalized from the perspective of the Mantineians: ‘This is how matters turned out at Mantineia, and men became wiser from this incident in one way at least: that one should not have a river flow between one’s walls’ (5.2.7).58 The interpreters of this incident are implicitly imagined as those at risk from Spartan depredations. The reader, as another imagined interpreter, is framed by the comment as potentially within that number.

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2 b) Sparta after Leuctra In its closing books, the Hellenica’s account of the fall of Spartan hegemony shows Spartans no longer in full control of visual relations, but attempting to regain control so as to restore their position in the Greek world. Following their defeat at Leuctra, Archidamus attempts to boost the morale of the Spartan troops before the Tearless Battle59 by encouraging them to re-establish an assertive gaze and an ability to capture the gaze of others. He instructs them not to allow themselves to be made to feel ashamed but to look others in the face (νῦν ἀγαθοὶ γενόμενοι ἀναβλέψωμεν ὀρθοῖς ὄμμασιν, 7.1.30: literally, ‘Now being noble men let us look with straight eyes’), and reminds them of the possibility of regaining their previous status as ‘the most looked at people of all the Greeks’ (πρόσθεν γε πάντων τῶν Ἑλλήνων περιβλεπτότατοι ἦμεν, 7.1.30).60 Both visual terms derive from the verb βλέπω, which seems in Xenophon to imply a socially meaningful look, suggesting differentials in status. Earlier Archidamus has admitted to being too ashamed to look his father in the face (ἀντιβλέπειν, 5.4.27), and Jason of Pherai suggests the influence that Polydamas has over the city of Pharsalus by saying that the city ‘looks to’ him (ἀποβλέπει, 6.1.8) while stressing his own superior resources by saying that he will not need to ‘look to’ small islands to find revenues (ἀποβλέποντας, 6.1.12).61 Archidamus’ speech suggests that to imagine oneself gazing with robust self-assurance is to imagine an empowered position over others and a confident role in the world; similarly, the ability to attract the impressed gaze of others marks one’s superiority. Archidamus indicates that Sparta once occupied this position of superiority, but that it has now been lost, and is in need of being regained. In the later portions of the text, the Spartans’ attempts to control how they are seen are not always successful. In the aftermath of Leuctra the loss of position faced by Sparta is articulated in a failure to maintain control of visual relations. In Agesilaus’ attack on the Arcadians at Mantineia in book 6, Agesilaus fails correctly to interpret his visual environment. Allies arrive from Orchomenus and Phlius during the night, and appear (ἐπιφαίνονται, 6.5.17) at dawn as Agesilaus is sacrificing, but failing to recognize them, the Spartans quickly fall into line and Agesilaus retires inside the camp; afterwards they recognize them as friends. During the next night Agesilaus makes camp but fails to realize that he has done so in a valley that is surrounded by mountains on all sides (6.5.17); it is only at daybreak when he sees (ἰδών, 6.5.18) the Mantineians gathering all around him that he realizes that he needs to get out of the valley. Agesilaus subsequently attempts to take back control of visual relations. Shortly afterwards,

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following a stalemate, Agesilaus wishes to withdraw but decides to wait for three days ‘so that he would not seem [δοκοί] to be making a rapid withdrawal out of fear’ (6.5.20). When he does withdraw, he does so as quickly as possible: . . . because he wished to lead the soldiers away before they had even seen the fires of the enemy [πρὶν καὶ τὰ πυρὰ τῶν πολεμίων ἰδεῖν] so that no one would say that he had led them back in fear. In this way, he seemed to have brought Sparta back somewhat from its former despondency [ἐκ γὰρ τῆς πρόσθεν ἀθυμίας ἐδόκει τι ἀνειληφέναι τὴν πόλιν], since he had invaded Arcadia and laid waste the land, and yet no one had been willing to come out and fight him. (6.5.21)

In the final sentence, the audience imagined as examining and judging Sparta’s position seems potentially to encompass both the internal audience of participants and the reader. The language of ‘seeming’ (ἐδόκει) links the historian’s and reader’s interpretative process to historical participants’ attempts to read potentially deceptive appearances within the text. Agesilaus’ attempts to manipulate how others will see him reflect back on the summation of his achievement. To be convinced of Spartan success might equate to being won over by Agesilaus’ manipulations. Yet the reader may be aware of a possible gap between the appearance and the reality of a Spartan revival of fortunes: immediately after the Spartan departure, the Thebans, confident in their position now that no enemy is to be seen in the land (πολέμιον δὲ οὐδένα ἔτι ἑώρων ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ, 6.5.23), begin to discuss an invasion of Spartan territory.62 The uncertainties and difficulties faced by Agesilaus as a viewer, and the potential lack of success of his displays, here suggest a failure in historical agency. Control of the gaze and of visual effect is shown as a matter of military supremacy. Its loss articulates Sparta’s loss of position in Greece, offering an uncomfortable experience of vulnerability.

2 c) Epaminondas at Mantineia Another Greek community whose spectacular achievements and control of visual relations receives attention is the Thebans under Epaminondas. His preparation of his men and their allies before the text’s climactic Battle of Mantineia is presented as an impressive visual spectacle: The cavalry were eagerly whitening their helmets (as Epaminondas had commanded them to do), and the Arcadian hoplites were painting the Theban clubs on their shields, just as if they were Thebans, and they were all sharpening

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives their spears and stabbing swords and polishing their shields. [προθύμως μὲν ἐλευκοῦντο οἱ ἱππεῖς τὰ κράνη κελεύοντος ἐκείνου, ἐπεγράφοντο δὲ καὶ οἱ τῶν Ἀρκάδων ὁπλῖται ῥόπαλα, ὡς Θηβαῖοι ὄντες, πάντες δὲ ἠκονῶντο καὶ λόγχας καὶ μαχαίρας καὶ ἐλαμπρύνοντο τὰς ἀσπίδας.] (7.5.20)

The soldiers’ activities are vividly described.63 The use of the imperfect tense presents the army’s preparations as a tableau, happening as we watch.64 Epaminondas’ army draw the eye. The reader seems to be invited to admire and identify with their military virtues.65 However, the problems entailed by identification with Epaminondas become evident. We are told that Epaminondas is concerned that if he does not offer another engagement, his reputation will be destroyed because his invasion had succeeded only in uniting the Peloponnesians and Athenians against Thebes, whereas if he should die in battle, ‘he considered that such a death would be glorious inasmuch as he was attempting to win dominion over the Peloponnese for his own country’ (καλὴν τὴν τελευτὴν ἡγήσατο ἔσεσθαι πειρωμένῳ τῇ πατρίδι ἀρχὴν Πελοποννήσου καταλιπεῖν, 7.5.18).66 The laying out of his thoughts allows the reader the possibility of conceiving of the Theban invasion of the Peloponnese as a glorious achievement;67 yet this idea is focalized from his perspective in indirect discourse and is not endorsed by the narratorial voice. We are shown a figure who is wreaking destruction on the Peloponnese and is widely opposed, yet we are also invited to witness the zeal and brilliance of the Thebans and their allies. Our identification with Epaminondas is also put under strain by moments where the text shows us the visual perspective of Epaminondas’ opponents, the Mantineians and Athenians. As the Athenians arrive in Mantineia, the Mantineians beg them to help them, since the Thebans are visible (ἦσαν δῆλοι, 7.5.15) approaching. The narrator comments on the bravery of the Athenians (‘Who could fail to admire their bravery?’, 7.5.16): ‘For though they saw that the enemy coming against them were numerous . . .’ (οἳ καὶ πολὺ πλείους ὁρῶντες τοὺς πολεμίους, 7.5.16), they gave no thought to this.68 Rather, ‘as soon as they caught sight of the enemy, they charged them, feeling a deep desire to win back their ancestral reputation’ (ὡς εἶδον τάχιστα τοὺς πολεμίους, συνέρραξαν, ἐρῶντες ἀνασώσασθαι τὴν πατρῴαν δόξαν, 7.5.16).69 Athenian bravery comes vividly to life for the reader as we are allowed to see the sight of the Theban approach from their perspective: here Thebans are a threat (the ‘enemy’: τοὺς πολεμίους). The narrator’s summing up pulls the reader in contradictory directions: ‘Brave were the men among them who died, and it is clear [δῆλον]

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that the men they killed were equally brave’ (7.5.17).70 Through visual language (δῆλον) the reader’s eyes are turned from the Athenians back onto the Thebans, who make an equally impressive sight. The account of both the lead-up to the battle and the battle itself emphasizes Epaminondas’ clever manipulation of the visual. The narrator praises Epaminondas (ἔγωγε ἐπαινῶ αὐτοῦ, 7.5.8) for maintaining control over visual relations on the battlefield: he makes camp within the walls of Tegea, so that the enemy could not see what he was doing (τοῖς πολεμίοις ἐν ἀδηλοτέρῳ ὅ τι πράττοιτο, 7.5.8), while the enemy camped outside, where it was possible for him to see (ἐξῆν ὁρᾶν, 7.5.8) whether they were doing things correctly or were making mistakes, and whenever he saw (ὁπότε ὁρῴη, 7.5.8) that they held the advantage in position he did not consider attacking. The admiration expressed for Epaminondas’ tactics invites the reader’s identification with him as an impressive and successful leader. Yet the narrator’s praise of Epaminondas’ control of the field also suggests doubt as to how his actions overall should be valued: ‘I would not claim that this campaign was fortunate, but in terms of preparation and boldness, the man was second to none’ (7.5.8). Similarly, in the description of the final battle there is repeated emphasis on Epaminondas’ control of appearances. First he deploys his men in battle order, which ‘seemed to make it clear [σαφηνίζειν ἐδόκει] that he was preparing for battle’ (7.5.21), but then leads the army away towards the mountains, thereby producing the impression on his enemies that he would not give battle that day (ὥστε δόξαν παρεῖχε τοῖς πολεμίοις μὴ ποιήσεσθαι μάχην ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ, 7.5.21). He then has his men ground arms, so that he resembles someone about to set up camp (ὥστε εἰκάσθη στρατοπεδευομένῳ, 7.5.22): ‘By doing this, he caused the majority of his enemy to relax, which not only diminished their fighting spirit but also made them negligent in their preparations for battle’ (7.5.22). However, after this he advances unexpectedly: When the enemy saw the men unexpectedly coming upon them, not a one of them was able to remain still, but some ran to their posts or lined themselves up or bridled their horses or put on their breastplates: all resembled men who were about to suffer some hurt rather than inflict it. [οἱ δὲ πολέμιοι ὡς εἶδον παρὰ δόξαν ἐπιόντας, οὐδεὶς αὐτῶν ἡσυχίαν ἔχειν ἐδύνατο, ἀλλ᾽ οἱ μὲν ἔθεον εἰς τὰς τάξεις, οἱ δὲ παρετάττοντο, οἱ δὲ ἵππους ἐχαλίνουν, οἱ δὲ θώρακας ἐνεδύοντο, πάντες δὲ πεισομένοις τι μᾶλλον ἢ ποιήσουσιν ἐῴκεσαν.] (7.5.22)

The description of the Athenians and their allies as ‘the enemy’ focalizes the account from the Theban side, as the successful outcome of a clever strategy.

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Nevertheless, the series of οἱ μὲν . . . οἱ δὲ . . . clauses, verbs describing activity and lack of connectives suggest the multiplicity, energy and rapidity of their panicked reaction and the emotive experience of observing it; the scene immerses us in the terror and chaos of the moment and allows us empathy with their plight.71 Epaminondas subsequently attempts to capitalize on the discouraging sights facing the Athenians in the belief that ‘it is very difficult to find men who are willing to stand their ground when they see [ὁρῶσι] their own forces in flight’ (7.5.24). In its focus on Epaminondas’ control of visual appearances, the text allows us to admire and take pleasure in the artful tactics of Epaminondas as brilliant military leader, but also enables insight into the fear, uncertainty and danger experienced by those who oppose him. Whereas those elements of the Mantineia narrative which invite identification with Epaminondas might offer an encouraging image of a powerful Greek commander on top of his game, we are also allowed to consider the battle from the perspective of those Greeks who are his enemies, and here the text becomes a much less reassuring narrative. A confident account of Greek self-assertion and military supremacy emerges only as a function of the self-interested pursuit of advantage over other Greeks. The conclusion of the Mantineia narrative, and of the Hellenica, must be understood within this context. It presents the difficulty, both for participants in the historical narrative and for the historian and the reader, of understanding the meaning of the Battle of Mantineia: When the battle was over, the result was the opposite of what everyone [πάντες ἄνθρωποι] had expected. Given that nearly all of Greece [ἁπάσης τῆς Ἑλλάδος] was gathered there and had stood with one side or the other, everyone thought that if a battle occurred, the victor would rule over the defeated and the defeated would be subject to the victor. But the god so arranged it that each side set up a trophy as if victorious, and each was not prevented by the enemy; each gave back the dead under truce as if victorious, and both received back their dead under truce as if defeated. And although each side claimed the victory, neither side appeared [ἐφάνησαν] to have gained anything – no city, territory or increased rule – that they did not have prior to the battle. In Greece as a whole there was more uncertainty and disturbance after the battle than there had been before. (7.5.26–7)

This passage describes a series of misleading or unreliable appearances.72 Both sides present the outward signs of being victorious, but also of being defeated, and neither side appear (ἐφάνησαν, 7.5.27) to have gained anything. The passage

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seems to imagine the Greeks as a whole (‘all men’, πάντες ἄνθρωποι, 7.5.26) as an audience to the aftermath of the battle, observing the actions of each side as they set up their trophies and give and receive back their dead, and struggling to make sense of it. The interpretation of appearances becomes an arena for contestation and conflict; each side attempts to manipulate appearances so as to take control over how history should be read. The concluding comments on Mantineia present us with a pessimistic image of Greece.73 The concern of historical protagonists with controlling their image undercuts the text’s presentation of impressive images of Greek power by suggesting both their contrivance and their instability; and the depiction of protagonists struggling to make sense and gain control of their visual environment suggests the insecurity of the Greek world. In the context of the wider depiction of the Mantineia battle, where success depends on astute marshalling of appearances, and where the inability to interpret confusing visual signs is associated with the losing side, the concluding passage suggests that the unsuccessful attempt of all sides to take control of visual appearances ultimately transforms the Greeks not into the makers of history but into history’s victims, able neither to direct the course of nor understand their world. In the depiction of Spartans and Thebans in battle, we are shown spectacles of powerful Greek individuals and communities, and Greek viewers in confident control of their gaze. The depiction of spectacular Greek individuals and states holds ideological appeal, offering an affirming mode of self-conception to the reader as they are invited to identify with Spartans or Thebans as icons of military might, in full control of their environment and able to wield power over others. However, we are also allowed to empathize with those opposing Spartan or Theban control, who are depicted in a state of distress or uncertainty as they are unable to make sense of what they see. Further, the confident, controlling gaze of empowered individuals and armies can indicate an arrogant abuse of other Greeks, whereas their impressive display can be revealed as a deliberate strategy of self-advancement at the expense of others. As well as offering appealing images of Greek military virtue with which the reader is invited to identify, the text simultaneously reveals the embeddedness of these images in inter-state conflict and in the pursuit of hegemony over other Greeks. The depiction of viewing and spectacles thereby offers an analysis of the drive for dominance and of competition between the Greek states, inviting the reader’s reflection on the significance of these events for their self-conception as Greek. The reader is offered the sight of spectacular Greek individuals and communities as triumphal emblems of Greek military and political self-determination, but is

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also exposed to the reality of the expression of Greek empowerment entailing the defeat of other Greeks, the insecurity of the Greek historical experience and the divisions between Greeks.

3. Looking at non-Greeks In this section we will consider the construction of Greek political experience in scenes where Spartans and other Greeks view or display themselves to nonGreeks. We are shown Spartans and other Greeks observing and responding to non-Greek, especially Persian, sights; we are also shown a Persian viewing and responding to the Spartans. In reading such scenes we can ask how the experience of viewing frames the Greek relationship to Persia. Does the sight of Persians offered by the text place the Greek viewer in an empowered, confident position? How does the viewing experience encapsulate the experience of Greek identity? And what happens when we are allowed to look back at Spartans through Persian eyes? As we shall see, such scenes inscribe a confident sense of Greek cultural superiority and collective identity, and also question them. We will begin by examining some narrative moments from Sparta’s conflicts with the Persians during their attempt to extend their hegemony over the Asian Greeks in books 3 and 4: Dercylidas’ encounter with Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus (section 3 a), Agesilaus’ muster of his forces at Ephesus (section 3 b), and Agesilaus’ meeting with Pharnabazus (section 3 c). In these encounters, the language of Greek and barbarian frames Spartan action in Panhellenic terms, inviting the reader to identify with the Spartans as representatives of Greece and Greek identity. In such scenes, Spartan virtues and military prowess in opposition to Persia offer an appealing and reassuring image of Panhellenic values and potential. However, the text also allows us to witness the Spartan control of the Greeks whom they take with them on their campaigns, their pursuit of their own self-interest, and the disunity and uncertainty that results. In staging confrontations between Spartans and Persians, the text invites the reader to consider their self-positioning against both. At least in the representation of the Persian elite, at some moments it becomes possible to identify with Persians as well as with Spartans, allowing the reader’s identification with the Spartans subtly to be challenged. In the final passage discussed in this section (3 d), we move away from the representation of Spartans to consider the relationship between Greeks and Persians in a different context: the Theban attempt at hegemony, as well as

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continued Athenian attempts to assert their own position, in the aftermath of the destruction of Spartan power at Leuctra. In our discussion of the response of Antiochus of Arcadia to the sight of the Persian court as part of a Theban-led embassy, we see how the suggestion of Greek superiority is undercut by awareness of conflicts and competition for power between Greeks. In these scenes, the reader encounters different possibilities for conceptualizing Persians: as culturally inferior, as threatening, and also, in the depiction of the Persian elite, as offering the potential for identification through shared class values. Similarly, Greeks are shown both implicitly promoting their united Panhellenic identity in the face of Persian difference and pursuing advantage for their own state.

3 a) Dercylidas vs the Persians The first encounter between Spartans and Persians which we will discuss occurs during the confrontation between the force under the Spartan commander Dercylidas, which includes Asian and island Greeks, and the forces of Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus in Ionia. As Dercylidas’s men journey across Ionia, the reader is presented with their unfolding sight of the Persian army: They advanced into Ionia in no particular order, as they thought the enemy had already proceeded far into the countryside around Ephesus. Suddenly, however, they spotted in front of them several scouts watching them from the top of some burial mounds [ἐξαίφνης ὁρῶσιν ἐκ τοῦ ἀντιπέρας σκοποὺς ἐπὶ τῶν μνημάτων]. Dercylidas and Pharax ordered some of their men to climb up the mounds and towers nearby, and the men who did so saw the enemy army deployed across the road on which they were advancing: there were Carians with their whitened shields, and as many of the Persians who happened to be present, and all the Greek forces that both Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus commanded, as well as quite a good-sized force of cavalry – those of Tissaphernes on the right wing, those of Pharnabazus on the left [καθορῶσι παρατεταγμένους ᾗ αὐτοῖς ἦν ἡ ὁδὸς Κᾶράς τε λευκάσπιδας καὶ τὸ Περσικὸν ὅσον ἐτύγχανε παρὸν στράτευμα καὶ τὸ Ἑλληνικὸν ὅσον εἶχεν ἑκάτερος αὐτῶν καὶ τὸ ἱππικὸν μάλα πολύ, τὸ μὲν Τισσαφέρνους ἐπὶ τῷ δεξιῷ κέρατι, τὸ δὲ Φαρναβάζου ἐπὶ τῷ εὐωνύμῳ]. (3.2.14–15)

The narrative is very vivid: the depiction of the men looking down from above evokes a familiar perceptual experience, allowing the reader to imagine it,74 and the description of spatial orientation (ἐπὶ τῷ δεξιῷ κέρατι . . . ἐπὶ τῷ εὐωνύμῳ, 3.2.15) enables the reader imaginatively to inhabit and feel present at the scene.75

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Rather than simply a summary of the condition of the enemy forces presented in the narratorial voice, the text presents the enemy to us via the sights seen by Dercylidas’ men. The processes of visual discovery are narrativized step by step; the text describes a slowly unfolding sight as more and more enemies are seen.76 The reader is placed in the position of the Greek protagonists, seeing through their eyes and finding out about the strength and scale of the Persian enemy as they do. Dercylidas’ army’s view of the Persian forces is not an empowered, masterful gaze. Rather it reveals the Greeks’ own insecurity: they are not in good order or prepared for battle. The description of the unfolding sight suggests the threatening situation in which they find themselves. The reader, who experiences the sight along with the Greek viewers, is offered a menacing experience of the Persian army. The Greeks respond with internal division and fear: when Dercylidas orders his troops into battle order, we are told that whereas the Peloponnesians among the army obey, those from Priene, Achilleium, the islands and the Ionian cities either abandon their arms and run away, or remain in their positions but show clearly that they will not remain for long (ὅσοι δὲ καὶ ἔμενον, δῆλοι ἦσαν οὐ μενοῦντες, 3.2.17). However, Dercylidas takes back the initiative by taking control of visual relations. When Tissaphernes sends messengers to Dercylidas to request a conference, Dercylidas responds with a display: ‘Dercylidas, taking the bestlooking infantry and cavalrymen he had [λαβὼν τοὺς κρατίστους τὰ εἴδη τῶν περὶ αὐτὸν καὶ ἱππέων καὶ πεζῶν], went forward towards the messengers and said to them, “Well, now, as you can see [ὡς ὁρᾶτε], I was planning to fight, but since Tissaphernes wishes to confer, I will not oppose him in this” ’ (3.2.18). The phrase ὡς ὁρᾶτε (‘as you see’) is deliberately manipulative: Dercylidas is far from ready for battle, being in much the weaker position, but uses display to empower himself over his enemies. He is successful: Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus agree to a parley and confrontation is averted. Dercylidas stages a spectacle which intimidates his opponents. In some ways this spectacle offers an ideologically reassuring image to the reader: we are shown Greeks asserting themselves and winning, taking control of their situation and tricking the Persians. However, the fact that their success relies on a deceptive image simultaneously undercuts this self-affirming effect. Unlike the Persian viewers, we are allowed behind-the-scenes insight into the reality of the Greek situation. Dercylidas’ ability to overcome his disadvantage is impressive and encouraging, but it does not entirely make up for the awareness of danger that we have experienced through the eyes of his men.

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As the text describes the preparations for the parley, the language of Greek versus barbarian is used to characterize the forces of Dercylidas and the forces of Pharnabazus and Tissaphernes, positioning them as ethnically and culturally unified, distinct and separate (‘the two armies went away, the barbarian one [τὸ μὲν βαρβαρικὸν] into Tralles in Caria and the Greek one [τὸ δ᾽ Ἑλληνικὸν] into Leucophrys . . .’, 3.2.19). However, as we have seen, the earlier description of the experiences of Dercylidas’ troops indicates contrasts and oppositions between different groups of Greeks: Dercylidas’ men spy out Greeks supporting the Persian forces, and the Asian and island Greeks betray the Peloponnesians. We are told that Tissaphernes chooses to seek a conference with Dercylidas rather than to attack him because he remembers the way that the 10,000 Greek mercenaries under Cyrus the Younger fought against the Persian king’s army, and believes that all Greeks are the same as them (τούτῳ πάντας νομίζων ὁμοίους εἶναι τοὺς Ἕλληνας, 3.2.18). He thinks of Greeks as having a single shared identity; Dercylidas’s display presumably appears to him and Pharnabazus as a display of inherently impressive Greekness. Unlike the Persians, however, the reader is aware that such an impression is a mere illusion.77

3 b) Agesilaus at Ephesus The second scene of Spartan visual interaction with non-Greeks which we will discuss is Agesilaus’ preparation of his army at Ephesus during his campaign in Asia: After this, just as spring was beginning, he gathered the army together at Ephesus. As he wished to train the army, he set up prizes among the hoplites for the one who was found to be in the best physical condition, and among the cavalry for the one who exhibited the best horsemanship. He set up prizes for the peltasts and the archers also, to go to those who excelled at their particular skills. Because of this policy, it was possible to see all the gymnasia full of men exercising, the horse track full of men practising their horsemanship, and the javelin throwers and archers working at their tasks [ἐκ τούτου δὲ παρῆν ὁρᾶν τὰ μὲν γυμνάσια πάντα μεστὰ ἀνδρῶν τῶν γυμναζομένων, τὸν δ᾽ ἱππόδρομον τῶν ἱππαζομένων, τοὺς δὲ ἀκοντιστὰς καὶ τοὺς τοξότας μελετῶντας]. Indeed Agesilaus made the whole city where they were stationed a sight worth seeing [ἀξίαν δὲ καὶ ὅλην τὴν πόλιν ἐν ᾗ ἦν τὴν Ἔφεσον θέας ἐποίησεν]; the agora was full of all sorts of horses and weapons for sale, and the coppersmiths, joiners, smiths, leather workers and painters were all fashioning weapons for war in such profusion that one would have thought that the whole city was really a workshop for war [ὥστε

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The Politics of Viewing in Xenophon’s Historical Narratives τὴν πόλιν ὄντως οἴεσθαι πολέμου ἐργαστήριον εἶναι]. And one would have been encouraged at another sight too [ἐπερρώσθη δ᾽ ἄν τις κἀκεῖνο ἰδών] – Agesilaus in the lead and the rest of the soldiers garlanded as they went from the gymnasia to dedicate their garlands to Artemis. For whenever men honour the gods, prepare themselves for war and take care to obey their commanders, it is reasonable for everyone to be full of high hopes. In addition, believing that contempt for the enemy would impart strength to his men for the battle [ἡγούμενος δὲ καὶ τὸ καταφρονεῖν τῶν πολεμίων ῥώμην τινὰ ἐμβάλλειν πρὸς τὸ μάχεσθαι], Agesilaus ordered the heralds to sell naked those barbarians who had been captured in the plundering raids. When the soldiers saw that the skin of these captives was white because they never took their clothes off, and that these men were soft and unused to toil because they were accustomed to ride in carriages [ὁρῶντες οὖν οἱ στρατιῶται λευκοὺς μὲν διὰ τὸ μηδέποτε ἐκδύεσθαι, μαλακοὺς δὲ καὶ ἀπόνους διὰ τὸ ἀεὶ ἐπ᾽ ὀχημάτων εἶναι], they concluded that fighting such men would be no more difficult than fighting women. (3.4.16–19)

The scene presents as spectacle the organization, discipline and energy of the troops of Agesilaus in their attention to military preparedness.78 The phrase ‘it was possible to see’ (παρῆν ὁρᾶν, 3.4.16), the description of Ephesus as a sight worth seeing (ἀξίαν . . . θέας, 3.4.17) and the use of the indefinite τις (‘one would have been encouraged at another sight too’: ἐπερρώσθη δ᾽ ἄν τις κἀκεῖνο ἰδών, 3.4.18) transform the reader into a viewer: the scene is ‘written in a way which imagines a reader who sees the camp’.79 The attention to the array of sights available in different parts of Ephesus, including gymnasia, hippodrome, market, factories and ritual sites, allows the reader to imagine themselves touring the city and discovering one by one these extraordinary sights. The text suggests that the imagined viewer would feel encouraged (ἐπερρώσθη δ᾽ ἄν τις κἀκεῖνο ἰδών, 3.4.18). The scene has been read as a celebration of the possibilities of Panhellenist cooperative action against barbarians.80 Agesilaus’ display of the naked barbarian prisoners is heavily culturally loaded. The soldiers are enabled to discover not only the bodily qualities of the barbarians (their whiteness, softness and untrained physique) but the cultural practices which have produced them – their failure to strip for exercise and their habit of riding in carriages: the explanatory διά clauses appear to be focalized through the eyes of the soldiers. They see the prisoners’ ‘barbarianness’, their cultural difference, and intuit from this their effeminacy and inferiority.81 The juxtaposition of this display with the spectacle of Agesilaus’ troops’ industry, military prowess and physical training frames the latter in opposition as a spectacle of Greek cultural values and Greek superiority.

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However, these sights have other implications too.82 Although it might be ideologically appealing for the Greek reader to allow themselves to be convinced by Agesilaus’ display of barbarians and to interpret it in the same way that the internal audience of his troops do – as indicating the inherent superiority of Greeks – the conclusions reached by the soldiers are not upheld by the wider narrative: fighting against Persians is nothing like as easy as the soldiers are led to believe.83 Indeed, an encounter between Agesilaus’ men and the Persians shortly before the muster at Ephesus contradicts the suggestion of Persian weakness. Agesilaus’ horsemen climb a hill to see what is ahead of them, only to encounter Pharnabazus’ horsemen who have just climbed the same hill; the two sides pause and look at each other (ἰδόντες δὲ ἀλλήλους οὐδὲ τέτταρα πλέθρα ἀπέχοντας, τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ἔστησαν ἀμφότεροι, 3.4.13). Their mutual gaze suggests a weighing up of their respective strength; in this moment of narrative anticipation, the reader too is invited to wonder what the outcome will be. The answer is Persian supremacy: although the text notes that the Persian horsemen are identical in numbers to the Greek horsemen (ὄντες παρόμοιοι τοῖς Ἕλλησι τὸν ἀριθμόν, 3.4.13), the Persians take the initiative and charge, quickly overcoming the Greek troops, who lose twelve men and two horses before being rescued (3.4.14). Agesilaus’ intentions behind his display of barbarian prisoners – to make his men feel contempt (τὸ καταφρονεῖν) for the enemy – suggests the mistaken expectations shaping the display. As Hau has noted, the term tends to have negative connotations of arrogant misplaced confidence: armies who feel τὸ καταφρονεῖν for their enemies tend to get their comeuppance as they underestimate their opponent.84 Agesilaus’ troops’ interpretation of the display is potentially suggested to be a misapprehension based on overconfidence in their own cultural values.85 The ‘Greekness’ of the spectacle of military preparations in Ephesus is also not straightforward. The account of these preparations turning the city into a sight worth seeing – a marvel – indicates the extraordinary transformation that has taken place. In some ways it provides a reassuring image of orderliness, of everything being as it should be: we might note the repetitive language in the description of the γυμνάσια full of τῶν γυμναζομένων and the ἱππόδρομος full of τῶν ἱππαζομένων (3.4.16), suggesting that roles are being fulfilled as would be properly expected.86 However, Ephesus is a sight worth seeing precisely because it does not represent the norm: we are told that someone might think that the city was not a city, but was a workshop for war (ὥστε τὴν πόλιν ὄντως οἴεσθαι πολέμου ἐργαστήριον εἶναι, 3.4.17). Instead of the regular variety of life and

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activity in a Greek city, only war preparation is being undertaken.87 From a Greek perspective, this might be understood as a utopian image: we might think of accounts of Spartan education in physical and military abilities which offer an implicit criticism of less austerely disciplined ways of life among other Greeks.88 If so, however, as well as representing the Panhellenic, the image might be understood as suggesting Agesilaus’ Spartan identity. Agesilaus is, after all, engaged in furthering Spartan interests in Asia. The spectacle of obedience shows Spartan control of other Greeks: the troops in Ephesus are to a great extent made up of Ionians, Aeolians and Hellespontines whom he earlier ordered to be sent to him there (ἐπέστειλε δὲ καὶ Ἴωσι καὶ Αἰολεῦσι καὶ Ἑλλησποντίοις πέμπειν πρὸς ἑαυτὸν εἰς Ἔφεσον τοὺς συστρατευσομένους, 3.4.11).89 Immediately prior to this passage we are given a rather different representation of the enthusiasm and efficiency of those undertaking Agesilaus’ military arrangements: He compiled a list of the wealthiest men in the cities there, whom he ordered to provide horses; and by announcing that whoever furnished a horse, weapons and a suitable man for service would not himself have to serve in the army, Agesilaus brought it about that his requirements for cavalry were swiftly met, since, of course, any man would eagerly seek to find someone else to die in his place. (3.4.15)

The spectacle of the absolute obedience of the troops at Ephesus is a spectacle of Agesilaus’ (potentially coercive) power over others. This spectacle offers a striking, impressive and appealing showcase of Greek virtues; but it also offers a startling image of Spartan military control of other Greeks, and of continuing Spartan military aspirations and self-advancement.

3 c) Agesilaus and Pharnabazus In the final representation of an encounter between Spartans and non-Greeks which we will discuss, the Persian satrap Pharnabazus attends a peace conference with Agesilaus. Pharnabazus arrives dressed in a robe worth much gold (στολὴν πολλοῦ χρυσοῦ ἀξίαν, 4.1.30) at the appointed spot for the meeting, where Agesilaus and his men await him lying on the ground in the grass (χαμαὶ ἐν πόᾳ τινὶ κατακείμενοι, 4.1.30). Pharnabazus’ reaction on seeing Agesilaus is described: As his servants placed embroidered carpets beneath him, on which the Persians, with their soft style of living, are accustomed to sit, Pharnabazus saw the spare and simple outfit of Agesilaus, and was ashamed of indulging in such luxury. So

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he lay down just as he was next to him on the ground. [ὑποτιθέντων δὲ αὐτῷ τῶν θεραπόντων ῥαπτά, ἐφ’ ὧν καθίζουσιν οἱ Πέρσαι μαλακῶς, ᾐσχύνθη ἐντρυφῆσαι, ὁρῶν τοῦ Ἀγησιλάου τὴν φαυλότητα· κατεκλίθη οὖν καὶ αὐτὸς ὥσπερ εἶχε χαμαί.] (4.1.30)

The typical Persianness of Pharnabazus’ arrangements is indicated by the insertion of an ethnographic aside in the narratorial voice which explains the action in terms of generic Persian characteristics: the carpets are not just any carpets, but are the sort of carpets on which Persians sit softly (ἐφ’ ὧν καθίζουσιν οἱ Πέρσαι μαλακῶς, 4.1.30). The insertion of ethnographic explanation frames Pharnabazus’ arrangements as unfamiliar to the Greek audience and marks their foreignness; Agesilaus’ behaviour, on the other hand, is not commented on, framing it as culturally familiar. Through the contrast with Persian cultural difference, the text allows Agesilaus’ austere Spartan simplicity to be read as representing Greek virtues.90 It also offers reflection on how such cultural difference might be valued. We are shown a Persian viewing the cultural behaviour of a Spartan, and responding by feeling shame at his own Persian behaviour and imitating the Spartan.91 By presenting us with a Persian response which seems to indicate Persian acknowledgement of the superiority of Greek ways, the scene could be understood to offer to the reader self-affirmation in their Greek identity.92 However, a number of factors complicate such a reading. Most important is the context: Sparta’s previous alliance with Pharnabazus and Agesilaus’ attempt to restart that arrangement. Agesilaus’ meeting with Pharnabazus reveals that the Spartans do not hesitate to make deals with Persians when it suits their interests.93 Further, although the text does frame the rugs spread by Pharnabazus’ servants as specifically relating to a Persian custom, and Pharnabazus is said to feel shame to follow this custom on observing the simple arrangements of the Spartans, his shame at his ‘luxury’ (ᾐσχύνθη ἐντρυφῆσαι, 4.1.30) could also suggest a desire not to set himself above his interlocutors with a show of wealth and status.94 As Gorman and Gorman have shown, although τρυφή can be pejorative, it frequently suggests an attitude of entitlement, an expectation that one’s needs will be met by others, and depending on a person’s status, such an attitude may well be appropriate.95 Pharnabazus’ position as a wealthy satrap could be understood to warrant his servants’ care. As well as being seen as a Persian, Pharnabazus might also be seen as a high-ranking member of the elite; his finery and the attention of his servants might be read as marks of rank by an elite Greek reader who, perhaps through familiarity with similar comforts, might

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be able to identify with them almost as much as with Agesilaus’ show of a mean or common appearance (τὴν φαυλότητα, 4.1.30). Pharnabazus’ desire not to flaunt his status but to appear on an equal level with his interlocutors could be understood as marking their previous proper relations as friends and allies, which Agesilaus has betrayed.96 Their exchange of greetings and grasping of hands suggests their equality, with Pharnabazus only taking precedence in speech because of his age: ‘First the two men greeted each other, and then Pharnabazus stretched out his right hand, as did Agesilaus in return. After that, Pharnabazus (for he was the older of the two) began the conversation’ (4.1.31).97 Pharnabazus’ speech flags his honourable and courageous conduct as Agesilaus’ ally: ‘I was your friend and ally when you were at war with the Athenians, and by giving you funds, I made your navy strong, and at the same time I myself on horseback fought with your army and drove the enemy into the sea’ (4.1.32). His speech recalls his earliest appearances in the text, which might well have encouraged identification with him as an example of good leadership.98 Pharnabazus’ speech highlights the improper behaviour of Agesilaus in not honouring the reciprocity, or relations of χάρις, of their relationship: ‘If I am ignorant of what is holy and just, explain to me how these actions of yours are those of men who know how to show gratitude [χάριτας]’ (4.1.33). The speech suggests that Agesilaus has perverted their relationship to such an extent that it now resembles the relation of human to animal: ‘I am now treated by you in such a way that I cannot even find food in my own land unless, like the wild beasts [ὥσπερ τὰ θηρία], I gather up what you yourselves have left behind’ (4.1.33). The response to his speech of Agesilaus’ Spartans – they feel ashamed and fall silent (οἱ δὲ τριάκοντα πάντες μὲν ἐπῃσχύνθησαν αὐτὸν καὶ ἐσιώπησαν, 4.1.34) – might echo Pharnabazus’ earlier shame in that both he and the Spartans are aware of having raised themselves up inappropriately over their previous friend and ally. On this reading, Pharnabazus’ luxury has a dual and contradictory effect: it operates simultaneously as a sign of Persian cultural difference, which is to be rejected, and as a sign of Pharnabazus’ status as an elite, which might warrant the respect and identification of the reader. Indeed, Pharnabazus’ evocative account of the wanton destruction of the beautiful lands and properties inherited from his father,99 while marking the specifically Persian character of his wealth in its mention of ‘paradises’, evokes pathos in Pharnabazus’ visual witnessing of his loss, which allows the reader to imagine and empathize with his experience: ‘The fine dwellings and paradises full of trees and wild animals which my father left

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to me, in which I used to take pleasure – all these I see cut down, all these (I see) burned to the ground’ (ταῦτα πάντα ὁρῶ τὰ μὲν κατακεκομμένα, τὰ δὲ κατακεκαυμένα, 4.1.33). The meeting of Pharnabazus and Agesilaus is framed, then, not only in terms of a clash of Persian and Greek cultures, but in terms of an interrogation of the proper relations of the elite in which Pharnabazus offers an attractive image of elite self-presentation. The ideological appeal of the portrait of Pharnabazus in class terms disrupts a reading of the encounter which would affirm the Greek reader in the superiority of their cultural identity. Agesilaus’ answer to Pharnabazus complicates further the ideological effect of the scene. His speech makes a number of surprising or contorted ideological claims. Firstly, he claims that the betrayal or even slaying of guest-friends is a normal and accepted practice among Greeks: ‘Well, Pharnabazus, I think you know that even in the cities of Greece men become guest-friends with one another, but when their cities become enemies, men fight with their fatherlands against even their guest-friends, and if they happen to meet, they sometimes kill one another’ (4.1.34). The claim of the overriding value of state interests at the expense of other networks of solidarity among Greeks, even to the point of killing, recalls Spartan violence against other Greeks.100 Secondly, after suggesting that by becoming their ally again Pharnabazus can gain freedom, he argues both that being free is worth all manner of possessions (καίτοι ἐλεύθερον εἶναι ἐγὼ μὲν οἶμαι ἀντάξιον εἶναι τῶν πάντων χρημάτων, 4.1.35) and that Pharnabazus need not be free and poor but, through the Spartans, can be free and rich: We are not asking you to be free and poor [πένητα μέν, ἐλεύθερον δ᾽ εἶναι] but rather, that by using us as your allies, you may increase not the king’s empire but your own, conquering those who are your fellow slaves [τοὺς νῦν ὁμοδούλους σοι] and thereby making them subject to you. And if you were at the same time wealthy and free [καίτοι εἰ ἅμα ἐλεύθερός τ᾽ εἴης καὶ πλούσιος γένοιο], would there be anything missing to prevent you from being fortunate in every way? (4.1.36)101

The claim of the priority of freedom over wealth recalls Agesilaus’ visual selfpresentation to Pharnabazus, where he eschewed the accoutrements of wealth; yet his reassurance that the happy life offered to Pharnabazus would include wealth and his encouragement of Pharnabazus in the pursuit of rule over those who are now his equals (τοὺς νῦν ὁμοδούλους)102 reminds us of Agesilaus’ role in the furtherance of Spartan imperial dominance in Asia and beyond.103

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Identification with Agesilaus in this encounter is in many ways ideologically appealing. In this moment of confrontation, Agesilaus could be seen as a powerful Greek commander attempting to manipulate his Persian opponent in order to further Greek military success. However, not only does Agesilaus’ attempt to win Pharnabazus over to an alliance complicate this image, but the reader’s identification with Agesilaus as an embodiment of Greek values is also challenged: Agesilaus’ Spartan cultural identity and focus on narrowly Spartan aims, to the detriment of other Greeks, remains apparent. Through allowing the reader to identify with Agesilaus as a Greek but simultaneously to empathize with Pharnabazus as a representative of honourable elite behaviour, and also to be alienated from Pharnabazus as a Persian and to acknowledge the degradation of Panhellenic commitment enacted through Agesilaus’ pursuit of Spartan self-interest, the text involves the reader in the contradictions of elite Greek imaginative engagement in Sparta’s Asian campaigns.

3 d) Antiochus at the Persian court In our final example of Greek visual interaction with non-Greeks, we move to a different political context: the rise of Theban hegemony in the aftermath of Leuctra. The Thebans send an embassy to the Persian king to try to set up a new peace agreement which will function to solidify their power in Greece: ‘The Thebans had been constantly scheming about how they might become the leaders of all of Greece, and they now decided that they might secure some advantage with the Persian king if they sent ambassadors to him’ (7.1.33). As well as Pelopidas who represents Thebes, they send Antiochus from Arcadia and Archidamus from Elis (plus a third man, Argeios; it is unclear if this is a proper name, or refers to an unnamed Argive).104 In response, ‘when the Athenians learned of this, they sent Timagoras and Leon’ (7.1.33): Athens attempts to intervene in the proceedings, so as to prevent Thebes winning advantage over them as they attempt to renew their power at sea. As with the depictions of Spartan interactions with non-Greeks discussed above, in this scene Greeks meet non-Greeks in the context of the pursuit of state advantage in contention with other Greeks.105 The text describes Antiochus of Arcadia’s response to the Persian king’s court, as he reports back to the Arcadians his impressions of what he saw. Antiochus’ vision of Persia offers an ideologically comforting image of Persian inferiority and Greek superiority:

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He told the Ten Thousand that the king had numerous bakers and cooks, wine stewards and door keepers, but although he searched hard, he was unable to see men of the sort who could fight with Greeks [ἄνδρας δὲ οἳ μάχοιντ’ ἂν Ἕλλησι πάνυ ζητῶν οὐκ [ἂν] ἔφη δύνασθαι ἰδεῖν]. In addition, he said that the abundance of the king’s money seemed [δοκεῖν] to him nothing more than boasting, since even the golden plane tree about which so much had been made was not even big enough to give shade to a grasshopper. (7.1.38)

The sight of the bakers, cooks, wine stewards and doormen suggests the extravagance and self-indulgence of the king’s court, where multiple servants of different specializations are employed for the pleasure and comfort of their master. Antiochus’ account of his failure to discover men who could fight with Greeks (ἄνδρας δὲ οἳ μάχοιντ’ ἂν Ἕλλησι) constructs his response as representing a Panhellenic perspective which would imagine Greeks as superior to Persians. The gendered language in the comment on the lack of ‘real men’ (ἄνδρας) recalls the famous statement of Herodotus about the forces of Xerxes at Thermopylae, that although he had many ἄνθρωποι, he had few ἄνδρες (Hdt. 7.210), and suggests the effeminate nature of the Persians.106 Meanwhile Antiochus’ disparagement of the golden plane tree and suggestion that the king is not as wealthy as has been believed encourages a contemptuous attitude towards the Persian king.107 In Athenian democratic discourse, wealth can suggest the ostentatious attempt of the rich to raise themselves above their fellow citizens, but can also evoke the traditional high social status of the elite, which continues to have purchase under the democracy.108 In Greek thought, the wealth of Persian royalty can be understood in terms of self-indulgence, but it can also be understood within this latter, more positive frame, as suggestive of a traditional elite, and can provoke awe.109 Antiochus’ account seeks to give a negative perspective on Persia from contrary directions, damning the Persian king through association with improper luxuriousness while also suggesting that any awe felt by Greeks was built upon a false premise and that his ethnographic autopsy has enabled access to the truth. However, whereas Antiochus makes an implicit claim to represent a cohesive set of values shared by Greeks, his response is shown as based on a specifically Arcadian perspective.110 We are told that he reported in the way that he did because the Arcadian League had been belittled (ὅτι ἠλαττοῦτο τὸ Ἀρκαδικόν), whereas in contrast the Elean ambassador praised the king because he had honoured Elis above the Arcadians (7.1.38). Antiochus’ response to the sight of the king’s court is controlled by his political relationship to it, which might suggest more about divisions between Greeks than about a shared Greek

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superiority. Indeed, Antiochus’ position, alongside other Greek ambassadors, as competing for the king’s support against other Greeks, undermines the selfassuredness of his account and the force of his Panhellenist rhetoric.111 In our discussion of the Hellenica’s presentation of visual encounters between Greeks and Persians, we have seen that the Greek scrutiny of non-Greek customs and bodies can suggest the cultural superiority of the Greeks, and that spectacles of Greek armies and leaders in the context of military action against the Persians can suggest the hope of Panhellenic victory. However, the Greek sight of Persians can also suggest the insecurity of the Greek viewer before the threat of a foreign power, and can reveal conflicts and divisions among Greeks rather than Greek unity, while depictions of elite Persians, such as Pharnabazus, can reveal similarities between Greeks and Persians of high social status. Agesilaus’ displays at Ephesus and before Pharnabazus are simultaneously selfaffirming spectacles of Greek discipline and demonstrations of Sparta’s selfinterested pursuit of hegemony. Such scenes reveal the ideological pull of Panhellenic thinking, as the reader is invited to take pleasure in spectacles of Greek military virtue, but also reveal the difficulties of its realization, as the text’s engagement in Greek experiences of the Persians exposes the lack of a unified and distinct Greek perspective amid power struggles between Greeks and the realities of Spartan, and later Theban, hegemony and rapprochements with Persia.

