As Witnessed by Images: The Trojan War Tradition in Greek and Etruscan Art 9780801887758, 0801887755

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AS WITNESSED BYIMAGES

AS WITNESSED BY IMAGES j

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IN GREEi< AND ETRUSCAN ART

STEVEN LOWENSTAM ,I I

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The Johns Hopkins University Press

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© 1008 The Johns Hopkins University Press All rights reserved. Published 1008 Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

987654311 The Johns Hopkins University Press 1715North Charles Street Baltimore, Maryland 11118-4363 www.press.jhu.edu Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lowenstam, Steven. As witnessed by images: the Trojan War tradition in Greek and Etruscan art / Steven Lowenstam. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-8018-8775-8{hardcover: alk. paper) ISBN-10:0-8018-8775-5{hardcover: alk. paper) 1.Trojan War-Art and the war. 1. Epic poetry, GreekIllustrations. 3. Art, Greek. 4. Art, Etruscan. 5. Art and society -Greece. 6. Art and society-Italy. I. Title. N8160.L691008 704.947-dc11 1007046093 A catalog record for this book is available from the British Library.

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To Chaya and Tom, true love and truefriend

CONTENTS List of Illustrations Foreword, by T. H. Introduction

ix CARPENTER

1

Paradigms and the Role of Poetry Chronology 7 Purposes and Methodology 10

Chapter 1

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I Greece

4

13

The Fran~ois Vase 20 Corinthian Perspectives 27 Troilos and Achilleus 35 Exekias 39 Sirens 43 Ransom of Hektor 51 Fifth-century Portraits of Achilleus and Odysseus Kabiric Vases 71 Conclusions So

Chapter 2

I Megale Bellas

84

Trojan Topics 91 The Funeral of Patroklos 93 Thetis' Touch and an Embassy to Achilleus The Dolon Painter 103 Thersites no Lykaon 114 Conclusions 120

Chapter 3

I Etruria

124

The Monteleone di Spoleto Chariot The First Pania Pyxis 136 The Ambush ofTroilos 139 Fifth-century Mirrors 148

128

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Achilleus' Immolation of Trojan Youths 157 The Torre San Severo Sarcophagus 165 Aftermath and Conclusions 170

Conclusion Notes

174

177

Bibliography Index

207

223

viii Ill co

NT EN T

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ILLUSTRATIONS Blinding of Polyphemos. Proto-Attic amphora, ea. 650 BCE. 14 FIG. 2. Blinding of Polyphemos. Argive krater fragment, ea. 650 BCE. 14 FIG. 3. Blinding of Polyphemos. Etruscan krater, ea. 650 BCE. 15 FIG. 4. Blinding of Polyphemos. Etruscan pithos with lid, ea. 650-625 BCE. 16 FIG. 5. Nereids at the bier of Achilleus. Corinthian hydria, ea. 570 BCE. 19 FIG. 6. Fran~ois Vase. Attic black-figure volute-krater, ea. 570 BCE. 22 FIG. 7. Fran~ois Vase. Attic black-figure volute-krater, ea. 570 BCE. 23 FIG. 8. Drunken Polyphemos. Attic black-figure cup, ea. 550 BCE. 26 FIG. 9. Kirke episode with Odysseus. Attic black-figure cup, ea. 550 BCE. 26 FIG. 10. Marriage of Paris and Helen. Corinthian krater, ea. 590-570 BCE. 27 FIG. n. Helen, Paris, Andromache, and Hektor. "Chakidian" column-krater, ea. 540 BCE. 30 FIG. 12. Achaean embassy to Troy, Corinthian column-krater, ea. 560 BCE. 32 FIG. 13. Achilles mourning Patroklos. Corinthian olpe, ea. 550 BCE. 33 FIG. 14. Achilles and Hektor fighting over the body ofTroilos. Attic blackfigure amphora, ea. 560 BCE. 36 FIG. 15. Achilles and Hektor fighting over the body ofTroilos. Attic blackfigure amphora, ea. 560 BCE. 38 FIG. 16. Death of Achilles. "Chakidian" amphora, ea. 540 BCE. 39 FIG. 17. Achilles and Aias gaming. Attic black-figure amphora, ea. 540 BCE. 40 FIG. 18. Kastor and Polydeukes departing. Attic black-figure amphora, ea. 540 BCE. 42 FIG. 19. Odysseus tempted by Sirens. Corinthian aryballos, ea. 580 BCE. 45 FIG. 20. Odysseus tempted by Sirens. Attic black-figure lekythos, ea. 510 BCE. 46 FIG. 21. Odysseus tempted by Sirens. Attic red-figure stamnos, ea. 480 BCE. 48 FIG. 22. Flying Erotes. Attic red-figure stamnos, ea. 480 BCE. 49 FIG. 23. Ransom of Hektor. Bronze shield-band, ea. 570 BCE. 52 FIG. 24. Ransom ofHektor. Attic black-figure hydria, ea. 560 BCE. 54-55 FIG. 25. Ransom ofHektor. Attic black-figure amphora, ea. 540 BCE. 56 FIG. 26. Ransom of Hektor. Attic red-figure cup, ea. 520 BCE. 57 FIG. 27. Ransom of Hektor. Attic black-figure lekythos, ea. 510 BCE. 58 FIG. 28. Ransom of Hektor. Attic red-figure skyphos, ea. 480 BCE. 59 FIG. 1.

ix

Ransom ofHektor. Attic red-figure cup, ea. 480 BCE. 59 PIG. 30. Priam and Achilleus. Attic red-figure cup, ea. 480 BCE. 60 PIG. 31. Ransom ofHektor. Attic red-figure cup, ea. 490 BCE. 61 PIG. 32. Achilleus bandaging Patroklos. Attic red-figure cup, ea. 500 BCE. 64 PIG. 33. Introduction ofHerakles on Olympus. Attic red-figure cup, ea. 500 BCE. 66 FIG. 34. Fight between Achilleus and Hektor. Attic red-figure cup, ea. 480 BCE. 67 FIG. 35. Fight between Achilleus and Hektor. Attic red-figure cup, ea. 480 BCE. 67 FIG. 36. Odysseus' return to Ithaka. Attic red-figure skyphos, ea. 440 BCE. 68 PIG. 37. Penelope and Telemachos. Attic red-figure skyphos, ea. 440 BCE. 68 PIG. 38. Achilleus. Attic red-figure amphora, ea. 450 BCE. 70 PIG. 39. Odysseus and Kirke. Boeotian black-figure skyphos, ea. 420 BCE. 72 PIG. 40. Vine heavy with grapes. Boeotian black-figure skyphos, ea. 420 BCE. 73 PIG. 41. Judgment of Paris. Boeotian black-figure skyphos, ea. 420 BCE. 74 PIG. 42. Sack of Troy. Boeotian black-figure skyphos, ea. 420 BCE. 76 PIG. 43. Dancers and man dragging boulder. Boeotian black-figure skyphos, ea. 420 BCE. 76 PIG. 44. Kirke and Odysseus. Boeotian black-figure skyphos, ea. 400 BCE. 77 FIG. 45. Odysseus and Kirke. Boeotian black-figure skyphos, ea. 400 BCE. 79 FIG. 46. Odysseus and Boreas. Boeotian black-figure skyphos, ea. 400 BCE. 79 FIG. 47. Warrior flying over the sea. Attic black-figure amphora, ea. 530 BCE. 81 PIG. 48. Arming of Achilleus. Apulian red-figure volute-krater, ea. 340 BCE. 85 FIG. 49. Arrival of Paris and Helen in Troy. Apulian red-figure volute-krater, ea. 340 BCE. 87 PIG. 50. Warrior and seated woman in aediculum. Apulian red-figure volutekrater, ea. 330 BCE. 89 PIG. 51. Peleus and Phoinix. Apulian red-figure fragment, ea. 350 BCE. 91 PIG. 52. Funeral of Patroklos. Apulian red-figure volute-krater, ea. 330 BCE. 94 PIG. 53. Achilleus mourning. Apulian red-figure oinochoe, ea. 320 BCE. 99 PIG. 54. Prothesis. Attic red-figure loutrophoros, ea. 460 BCE. 100 PIG. 55. Embassy to Achilleus. Apulian red-figure bell-krater fr., ea. 390 BCE. 102 PIG. 56. Judgment of Paris. Lucanian red-figure calyx-krater, ea. 390 BCE. 104 FIG. 57. Odysseus and the underworld. Lucanian red-figure calyx-krater, ea. 390 BCE. 106 FIG. 58. Ambush ofDolon. Lucanian red-figure calyx-krater, ea. 390 BCE. 108 FIG. 29.

X

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ILLUSTRATIONS

FIG. 59.

Arrival of Paris and Aeneas in Sparta(?). Lucanian red-figure nestoris,

ea. 390 BCE. 109 FIG. 60. Thersites. Apulian red-figure calyx-krater, ea. 390 BCE. 111 FIG. 61. Murder oflhersites. Apulian red-figure volute-krater, ea. 340 BCE. 113 PIG. 62. Murder ofTroilos (?). Lucanian red-figure bell-krater, ea. 350 BCE. 116 PIG. 63. Slaughter ofLykaon (?). Apulian red-figure column-krater, ea. 370 BCE. 117 FIG. 64. Arming of Achilleus. Apulian red-figure loutrophoros, ea. 330 BCE. 120 PIG. 65. Arming of Achilleus. Monteleone di Spoleto chariot, ea. 550 BCE. 129 FIG. 66. Achilleus and Memnon (?). Monteleone di Spoleto chariot, ea. 550 BCE. 130 PIG. 67. Apotheosis of Achilleus (?). Monteleone di Spoleto chariot, ea. 550 BCE. 131 PIG. 68. Animal frieze. Monteleone di Spoleto chariot, ea. 550 BCE. 135 FIG. 69. Cheiron and Achilleus (?). Monteleone di Spoleto chariot, ea. 550 BCE. 135 PIG. 70. Iliadic and Odyssean scenes. Ivory pyxis, ea. 600 BCE. 137 FIG. 71. Ambush ofTroilos. Etruscan tomb painting, ea. 530 BCE. 140 PIG. 72. Ambush ofTroilos. Pontic amphora, ea. 560 BCE. 142 FIG. 73. Ambush ofTroilos. Corinthian bottle, ea. 600-575 BCE. 143 PIG. 74. Ambush ofTroilos. Attic black-figure hydria, ea. 560/550 BCE. 144 PIG. 75. Aphrodite's mission to Helen. Etruscan mirror, ea. 450 BCE. 149 PIG. 76. Aphrodite's mission to Helen. Etruscan mirror, ea. 450 BCE. 151 PIG. 77. Aphrodite's mission to Helen. Etruscan mirror, ea. 400 BCE. 153 PIG. 78. Mourning Penelope (?). Etruscan mirror, ea. 450 BCE. 154 FIG. 79. Odysseus' visit to the underworld. Etruscan mirror, ea. 400 BCE (?). 155 FIG. 80. Achilleus sacrificing Trojan youths. Cista Revil, ea. 300 BCE. 157 FIG. 81. Achilleus sacrificing Trojan youths. Etruscan tomb painting (Fram;:ois Tomb), ea. 350 BCE. 159 PIG. 82. Etruscan warriors. Etruscan tomb painting (Fram;ois Tomb), ea. 350 BCE. 160 FIG. 83. Achilleus sacrificing Trojan youths. Marble sarcophagus, fourth century BCE. 165 PIG. 84. Neoptolemos sacrificing Polyxena. Marble sarcophagus, fourth century BCE. 166 FIG. 85. Odysseus threatening Kirke. Marble sarcophagus, fourth century BCE. 167 FIG 86. Odysseus slaying a ram. Marble sarcophagus, fourth century BCE. 168

IL L U S T R AT I O N S

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FOREWORD Steven Lowenstam had completed a draft of this book in November 2002 when he learned that he had an inoperable brain tumor. During the next year, until his death in December 2003, he continued to refine the manuscript. In October 2003 the Johns Hopkins University Press provisionally accepted the book for publication with the requirement that certain issues, noted by external reviewers, be addressed, but by then Steven was no longer able to make the necessary changes or undertake the acquisition of illustrations. When Steven initially learned of his illness, he asked me if I would be willing to see the book through to publication in the event that he was not able to do so. I readily agreed. In 2001 and 2002, Steven and I had both been in Rome using the resources of the libraries of the American Academy and the DAI for our research. Since both of our projects were iconographic studies, we had frequently used similar sources and in this way had come to know each other and to discuss each other's work. We continued to correspond once we were back at our respective universities, and I eventually read and commented on Steven's entire manuscript. Thus, I believed that I could be faithful to Steven's intentions when dealing with any editing that was necessary. In preparing the book for publication, I have made some modifications to the introduction based on the external reviewer's recommendations, clarifying Steven's intentions and method. However, in whatever editing I have done I have been careful not to impose my own views, so the book remains in every way true to Steven's intentions. This is his book. A generous grant from the Loeb Classical Library Foundation allowed me to obtain the necessary illustrations for the book. T. H.CARPENTER

Ohio University

xiii

AS WITNESSED BYIMAGES

INTRODUCTION

For hundreds of years Mediterranean artists and poets recounted the myths of the Trojan War and its aftermath. Each rendering was a reenactment, a renewal of an ancient tradition dating back to the Indo-Europeans, but also an autonomous act of affiliation, bonding the present moment and its exigencies with the distant past. 1 When the Siren Painter, for instance, drew an image of Odysseus tied to a mast in the midst of three Sirens, he was portraying a scene that other painters and poets had depicted for centuries (see fig. 21).2 He was performing a ritual, an act of repetition that connected him with all his predecessors, revealing his faith in the deep truth of this myth and its related stories. At the same time he was interjecting into his depiction observations about love and poetry that situate the image within the fifth century BCE. 3 The mythic tradition remained vibrant because it could comprehend all models of the myth's reality. Myth is an experiential template which each age molds to match its own ontological, ideological, and religious outlook. Greek values changed over time, but much remained constant. For this reason the old stories abided, particularly because each myth embodied numerous variations, which poets and painters could include, alter, or delete. It was never a question of choosing between tradition and innovation, because it was traditional to innovate; innovation entailed the skillful manipulation of the tradition. No two reenactments were the same, but artisans kept retelling the same myths. In fact, the concept of copies or verbatim reiterations is entirely foreign to the purveyors of myth. Milman Parry tried to get a South Slavic singer to "repeat" a song another bard had sung, but each rendition by the second singer was markedly different. 4 Similarly, Greek bards never sang the same song, nor did artists reproduce the "exact" same image or "illustrate" precisely what they had heard from a poet. Trojan War myth was the common inheritance of all Greek storytellers. The deeds of Achilleus, Odysseus, and other heroes were portrayed by lyric poets, monumental wall-painters, epic poets, vase-painters, dramatists, and sculptors. All these artisans belonged to the same culture, scrutinized

