Greek vases, images, contexts and controversies: proceedings of the conference sponsored by the Center for the Ancient Mediterranean at Columbia University, 23-24 March 2002

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Greek Vases: Images, Contexts and Controversies Edited by Clemente Marconi

COLUMBIA ST UDIES IN THE CLASSICAL TRADI TION

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COLUMBIA ST UDIES IN THE CLASSICAL TRADI TION

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Greek Vases: Images, Contexts and Controversies

www.brill.nl – ISSN 0166-1302

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Marconi

Clemente Marconi, Ph.D. () in Art History and Archaeology, Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, is Assistant Professor in the Department of Art History and Archaeology at Columbia University. He has published extensively on archaic and classical Greek Art and Architecture including Selinunte. Le metope dell’Heraion (Panini, ).

This volume deals with Greek painted vases, exploring them from various methodological points of view and moving beyond the traditional focus on connoisseurship and style. The volume, which represents the proceedings of an international conference sponsored by the Center for the Ancient Mediterranean at Columbia University, is an effort to exploit the immense richness of these vases by using them to study general cultural history.

GREEK VASES: IMAGES, CONTEXTS AND CONTROVERSIES

COLUMBIA STUDIES IN THE CLASSICAL TRADITION under the direction of

WILLIAM V. HARRIS (Editor) • EUGENE F. RICE, JR. ALAN CAMERON • JAMES A. COULTER RICHARD BRILLIANT • SUZANNE SAID KATHY H. EDEN

VOLUME XXV

GREEK VASES: IMAGES, CONTEXTS AND CONTROVERSIES Proceedings of the Conference sponsored by The Center for the Ancient Mediterranean at Columbia University, 23–24 March 2002 EDITED BY

CLEMENTE MARCONI

BRILL LEIDEN • BOSTON 2004

Illustration on the cover: Odysseus and Kirke. Attic black-figure lekythos, attributed to the Athena Painter, ca. 480 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1133. From Journal of Hellenic Studies, 13, 1892, pl. 2. This book is printed on acid -free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Greek vases, images, and controversies : proceedings of the conference sponsored by the Center for the Ancient Mediterranean at Columbia University, 23-24 March 2002 / edited by Clemente Marconi. p. cm. — (Columbia studies in the classical tradition, ISSN 0166-1302 ; v. 25) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 90-04-13802-1 (hardback) 1. Vases, Greek—Congresses. 2. Vase-painting, Greek—Congresses. I. Marconi, Clemente, 1966- II. Columbia University. Center for the Ancient Mediterranean. III. Series. NK4645.G7234 2004 738.3’82’0938—dc 22 2004043508

ISSN 0166-1302 ISBN 90 04 13802 1 © Copyright 2004 by The Trustees of Columbia University in the City of New York All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910 Danvers MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. PRINTED IN THE NETHERLANDS

CONTENTS

Abbreviations .............................................................................. Preface ........................................................................................

vii ix

Chapter One Leagros the Satyr ............................................ H. Alan Shapiro Chapter Two Skythian Hunters on Attic Vases .................. Judith M. Barringer Chapter Three Images for a Warrior. On a Group of Athenian Vases and Their Public ............................................ Clemente Marconi Chapter Four Images of a Warrior. On a Group of Athenian Vases and Their Public ............................................ Robin Osborne Chapter Five Bubbles = Baubles, Bangles and Beads: Added Clay in Athenian Vase Painting and Its Significance Beth Cohen Chapter Six Hera, Paestum, and the Cleveland Painter .... Jenifer Neils Chapter Seven Odysseus and Kirke. Iconography in a Pre-literate Culture .................................................................... Luca Giuliani Chapter Eight The World of Aphrodite in the Late Fifth Century B.C. .................................................................... Rachel Kousser Chapter Nine The Paestan Painter Asteas ............................ Erika Simon

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Figures ........................................................................................ Bibliography ................................................................................ Index ..........................................................................................

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27

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55 73

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123 131 143

ABBREVIATIONS

Beazley, J. D. 1956. Attic Black-figure Vase-painters. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ARV 1 Beazley, J. D. 1942. Attic Red-figure Vase-painters. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 2 ARV Beazley, J. D. 1963. Attic Red-figure Vase-painters, 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press. BAdd 2 Carpenter, T. H. 1989. Beazley Addenda. Additional References to ABV, ARV 2 and Paralipomena, 2nd ed. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. CVA Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum. LIMC Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae. Zurich: Artemis. 1981–99. Para Beazley, J. D. 1971. Paralipomena: Additions to Attic Black-figure Vase-painters and to Attic Red-figure Vase-painters. Oxford: Clarendon Press. RE Pauly, A. F., G. Wissowa, W. Kroll et al. ed. 1883-Pauly’s Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. Stuttgart: Metzler. ABV

PREFACE

Until a few years ago, research on Greek painted vases was focused mainly on formal aspects and on issues of style and connoisseurship. For generations of scholars, to study Greek vases meant to contribute to their classification according to regional schools, workshops, and individual painters, and the rationale behind this whole effort was to construct a discourse on Greek vases that would correspond to the one on Italian Renaissance painting. Even though that discourse may run the risk, at times, of suggesting an unlikely equation between Greek vases and Italian Renaissance painting, missing their quite different relative standing in their contemporary societies, no one can today seriously question the importance of that approach for our knowledge of this category of objects. Yet, there is much more that can be said about Greek vases. Unlike Italian Renaissance painting, in fact, Greek vases had a wide diffusion inside and outside the society that produced them, following their users in many moments of their life and after-life, in sanctuaries, houses, and tombs. Corresponding to that diffusion, the representations painted on the body of Greek vases speak about a wide variety of aspects of Greek social and cultural life, such as religion, war, hunting, death, sex, and wine, using as characters both mortals and immortals, in a constant blurring of boundaries between the two spheres. It is not surprising, then, that Greek vases have been used since the beginning of the nineteenth century as illustrations of Greek life, but it is also a rather striking fact that only in the past few decades have scholars systematically begun to exploit their immensely rich potential for studies of Greek cultural history. It was precisely in order to explore the new trends in this direction that the Center for the Ancient Mediterranean at Columbia University decided to organize a conference on Greek vases (“Greek Painted Vases: Images, Contexts, and Controversies”) in March 2002, bringing together scholars from different countries and with different methodological approaches. The result was a lively debate, deriving mostly from the different angles from which the speakers chose to tackle the (intentionally) open, enigmatic subtitle “Images, Contexts, and Controversies.” As a result of that debate, some of the speakers

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have even submitted for this publication a different paper than the ones that they had presented at Columbia, a paper that could better address the controversies originating from the different approaches. As a result, this is neither a strict publication of the proceedings of the conference, nor a book with a specific theme. It is, however, a book with a rather strong point: moving beyond style and connoisseurship, Greek vases represent an immensely rich treasure for studies of Greek cultural history. Clemente Marconi Columbia University

CHAPTER ONE

LEAGROS THE SATYR* H. Alan Shapiro

The phenomenon of kalos-names on Athenian vases, though muchstudied for more than a century,1 continues to be a puzzling one in many fundamental ways. Why do they first appear, rather abruptly, in the third quarter of the sixth century B.C., even though writing on black-figure vases had been quite intense several decades earlier (witness the over 200 inscriptions on the François Vase of 570–560)? And why do they start disappearing from red-figure in the third quarter of the fifth century, so that there are virtually none in the very years just before 400 when Athens was otherwise at its most literate? If kalos-inscriptions are an indication of notoriety and admiration in the city, why do most of them name individuals otherwise unknown, while none name some of those boys of famous families who would grow up to dominate the city’s political life, like Kimon, Perikles and Alcibiades? Why are some painters steadfastly loyal to a single boy, while others use a variety of kalos names? And who determined which kalos-name(s) would go on a vase: the painter, the potter, or the customer? Most of these issues are beyond the scope of this short paper, but they suggest how much work needs to be done in understanding the whole phenomenon. Recent studies have at least gone some way toward shedding light on how kalos-inscriptions might have functioned in the symposium context in which most of the vases that carry them were used.2

* This paper differs considerably from the one I presented at the conference sponsored by the Center for the Ancient Mediterranean at Columbia University in March 2002. I am grateful to William Harris and Clemente Marconi for the invitation to participate in the conference and for their understanding in the change of topic for the published paper. For help in obtaining photographs reproduced here I thank Mario Iozzo (Florence) and Aileen Ajootian (University of Mississippi). 1 Klein 1898; Robinson and Fluck 1937. 2 Lissarrague 1999; Slater 1999.

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On one point, recent scholarship is in general agreement: the placement of kalos-inscriptions has at best a loose and sporadic connection to the scenes and figures depicted on the same surface. John Boardman wrote recently, “The inscriptions, like modern graffiti, bear no relationship to their context, and appear in vase scenes where the subject is as likely to be heroic as everyday.”3 This does not mean, however, that no kalos inscription can be related to a figure on the vase. Beazley coined the term “tag-kalos” to describe just such situations, i.e. a kalos inscription placed beside a young athlete or symposiast whom it could plausibly identify.4 I myself believe that Beazley was overly sparing in admitting instances of a tag-kalos, as I shall suggest later in this paper, and Boardman has been even more reluctant than Beazley.5 But I want first to look at a related phenomenon, those inscriptions naming a youth who is elsewhere praised as kalos, but without the word kalos. A quick perusal of Beazley’s index of kalos names (ARV 2 1559–1613) reveals that for almost every individual named more than a few times in kalos inscriptions, there is also one or more occurrence of the same name without kalos. How are we to construe these? For Beazley, they virtually always identify a figure in the scene. To take just a few representative examples: Dorotheos is named as kalos on five vases, one of which Beazley takes to be a tag-kalos (written beside an athlete). On two other vases, Dorotheos is “represented” (without kalos) as a young athlete. Hippodamas occurs twelve times as kalos; on one vase, Hippodamas is the name of a boy being courted by a bearded man. Kleinias the son of Pedieus is kalos on six vases (one of them giving his patronymic), while once he is depicted as a seated youth. Nikostratos is six times kalos, once shown as an athlete.6 And so on. In other words, the names without kalos, according to Beazley, always occur in the vicinity of an Athenian youth whom they could reasonably identify. This is only to be expected, since it has always been assumed that when we see a gathering of, say,

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Boardman 2001, 148. ARV 2 1559. 5 Boardman 1992 goes over some of the same ground as the present paper, but from a different viewpoint and with very different conclusions. A more moderate view of the use of Leagros kalos “alongside a picture which may or may not actually represent Leagros” is expressed by Snodgrass 2000, 24–25. 6 All references in ARV 2 1559ff., s.vv. 4

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athletes in the palestra and a name is written beside each figure, the names do identify those individuals.7 Unlike the true kalos inscriptions, these names of young contemporaries never stray into mythological scenes or into other situations (e.g. scenes of women or bearded men) where there is no appropriate figure they could represent. Among other things, this proves that the stand-alone names cannot be kalos-inscriptions from which the word kalos has been inadvertently omitted, for if that were the case, we should expect to find some of them in “inappropriate” contexts. Beazley’s standard practise in the catalogue of kalos names is to list all the vases with the full inscription first, then to note where the same name occurs without kalos, usually indicating the type of person it represents (athlete, boy, youth). There is, however, one kalos who does not fit this pattern, and that is Leagros. Since Leagros is exceptional in at least two other ways—he is by far the most popular kalos, with more than double the number of inscriptions of the next most frequent, and his name occurs over a longer span of years than any other—it seems to me worthwhile exploring his case more fully. The name Leagros occurs about fifteen times without kalos, and at least sixty times with. (The numbers will never be absolutely certain, since numerous fragmentary vases contain part of Leagros’s name and the word kalos may or may not be lost.)8 Departing from his usual procedure, Beazley mixes the two types of inscriptions (with and without kalos) in his list, not distinguishing here which is which, nor commenting on those that lack the word kalos. It is only by turning to the main entry on each vase that we can discover which ones omit kalos. It may be that Beazley’s silence was a discrete way of leaving unremarked a strange situation of which he was surely aware, namely, that—unlike in the case of all the other kaloi—most of the vases naming Leagros without kalos do not depict any “appropriate” sort of youth. For convenience I list below the vases in question; I give first the scene in which Leagros’s name (without kalos) appears, then other inscriptions and/or scenes on the vase, if pertinent.

7 There are many examples, e.g. the Berlin krater by Euphronios (see below n. 18). 8 Boardman 1992, 48 counts “about 80 occurrences of the name on black and red figure vases, a quarter of which are not accompanied by the word kalos.”

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1. Cup, Paris, Musée du Louvre G 25: ARV 2 316.5 (Proto-Panaitian Group); Hartwig 1893, pl. 9. In the tondo, a bearded komast vomiting. Both sides of the exterior, showing warriors in ambush, have Leagros kalos. 2. Cup, Paris, Musée du Louvre G 24: ARV 2 354.20 (Colmar Painter); Hartwig 1893, 91, fig. 13a. In the tondo, an ithyphallic satyr reclining and holding out a phiale. 3. Cup, Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 73749: ARV 2 355.39 (Colmar Painter); CVA Florence 3 [Italy 30], pl. 84. On each side of the exterior, a nude woman reclining between two satyrs. Leagros is written beside the left-hand satyr in both scenes. The tondo has Dionysos reclining, holding a phiale, and a satyr standing beside him. Leagros is written above the satyr’s head and kalos in the exergue. (Figs. 1.1–3) 4. Cup, once in Rome: ARV 2 1593.35; Christie’s, sale catalogue, 21.2.1850, no. 38. On the tondo, a bearded man reclining. (Known to me only from Beazley’s description.) 5. Cup, formerly London, Embiricos Collection: ARV 2 1593.37bis; Christie, Manson and Woods, sale catalogue, 25.4.2001, no. 227. On the tondo, a satyr with a goat. 6. Cup, Mississippi, University, Art Museum 1977.3.103: ARV 2 1593.38; Shapiro 1981a, no. 19. On the tondo, ithyphallic satyr crouching beside a column-krater. (Fig. 1.4) 7. Cup, Berlin 2272: ARV 2 1593.39; Hartwig 1893, 89, fig. 11. On the tondo, a naked hetaira tying on a sandal over a laver. 8. Cup, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University, Sackler Art Museum 2388: ARV 2 1593.41; CVA Fogg and Gallatin [United States of America 8], pl. 17.2. On the tondo, a woman in a sleeveless, short tunic holding a pair of krotala. 9. Cup, Brussels, Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire R 329: ARV 2 1593.43; CVA Brussels 1 [Belgium 1], pl. 4.5. On the tondo, a bearded symposiast holding out a cup as a player of kottabos. The following are also relevant: 10. Psykter, Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 82.AE.53: BAdd 2 395; Frel 1983. Ten youths and boys in the palestra, eight of them named. A boy named Leagros (with kalos) is being wooed by Euphronios. 11. Cup, Berlin, Antikensammlung 1980.7: BAdd 2 397; Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen, 24, 1982, 6–15, figs. 1–8. A komos on both sides

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of the exterior. The name Leagros appears on side A and the word kalos on side B. Not certain if these go together. 12. Cup, London, British Museum 97.10–28.1: ARV 2 354.24 (Colmar Painter); Journal of Hellenic Studies, 41, 1921, pl. 3.II.1. On side A, three pyrrhic dancers crouching in a row. Leagros is written on the shield of the right-hand youth. Leagros kalos appears above. The scenes in which Leagros’s name appears without kalos are a diverse lot,9 but almost all the vases are drinking-cups and the scenes almost all revolve around the symposium. Even the most unexpected, those showing satyrs, are closely related, since they show satyr-symposiasts (no. 2, twice on no. 3) or a satyr beside the big mixing bowl for wine that was often the focus of the symposium (no. 6). The three solitary drinkers show a range of behaviors: the kottabos-player (no. 9), the standard symposiast (no. 4), and the one who suffers the ill effects of too much wine (no. 1). The two females are both surely hetairai employed at the symposium, one dressing for the night out (no. 7), the other already in costume and practising her exotic dance (no. 8). By any normal criterion, none of the individuals depicted on these cups could be the same Leagros who is praised on dozens of other vases. The bearded symposiasts are too old, unless we assume that these vases are all later in date than those with Leagros kalos and portray the same individual now grown into a mature man. This was the argument of Ernst Langlotz, who believed he could construct a kind of biography, taking Leagros through all the stages of life from boy to grown man.10 The vomiting komast (no. 1), for example, would be an unsparing portrait of the dissolute man of 25. This view was enthusiastically endorsed by Robinson and Fluck, who believed that it could be extended to the full-bearded Leagros (no. 9) somewhat over 30, and even a wrinkled, mature Leagros on a cup in London with a love-making scene.11 But this approach quickly runs into problems, for it would imply that the fair Leagros also grew up to be a woman and a satyr.

9 Note that Leagros also occurs without kalos on the shoulders of three blackfigure hydriae where the scenes are mythological. These present a different problem. See ABV 669. 10 Langlotz 1920, 51–54. 11 Robinson and Fluck 1936, 134. For this cup, London, British Museum E 816, see below n. 31.

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Yet, Langlotz was correct to see a chronological development, with the cups naming Leagros without kalos generally later than the first group of Leagros kalos vases, those by Euphronios.12 Furthermore, there is surely something suggestive in the fact that on every vase naming Leagros without kalos, the nearest figure is at odds with the beautiful boy, while all other contemporary names, when they appear without kalos, are in the vicinity of an appropriate figure, as well as in the fact that the symposium theme unites all the Leagros vases. What are the painters trying to tell us? What is known about the historical Leagros, son of Glaukon, is fairly meagre (though more than for most of the kaloi on vases) and all pertains to his later life, well after he ceases to appear on vases about 500 B.C.13 Shortly before or after the Persian invasion of Athens in 480, Leagros dedicated a statue to the Twelve Gods at their sanctuary in the Agora.14 At some point he was a candidate for ostracism, for 86 sherds with his name are among the huge horde excavated in the 1960’s in the Kerameikos.15 In 465, when the Athenians put down the revolt of Thasos from the Delian League, they took the occasion to try to plant a settlement on the Thracian mainland opposite, at the site of Ennea Hodoi (later to be known as Amphipolis). But the campaign was a failure, and the Athenian forces, commanded by two generals, Sophanes from Dekeleia and Leagros son of Glaukon, were decimated by the local Thracian tribe. This much is recorded by several ancient writers.16 Sophanes lost his life in the battle; Leagros’s fate we are not told, but it is likely he was killed as well. He left a son, Glaukon (named, following the usual Athenian custom, for his grandfather), who is praised as kalos on Early Classical vases.17 On Leagros’s early life, however, our sources outside vase-painting are silent. The start of inscriptions naming him as kalos, ca. 520 B.C.,18 12

For the chronology of Euphronios’s vases see Euphronios 1991, 46. Davies 1971, 90–91. 14 Thompson and Wycherley 1972, 129–36; cf. Gadbery 1992, who would date the Leagros base after 480 B.C. 15 Willemsen and Brenne 1991, 152. 16 Hdt. 9.75; Paus. 1.29.5. Cf. Thuc. 1.100.2, who does not name the generals. A casualty list of the year 464 B.C. lists the Battle of Drabeskos: Bradeen 1967. 17 ARV 2 1580–82. 18 I base this on the chronology in Euphronios 1991, 46. According to this, the earliest vases with Leagros kalos are the calyx-krater Berlin, Antikensammlung F2180: ARV 2 13.1; Euphronios 1991, no. 1; and the neck-pelike in Rome, Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia (see below n. 32). 13

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yields a birth year about 535 or soon after. That the inscriptions, with or without kalos, continue until he was past 30, and long past the age of a beautiful beardless youth, implies that he was well remembered and much talked about. The sheer number of inscriptions naming Leagros, together with some hints on the early vases, suggests the possibility that his name eventually transcended this one individual and became a byword for a certain kind of aristocratic playboy: hard-drinking, sexually compulsive, flamboyant, and irresistible to men and women alike: in short, a kind Alcibiades avant la lettre. We have only one certain “portrait” of Leagros from his youth, on the psykter attributed to Smikros (no. 10), where he is the object of Euphronios’s affections. The implications of this odd pairing have been much discussed,19 but I think the humor must be seen in the context of a good-natured rivalry between two contemporary painters who several times refer to one another.20 It surely also plays upon the fact that, in his early years, Leagros is praised almost exclusively by Euphronios, almost never by other members of the Pioneer circle.21 Though no one would suggest that banausic vase-painters had erotic relationships with members of the Athenian jeunesse dorée, the painters could have adopted the stance of the erastes toward their clientèle, just as lyric poets might do toward their patrons.22 Leagros is named in three inscriptions that go beyond the standard kalos-formula. On a cup tondo by the Eleusis Painter,23 the addition of a second-person verb—L°agrow e‰ kalÒw, “Leagros. You are handsome”24—subtly alters the tone, personalizing it as a statement of the painter even more so than the usual formula. Perhaps there is also some interplay with the image, which shows an Egyptian in the retinue of King Busiris, who is attacked by Herakles on the outside of the cup. The shaven-headed, thick-lipped, circumcised

19

Frel 1983; Keuls 1989; Shapiro 2000; Neer 2002, 100–102. On references to one another among the Pioneers see now Neer 2002, 87–134. 21 Once by Euthymides: Athens, National Archaeological Museum, Akropolis Collection 211: ARV 2 29.20. Once by Phintias: cup, Karlsruhe, Badisches Landesmuseum 63.104: Para 323.13bis. 22 See Nicholson 2000. 23 Berlin, Antikensammlung 3239: ARV 2 314.2; Hartwig 1893, pl. 4. 24 One would have expected the vocative, Leagre (as in Smikra’s toast on the St. Petersburg psykter, n. below), if the writer (or the pot) were addressing Leagros directly. 20

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Egyptians are often caricatured by Athenian painters. Here the message would be, “These Egyptians are ugly, but you, Leagros, you are handsome.” A drinking cup of unusual shape, a handleless mastoid, unpublished and known to me only from Beazley’s account (citing Dietrich von Bothmer), has an intriguing inscription: kalÚw L°agrow. m°yus[e]w “The fair Leagros. You are drunk.” The scene is generic, Dionysos with satyrs and maenads, but one satyr is named Terpon (“joyful”), probably a reference to the satyrs’ predilection for masturbating. Lastly, the famous toast thrown out by a hetaira named Smikra, on Euphronios’s psykter in St. Petersburg: t‹n tãnde latãssv, L°agre (“this one’s for you, Leagros”).25 Leslie Kurke has recently described Leagros in this inscription as “the object of male homoerotic desire triangulated through the woman.”26 And, we might add, with a knowing smile from the painter, Euphronios. Given the prevalence of Leagros’s name on vases by this artist, it is perhaps not surprising that it turns up in a toast—the only close parallel is a toast that names the painter Euthymides, written by Phintias,27 yet another example of playful banter among the Pioneers—but perhaps there is more to it. Smikra appears, labelled, on only one other vase, the well-known cup tondo by the Thalia Painter showing an orgy in full swing.28 Smikra, already spent, sleeps beneath the couch on which the action continues, a bearded man coupling with a sandal-wielding hetaira, while a youthful voyeur, aroused by this couple, masturbates. Forming an arc over this youth’s head are the words Leagros kalos. Is this what Beazley would call a tag-kalos, the young Leagros participating in an orgy with the same hetaira who elsewhere invokes his name? In fact Beazley explicitly admitted only one tag-kalos in his Leagros list, the rather more demure young man attending a concert on Euphronios’ great Louvre krater.29 I have elsewhere argued

25 St. Petersburg, State Hermitage Museum B 1650: ARV 2 16.15; Euphronios 1991, no. 33. 26 Kurke 1999, 207. 27 Hydria, Munich, Antikensammlungen 2421: ARV 2 23.7; Boardman 1975, fig. 38.1–2. The toast is written on the shoulder of the vase, while on the body, the same Euthymides is depicted as a youth having a music lesson. See Neer 2002, 102–107. 28 Berlin, Antikensammlung 3251: ARV 2 113.7; Boardman 1975, fig. 112. See the recent discussion of this vase in Kurke 1999, 201–205. 29 Paris, Musée du Louvre G 103: ARV 2 14.2; Euphronios 1991, no. 3.

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that the incidence may be much higher.30 Here the link to Smikra certainly points in that direction. For our purposes, it will suffice to observe that among the instances of Leagros kalos in non-mythological scenes, there is a significant correlation with the kind of man who emerges from the vases without kalos: the avid symposiast and sexual adventurer. Perhaps most striking is the cup in London with a powerful bearded man penetrating a woman from above.31 The name Leagros, in large, widely spaced letters, runs all the way from his feet to his head, hugging the body, while the word kalos seems almost to issue from his mouth. If the young masturbator on the Thalia Painter’s cup is indeed Leagros, then one can’t help recalling that one of the earliest vases with Leagros kalos is Euphronios’s remarkable neck-pelike showing a youth threatening with a sandal a boy with an inordinately large penis.32 Did Leagros’s autoerotic tendencies and outsized endowment manifest themselves from an early age? If “Leagros” did indeed become proverbial in Athens, as we might speak of a Don Juan or a Casanova or a Lothario, the plethora of inscriptions naming him take on a new dimension. On the cups with hetairai getting ready for a night out (nos. 7–8), the name of Leagros would conjure up the kind of encounters she is likely to have. The satyrs present a more complex situation, but also one richer in comic potential. On the one hand, the two traits for which satyrs were best known, their excessive drinking and permanent state of sexual arousal, would make them the perfect metaphor for the young man we imagine Leagros to have been, much as the term “satyr” can be used in modern English. But the viewer might still miss the association if the image were a typical one of the satyrs frolicking in the retinue of Dionysos. Instead, the Leagros-satyrs are all shown either as symposiasts (nos. 2–3) or with the sympotic krater par excellence (no. 6). Satyr-symposiasts are not a common subject in red-figure, but are part of a larger trend of the Late Archaic, to show satyrs mimicking

30 Shapiro 2000. One of the most debated possibilities is the elegant horseman on the tondo of Euphronios’s cup, Munich, Antikensammlungen 8704 (2620): ARV 2 16.17; Euphronios 1991, no. 41. See Immerwahr 1990, 73. 31 London, British Museum E 816: ARV 2 315.2; CVA London 9 (Great Britain 17), pl. 11. 32 Rome, Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia (no inv. no.): ARV 2 15.11; Euphronios 1991, no. 29. On this vase see most recently Venit 2002.

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the mores and manners of the Athenian élite.33 The humor seems to reside in the utter incongruity of the bestial satyrs masquerading as good Athenian citizens, sometimes even in citizen dress.34 Giving satyrs the name of the by-now legendary symposiast Leagros added another layer of meaning to the visual joke. If the suggestion put forward here is correct, that Leagros became a byword for a certain kind of dissolute aristocratic behavior that was both admired and made fun of by the average Athenian, then we must credit the painters of the late sixth century B.C. with a subtle brand of humor that is more often associated with a much later period. One thinks first of Aristophanes, who invokes the names of various contemporary Athenians as synonyms for certain vices and forms of debauchery. Thus, Kleonymos is synonymous with cowardice because of the oft-repeated story that he threw away his shield on the battlefield.35 A Scholiast on Lucian reports that in a lost play of Aristophanes, the name Aristodemos was used as a synonym for the anus, because he was “miarÒw and excessively given to passive anal intercourse.”36 In Old Comedy, objects of ridicule are most often those who indulged in pathic behavior, but this seems to be a reflection of popular attitudes in the later fifth century that did not obtain a century before.37 That Archaic vase-painters were indeed capable of anticipating some types of Aristophanic humor is suggested by the inscriptions on a cup by Oltos, Stysippos kalos and Phlebippos (without kalos).38 As Beazley pointed out, these names are comic perversions of aristocratic Athenian names like Speusippos and Pheidippos, just as Aristophanes calls the rich and dissolute Kallias “son of Hippobinos” (from bin°v, a term for illicit sexual intercourse) instead of Hipponikos (Ran. 430).39 In the case of Leagros, there is no question of the kind of comic invective favored by Old Comedy, for the behaviors associated with Leagros are different—excessive drinking, sex with prostitutes, and

33

See Carpenter 1997, 27–28; Lissarrague 1998, 187–93. See Krumeich 1999. 35 Ach. 88, 844; Eq. 958, 1293, 1372; Nub. 353, 450, 674; Vesp. 20, 592, 822. 36 Henderson 1975, 203. The word used of Aristodemos’s predilection, katapug≈n, is the same term of abuse sometimes scratched on vases: see Milne and von Bothmer 1953. 37 See Hubbard 1998. 38 Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 2617: ARV 2 65.108. 39 ARV 2 1609. 34

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masturbation—and pederasty in itself has no negative associations. The caricature of the paunchy Leagros who has lost his looks through overindulgence (no. 1) is perhaps the closest thing to censure that we find on the vases, but was surely meant more to amuse than to offend. Leagros, in any event, outgrew his youthful indiscretions to become one of the more distinguished Athenians of his time: wealthy enough to make one of the most conspicuous private dedications in the Agora; politically influential enough to be targeted by his enemies for ostracism; and vigorous enough to command an army at an age when most men today think of nothing more strenuous than the golf course.

CHAPTER TWO

SKYTHIAN HUNTERS ON ATTIC VASES* Judith M. Barringer

Our knowledge of Greek perceptions of Skythians depends heavily on Herodotos’ account, which has been pressed into service to interpret Attic vase paintings of Skythians in the late sixth and fifth centuries, the time covered by Herodotos’ text. The Skythians in these vase paintings are often portrayed as archers, sometimes in battle scenes, or standing with hoplites, and occasionally, they appear alone. Skythian troops, particularly archers, are especially common on Attic pottery ca. 530–500 B.C. with a surge in the number of Skythians in these seemingly non-mythological depictions in the last decade of the sixth century1 (though we should note that they also appear in sculpture, such as the Skythian archer on the west pediment of the Temple of Aphaia of ca. 490 on Aegina). Scholars often point to contemporary events to explain the presence of these foreigners in Attic painting: the images refer to Peisistratos’ welcoming of Skythian mercenaries in Athens,2 a view that has recently been challenged,3 or the Peisistratids’ hiring of Skythian archers for the Athenian army,4 or the employment of Skythians as personal servants to Athenian hoplites.5 Common to these explanations is the underlying premise that the Skythians were novel and of interest to vase-painters, who consequently included them in their images. Likewise, inaccuracies or inconsistencies in depictions of Skythians on vase painting after ca. 500 once led scholars to surmise that the Skythian soldiers themselves had disappeared from Greece, specifically Athens,6 although

* I would like to thank William Harris and Clemente Marconi for inviting me to participate in the Columbia vase painting symposium and to contribute to this volume. 1 Bäbler 1998, 165; Vos 1963, 66. 2 E.g., Snodgrass 1999, 83–84; Helbig 1897, 305. 3 Lavelle 1992. 4 Raeck 1981, 15–16; Vos 1963, 66–69. 5 Schoppa 1933, 20ff. 6 Snodgrass 1999, 83–84; Bäbler 1998, 167.

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they continued to appear sporadically in Attic vase painting for several decades more. More recently, however, Bäbler has demonstrated that Skythian slaves and others certainly were still in Athens throughout the fifth and fourth centuries but that interest in depicting them moved from vase painting to other media.7 Such hypotheses endeavor to explain the presence of Skythians on Attic pottery at the end of the sixth century B.C. but do not address the fact that Skythians first appear in Attic vase painting ca. 580–570, long before Peisistratos’ tyranny or Herodotos’ account. The prevailing view of Skythians as mercenaries might provide a reason for their presence in scenes of Athenian men on horseback or even with Athenian warriors but fails to account for their inclusion in early vase paintings, where Skythians, sometimes archers, join Greek heroes to hunt the fierce boar in images of the Kalydonian boar hunt.8 While Greek archers are included in Attic depictions of the Kalydonian boar hunt after the mid-sixth century, the earliest archers are either Skythian or Atalanta. Even if one could extrapolate back and explain the presence of the Skythians as mirroring actual Skythian archers,9 we are confronted with the oddity of “reality” intruding into this mythological scene. This paper considers the first appearance of Skythian hunters in Attic vase painting, when they participate in the Kalydonian boar hunt on the François Vase, then traces their subsequent presence in the same myth on Attic pottery to ca. 350 B.C. As we shall see, the iconography of Skythians and Atalanta is closely interrelated. Indeed, while Atalanta may participate in the Kalydonian boar hunt without Skythians, Skythians never are portrayed in this episode without Atalanta. Beyond stating the obvious about Skythians in Attic battle scenes— that they are outsiders and are dressed and behave differently from Greeks—or that they form an opposing or complementary category

7

See, e.g., Bäbler 1998, 167–81. Archers appear in boar hunts in earlier, Protocorinthian and Corinthian paintings, but none of the hunts is clearly the Kalydonian boar hunt (though one, Richmond 80.27, published in Siegel 1981, includes a kentaur, and is thus certainly mythological) nor are any of the archers characterized as Skythian. 9 Vos (1963, 5), for example, explains the Skythians on Attic vases before the mid-sixth century as a response to tales of distant places brought back by Athenian sailors and traders. 8

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to that of hoplites (a typical Structuralist pattern),10 scholars have offered little explanation for their appearance in Attic hunt depictions. An examination of their participation in Greek depictions of the Kalydonian boar hunt reveals that the Skythian difference, their foreignness, was employed by painters to flavor an entire scene with exotic overtones, and elements of Skythian dress and conduct could be excerpted and applied to individual figures in Greek mythology, such as Atalanta, to express Greek conceptions about character. The popularity of Skythians after ca. 520 B.C., reaching a crescendo in the first half of the fifth century, is surely tied to contemporary historical and political events but also represents a fascination with foreign, specifically eastern and northern culture, which finds echoes in other arts. Before examining the vases themselves, it will be useful first to review the means by which we identify Skythians in art. The Skythian hat—a tight-fitting pointed or curled cap with long cheek flaps and sometimes a neck flap—is the primary signal of a Skythian in early sixth-century Attic vase painting.11 After the mid-sixth century, bodysuit-like attire (the trousers are anaxyrides), usually ornately decorated, and occasionally high boots with overfolds are added. The most common Skythian weapons are the bow and arrow with a gorytos (large quiver) worn by the hip but Skythians can also wield spears and sometimes carry the pelta, a crescent-shaped shield, and an axe. It is important to note, however, that the iconographical conventions for “Skythian” are not strictly followed, particularly in the fifth century, and that their attire is sometimes mixed with that of Amazons, Thracians, and even Athenian hoplites.12 Their characteristic hat and combination of weapons, however, allow one to recognize them as Skythians or less specifically, foreigners from the northeast. The earliest Skythian hunters in Attic vase painting appear on the François Vase of ca. 570 B.C.,13 where three Skythian archers, characterized by their pointed caps accompany the Greek heroes and Atalanta as they close in on the boar (Fig. 2.1). Two of the archers,

10

E.g., Lissarrague 1990b, 235ff. For the attire of Skythians, see Ferrari Pinney 1983, 129; Vos 1963, 40–51 and passim. 12 Cf. Ferrari Pinney 1983, 131. 13 Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 4209: ABV 76.1; Para 29; BAdd 2 21. 11

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Kimmerios (KIMERIOS) and Toxamis (TOXSAMIS), crouch to the right of the central boar while the third, Euthymachos (EUYUMAXOS), kneels directly behind the conspicuously white-skinned Atalanta (ATALATE), who wears a crown on her head, a quiver on her back, and wields a spear in her raised right hand.14 Two of the Skythians, Kimmerios and Toxamis, are aptly named for northern archers. The first refers to the Kimmerians, who were regarded by seventh-century Greeks as terrifying invaders of Asia Minor (Kallinos fr. 3).15 Odyssey 11.13–15 describes them as living at the borders of Ocean, i.e., at the ends of the earth. Later authors place them in the Pontos and Black Sea regions.16 Wachter points out that the name “Toxamis” is a hybrid of a Greek prefix and a barbarian suffix, and suggests that the name may be a Hellenization of the Kimmerian king’s name, Lygdamis.17 Scrzhinskaya notes several instances of similar names, Taxakis and Toxaris, in ancient literature and vase painting, where they are used for Skythians and in one instance, an Amazon.18 The name Euthymachos, however, signifies “fair fighting,” which is somewhat ironic considering that later Greeks, at least, viewed archery as a lesser form of warfare because it avoided close contact with the enemy (e.g., Eur., HF 151–203).19 Wachter’s hypothesis raises the possibility that the named archers— or at least one of them—refer to real people, who are included in this depiction of the Kalydonian boar hunt. Apollodoros (Bibl. 1.8.2), Ovid (Met. 8.299–317), and Hyginus (Fab. 173) provide lists of the names of hunters who took part in killing the Kalydonian boar, and none of them include Kimmerios, Euthymachos, or Toxamis, the

14

On the inscriptions, see Wachter 1991. Tokhtas’ev 1996, 1. 16 On the literary tradition regarding the chronology and geography of the Kimmerians, see Tokhtas’ev 1996. 17 Wachter 1991, 93–95. 18 Hdt. 4.120, who names Taxakis as a leader of one group of the Skythian military; Lucian, Skytha 1, where Toxaris is a Skythian, a contemporary and acquaintance of Solon, and a visitor to Athens; and a fragment of an Attic red-figure cup in Tarquinia of ca. 510 B.C. by Euphronios (Museo Nazionale: ARV 2 17.19; BAdd 2 153), which depicts a hoplite and a female archer in Skythian dress, named TOXSARI[S]. Beazley and others identify the scene as an Amazonomachy. See Scrzhinskaya 1986, 86, 91. I thank Richard Garner and Roman Sazonov for the translation of Scrzhinskaya’s Russian text. 19 Scrzhinskaya (1986, 90) suggests, somewhat implausibly, that Euthymachos must be a folklore hero from the Medes or Persians, whose name is translated from its original language into Greek. 15

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archers on the François Vase. Admittedly, these literary sources are centuries later than the vase in question, and thus, the question must remain open. However, the lists of names in the written sources and the names inscribed in vase painting scenes of this mythological hunt indicate a great number of hunters from a wide variety of locations, as if to underscore the importance of the hunt and the manpower needed to take down the terrifying boar. All three list Jason as one of the hunters, and Hyginus also includes Alcon of Thrace so one might construe the Skythians as northerners who accompany Jason, the Thessalian hero who traveled to Kolchis, or Alcon on this adventure. But neither hero is named on the François Vase, and one should probably look elsewhere for a solution. Interestingly, the Skythians are not the only foreign elements on this frieze: a sphinx with a raised paw flanks each side of the boar hunt composition and is separated from it only by a vertical vegetal border. The sphinx motif recurs in a frieze of animals lower on the vase, where sphinxes flank a central vegetal pattern. A variant occurs at the same level on the reverse, where griffins instead of sphinxes flank the same type of vegetal ornament. Of the mythological friezes, only the Kalydonian boar hunt is singled out by flanking sphinxes. One sees a similar juxtaposition of sphinx and hunt on the Chigi olpe, a Protocorinthian vessel of ca. 640 B.C., where a sphinx divides a parade of riders from a lion hunt, an eastern motif, which is followed by the judgment of Paris, the only identifiable mythological scene on the olpe.20 This phenomenon occurs again later on an Attic black-figure cup of ca. 540 by Archikles and Glaukytes,21 where standing sphinxes, each with a raised paw, move away from the Kalydonian boar hunt while gazing back at it, and they also flank Theseus’ dispatching the Minotaur on the reverse in the same manner. Here, no element intervenes between the sphinxes and the myths. Lissarrague designates Skythians as marginal, both in this particular hunt and in hunt images in general.22 They certainly appear at the margins of the main action on the François Vase but can one

20 See Hurwit 2002. One wonders if the presence of the sphinx on the Chigi Vase refers not simply to the adjacent death of the hunter by the lion but also foreshadows the death of many as a result of Paris’ choice in the Judgment of Paris in the same frieze. 21 Munich, Antikensammlungen 2243: ABV 160.2 and 163.2. 22 Lissarrague 1990b, 115.

