Aegina: Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry: Myth, History, and Identity in the Fifth Century BC 0199546517, 9780199546510

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Aegina: Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry Myth, History, and Identity in the Fifth Century bc

Edited by DAVID FEARN

OXPORD

UNIVERSITY PRESS

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS Great Clarendon Street, Oxford 0x2 6 dp Oxford University Press is a department o f the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective o f excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam Oxford is a registered trade mark o f Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc., New York © Oxford University Press 2011 The moral rights of the authors have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) First published 2011 All rights reserved. No part o f this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, w ithout the prior permission in writing o f Oxford University Press, o r as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope o f the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose the same condition on any acquirer British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Library of Congress Control Number: 2010936879 Typeset by SPI Publisher Services, Pondicherry, India Printed in Great Britain on acid-free paper by MPG Books Group, Bodmin and King’s Lynn ISBN 978-0-19-954651-0 1 3 5 7 9

10 8 6 4 2

Acknowledgements The seminar series out of which this volume has grown was devised and held under the auspices of the Centre for Greek and Roman Antiquity, Corpus Christi College, Oxford, in autumn 2006, and I would like to thank the Senior Members of the Centre, and Ewen Bowie and Jas Eisner in particular, for their assistance and support throughout; I also owe the college a large debt of thanks for allowing me the opportunity as a Junior Research Fellow to further my interest in all things Aeginetan, both in Oxford and through support of my travels in Greece. Thanks also to the Faculty of Classics and Jesus College, Oxford, and latterly the Department of Classics and Ancient History at Warwick, for allowing me the time and space to continue research amid pleasant surroundings. Very special thanks to all the individual contributors to the sem­ inar series for making it, and the present volume, possible. I should also like to thank Guy Hedreen and Elizabeth Irwin for their enthu­ siastic response to the idea of this volume, and their willingness to offer additional contributions, thus helping to further emphasize the need to think about Aegina in as broad a range of contexts and through as broad a variety of media as possible. Hilary O’Shea, Dorothy McCarthy, and Tessa Eaton at OUP guided the production of this volume expertly from its original conception through to completion. Final deepest thanks to my wife Kathleen, and to my son Laurence.

Contents List of Contributors Illustrations Abbreviations Introduction: Aegina in Contexts David Fearn I.

ix xi xiii 1

CONTEXTS FOR H ER O IC M Y TH -M A K IN G : ETH N ICITY , INTER-STATE RELATIONS, CULT, AND COM M ERCE

1. Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar Gregory Nagy 2. Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia James Watson

41 79

3. ‘The Theärion of the Pythian One’: The Aeginetan Theâroi in Context Ian Rutherford

114

4. Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina Barbara Kowalzig

129

II.

POETRY, PERFORMANCE, POLITICS

5. Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics David Fearn

175

6. Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality 227 Andrew Morrison

Contents III.

INTERFACES BETWEEN POETRY, MYTH, AND ART

7. Giving Wings to the Aeginetan Sculptures: The Panhellenic Aspirations of Pindar’s Eighth Olympian Lucia Athanassaki

257

8. Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar’s Isthmian 6 Henrik Indergaard

294

9. The Trojan War, Theoxenia, and Aegina in Pindar’s Paean 6 and the Aphaia Sculptures Guy Hedreen

323

IV. TH E HIS TO RIOGRAPHICAL AFTERMATH 10. Herodotus on Aeginetan Identity Elizabeth Irwin

373

11. ‘Lest the things done by men become exiteld: Writing up Aegina ina Late Fifth-Century Context Elizabeth Irwin

426

Bibliography Index of Passages Cited General Index

458 487 505

List of Contributors L ucia A th a n a s s a k i is Associate Professor of Classical Philology at

the University of Crete. She is the author of numerous articles on archaic and early classical poetry. Her recent publications include Apolline Politics and Poetics (2009), which she co-edited with R. P. Martin and J. F. Miller, and άείδετο παν τέμενος: Οι χορικές παραστάσεις και το κοινό τους στην αρχαϊκή και πρώιμη κλασική περίοδο (2009). Among her current projects are a volume of collected

essays on choral song, which she is co-editing with Ewen Bowie, and a book-length study of Euripides’ Ion. D avid Fearn is Assistant Professor in Greek Literature at the Uni­