1

what the others were creating, and responded in their own work. Painters not only depicted stories they knew from poets and from other painters, but they sometimes even inscribed on their images words that belonged to the special vocabulary of archaic poetry. Artists did not exist in a vacuum, unaware of or impervious to the poetry being performed in their communities. Similarly poets were surrounded by images, on their temples, on the great public walls, on the vessels from which they drank. 5 On occasion, bards described artworks in their poems, sometimes, as R.M. Cook has demonstrated, revealing knowledge of actual artifacts circulating at that time. 6 The culture was remarkably interactive in the period treated in this book (ea. 650-300 BCE). The general view I have been expressing, however, is not the common opinion among critics. If one delves into the secondary literature treating the vases, mirrors, and sculptural reliefs discussed in this book, one finds a medley of views. Some scholars believe that most artworks depicting Iliadic and Odyssean subjects were directly inspired or influenced by the Homeric poems. Others assert that the artists almost entirely disregarded the poems known in their time, including the Iliad and Odyssey.Critics often assert that, if there are several depictions of the same subject during the same period, there must have been a monumental work, possibly painted on a wall, on which all the variants were modeled. Particularly with Etruscan works, one hears of ignorant artists who had no idea of which myth they were depicting. Finally, almost all ancient artwork is seen in terms of immediacy, art to be appreciated for its aesthetics, not that the occasional ideological message could not slip in. I disagree with all these assessments. In the interactive culture I have been outlining, with its flexible system of traditional myth, there is no authoritative version or text of any story at any time. It is for this reason that critics attempting to pinpoint the date at which artists began to illustrate the Iliad and Odysseyhave always failed.7 To be sure, the Homeric poems gained a unique status in the sixth century, when they were publicly performed at the Panathenaea, but such a mark of distinction did not discourage Aeschylus from writing the Myrmidons, Nereids,and Phrygians,his Iliadic trilogy, nor did it prevent vase-painters from depicting the Aeschylean version instead of the Homeric. 8 The same is true of Sophocles' Odyssean plays later in the century. Each genre and art form had its own voice, with none dictating to the others. In an environment in which artisans constantly observed and reacted to each other, no discernible rendition was ignored. Painters had to know both the poems their customers were hearing and the images their competitors were painting. One still sees this phenomenon today in Greek shops: all vendors know precisely the merchandise that their competitors carry;

2

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a change made by one store-a sale, the latest product, a new sign in the window-immediately results in countermoves by the others, usually in the form of imitation. Inattentiveness or ignorance is not an option in the marketplace. And when we discuss performances of poetry or the production of vases and statues, we are referring to businesses, to the retailing of myth. As is often cited, Telemachos asserts that people wish to hear the most recent epic poem (Od. 1.351-52).Poets and painters supplied the demand, and neither dismissed the other. There are many consequences of regarding Greek artwork as a business. For instance, because vases were painted to be sold, they must have served some function. In fact, potters and painters produced vases for a number of uses. As a result, one cannot treat a representation of Achilleus on a krater in the same class as one painted on a lekythos, for the one was aimed to accord with the festivities and discourses of the symposium and the other was intended to serve those at the tomb. While this formulation is not ironclad (not every lekythos, for instance, was destined for funereal use), the general point is valid. Distinct functions make it clear that ancient art aimed at more than decoration ("art for art's sake"). A person mourning at the grave usually does not care about pretty pictures. While one cannot ignore the ornamental role of art, the thesis that painters (e.g., Etruscans) decorated countless works with stories they did not understand seems on the surface bizarre. Unfortunately critics seem particularly eager to attribute such "banalization" of myth to non-Greeks. As I shall argue in the third chapter, one of the myths evoked to corroborate this Etruscan ignorance (the ambush ofTroilos) not only fails to demonstrate this point but even provides unique information that helps us to interpret Greek depictions of this story. The nescience of artists must remain a last resort, a refuge when no other explanation suffices. Finally, to return to the point about influences: one cannot doubt that some artists, vase-painters for instance, might have been influenced by monumental wall-paintings situated in public areas of the city, but such artists were responding to a multitude of other images and words at the same time. The idea of a model often embraces a value judgment, the determination that an Etruscan or a Roman, for example, could not have independently devised such a skillful artwork and therefore must have imitated or copied a Greek "original." 9 In what I have defined as an interactive culture, several similar versions of a subject merely demonstrate that one multiform of the tradition has become momentarily popular. Sometimes there was an ideological reason: for instance, Achilleus' immolation of the Trojan youths, which Etruscan artists depicted repeatedly in the fourth century BCE, conveyed an anti-Roman message, but there was no monu-

INTRODUCTION

m3

mental model that each artist copied. 10 Or the reason for repetition may be as simple as the fact that one image sold extremely well or one workshop was obsessed with the message it was producing. In sum, I am furnishing a model for the interrelationship between ancient painting and poetry-and ultimately for the understanding of Greek art-which differs from most standard paradigms. I have stressed a culture in which all art forms interacted with each other, their practitioners being aware of what the others were producing and responding to each other. No genre-for instance, Homer's epics-held sway over the rest, but each productive art influenced the others. And I have emphasized a flexible system of traditional myth utilized by the ceramic and poetic businesses to sell their products. This model is only one of several possible systems explaining visual depictions of Iliadic and Odyssean myth, so how does one determine which to accept? One answer is to examine the assumptions on which the different paradigms are predicated. Therefore in the next two sections I shall explore what I consider to be the main schools of thought and I shall highlight their presuppositions. Paradigms and the Role of Poetry The interconnection between ancient painters and poets has aroused much debate. There are three main paradigms to explain the relationship between poets and artists who depicted epic myth in the Greek archaic period, the most enduring of which gives primacy to the Homeric poems. Written down in the eighth or early seventh centuries and quickly diffused over a large area, the Iliad and Odyssey,according to this first view, enormously influenced Greek vase-painters and other artists from the seventh century BCE on. Luckenbach and Friis Johansen particularly championed this view, but Miiller, Bulas, and Brommer reached the same conclusion in their major studies." Powell has revitalized this thesis by placing the date of the Homeric poems even earlier, in the first quarter of the eighth century BCE.

12

The second paradig_m for explaining the interrelation of poetry and painting accepts the traditional dating of the Homeric poems but holds that painters often disregarded whatever knowledge they had of the Iliad and Odyssey.13 This interpretation, supported by the studies of von Steuben, Fittschen, Kannicht, and Ahlberg-Cornell, gains adherents because it can explain why painted versions of Homeric scenes often differ from the Homeric text at a time when the Iliad and Odysseywere supposed to have attained canonical status. 14 A variant of this view was artfully put forth by R.M. Cook in 1983and recently restated by Snodgrass. 15 Cook maintained that the painters based their knowledge of Trojan myth on the tales they 4

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had heard as children, not on poems they knew from bards or rhapsodes. 16 For this reason visual and poetic depictions rarely intersect. In fact, Cook, echoed by Snodgrass, finds only two artistic works before 530/520 BCE that reveal what he calls definite knowledge of the Iliad.17 The third paradigm, which is philologically based, is the one I am adapting to encompass visual depictions; it differs from the other two views first in chronology. The Iliad and Odyssey,according to this account, did not reach a form recognizable to us until a late date, perhaps the second half of the sixth century BCE, and the poems gained a special (but not canonical) status only with the reformulation of the Panathenaea in the fifth century BCE. Gregory Nagy, for instance, has proposed an evolutionary model of the Iliad and Odysseythat pictures a slow process of diffusion, initiated by a formative stage at the end of the eighth century and leading to a more definitive phase in the middle of the sixth. 18 I have argued elsewhere that the Iliad and Odysseyeither were not composed in a form recognizable to us before the end of the sixth century BCE or, if produced earlier, did not gain renown until that date or slightly later.19 In fact, in a striking instance of synchronicity, several scholars, using different forms of evidence, have recently come to the same conclusion: according to this view, the date for the fixation or composition of our Homeric poems is late.20 In the third paradigm, then, versions of the epic tradition preserved in our inherited, written texts do not have authoritative status for the vasepainters and other artists during the seventh and sixth centuries. 21 Even in the fifth century, alternate versions of the Trojan myths circulated and influenced painters. Some images from that late period depict earlier versions of myths that our Homeric poets probably knew, alluded to, and rejected. For instance, a vase in the Louvre shows a version of the abduction ofBriseis that the Iliad acknowledges but disavows.22 During the sixth and fifth centuries, vase-painters also reveal an awareness oflyric and dramatic performances.2 3 All the arts were interacting with each other, conducting a dialogue that lasted for centuries. Now, in assessing these three models for explaining the relationship between visual and poetic depictions of epic myth particularly during the Archaic period, two assumptions are paramount. The first paradigm differs from the second primarily in regard to the question of whether painters followed or ignored poets (especially Homer), and the third model differs from the first two in chronology. Both issues are extremely difficult, sometimes involving proving a negative (can one demonstrate that no vasepainter before 530 knew Homer?).24 In the following pages I shall educe the reasons that led me to advocate the third paradigm. While it is impossible to show that a painter was depicting a scene utilizing details derived from only one source, namely Homer, evidence abounds

I N T RO Du C T I O N

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for the fact that artists were never impervious to the poetic traditions. If it were true that painters attained their knowledge of epic almost entirely from childhood stories or the like, how did painters acquire and why did they then inscribe poetic fragments onto their images? A Corinthian painter, for instance, identifies Amphitrite on a pinax as [Il]oTEu5apa>voc; c1qomc;("Poseidon's wife"), a phrase that embodies poetic vocabulary, an epic form, and a hexametric half-line. Other similar inscriptions, such as [IloT]£6«fOVtf«VaKTt("for lord Poseidon"), make use of Homeric formulae with all the archaisms retained. 25Further, many scraps of lyric poetry and drinking songs appear on painted pottery intended for the symposium.26So there can be no doubt that the painters not only heard various forms of poetry but sometimes even thought it important to indite such words or phrases on their images. According to the second paradigm, artists did not "illustrate" or blindly follow poets: differences between painted and sung versions of heroic epic are due to the artists' determination to express their own imagination regardless of how poets had depicted certain heroic events. Obviously the degree to which painters diverged from the many lost poetic sources they knew is impossible to determine, but I firmly support the notion that many painters revealed great creativity in devising their images. The issue, however, is how they displayed this inventiveness. Lessing located the artists' originality in regard to Homeric myth primarily in their ability to translate from one medium to another, 27 but I believe this assessment, while it clarifies one aspect of artistic creativity, underrates the overall achievement. ·These painters, like their poetic contemporaries, chose from different sources (poetic and visual), from different versions of the tradition, to create the images of myth they wished to circulate. Sometimes they mixed sources. In a masterful investigation, Bernhard Doble has demonstrated that early fifth-century depictions of the embassy to Achilleus rely on both Aeschylus and Homer.28But despite this latitude, artisans had to keep close tabs on their customers' knowledge and expectations, because vase-painting was a business. Painters could not recast mythic narratives into completely new stories that might not be understood by their viewers.29It is for this reason that we, the modern spectators, can follow almost all ancient depictions of myths from the Trojan Cycle. I conclude, then, that ceramic workshops were essentially never impervious to the numerous versions of myth circulating, both painted and sung. Artists needed to know the same poetry that their customers were hearing. As discussed above, the interest in poetry extended even to adding poetic words and phrases to the artists' images. This salient role of poetry in vase-painting, however, does not support the first paradigm, the model that regards the Homeric poems as the great authority, because, with all 6 Ill

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the metrical inscriptions and all the scraps of poetry found on vases, no quotation from the Iliad or Odysseyever appears. The most surprising instance occurs on a cup by Douris, on which a schoolboy is shown learning an Iliadic poem inscribed on a scroll: Moioa µot aq,l l:Kaµavc5pov tup

oov apxoµ' ad[v]c5tv,"Muse, for me I begin to sing of wide-flowing Skamandros." Douris has chosen some other Iliad, one belonging to the same tradition (the inscribed hexameter consists of three Homeric formulae and two Homeric peculiarities), 30 but he has not quoted our poem. So much for canonical status! All this evidence supports the interactive model, the view that poets and painters were very much aware of what the others were disseminating and each in turn responded to the most recent works beheld and heard. Chronology Ultimately chronology constitutes the main issue in discussing the relation of painters to poets. The second paradigm (inattention to poets) is a response to the observation that many vase-representations containing Iliadic and Odyssean material differ from the Homeric poems. For critics who have felt certain that the Iliad and Odysseyantedated the paintings and had eclipsed all competing poetic versions, the natural conclusion has been that painters chose to depict their own versions of the heroic stories regardless of Homer's treatment. But if the discrepancies between art and poetry are due not to inattention or detachment but rather to the late emergence of the Iliad and Odyssey,such explanations are unnecessary. Again, it all comes down to relative chronology. The most striking aspect of this issue, as I hope to demonstrate, is that the evidence for determining the date of the Homeric poems is extremely tenuous. 31 The early date of the Iliad and Odysseyhas been determined on the basis of supposed literary allusions to the Homeric poems, statements of ancient commentators, and cultural phenomena that in some way imply an eighthcentury context. To start with the first criterion: lyric poets such as Archilochus, Aleman, Callinus, and Tyrtaeus employ Homeric epithets and formulae, and it has been argued that such use attests to direct Homeric influence; but in fact, such correspondence points only to a common store of traditional language. Both lyric and epic inherited archaic diction. 32 The case is similar with supposed Homeric allusions in Stesichorus and Alcaeus.33Other possible references to the Homeric poems are late or difficult to date. Simonides' apparent reference to Homer and a Homeric speech (ll. 6.146-49, Simon. 8.1-2W) is late (end of sixth century BCEor fifth), but even the material cited (generations of humans compared to that ofleaves) is probably a traditional thought in epic and lyric poetry, as is indicated by INTRODUCTION

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its repetition in a number of authors. 34 Further, because many quotations ascribed to "the man of Chios" or "Homer" are not found in our Iliad or Odyssey,it is clear that "Homer" in the sixth and fifth centuries refers normally to epic poetry in general.35 Critics using the statements of ancient commentators, the second body of material employed to reach a date for Homer, must be very selective because, as is well known, these writers are highly unreliable. The ancients place Homer's lifetime at various dates over a four-hundred-year time span, assign him to twenty different homelands, provide eight different names for his father and ten for his mother, and inform us that the poet was blind or a hostage. None of this information can be confirmed in any way.36 Until the fourth century, furthermore, the ancients, as I have just mentioned, conceived of "Homer" as the creator of most of the Trojan epics. Although there is little doubt that the tradition of the Trojan myths goes back at least to the eighth century and quite possibly to the earlier period specified by ancient critics, this information does not help to date our actual poems. While Herodotus may be more trustworthy than most of these commentators, even his statement that Homer and Hesiod lived four hundred years before his own time is expressed not with certainty but as a belief (ooKtw,2.53.2).37 The material handed down to us from antiquity concerning Homer, far from providing reliable information on this subject, is more useful as an indicator of how little the ancients knew about him. 38 The third category for determining a chronology for the Homeric poems relies on datable cultural evidence and artifacts. For instance, a portrayal of Gorgons on Agamemnon's shield suggests a date no earlier than the seventh century. 39 Barry Powell expounds a detailed case for placing the Iliad in the first quarter of the eighth century, but the evidence is far from conclusive.40 He argues, for instance, that the fact that Homer does not mention hoplite tactics, inhumation, or literacy (the latter point is moot but, I think, correct) indicates a date in the eighth century. Even if Homer were silent about such practices (and recent critics have in fact demonstrated that the Iliad does display hoplite fighting), such arguments from silence are dangerous. 41 For example, the fact that Homer almost entirely disregards the Dorians and prizes iron as a rare metal does not necessarily establish an origin in the eleventh century BCE. The archaizing and eclectic nature of Greek epic makes it difficult to arrive at a date with confidence. Thus, the evidence for an early dating of the Homeric poems must be called into question. It is also worth noting that investigations into Homeric chronology usually ignore the evidence presented by vases or else make the painted versions of epic a terminus ante quem for the poems, a conclusion that makes little sense.42 If the vases do not agree with our Homeric poems, there is no intrinsic reason to conclude that the versions of 8

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the myths narrated in the poems precede those depicted on the vases. The opposite conclusion is just as apposite. While a full investigation of the dating of the Iliad and Odysseyis not possible here, some response should be made to those who argue that the Homeric poems could not be as late as the sixth century BCE. Ian Morris expounds what he terms two serious objections to such a hypothesis: (1)we would know more about "Homer" if he were so late, and (2) there are no sixth-century anachronisms.' 13 The first point is based on the following assumptions: a poet named Homer used traditional material to create one or two highly original poems so extraordinary that audiences were eagerto learn as much as possible about the poet. The originality of the poems, immediacy and sensationalness of the response, and eagerness for biographical information should all be questioned. The reason we believe we know something about some of the lyric poets is that their genre encourages them to reveal true or fictive information about themselves (or their narrators), while epic poets traditionally efface autobiographical details. Genre can also explain the supposed lack of anachronisms: the poems portray the distant past, and the medium has handed down material that was archaistic at the time of performance." In fact, anachronisms have slipped in and are present, 45 but their almost complete absence tells us more about the nature of archaic epic than it informs us about the date of the poems. Further, it is problematical methodologically that critics search for anachronisms only to dismiss them as late intrusions when they find them.46 So, for example, a reference (II. 7.333-35) to the bringing home of warriors' ashes (whatever this passage means and to whatever date it should be assigned-probably the fifth century BCE) and all the forms of the Attic dialect may well be evidence of the poems' late date of composition. 47 In sum, although I do not reject out of hand an early date for the formulation of the Homeric poems, I see no evidence that the Iliad and Odyssey became entrenched in Greek culture with special stature before the fifth century; even at that date the Homeric versions of the Achillean and Odyssean myths did not hold a canonical position as Aeschylus and Sophocles were able to prove. Further, the actual evidence for ascribing the Homeric poems to the eighth or seventh century is surprisingly tenuous."' There is evidence for late authorship-anachronisms and diction-but it too is not substantial enough for certainty. Nevertheless, I am impressed by the range of evidence that has been brought to bear for a late date. Erwin Cook educes cult evidence, Gregory Nagy evinces performance criteria, Raphael Sealey stresses anachronisms, Karl Schefold emphasizes iconographical innovations, Keith Stanley focuses on the themes and structure of the Iliad, Jensen points out Pisistratean elements, and I have dealt with ceramic inI N T RO D u C T I O N

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scriptions and iconographical evidence.' 9 With this multifarious support, I feel comfortable championing the third paradigm, the model that sees artists and poets competing, interacting with each other, and creating the exquisite depictions of Greek heroic myth that we have been fortunate enough to inherit.