Conclusion We opened our discussion (section 1) by exploring how the Hellenica’s spectacles of impressive Greek military leaders or military action can invite the pleasure and identification of the reader, offering the possibility of self-conception via the reassuring values of military achievement or elite dominance. However, the text’s representation of the visual is often concerned with the way that sights become open to contest, as viewers from different political perspectives interpret in different ways and as the control of how things are seen becomes a concern of military strategy. Identification with a spectacular figure is revealed as an ideological response, which positions the viewer in ways which might not necessarily be in their interests. The text’s views of the Spartans, discussed in section 2, invite both identification with them as leaders of the Greek world and alienation from them as conquerors and abusers of other Greeks. The spectacularization of Spartan victories over

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other Greeks allows pleasure at Spartan success and reveals the helplessness and distress of their victims. In the later parts of the text, however, after Spartan power is destroyed at Leuctra, less confident images of the Spartans emerge. The depiction of the Thebans under Epaminondas similarly both allows identification with their militarism and allows the reader to look at them through the eyes of their terrified opponents. In the text’s closing account of the aftermath of Epaminondas’ campaign at Mantineia, all Greek sides offer an uncomfortable image of weakness and disarray. In the accounts of Sparta’s Asian campaigns, discussed in section 3, we are allowed views of the Persians as culturally inferior in contrast to self-confident experiences of Greek military preparedness and unity. However, we are also enabled to see the coercion of Asian Greeks involved in the formation of Sparta’s forces and the resulting disunity and lack of shared identity among the Greeks, as well as to witness the threat posed by Persia. The encounter between Pharnabazus and Agesilaus offers a vision of Greek superiority, but also potentially of Spartan political self-interest. As we are shown an elite Persian’s both respectful and critical view of the Spartans, the text suggests the possibility of shared values among the Persian and Greek elite. Finally, the depiction of Greek views of Persia in the context of the Theban pursuit of hegemony both offers and undercuts a comforting image of Persian inferiority and indicates divisions and competition among Greeks. As we have seen from these various examples, the text offers many different ways of seeing the Greek world of the early fourth century. Some of these sights imagine Greeks as powerful historical agents in control of their own destiny, offer reassuring examples of elite power, or, in encounters with the Persians, suggest a Panhellenic collective identity. However, the text also provides less confident models of Greek experience. Further, because the Hellenica’s acts of spectatorship occur in highly contested moments of military or political conflict, many of the text’s sights are nuanced and multivalent, able to be read in different ways. In particular, the Hellenica allows reflection on the nature of Greek hegemonic power through its focus on Spartan, but also Theban or Athenian, military viewers and sights. In such moments the text both offers appealing images of Greek cultural affirmation and suggests the need for more careful critical engagement in such images: although the text invites the reader’s identification with Spartan achievement as emblematic of Panhellenic achievement, it also simultaneously alienates us from the Spartans by revealing their narrow pursuit of state advantage as destructive of Panhellenic collective advantage. This suggests both a desire among the fourth-century Greek elite to

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imagine the hegemony of powerful poleis as providing Panhellenic collectivity and military strength, and concern regarding the impossibility of such collectivity and strength in the context of the competition for domination among Greek states and the continuing threat from Persia.

4

Anabasis: Foreign Travel and Identification

The Anabasis’s account of the adventures of an army of 10,000 Greek mercenaries in Asia in 401–399 bce explores and engages the reader in the experience of Greek identity. Employed by the Persian prince Cyrus the Younger in his failed coup against his brother, the Persian king, they are left stranded in Babylonia after his death, and proceed to journey across the Asian interior back towards the Greek world. As they encounter different peoples, both Greek and nonGreek, hostile and friendly, the question of what it means to be Greek is repeatedly raised. Similarly, as the army organize themselves as a community we see the nature of Greek political organization addressed in microcosm. These events tend to be narrated via the experiences of the text’s protagonists – and frequently it is their visual experiences which receive attention.1 Rather than offer narration from an exterior position standing above the action (‘suchand-such happened’), frequently the text describes to us what could be seen: we experience events as they unfold from the perspective of the characters.2 The Anabasis’s presentation of its narrative via the visual experiences of its protagonists means that we experience the landscapes and peoples of Asia, the 10,000’s struggles on their journey and the internal workings of the community of the 10,000 not from a dispassionate, impersonal distance, but through their eyes, and are implicated in the problems that they face. This immersion of the reader in the experiences of the text has political consequences.3 We can ask whether the text provides a comforting, affirmative image of what it means to be Greek in a foreign land, or if the experiences on offer are more challenging.4 The political implications of the Anabasis have been understood in different ways. Some readings have seen the text as offering a triumphant picture of Greek cultural distinctiveness and community organization: the 10,000 Greeks, stranded and leaderless in a foreign land, against all odds are able to organize themselves into a functioning and capable military force and successfully battle their way through harsh terrain and fearsome enemies back to the Greek world. This has led the text to be read as a call for a Panhellenic attack on the Persian 83

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Empire.5 Such a reading seems to be supported by ancient receptions of the 10,000’s story. Isocrates appropriates the example of the 10,000 as an emblem of Panhellenism – a sign of what can be achieved by Greeks if they stop fighting among themselves and unite against a common barbarian enemy.6 The story that Alexander was inspired in his conquest of the Persian Empire by the example of the 10,000’s successful penetration of Persia indicates one direction in the Hellenistic afterlife of the Anabasis.7 However, such a reading seriously oversimplifies the text. As well as a story of Greek triumph over enemy lands and peoples, we are also presented with a story of Greek mercenary service to a Persian, and of Greek desperation and conflict in a foreign land. Although there are a number of statements claiming Greek superiority over foreigners in the Anabasis, as Tim Rood has shown, these appear in persuasive speeches where their aim is to engage and win over their audiences;8 indeed, the text often reveals the political manipulation behind rhetorical claims about the nature of Greekness. The speeches’ statements of superiority are also not supported by the wider narrative context, which offers a much more complex depiction of Greek and non-Greek relationships and behaviour, especially in the interaction between the 10,000 and Cyrus. The question of how far and in what ways Greeks are distinctive in relation to non-Greeks is a central problem for the text.9 Similarly, there is a great deal of emphasis on political discord among Greeks. Throughout the narrative the soldiers are often mistrustful of their leaders and of each other. There are frequent moments of dissension or even near-mutiny, and of violent altercations between different factions within the army, as well as suspicion and conflict between the 10,000 and the Greek communities that they encounter along the Black Sea coast. Again, the question of what unites or what separates Greeks is a central problem to be considered by the text. The various state and regional affiliations of the 10,000, frequently shown in conflict with each other, disrupt a simple categorization of the army as ‘Greeks’.10 Indeed, a recent reading has argued that the text’s representation of the geographical and cultural displacement of the 10,000 suggests the dislocation of Greek identity.11 The Greek reader’s identification with the 10,000 is also not straightforward. As the mercenaries are depicted fighting among themselves and opposing themselves often violently to their commanders, from the perspective of the elite literate classes they are not necessarily that appealing as protagonists. Meanwhile the character Xenophon is an elite man who involves himself with mercenaries, a potentially contentious activity for one of his class.12 He is also an Athenian who joins an army led by Spartans in the immediate aftermath of the

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Peloponnesian War, in the period of Spartan ascendancy over Athens, and who gives his allegiance to the Persian potentate who had aided Sparta against Athens in the last years of the war.13 An analysis of the text’s concern with viewing and spectatorship is helpful in exploring the text’s ideological effects, by allowing attention to the effects of readerly identification with (or alienation from) the text’s protagonists at different junctures. As we shall see, in some places Greeks gaze at the landscape and peoples about them with the self-confidence of a marauding army able to raid and exploit their foreign surroundings; but in other places Asian lands and peoples can become a terrifying source of threat or disorientation. Further, the text presents different, often conflicting, visual perspectives within the army; and it can also present the visual experiences of outsiders, both Greek and nonGreek. Scenes where members of the 10,000 look at each other reveal both their cohesion as a community and the conflicts between them. Similarly, as the Greeks become subject to the gaze of non-Greeks, both their strength and discipline as a military force and their vulnerability or disunity can emerge. A range of different and conflicted ways of thinking about the Greek relation to the non-Greek world, as well as about Greeks’ relations with each other, are offered. The political experiences offered by the Anabasis are also complicated by the text’s concern with the visual perspectives of two central protagonists. The account of the Greeks’ military service under Cyrus in book 1 shows a lot of interest in the person of Cyrus himself – with his actions, decisions and reasoning as a leader, especially how he recruits and deals with problems in his mercenary Greek contingent – and book 1 often describes events through his eyes as well as through the eyes of the Greeks. After Cyrus’ death, the story focuses on the visual experiences of both the Greek mercenaries and of Xenophon, who is introduced as a central focus of attention at the start of book 3 and becomes an important leader of the Greeks. The text’s shifts in focalization and visual perspective – so that at different moments it seems be a different sort of story, encouraging different sorts of expectations – can be understood as offering the possibility of looking at the world, and thinking about the Greek experience, in different ways. To experience the narrative through the eyes of Cyrus invites engagement with the concerns of a powerful elite commander, despite his Persian identity. To view through the eyes of the Greek army as a collective suggests a Greek ethnic perspective on barbarian lands and peoples – including, perhaps, their Persian leader. To view through the eyes of Xenophon again suggests a Greek perspective, but here an elite one, concerned with what is best for the army from the position of the commander rather than the men.

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These shifts in visual perspective and focalization have political implications: the reader is invited to identify, both in turn and simultaneously, with these different figures or groups, but identification with each would formulate the experience of the text, as political experience, in very different ways. Importantly, these visual perspectives do not sit easily together, but express different political positions which are often in conflict with each other, and are embedded in relations of power. The text’s shifts between the visual perspectives of Cyrus and the Greeks encode the problem of how to understand Greek service to a barbarian. Since the Greeks are part of his army, and the story follows both Cyrus and the Greeks together, the reader is often invited to identify with him and his aims. Previous readings of the Anabasis have described Cyrus as a Hellenized Persian – someone whose cultural values are akin to those of the Greeks, whom the Greeks can therefore easily follow.14 However, Cyrus actively encourages identification with him as a means of control, in order to exploit the Greeks to his own ends.15 Xenophon, as leader, also attempts to persuade and control the Greek troops and is frequently in conflict with them. The shifts between the collective Greek visual perspective and the individual perspective of Xenophon invite the reader to consider the relationship between the elite leader and the wider Greek community. In this chapter, we will investigate the different ways in which the text imagines Greek political experience through its varied accounts of the experiences of viewers. We will start by examining the relationships between Greeks and nonGreeks, beginning with Greek views of non-Greek peoples and lands (section 1 a), and continuing to consider how non-Greek experience is presented in the text (1 b), in particular focusing on the representation of Cyrus’ perspective (1 c). In a second stage, we will consider relations between Greeks. We will examine the Greeks’ visual experiences of each other, considering how concepts of Greekness are imagined as the Greeks look at each other (2 a) or as they are directed in how to understand sights by their commanders (2 b). A final section will consider the relationship between the perspective of Xenophon and the perspective of other Greeks (2 c). As we shall see, while the Anabasis can be read in the context of contemporary Panhellenist thought, offering in the story of the 10,000 a test case for how a unified Greek identity might function, it also reveals the limitations of such a valuation of Greekness by presenting the tendency of Greek identity to fracture into its constituent parts and to be manipulated for political ends. It also reveals some of the ideological contradictions of the period, as the reader is invited to identify with politically opposed positions offering different configurations of ethnic and class affiliation.

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1. Greeks and non-Greeks 1 a) Greek views of the foreign To begin, we will consider what sort of political experience the Greek visual experience offers to the reader in the Greek viewing of foreign lands and peoples. How far do Greek views of the foreign position the Greek protagonists, and with them the reader, as self-assured, active agents in control of their environment? In a number of places in the text, the Greeks’ viewing of the foreign environment can be assertive and self-validating, as they confidently survey the land and peoples before them. As the army passes by ship along the Black Sea coast, the Greeks invest the landscape before them with their own set of meanings, formulating their experience in heroic mould. They gaze upon Jason’s Cape (ἐθεώρουν τήν τε Ἰασονίαν ἀκτήν, 6.2.1), where it is said that the Argo moored (ἔνθα ἡ Ἀργὼ λέγεται ὁρμίσασθαι, 6.2.1), and stop at a point where it is said that Heracles descended into Hades to fetch Cerberus (ἔνθα λέγεται ὁ Ἡρακλῆς ἐπὶ τὸν Κέρβερον κύνα καταβῆναι, 6.2.2): signs of his descent are on display (ᾗ νῦν τὰ σημεῖα δεικνύασι τῆς καταβάσεως, 6.2.2). The repetition of λέγεται frames the landscape as belonging to a world which has already been narrated, in a prior narrative which is specifically Greek.16 The Greeks look and recognize signs which legitimate their presence, as they follow in the footsteps of legendary explorers who have come there before them. Their narrative of travel becomes incorporated into a tradition of Greek adventuring.17 The eye of the Greeks scanning the unfamiliar landscape is also often presented as acquisitive, and can become paradigmatic of exploration and conquest.18 Encouraging the men to consider the opportunities with which hostilities with the Persians provide them, Xenophon describes himself ‘gazing [διαθεώμενος] upon the extent and quality of the land they possessed, and at what an abundance of provisions and what quantities of servants, cattle, gold and clothing they owned’ (3.1.19).19 While the treaty with the Persians held, he says, the Greeks looked at the possessions of the Persians (ὁρῶντες ἀγαθὰ, 3.1.22) but did not take them because of their oaths to the gods; now this foreign bounty is theirs for the taking. Similarly, when the 10,000 reach the metropolis of the Drilae, ‘seeing [ὁρῶντες] many sheep and other property, they attacked the stronghold’ (5.2.4). In their attack on territory near Heracleia, ‘they took from outside the villages whatever provisions could be seen [ὅ τι τις ὁρῴη] within the limits of their line’ (6.5.7). In villages in Babylonia, the Greeks discover that palm dates of the variety that can be seen (ἔστιν ἰδεῖν) in Greece are here considered only fit for servants;

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those reserved for the masters inspire the Greeks with wonder at their beauty and size (θαυμάσιαι τοῦ κάλλους καὶ μεγέθους), and we are told that the sight (ὄψις) of them is similar to that of amber (2.3.15). When eating palm hearts the Greek soldiers wonder at their appearance (ἐθαύμασαν τό τε εἶδος, 2.3.16).20 The viewing of foreign delicacies suggests the leisurely enjoyment of plundered riches. But although the language of wonder can suggest the Greeks’ empowered distance from the people whose goods they take, it also indicates the strangeness of the Greeks’ experience: both the dates and the palm hearts cause headaches (2.3.15–16).21 Similarly, the Greeks’ sacking of the stronghold of the Taochians (4.7.1–14) is presented as producing a terrible or strange spectacle (ἐνταῦθα δὴ δεινὸν ἦν θέαμα, 4.7.13) when the defeated Taochians commit mass suicide by jumping from the rocks. The aim of the 10,000’s attack is acquisitive, as Xenophon’s matterof-fact summary of the results of the attack show: ‘Here very few people were captured, but they got cattle, many asses and sheep’ (4.7.14). The Greeks’ position as conquerors of the Taochians is enacted through their role as viewers. Yet the terrible strangeness of the sight (δεινὸν . . . θέαμα) is not only a mark of the foreignness of the Taochians, which might legitimate Greek violence against them, but also indicates the horror and dismay that the Greeks experience on witnessing the outcome.22 The language of theatre (θέαμα) indicates the contradictory emotional and ethical responses which, like drama, the sight might evoke.23 As the latter examples hint, Greek sight of the foreign is not only self-affirming. Frequently it can suggest, or produce, insecurity just as much as control over their environment.24 At the River Centrites, in the borderlands between the Carduchians and Armenia, the Greeks, exhausted from their difficult journey, are glad to behold a plain (ἄσμενοι ἰδόντες πεδίον, 4.3.1). But they soon catch sight (ὁρῶσιν, 4.3.3) of enemy horsemen in arms on the other side of the river as well as foot soldiers drawn up in the hills beyond, and there is only one road into these hills visible (ὁρωμένη, 4.3.5), which takes them directly towards the foot soldiers. They also see (ἑώρων, 4.3.7) Carduchians gathered on the mountainside behind them: ‘Then great despondency fell upon the Greeks as they saw [ὁρῶσι μὲν] a river difficult to cross, as they saw [ὁρῶσι δὲ] troops ahead who would obstruct their crossing, and as they saw [ὁρῶσι δὲ] the Carduchians behind, ready to attack them if they tried to cross’ (4.3.7). Here their sight of the foreign environment is an anxiety-laden viewing of difficulties.25 Greek viewing also often consists of a struggle to discern and interpret uncertain visual clues. This is illustrated in the Greeks’ first sighting of the army of the king:

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Midday came and still there was no sign of the enemy [οὔπω καταφανεῖς ἦσαν οἱ πολέμιοι]. But early in the afternoon a cloud of dust appeared, looking at first like a white cloud in the sky [ἐφάνη κονιορτὸς ὥσπερ νεφέλη λευκή]. Some time later, however, it was as if there was a huge black smudge on the plain [ὥσπερ μελανία τις ἐν τῷ πεδίῳ ἐπὶ πολύ]. Before long, as the enemy drew nearer, there were flashes of bronze, and then the tips of their spears and the divisions of the enemy army became apparent [τάχα δὴ καὶ χαλκός τις ἤστραπτε καὶ λόγχαι καὶ αἱ τάξεις καταφανεῖς ἐγίγνοντο]. (1.8.8)26

The Greeks are not in control of this viewing; through the gradually unfolding sight, they struggle to make sense of an ambiguous and threatening environment. The emphasis on visual observation suggests the tension in the army, as they scan the horizon, on high alert. Through the steady accumulation of visual signs, which become more and more significant and threatening, culminating in the actual appearance of the enemy, the reader is able to participate in the slow build-up of anxiety and expectation.27 Similarly, after Cyrus’ death, the Greeks do not know what is happening, but see (ὁρᾶν, 1.10.12) the royal standard being held aloft. Clearchus sends scouts up a hill to spy out (κατιδόντας, 1.10.14) what is beyond it; they ride up and look (ἰδῶν, 1.10.15), only to report that the enemy have fled. The Greeks therefore ground arms, but they wonder that Cyrus is nowhere to be seen (καὶ ἅμα μὲν ἐθαύμαζον ὅτι οὐδαμοῦ Κῦρος φαίνοιτο, 1.10.16). Again, as the Greeks try to determine the intentions of the Persians after Cunaxa, they think that they can see enemy horsemen ahead (ἔδοξαν πολεμίους ὁρᾶν ἱππέας, 2.2.14). Lookouts (σκοποί, 2.2.15) are sent forward, but they come back with the report that it is not horsemen that have been seen but pack animals grazing; this makes the Greeks realize that the king must be camping nearby, as the sight of smoke (καπνὸς ἐφαίνετο, 2.2.15) in villages ahead indicates. In the morning it becomes clear (δῆλον, 2.2.18) that the enemy has fled overnight, for no pack animal, camp or smoke is visible (ἐφάνη, 2.2.18) anywhere nearby. In these examples, it eventually becomes clear what the Greeks are looking at; however, sometimes the Greeks’ viewing of their environment fails to produce knowledge. In Armenia, although no enemy has been seen (ἑώρων, 4.4.8), some of the stragglers ‘reported that they had seen the gleam of many fires in the night’ (ἔλεγον ὅτι κατίδοιεν νύκτωρ πολλὰ πυρὰ φαίνοντα, 4.4.9). The Greeks try to discover the meaning of the fires: They sent Democrates of Temnos with a body of troops during the night to the mountains where the stragglers said they had seen the fires [ἔνθα ἔφασαν οἱ

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Despite the store set by the accuracy of his statements, the Greeks are none the wiser about the meaning of the fires; rather than producing clarity and security, their attempt to look into their situation produces disabling confusion and a sense of threat.29 The obscurity of the environment articulates its foreignness. However, the inability of the Greeks confidently to gaze upon and identify their surroundings also reflects back on their position as viewers. The anxiety and alienation of the visual experience produces a sense of displacement and disempowerment. The reader, who experiences the landscape and people encountered in the Anabasis through the eyes of the Greeks, is implicated in this problem. Despite the problems involved in looking at the foreign, these examples all present the viewing of the Greeks as an active means of overcoming and managing their environment. Yet barbarians sometimes also actively control how they and their lands are seen. The hostile faction of Mossynoecians cut off the heads of those they kill and display (ἐπεδείκνυσαν) them to the Greeks, performing a dance as they do so (5.4.17); the Greeks are distressed (μάλα ἥχθοντο, 5.4.18) at the enemy’s display and at Greek losses. The Chalybians also cut off the heads of their enemies, carrying them along with them as they march, and they dance and sing whenever they are likely to be seen by their enemies (ὁπότε οἱ πολέμιοι αὐτοὺς ὄψεσθαι ἔμελλον, 4.7.16). They are self-conscious about their visual effect, manipulating their appearance to their advantage. Similarly, the Persian Tissaphernes invites the Greek commander Clearchus not just to look at the landscape, but to see in it the precariousness of his position: ‘Do you not behold [ὁρᾶτε] these vast plains, which even now, when they are friendly, you cross only with great toil; and also these great mountains you have to pass, which we can occupy in advance and make impassable?’ (2.5.18). Rather than foreign lands lying passive beneath the gaze of the Greeks, here landscape is produced as a spectacle of Persian supremacy and Greek vulnerability. In his invitation to look, Tissaphernes attempts to foist onto Clearchus a way of seeing the environment which suits his own purposes. The Mossynoecians also seem confident in presenting themselves to Greek eyes. Although the description of their exotic bodies exposes the Mossynoecians

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for the reader’s ethnographic interest, the language of ‘display’ (ἐπεδείκνυσαν) also suggests their active self-presentation: When the Greeks, as they proceeded, were among the friendly Mossynoecians, they would exhibit [ἐπεδείκνυσαν] to them fattened children of the wealthy inhabitants, who had been nourished on boiled nuts and were soft and white to an extraordinary degree, and pretty nearly equal in length and breadth, with their backs adorned with many colours and their fronts all tattooed with flower patterns. (5.4.32)

We might compare the description of the Mossynoecians arranging themselves in battle like lines of choral dancers (μάλιστα οἷον χοροὶ ἀντιστοιχοῦντες ἀλλήλοις, 5.4.12), suggesting assertive self-display. Such moments might disrupt the comfortable ethnographic detachment of the Greek reader.

1 b) Non-Greek viewers As the passages above indicate, non-Greeks can be imagined as active agents as well as objects of Greek experience. Indeed, the Greeks are not the only viewers in the text; it is to the experiences of non-Greek viewers that we now turn. The visual experiences of non-Greeks are usually only mentioned when the 10,000 are the object of it; with the important exception of Cyrus (considered in section  1 c), and unlike in the Cyropaedia (discussed in Chapter  5), there is usually little interest in the independent subjectivity of foreigners. The barbarian sight of the Greeks can be imagined as a hostile act which needs redress (‘now they have seen us [ἐπεὶ ἡμᾶς πάντως εἶδον], these men must not be allowed to have a pleasant dinner or to camp wherever they want’, 6.5.21) or which implies the need for active self-presentation (‘if we waste this day, the enemy who are now looking at us [οἵ τε νῦν ἡμᾶς ὁρῶντες πολέμιοι] will be emboldened’, 4.6.9).30 Similarly, the moment when the Greeks and their enemies first see each other is depicted as presaging the first clash in battle between them, and therefore in some ways as equivalent to it: ‘lead the way towards our adversaries . . . since now we have been seen and have seen our enemies’ (ἐπεὶ ὤφθημεν καὶ εἴδομεν τοὺς πολεμίους, 6.5.10). Descriptions of the viewing of barbarians often focus on their subjection to the Greeks’ assertive display. The 10,000 disfigure enemy corpses, to create the most terrifying sight possible for the enemy (ὡς ὅτι φοβερώτατον τοῖς πολεμίοις εἴη ὁρᾶν, 3.4.5). They kill one hostage before the eyes of another (ὁρῶντος τοῦ ἑτέρου) in order to induce cooperation (4.1.23). When messengers arrive from

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the Persian king, Clearchus arranges the army so that it should be an impressive sight from all sides (ὡς καλῶς ἔχειν ὁρᾶσθαι πάντῃ, 2.3.3), and comes forward with the best armed and best-looking troops about him (τούς τε εὐοπλοτάτους ἔχων καὶ εὐειδεστάτους τῶν αὑτοῦ στρατιωτῶν, 2.3.3). Similarly, when the illegitimate brother of the Persian king watches (ἐθεώρει, 2.4.25) the Greeks as they pass by, Clearchus organizes the men so that they march two abreast and periodically halt; the effect is that the army seems very large,31 even to the Greeks themselves (καὶ αὐτοῖς τοῖς Ἕλλησι), and the Persian is astonished as he watches (τὸν Πέρσην ἐκπεπλῆχθαι θεωροῦντα) (2.4.26).32 When the Greeks reverse the direction of their march and go back the way they had come after reaching a river that is difficult to cross, they are described as producing a confusing spectacle for their enemies: ‘The result was that the enemy did not attack, but just gazed [ἐθεῶντο] at the Greeks, and appeared to be wondering [ὅμοιοι ἦσαν †θαυμάζειν†] where in the world they would turn and what they had in mind’ (3.5.13). The barbarian sight of the Greeks can also, however, imply a sense of threat, as when, although the Persians do not attack as feared, Glus watches (σκοπῶν, 2.4.24) what they are doing, and after seeing, departs (ἐπειδὴ δὲ εἶδεν, ᾤχετο ἀπελαύνων, 2.4.24). However, importantly, some portrayals of non-Greek viewing describe more complex responses; the introduction of alternative perspectives impacts on the experience of the reader. A key passage is the encounter with the Paphlagonians. After inflicting much harm on Paphlagonia through pillage, the 10,000 entertain Paphlagonian ambassadors at dinner. The 10,000 present displays of dances belonging to different ethnic groups making up their army, not all of whom are in fact Greek (6.1.5–13); dances are performed by Thracians, Aenianians, Magnesians, a Mysian (who also dances the Persian dance), Mantineians and Arcadians.33 Emphasis is placed on reactions to the dances: we are told that the dance of the Mysian ‘seemed a beautiful sight’ (ὄψιν καλὴν φαίνεσθαι, 6.1.9). In particular, the responses of the Paphlagonians are presented. They cry out (καὶ ἀνέκραγον οἱ Παφλαγόνες, 6.1.6) when the Thracian dancers imitate killing one another; also, ‘The Paphlagonians, as they looked on, thought it strange (ὁρῶντες δὲ οἱ Παφλαγόνες δεινὰ ἐποιοῦντο) that all the dances were performed in arms’ (6.1.11).34 The Paphlagonian reaction is made the object of visual scrutiny: ‘At this the Mysian, seeing how astounded they were [ὁρῶν ὁ Μυσὸς ἐκπεπληγμένους αὐτούς], persuaded one of the Arcadians who had a dancing girl to let him bring her in’ (6.1.12). The Mysian gives the dancing girl a shield and has her perform the Pyrrhic. The Paphlagonians’ response to this display is to ask the Greeks whether their women fight alongside them (6.1.13).

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The display takes place within the context of conflict. The Paphlagonians pose a threat to the Greeks – they have been kidnapping stragglers from the army (6.1.1). However, they have been doing this as a response to Greek pillaging of their territory; the Greeks entertain the Paphlagonians by sacrificing the Paphlagonians’ own cattle which they had previously stolen from them (6.1.4). The Paphlagonians have come to the Greeks in order to sue for peace; the decision about whether to make an alliance is put off until after the dinner. The Greek (and Thracian and Mysian) objects of viewing attempt to gain the advantage over their audience. In the armed dances they present themselves to the ambassadors as warlike and violent; the dances could be interpreted as a warning to these spectators who are still at this moment their enemies.35 The account of the dances reveals some of the ambiguities of the army’s identity. The display highlights the army’s ethnic diversity.36 The dances presented by the different groups are similar in that they are armed, but are very different in the way they are acted out and in the stories that they tell; and they include a Thracian dance, a Mysian dancing the Persian dance, and a female slave dancing the Pyrrhic. Descriptive accounts of the dances are offered, suggesting that some of them might not have been familiar to the reader (‘After this some Aenianians and Magnesians arose and danced under arms a dance called the “Carpaea”. The manner of the dance was as follows . . .’, 6.1.7–8). In response to the Paphlagonian question about whether the women accompanying the 10,000 fight alongside them, the Greeks reply that it was these very women who put the Persian king to flight from his camp (6.1.13). The reply emphasizes the deliberate irony with which the display of the dancing girl is invested.37 We are not told how the Paphlagonians respond to this reply, and if they realize that they are being duped. The evidence of vase painting informs us that women did dance the Pyrrhic in Greece (although it is unclear in what contexts),38 yet the decision to use the female war dance to tease the Paphlagonians implies recognition of its likelihood to confound; and to complicate matters more, the dance is orchestrated not by a Greek but by a Mysian. The response of the Paphlagonians marks their lack of sophistication, as they confuse representation with reality in their shock at the mimicry of battle (6.1.6);39 indeed, from Aristophanes’ Knights onwards, Paphlagonians were people to poke fun at.40 However, although the ingenuous confusion of the Paphlagonians might alienate the reader from their way of seeing, the incongruity of the dances also complicates the reader’s identification with the 10,000. Their various dances are a display of unity and cohesion, but also of fracture. The ironic take on Greek culture in the Mysian’s staging of the female Pyrrhic can be

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understood as a sophisticated insider’s joke which playfully reaffirms the collective identity of the 10,000, and the Mysian’s place within it, through the implication of their shared knowledge (from which the Paphlagonians are excluded), but just as much, it can be read as a send-up of Greek culture by a foreigner.41 Similarly, the Mysian can be understood as treating the Persian dance as his own, equally valid, contribution, to be valued similarly to the other diverse dances; but equally, in performing the Persian dance he can be seen as staging his cultural difference. The Greek reply to the Paphlagonians’ question about female warriors (6.1.13) implies that they are in on the joke, but no Greek reaction to the slave girl’s dance is given; we are told that the dance received great applause (ἐνταῦθα κρότος ἦν πολύς, 6.1.13) without mention of who is applauding. The ambiguity of the responses of internal audiences hints at the tensions and contradictions within the identity of the 10,000 revealed by the displays. The text allows different possibilities of reading to operate at once, suggesting the instability of the cultural identity of a community in which both Greeks and non-Greeks take part. The possibility of reading the Mysian’s position as both that of insider and outsider allows the ‘Greekness’ of the 10,000 to be questioned.

1 c) Cyrus: subjectivity and conflict The most significant example of non-Greek subjectivity in the text is the representation of Cyrus. In this section, we will consider the political impact of the opening stages of the narrative, which deals with Cyrus the Younger’s leadership of the army (1.1–1.9). As we enter book 1 and are immediately immersed in the concerns of Cyrus in organizing his army, especially his Greek contingents, we may be unsure whose story we are reading – the story of Cyrus or the story of the Greeks.42 The visual mode of narration, which recurs throughout the book, engages the reader in the problems produced by identification with both of them. The text frequently allows us to see through Cyrus’ eyes,43 while simultaneously revealing how both Cyrus’ gaze and his manipulation of visual perspectives is involved in his assertion of power over the Greeks. At other moments we seem to be looking at Cyrus from the outside, observing him and his Persians through the eyes of the Greeks. Here the Greek gaze can suggest ethnographic scrutiny of the foreign as well as admiration for an effective leader. The text invites identification with Cyrus as a powerful and impressive elite figure; identification with Cyrus offers the appealing possibility to the Greek reader of self-conceptualization as akin to those who command and control others and pursue individual ambition with confidence. However, as

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Cyrus’ perspective is revealed as suggesting manipulation of the Greeks for his own purposes and against their interests, the text’s invitation to identify both with the Persian prince and with the Greek force suggests a tension between class identification and identification as Greek. As Cyrus’ army approaches the army of the king at Cunaxa, there is a focus on visual experience. In the course of their journey through Babylonia, a series of visual signs of the king’s army begin to appear. After crossing the Euphrates, ‘tracks of horses and horses’ dung could be seen [ἐφαίνετο]’ (1.6.1). A little further on, ‘tracks of both horses and men in retreat were visible [φανερὰ ἦσαν] in great numbers’ (1.7.17). Shortly afterwards, one of Cyrus’ advisors ‘came into sight [προφαίνεται], riding at full speed, with his horse in a sweat’ (1.8.1), to announce that the king’s army were approaching. At first the enemy were not yet visible (καταφανεῖς), but then a dust cloud appeared (ἐφάνη), and at length spears and hostile ranks came into view (καταφανεῖς) (1.8.8; see discussion above). Interestingly, it is not clear to whom these observations belong: they might be specifically the experiences of the Greeks, or they might be the more general experiences of Cyrus’ army as a whole. The impersonal narrative voice does not tie the observations to any particular group. This lack of differentiation suggests the close involvement of Cyrus and the Greeks with each other. Here their story seems to be shared. Elsewhere during the journey of Cyrus’ army the text seems to show a concern with the Greek experience per se. The description of the Arabian desert (1.5.1– 3), for example, which describes what asses and bustards taste like, and compares them to more familiar Greek animals like venison and partridge, seems framed from an ethnographic Greek perspective, concerned with Arabia’s differences from Greece. A similar Greek perspective occurs in the description of Cyrus’ Persian nobles freeing wagons stuck in the mud. This is presented as a spectacle: Then it was possible to gaze upon [ἦν θεάσασθαι] a fine bit of discipline [τῆς εὐταξίας]. They let their outer robes of purple drop to the ground without caring where they stood and sprinted, as if they were competing in a race, down a very steep hillside in their expensive tunics and colourful trousers, with some of them even wearing torques around their necks and bracelets on their arms. As soon as they got there, they leapt into the mud in all their finery and lifted the carts free of the mud more quickly than one would have thought possible. (1.5.8)44

The description has an ethnographic feel. The phrase ἦν θεάσασθαι is impersonal, but the interest in the unexpected behaviour of the Persians suggests Greek scrutiny: we seem to be looking at Cyrus’ followers from the Greek side of his

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army. The passage expresses admiration for Persian εὐταξία,45 inviting us to identify with this example of virtuous behaviour, but the admiration is based on a sense of surprise that Persians dressed in such finery would behave like this: the element of humour in the description simultaneously suggests a sense of ideological distance from Persian culture.46 The scene indicates the complexity of the relationship to Cyrus and his men offered to the Greek reader by the text. The episode of the wagons in the mud is introduced from Cyrus’ perspective. He thinks (ἐδόκουν αὐτῷ, 1.5.8) that the troops are taking too long shifting the wagons, and so orders his nobles to help. In the aftermath of the description of the nobles’ behaviour, we seem to move back to outside observation of the Persians, as we are told that ‘it was clear that Cyrus was in haste’ (δῆλος ἦν Κῦρος ὡς σπεύδων, 1.5.9). Yet, as the sentence continues, Cyrus is its subject, and we move back to his perspective: ‘for he thought [νομίζων] that the faster he went, the more unprepared the king would be to fight with him’ (1.5.9). The need for speed is then explained through the perspective of an impersonal ‘someone’ who is imagined as metaphorically ‘viewing’ the possibilities of attack on the Persian Empire: For someone who paid attention to the matter, it was possible to see [καὶ συνιδεῖν δ’ ἦν τῷ προσέχοντι τὸν νοῦν] that the empire of the king was strong in the extent of its territory and the number of its inhabitants, but that it was weak by reason of the greatness of the distances and the scattered condition of its forces, in case one should be swift in making his attack upon it [εἴ τις διὰ ταχέων τὸν πόλεμον ποιοῖτο]. (1.5.9)

The imagined political perspective is unclear. The sense that we are scrutinizing the Persian Empire from the outside might suggest a Greek perspective: indeed, this passage has been read as a call for a Panhellenist attack on Persia.47 However, we have already been shown that it is Cyrus who desires haste; it is he who envisages the attack. These shifts in visual positioning and focalization require us to consider whose perspective we identify with. The introduction of an ethnographic mode through which to experience Cyrus and the Persians allows the Greek reader to distance themselves from Cyrus, yet the intermingling of perspectives suggests the difficulty of separating the Greek story and Cyrus’ story at this point of the narrative. We must ask: what difference would this make? Are not Cyrus’ story and the Greek story to all intents and purposes the same, as the Greeks journey with him, under his command, and they face the enemy together? Importantly, although at some points – such as in the face of the king’s army – Cyrus’ interests and those of the Greeks are presented as shared, elsewhere

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stress is placed on Cyrus’ manipulation of the Greeks to his own ends. Cyrus is in a position of power over the Greeks. He conceals from them the true purpose of his expedition – to attack the king – and on realizing this the Greeks refuse to go on and have to be cajoled, both through promises of higher pay and through more deceptive tactics, into continuing (1.3). Indeed the Greeks are warned that it is possible to view Cyrus as a threatening potential enemy, whom it would not be safe to cross: ‘he has an armament – infantry and cavalry and fleet – which we all alike see and know about [πάντες ὁμοίως ὁρῶμέν τε καὶ ἐπιστάμεθα]’ (1.3.12). The suggestion of shared aims would mitigate the potential discomfort of the reader’s engagement in the story of Greek mercenaries who are subservient to and manipulated by a Persian commander, by making this subservience less obvious. However, as we shall see, the text simultaneously manifests a concern with the potential impact of this subservience for a model of Greek identity based on notions of self-determination or opposition to barbarians. As we identify with Cyrus, we are shown how identification with him is politically problematic. The problem of power relations is addressed in the depiction of Cyrus as both a viewer of sights and as controlling the visual experiences of others. In a passage reminiscent of the treatment of Cyrus the Great in the Cyropaedia in its praise of Cyrus’ virtues coupled with a focus on his manipulation of visual effect, the Anabasis’ account of Cyrus’ qualities as a leader (1.9), presented after his death, puts emphasis on both his viewing of his subjects and his use of display as a method of rule. He keeps an eye on his followers: if Cyrus saw (ὁρῴη, 1.9.19) that someone was a just administrator, he would reward him; and he gave gifts to friends according to whatever needs he saw them to have (καὶ ὅτου μάλιστα ὁρῴη ἕκαστον δεόμενον, 1.9.23). He is depicted as carefully controlling his visual effect:48 ‘Whenever he was on the march and was likely to be seen by very many people [πλεῖστοι μέλλοιεν ὄψεσθαι], he would call his friends to him and engage them in earnest conversation, in order to show [ὡς δηλοίη] whom he honoured’ (1.9.28). We are told that he displayed (ἐπέδειξεν, 1.9.7) the fact that if he made a treaty he would not break his word; that he displayed (ἐπεδείκνυτο, 1.9.10) that he would not abandon the Milesian exiles; and that he was visible (φανερóς, 1.9.11) outdoing any benefit or harm that another might do to him.49 Cyrus also controls the visual effect of others. Under him the brave appeared (φαίνεσθαι, 1.9.15) prosperous and the cowards like slaves; if someone was visible wishing to display his upright character (εἴς γε μὴν δικαιοσύνην εἴ τις φανερὸς γένοιτο ἐπιδείκνυσθαι βουλόμενος, 1.9.16) Cyrus ensured he lived more opulently; and he appeared (ἐφαίνετο) to allow those who were openly

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(φανερῶς) rich to prosper, but confiscated the wealth of those who tried to conceal it (1.9.19).50 Like Cyrus the Great in the Cyropaedia’s scene of the Indian embassy (Cyr. 2.4.1–6; see Chapter 5), Cyrus replaces personal adornment with other forms of display: he considers a man’s greatest adornment to be well adorned friends (φίλους δὲ καλῶς κεκοσμημένους μέγιστον κόσμον ἀνδρὶ νομίζοι, 1.9.23; cf. Cyr. 8.3.4). We are also told that when travelling in Cyrus’ province one could see the people whom Cyrus had punished: ‘It was often possible to see [ἦν ἰδεῖν] along the travelled roads people who had lost feet or hands or eyes’ (1.9.13). The description could be read as presenting Cyrus’ province as a land of grotesque curiosities for the (implicitly Greek) traveller. However, the sights on offer are disturbing: these mutilations not only reflect Cyrus’ power, but through display, actively construct it. In the discussion of Cyrus’ careful control of sights and appearances, we are shown how the sights produced by Cyrus are directly implicated in his accumulation of power. Cyrus is depicted as a viewer, and as attempting to control the responses of others to sights, earlier in the narrative too. There is a repeated focus on Cyrus’ gaze.51 As the army prepare to enter Cilicia, we are told that ‘Cyrus climbed the mountains without meeting any opposition and saw [εἶδε] the camp where the Cilicians had been keeping guard’ (1.2.22). The story of the successful penetration of the Cilician border is told through Cyrus’ uninterrupted gaze from the mountain-top – not through what the Greeks see. Importantly, descriptions of his gaze suggest his control of his environment and his superior position as commander,52 as when he surveys the ranks before the Battle of Cunaxa (‘Cyrus, riding along at some distance from his army, looking in either direction gazed [κατεθεᾶτο ἑκατέρωσε ἀποβλέπων] both at his enemies and his friends,’ 1.8.14). The relationship between Cyrus’ gaze and his position of control is most strikingly addressed in the scene of his death. Cyrus catches sight (καθορᾷ, 1.8.26) of the king, and rushes to attack him: ‘And on the instant he lost control of himself and, with the cry “I see the man”, rushed upon him’ (καὶ εὐθὺς οὐκ ἠνέσχετο, ἀλλ’ εἰπὼν Τὸν ἄνδρα ὁρῶ ἵετο ἐπ’ αὐτὸν, 1.8.26).53 Viewing and violent self-assertion are equated in his battle-cry, but so is loss of self-command. Ironically, he is struck under the eye (ὑπὸ τὸν ὀφθαλμὸν, 1.8.27): ‘just as Cyrus’ gaze expressed his control, his death is brought about by a missile that destroys his eyesight’.54 This focus on Cyrus’ controlling gaze poses a political problem. It invites the reader to look through the eyes of Cyrus – even when he is gazing at, and expressing his control over, the Greeks in his army. Similarly, the focus on Cyrus’ manipulation of visual effect as a mechanism of rule frames as politically loaded

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moments when Cyrus uses the Greeks to make a display or presents sights to the eyes of the Greeks. Some depictions of Cyrus’ visual interactions with the Greeks minimize this problem, suggesting both Cyrus’ position of control and the possibility of a shared perspective: although his viewing of the Arcadians’ Lycaean festival (ἐθεώρει δὲ τὸν ἀγῶνα καὶ Κῦρος, 1.2.10), for example, could be read as expressing his position as their commander, his interest in the festival might also imply a sense of communality with the Greeks. Elsewhere, however, the text’s scenes of viewing explore the political complexities of the relationship. A striking example is Cyrus’ viewing of a spectacular Greek military display, after Cyrus arranges a military review on the request of a Cilician queen who has given him funds when he is unable to pay the army’s wages. He looks first at the barbarians and then at the Greeks (ἐθεώρει οὖν ὁ Κῦρος πρῶτον μὲν τοὺς βαρβάρους . . . εἶτα δὲ τοὺς Ἕλληνας, 1.2.16) who make up his army. Then Cyrus orders the Greeks to advance: As they went on faster and faster, at length with a shout the troops broke into a run of their own accord [ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου], in the direction of the camp. As for the barbarians, they were terribly frightened; the Cilician woman took to flight in her carriage, and the people in the market left their wares behind and took to their heels; while the Greeks with a roar of laughter came up to their camp. Now the Cilician queen, seeing the brilliance and discipline of the army, was filled with wonder [ἰδοῦσα τὴν λαμπρότητα καὶ τὴν τάξιν τοῦ στρατεύματος ἐθαύμασε]; and Cyrus was delighted to see the terror with which the Greeks inspired the barbarians [Κῦρος δὲ ἥσθη τὸν ἐκ τῶν Ἑλλήνων εἰς τοὺς βαρβάρους φόβον ἰδών]. (1.2.17–18)

Internal responses suggest different ways of thinking about who controls or benefits from the display. The queen is afraid and runs away, yet the display of the army has been staged at her request: ‘It is said that the Cilician queen asked Cyrus to display [ἐπιδεῖξαι] his army to her. As he himself wished to make such a display [βουλόμενος οὖν ἐπιδεῖξαι], he held a review of the Greeks and barbarians on the plain’ (1.2.14). The repetition of the vocabulary of display (ἐπιδεῖξαι . . . ἐπιδεῖξαι), and the insertion of βουλόμενος to describe Cyrus’ desire for the display which the Cilician queen requests, suggests a conflict between them as to whom the display belongs.55 The queen attempts to display her status in the spectacle of an army which she has paid for. Her wonder (ἐθαύμασε, 1.2.18) at the sight indicates her curiosity at the surprising behaviour of foreigners, and also her abjection before them. The Greeks advance on the order of Cyrus, but break into a run of their own accord (1.2.17). Their spectacular appearance receives attention: ‘They all had

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bronze helmets, crimson tunics, greaves and uncovered shields’ (1.2.16). The display could be read as Cyrus’ display, asserting his military might, but could also be understood as an act of self-assertion by the Greeks, indicating their independence from Cyrus’ command. Their response of laughter, which no one else shares, hints at their autonomy. Indeed, the scene has been read as a triumphant, self-validating display of Greek success.56 Despite the flouting of his orders (through an excessive interpretation of them), Cyrus is pleased.57 He feels pleasure at the fear with which the Greeks inspire the barbarians (τὸν ἐκ τῶν Ἑλλήνων εἰς τοὺς βαρβάρους φόβον, 1.2.18) despite the fact that he himself is a barbarian; apparently, from his point of view the display is a success, showcasing the effectiveness of his force. The reader too is invited to feel pleasure at the Greek spectacle, thereby aligning their response with that of Cyrus; but, through awareness of the potential tension between Cyrus’ authority and Greek independence of action, the reader may simultaneously be alienated from Cyrus’ way of seeing. In Cyrus’ gratified gaze the political contradictions inherent in our simultaneous identification with the Greek mercenaries and with Cyrus as their commander are laid bare. The desire for the affirmation of Greek identity through reassurance of superiority to barbarians conflicts with the desire which the text also provokes to identify with an impressive elite individual in confident command of his men. The problem of how to look with and at Cyrus and his non-Greek followers is also addressed when Cyrus intervenes in the conflict between the troops of the Greek leaders Menon and Clearchus. He warns that if they fight each other, both he and they will be killed: ‘If things go wrong for us, all these barbarians you can see will be more hostile towards us than those fighting for the king’ (κακῶς γὰρ τῶν ἡμετέρων ἐχόντων πάντες οὗτοι οὓς ὁρᾶτε βάρβαροι πολεμιώτεροι ἡμῖν ἔσονται τῶν παρὰ βασιλεῖ ὄντων, 1.5.16).58 The term ‘barbarian’ is not only used by the narrator to explain Cyrus’ response, as in the military review scene discussed above (1.2.18), but is put into his mouth. Cyrus identifies his own followers as barbarians who risk becoming opposed to ‘us’ (ἡμῖν). To suppress internal Greek conflict, Cyrus invites the Greeks to look at and identify his troops’ barbarian status, and therefore, implicitly, their own united identity as Greeks.59 By including himself among those who might treat barbarians warily, Cyrus also invites the Greeks to identify with him and thereby reaffirm his command.60 The reader is invited to view the sight as Cyrus instructs, as the Greeks of the narrative appear to do, and to identify simultaneously with the Greeks and with Cyrus. However, as the political investment in Cyrus’ invitation to view is laid before the reader, the reader also becomes aware of the divergent interests of Cyrus and the Greeks.