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really call them “marginal,” which I interpret as “insignificant,” if they appear with heroes in this famous hunt? Why include them at all? Explanations for the presence of the Skythians on the François Vase vary but are ultimately unsatisfactory. Vos, whose monograph on Skythian archers in Attic vase painting is still seminal, admitted befuddlement on this issue.23 One school of thought pragmatically appeals to contemporary historical events for elucidation. Minto explained the inclusion of Skythians on the vase as a result of Athenian commercial contact with this region by the beginning of the sixth century.24 This is plausible—perhaps the Skythians were already regarded as excellent archers, which was the case later in Herodotos’ time—25 but why would they be suited to this myth, which takes place in Kalydon, and why are no other foreigners with whom the Greeks had contact included? Similarly, Erika Simon explains the archers as references to current historical conditions. Together with eight Greek hunters on the François Vase whose names are nonmythological, the archers actualize the scene: auxiliaries from the Black Sea region were present in archaic Greece, and recent Kimmerian incursions into Anatolian Greek cities were renowned.26 Wachter explains the presence of the archers, whom he describes as Kimmerians, in this adventure as attributable either to the vase-painter’s predilection (true of anything on any vase) and/or to Greek admiration for the Kimmerian restraint of Lydians, who threatened Greek colonies in Asia Minor in the mid-seventh century.27 A different point of view centers on possible literary sources for the myth. Scrzhinskaya proposes that the inclusion of Skythians and other foreigners in the early depictions of the Kalydonian boar hunt is explicable by the reliance of such images on lost literary sources, specifically those that incorporated Skythian legends into the myth.28 A lost literary source is

23

Vos 1963, 2. Minto 1960, 40–41. Similarly, Schefold (1964, 57) explains the use of the name “Kimmerios” as a reflection of the Greek familiarity since the seventh century B.C. with the famed Kimmerian military campaigns. 25 Herodotos portrays Skythians as superb hunters (1.73) and adept bowmen and riders (4.3.17, 4.46.11–12); nomads (4.46), who defeated the Kimmerians and drove them from what is now part of Skythia (4.11–13); extremely skillful at self-preservation (4.46); and hostile to foreign, specifically Greek, traditions (4.76–80). 26 Simon 1976, 72. 27 Wachter 1991, 94. 28 Scrzhinskaya 1986. 24

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commonly proposed for otherwise undocumented elements in Greek vase painting but, as we will see, one does not have to resort to proposing lost sources to posit possible explanations for the Skythian hunters. While it is possible that a lost literary text describes Skythian archers hunting the Kalydonian boar, or the foreign archers appear because of contemporary events, the visual evidence itself suggests an iconographical explanation for their presence, one that highlights the extraordinary nature of the Kalydonian boar hunt. Three other vases from the early- to mid-sixth century include Skythian hunters in the Kalydonian boar hunt, and Atalanta also conspicuously appears in each instance. An Attic black-figure dinos of ca. 575–550 B.C. shares compositional similarities with the François Vase and was produced at approximately the same time or shortly thereafter (Fig. 2.2).29 As is the case with the latter, the dinos’ decoration is arranged in narrow horizontal friezes: a mythological hunt on the top (with a battle on the reverse), and three animal friezes, including lions, panthers, boars, swans, sirens, and rams below. Its hunt frieze, however, is remarkable in that it seems to merge the figures of Skythian archer and Atalanta. Two Greek archers appear among the usual Greek heroes attacking the boar, and Atalanta wears Skythian attire (ornately decorated tunic, high boots with curling tops, gorytos) and draws a bow, as if she were a Skythian archer (although she stands instead of kneeling).30 The reverse of the dinos presents a battle at the level of the Kalydonian boar hunt (Fig. 2.3). I have argued elsewhere for the similarity of hunt and warfare,31 an analogy that finds visual form here not simply because the two scenes appear opposite each other on the same frieze but also because they share compositional similarities: the boar tramples a fallen hunter while being attacked by dogs and other hunters while a hoplite battle rages over a warrior lying wounded or dead on the ground. Hunt and battle figures face away from each other to help distinguish the two scenes but one horseman of a pair moving toward the hunt looks back toward the battle scene, and since the only other horsemen

29 Vatican City, Museo Gregoriano Etrusco Vaticano 306: Barringer 2001, 149–50, fig. 80; Brommer 1973, 310, A3; Albizzati 1925–39, pl. 29. 30 Barringer 2001 149, fig. 80. Cf. Vos 1963, 26, who points out that it is often difficult to distinguish a Skythian from an Amazon on Attic red-figure vases. 31 Barringer 2001, 10–59.

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occur in the battle scene, this moving horseman visually joins the two compositions. Curiously, a Skythian archer, indicated by his cap and boots, also participates in the battle. On an Attic black-figure hydria of ca. 550 B.C. near the Princeton Painter, a Skythian hunter (only his right arm and hand, weapon, face, and Skythian cap survive) stands behind two Greek heroes (one of them wears an animal pelt over his chiton) and brandishes a spear at a boar (Fig. 2.4).32 Another Greek hunter and Atalanta, armed here as an Amazon with a helmet, short chiton (also associated with Skythians) and drawn bow, takes aim at the right of the central boar. Herodotos (4.106) reports that the Skythians referred to Amazons as “man-eaters,” an appropriate appellation for the androgynous Atalanta, who resists marriage and brings about the death of her suitors, whom she defeats in footracing.33 Immediately below the mythological hunt, an armed charioteer stands in a chariot harnessed to two horses; the spear point and part of the helmet of another warrior are just visible at the far right of the panel. Chariots have epic associations and can imbue any given scene with an epic flavor.34 Perhaps the juxtaposition of hunting and warfare, more specifically epic warfare, are sufficient to suggest an epic context similar to that on the François Vase. One sees the same combination of warfare, boar hunt with a Skythian (a mounted rider in this instance), and charioteer/chariot on a later Attic black-figure hydria by the Antimenes Painter of ca. 525–520 although here, the boar hunt is not marked as mythological.35 In any case, the two outsiders on the Florence hydria, Atalanta and the Skythian, are characterized as archers. The same is true on a somewhat later, ca. 550–525 B.C., Attic black-figure hydria, this one from a grave on Rhodes (Fig. 2.5–6).36 Like the Florence hydria, this one also combines the two themes, Kalydonian boar hunt on the shoulder and warrior mounted in a chariot (a quadriga this time), and includes three archers in the hunt. The bearded archer kneeling at the far right wears a high pointed Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 3830: Barringer 2001, 149, fig. 81. See Barringer 1996. 34 Barringer 2001, 34–35 with bibliography. 35 London, British Museum B304: ABV 266.4; Para 117; BAdd 2 69; Barringer 2001, 34–35, figs. 24–25. On the difficulty of distinguishing the Kalydonian boar hunt from a non-mythological boar hunt, see Barringer 2001, 4. 36 Rhodes A1934: Barringer 2001, 173; Schnapp 1997, no. 265; Laurenzi 1936, 148–50, figs. 134–37, pl. 6. 32 33

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cap on his head, and has at least one boot with a curling top. The beardless archer at the left wears the same kind of boots but wears a cap fitted close to the head. Although no traces of white paint remain on any figures, long tresses fall down the beardless archer’s back so we might speculate that this kneeling archer with Skythian boots is Atalanta. A third, kneeling, perhaps bearded, archer wearing an animal pelt over his chiton draws his bow behind Atalanta. To summarize thus far: Atalanta and the Skythian or northern archers are distinct in terms of dress and action on the François Vase of ca. 570 B.C., where Atalanta appears as a Greek and wields a spear. On the Vatican dinos of ca. 575–550, Atalanta and the Skythian archer merge as a striding Atalanta wields bow and arrow and wears Skythian dress, and while two Greek archers aim at the boar, the only Skythian, a kneeling archer, has migrated to the battle scene on the rear of the vessel. The Florence hydria of ca. 550 distinguishes a kneeling Amazon Atalanta from one (and perhaps two) erect, spear-wielding Skythians, as if the figures—Atalanta and Skythians—had exchanged weapons and poses. And on the Rhodes hydria, two archers wearing high Skythian boots, one bearded and wearing a Skythian cap, the other beardless with long hair, flank the boar. It is difficult to draw any conclusions from this small group of vases but certainly one can see an evolution from Skythian archer and Atalanta hunting with a spear as distinct figures to a blurring of the boundaries between the two figures: either Atalanta becomes an archer in combination with the Skythian archer, or the Skythian archer is replaced by Atalanta, who takes on Skythian attire. If one bears in mind that Atalanta is often viewed and depicted as an Amazon, then one might see the blending of Atalanta and Skythian as the visual equivalent of a Sauromatian, the result of cross-breeding between Skythians and Amazons, according to Herodotos (4.106–117). Only a handful of Attic vases from ca. 550–400 B.C. depict the Kalydonian boar hunt, and none seem to depict Skythians (some vessels are fragmentary). Atalanta appears without Skythians or Skythian dress in six other clearly identifiable Attic images of the Kalydonian boar hunt prior to ca. 550, but on none of the vase painting depictions of the myth ca. 550–400. When Atalanta again takes part in the hunt, her characterization as Skythian archer persists.37 We

37

Two vessels with relief appliqués are also noteworthy. A female, perhaps

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know of four depictions from the fourth century on which Atalanta appears: a Kerch pelike of ca. 370 in St. Petersburg,38 an Apulian panathenaic-shaped amphora of ca. 350 in Trieste (Fig. 2.7),39 an Apulian volute-krater of ca. 340 now lost (Fig. 2.8),40 and a Lucanian nestoris of ca. 380–370 in a private collection in Geneva.41 On the first three, Atalanta is the only archer, and in each instance, she wears Skythian or other northern or eastern attire. The phenomenon of Atalanta as Skythian occurs twice more on two vases that portray post-hunt activities: an Attic red-figure calyx-krater of ca. 400–375 in Würzburg (Fig. 2.9),42 where Meleager places his hand on Atalanta’s shoulder; and an Apulian amphora of ca. 330 in Bari (Fig. 2.10),43 where Meleager presents the boar’s hide to a seated Atalanta. In both instances, Atalanta is seated and holds spears, not a bow and arrow. Remarkably, Meleager and another hunter standing nearby on the Würzburg krater also sport the richly ornate dress worn by Atalanta although only she wears high boots. On the Bari amphora, all hunters, including Atalanta wear high boots with overfolds added in white, but only Atalanta wears the highly decorated long-sleeve Skythian dress and a cap that could be construed as either Skythian or Phrygian. The lack of distinction between Phrygian, Amazon, and Skythian in vase painting after ca. 470 has already been noted. The Lucanian nestoris is a special case. Atalanta wields a spear against the boar, and no Skythian is present. However, the vase pre-

Atalanta, dressed as a Skythian appears once more on a gilt relief lekythos from a female grave in Sez-Sevrnes (Varna VI.495), where, together with three male hunters (one in Skythian dress), she confronts a boar. See Zervoudaki 1968, 27 no. 37, fig. 3, pl. 2.3–4. Cf. the gilt relief hydria of the fourth century from Lampsakos (Istanbul, Archaeological Museum 2922) illustrated in Daltrop 1966, 25, pls. 24–25, which seems to show the Kalydonian boar hunt with Atalanta, who is dressed here as an Amazon. 38 St. Petersburg, State Hermitage Museum B4528: Barringer 2001, 135; Fornasier 2001, 80ff., fig. 40, 293 EA-17; Barringer 1996, 56, fig. 16; Daltrop 1966, pl. 21; Daltrop (1966, 24), followed by Fornasier (2001, 81), describes Atalanta as dressed as an Amazon and wearing a Phrygian cap. 39 Trieste, Civici Musei di Storia ed Arte S380: Fornasier 2001, 83f., fig. 42, 293 EA-18; Barringer 1996, 56, fig. 17; Daltrop 1966, pl. 23. 40 Formerly Berlin, Staatliche Museen F3258: Fornasier 2001, 84, 303 EK 14; Daltrop 1966, pl. 22. 41 Fornasier 2001, 82f., 321 EV-28; Cambitoglou, Aellen, and Chamay 1986, 31–34. 42 Würzburg, Martin von Wagner Museum L522: Barringer 2001, 152–53, fig. 86. 43 Bari, Museo Archeologico Provinciale 872: Barringer 2001, 152–53, fig. 87.

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sents a unique instance of Atalanta’s wearing a lionskin over her head in the manner of Herakles, a costume designed not simply to heroize her but also to emphasize her masculine qualities.44 Though beyond the purview of this essay, it is worth noting that Skythian archers join Greeks in other hunts on Attic vases. Two Attic black-figure Little Master cups of ca. 550 B.C. portray a solitary Skythian hunting fantastic creatures, a sphinx in one case, a griffin in the other.45 Such images are clearly in the realm of fantasy about northeasterners hunting eastern mythical creatures. All other Skythian hunters on Attic vases participate in what appear to be non-mythological hunts. The Antimenes Painter hydria mentioned above46 is one of approximately a dozen Attic vases painted with non-mythological boar or deer hunts in which at least one Skythian (as indicated by a cap or occasionally a tunic and boots), often mounted, participates.47 One wonders if the painters imagined these hunts as taking place in an exotic location since some of the fifth-century examples, such as a red-figure cup of ca. 500–480 by the Bonn Painter in Basel (Fig. 2.11)48 or a black-figure plate of ca. 480–470 by the Haimon Painter in Bologna (Fig. 2.12),49 include palm trees in the landscape. What is the iconological explanation for the iconographical phenomenon of interplay and exchange between Atalanta and Skythian (and Amazon) in Attic hunting scenes? Why are Skythian archers inserted into a Greek heroic myth, and why does Atalanta adopt their conduct and clothing? If, as some scholars assert, Skythian and Kimmerian archers allude to the real world, then how can we explain their assimilation with Atalanta? Whether the named archers on the François Vase refer to real individuals or a lost version of the myth that included Skythians remains purely speculative. The visual, iconographical assimilation of Skythian archer to a Skythian type of Atalanta

44 It is also possible that the synthesis of Atalanta and Herakles may arise via Skythia: we have already noted Atalanta’s visual assimilation with Skythian archers, and Herakles’ labor involving Geryon’s cattle took him to Skythia, where he fathered the line of Skythian kings (Hdt. 4.8). 45 Griffin hunting: Angers, Musée Pincé illustrated by Vos 1963, pl. 1; sphinx hunting: Paris, Musée du Louvre A 242 cited by Vos 1963, 94 no. 14. 46 London, British Museum B304: see above n. 35. 47 See Barringer 2001, 23–39, 60–63, which also explores the relationship between mythological and non-mythological hunts. 48 Basel, Antikenmuseum BS438: ARV 2 351.8; BAdd 2 221; Barringer 2001, fig. 19. 49 Bologna, Museo Civico Archeologico P149 (M600): Barringer 2001, 66 no. 102.

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reveals something about Attic, perhaps more generally Greek, perceptions of Skythians and/or Atalanta. Unfortunately, contemporary literary evidence is of little help. Although the Skythians make their first appearance in Greek literature early on—Iliad 13.3–7 refers to Skythians as ÑIpphmolgo¤; Hesiod fr. 150, 15ff. (M-W) mentions an eponymous hero, SkÊyhw—it is not until Herodotos, writing in the mid-fifth century or so that we learn much about Greek perceptions of Skythians.50 As noted above, the international participants in the Kalydonian hunt magnify the importance of the hunt and the ferocity of the prey, and one might speculate that the inclusion of sphinxes serves a similar purpose: the eastern hybrids demarcate the hunt from the rest of a vase’s decoration and provide an exotic flavor. Of greater significance is the fact that Skythians or simply Skythian attire appear in paintings of the Kalydonian boar hunt only when Atalanta is present. This remarkable coincidence suggests that the foreign archers with their exotic attire and customs are linked to the strange female hunter, who fails to conform to Greek norms for female conduct. In the Kalydonian boar hunt, Atalanta can appear as a “Greek” male (e.g., the François Vase), as an Amazon, as a Skythian or Phrygian, as Herakles—anything, that is, that signifies odd, unfeminine, and foreign.51 Skythian dress connotes foreignness elsewhere, as, for example, numerous Attic vase paintings of the Amazonomachy in which Amazons, who were imagined to live in the Black Sea region among other places,52 sometimes sport a Skythian hat together with their Greek armor,53 or are accompanied by a female, perhaps another Amazon, wearing a Skythian cap and a speckled jumpsuit.54 The

50

See Bäbler 1998, 163ff., who collects and considers the ancient written evidence. See Barringer 1996 for further discussion. 52 Plut., Thes. 26. 53 E.g., three Attic black-figure neck amphorae: 1) Bochum, Universität, Julius and Margot Funcke S486, ca. 530 B.C.: LIMC I (1981) pl. 445, Amazones no. 35 (P. Devambez and A. Kauffmann-Samaras); 2) Philadelphia, University Museum 1752, ca. 550 B.C.: ibidem pl. 446, Amazones no. 41; 3) New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 61.11.16, ca. 520 B.C.: Para 141.6; CVA New York 4 (United States of America 16), pl. 29; LIMC I (1981) pl. 447, Amazones no. 51. 54 Attic red-figure cup, Berlin, Antikensammlung F2263, ca. 530 B.C.: ARV 2 62.85; LIMC I (1981) pl. 448, Amazones no. 62 (P. Devambez and A. Kauffmann-Samaras). 51

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Skythian archers and their attire seem to underscore Atalanta’s strangeness, foreignness, and Otherness (to employ a now overused term), and thus it is not surprising that Atalanta can take on the guise of Skythian or Amazon or be accompanied by Skythians as if the Skythians themselves were attributes of the strange female hunter.

CHAPTER THREE

IMAGES FOR A WARRIOR. ON A GROUP OF ATHENIAN VASES AND THEIR PUBLIC* Clemente Marconi

I am going to discuss the interpretation of a group of Athenian black-figure vases dating to the end of the sixth century B.C., but from the perspective of the context of their consumption, not of their production. The conclusions deriving from this approach will, I think, generate some controversy. This, at least, is the main intention of the paper. Many of the recent discussions about the intended public of Athenian vases assume that the place of their production and the place of their consumption was the same. The public of Athenian vases, then, is generally assumed to be limited to the Athenians, and the usual account is that of vases produced in the workshops of the Kerameikos, put on display for the citizens frequenting the nearby Agora, and sold to some local individual for a special occasion, such as a symposium.1 What strikes me about this account is that it usually ends in the dining room of an Athenian house. It leaves little or no space for the reception of Athenian vases beyond Athens, thus disregarding the fact that during the Archaic and Classical period most of these vases were produced for the export market. The main reason for such disregard is the supposition that representations on Athenian vases communicated messages so specific to Athenian society that beyond Athens these vases would have been only appreciated for their shape and function, not for their representations. In this scenario little space would be left for a public of Athenian vases beyond Athens.2

* I would like to thank Giuseppe Castellana (Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento) for the photographs reproduced here. 1 See, e.g., Boardman 1990, 19f.; Boardman 1991; Lissarrague 2001, 197. 2 See, e.g., Lissarrague 1987; Boardman 1990; Boardman 2001, 172.

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This idea that representations on Athenian vases could only speak to an Athenian audience is, however, a modern construction mainly based on the lack of contextual information regarding their provenance. In most cases the provenance is simply unknown, since the vases have been looted. Otherwise, it remains uncertain, since the vases were excavated in times of treasure-hunting archaeology. As a result, in the absence of a specific public and of a specific context, an ideal public and an ideal context—the Athenians at the symposium— have been constructed. The progress of archaeological research in the past few decades, however, has been contributing contextual information that was before unimaginable. This new information, while clarifying the mechanisms of reception of Athenian vases beyond Athens, invites us to rethink the traditional paradigm of interpretation.3 The case that I will discuss in this paper brings us to Akragas, in Sicily (Fig. 3.1), and to the suburban cemetery of Contrada Mosè, located about 6 miles east of the urban center along the ancient road that once led to Gela.4 The funerary use of this area (Fig. 3.2) started in the last quarter of the sixth and continued into the beginning of the fifth century B.C. with a series of tile graves and cists lined with ashlar blocks (graves nos. 1–2, 9A–9B). After an interruption of some decades (maybe even after a partial destruction of the area), the use of the cemetery resumed during the fifth century, again with a series of cists and pits lined with ashlar blocks which date all the way down to the end of the century. After the events of 406, when Akragas was besieged, taken, and sacked by the Carthaginians, the area was not used for burials, and it is only at the beginning of the third century that this use resumed. It may well be that at this time this area had become the eastern spur of the major urban cemetery of S. Biagio. For the earliest phases (sixth and fifth centuries B.C.), such a connection with the urban cemetery of S. Biagio is not possible, and the excavators have thus linked the cemetery of Contrada Mosè with a suburban settlement on a hill to the south that has not been sub-

3 In recent years more attention has been devoted to the use of Greek painted pottery within its context: see in particular Villanueva Puig et al. 1999; Reusser 2002; Schmaltz and Söldner 2003. 4 De Miro and Fiorentini 1980, 113; De Miro 1980–81, 566ff.; De Miro 1988, 244ff.; Tagliamonte 2002, 514ff.

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jected, so far, to any systematic investigation. One cannot exclude the possibility that this cemetery had a special connection with a well-off family. This connection might be suggested by elements such as the regular distribution of the graves (very different from the chaos that characterizes the contemporary cemetery of Pezzino), the predominant use of cists lined with ashlar blocks, and the unusual richness of some of the burials. For example, grave no. 3, where a large bronze volute-krater was used as the urn for the ashes of a woman. One should always be cautious, especially in Archaic and Classical Sicily, to posit a direct relation between the richness of the burial and the quality of the grave goods with social status, but the connection, for our cemetery, is inescapable.5 Let us concentrate, now, on graves no. 1 and 2, close to the south limit of the excavated area. The graves have the form of cists lined with ashlar blocks, separated by a thick wall, and built together to form a rectangular structure of considerable size (5.50 × 3.75 m). It is possible that a monument marked the presence of these graves above ground level, a feature well documented in Archaic Sicily since the second half of the sixth century B.C. Of such a monument, however, nothing survives.6 When the graves were excavated, two skeletons were found in grave no. 1, but in a secondary context, within a filling dated to the third century B.C. by two coins of Hieron II. No skeleton was discovered in grave no. 2. Here the materials found (Fig. 3.3) were a bronze greave decorated in relief, which characterizes the deceased as a warrior, and a series of vases which date the burial to around 520–500 B.C.: a band decorated amphora, a black-glazed amphora, and three Athenian black-figure amphorae. Because there are no traces of later alterations to the grave, as was the case with the grave no. 1, it is very difficult to ascribe the absence of the skeleton to a

5

Cemetery of Pezzino: De Miro 1989.—Richness of the burial and social status: see Pelagatti and Vallet 1980, 377f., who rightly warn against positing a direct relation. But see, e.g., Torelli 1991 (quality of the imported, Athenian vases directly proportional to the eudaimonia of the deceased). 6 For similar monumental tombs see, e.g., at Akragas the cemetery of Pezzino (De Miro 1989, 17, fig. 18) and Megara Hyblaea (Cavallari and Orsi 1892, 769ff.). For monumental tombs in Archaic Sicily see in general Pelagatti and Vallet 1980, 361f.

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later removal of the body, as suggested by one of the excavators. More likely, this tomb was a cenotaph for a warrior who perished far from home.7 Cenotaphs tend to resemble ordinary tombs and it is not a surprise, then, that our burial is normal in all respects except for the absence of the body. By normal, of course, I refer to its construction, and also to the presence of a large set of amphorae. The deposition of groups of imported vases in Sicilian burials of the Late Archaic period is an issue still awaiting systematic exploration. Nonetheless, archaeological evidence suggests that the placement of such groups of vases in funerary contexts became quite frequent in the last decades of the sixth century B.C.8 More surprising is the presence of the bronze greave. The deposition of arms and armor in burials became very rare in Greek culture by the beginning of the Orientalizing period, and Sicily is no exception. This is not a reason, however, for considering the presence of weapons in a burial as markers of ethnicity (a non-Greek), or social status (a mercenary) of the deceased. Here, again, it is important to avoid generalizations about burial customs and burial practices.9 A contemporary grave from Himera provides a good warning against such generalizations about ethnicity and social status. Grave no. 5 of the eastern cemetery contained, associated with the skeleton of an exceptionally tall man, a group of imported vases, metal objects related to athletic activities, an iron dagger, and two iron spearheads. A graffito on the foot of a black-figure plate bears a Greek name (SIM for Simos?) which might be the same as one of the founders of the colony: and this clearly would identify the deceased as a Greek, and a citizen.10 In the end, the only safe inference about the deceased commemorated by our tomb is that he lived and died as a warrior. Let us focus now on the painted vases offered to the dead. The first one (Figs. 3.4–5), which is the best preserved of the series, is a neck amphora depicting a musical performance and a departure of 7

For cenotaphs see Boardman and Kurtz 1971, esp. 257ff. Groups of imported vases in burials: see, e.g., Gela, cemetery of Capo Soprano, grave no. 19 (Orsi 1906, 461ff.).—Syracuse, cemetery Ex-Spagna, graves nos. 4 and 35 (Cultrera 1943, 46ff., 63ff.). 9 Deposition of arms and armor in burials: see in general Snodgrass 1999, 48, 72f. For Sicily see Pelagatti and Vallet 1980, 375. 10 Himera II 1976, 604ff., and 699 no. 280 for the graffito. 8

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a warrior. Both scenes are quite standard in their iconography. In the music scene, a young performer plays the kithara in the presence of two women. On the other side, a warrior prepares for departure equipped with round shield, helmet, and spear and flanked by a Skythian archer. The pair faces a woman raising her hand in a gesture of farewell. Standing behind them is a man dressed in a chiton and himation and holding a stick in his right hand. He looks a bit younger than men attending these scenes tend to be.11 The other neck amphora is in white ground, and in rather precarious condition (Figs. 3.6–7). One side, which is very damaged, shows a couple on a chariot moving to the right, in the presence of three figures, one of whom is playing the lyre. The other side, better preserved, shows a duel between two warriors armed with round shield, helmet, and spear. In the center of the composition, between the two contenders, is a male figure moving to the right, turning his head backwards, and raising his left hand in a sign of agitation.12 The last amphora, which is of type B, is the largest one, and shows two related scenes (Figs. 3.8–9). On the main side, a warrior carries the body of a comrade over his shoulder, framed on the left by a running woman turning her head to the center and on the right by a standing warrior facing the main group. On the other side are four more warriors in profile facing left: three of them carry a round shield, helmet, and double spears, while the fourth one is a Skythian archer. It seems that these warriors are attendants to the scene on the other side: all gazes, on this vase, are directed to the retrieval of the dead hero.13 Recent literature shows some resistance to making thematic links between vases associated in the same burial,14 but in our case it seems that little space is left for suspicion or skepticism. Not only do the three painted vases associated in the burial of this warrior 11 Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale AG. 23076: “Veder Greco” 1988, 254f. no. 3. 12 Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale AG. 23080: “Veder Greco” 1988, 254 no. 5. 13 Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale AG. 23079: “Veder Greco” 1988, 254 no. 2, 256f. 14 In general see d’Agostino in Bats and d’Agostino 1999, 87ff.—A case in point is the Brygos tomb at Capua: for skepticism about linking thematically the vases from this tomb see Lissarrague 1987, 269 (see also Lissarrague 1990c, 99). For two different attempts in that direction see Williams 1992 and d’Agostino and Cerchiai 1999, 171ff.

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bear scenes related to war, but these scenes, taken together, build a sequence that moves from the departure to the duel to, finally, the rescue of the body. Both association and sequence must be considered intentional, and are rather striking. This is a eulogy, in painting, of the arete of the dead warrior: a visual pendant of verbal discourses such as the funeral oration that might have taken place at the time of the funeral.15 The main tenet of this eulogy in painting appears to be the metaphor of the deceased warrior as an epic hero,16 and in order to appreciate this point one should imagine the impact these vases might have had on a public at Akragas around 500 B.C. Around this period of time, in fact, hoplitic warfare must have been a regular practice in Greek Sicily (where, though, cavalry also seems to have been important), as indicated, at its best, by a rounded shield now in Basel, from the east coast, dating around 550–540. Yet, despite the characterization of several warriors on the vases as hoplites, several elements must have contributed to give to these representations an epic, heroic flavor.17 The first element, of course, was the characterization of the actual battle as a duel on the central vase. There are no references to the phalanx, or to the practices of hoplitic warfare, and instead the battle is condensed to a one-on-one confrontation that must have been strongly evocative of the epic tradition.18 The second element was the presence of the so-called Boeotian shield on the third amphora. This type of shield, most frequently met on Athenian black-figure vases, is often featured in scenes related to the epic cycle, and is associated primarily with Ajax and Achilles. Recent literature has argued against the old suggestion by Lorimer that this type of shield was not real, and that it was “a deliberate piece of romantic archaizing” used by artists to connote warriors and scenes as heroic. So far, however, there is no material evidence

15

For the possibility that representations on Apulian vases could be used as eulogies for the dead at the funeral see Giuliani 1995 and 1999. 16 See in general Lissarrague 1989, 50; Lissarrague 1990b, 71ff.; Knittlmayer 1997, 46ff. 17 Hoplitic warfare in Archaic Sicily: Snodgrass 1999, 74f., 87.—Bronze shield, Basel, Antikenmuseum: Kunze in Berger 1982, 230ff. no. 217. 18 For hoplites and for recent controversies about hoplitic warfare an excellent overview is offered by Cartledge 1996 (see esp. 709ff.).—For representations of battle in Archaic art (heroic and hoplitic) see more recently Förtsch 2001, 115ff.

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supporting the opposite claim that this type of shield was actually used. The only basis for such a claim would be its frequency in the visual arts: which would be difficult to regard as evidence, however, unless one forgets that a large portion of what is represented in Archaic art is simply not real.19 A third element pointing in the same direction must have been the Skythian archers on the first and third amphora. Ferrari Pinney has convincingly argued that the archers in Skythian garb on Athenian late sixth century vases belong, as regards their nature, entirely to myth and epic (the Trojan War, in particular), that they have an epic quality, and that as documents of Athenian institutions and history they should be handled warily.20 It should be added that these exotic figures are not exclusively found in Athenian vases. One (W XI) participates in the Trojan War on the West pediment of the temple of Aphaia at Aegina (490 ca.),21 while several are featured in warrelated scenes on Chalkidian vases (525–500).22 These vases, produced most likely in Rhegium,23 show that the popularity of Skythian archers went well beyond Athens, reaching even the West, and that by no means can their occurrence on Athenian vases be taken as an indication that these vases were made specifically for an Athenian clientele. They must have been intended for a public fascinated by the epic, and the exotic, in Athens as well as outside Athens, and this must have been the case in Akragas. These three elements lift the visual narrative of the vases to the realm of metaphor, likening the deceased warrior to an epic hero. And one cannot discard the possibility that the comparison was even more specific not to just any epic warrior, but to the “best of the Achaeans,” Achilles. I am referring, of course, to the traditional interpretation of scenes of the warrior bearing the body of a dead comrade over his shoulders as Ajax carrying the body of Achilles. This 19 Lorimer 1950, 156ff. For the Boeotian shield see more recently Knittlmayer 1997, 61ff. The suggestion that this type of shield was a signifier of heroic identity has been supported more recently by Hurwit 1985, 125f.; Carpenter 1991, 199; Snodgrass 1999, 55. Against this theory see Boardman 1983, 28ff.; Boardman 2001, 312, n. 5. 20 Ferrari Pinney 1983. 21 Ohly 2001, pls. 138–144. 22 E.g. Amphora, Paris, Musée du Louvre E 802: Rumpf 1927, 25 no. 105, pl. 112; Iozzo 1993, 181 AG 46.—Amphora, Taranto, Museo Nazionale IG 4310: Rumpf 1927, 26 no. 108, pl. 114; Iozzo 1993, 219 TA 1. 23 Iozzo 1993, 247ff.

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last interpretation is based on inscriptions that accompany the two warriors on a few Athenian vases representing this scene, including the François Vase (Fig. 3.11). On the fragments of a series of shield bands (ca. 560 B.C.) from Olympia with the same iconography, however, the two protagonists are labeled Ajax and Aristodamos, the latter unknown to our literary sources, but undoubtedly a hero (maybe a local, Peloponnesian hero, according to Kunze). This has made more than one scholar wonder whether our iconography should be interpreted as Ajax carrying the body of Achilles in cases when their names are not indicated by inscriptions, as in the earliest, Geometric and Orientalizing representations and on most of the Archaic and Late Archaic Athenian vases, which as in the case of our amphora, leave the protagonists unnamed. That in Athenian vases this iconographical formula was not exclusive to Ajax and Achilles is clearly shown by its occurrence in association with Amazons. Most likely, the identification of the two heroes was left to the imagination of the viewer, with Ajax and Achilles still representing the best option.24 This presentation of the warrior as an epic hero must have been a familiar theme for a public at Akragas around 500 B.C. Mythological traditions in Archaic and Classical Sicily are still largely unexplored and underestimated, mainly because of the old prejudice that Sicily was, by contrast to Mainland Greece, demythologized.25 Nevertheless, the evidence of the last 40 years has shown how significant the presence of myth was in the cultural life of the colonies from the third quarter of the seventh century B.C. on. As for the epic tradition, there are several documents related to the Trojan War, including a series of representations of the Troilos episode; for example, a terracotta relief from Gela now in the Metropolitan Museum.26 The best testimony for the reception of epic, however, is offered by Kynaithos of Chios, a rhapsode prominent among the later Homeridae, who performed Homer at Syracuse in the years 504–501.27

24

“Ajax and the body of Achilles:” for the iconography see Kunze 1950, 43 no. 76, 151ff.; Woodford and Loudon 1980; LIMC I (1981) s.v. Achilleus 185–93 (A. Kossatz-Deissmann); Peifer 1989, 183ff.; Lissarrague 1990b, 71ff.; Knnittlmayer 1997, 58ff.; Boardman 2001, 181f.—For the use of the same scheme in association with Amazons see LIMC I (1981) s.v. Amazones nos. 728–32 (P. Devambez and A. Kauffmann-Samaras); Peifer 1989, 190ff. 25 See for example Giuliani 1979, 9f. 26 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 24.97.I: LIMC I (1981) s.v. Achilleus no. 357 (A. Kossatz-Deissmann). 27 Gentili 1995, 11; Haslam 1997, 82, n. 74.