Purposes and Methodology This book is predicated on the thesis that Greek and Etruscan art reveal much about the origins, evolution, and reception of the Homeric poems. The focus, therefore, is on those images that add to our knowledge and interpretation of the epic tradition, including the Iliad and Odyssey.My approach has been called "Homer-centric," a characterization that I accept in this sense: in my view, Iliadic and Odyssean myth furnishes the richest literary material for investigating the relationship between verbal and visual depictions of the archaic epic tradition. 50 This point is obvious: we possess only small fragments of the Epic Cycle, in contrast to twenty-eight thousand lines of Homer. My choice of working mostly with Iliadicand Odyssean myth, however, does not reflect a value judgment about either the quality or the relative antiquity of the Iliad and Odysseyvis-a-vis other Trojan War poems. When I speak of the mythic tradition in this book, I am referring to a unified tradition that ultimately led to both the Homeric poems and those of the Epic Cycle, as well as to visual depictions of epic myth. For this reason, I have not limited myself in this book to material directly connected with the Homeric poems but have included some depictions of the judgment of Paris, the courtship and wedding of Helen and Paris, the ambush ofTroilos, Kastor and Polydeukes, the murder ofThersites, the rape of Kassandra, and the apotheosis of Achilleus. I argue here that Achillean and Odyssean visual images are influenced not only by the iconographical tradition but also by any number of Iliads and Odysseys in the archaic period. The Epic Cycle provides a model. For instance, as suggested by Jonathan Burgess in his stimulating book on the Epic Cycle, the Cypriaand Little Iliad may beconsidered other Iliads.51 In fact, this supposition may explain why individual Cyclic poems are often attributed to more than one author. It may be that the question is not whether Lesches, Thestorides, Cinaethon, or Diodorus composed the Little Iliad but that each formulated a poem on the same subject. To turn to my treatment of the artifacts discussed: the material in this book is approached on several levels. First, I analyze each image as an independent unit to obtain some idea of its message. With all the works,

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but particularly with the South Italian vases discussed in chapter 2, I pay careful attention to the function of the painted vessel, trying to see how a specific depiction might have promoted those uses. Finally, inscriptions receive a great deal of attention. In my research it has surprised me how often a single word written on an image has proved key to its ultimate interpretation. The second level of treatment entails the correlation of visual art with the tradition behind it. Usually, reference is made to the Homeric poems, not on the grounds that these poems directly influenced the artwork but because these epics present an important specimen of the tradition. Again, the supposition is that paintings and poems, siblings of the same generation, act as responses to the same ancient tradition; but for those who believe that the Homeric poems spawned the images, directly or indirectly, the word "Homer" can be substituted for "tradition." In other words, despite the differences among the three paradigms that I have outlined above, I believe that my analysis of ancient art can prove of value even to those who do not accept the interactive model. I contend that paintings and reliefs are the earliest interpretations and critiques of the heroic tradition to have survived, but those that do not accept the chronology I have proposed can revise that thesis to regard the artists as our first interpreters and critics of the Homeric poems. Nevertheless, I must add that, despite being an adherent of the interactive model for some time, during the course of writing this book I have often been astonished at the unity of vision I have found. Word and image correspond and fit together beautifully. Hence, I have become even more convinced that one should not subordinate painter to poet or vice versa. As a result, one of the aims of this book is to reveal the diverse but unified picture of the tradition of early Greek epic as it has come down to us in word and image. The final level for analysis involves tracing the evolution of the tradition as witnessed by the images. Tonio Holscher has recently observed that the analysis of vase-painting can reveal the complex history of "social mentality, as it developed from decade to decade."51 Such a transformation is visible in depictions of Odysseus surrounded by Sirens and representations of the ransom of Hektor, both of which changed greatly within a mere century. The special interest here is to observe how artists used the tradition to express a succession of different messages over time. Painting has an advantage that extant epic poetry lacks: each of the Homeric poems probably represents one performance, one point in time. Although scholars have used evidence from the poems to reconstruct earlier versions of the myths embodied in the epics, different periods are jumbled together into one unified whole: fossils like the boar's tusk helmet appear along-

INTRODUCTION

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side modern burial practices. The tradition of painting, in contrast, shows clearly how depictions evolved over a long period, from 650 to well within the Common Era. I have found that vase-depictions serve my aims best, but I have also utilized images on mirrors and relief sculpture. This book is not intended as a survey of vase-painting, nor is its treatment of Trojan myth meant to be comprehensive. It is impossible in a book of this size to deal with all the representations of the Trojan Cycle created by Greek, South Italian, and Etruscan artists. Therefore I have chosen the images that seem to me to contribute the most to our knowledge of the epic tradition. I know of no single book like this one that treats in detail the Fran~ois Vase, the Darius Painter's "immolation of Trojan youths," and the Monteleone di Spoleto chariot. The Italiote and Etruscan material has for too long been divorced from Greek images, a disjunction to be regretted, particularly when one recognizes the unity of the heroic tradition. The organization of this book is straightforward. Chapter 1 focuses on Attic and Corinthian depictions of Trojan myths. Some other material is also treated. Peloponnesian and East Greek images are for the most part omitted, not because they lack interest or significance but in order to go into greater depth with the artifacts treated. Chapter 2 demonstrates both the continuity of the Greek tradition in Apulia and Lucania and also the unexpected interpretations of epic myth that are presented in these works. Again, the treatment is selective. Chapter 3 deals with the difficult subject of how foreigners, namely the Etruscans, received and interpreted the Greek myths of Achilleus and Odysseus. I argue that the Etruscans understood Greek mythology, converted it to their own purposes, and sometimes included information that turns out to be invaluable for our understanding of Trojan myth. Ultimately the aim of this book is to help unify classical philology and ancient art history. Myths of the Trojan War and its aftermath were the common inheritance of both ancient poets and ancient artists, and similarly the analysis of these images and poems belongs equally to the two modern disciplines. If my research has taught me nothing else, it is that art historians and philologists have much to contribute to each other and have done so already. But more is possible.

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I CiREECE In the middle of the seventh century BCE, an astonishing event occurred in the ancient world: in three widely separated areas and with four different artistic styles, four painters narrated the same story at the same time. The Proto-Attic Polyphemos Painter portrayed the blinding of a giant by three men in the black-and-white style (fig. 1). A Peloponnesian painter depicted the same scene in Argos (fig. 2). Meanwhile an artist in Etruria, who signed his work with the surprising name of Aristonothos ("Best Bastard"), depicted the scene with five men conducting the deed (fig. 3). Finally, using an Etruscan fabric (red impasto) and employing the white-on-red style, a fourth artist showed the act with three men (fig. 4).1 Thus dawned the representation of Odyssean myth in Mediterranean art. 2 It is difficult to overstate the magnitude of this convergence. The Geometric style, which artists had used for two centuries up until about 700 BCE, might have been the medium through which to purvey this narrative, but, despite many suggestive images, Geometric style artists did not depict myths that are unquestionably Homeric. 3 Instead, painters at two different sites in Greece and in two localities in Italy were depicting the Polyphemos story using relatively new techniques. The black-and-white style, for instance, had not been current for more than a decade or two, and whiteon-red impasto had not been used for much longer.4 Aristonothos and the Proto-Argive artist were pioneering new styles, too, in their areas. The romantic interpretation of this event is to regard these painters, spread around the Mediterranean, as heralding the birth of Homer's Odyssey,5 but in fact neither do these four images nor do those that follow during the next hundred and fifty years reveal any particular knowledge of that poem. These four depictions clearly exhibit an awareness of a tale about a giant's blinding, even specifically the Polyphemos story, but no more. There can be no doubt that there were singers in the seventh century performing poems about the adventures of Odysseus, rendering various accounts of the myth and tailoring them to the exigencies of each performance. Our four images reflect that singing of tales, but it is impossible to tell which 13

Fig. 1. Blinding of Polyphemos. Proto-Attic amphora, ea. 650 BCE. Eleusis Archaeological Museum (2630). Courtesy of Hellenic Republic Ministry of Culture.

Fig. 2. Blinding of Polyphemos. Argive krater fragment, ea. 650 BCE. Argos Archaeological Museum (C 149). Courtesy of Hellenic Republic Ministry of Culture.

Fig. 3. Blinding of Polyphemos. Etruscan krater, ea. 650

BCE. Musei Capitolini, Rome

(172/Ca).Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini.

specific poem-or even if they were the same poem-our four artists heard and were responding to.6 Because bards had been singing Odysseys for possibly hundreds of years,7 the convergence of responses to this episode of the Odysseus myth is probably due not to events regarding one particular poet or epic but rather to more sweeping changes that were taking place in the Greek world in the middle of the seventh century. Most pertinent is the exploration and foreign settlement of lands outside of Greece. As is evident from the two western instances of the Polyphemos painting, a proliferation and diffu-

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Fig. 4. Blinding of Polyphemos. Etruscan pithos with lid, ea. 650-625 BCE. J.Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California. Villa Collection, gift of Barbara and Lawrence Fleischman (96.AE.135). Photo from the museum.

sion of song was taking place with the myth of Odysseus spreading to a new world, and this myth took on special meaning for the colonists exploring these new lands. The image of Greeks blinding a giant came to emblematize not only the dangers and anxieties of foreign travel but also the resolve to overcome unexpected adversity through courage and guile. The myth of Polyphemos, as narrated in a series of Odysseys, encapsulates this response to current events; the images that accompany the blinding also focus on dangers and heroic action. Aristonothos paints a sea battle on the reverse of his Polyphemos version, while the Etruscan painter depicts orientalizing images of nature, a lion that has captured a deer for instance. Sir John Beazley notes that these types of animal scenes "are not merely decorative in early Greek art, but significant of terror and power."8 The painters also highlight the dangers of inebriation: the Etruscan painter depicts an amphora in the Polyphemos scene, and the Polyphemos Painter shows a wine cup. In sum. Odyssean representation on Greek vases dawned at a point when painters had new artistic styles with which to capture the recent concerns of their times. The four images of Polyphemos' blinding suggest the Weltanschauung of the Greek world in the mid-seventh century BCE. As much as we would like to connect these images to subjects of great interest to us, namely to the Homeric poems that we possess, we would do better to listen to the vases and other artifacts that speak to us after so many centuries. But, to gain some idea of their messages, we need to know what functions these artworks served. Therefore, we turn our attention to the uses of Greek vases (in this chapter we focus for the most part on ceramic evidence because monumental wall-paintings have not survived). The questions we need to ask are: what functions did Greek vases have, and why did artists paint the specific images that appear on them? 9 Fine Greek pottery served many purposes, the most obvious of which was to serve as symposium ware.1°Vesselssuch as the krater, cup, stamnos, psykter, oinochoe, skyphos, rhyton, and phiale, as well as the amphora and hydria, were employed to transport wine and water, mix the two liquids, and serve as cups. Most of the associations of symposia-drinking (with its Dionysiac connections), ritual, music, recitation of poetry, sexuality-are reflected in the decoration and imagery of Greek pots. 11 The strong interconnection between the symposium, poetry, and vase-painting is evident in various forms. First, painters often depict poets (such as Alcaeus and Sappho), rhapsodes, and dramatic choruses; sometimes the artists even inscribe the verses that the performers are declaiming. 12 Many of these lines belong to lyric, but epic also appears. For instance, on an amphora by the Kleophrades Painter an epic bard sings out, no-r· tv Tuptv8t, "once upon a time in Tiryns ... "; on a cup by Douris, as mentioned earlier,

wot

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a teacher holds a scroll of an Iliadic poem that begins Moioa µm aq>i !Kaµavc5povtup

oov dpxoµ' ad[v]c5t:V, "Muse, for me I begin to sing 13 of wide-flowing Skamandros." Such images and such quotations indicate that symposia were places where men recited and talked about epic and other forms of poetry. This inference is confirmed by literary depictions of symposia, in which, for instance, we find banqueters analyzing such questions as whether Patroklos was older than Achilleus and why Achilleus sacrificed his life after Patroklos' death. 1" The earliest such literary representation that has survived dates to the fourth century BCE, but painted depictions of Iliadic and Odyssean myth go all the way back to the seventh century BCE. Hence, the painters are our first extant interpreters and critics of the epic tradition. Depictions of Iliadic and Odyssean motifs on symposium ware, then, reflect a topic of discussion at actual symposia; the aim of the paintings may even have been to inspire debates at such gatherings or to recapitulate prevalent interpretations. With these images we have the most "pure" interpretations of these myths and their tradition: the painters are responding directly to the stories they have learned and the images they have seen, but such a statement does not exclude the likelihood that they interjected political and ideological concerns into the myths they knew. Athenian claims on Salamis, for instance, affected the characterization of Aias in the sixth century, and representations of Herakles and Theseus may have reflected ideological concerns. 15 In any case, the painters furnish some idea of how Greeks in the sixth and fifth centuries viewed the epic tradition. Greek vases served other purposes too. The lekythos, alabastron, louterion, loutrophoros, and krater had specific funerary uses. Further, almost any vessel could be deposited as an offering in a tomb, and both Attic and Corinthian painters may have specifically decorated some vases to be exported abroad for use as tomb gifts. This funerary function would have influenced both the subjects portrayed and the specific interpretations presented. For instance, a Corinthian hydria discovered in Caere (Cervetri, in Etruria) in all likelihood depicts the mourning of Thetis and her sister Nereids at the bier of Achilleus (fig. 5).16 The expressions of grief are probably intended to appeal to the grieving family that purchased the hydria, and the implicit comparison of the deceased person with Achilleus might also console the survivors. There is another message too: if Thetis and divinities must overcome suffering, mortals too must attempt to accept their losses. Hence, in such contexts the painters are not commenting on AchilIean myth or poetry but are employing the heroic tradition as a means to make specific observations about death, grief, and endurance. There are still other uses of pottery. The pyxis was a cosmetic box. The aryballos was an oil jar used by athletes. The phiale had ritual use, and

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Fig. 5. Nereids at the bier of Achilleus. Corinthian hydria, ea. 570

BCE. Louvre, Paris

(E643). Image© Reunion des Musees Nationaux / Art Resource, NY.

votive plaques met other religious requirements. Some vases, for instance Panathenaic amphorae, served as prizes; some are shown in paintings as awards in contests, as on the Fran~ois Vase (discussed below). All these possible applications warn us that, when we are analyzing iconography, we must always consider the function of the actual vase; we must question whether the specific use of a vase might inform the message it depicts.