versity of Warwick. He is the author of Bacchylides: Politics, Perfor­ mance, Poetic Tradition (2007), and a number of other contextual studies of Greek lyric poetry, including ‘Mapping Phleious: Politics and Myth-Making in Bacchylides 9’ (2003), and Oligarchic Hestia: Bacchylides 14B and Pindar, Nemean 11’ (2009). G uy H edreen is Professor of Art, Wilhams College. He writes on Athenian vase-painting, Dionysiae myth and ritual, visual narration, and the Trojan War. His publications include Capturing Troy: The Narrative Functions of Landscape in Archaic and Early Classical Greek Art (2001), and ‘The Semantics of Processional Dithyramb: Pindar’s Second Dithyramb and Archaic Athenian Vase-Painting’, in Dithyr­ amb and Society: Texts and Contexts in a Changing Choral World, edited by Barbara Kowalzig and Peter Wilson (forthcoming). H enrik Indergaard obtained his Candidatus magisteri from the Universities of Trondheim and Bergen in Norway, and is currently writing a doctoral dissertation at Exeter College, Oxford, about the role of Herakles in Pindar’s poetry. Elizabeth Irwin is an Assistant Professor at Columbia University, and writes on the intersection of politics and literature in the archaic and classical periods. Among her publications are Solon and Early Greek Poetry: The Politics of Exhortation (2005), co-edited with Emily Greenwood, Reading Herodotus: The Logoi of Book V (2007), and

Contributors several articles on archaic poetry and Greek historiography. She is currently writing a book on Herodotus book 3. Barbara Kowalzjg is Lecturer in Greek History at Royal Holloway, University of London, and an Associate of the Centre Louis Gernet in Paris. Her research focuses on religion, music, and performance, and cultural and economic anthropology in ancient Greece. She is the author of Singing for the Gods: Performances of Myth and Ritual in Archaic and Classical Greece (Oxford, 2007), and has published widely on Greek song-culture. She is currently working on a new project on the relation between religion and trade in the ancient Mediterranean.

A. D. M orrison is Senior Lecturer in Classics at the University of Manchester. He is the author of The Narrator in Archaic Greek and Hellenistic Poetry (2007) and Performances and Audiences in Pindar’s Sicilian Victory Odes (2007). He is now working on a book about the Hellenistic poets’ use of Herodotus. G regory N agy is the Francis Jones Professor of Classical Greek Literature and Professor of Comparative Literature at Harvard Uni­ versity, and Director of the Harvard Center for Hellenic Studies in Washington, DC. He is the author of over a dozen books, including The Best o f the Achaeans: Concepts of the Hero in Archaic Greek Poetry (1979), Pindar’s Homer: The Lyric Possession of an Epic Past (1990), and, most recently, Homer’s Text and Language (2004), Homer the Classic (2009), and Homer the Preclassic (2010). Ian Rutherford is Professor of Greek at the University of Reading.

He is author of Pindar’s Paeans (2001), and his forthcoming books include Theoria: State Pilgrimage in Greece and Hittite Texts and the Origins of Greek Religion: Gods, Myths, and Rituals at the AegeoAnatolian Interface. James Watson received his Ph.D from Cambridge University in 2009 for a thesis entitled ‘From Archaic to Classical: Reassessing Greek History, 525-450 bc’. He now teaches Classics at The Perse School, Cambridge. He has a particular interest in the history and archaeology of Athens and Aegina.

Illustrations All photographs are by David Fearn unless otherwise stated. Since some of the illustrations are referred to by more than one contributor, for ease of reference all are placed at the end of the introduction. Fig. 1. Ground plans of the Temple of Aphaia. Taken from Birgitta Bergquist, The Archaic Greek Temenos: A Study

of Structure and Function, Acta Instituti Atheniensis Regni SueciaeA, XIII (Lund, 1967), courtesy of the Swedish Institutes of Rome and Athens.

29

Fig. 2. Reconstruction of the west pediment from the Temple of Aphaia. Photo after Ohly 2001.

30

Fig. 3. Reconstruction of the east pediment from the Temple of Aphaia. Photo after Ohly 1976.

30

Fig. 4. Map of the Saronic Gulf.

31

Fig. 5. The Temple of Aphaia overlooking the shipping lanes of the Saronic Gulf.

32

Fig. 6. The Sanctuary of Zeus Hellänios.

32

Fig. 7. The remains of the Theärion, Kolonna Hill, with Temple of Apollo behind.

33

Fig. 8. Map of Aegina Town, after Walter (1993), 55, fig. 48, by kind permission of Deutscher Kunstverlag GmbH.

33

Fig. 9. The Temple of Aphaia as seen from the summit of Mount Oros.