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As we enter the text and begin our journey into Asia with the Greeks, and with Cyrus, we are invited to identify with them both. Our identification with the army of the 10,000 is allowed and encouraged, despite their problematic position as mercenaries fighting for a Persian, through our identification with Cyrus as their leader. Viewing through the eyes of Cyrus involves acquiescing to his position of control. The allure of his immense power, wealth and regal status might overcome any qualms about his identity as a barbarian: Cyrus wins over the Greek leaders by promising them both gold and a share in the Persian Empire, which is described as covering the whole known world (1.7.6–7). But our identification with the 10,000 might also depend upon their ‘Greekness’, in opposition to the non-Greeks around them: the text also allows a specifically Greek perspective on the foreign environment and on the Persians, while making us aware of the exploitative nature of Cyrus’ relationship to the Greeks. These two, contradictory ways of thinking about Greek service to Cyrus both seem to be invited simultaneously by the text, yet certain moments emerge when they jar irreconcilably against each other.61 Such moments suggest concern regarding what Greek service to a barbarian might mean for the Greek identity of the 10,000 – and what engagement in this story and identification with its protagonists might mean for the Greek reader’s self-conception.

2. The Greek experience: unity and division So far we have discussed how the Anabasis formulates the experience of being Greek through interaction with non-Greeks, and through the introduction of non-Greek perspectives. However, the problems involved in Greek visual experience arise not only in the Greeks’ interaction with their foreign environment or in the movements between Greek and non-Greek subjectivity, but intervene in the Greeks’ relationship with each other. In what follows, we will consider how the concept of a unified Greek identity comes under scrutiny as Greeks look at each other, frequently revealing the divisions just as much as the links between them (2 a). We will also consider moments where rhetorical claims are used by the 10,000’s leaders to mediate what the Greeks can see, in order to reframe community relationships or assert identities for political purposes (2 b). In the final section of this chapter, we will consider how the text’s shifts between the collective experience of the army and the individual experience of the commander Xenophon invite us to reflect on the relationship between the Greek elite and their community (2 c).

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2 a) Greeks looking at Greeks There are numerous moments throughout the narrative where the Greeks are depicted as observing and responding to each other. Such scenes prompt consideration of how the Greeks function as a community. When members of the 10,000 look at each other, their viewing can articulate the inter-dependency of the Greeks as a functioning unit. Xenophon warns, ‘When the men in the battle line see [ὁρῶσιν] their line break, they will immediately be discouraged’ (4.8.10). The men’s sight of each other in confident preparation for battle implies their social cohesion and precedes an efficient and successful attack: ‘When all the preparations had been made, the captains, lieutenants and those who considered themselves no worse than them in bravery all arranged themselves in the line and, moreover, looked at one another . . .’ (ἀλλήλους μὲν δὴ ξυνεώρων . . ., 5.2.13). However, the sense of mutual identification suggested in these examples is frequently challenged; viewing among the 10,000 often highlights conflicts in the Greek army, disrupting the cohesion of the ‘Greekness’ of the 10,000. After the dissolution of the army into contingents organized by ethnic affiliation, Xenophon and his men come to the rescue of the Arcadians and Achaeans who are under siege on a hilltop. What Xenophon’s contingent sees is described in direct discourse; the Arcadians’ sight of the same events is then presented in indirect speech (6.3.25).62 Xenophon’s group are presented as highly aware of both what they can see and how they might be seen. Before the episode on the hill, Xenophon orders Timasion to ride ahead, keeping the rest of the contingent in sight and spying out the territory (ἐφορῶν ἡμᾶς καὶ σκοπείτω τὰ ἔμπροσθεν, 6.3.14), and sends out men to high ground, who are to signal if they see anything (ὅπως εἴ πού τί ποθεν καθορῷεν, σημαίνοιεν, 6.3.15). The men burn everything they see (ἑώρων, 6.3.19) that is combustible, with the result that the whole country seems to be ablaze and their force appears large (ὥστε πᾶσα ἡ χώρα αἴθεσθαι ἐδόκει καὶ τὸ στράτευμα πολὺ εἶναι, 6.3.19). Xenophon’s men then set up camp on a hilltop: ‘They could see [ἑώρων] the campfires of the enemy about 40 stades away, and kindled as many fires themselves as they could. But as soon as they had eaten, the order was given to extinguish all the fires’ (6.3.20–1). In the morning they go to the hill where the Arcadians and Achaeans had been besieged. However, ‘They could see no army, either friendly or hostile’ (καὶ οὐχ ὁρῶσιν οὔτε φίλιον στράτευμα οὔτε πολέμιον, 6.3.22). Their response: ‘It was a wonder to them what had happened’ (θαῦμα ἦν τί εἴη τὸ γεγενημένον, 6.3.23).

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Xenophon’s men set out again, after seeing (ἑώρων) the tracks of the Arcadians and Achaeans in the road (6.3.24). When the two groups meet, ‘They were delighted to see one another, and embraced like brothers’ (ἄσμενοί τε εἶδον ἀλλήλους καὶ ἠσπάζοντο ὥσπερ ἀδελφούς, 6.3.24).63 The interpretation of visual signs becomes a problem for the relationship between the contingents, as the Arcadians ask Xenophon’s men why they extinguished the fires, and explain their reactions to the sight: ‘We thought at first, when we could no longer see your fires [ἐπειδὴ τὰ πυρὰ οὐχ ἑωρῶμεν], that you would come against the enemy during the night’ (6.3.25). When Xenophon’s men did not arrive, however, they reinterpreted the lights’ disappearance to mean that Xenophon’s men had learned of their predicament and had run away (6.3.26). This narrative takes place as a consequence of the army’s rejection of a joint Greek identity in its division into ethnic factions. The confusion in the interpretation of visual signs between the two Greek groups hints at this loss of identity; although they embrace like brothers (ὥσπερ ἀδελφούς, 6.3.24) the Greeks have (temporarily at least) become wondrously strange (θαῦμα, 6.3.23) to each other. The reader is also involved in this confusion. It is not made clear if the dousing of the fires was an act of deliberate trickery, in order to manipulate the enemy through the use of deceptive visual signs;64 its result, that there was no army to be seen on the hillside, is a matter of wonder (θαῦμα, 6.3.23) to Xenophon’s men. As noted above, just before this incident, we are told that Xenophon’s contingent burnt everything that they could see that was combustible, making the whole land appear to be on fire and their force appear large, but we are not told that the burning was done deliberately for this reason; it is explained through a result clause, not a purpose clause: ὥστε πᾶσα ἡ χώρα αἴθεσθαι ἐδόκει καὶ τὸ στράτευμα πολὺ εἶναι (6.3.19). The reader, invited to see as the two Greek groups in turn are described as seeing, is potentially alienated from them both. Another moment where the act of viewing reveals the complexity of identities among the 10,000 occurs when, on reaching Trapezus and re-entering the Greek world, the 10,000 hold sacrifices and games in thanks for their deliverance from barbarian lands. We are told it produced a beautiful spectacle (καλὴ θέα ἐγένετο, 4.8.27) and that there was much rivalry because the companions (or possibly camp-followers) of the competitors were watching (ἅτε θεωμένων τῶν ἑταίρων πολλὴ φιλονικία ἐγίγνετο, 4.8.27).65 One reading of this passage could be that in these games a unifying Greek identity is produced and confirmed through communal ceremony and action.66 However, the games contain some incongruities: the majority of participants in the stadium race are boys from the Greeks’ captives (4.8.27); Cretans are apparently the sole participants of the long

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race (4.8.27); the horse race takes place on a steep slope (4.8.28), a practice explicitly attributed to barbarians in Xenophon’s On Horsemanship;67 and (depending on a disputed manuscript reading) women may be present in the audience.68 The incorporation of barbarians and barbarian customs into Greek ceremonial has been read as the recognition and celebration of the non-Greek.69 In contrast, another reading has seen the games as involved in the construction of Greek identity through ‘the production of difference’,70 the categorization of participants by age, juridical status, ethnicity and (possibly) gender. The phrase καλὴ θέα (4.8.27) has been read as triumphalist: ‘the ordered successful army holding athletic games is a thing of beauty’.71 However, a few lines before this, Dracontius the Spartan exile, the organizer of the games, describes a hard and overgrown hillside as κάλλιστος τρέχειν, excellent for running (4.8.26). On being asked how the men will manage to wrestle on such ground, he replies that whoever is thrown will get hurt more (4.8.26). The joke is on Spartan hardiness; what seems κάλλιστος to Dracontius does not seem so to his interlocutors, ‘the Greeks’, the subject of the passage’s repeated third-person plurals (named in the nominative at 4.8.19: οἱ Ἕλληνες). This raises the question of focalization. To whom is the spectacle of the games καλός? The audience’s raucous response of shouts, laughter and cheering (ἔνθα πολλὴ κραυγὴ καὶ γέλως καὶ παρακέλευσις ἐγίγνετο, 4.8.28) as horses roll down the slope might demonstrate their collective appreciation of the spectacle, but it also indicates the confusion and diversity of heterogeneous voices. The spectacle could be understood as a simultaneously unifying and unsettling experience, suggesting the coexistence of, and tension between, a single, collective identity and a multiplicity of identities among the 10,000. Moments of sight also involve the construction of class distinctions within the 10,000.72 In the description of the siege of the Taochian stronghold (4.7.1– 14), the focus is on the visual experiences of four Greek captains who contend in bravery, watching each other and treating the army as an audience for their actions. Callimachus runs out to attract the attention of the enemy: ‘When Agasias saw [ὁρᾷ] what Callimachus was doing, and that the whole army was watching [τὸ στράτευμα πᾶν θεώμενον], he became afraid that he would not be the first to make the run across to the stronghold’ (4.7.11). In response, Agasias runs forward, but when Callimachus sees (ὁρᾷ, 4.7.12) him he grabs hold of his shield as he goes past; Aristonymus and Eurylochus join in the attack, and the stronghold falls (καὶ οὕτως ἐρίζοντες αἱρουσι τὸ χωρίον, 4.7.12). The capture of the stronghold is told not as a joint achievement of the army as a whole but as the exploit of elite individuals.73 They do not cooperate with

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others, or even with each other: Agasias runs out without telling Aristonymus and Eurylochus (4.7.11), and Callimachus even obstructs Agasias’ progress by grabbing his shield. Visual perspectives are used to formulate the captains in heroic mould. The captains, the elite of the army, become the stars of the narrative, with the common soldiers treated as a passive audience whose responses go unmentioned. The soldiers’ gaze at their officers can also articulate the hierarchy of command. As he takes over the army, Xenophon warns the Greek generals and captains to regulate their appearance before the eyes of their men in order to inspire obedience: All these soldiers are looking at you [πρὸς ὑμᾶς βλέπουσι]; if they see [ὁρῶσιν] that you are faint-hearted, all of them will be cowards; but if you are both visible [φανεροί] yourselves making preparations against the enemy and call upon the rest to do likewise, be well assured that they will follow you and will try to imitate you. (3.1.36)

Although the officers’ self-display is imagined as ensuring the successful cohesion of the Greeks as a force, in enacting the disciplinary relationship it also marks distinctions of status.74

2 b) Mediated views and the Greek community In the previous section, we have seen how the Greek experience of their fellow Greeks can be a harmonious, cohesive experience of unity, but that it can also reveal their heterogeneity and the divisions and conflicts between them. The operation of the 10,000 as a community and the possibility of a unified Greek identity are also of concern in moments when the army’s leaders make assertions about what can be seen or rhetorically reframe the significance of sights in order to boost morale, encourage obedience, quell dissent or win loyalty. These appeals to sights can be used to strengthen the 10,000 as a community; but they can also suggest the disparity between the commander who directs the gaze and the men who obey. Sights can also be used to appeal to a shared Greek identity for political purposes. However, the context of conflict among Greeks, as Greek leaders face down opposition from their troops or attempt to overcome fellow Greek adversaries, reveals these assertions of a common Greek identity to be manipulative. In his speeches as leader, Xenophon makes claims about what both the Greeks and their enemies can see, in order to encourage the Greeks or spur them to fight

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more courageously. In an early speech after taking over command of the army, he encourages the Greeks that their situation is not too bleak, and that they might, as others have done, take advantage of the Persian lands, by insisting that ‘we have seen with our own eyes’ (αὐτοὶ εἴδομεν, 3.2.23) how the Lycaonians have seized strongholds in the plains. When Tissaphernes’ men burn the land so that the Greek army cannot raid it for provisions, Xenophon asks, ‘Do you see [ὁρᾶτε], men of Greece, that they admit the country is now ours?’ (3.5.5). In pointing out the paradox of the Persians burning their own land, Xenophon transforms the aggression of the enemy into evidence of the Greeks’ own success. He suggests that if the Persians conserve any provisions, they will watch the Greeks coming to take them (ὄψονται καὶ ἡμᾶς ἐνταῦθα πορευομένους, 3.5.5). The Greeks’ viewing of the Persians and the Persians’ viewing of the Greeks are both, through the rhetoric of Xenophon, transformed into actions which bolster the Greeks’ position. However, Xenophon’s claims are not only a matter of strengthening the Greeks against their enemies; they are also a strategy for successful command. He makes a similar argument for their absolute obedience: ‘You observe [ὁρᾶτε] that our enemies did not muster up courage to begin hostilities against us until they had seized our generals; for they believed that so long as we had our commanders and were obedient to them, we were able to worst them in war’ (3.2.29). In ordering the men to join in with their officers in punishing anyone who is lax, Xenophon states, ‘The enemy will behold [ὄψονται] not one Clearchus but 10,000, who will not suffer anybody to be a bad soldier’ (3.2.31). The claim that the soldiers will transform visually into commanders imagines them as an army of equals; but this image is undercut by the context – the demand for obedience. Xenophon also draws attention to the visibility of his actions: through the phrase ὡς ὁρᾶτε (‘as you see’) he appropriates the viewing of his audience to reaffirm his position of command. In order to counter accusations that he performed sacrifices at Cotyora in the service of his own schemes, Xenophon insists on the visibility, and therefore the transparency, of his actions: ‘I offer, soldiers, as you see [ὡς ὁρᾶτε], all the sacrifices I can . . .’ (5.6.28). At Calpe Harbour he invites any soothsayers in the army to look together with him (συνθεασόμενον, 6.4.15) at his sacrifices, and states that the army have seen the results (ὡς ὁρᾶτε, 6.4.17) in order to prove that he has not faked them, as has been rumoured.75 Similarly, after a period of unrest in the army, Xenophon makes a speech in which he declares that he sees (ὁρῶ, 5.7.12) trouble beginning in the army, which displays itself (ὑποδείκνυσιν, 5.7.12) in such a way as to make

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the army appear (ἀποφαινώμεθα, 5.7.12) shameful, and asks the soldiers to behold what will happen to them if such behaviour continues (θεάσασθε οἵα ἡ κατάστασις ἡμῖν ἔσται τῆς στρατιᾶς, 5.7.26). By intimating that the facts can be witnessed visually, Xenophon makes the implicit claim that if they look, the men can only see the matter in the way that he suggests. The appeal to the visual becomes a persuasive tool. Although these invitations to view invite the army to see and understand their situation in the same way, and aim thereby to resolve tensions and reestablish communal values, through their function in bolstering the authority of the commander they also simultaneously reveal the divisions in the army between the leaders who control and the men who require to be controlled. In moments of conflict between officers and men, the identity of the 10,000 as a cohesive, unified force breaks down. This problem is addressed when display is used to affirm a leader’s position. When the army refuses to follow Clearchus in the service of Cyrus, and stones him when he tries to force them on, we are told that Clearchus turns to display as an alternative to force: ‘When he realized that he could not accomplish anything by force, he called a meeting of his own troops. And first he stood and wept for a long time, while his men watched him in wonder and were silent [οἱ δὲ ὁρῶντες ἐθαύμαζον καὶ ἐσιώπων]’ (1.3.2). Clearchus persuades them to obey him, tricking them into believing he has given up his plan to follow Cyrus (1.3.3–8) by insisting on his loyalty to Greeks over barbarians: ‘Never shall any man say that after leading Greeks into the land of the barbarians, I betrayed the Greeks and chose the friendship of the barbarians’ (1.3.5). Clearchus sets himself up before the eyes of the men as a spectacle of Greekness. However, his actions are soon revealed as a means of tricking the men back into Cyrus’ service (1.3.9–1.4.21).76 The rhetoric of Greek identity is used to silence dissent. Clearchus re-establishes control by invoking their joint identity as Greeks, encouraging the men to identify with him as they watch him weep; however, the men’s response of wonder to the sight implies not just awed subjection, but a sense of estrangement. The troops are won over by the display; their solidarity with Clearchus affirms and constructs their unified identity. However, the cynical deceptiveness of Clearchus simultaneously formulates divisions between them by reinscribing his position of control. The supposed visual transparency of Greek identity is similarly used by Xenophon as commander to silence dissent. When Xenophon argues that the 10,000 should make their escape back to Greece after the disaster at Cunaxa, all the officers agree with him except a man called Apollonides, who speaks in the Boeotian dialect (βοιωτιάζων τῇ φωνῇ); he stresses the difficulty of their position

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and argues that they must gain the consent of the Persian king for their actions (3.1.26). His dissent from the general opinion is cast as a problem for the security of Greek identity, as Xenophon complains: ‘This man is a disgrace both to his native state and to the whole of Greece, because he is Greek yet of such a kind as this’ (3.1.30). However, the sanctity of Greek identity is saved as one of the other officers announces, ‘This man has nothing to do either with Boeotia or with any part of Greece at all, for I have seen [εἶδον] that he has both his ears pierced like a Lydian’s’ (3.1.31). This explanation is summarily accepted, and Apollonides is driven away. The sight of his ears speaks for itself, declaring his non-Greekness, and outweighs dialect as evidence of identity. Xenophon hints that Apollonides’ own mode of visual perception also reveals his identity. He tells him: ‘Oh most wondrous man, you see but you do not perceive; you listen but you do not remember’ (Ὦ θαυμασιώτατε ἄνθρωπε, σύγε οὐδὲ ὁρῶν γιγνώσκεις οὐδὲ ἀκούων μέμνησαι, 3.1.27). Apollonides’ failure to agree with Xenophon’s suggestion, which casts doubt upon his Greekness, is understood as a failure of sight (and hearing), which makes him an object of the greatest wonder (θαυμασιώτατε). Conversely, it is the other officers’ role as inspectors and castigators of Apollonides’ non-Greek body that positions them as Greek.77 However, this positioning is makeshift and expedient: there is no explanatory intervention from the narrator, making clear whether Apollonides really is non-Greek.78 The incongruence between his accent and ears is not explained, leaving the reader with the suspicion that he has been conveniently scapegoated. The viewing of Apollonides provides not a determination of identity, but a means of justifying claims about identity made for political purposes.79 The manipulability of Greek identity is revealed all the more starkly when the Greek sight of Greeks is used to bolster appeals to a shared identity outside the ranks of the 10,000, and even across enemy lines. When the Greek Phalinus comes as a messenger from the Persian king to demand that the 10,000 surrender, Clearchus reminds him that the Greek force have seen him, and invites him to look at them in return: ‘I have looked at you with pleasure, Phalinus [ἐγώ σε, ὦ Φαλῖνε, ἄσμενος ἑόρακα], and I think so too have all these others; for you are a Greek just as we are, whose numbers you can see for yourself [σύ τε γὰρ Ἕλλην εἶ καὶ ἡμεῖς τοσοῦτοι ὄντες ὅσους σὺ ὁρᾷς]’ (2.1.16). Clearchus attempts to play on Phalinus’ sense of Greekness, wishing to boost morale in the army by having him advise the Greeks to refuse to give up their arms. The invitation to mutual viewing suggests a relationship of communality; but this suggestion is also undercut by the potentially intimidating reference to the large number (τοσοῦτοι) of Greeks at whom Phalinus is invited to look.

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In attempting to persuade him, Clearchus tells Phalinus that his actions will be reported in Greece (2.1.17) and even imagines how the story of Phalinus might be told should he switch sides (‘Once upon a time Phalinus, when he was sent by the king to order the Greeks to surrender their arms, gave them, when they sought his counsel, the following advice,’ 2.1.17). The proposal of an alternative story of Greek solidarity in adversity functions as metanarrative, and is heavily ironic:80 the fact that the Anabasis is not such a comfortable narrative is paraded all the more starkly. Clearchus’ claim is described as a trick (ὑπήγετο, 2.1.18), as is Phalinus’ response (ὑποστρέψας, 2.1.18), which dresses threat in the language of concerned advice (2.1.19). Clearchus’ invocation of mutual viewing as productive of common bonds is undercut.81

2 c) Xenophon as viewer: individual and collective In this final section we will examine the different perspectives from which we look when we look with the Greek force, in order to consider further the political effects of the text’s interest in the character Xenophon. We have already examined the dynamics of visual perspective in book 1, where shifts between the perspective of Cyrus and the perspective of the Greek army engage the reader in problems of political identification. In the remaining books, we tend to move between the collective experiences ascribed to ‘the Greeks’ as a generalized plural, and the experiences of Xenophon.82 These shifts between collective and elite individual allow the reader different understandings of what ‘Greek’ political experience might constitute. As well as being the story of Greeks abroad, from book 3 onwards the Anabasis is the story of Xenophon. Xenophon becomes the focus of attention at the start of book 3: in book 2, the experiences presented tend to be those of the Greeks as a whole, or sometimes of the soldiers or of the generals and other officers expressed as a collective.83 At the moment when Xenophon is first introduced as a significant character after the murder of the generals, the narrative turns from the emotions of the Greeks en masse, who were ‘unable to sleep for grief and longing for their native states and parents, their wives and children, whom they thought they should never see [ὄψεσθαι] again’ (3.1.3), to recount what Xenophon ‘sees’ in his dream (εἶδεν ὄναρ, 3.1.11), which encourages him to take control of the army.84 The text switches away from recounting the Greeks’ joint experience to focalize its narrative through the experiences of Xenophon. The focus on Xenophon’s perspective throughout the rest of the text invites us to identify with him in the problems that he faces, from his tentative first steps

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towards taking control of the army to his methods of overcoming conflicts and dealing with opposition. However, simultaneously, the text remains a broader narrative of Greek struggle in a foreign land: as well as sometimes being shown the perspectives of other officers, we also continue to be invited to experience events from the position of ‘the Greeks’ as a whole. Importantly, these different ways of experiencing the narrative can have different political implications: as noted in the previous section, Xenophon is frequently shown in competition with or dissension from others, as he attempts to assert his own position or impose his will on the army. Such conflicts and divisions tell against any easy notion of Greek communality or unity offered by the text.85 The famous scene of the viewing of the Black Sea from Mount Theches illustrates some of the effects of the text’s shifts between Xenophon’s perspective and a collective perspective (4.7.20–6). After struggling through hostile country, the Greeks are led by a local guide to a mountain-top from which they will be able to see the sea (ὄψονται θάλατταν, 4.7.20). When they finally arrive, they celebrate, overcome with emotion, famously shouting ‘thalatta, thalatta’ –- ‘the Sea! the Sea!’. The sight signifies the end of their journey in unknown, foreign lands, and their imminent arrival on the borders of the Greek world, the Greek cities of the Black Sea coast. One reading of the scene might be to see it as a self-confident, selfvalidating moment of Greek success. The Greeks have been burning and devastating the land through which they have passed on the instructions of their local guide who belongs to a rival tribe. Their triumphant viewing of the landscape before them instantiates their ability to subdue and traverse it. It brings a moment of certainty and self-assertion: they build a monument, including dedications of captured wicker shields which their guide tells them to cut to pieces, presumably so that they cannot be reused, but also as a sign of conquest (4.7.26).86 The scene could also indicate the social harmony and cohesion of the Greek force. Men of all ranks respond to the view with the same joy: ‘Then they fell to embracing each other, the generals and captains as well, with tears in their eyes’ (4.7.25). The building of the monument seems to be a spontaneous, collective decision, happening without it being clear who has given the order (καὶ ἐξαπίνης ὅτου δὴ παρεγγυήσαντος οἱ στρατιῶται φέρουσι λίθους καὶ ποιοῦσι κολωνὸν μέγαν, 4.7.25).87 Class barriers seem, momentarily, to break down. However, the scene is not straightforward.88 Most obviously, the Greeks’ joy in seeing the Black Sea is a result of their desperation. They see in the view not just success but salvation. A striking element of the description is the level of fear and confusion among those in the Greek army who have not yet seen the view. They do not know why the men ahead of them are shouting and are afraid that they

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are being attacked (4.7.22). The story is told from different positions. We start from the position of Xenophon and the rearguard, who hear the shouting of the men in front but do not know what is going on (4.7.22). Xenophon mounts his horse and goes ahead with the cavalry to find out, and hears the shout of ‘the Sea! the Sea!’ (4.7.24). Depending on the manuscript reading, this could be the first moment when the reader too learns the reason for the excitement: the C1 manuscript, often preferred by editors, omits the explanatory phrase καὶ κατεῖδον τὴν θάλατταν from the sentence which first introduces the story of the strange shouting: ‘When those at the front reached the top of the mountain [and saw the sea], a great shout went up’ (ἐπεὶ δὲ οἱ πρῶτοι ἐγένοντο ἐπὶ τοῦ ὄρους [καὶ κατεῖδον τὴν θάλατταν], κραυγὴ πολλὴ ἐγένετο, 4.7.21).89 On this reading, up until Xenophon and his cavalry hear the famous shout of ‘the Sea! the Sea!’, the text’s audience has no more idea of what is happening than they do. The reader’s perspective is limited to the perspective of Xenophon, who can only see what is happening directly around him.90 But importantly, following this revelation, the narrative shifts away from Xenophon to describe the actions of the army as a whole as they reach the summit, weep, embrace each other and build their monument: ‘Xenophon has merged into the background . . . This is now the troops’ moment, and it is their feelings which are paramount’.91 The focus is not on the view itself: at no point are we given a description of what can be seen from the mountain-top. In fact the passage shows more concern with what Xenophon and his men can hear,92 perhaps because, given the problems of reproducing visual experience in textual form, reading about the shout of ‘the Sea! the Sea!’, and so ‘hearing’ it just as Xenophon hears it, allows the reader to enter more fully into the shock of the experience than reading a description of a view.93 Rather, the text is primarily concerned with the changing social impact of the sight: the panic induced by not being able to see what is happening, and the communal celebration at the revelation of the view. The movement from the one to the other describes Greek insecurity as well as Greek triumph. Similarly, the reader’s initial immersion in the experiences of the leader Xenophon impacts upon our engagement in the image of social egalitarianism which follows. On the top of Theches, we are reading the story of ‘the Greeks’ as a collective – and it is a story of success. But on the way to the summit, it is a different story: an elite individual is concerned about the behaviour of the troops and the threats that they face, and it is his experiences which we are invited to relive. Although we are able to take pleasure in an account of Greek collectivity, to a certain extent we stand outside that experience, as we observe the army from the position of the commander.

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Elsewhere, the text’s accounts of the visual experiences of Xenophon can suggest a mixture of communality and conflict in his relationships with other members of the army. Frequently Xenophon’s experience is juxtaposed with the perspectives of other officers. The Greeks’ escape from Tissaphernes is narrated via what can be seen by two commanders: Cheirisophus, who leads the van, and Xenophon, who leads the rearguard. Cheirisophus sees (ἑώρα, 3.4.38) the enemy ahead, so summons Xenophon to bring the peltasts up from the rear; Xenophon does not do so because he sees Tissaphernes coming into view (ἐπιφαινόμενον γὰρ ἑώρα Τισσαφέρνην, 3.4.38). When he rides forward to ask Cheirisophus why he has been summoned, Cheirisophus points out what can be seen (ἔξεστιν ὁρᾶν, 3.4.39): the enemy are occupying the hill ahead. The problem is resolved as Xenophon sees that the nearby mountain offers a route to approach the occupied hill (ἐνταῦθα Ξενοφῶν ὁρᾷ . . ., 3.4.41). Similar exchanges between Xenophon and Cheirisophus take place in the narrative of the army’s travels in book 4. In the escape from the Carduchians, Cheirisophus refuses Xenophon’s request to wait for the rear. The result is focalized from Xenophon’s position: we are told that it was evident (δῆλον ἦν, 4.1.17) that something was the matter, but that there was no time to go forward to see the reason for the haste (σχολὴ δ’ οὐκ ἦν ἰδεῖν παρελθόντι τὸ αἴτιον τῆς σπουδῆς, 4.1.17).94 When Xenophon reproaches him, Cheirisophus responds, ‘ “Look [βλέψον],” he said, “at the mountains and see [ἰδέ] how impassable all of them are. The only road is that steep one you can see [ἣν ὁρᾷς], and it is possible to see [ὁρᾶν ἔξεστί] on it a great crowd of people who have taken possession of it and are guarding our way out” ’ (4.1.20). The invitation to look stands in for an explanation of his actions. In response, Xenophon produces captured locals whom they question as to whether there is any other road available beyond the one in plain sight (τὴν φανεράν, 4.1.23). Similarly, after crossing the Phasis, Cheirisophus catches sight (κατεῖδε, 4.6.6) of enemies holding the pass ahead, and points this out to the other generals and captains: ‘The enemy, as you see [ὡς ὁρᾶτε], are in possession of the pass over the mountains’ (4.6.7). Xenophon suggests a solution – to get ahead of the enemy and seize a position on the heights – based on what can be seen: ‘This mountain – or the part of it that we see [τὸ ὁρώμενον] – extends over more than sixty stadia, but as for men to guard it against us, none are to be seen [φανεροί] anywhere except on the road above’ (4.6.11). In another sequence, as the army begin their siege of the Taochian stronghold, Cheirisophus explains the situation to Xenophon: ‘The only way of approach is the one that you see’ (μία αὕτη πάροδός ἐστιν ἣν ὁρᾷς, 4.7.4). He points out (ἔδειξε, 4.7.4) men with their legs

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and ribs crushed, in order to explain that the Greeks are prevented from taking this route by Taochians who roll stones at those who try to pass. Xenophon responds by pointing out that once the stones have all been used up they will be safe: ‘There is nothing we can see [ὁρῶμεν] on the other side except a few men yonder, and only two or three of them are armed’ (4.7.5). He notes the extent of the dangerous stretch: ‘As you yourself can see [ὡς καὶ σὺ ὁρᾷς], the distance we must cross under attack is about a plethrum and a half ’ (4.7.6). They therefore institute a plan to get the Taochians to use up their stones without harm to the Greeks. In these exchanges, Xenophon’s and Cheirisophus’s viewing is a harried accounting of threats. Although it is to some extent an empowering activity through the implication of self-reliance and pragmatism as they see both dangers and how to overcome them, their viewing of the foreign environment is not leisured or confident.95 These scenes have been read as emblematic of the 10,000’s ‘mutual defence and cooperation’.96 Xenophon and Cheirisophus are in similar positions, collaborating together as they negotiate their way through hostile terrain: at one point Xenophon describes what they can jointly see (ὁρῶμεν, 4.7.5). However, the splitting of visual experience between the two characters, as one sees one thing and the other sees another, also suggests an incomplete, fragmented experience. Further, as well as cooperation, the commanders’ different accounts of what can be seen suggest a contest for leadership between them, as they each attempt to interpret and take control of the situation. The narrative becomes a narrative of leaders struggling alongside and against each other. Xenophon’s viewing marks both an experience of mutual endeavour and his own distinct position in opposition to others.97 A similar combination of social solidarity and antagonism occurs in scenes where Xenophon’s way of seeing marks his role as a commander who is responsible for his men. When some of the men get into difficulties while attacking a stronghold of the Drilae in search of booty, Xenophon examines the terrain (ἐσκοπεῖτο, 5.2.8) to see whether he can withdraw the troops. While the peltasts and light troops rush to snatch plunder, Xenophon takes his stand at the gates to keep out as many of the hoplites as he can, for the reason that other enemies were coming into view (ἐφαίνοντο, 5.2.16). When he realizes that more men are needed to overcome the enemy in the citadel, he issues a proclamation that anyone who wants plunder should go inside, leading to a rush through the gates, thereby preventing the enemy from coming forth. Xenophon and his captains then survey the scene (ἐσκόπουν, 5.2.20), to see whether it is possible to capture the citadel and secure the safety of the men.

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In such moments, Xenophon is doing his utmost to work for the best interests of his men; but this often involves confronting them, or preventing them from doing what they want. His interests and their interests are shared; but his position is still somewhat separate. We might think of Xenophon’s self-defence on being threatened with execution by the army over the unsatisfactory outcome of his relationship with Seuthes, when Xenophon objects that they are threatening a man who ‘set up with you many trophies of victory over the barbarians and who, in order to prevent your becoming enemies to any one among the Greeks, has exerted himself to the very utmost of his power in opposition to you’ (7.6.36). Xenophon appeals to their shared identity as Greeks, but his role in sustaining this identity is predicated on conflict and antagonism. This tension appears at Cotyora, when Xenophon’s surveying of the army’s potential to become a successful city enacts both a desire for Greek empowerment and his own power over the army: At this time, as Xenophon saw [ὁρῶντι μὲν] a great body of Greek hoplites, and likewise saw [ὁρῶντι δὲ] a great body of peltasts, bowmen, slingers and horsemen, all of them now exceedingly efficient through constant service and all there in Pontus where so large a force could not have been gathered by any slight outlay of money, it seemed to him that it was a fine thing to gain additional territory and power for Greece by founding a city [χώραν καὶ δύναμιν τῇ Ἑλλάδι προσκτήσασθαι πόλιν κατοικίσαντας]. (5.6.15)

The suggestion that founding a city would increase the power of Greece (δύναμιν τῇ Ἑλλάδι προσκτήσασθαι, 5.6.15) frames Xenophon’s plan as offering communal benefits for all Greeks. The passage has been discussed in terms of its Panhellenic resonances. The unusual concept of founding a city not for any mother city or ethnos but for Greece as a whole ‘aligns this passage with the views of those best represented by Isocrates who argued that complete panhellenic victory entailed not just the defeat of the Persians but also the colonization of their land by Greek mercenaries’.98 Yet this suggestion of a unified Greek perspective is immediately undercut. When the men discover Xenophon’s thoughts, it sparks dissension: the majority oppose him (τοῖς μὲν ἐδόκει βέλτιστον εἶναι καταμεῖναι, τοῖς δὲ πολλοῖς οὔ, 5.6.19), introducing a series of violent conflicts between Xenophon and the troops which continues throughout the rest of the text. As Xenophon gazes at the army, and sees its colonial potential, the reader is invited to look through his eyes; but we are also made aware that his gaze enacts a specific position, which stands in opposition to the majority of the Greeks.99 The passage highlights the problematic position of Xenophon in

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relation to the army. His look expresses a ‘Greek’ perspective, but we are shown that it is not the only Greek perspective.100 As we identify with him in his aspirations for Greek strength and success, we are simultaneously aware of a sense of dislocation within the Greek force, as notions of Greek unity and identity are both asserted and come under strain. Although we might be carried along by our concern for Xenophon, identification with him cannot quite stand in for or become equivalent to our wider identification with the collective Greek force as Greeks. There is, on occasion, a gap between Xenophon’s story and the wider Greek story: although Xenophon works for and is part of the Greek army, he is also separate from it. The narrative focus on Xenophon allows reflection on the place of the elite individual in Greek society. His story of leadership of Greeks is a story of conflicts and difficulties, suggesting the problems of Greek community. The text’s interweaving of Xenophon’s visual perspective with the perspectives of others or with the Greeks as a collective allows the reader to identify with the Greek leader against the mass of soldiers that he controls, and also to identify with the larger army as ‘Greeks’. By inviting us to consider how far these perspectives do or do not align, the text indicates the contradictions between class identity and concepts of Greek community.

Conclusion We have explored the different ways of viewing and experiencing Greek travel in Asia offered to the reader. As we have seen, a range of experiences is available via the experiences of the text’s protagonists. The Greek viewing of the Asian environment can be self-affirmatory: Asia can be imagined as open to exploitation and conquest. However, Greek visions of the foreign can also produce insecurity: the text sometimes suggests a less confident vision of the Greek place in Asia. The coexistence of these ways of thinking can be understood as reflecting a context both of recent Spartan expeditions to capture Asian Greek cities from Persia and of continuing interventions of Persian power in Greek affairs. The reading experience also poses political problems in the representation of nonGreek viewers. The introduction of non-Greek perspectives invites the reader to look at the Greeks in new, potentially challenging, ways. We are invited to identify with Cyrus as elite commander, but also with the 10,000 as ‘Greeks’, despite the frequent oppositions between them, suggesting a conflict between ethnic and class affiliation.

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Similarly, Greek views of each other can suggest community solidarity, but can also suggest alienation. When Greeks view other Greeks, the reader’s identification with the text’s Greek protagonists is challenged through the involvement of viewing in divisions among the 10,000 on ethnic and class lines and in conflicts between leaders and men. The attempt to foster a shared identity through sight is manipulated in the domination of the Greeks by their commanders and in political struggles between Greeks. The text offers the possibility of experiencing in different, often contradictory ways, involving us in divergences and conflicts among the Greek force. Our identification with both Xenophon as commander and with the 10,000 as a collective, despite the potential gap between leader and army, suggests the conflicts within elite Greek identity as both leaders of the community and separate from it. The Anabasis has been read as celebrating collective Greek achievements over barbarians, and even as promoting a united Greek attack on Persia. In contrast, it has been read as indicating the dislocation of Greek identity in the fourth century bce . Building on these accounts, this discussion would suggest both a triumphal, self-confident model of Greekness, and also its fracture, as the problem of being Greek in a foreign land is explored. By allowing the reader to experience travel in Asia vicariously through the eyes of the 10,000, but also to view the 10,000 critically from the perspective of an inside observer and through the eyes of others, the Anabasis engages the reader in testing out the implications of Panhellenist thought. It reveals not only the possibilities offered by unified Greek action, but also its limitations, showing the tendency for Greek identity to fragment and for claims about Greek identity to be put to work in political manoeuvring. The Anabasis is therefore highly revealing for the history of Greek self-consciousness in the early fourth century bce .

5

Cyropaedia: Imperial Fantasy and Danger

The Cyropaedia offers a sustained focus on viewing and its political consequences in its narrativization of the origins of Persian imperialism under Cyrus the Great.1 The act of display and the manipulation of viewers’ responses are shown as fundamental to Cyrus’ success, whether in winning the obedience of his men, gaining an advantage over the enemy, or establishing an uncontested power base in the imperial centre. Importantly, the text offers a variety of different responses to sights. A range of problems are faced by viewers, and sights are seen from different perspectives. As the text offers the sight of the gorgeous wealth to be won in imperial endeavour and stages alluring spectacles of imperial power, the act of viewing becomes an arena for exploring the processes and impact of Persian imperialism. Such scenes invite the reader’s self-conscious reflection on their own relationship to imperial conquest and to Persia. A complex and contradictory relationship to Persian imperialism is offered by the text.2 The Cyropaedia stresses Cyrus’ military ability and strategic insight, offering detailed accounts of his methods for the reader’s edification, and reveals his charm and cunning as he overcomes obstacles and builds his army by winning the various peoples he encounters over to his side. He is an appealing figure: as we witness the unfolding progress of his achievements, the reader is invited to root for him in his struggles and to take pleasure in his successes. We cannot help but be impressed as he traverses Asia and one by one overcomes his foreign opponents, offering terrifying shows of military strength to his enemies, persuasive displays to potential subjects and disarming demonstrations of his virtues to his followers. Just as Cyrus wins over his subjects, so too we may be won over and persuaded by his charismatic persona and by the breadth of his achievement. However, in many ways the reader is also distanced from Cyrus and his actions. Some of the modes of presentation of Cyrus and the Persians seem contradictory. The text frames Cyrus as an appealing model of moderation, generosity and piety, who inspires love and loyalty in his men, but it also shows 117

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him as a ruthless master of manipulation, who will deceive and push aside others to get what he wants. The text depicts some unexpected apparent shifts in his values: whereas earlier in the text he refuses costly garments or the use of luxurious or false appearances as the basis for his rule over others (2.4.1–6), by the time that he establishes himself in Babylon he has adopted them (8.1.40–1). Similarly, despite the repeated focus on his and the Persians’ superior abilities and virtues, which calls on the reader imaginatively to align themselves with the Persian campaign, the text closes with a rebuttal of its earlier suggestion of Persian virtues to offer a sustained condemnation of contemporary Persia as a corrupt society and a despotic imperial power (8.8). Scholarly responses to the Cyropaedia have tended to downplay the contradictory aspects of the text’s presentation of Cyrus and the Persians. The majority of interpreters have found ways of explaining away or accommodating them, for example by suggesting that manipulative or deceptive tactics are necessary in ruling an empire,3 or by suggesting that the focus on the contemporary degeneration of Persia in the text’s epilogue throws into greater relief the superior achievement of Cyrus.4 An alternative reading has, on the other hand, privileged the negative aspects of the text’s portrayal, seeing the text as an ironic critique of Cyrus and Persian imperialism aimed at revealing Cyrus’ failure at just rule.5 In contrast, this chapter will argue that the contradictions in the Cyropaedia’s presentation of Cyrus and his rule need to be taken seriously as a key aspect of the reading experience.6 As we shall see, these contradictions reflect and produce contradictions in Greek ideology in relation to imperialism and in relation to Persia and Asia more widely. Identification with the campaigns of Cyrus poses some problems. The narrative of the Cyropaedia recounts the origins of that empire which incorporated Asian Greeks, attempted to subjugate the mainland, and would continue to pose a threat to Greek interests into the reader’s own time.7 Greeks appear in the narrative in reference to the opponents whom Cyrus faces in battle or the conquered peoples whom he must control after his successful achievement of empire (1.1.4, 6.2.10, 6.3.11, 7.4.9).8 Frequent ethnographic asides, explaining Persian customs to the reader, intervene in the narrative, reminding the reader of their cultural difference from the text’s protagonists (discussed below). Occasionally, the language of barbarians intrudes to describe the Persian forces, for example in the account of Cyrus’ treatment of the Asian Greeks after their conquest: ‘The Greeks who dwelt by the sea gave many gifts and secured an agreement to the effect that while they should not receive the barbarians [βαρβάρους] within their walls, they would yet pay tribute and serve under him

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in the field wherever Cyrus should direct’ (7.4.9).9 The reader is reminded that, as a Greek, this story is not theirs.10 Similarly, frequent aetiological asides, explaining how actions in the narrative mark the origins of customs still seen today, link the past of Cyrus with the Persian present.11 Explicit statements of the relationship between Cyrus’ achievements and contemporary Persian imperialism politicize the narrative: ‘The institutions which Cyrus inaugurated as a means of securing the kingdom permanently to himself and the Persians, as has been set forth in the foregoing narrative, these the succeeding kings have preserved unchanged even to this day’ (8.1.7). The repeated ties between the narrative time and the present ensure that the status of the narrative as an account of the origins of contemporary Persian power remains in the reader’s mind. In the context of the Greek experience of both Athenian and Persian imperialism in the fifth century bce and the competing Greek imperialisms of the early fourth century bce , a narrative of the development of Persian imperialism could both appeal and disturb. After the fall of the first Athenian Empire, Sparta asserted its dominance over other Greek states and fought the Persians for control of the Asian Greek cities, but itself was challenged by a resurgent Athens and an increasingly powerful Thebes; and the threat of Persian power continued, in the light of Persian interventions in the Ionian War and the King’s Peace, to influence Greek affairs. Depending on their city state identity and the period, it was possible for Greeks to think of themselves, in turn or simultaneously, as instigators and beneficiaries of empire, and as victims of the hegemony of others. In inviting an engagement in Cyrus’ narrative of military endeavour, the text offers an ideologically attractive literary participation in the conquest of Asia.12 To identify with the imperialist and imaginatively inhabit the political role of Cyrus is appealing to an elite Greek sensibility which values military virtues and effective command. Such a reading experience allows the Greek reader to conceptualize the Greek role in the world in terms of the domination and control of others. As one of the most successful conquerors in their known history, Cyrus the Great offers a powerful and seductive model for admiration and imaginative emulation. However, although the narrativization of the processes of imperial expansion encourages identification with the centre of imperial power, the text allows awareness that Greeks are not the beneficiaries of this narrative, but in fact might have more in common with the various peoples whom Cyrus subjects over the course of the text. While calling on the reader’s engagement in Cyrus’ story, the text is inflected with the potential for a different

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way of conceptualizing what it might mean to be Greek in this period: an awareness that Greeks have risked and continue to risk being subject to the depredations of others (and each other). Identification with the Cyrus narrative offers a comforting way of thinking about the Greek role in the world, but could be disturbed or undercut by an understanding that Greeks did not always occupy such a dominant political role, both in relation to other Greeks and in relation to Persia. Such a context for reading helps explain the contradictory attitudes towards imperialism that are fostered by the text. Imperial conquest can be figured as the rightful achievement of a truly successful and superior people and leader, and can also be presented as the unjust ill-treatment of others.13 Near the beginning of the text Cyrus as a child narrates how he was taught by his teacher the solution to a philosophical-juridical conundrum regarding the nature of justice, which, in the context of the later narrative, seems to address the question of imperialism: The case was like this: a big boy with a little tunic, finding a little boy with a big tunic on, took it off him and put his own tunic on him, while he himself put on the other’s. So, when I tried their case, I decided that it was better for them both that each should keep the tunic that fitted him. And thereupon the master flogged me, saying that when I was a judge of a good fit, I should do as I had done; but when it was my duty to decide whose tunic it was, I had this question, he said, to consider ‒ whose title was the rightful [δικαία] one; whether it was right that he who took it away by force should keep it, or that he who had had it made for himself or had bought it should own it. And since, he said, what is lawful is right [τὸ μὲν νόμιμον δίκαιον εἶναι] and what is unlawful is wrong, he bade the judge always render his verdict on the side of the law [σὺν τῷ νόμῳ]. (1.3.17)

In this hypothetical case, both solutions strike the reader as plausible and reasonable. Although we are steered by the teacher’s intervention to accept that justice requires the original owner to keep what he has and to reject the use of force in expropriation, Cyrus’ initial contrary response seems understandable.14 Indeed, later in the text, following his successful conquest, Cyrus seems to endorse a version of his initial childhood judgement in a speech to his men: Friends and allies, thanks be above all to the gods that they have vouchsafed to us to obtain all that we thought we deserved. For now we are in possession of broad and fertile lands and of subjects to support us by tilling them; we have houses also and furniture in them. And let not one of you think that in having these things he has what does not belong to him; for it is a law [νόμος] established

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for all time among all men that when a city is taken in war, the persons and the property of the inhabitants thereof belong to the captors. It will, therefore, be no injustice [ἀδικίᾳ] for you to keep what you have, but if you let them keep anything, it will be only out of generosity that you do not take it away. (7.5.72–3)

It is possible for the reader to accommodate both ways of thinking; the Greek reader is invited to accept the teacher’s analysis and understand the injustice faced by the small boy, but, through the pleasures of engagement in the narrative of Cyrus’ success, is also invited to endorse the logic of the conqueror. Similarly, the representation of the impact of Cyrus’ conquests on those he subjugates seems to allow for and invite contrary ways of thinking. Whereas the text sometimes depicts the joyful and grateful reception of Cyrus by those he conquers (for example in the Armenian narrative (3.1.41–2, 3.2.15–16, 3.3.2–4) or the discussion of the incorporation of the Carians (7.4.3–7)), the text does not shy away from revealing the terrifying violence wreaked by his army, whether the destruction in battle (7.1.31, 35) or the slaying of those who do not submit (4.4.6).15 Such depictions can be understood as indicating the prowess and efficiency of the successful general. Nevertheless, there is room for empathy with the slain: the narrative of the sacking of Babylon might recall the sack of Troy in its focus on the panic of the helpless inhabitants, the burning of their homes and the failed attempts of the king and his attendants to escape (7.5.20–30). The Cyropaedia explores the pleasures, problems and contradictions involved in identification with Cyrus – and in doing so involves the reader in reflecting on the problems of Greek self-consciousness. We are both drawn to Cyrus and his achievements and alienated from them, just as we are allowed to empathize with but also distance ourselves from the various non-Greek protagonists of different ethnicities encountered and subjugated by Cyrus on his journey of imperial expansion. The reader’s contradictory self-positioning in relation to Cyrus and his imperial subjects is addressed in the text’s scenes of viewing and spectacle. As we shall see, these scenes pull the reader in different directions. The narrativization of Cyrus’ gaze at peoples and lands to be conquered places the reader in the confident position of the imperialist. However, as well as looking through Cyrus’ eyes, the text allows us to look back at Cyrus through the eyes of his newly conquered subjects.16 Frequently viewers look at and acknowledge the superiority of Cyrus and the Persians and are won over to his cause, becoming his loyal followers; the text’s display of Cyrus’ Persian virtues similarly persuades and charms the reader, encouraging identification with him. However, the reader also witnesses Cyrus’

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careful use of manipulation in staging alluring, intimidating or persuasive displays. We view and are won over by Cyrus’ spectacle, but are also shown how in being so won over, we are placed in the position of the foreign peoples whom Cyrus would subjugate. Although Cyrus’ viewers eventually give in before his overwhelming displays, some show initial resistance, offering alternative ways of interpreting Cyrus’ actions. Cyrus’ spectacles are complicated by their appeal to a specific set of cultural values, which are encoded as Persian, and to whose superiority Cyrus’ viewers must assent, but from which they are often alienated due to their own, different cultural expectations as non-Persians. As Cyrus’ nonPersian viewers gaze at and respond to his spectacles, the text stages a conflict of values against which the Greek reader must position themselves. Such positioning is not easy, however: aspects both of Cyrus’ Persian values and of the values of his foreign viewers, such as Medes or Assyrians, simultaneously appeal to and alienate the Greek reader. Identification with the different ways of viewing on offer also draws the reader into some of the contradictions of Greek thought in relation to imperialism. Through our identification with Cyrus’ imperial venture, the text invites pleasurable immersion in a fantasy of desire for the exotic spoils of empire, but Cyrus also models a self-controlled rejection of luxurious gain and indulgence. The following discussion will be divided into two sections. In the first section (‘Cyrus, viewer and viewed’), we will open with a discussion of an early sequence from Cyrus’ childhood adventures in Media, which programmatically establishes some of the problems posed by Cyrus’ depiction both as a viewer and as an object of spectacle (section 1 a). We will go on to examine the different positions in which Cyrus’ gaze and others’ gaze at Cyrus place the reader, examining (section 1 b) the depiction of Cyrus as a viewer, (section 1 c (1)) the account of Cyrus’ use of manipulative display, and (section 1 c (2)) the account of Cyrus’ visually stunning erotic allure in the context of the depiction of the allurements of the erotic spoils of conquest. Section 2 (‘Responses to power’) will address a series of scenes in which Cyrus presents a display in order to overwhelm and win the acquiescence of those who will become his subjects. In these encounters, viewing is marked as cross-cultural: Cyrus’ non-Persian viewers, and the reader, must negotiate his displays of cultural difference in order to position themselves against and respond to Cyrus. Again, we open this section with a discussion of an early programmatic scene from Cyrus’ childhood, his grandfather Astyages’ self-display in Media, in which Cyrus, as a Persian viewer, has to deal with Median difference (section 2 a). We will move on to examine Cyrus’ display to his Median uncle Cyaxares (section 2 b), Cyrus’ display to his newly acquired

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Assyrian ally Gobryas (section 2 c) and Cyrus’ great procession in Babylon (section 2 d). In these scenes, Cyrus’ viewers are persuaded of his superiority and acquiesce to his control; but their complex reactions also offer the possibility of alternative ways of responding to Cyrus and Persian power. Through the dramatization of the act of cross-cultural interpretation, in which the reader too must be involved, the reader is made self-conscious about these contradictions.