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It is not surprising, then, that the names of epic heroes resounded at the funeral of a warrior at Akragas around 500 B.C. But one also seriously wonders whether the dynamic of our visual message went beyond the elevation of the dead to heroic status. Did it also make a claim about the fate of the body of the dead warrior, and link the narrative sequence to the actuality of the funeral? For the first possibility let us focus our attention on the iconography of the retrieval of the dead hero (Fig. 3.10). Recent literature tends to discuss this iconography in light of the Homeric ideal of the “beautiful death.”28 In the Iliad, to die in battle means, for the hero, to gain eternal glory, and escape the inexorable decay of the body by guaranteeing perpetual youth and true beauty. The “beautiful death” has the power to make the warrior altogether ageraos and athanatos, and as a result, those looking at the corpse of the hero might marvel at his size and admirable beauty, despite all the blood, wounds, and grime disfiguring it. It is by reference to this ideal that scenes of the retrieval of the dead hero are now commonly read,29 beginning with the famous representations by Kleitias of Ajax carrying the body of Achilles over his shoulders (Fig. 3.11).30 Here, of course, the connection is inescapable: the body of Achilles is disproportionately larger than the body of Ajax, it is offered as a spectacle to the viewer, and the cascade of the long hair conveys an idea of sensuous beauty. It is hard to maintain this interpretation, however, for every example of this iconography. In most cases, as in our vase, the dead warrior is the same size as his rescuer, the spectacle of his body is denied by the armor that covers it, and the hair is concealed by the helmet. These changes, which one would attribute to Exekias (Fig. 3.12),31 are rather dramatic: less beauty, of course, and perhaps more coherence with the mythological narrative, if the story really refers to Achilles and Ajax. We know that Achilles kept his armor, which now overwhelms Ajax’s body, and will later cause his death. But more than that, what we

28

Vernant 1982; Cerchiai 1984. Lissarrague 1989, 50; Lissarrague 1990b, 72ff.; Knittlmayer 1997, 71; Lissarrague 2001, 18, 100f. 30 François Vase, Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 4209: ABV 76.1; LIMC I (1981) s.v. Achilleus no. 873 (A. Kossatz-Deissmann). 31 Amphora, Berlin, Antikensammlung F1718: ABV 144.5; LIMC I (1981) s.v. Achilleus no. 871 (A. Kossatz-Deissmann); Amphora, Munich, Antikensammlungen J1295: ABV 144.6; CVA Munich 7 (Germany 32), pls. 351–54. 29

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are seeing is a drastic change in narrative strategy. What really counts, now, is not the beauty of the dead hero, but the fact that his body is almost untouched (no wounds are normally visible), and his armor is still intact. These changes only make sense when considered alongside contemporary warfare practice and the critical issue of the retrieval of the battle-dead.32 This retrieval was a precondition for the homage and commemoration of the dead warrior, since only once the body was recovered could proper funerary rituals (the funeral, the burial, and subsequent periodic celebrations) be administered, either at home or on the battlefield. But before that, and more than that, the retrieval was critical in avoiding any physical disfiguration: rotting on the battlefield, being mutilated by the enemies, being deprived of any identifying token or personal belongings, such as clothing, jewelry, arms and armor, or, finally, being devoured by animals. My opinion is that our version of the retrieval of the dead hero was constructed precisely in opposition to the possibility of such disfigurations. By showing the warrior rescued from the battlefield with his entire armor, the image reassured the viewer that his body and his belongings were still untouched and now in safe territory. The warrior is dead, our iconography states, but his body is safe and ready to receive the proper honor and commemoration. It should be clear, at this point, why I wonder whether the imagery of the large amphora with the retrieval of the battle dead might have made a claim about the fate of the body of our warrior, if this tomb was a cenotaph. For a warrior dead and buried abroad, the inclusion of a piece of his armor in the cenotaph might have been a way to reassure the social group that the corpse itself had been retrieved. And the painted vase, with its ideological implications, might have had a role in reasserting that claim. Now we turn to the second question: the possibility of a link between the narrative sequence and the actuality of the funeral. I am referring to the interpretation of the cemetery of Contrada Mosè as a funerary space belonging to a specific family group. This is a likely interpretation, as I said earlier, and the private, familial character of the burial would resonate with the primary figures facing the warrior in the departure and retrieval scenes. The inclusion of

32

Vaughn 1991; Sineux 1999.

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mother, father, and perhaps even wife insists on a network of familial relationships that one would define as an oikos, as opposed to a polis. With this perspective, the metaphor of our narrative would reach even further, extending from the warrior to include the main characters attending his deeds and his glorification. The oikos was responsible for the burial and the funeral of the warrior, and the oikos is represented on the vases. Grave no. 2 in the cemetery of Contrada Mosè presents us with the case of a local funeral for a dead warrior, and with a group of Athenian vases speaking on that occasion to an audience not made of Athenians. This should hardly be a surprise, considering that nothing on these vases was so specific to Athenian society as to render them meaningless in Akragas. By contrast, recent literature on representation of warriors on Athenian vases has been quite insistent in interpreting such images as specific to Athenian society. The warrior would be the Athenian citizen, who fights and dies for the polis as a hoplite, and whose body is retrieved to the civic space in order to receive the proper tribute from the community.33 This interpretation is seductive, but becomes untenable after a closer inspection of the imagery of the vases themselves, which tells a quite different story. To begin with, there is no hoplite, as discussed above. The warrior can be represented with hoplitic equipment, but he does not fight in the phalanx, dueling instead like a Homeric hero. Another problem, I should add, is that there is no polis, and no civic space to receive the body. The presence of mothers, fathers, and wives, as I have said, defines the network of family relationships around the warrior, his oikos. The occasional recurrence of comrades does not move the setting beyond the battlefield. On the contrary, one has to concede that the polis as an urban space marked by its monuments and as a political entity marked by its officers is not represented on these vases. The narrative focuses on the individualizing aspects of war, and on the way it affects family relationships.34

33 Hoffmann 1980, 140ff.; Lissarrague 1990b, 85ff.—Against this interpretation see Knittlmayer 1997, 67ff., who identifies the warrior with the Athenian aristocrat who fights abroad for personal interest, to acquire more wealth and prestige. 34 For this concentration upon the individualizing aspects of war see Lissarrague 1989; Lissarrague 2001, 88.

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Last but not least, I must say, there is no Athens, which would have helped quite a lot in denoting the warrior of our vases as an Athenian citizen gloriously dying for his country. The heroic, Homeric characterization of these scenes should be enough to exclude a similar setting. And it is hard to take the occasional presence of Athena35 as a geographical reference (though it frequently is): otherwise, what would we make of representations of this goddess placed right in between Achilles and Ajax playing a game?36 In the end, we come to the conclusion that our images explicitly stress the heroic metaphor and link the warrior to his family and his comrades, but that they are rather generic on any further qualification. That he is a hoplite, that he is an Athenian citizen, and that he dies for the polis: these would be our contributions to the chain of meanings, induced mainly by the fact that the vases are of Athenian production, by an equation between place of production and place of consumption, and by an extension of the notion of special commission (as developed by Webster in Potter and Patron) to this whole category of objects. In this account, it is if all Athenian vases were intended only for the Athenian public, and then recycled elsewhere.37 We must be careful building on such generalizations, as is clearly indicated by vases with representations of warriors during the Archaic period in scenes of departure, duel, and retrieval of the battle dead. Warriors occur on very popular shapes, such as amphorae, hydriae, cups, lekythoi. There are no scenes on them that might suggest a special commission. And finally, the presence of kalos/kale names is minimal. These vases were ready to be marketed everywhere across the Mediterranean: and indeed, they were. Vases with representations of warriors come from Athens and Attica, Mainland Greece, the Aegean, North Africa, Sicily, South Italy, and Etruria. More or less, our images follow the main routes of trade, with Etruria as the final destination.38 We have already seen how such images could function in Greek cities other than Athens. The diffusion of the hoplitic equipment and of epic were the only prerequisites for making these images under35 See, e.g., the amphora, Altenburg, Staatliches Lindenau-Museum 211: ABV 312.5; Lissarrague 1990b, 83, fig. 42. 36 LIMC I (1981) s.v. Achilleus nos. 402–409 (A. Kossatz-Deissmann). 37 Special commission and second-hand market: Webster 1972, esp. 42ff. For both problems see more recently Boardman 2001, 155ff., 226ff. 38 For scenes of departure see Spiess 1992. For scenes of duel Ellinghaus 1997. For scenes of retrieval of the battle dead see above n. 19.

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standable, appealing, and effective. The same situation holds true for Etruria,39 apparently the source of ca. 50% of the Athenian vases depicting warriors (I avoid providing precise figures, since there are severe limitations to the use of quantitative studies applied to Athenian vases).40 This diffusion of images of war in Etruria during the sixth century B.C. is hardly a surprise, considering how military activity was a crucial means of acquiring goods, men and land, and a mark of social rank and social power, especially at the burial. As for warfare practice, two different forms coexisted until the end of the century. The epic, Homeric form of the duel, is reserved for the princeps, who enters the fight in a chariot and then gets off at the place of battle while the charioteer remains in waiting. Hoplitic warfare was at first reserved for the personal army of the princeps, mostly clientes, but then it became the dominant tactic with the spread of the egalitarian system at the end of the century.41 One of the main ideological tenets of both warfare practices was the assimilation of the warrior to the Homeric, heroic world, and this assimilation is best expressed by local representations of Achilles in war-related contexts; for example, the chariot of the princeps from Monteleone di Spoleto, around 540 B.C., featuring the delivery of the armor, the duel with Memnon, and the final apotheosis;42 or, a piece of armor (helmet or shield) from the Tomb of the Warrior at Vulci, dating around 520, showing the ambush of Troilos twice. In both cases, the warrior assimilates himself to Achilles, just as a Greek might do. And both cases, as well as many other cases from central Italy during the sixth century B.C., show why the images depicted on Athenian vases could be as understandable, appealing, and effective in this area and elsewhere in the Greek world as in Athens.43

39 For the import and reception of Athenian vases in Etruria see now Reusser 2002. 40 These limitations are systematically discussed by Hannestad 1991. The main limitation is that statistics on Athenian vases generally rely, more or less directly, on Beazley’s lists. These are not, however, lists of all surviving Athenian vases at the time of the publication of ABV and ARV 2, but only of those vases, which Beazley felt able to attribute to a painter or a group. 41 Snodgrass 1999, 75ff.; M. Menichetti in Torelli 2000, 558ff. 42 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 03.23.1: Hampe and Simon 1964, 53ff., pls. 22–25; LIMC I (1981) s.v. Achle nos. 100, 123, and 148 (G. Camporeale); Emiliozzi 1997, 179ff. 43 Rome, Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia 63588: LIMC I (1981) s.v. Achle nos. 15–16 (G. Camporeale); Torelli 2000, 561 no. 62.

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Certainly, there is nothing on our vases which makes one think that they were made on purpose for an Etruscan clientele or a nonAthenian clientele. But by the same token, there is also nothing on them that can make one think that they were made specifically for an Athenian clientele. The most Athenian thing in these vases is the birth of Athena, associated on some amphora with the warrior scene.44 But here too, one cannot forget that Athena was almost ubiquitous in any Greek city, as well as Menerva in Etruria, whose birth from the head of Tinia is already represented on a krater from Caere dating to ca. 600 B.C. and of local production.45 Potentially, vases with representations of warriors could function everywhere people saw hopla and heard Homer. Despite the tendency to present these vases as public monuments, bound to a specific public, ritual occasion, and space, most of them were, in fact, mobile objects virtually open to whatever public, ritual occasion, and space the market could provide. The fact that their narrative of war was shaped around the Homeric ideal and surrounded the warrior with his family network may not be a coincidence. Homer, and oikos: few cultural and social values could be more shared than these across the Mediterranean, and few values could offer a more effective means of transforming these painted vases into transcultural and transocial objects, potentially open to multiple interpretations. The scenes were generic enough to become the object of readings as numerous as the many publics they might encounter around the Mediterranean. Around 510 B.C., you could die for your country in Athens, for your king in Chiusi, or for your oikos in Sicily. Accordingly, around 510, the heroic warrior of our vases could be a metaphor for a citizen in Athens, a cliens in Chiusi, or an aristocrat in Sicily. I think it is time to adopt a more pluralistic approach to the interpretation of Athenian vases.

44 See, e.g., the amphora from Vulci, London, British Museum, B147: ABV 135.44. The birth of Athena is paired, on the other side, with a departing warrior. 45 Paris, Musée du Louvre D 151: LIMC II (1984) s.v. Menerva no. 216 (G. Colonna); Camporeale 1998.

CHAPTER FOUR

IMAGES OF A WARRIOR. ON A GROUP OF ATHENIAN VASES AND THEIR PUBLIC* Robin Osborne

I am going to discuss the interpretation of a group of Athenian pots (mostly black-figure but some red-figure) dating to the end of the sixth century B.C., and from the perspective of their context of production. The conclusions deriving from this approach will, I think, generate some controversy. This, at least, is the main intention of the paper. It will be immediately apparent from this opening that this paper is closely related to the paper by Clemente Marconi, and the group of pots that I will discuss here includes two of the pots which he discusses in his paper (Figs. 3.5, 3.9). Since I will be taking issue with him, I should point out immediately what I am not concerned to deny. First, to begin at the end, I do not reject his appeal for a more pluralist approach to the interpretation of the images of Athenian pottery. Second, I accept that the imagery on the pots in the grave discussed by Marconi is not simply what happened to be on the first pots that came to hand for those responsible for the burial but was carefully selected to be suitable for this particular burial. It would indeed be very surprising were I to do so, given that I have staked my own colours to the claim that the imagery on the proto-attic “Polyphemos” amphora from the north-west cemetery at Eleusis was responsible for its selection as appropriate for the burial of a sub-adult.1

* This is not in fact the paper that I gave at the Columbia conference which gave rise to this volume. Although my paper then did engage with Clemente Marconi’s views, I have chosen to come into even closer combat by offering this paper instead. This paper started life at a celebration of the work of Anthony Snodgrass by his graduate pupils in Cambridge in July 2001 on the occasion of his retirement as Laurence Professor of Classical Archaeology. To Anthony’s willingness to be argued against all his students are indebted, and it is to him that this paper is dedicated. 1 Osborne 1988. Against which see Whitley 1994.

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Third, I do not deny that consumers of Greek pottery in Sicily and Italy in the seventh, sixth and fifth centuries had a knowledge of Greek mythology which could be as extensive and detailed as that found among those who lived in the Greek mainland. What I am here denying is first that the imagery on the pots in Marconi’s Tomb no. 2 show that the we should reject the longstanding equation between Athenian vases and Athenian public, and second that the fact that we can imagine those pots being appreciated by a public outside Athens shows that inside Athens too their appeal was simply “generic.” While it is undoubtedly true that “Around 510 B.C., you could die for your country in Athens, for your king in Chiusi, or for your oikos in Sicily,”2 I will argue that the vases under discussion here offer Athenian viewers something more specific than merely a metaphor for a citizen, even if elsewhere they offered simply a metaphor for “a cliens in Chiusi, or an aristocrat in Sicily.” I hope to show here that an approach to the iconography of Athenian pottery that emphasizes the importance of the final consumer cannot account for the peculiarities of that iconography, and that explanations of Athenian iconography have to be found in Athens itself. This does not, of course, involve the signifying potential of the iconography being limited to Athens, or their decoration and their subjects being ignored elsewhere, but it does involve Athenian painters producing what interested Athenians, although they did so in the sure knowledge that the Italian and Sicilian markets had never failed to display a voracious appetite for Athenian vases of all sorts, regardless of imagery.3 If one purpose of this paper is to dissent from Marconi’s claims, that is not the only purpose. I also want to affirm a point of methodology. That is, that among the pluralist approaches to the study of Athenian pottery we should pay some attention to statistical evidence. Statistics rarely feature in the armoury of art historians, and historians of Greek art are no exceptions. For all the very large numbers of vases that he catalogued, Beazley made no more than casual and implicit use of statistics. Neither his followers, nor those who have pioneered new ways of reading the imagery that take less (often no) account of the artist and, rejecting questions of style and author-

2 3

See above 40. I have laid out what I see as clear evidence for this in Osborne 2001.

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ship, often consider iconography divorced from any chronological context, have proceeded any further along the statistical route. But by ignoring questions of relative quantity, those who study Greek pottery seem to me to have ignored what is potentially a most important source of information about the relationship between the producer and the consumer (information that might be held to offer some support to Marconi).4 They have also, and more importantly, ignored a vital tool by which to distinguish the exceptional from the normal, and the only means by which it is possible to sort out what exactly needs explaining in Greek imagery. The importance of “painting by numbers” for understanding where the faultlines occur in the history of Greek pottery is easily demonstrated by comparison with other work in Greek archaeology. It was by careful quantification that Archaic Greece was established as an Age of Experiment and the structural revolution of the eighth century B.C. was uncovered.5 It was in Boeotia that careful counting of the background (off-site) scatter of sherds across the countryside was introduced.6 It is no accident that these two examples come from the work of Anthony Snodgrass, for it is he who above all has insisted on the quantitative background to qualitative judgements, and what can be done by counting pots he has recently demonstrated by his manipulations of Immerwahr’s data.7 In this paper I attempt to show by quantification that the data another scholar has collected is even more interesting than he thinks that it is, and that it shows why “generic” explanations of the scenes on Athenian pottery are not satisfactory. François Lissarrague charts, in his L’autre guerrier, the occurrence of archers, peltasts and cavalrymen on Athenian black- and redfigured pottery.8 Lissarrague himself makes some observations both about the chronological distribution of some of the scenes and about their distribution between red- and black-figure techniques.9 In his

4

I have discussed this in Osborne 1996. Snodgrass 1980. 6 Bintliff and Snodgrass 1985. 7 Snodgrass 2000. 8 Lissarrague 1990b. 9 So he observes that arming scenes with Skythians archers in them “A une exception près, elles sont toutes à figures noires” (36), that hieroscopy scenes “toutes sont datables entre 520–500. Cohérence stylistique et iconographique vont donc ici de pair” (57), and that scenes of a dead warrior being carried off by another “sont 5

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catalogues of the scenes in the appendix Lissarrague also supplies his proposed dates for each pot, and these enable us to take his chronological observations rather further. First certain caveats must be entered. One is about dating. The dates proposed by Lissarrague are dates based upon stylistic rather than contextual data. The apparent precision is therefore to some extent illusory, and many scholars would hesitate to hazard dates even in the form of “vers 520.” It seems to benefit no one, however, to ignore patterns of dating just because those dates are to some degree vulnerable. The close dating is a way of showing the coherence of this material, and the sudden appearance and disappearance of that coherent body of material is what is in question. With some misgivings, I work closely with Lissarrague’s dates here, since only the attribution of absolute dates enables the sort of connections to be made with Athenian history which I shall be concerned to explore. The second caveat is that a significantly greater number of pots have been preserved from the last two decades of the sixth century B.C. than from the previous two decades, but the preservation for the years 520–500 and 500–480 is very closely comparable. Even if the differential representation of different groups here did not itself show it, it is certain that the pattern here represents changing iconographic choices, not simply changing production or preservation.10 My particular concern, and the phenomenon that demands explanation, is the popularity for a brief period following ca. 520 B.C. of scenes of Skythians. Skythians are recognizable by their costume: they wear a distinctive hat with long lappets either side of the ear, and a long-sleeved trouser-suit, or jacket and trousers, or tunic, which is decorated with some all-over motifs. As archers they carry a quiver, they may also carry a small axe. They never dominate a military datable entre 570 et 480, en majorité entre 540–500; ils son pour l’essentiel à figures noires, principalement des amphores. Le thème se maintient en figures rouges archaïques pour disparaître ensuite” (72). In the conclusion he repeats the observation about Skythian archers essentially occurring between 540 and 490, notes that although peltasts extend from 560 to 430 they are most concentrated in the period 510 to 480, which is also the period of the “Negro alabastra,” and notes that among cavalry Skythians are represented between 540–490, peltasts on horseback between 510–480 and Thracians between 510–460. 10 And while it is true that preferences for particular shapes also vary from period to period, the different distribution of Thracian from Skythian cavalry strongly argues against these patterns of distribution being simply epicycles of the patterns of distribution of shapes.

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scene, but appear as one figure among several, often on the fringes of the action. Table 1 shows the exceptional popularity of involving Skythians in military scenes during the last two decades of the sixth century, and in particular the decade 520 to 510. That Skythians have a relatively brief period of popularity has long been observed. In the late nineteenth century a connection between the imagery and the presence of Skythians in Athens was suggested by Wernicke and Helbig, who argued that their presence reflected the recruitment of Skythian mercenaries by the Peisistratids and their disappearance came with the fall of the Peisistratids.11 This remained the dominant explanation through most of the twentieth century, and although Vos pointed out that the persistence of Skythians on pots after 510 B.C. did not fit with Helbig’s explanation, she nevertheless maintained that the Skythians on pots do reflect reallife Skythians, though she noted that the Athenians had no archers at Marathon and so suggested that the (few) Skythians after that date represented their persistence in the painters’ “memory.”12 In fact Skythian archers are best attested at Athens as policemen, and that only after 476. In the 1980s two new approaches were pioneered. Gloria Ferrari Pinney traced back the origin of Skythian attendants on pots to a line of Alkaios which makes Achilles “Lord of Skythia,”13 and Lissarrague examined them in connection with other non-hoplite figures.14 Pinney argues that by the late sixth century B.C. the original identity of the Skythians was no longer clear to the vase-painters,15 and that the Skythians become generic squire figures, but that “the costume, for all its fantastical variety, reflects some knowledge of contemporary Skythians.”16 Lissarrague cautiously remarks simply that on the basis of the imagery one could say nothing certain. Lissarrague’s interests were not primarily in Skythians as such, but in Skythians as one of a number of varieties of non-hoplite warrior. Concerned with the way in which non-hoplites set off hoplites, Lissarrague himself stressed that not all the non-hoplites that he listed were contemporaneous. If non-hoplites define the hoplite, then the

11 12 13 14 15 16

Wernicke 1891; Helbig 1897. Vos 1963. Ferrari Pinney 1983. Lissarrague 1990b. Ferrari Pinney 1983, 136. Ferrari Pinney 1983, 139.

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definition of the hoplite over the century from 550 to 450 B.C. or so has to be seen as a changing one. Lissarrague insisted that the Skythian archer has no existence independent of the hoplite, being almost always shown in scenes where a hoplite appears. The peltast, by contrast, has his own independent existence, with some pots showing purely peltasts. Lissarrague devotes most attention to Skythians in the context of one particular scene in which they appear: the departure of the hoplite. He emphasizes the way in which women and old men play a central part in these scenes, indicating to the viewer that the hoplite’s departure is to be seen as departure from the oikos. “The values of war, in the imagery of the end of the sixth century,” he concluded “cannot be disassociated from those of epic.”17 Lissarrague shows the link with epic by drawing attention to the fact that a figure named Polites emerges out of the city gate alongside one named Hektor in the scene of Achilles and Troilos on the François Vase. The place of the Homeric recitations in Athens meant, Lissarrague claims on his last page, that only the language of epic was available to those wanting to talk of the glory of heroes. The iconography is bound up with aristocratic ideology. There is much to be said for Lissarrague’s view. No scholar who had looked at all those chariot scenes could think that he or she was looking on Athenian life. We do not have to emphasize, with Marconi, the absence of the phalanx to know that we are not dealing with an image of the reality of sixth-century B.C. hoplite warfare. The Skythians are not part of a straightforward picture of what was to be seen in Athens, they are one of a number of elements in the construction of ideology. But equally, it is very hard not to think that Lissarrague has failed to grasp the thorny centre of the problem. On his own showing, an aristocratic ideology in which citizen warriors are associated with the heroes of epic was alive and well at the end of the first quarter of the sixth century, when the François Vase was painted. But the particular scenes of hoplite departure, and more particularly the use of Skythians in those and other scenes, which is the phenomenon in question, have nothing particularly “epic” about them. There is nothing in these scenes that would plausibly have to await, for example, the Hipparchan revisions to Homeric recitation at the Panathenaia as a stimulus. We can, and should,

17

Lissarrague 1990b, 239.

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accept the epic echoes and the aristocratic ideology, but we should not be satisfied with them: there is more to be explained. That more is manifestly not explained by Pinney. On her own admission, the identification of Achilles as lord of Skythia only influenced the occasional inclusion of Skythians into Athenian iconography down to 530 B.C., and the subsequent bulk of representations of Skythians were painted in ignorance of that association. Pinney thus explains a phenomenon so occasional as to have excited little previous attention, while failing to address the much more startling phenomenon of the distribution of the bulk of those representations, a phenomenon to which she herself draws explicit attention at the beginning of her paper.18 In these late sixth-century scenes the presence of the Skythian stands in the way of, rather than promotes, “the assimilation of the warrior to the Homeric, heroic world”19 offering a link not to the other country that is the past but to a present “other.” What is to be explained can be summarised as follows: 1) the extraordinary growth in interest in portraying Skythians ca. 520 B.C.; 2) the great but very short-lived popularity of Skythians in chariot scenes, which is more or less over by 510; 3) the general disappearance of Skythians ca. 500 despite the continuing interest in “substitute” other figures, in particular the Thracians. But this may not be the most helpful way in which to describe the problems. The failure of the history of representations of Skythians to match up to the history of Skythians at Athens, the failure of the one possible mythological context for the representation of Skythians to account for their representation after ca. 530, and the failure of Lissarrague’s structuralist claims that the Skythians (and others) set up by setting off the hoplite to tell the whole story, help clear the air in a variety of ways. In particular they help us to rephrase the questions as: 1) why did Athenians painters come so much to want to introduce into their iconography a figure whose presence pointed up the centrality of the heavily-armed soldiers ca. 520 and cease to find this as important after ca. 510, or important at all after ca. 500? 2) What made setting the hoplite off against e.g. a Thracian so different from setting him off against a Skythian?

18 19

Ferrari Pinney 1983, 127. See above 39.

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It is worth considering what sort of answer to such questions is going to be appropriate. Factors not themselves liable to sudden change are unlikely to produce sudden change. Factors which would lead to Skythians and Thracians being treated as much alike equally will not do. On both scores, it is not going to be appropriate to try to excavate from these data the changing attitudes towards foreigners of either Athenians or those who bought Athenian pottery in general. Nor are we likely to be dealing with expressions of class within either the Athenian society that produces the pots or the society or societies which consume the pots. The very types of reading of this imagery that Lissarrague offers seem least suitable to explain its distribution. It is at this point that the question of whether we should be looking at an Athenian explanation at all becomes pressing. If we are looking for sudden changes might those sudden changes be in the market for Athenian pottery rather than in Athens itself ? An explanation in terms of the market for pottery might work in two ways. We might conceive of it working in exactly the same way as an Athenian explanation would work: that is, that an established market for Athenian pottery outside Athens conceived a particular desire for one sort of scene because those who constituted that market came to think about themselves, and want to mirror themselves, in some new way. We would need to find some other pottery-consuming community market that was particularly sensitive to Skythians (as opposed to Thracians or other “others”). Alternatively, the sudden growth in popularity of a particular scene might, in the abstract, be well explained by the opening up of an entirely new market. The sudden disappearance of a type of scene from the repertoire might similarly be a result of losing the market for it. Even before we look at the distribution data, however, the attractions of this sort of explanation for the phenomenon in question here seem rather faint. What our data requires is a sudden new demand and then the sudden decay of that demand, all within a relatively short period of time. For that to be explained by the nature of the pottery market would demand that a new market had no sooner opened up than it closed down again. The data themselves quickly make it clear that we are not looking at the opening up and closing down of a particular market. On my count, of the 128 pots showing Skythians in Lissarrague’s catalogues for which Beazley gives a provenance in ABV or ARV 2, by far the

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largest single group (62 pots) comes from Vulci (Table 2).20 Vulci was importing Athenian pottery in quantity well before 530 B.C., and it went on importing Athenian pottery, admittedly in somewhat reduced quantities, well after 490. If the particular desires of any market, other than Athens itself, determined the rise and fall of the Skythian on Athenian pots it would have to be Vulci. But to believe that Vulci determined the iconographic popularity of the Skythian we would have to believe that Vulci exercised a sufficiently discriminating taste to oblige Athenian potters and painters to meet its particular demand, while other places, both in Italy and around the Mediterranean, which also bought pots with Skythians on them, were sufficiently indifferent to iconography to go along with the product demanded by Vulci. It is much easier to defend a model in which the Athenian painter himself determines the iconography that he paints and markets all around the Mediterranean purchase his products regardless, than it is to believe that one of those external markets dictated Athenian iconographic priorities.21 The practice, classically exemplified in La cité des images, of interpreting the iconography of Athenian pottery in terms of the broad structures of Athenian social life, accounts very well for many longlasting themes in Attic iconography. But it too is unsuitable for the explanation of chronologically restricted iconographic phenomena; the structures of social life change slowly over time; the sorts of rapid change that we see in the case of the representation of the Skythian do not match changes in social life. Reluctant as we may in general be to draw links between iconography and “histoire évenementielle,” the sharp chronological contours of the distribution of these scenes seem to beg for such an explanation. The conventional wisdom that Peisistratos avoided warfare and preferred the use of mercenaries to the use of citizen troops has come under fire recently,22 but good evidence for Athenians being armed to fight by Peisistratos or his sons prior to 510 B.C. is lacking. Not only were chariots no part of the picture of military life in

20 By relying solely on Beazley’s catalogues I introduce various biases to these statistics, but for the current purposes those biases do not matter. 21 One might note that when Nikosthenes did produce different shapes of pot specifically for the Etruscan markets, it was different shapes that were in demand in different Etruscan cities. See Tosto 1999. 22 Singor 2000.

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Athens under the tyrants, there may have been nothing much in the way of a picture of military life at all. The frequency with which Athens was involved in serious warfare seems to have been extremely low in the half-century from 560 to 510. Arguably the images in which the Skythians are ubiquitous were constructed in the absence of reality rather than from reality. We have, then, scenes that promote a heavily armed soldier who is both linked to and distanced from the world of epic, but that do so in a virtual world. That said, however, this careful construction of a heroic heavily armed soldier is also the construction of a heavily armed soldier who is contemporary. Darius the Persian king had first encountered the Skythians in ca. 519 B.C. and launched his major campaign against them in 513, a campaign in which the Greeks of Ionia, and the Athenian tyrant of the hellespontine Chersonesos, Miltiades, were heavily involved. Thus the Skythian on these Athenian pots arguably guarantee the contemporaneity of the imagery as surely as black squires guarantee Memnon’s mythic status. Put into the atmosphere of the last years of Athenian tyranny, such a building up of the heavily armed soldier begins to look like a highly political act. It is not hard to fit together the stories given to us by later literary sources to give an account of anti-Peisistratid feeling mounting in just the years when these scenes are most popular: Kimon son of Stesagoras is killed for daring to win too many times in the Olympic chariot race; the Alkmaionids move from Kleisthenes being archon in 525–524 to leading an invasion of Attica a decade later; and, whatever the assassins’ motives, Hipparchos gets murdered in 514. If Hippias turned nasty after the assassination, his reaction may itself be further evidence that more than lovers’ jealousy was perceived by him to lie behind the assassination. Come 510 B.C., Spartan intervention in Athens had chased out the tyrant. Athens needed not a virtual but a real army. By 506 she had acquired one: the Athenians scored a resounding victory over the Chalkidians and Boeotians, or at least one that was made to resound in a grand victory dedication, in the form of a chariot, on the Athenian Akropolis23 and which as a result resounds in Herodotos’ later account (5.77). In the imagery some Skythians remain but chariots disappear. The emphasis is still on the heavily armed soldier, but the heroic element is played down, picturing at least possible 23

Meiggs and Lewis 1969, 28f. no. 15.

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reality played up. If fantasising about fighting has been tempered by actual experience, elements of fantasy remain. Yet not for long. Athenian military imagery never came simply to reflect Athenian military reality—the absence of classical rower imagery demonstrates that clearly enough. But the disappearance of the Skythian, the appearance from ca. 490 B.C. of Persians as the enemy, and, in due course, the massive simplification of hoplite imagery to leave only token arming and parting scenes which focus attention on war and the household, all mark moves away from heroising the hoplite. Perhaps dismounting the cavalry who are dressed as Thracians should be fitted in here too. Lissarrague has shown24 that painters carefully distinguish the wearing of Thracian costume from being Thracian, and that it is wearing Thracian costume that is at issue in the cavalry scenes. Skythian costume seems never to have been so detachable in military contexts. Elements of both Thracian and Skythian costume made their way to the symposium and komos, but they function in distinct ways. Skythian costume appears in scenes dated around or after 500, and has a particular overtone: to drink as a Skythian was to drink one’s wine neat (Hdt. 6.84).25 Thracian costume, which often appears on vessels by the same painters as show Skythian costume, carries overtones of dressing up, perhaps of excess, but not of any particular sympotic practice (cf. the satyr in Thracian cloak and accoutrements of Hermes on Douris’ psykter in the British Museum). Removing the Skythian was, one might suggest, the first step in the creation of a body of military imagery with which a democratic army could feel comfortable. That body of imagery never came to reflect Athenian reality in a straightforward, let alone a comprehensive, way but it can nevertheless be accommodated within the everyday discourse in which Athenians talk about their own world and express their own values. What the extraordinary distribution of Skythians shows is that there was a brief period—the decade 520 to 510 B.C. and a few years beyond, on Lissarrague’s dating—when the Athenians felt the need not of an imagery that talked to their everyday experience, but of constructing a virtual army out of a mix of exotic and epic elements. So sharp are the contours of that need that this would seem to be a rare case in which it is political factors

24 25

Lissarrague 1990b, 210–16. Lissarrague 1990a, 90–91.

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that best offer themselves as an explanation. The burst of Skythians setting off and setting up the heavily armed soldier, and emphasising his central place in the citizen army, constituted something of a call to arms for Athenians. Constructed on a base of epic interest developed in mid-sixth century Athenian pottery (compare the way that Skythians get into scenes of Achilles and Ajax dicing), these scenes fed into aspirations that were realised in 510. At that point they became obsolete, and new values and priorities demanded, and got, new imagery. That story may or may not have plausibility. But I submit that at least the exercise in quantification, in putting figures on pots, which I have subjected you to, shows that the data which Lissarrague provides requires that we tell some sort of story and that nothing about the distribution of the pots involved makes it at all plausible that the story should be about anywhere other than Athens. The scenes involving Skythians do not make demanding viewing, and there is no reason to think that their decorative presence would have any significant effect on the marketing of pots with military imagery outside Athens—it is easy enough to incorporate them within a “generic” scene. But the chronological distribution of Skythians makes it highly unlikely that they are simply some random decorative element in a generic scene, and demands that we place the Skythian with regard to a viewer with very specific interests. But if we are to place that viewer and those interests in any city at all, it is in Athens, and only in Athens, that it makes sense to place him. The extraordinary distribution of Skythians on Athenian pottery in the late sixth century B.C. serves, I submit, to make one think that the pots were made on purpose, specifically for an Athenian clientele. Of course, “Potentially, vases with representations of warriors could work everywhere people saw hopla and heard Homer.”26 And of course Etruscans, Sicilian Greeks, Campanians, citizens of Kamiros, members of the deme of Eleusis, and others who purchased pots made in the Kerameikos at Athens will often have made conscious choices when they selected a particular pot for a particular use. But the range of imagery from which purchasers elsewhere chose was determined by interests and demands at Athens itself rather than by any second-guessing by Athenian painters of the tastes or needs of the export market.

26

See above 40.

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Table 1 Scene

before 520

Skythian archers in arming scene hieroscopy return of dead departure scene chariot scenes scenes from epic . . . with hoplite(s) hoplites and cavalry horses . . . in fighting hunting . . . solo non-Skythian archers Peltasts: Skythian Thracian neither Persian satyr Mounted peltasts Skythian/Thracian Neither Cavalry: Skythian Thracian (on foot) Thracian (mounted) Horseless Thracians

Vers 520–vers 500

after 500

No. of RF

0 0 3 4 13 1 2 0 6 13 5 4 2 2 0 0 0 0

24 11 23 127 123 29 64 28 24 58 3 15 40 14 3 17 2 19

2 0 2 5 1 3 10 4 4 6 1 1 46 4 8 5 5 5

1 2 0 4 2 4 4 2 11 14 2 6 81 13 10 15 4 20

0 1 1 0 5 0

22 11 23 7 20 0

2 2 3 28 12 6

9 6 4 32 16 6

In all categories of Skythians except “archer(s) with hoplite(s),” dates “vers 520” and “vers 510” are much more common than “vers 500,” and in particular 122 of the 123 scenes involving a Skythian and a chariot that are dated “vers 520” to “vers 500” fall into the range “vers 520” to “vers 510.” Beazley Archive totals for numbers of (black- and red-figure) Athenian pots (dates in overlapping 50-year periods) 575–525: 550–500: 525–475: 500–450: 475–425:

4,200 vases 9,854 vases 13,179 vases 9,615 vases 10,035

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The provenance of Athenian pots listed in Lissarrague’s catalogues (ABV and ARV 2 data only). Table 2 Place Agrigento Athens Bologna Camirus Capua Cerveteri Chiusi Corinth Cumae Eleusis “Etruria” Falerii Florence Fojano “Greece” Megara Hyblaea Nola Olbia Orvieto Ruvo “South Italy” Tarquinia Thespiai Ukraine Vico Equense Vulci Total

No. of BF Skythians

No. of RF Skythians

1 5 3 4 0 6 2 1 1 0 3 3 1 1 0 1 2 1 2 3 1 7 1 1 1 50

0 1 1 0 2 1 2 0 2 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 12

101

27

CHAPTER FIVE

BUBBLES = BAUBLES, BANGLES AND BEADS: ADDED CLAY IN ATHENIAN VASE PAINTING AND ITS SIGNIFICANCE* Beth Cohen

Forty years ago J. D. Beazley described the three-dimensional detailing of Helen’s hair on the obverse of the early-fifth-century red-figure skyphos in Boston painted by Makron as follows: “The hair is fair, but over the forehead the curls are rendered by raised black dots— or rather bubbles—on a light ground. Here and elsewhere many of these bubbles have burst.”1 Beazley’s technical interpretation, which regards the black dots as bubbles of glaze (or, more precisely, of gloss—the levigated slip that turned black during firing),2 and thus the missing dots as burst bubbles, appears to have been derived from the observation that a rounded depression remains in the clay ground of the vessel wherever the black dots are missing. Other well-known Athenian red-figure vase paintings also display juxtapositions of stillpreserved and entirely-missing raised black dots, including for the forelocks of Zeus on the parade cup by Euphronios from the Athenian Akropolis of the late sixth century B.C. and for the hair of the

* This essay is dedicated to Brian A. Sparkes. I would like to thank Marion True of the J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu for the opportunity to study vases in the Museum’s collection with access to a microscope, and for providing microscopic photographs of telling details. My thanks also go to Janet Grossman and Claire L. Lyons for their help with this project at the Getty. An earlier version of this essay was given as a talk at the Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America in 1996; see B. Cohen 1997a. Ellen N. Davis, Elfriede R. Knauer, Joan R. Mertens and Mary B. Moore have made valuable comments. 1 Caskey and Beazley 1963, 35, pl. 76; Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 13.186: ARV 2 458.1, 1654; Para 377; BAdd 2 243; Kunish 1997, 191–92, no. 300, pl. 98 (top); Simon 1976, pl. 166 (top). 2 On levigated slip and the technically correct use of the term gloss rather than glaze for this mixture of water and clay after firing see Schreiber 1999, 28, 53, 56, 277; see also Boardman 2001, 282–83; Clark, Elston, and Hart 2002, 96. Both “gloss” and “glaze” are used here for clarity of reference to earlier scholarship in which the last term normally was used.