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While we might wish only to trace the Homeric myths that we know from the Iliad and Odyssey,the painters were rarely creating art for art's sake. They were responding to specific requirements and contexts, which colored their use of myth. In the broadest sense, the traditional, heroic mythology served as a vehicle through which Greek artists and their patrons communicated the concerns of their times. While some painters and customers saw these stories "merely" as a form of decoration, the works they created reflect the age in which they were produced. Artists are like Plato's prisoner: they can escape the cave for a time but must always return. And so the stories they tell are always their own, and each age molds the myths to match its own practical, ontological, and aesthetic outlook. Myths of the Trojan War survived for as long as they did because people in each succeeding generation recognized that this body of stories reflected their own lives, their hopes, suffering, and beliefs. Painters honed the material to express their values: they varied, rearranged, and retold the inherited stories, joining one era to another. As a result, visual depictions of epic have much to tell us about the history of the heroic tradition.

The Fran~oisVase The first work to be considered here, the Fran~ois Vase, is perhaps the most spectacular Greek vase surviving from antiquity, dating to about 570 BCE (figs. 6, 7)!1 Discovered in fragments at Fonte Rotella (near Chiusi) by Alessandro Fran~ois in 1844, shattered into 638 pieces by a distraught museum guard in 1900, thrice reassembled (most recently in 1973),the Fran~ois Vase has a remarkable history, but most impressive is its scope of storytelling. 18 Five horizontal panels decorate the krater with mythological subjects, two continuing around the whole vase; a sixth frieze, around the base, shows animals and mythological creatures. Kleitias, the painter, and Ergotimos, the potter, identify themselves twice and in addition inscribe the names of 130 mythic figures and inanimate objects. 19 Altogether, 270 human and animal figures are depicted on the krater, which is just over two feet tall. Twelve different mythological subjects decorate the Franc;ois Vase in six friezes (here numbered from top to bottom; obverse indicated by the letter a, reverse by b). 1a 1b 2a 2b 3ab

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Calydonian boar hunt Theseus and the dance of victory Funeral games for Patroklos Battle between Centaurs and Lapiths Marriage of Peleus and Thetis

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4a 4b sab 6ab

Ambush of Troilos The return of Hephaistos Animals and monsters Battle between pigmies and cranes

On each handle: a Gorgon Artemis as protector of animals (n6Tvla 811pwv) Aias removing the body of Achilleus from the battlefield The original occasion for which the elaborate Fran~ois Vase was produced is unknown. Although the krater was found in an Etruscan necropolis, having been smashed and scattered when the grave was robbed in antiquity, the subject matter alone makes it unlikely that the vase was painted for the tomb. Karl Schefold has suggested that the Fran~ois Vase was destined for dedication on the Acropolis but was exported to Etruria because of the misfiring evident on its foot.20 According to some scholars, commissioned vases were often sold to Etruscans after they had served their original functions. 21 Another possibility, as suggested by the central panel, is that the krater was created for a wedding; in particular the reverse shows four mythological scenes involving couples: Ariadne and Theseus, the centauromachy {initiated at the wedding of Peirithoos), Aphrodite and Hephaistos, and Thetis and Peleus.22 As attractive as this suggestion may be in terms of uniting varied myths, Kleitias' selection of these particular couples for this purpose would have been cynical and misogynistic, for all four marriages resulted in desertion, adultery, or war. While it is possible that the panel showing Thetis and Peleus was meant to celebrate a wedding, the other three registers should not be associated with this theme. In sum, while someone must have commissioned the Fran~ois Vase for some special occasion, requesting a monumental display of mythology, the precise event is unknown. Before analyzing specific scenes, it is useful to make some general observations about the coherence of the material depicted. The mythic scenes on the obverse concentrate on Achilleus' family: the central panel shows the marriage of his parents, the boar hunt prominently features Peleus in the vanguard of the attack, and Achilleus appears in the other two scenes. The battle between the cranes and pygmies, as Leonard Muellner has deftly demonstrated, contains important Iliadic motifs when it appears in the poem (ll. 3.3-7). 23 From the cranes {ytpavOl)we turn to the krater's reverse, which shows on the top register the dance called the ytpavoc;, performed by Theseus and his fellow Athenians after the minotauromachy. 24 Below this panel is the centauromachy, featuring Theseus once more; the battle between the Lapiths and Centaurs is also one of the events Nestor recalls in one of his cautionary tales in the Iliad (1.260-73). Below the uninterrupted

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Figs. 6 and 7. Frarn;:ois Vase. Attic black-figure volute-krater, ea. 570 BCE. Museo Archeologico, Florence (4209). Courtesy ofSoprintendenza per i beni Archeologici della Toscana, Firenze.

frieze of the wedding of Peleus and Thetis appears the return of Hephaistos, an event connected with Thetis; the expulsion/return is mentioned several times in the Iliad (1.590-94, 15.18-24, and 18.395-405). On both handles Aias transports the dead Achilleus. Hence, the Franc;ois Vase depicts Achillean and Iliadic motifs, but the import of the melange is curious. The two registers with Peleus clearly exalt him as a paradigmatic hero. In the Calydonian adventure he is shown bearing the brunt of the boar's attack along with Meleagros; his courage is all the more accentuated by his youth, for he is shown without facial hair. Below, still unbearded, he gains the greatest honor possible for a mortal, to marry a god and welcome divinities to his house. The top register with

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the boar hunt (ia) relates to the third, the wedding (3ab), and similarly the other two mythological reliefs on the obverse connect: Achilleus appears both overseeing the funeral games (2a) and ambushing Troilos (4a). But, if the krater glorifies the family of Achilleus, the two episodes selected to celebrate Achilleus himself seem surprising at first glance, for in one panel the hero is merely overseeing the success of others (at the funeral games) and in the second he acts not openly but in stealth; Achilleus' aversion to subterfuge is a hallmark of his character (e.g., II. 9.312-13).To match the deeds of Peleus, one might have expected a heroic battle with Memnon or Hektor, the ransom of Hektor, Thetis delivering armor, or even the apotheosis of Achilleus. These scenes, already in the repertoire by the date of

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the Fran~ois Vase,25 would have stressed Achilleus• heroism, as the adjoining panels exalt Peleus'. But the Fran~ois vase aims to portray Achilleus in a different manner. If Achilleus had been shown competing in games, Kleitias could have highlighted his hero"s athleticism. Instead, in depicting the funeral games for Patroklos, Kleitias stresses other qualities. In the Iliad Achilleus manages the games admirably, halting quarrels and honoring both winners and losers (23.257-24.2).2 6 His generosity is marked by the sheer quantity of booty that he is willing to distribute as prizes. Through such awards Achilleus ennobles his fellow soldiers, but most of all, by making the games in Patroklos• honor memorable, he pays obeisance to his friend. These qualities are the very ones Kleitias evokes in his depiction of the contest: the painter shows a prize beneath each chariot, and he depicts Achilleus managing the games at the finishing line. But Kleitias• funeral games for Patroklos suggest another message too. Five competitors are shown, the last two of whom are inscribed Damasippos ("Horse-tamer") and Hippo[tho]on ("'Fast-horse"). Clearly this race is quite an event, if charioteers with these names come in last. In third place is Diomedes, whom the Iliad makes the winner (23.499-513). Who, then, precedes Homer's champion? In front of Diomedes Kleitias puts Automedon, who stands out as a charioteer but even more so as Achilleus' charioteer. The suggestion is that Achilleus is so skilled a horseman that even his charioteer could have surpassed Diomedes, the winner in at least one version (Homer"s).27 But in front of Automedon is Odysseus. Is Odysseus, then, the best_horseracer? Kleitias cleverly calls this possibility into question. He places Achilleus at the finishing line, thereby intimating that if Achilleus had participated in the contest, he would have won. 28 This image matches Antilochos' statement in the Iliad that Achilleus could have prevailed in contests at the funeral games (23.791-92). The second panel in which Achilleus is featured depicts the ambush of Troilos, which was already a traditional scene by the second quarter of the sixth century. 29 Achilleus appears in the very middle of the panel, between the fountain house (on the left) and Troy"s battlements (at the right). 30 He is running so fast that neither foot is near the ground. Kleitias shows the momentousness of the event by the gestures the humans and immortals display. Rodia raises both her arms in horror. Apollo, Thetis, Hermes, and Athena also express agitation, as do Antenor and Priam at the right. Meanwhile, at the far right Hektor and Polites are already taking action, preparing in vain to save their brother. This panel evokes several motifs. First, Achilleus' murder of Troilos in Apollo's sanctuary is said to provoke the god's anger, and in fact the dead Achilleus appears on each handle. 31 Second, in contrast to the panel above,

24

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Kleitias highlights Achilleus' agility and courage, revealing the swiftness for which he was famed and showing him prepared single-handedly to battle Hektor, Polites, and any other Trojan attempting to rescue Troilos.-u Homer often remarks on the fact that an ambush requires the greatest courage.33Third, Achilleus is shown as a man of guile, lying in wait for Troilos rather than seeking him out in open battle. In some sense Achilleus bests Odysseus in the funeral game panel, and here he is also shown assuming one of Odysseus' most distinctive characteristics (cf. Od. 4.269-89). While the different panels of the Fran,;ois Vase have definite connections with each other, they are not dominated by a tightly unifying motif.34 Nevertheless, the obverse focuses primarily on Peleus and Achilleus, both of whom are shown as youths, unbearded. In contrast to his father, one of whose exploits is depicted along with its celebrated reward, Achilleus receives a more complex portrait. He assumes a leadership role in overseeing the games, while at the same time lavishly honoring his companion. He exhibits courage in taking on the Trojan army alone but also artifice in waylaying Troilos. In other words, he embodies not only the youthful qualities of strength and valor usually associated with him but also the mature virtues of authority, discretion, and guile attributed to someone like Odysseus.35But, as the Iliad repeatedly warns (e.g., 9.412-13, 2.4.52.7-33),a mortal can possess bountiful gifts for only a short time; and so, as the images on the handles hasten to tell us, the life of a hero is defined by death, in this case an early departure even before the beard grows. The Frant;ois Vase celebrates the very attributes ascribed to Achilleus. Hephaistos shows guile and Theseus exhibits courage, but no one shows all the qualities that Achilleus possesses. It is apt to end this section with a cup in Boston that presents a similar message but which features Odysseus as the all-encompassing hero (550 BCE or shortly afterwards}36(figs. 8, 9). On the obverse a nude Polyphemos has fallen to his right knee, presumably under the influence of wine. Odysseus with an oinochoe approaches him from the right, while from the left one of his companions pours from a large wineskin. To the right an armed Athene stands behind Odysseus and observes. On the reverse, nude Kirke stirs a potion in a cup which she offers to a male with a human body but boar's head. At left, flanked by two companions, each with human body and animal head (one with animal forelegs), Odysseus rushes in with drawn sword. At right are two more companions with human bodies and animal heads (one with animal forelegs). At far right Eurylochos runs away. On the obverse, Odysseus performs his most celebrated ruse, while on the reverse he makes a violent response to danger. In regard to the latter episode, the Odysseyemphasizes the meeting of two great tricksters

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Fig. 8. Drunken Polyphemos. Attic black-figure cup, ea.

550 BCE. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Henry Lillie Pierce Fund (99.518). Photograph C 2003 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Fig. 9. Kirke episode with Odysseus. Attic black-figure cup, ea. 550 BCE. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Henry Lillie Pierce Fund (99.518). Photograph C 2003 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

the subject of force coming up only later (10.321-22), but the painting stresses Odysseus' courage and ferocity (contrasted with Eurylochos' cravenness). As stressed by the juxtaposition of the cup's two images, Odysseus can trick the monster and threaten the sorcerer. He combines the audacity of the young and the shrewdness of the mature. The competition between Achilleus and Odysseus begins early in ancient art and continues throughout antiquity. (10.281-320),

Corinthian Perspectives In this section we shall examine mostly Corinthian vases on which all but one of the images are associated with the Homeric Cycle. Let us begin with a column-krater by the Detroit Painter, dated to about 580 BCE, showing the marriage of Paris and Helen (fig. 10). 37 Five couples are present, with an armed warrior approaching at the far right. In the center, Paris and Helen (both names inscribed) ride a wedding chariot, facing Automedousa and an unnamed man. At the left are Daiphon with probably his wife and Hektor with Andromache (only the men's names are inscribed). At the right of the chariot appear a couple, one of whom is named is H[.]po[.]. At the far right Hippolytos advances toward the party. One is tempted to say that this image is routine, one of those genre scenes to which the painter has added names to elevate his material, 38 but one detail is striking. Two of the five horses are labeled, one with the common name Xanthos ("Sorrel"), but the other with the inscription Polypentha (IIOAYIIENE>A).One could imagine that this latter name, denoting "Much-sorrow," is meant to be humorous, marking an obstinate horse, but

Fig.

10.

Marriage of Paris and Helen. Corinthian krater, ea. 590-570

Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (17.116). Image

BCE.

e The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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Ill 27

ntv0oc;, from which the "-pentha" component is derived, is a powerful, poetic word. As Gregory Nagy has demonstrated, penthos can act as the antithesis of kleos, fame; one grieves at the loss of one's reputation:" The name on the vase is based on the rare compound adjective "n0Au1ttv811c;" ("much-mourning, very lamentable"), which occurs three times in Homer, once in reference to Odysseus while he is disguised as an unfortunate vagabond (Od. 14.386),once applied by Penelope to her heart as she grieves for Odysseus (Od. 23.15). The third instance of polypenthes in Homer may have a bearing on our vase (11.9.561-64): TllV6t To,' tv µtyapo1a1natqp 1e;ai ffOTVlQ fli'JTllP 'Ahu6vT)v 1e;a>.tea1e;ov tnwvuµov, ouvt:1e;' dp' auT~.Kuovo.ivi~p6v, h6a navoµcpal Zqvi pt~£oKov'AxmoL oi 6' we; Ol)Vdoov8' 6 t:' &p' EK&10,~A.u8£V 6pvt,, µa.AAov.tniTpwt:00186pov,µv~OQ.VTO ()£ xapµI],. 0

Immediately [Zeus] sent forth an eagle, the most portentous of birds. holding in its talons a fawn. the offspring of a fleet deer. By the beautiful altar of Zeus, where the Achaians used to sacrifice to wholly oracular Zeus, the eagle let go

132

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of the fawn. When the Achaians saw that the bird had come from Zeus, they leaped upon the Trojans and remembered their battle spirit.