1. Cyrus, viewer and viewed 1 a) A programmatic sequence: Cyrus’ youth The early scenes of Cyrus’ childhood experiences in Media are programmatic for the text.17 In Media we are shown Cyrus’ first experience of hunting, which is described elsewhere in book 1 as a way of preparing youths for warfare (1.2.10; 1.6.28, 39–40), as well as his first battle; these scenes introduce Cyrus as a military figure. The Median hunting and fighting sequences (1.4) reveal Cyrus’ astonishing ability, courage and enthusiasm for these elite masculine pursuits; but they also show a reckless desire for more, a precocious and manipulative ability to get what he wants, and a disturbingly immoderate fervour for conquest.18 This contradictory presentation encapsulates the later contradictions of Cyrus’ representation as imperial conqueror: as a figure who invites admiration for, identification with and pleasure in his virtues and achievements, but whose drive towards conquest may also alienate and disturb. The contradictions of Cyrus’ behaviour are articulated in the repeated acts of gazing and display which structure these scenes. Cyrus is allowed to attend his first hunt only as long as he listens to his elders and is careful, but as soon as he sees (ὡς δὲ εἶδεν, 1.4.8) a deer he forgets everything he has been told and rushes after it, seeing nothing but the direction in which it fled (οὐδὲν ἄλλο ὁρῶν ἢ ὅπῃ ἔφευγε, 1.4.8). When warned that his grandfather will be angry, Cyrus nevertheless insists that he show the slain game to his grandfather: ‘As for the hunting spears, though he did not display [ἐπεδείκνυ] them to him, he laid them down all blood-stained where he thought his grandfather would see them [ὅπου ᾤετο τὸν πάππον ὄψεσθαι]’ (1.4.10). When Cyrus suggests that his friends accompany him on another hunt and they ask him to approach Astyages about it, Cyrus admits that he does not even dare look Astyages in the face (ἀναβλέπειν, 1.4.12), at which point the friends make clear that, if so, he will lose all influence with them; so he overcomes his reticence and persuades Astyages. On the

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ensuing hunt, Astyages gazes (ἐθεᾶτο, 1.4.15) at Cyrus’ exploits, taking pleasure (ἥδετο; αὐτὸν ὁρῶν ηὐφραίνετο; ἥσθη, 1.4.15) in witnessing his enthusiasm. These moments of viewing and display operate in different ways. Cyrus’ exploits on the hunt transform him into an impressive spectacle of manly achievement; like Astyages, the reader may feel pleasure in witnessing Cyrus’ actions, which encode class and gender values. Yet Cyrus is also shown as deliberately contriving an impressive visual effect, as he cleverly ensures that the signs of his achievement, the bloodied spears, are seen, without making his contrivance obvious. This suggests that the manipulations behind display need to be concealed for the display to be effective; yet unlike the internal audience, we as readers are made privy to Cyrus’ designs. Cyrus’ position as a viewer also receives attention. Cyrus discovers that a reticence which prevents him from looking at his grandfather (1.4.12) would articulate a lack of social power and curtail his influence over others; the verb βλέπω (with various prepositional prefixes) describes different forms of socially meaningful look in Xenophon.19 Cyrus overcomes this. A confident gaze is suggested as necessary for the expression of status and self-assertion. However, Cyrus is also shown as not fully in control in another way: at the sight of fleeing game he loses all self-control and is able to think only of pursuit and conquest.20 This same problem arises again in the subsequent scene of the skirmish with the Assyrian prince. In the aftermath, as the rest of Cyrus’ contingent make their way home, Cyrus ‘did nothing but ride around alone and gaze [ἐθεᾶτο] upon the slain, and only with difficulty did those who were detailed to do so succeed in dragging him away’ (1.4.24).21 Cyrus’ behaviour in the battle is both impressive and troubling; it is described through the language of astonishment and wonder (θαῦμα).22 Cyrus appears at the battle in very beautiful armour (1.4.18), but without permission; Astyages ‘wondered [ἐθαύμασε] at whose order he had come, but nevertheless told the lad to come and stay by his side’ (1.4.18). Despite his lack of experience, Cyrus makes a suggestion as to strategy which Astyages adopts (‘[Astyages] wondered [θαυμάζων] that he was so shrewd and wide-awake’, 1.4.20). Cyrus takes the lead: ‘As a well-bred but untrained hound rushes recklessly upon a boar, so Cyrus rushed on, with eyes only [μόνον ὁρῶν] for striking down everyone he overtook, and reckless of anything else’ (1.4.21). Cyrus’ attack encourages the Medes to successfully put the enemy to flight (1.4.22–3). θαυμάζω and its cognates can imply not just curiosity, but awe.23 This language frequently appears in Herodotus’ ethnography to refer to the wonders to be found in foreign lands; it has been described as part of a ‘rhetoric of otherness’.24

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In Homer the term θαῦμα, especially in the phrase θαῦμα ἰδέσθαι, can describe something that is divine, yet which is not entirely separate from the human world: ‘the thauma idesthai is lodged squarely between the loci of the gods and humans’.25 In the Cyropaedia, the θαῦμα that Cyrus provokes can suggest both alienation and admiration. The actions of Cyrus arouse a contradictory response: ‘Astyages marched back, greatly rejoicing over the victory of his cavalry, but not knowing what to say of Cyrus; for though he realized that his grandson was responsible for the outcome, yet he recognized that he was frenzied with daring’ (1.4.24).26 In particular, Astyages shows anger at Cyrus’ gaze (ἐπὶ τῇ θέᾳ, 1.4.24) at enemy corpses. Astyages’ uncertain attitude towards Cyrus reveals the contradictory nature of Cyrus’ effect: ‘While Astyages had esteemed him before, now he was astonished beyond measure [ὑπερεξεπέπληκτο] at him’ (1.4.25). The verb ὑπερεκπλήσσω can suggest fear as well as amazement. We can compare the use of the closely related verb καταπλήσσω in the text’s proem: ‘[Cyrus] was able to cover so vast a region with the fear that he inspired that he terrified / astonished [καταπλῆξαι] everyone, and no one tried to withstand him’ (1.1.5). Astyages’ ambiguous response positions him as an amazed and gratified beneficiary of Cyrus’ militarism, but also aligns him with those who will become Cyrus’ subjects, stunned into acceptance and compliance.27 The Median acquiescence to Cyrus’ self-assertive behaviour is prescient. Later in the text the Medes become the first non-Persian people to succumb to Cyrus’ imperial leadership, a development hinted at as Cyrus’ uncle Cyaxares gives in to Cyrus’ nagging demands to show off to his grandfather the game that he has hunted in disobedience to instruction: ‘Finally Cyaxares said, though with reluctance, “Do as you wish; for it now looks as if it were you who are our king” ’ (1.4.9).28 Appearing in beautiful armour, Cyrus shows an uncanny military ability and extraordinary courage, and brings victory. But he is also excessive in his passion for battle. His spectacular military virtues invite the reader’s admiration and identification, but Cyrus is simultaneously introduced as a figure who might go too far. As we have seen in Chapter 2, in Xenophon a pleasurable, enraptured gaze at ideologically significant, normative forms of spectacle, such as the hunt (Cyn. 5.33) or military endeavour (Oec. 8.6), can be understood as constructing the class status of the male elite viewer, but a lack of control over the gaze can simultaneously be understood to threaten the elite viewer’s social dominance by suggesting a potential to be controlled by outside influences. Whereas to look with pleasure at the sights of victory might encode the status of the victor, to be unable to resist those pleasures marks a disturbing lack of self-control which

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might undermine that position. We have also seen in our discussion of Thucydides how being swayed emotionally by an overpowering sight can be understood to impair the critical judgement of a decision-making audience; and in our discussion of the voyeurism of Gyges (Hdt. 1.8–12; see also below for further discussion), we have noted that, in Herodotus, to indulge in the gaze without respect for proper limits can lead to the viewer’s undoing, especially in the context of the rise and fall of imperial power, where the enjoyment of success may tip into an abuse of power. In the depiction of Cyrus’ enraptured gaze, the exact causes of Astyages’ disquiet are left unclear: Cyrus’ excessiveness may suggest the potential risks of conquest for the victor, but (on a more Herodotean reading) may additionally hint that he poses a danger to others, as his desire for conquest knows no proper bounds. The text stages and constructs the ideological appeal of the desire for conquest, but it also shows how such a desire needs to be carefully contained. In the description of the responses of the Medes, we are also shown how Cyrus’ extraordinary ability and stunning self-display produces his leadership through overwhelming others into compliance. As we shall see, the various concerns raised by the representation of viewing and display in this sequence are taken up again as part of the narrative of Cyrus’ imperial expansion. A key question posed by this early sequence is how far – and with what implications – the reader is able to identify with Cyrus. In the following sections we will first consider this question in relation to Cyrus’ depiction as a viewer of sights (section 1 b) and then examine the text’s presentation of his visual effect (section 1 c).

1 b) Cyrus as viewer The narrative of imperial expansion and conquest is narrated via the visual perspective of Cyrus and his army, offering the reader a vicarious experience of the empowered position of a conqueror. After the conquest of Armenia, Cyrus rides around and inspects the country (περιελαύνων τὴν χώραν κατεθεᾶτο, 3.2.1). On asking Tigranes to point out (ἐδείκνυ, 3.2.1) the mountains from which the Chaldaeans make forays, on looking (σκοπῶν, 3.2.2) he notices that the land around is uncultivated, and so directs his followers to take control of the mountains (‘My friends, these mountains which we see [ὁρῶμεν] belong to Chaldaea’, 3.2.4). Once in possession of the heights, Cyrus and his men look down from above (καθεώρων, 3.2.10) on the dwellings of the Chaldaeans and on the people fleeing their homes. Here Cyrus’ viewing is the direct expression of

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his power as conqueror. The reader who experiences Armenia and Chaldaea through his eyes is not only invited to perceive these lands as potential conquests, but is placed in the self-affirming position of the victor, inhabiting the experience of power over others. The text also frequently describes Cyrus’ viewing as a means of controlling subordinates. While on the march, Cyrus surveys (κατεθεᾶτο, 5.3.55) the ranks, praising those whom he sees (ἴδοι, 5.3.55) in good order, and quieting disorder; he likewise co-opts the gaze of his men for use against each other, encouraging the officers of the rearguard of the importance of their role in that they can keep an eye on those in front: ‘You who are in the back, by watching [ἐφορῶντες] and encouraging the good, could make them still better, and, if anyone should be slack, and you should see [ὁρῶντες] it, you would not allow it’ (3.3.41).29 He scrutinizes and regulates those wounded in battle: Cyrus praises Chrysantas, the captain who was nearest to him and whose actions he knows about without the need for investigation (4.1.3), but he declares his intention to examine the actions of the others: ‘I see [ὁρῶ] others who have been wounded; when I have looked into [σκεψάμενος] the moment of the engagement at which they received their wounds, I will then express my opinion concerning them’ (4.1.4). The successful commander is imagined as viewing his men as a harmonious spectacle of obedience: Cambyses assures Cyrus that if he holds contests among his men, ‘you will gaze upon the ranks always performing their proper parts, just like those in a chorus’ (ὥσπερ χοροὺς τὰς τάξεις ἀεὶ τὰ προσήκοντα μελετώσας θεάσῃ, 1.6.18). Indeed, Cyrus indicates his pleasure in looking at his well-ordered troops: ‘As he passed between the lines of chariots and heavy-armed infantry and looked at [προσβλέψειε] some of those in the lines, he would say, “What a pleasure it is, my friends, to gaze upon [θεάσασθαι] your faces” ’ (7.1.10). Once installed in Babylon ‘Cyrus creates a “panoptic” state’.30 He uses spies, ‘the King’s Eyes’ and ‘the King’s Ears’, who extend the reach of his vision (and hearing) to all spaces of the city:31 since the spies are believed to be everywhere, ‘everyone conducted himself at all times just as if those who were present were all the Eyes and Ears of the king’ (8.2.12). In Babylon, viewing becomes the direct application of Cyrus’ rule: ‘he regarded the good ruler as a law that looks [βλέποντα νόμον] at men, because he is able not only to give commandments but to see [ὁρᾶν] the transgressor and punish him’ (8.1.22).32 An assertive gaze becomes a strategy of control. For the reader as vicarious viewer, Cyrus’ ability confidently to survey the sights of the text is offered as a paradigm of political and military success, autonomy and self-determination.

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However, while the text engages the reader in Cyrus’ visual perspective, at some moments it also reveals the troubling consequences of Cyrus’ imperialist venture in the reader’s present. As Cyrus’ forces advance towards battle with the Assyrians, his scouts ‘thought they saw [ὁρᾶν] men getting fodder and fuel on the plain; and they also saw [ἑώρων] beasts of burden, some loaded with other supplies of that sort and others grazing. Then, as they looked further on in the distance [τὰ πρόσω αὖ ἀφορῶντες], they thought that they detected smoke or a cloud of dust rising up’ (6.3.5). These signs are interpreted to suggest that the enemy is near. As in the Anabasis, the reader finds out about the approaching enemy as Cyrus’ forces do; we experience the patchwork of sights through their eyes. In the battle itself we are shown the battlefield through Cyrus’ eyes after he ascends a tower to spy out (κατασκέψασθαι, 7.1.39) the condition of the enemy forces: He looked down upon the field full of horses and men and chariots, some fleeing, some pursuing, some victorious, others vanquished [κατεῖδε μεστὸν τὸ πεδίον ἵππων, ἀνθρώπων, ἀρμάτων, φευγόντων, διωκόντων, κρατούντων, κρατουμένων]; but nowhere could he see [κατιδεῖν] any division that was still standing its ground, except that of the Egyptians; and they, since they were in a desperate condition, formed in a complete circle and crouched behind their shields, so that only their weapons were visible [ὁρᾶσθαι]. (7.1.40)

The asyndeton in the list of groups and actions and the sequence of opposites in the list of participles gives a vivid impression of the battlefield, suggesting the fast-paced, tumultuous action below, but also the emotive experience of watching it and the rapid movement of Cyrus’ focus from one sight to another.33 By being allowed to experience the battle from Cyrus’ visual perspective we are invited to take satisfaction in witnessing the chaos and desperation of his opponents. However, in the immediate aftermath of the battle a description of its results reminds the reader that Cyrus’ actions are not historically in their interests. Cyrus takes the Egyptians as subjects and settles them in cities which ‘even to this day are called Egyptians cities’ and where ‘their descendants dwell even to this day’ (7.1.45); since Cyrus’ provision for the Persian cavalry was successful, this equipment continues in use ‘even to this day’ (7.1.46); since the scythe-bearing chariots were a success, ‘this military device has also been retained even to this day by each successive king’ (7.1.47); but since the cavalry of camels was not effective, ‘they have again taken their proper position and do service among the pack-animals’ (7.1.48). The present-tense descriptions of current Persian military practice reveal a direct line between the narrative of Cyrus’ endeavours and the present day military supremacy of Persia.

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1 c) Cyrus as spectacle In addition to his representation as a viewer, Cyrus and his men are also presented as impressive spectacles of elite masculine endeavour. When they arm for battle with the Assyrians, ‘the whole army flashed with bronze and was resplendent in purple’ (6.4.1); and as they enter the battle the text describes the beautiful arms of Cyrus’ retinue (‘purple tunics, bronze corselets, bronze helmets with white plumes, sabres . . .’, 7.1.2) and the outstandingly beautiful appearance of Cyrus himself (‘while the [others’ arms] were overlaid with the ordinary gold colour, Cyrus’ arms flashed like a mirror’, 7.1.2).34 Because of his successful exploits Cyrus is described as being in a position, on his return to Persia, of being gazed at from all sides (περίβλεπτον, 6.1.5).35 Cyrus’ followers too become touched by the glamour of imperial conquest. After the Median and Hyrcanian cavalry return from gathering booty, Cyrus claims, ‘It is quite evident [δῆλοι] that you have conducted yourself as brave men; for you appear taller and handsomer and more formidable to look at than before’ (μείζους φαίνεσθε καὶ καλλίους καὶ γοργότεροι ἢ πρόσθεν ἰδεῖν, 4.4.3). The adjective γοργότερος, from γοργός, meaning ‘like the Gorgon’, suggests the potentially dangerous power of their stunning visual effect.36 The spectacle of imperial endeavour draws the reader’s admiring gaze. However, the reader’s experience of viewing Cyrus and his army is complicated in two ways. Firstly (section 1 c (1)) Cyrus is presented as deliberately manipulating his visual effect so as to gain an advantage over others. Secondly (section 1 c (2)) Cyrus’ stunning visual effect is problematized by discussions of the disempowering impact of alluring sights on the viewer.

1 c (1) Manipulation Discussions of the use of the visual in army manoeuvres structure the narrative of Cyrus’ military achievements. As Cyrus advances for the first time into Assyria, he never lights fires in camp, but keeps fires burning in front of the camp, ‘in order that if anyone approached in the dark, they might see him by the light of the fire, but not be seen’ (3.3.25), and he places fires at the rear of the camp to deceive the enemy into mistaking the camp’s orientation (3.3.25).37 Whereas the Assyrians encamp open to view, Cyrus keeps out of sight, ‘for he thought that if all one’s equipment for war flashes suddenly into view, it inspires more terror in the enemy’ (3.3.28). The strategic importance of the visual is apparent in a series of dialogues in which the tactics of visual effect are debated. In each exchange, Cyrus disagrees

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with his interlocutor to prove that he has a superior understanding of this technique. On the approach to an Assyrian fort, whereas Cyaxares proposes marching up to the walls so that ‘the enemy, seeing our daring, will be more frightened’ (3.3.30), Cyrus counters that if the enemy are able to look out from their fortifications knowing that they are secure, they will ‘see that our numbers are inferior to their own and despise us’ (3.3.31). Cyrus argues that remaining unseen is preferable, as it will cause anxiety in the enemy (3.3.32). However, on the approach to Babylon, whereas Gobryas assumes that they should avoid being observed since their small numbers are already rumoured among the enemy, Cyrus argues that if they remain out of sight the enemy will think that they are afraid (5.2.32). He claims that ‘we could in no possible way appear [φανείημεν] more formidable [γοργότεροι] to them than by marching upon them’ (5.2.37; note again the use of the term γοργός, Gorgon-like). However, when subsequently marching by Babylon, Cyrus does not want his army to be seen at close quarters. The discrepancy between these positions is flagged as the previous conversation is revisited to explain why, when approaching Babylon, Cyrus wished the army to be seen even though it was small, but now he prefers to remain at a distance, even though his force is much bigger (5.4.42–9). Cyrus argues that when marching by a city, an army is spread out in a line and the baggage wagons must be covered by soldiers so that they do not look unprotected (5.4.45); therefore, if they march by at a distance, the enemy ‘will have a view of our full numbers, but behind the fringe of arms the whole host will look terrible’ (5.4.48). The staging of Cyrus’ superior knowledge frames the tactics of visual effect as both important and difficult to master, and reveals Cyrus as an expert. Cyrus is similarly shown as aware of the different ways that a sight can be interpreted, and as careful to control viewers’ responses. After a party of allied Cadusians are killed, Cyrus argues that they must not allow the battle site to remain a sign of victory for their enemies, but must transform it into a sign of their own superiority: ‘On the very spot where the enemy think they have won a victory we will show [δείξομεν] them others better than they are’ (5.4.21). The result will be a transformation in the response of their enemies, imagined as an audience: We shall let them have no pleasure in looking [ἡδέως ὁρῶσιν] on the place where they slaughtered our allies. If they do not come out to meet us, we shall burn their villages and ravage their country, so that they may have no joy in viewing [ὁρῶντες εὐφραίνωνται] what they did to us but may be distressed at gazing [θεώμενοι] at their own misfortunes. (5.4.21)

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Keeping careful control of how sights will be read is shown as a central mechanism of imperial power.38 Such discussions demonstrate the superior military ability of Cyrus. The reader seems to be positioned at his elbow, as a potential conqueror-in-the-making who may learn from Cyrus’ methods. In witnessing Cyrus’ strategies, we identify with him as a charismatic model of successful generalship, a role that, through the extended discussion of techniques which expects and invites the reader’s interest, we are allowed to imagine ourselves as occupying. A slightly more complex relationship with Cyrus is offered, however, in the text’s discussion of Cyrus’ production of compliant conduct in his followers in his newly established regime in Babylon by the display of virtues and benefactions: Cyrus ‘believed that he could in no way more effectively inspire a desire for nobility than by endeavouring as their sovereign to display himself [ἑαυτὸν ἐπιδεικνύειν] to his subjects as most of all adorned by virtue [κεκοσμημένον τῇ ἀρετῇ]’ (8.1.21). Cyrus displayed himself (ἐπεδείκνυ ἑαυτὸν) as more devout towards the gods (8.1.23); he showed (ἐμφανίζων) that he held it important not to wrong friends or allies (8.1.26); he was visible (φανερός) in showing respect (8.1.27); he was visible (φανερός) in honouring the obedient (8.1.29); he displayed (ἐπιδεικνύς) his self-control (8.1.30); and he displayed himself (ἐπιδεικνύοι ἑαυτὸν) as not being carried away by pleasure (8.1.32). He made his benevolence as visible as he could (ὡς ἐδύνατο μάλιστα ἐνεφάνιζεν, 8.2.1), and inculcated goodwill in those who might threaten him by being visible (φανερός) in rejoicing at their good fortune and grieving at their misfortune (8.2.2). Cyrus’ display appeals to the reader: the presentation of his virtuous character and the order it produces in his court elicits the reader’s admiration, inviting identification with him as a paragon of elite self-mastery. The text addresses the reader in the second person as an imagined witness who both sees and hears the Persians of the Babylonian court under Cyrus’ rule: ‘You would never have detected [ἐπέγνως] there anyone raising his voice in anger or delighting in arrogant laughter, but seeing them you would have judged [ἰδῶν ἄν αὐτοὺς ἡγήσω] that they were in truth making a noble life their aim’ (8.1.33).39 The reader here seems to be conceptualized as an observer of Cyrus’ court, who is persuaded of the merits of Cyrus’ regime. Such descriptions align the reader with the text’s internal audience of Cyrus’ subjects, who similarly look at and are persuaded by Cyrus’ achievements. However, whereas, like the subjects observing Cyrus’ court, we are shown an impressive demonstration of Cyrus’ virtues and achievements, we also have access to the strategizing behind its staging (8.1.21). This strategizing forms part

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of Cyrus’ wider concern with controlling how he is seen as he establishes himself in Babylon: he contrives to set up his court in such a way that ‘his public appearances should be rare and solemn’ (σπάνιός τε καὶ σεμνὸς φανείη, 7.5.37).40 Even in his deathbed instructions to his sons he controls his visual availability, covering himself and ordering that no one should look upon his body after death (8.7.26). A question posed by Cyrus’ Babylonian display of virtues is therefore how far the reader is positioned at his side, identifying with him as a clever strategist in the production of power, and how far the reader is positioned alongside his subjects, who are enabled to admire his virtuous superiority. Indeed, both positions seem to be offered by the text. Through the slippage between display as performance and display as revelation, Cyrus’ virtuous display is open to be understood as a contrivance performed as a mechanism of rule, but also as a display of real attributes.41 We are informed: By displaying [ἐπιδεικνύς] his own self-control [σωφροσύνην], [Cyrus] disposed all to practise that virtue more diligently. For when the weaker members of society see [ὁρῶσιν] that one who is in a position where he may indulge himself to excess is self-controlled [σωφρονοῦντα], they wish all the more not to be visible [φανεροί] doing anything self-indulgent. Moreover, he distinguished modesty [αἰδώς] and self-control [σωφροσύνη] in this way, that the modest [αἰδουμένους] avoid shameful actions when visible [ἐν τῷ φανερῷ], whereas the self-controlled [σώφρονας] also do so when unseen [ἐν τῷ ἀφανεῖ]. (8.1.30–1)42

This passage presents a theory of self-display as a method of social control (8.1.30); but it also implies that Cyrus enacts real virtue, irrespective of its visibility (8.1.31).43 The reader is invited to view Cyrus as impressive spectacle, and also to gain insight into his manipulation of spectacle from the inside perspective of the strategist-conqueror. However, our awareness of Cyrus’ artful methods would remind us that in gazing in admiration at his virtues, we are placed in the position of those whom he would win over and control. The account of Cyrus’ use of display in Babylon is also complicated when the reader is reminded of their exterior position as a specifically Greek observer of Cyrus. This is suggested in the description of Cyrus’ introduction of the Median robe:44 We think, furthermore, that we have observed in Cyrus that he held the opinion that a ruler ought to excel his subjects not only in point of being actually better than they, but that he ought also to cast a sort of spell upon them [οὐ τούτῳ μόνῳ ἐνόμιζε χρῆναι τοὺς ἄρχοντας τῶν ἀρχομένων διαφέρειν, τῷ βελτίονας

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αὐτῶν εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ καταγοητεύειν ᾤετο χρῆναι αὐτούς]. At any rate, he chose to wear the Median dress himself and persuaded his associates also to adopt it; for he thought that if anyone had any personal defect, that dress would help to conceal it, and that it displayed [ἐπιδεικνύναι] the wearer as very tall and very handsome. For they have shoes of such a form that without being detected the wearer can easily put something into the soles so as to make him look taller than he is. He encouraged also the fashion of pencilling the eyes, that they might seem more lustrous than they are, and of using cosmetics to make the complexion look better than nature made it. (8.1.40–1)

Although by implying that Cyrus really is better than his subjects the text invites the reader’s admiration of his superiority, in the explanation of the visual effects produced by the robe and its accoutrements we are simultaneously given a privileged, behind-the-scenes view into Cyrus’ deceptive methods of garnering the admiration of his subjects.45 Here we are addressed as if his co-conspirators in the art of rule. However, the insertion of an ethnographic aside, which explains in the narratorial voice what a Median costume is like (‘For they have shoes of such a form that without being detected the wearer can easily put something into the soles so as to make him look taller than he is’, 8.1.41), reminds the reader of the foreignness of what is described. The methods of rule presented are marked as non-Greek, destabilizing the reader’s sense of identification with Cyrus as a model of leadership, making us aware that Persian imperial power is something alien.

1 c (2) Stunning sights The reader’s admiring gaze at Cyrus is also complicated by the representation of his overpowering allure. Cyrus can inspire an intense and compelling desire to gaze at him which leaves the viewer under his influence. Interestingly, the text ascribes a similar allure to the pleasures to be gained from the spoils of conquest: both the power of the imperialist and the gains of empire beguile and fascinate. This raises a question regarding the position of the reader in relation to the foreign sights of the text – the sight of Cyrus and the sight of the Asian lands conquered by Cyrus. Whereas to gaze with pleasure at the spoils of empire can place the reader in the empowered position of the conqueror, the allure that spoils exert can be destabilizing; and the sight of the alluring figure of Cyrus reminds the reader that his appeal carries dangers, as identification with Cyrus’ imperial project and enthusiasm for his success become mechanisms of Cyrus’ power over others. A fixated gaze at Cyrus signals acquiescence to his role as ruler. The balance of the relationship between Cyrus and his new ally Gadatas is questioned as

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Cyrus expresses anxiety that he and his men might be unable to return Gadatas’ gaze if they do not go to his aid (‘How would any of us be able to return Gadatas’ gaze [ἀντιβλέψαι], if we who are so many should be outdone in doing good by him, when he is but one man and is in such plight?’, 5.3.33).46 However, when Cyrus meets the wounded Gadatas after successfully fighting off their enemies, his fear of a loss of status is resolved in Gadatas’ enthusiastic gaze: ‘Cyrus was delighted to see [ἰδών] him and said, “Why, I was coming to see [ἐπισκεψόμενος] how you were.” “And I, by the gods,” said Gadatas, “was coming to gaze upon you again [ἐπαναθεασόμενος] and see what you may look like [φαίνῃ ἰδεῖν], you who possess such a soul” ’ (5.4.10–11). Not only is Cyrus’ equality with Gadatas maintained in his ability to return his look, but his domination of Gadatas emerges in his ability to make the intensity of Gadatas’ gaze exceed his own.47 In establishing his regime in Babylon, Cyrus subsequently trains his courtiers, alongside not being visible (φανεροί, 8.1.42) spitting or wiping their noses in public, ‘not to turn around to look at anything, as being men who wondered at nothing’ (μηδὲ μεταστρεφόμενοι ἐπὶ θέαν μηδενός, ὡς οὐδὲν θαυμάζοντες, 8.1.42), in order that they might appear to their subjects as men who could not be despised (τὸ δυσκαταφρονητοτέρους φαίνεσθαι τοῖς ἀρχομένοις, 8.1.42). We are shown that being overly influenced by a stunning sight can lead to disempowerment: in Cyrus’ attack on an Assyrian fortification, although the Assyrians were standing ready on the rampart, ‘as for shooting their arrows or throwing their spears at those who were doing the killing, they neither thought of it nor had the power because of the terrible sights and their fear’ (οὔτε ἐφρόνουν οὔτε ἐδύναντο διὰ τὰ δεινὰ ὁράματα καὶ διὰ τὸν φόβον, 3.3.66).48 A paradigmatic moment for the text’s concern with the overwhelming sight is the early encounter between Cyrus as an adolescent and the Mede Artabazus on Cyrus’ departure from Media at the end of his childhood stay with his grandfather. Artabazus pretends to be Cyrus’ kinsman in order to get close to Cyrus after being struck by his beauty (ἐκπεπλῆχθαι πολύν τινα χρόνον ἐπὶ τῷ κάλλει τοῦ Κύρου, 1.4.27): we can note the use of the verb ἐκπλήσσω, which recalls the use of καταπλήσσω in the proem to describe the subject peoples stunned into submission by Cyrus (1.1.5; see above). Artabazus is so overcome by the sight of Cyrus that he is scarcely able to look away: ‘ “Don’t you know, Cyrus,” he said, “that even the time it takes me to blink [ὅσον σκαρδαμύττω χρόνον] seems an eternity to me, because during that time I do not see you [οὐχ ὁρῶ σε], who are so handsome?” ’ (1.4.28).49 Artabazus’ captivated gaze is recalled in the later discussion of the effects of looking at Panthea, a woman from Susa captured by Cyrus as war-booty, who is

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called the most beautiful woman in Asia (5.1.7). In spite of the urging of his follower Araspas, who describes her beauty, Cyrus refuses to look at Panthea, claiming that he would lose all power over himself:50 . . . if now that I have heard from you that she is beautiful and am inclined just by your account of her to go and gaze [θεασόμενος] on her, when I have no time to spare, I am afraid that she will herself much more readily persuade me to come again to gaze [θεασόμενον] on her. And in consequence of that I might sit there, in neglect of my duties, idly gazing [θεώμενος] upon her. (5.1.8)

There follows a lengthy discussion on the compulsive and overpowering nature of desire, in which it is argued that erotic desire makes the lover lose all powers of self-determination and become enslaved to the object of desire (5.1.9–17).51 The theorization of desire in this scene has been read as indicating the paradigmatic importance of the erotic in the dynamics of Cyrus’ imperial power.52 Shortly after the discussion about Panthea, in a speech recalling how both the Persians and Medes willingly (ἐθελουσίους; ἑκόντες, 5.1.25) followed Cyrus, Artabazus compares Cyrus’ power over his men to the power exercised by the leading bee over the other bees in its hive, which is described through the term ἔρως: ‘There exists within them a terrible desire to be ruled by him’ (οὕτω δεινός τις ἔρως αὐταῖς τοῦ ἄρχεσθαι ὑπ’ ἐκείνου ἐγγίγνεται, 5.1.24).53 The claim of Cyrus’ erotic power over others is reinforced by the way that the speaker Artabazus is introduced, reminding us of his role in the earlier erotic scene: ‘The first one to speak was the man who had once claimed to be a kinsman of Cyrus’ (5.1.24). Elsewhere erotic language is used to describe the desire that Cyrus instils in his troops to begin their campaign of conquest (ἐπεὶ δὲ κἀκείνους ἐποίησεν ἐρωτικῶς ἔχειν τοῦ ἤδη ποιεῖν τι . . ., 3.3.12).54 Artabazus’ early erotic infatuation with Cyrus turns, later in the text, into a relationship of command. Cyrus uses Artabazus to persuade the Median army to follow him,55 referring to their previous erotic visual interaction by telling Artabazus, ‘You will now show whether you spoke the truth when you said that you took pleasure in gazing at me [ἥδεσθαι θεώμενος ἐμέ]’ (4.1.23). Artabazus obeys, expressing the hope that his pleasurable gaze might become reciprocal:56 ‘. . . I shall also make you pleased to gaze [ἡδέως θεᾶσθαι] on me’ (4.1.23). But this never happens. Instead, we are later shown how Artabazus is repeatedly sidelined in the imperial court: Artabazus complains that he is περίβλεπτος (‘looked at from all sides’, 7.5.53) only because he is so conspicuously snubbed.57 Artabazus’ infatuated gaze at Cyrus enacts his subjugation to him. We might recall Artabazus’ speech in support of Cyrus’ command (the same speech in

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which the bee comparison appears): ‘I, Cyrus, with the men whom I command, will remain with you and endure the sight of you [ὁρῶντες σὲ ἀνεξόμεθα] and tolerate your goodness to us’ (5.1.26). The promise to ‘endure the sight of ’ Cyrus might be read as an ironic jibe at any who would doubt Cyrus’ benefactions, but it also suggests the problematic position of Artabazus as both lover and subject. The language of willing obedience that occurs in Artabazus’ speech (5.1.25) recalls the text’s opening, which stresses the way in which Cyrus was able to get those he conquered to obey him willingly (ἐθελήσαντας πείθεσθαι, 1.1.3): he caused men to want to be his subjects (ἤθελον αὐτῷ ὑπακούειν, 1.1.3); he became leader of the Medes with their consent, and of the Hyrcanians with theirs (ἑκόντων μὲν ἡγήσατο Μήδων, ἑκόντων δὲ Ὑρκανίων, 1.4); and ‘he was able to awaken in all so lively an enthusiasm to please him, that they always wished to be guided by his will’ (1.1.5). The similarities between Artabazus’ infatuated gaze at Cyrus and the claims made about the visual effect of Panthea hint at a problem which faces viewers in the text, and also the reader. Cyrus’ allurements can win over his viewers, leading to complicity with him and his aims; but this can have potentially disturbing consequences – political subjugation. However, as well as similarities between the two episodes of erotic viewing, there are also differences. Despite the emphasis in the discussion about Panthea on her power over a viewer stripped of all autonomy, the description of the experience of viewing Panthea indicates the empowered position of her male captors and her helplessness before them. The confident, scrutinizing gaze of Araspas and his men is emphasized (περιεβλέψαμεν, 5.1.4),58 whereas Panthea is described as looking at the ground (εἰς γῆν ὁρῶσα, 5.1.4). Her powerlessness is stressed: she sits on the ground; she is dressed like her servants; she weeps; she stands with a submissive posture (ἐν ταπεινῷ σχήματι, 5.1.5). Araspas’ response eroticizes her distress.59 When she is told that she will be Cyrus’ concubine, she cries out and tears her clothing (5.1.6): Araspas’ reaction is to say that he could now see her face, neck and hands through her torn clothes, and that all those who saw her were overwhelmed by her beauty (5.1.7). Despite the claims made about her, Panthea is not an empowered figure in this scene: Araspas responds by threatening her with rape (τὴν βίαν, 6.1.33; βιάζεσθαι, 6.1.34). Cyrus’ claim that Panthea will herself persuade him (ἐκείνη αὖθις ἀναπείσῃ, 5.1.8) to return to look at her elides her lack of agency, misogynistically blaming Panthea for the sexual response which she unwillingly inspires. 60 We can contrast this with the early erotic encounter between Artabazus and the boy Cyrus. Far from the bashful erômenos common to Greek depictions of beautiful boys,61 Cyrus is in charge throughout this scene. Taking control of

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Artabazus’ gaze, he promises to return to Media ‘so that it would be possible [for Artabazus] to look at him [ὁρᾶν], if he wished, without blinking’ (1.4.28).62 He orders Artabazus about, twice dismissing him from his presence. Similarly, in contrast to Panthea’s helplessness, and in contrast to his claimed fear of disempowerment before her, Cyrus is entirely in control in his encounter with Panthea, manipulating both Araspas and Panthea for his own ends. As James Tatum has shown, after contriving a situation in which Araspas will try to rape Panthea, Cyrus is able to step in to prevent it, producing a contrite Araspas who can act convincingly as a double agent against the Assyrian king and a grateful Panthea who will bring him a useful ally in the form of her husband.63 When Cyrus finally does lay eyes on Panthea, no reaction on his part is described (7.8.3).64 The mixture of similarity and dissimilarity between these scenes of erotic viewing engages the reader in thinking through the different possibilities of relationship with Asia offered by the text – especially via a relationship with Cyrus – and reveals the contradictions of Greek self-conceptualization. Viewing the sights of Asia can be a comfortable and reassuring experience for the Greek reader. The narrative of the capture of the most beautiful woman in Asia can be read as paradigmatic of a fantasy of foreign exploration and conquest: an exotic beauty is disrobed and exhibited for the reader’s pleasure. The description of the experience of gazing at Panthea invites us to look through the eyes of the conqueror at the spoils of empire. However, through the theorization of the erotic gaze, the pleasure of looking at Panthea, which the reader also enjoys, is disrupted by the potential threat of domination. The Cyropaedia’s discussion between Cyrus and Araspas about the nature of desire transfers the language of captivity, enslavement and compulsion from Panthea to the one desiring her. Cyrus describes men who succumb to passion as enslaved to those they desire (δουλεύοντάς γε τοῖς ἐρωμένοις, 5.1.12) and as ‘fettered by a stronger necessity than if they had been fettered with shackles of iron’ (δεδεμένους ἰσχυροτέρᾳ τινὶ ἀνάγκῃ ἢ εἰ ἐν σιδήρῳ ἐδέδεντο, 5.1.12). When Araspas is sent to watch over Panthea we are told that he is captured by desire (ἡλίσκετο ἔρωτι, 5.1.18) and that desire seizes him and compels him to try to seduce her (ληφθεὶς ἔρωτι τῆς γυναικὸς ἠναγκάσθη προσενεγκεῖν λόγους αὐτῇ, 6.1.31) – ironically leading to his threat of rape. This transference from enslaved to enslaver functions to deny Panthea’s lack of agency; but the suggestion of slippage between roles also hints at contradictions in the self-positioning of the viewer. The view of Asia offered by the text is unstable and conflicted. To gaze with acquisitive desire at Asian spoils offers a

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confident, self-affirming mode of self-conceptualization to the Greek reader, but it is suggested that too great an engagement in this desire can be debilitating. To covet the sights of conquest too rapaciously or avariciously leads to a loss of selfcontrol which jeopardizes the empowered position of the viewer. We might recall a literary predecessor to this scene, Herodotus’ narrative of Gyges’ viewing of the wife of Candaules (Hdt. 1.8–13), discussed in Chapter 2: the reader, through the voyeurism of Gyges, is allowed vicariously to enjoy the erotic and exotic sights of Asia, but is also shown that such enjoyment must be exercised with caution, and may have dangerous unforeseen consequences.65 Similarly, although the vicarious viewing of a beautiful Persian boy might give the reader pleasure, in Cyrus we encounter the sight of a powerful and dangerous Asian. The framing of Artabazus’ viewing of Cyrus as cross-cultural viewing enables the Greek reader to consider how their relationship with the sights of Asia is articulated through their gaze at Cyrus. The encounter takes places as Cyrus leaves Media and returns to Persia – a moment of boundarycrossing from one culture to another. On seeing Cyrus’ relatives kissing him goodbye (ἑώρα τοὺς συγγενεῖς φιλοῦντας αὐτόν, 1.4.27), which an ethnographic aside informs us is a Persian custom still practised today (τοὺς συγγενεῖς φιλοῦντας τῷ στόματι ἀποπέμπεσθαι αὐτὸν νόμῳ Περσικῷ· καὶ γὰρ νῦν ἔτι τοῦτο ποιοῦσι Πέρσαι, 1.4.27), Artabazus asks about Persian kissing: ‘Is it a custom in Persia to kiss one’s relatives?’ (Ἦ καὶ ἐν Πέρσαις νόμος ἐστὶν οὗτος συγγενεῖς φιλεῖν; 1.4.28). The ethnographic resonances of the scene are flagged, as first the reader (in the narratorial comment) and then Artabazus is made the viewer of Persian peculiarities. Artabazus’ ethnographic curiosity is a smokescreen for his erotic ambitions: pretending to be a relative, Artabazus uses his question in order to grab a kiss (1.4.28). However, the secure position of Artabazus as a viewer of erotic foreign sights is undercut by the overwhelming attraction that Cyrus inspires. This has implications for the reader, as a viewer of exotic, and erotic, sights. The reader views a beautiful boy’s strange Persian customs just as Artabazus does, but Artabazus’ captivation at the sight leads to his submission to Cyrus’ control. Looking at Cyrus is marked as a hazardous act: although he is a beautiful Persian boy, he is also an emperor in the making. As the power of Cyrus disrupts the pleasurable, complacent gaze at the foreign, the reader’s own position as an empowered, distanced viewer is put at risk. In these depictions of visual allure, several contradictory ways of thinking about and relating to Cyrus, Persian imperialism and the gains of empire are collided. In the sight of the beautiful and exotic Panthea, an exploitative

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relationship to the erotic enticements of Asia is suggested; but this is undercut by the threat that too great an engagement in the desire for Asian pleasures may lead to disempowerment. Although the sight of Cyrus as beautiful boy might suggest a similarly comfortable relationship to the exoticism of Asia, the encounter reveals Persian power. And whereas to be fascinated and won over by the appeal of Cyrus can signal identification with his imperial aims, it can also figure the enthrallment of the subjugated. These passages hint at both the lures and the risks of looking at the sights of Asia in the context of Persian imperialism – lures and risks which, as we shall see, are important concerns in the text’s descriptions of the sight of Cyrus as imperial conqueror by his subjects.

2. Responses to power In this section, we will examine a series of scenes in which Cyrus presents spectacular displays to audiences of the subjugated, as a means of imposing or confirming his imperial power. A number of concerns play out across these scenes. Cyrus’ display is often based on the spectacularization of cultural difference; his displays are marked as displays of Persian values, and are aimed at non-Persian audiences who must interpret and respond from the perspective of their own cultural or political position. The ensuing clash of values allows an interrogation of the aims, benefits and detriments of imperialism, and offers the Greek reader different ways of reflecting on their relationship to Cyrus.