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winged goddess Eos on Douris’ Memnon cup in the Louvre of the early fifth century.3 Raised black dots, in fact, are commonly used by Athenian redfigure vase-painters of the Late Archaic Period to render the individual curly locks in hair and beards and also the individual grapes in bunches. A well-preserved example of the first is found on the red-figure neck-amphora with twisted handles in the Metropolitan Museum of Art attributed to the Kleophrades Painter (Fig. 5.1): here all of the hair and beard dots of Herakles survive.4 Joseph V. Noble, in his The Techniques of Painted Attic Pottery of 1965, provided an assessment of these raised black dots that differs from Beazley’s, and that has become the prevailing explanation. Noble associated the dots with relief lines, which he believed were made from thickened black glaze extruded onto the surface of the vase by means of a syringelike “drawing instrument.”5 His conclusion about the dots appears to have been based mainly on the wellpreserved hair and beard of the Kleophrades Painter’s Herakles, and Noble illustrated his important book with the black-and-white photographic enlargement shown in Fig. 5.1.6 First-hand examination of other red-figure vases, however, readily reveals that these black dots are neither hollow bubbles nor solid globules of thickened glaze. Telltale evidence is provided by partially preserved black dots, a sizable sampling of which survives on vases by Euphronios. On a calyx-krater fragment of ca. 515 B.C. in the J. Paul Getty Museum, for example, the hair framing the face of the painter’s helmeted Athena is a mass of curls indicated by raised black dots (Fig. 5.2). In the catalogue of the Euphronios exhibition

3 Athens, National Archaeological Museum 15214 (formerly Acr. 176): ARV 2 17.18; BAdd 2 153; Euphronios 1991, 210. Paris, Musée du Louvre G 115: ARV 2 434.74, 1653; Para 375; BAdd 2 237; Buitron-Oliver 1995, pl. 71. 4 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 13.233, ca. 490–480 B.C.: ARV 2 183.13, 1632; Para 340; BAdd 2 187. For bunches of grapes, below at nn. 8–10 and figs. 4–6. 5 Noble 1965, 66 and 191, caption to fig. 217; on thickened glaze, relief lines and the drawing syringe see 57–58. In this study, I generally cite Noble 1965 rather than the revised edition, Noble 1988, because the original edition had the greatest impact, and it is the one in the collection of many important libraries. In Noble 1988, see 139, fig. 218 and 117–20. For a recent contrasting appraisal of the application of relief lines see Boardman 2001, 285–87. 6 Noble 1965, 190, fig. 217. See also the popular dissemination of Noble’s explanation Bacon 1966, 26 (with bottom figure).

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in Berlin, this last feature was described as “eine Serie aufgesetzer Firnispunkte.”7 On the Getty’s red-figure Euphronios fragment, however, the outermost surface of most of the raised hair dots has chipped off. Examination of this detail under a microscope (Fig. 5.3) makes perfectly clear what can with a bit of effort also be seen with the naked eye: the raised dots are made of added clay. Evidently, during the leather-hard clay vessel’s decoration in the pottery workshop, clay dots were pressed onto its surface in appropriate places and then simply coated with the levigated slip that became lustrous black gloss in the firing. On the semi-outline, white-ground interior of a fragmentary cup also in the J. Paul Getty Museum (Fig. 5.4), attributed to Euphronios by Joan R. Mertens,8 raised black dots describe the individual grapes in the heavy bunches hanging from the god Dionysos’ vines. Fortuitously, for the present discussion, this fragmentary cup has cracked clear through the bunches. Microscopic examination of the damaged bunch hanging over Dionysos’ shoulder (Figs. 5.5–6) accentuates chips and scratches which reveal that the Getty cup’s raised black grapes are likewise dots of added clay, simply coated on the surface with black gloss.9 Interestingly, whereas the true nature of the damaged black dots is visible on the above two Euphronian works themselves and readily apparent in enlarged color reproductions (Figs. 5.3 and 5), their clay composition is difficult to discern in black-and-white photographs (Figs. 5.2, 4, and 6). Black-and-white photographs, of course, have long been relied upon widely in research and publications on Athenian vases. The practice of applying dots in clay relief simply coated with black gloss was hardly exclusive to Euphronios. Partially preserved, and thus diagnostic, dot-specimens are also found on vases by other 7

Malibu, J. Paul Getty Museum 77.AE.86: Euphronios 1991, 114, no. 7 (K. Wight). Mertens 1972; Mertens 1977, 162, 165; I accept Mertens’s attribution to Euphronios, but it has been contested. The J. Paul Getty Museum currently attributes the potting of the cup to Euphronios and the painting to Onesimos. See Williams 1991, 41, 62, n. 7; Williams 1982, 37 and also Robertson 1992, 54. 9 Cf. the obvious clay-relief composition of the now-battered grapes on 2 joining red-figure neck-amphora fragments, attributed to Euphronios and described correctly by J. R. Guy: Princeton, Princeton University Art Museum L. 1984.56: Euphronios 1991, 163, no. 25. Clark, Elston, and Hart 2002, 137 on “raised (extruded) dots and lines” is rather vague and seems to suggest that the raised dots could have been made either of gloss or of clay. 8

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Late Archaic masters: in bunches of grapes on Phintias’ red-figure amphora with Dionysos and satyrs and maenads of ca. 520–510 B.C. in Tarquinia,10 for instance, or in the curly black hair and beard of Herakles on the Berlin Painter’s magnificent red-figure amphora in Basel from the early fifth century.11 Noble’s explanation has become so utterly canonical, however, that, more often than not, even when the clay fabric of the black dots is visible, they have been described as globules of thickened glaze matter.12 Indeed, this unexamined assumption has become global, even appearing in a fascicle of the Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum for Japan by Akira Mizuta.13 In sum, raised black dots of thickened “black glaze” on Late Archaic Athenian vases are a fiction of twentieth-century scholarship. These dots are actually tiny balls of clay pressed onto the surface of the unfired clay vessel before its decoration with the levigated slip that fired black.14 Raised black clay dots were commonly employed on Athenian pottery beginning with the first generation of red-figure vase-painters in the 520s B.C.15 For example, the Andokides Painter used them for 10 Tarquinia, Museo Nazionale RC 6843: ARV 2 23.2, 1620; Para 323; BAdd 2 155; Arias 1962, pl. 95. In Ferrari 1988 the three-dimensional elements are neither mentioned in the text nor visible in the plates: cat. no. 2, 17–23, pls. 1 and 3.1. 11 Basel, Antikenmuseum BS 456: ARV 2 1634.1 bis; Para 342; BAdd 2 190. Color detail: Clark, Elston, and Hart 2002, 137, fig. 129; Boardman 2001, cover. I would like to thank Margot Schmidt for her help in the Antikenmuseum in the 1990s and for a color slide of the head of the Berlin Painter’s Herakles. 12 E.g., above n. 7; below n. 13. For an earlier misunderstanding of the clay relief details on Phintias’ amphora Tarquinia, Museo Nazionale RC 6843 (above n. 10) see Arias 1962, 319, “Notable is the use of raised black (some of it in dots) for the grapes on side A. . . .” In Scheibler 1995, 89, 91, there is a lack of clarity in the distinction made between raised details and thickened slip. 13 Red-figure kalpis with flying Nike, ca. 490–480 B.C., attributed to the Triptolemos Painter, Tokyo, Museum Yamato Bunkakan 34: CVA Japan 2, 66, pls. 56–57. 14 That the relief work consists of little balls of clay pressed onto the vessel’s surface rather than globules of thickened gloss helps to explain two characteristics that may be observed on vases with black relief details: (1) the rounded indentations in the clay surface of a vessel where raised dots are missing—Beazley’s burst bubbles, above at n. 1—and (2) cracks in the black glaze on the vessel’s surface around preserved black dots, evidently caused by shrinkage of the little clay balls during firing (Fig. 5.1). Noble 1965, 78 and 213, graph I, estimates a 9 1/2% shrinkage of Attic clay during firing. Both (1) and (2) appear in the forehead hair of Zeus on Euphronios’ cup Athens, National Archaeological Museum 15214 (formerly Acr. 176), above n. 3. See also below n. 20. 15 The black-figure master Exekias had already used shallow raised black details especially for locks of hair, e.g., on the black-figure amphora Vatican City, Museo Gregoriano Etrusco Vaticano 344 (ABV 145.13, 686; Para 60; BAdd 2 40); see Cohen

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the hair of Herakles, struggling with Apollo for the tripod, on his very early amphora in Berlin,16 and later on for Herakles’ hair once again, in the unique fight with the Nemean lion on the red-figure side of the bilingual amphora in London.17 An experimental form of added-clay relief appears in the hair of Herakles on this painter’s early lion-fight amphora in Basel: here the hero’s curly locks take the form of long, S-shaped volutes rather than dots.18 But black dots for curly hair became the norm throughout subsequent early redfigure, as in the forelocks of Zeus, who is seated among deities in Olympos, on Oltos’ fine cup in Tarquinia.19 Significantly, on Euphronios’ red-figure parade cup from the Athenian Akropolis, in the depiction of the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, black hair dots occur alongside items added in raised clay that do not appear to have ever been covered with black gloss. These clay-relief details—the forelocks of Hera and Athena, the bracelets of Athena and Thetis, and the phiale of Hephaistos—were most

1978, 111, n. 20. I have not had an opportunity to examine the Vatican amphora out of the case and/or with a microscope in order to determine the technique employed. But Exekias’ fine raised strands of hair may be compared with the Andokides Painter’s coarser clay relief work on Basel, Antikenmuseum BS 491, below n. 18. On Exekias’ raised details, see Mackay 2002, 206–208 and pl. 54c–e; for relief hair in the Lysippides and Andokides Painters, pl. 55a–c. Mackay 2002, however, assumes that all of the vase-painter’s relief details are globules of thickened black “paint”; earlier, in Cohen 1978, e.g., 28, I too had assumed them to be composed of “relief line matter.” Henry R. Immerwahr called my attention to raised black inscriptions in the black picture field on Attic red-figure pottery, esp. Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 10.224, red-figure skyphos, attributed to the Pantoxena Painter: ARV 2 1050.2; Para 444; see Immerwahr 1964, 21–23 and fig. 3, and Immerwahr 1990, 174, n. 6, pl. 34, fig. 138 (no. 758). These unusual inscriptions must have been written in added clay and then coated with gloss. 16 Berlin, Antikensammlung 2159: ARV 2 3.1, 1617; Para 320; BAdd 2 149; detail: Mackay 2002, pl. 55b. 17 London, British Museum B 193: ARV 2 4.8, 1617; Para 320; BAdd 2 149; Boardman 1975, 16 (head detail), fig. 10; Cohen 1978, pl. 34.2. 18 Basel, Antikenmuseum BS 491: ARV 2 3.4, 1617; BAdd 2 149; Cohen 1978, 28, pls. 8.2, 28.1. The clay composition of the curls of hair can be seen where the gloss is cracked. Above n. 15. 19 Tarquinia, Museo Nazionale RC 6848: ARV 2 60.66, 1622; Para 327; BAdd 2 165; Arias 1962, pls. 101–104, detail pl. 104 (middle). In Ferrari 1988 the threedimensional elements are neither mentioned in the text nor visible in the plates: cat. no. 3, 23–29, pls. 5.1 and 6.2. The Tarquinia cup, which bears the potter-signature of Euxitheos as well as the painter-signature of Oltos, also attests the bond between Oltos and Euphronios, who worked with the same potter: red-figure calyxkrater, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 1972.11.0, Euphronios 1991, 93–105, no. 4.

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likely originally gilt.20 Because gold leaf, unlike black gloss, has generally flaked off entirely in Archaic examples, the exposed, addedclay underpinnings have readily been recognized, as in the case of the pomegranates and leaves on branches held by one of the Horai in the apotheosis of Herakles on the red-figure cup potted by Sosias in Berlin.21 On the white-ground interior of an Early Classical redfigure cup in New York attributed to the Villa Giulia Painter, a halfdozen details—the phiale, the ends of the scepter, the bracelets, the necklace, the earring, and the fillet binding the hair of the lovely goddess—are rendered in now-exposed clay relief that must once have been gilt (and/or possibly even covered with tin leaf to imitate silver).22 Perhaps the first preserved use of once-gilt added-clay relief in early Athenian red-figure or white-ground occurs on the exterior of the red-figure cup in the J. Paul Getty Museum of ca. 525–520 B.C., attributed to Psiax by Dietrich von Bothmer (Fig. 5.7). On side A, for example, added clay describes the sound box of the lyre held by the standing youth and the camp stool of the seated youth, both toward the left, and the straight legs of the stools on the right.23 A 20 Above n. 3; Euphronios 1991, 207, no. 44, color photographs: bracelets 209; hair of Hera 210. See Shapiro 1995a, pl. 73b for the hair of Athena and phiale of Hephaistos. Above n. 14. See, recently, MacKay 2002, 208. Cf. Scheibler 1995, 89. In Euphronios 1991, 207, E. Stasinopoulou-Kakarouga—not comprehending the technical similarity between the two types of raised details on Euphronios’ Akropolis cup—describes the black forehead locks of Zeus as “kleinen Firnisbuckeln” and the other relief elements as “in Ton aufgehöht.” On the application of gold leaf before firing and the use of egg white as a binder see Noble 1965, 64. See also Clark, Elston, and Hart 2002, 95; the authors consider the use of gold leaf on Attic vases “rare,” but that was not necessarily the case after the Archaic period. 21 Berlin, Antikensammlung F2278: ARV 2 21.1, 1620; Para 323; BAdd 2 154; Euphronios 1991, 244, no. 59, 249, bottom fig. 22 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 1979.11.5, ca. 470 B.C.; color: Noble 1988, color ill. V; Robertson 1992, cover. For tin leaf, cf. the cup attributed to the Villa Giulia Painter, Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1973.1: Vickers 1974, pl. 17a and 177, n. 3; scientific analysis of its relief elements suggested that they were plated with tin. My thanks for this reference go to Jasper Gaunt. For tin leaf cf. also below at n. 52. In this study I generally refer to unglazed clay relief elements as originally gilt, because gilding is the only metallic coating that is still clearly preserved on many Athenian vases. 23 Malibu, J. Paul Getty Museum 86.AE.278: CVA Malibu 8 (United States of America 33), pls. 394–95, and 10 for technical features (M. B. Moore); the clayrelief rendering is difficult to see in published photographs. This Psiacian embellishment was adopted on the coral-red cup of ca. 500 B.C., potted by Hegesiboulos, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 07.286.47: ARV 2

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shared use of once-gilt added-clay relief strengthens the evidence that Psiax must have been the teacher of Euphronios. Finally, we may conclude that both black and originally metallic raised details in Athenian vase paintings share the technique of employing a base of added-clay relief and that both types of raised details occur simultaneously in red-figure and in white ground. During the fifth century raised black dots for curly hair gradually went out of fashion in favor of more sophisticated renderings. As John H. Oakley has pointed out, different handlings coexist in the work of the Achilles Painter: his Herakles on a fragmentary redfigure calyx-krater in the J. Paul Getty Museum of ca. 450–445 B.C. has dotted hair, while Achilles’ hair on the painter’s name vase in the Vatican has shaded individual locks.24 In the Classical period originally gilt relief elements become more prevalent until, by the end of the fifth century, the well-known red-figure vases of the Meidias Painter’s workshop literally sparkle with scores of still-preserved decorative gilt raised details and so do Kerch vases of the fourth century.25 Does the presence of added-clay relief details on fifth-century Classical Athenian red-figure and white-ground pottery have broader implications? My particular concern here is not associations between pottery and metalwork.26 Added-clay relief, of course, characterized the traditional pottery technique of barbotine, already employed so masterfully during the Aegean Bronze Age.27 When first applied in

175, 1631; Para 339; BAdd 2 184; Cohen 1972, pl. 5, fig. 7b. Here in the exotic symposium on its exterior added-clay relief detailed with incision, which was probably originally gilt, is employed, for example, on the tortoise-shell sound box of a lyre and the hair of the jug-bearing youth. I would like to thank Mary B. Moore for discussing this cup with me and for showing me her own color photographs. 24 Malibu, J. Paul Getty Museum 77.AE.44.1: Oakley 1997, 49, 124, no. 71, pl. 37B; Vatican, 16571: ARV 2 987.1, 1676; Para 437; BAdd 2 311; Oakley 1997, 54, 114, no. 1, pl. 1B. Simon 1976, 137, color pl. 43. Cf. below at n. 29. 25 The gilt clay relief on Meidian vases can be made out even in black-and-white illustrations: see Burn 1987, e.g., figs. 14b, 17c, 18a–c, 22a–b, 23a–b, 25a, 27a–b, 28a–b, 29a–b, 41c, 42b, 49a–b, 50a–d. For color see Charbonneaux, Martin, and Villard 1972, 285, fig. 327 (Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81947: ARV 2 1312.1; Para 477; BAdd 2 361). For gilt relief on Kerch vases: Williams and Ogden 1994, 12, fig. 4 (St. Petersburg, State Hermitage Museum, KEK8); Clark, Elston, and Hart 2002, 95, fig. 91 (Malibu, J. Paul Getty Museum 83.AE.10). On “extruded” clay as a basis for gilding see also Noble 1965, 63–64, 191, fig. 218. 26 Vickers and Gill 1994 proposed that Athenian red-figure vases were inexpensive reflections of inlaid-metal vases. Among opposing opinions, see esp. Boardman 1987. 27 Betancourt 1985, 83–85, pl. 7A–E.

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the Late Archaic period, however, added-clay details on pottery may have reflected an association between painted Greek relief sculpture, originally characterized by pale-colored figures against a darker ground, and, as I have discussed elsewhere, the invention of lighton-dark red-figure itself.28 But such initial Archaic associations must have been submerged in pottery workshops as this practice was handed down from one generation of craftsmen to the next and as red-figure itself developed. Thus, I believe, it is important to explore the possibility that by the fifth century the added-clay relief on Athenian vases may well have had an important artistic association beyond the pottery industry in contemporaneous free painting. Images by Euphronios help shed light on archaic spatial illusion in Greek antiquity. On his calyx-krater with Herakles and Kyknos of ca. 510 B.C., in the Shelby White and Leon Levy collection, New York,29 raised black dots for curly hair are eye-catching foci that not only describe texture, but also cast real shadows before the invention of painted ones and, thereby, augment the vase painting’s twodimensional layers of suggested depth. Thus, beyond any initial associations with relief sculpture, details in added clay appear to have played a role in the avant-garde exploration of pictorial space that characterized Athenian red-figure vase painting beginning in the late sixth century. Furthermore, as on Euphronios’ Akropolis cup,30 originally-gilt jewelry and metal vessels, projecting in relief from the picture plane, literally embodied luxurious objects or shining forms before their three-dimensionality and their reflective surfaces could both be suggested entirely through paint. The last development in painted illusion is clearly attested on South Italian vases of the fourth century B.C.31 In the fifth century, however, while a trompe-l’œil suggestion of depth of form came to be mastered through line drawing, the rendition of shining metal objects solely by means of paint was not 28

Cohen 1978, 110–17; recently, Boardman 2001, 79. Euphronios 1991, 107–108, no. 6; Boardman 2001, 87, fig. 120. 30 Above nn. 3, 20. 31 E.g., Apollo before temple with his cult image, fragmentary Early Apulian redfigure calyx-krater, Painter of the Birth of Dionysos, Amsterdam, Allard Pierson Museum 2579: Trendall 1989, fig. 52; in color, Charbonneaux, Martin, and Villard 1972, 311, fig. 361; funeral of Patroclos, Apulian red-figure volute-krater, Darius Painter, Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 3254: Trendall 1989, fig. 204; color, Charbonneaux, Martin, and Villard 1972, 314, fig. 364. 29

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yet common. Although gleaming highlights of real gold decoration on a clay vessel would surely have appealed to a status-conscious purchaser, the use of gilded elements alongside other relief details in vase painting also appears to have belonged to a primitive stage of spatial illusion in which drawn recession into depth was augmented by three-dimensional forms projecting into the viewer’s space from the picture plane. Bearing this dichotomy of modes of illusionism in mind, it is possible to see how the originally gilt added-clay relief features of several now-famous fifth-century vase paintings contribute masterfully to the depiction of space as well as color and texture. On the whiteground interior of a cup in Reggio Calabria of ca. 475 B.C., attributed to the Pistoxenos Painter (Fig. 5.8), showing a satyr attacking a maenad or nymph, the three-dimensional details include the pendants of the female figure’s necklace, peeping over the neckline of her purple dress; the snake bracelet coiled around her arm, echoing the painted serpent coiling around her thyrsos; and the bangle encircling the satyr’s wrist,32 which enhances the three-dimensionality of his form as much as the golden dilute gloss employed for shading. Within the bowl of the very large red-figure cup in Munich of ca. 460 B.C.—the name-vase of the Penthesilea Painter—gilt addedclay relief is employed for the jewelry of the two Amazons and on their headbands, and also for numerous details of the armor and weapons of the Greek warriors.33 These shining golden raised elements amid the sophisticated spacial web of human forms in this majestic portrayal of Greek killing Amazon draw our eyes around the vase painting’s monumental composition. The squat lekythos in the Metropolitan Museum of Art from the 420s B.C. (Fig. 5.9), attributed to the Eretria Painter, is a sampler of modes of spatial illusion. On the central white-ground frieze Thetis and the other dolphin-riding Nereids bring the glorious armor wrought

32

Reggio Calabria, Museo Archeologico Nazionale: ARV 2 860.3, 1672; Para 425; BAdd 2 298; Arias 1962, pl. 167, and 350, the raised elements were originally “colored in violet red or gilded;” color: Simon 1976, color pl. 41; Robertson 1979, frontispiece. Below n. 33. 33 Munich, Antikensammlungen 2688: ARV 2 879.1, 1673; Para 428; BAdd 2 300; color, Robertson 1979, 115–16. For the relief elements see also Simon 1976, 130 and color pl. 42. Simon 1976, 129, views the maenad on the Reggio Calabria cup (fig. 5.8, above n. 32) as a sister of “Penthesilea” on the Munich cup and cites both the Pistoxenos and the Penthesilea Painters’ love of plastic additions.

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by Hephaistos to Achilles, who here is bowed in mourning beside the body of Patroklos.34 The individual pieces of the special panoply— including the fancy helmet wrought with three-dimensional curls of hair and the shield with a lion device—are palpably rendered in fine, originally gilt, added-clay relief projecting forward from the picture plane. By contrast, in the Amazonomachy in the red-figure zone below, while none of the armor or weapons shines, the Greek warriors’ shields achieve three-dimensionality by means of masterfully drawn foreshortened views that illusionistically recede into pictorial space. Finally, on the Eretria Painter’s epinetron in Athens,35 the redfigure representation of the bridal chamber of Alkestis (Fig. 8.1) employs the above-mentioned two modes of illusionism within the same picture field. While the open doors, painted in outline at the right, recede into pictorial space, the women’s jewelry, the hanging wreaths and the hand mirror, rendered in originally gilt added clay, project forward from the picture plane. Martin Robertson employed the examples discussed above and other Attic vases, such as the lidded white-ground cup with oncegilt added-clay relief elements in Boston,36 in his attempts to envision lost free painting. In Greek Painting, published in 1959, Robertson carefully noted these vases’ gilded elements.37 Yet, in discussing the Munich cup, while he attributed the Penthesilea Painter’s powerful red-figure composition and use of washes of color to the influence of monumental painting, he related the composition’s gilt details to the influence of white-ground vase painting.38 In both the History of Greek Art of 1975 and the Art of Vase Painting in Classical Athens of 1992, while Robertson continued to seek evidence for lost free painting in vase painting, he no longer mentioned the gilded relief elements on Athenian vases in any context at all.39 Such silence may 34 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 31.11.13: ARV 2 1248.9, 1688; Para 469; BAdd 2 353; Lezzi-Hafter 1988, pls. 150–55. For the subject Barringer 1995, 33–34. 35 Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1629: ARV 2 1250.34, 1688; Para 469; BAdd 2 354; Lezzi-Hafter 1988, pls. 168a, 169e. 36 Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 00.356: ARV 2 741; BAdd 2 283; Robertson 1979, 132, color illustration, 134–35. 37 Robertson 1979, 117, 134. 38 Robertson 1979, 117. Simon 1976, 130 attributes the use of special colors to the influence of white-ground vase painting. 39 Robertson 1975, passim, esp. 261–62; Robertson 1992, passim, esp. 160, 173.

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be symptomatic of an aesthetic disinclination to envision lost Classical painting with gaudy, projecting gold details similar to those common in Athenian vase painting. Robertson has nonetheless admitted the possibility of more subtle three-dimensional details employed in vase painting as having also existed in lost free painting, such as raised pebbles like the ones on the white-ground cup with merrythought handles in London attributed to the Sotades Painter, showing Polyidos and Glaukos in the tomb.40 On the red-figure pyxis lid in Boston of ca. 430 B.C. attributed to Aison, depicting the encounter of Odysseus and Nausikaa (Fig. 5.10), while cream-colored raised dots of added-clay indicate the pebbly river bank, the Phaeacian princess and her handmaidens wear gilt clay-relief jewelry.41 Significantly, the Odyssean theme of the Boston pyxis lid is similar to that of a lost panel painting by Polygnotos that Pausanias saw in a room of the Propylaia on the Athenian Akropolis.42 As we have seen, in an effort to evoke lost Classical paintings of the fifth century, modern scholarship has turned to white-ground vases, and it has emphasized unusual applications of color in vase painting, such as the purplish and pinkish red washes of garments on the Penthesilea Painter’s red-figure Amazon cup or the fleshtone of a youth on a white-ground lekythos by the Achilles Painter in New York.43 The tiered composition on the obverse of the Niobid Painter’s red-figure calyx-krater in the Louvre has been cited time and again

Wehgartner 1983, passim, lists relief elements on white-ground vases but never mentions the possibility that they could have been gilded. Koch-Brinkmann 1999 never mentions the existence of raised and gilt elements. Scheibler 1994 does not mention the raised elements on vases as evidence for the appearance of lost 5th-century B.C. Greek painting. 40 London, British Museum D 5: ARV 2 763.2, 1669; BAdd 2 286; Robertson 1975, 249, 252, 265; Robertson 1979, 134 and color fig. on 130; Robertson 1992, 187–88. 41 Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 04.18: ARV 2 1177.48; Para 460; BAdd 2 340. For the use of gilt raised details and raised pebbles cf. the red-figure oon near the Eretria Painter, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 1971.258.3: Clark, Elston, and Hart 2002, 120, fig. 112. 42 Paus. 1.22.6; see Pollitt 1990, 141. On the deviations of Polygnotos’ lost painting and the red-figure vase painting from the account in Hom. Od. 6.126–44 see Buitron and Cohen 1995, 42 and Shapiro 1995b, 156–60. 43 Penthesilea Painter’s cup: above at n. 33; see Robertson 1979, 116–17; Robertson 1975, 263; Robertson 1992, 160. Achilles Painter’s lekythos: New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 07.286.42: ARV 2 1001.209; BAdd 2 313; Oakley 1997, 27, color pl. 3A; Koch-Brinkmann 1999, 82 and 120, n. 190, on coloristic effects in the hair.

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as a remarkable reflection of some lost monumental painting’s composition.44 Line drawings, employing motifs known from vase painting arranged up and down the picture plane in tiered compositions, have been employed by scholars, most notably Carl Robert in the early 1890s and Mark Stansbury O’Donnel a century later, to reconstruct Polygnotos’ lost paintings in the Lesche of the Cnidians at Delphi on the basis of Pausanias’ detailed description.45 Agnès Rouveret has viewed reconstruction efforts as a sterile pursuit;46 instead she turns to preserved tomb painting in Italy, such as the simple compositions painted on stucco-faced travertine slabs from the Tomb of the Diver at Paestum in Magna Graecia, in an attempt to evoke that which has been lost.47 As an aid in interpreting extant evidence for lost Greek painting, especially painting of the fourth century B.C., Rouveret has also employed Italian Renaissance art theory.48 Early Italian Renaissance and contemporary Northern European paintings have been put to invaluable use by both Martin Robertson and Vincent J. Bruno to evoke various aspects of lost Greek free painting.49 Since Classical Greek paintings, both monumental and small, generally appear to have been executed on prepared wooden boards,50 I would like to consider here whether they might have shared technical as well as aesthetic affinities with preserved panel paintings from later periods of Western art. In particular, cross-cultural comparanda may shed 44 Paris, Musée du Louvre G 341: ARV 2 601.22, 1661; Para 395; BAdd 2 266. Recently, with bibliography: Denoyelle 1997; Boardman 2001, 272, fig. 300, 316, n. 6; see also Robertson, 1992, 180–83, and Scheibler 1994, 143–44, fig. 68. 45 Paus. 10.25.1–10.31.1. Robert 1892 and 1893; Stansbury O’Donnel 1989 and 1990; see also Pollitt 1990, 127–40 and Scheibler 1994, 52–4. 46 Rouveret 1989, 135. 47 Rouveret 1989, 155–57, figs. 8–9, see also 139, 143–44; Napoli 1970, 9–48 (color), on the painting technique 95–106. 48 Rouveret 1989, e.g., 20, 27, 79–81. 49 Robertson 1975, e.g., 252, 261, 412–13, 426, 432–33; Bruno 1977, 36, 79, 95–97, 101–102. And see, recently, Koch-Brinkmann 1999, 103–105, for comparisons with European Late Gothic panel painting. In contrast, Scheibler 1994, 181, concludes that Classical Greek painting looked rather different than Early Italian Renaissance painting. 50 Napoli 1970, 96; Robertson 1975, 244–45; Bruno 1977, 105, 107–108. Four Archaic pinakes from Pitsa, near Corinth, ca. 530 B.C., comprise a rare preserved example of Greek painting on wood; see Scheibler 1994, 94–6, and Pedley 2002, fig. 7.38 for a good color illustration of the plaque with a procession to an altar. Koch-Brinkmann 1999, 84, associates the white ground of Athenian lekythoi with the white ground of a wood panel.

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light on the broader pictorial significance of the underappreciated relief details of Athenian red-figure and white-ground vase paintings. The use of costly gold leaf in panel painting to suggest the heavenly sphere of religious images, like the Madonna and Child and portraits of saints, had been a Christian convention since the icons of Byzantine times.51 Later in the Middle Ages, icons themselves were often further enhanced with embossed precious-metal revetments, and crusader icons of the 13th century A.D. had gesso relief elements that were either gilded, silvered, or tinned in imitation of the precious metal additions.52 In medieval Italian art, emerging from Byzantine influence, sometimes a panel painting’s prepared gesso ground or even the plaster ground of a fresco was built up in relief as well as patterned and gilded, particularly for details like haloes.53 The use of gilt gesso relief in Italian panel painting, known as pastiglia,54 persisted during the 15th century A.D., even after gold itself could be convincingly suggested by means of paint. Although now generally regarded as merely retardataire, pastiglia, as in the following examples, was sometimes used to enhance the spatial illusion of three-dimensional form before trompe-l’œil painting on canvas took over completely. Gentile da Fabriano’s Adoration of the Magi in the Strozzi Altarpiece of 1423 for Santa Trinità, now in the Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence, makes plentiful use of costly gold to render not only haloes, crowns, and brocade fabrics, but metal vessels, armor, weapons and horse trappings as well as the projecting clasp of the collar of the hound

51

For the tradition of icon painting and its significance see esp. Belting 1990. For precious metal icon covers see Onasch and Schnieper 1997, 256–59, with illustrations. Crusader icons with raised gesso relief: e.g., the icon of St. Marina, Houston, the Menil Collection: Folda 1992, 108–11 and fig. 99; in color on cover; here the raised gesso elements (halo, cuffs, figural outline, background ornament) were covered with tin leaf. The icon of St. George, London, British Museum, has a raised halo and a background with elaborate gesso “three-dimensional scrollwork, originally silvered:” Buckton 1994, 176–77, no. 191 (R. Cormack); see also Evans and Wixom 1997, 395, no. 261 ( J. Folda). See above n. 21 for tin in the context of Athenian vases. 53 Gilded relief haloes: in trecento panel painting, e.g. Bernardo Daddi, Madonna delle Grazie, 1347, Orsanmichele, Florence: Christiansen 1992, 52; in trecento fresco, e.g., Pietro Lorenzetti, Deposition from the Cross, Lower Church of San Francesco, Assisi: Chelazzi Dini, Angelini, and Sani 1998, 120–22. For the influence of imported Byzantine icons in medieval Italy see Belting 1990, 369–422 and for Byzantine influence in Italian medieval painting, in general, see Christiansen 1992, 31. 54 See, forthcoming, Mazzoni 2003a–b. 52

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in the foreground.55 Here the shining raised details clearly enhance not only the panel’s devotional value—both literally and figuratively— but also its intricate spatial tapestry of carefully observed painted forms, which are modeled illusionistically in light and shade. Dramatic examples of a sophisticated use of gilt gesso relief occur in the oeuvre of Carlo Crivelli, an unusual painter active in the Veneto during the second half of the 15th century A.D.56 In the central panel from Crivelli’s Polyptych of S. Domenico of Camerino (Fig. 5.11) of 1482, in the Pinacoteca di Brera, Milan, the Madonna’s crown and jewels are rendered in gilt pastiglia.57 By contrast, in his Madonna della Candeletta of the 1490s, also in the Brera, Crivelli describes the same features entirely by paint.58 In the left wing of the San Domenico Polyptych (Fig. 5.11), the keys of St. Peter the Apostle are literally three-dimensional, and his crozier, modeled in high pastiglia relief against the gold ground, is surmounted by a cross, which is not merely gilded and raised, but also drawn and modeled at an angle suggesting perspectival recession into pictorial space. Pietro Zampetti, the author of a monograph on Crivelli, has called the visual play of this panel “an alternation in aspects of truth that Pirandello would have appreciated.”59 Illusion-enhancing pastiglia was also used in secular works like Sandro Botticelli’s Portrait of a Man holding a Medal of Cosimo de’ Medici (Fig. 5.12) of the mid 1470s, in the Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence. This painting’s unidentified sitter is strongly modeled in light and shade, but the gold medal he holds, rather than being suggested illusionistically through paint, is a gilt gesso cast of an actual medal affixed to a carefully prepared raised disc of wood on the panel’s surface.60 Finally, it is also important to consider evidence from the main preserved genre of panel painting from Classical antiquity itself— mummy portraits from Roman Egypt. According to Marie-France Aubert, “Gold, an incorruptible metal the colour of the sun, was the

Zampetti and Donini 1992, 132, fig. 34; 133, fig. 35; 134–35, fig. 38. For the biography of Crivelli (ca. 1430–1511) with documentation Zampetti 1997, 11–17. 57 Zampetti 1997, pls. 61–62, history of altarpiece 279–80, reconstruction pl. 60. 58 Zampetti 1997, 197, detail, and pl. 86; documentation 291. 59 Zampetti 1997, 44, “. . . un alternarsi negli aspetti della verità che Pirandello avrebbe apprezzato.” 60 See Lightbown 1989, 54; Brown 2001, 177, who reminds us that Botticelli “was trained as a goldsmith.” 55 56

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‘flesh of the gods’ for the Egyptians; when applied to effigies of the deceased . . . it was supposed to ensure immortality and divinity.”61 Thus mummy portraits, generally rendered in encaustic (pigment in a beeswax medium) or else in tempera on wood panel, provide extant examples of the use of gold in the ancient pagan painting that preceded Byzantine tradition.62 Gold leaf was sometimes added on the panel’s ground or even upon the portrait image itself.63 Flat gold leaf could also be applied to add a wreath or jewelry to the image of the deceased.64 Elsewhere, gold leaf was applied on top of stucco relief, as in the case of a raised frame around a mummy portrait of a young man in the British Museum of the second century A.D. and the raised wreath on a male mummy portrait in the Metropolitan Museum of Art of the late first century.65 Mummy portraits of women whose gold jewelry has been added in gilt stucco relief are of particular relevance here. Notable examples of such relief work include the large granulated gold-disk earrings and crescent-shaped necklace pendant of a woman’s portrait in Berlin,66 and the spectacular torc bearing a medallion, which houses a real gold coin, of a woman’s portrait in Detroit (Fig. 5.13).67 The examples with three-dimensional gilt stucco jewelry are contemporaneous with other female mummy portraits with fashionable Roman jewelry that has simply been painted on illusionistically in yellow ochre with white highlights.68

61

Walker 2000, 89, no. 49 (M.-F. Aubert). Doxiadis 2000; sometimes portraits were painted directly on the stiffened linen shroud. See also Doxiadis 1995, 84–85, 91, 94–100. On the association between mummy portraits and Christian icons see Belting 1990, 92–116. 63 E.g., Walker 2000, 88–89, no. 49; 90–91, no. 51; 109–10, no. 68; 110–11, no. 69; Doxiadis 1995, 114, fig. 86. 64 E.g., Walker 2000, 64–65, no. 26; 71–72, no. 31; 73–74, no. 32; 90–91, no. 51; 98–99, no. 60; 106–107, no. 66; 109–10, no. 68; 110–11, no. 69; Doxiadis 1995, 99, 115, fig. 87. 65 London, British Museum EA 7404: Walker 2000, 61, no. 22; New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 1912.11.139: Walker 2000, 46–47, no. 9. 66 E.g., Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Ägyptisches Museum 10974, ca. A.D. 70: Walker 2000, 41–42, no. 4. 67 The Detroit Institute of Arts 25.2: Thompson 1982, 9 and fig. 11 (with caption); Doxiadis 1995, 112, pl. 84; the torc was added at the time of burial. This portrait, ca. A.D. 130–160, is of a type associated with Antinoopolis; Doxiadis 1995, 147–52 on the necropolis of Antinoopolis, a town founded by Hadrian. I would like to thank William H. Peck for providing information about Detroit’s mummy portrait. 68 E.g., Walker 2000, 39, no. 2; 88–89, no. 49; Doxiadis 1995, 99. 62

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Beyond their local funerary function in Roman Egypt, mummy portraits are preserved representatives of a broader phenomenon: the Hellenistic tradition of illusionistic panel painting.69 These portraits document the occurrence in Classical antiquity of a distinctive technical feature—gilt raised (stucco) relief (Fig. 5.13)—that, we may conclude, on the basis of the evidence presented here, must also have characterized earlier ancient Greek panel painting.70 The illusionistic juxtaposition of shining golden details in raised gesso or stucco with entirely painted forms found in Early Modern Italian panel paintings and Egyptian mummy portraits recalls the use of added clay in Attic red-figure and white-ground vase paintings. Although lost free painting of the fifth century B.C. has generally been visualized as a pure and subtle medium, judiciously employing color washes on a flat white ground, perhaps our mind’s eye ought to be redirected to envision Classical Greek paintings with details raised in relief, including golden baubles, bangles and beads, that served to enhance both the paintings’ decorative splendor, and their splendid, if still primitive, illusion of space. Modern viewers have come to understand that the arts of the Classical period, though often restrained in style, were both colorful and opulent, as they sought both to embellish and to reflect the Greek world. Bronze statues were enhanced by the insertion of naturalistic artificial eyes and colored metal inlays; marble sculpture was brightly painted and fitted with shining metal additions; and colossal cult images were constructed with ivory and gold. The different

69 Doxiadis 2000, 30; Doxiadis 1995, 82–85 (“Graeco-Egyptian artefacts of Roman times”), 94; Onasch and Schnieper 1997, 10–11. 70 For a contrasting view, Doxiadis 1995, 84–85: “Since there seem to be no literary references to gilt-background portraits (epichrysoi) before the time of Alexander’s conquests, gold leaf on paintings is likely to have been an Eastern influence.” Oliver 1996, 144, cites a Roman portrait on a gilt shield-shaped wooden panel. The trompe-l’œil suggestion of a face reflected on a metal shield (without the use of gold) is a motive that can be traced back to 4th-century-B.C. Greek painting, e.g., see the 1st-century-A.D. copy in the Alexander mosaic, from the House of the Faun in Pompeii, Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, see A. Cohen 1997, 108–109, fig. 62, and Scheibler 1994, color pl. V. But a face reflected in a metal mirror occurred earlier in vase painting, see Frontisi-Ducroux and Vernant 1997, color cover and fig. 2 (Lucanian). As on the Eretria Painter’s epinetron in Athens, above at n. 35 (see Fig. 8.1), mirrors in vase painting could also be represented in gilt clay relief rather than painted. Painters’ fascination with conveying the reflective quality of metal extended back to the fifth century B.C.