Hence, the eagle incites courage, making the warriors the opposite of fawns. In the same way, Achilleus will enter battle with his new armor, act intrepidly like an eagle, and frighten the Trojans, who will flee like deer. The artist did not necessarily know Book 8 of the Iliad, but his use of this imagery in the context of Achilleus' arming suggests that he knew something of the Greek epic tradition. In the Iliad, as soon as Achilleus receives his new armor, all the other Myrmidons tremble and manifest fear. Achilleus alone looks upon the armor and feels rage, which gives rise to boldness (19.14-17).He goes on to fight Hektor, and each of the antagonists is likened to an eagle. The artist of the Monteleone di Spoleto reliefs heard a story about Achilleus and his armor that accords with the Homeric tradition we know. The second panel depicts a duel. The most obvious adversary to face Achilleus after his arming would be Hektor, but usually the scene is construed as Achilleus' battle with Memnon, since that contest is more popular in art. The precise identification is not that important for the overall narrative. One detail that could help to distinguish between the two antagonists, however, is the shield and helmet, which are different from those in the first panel. Nevertheless, since it is most unlikely that the so-called first arming in Phthia was intended in the first panel, the explanation for the different armor must be that the artist was loath to repeat the exact images of the shield and helmet that he had engraved on his first panel, an unwillingness common in Greek art. 34 For the most part, this representation of a duel is generic, a fight over a fallen comrade. An eagle appears in the middle of the second panel. In this relief, as in the first, the birds have been interpreted as omens, appearing on the left to one figure and on the right to another. 35 This reading would make particular sense within an Etruscan context, for the Etruscans placed great importance on augury, but because, as we observed earlier, the artist had difficulty showing perspective, we cannot tell whether the birds are appearing behind or in front of the humans, and hence we cannot distinguish left from right. In this case, however, it is clear that the eagle in the second panel appears neither on the left nor the right but directly between the antagonists, for the bird seems to redirect the spear of the hero combating Achilleus. The third panel is the most difficult to interpret: on a chariot similar to the one on which the engraving appears, Achilleus rides over a woman> drawn by two winged horses. 36 Furtwangler first interpreted the scene as the transfiguration (Verkliirung) of the hero, and Ducati further identified

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it as the apotheosis of Achilleus.37 Furtwangler construed the woman as Earth helping to hoist the chariot aloft, which would nicely explain the position of her hand, but, as Hampe and Simon have pointed out, such personifications are unknown at this early period (550/540 BCE); these scholars prefer to identify the woman as Polyxena, whose sacrifice was required after Achilleus' death. According to Hampe and Simon, Achilleus had gained immortality after his death and ruled the Pontos but has now returned to savor Polyxena's blood.,. In their reading, the position of the woman's hand would represent an attempt to ward off the men about to immolate her.39 If so, an image from the sacrifice would be attached to another scene, the apotheosis (or return to Pontos). This type of synoptic view or emplotment is not impossible, but the actual stitching together of the two disparate episodes creates still another image, that of Achilleus' chariot running over Polyxena."0 Hockmann's assessment that the panel has not yet been convincingly interpreted is not far off the mark, u and I doubt that an explanation can be found that will be acceptable to all critics. It is important to remember that this image predates not only putative Greek depictions of Achilleus' apotheosis but even representations of Herakles' Introduction into Olympos.42 Further, according to Proclus' synopsis of the Aithiopis and on the authority of Pindar (0. 1.79-80), Achilleus went to the Isles of the Blessed transported by Thetis. So, either our engraver is alluding to some other version of the myth-and the artist's knowledge of the Achillean tradition as seen in the first two panels sanctions this possibility-or he is innovating a scene that he thinks appropriate for the heroic Achilleus. With either possibility we need to put the relief into perspective by comparing it to the other panels, especially in regard to their delineation of women. In the first relief, Achilleus gains the armor that will lead to his immortality. As much as this undying fame should delight Thetis, in the Iliad she calls herself the unhappy mother of greatness (6uaaptcrroT6KEta,18.54). Similarly, whether Achilleus is fighting Hektor or Memnon, he is creating endless suffering for Hekuba or Eos. In particular the duel between Memnon and Achilleus almost always focuses on the anxious mothers, one of whom must grieve. Finally, when we turn to the third panel, we find one more anguished woman. She may be Polyxena, Penthesilea, or any of the other women trampled upon by Achilleus on his route to immortality. Cities were sacked, women enslaved, mothers aggrieved (11.6.414-27, 9.590-94). This condition is a rule of nature, that the weak are subject to the strong, as the artist reminds us in the smaller relief below the apotheosis panel (fig. 68). There one lion pounces on a stag, while another attacks a bull. So Achilleus tramples on this anonymous woman. And this perspective is the very one that the Iliad expresses: there, too, lions pounce on their 134

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prey, and there too the women we see are booty, like Briseis, or mourning mothers and wives.43 The smaller relief beautifully comments on the apotheosis panel above it, and the other small relief similarly elucidates the duel. How does a man become able to kill the greatest Trojan warrior and the son of the goddess Eos? The engraver shows us a Centaur, a winged creature, and a youth grasping a lion (fig. 69). Within the context, as Hampe and Simon astutely point out, the centaur must be Cheiron, and Achilleus would be the youth grappling with a lion.44 So we learn of the upbringing through which Achilleus became the hero he was to become, and we also observe that, though Achilleus could be compared to lions as both Homer and the engraver do, Achilleus is greater even than lions, fighting them with his bare hands. 45 The eagles of the first two reliefs, winged signs connoting courage and possibly propitious fortune, lead to the winged horses and immortality of the third panel. The fact that Achilleus rides to heaven on a chariot much like the chariot on which his image is engraved is one of those wonderful examples of self-conscious self-reference that ancient artists and writers so much loved to indulge in. Achilleus' feats immortalized him, so that he could ride a chariot decorated with his own images. And the artist immor-

Fig. 68. Animal frieze. Monteleone di Spoleto chariot, ea. 550 BCE. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Rogers Fund, 1903 (03.23.1). Image copyright The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Fig. 69. Cheiron and Achilleus (?). Monteleone di Spoleto chariot,

ea. 550

BCE. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Rogers Fund, 1903 (03.23.1). Image copyright The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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talized himself, just as the poets did, by depicting Achilleus. But within the Etruscan context there is still another instance of self-reference. When the Etruscan owner stepped into his chariot, which was decorated with heroic images of Achilleus, and rode about, he was allowing all his minions and observers to visualize him as a valiant warrior within a heroic context. We know from the possessions within his tomb that he was a wealthy man and a soldier.46 In his district the owner was the powerful leader to whom the weak had to give way. As is indicated by many of the artifacts we shall examine, Achilleus came to serve as the model for the aristocratic values vaunted in the Etruscan world, which included valor and unassailable authority."' In the images of the Monteleone di Spoleto chariot we see both aspects of that paradigm: the glorious ~chiever who ascends into everlasting glory, aided by the gods, and the man of power, by whom all lesser entities are defined and to whom all are subject.

The First Pania Pyxis It was useful to begin this analysis with an Etruscan artifact that is relatively complete. We turn now to an earlier work that is only partially preserved, an ivory pyxis (woman's cosmetic container) that comes from a tomb in Pania near Chiusi, dated to the end of the seventh century BCE (fig. 70).48 Separated by ornamental bands there are four registers. Reading from the top they contain: a sphinx, a three-headed creature or plant, ship with two wine jars and a helmsman, two armed warriors walking, men under three rams, three quadrupeds (all figures face left); 1.

a chariot with charioteer and a warrior leaping onto the back of the chariot, three armed warriors with right arms lifted to their heads, a boy on horse (all facing left); four women with long hair and arms at chest level (facing right); a warrior with helmet facing left and probably touching the woman in front of him; after a gap, a man playing doubleflute facing right; two warriors with their right hands lifted to their heads, a boy, and two more soldiers (all facing left); 2.

3. a quadruped, a deer, a boy on horse, a panther, a centaur (all moving

right); another quadruped (possibly a centaur), a bull, a quadruped, a lion (all moving left); 4. a griffin, two quadrupeds, and vegetation (most of this panel is lost).

Although a good part of the pyxis is missing (and further damage occurred during the 1966 Florence flood), most commentators believe enough remains for a reliable interpretation. 136 !II

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Fig. 70. Iliadic and Odyssean scenes. Ivory pyxis, ea. 600

BCE. Museo Archeologico, Florence (73846). Courtesy of Soprintendenza per i Beni Archeologici della Toscana, Firenze.

Alessandra M~netti's recent analysis makes two important points. 49 First, she argues that the pyxis must be interpreted in light of its original function in the owner's life, that it was not specifically carved to be buried in the tomb. As a result, she thinks unlikely Torelli 's thesis that the reliefs impart a message about the journey of an Etruscan aristocrat to the other world.50 Second, she questions why scenes so masculine appear on a pyxis, which belongs to the women's world. Hence, one would like to interpret the figures on the pyxis in terms of a woman living in Etruria at the end of the seventh century BCE. 51 The one mythological scene on the pyxis that is easily identifiable appears on the top register: the escape of Odysseus' men from Polyphemos' cave. This scene can then be connected with the ship; the two amphorae on the vessel might allude to the wine used to inebriate Cyclops.52 The two armed soldiers walking between the rams and ship are difficult to identify; the old interpretation was that these men were Odysseus' companions walking to the ship after being freed from the rams, 53 but the men's armor is hard to explain. At the left of the ship is a three-headed creature, which,

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as first proposed by Cristofani, is usually identified as Scylla.54 It could also be the dragon ofColchis (in which case the ship would be the Argo) or the hydra. 55 In any case, it is clear that the panel represents dangerous, exotic exploits in a distant place. On his journey Odysseus encountered a number of monsters, and, as occurred with the Kikonians, he also faced more traditional forms of war, possibly represented here by the two armed men marching. The second figured panel is the most difficult to interpret. Various general scenarios are possible. According to one, which Cristofani proposed and which is still often espoused, 56 the warrior jumping on the chariot is mourned not only by the soldiers, who hold their hands to their heads, but also by the women, whose hands at their chests represent breast-beating. The double-flute, the standard instrument connected with elegiac poetry, fits this picture. Finally the crouching warrior nearest to the women, according to this reading, would be performing a ritual dance. Another scenario, also proposed by Cristofani in 1996, maintains that there is a progression in ethical acculturation from bottom to top, from initiation/education (paidia)to battle prowess (arete)and finally to metis, the Odyssean ingenuity required to escape dangers. I would like to suggest another possibility. The warriors are actually setting off for war, spurred by the flute player as on the Chigi Vase.57 The soldiers salute their leader. 58 The aim of the expedition is to sack a city, kill the men, and enslave the women (again II. 6.414-27, 9.590-94). In this register we see the women of the captured city beating their breasts, mourning their men and their own fate. An enemy soldier runs up to the women and grabs the thigh of the first.59 The rape of the city is about to begin. Once again, as on the Monteleone di Spoleto bronze reliefs, the lower panels explain this environment. 60 We see the training of the youth to be a warrior (and the youth of the third panel of the pyxis is repeated on the second panel); again the boy is tutored by a centaur (or two). We also see animal after animal mixed with griffins and other monsters; the soldiers are equally fearsome and rapacious. Whichever interpretation we accept, the second panel represents an Iliadic realm, one in which men serve as warriors and women are left to mourn and perform domestic duties. Like the Shield of Achilleus in Book 18 of the Iliad, the pyxis of Pania represents a range of human experience, where all individuals are placed into their proper elements. There is the Odyssean world of one-eyed giants and serpentine monsters (into which one could fit the hydra or dragon of Colchis), the Iliadic domain of men fighting with men, and the orientalizing sphere of quadrupeds and monsters, occasionally entered into by a youth and centaurs. The contrast between Iliadic and Odyssean starts early among the Etruscans (seventh century)

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and continues; we shall examine a fourth-century BCEsarcophagus with the same antithesis. Hence, when we ask what message the ivory-cutter was creating for the late seventh-century Etruscan woman for whom this pyxis was probably carved, we find that it is not dissimilar to that of the Monteleone di Spoleto chariot reliefs. Men, perhaps the husband and sons of our Etruscan noblewoman, will challenge other men and monsters, acquiring glory for their whole clan, something all the family members can exult in. These men must confront numerous dangers, which the pyxis catalogues, from the woods to pitched battle to foreign monsters. And women have their role in ritual and in mourning the loss of kin. Etruscan women, as compared to their Greek counterparts, enjoyed surprisingly greater privileges and honors, but their precise role in the Etruscan world is still not dear. 61 The Ambush of Troilos Perhaps no area shows the development of Etruscan studies in the past thirty-five years more clearly than its treatment of the ambush of Troilos. Camporeale and Schauenburg explained the supposed Etruscan misuse of Greek myth by citing details in Archaic Etruscan depictions of the Troilos story that they considered pointless and erroneous, but subsequent contributions by Simon, Oleson, Prayon, d'Agostino, Harari, and Cerchiai have revealed not only Etruscan sophistication in treating this myth but unique information about its origins. 62 Problems remain, but our understanding of Etruscan artistry has been much enhanced. In both Greece and Etruria, representations of the Troilos myth (including Achilleus' ambush, pursuit, and murder of the Trojan prince) constitute some of the most popular and also the earliest known depictions of the Epic Cycle. In Greece the first such image may date to as early as 680; in Etruria a bucchero amphora showing the myth comes from the last quarter of the same century. 63 One might think that the popularity of this motif derives from its explanation of Apollo's enmity toward and ultimate murder of Achilleus, which mythologically can be traced to Achilleus' killing of Troilos in Apollo's sanctuary. 64 In fact, at a later date-probably early third century BCE-an Etruscan artist painted a frieze with the Troilos scene at left and Aias' retrieval of Achilleus' body at right. 65 Particularly with the Troilos episode, as we shall see, it is important to distinguish myth and mythological explanation from ritual and sacral intent. In this section I shall focus on three Etruscan paintings of the ambush of Troilos, mainly because these three images may explain what import Etruscan and Greek artists were deriving from the story. Further, all three depictions have received a great deal of attention and many of their details

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have already been clarified, so we can discuss the overall problem without much more than a cursory prologue. The first image appears on the rear wall of the Tomb of the Bulls, dated to about 530 BCE (fig. 71).66 On the left we see Achilleus dashing out from behind a fountain house with some form of knife in his left hand; Luca Cerchiai has argued that it is a machaira, a knife used to cut the throat of a victim in sacrifices.67 .0n the right, Troilos, naked, rides a huge horse toward a palm tree and fountain house, which is surmounted by two lionspouts and a number oflaurel branches; water pours from one of the spouts

Fig. 71. Ambush of Troilos. Etruscan tomb painting, ea. Tarquinia. SEF / Art Resource, NY.

14 0

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530 BCE. Tomb oft he Bulls,

into a louterion. More laurel trees are represented on the frieze below, and on the higher frieze appear bulls and two sexual scenes, one homoerotic. In contrast to Greek representations, which normally distinguish between the ambush at the fountain house and the murder in the Sanctuary of Apollo Thymbraios, Etruscan artists usually merge the two locales.68 The palm and laurel, both sacred to Apollo, appear copiously in this fresco and in many Etruscan representations of the ambush ofTroilos. 69 Further, painters often represented laurels in tomb frescoes. Erika Simon has suggested that Apollonian imagery was appropriate within tombs because Apollo was a protector of corpses (II. 23.188,14.18); further, Aplu, the Etruscan Apollo, has some underworld associations.' 0 The erotic scenes may be connected to the Troilos story, because there may have been an erotic element to this myth even as early as the sixth century. 71 We turn now to two Pontic amphorae painted by the La Tolfa Painter or Group. 72 The first, in the Vatican, shows on one side Achilleus, who wears armor and wields a spear, approaching a fountain house that has a lionspout from which water flows into a louterion (fig. 72).73 Despite the water and lion protome, the fountain house has a strange shape; it resembles an altar."' On top of it stands a small figure holding some instrument: his torso is human, but his head is lupine and his feet have claws.75 On the reverse Troilos, bearded, rides on a horse with a whip in his left hand beside another horse, preceded by a boy holding up a branch in his left hand. The second amphora, once on the Lucerne market, is similar.76 In this case Achilleus, bearing a spear and shield, crouches behind an altar-like fountain house, on top of which is a small figure, again with a human body and lupine head. He is clearly holding a machaira. Laurel branches are growing out of the top of the fountain house. On the reverse a small procession moves left: first a small man who lifts his hands, holding branches, followed by a white horse with a bearded rider holding a whip (apparently Troilos), behind whom is another horse. Last in the procession is a large, bearded warrior with spear and sword, who walks on foot and stretches his hand towards Troilos' head. The third amphora, which unfortunately is known to scholars only from an auction catalogue, is very close to the La Tolfa amphora just discussed. 77 Holding a spear, Achilleus crouches behind an altar-like fountain house, from the top of which laurel branches are growing. A miniature lupine figure stands on top of the fountain house holding a machaira. On the reverse, according to the catalogue, "Troilos [is] riding into ambush astride a white horse alongside another mount, both horses held by a young, long-haired groom, who holds aloft a branch in his left hand; behind Troilos a longhaired youth in chiton and greaves with dagger and javelin walks to left."