2 a) A programmatic sequence: Astyages’ display Before examining these passages, it will be useful first of all to look at a scene from Cyrus’ childhood, his first meeting with his Median grandfather Astyages (1.3.2). This scene programmatically introduces a central concern of the text: the ruler’s display of power and how it might be interpreted. In particular, the passage shows concern with the effects of a cross-cultural perspective on the responses of the viewer. On his arrival in Media, Cyrus gazes at his grandfather Astyages, king of the Medes: He saw him adorned [ὁρῶν δὴ αὐτὸν κεκοσμημένον] with eye shadow, rouge, and a wig – as was, of course, the custom among the Medes (for all these things are Median: purple coats, cloaks, necklaces, and bracelets on their wrists; but

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among the Persians who are at home, their clothes are even now much more ordinary and their diet much cheaper). So seeing the adornment [ὁρῶν δὴ τὸν κόσμον] of his grandfather, he said while looking at him [ἐμβλέπων αὐτῷ], ‘Mother, how beautiful my grandfather is!’ (1.3.2)66

Astyages’ power as a ruler is produced in his display. Cyrus’ reaction offers a potential model for the reaction of Astyages’ subjects, and of the reader. However, although awe before the impressive sight of a king is a mode of viewing familiar from Homer and Hesiod,67 in Classical thought such a response becomes problematic; we might think of the concern with the appropriateness or inappropriateness of kingly display in the carpet scene of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, for example.68 Cyrus’ awe-struck response is framed as the naïve response of a child, who is impressed by Astyages’ deceptive adornments. It is predicated on a failure to ‘see through’ the illusionism of Astyages’ cosmetics – something which the reader, treated to a description of the contrivances used by Astyages to enhance his appearance, is able to do. However, this passage does more than allow the reader to feel superior to the ingenuity of a child. Cyrus’ response is presented as conditioned not only by childhood innocence but by his austere Persian upbringing, which has made such deceptive practices alien to him:69 an ethnographic explanation of both Median and Persian customs in the narrator’s voice interrupts the narrative of Cyrus’ gaze. The reader’s vision of the pomp of the Median king is transformed into scrutiny of Median behaviour. Similarly, the reader’s cultural distance from Cyrus’ perspective is flagged by the indication of the Persian expectations which shape Cyrus’ response. The text addresses the problems faced by the cross-cultural viewer. Cyrus’ position as Persian places him at a greater danger of being taken in by the Median display. As a foreigner, he risks incorrectly valuing what he sees, leading to a failure in critical judgement. Subsequent episodes in Cyrus’ childhood scrutiny of Media present similar cultural misunderstandings, although in these scenes Cyrus is not impressed by the sight of the Medes, but rejects Median ways of doing things.70 When he attends Astyages’ feast, he is disdainful of the unfamiliar dishes and claims that he can see that Astyages is disgusted by them too: I see [ὁρῶ] that even you, grandfather, are disgusted with these meats . . . I see [ὁρῶ] that when you touch bread, you do not wipe your hand on anything; but when you touch any of these other things you at once cleanse your hand upon your napkin, as if you were exceedingly displeased that it had become soiled with them. (1.3.5)

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Although Astyages assures him that Medes like the dishes, Cyrus ‘sees’ that this is not true; he interprets what he sees to fit in with his culturally conditioned preconceptions about the correct way to hold a dinner and to eat.71 A similar exchange follows about drinking. Having never witnessed drunkenness in Persia, Cyrus refuses to taste the wine after ‘seeing’ that it contains poison inducing odd behaviour (‘I saw [ἑώρων] that you were unsteady both in mind and in body’, 1.3.10). The humour is based not only on the misunderstandings of children, but on the misunderstanding of unfamiliar sights. Cyrus’ misunderstanding is predicated upon his cultural position; playing on the austerity of the Persians, the Cyropaedia suggests that those from different cultural positions see the same thing in different ways. In the case of the Median feast, however, the text hints that, far from placing him at an interpretative disadvantage, Cyrus’ Persian perspective enables him to see something that the gluttonous and winebefuddled Medians are unable to see: the inferiority of their own practices. We might think of Herodotus’ account of the Ethiopian dismissal of Persian customs, where the Ethiopian king thinks that eating bread is like eating turds (Hdt. 3.22).72 Unlike the child Cyrus, the reader is positioned as a sophisticated viewer who can avoid being taken in by Astyages’ dress or confounded by the sights of the feast. However, the problems faced by Cyrus as a foreign viewer and the variety of his responses flag the challenges posed by the interpretation of foreign sights, especially in the context of the display of power: the need for critical awareness in order to make sense of and correctly value what is seen, and in order to retain autonomy of judgement and political independence before impressive sights. As Cyrus’ cultural distance from the Median display and the reader’s own cultural distance from both the Median display and the Persian viewer are flagged, the reader is made self-conscious about their own position as Greek. These scenes force the reader to consider how far they are able to identify with the different responses on offer. Both Median customs and Cyrus’ Persian responses present a problem for the positioning of the reader. The Cyropaedia presents pre-imperial Persia, of which Cyrus is, at this moment of the narrative at least, a representative, as alien and strange, but also as a paradigm of an ideal, moral state. The expected surprise of the reader at pre-imperial Persian customs is inscribed, but also marked as a symptom of decadence, for example, as we are told that if anyone should think (εἰ δέ τις . . . οἴεται, 1.2.12) that Persians do not enjoy their food when they eat only bread, greens and water, he should remember (ἀναμνησθήτω, 1.2.12) how pleasurable food is if one waits until one is hungry.73 Further, the description of

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pre-imperial Persian society recalls the representation of the Spartans in Xenophon’s Lak. Pol., and uses terminology associated with Sparta.74 Persia is offered as an exotic, unattainable, ideal society, but is also familiarly Greek – yet the Greek model through which Persia is to be read itself verges on an exotic, unattainable ideal. Similarly, although Median habits are depicted as objectionable in their luxuriousness and debauchery, the Median enjoyment of food and wine is also culturally recognizable to a Greek audience: feasting and the use of wine are important elements of Greek cultural practice.75 In Herodotus’ comparison between the Persians and Ethiopians (Hdt. 3.20–4), the utopian world of the Ethiopians may seem distant and extreme; in contrast, Persian customs, such as the consumption of bread and wine or adornment in gold (Hdt. 3.22), seem much more familiar to a Greek audience.76 In Xenophon’s presentation of a Persian response to Media, although the reader may identify more easily with Cyrus’ critique of Median decadence than with his awe at Astyages’ appearance, his critique is conditioned by the expectations of Persian asceticism: Cyrus’ absolute rejection of the pleasures of the feast may be almost as alienating to the reader as Median self-indulgence. Nevertheless, although Cyrus’ responses mark his foreignness, potentially alienating the reader, they also hint at an appealing moral simplicity. The text invites both identification with and alienation from Cyrus’ various responses; this marks the contradictions within Greek cultural identity, as well as both the attractions and difficulties involved in the reader’s engagement with Cyrus as Persian protagonist. These passages also reveal both the possibilities and dangers involved in the viewing of the foreign: viewers may be at risk of being overly swayed by the impressive and unfamiliar, or may be able to use their distinct cultural perspective to provide critical distance. Such concerns become more urgent as the text turns to the depiction of Cyrus’ imperial displays to his potential subjects.

2 b) Displays to Cyaxares The first display by Cyrus which we will examine takes place when Cyaxares, who at this point is leading the campaign, summons Cyrus to a meeting with emissaries from the Indian king (2.4.1–6). Cyaxares sends a very beautiful robe for Cyrus to wear, and a messenger informs Cyrus that Cyaxares ‘expressed the wish that you appear as brilliant and splendid as possible [ὡς λαμπρότατα καὶ εὐκοσμότατα] when you come, for the Indians will see [ὡς ὀψομένων τῶν

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Ἰνδῶν] how you approach him’ (2.4.1). Cyrus responds by commanding his troops to parade to Cyaxares’ tent, where he arranges them in order and ‘presented himself before Cyaxares in his Persian dress, which was not at all showy’ (ἐν τῇ Περσικῇ στολῇ οὐδέν τι ὑβρισμένῃ, 2.4.5). Cyaxares and Cyrus then debate how to interpret Cyrus’ mode of self-presentation: When Cyaxares saw him, he was pleased at his promptness but displeased with the commonness of his dress [τῇ δὲ φαυλότητι τῆς στολῆς] and said: ‘How is this, Cyrus? What do you mean by appearing thus before the Indians? Now I wished you to appear with as much magnificence as possible [ὡς λαμπρότατον φανῆναι], for it would have been an adornment to me [ἐμοὶ ἂν κόσμος ἦν τοῦτο] to have my sister’s son appear in all possible grandeur [μεγαλοπρεπέστατον φαίνεσθαι].’ Cyrus replied: ‘Should I be adorning you [σε ἐκόσμουν] more, Cyaxares, if I arrayed myself in purple and selected bracelets and put on a necklace and at my leisure obeyed your orders, than I do now when I obey so promptly accompanied by so large and so efficient an army, and when, to honour you, I come myself adorned with sweat and zeal [ἱδρῶτι καὶ σπουδῇ καὶ αὐτὸς κεκοσμημένος] and displaying [ἐπιδεικνύς] others likewise obedient to you?’ Thus he spoke, and Cyaxares, considering that what he said was right [νομίσας αὐτὸν ὀρθῶς λέγειν], summoned the Indians. (2.4.5–6)

As with the child Cyrus’ encounter with Astyages, this exchange is framed in terms of a conflict between Persian and Median values. The manipulation of the language of κόσμος, as Cyrus replaces adornment (ἐκόσμουν) in robes with adornment (κεκοσμημένος) in sweat,77 marks the different sets of cultural assumptions at play in this scene about what constitutes an appropriate appearance. The term κόσμος implies not just adornment but a proper or right way of doing things.78 The scene stages a clash of cultures – both of which are foreign to the reader. However, further, the scene counterposes different strategies of political selfassertion.79 The exchange is a key moment in Cyrus’ path to imperial conquest. It presents a power struggle between the two leaders. As autonomous ruler of the Medes, Cyaxares had wished to co-opt Cyrus’ appearance into a spectacle of his, Cyaxares’, own power. In offering a display of austerity and discipline to compete with Cyaxares’ display of finery, Cyrus is asserting his position as an independent leader, not only before the ambassadors, but before Cyaxares and before Cyrus’ own troops. Cyaxares’ eventual acquiescence, as he accepts Cyrus’ argument that his Persian way is superior, marks the first step in his subordination to Cyrus: Cyrus goes on to take from him the control of the Median troops (4.1.13–24, 4.2.10–11). Cyaxares and the Medes are the first in a series of non-Persian

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peoples whom Cyrus will win over, incorporate and rule. In this exchange, we see enacted the process by which Cyrus gains control of his subjects; in Cyaxares’ responses we also witness the experience and perspective of the subjugated. The text’s positioning of the reader in this scene is nuanced. To a large extent, the reader is primed to identify with Cyrus’ military virtues and personal asceticism as a sign of the good leader. The detailed description of Cyrus’ ordering of his troops (2.4.2–4), which explains the methods by which he communicated with junior officers, arranged each company in order, directed them so that they could negotiate a narrow path, and reassembled the lines before Cyaxares’ quarters, recalls the preceding chapters of book 2, which focus on Cyrus’ structuring of his forces and training of his men. There the detail with which Cyrus’ decisions are described and explained – the methods of drill and competition between ranks (2.1.21–2), the use of promotions and rewards (2.1.23–4), the use of communal tents (2.1.25–8), the use of physical exercise (2.1.29), the use of invitations to his tent (2.1.30) and the treatment of quartermasters (2.1.31) – imagines an elite reader keen to learn these methods; the reader is positioned as a potential military leader. In the exchange with Cyaxares, the reader is invited to identify with Cyrus as an expert knowledgeable in the most effective methods of command. However, his poverty of dress (τῇ δὲ φαυλότητι τῆς στολῆς, 2.4.5) and sweatsoaked body might simultaneously disturb the expectations of sophisticated elite self-presentation: elsewhere in the text, bodily austerity or endurance can be linked imaginatively to the lives of the poor. After the Persian commoners are ordered to fight beside the Peers, the suggestion is made that the special bodily training of the Peers is not so different from the experience of the lowest socioeconomic classes: the commoner Pheraulas seeks to encourage the commoners by arguing that, whereas the Peers pride themselves on being trained to endure hunger, thirst and cold, the commoners have been much better trained in these skills by necessity (2.3.13); and that, whereas the Peers pride themselves on their physical training in carrying weapons, the commoners have had much better physical preparation through their life of hard labour (2.3.14). The class position of Cyrus and his Peers is never seriously challenged. Pheraulas’ speech is a rhetorically manipulative attempt to persuade the commoners not to fear the demands of close-hand fighting despite a lack of training, and is not particularly convincing;80 and the innate superiority of the Peers is resoundingly demonstrated as, in answer to Cyrus’ question as to whether the commoners are inferior to the Peers, his inner circle tell amusing stories about the boorishness and stupidity of their new commoner comrades (2.2.1–9).81 Nevertheless, Pheraulas’ suggestion

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does indicate that acclimatization to meagre conditions and bodily effort are traits which could potentially be associated with the lower classes. When Cyrus appears before Cyaxares in his poor dress, sweaty from physical exertion and with troops following in efficient order, his self-styling can be understood as a sign of proficient, disciplined leadership, appealing to the reader as elite Greek.82 However, importantly, the text also allows the possibility of a certain amount of empathy with Cyaxares in his initial rejection of Cyrus’ selfpresentation. The Persian preference for an austere bodily self-fashioning, which (at least potentially) risks blurring the boundaries between elite and impoverished, offers a challenge to the self-positioning of the elite reader, who is perhaps used to more comfortable personal accoutrements, and to whom the expectation that one ought to dress to impress might not seem obviously wrong. The narrative of the meeting with the Indian embassy gets its bite from the surprise turn of Cyrus’ refusal to cooperate. Cyaxares’ initial nonplussed reaction might find its echo in the reader: turning up to an embassy in poor clothing and soaked in sweat might indeed seem an eccentric and socially unattractive choice. It is also a blatant exhibition of insubordination: Cyaxares’ annoyance is understandable. As Cyrus attempts to persuade Cyaxares that his actions should be interpreted as a sign of his honour for him, his self-justification strikes the reader as disingenuous. Although the text does invite the reader’s identification with Cyrus, such identification is not without its problems. To see Cyrus as he wishes to be seen – to let his display affect us and impress us, so that we take pleasure in his subtle triumph over Cyaxares – is to accept the primacy of a Persian cultural model which might be estranging as much as appealing, as well as to become complicit in Cyrus’ strategies for his political aggrandizement. The possibility of identification with both Cyrus as successful commander and with Cyaxares as his subjugated opponent is even more apparent in a subsequent encounter between them after Cyrus has taken control of the Median forces, leaving Cyaxares sidelined.83 Cyaxares is distressed as Cyrus appears with a retinue of the best mounted and best armed of his followers (εὐιπποτάτους τε καὶ εὐοπλοτάτους, 5.5.5), displaying (ἐπιδεικνῦς, 5.5.5) his forces to him: ‘When Cyaxares saw many fine, valiant men in the company of Cyrus, while his own escort was small and of little worth, he thought it something dishonourable, and grief took hold of him’ (5.5.6). Cyaxares turns away, refuses to kiss Cyrus in greeting, and is visible (φανερός, 5.5.6) weeping. This poses a problem for Cyrus: he needs to manufacture an appearance of good relations in order to reassure the watching Medes that they are not at risk from Cyaxares for deserting him, and can continue in Cyrus’ service. He therefore attempts to persuade Cyaxares

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that he is mistaken in interpreting the sight of Cyrus’ supremacy as a sign of his own loss of status, arguing that Cyaxares’ interests are being promoted, rather than compromised, by Cyrus’ military successes. His persuasion is formulated via an argument regarding how sights should be interpreted. He asks Cyaxares what harsh sight Cyaxares has seen (τί χαλεπὸν ὁρῶν . . .; 5.5.8) to justify his negative response, and proposes that they jointly undertaken a visual scrutiny of Cyrus’ actions (‘Let us look most clearly [σαφέστατα κατίδωμεν] at what sort of wrong has been committed by me’, 5.5.13). Cyrus argues that his actions have been visibly to Cyaxares’ benefit rather than detriment: ‘What was done by us that is not visible [φανερός]? . . . You now see [νῦν ὁρᾷς] your friends possessing and carrying away the belongings of those who previously were robbing and carrying away your property . . . You see [ὁρᾷς] your own territory increasing and that of the enemy diminishing . . .’ (5.5.23–4). Importantly, Cyaxares does not accept Cyrus’ interpretation of these imagined sights. He responds,‘Well, Cyrus, I do not know how anyone could say that what you have done is bad; but still, let me tell you, these services of yours are of such a nature that the more numerous they appear to be, the more they burden me’ (5.5.25). This paradoxical formulation captures the difficulties of interpreting signs in a context where the framework of shared assumptions which would enable interpretation is contested. Cyaxares responds to the sight of Cyrus’ actions differently: As to territory, I should rather extend yours by my power than see [ὁρᾶν] mine thus increased by you; for to you it brings glory to do this, but to me these same things somehow bring disgrace . . . And I think I should be less displeased to see [ἰδών] my subjects actually wronged a little by you than to see [ὁρῶν], as I do, that they have received great benefits from you. (5.5.26–7)

He suggests that, from his position, looking provides a quite different experience: ‘ “But,” he went on, “if it seems to you that it is unreasonable of me to take these things to heart, put yourself in my place [μὴ ἐν ἐμοὶ αὐτὰ ἀλλ᾽ εἰς σὲ τρέψας] and look [καταθέασαι] at how they appear [φαίνεται] to you” ’ (5.5.28).84 Cyaxares’ autonomous position as an independent ruler, whose interests are different from those of Cyrus, enables a different outlook. Their argument ends unresolved. Unable to convince him with his claims, Cyrus asks Cyaxares to suspend his judgement until Cyrus has been able to provide proof: ‘By the gods, uncle,’ said Cyrus, interrupting him before he had finished speaking, ‘if I have ever done you any favour before, please do me now the favour that I beg of you: desist from blaming me for the present, and when you have proof from

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us how we feel toward you, if it then appears [φαίνηται] that what I have done was done for your benefit, return my greeting when I greet you and consider me your benefactor; but if it seems the other way, then blame me.’ (5.5.35)

He asks Cyaxares to accept his kiss and not turn away as he did earlier. This produces the desired effect on the watching army (‘And when the Medes and the Persians and the rest saw [εἶδον] that, for they were all concerned as to what the outcome would be, they were satisfied and glad,’ 5.5.37). Cyrus then orchestrates a demonstration of Cyaxares’ continued prestige: he gives a nod to the Medes to process behind Cyaxares (5.5.37); he installs Cyaxares in a specially chosen splendid tent (5.5.38; cf. 4.6.11); and he sends the Medes to pay court to Cyaxares with extravagant gifts from the captured spoils (5.5.39).85 These careful strategies of ingratiation lead Cyaxares to a change of heart: ‘The result was that Cyaxares changed his mind, (thinking) that Cyrus was not alienating their affections from him and that the Medes were no less attentive to him than before’ (ὥστε τὸν Κυαξάρην μεταγιγνώσκειν ὡς οὔτε ὁ Κῦρος ἀφίστη αὐτοὺς ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ οὔθ᾽ οἱ Μῆδοι ἧττόν τι αὐτῷ προσεῖχον τὸν νοῦν ἢ καὶ πρόσθεν, 5.5.40). The use of indirect statement to explain Cyaxares’ thinking leaves the truth value of Cyaxares’ new interpretation unauthorized. As in the earlier dispute regarding Cyrus’ Persian dress before the Indian embassy, the reader is primed to root for Cyrus. We witness his cleverness and are led to take pleasure in the cunning way in which he triumphs over his adversary. In the subsequent action, while Cyaxares carouses in his tent, Cyrus refuses to join him, arguing that rather than indulging in pleasure it is proper not to neglect the army (5.5.41–3); instead, he holds a meeting with his officers to discuss how to further their campaign (5.5.44–8). The reader is invited to identify with Cyrus rather than with Cyaxares as emblematizing true and effective leadership. However, crucially, Cyaxares’ earlier complaints remain unanswered by the text: Cyrus produced no counter-argument, preferring to replace speech with manipulative demonstrations of the Medes’ continued loyalty.86 Cyaxares’ criticism of Cyrus rings all too true: he asks Cyrus, ‘If anyone should so treat the Persians whom you have brought here as to make them more glad to follow him than you, would you consider him your friend?’ (5.5.31). He compares Cyrus’ actions to a man who, through acts of kindness, wins away from another man his dogs, servants or wife (5.5.28–30), and to a man who, when invited by a friend to take whatever he wants, takes all the friend’s possessions and leaves him destitute (5.5.32), asking whether that man would really be considered beneficial because he was kind, or blameless because he was responding to invitation. Cyaxares presents a pretty convincing case, and we are allowed to understand his

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perspective. Crucially, although Cyaxares is eventually won over and convinced by Cyrus’ organized flattery, unlike Cyaxares, the reader is granted access to the machinations behind the scenes and so is aware that the Medes’ displays of faithfulness are at Cyrus’ behest, as a strategy to pacify and neuter the threat posed by Cyaxares.87 Even as Cyrus’ display of his supremacy impresses and attracts us, our ability to empathize with the grievances of the subjugated Mede remains in place.88

2 c) Gobryas’ wealth Cyrus’ displays to Cyaxares involve the reader in a double bind of self-positioning. The reader is invited to identify with the impressively powerful figure of Cyrus, taking pleasure as he asserts himself over Cyaxares and transforms him into a passive and compliant subject ally. However, we are also allowed insight into, understanding of and empathy with Cyaxares as victim of Cyrus’ machinations. This dynamic is complicated by the text’s framing of the text’s confrontation between Cyrus and Cyaxares as a clash between cultures, both of which are alien, but, also, in different ways, appealing or recognizable to the Greek audience. The encounter lays bare the contradictions of Greek self-consciousness, especially in regard to imperialism. Whereas it is ideologically desirable for the reader to identify with the impressive, clever, all-conquering victor, the text allows the recognition that, in the face of Persian expansionism, the Greek audience may have as much in common with the peoples encroached upon by the Persians as they do with the imperial conqueror. These concerns arise again in a slightly different configuration in Cyrus’ encounter with Gobryas, an Assyrian ruler who has changed sides and wishes to gain Cyrus as an ally following the Assyrian king’s murder of his son. Like Cyrus’ ostentatious use of common Persian clothing rather than adopting Cyaxares’ beautiful Median dress, the encounter of Cyrus and Gobryas revolves around the production of competing displays which each presents to the other. These operate as a contest for the upper hand in the relationship. Gobryas has his own agenda. He wishes to win Cyrus as his ally, as a means of gaining access to a great enough military force to be able to take vengeance against the Assyrian king. Cyrus, on the other hand, sees Gobryas merely as a useful addition to his imperial army. Although Gobryas starts out in the encounter as an independent ruler seeking to further his own goals, by the end of their meeting Gobryas has been persuaded to subordinate himself in Cyrus’ service. This shifting balance of power is narrated through each protagonist’s responses to display. As with Cyrus

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and Cyaxares in the scene of the Indian embassy, these responses are framed as a clash of cultural expectations, as Cyrus’ Persian and Gobryas’ Assyrian values come into conflict. When Cyrus first approaches Gobryas’ domain, Gobryas invites Cyrus to inspect his fortress and to send scouts inside to report back what they see (5.2.3). Cyrus sees that the fortress is impregnable and receives report of the immensity of Gobryas’ resources: ‘there were provisions enough inside to last the garrison, as it seemed to them, for a whole generation’ (5.2.4). Gobryas has his men bring out ‘wine and flour and barley meal [οἶνον, ἆλφιτα, ἆλευρα]; others brought cattle, goats, sheep, swine [βοῦς, αἶγας, οἶς, σῦς] and all kinds of provisions – a plenty of everything for a dinner for Cyrus’ whole army’ (5.2.5). Next, Gobryas invites Cyrus to enter the fortress: ‘And when they were inside, Gobryas brought out golden goblets, pitchers, and vases, all sorts of adornments, an almost countless pile of darics, and all sorts of treasure in great quantities [φιάλας χρυσᾶς καὶ πρόχους καὶ κάλπιδας καὶ κόσμον παντοῖον καὶ δαρεικοὺς ἀμέτρους τινὰς καὶ πάντα καλὰ πολλά]; and finally he brought out his daughter, a marvel of beauty and stature . . .’ (5.2.7). The asyndeton in the list of provisions suggests the rapidity with which they are brought out, as well as the stunning experience of watching the different goods so swiftly laid before their viewers. The repeated connectives in the list of treasures, on the other hand, suggests their grandeur and multiplicity, as the riches build up, one after the other. The account allows the reader to experience the impressive impact of Gobryas’ display as if watching alongside Cyrus and his men.89 Gobryas offers these goods, including his daughter, to Cyrus on condition that Cyrus avenges his son. Cyrus responds, however, by refusing the treasure, but saying that he will accept one gift from Gobryas – the gift of being able to make a show of his refusal. Rather than being impressed by Gobryas’ display of wealth, he transforms the display into a display of his own fastidious lack of interest in gain: ‘One gift of yours will I take as I leave you, in place of which not even all the wealth of Babylon (and that is enormous) – no, not even all the wealth of all the world would send me away more happy than with this gift from you’ (5.2.8). He claims to be grateful to Gobryas because, whereas many men, though virtuous, ‘die before they make clear [δῆλοι γίγνεσθαι] what sort of men they are’ (5.2.9), in contrast, by offering so much wealth, ‘you have given me an opportunity of showing [δῆλον γενέσθαι] to all the world that I would not do an act of wickedness against a friend or do wrong for the sake of gain or willingly prove false to a covenant’ (5.2.10). This exchange involves the reader in some of the contradictions of the text’s presentation of the imperial endeavour. Gobryas’ display of plentiful provisions,

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countless gold and his beautiful daughter engages the reader in a fantasy of imperial acquisition, inviting the pleasure of the desiring viewer. Rich resources, luxurious wealth and erotic opportunities are elsewhere in the text presented as motivators for Cyrus’ conquest. As Cyrus’ army progress in their march across Assyria, attention is paid to the spoils which become available and to the potential of the landscape for productivity.90 After asking about the condition of recently captured lands and learning ‘that all the country was inhabited and that it was full of sheep and goats, cattle and horses, grain and all sorts of produce’ (4.4.4), Cyrus orders that the newly acquired prisoners of war are returned to their land, ‘for an inhabited country is a very valuable possession, but a land destitute of people becomes destitute of produce’ (4.4.5). Women form part of the spoils: Cyrus’ army captures Assyrian carriages containing ‘not only wedded wives but also concubines, who on account of their beauty had been brought along’ (4.3.1), and these women are subsequently distributed (4.6.11). Before the final battle, Cyrus’ Persian follower Chrysantas describes the Persians’ desire for acquisition and consumption. He claims that the Persians, ‘thinking we were just on the point of getting rich’ (6.2.21), are frustrated to have to fight additional opponents, ‘just as if it should be announced, when people are ready and waiting to sit down to luncheon, that there is some work that they must do before they may eat’ (6.2.21). But he says that they can overcome their frustration by keeping in mind the good things to be won: . . . since we are to contend not only for Syria, where there is an abundance of grain and flocks and date-palms, but for Lydia as well, where there is an abundance of wine and figs and olive oil, and its shores are washed by the sea, and over its waters more good things are brought than anyone has ever seen. (6.2.22)

The winning of spoils is a priority for Cyrus. Cyrus introduces a Persian cavalry so that the Persians do not have to rely on their Median and Hyrcanian allies to do the plundering for them (‘If we could but make our own the good fortune that is now dawning upon us, great blessings would come to all the Persians . . . But I fail to see how we are to establish a valid claim to the spoil if we cannot gain it by our own strength,’ 4.3.4). He asks the Persians initially to allow precedence to their allies in the division of spoils as a strategy for the long-term acquisition of much greater wealth: ‘To secure a present advantage would give us but shortlived riches. But to sacrifice this and obtain the source from which real wealth flows, that, as I see it, could put us and all of ours in possession of a perennial fountain of wealth’ (4.2.44).91

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However, there is a certain equivocation in the attitude to spoils.92 Disdain is expressed for peoples who are too self-indulgent in their enjoyment, a characteristic which is marked as non-Persian. Following an early victory, whereas the Persians spend the night in sentinel duty, the Medes drink and revel and take pleasure in the things that have been captured (4.5.5–7), and although Cyrus is keen to allot to the Medes and the other allies whatever they might wish (4.5.51–3), he tells the Medes that the Persians will take whatever is left over, ‘for we have not been reared in any sort of luxury, but altogether in rustic fashion, so that you would perhaps laugh at us, if anything gorgeous were to be put upon us’ (4.5.54). Similarly, following Cyrus’ alliance with Gobryas and the plundering of local land, Cyrus and his followers decide to award the preponderance of the spoils to Gobryas, since ‘Gobryas regards us as no better than a lot of beggars because we have not come here with our pockets full of darics and because we do not drink from golden goblets. If we do this, then he would realize that it is possible for men to be gentlemen, even without gold’ (5.3.3). Enjoyment of goods can be suggested to have an enervating effect. Following his successful acquisition of empire, Cyrus offers easy access to food to those whom he wishes to train to be slaves, whereas his courtiers are trained for superior status through deprivation (‘Those whom he was training to be slaves . . . he allowed to take food with them on the hunt, but [he allowed this] to none of those who were free . . . He provided for them well, so that they might spend all their lives as slaves without protest,’ 8.1.43–4).93 We find a comparable concern in earlier Greek thought regarding the impact of the enjoyment of rich Asian lands or easy living. Herodotus’ Cyrus warns his followers not to take over the rich lands that they have conquered on the basis that ‘soft lands breed soft men’ who are subjects rather than rulers (Hdt. 9.122).94 This passage has been read as a criticism of the enfeebling effect of luxurious indulgence; it might also suggest the negative impact of the loss of a rigorous military life.95 Elsewhere in Herodotus, however, luxurious and easy living can be depicted as a legitimate aim of empire. Herodotus’ Cyrus encourages the Persians to follow him in his imperial venture by offering them a day of hard labour followed by a day of feasting, and telling them that following him will ensure access to similar luxuries but avoidance of similar labours, which he associates with the life of slaves (βουλομένοισι μὲν ἐμέο πείθεσθαί ἔστι τάδε τε καὶ ἄλλα μυρία ἀγαθά, οὐδένα πόνον δουλοπρεπέα ἔχουσι, Hdt. 1.126.5).96 Similarly, in the Anabasis Xenophon’s character warns the 10,000 Greeks of the dangers of staying too long in Asia and growing too used to the life of indulgence that it offers: ‘I really fear that if we once learn to live in idleness and luxury, and

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to consort with the tall and beautiful women and maidens of these Medes and Persians, we may, like the Lotus Eaters, forget our homeward way’ (Xen. An. 3.2.25). Nevertheless, the Anabasis also depicts the wealth and flourishing produce of Asia as powerful motivators for the 10,000 Greeks, who might be able to get rich on spoils or settle in a well-resourced Asian land. Desire for the enjoyment of Asian spoils competes with anxiety about its impact on the identity of the despoilers; the self-imagination of the Greeks as confident and powerful exploiters of foreign lands is undercut by fears about the fragility of Greek identity.97 Similarly, the Cyropaedia promotes a contradictory attitude towards acquisition as an aim. By the time he reaches Babylon, Cyrus has become fabulously wealthy from the gains of empire, and describes himself as ‘insatiate for wealth as other people are’ (8.2.20) and as ‘always grasping after more’ (8.2.22); but he argues that whereas other men hoard what they acquire, Cyrus gives it to his followers (‘by enriching men and doing them kindnesses I win from them friendship and loyalty’, 8.2.22). Cyrus argues that the happiest man is not he who owns and has the most, but he who can acquire and use the most (8.2.23).98 This paradoxical distinction between acquiring on the one hand and having on the other reveals the text’s ambivalence towards the materialistic aims of imperialism: Cyrus seems both to criticize and defend the wealthy life. Cyrus’ response to Gobryas’ display of wealth suggests similar contradictions. Identification with Cyrus in his role as conqueror, who is offered full control of spectacular Asian wealth, is attractive for the Greek reader, placing the reader in a self-affirming position.99 Simultaneously, the reader is invited to identify with Cyrus in his rejection of Asian wealth; this too would allow the reader, affirmed in the values of triumphant hardiness, to occupy a self-confident position in relation to a culturally inferior land. Yet the combination of these positions is potentially paradoxical and difficult to sustain. In its vivid account of Gobryas’ display, the text allows and invites the reader’s pleasurable engagement in the spectacle of Asian luxury whose availability to Cyrus marks his success as imperial conqueror. We might recall the discussion of the beautiful Panthea, a spoil of war, who, like Gobryas’ daughter, is also offered to Cyrus, but whom he refuses to look at because of the dangers of desire. Like the text’s display of Panthea, Gobryas’ display presents a problem for the reader, who is invited to experience the pleasures of the desiring gaze at imperial acquisition, while also, through identification with Cyrus, being invited to reject them. Rather than being seduced by the display, Cyrus retains a critical distance. But for the reader, attaining such distance might not seem so easy. Involvement, via Cyrus, in the

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narrative of conquest engages us in a desire which we are warned against but simultaneously invited to experience. As we have seen, Cyrus replaces Gobryas’ display of wealth with his own display of self-control. Cyrus goes on to claim that their mutual audience of Cyrus’ associates are far more impressed by Cyrus’ display than by Gobryas’: Let me tell you that there are some of them who do not wonder [θαυμάζουσιν] at you one whit the more for the money you have to offer; but with me they are vying now and praying to all the gods that it may be granted them one day to display [ἐπιδείξασθαι] that they are not less faithful to their friends than I, and that so long as they live they would never yield to their enemies, unless some god should cross them. But their virtue and their good name they would not barter for all your wealth and the wealth of the Assyrians and Syrians to boot. Such men, let me tell you, are sitting here. (5.2.12)

The different virtues which Cyrus claims that his display reveals, such as never yielding to enemies, do not all seem closely connected to the act of refusing gifts.100 Rather, Cyrus transforms the ostentatious refusal into a catch-all demonstration of his and the Persians’ superiority. Gobryas is apparently not fully convinced by Cyrus’ claims about his men: ‘ “By the gods,” said Gobryas with a laugh, “please show me where they are, that I may ask you for one of them to be my son-in-law” ’ (5.2.13). His question and his laughter hint at scepticism. However, as the narrative progresses, Gobryas’ responses change. Refusing Gobryas’ offer of a feast, Cyrus insists on instead inviting Gobryas to a Persian meal: Thus, as Gobryas dined with them for the first time and saw [ὁρῶν] the commonness [τὴν φαυλότητα] of the food set before them, he thought his own people more refined than they. But he soon perceived the temperance of his table-mates ‒ for no Persian of the educated class would allow it to appear that he was captivated by any kind of food or drink, either with his eyes fixed on it [ἐπ᾽οὐδενὶ γὰρ βρώματι οὐδὲ πώματι Πέρσης ἀνὴρ τῶν πεπαιδευμένων οὔτ᾽ ἂν ὄμμασιν ἐκπεπληγμένος καταφανὴς γένοιτο], or by snatching at it, or with his thoughts so engrossed by it as to fail to observe [προσκοπεῖν] things that would attract his attention if he were not at meat; but just as good horsemen do not lose their self-command when on horseback but can ride along and at the same time see [ὁρᾶν] and hear and say whatever they should, so also the educated Persians think that at their meals they ought to show themselves [φαίνεσθαι] sensible and temperate; and to become excited over food or drink seems to them altogether swinish and bestial. (5.2.16–17)

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By the end of the meal, Gobryas has shifted from disdain at Persian poverty to an acknowledgement of Persian superiority: ‘When Gobryas rose to go home, he is reported to have said: “I am no longer surprised, Cyrus, that while we possess more cups and clothing and gold than you, we ourselves are worth less than you are” ’ (5.2.20). Cyrus’ response is to ask him to have his forces ready for review in the morning: Gobryas has been successfully converted into a pliant and obedient component of Cyrus’ force. The description of Gobryas’ shifting responses to the Persian meal presents an analysis of political relations in a cross-cultural context.101 Gobryas’ responses, whether his self-confident contempt for the austerity of the Persian meal or his loss of confidence before the impressive spectacle of Persian self-control, are products of his cultural expectations as an Assyrian. An ethnographic aside in the narrator’s voice interrupts the narrative account of Gobryas’ observations, explaining Persian behaviour to the reader. Not only through the representation of a non-Persian’s reactions, but through direct address, the reader is made selfconscious about their position as a non-Persian viewer of the Persians, potentially aligning the reader’s experience with that of Gobryas. Whereas at first the foreignness of the Persian display enables Gobryas, confident in his own cultural position, to resist, eventually the destabilizing surprise which it provokes topples Gobryas into acceptance of and capitulation to Persian superiority. We can compare the description of the Persian behaviour at table: they are not overwhelmed by the sight of food (note the verb ἐκπλήσσω, discussed above), nor do they wish to appear so. A contrast seems to be suggested between Gobryas, stunned at the sight of the Persians (presumably because to him, captivation by food would be expected at a banquet), and the Persians, who do not let the pleasurable sights of consumption distract or preoccupy them, or allow themselves to be perceived in what is suggested to be a weakened or vulnerable state – like a horseman unable to pay attention to his surroundings.102 In the Persian assumption of the swinishness of excitement at food, the gap between Persian and Assyrian cultural modes is indicated as comparable to the gap between humans and animals. The positioning of the reader is complex. As noted in the discussion of Cyaxares’ expectations regarding the uses of impressive dress, and indeed in our discussion of Cyrus’ responses to Astyages’ Median feast, the reader might to a certain extent identify with Gobryas’ attachment to wealth and disdain of poverty (cf. the use of the term φαυλότης (5.2.16) to describe Persian food, which is also used to describe Cyrus’ Persian dress before the Indian ambassadors).103 This attitude is both culturally recognizable to a wealthy Greek

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audience and is invited by the text’s exposure of the bounties of Asia, there for the taking; but we might also identify with the implicit critique of indulgence and the impressive values of Persian self-sufficiency and independence. As with Cyrus’ appearance in poor dress before Cyaxares, the narrative of the encounter with Gobryas turns on the surprise engendered by Cyrus’ refusal of wealth; his Persian response is impressive in the very way that it confounds expectations, both of the text’s non-Persian protagonist and of the reader. As Gobryas’ gaze turns into a gaze of admiration, this too offers a model for the reader, who is also invited to be impressed by Cyrus. However, Gobryas’ impressed response models his submission: Cyrus’ displays are strategies of manipulation, as he takes control of Gobryas’ display of wealth to transform it into a display of his own superiority, and as he insists that rather than going to Gobryas’ meal, Gobryas must come to his. Although we are invited to see Cyrus and the Persians as Gobryas is eventually led to see them, we are also distanced from Gobryas as his subjugation is revealed. Further, whereas a steadfast critical distance before impressive display is marked as the response of the politically autonomous, empowered viewer confident in their cultural superiority, both Gobryas’ and Cyrus’ displays, in different ways, affect the reader. The scene’s staging of the vagaries of crosscultural response reveals and offers for reflection the contradictions of Greek self-conception and ideologies of empire, as we are invited to desire the gains of empire and reject them, and both to identify with and be alienated from both the imperialist and the imperial subject.

2 d) Cyrus’ procession The final moment of display which we will consider is Cyrus’ great procession in Babylon. The account of the procession takes us through the arrangement of the crowd, the rows of ‘very beautiful’ (8.3.11) sacrificial bulls and horses, the sacred chariots ‘drawn by white horses with a yoke of gold and wreathed in garlands’ (8.3.12) and ‘with horses covered with purple trappings’ (8.3.12), the fire carried on a great altar, the beautiful Median clothing and adornment of Cyrus riding in a chariot, the hundreds of stud horses ‘with gold-mounted bridles and covered over with embroidered housings’ (8.3.16), and the thousands of lancers, mace-bearers, cavalry and chariots of the different nations of his empire, arranged in serried ranks (8.3.9–17). The vast numbers, beauty, order and splendour of the procession are placed before our eyes.104 The glamour of Cyrus’ power cannot fail to stir the reader. The scene impresses and appeals. As an image of order and splendour it is seductive. The pleasure it evokes is built on an invitation to the reader to identify

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with the power of the imperial centre. We identify with Cyrus as the stage manager of the procession, enjoying the spectacle of his achievements, and thereby conceptualizing ourselves as akin to conquerors and beneficiaries of empire. Indeed, we are shown Cyrus’ deliberations behind the scenes. We are told that the magnificence of the procession was ‘one of the arts contrived [μία τῶν τεχνῶν εἶναι τῶν μεμηχανημένων] so that his rule should not be easy to hold in contempt’ (8.3.1),105 and that Cyrus ‘planned how to arrange the procession in a manner which should prove most beautiful to look at for those who were welldisposed [τοῖς μὲν εὔνοις κάλλιστα ἰδεῖν] and most intimidating to those who were disaffected [τοῖς δὲ δυσμενέσι φοβερώτατα]’ (8.3.5). We are positioned at Cyrus’ side as he makes his arrangements. We are also positioned alongside the procession’s audience. The focus on spatial arrangement (the description, for example, of how ‘rows of soldiers stood on this side of the street and on that’ (ἔνθεν καὶ ἔνθεν τῆς ὁδοῦ, 8.3.9)) enables the reader imaginatively to place themselves at the scene;106 and the account of the different elements of the procession via their order of appearance reproduces the experience of a bystander who watches the procession pass.107 The account of Cyrus’ appearance in the procession is focalized from the perspective of Cyrus’ watching subjects:108 ‘With him rode a tall charioteer, but he was less tall than Cyrus, either in reality or in some other way [εἴτε καὶ τῷ ὄντι εἴτε καὶ ὁπωσοῦν]; at any rate, Cyrus appeared much taller [μείζων δ᾽ἐφάνη πολὺ Κῦρος]’ (8.3.14). Although we have been allowed into Cyrus’ private chambers to glimpse him planning the procession, here we are left in the dark as to how Cyrus achieved his impressive appearance. The speculation as to whether his height was real or falsely manufactured leaves us on the sidelines, without access to this inside information, only able to guess, as Cyrus’ subjects must. However, the description of the response of Cyrus’ audience also seems to position us at an even further remove, as exterior, ethnographic observers of the event: ‘On seeing [ἰδόντες] him, all prostrated themselves, either because some had been ordered to initiate this, or because they were stunned [ἐκπλαγέντες] by the arrangements and by Cyrus seeming to appear tall and beautiful. Previously, no one of the Persians used to prostrate himself before Cyrus’ (8.3.14).109 We are made privy neither to Cyrus’ behind-the-scenes manoeuvres, nor to the audience’s thoughts, but seem to be watching both from the outside. This creates a sense of distance from Cyrus and the Persians.110 This unstable positioning of the reader is also evoked by the exoticism of the procession. In some ways, the exoticism of the scene contributes to the reader’s

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pleasurable identification with Cyrus as conqueror. The description of the gorgeous arrangements is a description of the alluring foreign gains of empire which Cyrus now controls. As we have seen, the text describes the rich wealth of Asia and the abundance of the lands to be gained as key motivators for Cyrus’ exploits. The reader’s fascination with the luxurious wealth of the spectacle articulates and invokes a desire for imperial exploitation of the foreign which enables and is invited by identification with Cyrus’ exploits. However, simultaneously and in contrast, the spectacle of exotic wealth may also intervene in and disrupt a self-affirming response by reminding the reader of the foreignness of Persian power: the display of exotic wealth is now Cyrus’ selfdisplay. Indeed, the account is repeatedly interrupted by ethnographic asides explaining the display to a Greek audience. We are told that rows of soldiers lined the streets, ‘just as even to this day the Persians stand, where the king is to pass; and within these lines no one may enter except those who hold positions of honour’ (8.3.9), and that the cavalrymen stood with their hands inside their sleeves ‘just as they do even to this day when the king sees them’ (8.3.10). When the bulls meant for the gods are described as brought out under the direction of the magi, we are informed, ‘For the Persians think that they ought much more scrupulously to be guided by those whose profession is with things divine than they are by those in other professions’ (8.3.11). The description of the appearance of Cyrus himself is similarly framed by ethnographic and aetiological explanation: Next after these Cyrus himself upon a chariot appeared in the gates wearing his tiara upright, a purple tunic shot with white (no one but the king may wear such a one), trousers of scarlet dye about his legs, and a mantle all of purple. He had also a fillet about his tiara, and his kinsmen also had the same mark of distinction, and they retain it even now. (8.3.13)

These explanations not only remind the reader of the foreignness of Cyrus and his regime, but directly link Cyrus’ display with the actualities of Persian imperialism in the reader’s present. The account concludes by making this link explicit: ‘The procession of the king, as thus instituted by Cyrus, continues even so up to this day, except that the victims are omitted when the king does not offer sacrifice’ (8.3.34). What we have been witnessing is revealed not just as a narrative moment in an account of the life of Cyrus, but as the origin of a practice still carried out by the Persian kings. The impressive show of Persian imperial wealth and military force is directly linked to the historical Greek experience of Persian

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imperialism, which involves being placed not in the position of the conqueror, but in the precarious position of those at risk of imperial domination. The text’s discussions of audience responses allow reflection on the positions available to viewers of Cyrus, and to the reader: as we have seen, Cyrus is shown as concerned how to control the effects of the display on audiences from different political positions (8.3.5), and the text offers speculation on the reasons for the audience’s reactions (8.3.14). Although the reader’s awe and pleasure at the description models their imagined self-placement alongside and in the role of the conqueror, an impressed and awed response is suggested to be the response which Cyrus desired to evoke from his internal audience of subjects: Cyrus wished the display to be ‘most beautiful to look at for those who were welldisposed’ (τοῖς μὲν εὔνοις κάλλιστα ἰδεῖν, 8.3.5). The extraordinary show of military might and social orderliness calls on his subjects’ complicity by inviting a sense that the procession represents them, displaying the triumphant new society to which they will now belong. To be won over by the glamour of the procession and to identify with the imperial power which it instantiates is to place oneself in the position not just of Cyrus as stage manager, but of subjugated Asians as audience. Indeed, we are shown how one response to the procession might have been for viewers to be stunned (ἐκπλαγέντες, 8.3.14; from ἐκπλήσσω: see discussion of this and related verbs above) into passive compliance. Importantly, however, just as the text has earlier allowed us to experience the alternative perspectives of Cyrus’ newly incorporated subjects in its depictions of Cyaxares’ and Gobryas’ initial rejection of Cyrus’ displays, here we are again shown the possibility of the failure of Cyrus’ spectacle to persuade its viewers: although all prostrate themselves, the possibility is left open that the viewers were responding to orders rather than to the compelling effect of the display itself. Although the passage presents an overwhelming and alluring depiction of Cyrus which calls on the reader to take pleasure in and identify with his success, the text also allows the reader to have access to other ways of thinking about Cyrus. In being positioned simultaneously inside the conqueror’s planning meeting, outside on the streets with the crowd, and at a further distance, in our proper role as Greek ethnographic observers, and in being allowed both to take pleasure in and be alienated from the display, the reader is able to inhabit and confront the contradictions of Greek ideology. Self-imagination as a conqueror of the foreign competes with recognition of a less confident place in the world.