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Classical media did not ascribe to the austere boundaries established by Italian Renaissance paragoni. Based on the above exploration of the added-clay details in Athenian vase paintings and their analogs in later epochs, it is possible to envision lost fifth-century free paintings as works that participated fully in both the rich and colorful aesthetic and the diverse ensemble of technologies that characterized Classical art.

CHAPTER SIX

HERA, PAESTUM, AND THE CLEVELAND PAINTER* Jenifer Neils

Often in scholarship there is an element of serendipity. In 1996, the year the city of Cleveland was celebrating its bicentennial, I thought it would be appropriate to write an article on the city’s eponymous Attic vase-painter for the art museum’s newly inaugurated journal.1 Unfortunately, as I soon discovered, the Cleveland Painter was not all that interesting. With an extant oeuvre of a mere thirteen redfigure vases, ten of which are column-kraters, and an iconographic repertoire consisting of retardataire themes like the Dionysiac thiasos and the komos, he was not a promising candidate for the proposed article.2 In fact the name-vase—what Beazley called the painter’s “grösstes Stück”—was not at all prepossessing; at first glance it looks rather mundane. However, fortunately for my undertaking, it turned out that previous scholarship had overlooked some important aspects of this vase: its iconography, its trademark, and its provenance. This paper will explore further the krater’s unique imagery and its relationship to a well-known Greek text, the implications of this relationship for oral poetry, followed by a coda examining the relationship of the purported findspot to the vase’s imagery, and the implications of this for patronage and trade. So first the mundane starting point (Figs. 6.1–5): an Attic redfigure column-krater of the second quarter of the fifth century B.C., acquired by the Cleveland Museum of Art in 1930, via their European dealer Harold Parsons and reputedly from Paestum.3 At the time

* A much abbreviated version of this paper was presented at the annual meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America in 2001; the abstract is published in American Journal of Archaeology 106, 2002, 293. 1 The article appeared as Neils 1996. 2 For the Cleveland Painter see ARV 2 516–17, and 1658; Para 382; BAdd 2 253. 3 Cleveland, Museum of Art 1930.104: ARV 2 516.1. For a full description see CVA Cleveland 1 (United States of America 15), 16, pls. 23–24 (C. Boulter).

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when it was acquired, connoisseurship was all important and so the museum’s curator duly consulted the pioneer of attribution, John Beazley, to determine if the vase was by a “known” painter. By the 1920’s Beazley had attributed no less than 10,000 red-figure vases to some 150 painters, and it so happened that in 1930 he was writing his monograph Der Panmaler. In a footnote Beazley christened our artist the Cleveland Painter and assigned him to the orbit of the Pan Painter.4 At first glance the vase’s two subjects seem fairly straightforward. The reverse (Fig. 6.1) shows a standard komos scene: a revel of four youths, nude except for their chlamydes. They carry no drinking equipment in contrast with other such scenes by this painter,5 but one plays the barbiton and two hold walking sticks. In their tipsy poses (and the fact that the only bearded man seems to be punching his companion), they look as if they are returning from, rather than going to, a symposium. In style they look much like the revelers of the Pan Painter. The only noteworthy feature is the fact that all are infibulated, presumably to maintain control during the symposium and thereafter. Turning to the other side of the vase (Fig. 6.2) one encounters another common theme: a divine procession with chariot. This was a fairly popular motif, especially common in earlier black-figure because the chariot nicely fills the longitudinal space of the krater’s body.6 Given that both sides of the krater feature the movement of four persons to the right, the viewer is clearly meant to compare and contrast the two scenes. In typical Greek paratactic fashion there are, on the one hand, the nude human revelers on foot and on the other the draped divinities taking the ancient equivalent of a limousine. The drunken men romp to the low tune of the barbiton, while the gods solemnly process to the more stately music of the lyre. The gods demonstrate model behavior while the humans indulge in excess: sophrosyne vs. hybris.

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Beazley 1931, 19, n. 47. Cf. for instance the Cleveland Painter’s column-krater in Chiusi, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 1850 (ARV 2 517.9) where the komast holds a skyphos. See Neils 1996, 15, fig. 3. 6 On such scenes see Jurriaans-Helle 1999. 5

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Who are the gods? In the first edition of ARV Beazley described the subject of the obverse simply as “a, goddess mounting a chariot,”7 but in the second edition he was more explicit. He identified the goddess as “Artemis?” with “Hera?, Apollo, Leto?”8 There are no painted inscriptions on the vase, so it is only by scrutinizing details of attribute, dress, hairdo, pose, and gesture that one can properly identify the divinities. The most easily recognizable deity is Apollo who is wearing a laurel wreath and plucking his lyre. Secondly, we can identify the woman with the regal accouterments (scepter, dentated crown, and phiale) as Hera.9 Beazley tentatively identified the woman in the chariot as Artemis, perhaps because her brother is there and, besides Athena, she is the most athletic of the Greek goddesses. She is often shown driving a chariot, sometimes harnessed to stags, and she is usually readily identifiable by her quiver or bow, but not here.10 Finally, by a process of elimination, the woman confronting Apollo is said to be the twin’s mother Leto. The only two scholars who have subsequently written about this vase accepted Beazley’s identification, although neither attempted to explain the context.11 Artemis is no bride, so might she be setting off to hunt, and if so, without her weapons? There is one immediate problem with this scenario. The hairdo of the woman facing Apollo (Fig. 6.3), pulled back with a wrapped bun at the end, is that of a parthenos—so she cannot be Leto.12 In this phase of Greek art the ponytail-cum-bun is worn only by virgins, notably Athena and Artemis as on the Pan Painter’s name vase in Boston, or his white-ground lekythos in the Hermitage.13 This wrapped bun is so consistently the hairdo of Artemis in the work of this painter that it almost becomes an attribute. It seems highly probable that one of the Pan Painter’s followers might also depict the huntress with this hair style. Although it appears that the Cleveland 7

ARV 1 351. ARV 2 516.1. 9 For these as the common attributes of Hera in Attic vase-painting, see LIMC IV (1988) s.v. Hera 659–719 (A. Kossatz-Deissmann). 10 For Artemis and chariots, see LIMC II (1984) s.v. Artemis esp. 714–19 (L. Kahil and N. Icard). 11 Boulter (above n. 3), and L. Berge in Moon and Berge 1979, 188–89 no. 106. 12 On this hairdo, see Byvanck-Quarles van Ufford 1986. 13 Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 10.185: ARV 2 550.1. St. Petersburg, State Hermitage Museum 670: ARV 2 557.121. 8

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Painter’s Artemis has an uncharacteristic double-chin, this is in fact caused by the poor restoration of the vase in this area. Another reason that this woman is likely to be Artemis is because she and her twin brother Apollo are regularly paired, and often in chariot scenes just beyond the horses as on the calyx-krater in Copenhagen by a contemporary artist, the Troilos Painter.14 Here the divine twins are in exactly the same location and pose, but accompany Athena driving Herakles to Olympos. If, as seems undeniable, the woman confronting Apollo is his sister, then the charioteer cannot be Artemis. As we have seen the woman has no attributes, but Hera pays (Fig. 6.4) her close attention and seems particularly concerned with insuring an auspicious departure. Since we have no other images of Hera performing a libation at a chariot departure, there is no precedent for this image. Who, then, might this girl with a special relationship with Hera be? The most likely candidate, given the age distinction between the two women, is Hera’s daughter Hebe.15 In Greek literature Hebe is a secondary figure with no mythology of her own; she is involved in two primary narratives: serving the gods, and marrying Herakles. Could such an ancillary figure possibly be shown as a protagonist—an active charioteer, and why? Turning to the visual evidence where Hebe’s name is inscribed, there exist two well-known examples, one Archaic and one Classical. The former is the early sixth-century B.C. dinos by Sophilos in the British Museum, where Hebe stands alone in the procession of divinities attending the wedding of Peleus and Thetis.16 The latter is the late fifth-century epinetron by the Eretria Painter that depicts the wedding of Harmonia attended by Aphrodite and erotes (Fig. 8.2).17 It is evident from these two examples that without an inscription we

14

Copenhagen 126: ARV 2 297.11. For the imagery of Hebe see LIMC IV (1988) s.v. Hebe I 458–64 (A.-F. Laurens). It was suggested at the Columbia conference that this mother-daughter pair might be Demeter and Persephone, but the combination of libation-pouring with music-making does not seem appropriate for Persephone’s annual descent to the Underworld. One would also expect Hermes to be present. The Cleveland Painter’s other depiction of Demeter (Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek 2697: ARV 2 517.11) shows her with a torch, not a crown and scepter; see Neils 1996, 19, fig. 9. 16 London, British Museum 1971.11–1.1: Para 19.16 bis; BAdd 2 10. 17 Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1629: ARV 2 1250.34; Para 469; BAdd 2 354. 15

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would be at a loss to identify the woman as Hebe. She is youthful as her name implies, but has no distinctive attributes; she is simply a female deity who appears at weddings and so is associated with marriage. Another context in which Hebe is prominent is the assemblage of Olympians, as for instance on the cup in Tarquinia by Oltos that shows Zeus being attended by Ganymede.18 She appears at one end of the assembly on the far left, while her brother Ares balances her at the far right. Along with the Trojan prince Ganymede she is the cup bearer of the gods, as in the beginning of Book IV (1–3) of the Iliad: “Now the gods at the side of Zeus were sitting in council over the golden floor, and among them the goddess Hebe poured them nectar as wine.” On numerous other red-figure vases there appears a winged female wine-pourer whose name is not recorded. Although sometimes identified as Nike or Iris, on the Castelgiorgio Painter’s cup in London, the winged female wine-pourer’s position in front of Hera is exactly analogous to that of Ganymede in front of Zeus, with Ares in the middle—so we are undoubtedly meant to read the happy Olympian nuclear family: father, son, daughter and mother.19 On the famous cup by Sosias in Berlin the letter H is preserved next to the head of the winged wine-pourer so she must be Hebe in front of her (now lost) enthroned parents.20 Here, however, she is not only waiting on the gods, but also awaiting her tentative husband-to-be Herakles who, with the encouragement of Athena behind him, is arriving at the far right.21 Thus, the Sosias cup alludes to Hebe’s other major role as the bride of Herakles, a prize after the successful completion of his labors. Their wedding only becomes popular in the late fifth century. On later Attic red-figure vases, such as a krater in the Villa Giulia and a pyxis lid in Philadelphia, Hebe dutifully follows her husband on foot into the presence of her parents.22 Just as in literature where she is often paired with Hera or Herakles, so in Attic imagery she is always an attendant or secondary figure relying for her identity on the company she keeps. (The most conscious example of this 18

Tarquinia, Museo Nazionale RC 6848: ARV 2 66.60. London, British Museum E 67: ARV 2 386.3. 20 Berlin, Antikensammlung F2278: ARV 2 21.1. 21 For further discussion of Hebe on these and other vases, see Neils 1999. 22 Rome, Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia 2382: ARV 2 1332.4. Philadelphia, University Museum MS 5462: Boardman 1989, fig. 400. 19

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pairing may be Hera and Hebe on the east frieze of the Parthenon).23 Only on the East Greek-inspired Ricci hydria of ca. 525 B.C., best known for its sacrifice imagery on the shoulder, does she take command of the situation and strong arm the mighty hero into her chariot.24 In the gesture of xe¤r §p‹ karp“ normally reserved for the bridegroom, Hebe literally drags Herakles to immortality, just as Athena does. In this role reversal Herakles the “supermale” is changed into the hesitant female. So pervasive in Athenian art is the motif of Athena conducting Herakles into the presence of Zeus, that some scholars have tried to identify this woman or the winged goddess in front as Athena, but neither has any attribute of the goddess. It is surely the “liberated” Hebe who comes to earth to fetch her appointed bridegroom. So here is a prototype of Hebe on a chariot, albeit not Athenian, which might serve to support our identification of the goddess driving a chariot.25 But fortunately there is another clue, long overlooked— namely the wheel of the chariot. As is clear in the detail (Fig. 6.4) it has an unusual number of spokes, seven to be exact. In Attic vasepainting such multi-spoked chariot wheels are exceedingly rare; I know of only two examples, one Geometric and the other from the later fifth century B.C.26 From the second quarter of the fifth century the only instance I know of is the Cleveland Painter’s name vase; it

23

See Neils 2001, 164–66. Rome, Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia: Laurens 1986. 25 A red-figure loutrophoros from the Akropolis attributed to the Persephone Painter (ARV 2 1013.12) shows the wedding of Herakles and Hebe via chariot but the main protagonists are missing, although their names are inscribed. See TsioneKyrkou 1988, pls. 41–43. I thank John Oakley for bringing this reference to my attention. 26 Attic Late Geometric krater (New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 14.130.15), and Attic red-figure oinochoe from the Dexileos precinct (Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 98.935: Archäologischer Anzeiger 1970, 98–103). On three vases what looks like a seven-spoked wheel is almost certainly two four-spoked wheels side by side with one spoke hidden behind the chariot box: 1) Attic red-figure pelike attributed to a Later Mannerist (Brussels, Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire R 235): ARV 2 1121.11; CVA Brussels 2 (Belgium 2), pl. 19.4. I thank Michael Padgett for bringing this last vase to my attention. 2) Attic red-figure loutrophoros (Berlin, Antikensammlung F2372) with wedding scene, ca. 430 B.C.: Oakley and Sinos 1993, pls. 72–73.3) Panathenaic prize amphora of 402 B.C. (Hildesheim, Pelizäus Museum 1254): Bentz 1998, 158 no. 5.245, pl. 96. It has been pointed out to me by J. Penny Small that the cart of Triptolemos often has multi-spoked wheels (see LIMC VIII [1997] s.v. Triptolemos nos. 22 and 97 [G. Schwarz]), but this, although also a divine vehicle, is not a chariot. 24

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is unique in the Archaic and Early Classical period. The odd number of spokes is peculiar, to say the least, so it seems that the eighth spoke was eliminated for artistic reasons, i.e. it would have interfered with the depiction of the chariot body. Likewise, for instance, the traces are also omitted. It would have been an engineering flaw to have an odd number of spokes, and so the representation should not be taken literally, but we must assume that we are meant to imagine an eight-spoked wheel. An eight-spoked wheel appears once, and only once, in all of Greek literature, in a well known passage in Homer, Iliad 5.720–723: “But Hera, high goddess, daughter of Kronos the mighty, went away to harness the gold-bridled horses. Then Hebe in speed set about the chariot the curved wheels, eight-spoked and bronze, with an axel of iron both ways.” Coincidently it describes Hebe as an attendant helping Hera to put together a chariot for the latter’s descent to Troy. The assembling of the chariot suggests that they were “knocked down” for storage, and this is confirmed by the Linear B tablets which list various chariot parts as opposed to whole chariots; actually wheels are routinely removed for storage so that they do not warp under the weight of the cart.27 Like many of the possessions of the gods in Homer (cups, sandals, floors) it is encrusted with gold and other metals. Even Homer comments that it is a yaËma fid°syai (5.751). A glittering description of the Lexus of antiquity, gold-based adjectives are used five times, silver thrice, bronze twice and iron once. The iron axle contrasts with the mere wooden one of Diomedes’ chariot a few lines later (5.838). What is of interest is not so much the heavy metal character of the chariot (although it would certainly have been noticed by artists), but the kÊkla Ùktãknhma literally “eight-greaved” wheels. The adjective oktaknema is a hapax legomenon, not only in Homer but in all of Greek literature. It obviously refers to the number of spokes and so is translated “eight-spoked.” That it represents a special distinction is implied by the fact that there is no word tetraknema and yet most representations of chariots from Mycenaean to the Meidias Painter, depict four-spoked wheels. Eight and six-spoked wheels are not unknown—they are in fact frequent in the Near East, Cyprus and Ionia, and would have been known to Homer. Commentators on

27

For a complete description of chariots and their parts see Crouwel 1992.

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this line have called the eight-spoked wheels “a pious exaggeration” influenced as they are by the depictions of four-spoked wheels in Greek art. In my opinion this unique detail clinches the identification of the goddess as Hebe. It seems likely that she is departing to fetch her bridegroom Herakles as she does on the Ricci hydria mentioned earlier. Herakles’ arch-rival Hera is now mollified and gives the union her blessing with an auspicious libation. Both as mother of Hebe, goddess of marriage, and representative of the setting, Olympos, Hera’s presence here is multivalent. Apollo’s music, a traditional accompaniment to divine wedding processions, helps send the bride on her way, and Artemis is here as a goddess of transitions, who protects young girls as they grow to maturity and embark upon marriage.28 If this identification of Hebe is correct, then we are presented with a clear instance in which an artist has been influenced by a specific text. In countless examples in Greek art, illustrations of Homeric stories do not match the relevant literary account. The classic illustration is the depiction of the funeral games of Patroklos on the François Vase where we see quadrigas instead of bigas, Diomedes in third place instead of first, and four other contestants who are not even mentioned in the Iliad.29 But in the fifth century B.C. in Athens we have more convincing evidence for a detailed knowledge of Homer. By 520 the two epics were regularly recited by rhapsodes at the Panathenaic festival in Athens, if we credit Hipparchos with the introduction of this contest.30 It should not surprise us that an artist hearing a recitation of Book V might have had his attention arrested by this glittering passage, this yaËma fid°syai, and have remembered the strange word oktaknema. He would naturally associate it with divine chariots in general, and Hera and Hebe specifically, and could easily have adapted it to a chariot departure, a standard theme in the repertoire of black- and red-figure column-krater painters. It may also represent an attempt to demonstrate erudition on the part of the painter whose deliberate reference to the Iliad he might expect

28

For more on the wedding of Herakles and Hebe see Laurens 1996. For the relationship of vase-paintings to Homer see Lowenstam 1992 and 1997. His work demonstrates how vase-paintings can be used to explicate scenes in Homer, whereas this study uses a passage in Homer to explicate a unique scene painted on a vase. 30 On rhapsodes see Shapiro 1992 and 1995c. 29

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his Athenian customers to recognize. Just as there is the occasional direct quote from Homer, as testified in the literary symposium, could we here have an example of a vase-painting following suit? Although this vase-painter is not illustrating the exact narrative of Book V, he was clearly influenced by its elaborate ekphrasis.31 This discussion of Hera, Hebe and marriage leads us to a consideration of the later history of this krater. According to the dealer Harold Parsons, who had no reason to lie about its provenance in 1930, this vase came from Paestum.32 There is no independent corroboration of the findspot and it would be convenient if the previously overlooked graffito on the underside of the foot, a ligature of theta epsilon, had some connection to Paestum, but it is not a trademark documented thus far by Alan Johnston.33 However, both within and outside the walls of ancient Poseidonia Hera was an object of intense cultic activity. Within the city there is a large sanctuary with two Doric temples and two large bothroi rich in votive deposits. These votives suggest that Hera was worshiped here under the guise of Hera Argeia, a goddess of fertility in general and the hieros gamos in particular. Hera was also worshiped eight kilometers outside the city at Foce del Sele where two cult buildings, altars, and massive votive deposits have been excavated. Given this evidence it is fair to call her the most venerated and powerful goddess of the region.34 It is thus not coincidental that an especially large and elaborate vase featuring the goddess with her daughter should have been found here, perhaps in a rich tomb. If the scene is correctly interpreted as Hebe leaving to fetch her bridegroom Herakles, then the iconography relates extraordinarily well with the worship of Hera as a goddess of marriage. It is perhaps worth mentioning that the construction of Hera’s second temple, ca. 460 B.C., is roughly contemporary with the manufacture of the Cleveland krater. Could this fervent devotion to the goddess have prompted one of the city’s wealthy citizens to commission from the Kerameikos a vase depicting Hera Argeia in an otherwise unique scene of marriage? To speculate even further, might the double cella of the earlier Temple of Hera be devoted

31

I thank Ann R. Steiner for discussing these points with me. For Harold Parsons see Sox 1985. 33 For the trademark see Neils 1996, 20, fig. 11. 34 For the cult of Hera at Paestum see Sestieri 1955; Cipriani 1997; Norman 2000. For the association of Hera and marriage in general see Clark 1998. 32

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not to Hera and Zeus as often suggested, but to Hera and Hebe who both had chryselephantine statues in the Heraion at Argos?35 Perhaps the beautifully dressed but headless terracotta bust of a girl that served as an otherwise undocumented type of antefix or akroterion is none other than Hera’s daughter, Hebe?36 To come back from the realm of perhaps too wild speculation, it is appropriate to consider other vases found at Paestum and their possible relevance to the local cults. None of the two dozen published examples seems relevant to Hera, but a number can be associated with Athena, the other goddess who rated a peripteral stone temple in the center of the city. The most intriguing in terms of iconography is the amphora by the Syleus Painter which depicts a scene with Athena figured prominently in the center. Without venturing to comment on whether this is a scene of voting or supplication, I simply note that the iconography is unique. This vase, now in the NelsonAtkins Gallery in Kansas City, came to the United States by exactly the same route as the name-vase of the Cleveland Painter (the dealer Harold Parsons) and in the same year (1930).37 Although there is no evidence that these derive from the same tomb, and in fact they are about twenty years apart in date, it could be hypothesized that they were both special commissions for Paestan customers relating specifically to the important cults of the city. Both are exceptionally large, both feature a standing goddess with a phiale, and both exhibit thus-far unique iconography. Beyond this we cannot go, other than to say it was fortuitous that Cleveland was celebrating its bicentennial and that the vase is now on display in the museum with the goddess mounting the chariot no longer a question mark—she is labeled Hebe. For someone like myself who has not generally subscribed to the Bild und Lied tradition, the study of the Cleveland Painter’s name-vase has been somewhat of a revelation. It has expanded the repertoire of signs that

35 Pausanias (2.17.5) states that a chryselephantine statue of Hebe stood beside that of Hera in the Heraion at Argos. He goes on to note an interesting dedication of an altar executed in silver “worked with the legendary marriage of Herakles and Hebe.” At Mantinea in Arkadia the enthroned cult statue of Hera in her temple was accompanied by statues of Athena and Hebe according to Pausanias (8.9.3). 36 See Pedley 1990, 50, fig. 22. 37 Kansas City, Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art 30.13: ARV 2 249.1. See Moon and Berge 1979, no. 90; Shapiro 1981b; Pinney and Hamilton 1982.

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vase-painters use to further the narrative to include what might be construed as direct literary allusion. While signs like female dress and hairstyles are increasingly useful for reading scenes such as this one, the more subtle clue of the eight-spoked wheel is one unlooked for, and provides intriguing avenues for further investigation. In the long run we are striving to understand what these images meant to the societies that produced and acquired them. Just as the Iliad and its recital at the Panathenaia were influential factors in the Kerameikos, so the religiosity of the western Greeks—so evident in their ambitious temple-building—can now perhaps be seen as a factor influencing the import of Athenian vases.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ODYSSEUS AND KIRKE. ICONOGRAPHY IN A PRE-LITERATE CULTURE Luca Giuliani

My subtitle might require a few words of clarification. I shall be dealing with some images on Attic vases from the sixth and early fifth century B.C. Why do I consider the Athenian culture of this time to be a pre-literate culture? By this I obviously do not mean a culture in which nobody knows how to write. In Athens the contrary is the case. Even vase-painters (not necessarily among the most literate people) often make abundant and correct use of writing: the wealth of inscriptions on the Kleitias-krater is a particularly early and telling example.1 Nevertheless in sixth and fifth century-Athens there is no such thing as literature—at least not in our understanding of the word.2 Of course poets make use of writing for their compositions, but the final result is presented to the public as an oral performance, and not as a written text. This will only begin to change in the late fifth century;3 by the fourth century we have several texts that have been written in order to be read. In the sixth and early fifth century this is not yet the case. Poetry has an audience—but it has no readers; or, to be more precise: there are only very, very few readers. Peisistratos as well as Polykrates seem to have been collecting literary book-scrolls.4 If this is true, then readers in archaic and early classical times seem to have been a tiny elite, to which Athenian vase-painters certainly did not belong. When I speak of a

1

Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 4209: ABV 76.1; Beazley 1986, 24–34; Simon 1976, 69–77, pls. 51–57. On the inscriptions a brief but illuminating comment is to be found in Havelock 1982, 26, n. 42: “such virtuosity I suggest springs not from literacy but the reverse; the word inscribed is a novelty to be exhibited.” 2 Havelock 1963 and 1982; Goody 1987, 60–77; Thomas 1992. 3 Turner 1977; Pfeiffer 1968, 25–32; Woodbury 1976, 349–57; Burns 1981, 371–87; Detienne 1981, 61–72. For a skeptical account on the quantitative spread of literacy even in classical times: Harris 1989, 65–115. 4 Ath. 1.3.

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pre-literate culture I therefore mean a culture in which poetic writings are rare and far away from ordinary people. This rarity and remoteness of the written text is not without consequences for the production of images. Having no written text at hand, the artist can rely on nothing but his own memory of what he has heard. Now the remembrance of a text has its own laws.5 The memory of the exact wording fades very quickly after hearing: what is stored in memory is a simplified version of the plot or of the argument; and this simplified version is not the result of passive mirroring but of active remodeling: to remember is an active, productive process. What vase-painters therefore translate into images is not the actual text: it is their own remodeling of this text. But before we look at the vases let me briefly remodel the plot of the Kirke episode, as it is told in the Book X of the Odyssey. The boat of Odysseus and his companions is driven by a tempest to an unknown island. They land, exhausted and starving. Odysseus divides the men in two groups: he himself with one group remains at the ship; the other group, commanded by Eurylochos, leaves to explore the island. They come to a lonely house, which is guarded by tame lions and wolves: there lives the sorceress Kirke, daughter of Helios. The companions hear Kirke singing, and they call for her; “she straightway came forth and opened the bright doors, and bade them in; and all went with her in their folly. Only Eurylochos remained behind, for he suspected that there was a snare. She brought them in [. . .] and made for them a potion of cheese and barley meal and yellow honey with Pramnian wine, but in the food she mixed baneful drugs [. . .]. Now when she had given them the potion and they had drunk it off, then she presently smote them with her wand, and penned them in the sties. And they had the heads, and voice, and bristles and shape of swine, but their minds remained unchanged even as before” (230–40). Having witnessed the disappearance of his comrades, Eurylochos flees back to the ship in terror and implores Odysseus to leave the island at once. Odysseus refuses; as nobody wants to accompany him he sets forth to rescue the companions all alone. On his way he meets the god Hermes, who informs him about

5 Bartlett 1932; see also Kintsch 1977, 33–62; Dijk and Kintsch 1978. For the ancient theory (and praxis) of remembering see Yates 1966; Sorabji 1972, 22–34; Small 1997.

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Kirke being a witch, instructs him how to behave and finally gives him a magic herb as a protection against Kirke’s spell. When Odysseus arrives at the palace he is welcomed by Kirke who offers him the same potion; thanks to the magic herb, the effect of the drink fails: now Odysseus draws his sword, menacing to kill her; at this Kirke immediately recognizes the hero, whose coming had been prophesied: “surely you can be not other than Odysseus, the man of ready device; so be it then; put up your sword in its sheath, and let us two then go up into my bed, that couched together in love we may put trust in each other” (330–35). Odysseus makes Kirke swear an oath, that she will not try to harm him anymore: then he makes love to her, takes a bath, and finally asks her to turn the companions back into human shape. After this, Odysseus and all the companions spend one whole year as Kirke’s guests in perfect happiness: end of the episode. And now let us turn to the vases.6 I shall discuss three different iconographic types. The first type is represented by a famous cup in Boston, to be dated between 550 and 540 B.C. (Fig. 7.1).7 In the middle of the exterior we see Kirke, naked and originally painted in white, in the act of giving her potion to one of the companions. This companion has a human body but a boar’s head; all his fellows as well appear to be partially transformed into animals. Only two men show no sign of transformation: one is rushing into the scene from the left, with a drawn sword: it must be Odysseus; the other is fleeing to the right: it can be none else but Eurylochos. The possibilities for the representation of the companions’ metamorphosis are very different in a text and in a picture. The poet obviously has no problem whatsoever: he simply tells us how Kirke transforms the companions into swine and how these, even in their new animal shape, maintain their human minds and weep in their sty. But how can the painter succeed in showing this? He can depict the companions as swine: but in this case the beholder will simply see swine, and not men in the shape of swine. And if he depicts them as men, then how is the beholder supposed to understand that

6 Touchefeu-Meynier 1968, 81–131; Buitron et al. 1992, 78–94; LIMC VI (1992) s.v. Kirke 48–59 (F. Canciani). 7 Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 99.518: ABV 198; Touchefeu-Meynier 1968, 86f. no. 171; LIMC VI (1992) pl. 25, Kirke no. 14 (F. Canciani).

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there is a transformation going on? The only way to solve the problem is to show the beginning and end of the transformation, giving the companion a shape half-human and half-animal.8 In the Odyssey the poet lets Kirke transform all companions into swine. The choice of this species is abasing and has, on top of this, a most dangerous connotation: swine are kept for no other reason than to be slaughtered and eaten. The companions, having just escaped from the cave of the men-eating Cyclops, find themselves again in a very similar danger. The painter has renounced such narrative implications, putting his accent on zoological variety: we see a lion, two boars, an ovine and a dog, with fore-legs usually matching the heads; not without exceptions though: the companion in front of Kirke has a boar’s head but human hands—he needs them to get hold of the cup from which he is about to drink. We see Kirke in the act of mixing and offering the potion: at the same time the magic has already had its effect, giving all the other victims the head of animals. The painter has shown different moments, which—from the point of view of the chronology of action—are not compatible with each other. Similar, but even more conspicuous is the coincidence between Eurylochos running away to the right and Odysseus arriving from the left: according to the epic narration Odysseus intervenes after having heard Eurylochos’ report. Obviously the painter is not interested in temporal coherence.9 He simply wants to stress the boldness of the hero by contrast with Eurylochos; for the same reason he depicts a second companion fleeing to the left and gives him, symptomatically, the head of a lion, the bravest of all animals. The painters’ aim therefore was to give a general view of the whole plot, and first of all to emphasize the peculiar qualities of the two main characters: Kirke’s supernatural power and erotic appeal as well as Odysseus’ bravery. But one thing this picture does not show: the direct confrontation between the two. Being occupied with her magic, Kirke takes no notice of Odysseus who is approaching from behind. Wanting to tell most of the story, the painter renounced the showing of its climax, its dramatic turning point. Understandably enough, later painters have made a very different kind of choice. This leads us to the second iconographic type. 8 9

Davies 1986, 182–83. Himmelmann 1967, 74.

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Let us consider two lekythoi from the early fifth century B.C.: one in Athens (black-figure, around 480: Fig. 7.2)10 and one in Erlangen (red figure, perhaps 10 or 20 years younger than the former: Figs. 7.3–4).11 Both vases concentrate on the opposition between hero and witch. On the lekythos in Athens we see Kirke in the same attitude as on the Boston cup. She is not naked anymore, but correctly dressed in normal female clothing. She is standing besides a diphros, from which apparently she has just risen. In front of her Odysseus is sitting on a rock. Even though close to each other, they belong to different spheres: Kirke to the inside of the house, Odysseus to the outside of wilderness. We shall meet a similar dichotomy again in our third iconographic type. Behind Kirke a boar-man is moving off to the left, unable or unwilling to help: apparently at some previous occasion he has drunk a potion of the kind Kirke is now offering to Odysseus. The scene concentrates on the turning point of the whole episode. Let’s hear Odysseus’ own report: “When she had given me the potion and I had drunk it off, yet was not bewitched, she smote me with her wand, and addressed me: Begone now to the sty, and lie with the rest of your comrades. So she spoke, but I, drawing my sharp sword from beside my thigh, rushed upon Kirke, as though I would kill her. But she, with a loud cry, ran beneath and clasped my knees” (319ff.). Two different kinds of magic are involved here, spell and counterspell: Kirke’s potion and the magic herb, given to Odysseus by Hermes. Both kinds of magic are based on something apparently harmless (a drink, an herb) having an unforeseen effect: this discrepancy between appearance and effectiveness poses no problem in a narration, for it can easily be described in words: but how is it to be depicted? The painter of the Athenian lekythos has used several means to solve this problem. Normally one would expect the skyphos in Kirke’s left hand to contain nothing but wine; but in this case it cannot be something that harmless; Kirke holds a little stick in her right hand, with which she obviously has been stirring the potion; now wine is never to be stirred; the stirring in itself is sufficient to

10 Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1133: Haspels 1936, 256.49; TouchefeuMeynier 1968, 89f. no. 176; LIMC VI (1992) pl. 26, Kirke no. 17 (F. Canciani). 11 Erlangen, Friedrich-Alexander Universität 261: ARV 2 651.21; Touchefeu-Meynier 1968, 94 no. 183; LIMC VI (1992) pl. 26, Kirke no. 22 (F. Canciani).

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promote the idea of a dangerous mixture. This idea is additionally supported by the presence of the boar-man. But what about the counter-magic? It would have been pointless to provide Odysseus with some perfectly harmless looking plant. Instead of doing this, the painter has relied upon the significance of gestures and attitude. Odysseus is sitting on his rock in a perfectly relaxed position, his legs crossed, the right hand holding his spears, the left resting on his thigh; the hero is looking straight at Kirke, but without reacting to her offer: as a matter of fact he is leaning backwards, moving away from the skyphos in her hand: his whole attitude is clearly one of refusal. The lekythos in Erlangen shows the situation after the turning point. The painter has employed the common iconographic scheme of an armed man pursuing a woman.12 We would not be able to give the man and the woman proper names, were it not for Kirke’s traditional attributes: she holds her wand in the left hand; turning round to her pursuer she has opened her right hand, dropping the skyphos and the little stick—a most effective way of stressing the abruptness of the action. If we compare the two lekythoi with the Boston cup, then a general problem begins to emerge. On the cup we had a strong characterization of Odysseus and Kirke but no direct confrontation, no temporal coherence, no climax of action. The two lekythoi-painters seem to have made exactly the opposite choice: both concentrate on the interaction between Odysseus and Kirke and try to bring the action to a climax. But is the moment depicted really a climax? On the Boston cup Odysseus appeared as a daredevil; not much of this heroic temper is still to be seen on the Athenian lekythos, where Odysseus merely seems to refuse the drink he is offered: a very moderate way to express heroism. The Erlangen lekythos insists on action and reaction: but the iconography has lost much of its specific character. Kirke has turned into a fleeing woman: the mighty sorceress, oscillating between cruelty and erotic appeal, is hardly to be recognized. Kirke has retained her essential attributes such as wand and drinking bowl—but mainly in order to drop them. The emphasis on the direct interaction seems to involve a considerable loss of complexity on the level of characterization. Is there no possible way to

12

Sourvinou-Inwood 1979, 3–7, 29–47.

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show direct interaction without giving up the plenitude of characters, to combine suspense and thick description? This leads us to the third and last type of the iconography. By far the richest representation of the Kirke episode is to be found on a cup from the Athenian Akropolis attributed to the Brygos Painter and dated between 490 and 480 B.C. (Figs. 7.5–7).13 The cup is in fragments, and only about half of the whole is preserved: still it seems possible to reconstruct the original composition.14 The interior as well as the obverse and reverse of the outside are devoted to the Kirke-subject: we are therefore dealing with three, closely connected images on one and the same vase. Let’s begin with the interior (Fig. 7.5). The scene is inside the palace, designated by columns. We see Kirke moving to the right, the skyphos with the little stirring stick in her left hand. Just in front of her right shoulder we see the tip of Odysseus’ sword, but this does not seem to impress her very much. Kirke has not cast down her eyes, as on the Erlangen lekythos: she and Odysseus are looking to each other at very close distance. This tête-à-tète and exchange of close looks is rather surprising in the context of armed aggression; it gives the whole scene a note of ambivalent intimacy that seems to anticipate the erotic continuation of the story.