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Fig. 72. Ambush of Troilos. Pon tic amphora, ea. 560 Courtesy of Musei Vaticani Archivio Fotografico.

BCE. Musei Vaticani (35708).

The most unusual aspect of these amphorae is the appearance of the small figure on the fountain house. After protracted debate, he is now cor~ rectly identified as Apollo Lykeios.78 Because Apollo does not appear as a miniature figure in Greek depictions of the Troilos story, the role of the lupine figure is sometimes spoken of as an Etruscan invention, but in fact the conception is Greek, as is shown by a kylix by Onesimos, which shows Achilleus, inscribed lukos, "wolf,"79 dragging Troilos to an altar. While the diminutive size of the figure may be original, neither the presence of Apollo, who appears in the Troilos scene on the Fran~ois Vase, nor his identity as Lykeios is unique. Another detail that has aroused surprise is the procession on the second amphora, also hinted at in the first and in other such vases, but again, despite its being called an Etruscan development or misunderstanding, Greek vases sometimes also show what looks like a form of a parade. For instance, a Corinthian bottle, signed by Timonides and dated to 600-575, shows a procession to the fountain house consisting of Polyxena followed by Troilos, Xanthos, Asopas, So[..]theos, and Priam (fig. 73); all the names except Polyxena's are inscribed. 80 A more careful look reveals that Xanthos and Asopas are horses, but the file of figures and the list of names give the impression of a parade. It might be noted that on this Corinthian bottle a cluster of laurel branches appears next to the fountain house. Finally, the representation of a fountain house with the shape of an altar has parallels in Archaic Greek painting (fig. 74), for instance on a hydria by the Painter of London B 76 (560/550 BCE). 81 Hence, despite various assertions about the uniqueness of these Archaic Etruscan paintings, they adhere closely to the Greek conception of the myth. What is unique, however, is the number of attributes that convey the meaning of the myth. In particular, the miniature images of Apollo Lykeios provide some help in interpreting the god's role in this episode. Although Apollo appears in some early sixth-century Greek depictions of Troilos, in which he is said to be concerned about or even warning Troilos of his dan-

Fig. 73. Ambush of Troilos. Corinthian bottle, ea. 600-575

BCE. National

Archeological Museum, Athens (277). Photo from the museum.

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Fig. 74. Ambush of Troilos. Attic black-figure hydria, ea. 560/550 BCE. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Rogers Fund, 1945 (45.11.2). Image copyright The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

ger,82 it is difficult to interpret those paintings and to feel confident about the function the god is performing. The small representations on the Pontic amphorae, on the other hand. reveal Apollo's intention. With the machaira and bolt/spit he is forecasting harm. just as. in later representations of the duel of Hektor and Achilleus, Apollo portends Paris' shooting of Achilleus by waving an arrow (see above, pp. 65-67). The tiny Etruscan figure, however, is not menacing Achilleus, who is behind him: he is facing and threatening Troilos. At this point we can face the major problem of these images. The fountain house has the shape of an altar, as do many of the wells in Etruscan representations of this myth. In some cases, Achilleus holds not a spear but a knife, probably a sacrificial knife. Apollo lifts up a machaira toward Troilos. who often is shown naked, as if he were a defenseless sacrificial victim. The parade to the fountain house / altar proceeds like a sacrificial procession, where the bull or victim is surprised when struck; the Greeks liked to think that the sacrificial victim willingly met its death. Luca Cerchiai, who discusses these details, points out that a story belonging to a secular context, to a military situation, seems to have shifted to a ritual sphere. Achilleus does not merely ambush and kill the son of the enemy king: he immolates him at the altar, a human sacrifice, as if this boy were an animal. 83 There are other Etruscan depictions from this period that show Achilleus actually dragging Troilos up to an altar to sacrifice him there. 84 Following Cerchiai's lead, Guy Hedreen has recently stressed the fact that many representations painted in Greece depict Achilleus• focus on having Troilos' blood flow directly onto an altar.85 Again, from a mythological point of view Achilleus• murder of Troilos can explain Apollo's anger. Cerchiai speaks of Achilleus• transgression against the civic value system and all the rules that guarantee the sacrificial system,86 but the images do not positively support this approach. In fact Achilleus is consummating what Apollo Lykeios is intimating when the god holds up the sacrificial knife; the fountain house becomes Apollo's altar. There are particular reasons, which are discussed below, to explain why the Etruscan images might present a starker version of the Troilos myth than those of the Greeks, but the sacrificial nature is clear in Greek renditions of the story too. Therefore, it is important to investigate the broader meaning of this story and Achilleus' role in literally sacrificing Troilos. While the myth of Troilos may explain Apollo's enmity toward Achilleus, an enmity that is conspicuous in the Iliad, 87 the exigencies of cult point elsewhere. As Gregory Nagy observes, "antagonism between hero and god in myth corresponds to the ritual requirements of symbiosis between hero and god in cult." 88 Walter Burkert has called Achilleus "almost a Doppelganger" of Apollo: both are often depicted in poetry and painting

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as youths, with hair unshorn, still unmarried. Therefore, Burkert continues, Achilleus acts as an obscure mirror image of the god while caught in the inextricable polarity of being his victim. 89 In the Troilos paintings we see the ritual conduct of Achilleus, performing the very actions Apollo is supervising. The god points a machaira at Troilos, and Achilleus dragsthe boy to an altar and drains his blood. This ritual view helps to explain some of the ostensible contradictions in the representations, but the mythology also deserves more attention. It is important at this point to recognize that, within the broader context, sacrifice and in particular human immolation are built into the Trojan tale. At Aulis, Iphigenia must be sacrificed; Polyxena meets the same fate at the close of the war. Priam is slaughtered-sacrificed-at the altar. Painters like to depict all three episodes. Although the Ilioupersishas not survived, the work of one of the epic cycle's best interpreters has, most likely reflecting traditional associations: Virgil repeatedly uses the language of human immolation in his description of the fall of Troy.90 He begins with Sinon, who prevaricates that he has fled the Greeks to avoid becoming a sacrificial victim (Aen. 2.114-33). But the story is a falsehood: it is Troy that is to be immolated. Then Laocoon, the Trojan priest who resisted the Trojan Horse, is killed by two serpents while sacrificing a bull at the altar; to make sure we understand that the priest is immolated at his own altar, Virgil compares Laocoon's bellowing to that of a bull struck during a sacrifice (Aen. 2.201-24). When the Greeks enter the city, Kassandra is dragged from an altar, but Coroebus, who loved her, is slaughtered at that very place (Aen. 2.402-26). Next Pyrrhos kills Polites, one of the sons of Priam, at the altar (Aen. 2.526-32) and then drags Priam himself there and slays him (Aen. 2.550-53). Aeneas, the commentator on these events, believes the gods have required this offering (Aen. 2.54-55). For some reason that he does not comprehend, Troy is sacrificed to divinity, given back to the gods, who built it. So, the painters, Greek and Etruscan, are depicting what appears to have been a traditional theme of human sacrifice, with the Trojans almost always the victims. In this context, the slaughter ofTroilos at an altar in the Sanctuary of Apollo constitutes neither a transgression nor an exceptional event. Later Apollo will kill Achilleus, neither to protect Troy-when Troy is destroyed, Apollo does not intervene-nor to punish him for his killing of Troilos, in which god and hero acted in unison, but for ritual reasons and for being too much like the god.91 Achilleus is Apollo's counterpart and aggravation. Similarly Pyrrhos, the son of Achilleus, is killed in the Sanctuary of Apollo in Delphi but becomes the hero who presides over all sacrificial festivals there. 92 The four images of Troilos and Achilleus on which we have been focusing assume special meaning within the Etruscan context. Greek and 14

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Roman sources inform us that the Etruscans practiced human sacrifice at various times; Livy, for instance, discusses an incident that occurred in 358 BCB.113So the Etruscans must have viewed the story of Troilos in a different light than did the Greeks, who did not immolate humans in any period during which artists painted the Troilos myth."' More important, however, are the associations and cult relating to Aplu, the Etruscan Apollo. To start with the Greeks: the name Apelles, the e-grade form of the divinity's name, indicates that he was originally associated with assemblies, presiding over bands of young men (epheboi).As Burkert comments, "[w]ith the tribal gathering and the society of men one can also connect the epithet Lykeios, the wolf-like."95 This link appears in the Troilos myth, for just as the cup by Onesimos inscribes Achilleus dragging Troilos to an altar as lukos, "wolf," Etruscan vases depict a lupinepfaced figure on the altar in the Sanctuary of Apollo Thymbraios. Further, a lost passage glossed by Hesychius joined the Lykeios and Thymbraios epithets in what may have been more than an interchange of cult names. 96 In Etruria there was a cult ofSoranus, a divinity identified both as Apollo and as Dis (Hades). The priests of this god were called Hirpi Sarani, the wolves of Soranus, for, as Servius tells us in reference to the phrase sancti custosSoractisApollo ("Apollo, guard of sacred Soracte," Aen. 11.785), "hirpi" denotes wolves in the Sabine language. One thinks of the Luperci among the Romans. Dis himself is often shown wearing a wolfs-head cap, as seen for instance on a sarcophagus from Torre San Severo and also in the Tomb of Orcus 11.97 Hence, the lupine associations of Apollo, discernible in the Greek myth of Troilos, would have had even greater resonance among the Etruscans because of their cults of Aplu, Soranus, and Dis. Further, Apollo's role in augury must have attracted particular interest among the Etruscans. In fact, it may be in his mantic guise that Apollo gained special attention in Etruria during the last third of the sixth century. Herodotus reports a plague that afflicted the Caeretans after they had stoned to death the Phocaean survivors from the battle of Alalia (1.167).Only after they had sent to Delphi and learned how to atone for their transgression did they gain relief. Apollo was their savior. These events occurred around 540 BCE, slightly before the painting of the two amphorae discussed here, probably painted in Caere.98 In fact, it is at this very period and from this very place, Caere, that the first Etruscan depictions of Aplu/Apollo are known. 911 No one knows why the earliest mythmakers chose to view the destruction of Troy and Trojans in terms of human sacrifice.100 Once the tradition began, however, it quickly became popular among painters. ~s soon as it traveled to Etruria it attracted attention, and artist interest became strong in the second half of the sixth century. This attraction seems natural, for the myth explored the roots of human sacrifice, which was an Etruscan

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practice; it inspired the question Why is it that the god requires human blood and life? The tale featured Aplu/Apollo, the god who, as Jean-Rene Jannot characterizes him, was "at the same time foreign and necessary, new and indispensable, especially in the mixed, Greco-Etruscan milieu." 101 The myth also highlighted Achilleus, the hero with whom local Etruscan leaders associated themselves. The other details-gore, wolves, human sacrifice-fit the new, Etruscan context and in fact had special meaning. 102 It is in this way that old stories find new homes and flourish.

Fifth-centuryMirrors In this section we shall look at some fifth- and possibly fourth-century Etruscan mirrors with images of Achillean and Odyssean myth. Let us begin with a work in the Villa Giulia Museum, dated to the second quarter of the fifth century, which shows the meeting of Paris and Helen in Sparta (fig. 75).103 Paris (Elacsantre) sits on a chair with an inane look, peering up at Aphrodite (Turan), who stands at the left and holds a flower in her left hand. Behind them Helen (Elina). with her shoulders propped up on pillows, lies on a couch holding her baby Hermione (Ermania) under her robe. Shoes hang on a back wall next to Aphrodite, and a sphinx flutters in the space between Aphrodite and Helen. The footstool below the bed is decorated with two sphinxes. Paris is diminutive; his head is much smaller than those of Aphrodite and Helen, closer to the size of the baby's. His expectant gaze directed up at Aphrodite indicates that he is entrusting the onus of his wooing to the goddess. Hence it seems clear that to this engraver "the rape of Helen" has little to do with Paris. In fact, another mirror from the same period and probably the same workshop shows Aphrodite, Helen, and Hermione in the same poses, but, in the traditional interpretation, Paris is not shown at all (fig.76, discussed below). In both images the eyes of Helen and Aphrodite, locked on each other, tell the whole story: the goddess is procuring Helen. The two women, as indicated by their gesturing hands, debate and transact. The depiction of the myth on this mirror evokes a scene in the Iliad, where Helen does not wish to serve Paris' bed, mocks the idea of being his love slave, but is forced by Aphrodite to do so (3.383-418). While the passage in the Iliad represents an event in the tenth year of the war, the poet directly connects it to the first time Paris and Helen came together (II. 3.442-46). In the Iliad also Paris leaves the responsibility of his actions to others (6.327-30, 6.523), often unable to fulfill the duties of a man, as Helen caustically remarks (3.428-36). He surrenders to depression and personal sorrows (6.333-36), perhaps suggested here by the robe thrown over his head. 104 14

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Fig, 75, Aphrodite's mission to Helen. Etruscan mirror, ea. 450 BCE. Villa Giulia, Rome (16691). Photo courtesy of The George Peabody Library, The Sheridan Libraries, The Johns Hopkins University.

The engraver of this mirror, like the poet of the Iliad, presents a version of the myth that diverges from the tradition retained by Sappho and the Odyssey,in which Helen is said to have suffered such erosfor Paris that she gave no thought to her child or family (fpa ·, Tpoiav nXto~[oa / Kc; hapo10 Mupno OOTEQ Kalwv, As a father mourns his son, burning his bones-the youth had recently married but now distresses his pitiable parents with his death-so Achilleus mourned his comrade as he burned his bones.

The sculptor reverses the comparison: Achilleus' devotion to his companion is likened to a son's homage to his father, with Achilleus possibly the recent mate of Polyxena.166 Hence, the Torre San Severo sarcophagus depicts Achillean concerns on its long sides, motifs found in the Iliad that include retribution, suffering, and the honor that is due one's parents and fellow soldiers. The ends of the sarcophagus delve into other areas, material that is largely unexplored in the Iliad but germane to the Odyssey.On Side C, the sculptor has chosen to portray the moment after Kirke has struck Odysseus with her wand (she is holding a branch in her right hand) and has seen no change occur: she is wondering who he is (Od. 10.319-26). The artist renders her amazement by showing her putting her hand to her head and staring up at Odysseus. In the Odysseythis scene serves as a defining moment, for Kirke immediately recognizes that the stranger must be Odysseus, "the man of many turns" (~ovy' 'Oc'>uooEvc;noXvTponoc;, Od. 10.330), the only time the distinctive epithet is used after the proem. Other humans would be susceptible to Kirke's potions, as the framing companions on the sarcophagus make clear, but Odysseus, in part through his connection with Hermes, the only other epic figure characterized as noXvTponoc;,resists such magic. Further, Odysseus retains his identity amid numerous tribulations, as here, where he evades the subhuman condition that befalls his companions. 167 The sculptor chooses to represent on the opposite end of the sarcophagus another focal point of the Odysseus myth. Odysseus prepares his katabasis, his visit to Hades, an exploit permitted only to heroes. To sacrifice victims to the dead and commune with spirits, as Odysseus does, constitutes not merely encountering death but actually dying; Kirke calls him

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6to8avtqc; ("doomed to die twice," Od. 12.22). As has often been noted, Odysseus' adventures involve overcoming numerous threats of death. It is his traveling and his confrontation with both wonders and horrific dangers that is suggested by the cartoon above the sacrifice of the ram. There is nothing infernal about the landscape represented. The sculptor is situating the katabasis in the adventures, in the sailing from one people to another, in Odysseus' search to learn (v6ov fyvw, Od. 1.3). Thus, the ends of the Torre San Severo sarcophagus reveal important Odyssean motifs just as the sides depict important Iliadic concepts. Does this configuration suggest that the sculptor knew the Iliad and Odysseyin some form in the fourth century? Although such knowledge is possible, clearly the four sides of the sarcophagus are not meant to recapitulate these two poems, as is indicated by the fact that the sacrifice of Polyxena appeared elsewhere in the epic cycle (Ilioupersis).168 Nevertheless, the sculptor has depicted what happen to be key moments in the two poems and, like the carver of the Pania pyxis earlier, has juxtaposed the Iliadic battle ethos of fealty and retribution with the Odyssean valuation of perseverance and sagacity, thqse assets required to preserve one's very humanity when plunged into exotic travel. 169 Because the mythic tradition embodied such universals, it inspired artists and poets for century after century in land after land.