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Conclusion In this discussion, we have seen the contradictory nature of the Cyropaedia’s account of Persian imperialism. The reader is invited to identify with and also be alienated from Cyrus and the Persians. This chapter has argued that these contradictions form a vital part of the effect of the text, by exposing and engaging the reader in the contradictions of Greek ideology. The text allows insight into early fourth-century bce Greek ideas about what it means to be Greek, the Greek relation with Persia and with Asia, and Greek attitudes towards imperialism, but for each, different and contradictory ideas are simultaneously supported. The text’s depictions of non-Greeks can allow the Greek reader a sense of superiority in Greek cultural values; but this is undermined by the contradictions introduced in the invitation to find cultural affirmation in the Persians, whose practices are also shown to be alien, as well as by the uncertainties raised as Persian values clash with the values of other nonGreek peoples, which similarly in some ways appeal and in other ways repel. Asia is revealed as a land of gorgeous spoils there for the taking, but indulgence in the pleasures of imperial acquisition is also revealed to be destabilizing. Via the depiction of Persian power, Asia is also shown as a source of menace. The reading experience can place the Greek reader in a confident position. The reader is allowed to conceptualize the Greek role in the world as akin to that of the conqueror who asserts control over other peoples and lands; but the text also allows awareness that Greeks might not occupy such a dominant political role, but may be at risk from the dominance of others. It also allows a questioning of Greek values, revealing some of the uncertainties and conflicts within Greek attitudes and cultural behaviour. The text exposes how Greeks of the early fourth century bce accommodated themselves ideologically to the uncertain and messy historical realities which surrounded them. We see a desire for selfimagination as a superior culture occupying an empowered and confident place in the world in conflict with a sense of cultural instability and political insecurity. The Cyropaedia offers a challenging experience to the reader. It not only reveals the contradictions in Greek ideology, but it draws the reader into a confrontation with those contradictions, making the reader self-conscious about them. Although a distanced, detached perspective is at various moments promoted as indicative of the empowered and culturally self-confident viewer, the text’s vivid and engaging presentation of spectacle plunges the reader into the problems faced by viewers in the text, who find themselves influenced by

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culturally contentious and politically provocative sights and enact in their responses the instability of their own cultural or political position. By immersing us in politically challenging sights and allowing us to view them from different perspectives, we are made into critical participants in the historical problems posed by the text. Reading becomes an active process of cultural and political self-consciousness and engagement in the problems of the reader’s own time.

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Conclusion: Reading Practices and Political Consequences

This book has argued for a materialist approach to Xenophon’s writing, which situates his narrative mode historically. It locates the often jarring nature of his texts, which can move swiftly from the celebratory to the disquieting and back again, within the ideological context of his time, viewing the discontinuities of his style as evidence of tensions within fourth-century bce elite Greek discourse. This has involved approaching Xenophon’s writing as a social product. Rather than attempting to discern Xenophon’s authorial intentions (which may, but also may not, have self-consciously produced the effects that we have observed), our study has been concerned with the political impact of his texts on the reading process. Our examination of the framing of Xenophon’s historical narratives via accounts of spectacle and spectators’ responses has suggested a concept of history as an arena for active and dynamic engagement with problems of both the past and present. Far from offering a unified, dominant and didactic vision of the world, Xenophon’s historical narratives open up and engage the reader in the contradictions of their world. By allowing different modes of political identification to affect the reader simultaneously, Xenophon’s writing creates for the reader a praxis of political response to the historical conditions of Xenophon’s own time. In some ways Xenophon’s texts are concerned with propping up dominant power structures and concealing or smoothing over social tensions. We see this in the alluring, spectacular presentation of generals and kings. The spectacularization of such figures allows an appealing fantasy (from an elite Greek perspective) of Greek imperial sway and of top-down hierarchical social order. Yet at the same time as Xenophon’s writing promotes and celebrates such political models, it also questions or undercuts them, allowing consideration of the sometimes ideologically messy implications for concepts of Greek identity and community. Just as the reader of Herodotus and Thucydides, by observing 161

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and judging the political responses of historical agents, becomes cognizant of the processes of political response in which they too are implicated, so too, as the reader of Xenophon is shown sights of leadership, political and military violence, and Greek and non-Greek cultural practices and social organization which are open to be interpreted in different ways, they become engaged in the ideological appeal of Panhellenic cohesion and power, as well as in its failures and contradictions. Xenophon’s writings are engaged in the construction of elite Greek ideology, but far from simply defending or reaffirming the position of the Greek elite, they allow elite Greek identity to be interrogated and questioned.1 The reader’s ensnarement in the pleasures of watching spectacles of successful leaders and their armies allows understanding of how those leaders were able to achieve what they did. How was it that Greek commanders on various sides were able to win the assent of their followers and propel their communities into war with fellow Greeks? How was it that Cyrus the Younger was able to get the Greek mercenaries to fight for him? How was it that Cyrus the Great was able to conquer his empire? Xenophon seems to offer us an analysis of power, explaining historical outcomes. By experiencing and being seduced by such sights, as spectators within the texts so often seem to be, we experience how ideology works in practice. Yet as those experiences are complicated by the introduction of contrary responses, or by their contextualization in a wider narrative which allows a further perspective on the consequences or significance of spectators’ reactions, we are also allowed insight into the fissures and uncertainties which might underlie those political situations. Reading Xenophon in this way tells us something about the conceptual categories of his period. It suggests that Panhellenist aspirations and concepts of Greek superiority coexisted and competed with awareness of their problems ‒ that just as it was possible for Xenophon’s elite, educated Greek audience to think of Greeks as an empowered and assertive force with common aspirations, who work successfully together against non-Greek opponents, it was also, simultaneously, possible to think of Greeks as a weak and divided people, under threat from exterior forces and from each other. Xenophon’s Greek protagonists make their own history: they aggressively present themselves to others through spectacular displays, and gaze with supreme self-confidence at the world around them. But they are also buffeted by history: they are taken in by deceptive sights, are bowled over by deliberately manipulative spectacle, and peer anxiously at the threats that surround them. The texts’ articulation both of ideological affirmation and of the blocking of its realization through exploration of untidy political realities reveals some of

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the contradictions of elite Greek thought of the era regarding the consequences of Greek militarism, concepts of empire, relations with Persia and other nonGreek lands, and relations between and within Greek communities. Through involving the reader in an active engagement with these ideological tensions, Xenophon’s writing also both reveals and constructs a contemporary critical awareness. We see indicated a contemporary concern with the constructed nature of identities in Xenophon’s interest in the self-aggrandisement of figures of power and their attempt to control their reception by manipulative display. These figures endeavour to win the cultural identification of their audiences via the staging of idealized images of ethnically specific behaviours, but the validity of these demonstrations of identity is frequently thrown into question by the wider narrative context. Similarly, Xenophon’s writing indicates contemporary critical self-reflection on the nature of Panhellenic unity, the place of Greeks in relation to the non-Greek world, and on the elite’s relationship to the wider community. It not only suggests the complexities of elite Greek experience in a world where Greek interaction with the non-Greek was diverse and fluid and where relations between Greeks were often characterized by conflict, but also suggests an intellectual critical engagement in these problems.

Notes 1 Introduction: Visual Experience and Ideology 1 For treatments of the visual in Xenophon’s historical narratives, see Gray 2011: 180–93; Gray 1989: 158–63; Azoulay 2004a; Azoulay 2018: 259–66; Atack 2018; Dillery 1995: 30–1; Dillery 2004; Dillery 2008; Grethlein 2013: 53–91; Purves 2010: 159–95. For the visual in Xenophon’s other works, see especially Goldhill 1998a; Baragwanath 2012; Wohl 2012. See also Harman 2008, 2009, 2012, 2013. 2 Translations from Xen. Hell. are adapted from those of J. Marincola (in Strassler 2009). 3 Gruen 2011: 53–65; Vlassopoulos 2013a: 28, 204. 4 Harrison 2002: 8. 5 Hirsch 1985; L’Allier 2004; Anderson 2001: 139–41; Roy 2007; Rzchiladze 1980; Nickel 1979: 25; Georges 1994: 213. 6 Brulé 1995; Tripodi 1995; Starr 1975: 51–2; Delebecque 1957: 199. 7 Ma 2004. 8 Eagleton 2008: 61: ‘The meaning of language is a social matter.’ 9 Cf. Gray 2011: 54–69 (with associated bibliography) on ‘straightforward’ vs. ‘dark’ readings of Xenophon. Unlike the approach offered here, this debate views Xenophon’s writings primarily in terms of authorial intention. 10 On Xenophon’s critical attitude to imperialism, especially in the Poroi, see Jansen 2007: 207–82; Jansen 2017; Dillery 1993. On imperialism in the Hellenica, see Dillery 1995; Tuplin 1993. 11 See Ryder 1965; Hamilton 1979; Kagan 1987. 12 On Panhellenism, see Green 1996; Mitchell 2007. On fourth-century Panhellenism, see Isaac 2004: 283–98; Hall 2002: 205–20. On the fifth-century origins of fourthcentury Panhellenism, see Flower 2000. For discussion of the varied ways in which the term ‘Panhellenism’ can be used, see Mitchell 2007: xv–xxii. See Hall 1989: 16–17 on the growth of Panhellenic self-consciousness in the aftermath of the Persian Wars. See Nagy 1979: 6–7 on collective Greek culture in Homer. 13 Perlman 1976; Hall 1989: 59–60; Mitchell 2007: 11; Hall 2002: 207–8; Dillery 1995: 54–8. Cf. Low 2018. 14 On ties of ξενία and intermarriage between Greek elites of different poleis, see Herman 1987. See also Yates 2019: 29–60 on elite Panhellenism in the commemoration of the Persian Wars. Cf. Hall 2002: 102–3 (which also discusses ties

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between Greek and non-Greek elites). On connections between elites of different poleis in Archaic society, see Kurke 1992. See also Mitchell 2007: 39 on the elite basis of early concepts of Hellenic community in Archaic society. See Trédé 1991: 76–80 on how definitions of Hellenism are debated and contested in the fourth century. Cf. Usher 1994. Too 1995: 129: ‘as an Athenian writer invoking what appears to be a panhellenic ideology, he is caught up in a complicated tension that exists in being both Athenian and Greek’. Saïd 2001: 283, on Isoc. Panath. 189–95. Cf. Livingstone 1998: 276: ‘How far the pupil’s interpretation of Isocrates’ speech can be seen as “right” – i.e. as being tacitly endorsed by the principal authorial voice – has been much debated, and is, I think, a question which the text determinedly does not resolve.’ Xenophon’s exile: An. 5.3.7, 7.7.57; Diog. Laert. 2.51, 2.58. Fighting on Spartan side in Corinthian War: An. 5.3.6; Diog. Laert. 2.51. Plut. Ages. 18.2 suggests that Xenophon fought at Coronea. Estate in Elis: An. 5.3.7; Diog. Laert. 2.52. Education of sons in Spartan agôgê: Diog. Laert. 2.54; Plut. Ages. 20.2. See Humble 1997: 3–21 for discussion of the evidence. Cf. Lee 2017. Goldhill 1998b. Cf. Azoulay 2018: 4. Hall 2002: 189–220. Isoc. Panegyr. 50 (trans. G. Norlin (1928), Isocrates, vol. 1, Loeb edition, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press). This echoes Thucydides’ Pericles’ praise of Athens in his funeral speech as an ‘education for Greece’ (τῆς Ἑλλάδος παίδευσιν, Thuc. 2.41.1). See Saïd 2001: 282–3; Hall 2002: 209; Too 1995: 129. Hall 2002: 210; he borrows the term ‘culture Greek’ from Tarn and Griffith 1952: 160. Cf. Cartledge 2002: 60–5. On dating Xenophon’s works, see Lee 2017: 33–4; Thomas 2009: xxii–xxiv. Anabasis: Cawkwell 2004: 47–51. Hellenica: Badian 2004: 43–51; Tuplin 1993: 29–33. Cyropaedia: Gera 1993: 23–5. This does not preclude the possibility that many of his audience were Athenian, and his engagement in Athenian democratic ideology, as suggested by Christ 2020: 2–3. Solitary, silent reading seems not to have been a cultural norm in ancient Greece: Flory 1980: 20–2. It is likely that there remained a highly fluid relationship between oral and written versions of texts across the Classical period: Thomas 1992: 123–7. Momigliano 1978: 64–5. Herodotus’ language of display (through the verb ἀποδείκνυμι and cognates) situates his text in the intellectual context of earlier scientific and medical writing and its public performance: Thomas 2000: 249–69. Kelly 1996: 151–2. On elite groups reading together, cf. Thomas 2003: 172; Johnson 2000: 617–18.

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30 Morrison 2007: 224–6 suggests that since Thucydides seems to have been influential on Plato, this might imply that his text was consumed by Plato and his students in a similar way to more philosophical works, or that Plato and Thucydides had similar audiences. For Thucydides’ relationship with Plato, see Hornblower 1995: 55–6; R. B. Rutherford 1995: 66–8. In describing itself as a ‘possession for all time’ in contrast to ‘a competition piece to be heard for a moment’ (Thuc. 1.22.4), Thucydides’ History seems to reject performance of the type associated with the competitive public displays of the sophists: Thomas 2000: 267; Morrison 2007: 227. Thucydides’ text stresses its status as writing, through the verb συγγράφω. This frames a careful reading process, whether through reading silently or aloud: Goldhill 2002: 32; Morrison 2007: 219. 31 See Kelly 1996 on the reading and discussion of the Hellenica by small gatherings of the elite; see also Christ 2020: 5–6. Cf. Pownall 2007: 243–4, 246 on small groups of elites reading aloud the Cyropaedia. Contrast Momigliano 1978: 66, who speculates on whether Xenophon might have given paid public performances of the Anabasis. 32 In considering the social make-up of the implied audience of Xenophon’s works, de Ste Croix’s description of the Greek ‘upper classes’ is helpful (1981: 115): ‘By and large, a comfortable, leisured existence could be secured only by the possession of property . . . which gave the upper classes that command over the labour of others which made it possible for them to live the good life, as the Greeks saw it, a life not constrained by the inescapable necessity of working for one’s living, a life which could be devoted to the pursuits considered proper for a gentleman: politics or generalship, intellectual or artistic pursuits, hunting or athletics.’ 33 Morrison 2007: 231. 34 Kurke 1999: 29. 35 On elite values in Xenophon, see Johnstone 1994, who argues for the construction of an elite discourse in Xenophon’s works. However, he sees Xenophon as essentially defending and propping up elite power. In contrast, this study suggests an interrogation of elite identity. For a similar criticism, see Christ 2020: 8–9, who argues that ‘[Xenophon] is not a defender of class interests who seeks merely to defend and preserve elite prerogatives and power’ (8); in contrast, he argues that Xenophon’s works function to educate the elite to become better integrated into the democratic city (9). See also Balot 2001: 233, who argues that Xenophon is ‘deeply enmeshed in the ideological struggle created in part by the legacy of aristocratic greed in ideology and history’. 36 On Xenophon’s relationship with his elite audience, see Christ 2020 (although his focus is the Athenian elite). On conflicts within Athenian elite ideology, see Ober 1989. 37 Jameson 1981: 69. For the applicability of the terminology of class, see Jameson 1981: 44: ‘The individuals constituting a given class may or may not be wholly or partly

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conscious of their own identity and common interests as a class, and they may or may not feel antagonism towards members of other classes as such.’ Macherey (1978) 2006: 174. Davidson 1991 on Polybius; Hau 2020: 84–5 on Diodorus Siculus; Walker 1993 on Dionysius of Halicarnassus (and Thucydides); Elsner 1992 and 1994 on Pausanias; Feldherr 1998 on Livy. From Classical times onwards the historical text itself could be thought of in visual terms, as akin to a monumental inscription which the reader could visually examine: Moles 1999. The term is also of importance in discussions of rhetoric: see Webb 2009: 87–106; Plett 2012: 7–21; O’Connell 2017: 124–7. Lucian, Hist. conscr. 51. Walker 1993: 353. Lucian, Im. 10; Dion. Hal. De imit. 426.7 Usener-Radermacher; Plut. Artax. 8.1 (trans. adapted from B. Perrin (1926), Loeb edition, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press). See Grethlein 2013: 54. Nightingale 2004: 40–71. See Chapter 4 for further comment on this passage. Mulvey 1975; Kaplan 1983; De Lauretis 1987. Cf. Berger 1972: 47, who argues that there are different ‘ways of seeing’ represented in Western art which codify a gender hierarchy: ‘Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at.’ See, for example, Sturken and Cartwright 2001: 72–108. Kaplan 1997. hooks 1992. Pratt 1992. Similarly, Urry 2002 has argued that Western tourism structures specific forms of visual experience, as tourists’ gaze at ‘sights’, in their search for the romantic, the extraordinary and the ‘authentic’, is mediated by their cultural and economic separation from the places they visit. Fanon 1967. Fanon famously recounts his painful realization of his own Blackness, and its codification by whites as something different, horrifying and to be objectified, when subjected to the white gaze: he describes his feelings of alienation from his own body and person on hearing a white child cry out at the sight of him, ‘Mama, see the Negro! I’m frightened!’ (112). See Gandhi 1998: 14–20; hooks 1992: 116. Foucault 1977: 202–3. Cf. Foucault 1980: 155. Foucault 1977: 58–65. See also Bell 2004: 1–10 on collusion and dissent in the reactions of crowds at the fall of Ceauşescu. I discuss the issue of resistance and dissent as a response to display in Chapter 5. Kaplan 1997: 135–291 compares Western commercial film to the work of independent women filmmakers of Black and Asian origin to investigate how a non-exploitative filmic language could be developed, which grants control over the

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gaze to non-white viewers. hooks 1992: 115–31 considers examples of what she calls ‘the oppositional gaze’: the ways in which Black audiences have read white representations of them ‘against the grain’ to reassert some control over their meaning, and have found ways to ‘look back’ at white people. Cf. Urry 2002: 9, 59–73 on how people living in places visited by tourists take control of their environment to offer artificially constructed sights for economic gain. Iser 1978: 34. See Eagleton 2008: 64–77 on the formation of reader response in reception theory, especially 74–7 on the relationship between the constraints on interpretation brought about by the embeddedness of language in the ‘social practices of communication’ (75), and the possibility of a level of freedom of interpretation within those constraints. Cf. Rabinowitz 1987: 21–9. Cf. Baragwanath 2012: 632 on the engagement of the reader in the responses of spectators in Xen. Symp. On identification in reader-response theory, see Iser 1978: 37–50; Jauss, Bennett and Bennett 1974. On identification via ‘suture’ in film theory, with reference to Freudian and Lacanian psychoanalysis and the concept of ‘interpellation’ in Althusser, see Silverman 1983: 201–22. See also the discussion in Griffith 1998: 40–2 (with further references) on the processes affecting the audience of theatre. He discusses ‘the (literary/critical) notion of an audience/reader’s “identification” with this or that character in a work of fiction, the “hero/ine” or most “sympathetic” character, whose experiences the audience is led to share, or aspire to, as if they were in some (temporary) sense their own’, noting the similarity of this concept to ‘the (Freudian) notion of a child’s “identification”, at this or that stage of his development, with one or other parent’, since ‘in both cases, the observing/feeling subject . . . defines him/herself as a subject’ (40). Griffith similarly discusses ‘the distinction between “idiopathic” identification (in which we identify ourselves with a figure like ourselves, and thus seek to reinforce our pre-existing sense of self and social roles) and “heteropathic” identification (in which we identify with someone quite different, wishing to be “like them” and different from what we are’ (40, n. 66, with references): both ‘idiopathic’ and ‘heteropathic’ forms of identification affect the reader of Xenophon’s works when presented with elite figures of power such as Agesilaus, Cyrus the Younger or Cyrus the Great. With reference to film theory, Griffith also notes ‘how, in watching a film, we may be invited (almost forced) to switch back and forth between identifying with/as a particular character, and observing that character from (an)other angle(s) as if we are some other character(s) in the film’ (41, n. 70). This movement between identifying and observing frequently affects the reader of Xenophon, as we are enabled to view and experience from different (often ideologically conflictual) perspectives.

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2 Visual Contexts 1 Nicolai 2014. 2 Greek culture has been described as ‘ocularcentric’: Jay 1993: 21–6; Morales 2004: 8–9. See Squire 2016: 8–19 on the relationship between sight and the other senses. 3 See Rudolph 2016: 39 on Alcmaeon in the context of early poetry. See Mugler 1960 on the relationship between poetic and scientific concepts of sight. 4 Leucippus A 29–30 DK; Democritus A 77, A 135, B 123 DK; Epicurus, Epist. 1.49– 50; Lucretius 4.26–468. Democritus’ theory has also recently been read as combining intro- and extramissive elements: Rudolph 2011. 5 Empedocles’ conception of the eye as a lantern (DK 31 B84) is combined with the idea that the eyes receive emanations from objects. Empedocles’ theory of ‘effluences’ is discussed in Plato, Meno 76 c–d. He has been read as indicating an interactive model of sight (see Aristotle, Gen. corr. 324b26–35), or as having a more intromissionist perspective (Long 1966: 260–4; O’Brien 1970: 140–6). 6 See Van Hoorn 1972; Simon 1988; Morales 2004: 15–16; Squire 2016: 16–17. 7 On the reciprocal relations suggested by ancient optics, see Jay 1993: 30: the viewer and the object of view are not as separate as they are in modern conceptions of vision. Cf. Cairns 2005: 138, who argues that Greek vision and visibility are interactive and reciprocal. 8 Blundell et al. 2013: 16–22. On love and envy, see Cairns (2011). 9 Blundell et al. 2013: 11; Squire 2016: 13. 10 Thomas 2000: 200–12. 11 O’Connell 2017: 25–52. 12 O’Connell 2017: 90–1. Cf. O’Connell’s discussion of ἐνδείκνυμι (91–2), a legal term used to point out the criminal to the magistrate. 13 O’Connell 2017: 93–7. The language of visibility (φανερός) and invisibility (τὸ ἀφανές) was similarly used to describe property whose legal ownership had or had not been witnessed (for example in written records), and the language of revelation (φαίνω / ἀποφαίνω) referred to the public acknowledgement of the legitimacy of children: O’Connell 2017: 97–100. 14 Anaxagoras (DK 59 B21) questions the reliability of the senses: Rudolph 2016: 41. See Pekáry 2002 on the criticism of sight in ancient thought. 15 Goldhill 2000: 166–9; Nightingale 2001 and 2004. This contradictory attitude has also been described by Bartsch 2000: 71–3 and 2006: 37–8, 41–56, in her discussion of Plato’s representation of the mirror. In Alcibiades 1, Socrates advises Alcibiades that self-knowledge can be achieved by the philosophical equivalent of observing oneself in a mirror – by allowing one’s soul to behold itself in the soul of another through the process of dialectic (132d). However, in the Theatetus the mirror is the purveyor of false visions in the way that it reverses the image it reflects (193c–d),

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while in the Republic the concrete world around us is compared in its unreality to the visions seen in a mirror (10.596d–e). On the expression through visual relations of social superiority and deference, see Cairns 2005: across Greek literature ‘the degree of looking and eye-contact in a face-to-face interaction manifests and defines the status of the interactants’ (137). Segal 1995; Prier 1989: 25–117. The gleam of Achilles as he reappears at the edge of the battlefield produces confusion in the Trojans and gladness in the Achaeans (Hom. Il. 18.202–38); Achilles in his new armour sends out a gleam (Hom. Il. 19.373–83) which terrifies the Trojans (Hom. Il. 20.44–6). See Howie 1996 on the heroic gleam and its use in Xenophon. Hom. Il. 3.161–242. See Zeitlin 1994. Hom. Il. 2.217–19. Goldhill 1998a: 106. Goldhill 2000: 175 has argued that in the late fifth century, interest in the visual took on a new urgency; he makes a ‘tentative suggestion of an increasing focus on visuality as the century progresses’. Goldhill 1998a: 106–9, 1999: 1–10 and 2000. Goldhill 2000: 169–72. Worman 2002: 149–92. See Zanker 1995: 32–9 on the significance of the emphasis placed on Socrates’ ugliness in ancient textual and artistic representations. He argues that the comparison of Socrates to the divine Silenus (Xen. Symp. 5.7; Plato Symp. 215B) figures him as ‘an extraordinary human being, transcending human norms’ (38), but also as a challenging, disruptive presence when viewed ‘against the background of a city filled with perfectly proportioned and idealized human figures in marble and bronze embodying virtue and moral authority’ (38). Kurke 1992: 103. Ober 1989: 192–247. Cf. Isoc. 16.32–4. Panhellenic festivals became an arena for the performance of elite status: athletes and (to a lesser extent) spectators needed to be from wealthy families to afford the costs of participation. Elite self-display could come into conflict with the needs of the polis. Cf. Neer 2003: 129: ‘Treasuries convert upper-class ostentation into civic pride . . . [becoming] a way of diverting elite display in the service of the city-state.’ And. 4.30; Plut. Alc. 12.1: Ephesus provided a tent that was twice as large as the tent of the official delegation, Chios gave sacrificial animals and fodder for his horses and Lesbos gave wine and food. See Papakonstantinou 2003 on ideological conflict in the representation of Alcibiades’ theôria. On the role of Alcibiades in Athenian thought, see Gribble 1999 and Wohl 2002: 124–70.

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31 The Olympic Games were only open to Greek competitors. See Hdt. 5.22 on the debates surrounding the Greekness or otherwise of the descendants of the Macedonian Perdiccas in the attempt of Alexander to compete at Olympia. 32 Nightingale 2004: 60–3. Cf. Neer 2003: 129 on state treasuries at Panhellenic sanctuaries: ‘A treasury’s purpose is not just to store votives but to nationalise them, and with them a dedicant’s privileged relationship with the gods. When placed on view in a treasury, the individual dedication – say, a golden bowl – is recontextualised: it still reflects well on its dedicant, to be sure, but it also glorifies the polis.’ 33 Thucydides (5.50) tells us of an occasion in 420 bce when the Spartans, who had been banned from the Olympic Games for attacking the Eleans during the period of the Sacred Truce, nevertheless fielded a competitor in the chariot race who, on revealing his Spartan origins, was beaten by the umpires on the course; this sparked fears that the Spartans might attack Olympia with an army, causing the Eleans to post armed guards. 34 Plato, Laws 952b–c: see Nightingale 2004: 65–6. 35 Goldhill 2000: 169: ‘Xenophon marks how political position will affect the possibility of what he takes for granted as a good citizen’s interest and desire, namely, to travel and take pleasure in looking [theôria] at sights [theamata].’ Translations from the Hiero are adapted from that of M. Kendrick (rev. S. Bernadete), in L. Strauss (1961), revised and expanded edition 2000, On Tyranny, (eds.) V. Gourevitch and M. S. Roth, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 36 On the criticism of passivity in viewing, and the promotion of the active, evaluative, critical gaze as the mark of the effective democratic citizen in Athenian writing, especially Plato, Demosthenes and Thucydides, see Goldhill 2000: 169–73. Cf. Goldhill 1999: 7–8. 37 Translations from the Oec. are adapted from that of H. Tredennick and R. Waterfield (1990), Xenophon: Conversations of Socrates, London: Penguin. 38 See Johnstone 1994: 233. 39 See Gray 2011: 190–2 on this passage; she notes the meta-literary function of Socrates’ instructional viewing in terms of the education of the reader (192–3). 40 Cf. Goldhill 2000: 169–73. 41 Johnstone 1994: 227. 42 Trans. adapted from Johnstone 1994: 227. 43 Johnstone 1994: 227. Cf. Gray 1985, who argues for the unity of the text as a work of moral instruction, not just technical instruction. 44 Cf. Gorgias’ Encomium of Helen, DK 82 B 15–19, on the overwhelming power of the erotic sight. 45 Translations from the Mem. are adapted from Tredennick and Waterfield, Xenophon: Conversations of Socrates.

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46 On this passage, see Azoulay 2018: 249–51; Goldhill 1998a; Morales 2004: 25–7; and Davidson 1997: 120–1, 123–5, 128–30. 47 Suggesting that Theodote’s status as a hetaira – not a gunê, who must obey her husband, or a pornê, who can be bought – gives her an independence which makes her a threat to male power, Goldhill 1998a: 115 argues that ‘The gaze, for Xenophon’s Socrates, even – especially – when directed by a man at a beautiful woman, is not a unilinear process of objectification.’ Goldhill positions his reading of Xenophon in relation to the debate among cultural historians on the applicability to the ancient world of the concept of the empowered ‘male gaze’ (see Chapter 1). Whereas Richlin (1992a), following the work of Kappeler 1986 on pornography, argues for the continuity of the ‘male gaze’ from the ancient to the modern world, Goldhill uses the viewing of Theodote to stress discontinuity. In contrast, Morales 2004: 32 notes that Socrates’ comparison of Theodote to a plate of food to be served to men (Mem. 3.11.13) renders her ‘passive and there to satisfy male hunger’. Cf. Cairns 2005: 138, who argues that Greek vision and visibility are interactive and reciprocal. Elsewhere, the male viewing of women in Xenophon often seems to function as an assertion of male power: see my discussion of the viewing of Panthea (Cyr. 5.1.4–7) in Chapter 5. See also, e.g., Ischomachus’ viewing of his wife (Oec. 10.2–13) and Murnaghan 1988 (for a contrary view of the wife’s position, see Gini 1992–3; Pomeroy 1984; and Scaife 1995). There are, however, two examples of powerful women viewers in Xenophon. The Cilician Queen, Epyaxa, in the Anabasis and Mania in the Hellenica are independent political leaders, who are described watching the military exploits of their troops from a carriage: the Cilician Queen watches the mercenary Greek force, which she has financed, performing a military review for their commander, Cyrus the Younger (An. 1.2.12–18), whereas Mania watches her Greek mercenaries capture new cities for Pharnabazus (αὐτὴ δὲ ἐφ’ ἁρμαμάξης θεωμένη, Hell. 3.1.13). However, they are not represented as straightforwardly powerful figures: the Cilician Queen’s response to the sight of the Greeks is to run away (see discussion in Chapter 4 for the complexities of power relations in this passage), and Mania comes to a grisly end, murdered by her son-in-law Meidias because he cannot bear to be ruled by a woman (Hell. 3.1.14). On the representation of Epyaxa and Mania, see Baragwanath 2002. 48 Wohl 2012: 50 suggests that ‘the whole scene serves an apologetic purpose: it is offered as proof of Socrates’ remarkable enkrateia’ (50). On Socrates’ enkrateia, see Dorion 2003; Morrison 2008: 18–27. 49 Cf. Wohl 2012: 51: ‘The kiss episode imagines the sight of the beloved object acting physically upon the viewer. The beloved projects himself bodily into the bloodstream of the lover through his vision . . . This odd notion draws on a theory of optical intromission (formulated first by the atomists) that imagined vision originating not in the eye of the beholder, but in the object.’

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50 Translations of the Symp. are adapted from Tredennick and Waterfield, Xenophon: Conversations of Socrates. Diogenes Laertius’ biography of Xenophon reproduces this passage with minor alterations (2.49) as a quotation from Aristippus, whom he claims reports that Xenophon himself spoke these words about his own desire for his beloved, Cleinias. 51 Cf. Goldhill 1998a on Socrates’ viewing of Theodote, which suggests that viewing can be read as an ethical act whose controlled action marks the utility of the viewer as citizen: ‘If self-control and control over the passions are the aim of a citizen’s askêsis, viewing is a stimulus to a loss of control, to an uncontrolled desire’ (116). Cf. Wohl 2012: 51–2 on the agency of the erômenos and vulnerability of the viewing lover in Xenophon. 52 Peri Hipp. 1.10, 1.14, 10.5, 10.17, 11.12. Cf. γοργούμενος, of a stallion prancing before mares (Peri Hipp. 10.4). See also Hipparch. 3.11, where γοργός describes a cavalry procession. According to Chantraine 1984: 233, the term γοργός is derived from γοργωπός, which itself derives from the proper noun ἡ Γοργώ, found in Homer and Hesiod. The term may recall the shield blazon, often shown as a Gorgon in Greek vase painting. The adjective γοργός (in positive, comparative and superlative) is used by Xenophon in a variety of contexts: Cyr.: of successful soldiers (4.4.3; 5.2.37); Symp.: of someone possessed by a god (1.10); Lak. Pol.: of Spartan men (11.3). In all examples except Cyr. 4.4.3 and Symp. 1.10, γοργός is a deliberately contrived effect. Cf. also τὰς Γοργόνας (Symp. 4.24): looking at the beautiful Cleinias is compared to looking at the Gorgons ‒ his lover Critobulus is unable to look away but stares at him stonily (λιθίνως). See Vernant 1991: 111–41 on the contexts of gorgon terminology. 53 Translations from the Peri Hipp. are adapted from E. C. Marchant (1925), Xenophon: Scripta Minora, Loeb edition, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 54 Vilatte 1986: 274. 55 Vilatte 1986: 274. 56 After a description of a leader prancing forward but his troops following at a walk, the question is posed: ‘What can there be brilliant in such a sight?’ (ἐκ δὲ ταύτης τῆς ὄψεως τί ἂν καὶ λαμπρὸν γένοιτ’ ἄν; Peri Hipp. 11.11). However, if the leader leads in such a way that all horses appear εὐθυμότατοι (most spirited), γοργότατοι (most formidable / ‘gorgon-like’) and εὐσχημονέστατοι (most graceful), then not only he but all those accompanying him appear worth watching (ὥστε οὐ μόνον αὐτὸς ἀλλὰ καὶ πάντες οἱ συμπαρεπόμενοι ἀξιοθέατοι ἂν φαίνοιντο, Peri Hipp. 11.12). 57 See Seager 2001 on Xenophon’s interest in the conflict between individual and community advantage, esp. 385–91 on the subordination of the individual to the community. 58 See Christ 2020: 135–6 on the concern with producing impressive shows for the Council’s dokimasia of the cavalry. See Kavoulaki 1999: 300–1 on the beauty of the

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cavalry procession as an expression of the power of the democratic public body. Cf. Dillery 2004: 260–4 on the combination of the religious and the military in the cavalry processions of the Hipparch., which he sees as indicating a new development in the history of the Classical procession. Seager 2001: 385. On the Hipparchus’s concern with how the elite leader can succeed under the Athenian democracy, see Christ 2020: 127–41. Too 2021: 101–2 reads this passage as a criticism of the Athenian elite. Trans. adapted from W. Ambler, in G. A. McBrayer (ed.) (2018), Xenophon: The Shorter Writings, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. See the concern with the leader’s adornment via the adornment of his entourage at Cyr. 2.4.1–4, 8.3.4, An. 1.9.23, Hiero 11.3: see Gray 2011: 133–4. Dillery 2017: 210 notes the Hipparchus’s concern with ‘the utility of public display, whereby community aspirations are communicated by its elite members acting in concert under the leadership of a charismatic individual’. See Seager 2001: 387–8, 394; Christ 2020: 47, 130; Dorion and Bandini 2000: ccxvi–ccxvii on Xenophon’s endorsement of the individual’s desire for recognition, and the compatibility of self-interest and good citizenship. Cf. Danzig 2012 on the endorsement of self-interest in the Cyr. On the link between self-interest and good citizenship in Athenian civic ideology, see Christ 2006: 26–31. Cf. Pl. Rep. 577, where it is argued that the best judge of a tyrant’s life is someone who is not dazzled by the tyrant’s outward display of grandeur, like a child, but who has seen how a tyrant behaves in private when stripped of his props, and can therefore observe his inner character. See Takakjy 2017: 57–8, who suggests an implicit criticism of the epinician genre’s celebration of the display of wealth. Gray 1986: 116. Cf. Gray 2007: 36–7; Takajy 2017: 60–1. Cf. Goldhill 2001:160–2 on Lucian’s On the House, where the responses to sight of the educated and the uneducated are different: the uneducated gaze in silent astonishment, whereas the educated are prompted to speak analytically about what they see. Sevieri 2004: 284. Through a comparison with the ambiguous figure of the returning athletic victor in epinician poetry evoked by the Hiero’s use of Simonides as a protagonist, Sevieri 2004 discusses the text’s concern with how to overcome the threat which the tyrant poses to his city through the affirmation of their common identity. Cf. Too 2018: 227–8. For more detailed discussion of the issues raised in this section, see Harman 2009; Harman 2012. Cf. Powell 1989, who suggests the manipulation of the visual as a Spartan strategy, and Humble 1999: 344, on public or visible virtue in the Lak. Pol. Cf. the narrator’s opening expression of wonder (θαυμάζω, Lak. Pol. 1.1, 1.2) at the power and influence of Sparta, plus other uses of the language of θαῦμα in the text

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(Lak. Pol. 2.14, 9.6, 10.8, 12.4, 12.7, 14.7). For discussion of this term, see Chapter 5. Translations from the Lak. Pol. are adapted from that of C. S. Kuiper and S. D Collins, in McBrayer, Xenophon: The Shorter Writings. See Moles 1999. As Moles suggests, this implies a conception of the reading process as akin to the viewing of a monument, where the reader gazes at the text. For examples of the formula, see Meritt 1940: 90 and Thomas 1989: 60–1 and n. 151. The failure of the reader to turn the eyes (ἧττον δ᾽ ἂν ὄμματα μεταστρέψαις, Lak. Pol. 3.5) of the paidiskoi imagines the reader as gazing at them but failing to provoke a returned gaze: we are told that Lycurgus required the paidiskoi not to look around them but to keep their eyes lowered (περιβλέπειν δὲ μηδαμοῖ, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὰ τὰ πρὸ τῶν ποδῶν ὁρᾶν, Lak. Pol. 3.4). The Lak. Pol.’s account of virtuous behaviour in Sparta has been read as part of a philosophical investigation into the nature of Spartan power: Humble 2004, 2014, 2018. Cf. Farrell 2012, who views the text as offering critical reflection on the immorality of the Athenian elite. For φυλάσσω as a visual term, see Aesch. Ag. 8, where the term is used by the watchman to describe his sight of the light of the beacon. Translation adapted from that of M. Ehrmantraut and G. A. McBrayer, in McBrayer, Xenophon: The Shorter Writings. Foucault 1977: 200–9. This passage is also of interest in terms of its complex sexual politics: although Virtue is a personification and is described as immortal, she is eroticized. Men are said to desire her (ἐρῶσιν, Cyn. 12.18), a verb specifically associated with erotic desire, and she is compared to an erômenos (τοῦ ἐρωμένου, Cyn. 12.20), a young boy who is normatively the passive love object. Men’s relation to her is described in terms of their conquest of her (κατεργάσασθαι, Cyn. 12.19; κατεργάζοιντο, Cyn. 12.22): the verb κατεργάζομαι can mean ‘conquer’ or ‘subdue’, as well as ‘acquire’ or ‘achieve’. She is also described as being captured (ἁλίσκεται, Cyn. 12.22). Although men are controlled by her when they see that she sees them, the passage presents Virtue as open to being seduced and conquered. Cf. the similarly contorted sexual politics in the discussion of the viewing of Panthea at Cyr. 5.1.4–17 (see Chapter 5). See Humble 1999, 2004: 223 on the Lak. Pol.’s concern with the visible performance of virtue in contrast to its internalization. Cf. Atack 2018 on Xenophon’s interest in performativity. We are told that he displayed (ἐπεδείξατο, Ages. 1.37) his kingship as worthy of praise by bringing calm to the Asian cities which he took over; that he displayed (ἐπεδείκνυτο, Ages. 11.9) courage more through good judgement than through risk-taking; and that he was unique in displaying (ἐπιδεῖξαι, Ages. 11.14) that although bodily strength weakens with age, strength of soul in good men does not. We are also asked which of his deeds do not display (ἐπιδεικνύουσιν; Ages. 6.4) his wisdom. Cf. the use of ἀντεπιδείκνυμι: Agesilaus displayed himself (ἑαυτὸν δ’

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ἀντεπιδείξας, Ages. 1.12) as keeping his oaths. Similar language appears in the Lak. Pol., e.g. Lycurgus ‘displayed’ (ἐπέδειξεν) his native land as pre-eminently blessed (Lak. Pol. 1.2). O’Connell 2017: 90–1. Translations from the Ages. are adapted from that of R. C. Bartlett in McBrayer, Xenophon: The Shorter Writings. Hirsch 1985: 54: ‘Xenophon’s protestations here are excessive.’ He suggests that Xenophon is responding to a rumour of scandal. On the apologetic tone of the Ages., see Hirsch 1985: 51–5; Hamilton 1994: 212; Azoulay 2018: 94–5; Cawkwell 1976: 64; Tuplin 1993: 53, n. 32; Cartledge 1987: 55; Pernot 1993: 685; Daverio Rocchi 2007: 393. On the Ages. as a Panhellenist text, see Delebecque 1957: 462–70; Dillery 1995: 114–19; Laforse 2013. On the difficulty of characterizing Agesilaus as a Panhellenic figure, see Hirsch 1985: 51–5; Azoulay 2018: 94. Agesilaus is directly contrasted to the Persian king in a number of behaviours, such as eating, sleeping, and attitudes towards cold and heat: see Higgins 1977: 79. The comparison includes openness to visual scrutiny: ‘In the first place, [the Persian king] affected a solemn air by being rarely seen [σπανίως ὁρᾶσθαι], whereas Agesilaus exulted in always being plainly visible [ἀεὶ ἐμφανής], believing that while being unseen [τὸ ἀφανίζεσθαι] is fitting for shameful action, the light [τὸ φῶς] supplies adornment [κόσμον] to a life given over to what is noble’ (Ages. 9.1). Contrast Laforse 2013, who suggests that the Ages. downplays Agesilaus’ actions against other Greeks in order to enable its Panhellenist arguments. Cf. Humble 2020: 302–3. Cartledge 1987: 60 suggests that the visual mode of description implies that Xenophon was an eyewitness to the battle. See Vatri 2020: 215–17 on the emotional impact of asyndeton and its role in generating immersive effects via its ‘iconic’ function, whereby the linguistic form in which the action is described mirrors the experience of perceiving it. For a more detailed account of the issues discussed in this section, see Harman 2018. These texts’ visual quality forms part of their experientiality. On experientiality in Hdt., see Baragwanath 2013. On experientiality in Thuc., see Stahl 2003; Grethlein 2010a: 241–54; Grethlein 2010b: 324–7; Grethlein 2013: 29–52; Hau 2013: 77–85. See Bakker 1999; Clay 2011; Hesk 2015; Myers 2015; Slatkin 2007; Lovatt 2013. Cf. Nünlist 2009: 153–5 on the claim in the scholia that Homer transforms his readers into spectators. Hartog 1988: 276. Hartog 1988: 230–7; Elsner 1994: 230–5; Munson 2001: 232–65. See Hartog 1988: 260–309 on Herodotean autopsy. This recalls the Pre-Socratic philosophers and early medical writers: Thomas 2000: 190–212, 221–8, 249–69.

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95 Greenwood 2006: 19–41. See also Walker 1993: 374; Woodman 1988: 23–8. 96 Cf. Heraclitus 22 B 101a D.–K. 97 See Walker 1993: 373 on the story of Gyges’ viewing of Candaules’ wife as ‘a story that reflects Herodotus’ own project as an intruding ethnographer’. 98 See Konstan 1983: 11–13. 99 Cf. Travis 2000: 342–3, 348–9. 100 Hartog 1988. See, e.g., the Fish-Eaters’ viewing of Ethiopia (Hdt. 3.23–4), the Spartans viewing the dead Persians on the battlefield of Marathon (Hdt. 6.120), and examples discussed below. 101 See Redfield 1985: 102. Konstan 1987: 68 sees this scene as suggesting a particularly barbarian, and particularly autocratic, mode of viewing for Croesus, arguing that Herodotus contrasts Greek and non-Greeks ways of seeing in the text. 102 See Nightingale 2004: 40–71 on theôria as implying the viewing of the foreign, referring to viewing by private pilgrims or sacred ambassadors at foreign sanctuaries, as well as suggesting more generally the viewing of sights abroad. Ker 2000: 308–11 suggests that Solon’s viewing can be understood via the political role of the theôros as city representative. See I. Rutherford 1995 on the religious connotations of theôria. 103 See Griffith 1998 on audience identification with the arrogant monarchic protagonists of tragedy. 104 See esp. Hartog 1988; Dewald 1990; Pelling 1997. 105 Xerxes’ viewing at Salamis is imagined as an assertion of power over his men: he watches in order to make his men fight better (Hdt. 8.69), and each man is spurred on by the fear that the king’s eyes may be on him (Hdt. 8.86). His spectatorship is reminiscent of Zeus watching the Trojan War from Mount Ida in the Iliad: Grethlein 2009: 209 and de Jong 1999: 268. 106 See Grethlein 2009, Christ 1994 and Katz Anhalt 2008 on the metahistorical significance of Herodotus’ representation of viewers’ misinterpretation of sights. In contrast to the reading offered here, these authors read these scenes as providing counter-models for how to read history, which operate as foils to the authoritative view of history offered by the text. On characters’ misinterpretation of sights in Hdt., see also Miltsios 2016. 107 See Redfield 1985: 115: ‘[Herodotus] tells the story in ironic criticism of Pausanias, and as a warning to the Greeks. (Laughter is always a bad sign in Herodotus.)’ See Munson 1991 on Herodotus’ criticism of Cambyses’ mockery of Egyptian religion (Hdt. 3.37–8). For laughter in the context of cross-cultural comparison, cf. the Ethiopian king’s response to Persian gold: Hdt. 3.22. 108 See Cartledge 2002: 95–7 and Hartog 1988: 152–6 on the Spartans as a ‘Greek Other’ in Herodotus. Also cf. Millender 1996 on the ‘barbarization’ of Sparta in fifth-century literature.