13 Athens, National Archaeological Museum, Akropolis Collection 293: ARV 2 369.5; Graef and Langlotz 1933, 25 no. 293, pls. 17–18; Touchefeu-Meynier 1968, 91 no. 178; LIMC VI (1992) s.v. Kirke nos. 6 and 20 (F. Canciani); Shapiro 1994, 37. 14 Starting point for any attempt at reconstruction are the two fragments showing the front and the rear part of a klismos: as the two are not compatible with each other (pace Langlotz), there must have been two klismoi (or, as we shall see, two depictions of one and the same klismos). The fragment with the rear part of the klismos on the outside shows, on the inside, the shaft of a column: this leaves only two possibilities; if the fragment cannot belong to the bottom of the column on the right of the inside-tondo (as Langlotz supposed), it can only belong to the upper end of a second column on the left. This means that the corresponding diphros finds its position in the right half of the obverse (side A). This gives us a clear structure: the right half of the picture shows the interior of a house, the left an open-air-scene; between the two there is a threshold with a column, the latter being exactly perpendicular to the axis of the handles. All the fragments that cannot be set in position on the obverse must belong to the reverse (side B). Here we shall find a very similar composition: an out-of-door scene on the left (where Odysseus has just stuck his two spears into the ground) and an interior (with the other klismos) on the right; again there might have been a column marking the division between in- and outdoors, even though on the preserved fragments no trace of it is to be found.

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On the obverse of the outside (side A: Fig. 7.6) we see on the left an exhausted looking, bearded man, sitting beside a pile of luggage; high boots, a hat and a knotted stick characterize him as a traveler. In front of him there used to be two similar figures: only the feet are preserved, wearing the same kind of boots; all three must belong to a group of companions. In the foreground we see a boar and a panther, both moving to the right in a peculiar attitude with their heads down. Behind their forelegs we see the rest of a woman running to the right as well as a doorstep and the rest of a column. If the companions as well as the two wild animals belong to the outside, one would expect the threshold and the column to mark the limit between outside and inside: what follows to the right belongs to the inside of a house. Of this part of the vase there is only one fragment preserved: it shows the rear part of a klismos, covered by a wrap with a long fringe; behind the seat there is a woman in chiton and himation walking towards the left; to the right of the seat there is another woman, standing frontally, an oinochoe in her hand: probably a servant. The strangest element in this picture are the boar and panther approaching the threshold, lowering their heads and politely lifting their left fore legs, like well behaved dogs. This is certainly not the behavior of wild animals! We find an exact parallel in the epic narrative. The companions approaching the palace of Kirke find “mountain wolves and lions, whom Kirke herself had bewitched: for she gave them evil drugs. Yet these beasts did not rush upon the men, but pranced about them fawningly, wagging their long tails. [. . .] but the men were terribly frightened” (210–19). On the cup too we see wild animals behaving in a most unnatural and surprising way. This behavior is a signal, in the epic text and on the cup as well, for some kind of dangerous enchantment. The text adds a narrative explanation, telling us that wolves and lions have been bewitched. The picture can offer no such explanation, for it is mute: it leaves it to the competent beholder to recognize panther and boar as victims of Kirke’s witchcraft. The painter achieves a remarkable feat, suggesting a metamorphosis from man to animal without using a hybrid shape. The shape of boar and the panther is perfectly coherent and inconspicuous; the incoherence lies—much more cunningly— between shape and behavior. This is a highly sophisticated device; the painter obviously counts upon an attentive beholder who is able to enjoy such subtleties.

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The attitude of panther and boar is one of greeting: they evidently react to somebody who is approaching from inside the house. This allows us to understand what is going on, even though so little of the figures is preserved. The woman running to the right cannot be the mistress, because she does not call for the attention of the two animals: she must be a servant who is hastening to inform Kirke about the arrival of the companions. Kirke is therefore to be recognized in the woman behind the stool, who is walking swiftly towards the door. One does not need much imagination to restore in her left hand (the sharply bent elbow is clearly to be seen under the himation) the skyphos with the potion: the same skyphos to be seen also in the interior of the cup. One more moment, and Kirke will step out of the door and greet the visitors, the magic drink in her hand. In contrast to the painter of the Boston cup, the Brygos Painter does not show the actual metamorphosis, but the situation immediately before it. Odysseus’ companions are shown as travelers, tired from a long journey but otherwise perfectly relaxed: they simply wait for the mistress of the house to welcome them. They obviously do not recognize panther and boar as men, who have been bewitched; and they have not the faintest idea of being in deadly danger. They do not know what the beholder knows. This contrast between the unawareness of the acting figures and the awareness of the beholder is a most successful means to create suspense (something that in painting is usually very difficult to achieve). Of the reverse (side B: Fig. 7.7) even less is preserved. But the structure of the whole picture seems to have been very similar. On the right we have again the interior of Kirke’s house; the scene on the left seems to have been outside, in front of the door; there might once again have been a column (even though nothing of it is preserved) to designate the limit between inside and outside. From the right half of the scene we have one single sherd with the part of a klismos. This seat is a perfect replica of the one we have already seen on side A (and the elaborate decoration has exactly this function: to make clear that both pictures show one and the same seat). The painter has taken great pains to repeat the same scenery on both sides of the cup: the point being that, in the same scenery, two very different actions are going on. On our sherd we do not see very much of the action: besides the stool we just see the rest of a female figure, her foot pointing to the right: there is no sign of movement or dramatic action here. At the very left end of the picture

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we see two onlookers: one is sitting, one is standing in relaxed position, the right hand on his hip, two spears in his (missing) left. The similarity with the waiting companions on side A is evident: these two must again be some of Odysseus’ companions. But next comes something completely new. We see Odysseus (the name is inscribed) in violent movement to the right, the scabbard on his left. He must have been holding the sword in his right hand (on the preserved fragment we still see the tip of the blade), and to gain freedom of motion he has stuck his spears into the ground. In front of the hero a woman is fleeing to the right, stretching her arms in an imploring gesture of fear; her chiton is in disorder, and one bare breast is appearing between the folds. Who is this woman? It cannot be Kirke herself: from her (remember the way she behaves in the inside tondo!) we would not expect such a lack of self-control; it must be a servant, fleeing in panic. The mistress is to be presumed in the right part of the image, inside the house, where there is yet (as far as we can see) no sign of action: Odysseus’ attack seems to come unexpectedly. For anybody who has read Book X of the Odyssey the whole scene is rather surprising. In the Odyssey the hero comes to Kirke as an apparently harmless traveler, and Kirke follows her usual procedure: she lets him sit on a richly adorned chair and offers him drink in a golden beaker. Only after having drunk, without the magic working, does Odysseus jump up: he draws his sword and turns into attack. All this makes a wonderful story for a narrator, but is extremely difficult to depict as dramatic action. The offering of a drink is not an event particularly suited to show a violent outburst of action and reaction. The Brygos Painter chose a completely different configuration. It is not by mere chance that he gave Odysseus quite the same attitude as on the archaic cup in Boston: Odysseus appears again as a heroic individual, drawing his sword and gaining entrance to Kirke’s house. Kirke is overwhelmed not by the failure of her magic, but simply by the bravery of Odysseus’ attack. The painter has modified the story, renouncing some elements of the epic narration, to the benefit of the pictures temper and vividness. Not only Odysseus’ attack is surprising; also surprising is the presence of his companions. In the epic narration Odysseus, having learned what has happened, asks Eurylochos to show him the way to Kirke’s house. Eurylochos, still under shock, refuses. Odysseus accepts this refusal without getting upset: “do stay here in this place, eating and drinking by the hollow, black ship; but I will go, for

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strong necessity is laid upon me” (270f.). These are the words of an authentic hero, who is not less trustworthy than he is brave; and he sets out all alone, ready to risk his life in order to rescue his companions, leaving all the others behind at the ship. From a functional point of view, the timidity of Eurylochos & Co works as a necessary contrast, laying stress on the courage of the lonely hero. The Brygos Painter pursues a very similar strategy, using the companions in a very similar function, and precisely for this reason he cannot renounce their presence in the picture: were they not in the picture, they would not be somewhere else, they would simply be non-existing. The painter needs them as passive, helpless onlookers, as a contrasting background for the action of the hero. To introduce the companions as onlookers is an excellent solution which perfectly fulfills the requirements of the pictorial medium; of course, choosing this option the painter deviated from the wording of the epic narration; but this does not seem to have worried him—even if he noticed it. The archaic painter of the Boston cup had concentrated the whole story into one picture. Two generations later, this archaic way of storytelling was not considered satisfactory anymore: looking at the Brygos cup, one can easily understand why. The Brygos Painter divides the narrative plot into three pictures, each of them showing but one single moment. One side of the exterior shows the impending catastrophe, the other the beginning of rescue; both together prepare the climax of the final showdown in the interior tondo, where the two main characters finally meet and measure their forces face to face. The painter has succeeded in distinguishing three crucial moments; showing one after the other, he has gained a completely new possibility of putting the beholder in a situation of surprise and suspense. To produce surprise and suspense: this is what every storyteller wishes to do; for a painter this aim is extremely difficult to achieve—the Brygos Painter succeeded in doing so. Let me end by returning to my starting point. I would claim that the rarity and remoteness of written narrative texts creates a favorable prerequisite for the success of narrative iconography. The text being far away, its wording is not binding for those who attempt to translate the narration into pictures. They can easily deviate from it, if any such deviation makes sense in their own medium: a painter may transform the companions into a variety of different animals (and not into swine) or he may use the companions of Odysseus as onlookers in a situation in which, in the Odyssey, they are altogether

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absent. The painters appear to have a certain degree of autonomy: their main aim is to construct vivid and forceful images, and not to avoid contradictions between the image and a text. In the horizon of a literate culture, where written texts are frequent and have a strong power of attraction, this autonomy of images can easily get impaired. My last example is a relief-tablet to be dated in the early first century A.D., the tabula Rondanini in Warsaw.15 Its literary character is evident already from the subtitle: ÉEk t∞w dihgÆsevw t∞w prÚw ÉAlk¤noun toË kãppa—one of the stories told at the court of Alkinoos in Book X (of the Odyssey). The tablet shows the rear part of the ship at the bottom left and the palace of Kirke on the rest of the surface; on his way from the ship to the palace Odysseus meets Hermes, who gives him the magic herb (inscribed: tÚ m«lu); next, inside the palace, we see Kirke on her knees in front of Odysseus; and finally we meet the two again: Odysseus in a pensive attitude and Kirke now rising her wand in order to turn the bewitched companions—ÑEta›roi teyhrivm°(noi)—back into human shape. There is no mistake in this image, no contradiction with the text: but also no surprise and no suspense. The picture, depending strictly on the text, has become what we might call an illustration.

15

Sadurska 1964, 61ff. no. 11; Touchefeu-Meynier 1968, 104f. no. 205.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE WORLD OF APHRODITE IN THE LATE FIFTH CENTURY B.C.* Rachel Kousser

Previous scholars have given us, quite literally, a partial view of the Eretria Painter’s famous red-figure epinetron. The vessel has served as a familiar example of late fifth century B.C. vase painting, and has been discussed with regard to its attribution and complex iconographic program.1 Its painted sides show scenes from three of the most celebrated weddings in Greek literature—those of Harmonia, Thetis, and Alkestis—with all participants identified by inscription (Figs. 8.1–3). Encouraged by the close correlations here between word and image, scholars have interpreted the scenes almost as illustrations of well known ancient texts, and have focused on iconographic analysis of individual figures, rather than on the object’s broader visual and functional context. Yet the epinetron as a whole offered not a few flat, isolated, painted scenes but rather an elaborate amalgam of painting and sculpture, including a three-dimensional female bust projecting from one end (Figs. 8.4–5). And the distinctive shape—roughly a cylinder sliced in half, closed at one end and flaring open at the other— indicates the work’s quite specific function. As shown self-referentially on another epinetron, the vessels were used by women, to aid in the production of thread (Fig. 8.6).2 Placed on the thigh of the user, with the closed end fitted over the knee, epinetra were “worn” by their owners; they had an intimate and physical connection with women’s bodies which was unusual for Greek painted pottery. Although the Eretria Painter’s epinetron is in excellent condition and was

* I thank Clemente Marconi for first suggesting this avenue of research to me. 1 Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1629: ARV 2 1250.34, 1688. For questions of attribution, see ARV 2 cit.; Lezzi-Hafter 1988, 44; on iconography, see Schweitzer 1961a–b. 2 Oakley and Sinos 1993, 40–1; Lezzi-Hafter 1988, 254; Moore 1997, 75, n. 1.

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perhaps never intended for daily use, its imagery nonetheless responds imaginatively to the constraints of the vessel’s form, and must be analyzed with the physical connection to the owner’s body in mind. In my discussion of the Eretria Painter’s epinetron, I would like to demonstrate how an understanding of the vessel’s form and function, as described above, can help us to interpret its meaning more fully. I will begin with the sculpted bust, which has received much less attention than the painted scenes, despite its size and prominent placement.3 The bust shows the head and upper body, to mid-chest, of a woman wearing a sakkos covering her hair, but nothing else. When discussed, it is usually said to represent Aphrodite, on account of its nudity.4 Yet neither Aphrodite nor any other goddess is represented in such fashion in this period, ca. 425 B.C. Another explanation should consequently be sought, which will necessarily impinge upon our reading of the object as a whole. I will then turn to the three more familiar painted scenes. These images, when read correctly as a sequence moving across the vessel, offer a narrative of the process of transition from parthenos to nymphe. They show the adornment of the bride Harmonia, the marriage of Thetis—represented as an abduction, but with details suggesting both the bride’s acquiescence and the official, ceremonial character of the action—and Alkestis on the day after her wedding, receiving gifts in a ritual known as the epaulia. The unifying theme is that of the bride’s progression from a wilder to a more civilized state via marriage. This is conveyed above all through images of cultivation and domestication. The parthenos’ uncontrolled and potentially dangerous power, illustrated most clearly here by Thetis’s seahorse attacking Peleus in the second scene, may, it is suggested, be channeled but not destroyed through marriage. Taken together, the epinetron’s painted scenes offer a complex and nuanced, yet thematically unified, exploration of the wedding ceremony as a coming-of-age ritual for women. This unusually specific focus on marriage has in turn influenced scholarly discussions of the object’s function, and the epinetron has often been interpreted as a wedding gift;5 the painted scenes might then offer mythological pro3

See for instance the treatment of Lezzi-Hafter 1988, 255–56; Schweitzer 1961a,

10. 4 5

Lezzi-Hafter 1988, 260; Schweitzer 1961a, 10. Lezzi-Hafter 1988, 262; Simon 1976, 146–47.

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totypes for the bride’s lived experience. This is a reasonable alternative but not the only one. Epinetra were also dedicated in sanctuaries, particularly those of female deities;6 this elaborately painted and gilded vessel might have made an impressive gift for a goddess, perhaps on the occasion of a girl’s marriage. But whatever its intended or original function, the Eretria Painter’s work likely served in the end as a sepulchral offering; the best evidence for its discovery suggests that it was found in a necropolis, together with other vases traditionally used as grave goods.7 Of course, not all objects associated with graves need have a distinctive funerary meaning, as recent research on sepulchral culture suggests.8 Still, given the epinetron’s archaeological context, it is worth examining in what ways the vessel might have been considered appropriate by those who placed it in the grave. In Classical texts such as Sophocles’ Antigone, the analogies between weddings and funerary rites formed a familiar literary topos.9 In my conclusion I will explore how the same connections might be suggested visually on the epinetron, for viewers who participated in the funerary rituals and might thus be particularly receptive to such resonances. Since considerable scholarly attention has been focused on the attribution and dating of the epinetron, only a brief discussion is necessary here. In subject matter and style, the epinetron is characteristic of a part of the Eretria Painter’s artistic production, as recently reconstructed by Adrienne Lezzi-Hafter.10 While the artist produced many quickly executed, rather repetitive cups with scenes appropriate to the symposium context, he is best known for his work in a variety of shapes—including squat lekythoi and pyxides as well as epinetra— which were used by women. The scenes depicted include mortal women preparing for weddings, and also female personifications and divinities. With their elegant ladies, leisurely and pleasurable activities, and fluttering erotes, they show what might be termed the world of Aphrodite. Such scenes are more elaborately composed than those on the cups, and are executed in the refined and delicate style for which the Eretria Painter is best known. 6

See infra, 101. See infra, 102. 8 See for instance the methodological considerations discussed by Paul Zanker (2000) in his study of Roman sarcophagi. 9 Sophocles, Ant. 810; Anth. Pal. 7 182, 188. 10 Lezzi-Hafter 1988. 7

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Lezzi-Hafter dates the epinetron to ca. 425 B.C. based on her reconstruction of the artist’s development as well as comparisons with sculpture.11 The work’s style, with its emphasis on fine, almost transparent drapery, supports such a dating. The epinetron extends further the exploration of sensuously modeled women’s bodies, both revealed and concealed by delicate clothing, which can be seen for instance in the figure of Aphrodite from the East Pediment of the Parthenon. Sculpted grave reliefs, and in vase painting the productions of the Meidias Painter, show the popularity of this style in the period. The extensive use of gilding, for instance for the jewelry of the painted figures, and the hair of the sculpted bust, is a technical detail likewise characteristic for this date and class of object.12 The epinetron exemplifies a rarely studied but significant development in late fifth century B.C. vase painting, the increased production of vessels made for a female audience. These vases—for instance jewelry containers, makeup cases, and perfume bottles—are distinctive not only in form, but also in subject matter and style. They show representations of women’s lives, such as weddings, worship of female divinities, or domestic scenes, rendered in a romanticized manner. Scholars have regularly acknowledged this development in pottery production, yet have rarely investigated such works as objects created for Classical Greek women; the “Pandora” exhibition, organized by Ellen Reeder at the Walters Art Gallery in 1995, remains a notable exception.13 Although the artists and buyers of these works were most probably male, such an investigation may nevertheless provide valuable insights into the visual culture and lived experience of Athenian women. The wedding scenes on the Eretria Painter’s epinetron deploy familiar mythological narratives to explore contemporary women’s emotions regarding marriage; they thus offer a useful case study of a work of art targeted at a female audience. The practical function of the epinetron as a vessel, in general terms, is clear and well known; as discussed above, it served as an aid in spinning. Since neither artists nor writers depict the process of wool-working in great detail, the specifics are subject to debate. Scholars differ on whether the epinetron was used to produce a 11

Lezzi-Hafter 1988, 262. The best comparanda are vases executed by the Meidias Painter, on which see Burn 1987; see also the treatment of two such works in Couelle 1996. 13 Reeder 1995. 12

the world of aphrodite in the late fifth century b.c. 101 rough thread from unspun wool, or removed impurities for a very fine thread.14 There is likewise disagreement as to the proper name for the vessel, now referred to as an epinetron, or less frequently, as an onos; both terms are late, and supplied only by lexicographers.15 The distinction between the two terms, and the appropriateness of one or the other for the form in question is, however, unclear.16 Due to the epinetron’s identification with wool-working—a critical, and near-constant, duty of Classical Athenian wives—the vessel had symbolic as well as practical value. As a sign of a diligent woman, busy with her household tasks, an epinetron was a fitting dedication to Athena, goddess of crafts, on the Akropolis.17 But it is intriguing to note that the vessels also served as votives at sanctuaries of Demeter and Kore (in Eleusis,18 Corinth,19 Selinus,20 and as far afield as Cyrene),21 and at shrines to Artemis in the Piraeus22 and at Brauron.23 The common thread uniting these various sanctuaries is, first, the female nature of the divinities worshipped, appropriate for an object preeminently associated with women. But perhaps one might go farther and suggest that the virginity of Athena and Artemis—and the youth of Kore in her role as daughter of Demeter—also connects them. The epinetra found at Brauron and Piraeus, in sanctuaries particularly associated with the maturing and acculturation of young girls, are especially thought-provoking; they hint at a connection between the vessels and the transition from girlhood to adulthood.24 This association between epinetra and girls’ sexual maturation may help explain the vessels’ use as grave gifts. For instance, a girl’s burial in Athens contained a miniature epinetron, together with four

14

Oakley and Sinos 1993, 40–1; Lezzi-Hafter 1988, 254; Moore 1997, 75, n. 1. E.g., Poll., Onom. 7.32 (both terms). 16 Lang 1908; Schweitzer 1961a, 7–10. 17 Athens, National Archaeological Museum, Akropolis Collection 1.2613, 1.2599, 1.2603; 1.2611 (black-figure). 18 Eleusis, Archaeological Museum 475, 907 (black-figure). 19 Corinth, Archaeological Museum C64.312, C72.202, C73.317 (black-figure). 20 Palermo, Museo Archeologico Regionale: ABV 480.B likely from the Sanctuary of Malophoros (Demeter). 21 Cyrene, Museum 26.5, 35.6, 21.2, 42.10 (black-figure). 22 Piraeus, Museum KA 57, KA 58, KA 59 (red-figure). 23 Brauron, Archaeological Museum, black-figure fragment (Para 319: Diosphos Painter); black-figure fragment with women’s scenes (Para 250); black-figure Amazonomachy (Keuls 1985, 319, fig. 286). 24 On Brauron, see Reeder 1995, 321; on the sanctuary of Artemis Mounychia in Piraeus, see Palaiokrassa 1991, 190–91. 15

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terracotta figurines and a similarly miniaturized lebes gamikos, gifts commemorating the marriage and adult status she failed to achieve.25 And the Eretria Painter’s work likely hails from one of the cemeteries of Eretria, as is documented in the case of another red-figured epinetron of contemporary date.26 According to the Archaiologikon Deltion of 1892, the Eretria Painter’s epinetron was uncovered by the antiquities dealer Ioannis Lampros there the previous year.27 It then entered the collection of the National Museum of Athens, along with eight other vases found by Lampros, mostly white-ground lekythoi; the lekythoi likewise suggest a funerary context. But since the discovery did not occur in the course of an official excavation, the precise location of the find is unclear, and discussion of the context must remain hypothetical. The varied associations of the epinetron as a vessel form—a utilitarian object for spinning, a sanctuary dedication, and a grave gift—should however be kept in mind as we interpret the Eretria Painter’s work. When the epinetron was used in wool-working, the sculpted bust would have been the most prominent and visible part of the vessel for viewers, projecting from the wearer’s knee (Fig. 8.5). Its frontal presentation of an idealized woman’s head and chest would mirror, in miniature, those of the vessel’s owner, drawing a visual analogy between the living woman, and her terracotta counterpart. It therefore deserves close analysis in terms of its visual associations, and its meaning within the larger program of the vessel. The bust depicts the head, shoulders, and breasts of a youthful but mature woman, whose white skin, brown eyes with black pupils and brows, gilded hair, and red sakkos and lips give her considerable animation.28 Her sober gaze, and severe, rather heavy-chinned face, have been compared with earlier Classical works, such as the sculpted sphinx on a rhyton by the Sotades Painter of ca. 460 B.C.29 While comparanda for the bust’s style are not difficult to come by, there are few contemporary parallels for its explicit rendering of the

25

Higgins 1969, 186 no. 706, pl. 91. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 2383: ARV 2 1082.21; see also Gex 1993, 65, 104. 27 Archaiologikon Deltion, 1892, 74–80. On Lampros see Gex 1993, 12; Petrarchos 1987, fig. 27. 28 Hartwig 1891, 139; Lezzi-Hafter 1988, 255. 29 Lezzi-Hafter 1988, 255–56. 26

the world of aphrodite in the late fifth century b.c. 103 woman’s nude breasts. When women are shown fully or partly nude in the late fifth century, they generally form part of mythological or daily life narratives that justify their nakedness as part of the story; they are taking baths, or being abducted by centaurs, or, as hetairai, participating in a symposium.30 Here the situation and effect are different, since the woman is an isolated, autonomous figure. As demonstrated by her sakkos—worn by married women and hetairai, and thus a sign of controlled sexuality—the nudity of her body is a deliberate and meaningful choice. It is usually suggested that this is Aphrodite, and indeed, starting by about the mid-fourth century with the Aphrodite of Knidos by Praxiteles, sculptures of the love goddess begin to be shown nude in order to represent positively her sexual desirability.31 But in the late fifth century, Aphrodite bares, at most, a shoulder; this would be unprecedented. Instead of positing anachronistic comparisons to later Aphrodite sculptures, we should look for parallels to the bust in contemporary terracotta production. While most Classical female figurines are clothed, it is interesting that, in the mid to late fifth century B.C., we see increased production of truncated naked terracottas resembling the bust on the epinetron (Fig. 8.7).32 These generally show the armless torso of a nude woman, and are preserved not only in terracotta and marble figurines, but also on Attic grave reliefs of the late fifth to early fourth centuries, where they are held by girls. The representations on grave reliefs demonstrate that these objects, commonly referred to as “dolls,” were never meant to have additional limbs, but were considered complete in this form. They depict adult women, whose strongly defined breasts and hips testify to their sexual maturity, often with hair pulled up into a sakkos. In style, most appear to be of Attic manufacture, although similar figurines have been found at the sanctuary of Demeter and Kore in Corinth.33 As Joan Reilly has argued, these truncated figurines should be understood not as dolls but as votives, comparable to the terracotta legs, arms, etc. dedicated in sanctuaries as thank-offerings for successful cures, and probably to be identified with the somata listed in temple

30 31 32 33

Cohen 1997b. On the Aphrodite of Knidos see Havelock 1995 with earlier bibliography. Reilly 1997. Merker 2000, 48–50.

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inventories.34 Due to their emphasis on sexual maturity, Reilly sees the figurines as votives for a girl’s successful passage to adulthood. This would be signaled both by menarche and by marriage, and was considered by the Greeks as a time of particular danger.35 The figurines held by girls on grave reliefs may then be understood as reminders of a failed transition for the deceased. If the sculpted bust of the Eretria Painter’s epinetron was indeed meant to resemble votives dedicated by girls close to sexual maturity, then this has important implications for its meaning here. On an object made for a woman, and decorated elsewhere with scenes of marriage rituals, the bust represented the sexually mature female that the bride, it was hoped, would become. The visual mirroring between the bust and the epinetron’s user would intensify the analogy between the two. In this way, the bust embodies an ideal mature woman, the goal of the process of transition illustrated in the three painted scenes. The epinetron’s painted scenes, often considered in isolation from the bust and from each other, must in fact be understood as a cohesive visual program. They depict three moments in the course of the wedding ritual—the adornment of the bride, the marriage ceremony itself, and the presentation of gifts on the day after the wedding— that, taken together, encapsulate the bride’s transition from parthenos to nymphe.36 Furthermore, these scenes are placed on the epinetron in a manner which allows them to be viewed in sequence. They should be “read” as moving across the body of the woman using the epinetron, while their narrative progression echoes the physical trajectory of the object. The movement is from a more public to a more private, and explicitly sexual, space; significantly, the culminating figure of Alkestis, at the open door of her marriage chamber, would be directly adjacent to the wearer’s pubic area. The epinetron thus alludes, in physical as well as in visual terms, to sexual initiation as the act marking a woman’s transition from youth to adulthood. The first scene is that of the marriage preparations of Harmonia, which appears on the right side of the vessel, presumably most vis34

Reilly 1997. Reilly 1997, 163. 36 As first suggested by Adrienne Lezzi-Hafter (1988, 258), although she reads the bust not as an idealized mature female, the culmination of this process, but as the goddess Aphrodite. 35

the world of aphrodite in the late fifth century b.c. 105 ible since it would be on the outside of the wearer’s right thigh (Fig. 8.2). The bride, seated in the center, twists nervously in her chair and looks towards her companion for reassurance. Such a depiction of the bride is by no means unique to this mythological scene, but is rather a topos of marriage imagery; vases made for weddings, for instance a lebes gamikos by the Painter of Athens 1454, similarly highlight the bride’s hesitation, and the physical affection shown by her friends in response (Fig. 8.8). At the same time, both vases place this central scene within a broader context, that of the ritual of adornment. This is clearly indicated through mirrors, jewelry, and perfume bottles, represented in an elegant and carefully detailed manner highlighted by gilding. With the aid of such accoutrements, the bride’s natural beauty will be cultivated and enhanced so as to make her seductively appealing to her husband. The presence of Eros, and on the epinetron of Himeros (desire) as well, suggests that she will be successful. The bride’s hesitation, and the emphasis on adornment as a means to increase her husband’s desire for her, are both characteristic features of the Classical Greek wedding ritual.37 It was expected that the bride should be hesitant, given that she was commonly marrying a virtual stranger, twice her age and far more sophisticated and sexually experienced.38 Literary sources such as lyric and tragedy stress the trauma for the bride of her first sexual encounter by comparing it metaphorically to the plucking of a flower or the yoking of an animal.39 On such occasions, the girl’s friends played an important role. Traditionally, they spent the wedding night outside the bride’s door, singing songs and calling her by pet names to reassure her.40 The ritual of adornment was likewise critical to the Greek wedding, as literary and visual sources attest. The many scenes of brides putting on elaborate dresses, jewelry, veils, and similar accoutrements on red-figure vases find their literary counterpart in descriptions such as that of the bride Glauke in Euripides’ Medea. Medea poisons her rival by sending a beautiful robe and crown for her wedding; the

37 Hesitation: Seaford 1987, 110–19; adornment: Oakley and Sinos 1993, 16–21; Reeder 1995, 126–28. 38 Reeder 1995, 126. 39 Flower: Sappho frr. 105a–b; Soph., Trach. 144–49. Domestication: Hom., Il. 18.432 (of Thetis); Eur., Bacch. 468, Phoen. 337, Alc. 994. 40 Sappho fr. 30; Poll., Onom. 3.42; Schol. Theoc., Id. 18.

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Corinthian princess puts them on immediately and gazes at herself in the mirror, only to find that she is turning pale and, soon, foaming at the mouth.41 While in Euripides, it is the bride herself who finds her costume irresistible, elsewhere her effect on others is indicated, for instance through allusions to Aphrodite. A bride in the second century A.D. novel of Achilles Tatius puts on a dress of gold and purple; its appeal is suggested by the author’s comment that it has been dyed the same color as the love goddess’s.42 And the heroines of epic, when they wish to appear at their most attractive, are adorned like brides. Hera, when she seduces Zeus in the Iliad, and the Pandora of the Theogony, are both good examples of this practice.43 The scene of Thetis follows that of Harmonia both in terms of narrative progression and of placement on the vase (Fig. 8.3). Located on a small strip just above the wearer’s knee and perpendicular to the other two scenes, it provides a transition between them. In contrast to Harmonia’s quiet scene of preparation, that of Thetis is full of violent activity; it is the moment of crisis. The sea-nymph struggles with Peleus, twisting her body and reaching out her right arm to signal her distress, while the sea-horse, symbol of her shape-changing abilities, attacks from the left. Thetis’ resistance, and her feral nature, are clearly illustrated, as in other renderings of the myth in vase painting (Fig. 8.9).44 At the same time, the scene has been reformulated here in ways that suggest the legitimacy of Peleus’ effort, and the likelihood of Thetis’ eventual consent to her marriage. For instance, Thetis’ father, Nereus, stands directly beside the struggling couple, like a father of the bride formally handing his daughter over to her husband; on a vase by the Kleophrades Painter, by contrast, he is far from the contest, and his agitated daughters flee to him (Fig. 8.9).45 In addition, Peleus is presented like the bridegroom of contemporary vase painting, nude and youthful, with his long hair bound up by a festive wreath. His action, as he grasps Thetis by the waist, is typical of

41

Eur., Med. 1156–75. Achilles Tatius 2.11.2–4. 43 Hom., Il. 14.159–223; Hes., Theog. 573–80. 44 For comparisons with earlier scenes of Peleus and Thetis, see Schweitzer 1961a, 14–19. 45 On the role of the father of the bride, see Oakley and Sinos 1993, 25. Krater by the Kleophrades Painter: Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 77.AE.11: ARV 2 186.51. 42

the world of aphrodite in the late fifth century b.c. 107 bridegrooms lifting their wives into wedding chariots for the procession to their new home (Fig. 8.10).46 For her part, Thetis raises her veil with her left hand in a gesture perhaps referring to the anakalypteria. This was the moment in the wedding ceremony in which the bride was presented by her father to the groom; her gesture was meant to signal her acceptance of her new husband.47 The exchange of gazes that ensued was thought to be extremely powerful, creating in each a sense of love and desire for the other; it is consequently often shown as a kind of visual shorthand for marriage in vase painting.48 Here the gesture hints that despite her resistance, Thetis will accept her marriage. The process of domestication—frequently alluded to in epithalamia, and thus likely a topos of the wedding ceremony—has already begun.49 This domestication would be understood by viewers in a positive sense, together with other elements of the ceremony in which marriage is depicted as a transition to a more civilized state.50 Young girls are often equated with wild animals in myth—for instance Atalanta, suckled by a mother bear—and in cult, as at Brauron.51 As Ellen Reeder has argued, in Greek thought this feral aspect was a source of their sexual attractiveness to men.52 Through marriage, this energy might find its proper channel, maintaining the wife’s seductive appeal to her husband; the girl’s animal nature was to be tamed, but not destroyed. The final scene shows a group of women visiting Alkestis in her new home on the day after her marriage, in a ritual known as the epaulia (Fig. 8.1).53 This scene, while frequently illustrated in vase painting handbooks, would have been extremely difficult to view when the vessel was in use, as it decorated the side of the epinetron covering the wearer’s inner thigh. As noted above, the position of the scene relative to the wearer’s body underscores its intimate character, since it depicts the women’s quarters and offers a view of the bedroom and marriage bed itself. 46

Jenkins 1983. Oakley and Sinos 1993, 25–26. 48 E.g., the gaze between bride and groom on a red-figure loutrophoros of ca. 425 B.C. (Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 03.802). 49 On the concept of marriage as a process of domestication, see above n. 39. 50 Oakley and Sinos 1993, 27; Reeder 1995, 127; Seaford 1987, 106. 51 Reeder 1995, 299–372. 52 Reeder 1995, 299–300. 53 Oakley and Sinos 1993, 38–42 with references. 47

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The bed’s prominent position within the scene, as it projects outwards from the bedroom’s open doors, makes explicit the sexual nature of the transition which Alkestis has experienced. So too does her unusual leaning posture, which assimilates her to Aphrodite, goddess of sexual love. Scholars have noted that the pose echoes that of images of Aphrodite in contemporary vase painting and sculpture, which Angelos Delivorrias has connected to the cult of Aphrodite at Daphni.54 Using votive reliefs from the Daphni sanctuary as well as parallels in vase painting, Delivorrias reconstructs the statue with Aphrodite leaning on a tree (Fig. 8.11).55 This invocation of the natural world, he argues, is meant to associate the goddess’s sexual power with the fecundity of nature, and should correspond to the cult title of Aphrodite en kepois, known from the Athenian sanctuary near the Ilissos.56 On the epinetron, Alkestis leans instead on her marriage-bed, the source of her own, human, fertility. But she is surrounded by images of the natural world turned cultivated and decorative, for instance wreaths hanging on the walls, vases filled with branches, and the pet bird perched on one woman’s finger. Just as Thetis’ seahorse in the previous scene symbolized the dangers of the parthenos’ feral nature, so here the branches, bird, etc. suggest the benefits of the bride’s new fecundity, derived from nature but made productive through cultivation. To sum up, the Eretria Painter’s epinetron represents marriage as a ritual of transition, in which a young woman passes from wild virgin to sexually mature, cultivated, and fecund wife. In so doing, she enters the “world of Aphrodite.” As depicted on this vessel and many others made for women during the late fifth century, this is a world of pleasure and romance, of weddings with beautiful brides and youthful, handsome grooms, their love signaled by erotes darting about them. It is also the world of feminine adornment, of silk and perfume and, self-referentially, of lekythoi, pyxides, and epinetra very like the vessels on which these scenes appear. Above all, this is the world of the garden, and of cultivated nature as a blossoming and fertile space. It is thus appropriate that in just this period the cult

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Lezzi-Hafter 1988, 261; on the Daphni cult see Delivorrias 1968. Delivorrias 1968, 24–25. 56 Delivorrias 1968; Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 48–51; Paus. 1.19.2. On Aphrodite’s connection with the fertility of the natural world, as expressed in literary texts, see also Seaford 1987, 114. 55

the world of aphrodite in the late fifth century b.c. 109 and representation of Aphrodite en kepois rose to prominence. As demonstrated with particular clarity by the emulation of Alkestis, the goddess in the gardens serves as a prototype—fusing the fecundity of nature and the civilizing force of culture—for the ideal bride. Aphrodite’s connection to marriage has not always been sufficiently acknowledged, perhaps because it seems an awkward fit with her literary persona, as unenthusiastic wife and, indeed, as renowned adulteress. Nonetheless, it is critical to her cult as practiced in Classical Greece. Sanctuaries of Aphrodite Nymphia are documented in Hermione and Troezen, and a cult of Aphrodite Harma (signifying the harmony necessary for marital happiness) in Delphi.57 Elsewhere, for instance at Sparta and Naupactos, she received offerings from women on the occasion of their marriage.58 In Athens, cults of Aphrodite Ourania in the Agora and Aphrodite Pandemos on the south slope of the Akropolis, have likewise been linked to marriage, and especially to pre-nuptial offerings.59 The prevalence of these rituals is confirmed by Diodoros Siculus in his comment that, “To Aphrodite has been entrusted the time in girl’s lives, in which they must be married, and the rest of the observances which are still now a part of wedding ceremonies, together with the sacrifices and libations which men make to this goddess” (5.73.2). Aphrodite and associated deities—not only her son Eros, but also personifications like Peitho—were important for ensuring marital success because of the emphasis on sexuality in the Greek institution of marriage. This can be seen in literary sources, as well as the traditional nuptial formula, “I give you this woman for the ploughing of legitimate children.”60 The same concept is expressed visually in images such as that of Alkestis, leaning on her marriage bed and surrounded by objects symbolic of human and natural fertility. At the same time, both literary and artistic sources stress the importance of erotic desire as a means of strengthening the emotional bond between husband and wife. For women particularly, restricted as they were to one sexual partner and expected to bear many children by him, the goodwill of Aphrodite must have seemed critical.