Aftermath and Conclusions The Etruscans adapted the Greek mythopoeic language as they moved from one medium to another. We have seen that the first Odyssean and Achillean material appears on Etruscan pottery in the seventh century and becomes popular in the second half of the sixth; such works continue into the fourth century BCE. Similarly, mirrors engraved with epic subjects begin early in the fifth century and run to the second century BCE. Finally, engraved scarabs and rings, barely mentioned above, begin in the second half of the sixth century and continue to the third. Representations ofThetis presenting Achilleus his armor appear on some of the earliest known Etruscan scarabs. 170 One last medium should be mentioned. During the Hellenistic period, Volterra, Chiusi, and Perugia became centers for producing Etruscan funerary urns engraved with mythological subjects. Most were produced in the second century BCE. The Trojan cycle was particularly popular among these artisans, as is seen in the following list, which places in parentheses the number of instances extant: flight of Paris (47), Troilos seized by Achilleus (41), sacrifice of Iphigenia (32), abduction of Helen (26), Sirens luring Odysseus (20), flight of Achilleus and Aias after killing Troilos (12), Odys-

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seus in combat with the suitors (u), Odysseus confronting Kirke (6), murder of Klytaimestra and Aegisthos (5), Polyphemos adventure (4), murder of Agamemnon (4), duel between Paris and Menelaos (1), and fall of Troy (1).171 According to van der Meer, the artisans of the urns "had very limited creativity" and "without almost any exception they used an already existing iconography," most often derived from the south. 172 The Etruscan genius increasingly deferred to South Italy and then to Rome. In particular, one wonders why grieving relatives would want to bury their kin in an urn decorated with the flight of Paris, the sacrifice oflphigenia, or such popular motifs as the internecine battle between Polyneikes and Eteokles.173 The time of vibrancy in the reception of Iliadic and Odyssean myth, as indicated in the pages above, took place from the seventh to the fourth centuries BCE.From the very beginning, some artists showed ease with the ethos and motifs of Greek epic. For instance, the embosser of the Monteleone di Spoleto reliefs (550/540 BCE)not only depicted a traditional scene with the arms of Achilleus but also utilized imagery of eagles and fawns that we know from our reading of the Iliad. While one would not be astonished that some Etruscans had heard tales of Achilleus and Odysseus in their own language transmitted by immigrants and traders, familiarity with Homeric tropes does elicit surprise. It is possible that such language is universal, that in many cultures eagles denote courage and deer cowardice or vulnerability, but the conjunction of Homeric myth and imagery is nevertheless striking. And there are other instances of Etruscan artwork that reveal a genuine background in Greek culture. Pontic vases showing the ambush of Troilos provide information that helps us unravel some of the problems posed by the Greek treatment of this myth. Later, in the Classical and Hellenistic periods, the Etruscans took the initiative by depicting epic subjects not previously painted. I have suggested that a mirror at the Musee du Petit Palais shows Penelope with a goose, evoking her dream of the suitors, and that the Etruscans first portrayed Achilleus' slaughter of Trojan youths. In interpreting such material we first ask whether there is any evidence that the artists of these works, sometimes possibly Greek immigrants, knew our Iliad and Odyssey.For instance, Nigel Spivey believes that the Busiris and Eagle Painters must have known the Iliad, because they inscribed Odios' name in their depiction of the embassy to Achilleus (510/500 BCE),an instance of"a rather learned and pernickety transmission of Homer's verse."174 There are problems with such an argument-as his name implies, Odios could have appeared as a herald in other poems 175 -but the approach is useful. Nevertheless, none of the seventh- and sixth-century artifacts discussed here betrays definite knowledge of our texts. The Monteleone di Spoleto reliefs have a generic aspect to them, and the Pania pyxis ET RuR I A

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also uses Homeric myth in a general way. Such works could have been inspired by any Iliadic and Odyssean poem or tale circulating at the time. Further, from the very beginning, the Etruscans adapted Greek mythology to fit their own purposes and to articulate their own thoughts, not merely to narrate the myths they had heard or seen. While the Fran~ois Tomb, from a later period, depicts Achilleus' sacrifice of the Trojan youths in a form familiar to us from the poem, the depiction is not detailed enough to demonstrate definite knowledge of the Iliad. 176 The pages above have treated some of the greatest artworks created by Etruscan artisans, and it is striking that critics have often ascribed Greek authorship to these masterpieces, especially to the Archaic works such as the Monteleone di Spoleto reliefs and the Pontic amphorae depicting Troilos.177Sometimes such assessments depend on artistic criteria-Ionic influences perceived in the chariot reliefs, for instance-but sometimes the attributions are more cynical. George Chase merely made his prejudice more obvious when he wrote, "The most convincing proofs of the Etruscan origin of the [Monteleone di Spoleto] chariot, in fact, are the many strange inaccuracies and careless blunders in the treatment of the figures."178 One cannot stress enough the problem with such arguments: if we attribute all interesting and knowledgeable work to Greeks, we are left with the conclusion that all native Etruscans were ignorant bunglers. For the purposes of this work, it has not been important to distinguish immigrant from native Etruscan because the focus has been on the images themselves, but it seems appropriate to consider the work discussed in this chapter as Etruscan. It has a unique character, and no one doubts that the artists, especially the early ones, were influenced by the Greek art they saw.179 One ramification of this view-that most of the painters and engravers were not settlers from abroad-is that these artisans probably did not know Homeric Greek and therefore had not heard or read any poems about Achilleus and Odysseus in the Homeric dialect and meter. Perhaps at some point some Etruscan or South Italian translated the Homeric poems into Etruscan, as Livius Andronicus did for the Romans in the third century BCE. Before that date Etruscans must have depended on what they had seen and heard-imported art works explicated by traders, oral versions of epic poems, some in Greek lyric or prose and others in Etruscan. Further, as the art itself suggests, it is quite possible that the Etruscans were composing their own poems on subjects ultimately derived from the Trojan Cycle, just as the Romans were to do later. However the Etruscans acquired their knowledge of Homeric myth, they responded to it knowledgeably. The so-called trivializing of Greek myth is hard to document, because the very works adduced to support this thesis, the Troilos images for instance, demonstrate the exact opposite, as shown

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here and by previous investigators. It is obvious that not every single Etruscan artist was erudite or for that matter talented, and some used Greek images purely for decorative purposes, with no aim to narrate a myth. 180 But Greek artists were no different; some, for instance, utilized the image of a man under a ram without alluding to the story of Polyphemos. 181 Etruscan understanding of Greek traditions is the rule, not the exception. Hence, this analysis indicates that Etruscan artisans probably did not know our Iliad or Odyssey and in fact did not know Homeric Greek, but that these very artists did exhibit a deep knowledge of Trojan myth. And they employed their learning to serve their own purposes. The Etruscans clearly found Homeric myth an excellent medium with which to express certain ideas. They transferred Greek heroic paradigms to their own aristocracy. They utilized traditional mythology to categorize the types of dangers posed by life (the woods, pitched battle, exotic monsters far away). They probably treated religious questions in their representations of the Troilos episode, in an attempt to explain why the gods demanded human blood. Musings about marriage, fidelity, childbirth, reputation, and death shine forth from the mirrors in which Etruscan women viewed themselves. Achillean and Odyssean myth served also as a means to publicize ideology, justify power, and identify enemies. While we often do riot know exactly how to interpret certain Etruscan images unrelated to Greek myth, we can understand how the Etruscans interpreted Trojan epic. It is clear that in their assimilation of Greek myth the Etruscans gained a means to express their aspirations, anxieties, and observations on life. It is through this mythopoeic thought that we come closest to knowing the Etruscans.

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CONCLUSION My aim in this work has been to reveal the diversity of the early Greek heroic tradition as it has come down to us in piecemeal fashion. Although countless poems and visual images have not survived, I believe that the evidence we possess allows us to see the wide range of ways in which myths were treated beginning with the Archaic Period; sometimes, too, a unified depiction of a story appears. Inevitably images elucidate texts and texts clarify images. The artists' interpretations of heroic myths have contributed much to my understanding of the Homeric poems and can serve the same purpose for others. In this work I have argued against privileging one body of evidence over another, whether it be poetry or painting, epic or another genre, Homeric or non-Homeric. Further, no one part of the tradition (Homeric, for instance) dominated over the others. I have also contended that there was no disjunction between the genres, as is often maintained. Hence, artists were not oblivious of the poems and drama that were circulating and inspiring their customers. If the artists portrayed an Iliadic scene in a way distinct from our Iliad, the reason, as I have interpreted the evidence, is that these artists were depicting or creating another version of a multifarious myth. Such painters, depending on the date of their work, may or may not have known a poem similar to our Iliad, but they were certainly acquainted with many other poems and visual depictions and found no one version authoritative, as fifth-century images of the embassy to Achilleus demonstrate. The scenario I have presented does not imply that artists and poets lacked originality or so enslaved themselves to their mythic heritage that they ceded any attempt to be creative. As has often been said, ancient originality entailed the skillful manipulation of the tradition, and it was traditional to tinker with and recast the old myths. We all know that Virgil, as one of the greatest ancient poets, utilized almost entirely traditional materials (Homeric, Hellenistic, and Ennian). In similar fashion, the Greek poets and painters had a huge menu from which to choose, and they combined

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traditional elements as seemed best to them. Myth was not scripture but a template to be molded to fit the message the creators sought to convey. Before our Iliad and Odysseygained their definitive form late in the Archaic Period, painters and poets depicted numerous versions of Achillean and Odyssean myths, variants that may differ from our epic poems but stories that we can understand from our knowledge of the myths. When Odysseus, for instance, is shown on vases confronting monstrous Sirens unlike those in Homer, one can see that in the period of early colonization, the Ithacan hero was invoked as the vanquisher of demons encountered in new lands. Later, Odysseus assumed new topical identities: -he was shown as an initiate of the cult of the Kabiroi or someone living in a pederastic culture. As has often been stated in the pages above, the mythic tradition remained vigorous and endured for centuries because it served as an excellent medium for artists and poets to comment on and explore the human condition as they saw it. Another thesis of this work has been that visual representations reveal much about the origins, myths, and evolution of the Iliad and Odyssey. A vase in Paris from the early fifth century BCE depicts a mythic version of the abduction of Briseis that the Iliad acknowledges but disavows.1 An early-sixth-century vase links the mourning after Achilleus' death with Achilleus' mourning for Patroklos, suggesting that this coupling of themes was traditional; this connection is also found in the Iliad. In dealing with the depiction of the epic tradition, verbal and visual, one is often astonished by startling instances of what one might call strokes of genius, a detail or aspect accentuated to evince an essential element of a myth. One such instance occurs through a Corinthian vase-painter's identification of Helen's horse as Polypentha, "Much-sorrow," an apt characterization of the consequences of Helen's elopement with Paris (Od. 23.224). Another instance occurs on an Etruscan mirror depicting the meeting of Paris and Helen in Sparta. Paris is shown not as a dashing seducer but as a diminutive, childlike, inarticulate youth. He entrusts his wooing to Turan (Aphrodite), who debates with Helen, whose unwillingness is shown in several ways, one being that she is barely past childbirth, still confined to bed, and focusing on her baby, Hermione; she has no interest in a foreign suitor. This unexpected perspective questions the circumstances of Helen's "rape" and presents an alternative to the story of overpowering passion and captivating seduction. Another instance of ingenious storytelling appears on an Apulian depiction oflhersites that portrays him as a heroic youth without deformities, holding a stylus as if he were a poet. This portrait presents another interpretation oflhersites' verbiage, which is highlighted in Homer. Repeatedly, visual representations display a rethinking of inherited myths,

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variant versions of the stories both traditional and new. Oral poets shared this same mythic legacy and utilized analogous approaches in exploring their heroic heritage. My citation of Etruscan and Apulian examples is predicated on two of this work's principles. First, I maintain that South Italian vase-paintings from the fourth century BCE continue the iconographical and mythological traditions of sixth- and fifth-century mainland Greece. These Italic painters delved into the Trojan Cycle and continued the age-old process of probing and exploiting its implications. Much of the traditional iconography was retained, but there was novelty too. Second, I have argued against the so-called Etruscan trivializing ("banalization") of Greek myth. I have contended that Etruscan painters and engravers were familiar with the ethos and motifs of Greek mythology and used Greek myth to express their own aspirations, concerns, and observations on life. My conclusion is that the Greek mythopoeic language became the lingua franca for expressing universals, and the Etruscans mastered this medium to portray their own particular world. The stories of Achilleus and Odysseus, which have meant so much to generation after generation up to the present day, have for millennia been an important vehicle with which to comment on the human condition. One reason for this popularity is the multiplicity of meanings discernible in the myths. For some, Achilleus was the consummate hero; for others he was a bully, callous and cruel. To some he was a mere youngster; to others he was a grizzled warrior. Achilleus and Odysseus can assume many different identities, most of which the ancient poets and artists fully probed. It is our good fortune to have inherited not only the Iliad and Odysseyand some related plays (e.g., Philoctetes)but also numerous vase-paintings, reliefs, mosaics, and sculptures depicting Trojan myth. Those of us who study these artifacts have the good fortune to work with the most beautiful poems and paintings that antiquity has bequeathed to us. And, like the ancients, we discover that these age-old stories explain our world too.

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NOTES Abbreviations used below are defined in the Oxford Classical Dictionary or in this book's bibliography.

Introduction 1. For the concept of reenactment, see Mack (1987)8, Nagy (1996a) 55-58. 2. London 1943.11-3.31(E 440), ARV 289.1, LIMC (Odysseus) #155.The earliest known painted depiction of Odysseus with the Sirens dates to about 600 BCE. 3. Touchefeu-Meynier (1968)150-51,Vermeule (1979)203-4. 4. For summary and discussion, see Lord (1960) 26-29 and 102-23. 5. A City of Images (Berard et al. 1989) focuses on this very omnipresence of images. For an argument questioning the thoroughness and trustworthiness of these images see Loraux (2002) 48-52. 6. Cook (1937),on the Hesiodic Shield and its reflection of art from the previous decade. 7. Friis Johansen (1967) 225-26, Jensen (1980) 106, and Stanley (1993)267 assert that vase-paintings begin to reflect our Iliad from ea. 520 BCE, but I fail to find the evidence to support this thesis. It is difficult to agree, for instance, with Friis Johansen (1967)226 when he asserts that Oltos "illustrates" the Iliad. Cf. Burgess (2001) 94. 8. For the relation between the Aeschylean play and vase-painting, see Dohle (1967), who rightly sees mostly Aeschylean myth reflected on the vases but also some Homeric elements. 9. I allude to this prejudice in regard to the Roman Odyssey landscapes: Lowenstam (1995) 221-22. For other responses, see Marvin (1993 and 1997) and Mattusch (2004). 10. Coarelli (1983), Massa-Pairault (1992) 117-25; cf. Alfoldi (1965) 212-31. For discussion, see below, pp. 157-65. 11.Luckenbach (1880), Friis Johansen (1934and 1967),Millier (1913),Bulas (1929), Brommer (1983). 12. Powell (1991). 13.A recent example appears in Lissarrague (2001) 16. 14. Von Steuben (1968), Fittschen (1969), Kannicht (1982), Ahlberg-Cornell (1992). 15.Cook (1983),Snodgrass (1998). 16. Robert (1881)7-12 had earlier directed attention to folktale as a major source for ancient painting.