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109 Perlman 1976; Hall 1989: 59–60; Mitchell 2007: 11. 110 Crane 1996: 242–3. 111 Greenwood 2006: 30–1. Trans. adapted from R. Warner (1954), Thucydides: History of the Peloponnesian War, London: Penguin. 112 Greenwood 2006: 26–30. 113 Cf. κατὰ θέαν, Thuc. 5.7.3 and 5.9.3. 114 Crane 1996: 245. 115 See also the use of this term in Pericles’ funeral oration, where Pericles invites his audience to gaze upon (θεωμένους) the power of their city and become her lovers (Thuc. 2.43.1). As Crane 1996: 241 notes, here an emotionally laden look, rather than an analytical one, is promoted; he argues that whereas the frequent use of θεάομαι in Herodotus conjures up ‘the picture of the traveler, exposed to a new environment, gazing in surprise at new phenomena’, the visual terms more common to Thucydides, σκοπέω and σκέπτομαι, suggest a more investigative, diagnostic form of viewing. Trans. adapted from Warner, Thucydides: History of the Peloponnesian War. 116 Greenwood 2006: 27; Goldhill 2000: 172–3; Ludwig 2002: 366. 117 Goldhill 1998a: 106–9; Goldhill 1999: 1–10; Goldhill 2000. 118 On the concern with misleading appearances, see, e.g., Kallet 2001: 56–8 on Thucydides’ comment about the difficulty of judging the power of Mycenae, Sparta and Athens from the visual impression of their cities, since Sparta will look less powerful, and Athens more powerful, than they are (Thuc. 1.10.1–3). 119 Walker 1993: 356: ‘In the Piraeus scene, the outstanding spectacle of the Athenian fleet all but overwhelms the Athenians’ misgivings about the wisdom of the expedition as a whole . . . Conflicting feelings of hope and lamentation are alleviated by the impressive sight (opsis) of the powerful Athenian fleet . . .’ 120 Rood 1998: 49–50. 121 Trans. Greenwood 2006: 36. 122 See Rood 1998: 57: ‘The emotional aspects of the narrative are themselves part of its historical meaning.’ 123 See Kallet 2001: 83, who argues that in this scene Thucydides is criticizing the Athenians for ‘incorrectly interpreting opsis in the context of power’. 124 Grethlein 2010a: 254: ‘The reading experience mirrors the experiences at the level of the action with regard to the future.’ 125 Kallet 2001: 84: ‘While I have argued that Thucydides has constructed his account to privilege the negative interpretation – that the signs by which people are judging power are misguided and that ostentatious display does not per se signify power – he weaves into it the possibility, accepted by his contemporaries certainly, that the Athenians were setting out on an expedition of manifestly great strength.’ 126 Cf. Barker 2009: 203–63 on the experiential nature of Thucydides’ assembly scenes, esp. 206–7: ‘because of Thucydides’ strategy of direct imitation . . . his

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representations of debate also have the effect of propelling readers into the hurly-burly of warring words, which, to a certain extent at any rate, puts them at risk of being seduced by the arguments reproduced’ (207). 127 See esp. Barker 2009: 240–8 on the experiential qualities of the Mytilene debate as allowing self-conscious reflection on the problems of political response. 128 Trans. Warner, Thucydides: History of the Peloponnesian War. 129 Walker 1993: 372–5. 130 See Connor 1985: 8–13 on the construction of narrative authority through the presentation of multiple perspectives, which trumps the partial experience of the participants, but also through mimetic illusionism, where the reader is made to feel as though present at the events described. As Connor comments, between these two techniques there is an ‘inevitable tension – the rapid shifting of viewpoints risks a shattering of the experiential quality of the work’ (17). 131 Plut. De glor. Ath. 347a. Trans. F. C. Babbitt (1936), Plutarch: Moralia, vol. IV, Loeb edition, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

3 Hellenica: Viewing Greek History 1 See esp. Tuplin 1993 and Dillery 1995, with emphasis on a critique of Spartan imperialism; cf. Higgins 1977: 99–127; Too 2021: 151–66. Buxton 2017a suggests that the text offers both critical and beneficial examples of Sparta’s exercise of power. Unless otherwise stated, all textual references in this chapter are to Xenophon’s Hellenica. 2 Hell. 5.4.1. Dillery 1995: 179–237; Pelling 2013a: 14; Flower 2017: 318–20. 3 Dillery 1995: 17–38; Rood 2004b: 350. 4 On individuals in the Hellenica, see Gray 1989, Gray 2011 and Pownall 2004: 65–112. 5 On the visual in the Hellenica, see Dillery 1995: 30–1; Dillery 2004; Dillery 2008; Gray 1989: 158–63; Gray 2011: 99, 180–93, 200–1. Cf. Baragwananth 2018, which discusses perceptions, foiled expectations and the impact of emotion in the Hellenica. 6 Cf. Greenwood 2006: 19–41 on the similar concern in Thucydides. 7 Cf. Tamiolaki 2013: 27 on emotion as a cause of action in the Hell., following Thucydides. 8 Cf. Tamiolaki 2013: 46–7 on the emotional engagement of the reader of the Hell. through enargeia, and its role in historical interpretation. 9 Riedinger 1991: 9–40; Schepens 2001: 81. 10 Dillery 1995: 99–119. Cf. Cawkwell 1979: 193 n., which describes Xenophon’s framing of Agesilaus’ achievements in Asia as ‘Panhellenist big talk’. 11 Higgins 1977: 106; Dillery 1995: 105–6. 12 Dillery 1995: 23–4; Flower 2000: 96, n. 122. On Agesilaus’ campaign in Asia, see Cartledge 1987: 180–202; Hamilton 1991: 86–119.

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Dillery 1995: 23, 116. Higgins 1977: 106; Dillery 1995: 117; Rood 2007: 155–6. Vlassopoulos 2017: 363; Luraghi 2017: 95. Translations from the Hellenica are adapted from that of J. Marincola, in Strassler 2009. See also the description of the arrival of the news while the Spartans celebrated the Gymnopaediae Festival (6.4.16). The vividness of Xenophon’s account has been read as indicating his presence in Sparta in 371 bce : Cawkwell 1976: 63; Schepens 2001: 86, n. 21. Cf. Occhipinti 2017: 23–5 on the reversal of paradigms in the Hellenica’s depiction of the Spartans. On the Hellenica’s depiction of the ideal Spartan death, see Scott 2015. On the ‘beautiful death’, see Detienne 1968, Loraux 1977 and Vernant 1982. Cf. the appearance of the Spartans after the disaster at the Corinthian Lechaeum: ‘There was much grieving throughout the army – except for those whose sons, fathers or brothers had died in that battle: these men went around with beaming faces, delighting in their personal misfortune, as if they had been victors’ (4.5.10). See Trundle 2017: 154 on the response to Lechaeum in the context of wider Spartan glorification of death in battle. Foster 2019: 98 reads Xenophon’s depiction of the responses as part of a critique of the Spartan ethos of the beautiful death: ‘Xenophon went out of his way to show that the deaths at Lechaeum were not beautiful, but humiliating and pitiable.’ Cf. also Agesilaus’ response on learning that Tissaphernes has broken his oath and has acquired a large army from the Persian king: whereas the other Spartans and their allies are visibly distraught (μάλα ἀχθεσθέντες φανεροí, 3.4.11), Agesilaus, with a radiant face (μάλα φαιδρῷ τῷ προσώπῳ, 3.4.11), tells Tissaphernes’ envoys to announce to Tissaphernes that he is grateful to him for breaking his oath since this makes the gods into his enemies and into allies of the Greeks. Tamiolaki 2013: 41 reads these scenes as suggesting the Spartan propensity to conceal the emotions, and links this to the ‘Spartan mirage’ (see esp. Ollier 1943). See Pelling 2013a: 13–14 on the Hellenica’s representation of the Spartans as ‘the new Persians, bullying, insensitive, and autocratic’ (13). Cf. Occhipinti 2017: 24. See Gray 2011: 202 on the use of visualization here. Cf. other uses of visual language in the discussion of Phlius (7.2): ‘It is also quite evident [περιφανές] that they kept faith with their friends by patient endurance’ (7.2.17). See Dillery 1995: 130–8 on the paradigmatic community; see Hau 2016: 228–31 on Phlius as a didactic example of philia; see Gray 2011: 111–12 on Phlius’ loyalty to Sparta in misfortune, along with Gray 1989: 165–70. Buxton 2017a: 37 (with n. 38) notes Xenophon’s emphasis on the unity of the defenders of Phlius, which he suggests indicates ‘the broad popularity of the regime that Agesilaus has enabled’; he reads the relationship of Phlius to Sparta as emblematic of a positive model of Spartan hegemony.

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24 See Buxton 2016: 170 and Gray 2003: 113 on the narrator’s justification of the inclusion of this scene in terms of its function as an example of model leadership. We can compare Teleutias’ claim of his visual availability to his men, informing them that his door stands open so that they can approach him: ‘Whenever you have abundant provisions, then you will see me [ἐμὲ ὄψεσθε] living with greater abundance. But if you see me [με ὁρᾶτε] enduring cold and heat and night watches, you will know that you, too, must persevere in all these things’ (5.1.15). Cf. the concern with the need for visual availability in leaders at Ages. 9.1, Cyr. 7.5.46, and cf. the visual availability of Socrates (Mem. 1.1.10): see Azoulay 2004a: 151–2; Azoulay 2018: 263. 25 See Gray 2011: 94 on Iphicrates’ men’s willing obedience. 26 Ferrario 2014: 201. 27 Ferrario 2014: 179–283. 28 Buxton 2017a: 28–9 notes that this revelation leads to a reversal of expected behaviours as the hoplite and cavalry class abandon the oligarchic regime and their Spartan backers. 29 Cf. The language of ‘clear’ evidence: σαφεῖ . . . τεκμηρίῳ, 6.4.13. Visual language is also used rhetorically in speeches to encourage trust and acceptance, for example in Jason of Pherai’s speech to Polydamas of Pharsalus (‘Do not believe what I say unless on consideration it also appears [φαίνηται] true to you,’ 6.1.8; ‘Look / consider [σκόπει] if I estimate rightly in these matters also,’ 6.1.11). Polydamas’ speech to the Spartans in which he recounts his encounter with Jason makes similar reference to sight (and hearing) to imply the trustworthiness of his words (‘I am telling you everything that I myself have seen [αὐτός τε ὁρῶ] and what I have heard from Jason,’ 6.1.14). 30 Cf. Baragwanath 2018: 52: ‘Xenophon points to perceptions as more important that actuality in shaping historical outcomes.’ 31 See Rood 2012a: 90–2 and Zali 2016: 52 on Procles’ manipulative appeals to the reputation of the Athenians. 32 See Pelling 2013a: 15–16 on the manipulation of intertextual narrative codes which both promote and cast doubt on the expectation of Spartan gratitude for Athenian assistance. 33 Lewis 2004: 73: ‘whether or not Euphron was a tyrant depends on your standpoint’. Lewis discusses this passage as indicative of a contemporary debate about how to interpret different forms of political rule; see also Pownall 2016: 69; Too 2021: 160. 34 This concern with the deployment of manipulative sights also emerges in Xenophon’s contemporary, the Oxyrhynchus Historian, who describes how Conon staged a daily review of his troops on Rhodes in order to encourage the Rhodians to overthrow their government, since ‘if they saw them there in armour, they might engage in action immediately’, Hell. Oxy. London fragment 15.1 Bartoletti, trans. P. R.

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McKechnie and S. J. Kern (1988), Hellenica Oxyrhynchia, Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Kapellos 2019: 46 relates the presentation here to Alcibiades’ account of his spectacular performance in chariot racing at Olympia (Thuc. 6.16.2). Rood 2004b: 369: ‘this polarization was part of the problem . . . the problem of Alcibiades lay in great part in the way the Athenians responded to Alcibiades’. See also Too 2021: 155, who notes that the fact that ‘Alcibiades is a figure who is either much admired and loved, or much hated’ indicates ‘the instability of politics in the late fifth century’. Cf. Kapellos 2019: 67. I follow Rood 2004b: 366 and n. 66 for the translation of the definite article in the phrase θαυμάζοντες καὶ ἰδεῖν βουλόμενοι τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην. Ferrario 2012: 354: ‘The presentation of variants, as has frequently been noted in Herodotean scholarship, places the onus of the immediate interpretation upon the reader.’ The lengthier account of the positive response to Alcibiades has been read as indicating Xenophon’s sympathy with that position: Krentz 1989: 91; Tamiolaki 2016: 11, n. 20. However, we might just as much see the short, sharp summation of another view as puncturing the overblown arguments of Alcibiades’ apologists: Kapellos 2019: 67. The difference in length ‘could equally be taken as a sign that Alcibiades’ actions needed a lot of defending’ (Rood 2004b: 368). See Bloedow 1973 on this term. See Rood 2004b: 369 on the repetition of ἡγεμών: ‘a sinister pun?’; cf. Kapellos 2019: 71. Due 1991, Rood 2004b and Ferrario 2014: 185–8. Rood 2004b: 367. Ferrario 2017: 70. Ferrario 2014: 188 notes that the use of this term rather than δῆμος (‘democratic citizenry’) suggests the crowd’s lack of ‘ability to make history or even determine upon and execute good action’. Ferrario 2014: 187: ‘a large-scale reversal has taken place: whereas the Athenians in Thucydides dispatched a great expedition to Sicily, only one man in Xenophon has come home again, and he is not a fellow-citizen, but a spectacle’. Cf. Due 1991: 46, who notes in this scene ‘a conflict between the masses and the individual’. Ferrario 2014: 186. Rood 2004b: 369: ‘Xenophon brings out how Alcibiades is already imprisoned by his own reputation – by his own “otherness” (he is a marvel, he is “the” Alcibiades, the man who we (they?) know from Thucydides is to play so great a role in Athens’ defeat).’ Cf. Pelling 2013a: 15 on the Hellenica’s assertion of ‘rhythms of the rise and fall of empires’ in its depiction of Spartan reversals and Theban successes. See Gray 1989: 158–62 on the focus on vision and spectacle in this portion of the Hell..

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50 Dillery 2008: 246. See also Gray 2011: 201: ‘a telling reversal of Xenophon’s comments that their previous success had made the Spartans “worthy of the gaze” ’. 51 See Gray 2011: 201 on Agesilaus’ mitigation of the effects of the disaster through a display of control of the land. 52 Gray 1989: 162. 53 I am grateful to Deborah Steiner for this point. On the divine gaze, see Lovatt 2013: 29–77. 54 See Dillery 2008: 247: ‘a contrast is drawn between “normal viewing” (ὁρᾶν) and “significant viewing” (ἐθεάσαντο)’. 55 Dillery 2008: 247: ‘Xenophon’s agricultural image shocks by its unfamiliar appropriateness’; see also his comments on the Homeric resonances of the transference of agricultural language to describe battle. Pownall 2019: 75 reads this passage in terms of Xenophon’s concern with the socially destructive violence which results from Sparta’s attempts at hegemony. The helplessness of the viewing of the Argives and (anti-Spartan) Corinthians of the city parallels their vividly described helplessness before the Spartan onslaught (4.4.11–12). It also offers an ironic answer to the previous helpless experience of their opponents: the pro-Spartan Corinthians who saw (ὁρῶντες, 4.4.1) their land destroyed by war, those Corinthians who were dismayed to see (ἰδόντας, 4.4.4) the impiety of the slaughter of the pro-Spartan faction, and the exiled pro-Spartan Corinthians who see (ὁρῶντες, 4.4.6) those in power in Corinth ruling like tyrants. 56 See Grethlein and Huitink 2017 and Huitink 2020 on spatial orientation producing vividness via an enactivist account of the reading process. 57 Dillery 1995: 208. 58 Baragwanath 2018: 47 compares this episode to the manipulation of rivers by Eastern imperialists in Herodotus and of the Spartans’ siege of Plataea in Thucydides, and notes the suggestion that the wider world is watching and drawing conclusions. 59 For the name ‘Tearless Battle’, see Plut. Ages. 33.5; also cf. Diodorus 15.72.3. In ironic contrast to the name given to the battle, Plutarch says that at the news of the victory everyone wept ‘as if Sparta had wiped away her unmerited disgraces and now saw the light shine bright again as of old [λαμπρὸν αὖθις ἐξ ἀρχῆς τὸ φῶς ὁρώσης]; for before this, we are told, her men could not so much as look their wives in the face [ἀντιβλέπειν] out of shame at their disasters’ (Plut. Ages. 33.8); trans. B. Perrin (1917), Plutarch: Lives, vol. V, Loeb edition, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 60 See Cairns 2005: 131. 61 This comment has been read as a veiled comparison with the Second Athenian League, which is otherwise not directly mentioned in Xenophon: Strassler 2009 ad. loc. For further discussion of the use of βλέπω in Xenophon, see Chapter 5. 62 Following the Thebans’ penetration of Spartan territory, the Spartan women are described as being unable to endure the sight of smoke rising from the enemy’s fires

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65

66 67

68 69

70 71

72

73 74

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because they had never before seen an enemy (αἱ μὲν γυναῖκες οὐδὲ τὸν καπνὸν ὁρῶσαι ἠνείχοντο, ἅτε οὐδέποτε ἰδοῦσαι πολεμίους, 6.5.28). The Theban attack is imagined visually, via the experience of the women; their response marks the transformation in the position of Sparta. See Huitink 2020 on the narration of sensorimotor activities and the presentation of objects via their ‘affordances’ (their potential for interaction) as providing vividness by promoting the imagination of bodily engagement. See Allan 2020: 29 on the imperfect tense as contributing to readerly immersion. Cf. Allan 2020: 23 on Hom. Il. 16.104–11: ‘since the imperfects refer to events or states that are temporally co-extensive, the order of the narration . . . suggests . . . that the narrator moves his gaze through the scene, successively focusing his attention on one of the ongoing events or states’. See Gray 2011: 97 on the willing obedience of Epaminondas’ followers in this scene. See Sterling 2004: 458–60, Gray 1989: 170–5, Higgins 1977: 117 and Too 2021: 165 on the text’s positive account of Epaminondas’ leadership in the preparations for the battle. See Ferrario 2014: 263–5 on the focus on Epaminondas as an individual in this sequence as ‘commander narrative’; cf. Gray 1989: 170. See Baragwanath 2016a: 161–3 on the echoes of both Herodotus’ Persian kings and of Leonidas and his Homeric antecedents in Epaminondas’ concerns with reputation. See Baragwanath 2016a: 165 on the concern with perceptions ‘focalised almost exclusively through the gaze of the Theban commander’, which she suggests echoes Thucydides. Cf. Westlake 1975: 23 on the narration of events from Epaminondas’ point of view. See Sterling 2004: 459 on the praise of both sides. See Tamiolaki 2013: 24–5 on the use of the term ἐρῶντες as suggesting the Athenians’ nostalgia for their imperialistic past. Cf. Baragwanath 2016a: 162 on the echoes of Athenian achievements in the Persian Wars. See Ludwig 2017: 518 on the praise of the Athenian dead, which he suggests hints at the death of Xenophon’s son Gryllus at Mantineia. See Gray 1989: 174 on the vivid description of the reactions. See Vatri 2020: 215–17 on the experiential impact of asyndeton, and Huitink 2020 on the creation of vividness through the narration of bodily action. See Baragwanath 2018: 50 on the concern with the perspective of onlookers whose expectations are foiled and with limited human perception. Cf. Hau 2013: 86–7 on the description of unfulfilled expectations as ‘side-shadowing’, which enhances the experientiality of the text. Dillery 1995: 17–20. Baragwanath 2016a: 165 suggests that the concluding passage, with its emphasis on the role of the divine, indicates a Herodotean worldview. Grethlein and Huitink 2020: 72: ‘it is at the level of such actions that we ourselves perceptually-enactively experience the world . . . Simple bodily-action narration

Notes to pp. 69–74

75 76

77 78 79 80 81 82

83

84 85 86 87 88

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makes manifest . . . a spatial situation as strung together by deeply familiar patterns of movement.’ Allan 2020. Cf. Grethlein and Huitink 2017: 73 on ‘dynamic veracity’, whereby ‘the time a text passage takes to read. . . [is] commensurate with the duration of the described action as performed in the real world’, as a literary feature which evokes embodied experience. Flower 2012: 171. See Gray 2011: 99 on the evaluation of Agesilaus’ leadership in this scene. See Pownall 2004: 83–4 on the depiction of the inculcation of moral virtues. Dillery 1995: 30. Dillery 1995: 113. Dillery 2004: 265. Cf. Harman 2012 on Ages. 1.25–8. Baragwanath 2018: 51 offers an interesting comparison with the account of Cinadon’s plot at Sparta (3.3.4–11), which similarly focuses in highly visual terms on a city’s agora and on preparations for war and the amassing of weapons: see the language of display (ἐπιδεικνύναι, 3.3.5; ἐπιδεῖξαι, 3.3.7) as Cinadon reveals the plot. Baragwanath suggests that the recalling of this episode might undermine the celebration of Sparta in the Ephesus scene: ‘the irony here generated invites readers to contemplate the degree to which Sparta is compromised by the inequality of her political system’. The use of visualization enables us to see Spartan society through the eyes of the disaffected: see Higgins 1977: 115–16 and Gish 2009: 352–5 on the possibility of empathy with Cinadon, esp. his desire not to be inferior to anyone in Sparta, 3.3.11. Gish 2009 reads the Cinadon episode as key to the interpretation of the Hellenica as a critique of Spartan imperialism, by suggesting a flawed model of Spartan justice. See Dillery 1995: 109–14 on Xenophon’s subsequent depiction of the Battle of Sardis as indicating that the great expectations for Greek achievement which the Ephesus episode arouses are not realized; cf. Cartledge 1987: 214–18. Contrast Flower 2017: 313. Hau 2012. See Hau 2012: 598–600 for criticism of this aspect of Agesilaus’ training programme; cf. Krentz 1995 ad loc. on the negative connotations of the term in this passage. We might think of the English carol, ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ (‘twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping . . .’). Too 2021: 157. Cf. Isoc. Archidamos 81 for the comparison of Sparta to a well-organized military camp. See Hodkinson 2006: 120–1 on fourth-century conceptions of the military character of Sparta, and Christesen 2017: 384 on the Lak. Pol.’s account of Spartan military education.

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89 See Buxton 2016: 192 on the ethnic diversity of Agesilaus’ force. 90 See Gray 1989: 56 on the ‘contrast between Persian luxury and Spartan plainness’ and its evocation of similar contrasts in Herodotus, e.g. Pausanias’ comparison of a Persian and a Spartan meal, Hdt. 9.82. See also Gray 2011: 235–6 on Agesilaus’ actions in the context of his diplomatic aims: ‘we might say that Agesilaus is just displaying normal Spartan austerity; but . . . he may be deliberately avoiding offence because he has met with Pharnabazus with a view to establishing friendship (4.1.29)’. 91 See Flower 2015: 116, who suggests that Pharnabazus’ response disrupts conventional expectations of cultural difference: ‘In this famous scene . . . cultural stereotypes are subverted.’ Cf. Cartledge 2002: 62–4. 92 Cf. Dillery 1995: 60–1 on Cyrus the Younger’s speech extolling Greek superiority over barbarians (Xen. An. 1.7.3–4) as ‘autoethnography’. 93 Cf. Gish 2009: 347: ‘Our first impression of Spartan justice thus betrays ambivalence towards the traditional division between Greeks and non-Greeks or barbarians . . . The underlying Spartan principle at work in separating friends from enemies renders justice all but indistinguishable from expediency.’ 94 See Gray 2011: 236 on the shame of appearing greater than another in Xenophon: ‘Pharnabazus’ refusal to indulge in his own customary luxury when he sees Agesilaus on the ground and joins him “out of shame” suggests that Pharnabazus is also unwilling to appear greater than Agesilaus. There seems to be no other reason for his shame except somehow to equalize their positions.’ 95 Gorman and Gorman 2014: 7–75. 96 See Gray 2011: 232–43 for a reading of the Pharnabazus–Agesilaus exchange in terms of the re-establishment of proper relations of friendship following an offence, in the context of similar exchanges elsewhere in Xenophon, especially the confrontation of Agesilaus and Lysander (Hell. 3.4.7–10) and the confrontation of Cyrus and Cyaxares (Cyr. 5.5.5 ff.). Cf. Baragwanath 2017: 292–3. 97 Cf. Gray 2011: 233–5, who suggests that Agesilaus’ younger age might be seen as placing him in a subordinate social position in their encounter. 98 1.1.6, 1.1.24–6: see Flower 2015: 115. On the positive representation of Pharnabazus in his encounter with Agesilaus, see Gray 1989: 55–7; Flower 2015: 116–18; Rood 2012b: 164. 99 See Gray 1989: 56 on the suggestion of sadness and anger in the language of Pharnabazus’ speech. 100 Cf. Baragwanath 2017: 293, who contrasts Agesilaus’ claims about guest-friendship with the Iliad’s encounter of Diomedes and Glaucus (Hom. Il. 6.119–236); she notes how the Agesilaus–Pharnabazus exchange ‘highlights the disquieting ease with which Greek wars begin’. See also Dillery 1995: 118 for the comparison with Diomedes and Glaucus: ‘Agesilaus’ explanation runs counter to the traditional

Notes to pp. 77–83

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Greek attitude towards xenia . . . If we set his remark at 4.1.34 in a larger context, it accounts for Sparta’s catastrophic strategy later.’ 101 Cf. Rood 2004a: 311 for comparison with Cyrus the Younger’s valuation of freedom and wealth in his speech to the 10,000 Greeks (Xen. An. 1.7.3–4). 102 See Flower 2015: 116 on Agesilaus’ offer of subjugating those currently his fellows as an ‘unsavoury promise’. 103 In regards to the inclusion of wealth, we might recall Agesilaus’ capture of booty during his Asian campaign: Xen. Hell. 3.4.12. 104 Strassler 2009 ad loc. 105 See Cawkwell 2010: 102 on Xenophon’s depiction of the Theban embassy to the Persian king in 367 bce as ‘shabby and disgraceful’. 106 See Baragwanath 2016a: 160 on the Herodotean resonances of this account, e.g. the comment on Persian bakers and cooks (Hdt. 9.82) and Xerxes’ adornment of a beautiful plane tree (Hdt. 7.31). 107 Cf. Isoc. Paneg. 138, where an argument is presented to counter ‘those who stand in awe of the greatness of the King’s power’, trans. G. Norlin (1928), Isocrates, vol. I, Loeb edition, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. See Briant 2002: 197. 108 Ober 1989: 192–247. 109 Griffith 1998: 46–7; Gorman and Gorman 2014: 50–65. Cf. Miller 1997: 250–3 on the adoption of ‘Perserie’ by the Athenian elite as a mode of status expression. 110 See Vlassopoulos 2017: 366 on the concern in this passage with the context of the interaction in which ethnographic knowledge is generated. Bearzot 2011: 26 notes the suggestion of Arcadian self-consciousness. 111 Pelopidas gains favour with the king by reminding him how Thebes fought on the Persian side against the other Greeks at Plataea in the Persian Wars (7.1.34). The Athenians’ continued striving for power is also shown, as they complain about the injunction that Athens should immobilize her fleet (7.1.37), a probable reference to the Second Athenian League and the Athenian campaign in Amphipolis (Strassler 2009 ad loc.).

4 Anabasis: Foreign Travel and Identification 1 This chapter is an extended reworking of Harman 2013. New material includes discussion of Cyrus’ visual perspective and of the relationship between the visual perspectives of the character Xenophon and of the 10,000 as a collective. I am grateful to Bloomsbury Press for permission to republish the remainder. Unless otherwise stated, all textual references in this chapter are to Xenophon’s Anabasis. 2 Grethlein 2013: 53–91; Purves 2010: 159–95; Flower 2012: 85–9; Calvino 1999: 19; Huitink 2019. Cf. Baragwanath 2016b: 119–20, 136.

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3 On narrative immersion, see Allan 2018 (on immersion in Thucydides), Allan, de Jong and de Jonge 2017 (on immersion and enargeia in Homer) and Allan 2020 (on immersion and experientiality in Homer and Thucydides). 4 On travel and the visual, see Pratt 1992, who analyses how the representation of the Western traveller as a viewer formulates his or her political positioning in eighteenth- to twentieth-century travel writing. For viewing and travel in the ancient world, see Elsner 1992 and 1994 (on Pausanias); Nightingale 2001 and 2004: 40–71 (on the philosophical and cultural significance of theôria); and Hartog 1988: 248–58, 260–309 (on autopsy in Herodotus). Cf. the Odyssey’s depiction of Odysseus as gazing at the foreign and fantastical lands he visits; see, e.g., his gaze at the orchards on Scheria (Hom. Od. 7.133–4): Grethlein 2018: 37. 5 Morr 1926–7. For discussion of this position, see Dillery 1995: 59–98 (with 61, n. 7 for references); Rood 2004a; Flower 2012: 168–202. 6 Isoc. 4.148, 5.90. See also Xen. Hell. 3.4.2, where Lysander is prompted to persuade Agesilaus to attack Persia by the example of the 10,000’s successful return; cf. Xen. Hell. 6.1.12. 7 Polyb. 3.6.9–12; Arr. An. 2.7.8–9. 8 Rood 2004a: 310, on An. 1.7.3–4: ‘All that Cyrus’ commonplace contrast between disciplined Greeks and unruly barbarian hordes shows is that he has judged his audience well.’ See also Flower 2012: 179–80. Cf. Gauthier 1985, who argues that the text’s ideological rhetoric of Greek–barbarian opposition is a means of masking or legitimating the mercenary motives of the 10,000’s adventure in Asia. 9 See Anson 2004 on the relationship between ethnic and cultural categorizations of Greekness in the An. Whereas some readers have stressed the ethnocentricism of the text (Tripodi 1995; Brulé 1995; cf. Cartledge 2002: 59–60), others have seen the An. as indicating sympathy or respect for non-Greeks (Anderson 2001: 139–41; L’Allier 2004; Roy 2007; Rzchiladze 1980). 10 See Dillery 1995: 59–98 on the 10,000’s potential and also failure as ideal Panhellenic community. On concepts of community in the An., see Nussbaum 1967, who emphasizes their collective action as a ‘polis on the march’; see also Flamarion Cardoso 2001, who argues that a unified identity among the 10,000 is created through collective action. However, contrast Gauthier 1985: 23 on their discord and factionalism. Cf. Dalby 1992, who compares the 10,000 to a colonizing expedition; Rood 2015 on concepts of political formation in the text; and Too 2021: 187–205 on the An. as proposing the benefits of a civic rather than military community. 11 Ma 2004. 12 See Azoulay 2004b: 289, who argues that Xenophon tries to distance himself from ‘the disgraceful shadow of the mercenary’ as a defence against accusations such as Isoc. Paneg. 145–6, which criticizes the army for its poor socio-economic origins. Cf. Azoulay 2018: 114–21.

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13 See Hamilton 1979: 104–7; Braun 2004: 110–13. Although the majority of the 10,000 were mercenaries operating independently, the Spartans sent an officially statesanctioned contingent, consisting of a fleet under Samius, and 700 hoplites under Cheirisophus: Xen. Hell. 3.1.1; An. 1.2.21, 1.4.2–3. Before Cunaxa the army is largely led by Clearchus, and after Cunaxa by Cheirisophus along with Xenophon. 14 Cf. Hall 2002: 210–11; Georges 1994: 232–3. Cf. Cartledge 2002: 60–5 on depictions of barbarians who achieve ‘Hellenic standards of moral and political conduct’ (65) in Xenophon. 15 See Rood 2004a: 309–12; Buzzetti 2014: 59–61 on Cyrus’ speech before Cunaxa (1.7.3), where he claims to admire and envy the Greeks for their ‘freedom’ and asserts the priority of freedom over wealth, but also uses an offer of riches in Asia to secure the Greeks’ obedience, revealing the manipulative function of his claims. 16 Cf. the description of the Marsyas River as place where Apollo flayed Marsyas (1.2.8–9), and of Midas’ Spring as the place where Midas caught Silenus (1.2.13); λέγεται is repeated in both accounts, framing Asian sites within a Greek narrative history. Huitink 2019: 201 (with appendix at 214–15) notes the near-absence of λέγεται statements in the central books of the text set in the middle of the Persian Empire, in contrast to the books set in areas familiar to or inhabited by Greeks on the Ionian or Black Sea coasts; he suggests that this ‘underlines how there are no general Greek tales to draw on in order to make sense of the landscape’. On the use of λέγεται, see also Buzzetti 2014: 13–15. 17 The idea of visiting lands previously explored by the Argonauts goes back to Hom. Od. 12.69–70. The traces left by the Argonauts are a repeated concern of Apollonius Rhodius’ Argonautica: see Goldhill 1991: 284–333. For a description of the Black Sea in terms of the places visited by the Argonauts in Arrian’s Periplus, see Rood 2011. 18 Through an examination of the ideological construction of landscape, Tripodi 1995: 42 argues for ‘la prospettiva etnocentrica dello sguardo di Senofonte’ (‘the ethnocentric perspective of Xenophon’s gaze’), describing the journey of the 10,000 as an ‘osservatorio itinerante’ (‘travelling observatory’) whose vision is politically charged. Cf. Dougherty 2001: 122–41, who discusses Odysseus’ surveying of foreign lands in Hom. Od. as a ‘proto-colonialist’ act of cultural empowerment. 19 Unless otherwise stated, translations from the Anabasis are adapted from that of C. L. Brownson (1922) (rev. 1998 by J. Dillery), Loeb edition, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 20 Cf. Tripodi 1995, esp. 46–7, on θαῦμα, which discusses how descriptions of the landscape focus on the availability of its resources to Greek use. 21 See Harman 2016. 22 Anderson 2001: 42 reads the phrase δεινὸν ἦν θέαμα as evidence of Xenophon’s compassion for the Taochians, but notes that the scene is governed by a concern for gain. Hanson 2001: 2 reads the account of the suicide as indicating the Taochians’

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28

29

30

31

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cultural difference: ‘During their ordeal, the Ten Thousand were dumbfounded by the Taochians, whose women and children jumped off the high cliffs of their village in a ritual mass suicide.’ I am grateful to Judith Mossman for this point. Purves 2010: 159–95. Cf. Rood 2014 on the text’s interest in the entrapment of the Greeks by a difficult landscape. Concern can also be expressed that looking at the enemy might be debilitating. In advising the army to attack before the enemy can creep up on them, Xenophon instructs: ‘consider / see [ὁρᾶτε] whether it is better to go forward against these men with arms advanced, or with arms reversed to gaze [θεᾶσθαι] upon the enemy coming upon us from behind’ (6.5.16). He advises them not to find themselves in a situation where they must look from a position of disadvantage. Trans. R. Waterfield (2005), Xenophon: The Expedition of Cyrus, Oxford World Classics edition, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Purves 2010: 187–8; Grethlein 2013: 55–6. See Huitink 2019: 210–12 for an analysis of the linguistic features of this passage which frame the king’s approach as viewed through the eyes of the Greek protagonists. The phrase τὰ ὄντα τε ὡς ὄντα καὶ τὰ μὴ ὄντα ὡς οὐκ ὄντα (‘what exists as existing and what does not exist as not existing’, 4.4.15) recalls Protagoras 80 B1 (D.–K.), discussed in Pl. Th. 151e–152c. I am grateful to Douglas Cairns for this observation. Cf. Goldhill 1986: 17–18 on the sight of the light of beacons in Aesch. Ag. 489–98, where the uncertainty of the meaning intended to be communicated by the lights is contrasted with the clarity of the spoken message of a herald. Xenophon similarly encourages the Greeks by urging them to seem (δόξετε) to those of the barbarians who are their friends that they are better than they, and to show (δηλώσετε) to those who are their enemies that they are different from the men they have fought before, whom Xenophon accuses of indiscipline (5.4.21). The 10,000 also make use of deceptive appearances when they escape from the Drilae by setting up a false ambush: a group of soldiers pretend to be trying to escape the notice (λανθάνειν) of the enemy, but their shields now and then gleam (ἄλλοτε καὶ ἄλλοτε διεφαίνοντο). The enemy, seeing this (διορῶντες), are afraid; the disturbance allows the Greek army to escape (5.2.29–30). Similarly, Clearchus wishes the army to flee while avoiding the appearance of flight (φυλαττόμενος μὴ δοκοίη φεύγειν, 2.2.16); and Xenophon urges them to set out on the journey for Greece without being visible (φανερούς, 3.2.24) doing so, because if the Persian king saw (ἑώρα, 3.2.24) that they wished to stay he would help them to leave. See discussion of this passage in Chapter 1. Cf. Buzzetti 2014: 223–5, who suggests that the various dances portray different models of Hellenism and barbarism, and links these to an analysis of the philosophic life (225–9).

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34 L’Allier 2004: 239 reads the scene as demonstrating the relativity of responses to all cultural practices, by presenting the barbarian audience’s bafflement at Greek customs. 35 See Ma 2004: 339. 36 Buzzetti 2014: 222; Anson 2004: 8–9. 37 Flower 2012: 185 relates the joke to representations of Persians being vanquished by Greek women in Greek literature, suggesting that the aim might be to inspire fear in the Paphlagonians. 38 Representations of women performing armed dances have been read as indicative of ritual, but also as the dances of hetairai. See Liventhal 1985; Poursat 1968: 586–615; Ceccarelli 1998: 58–80. Lane Fox 2004: 191 speculates on where the dancing girl might have learned this dance – whether she had been brought from Greece and so might have learned it there, or whether she had been acquired during the course of the journey. 39 The inability to understand mimetic representation is a mark of ignorance and stupidity in ancient thought; cf. the fear of Encolpius on seeing a painting of a dog in Petron. Sat. 29. 40 Ar. Eq. contains the humorous figure ‘the Paphlagonian’; see also Luc. Alex. where Paphlagonians are stupid (9), as brainless as sheep (15) and easily deceived (17). 41 See Vlassopoulos 2013b: 54 on the Mysian’s collaboration with the aims of the Greeks in staging this display. See Urry 2002 on the construction of the culturally ‘authentic’ in displays for foreign tourists. 42 Cf. Bradley 2010: 529–30; Grethlein 2013: 76. See also Purves 2010: 159–95 on narrative indeterminacy in the An. 43 Grethlein 2013: 56–9. Cf. Too 2021: 191. 44 Trans. adapted from Waterfield, Xenophon: The Expedition of Cyrus. 45 Flower 2012: 174–5. Cf. Buzzetti 2014: 49, who views the passage as offering a positive account of Cyrus’ rule. 46 Higgins 1977: 85. 47 Dillery 1995: 61 refers to the description of the vulnerability of the Persian Empire to attack (1.5.9) as ‘ “panhellenist big-talk”, designed to precipitate action’, but also reveals the failure of the 10,000 to act as an ideal community (63–94). Cf. Flower 2012: 174–5, who notes that the apparent Panhellenist implications are undercut by the narrative context. 48 Buxton 2017b: 329. 49 Some of the claims suggesting his trustworthiness jar somewhat with our experience of Cyrus earlier in the narrative, where Cyrus tricks and uses the Greeks to his own ends: Buzzetti 2014: 40; Hirsch 1985: 23–4; Flower 2012: 191; Harman 2022: 188–9. Cf. Braun 2004: 110–11. 50 Cf. Cyrus’ execution of Orontas, after which Cyrus eradicates his influence by rendering him invisible: ‘From that moment no man ever saw [οὐδεὶς εἶδε πώποτε]

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53

54 55

56 57

58 59 60

61 62 63 64

Notes to pp. 98–103

Orontas again, either living or dead, nor could anyone say from actual knowledge how he was put to death – it was all conjectures, of one sort and another; and no grave of his was ever seen [ἐφάνη]’ (1.6.11). See Grethlein 2013: 56–9 on Cyrus’ gaze as a mark of power, and for comparison with the gaze of Xerxes in Herodotus. Control of the visual also emerges as a sign of effective leadership by the Thracian warlord Seuthes, who is presented as in control of his visual environment. He leaves the Greeks to rest while he goes ahead to look around (σκεψάμενός, 7.3.41); he scans the snow (ἐσκέψατο, 7.3.42) for footprints of his enemy and makes decisions based on what he sees (7.3.42). He rides ahead of the Greeks ‘so that if we catch sight of anyone [ὅπως ἄν τινα ἴδωμεν], he may not escape’ (7.3.43). In camp he has watch fires placed in front of the pickets so that they might remain unseen (μὴ ὁρῷντο, 7.2.18), whereas anyone who approached would be visible (καταφανεῖς, 7.2.18). Cf. the attack of the Thynians on the Greeks: they attack from the shadows those made vulnerable by the light of fires (7.4.18). Cf. Clearchus’ control of visual effect in his use of display (2.1.4, 2.1.16–18, 2.2.16, 2.3.3, 2.4.25–6). See Purves 2010: 188; Grethlein 2013: 57–8. Buzzetti 2014: 68, n. 86 notes that Cyrus’ lack of self-control is reminiscent of Cyrus the Great’s recklessness in hunting and battle at Cyr. 1.4.7–9, 1.4.16–24 (discussed in Chapter 5). Grethlein 2013: 58. Cf. Rood 2017: 277: ‘the foregrounding of the visual brings out that Cyrus is making a spectacle of himself ’. Contrast Baragwanath 2002: 140, who suggests a reciprocal relationship between Cyrus and the queen: ‘βουλόμενος, along with the repetition of ἐπιδεῖξαι, expresses the exact harmony of her wish with his desire to fulfil it.’ Hanson 2001: 1; Dillery 1995: 65. Rood 2017: 276 suggests that the account of Cyrus’ viewing evokes Herodotus’ portrait of Xerxes viewing his army (Hdt. 7.44, 7.212.1, 8.86, 8.88.2): ‘His delight is ironic; he is prematurely adopting a royal gaze.’ Trans. adapted from Waterfield, Xenophon: The Expedition of Cyrus. Flower 2012: 175: ‘The obvious irony is that it takes a Persian to tell Greeks not to fight each other.’ Contrast Buzzetti 2014: 50, who sees the episode as indicating a weakness of Cyrus’ leadership, in that he includes Proxenus in his rebuke despite Proxenus’ attempt to defuse the conflict. Cf. Buzzetti 2014: 39–73 on the text’s combination of a highly appealing portrait of Cyrus with criticisms of him as a ruler. See Flower 2012: 88 on the shifts in focalization in this sequence. Flower 2012: 198: ‘it was that very action . . . that revealed the tangible benefits of inter-Greek cooperation’. Cf. Buxton 2016: 181. Cf. the Greeks’ use of visual trickery (2.3.3; 2.4.25–6; 5.2.29–30) discussed below.

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65 Golden 1998: 5 supports Brodaeus’ emendation ἑταιρῶν (fem., i.e. the competitors’ concubines) over MSS’ ἑταίρων (masc., i.e. their companions in arms). He is followed by Lane Fox 2004: 202–3. 66 Flamarion Cardoso 2001: 145. Similarly, Ma 2004: 338 reads the contests as allowing ‘the improvisation of community’. 67 Peri Hipp. 8.6. 68 Golden 1998: 1–5. 69 L’Allier 2004: 230–1. 70 Golden 1998: 4. 71 Dillery 1998: 377, n. 62. 72 Christ 2020: 160: ‘The Cyrean army consists of an elite cadre of named generals and captains and a largely undifferentiated mass of soldiers’; Azoulay 2004b: 297. See Lee 2007: 77–9; Roy 2004: 268–70 on the varying economic statuses within the 10,000. Cf. McKechnie 1989: 79–100; Buxton 2016: 167–8 on the social and political make-up of fourth-century mercenaries. 73 Dillery 1995: 75–6. 74 On class distinctions between leaders and men, see Christ 2020: 160–3; Dillery 1995: 74–6; Rood 2015: 104. Cf. Buxton 2016: 187–8. 75 This phrase is also used deceptively, to manipulate a viewer’s interpretation of a sight. Following the death of Cyrus at Cunaxa, Clearchus sends a message to his barbarian ally Ariaeus, who is on the point of fleeing, that the Greeks have defeated the king ‘as you see’ (ὡς ὁρᾶτε, 2.1.4), and that he should therefore join them. By inviting him to see the Greeks as victors instead of as defeated, Clearchus tries to gain control of Ariaeus and strengthen his own position. Cf. 5.5.21, where Xenophon uses this phrase to threaten the ambassadors from Sinope with the readiness of the army to attack them. It is also used by Cheirisophus to explain the actions of the enemy to the Greek captains and generals (4.6.7). 76 Buzzetti 2014: 45. For Clearchus’ deceptive displays, see 2.1.4, 2.1.16–18, 2.2.16, 2.3.3 and 2.4.25–6; the viewers of these displays are barbarians except at 2.1.16–18, where Phalinus, the Greek envoy of the Persian king, is the viewer. See Hirsch 1985: 14–38 on deception in the An.. 77 See Dalby 1992: 21, who suggests a comparison with the treatment of Thersites at Hom. Il. 2.211–78: ‘Thersites was speaking at the wrong time – and therefore he was bandy-legged, hunchbacked and balding.’ Cf. Anson 2004: 7. 78 Ma 2004: 337 notes that depending on whether Apollonides was a Lydian who had lived in Cyme or Phocaea, learnt Aeolian Greek and therefore sounded ‘Boeotian’, or was a Boeotian who had lived in Lydia, Greek identity is being defined either on the grounds of descent, or alternatively, on the grounds of commitment to Greek ways of thinking: by the very act of disagreeing, Apollonides is disqualifying himself from being Greek. This conflict between ethnic or cultural models of Greekness relates

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closely to Panhellenist debates. As Vlassopoulos 2013b: 52 notes, ‘it is obvious that the strict polarity between Greek and barbarian appears problematic in practice’. Vlassopolulos 2013b: 53: ‘the alterity discourse is only employed in a certain context and for pursuing a particular strategy’. Cf. Lee 2007: 74. See Flower 2012: 35–6 on the metatextual implications of this passage. Cf. Marincola 2017: 115–16. See also the contrast between appeals to a shared Greekness and hostility between Greeks in the encounter with the Sinopeans (5.5.7–5.6.3), discussed by Rood 2004a: 318. See Grethlein 2012: 24–7; Grethlein 2013: 59–64; Flower 2012: 87; Marincola 2017: 104 on the increasing focalization through Xenophon. The Greeks as a generalized whole: they (and presumably the army of Ariaeus, with whom the Greeks are travelling) think they see the horsemen of the enemy (ἔδοξαν πολεμίους ὁρᾶν, 2.2.14), but when scouts report that it was not horsemen but pack animals grazing, they all realize (ἔγνωσαν πάντες, 2.2.15) that the king is camping nearby. The use of the impersonal here suggests a generalized Greek perspective: ‘smoke was apparent’, καπνὸς ἐφαίνετο, 2.2.15; the next day it became clear (δῆλον, 2.2.18) that the enemy had fled, as no pack animal was apparent (ἐφάνη, 2.2.18). The Greeks view the men of Tissaphernes, Orontas and Ariaeus with suspicion (οἱ δὲ Ἕλληνες ὑφορῶντες, 2.4.10). After the murder of the generals, the Greeks wonder at the sight of barbarian horsemen riding about (οἱ δὲ Ἕλληνες τήν τε ἱππασίαν ἐθαύμαζον ἐκ τοῦ στρατοπέδου ὁρῶντες, 2.5.33). Occasionally, we are told what the soldiers experience. A generalizing present tense impersonal (ἔστιν ἰδεῖν, 2.3.15), describing the appearance of palm dates in Greece, seems to suggest an awareness shared by both the Greek force and the reader; their comparison to Babylonian dates, which are wondrous in beauty and size (θαυμάσιαι τὸ κάλλος καὶ τὸ μέγεθος, 2.3.15), seems to be focalized from a generalizing Greek perspective. In contrast the surprising appearance and taste of the palm heart is focalized more specifically through the soldiers (ἐνταῦθα καὶ τὸν ἐγκέφαλον τοῦ φοίνικος πρῶτον ἔφαγον οἱ στρατιῶται, καὶ οἱ πολλοὶ ἐθαύμαζον τό εῖδος καὶ τὴν ἰδιότητα τῆς ἡδονῆς, 2.3.16). We are also told that the older soldiers join in the work set for the younger, when they see Clearchus energetically taking part himself (ἑώρων, 2.3.12). The generals and other officers: the generals wonder that Cyrus does not appear (οἱ στρατηγοὶ ἐθαύμαζον, 2.1.2). The generals and captains obey Clearchus, seeing (ὁρῶντες, 2.2.6) that he possesses the ability to command. See Rood 2014: 72. Similarly, the communal uncertainty at the river Centrites, mentioned above, when the Greeks gaze with despair upon the obstacles in their path, is resolved when Xenophon ‘sees’ a dream (ὄναρ εἶδεν, 4.3.1), which is taken as an encouraging omen and is quickly followed by the discovery of a way across the river.