57 58 59 60

Sparta: Paus. 2.34.12; Naupactos: Paus. 2.32.7; Delphi: Plut., Mor. 769A. Paus. 3.15.10–11. Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 422. Men., Sam. 726–27.

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The Eretria Painter’s epinetron, and similar vessels discussed in this essay, offer an attractively romanticized representation of marriage and the bride’s entrance into the world of Aphrodite. Yet in focusing exclusively on the appealing aspects of this transition, we risk disregarding certain potentially negative resonances of the iconography: the interconnections seen by the Greeks between marriage, sexuality, and death. Classical literature frequently treats the subject of brides who die on the eve of their marriage, or just after, and the tragedians exploit this idea to its fullest extent. In Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis, for instance, the heroine is summoned to the Greek camp under the pretense of marriage with Achilles, but is instead killed as a sacrifice by Agamemnon. So too Sophocles’ Antigone, sentenced to burial alive by Kreon, calls her final resting place both tomb and marriage chamber (891). The myths selected for the Eretria Painter’s epinetron, and the manner in which they were represented visually, similarly leave open the possibility of a ‘tragic’ reading of the vessel. Such a reading might have appeared particularly compelling to viewers if the vessel was indeed used as a grave gift; the images of transition could then be understood as alluding proleptically to the passage from life to death. Comparisons with other works of art, particularly those of pronounced sepulchral character, are suggestive. The depiction of Harmonia’s adornment, for instance, recalls scenes of women putting on their funerary attire on white-ground lekythoi, and reminds us that corpses, too, were bathed, anointed, and beautifully dressed before burial.61 So too Thetis’ abduction might recall that of Persephone by Hades, depicted as a wedding on contemporary vases, but with clear funerary significance also.62 And finally, Alkestis is an ambiguous figure. While she wears her bridal costume, her leaning posture, and connection to her marriage bed, may also be read as alluding to the day of her death, as has been suggested by Erika Simon.63 In Euripides’ Alkestis, composed shortly before the epinetron was created,

61 Parker 1983, 35; Seaford 1987, 107. A ca. 430 B.C. white-ground lekythos by the Phiale Painter, now in Munich (Staatliche Antikensammlung 6248) shows a woman putting on a crown by the tomb, with Hermes Psychopompos waiting. 62 Jenkins 1983, 142. A fragmentary red-figure skyphos shows Persephone and Hades in a chariot, accompanied by torch-bearers as typically for wedding processions (Hölscher 1980, pl. 42). 63 Simon 1976, 146.

the world of aphrodite in the late fifth century b.c. 111 she flings herself upon her bed and declares that “you have been my death.”64 Alkestis’ marriage nearly proves fatal; she sacrifices herself for her husband, and is saved only by the intervention of Herakles. For Classical Athenian women too, marriage and sexual intercourse could be perilous—as in most pre-industrial societies, death in childbirth was frequent65—and so it is perhaps appropriate that on the epinetron, Alkestis’ leaning pose resembles not only sculptures of Aphrodite, but also funerary reliefs of women who died during labor.66 The world of Aphrodite was dangerous as well as beautiful. This article began by noting the extraordinary character of the Eretria Painter’s epinetron, exemplified by its unusually complex and thematically unified composition, as well as its high level of execution. It might be argued that such qualities make it difficult to extend the insights gained from a close reading of this vase to other works. My analysis does, however, suggest some potentially fruitful avenues of investigation. The first concerns the epinetron as a form or class of object. I have stressed the three-dimensional, sculptural qualities of the vessel, and the close physical connection established between its decoration and the body of its owner. It would be worthwhile to examine whether similar connections might be established for other epinetra, and to consider the possible relationships between the placement of scenes, their iconography, and their reception by viewers. The article also raises broader questions about the analysis of objects made for women. The Eretria Painter’s epinetron offers an overview of some significant and recurring themes—the gynaikeion, the wedding, the garden—but it is by no means comprehensive. It would be useful to consider what other themes are popular and, conversely, what is not or cannot be shown. One might also investigate how the iconographical repertoire differs from that of, for instance contemporary vases made for other purposes, or compare how the same myths are represented on vessels targeted at different

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Eur., Alc. 179–80. On the dangers of death in childbirth see e.g. Brulé (2001, 176); cf. Medea’s famous comment that she would rather stand in the front line of battle three times than bear one child (Eur., Med. 250–51). These dangers would be increased when girls were married young, as was common in Athens (Keuls 1985, 138–44); Aristotle’s comment (Pol. 1335a 18–19) that women should be married later, at around 20, because of this demonstrates ancient awareness of the problem. 66 For a discussion and example of these reliefs, see Friis-Johansen (1951, 50–52, fig. 26). 65

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audiences. As with iconography, so style, too, might be further explored. Of particular interest is the relationship between what is depicted and how it is shown; can one, for instance, speak of a characteristic style for these works? Finally, to what extent do such representations reflect not only ideals for women’s lives (created by, and presumably bought by, men), but also their realities? Whether these questions, or others, are selected, there is considerable material for further research. In recent years, the depiction in vase painting of such quintessentially masculine spaces as the andron and the gymnasium has been extensively analyzed; their social context, in terms of sympotic and athletic activities, has been reconstructed; and their semiotics elucidated.67 The world of the gynaikeion and the garden— the world, in short, of Aphrodite—merits, and would repay, similar attention.

67 E.g. many of the essays collected in Bérard 1989, and more recently Neer 2002.

CHAPTER NINE

THE PAESTAN PAINTER ASTEAS Erika Simon

Our concept of the Paestan painter Asteas depends heavily on the work of Arthur Dale Trendall, especially on the two books he wrote at the beginning and toward the end of his remarkable career: Paestan Pottery in 1936 and The Red-Figured Vases of Paestum in 1987, half a century later.1 Trendall did not know the calyx-krater signed by Asteas in the collection of the late Takuhiko Fujita (Figs. 9.7–8, 10).2 This vase will throw new light on this most important Paestan painter as well as on his colleague Python. Trendall assembled eleven signed vases by Asteas.3 With the calyx-krater Fujita there are now twelve. Asteas liked this shape. It is the seventh calyx-krater signed by him that is known, whereas we have only one signed bell-krater by him— the Kadmos vase in Naples (Fig. 9.1).4 The signature on the Fujita krater is written in white below the main scene on the obverse. The white paint is not well preserved but is visible on the original.5 The publication of an important new piece can enrich and/or change our picture of an artist. I think both are the case here. First some general remarks about the chronology of Asteas. When Trendall quotes one of the painter’s vases, for example in LIMC, he dates it to the third quarter of the fourth century B.C.6 This is also the

1

Trendall 1987. Published by the author in Numismatica e antichità classiche: quaderni ticinesi 2002, 115–27. 3 Trendall 1987, 84–103 nos. 125–35. 4 Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 82258: Zahn 1931, 80–81, fig. 5; Trendall 1987, 85 no. 132, 95–96, pl. 52; LIMC V (1990) pl. 559, Kadmos I no. 23 (M. A. Tiverios). 5 I thank deeply Toshiko (Tosca) Fujita, Takuhiko’s widow, who helped me in studying the original. I could see “Assteas,” not “egraphe.” As all other vases signed by Asteas have two words (Trendall 1987, 84), “egraphe” is perhaps still to be detected. The krater will be on loan in the Antikenmuseum Basel. 6 See, e.g., LIMC I (1981) s.v. Alkmene nos. 2 and 18 (A. D. Trendall). For the 2

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period of other well-known vase-painters in Sicily, Apulia, Lucania, and Campania. They all have modern names in archaeology, like the Underworld Painter, the Darius Painter, and so on. Asteas and Python, who painted in the same workshop,7 are the only vasepainters of late classical Magna Graecia who signed some of their works. They seem to have been more self-assured than all other vase-painters of that time, even in Athens. And because they did not sign the numerous run-of-the-mill-vases, but only some masterpieces, they seem to have made these pieces for a particular purpose. Perhaps these vases were special commissions. What did people of the third quarter of the fourth century want to see on such vases? In Periplous, the Festschrift for Sir John Boardman,8 I try to explain why at that time, the time of Alexander the Great, so many mythological scenes were connected with the city of Thebes. Think of Kadmos’ fight with the Theban dragon,9 of Theban myths around Dionysos,10 of Niobe and her children11 or stories about Herakles and his Theban wife Megara,12 about the Seven against Thebes13 and so on. There was one occurrence that brought Thebes at that time in everybody’s mind: the destruction of the city by Alexander in 335 B.C. The whole Greek world was shocked. After Alexander’s early death funds were raised, also in Magna Graecia, to rebuild Thebes.14 Many of the Theban themes of Asteas, I think, may be dated to the last ten years of his career, after the Theban catastrophe of 335 B.C. One of the most important is the bell-krater with Kadmos in chronology of Asteas see also Jentoft-Nilsen 1983, 145–46 and Trendall 1987, 103 and passim. 7 For the Asteas-Python workshop see Trendall 1987, 136–37 and 173–263. Other painters also worked in it, e.g. the Painter of Würzburg H 5739 (Trendall 1987, 174–83); CVA Würzburg 4 (Germany 71), pls. 46–47. 8 Simon 2000. 9 Apulian, Paestan and Campanian vases showing Kadmos and the Theban dragon: LIMC V (1990) s.v. Kadmos I nos. 21–27 (M. A. Tiverios). 10 Special Theban figures in Dionysiac myth are, e.g., Agaue, Aktaion, Antiope, Dirke, Pentheus, Semele (all in LIMC ). 11 For Niobe (and her children) in the art of South Italy see Trendall and Webster 1971, III.1, 23; Trendall 1985; CVA Malibu 4 (United States of America 27), pls. 183–85; LIMC VI (1992) s.v. Niobe nos. 10–20 (M. Schmidt); Simon 2000, 286. 12 LIMC VIII (1997) Supplementum s.v. Megara I nos. 2–9 (S. Woodford). 13 The Seven on Apulian kraters: LIMC VII (1994) s.v. Septem nos. 13–15; see also an oinochoe and an amphora, both Campanian, nos. 41 and 42 (I. Krauskopf ). 14 Diod. Sic. 19.53.8–54.2; see F. Schober in RE V A 2, 1479–83 s.v. Thebai (Boiotien).

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Naples already mentioned (Fig. 9.1).15 The signature “Assteas egraphe” is in the ivy frieze above the panel. Encouraged by Athena Kadmos throws a stone at the dragon emerging from a cave in the rocks. The dragon is the guardian of the spring whose nymph Krenaia appears as a bust above Kadmos. Behind her rises the old Theban river god Ismenos also in the form of a bust. Between them part of a radiate sun appears—more on this phenomenon later. The personification of the future town, Thebe, is seated above the dragon. She wears a polos on her head, a precursor of the mural crown of town goddesses. A special feature of this and Asteas’ other signed vases are the names inscribed above the heads on the main side. There are many unsigned vases without named figures. But where the painter writes his name, he gives also names to the mythological or non-mythological figures on the vase. An exception is an unsigned lekanis lid in Basel, which Trendall attributed to Asteas.16 The lid features many names. Kadmos fights the dragon again, and many Theban figures ring the scene. Behind Kadmos a female demon named Anak(.) = Ananke, Necessity, emerges from the ground.17 This can be interpreted as follows: Kadmos founded Thebes by necessity and in our days the town needs to be rebuilt. The Kadmos theme was repeated by Python on an unsigned calyxkrater in Paris (Fig. 9.2).18 He depicts the sun in the same place as Asteas had. The serpent’s rock is composed here of many small white stones. There are no name inscriptions, but Pan and a satyr are recognizable on the right. They point to their master Dionysos and his Theban origin. These three Kadmos vases seem all to have been painted after the destruction of Thebes in 335 B.C. This date fits their style. The same applies to the Europa krater in the Getty Museum (Fig. 9.3).19 15

See above n. 4. Basel, Antikenmuseum BS 1421: Trendall 1987, 108 no. 141, pl. 61; LIMC V (1990) s.v. Kadmos I no. 24 (M. A. Tiverios). 17 LIMC I (1981), s.v. Ananke 757–58 (E. Simon). 18 Paris, Musée du Louvre N 3157: Trendall 1987, 143 no. 241, pl. 90; LIMC V (1990) pl. 559, Kadmos I no. 25 (M. A. Tiverios). 19 Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 81.AE.78: Jentoft-Nilsen 1983 with excellent plates (figs. 1–4); Trendall 1987, 92–94 no. 129, pl. 49; CVA Malibu 4 (United States of America 27), pls. 231–34; LIMC IV (1988) pl. 38, Europe I no. 74 (M. Robertson). 16

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According to Trendall this is one of “the largest and perhaps most impressive vases signed by Asteas.” Its subject, Europa on the bull, was much beloved in ancient art, but in Paestan painting this is hitherto the only representation. The stories of Kadmos and Europa are closely related. Kadmos was Europa’s brother. He came to Greece to look for her after she had been raped by the bull. He did not find his sister, but—following a Delphic oracle—founded Thebes instead.20 On the Getty krater (Fig. 9.3) Europa is depicted sitting on a white bull. The group is flanked by Skylla and Triton who raise their arms in excitement. Fish and other sea creatures swim below. Above Europa a winged boy called Pothos—Desire—hovers in the air. Whereas on Asteas’ other vases busts and half figures appear in a horizontal row along the top, they are painted here in triangular panels. At the top left is Krete between Zeus and Hermes because the bull carries Europa to the island of Crete. At the top right, behind the bull, are Aphrodite and Adonis with Eros above them. The cult of Adonis came to Greece from the East21 like the Phoenician princess Europa and her brother Kadmos. We do not know where this calyx-krater was found. Several vases with the Asteas signature have been excavated at Paestum, for example the lekythos with the Hesperids in Naples.22 Other pieces were found in the vicinity of Paestum, in S. Agata, in Agropoli, or Buccino.23 When Robert Zahn wrote his important article on Asteas in 1931, he already located the artist’s workshop presumptively in PoseidoniaPaestum.24 Today, after many excavations in Magna Graecia, we can say that he was surely right. Trendall finally located Asteas and his companions in Paestum. The museum there houses numerous vases in Paestan style which must have been produced locally. Finds 20

Literary sources: LIMC V (1990) s.v. Kadmos I 863–65 (M. A. Tiverios). Moreover, the theme love is common to the story of Zeus and Europa and of Aphrodite and Adonis; see Jentoft-Nilsen 1983, 144. 22 Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81874: Trendall 1987, 86 no. 135, 99–103, pl. 57.—Other signed Asteas vases found in Paestum: Trendall 1987, nos. 126–27. 23 From S. Agata: Trendall 1987, 85 no. 132, see above n. 4 (Fig. 9.1); from Agropoli: Trendall 1987, 86 no. 134; from Buccino: Trendall 1987, 85 nos. 130–31. 24 Zahn 1931, 88–89, but he doubts that Asteas was born in Poseidonia and connects him with Apulia. The excavations of Luigi Bernabò Brea on the island of Lipari, which Zahn could not yet know, connect the style of Asteas, however, with Sicily (see below n. 25). For Zahn’s contributions see Trendall 1987, 9; for Bernabò Brea and the studies of Madeleine Cavalier see Trendall 1987, 22. 21

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on the island of Lipari just off the Sicilian coast are evidence that this typical Paestan style had its roots in Sicily.25 It is possible that Asteas came to Paestum from there. But this is outside the scope of my paper. Already in 1864 a vase with Asteas’ signature was found in Paestum: the famous calyx-krater in Madrid.26 It is signed with incised letters below the main panel, which shows the madness of Herakles. Asteas painted here a two-storey stage that in this case represents the Kadmeia of Thebes. In the upper floor one sees three busts, from left to right Mania—Madness—Herakles’ nephew Iolaos (written “Ioleos”), and the hero’s old mother Alkmene. They all look in his direction. His head appears in the central intercolumniation. Herakles wears a helmet with high feathers like a Samnite warrior and has greaves on his legs. In his arms he carries his small son whom he will throw into a log fire. The logs are the smashed furniture from his house. His Theban wife—the inscription calls her Megare—flees through the door on the right. There is a strange difference between the warrior Herakles who is dressed in armor as if for a battle and the furniture smashed in a fit of madness. But I do not see here a mixture of tragedy and comedy, a hilarotragedia, as some scholars have.27 It is a tragic madness comparable to that of Ajax who slaughtered innocent sheep. Sophocles’ tragedy Ajax has no comic connotation and neither does the madness of Herakles on this vase by Asteas. Alkmene is depicted as an old woman on the Madrid krater. On a bell-krater in the Vatican (Fig. 9.4)28 she appears as a beautiful young woman. Asteas did not sign this vase, Trendall attributed it to the painter. Inscriptions are totally lacking, but in spite of this the krater is one of Asteas’ masterpieces. Zeus and his messenger Hermes appear in comedy costume below a window, attracted by the female bust in it. 25 Trendall 1987, 22–23: “It now seems reasonably certain that the immediate forerunners of both Campanian and Paestan red-figure are to be found in the work of what may be regarded as the second generation of Sicilian vase-painters . . . There is no doubt that the local fabrics of Campania and Paestum both came into existence about the same time—in the second quarter of the fourth century B.C.—and that both strongly reflect the influence of the Sicilian painters.” See above n. 24. 26 Madrid, Museo Arqueológico Nacional 11094: Zahn 1931, 81, fig. 6; Trendall 1987, 84 no. 127, 89–90, pl. 46. 27 M. Bieber, R. Zahn and others; see Trendall 1987, 89–90. 28 Vatican 17106: Zahn 1931, 83, fig. 7; Trendall and Webster 1971, IV, 19; Trendall 1987, 124 no. 176 “one of the finest of the unsigned works of Asteas.”

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Zeus is characterized as an old king, but he carries a tall ladder, full of expectation. Hermes lights the way with a burning lamp that he holds in the manner of a symposiast holding the small kottabos cup.29 Trendall and others have convincingly called the woman Alkmene. In this love adventure that led to the birth of Herakles, Zeus was helped by Hermes. Think of Plautus’ comedy Amphitruo. Once again, Thebes is the place of the action. Alkmene is here a comic figure like Zeus and Hermes. In reality, Amphitryon’s wife Alkmene was known for her chastity. Here however Asteas has framed her in the window like a prostitute. Paestan painters were partial to the motif of the woman in the window. On a bell-krater in Würzburg attributed by Trendall to Python30 Dionysos in person wooes a woman in the window. A comic actor assists the god. They want to take the woman to a symposium. Instead of a lamp, the actor carries a torch to indicate that it is night. In the other hand he holds a metal stand which will be of interest in connection with the Fujita krater I mentioned at the beginning. The stand is part of the game named kottabos, a game that originated in archaic Sicily and was a favorite at symposia.31 There are more Theban subjects on vases of the Asteas-Python workshop than can be discussed here.32 I will mention just one more: a bell-krater in London signed by Python (Fig. 9.5).33 The signature is in the ivy frieze above the main panel. As was the case with Python’s Kadmos vase (Fig. 9.2), the painter seems to have copied a work by Asteas. The subject is Alkmene’s rescue by Zeus. Her husband Amphitryon had detected her unfaithfulness and Alkmene had fled to Zeus’ altar in the palace courtyard. Amphitryon has built

29 This was seen by Tosca Fujita (see above n. 5); compare the symposiasts here figs. 7–9. 30 Würzburg, Martin von Wagner Museum H 5771: Trendall 1987, 159 no. 278, pl. 102; CVA Würzburg 4 (Germany 71), pl. 45. 31 Sparkes 1960; Trendall 1987, 147. 32 Thus the fragmentary calyx-krater in Bari 3581 attributed to Python, showing the death of Archemoros: LIMC II (1984) pl. 355, Archemoros no. 2 (W. Pülhorn, who dates the piece too early in 360 B.C.); Trendall 1987, 144 no. 242, pl. 93. See also two bell-kraters attributed to Python, one in Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 2846 (Trendall and Webster 1971, II, 5; Trendall 1987, 160 no. 288, pl. 105) showing a silen in front of the Theban sphinx, and one in S. Agata 178 (Trendall 1987, 163 no. 307, pl. 108) showing the death of Aktaion (see above n. 10). 33 London, British Museum F 149: Zahn 1931, 88, fig. 10; Trendall and Webster 1971, III.3, 8; Trendall 1987, 139–41 no. 239, pl. 88.

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a pyre next to the altar in order to burn her alive. Alkmene prays to Zeus who promptly appears in the sky with two clouds (nephelai ), personified by two young girls pouring water from hydriae onto the pyre. They are depicted as busts like Zeus himself. Alkmene is surrounded by a rainbow like a halo, indicating that she is safe. All this is taking place in the morning as is shown by the female bust holding a mirror on the far right. An inscription names her Aos. This is Eos, the goddess of dawn. As we have seen on several other vases, Asteas and Python both like to indicate the time of day. The sun appears with Kadmos, to show that he founded Thebes in bright daylight (Figs. 9.1–2). Asteas provided Hermes with a lamp in order to show the nocturnal adventure (Fig. 9.4). Amphitryon threatens his wife Alkmene in the morning after having discovered her unfaithfulness during the night. He is about to light the pyre with the torches carried by himself and an assistant named Antenor. Asteas’ signed vases usually show either serious mythological subjects or comic parodies. The latter were always connected with theatrical performances, whereas the serious ones are not always identifiable with the stage. However, in the case of Herakles’ madness and Alkmene’s rescue, there are indications that the artist is referring to stage performances of tragedies, presumably by Euripides.34 A third area connected with theatrical performance appears to be a precursor of genre subjects as they were treated by Menander. Those plots revolve around events in daily life instead of mythical tradition. A famous example of this type of subject is the calyx-krater in Berlin signed by Asteas (Fig. 9.6).35 The action takes place on a high stage which modern archaeologists have termed “Asteas stage.” An old man named Charinos lies on top of his treasure chest. Two thieves, Gymnilos and Kosilos, are trying to pull him away. The man’s slave, Karion, stands helpless on the right. Trendall writes: “The story is represented as if it were being acted before our eyes.” The same may be said about the new calyx-krater by Asteas in the Fujita collection (Figs. 9.7–8). The style is somewhat earlier than

34 For the Alkmene of Euripides see Trendall and Webster 1971, III. 3, 6–8; for the madness of Herakles by the same poet: LIMC VIII (1997) Supplementum s.v. Megara I 828–29 (S. Woodford). 35 Berlin, Antikensammlung F3044: Zahn 1931, 70–82 (with color plate); Trendall and Webster 1971, IV, 14; Trendall 1987, 84 no. 125, 86–87, pl. 44.

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that of the vases we have looked at up till now, namely about 345–335 B.C. Four young men celebrate a symposium inside a built stage. Three of them are named: from left to right Antenor, Polyphra(smon), unnamed, and on the far right Euryphamos. These names do not appear together in any myth.36 They must be the names of people living in the painter’s own days. The young men do not wear theater costumes, but comic masks hang from the walls. Above the symposium is a second row of persons, as is customary on vases representing a stage inside a theater. On the right appears the upper body of Aphrodite, identified by an inscription that is painted in white. A young man lies opposite the goddess, facing her. He resembles the symposiasts in the lower tier. At first sight one might think he is Adonis, but close scrutiny of the vase itself shows that a thyrsos is painted behind him. Thus he must be Dionysos. A young satyr is his servant. Aphrodite’s companion is Eros. Returning to the lower tier, we must still identify the three figures in front of the couches. A young auletria playing the double flute stands in the center. Her skin is painted white and her legs appear bare, but originally she wore a long chiton beneath the purple cloak. The flute player on the far left is a Papposilenos wearing a leopard skin and kothornoi on his feet. On the far right a cup-bearer clad in no more than shoes busies himself at a black-figured krater. Similar subsidiary figures are known from a bell-krater in the Vatican attributed to Python (Fig. 9.9).37 The cup-bearer, a satyr boy with a small white tail, turns toward the banqueters, the female flute-player stands on the left, and Papposilenos with his double flute has fallen asleep in the center beneath the couch. There are only three symposiasts, not four as on the Fujita krater, and there are only comic masks above them, no divine figures like Aphrodite and Dionysos. 36 Antenor is the name of Amphitryon’s helper on the Python krater above n. 33: LIMC I (1981) s.v. Antenor II no. 2 (M. I. Davies, who thinks that Python “will have supplied a name for an anonymous servant”). Euryphamos and Polyphrasmon are not known from myth. 37 Vatican 17370: Hurschmann 1985, 144–49, pl. 20; Trendall 1987, 146–48 no. 245, pl. 92.—Similar, with three banqueters, are two fragmented bell-kraters attributed to Python: Paestum 21369 (Trendall 1987, 148–49 no. 246, pl. 93) and London, British Museum, from the wreck of the Colossus (Trendall 1987, 148 no. 247, pl. 93). Both were not known to Hurschmann. A symposium with two banqueters was painted by Python in the interior of the cup Paestum 21369 (Trendall

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Two of the three symposiasts—on the left and right of the Python krater—are playing the game of kottabos. They are balancing small kylikes on the index fingers of their right hands. Between we can make out a tall straight object, a kottabos stand. The participants in the game threw the dregs from their small cups at a metal disk attached to the kottabos stand. If the wine hit the disk, the metal fell down and made a sound, which was then interpreted as a love oracle. On the new krater (Figs. 9.7–8) Antenor and Euryphamos are ready to throw the dregs from their small kylikes at the kottabos stand which originally was painted in white behind the auletria. The other two banqueters raise their hands in a gesture that usually indicates expectation of an oracle.38 The stand must have reached into the divine sphere above, because one can see the dark underpainting of the white stand where it crosses the horizontal line dividing the two tiers. Aphrodite holds a purple ribbon, a tainia, which she will present to the winner of the game. The entire scene itself can be interpreted in two ways. The first interpretation stems from Trendall’s words on the Python krater in the Vatican (Fig. 9.9).39 He writes: “Dionysos was god of drama, and a symposium, especially with such a theatrical connection as we have here, seems a very likely way in which to render homage to the god, as successful actors might well wish to do.” It is possible that the Fujita krater should be interpreted similarly. However I would like to suggest a second possibility for these vases. The banqueters surrounded by actor’s attributes might be part of a performance telling a story unknown to us. One is tempted to think of the mime performances by Sophron of Syracuse, who is known to have rejected mythological subjects in favor of scenes from daily life.40 We have focused on the main panels of Asteas’ vases. Nevertheless I would like to make a few remarks about the painting on the reverse

1987, 148–49 no. 248, pl. 93; Hurschmann 1985, 198), found with his signed amphora, and on a lost vase of the Hamilton collection drawn by Tischbein (Trendall 1987, 161 no. 299; Hurschmann 1985, 198, pl. 7). 38 Thus Parthenopaios in front of Amphiaraos on the gold amphora from Panaguriste: Simon 2000, 285, fig. 1. The gesture was pointed out to me by Nancy de Grummond on Etruscan mirrors and on the fresco in the Villa of the Mysteries, Pompei. Her work will appear as a supplement to Journal of Roman Studies. 39 Trendall 1987, 147. 40 New edition of Sophron’s fragments: Kassel and Austin 2001, 187–253.

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of the new krater (Fig. 9.10). Trendall considered the reverse of a vase so important for style that he often based his attribution on it.41 The backs of Paestan kraters nearly always depict Dionysiac imagery. The Fujita krater’s reverse shows Dionysos in the center of a classical three-figure group. A maenad holding a thyrsos stands on the right, a bearded satyr on the left. The satyr rests one foot on a rock shaped like an omphalos. Tiny white dots on it are reminiscent of the woolen net covering the omphalos at Delphi. The three female busts in the upper zone could be the Thyiades (maenads) of Delphi. The fourth bust, on the far right, is that of a bearded satyr. In conclusion. The new calyx-krater signed by Asteas (Figs. 9.7–8, 10) broadens our insight into the range of subjects favored by this leading Paestan painter. The symposium subject, until now associated predominantly with his colleague Python, turns out to be an important subject for Asteas as well. Indeed, Asteas’ rendering of this subject on the Fujita krater appears to have inspired Python’s famous bell-krater in the Vatican (Fig. 9.9). Both vases appear to be stylistically somewhat earlier than other significant pieces made in the Asteas-Python workshop.

41 I learned this method from Trendall when he visited the Martin von Wagner Museum in Würzburg in the early seventies.

FIGURES

Shapiro Fig. 1.1. Satyrs and maenad at symposium. Side A of attic red-figure cup, attributed to the Colmar Painter, ca. 500 B.C. Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 73749. Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana, Firenze. Fig. 1.2. Satyrs and maenad at symposium. Side B of the cup in Fig. 1.1. Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana, Firenze. Fig. 1.3. Satyr and Dionysos. Interior of the cup in Fig. 1.1. Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana, Firenze. Fig. 1.4. Satyr crouching beside a column-krater. Attic red-figure cup, ca. 500 B.C. Mississippi, University, Art Museum 1977.3.103. Photo: Courtesy University Museums, University of Mississippi Cultural Center.

Barringer Fig. 2.1. Kalydonian boar hunt. Detail of attic black-figure volute-krater, signed by Kleitias and Ergotimos, ca. 570 B.C. Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 4209 (François Vase). Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana, Firenze. Fig. 2.2. Kalydonian boar hunt. Attic black-figure dinos, ca. 575–550 B.C. Vatican City, Museo Gregoriano Etrusco Vaticano 306. Photo: Courtesy Direzione Generale, Monumenti Musei e Gallerie Pontificie, Vatican City. Fig. 2.3. Battle scene. Attic black-figure dinos, ca. 575–550 B.C. Vatican City, Museo Gregoriano Etrusco Vaticano 306. Photo: Courtesy Direzione Generale, Monumenti Musei e Gallerie Pontificie, Vatican City. Fig. 2.4. Kalydonian boar hunt. Attic black-figure hydria, near the Princeton Painter, ca. 550 B.C. Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 3830. Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana, Firenze.

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Figs. 2.5–6. Kalydonian boar hunt. Attic black-figure hydria, ca. 550–525 B.C. Rhodes, Archaeological Museum A1934. Photo: Courtesy Archaeological Museum, Rhodes. Fig. 2.7. Kalydonian boar hunt. Apulian panathenaic-shaped redfigure amphora, attributed to the Lykourgos Painter, ca. 350 B.C. Trieste, Civici Musei di Storia ed Arte S380. Photo: Courtesy Civici Musei di Storia ed Arte, Trieste. Fig. 2.8. Kalydonian boar hunt. Apulian red-figure volute-krater, near the Underworld Painter, ca. 340 B.C. Formerly Berlin 3258, now lost. Photo: Courtesy Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz. Fig. 2.9. Meleager and Atalanta. Attic red-figure calyx-krater, attributed to the Meleager Painter, ca. 400–375 B.C. Würzburg, Martin von Wagner Museum L522. Photo by K. Oehrlein: Courtesy Martin von Wagner Museum der Universität Würzburg. Fig. 2.10. Meleager presents the boar’s hide to Atalanta. Apulian redfigure amphora, ca. 330 B.C. Bari, Museo Archeologico Provinciale 872. Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica della Puglia, Taranto. Fig. 2.11. Hunt scene. Attic red-figure cup, attributed to the Bonn Painter, ca. 500–480 B.C. Basel, Antikenmuseum und Sammlung Ludwig BS438. Photo by Claire Niggli: Courtesy Antikenmuseum Basel und Sammlung Ludwig. Fig. 2.12. Skythian hunters. Attic black-figure plate, attributed to the Haimon Painter, ca. 480–470 B.C. Bologna, Museo Civico Archeologico P149. Photo: Courtesy Museo Civico Archeologico, Bologna.

Marconi Fig. 3.1. Fig. 3.2. Fig. 3.3.

Agrigento. Plan of the ancient and modern city. From «Veder greco» 1988. Agrigento. Plan of the cemetery at Contrada Mosè. From «Veder greco» 1988. Objects from grave no. 2 of the cemetery at Contrada Mosè. Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento.

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Fig. 3.4.

Music scene. Obverse of attic black-figure amphora from grave no. 2, ca. 510 B.C. Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale AG. 23076. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento. Fig. 3.5. Departure of warriors. Reverse of the amphora in fig. 3.4. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento. Fig. 3.6. Chariot scene. Obverse of attic black-figure amphora from grave no. 2, ca. 510 B.C. Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale AG. 23080. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento. Fig. 3.7. Duel scene. Reverse of amphora in fig. 3.6. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento. Fig. 3.8. Retrieval of the battle-dead. Obverse of attic black-figure amphora from grave no. 2, ca. 510 B.C. Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale AG. 23079. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento. Fig. 3.9. Warriors. Reverse of amphora in fig. 3.8. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento. Figs. 3.10. Retrieval of the battle-dead. Detail of amphora in fig. 3.8. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento. Fig. 3.11. Ajax carrying the body of Achilles. Detail of attic black-figure volute-krater, signed by Kleitias and Ergotimos, ca. 570 B.C. Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 4209 (François Vase). Photo: Hirmer. Fig. 3.12. Retrieval of the battle-dead. Attic black-figure amphora, attributed to Exekias, ca. 540–530 B.C. Munich, Antikensammlungen J1295. Photo: Hirmer.

Cohen Fig. 5.1.

Fig. 5.2.

Head of Herakles. Detail of Athenian red-figure neck-amphora with twisted handles, attributed to the Kleophrades Painter, ca. 490–480 B.C. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 13.233. Photo: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Athena. Athenian red-figure calyx-krater fragments, attributed to Euphronios, ca. 515 B.C. Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 77.AE.86. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California.

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Microscopic color detail of hair of Athena on calyx-krater fragments in fig. 5.2. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California. Fig. 5.4. Dionysos and satyr. Fragmentary Athenian white-ground cup, attributed to Euphronios [Mertens], ca. 515–510 B.C. Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 86.AE.313. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California. Fig. 5.5. Microscopic color detail of bunch of grapes on cup in fig. 5.4. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California. Fig. 5.6. Microscopic black-and-white detail of bunch of grapes on cup in fig. 5.4. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California. Fig. 5.7. Gathering of youths and women. Athenian red-figure cup, attributed to Psiax, ca. 525–520 B.C. Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 86.AE.278. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California. Fig. 5.8. Satyr and maenad. Detail of white-ground interior of Athenian cup, attributed to the Pistoxenos Painter, ca. 475 B.C. Reggio Calabria: Museo Archeologico Nazionale. Photo: Author. Fig. 5.9. Thetis and the Nereids bringing armor to Achilles. Detail of white-ground frieze on Athenian red-figure squat lekythos, attributed to the Eretria Painter, ca. 430–420 B.C. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 31.11.13. Photo: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Fig. 5.10. Odysseus, Nausikaa, and Athena. Athenian red-figure pyxis lid, attributed to Aison, ca. 430 B.C. Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 04.18a-b, Henry Lillie Pierce Fund. Photo: © 2003 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Fig. 5.11. Virgin and Child with Saints Peter and Dominic. Detail of Polyptych of San Domenico of Camerino (central and left panels), tempera on wood panels, by Carlo Crivelli, 1482. Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera. Photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, New York. Fig. 5.12. Portrait of a Man Holding a Medal of Cosimo de’ Medici. Tempera on wood panel, by Sandro Botticelli, ca. 1475. Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi. Photo: © Scala/Art Resource, New York.

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Head of a Woman. Egyptian mummy portrait, encaustic on wood, with stucco, gold leaf and gold coin, A.D. 130–160. Detroit, The Detroit Institute of Arts 25.2. Photo: © 1994 The Detroit Institute of Arts. Neils

Fig. 6.1.

Fig. 6.2. Fig. 6.3. Fig. 6.4.

Komos scene. Reverse of attic red-figure column-krater, attributed to the Cleveland Painter, ca. 470–460 B.C. Cleveland, Museum of Art, Purchase from the J. H. Wade Fund 1930.104. Photo: Cleveland Museum of Art. Chariot scene. Obverse of the krater in fig. 6.1. Photo: Cleveland Museum of Art. Apollo and Artemis. Detail of the obverse of the krater in fig. 6.1. Photo: Cleveland Museum of Art. Hebe and Hera. Detail of the obverse of the krater in fig. 6.1. Photo: Cleveland Museum of Art. Giuliani

Fig. 7.1.

Odysseus and Kirke. Attic black-figure cup, attributed to the Painter of the Boston Polyphemos (name vase), ca. 550–540 B.C. Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 99.518, Henry Lillie Pierce Fund. Photo: © 2003 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Fig. 7.2. Odysseus and Kirke. Attic black-figure lekythos, attributed to the Athena Painter, ca. 480 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1133. From Journal of Hellenic Studies, 13, 1892, pl. 2. Figs. 7.3–4. Odysseus and Kirke. Attic black-figure lekythos, attributed to the Nikon Painter, ca. 470–460 B.C. Erlangen, Friedrich-Alexander Universität 261. Photo: Georg Pöhlein, Erlangen. Figs. 7.5–7. Odysseus and Kirke. Attic red-figure cup, attributed to the Brygos Painter, ca. 490–480 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, Akropolis Collection 293. Photo: Hirmer. Reconstruction-drawings: B. Bergmann, Institute for Classical Archaeology, University of Munich.

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Fig. 8.1.