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17. For my response to this view and to the two artifacts singled out, see Lowenstam (1997),esp. 52-54. Snodgrass (1998) 126 mentions three artifacts based on Homer. 18. Nagy (1992). 19. Lowenstam (1997). 20. Sealey (1990), Nagy (1992 and 1996b), Stanley (1993),Cook (1995);cf. Sealey (1957),Jensen (1980), and Schefold (1992)300. 21. This conclusion, reached in Lowenstam (1997),has received corroboration in Burgess (2001), esp. 47-131. Burgess 128 suggests that possibly the Homeric poems were well received at first. Many other explanations are possible, e.g., difficulties in diffusion and stabilization or a late date of composition. 22. Louvre G146, ARV 458.2; see Lowenstam (1997)39-44. 23. Trendall and Webster (1971),Shapiro (1993)71-182, Taplin (1993). 24. For a short critique of the criteria employed by Snodgrass (1998) 127-50 to demonstrate knowledge of Homer, see Lowenstam (1999). The guidelines used by Cook (1983)1 are equally problematic. 25. The first pinax is Berlin F 487. The metrical phrase can be compared with Od. 11.266and II. 20.67. The second is Berlin F 552, attested at II. 15.158and six times in the Odyssey. 26. For discussion with bibliography, see Lowenstam (1997),esp. 47. 27. Lessing (1984) 40. 28. Dohle (1967),with the mixture stressed on 125. 29. Ahlberg-Cornell (1992)10,41, 178,185.For the theoretical point, see Gombrich (1982). 30. Berlin 2285, ARV 431.48. For the formulaic nature of the Berlin line, see Lowenstam (1997)45-46. 31.The next six paragraphs are a revised, slightly simplified version ofLowenstam (1997)58-62. 32. For similarities in diction, see Bowra (1930)256-59 and Fowler (1987)5-52. For the independent use in lyric of material common to epic, see Nagy (1974),esp. 11839, who argues that cognate traditional language was inherited by both lyric and epic. M.L. West (1995)204 believes that "only in exceptional cases can phraseology known to us from Homer be assumed to have been unique to Homer." 33. For a refutation of the supposed allusions, see Stanley (1993) 266-67, Lowenstam (1997)58-59, and Burgess (2001) 115-27. 34. Cf. West (1995) 206 and Burgess (2001) 117-26. The comparison between leaves and humans appears at II. 6.146-49 and 21.464-66, Mimn. 2.1-4 W, and Arist., Av. 685. 35. Murray (1934,228-29) says that references to Homer do not exclusively mean the Iliad and Odyssey until about 350 BCE, although even after that date other poems of the Cycle may still be meant. Also see Nagy (1992)36-37, Burgess (2001) 129-31, and Graziosi (2002) 4. 36. The ancient biographies compose the main evidence: Allen (1912)192-268 reviewed by Allen (1924) 11-41and Lefkowitz (1981)12-24. 37. Bowra (1930)255. Four hundred years is a suspiciously round number. 38. At this point one might mention a criterion often used in dating Homer, namely that Homer must precede Hesiod: Kirk (1962) 283, Lesky (1967)693, Janko (1982)93, Powell (1991)219.But we meet the same difficulties in trying to date Hesiod ("Hesiod's date is not objectively determinable," Kirk (1962)283);and, as M.L. West

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(1966, 40-48) has shown in his arguments for the priority of the Theogony,the absolute dating of Hesiod and Homer is uncertain. 39. Lorimer (1950) 190-91, Sealey (1957)341 (second half of the sixth century), Burkert (1983a)82, West (1995)210; Powell (1991)202-4 insists on an earlier date. 40. Powell 1991.Sealey (1957)341 and (1990) 133forcefully argues for a later date from essentially the same evidence. 41. That the Iliad not only knows hoplite weaponry but also the massed infantry formation and discipline of hoplite warfare has received support in recent years from Sealey (1957)340-41 and (1990) 183-84 n. 30, Snodgrass (1964) 176-79, Latacz (1977)45-67, Pritchett (1985)7-15 and 21-33, Morris (1987)196-201, Hanson (1991) 64-67, and, to a degree, Van Wees (1994). Inhumation is suggested at Il. 4.174-77, for which see Kirk (1985)349-50. Writing may be indicated at Il. 6.168-70 and 7.175; Morris (1986)93 considers it certain, as does Crielaard (1995)210-14. 42. Among the sources that use the vase-paintings of Iliadic and Odyssean material as a terminus ante quem are Janko (1982) 230 and Powell (1991)219. Cf. Bowra (1930)259-60 and Kirk (1962) 285. Morris (1986) 91 and Hall (2002) 231-32 do not believe paintings of epic myth should be used as evidence supporting an eighth-century date for Homer. 43. Morris (1986)92. Sealey (1990) 183n. 21,calls Morris' statement that there are no hints of the sixth century in Homer "amazing." 44. Morris argues in his 1986 article that the social order of the Homeric poems must reflect the poet's own time, but Rose (1992)56 compares the world of the Iliad and Odysseyto that of the films of the Wild West, where "an essential ingredient [is] that gratification derives from the illusion that the subject of the films is a different society from that of the audience-thus the vast expenditures in the interest of verisimilitude," but "the ideological function of these films requires that the difference of the society they portray not be absolute: the viewing audience must find in them an image of its own past-a warrant and a 'charter' ... for contemporary institutions, values, and patterns ofbehavior." 45. Sealey (1957)341 and (1990) 133, reinterpreting evidence first presented by Lorimer (1950),lists the following objects in Homer as datable to the seventh and sixth centuries BCE: Odysseus' brooch, Agamemnon's Gorgon shield, the seated statue of Athene in the temple in Troy, Athenians in the Catalogue, Odysseus' stringing of his bow (Sealey dates the last three to the sixth century). 46. Cf. Lowenstam (1997)62, Burgess (2001) 52, Hall (2002) 112,Graziosi (2002) 91. 47. On the return of ashes to Attica, see Jacoby (1944),Page (1959)323, Kirk (1962) 180 and 282, Jensen (1980) 168-69, Powell (1991)205. For different views on the Atticisms, see Sealey (1957)346-48 and S. West (1988)38 n. 15. 48. Cf. Hall (2002) 229-36, Graziosi (2002) 91-92. 49. Cook (1995)168-69; Nagy (1992),esp. 35-40; Sealey (1957),esp. 341,and (1990) 133;Schefold (1992)236-37, 300; Stanley (1993)279-93; Jensen (1980)with summary on 167-71,Lowenstam (1997)45-49, 58-67. For vases, see now Burgess (2001). 50. Burgess (2001) 58. I have stated elsewhere that I work with Homeric myth because we have the Homeric poems (1997:27). 51. Burgess (2001) 144. Burgess (134 and 155,but cf. 152)believes "the Homeric and Cyclic traditions arose independently of one another." 52. Holscher (1998)176.

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1.Eleusis (no inv. number), LIMC (Odysseus) #94; Argos C 149,LIMC (Odysseus) #88; Rome, Museo Conservatori 172,LIMC(Odysseus/Uthuze) #56; Getty 96.AE.135, formerly Fleischman Collection, inv. 86, LIMC (Polyphemos I) 27bis. 2. Despite some variation in the dating, it seems the four images derive from the same time or very close, somewhere in the range 680-650. See Touchefeu-Meynier (1968) 10-12, Simon (1981)42-44, Hampe and Simon (1981)66, Morris (1984) 45, Martelli (1987b) 264, Ahlberg-Cornell (1992) 94-95, Buitron, Cohen, et al. (1992) 32, Camporeale (1992)973, Shapiro (1993)52, Hamma (1994) 182,and Andreae and Parisi Presicce (1996) 120. 3. Snodgrass (1998)12-39. For other bibliography, see Lowenstam (1992)166with n. 5. 4. Morris (1984) 45, Micozzi (1994) 131-71. 5. Powell (1991)211and 217,Malkin (1998)41 and 166-67. For a strong argument questioning the attribution of early Cyclopean images to the Odyssey,see Burgess (2001) 94-114, with a good bibliography on the issue at 226-27, n. 169. 6. The Polyphemos tale is based on folktale (Carpenter (1946) 20-22) but if one or more of the artists was responding to such a tale, the question is still why it became so attractive at this point. 7. For the antiquity and reconstruction of earlier Odysseys, see Frame (1978). 8. Beazley (1986) 29. 9. For the uses of Greek pottery, see Cook (1997)207-29, Boardman (1974)18492, and Bron and Lissarrague (1989). 10. For the symposium see: Fehr (1971),Dentzer (1982),Murray (1990). 11. For drinking, see Vierneisel and Kaeser (1990); for Dionysiac imagery, see Carpenter (1986 and 1997);for erotica, see Kilmer (1993);for music and poetry, see Gentili (1988). 12. For lyric and epic inscriptions on vases with bibliography, see Lowenstam (1997)45-49. For drama, see Taplin (1993). 13.London E 270, ARV 183.15;Berlin 2285, ARV 431.48. For the formulaic nature of the Berlin line, see Lowenstam (1997)45-46. 14. Plat., Symp. 179e1-18ob5,208d2-e1. 15. For Aias, see Kron (1976) 30-31 and 175-76, Boardman (1978),and Shapiro (1989) 154-57. For other ideological questions, see Boardman (1972),Cook (1987), Boardman (2001) 202-9, and Neer (2002) 87-182. 16. Louvre E 643, Amyx 264.1 (bottom), LIMC (Achilleus) #897. For discussion, see below, 33-35. 17.Florence 4209, ABV 76.1,LIMC (Achilleus) 1292. 18. For some of the history and much important documentation, see Marzi (1980). 19. For the inscriptions, see Cristofani (1980) and Wachter (1991).Kleitias spells his name "Klitiasn on the Fran~ois Vase and "Kletiasn on the Metropolitan stand (New York 31.11.4,ABV 78.12). As Richter (1931)290 recognized, the spellings are attempts to write the spurious diphthong £1. On the Fran~ois Vase Kleitias corrects the name of the Muse from Kleo to Kleio, getting the spurious diphthong •right" (Wachter (1991)108-12). 20. Schefold (1966) 58. 21.Webster (1972)62, 265; Robertson (1975)126. 180

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22. Webster (1972)265, Robertson (1975)126, Stewart (1983)66-69. 23. Muellner (1990). 24. According to AB ad II. 18.590 (Bekker; not in Erbse), Theseus and the Athenians performed the undulating geranos on Crete after Theseus had killed the Minotaur. Other, possibly later, traditions situate the dance in Delos. See Friis Johansen (1945)47-48 and Muellner (1990) 95. 25. The Etruscan apotheosis of Achilleus, New York G.R. 471, LIMC (Achle) #148, dated somewhere during 570-40 BCE, responds to some Greek art, often said to be Ionian (see below, p. 134). 26. For details, see Lowenstam (1993a)120-31. 27. As usual, such statements on my part do not indicate that I think Kleitias knew the Iliad; l believe he knew a number of Iliadic poems. 28. Iconographically Kleitias is following Sophilos, who had also placed Achilleus at the finishing line (Athens 15499,ABV 39.16,LIMC (Achilleus) #491),but Kleitias does not put stands between the winner and Achilleus, hence merging Achilleus with the winner. 29. The ambush of Troilos already appears on a seventh-century ProtoCorinthian aryballos on which both Achilleus and Troilos are named (Athens Kanellopoulos 1319,LIMC (Achilleus) #331). 30. It is important to note that on the Fran1rois Vase the most consequential action in a panel occurs either in the center or at the far right. On the obverse, the Calydonian boar hunt and ambush ofTroilos focus on the center, while the funeral games of Patroklos and marriage of Peleus and Thetis stress the far right. 31. Painters understand the complexity of the relationship between Apollo and Achilleus, as I discuss below, pp. 145-47. 32. See below, pp. 37-38, for a discussion of a 'fyrrhenian amphora, which depicts Achilleus alone fighting Hektor, Aineias, Agenor, Alesandros, Chalkas, and Iphis. . 33. II. 1.227-28, 13.276-87,Od. 11.523-32,14.216-21. 34. Shapiro (1990) 140-42, Lissarrague (2001) 21. 35. But is Achilleus also impious in killing Troilos in Apollo's sanctuary? The answer is no, as I discuss below. 36. Boston 99.518,ABV 198, Painter of the Boston Polyphemos, LIMC (Kirke) #13. For a recent discussion of the vase see Wannagat (1999). 37. New York 27.116,Amyx 196.5,LIMC (Helene) 1190. 38. For the concept, see Heydemann (1877)173.For commentary, see Lowenstam (1992)171-73.For an example of a genre scene with this topic, the departure after a wedding, see Vatican 126, Amyx 198.8,about 580 BCE. 39. Nagy (1999a) 94-102. 40. For "sanctioned" as a translation of 116-rv1a(= "wedded"), see Lowenstam (1993a)17-26. 41. Od. 23. 222-24. Nagy (1981,94) points out that penthos denotes both personal and communal grief: "[penthos designates] the grief of Achilles over his loss of [honor] ... [and) over his loss of Patroklos ... but also designates the collective grief of the Achaeans .... " 42. Wachter (2001) 342. Lorber (1979) 41 notes that the name Polypentha is unusual for a horse. 43. Od. 4.12-14, but, as reported by ad Eur. Andr. 898, the Cypria may have mentioned a son, Aganos, born to Helen and Paris.

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44. Scaife (1995, 185) believes that Hippolytos represents the menace to Helen and Paris' future. 45. Amyx (1988) 563, Scaife (1995)185, n. 81, Wachter (2.001)53. Bothmer (1972., 12.),who identifies Hippolytos as "another son of Priam" (I know of no ancient or modern source for this information), believes that the figure "may be thought of as the vanguard of the four cavalrymen that move at a slow pace on the reverse of the krater," but I see no connection. All the horsemen, for instance, carry shields with whirligig devices, while Hippolytos bears a gorgon-head shield. Also, large Sirens separate the two groups. Bothmer's comment just points to the difficulty of explaining Hippolytos' presence. 46. Wilrzburg L 160, LIMC (Helene) #193.On "Chalcidian" ware and its origins, see Rumpf (192.7)43-46, Smith (1932.)112.-2.5, Cook (1972.)158,Simon in Beckel et al. (1983)15,and Iozzo (1994). 47. When Hektor wears his armor in the Iliad. he frightens his own child, who does not recognize him (6.466-74). Through this image it is clear that Hektor cannot be at the same time both a family man and a warrior. He must either remove his helmet or disregard his son. 48. Simon in Beckel et al. (1983) 46, Simon (1981)63-64. For the importance of the Kp~6£µvov in Homer, see Nagler (1974)44-86 and Rhyan Kardulias (2.001) 30-35. 49. Lowenstam (1993a)87. 50. Vatican 35525, Astarita A 565, Amyx 264 (no painter assigned), LIMC (Odysseus) #43. 51. Beazley (1957b)235calls it the stair inside the wall of Troy. Davies (1977,78) and Maehler (1997,131-33)think the structure is the altar of the Temple of Athene. I am not convinced that Bacchyl. Dith. 15.37indicates a change of scene. In any case the poem postdates the vase by at least eighty years, and the Astarita Krater may show a synoptic scene. 52. Wachter (2.001)84 recognizes that the inscription "Harmatidas" denotes the horse. The name means something like "drawer of the war-chariot" (cf. apµaThfl