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85 On Xenophon’s elite status and the gap between him and the common soldiers, see Christ 2020: 161. 86 The question of whether the monument should be understood as a trophy has been debated; see discussion in Ma 2004: 317. Dillery 1995: 77 sees it as a ‘monument to the Ten Thousand’s triumph over all the barbarians they met’. Contrast Tuplin 1999: 361–4, who compares it to a boundary stone, stressing the Greeks’ marking of place. 87 Pelling 2013b: 63. 88 See Purves 2010: 188–91, who suggests that the scene both offers and undermines the possibility of the successful completion of the 10,000’s journey. 89 Grethlein 2012: 26; Grethlein 2013: 61–2; Purves 2010: 189, n. 74; Huitink 2019: 208–9. 90 Contrast Flower 2012: 87–8, who includes the phrase καὶ κατεῖδον τὴν θάλατταν, and notes that on this reading the focalization shifts from the soldiers at the front of the army to Xenophon. Cf. Pelling 2013b: 63. 91 Pelling 2013b: 63. 92 See Grethlein 2012: 26 and 2013: 61–2 on the articulation of sound in the passage. 93 See Grethlein 2012: 26: ‘the narrative focus on aural signs aligns the historical agents with the reader of the Anabasis in that both only hear about the event’. 94 Pelling 2013b: 61; Grethlein 2013: 62. 95 Grethlein 2013: 62. 96 See Dillery 1995: 70–1; however, he also notes the two commanders’ disagreements. Cf. Flower 2012: 194–5. 97 Rood 2014: 80–4 sees these passages as demonstrating Xenophon’s superior strategic understanding: frequently Xenophon is able to point out a solution to their difficulties; cf. Rood 2012b: 172. An alternative view has stressed the focus on Xenophon’s lack of knowledge of what is happening at the front of the army, and the mistakes that this leads him to make: Pelling 2013b: 65. 98 Dillery 1995: 86; cf. Isoc. Phil. 120–1. See also Too 2021: 200. 99 Cf. Grethlein 2013: 72; Harman 2016: 142–3. 100 See Dillery 1995: 63, who notes ‘two competing panhellenisms, represented in the first instance by the need to return to Greece and second by the desire to found a new city in Asia’.

5 Cyropaedia: Imperial Fantasy and Danger 1 On viewing in the Cyr., see Gray 2011: 189–90; Azoulay 2004a; Azoulay 2018: 259–66; Atack 2018; Dillery 2004: 267–70; Too 1998: 293–8. Some of the themes in this chapter were discussed in abbreviated form in Harman 2008 and Harman 2009: 363–5. Unless otherwise stated, all textual references in this chapter are to Xenophon’s Cyropaedia.

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2 See Whidden 2007a: 540 on the text’s attitude to empire. 3 Tatum 1989; Gera 1993: 285–99; Danzig 2012; Sandridge 2012. On the use of costume and control of appearances, see Azoulay 2004a; Azoulay 2018: 259–66. Cf. McCloskey 2017: 613–15, who explains contradictions between the treatment of costume in the Cyr. and in Xenophon’s Socratic texts via the literary construction of different narratorial voices. 4 Gray 2011: 246–63. 5 Higgins 1977: 44–59; Carlier 1978; Nadon 2001; Whidden 2007a; Too 1998. 6 Cf. Tamiolaki 2017: 191–3. 7 Cf. Tuplin 2013: 74 on the text’s judgement of historical Persia and ‘Xenophon’s awareness of the work’s potential awkwardness’. 8 Comparisons also appear between Persian and Greek customs: Cambyses criticizes Greek education for teaching deception in wrestling (ἐν πάλῃ φασὶ τοὺς Ἕλληνας διδάσκειν ἐξαπατᾶν, 1.6.32), and at a dinner party a Persian makes a joke about another Persian behaving in a suspiciously Greek manner (κατὰ τὸν Ἑλληνικὸν τρόπον, 2.2.28) by bringing a young man with him. The imagining of Persian criticism or humour at strange Greek customs potentially allows a sense of selfestrangement, as Greek customs are presented from a Persian perspective. 9 Unless otherwise stated, translations from the Cyropaedia are adapted from W. Miller (1914), Loeb edition, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 10 The account of the conditions of the Asian Greeks under Persian rule might recall their role in the Persian Wars, where they assisted in the Persian invasion of mainland Greece. Cf. also the account of the mustering of Cyrus’ enemies, the Assyrians and their allies: ‘it was their intention to advance to Thymbrara, where even today is the rendezvous of the king’s barbarians [τῶν ὑπὸ βασιλέα βαρβάρων] from the interior’ (6.2.11). Here the term barbarians is applied to the contemporary Persians’ imperial forces. 11 Gray 2004: 392–3. For examples: Cyr. 1.2.16, 1.3.2, 1.4.27, 2.4.20, 3.2.24, 3.3.26, 4.2.1, 4.2.8, 4.3.2, 4.3.24, 6.1.30, 6.2.10, 6.2.11, 7.1.3, 7.1.45–8, 7.3.15, 7.5.70, 8.1.6, 8.1.7, 8.1.20, 8.1.36, 8.2.4, 8.2.7, 8.3.9, 8.3.10, 8.3.13, 8.3.34, 8.4.5, 8.4.28, 8.5.21, 8.5.27, 8.6.5, 8.6.9, 8.6.14, 8.6.16. For discussion of authorial interventions, see Due 2002. 12 Johnson 2005: 205: ‘Xenophon would . . . have his readers recognise the perilous attractions of empire, for both rulers and subjects, by falling prey to those attractions themselves.’ 13 See Dillery 1993: 8 on criticism of empire in Cambyses’ speech (Cyr. 1.6.45) regarding the folly of those who are not content with their own possessions, and lose everything in trying to possess more; we can compare the similar argument of Cyaxares (Cyr. 4.1.14–15). Cf. Balot 2001: 172–8 on Thucydides as both criticizing Athenian imperial greed as leading to social breakdown, and as looking back at Athens’ past imperial achievements as glorious. See Burliga 2019: 148 on the Cyropaedia’s thought on empire in relation to Thucydides.

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14 The passage has often been read to suggest that the teacher’s interpretation is valorized: Gera 1993: 74–8; Luccioni 1949: 65; Tamiolaki 2012: 572–3; Whidden 2007a: 546–7. Contrast Danzig 2009, who reads the text as endorsing the child Cyrus’ interpretation and therefore as legitimizing violence in the service of imperial acquisition. 15 Burliga 2019: 149–50. 16 Cf. Huitink 2018: 472 on readerly identification with the characters with whom Cyrus comes into contact: ‘This also opens up alternative and at times unsettling perspectives on Cyrus.’ Contrast McCloskey 2017: 609 on Xenophon’s general ‘unwillingness to consider the perspectives of Cyrus’ opponents’. 17 Huitink 2018: 473; Due 1989: 150–2; Reisert 2009: 301–2. 18 See Vandiver 2014: 97–8 on the relationship of this sequence to Plato’s discussion of the natural virtues of philosophers in Rep. VI.485a–497b, and how ‘natural virtues can also, in excess, become vices’ (97). 19 See discussion in Chapter 3. Socrates uses this verb when he asks whether there is a friendly and a hostile way to look at someone (τό τε φιλοφρόνως καὶ τὸ ἐχθρῶς βλέπειν πρός τινας; Mem. 3.10.4); Seuthes says he wished to gain power so as not to have to look towards the table of another (ἀποβλέπων, An. 7.2.33); the modesty of the Spartan paidiskoi means that they are allowed to look at no one (περιβλέπειν δὲ μηδαμοῖ, Lak. Pol 3.4); and ἀντιβλέπειν is used (in a similar way to the use of ἀναβλέπειν at Cyr. 1.4.12) to describe the inability, through shame or fear, to return someone’s gaze (Hell. 5.4.27; Cyr. 3.1.23; Ages. 1.34). Cf. the term περίβλεπτος, being ‘looked at from all sides’, which implies social prestige. The impressive reputation of the Spartans is indicated through their description as the most looked at people in Greece (περιβλεπτότατοι, Hell. 7.1.30); Autolycus is understood to desire to be looked at from all sides (περίβλεπτος, Symp. 8.38) for having benefited friends and glorified his country (see also: Cyr. 6.1.5, Hiero 11.9); Nichomachides complains that the Athenians have elected as general a merchant who had never been looked at from all sides in the cavalry (περίβλεπτος, Mem. 3.4.1). Cf. the ironic use of περίβλεπτος in the Cyropaedia, when Artabazus, who has been hoping to be honoured by Cyrus but is not, complains that he is looked at from all sides because he waits all day to speak to Cyrus without eating or drinking – i.e., he has been treated in such a way that the looks of others do not imply the prestige he deserves (Cyr. 7.5.53: discussed below). 20 Too 1998: 292. 21 Huitink 2018: 475; Nadon 2001: 160. For a gaze at battlefield corpses, see Hdt. 8.24–5, where the spectacle of the bodies of those killed at Thermopylae is used manipulatively by Xerxes in an attempt to display his success, and Xen. Hell. 4.4.12, where the sight of heaps of corpses after battle marks the shocking nature of the violence between Greeks. Cf. Vandiver 2014: 97–8; Newell 1983: 895 for a

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24

25

26

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comparison with Plato Rep. IV. 439e–440a, where the desire to gaze at corpses is evidence of the base, desiring part of the soul. For the visual connotations of this term and its etymological connection to θεάομαι, see Frisk 1958: 656 and Chantraine 1984: 425. Its use recalls the narrator’s opening expression of wonder at the achievement of Cyrus (1.1.1, 1.1.6). Cf. the use of θαυμάζω in the proems of the Lak. Pol. (1.1–2), and Mem. (1.1.1), setting out Spartan power and the Athenian decision to execute Socrates as open to wonder which prompts investigation: see Dillery 2018: 87–92. On the relationship between wonder and investigation, see Arist. Metaph. 1.982b12–13; Pl. Tht. 155d3; and Llewelyn 1988. In the Cyr., see the Armenian king’s jealousy at his son’s tutor: ‘I was jealous of him because I thought that he made my son wonder [θαυμάζειν] at him more than at me’ (3.1.39). Cf. also Cyrus’ attempt to bolster the status of his followers by training them ‘not to turn around to look at anything, as if they wondered at nothing’ (μηδὲ μεταστρεφόμενοι ἐπὶ θέαν μηδενός, ὡς οὐδὲν θαυμάζοντες, Cyr. 8.1.42). Hartog 1988: 231. Cf. Munson 2001: 232–65 on the more varied contexts in which the Herodotean narrator uses the language of θῶμα to shape responses to his material and invite the reader’s reflection. Prier 1989: 96. See his discussion of the armour of Rhesus, described as θαῦμα ἰδέσθαι (Hom. Il. 10.436–41). Dolon says that the armour is not suitable for mortals, but for the immortals. As Prier notes, the armour ‘is quite clearly “other” in origin. It is, however, in the hands or in the sight of mortals and hence a property of the “this”’ (95). On the phrase ‘frenzied with daring’ (μαινόμενον . . . τῇ τόλμῃ), see Langerwerf 2010 for the problematic connotations of τόλμη in Greek historiographic writing as indicating both courage and a lack of self-control. According to Liddell and Scott 1940, ἐκπλήσσω can have the meaning ‘terrify’ or ‘strike with panic’. See Hom. Il. 16.403, ἐκ γὰρ πλήγη φρένας (‘he was struck from his wits’); cf. Hom. Il. 13.394. Cf. E. Or. 549 for Orestes’ claim that Tyndareus’ old age frightens him from speaking (. . . τὸ γῆρας ἡμῖν τὸ σόν, ὅ μ᾽ ἐκπλήσσει λόγου). Cf. the use of the term ἔκπληξις in the scholia on Homer to describe an astonishing effect on the reader: Nünlist 2009: 144–5: ‘The term seems to indicate a rather strong effect and is therefore appropriate to describe the impact of divine phenomena’ (145). The term ἔκπληξις is also used in Ps.-Longinus to describe the effect of the phantasiai evoked by enargeia: Huitink 2020: 197. Huitink 2018: 474; Due 1989: 56. Trans. W. Ambler (2001), Xenophon: The Education of Cyrus, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Too 1998: 297. See Too 1998: 297: ‘The king’s “eyes” and “ears” enable him to watch the watchers and, in so doing, to disseminate his authority throughout the kingdom.’

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32 Cf. Cyrus’ instructions to the Persian peers and other elite followers after the conquest of Babylon: ‘You must be in your places and watch [ορῶντας] me to consider if I continue to do what I ought, and I will gaze at [θεάσομαι] and consider you, and whomever I see [ὁρῶ] pursuing what is good and honourable, him I will honour’ (7.5.85). See Tamiolaki 2010: 318 on the use of spies as one of Cyrus’ measures to enforce his subjects’ submission. 33 Cf. Vatri 2020: 215–17 on the ‘iconicity’ (the mirroring in linguistic structure of the actions described) and associated immersive effect of asyndeton: ‘iconicity creates a “shortcut” between signifier and signified that foregrounds the purely experiential (sensory or motor) information conveyed by the medium’. Cf. Huitink 2020: 207. 34 See Howie 1996: 207 on these scenes’ Iliadic resonances. Cf. also the beautiful adornment of the army at 6.4.1, and the spectacular golden armour of Abradatas (6.1.2–4), who is described as worth looking at even without adornment (ἀξιοθέατος, 6.4.4). Abradatas’ visual allure is compared to that of his wife, Panthea: ‘Beautiful as was the sight of Abradatas and his chariot, the people were unable to look at him until Panthea was gone’ (οἱ δὲ ἄνθρωποι, καλοῦ ὄντος τοῦ θεάματος τοῦ τε Ἀβραδάτου καὶ τοῦ ἅρματος, οὐ πρόσθεν ἐδύναντο θεάσασθαι αὐτὸν πρὶν ἡ Πάνθεια ἀπῆλθεν, 6.4.11). We can compare the teichoskopia at Iliad 3, where the eyes of Priam and the Trojan elders turn from admiring the outstanding beauty of Helen to gazing at the Greek heroes on the battlefield (Hom. Il. 3.154–242). See Gera 1993: 235 on Abradatas’ Iliadic resonances. 35 Contrast the representation of Cyaxares in the same scene, who emerges in gorgeous attire (σεμνῶς κεκοσμημένος, 6.1.6) to lead the war conference, but no one pays attention to him. See below on the contrast between Cyrus’ and Cyaxares’ form of personal display. 36 See discussion of this term in Chapter 2. 37 On Cyrus’ deceptive battle tactics, see Whidden 2007b: 140. Cf. Cyrus’ use of trickery in having the Hyrcanians, the former allies of the Assyrians who have secretly changed sides, march at the front towards the Assyrian camp so that only their arms can be seen and the rest of Cyrus’ army is concealed (4.2.23). Cf. 7.1.8, on the need to plan for what cannot be seen as well as for what can be seen. See also Cambyses’ advice to Cyrus on keeping the enemy visible while he himself is invisible (1.6.35–6): Tamiolaki 2018: 323. 38 See Tamiolaki 2018: 315: ‘the mighty have the power to introduce (and impose) even twisted perceptions of reality’. Cf. Cyrus’ direction to his men to read sights in a way that bolsters their obedience to him: ‘Never cease to bear in mind what you have just seen in this day’s battle, so that you may always judge in your own hearts whether courage is more likely to save men’s lives than running away . . .’ (4.1.5). 39 On the phrase τῷ ὄντι, see Tamiolaki 2018: 319, n. 40. The phrase implies that the display of virtues at court was so convincing that it would persuade, but it is not

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clear whether the viewer would be correct in being so persuaded. A focus on the performance of virtuous behaviour seems to be suggested as Cyrus’ court discuss how to produce the right performance. When Cyrus rewards Chrysantas more highly than Hystaspas and Hystaspas asks the reason why, only to be told that Chrysantas is always visible (φανερός) in looking out for Cyrus’ benefit, Hystaspas questions how he too might be able to make his dedication to Cyrus visible: ‘ “I do not know how I could show [δῆλος] that I rejoice at your good fortune. Am I to clap my hands or laugh, or what must I do?” “You must dance the Persian dance,” said Artabazus. At this, or course, there was a laugh’ (8.4.12). 40 Azoulay 2004a 151: Cyrus ‘makes few but impressive appearances’. Cf. Hdt. 1.99.1–2 on Deioces’ inaccessibility as king. See Gorman and Gorman 2014: 130–1 on the inaccessibility of Asian kings in Greek texts. 41 Cf. Cambyses’ early instruction to Cyrus which requires that to keep men obedient, a ruler needs to seem more skilful than they are (φρονιμώτερον δοκεῖν, 1.6.22), but also that ‘there is no shorter road . . . than really to be skilful in those things in which you wish to seem to be skilful’ (1.6.22). He advises that a ruler must be visible (φανερός, 1.6.24) in being his subjects’ benefactor, must show (φαίνεσθαι, 1.6.24) that he rejoices at their successes and is distressed at their misfortunes, and must be visible (φανερός, 1.6.25) in enduring a greater degree of heat, cold and toil. See Too 1998 and Gera 1993: 285–99 for a reading of the text as a critique of Cyrus as a ruler by contrasting Cambyses’ privileging of ‘being’ over ‘seeming’ with the use of deceptive display adopted by Cyrus in Babylon; this view is opposed by Gray 2011: 100–5, who suggests a lack of strong distinction between seeming and being in the text. Cf. Buxton 2017b: 327, who suggests that appearances are a useful additional tool for a model leader who needs ‘to create a sufficient level of awareness about his efforts on behalf of the army’. Contrast Tamiolaki 2018: 325, who suggests that ‘Cambyses subordinates being to seeming’, treating being as ‘a means to an end’ (326) for the leader intent on contriving politically useful appearances, and therefore that ‘Cyrus’ decision in the last stages of his empire to contrive methods to appear more solemn is not incompatible with his father’s advice, but rather represents a radical application of it’ (326). Cf. Atack 2018, who approaches the relationship between seeming and being in the text via Judith Butler’s concept of performativity. 42 Chapter 8.1.31 has been bracketed by some editors despite its presence in all manuscript families. Cf. Humble 1999: 343–4 on Cyrus’ use of moral display, especially her citation of this passage in her comparison of Xenophon’s use of sôphrosunê and aidôs in the Lak. Pol. and Cyropaedia. Humble contrasts the focus on sôphrosunê in Persian education in Cyropaedia book 1 with the references to aidôs in the Lak. Pol. to argue that Spartans only exhibit virtue in the public eye for the benefit of appearances, whereas Persian morality is real and internalized.

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43 See Tamiolaki 2018: 328: ‘by blurring the boundaries between a moral issue (virtue) and a practical one (competence in war), Xenophon essentially sidesteps the problem of a possible discrepancy between appearance and reality’. Tamiolaki (327) contrasts this with Plato’s assertion of the superiority of being over seeming in Socrates’ criticism of Glaucon’s claim that the unjust man who has a reputation for justice can successfully acquire fame and money (Rep. 365b4–8). She suggests that unlike Plato, Xenophon ‘shows that money and reputation are not wholly incompatible with the striving for virtue’ (328). Cf. Tuplin 2013: 78, who suggests that Median opulent display is ‘tempered by the moral rectitude of Persia’. 44 Cyrus’ adoption of the Median robe opposes his earlier rejection of the robe and insistence on his poor Persian dress (2.4.1–6; see below for a discussion of this scene). For discussion of this discrepancy as part of a broader critique of Cyrus as a corrupt and decadent ruler, see Carlier 1978; Too 1998; Gera 1993: 285–99; Nadon 2001: 109–46. Contrast Azoulay 2004a on the appropriateness of Cyrus’ change in method at the Babylonian court in contrast to his earlier role as military commander. 45 On the production of display in his close circle, cf. Cyrus’ command to his officers to display (ἐπιδεικνύητε, 3.3.39) themselves as courageous in order to make their soldiers courageous. Similarly, Cyrus uses the stunning visual presence of Abradatas to inspire obedience in the men, urging him, ‘Remember, when presently it becomes necessary for you to enter the conflict, that Persians will gaze [θεασόμενοι] upon you’ (7.1.15). He orders Abradatas to show himself to his men, ‘cheering them with your countenance’ (τῷ μὲν προσώπῳ παραθαρρύνων, 7.1.18). For Cyrus’ manipulation of Abradatas, see Tatum 1989: 179–82. 46 Trans. adapted from Ambler, Xenophon: The Education of Cyrus. The failure to return the look of another (expressed through the verbs ἀναβλέπω or ἀντιβλέπω) indicates a lack of status, whether of a child, as when Cyrus as a boy cannot look his grandfather Astyages in the face (ἀναβλέπειν 1.4.12), or of a slave, as in Tigranes’ claim that fear both enslaves people (καταδουλοῦσθαι, 3.1.23) and prevents them from looking at those of whom they are afraid (ἀντιβλέπειν, 3.1.23). 47 On the dangers of the uninhibited gaze in Roman thought, see Barton 2002: 223–5. 48 Trans. Ambler, Xenophon: The Education of Cyrus. 49 Cf. the viewing of Cleinias by Critobulus in Xen. Symp., discussed in Chapter 2: Critobulus is said to be scarcely able to blink when in Cleinias’ presence (Symp. 4.24). 50 See Gorg. Hel. 15–19 for the overpowering effect of sight, especially in an erotic context. 51 We can compare Socrates’ encounter with the hetaira Theodote (Xen. Mem. 3.11) and his condemnation of Critobulus for having kissed the handsome son of Alcibiades (Xen. Mem. 1.3.13): see Chapter 2.

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Notes to pp. 135–40

52 See Rubin 1989; Tamiolaki 2010: 305–9; Azoulay 2018: 253–6 for a discussion of the erotic nature of Cyrus’ power as a ruler. Cf. Tatum 1989: 163–88; Tatum 1994: 21–4. 53 Carlier 1978: 141, n. 26; Rubin 1989: 410; Mitchell 2013: 10. 54 Rubin 1989: 399; Whidden 2007b: 147. Cf. Balot 2001: 100–1 on the language of desire in Herodotus as expressive of imperial aims. 55 Gera 1993: 167; Nadon 2001: 92. See Artabazus’ later comment on the event: ‘When once you happened to need my services to announce among the Medes the concession obtained from Cyaxares, I reasoned that, if I gave you my earnest support in this, I then might be your intimate friend and talk with you as much as I pleased’ (7.5.49). 56 Reciprocity in viewing reflects and creates social reciprocity: the description of the Persian Peers as ‘radiant [φαιδροί], well-disciplined and looking towards each other [παρορῶντες εἰς ἀλλήλους]’ (3.3.59) indicates their functioning as a united force and prefaces their successful attack. 57 Similarly, when Artabazus sees Cyrus kissing another follower and asks when he will get his kiss, Cyrus answers ‘in thirty years’, to which Artabazus replies that he will wait and will not die (8.4.27): Azoulay 2018: 255. 58 See Cartledge 1993: 12 on the passage as ‘a fragrant pot-pourri of the male gaze, visual striptease, and feminine pathos’. 59 Cf. Richlin 1992b on the eroticization of female distress. 60 Cf. Morales 2004: 162 on the tension between the theorization of power relations in the erotic gaze and the cultural practice of those relations in the similar description of the powerful visual effect of the abject Leucippe in Achilles Tatius: ‘Power is not just the ability to have an effect on someone, it is the capacity to control that ability, to use it if and when a person wants to, and for its effect to be a desired effect.’ 61 Compare the shy silence of Autolycus in Xenophon’s Symposium, or the modest and retiring behaviour of the paidiskoi in the Lak. Pol. 3.4–5. 62 Trans. Ambler, Xenophon: The Education of Cyrus. See Cyrus’ response to Artabazus’ claim to be his relative: ‘ “That is the reason, then, it seems” said Cyrus, “why you used to stare at me; for if I am not mistaken, I have often noticed you doing so” ’ (1.4.27). Tatum 1989: 174 notes Cyrus’ ‘sharp eye for the gaze of his admirer’. 63 Cyrus tells Araspas that Panthea is likely to be serviceable to them in the future (5.1.17). See Tatum 1989: 178. Cf. Baragwanath 2002: 133 on the representation of Panthea in her later interactions with Cyrus as a more active, assertive figure. 64 Gera 1993: 239. 65 Harman 2018: 273–4. 66 Trans. adapted from Ambler, Xenophon: The Education of Cyrus. 67 For the king as the object of the gaze, see the teichoskopia at Hom. Il. 3.161–242, and Hes. Th. 84–5. 68 Aesch. Ag. 935–6: see Goldhill 1986: 12. Griffith 1998: 26–7 notes that the Cyr.’s fascination with kingship must be understood in the context of the problematic

Notes to pp. 140–3

69 70 71 72 73

74

75 76 77 78

79

203

place of the monarch in democratic Athenian thought. Cf. Atack 2018: 113 on Xenophon’s relationship to Aristotle’s typology of kingship, which distinguishes between two extreme forms of kingship: Spartan kingship and pambasileia (Arist. Pol. 3.14–15.1284b35–1285b37). Hesk 2000: 124–5. Gera 1993: 155: ‘Persian simplicity is contrasted with Median luxury.’ Cf. Hdt. 9.82 for a contrast between a Persian and a Spartan meal. See Nadon 2001: 44 on Cyrus’ ‘ethnocentrism’. On this passage, see Flory 1987: 97–9; Christ 1994: 80–2; Romm 1992: 55–60. Gera 1993: 24 notes that when we are told that in Persia boys go to school to learn justice, ‘just as among us [παρ’ ἡμῖν] they go to learn to read and write’ (1.2.6), the phrase παρ’ ἡμῖν seems to refer to the Athenian method of education, suggesting an Athenian perspective here. See Rawson 1969: 50–2; Tigerstedt 1965: 179. A Spartan term, ῥήτρα, is used to refer to a Persian law forbidding youths to deceive (1.6.33): see Tyrt. 2.8, Plut. Lycurg. 6 and 13, Plut. Ages. 8 and discussion in Gera 1993: 70. As Hesk 2000: 132–3 notes, given that Sparta was, on the contrary, famous for encouraging its youths to steal as part of their education, the Cyr.’s discussion of attitudes towards deception in Persia can be read as engaging with contemporary equivocal attitudes towards Sparta. Cf. Gruen 2011: 39 on the depiction of Greek and Persian in Herodotus: ‘Value systems overlapped rather than clashed.’ Cf. Hartog 1988: 46 on the depiction of Persian values in their confrontation with Scythia as more closely akin to that of Greeks. See Azoulay 2004a: 164 on the repetition of this term. Cf. the same use of language to describe the adornment of Astyages at 1.3.2 (above). Cf. Miller’s 1914 Loeb translation: καὶ γὰρ ἐμοὶ ἂν κόσμος ἦν τοῦτο: ‘it would have been a mark of respect to me’ (2.4.5); καὶ ποτέρως ἄν, ὦ Κυαξάρη, μᾶλλόν σε ἐκόσμουν . . .: ‘Should I be showing you more respect, Cyaxares . . .?’ (2.4.6). On κόσμος, see Walsh 1984: 7–9. In a discussion of the Odyssey, Walsh argues that Odysseus’ description of the song of Demodocus as ‘too much according to order’ (λίην . . . κατὰ κόσμον, Hom. Od. 8.489) implies that Odysseus holds a different worldview from his Phaeacian hosts: ‘Odysseus shows his difference from the Phaeacians by twisting the traditional language in which their assumptions are encoded’ (7). Cf. Worman 2002: 17–40. Atack 2018: 116. The scene has been read as a moral critique of adornment, which reflects on Cyrus’ later decision to adopt Median dress in Babylon (discussed below). See Gera 1993: 103–4: ‘The readers of the Cyropaedia can count on Cyaxares to say the wrong thing or hold the wrong views: he thinks, for instance, that putting on showy, impressive clothing is more important than appearing promptly at councils . . .’ Gera therefore reads Cyrus’ adoption of Median dress in Babylon as problematic: Gera 1993: 291. See Too 1998 for a similar approach.

204

Notes to pp. 144–51

80 Pheraulas is described as a favourite of Cyrus and ‘in both body and soul unlike a man lacking noble birth’ (καὶ τὸ σῶμα καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν οὐκ ἀγεννεῖ ἀνδρὶ ἐοικώς, 2.3.7): although a commoner, Pheraulas functions as a mouthpiece for Cyrus, propping up Cyrus’ command. Pheraulas’ claims seem specious. He argues, for example, that hand-to-hand fighting and the use of the sword are natural abilities comparable to an animal’s ability to fight with its teeth or tusks – an argument for which he adduces as evidence his own propensity as a child to fist-fight and play with swords – and that therefore the untrained poor should not fear being at a disadvantage (2.3.9–10). 81 Cyrus asks, ‘Tell me, men, do our new comrades seem to be any worse than us because they have not been educated in the same way as us, or do you think that there will be no difference between us either in social intercourse or when we shall have to contend with the enemy?’ (2.2.1). The answer comes in the form of two humorous stories related by Cyrus’ officers, which respond to each part of Cyrus’ question. The first story, relating to social intercourse, tells of the hilariously boorish manners of a commoner (2.2.2–5), whereas the second tells of the commoners’ stupid inability to understand the basic principles of army training (2.2.6–9). 82 See Johnstone 1994 on toil and order in elite self-styling in Xenophon. 83 On this encounter, see Due 1989: 59–60; Gera 1993: 106–9; Tatum 1989: 129–33. 84 Tamiolaki 2018: 313–14. 85 Whidden 2007b: 139: ‘both Cyaxares and the soldiers see only what Cyrus wishes them to see’. 86 Gera 1993: 109; Nadon 2001: 99; Whidden 2007b: 138. 87 On Cyrus’ sidelining of his uncle as a strategy of power, see Hirsch 1985: 81–2; Tatum 1989: 115–33; Gera 1993: 98–109; Carlier 1978: 146–7. Contrast Sandridge 2012: 91–3, who suggests that imperial power is an accidental consequence of Cyrus’ striving for the highest honours. Cf. Danzig 2012: 514–38, who suggests the compatibility of self-interest and benevolence in Cyrus’ actions towards Cyaxares. 88 See Huitink 2018: 483–4; Danzig 2012: 538 on the possibility of empathy for Cyaxares. 89 See Vatri 2020: 215–17 on the ‘iconicity’ of asyndeton and its experiential impact, with reference to cognitive processes. See Vatri 2020: 211–12 on polysyndeton. 90 On Cyrus’ concern with spoils, see Nadon 2001: 103–5; Johnson 2005: 189–90; Danzig 2009: 293–4. 91 On moderation as a means to greater gain, see Whidden 2007b: 145. 92 Cf. Balot 2001: 106–7 on Herodotus’ framing of the desire for the possessions of others as unjust. 93 See Johnson 2005: 202 on Cyrus’ empire requiring ‘an inhuman mixture of continence and greed’. 94 On the dangers posed by flourishing Asian lands, see Hipp. AWP 12 and Romm 2010: 221–2; for a different view, see Gorman and Gorman 2014: 87–90.

Notes to pp. 151–6

205

95 Cf. Hdt. 1.155. On the criticism of luxury, see Thomas 2000: 102–14; Redfield 1985. Contrast Gorman and Gorman 2014: 76–145, who have suggested that the concern here is rather with the impact of adopting an easy agricultural life over a rugged military one (cf. Cyr. 8.1.43, where those whom Cyrus trains to be slaves are not allowed access to weapons), arguing against a reading of pernicious luxury as a cause of social decline in Herodotus. On Eastern luxury as socially corrosive in the Cyr., see Flower 2012: 182; contrast Gorman and Gorman 2014: 54–6, who suggest that the negative portrayal of luxury in the Cyr. expresses a symptom rather than a cause of decline. 96 Here, in contrast to Cyr. 8.1.43–4, enjoyment of good living is the mark of the free. See Gorman and Gorman 2014: 84–5 on this passage. 97 See Harman 2016. Cf. Rood 2015: 105–6. 98 See also Pheraulas’ argument to the Sacian, which distinguishes obtaining wealth, which is pleasurable, from holding wealth, which is burdensome (8.3.44). 99 Cf. Plato Rep. 344a1–344c2, where Thrasymachus claims that although petty thieves are vilified, the tyrant who steals on a grand scale is admired: Balot 2001: 175. 100 Cf. ‘You have given me an opportunity of showing [δῆλον γενέσθαι] to all the world that I would not do an act of wickedness against a friend or do wrong for the sake of gain or willingly prove false to a covenant’ (5.2.10). 101 Cf. Gera 1993: 170–1 on the focus on Gobryas’ perceptions at 5.2.15. 102 See Tamiolaki 2018: 323 on the display of temperance as a Persian custom. Cf. Gera 1993: 172 for a comparison with Spartan restraint at dinner (Lak. Pol. 5.6). 103 Gera 1993: 171: ‘It is only natural for him to look down on poor people with few possessions.’ Cf. Gorman and Gorman 2014: 134 on the display of the Persian meal at Hdt. 9.82: ‘Expensive dinnerware and fine food . . . are in this passage signs of greatness.’ 104 See Allan 2020 on sensory detail as contributing to an immersive experience. 105 Trans. adapted from Ambler, Xenophon: The Education of Cyrus. 106 Similarly, we are told that lancers stood in front of the gates (ἔμπροσθεν τῶν πυλῶν, 8.3.9) with half of them on each side (ἑκατέρωθεν, 8.3.9), and that the cavalry were arranged with the Persians on the right side of the street and the allies on the left (ἐκ δεξιᾶς . . . ἐξ ἀριστερᾶς τῆς ὁδοῦ, 8.3.10), with the chariots similarly arranged half on each side (ἑκατέρωθεν, 8.3.10). See Grethlein and Huitink 2017 and Huitink 2020 on spatial orientation as producing vividness via an enactivist account of readerly processes. Cf. Allan 2020 on spatial orientation as a feature of immersive writing. 107 See Allan 2020, who suggests that a narrative chronology which reflects the experience of time in the real world contributes to immersion. Cf. Grethlein 2020. 108 Cf. Atack 2018: 114: ‘Xenophon’s narrative format focuses on the performance of the role by the king and the perception and reception of that performance by (potential) subjects.’

206

Notes to pp. 156–62

109 Trans. adapted from Ambler, Xenophon: The Education of Cyrus. 110 Cf. Grethlein 2020 on the tension in Heliodorus between aspects which interrupt the flow of narrative time and flag the mediating role of the text and aspects which produce immersion.

6 Conclusion: Reading Practices and Political Consequences 1 Contrast Johnstone 1994; cf. Christ 2020: 8–9, Balot 2001: 233.

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Index Achaeans, the 102–3 Aeschylus Agamemnon 140, 175 n.73, 190, n.29 Agamemnon (Aeschylus) 140, 175 n.73, 190, n.29 Agesilaus 32–4, 47, 59–60, 61, 62–3, 180 n.19 at Ephesus 71–4 manipulative displays 54, 60 Pharnabazus 74–8 Agesilaus (Xenophon) 30, 32–4 Alcibiades 19–20, 40, 55–7 Anabasis (Xenophon) 2, 3, 9, 12, 17, 83–116, 151–2 Black Sea viewing 110–11 Cheirisophus 112–13 Clearchus 9, 12, 89, 90, 92, 107, 108–9 Cyrus the Younger 2–3, 85–6, 94–101 Greek community 101–15 Greek views of the foreign 87–91 Greeks looking at Greeks 102–5 non-Greek viewers 91–4 Xenophon as viewer 109–15 Antiochus of Arcadia 78–80 Apollonides 107–8 Araspas 135–7 Arcadians, the 102–3 Archidamus 62 Artabazus 134–8 Asia 47, 83, 87–91, 95, 115, 137–9, 151–2 Assyrians, the 134, 148–9, 154–5 Astyages 123–6, 139–42 Athens Alcibiades 19–20, 55–7 imperialism 45–7, 119 Iphicrates 50, 53 Mantineia, Battle of 64–6 viewing 18–19 audience 7 austerity 32–3, 74–6, 144–5, 153–4

Babylonia 87–8 barbarian, use of terminology of 71, 100, 118 Black Skin, White Masks (Fanon, Frantz) 10 body, the, see under cultural behaviour Cavalry Commander (Xenophon) 26, 28–9 Cheirisophus 112–13 cinema 9–10 class 5, 7–8, 21–3, 29, 161–3 Anabasis 84, 104–5, 110–11, 115 Athens 19–20, 25–6 Cyropaedia 124, 125, 144–5 Hellenica 50–1, 74–8 Clearchus 9, 12, 89, 90, 92, 107, 108–9 Cleon 19, 39–40 colonialism 10 colonization 114 control, loss of, see critical distance in viewing (and loss of) Corinth 60–1 critical distance in viewing (and loss of) 21, 23–5, 27, 29, 39–43 Cyropaedia 123–6, 133–9, 139–42, 153–5, 158 Croesus 36 cross-cultural encounters Anabasis 87–91, 92–4, 95–6, 99–100 Cyropaedia 122–3, 138, 139–45, 148–55 Hellenica 68–80 Herodotus 36–7, 38–9 cultural behaviour body 38, 71–2, 90–1, 107–8 dance 90, 92–4 dress 74–6, 95–6, 99–100, 132–3, 139–40, 142–5 food 38, 87–8, 95, 140–2, 153–4 Persian 38, 74–6, 78–9, 95–6, 132–3, 138–45, 153–4, 155–7 Spartan 30–1, 32–3, 38, 47–8, 73–4, 74–6, 141–2

227

228

Index

Cynegeticus (Xenophon) 23, 24–5, 31 Cyaxares 125, 130, 142–8 Cyropaedia (Xenophon) Araspas 135–7 Artabazus 134–8 Astyages 123–6, 139–42 Babylon procession 155–8 critical distance in viewing (and loss of) 123–6, 133–9, 139–42, 153–5, 158 Cyaxares 125, 130, 142–8 Cyrus the Great as leader 120–1, 124–7, 129–34, 142–9, 152–8 Cyrus the Great as viewer 126–8 Cyrus the Great as youth 123–6, 139–41 desire/eroticism 133–9, 150, 152–3 ekplêssô/kataplêssô 125, 134, 154, 158 Gobryas 130, 148–55 luxury 139–45, 148–55, 156–8 manipulation 123–4, 129–33, 137, 145–8, 153–5, 156 Median robe 132–3, 142–3 Panthea 134–9, 152 Cyrus the Great, see under Cyropaedia Cyrus the Younger 2–3, 85–6, 94–101 dance, see under cultural behaviour deception 17–18, 27, see also manipulation Anabasis 92, 97, 103, 107 Cyropaedia 132–3, 140 Hellenica 53, 63, 65, 70 Herodotus 37 Thucydides 40 De gloria Atheniensium (Plutarch) 42 Dercylidas 47, 69–71 desire 23–5, 35–6, 134–9, 150, 152–3 displays of leaders 25–9, see also leadership, military spectacles and spectacular individuals Agesilaus 32, 34 Anabasis 9, 12, 97–8, 99–100, 105–9 Cyropaedia 130–3, 139–40, 142–8, 149, 153, 155–6 Hellenica 50–1, 53–5, 60, 70, 71–2 Herodotus 37–8 Hiero 26–9 Thucydides 39–40 dress, see under cultural behaviour

education 6, 74, 174 n.65 elite, the, see class emotion 33–4, 40–3, 66, 76, 128 enargeia 9, 34, 41 Epaminondas 63–6 Ephesus 71–4 eroticism, see desire Euphron of Sicyon 52 evidence 18, 32, 35, 39, 42, 46, 51 extramissionist model of vision 17 eye, the 17, 98 Fanon, Frantz Black Skin, White Masks 10 festivals 20, 28, 99, see also theôria food, see under cultural behaviour foreign peoples, see cross-cultural encounters and non-Greeks Foucault, Michel 10–11 Gadatas 133–4 Gobryas 130, 148–55 Gorgias Helen 19 Griffith, Mark 168 n.59 guest-friendship 77 Gyges 35–6, 39, 126, 138 Hall, Jonathan 6–7 hegemony, see imperialism/hegemony Helen (Gorgias) 19 Hellenica (Xenophon) Alcibiades 55–7 Agesilaus 47, 59–60, 61, 62–3, 180 n.19 Dercylidas 47, 69–71 Epaminondas 63–6 Iphicrates 50, 53 Persians 68–80 Pharnabazus 69–71, 74–8 Spartans 45, 47–8, 53–4, 58–63, 69–78, 80–1 viewing and knowledge 51–2 viewing and military strategy 53–5 Herodotus 7–8, 44, 124, 141–2, 151 visual, the 34–9, 126, 138 Hiero (Xenophon) 21, 26–9 history historical interpretation 12–13, 63, 66–7, 161–2

Index historiographic writing 8–9, 16, 34–44 witnessing 51–2, see also visual evidence under viewing Homer 34, 125 Iliad 18 Odyssey 18 horses 25–6, see also hunting hunting 23, 24–5, 123–4 identification, theorisation of 168 n.59 Iliad (Homer) 18 imperial gaze, the 10 imperialism/hegemony Cyropaedia 117–21, 126–7, 128, 149–51, 152 Hellenica 45–8, 58–68, 74, 77–8 implied reader 11–12 individual, the 50–1 intramissionist model of vision 17 Iphicrates 50, 53 Isocrates 4, 84 Panathenaicus 5 Panegyricus 6 Jameson, Fredric 8 justice 120–1 knowledge 17–18 Agesilaus 32–3 Anabasis 88–90 Hellenica 51–3, 66–7 Lakedaimonion Politeia (Xenophon) 30–2, 142 landscape 87–90, 126–7, 128 law courts 18 Laws (Plato) 20 leadership, see also individual, the, displays of leaders and spectacular individuals Agesilaus 32–4, 47, 54, 59–60, 62–3, 71–8, 180 n.19 cavalry leaders 26 Cheirisophus 112–13 Clearchus 9, 12, 92, 107, 108–9 Cyrus the Great 120–1, 124–7, 129–34, 142–9, 152–8 Cyrus the Younger 85–6, 96–101 Dercylidas 69–70

229

Epaminondas 63–6 Seuthes 192 n.52 Xenophon 86, 102–3, 105–8, 109–10, 112–15 Leuctra, Battle of 45, 48, 62–3 Life of Artaxerxes (Plutarch) 9 liturgies 19 Lucian 9 luxury Anabasis 95–6, 151–2 Cyropaedia 139–45, 148–55, 156–8 Hellenica 74–6, 79 Herodotus 36, 151 Macherey, Pierre 8 male gaze, the 10, 136, 172 n.47 manipulation, see also deception 25–9, 30–2 Anabasis 90, 91–2, 97–9, 100, 105–9 Cyropaedia 123–4, 129–33, 137, 145–8, 153–5, 156 Hellenica 53–5, 60, 63, 65–7, 70 Herodotus 37 Thucydides 40 Mantineia, Battle of 45, 63–8 Medes, the 123–6, 138, 139–48, 151 Memorabilia (Xenophon) 23–4 mercenaries 84, 97, 100–1 military spectacles, see also displays of leaders Agesilaus 34 Anabasis 9, 12, 90, 91–2 Cyropaedia 129, 130, 143, 155–6 Hellenica 47, 49–50, 54–5, 59–60, 63–4, 70, 71–2 Lakedaimonion Politeia 31–2 Thucydides 39, 41 military strategy Anabasis 9, 12, 91–2, 99–100, 112–13 Cyropaedia 129–31 Hellenica 46–7, 53–5, 60, 63, 65–6, 70 Mossynoecians, the 90–1 Mysians, the 92–4 non-Greeks, see also cross-cultural encounters Assyrians 134, 148–9, 154–5 Medes 123–6, 138, 139–48, 151 Paphlagonians 92–4

230 Persians, see under Persians, the Mossynoecians 90–1 Mysians 92–4 Taochians 88, 112–13 Odyssey (Homer) 18 Oeconomicus (Xenophon) 22–3 Olympic Games 19–20 On Horsemanship (Xenophon) 25–6, 104 Panathenaicus (Isocrates) 5 Panegyricus (Isocrates) 6 Panhellenic sanctuaries 20 Panhellenism 4–5, 33, 162 Anabasis 83–4, 86, 96, 114, 116 Hellenica 47–8, 72, 80, 81–2 Panthea 134–9, 152 Paphlagonians, the 92–4 Parmenides (Plato) 7 Peers, the 144 Persians, the 117–60 cultural behaviour 38, 74–6, 78–9, 95–6, 132–3, 138–45, 153–4, 155–7 Cyrus the Younger 2–3, 85–6, 94–101 Hellenica 68–80 imperialism 117–21, 126–7, 128, 149–51, 152 Phaedrus (Plato) 7 Phalinus 108–9 Pharnabazus 69–71, 74–8 Pheraulas 144–5 Phlius 49–50, 54–5 Plato Laws 20 the mirror 169 n.15 Parmenides 7 Phaedrus 7 Republic 18 Timaeus 17 pleasure 21–5, see also desire Plutarch De gloria Atheniensium 42 Life of Artaxerxes 9 poverty 144–5, see also austerity Procles of Phlius 51–2 race 10, 167 n.55 readers 7 Republic (Plato) 18

Index self-control, see critical distance in viewing (and loss of) Seuthes 192 n.52 Sicilian Expedition 40, 41–3, 56 sight, see also viewing ancient theories of 17 reliability 17–18, 32–3, 51–3, 66–7, 88–90 Socrates 19, 22–5 Solon 36 Sparta 3–5, 30–4, 38, 43, 104, 142 Hellenica 45, 47–8, 53–4, 58–63, 69–78, 80–1 spectacle, see displays of leaders, military spectacles and spectacular individuals spectacular individuals 26, 50–1, 55–8, 124–6, 129, 133–9, see also displays of leaders spoils of war 59, 87–8, 133, 137–8, 149–53, 156–7 status, see class sumptuary legislation 19 surveillance 10–11, 31, 97, 127 Symposium (Xenophon) 23–4 Taochians, the 88, 112–13 Teleutias 50 thauma/thôma 88, 124–5 Thebes 45–7, 51, 58, 78 Epaminondas 63–6 Theodote 23–4 theôria 9, 18, 28, 36 Theramenes 52, 53 Thucydides 7, 19, 30, 34–5, 39–43, 44, 56, 126 Timaeus (Plato) 17 Tissaphernes 69–71, 90, 112 viewing, see also critical distance in viewing (and loss of), displays of leaders, military spectacles, military strategy, spectacular individuals and visual language cross-cultural response, see cross-cultural encounters desiring/erotic gaze, see desire disempowerment/insecurity of the viewer 10–11, 24, 54, 62, 66–7, 70, 88–90, 133–4

Index empowered gaze 10, 37, 47, 53, 59, 61, 87–8, 98, 126–8 knowledge 17–18, 32–3, 51–3, 66–7, 88–90 manipulation of viewers, see manipulation and deception modern theory 9–11 overwhelming sights 23–4, 25, 40–1, 133–9, 153–4, 158 pleasure 21–5, see also desire sight, ancient theories of 17 surveillance 10–11, 31, 97, 127 visual evidence 18, 32, 35, 39, 42, 46, 51 virtue 31, 131–2, 153 visual language 18 blepô 62, 124, 197 n.19 thauma/thôma 88, 124–5 theaomai 39–40, 60 theôria 9, 18, 28, 36 wealth, see luxury witnessing 51–2, see also visual evidence under viewing

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women 49–50, 92–4, 150, 172 n.47, see also male gaze, the Panthea 134–9, 152 wonder 88, 124–5 Xenophon Agesilaus 30, 32–4 Anabasis. See Anabasis audience 7 Cavalry Commander 26, 28–9 Cynegeticus 23, 24–5, 31 Cyropaedia. See Cyropaedia Hellenica. See Hellenica Hiero 21, 26–9 Lakedaimonion Politeia 30–2, 142 as leader in Anabasis 86, 102–3, 105–8, 109–10, 112–15 life 5–6 Memorabilia 23–4 Oeconomicus 22–3 On Horsemanship 25–6, 104 Symposium 23–4 as viewer in Anabasis 109–15 Xerxes 37, 38

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