Alkestis receiving guests on the day after her wedding. Detail of attic red-figure epinetron, attributed to the Eretria Painter, ca. 425 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1629. Photo: Courtesy Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Athens. Fig. 8.2. Marriage preparations of Harmonia. Detail of the epinetron in Fig. 8.1. Photo: Courtesy Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Athens. Fig. 8.3. Peleus and Thetis wrestling, Nereus, and Nereids. Detail of the epinetron in Fig. 8.1. Photo: Courtesy Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Athens. Fig. 8.4. View of the epinetron in Fig. 8.1. Photo: Courtesy Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Athens. Fig. 8.5. Sculpted bust from the epinetron in Fig. 8.1. Photo: Courtesy Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Athens. Fig. 8.6. Women engaged in wool-working, including one with an epinetron on her knee. Detail of attic red-figure epinetron, ca. 425–400 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 2179. Drawing: Courtesy Archaeological Society at Athens. Fig. 8.7. Truncated terracotta figurine of a woman. Likely an anatomical votive, late fifth to early fourth centuries B.C. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1920, 20.205. Photo: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Fig. 8.8. Bridal preparations. Detail of attic red-figure lebes gamikos, attributed to the Painter of Athens 1454, ca. 425–400 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1454. Photo: Courtesy National Archaeological Museum, Athens. Fig. 8.9. Peleus and Thetis wrestling. Detail of attic red-figure volutekrater, attributed to the Kleophrades Painter, ca. 480–470 B.C. Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 77.AE.11 + frr. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California. Fig. 8.10. Groom lifting bride into a chariot. Detail of attic red-figure loutrophoros, ca. 430 B.C. Berlin, Antikensammlung F2372. Photo: Courtesy Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz. Fig. 8.11. Votive relief dedicated by the son of Theogenes to Aphrodite. From Daphni, early fourth century B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1601. Photo: Courtesy National Archaeological Museum, Athens.

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Simon Fig. 9.1.

Kadmos and the dragon. Paestan red-figure bell-krater, signed by Asteas, ca. 330 B.C. Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 82258. Photo: Anderson. Fig. 9.2. Kadmos and the dragon. Paestan red-figure calyx-krater, attributed to Python, ca. 330 B.C. Paris, Musée du Louvre N 3157. Photo: Anderson. Fig. 9.3. Europa. Paestan red-figure calyx-krater, signed by Asteas, ca. 330 B.C. Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 81.AE.78. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California. Fig. 9.4. Zeus and Alkmene. Paestan red-figure bell-krater, attributed to Asteas, ca. 330 B.C. Vatican 17106. Photo: Alinari. Fig. 9.5. Alkmene on the pyre. Paestan red-figure bell-krater, signed by Python, ca. 330 B.C. London, British Museum F 149. Photo: Hirmer. Fig. 9.6. ‘Robbing the miser.’ Paestan red-figure calyx-krater, signed by Asteas, ca. 330 B.C. Berlin, Antikensammlung F3044. Photo: Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz. Figs. 9.7–8. Symposium with kottabos. Paestan red-figure calyx-krater, signed by Asteas, ca. 340 B.C. Fujita Collection. Photographs by Endrik Lerch Ascona. Fig. 9.9. Symposium with kottabos. Paestan red-figure bell-krater, attributed to Python, ca. 340 B.C. Vatican 17370. Photo: Alinari. Fig. 9.10. Dionysos and retinue. Reverse of the calyx-krater in figs. 9.7–8. Photograph by Endrik Lerch Ascona.

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FIGURES

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Fig. 1.1. Satyrs and maenad at symposium. Side A of attic red-figure cup, attributed to the Colmar Painter, ca. 500 B.C. Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 73749. Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana, Firenze.

Fig. 1.2. Satyrs and maenad at symposium. Side B of the cup in Fig. 1.1. Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana, Firenze.

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Fig. 1.3. Satyr and Dionysos. Interior of the cup in Fig. 1.1. Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana, Firenze.

Fig. 1.4. Satyr crouching beside a column-krater. Attic red-figure cup, ca. 500 B.C. Mississippi, University, Art Museum 1977.3.103. Photo: Courtesy University Museums, University of Mississippi Cultural Center.

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Fig. 2.1. Kalydonian boar hunt. Detail of attic black-figure volute-krater, signed by Kleitias and Ergotimos, ca. 570 B.C. Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 4209 (François Vase). Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana, Firenze.

Fig. 2.2. Kalydonian boar hunt. Attic black-figure dinos, ca. 575-550 B.C. Vatican City, Museo Gregoriano Etrusco Vaticano 306. Photo: Courtesy Direzione Generale, Monumenti Musei e Gallerie Pontificie, Vatican City.

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Fig. 2.3. Battle scene. Attic black-figure dinos, ca. 575-550 B.C. Vatican City, Museo Gregoriano Etrusco Vaticano 306. Photo: Courtesy Direzione Generale, Monumenti Musei e Gallerie Pontificie, Vatican City.

Fig. 2.4. Kalydonian boar hunt. Attic black-figure hydria, near the Princeton Painter, ca. 550 B.C. Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 3830. Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana, Firenze.

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Fig. 2.5-6. Kalydonian boar hunt. Attic black-figure hydria, ca. 550-525 B.C. Rhodes, Archaeological Museum A1934. Photo: Courtesy Archaeological Museum, Rhodes.

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Fig. 2.7. Kalydonian boar hunt. Apulian panathenaic-shaped red-figure amphora, attributed to the Lykourgos Painter, ca. 350 B.C. Trieste, Civici Musei di Storia ed Arte S380. Photo: Courtesy Civici Musei di Storia ed Arte, Trieste.

Fig. 2.8. Kalydonian boar hunt. Apulian red-figure volute-krater, near the Underworld Painter, ca. 340 B.C. Formerly Berlin 3258, now lost. Photo: Courtesy Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz.

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Fig. 2.9. Meleager and Atalanta. Attic red-figure calyx-krater, attributed to the Meleager Painter, ca. 400-375 B.C. Würzburg, Martin von Wagner Museum L522. Photo by K. Oehrlein: Courtesy Martin von Wagner Museum der Universität Würzburg.

Fig. 2.10. Meleager presents the boar’s hide to Atalanta. Apulian red-figure amphora, ca. 330 B.C. Bari, Museo Archeologico Provinciale 872. Photo: Courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica della Puglia, Taranto.

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Fig. 2.11. Hunt scene. Attic red-figure cup, attributed to the Bonn Painter, ca. 500-480 B.C. Basel, Antikenmuseum und Sammlung Ludwig BS438. Photo by Claire Niggli: Courtesy Antikenmuseum Basel und Sammlung Ludwig.

Fig. 2.12. Skythian hunters. Attic black-figure plate, attributed to the Haimon Painter, ca. 480-470 B.C. Bologna, Museo Civico Archeologico P149. Photo: Courtesy Museo Civico Archeologico, Bologna.

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Fig. 3.1. Agrigento. Plan of the ancient and modern city. From «Veder greco» 1988.

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Fig. 3.2. Agrigento. Plan of the cemetery at Contrada Mosè. From «Veder greco» 1988.

Fig. 3.3. Objects from grave no. 2 of the cemetery at Contrada Mosè. Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento.

Fig. 3.4. Music scene. Obverse of attic black-figure amphora from grave no. 2, ca. 510 B.C. Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale AG. 23076. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento.

Fig. 3.5. Departure of warriors. Reverse of the amphora in fig. 3.4. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento.

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Fig. 3.6. Chariot scene. Obverse of attic black-figure amphora from grave no. 2, ca. 510 B.C. Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale AG. 23080. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento.

Fig. 3.7. Duel scene. Reverse of amphora in fig. 3.6. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento.

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Fig. 3.8. Retrieval of the battle-dead. Obverse of attic black-figure amphora from grave no. 2, ca. 510 B.C. Agrigento, Museo Archeologico Regionale AG. 23079. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento.

Fig. 3.9. Warriors. Reverse of amphora in fig. 3.8. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento.

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Figs. 3.10. Retrieval of the battle-dead. Detail of amphora in fig. 3.8. Photo: Courtesy Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento.

Fig. 3.11. Ajax carrying the body of Achilles. Detail of attic black-figure volute-krater, signed by Kleitias and Ergotimos, ca. 570 B.C. Florence, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 4209 (François Vase). Photo: Hirmer.

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Fig. 3.12. Retrieval of the battle-dead. Attic black-figure amphora, attributed to Exekias, ca. 540-530 B.C. Munich, Antikensammlungen J1295. Photo: Hirmer.

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Fig. 5.1. Head of Herakles. Detail of Athenian red-figure neck-amphora with twisted handles, attributed to the Kleophrades Painter, ca. 490-480 B.C. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 13.233. Photo: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Fig. 5.2. Athena. Athenian red-figure calyx-krater fragments, attributed to Euphronios, ca. 515 B.C. Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 77.AE.86. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California.

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Fig. 5.3. Microscopic color detail of hair of Athena on calyx-krater fragments in fig. 5.2. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California.

Fig. 5.5. Microscopic color detail of bunch of grapes on cup in fig. 5.4. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California.

Fig. 5.8. Satyr and maenad. Detail of white-ground interior of Athenian cup, attributed to the Pistoxenos Painter, ca. 475 B.C. Reggio Calabria: Museo Archeologico Nazionale. Photo: Author.

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Fig. 5.11. Virgin and Child with Saints Peter and Dominic. Detail of Polyptych of San Domenico of Camerino (central and left panels), tempera on wood panels, by Carlo Crivelli, 1482. Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera. Photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, New York.

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Fig. 5.4. Dionysos and satyr. Fragmentary Athenian white-ground cup, attributed to Euphronios [Mertens], ca. 515-510 B.C. Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 86.AE.313. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California.

Fig. 5.6. Microscopic black-and-white detail of bunch of grapes on cup in fig. 5.4. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California.

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Fig. 5.7. Gathering of youths and women. Athenian red-figure cup, attributed to Psiax, ca. 525-520 B.C. Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 86.AE.278. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California.

Fig. 5.9. Thetis and the Nereids bringing armor to Achilles. Detail of white-ground frieze on Athenian red-figure squat lekythos, attributed to the Eretria Painter, ca. 430-420 B.C. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 31.11.13. Photo: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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Fig. 5.10. Odysseus, Nausikaa, and Athena. Athenian red-figure pyxis lid, attributed to Aison, ca. 430 B.C. Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 04.18a-b, Henry Lillie Pierce Fund. Photo: © 2003 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

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Fig. 5.12. Portrait of a Man Holding a Medal of Cosimo de’ Medici. Tempera on wood panel, by Sandro Botticelli, ca. 1475. Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi. Photo: © Scala/Art Resource, New York.

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Fig. 5.13. Head of a Woman. Egyptian mummy portrait, encaustic on wood, with stucco, gold leaf and gold coin, A.D. 130-160. Detroit, The Detroit Institute of Arts 25.2. Photo: © 1994 The Detroit Institute of Arts.

Fig. 6.2. Chariot scene. Obverse of the krater in fig. 6.1. Photo: Cleveland Museum of Art.

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Fig. 6.1. Komos scene. Reverse of attic red-figure column-krater, attributed to the Cleveland Painter, ca. 470-460 B.C. Cleveland, Museum of Art, Purchase from the J. H. Wade Fund 1930.104. Photo: Cleveland Museum of Art.

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Fig. 6.4. Hebe and Hera. Detail of the obverse of the krater in fig. 6.1. Photo: Cleveland Museum of Art.

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Fig. 6.3. Apollo and Artemis. Detail of the obverse of the krater in fig. 6.1. Photo: Cleveland Museum of Art.

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Fig. 7.1. Odysseus and Kirke. Attic black-figure cup, attributed to the Painter of the Boston Polyphemos (name vase), ca. 550-540 B.C. Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 99.518, Henry Lillie Pierce Fund. Photo: © 2003 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Fig. 7.2. Odysseus and Kirke. Attic black-figure lekythos, attributed to the Athena Painter, ca. 480 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1133. From Journal of Hellenic Studies, 13, 1892, pl. 2.

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Figs. 7.3-4. Odysseus and Kirke. Attic black-figure lekythos, attributed to the Nikon Painter, ca. 470-460 B.C. Erlangen, Friedrich-Alexander Universität 261. Photo: Georg Pöhlein, Erlangen.

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Figs. 7.5-7. Odysseus and Kirke. Attic red-figure cup, attributed to the Brygos Painter, ca. 490-480 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, Akropolis Collection 293. Photo: Hirmer. Reconstructiondrawings: B. Bergmann, Institute for Classical Archaeology, University of Munich.

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Fig. 8.1. Alkestis receiving guests on the day after her wedding. Detail of attic red-figure epinetron, attributed to the Eretria Painter, ca. 425 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1629. Photo: Courtesy Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Athens.

Fig. 8.2. Marriage preparations of Harmonia. Detail of the epinetron in Fig. 8.1. Photo: Courtesy Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Athens.

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Fig. 8.3. Peleus and Thetis wrestling, Nereus, and Nereids. Detail of the epinetron in Fig. 8.1. Photo: Courtesy Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Athens.

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Fig. 8.4. View of the epinetron in Fig. 8.1. Photo: Courtesy Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Athens.

Fig. 8.5. Sculpted bust from the epinetron in Fig. 8.1. Photo: Courtesy Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Athens.

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Fig. 8.6. Women engaged in wool-working, including one with an epinetron on her knee. Detail of attic red-figure epinetron, ca. 425400 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 2179. Drawing: Courtesy Archaeological Society at Athens.

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Fig. 8.7. Truncated terracotta figurine of a woman. Likely an anatomical votive, late fifth to early fourth centuries B.C. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1920, 20.205. Photo: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Fig. 8.8. Bridal preparations. Detail of attic red-figure lebes gamikos, attributed to the Painter of Athens 1454, ca. 425-400 B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1454. Photo: Courtesy National Archaeological Museum, Athens.

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Fig. 8.9. Peleus and Thetis wrestling. Detail of attic red-figure volute-krater, attributed to the Kleophrades Painter, ca. 480-470 B.C. Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 77.AE.11 + frr. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California.

Fig. 8.11. Votive relief dedicated by the son of Theogenes to Aphrodite. From Daphni, early fourth century B.C. Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1601. Photo: Courtesy National Archaeological Museum, Athens.

Fig. 8.10. Groom lifting bride into a chariot. Detail of attic red-figure loutrophoros, ca. 430 B.C. Berlin, Antikensammlung F2372. Photo: Courtesy Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz.

Fig. 9.2. Kadmos and the dragon. Paestan red-figure calyx-krater, attributed to Python, ca. 330 B.C. Paris, Musée du Louvre N 3157. Photo: Anderson.

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Fig. 9.1. Kadmos and the dragon. Paestan red-figure bell-krater, signed by Asteas, ca. 330 B.C. Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 82258. Photo: Anderson.

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Fig. 9.4. Zeus and Alkmene. Paestan red-figure bell-krater, attributed to Asteas, ca. 330 B.C. Vatican 17106. Photo: Alinari.

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Fig. 9.3. Europa. Paestan red-figure calyx-krater, signed by Asteas, ca. 330 B.C. Malibu, The J. Paul Getty Museum 81.AE.78. Photo: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California.

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Fig. 9.5. Alkmene on the pyre. Paestan red-figure bell-krater, signed by Python, ca. 330 B.C. London, British Museum F 149. Photo: Hirmer.

Fig. 9.6. ‘Robbing the miser.’ Paestan red-figure calyx-krater, signed by Asteas, ca. 330 B.C. Berlin, Antikensammlung F3044. Photo: Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz.

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Figs. 9.7-8. Symposium with kottabos. Paestan red-figure calyx-krater, signed by Asteas, ca. 340 B.C. Collection Fujita. Photographs by Endrik Lerch Ascona.

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Fig. 9.9. Symposium with kottabos. Paestan red-figure bell-krater, attributed to Python, ca. 340 B.C. Vatican 17370. Photo: Alinari.

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Fig. 9.10. Dionysos and retinue. Reverse of the calyx-krater in figs. 9.7-8. Photograph by Endrik Lerch Ascona.

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INDEX

Italic figures refer to illustrations. abduction scenes, 98, 106–107, 110, 8.3 Achilles Painter, 61, 65 Achilles Tatius, 106 Achilles, 32–35, 38–39, 45–47, 52, 61, 64, 110, 3.11, 5.9 Adonis, 116, 120 Aegean, 38 Aegina, Temple of Aphaia, 13, 33 Agamemnon, 110 Agaue, 114 n. 10 Agropoli, 116 Aison, 65, 5.10 Ajax, 32–35, 38, 52, 117, 3.11 Akragas, 28–29, 32–35, 37 Aktaion, 114 n. 10, 118 n. 32 alabastron, 44 n. 9 Alcibiades, 1, 7 Alcon of Thrace, 17 Alexander the Great, 70 n. 70, 114 Alkaios, 45 Alkestis, 64, 97–98, 104, 107–11, 8.1 Alkinoos, 96 Alkmaionids, 50 Alkmene, 117–19, 9.4–5 Amazons, 15–16, 19 n. 30, 20–25, 34, 63–65, 101 n. 23 Amphiaraos, 121 n. 38 Amphipolis, 6 Amphitryon, 118–19, 120 n. 36 amphora, 22, 24 n. 33, 29–34, 35 n. 31, 36, 38, 40–41, 44 n. 9, 56, 57 n. 9, 58–59, 78 n. 26, 82, 114 n. 13, 121 n. 37, n. 38 Ananke, 115 Andokides Painter, 58 andron, 112 Antenor, 120–21 Antigone, 99, 110 Antimenes Painter, 20, 23 Antinoopolis, 69 n. 67 Antiope, 114 n. 10 Aphrodite, 76, 97–100, 103, 104 n. 36, 106, 108–12, 116, 120–21, 8.11 Apollo, 59, 62 n. 31, 75–76, 80, 6.3 Apollodoros, 16

apotheosis, 39, 60 Apulia, 116 n. 24 Apulian vases, 32 n. 15, 62 n. 31, 114 n. 9, n. 13 archers, 13–16, 18–25, 31, 33, 43–46, 53 Archikles, 17 Ares, 77 Aristodamos, 34 Aristodemos, 10 Aristophanes, 10 Aristotle, 111 n. 65 arms and armor, 15, 20–21, 24, 30, 35–36, 39, 63–64, 67, 117, 5.9 Artemis, 75–76, 80, 101, 6.3 Asia Minor, 16, 18 Asteas, 113–22, 9.1, 9.3–4, 9.6–8 Atalanta, 14–16, 19–25, 107, 2.9–10 Athena Painter, 89–91, 7.2 Athena, 38, 40, 56, 59–60, 75–78, 82, 101, 115, 5.2–3, 5.10 Athenian/Attic vases, 1–11, 13–25, 27–40, 41–54, 55–71, 73–96, 97–112; public, 27–28, 32–34, 37–42, 100, 112 Athens, 1, 6, 9, 11, 13–14, 16 n. 18, 27–28, 33, 38–40, 42, 45–50, 52, 54–55, 60, 62, 65, 77, 78 n. 25, 80–81, 83, 85, 90, 100–102, 109, 111 n. 65, 114 Agora, 6, 11, 27, 109 Akropolis, 50, 55, 59, 60 n. 20, 62, 65, 78 n. 25, 91, 101, 109 Kerameikos, 6, 27, 52, 81, 83 Parthenon, 81, 103 athletes, 2, 3, 30, 112 Attica, 38, 50 Aubert, M.-F., 68 axe, 15, 44 Bäbler, B., 14 barbiton, 74 barbotine, 61 battle, 6, 13–14, 19–21, 32, 35, 39, 111 n. 65, 117, 2.3

144

index

battlefield, 10, 36, 37 Beazley, J. D., 2–4, 8, 10, 16 n. 18, 39 n. 40, 42, 48, 53, 55–56, 58 n. 14, 73–75 Berlin Painter, 58 Bernabò Brea, L., 116 n. 24 Bieber, M., 117 n. 27 Black Sea, 16, 18, 24 Boardman, J., 2, 114 boars, 14 n. 8, 20, 23, 87–90, 92–93 Boeotia, 43 Boeotian shield, 32, 33 n. 19 Boeotians, 50 Bologna, 54 Bonn Painter, 23, 2.11 book-scrolls, 85 Bothmer, D. von, 8, 60 Brauron, 101, 107 Botticelli, Sandro, 68, 5.12 brides, 75, 77, 80, 98, 104–106, 107 n. 48, 108–110, 8.8, 8.10 Bruno, V. J., 66 Brygos Painter, 31 n. 14, 91, 93–95, 7.5–7 Buccino, 116 burials, 28–31, 36–37, 39, 41, 69 n. 67, 102, 110 Busiris, 7 Caere/Cerveteri, 40, 54 Campanian vases, 114, 117 n. 25 Campanians, 52 Capua, 31 n. 14 Carthaginians, 28 Castelgiorgio Painter, 77 cavalry, 32, 43, 44 n. 9, n. 10, 51, 53 cemeteries, 28–30, 36–37, 41, 102, 3.2 cenotaphs, 30, 36 centaurs, 14 n. 8, 103 Chalkidian vases, 33 Chalkidians, 50 Charinos, 119 charioteers, 20, 39, 76 chariots, 20, 31, 39, 46–47, 49–50, 53, 74–76, 78–80, 82, 107, 110 n. 62, 3.6, 6.2, 8.10 Chersonesos, 50 Chigi Vase, 17 chiton, 20–21, 31, 92, 94, 120 Chiusi, 40, 42, 54 chlamys, 74 Cleveland Painter, 73–83, 6.1–4 Colmar Painter, 4–5, 1.1 columns, 91–93, 117

comedy, 10, 117–21, 9.6 Corinth, 54, 66 n. 50, 101, 103 Corinthian vases, 14 n. 8 Crete, 116 Crivelli, Carlo, 68, 5.11 crowns, 16, 68, 75, 76 n. 15, 105, 110 n. 61 Cumae, 54 cup, 4–10, 16 n. 18, 17, 23, 24 n. 54, 38, 55–57, 58 n. 14, 59–60, 62–65, 77, 79, 87–95, 99, 118, 120–21 Cyclops, 88 Cyprus, 79 Cyrene, 101 Daddi, Bernardo, 67 n. 53 dagger, 30 dancers, 5 Daphni, 108 Darius Painter, 62 n. 31, 114 Darius, 50 deer, 23 Delian League, 6 Delivorrias, A., 108 Delphi, 66, 109, 122 Delphic oracle, 116 Demeter, 76 n. 15, 101, 103 dinos, 19, 21, 76 Diodoros Siculus, 109 Diomedes, 79–80 Dionysos, 4, 8–9, 57–58, 73, 114–15, 118, 120–22, 1.3, 5.4, 9.10 diphros, 89, 91 n. 14 Dirke, 114 n. 10 dogs, 19, 88, 92 dolls, 103–104 dolphins, 63 Dorotheos, 2 Douris, 51, 56 Drabeskos, 6 n. 16 Egyptians, 8 Eleusis Painter, 7 Eleusis, 41, 52, 54, 101 Ennea Hodoi, 6 Eos, 56, 119 epaulia, 98, 107 epic poetry, 20, 32–35, 38, 46–47, 50–53, 80, 106 epinetron, 64, 70 n. 70, 76, 97–105, 107–108, 110–11 epithalamia, 107 erastes, 7

index Eretria Painter, 63–64, 65 n. 41, 70 n. 70, 76, 97–112, 5.9, 8.1–4 Eretria, 102 Eros, 76, 99, 105, 108–109, 116, 120 Etruria, 38–39, 54 Etruscans, 40, 49 n. 21, 52, 121 n. 38 Euphronios, 3 n. 7, 4, 6–9, 16 n. 18, 55–57, 58 n. 14, 59, 60 n. 20, 61–62, 5.2–6 Euripides, 105–106, 110, 119 Europa, 115–16, 9.3 Eurylochos, 86–88, 94–95 Euryphamos, 120–21 Euthymachos, 16 Euthymides, 7 n. 21, 8 Euxitheos, 59 n. 19 Exekias, 35, 58–59 n. 15, 3.12 Falerii, 54 Ferrari Pinney, G., 33, 45, 47 fertility, 81, 108–109 Florence, 54 Fluck, E. J., 5 flute playing, 120 Foce del Sele, Sanctuary of Hera, 81 Fojano, 45 François Vase, 1, 14–19, 21, 23–24, 34, 46, 80, 85, 2.1, 3.11 free painting, 62, 64–66, 70–71 funeral rituals, 32, 35–37, 65 n. 31, 83 Ganymede, 77 Gela, 28, 30 n. 8, 34 Gentile da Fabriano, 67 Geryon, 23 n. 44 Glauke, 105 Glaukon, 6 Glaukos, 65 Glaukytes, 17 gloss, 55, 57, 58 n. 14, 59–60, 63 gold/golden, 60, 63, 65, 67–70, 77, 79, 94, 106, 121 n. 38, 5.13 gorytos, 15, 19 graffiti on vases, 30, 81 grave vases, 20, 22 n. 37, 27–41, 99, 102, 110, 3.3–10 greaves, 29–30, 117 griffins, 17, 23 grooms, 78, 80–81, 107–108, 8.10 Gymnilos, 119 Hades, 110 Hadrian, 69 n. 67

145

Haimon Painter, 23, 2.12 Harmonia, 76, 97–98, 104, 106, 110, 8.2 Hebe, 76–82, 6.4 Hegesiboulos, 60 n. 23 Hektor, 46 Helbig, W., 45 Helen, 55 Helios, 86 helmets, 20, 31, 35, 39, 56, 64, 117 Hephaistos, 59, 60 n. 20, 64 Hera, 59, 60 n. 20, 73–83, 106, 6.4 Heraion at Argos, 82 Herakles, 7, 23–24, 56, 58–62, 76–78, 80–81, 82 n. 35, 111, 114, 117–19, 5.1 Hermes, 51, 76 n. 15, 86, 89, 96, 110 n. 61, 116–19 Hermione, 109 Herodotos, 13–14, 18, 20–21, 24, 50 Hesiod, 24 Hesperids, 116 hetairai, 4–5, 8–10, 103, 118 Hieron II, 29 hieros gamos, 81 hieroscopy scenes, 43 n. 9, 53 hilarotragedia, 117 himation, 31, 92–93 Himera, 30 Himeros, 105 Hipparchos, 46, 50, 80 Hippias, 50 Hippobinos, 10 Hippodamas, 2 Hipponikos, 10 Homer, 16, 24, 34–35, 37–40, 46–47, 52, 65, 73–83, 85–96, 106 hoplites, 13, 15, 16 n. 18, 19, 32, 37–39, 45–47, 51, 53 Horai, 60 horsemen, 9 n. 30, 14, 19–20, 44 n. 9, 53 hunters, 13–25, 2.1–2, 2.4–8, 2.11–12 husbands, 77, 105–107, 109, 111, 118 hydria, 5 n. 9, 8 n. 27, 20–21, 22 n. 37, 23, 38, 78, 80, 119 Hyginus, 16 Icons, 67, 69 n. 62 Ilissos, 108 Immerwahr, H. R., 43 infibulation, 74 inscriptions on vases, 1–3, 6–10, 16 n. 14, 17, 34, 59 n. 15, 75–77,

146

index

78 n. 25, 85, 94, 96–97, 115, 117, 119–20 Iolaos, 117 Ionia, 50, 79 Iris, 77 Ismenos, 115 Italian Renaissance painting, 66–68, 70–71 Jason, 17 Johnston, A., 81 Kadmos, 113–16, 119, 9.1–2 kale, 38 Kallias, 10 Kallinos, 16 kalos, 1–11, 38 kalpis, 58 n. 13 Kalydon, 18 Kalydonian boar, 14–24, 2.1–2, 2.4–8, 2.10 Kamiros, 54 Karion, 119 Kerch Style, 22, 61 Kimmerians, 16, 18, 23 Kimmerios, 16, 18 n. 24 Kimon, 1, 50 Kirke, 85–96, 7.1–7 kithara, 31 Kleinias, 2 Kleisthenes, 50 Kleitias, 35, 85, 2.1, 3.11 Kleonymos, 10 Kleophrades Painter, 56, 106, 5.1, 8.9 Kolchis, 17 komasts, 4–5, 74 n. 5 komos, 4, 51, 73–74, 6.1 Kosilos, 119 kothornoi, 120 kottabos, 4–5, 118, 121, 9.7–9 krater, 3 n. 7, 4, 6 n. 18, 8–9, 22, 29, 40, 56, 59 n. 19, 61–62, 65, 73–74, 76–77, 78 n. 26, 80–81, 85, 106 n. 45, 113–22 Krenaia, 114 Kreon, 110 Krete, 116 krotala, 4 Kunze, E., 34 Kurke, L., 8 Kyknos, 62 Kynaithos, 34 Lampros, I., 102 Lampsakos, 22 n. 37

Langlotz, E., 5–6, 91 n. 14 Leagros, 1–11 lebes gamikos, 102, 105 lekanis, 115 lekythos, 22 n. 37, 38, 63, 65, 66 n. 50, 75, 89–91, 99, 102, 108, 110, 116 leopard skin, 120 Leto, 75 Lezzi-Hafter, A., 99–100 libation scenes, 76, 80 Linear B, 79 lion skin, 23 lions, 17, 19, 59, 64, 86, 88, 92 Lipari, 117 Lissarrague, F., 17, 43–48, 51–54 Little Master cups, 23 Lorenzetti, Pietro, 67 n. 53 Lorimer, H. L., 32 loutrophoros, 78 n. 25, n. 26, 107 n. 48 Lucanian vases, 70 n. 70 Lucian, 16 n. 18 Lydians, 18 Lygdamis, 16 lyre, 31, 60, 61 n. 23, 74–75 Lysippides Painter, 59 n. 15 maenads, 8, 58, 63, 122, 1.1–2, 5.8 Magna Graecia, 38, 54, 62, 66, 114, 116 Makron, 55 Mania, 117 Mannerists, 78 n. 26 Mantinea, 82 n. 35 Marathon, 45 marriage, 20, 77, 80–81, 98–100, 102, 104–11, 8.2 mastoid, 8 Medea, 105, 111 n. 65 Medes, 16 n. 19 Megara, 114 Megara Hyblaea, 29 n. 6, 54 Meidias Painter, 61, 79, 100 Meleager, 22, 2.9–10 Meleager Painter, 22, 2.9 Memnon, 39, 50, 56 Menander, 119 Menerva, 40 mercenaries, 13–14, 30, 45, 49 Mertens, J. R., 57 metal vases, 61–62, 67 Miltiades, 50 Minotaur, 17 Minto, A., 18

index mirrors, 64, 70 n. 70, 105–106, 119, 121 n. 38 Mizuta, A., 58 Monteleone di Spoleto, 39 mummy portraits, 68–70, 5.13 music, 8 n. 27, 30–31, 74, 76 n. 15, 80, 3.4 Mycenaean painting, 79 Naupactos, 109 Nausikaa, 65, 5.10 Nemean lion, 59 nephelai, 119 Nereids, 63, 5.9, 8.3 Nereus, 106, 8.3 nestoris, 22 Nike, 58 n. 13, 77 Nikon Painter, 89–91, 7.3–4 Nikosthenes, 49 n. 21 Nikostratos, 2 Niobe, 114 Niobid Painter, 65 Noble, J. V., 56, 58 Nola, 54 North Africa, 38 nymphe, 98, 104 nymphs, 63, 106, 115 Oakley, J. H., 61 Ocean, 16 Odysseus, 65, 85–96, 5.10, 7.1–7 oikos, 37, 40, 42, 46 oinochoe, 78 n. 26, 92, 114 n. 13 Olbia, 54 Oltos, 10, 59, 77 Olympia, 34 Olympic games, 50 Olympos, 59, 76, 80 Onesimos, 57 n. 8 oon, 65 n. 41 oracles, 116, 121 orgy scenes, 8 Orvieto, 54 ostracism, 6, 11 Ovid, 16 Paestan vases, 113–22 Painter of Athens 1454, 105, 8.8 Painter of the Birth of Dionysos, 62 n. 31 Painter of the Boston Polyphemos, 87–88, 7.1 Painter of Würzburg H 5739, 114 n. 7 Pan, 115 Pan Painter, 74–75

147

Panaguriste, 121 n. 38 Panathenaic festival, 46, 80, 83 Pandora, 106 panel painting, 65–71 panthers, 19, 92–93 Pantoxena Painter, 59 n. 15 Papposilenos, 120 Paris, 17 Parsons, H., 73, 81–82 Parthenopaios, 121 n. 38 parthenos, 75, 98, 104, 108 pastiglia, 67–68 Patroklos, 64, 80 Pausanias, 65–66, 82 n. 35 pederasty, 11 Pedieus, 2 Peisistratids, 13, 45, 50 Peisistratos, 13–14, 49, 85 Peitho, 109 Peleus, 59, 76, 98, 106, 8.3, 8.9 pelike, 6 n. 18, 9, 22, 78 n. 26 pelta, 15 peltasts, 43, 44 n. 9, 46, 53 Penthesilea Painter, 63–65 Pentheus, 114 n. 10 perfumes, 100, 105, 108 Perikles, 1 Persephone Painter, 78 n. 25 Persephone, 76 n. 15, 101, 103, 110 Persian Wars, 6 Persians, 16 n. 19, 50–51, 53 phalanx, 32, 37, 46 Pheidippos, 10 Phiale Painter, 110 n. 61 phiale, 4, 59–60, 75, 82 Phintias, 7 n. 21, 8, 58 Phlebippos, 10 Phrygian, Phrygians, 22, 24 pinakes, 66 n. 50 Pioneer Group, 7–8 Piraeus, 101 Pistoxenos Painter, 63, 5.8 Pitsa, 66 n. 50 plate, 23, 30 Plautus, 118 polis, 37–38 Polites, 46 polos, 115 Polygnotos, 65–66 Polyidos, 65 Polykrates, 85 Polyphemos, 41 Polyphrasmon, 120 Pompei, Villa of the Mysteries, 70 n. 70, 121 n. 38

148

index

Pontos, 16 Poseidonia/Paestum, 66, 73–83, 113–22 Pothos, 116 Praxiteles, 103 Princeton Painter, 20, 2.4 procession, 66 n. 50, 74, 76, 80, 107, 110 n. 62, 6.2 Protoattic vases, 41 Protocorinthian vases, 14 n. 8, 17 Proto-Panaitian Group, 4 Psiax, 60–61, 5.7 psykter, 4, 7–8, 51 Python, 113–15, 118–22, 9.2, 9.5, 9.9 pyxis, 65, 77, 99, 108 quiver, 15–16, 44, 75 Reeder, E., 100, 107 Reilly, J., 104 rhapsodes, 34, 80 Rhegium, 33 Rhodes, 20 rhyton, 102 Ricci hydria, 78, 80 Robert, C., 66 Robertson, M., 64–66 Robinson, D. M., 5 Rouveret, A., 66 Ruvo, 54 S. Agata, 116 sacrifices, 78, 110 sakkos, 98, 102–103 Samnites, 117 satyrs, 4–5, 8–10, 51, 53, 58, 63, 115, 120, 122, 1.1–4, 5.4, 5.8 Sauromates, 21 scepters, 60, 75, 76 n. 15 Scrzhinskaya, M. V., 16, 18 sea creatures, 98, 106, 108, 116 Selinus, 101 Semele, 114 n. 10 Seven against Thebes, 114 shield bands, 34 shields, 5, 10, 31–33, 39, 64, 70 n. 70 Sicilian vases, 114, 116 n. 24, 117 Sicily, 27–40, 42, 117 signatures, 59 n. 19, 113–19, 122 Simon, E., 18, 110 Simos, 30 sirens, 19 Skylla, 116

skyphos, 55, 59 n. 15, 74 n. 5, 89–91, 110 n. 62 Skythia, 18 n. 25, 23 n. 44, 45, 47 Skythian/Skythians, 13–25, 31, 33, 41–54, 2.12 slaves/servants, 13–14, 92, 94, 119 Smikra, 7 n. 24, 8–9 Smikros, 7 Snodgrass, A., 43 Solon, 16 n. 18 Sophanes, 6 Sophilos, 76 Sophocles, 99, 110, 117 Sophron, 121 Sosias, 60, 77 Sotades Painter, 65, 102 Sparta, 109 Spartans, 50 spears, 15–16, 20–22, 30–31, 90, 91 n. 14, 94 Speusippos, 10 Sphinx, 17, 23–24, 102, 118 n. 32 squires, 45, 50 stage, 117, 119–20 stags, 75 Stansbury O’Donnel, M., 66 structuralism, 15, 47, 49 Stysippos, 10 sun, 68, 115, 119 swans, 19 swine, 86–88, 95 swords, 87, 89, 91, 94 Syleus Painter, 82 symposium, 1–2, 4–6, 9–10, 27–28, 51, 61 n. 23, 74, 81, 99, 103, 118, 120–22, 1.1–2, 9.7–9 Syracuse, 30 n. 8, 34 Tabula Rondanini, 96 tainia, 121 Tarquinia, 54 Taxakis, 16 Terpon, 8 Thalia Painter, 8–9 Thasos, 6 theater, 119–21 Theban dragon, 114–15, 9.1–2 Thebe, 115 Thebes, 114–19 Theseus, 17 Thespiai, 54 Thetis, 59, 63, 76, 97–98, 106–108, 110, 5.9, 8.3, 8.9

index Thrace, 6, 17 Thracian/Thracians, 6, 15, 44 n. 9, n. 10, 47–48, 51, 53 Thyiades, 122 thyrsos, 63, 120, 122 Tinia, 40 tomb painting, 66 tombs, 29–30, 31 n. 14, 36, 39, 42, 65, 81–82, 110 torches, 76 n. 15, 110 n. 62, 118–19 Toxamis, 16 Toxaris, 16 trademarks, 73, 81 Trendall, A. D., 113, 115–19, 121–22 Triptolemos, 78 n. 26 Triptolemos Painter, 58 n. 13 Triton, 116 Troezen, 109 Troilos Painter, 76 Troilos, 34, 39, 46 Trojan War, 33–34 Ukraine, 54 Underworld Painter, 114, 2.8

149

Vico Equense, 54 Villa Giulia Painter, 60 Vos, M. F., 18, 45 Vulci, 39, 40 n. 44, 49, 54 Wachter, R., 16, 18 warriors, 4, 14, 19–20, 27–54, 63–64, 117, 3.5, 3.7–10, 3.12 weapons, 15, 20–21, 30, 63–64, 67, 75 weaving, 101–102, 8.6 Webster, T. B. L., 38 wedding, 59, 76–77, 78 n. 25, n. 26, 80, 97–112, 8.1 Wernicke, K., 45 wives, 37, 101, 107, 109, 114, 117–19 wreaths, 64, 69, 75, 106, 108 Zahn, R., 116, 117 n. 27 Zampetti, P., 68 Zeus, 55, 58 n. 14, 59, 60 n. 20, 77–78, 82, 106, 116, 118–19, 9.4