34

Fig. 10. Malibu, J. Paul Getty Museum 80.AE.154, fragmentary Athenian red-figure cup, Oltos. Gift of Dr R. Almirante. Photograph courtesy of the J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California.

34

Fig. 11. Samos, Archaeological Museum 75 (this fragment now lost), fragmentary Athenian black-figure hydria, by or near Kleitias, c.570 b c . Photo after Kreuzer 1998.

35

Abbreviations

Aegina: Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry: Myth, History, and Identity in the Fifth Century BC David Fearn

Print publication date: 2010 Print ISBN-13: 9780199546510 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: January 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.001.0001

(p.xiii) Abbreviations ABV J. D. Beazley, Attic Black-Figure Vase-Painters (Oxford, 1956) AG Anthologia Graeca Agora XIV H. A. Thompson and R. E. Wycherley, The Athenian Agora, XIV. The Agora of Athens (Princeton, 1972) Alt-Ägina, I.1 W. W. Wurster, Alt-Ägina Band I,1. Der Apollontempel (Mainz-Rhein, 1974) Alt-Ägina, I.2 W. W. Wurster and F. Felten, Alt-Ägina Band I,2. Der spätrömiche Akropolismauer, Architektur und Spolien; Inschriften; Die christliche Siedlung (Mainz-Rhein, 1975) Alt-Ägina, I.3 K. Hoffelner, Alt-Ägina Band I,3. Das Apollon-Heiligtum: Tempel, Altäre, Temenosmauer, Thearion, mit Beiträgen von E. Walter-Karydi. Herausgegeben von Hans Walter und Elena WalterKarydi (Mainz-Rhein, 1999) Alt-Ägina, II.2 E. Walter-Karydi, Alt-Ägina Band II,2. Die Äginetische Bildhauerschule: Werke und schriftliche Quellen (Mainz-Rhein, 1987) Alt-Ägina, III.1 H. Walter and F. Felten, Alt-Ägina Band III,1. Die vorgeschichtliche Stadt. Befistigungen; Häuser; Funde (Mainz-Rhein, 1981) ARV J. D. Beazley, Attic Red-Figure Vase-Painters, 2nd edn. (Oxford, 1963) CAH The Cambridge Ancient History CID Corpus des inscriptions de Delphes (Paris, 1977– ) CIG Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum, 4 vols. (Berlin, 1828–77) (p.xiv) CPCInv M. H. Hansen and T. H. Nielsen, An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis (Oxford, 2004) Dr A. B. Drachmann, Scholia in Pindarum, 3 vols. (Leipzig, 1903–27, repr. Stuttgart, 1997)

Page 1 of 3

 

Abbreviations FGrH F. Jacoby, Fragmente der Griechischen Historiker (Leiden, 1923– ) FHG C. Müller, ed., Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum, 5 vols. (Paris, 1843–70) IClar L. and J. Robert, Claros 1: Décrets hellénistiques (Paris, 1989) ID Inscriptions de Délos (Paris, 1926– ) IG Inscriptiones Graecae (Berlin, 1873–1981) IMilet Die Inschriften von Milet (Berlin 1997– ) IPArk G. Thür and H. Taeuber, Prozessrechtliche Inschriften der griechischen Poleis: Arkadien (Vienna, 1994) IStratonikeia M. Ç. Sahin, Die Inschriften von Stratonikeia, I–II 1/2 (Bonn, 1981–90) K-A R. Kassel and C. Austin, Poetae Comici Graeci (Berlin, 1983–95) LfgrE B. Snell, H. J. Mette, et al., Lexikon des frühgriechischen Epos (Göttingen, 1955– ) LGPN P. M. Fraser and E. Matthews, A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names (Oxford, 1987– ) LIMC Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae, ed. L. Kahil, 8 vols. (Munich, 1981–99) Lindos II C. Blinkenberg, Lindos. Fouilles et recherches, 1902–14. II. Inscriptions, 2 vols. (Berlin, 1941) LSAG L. H. Jeffery, The Local Scripts of Archaic Greece: A Study of the Origin of the Greek Alphabet and its Development from the Eighth to the Fifth Centuries B.C. Revised edition with a supplement by A. W. Johnston (Oxford, 1990) LSCG F. Sokolowski, Lois sacrées des cités grecques (Paris, 1969) LSCGS F. Sokolowski, Lois sacrées des cités grecques: Supplément (Paris, 1962) LSJ (p.xv) H. G. Liddell, R. Scott, and R. Mackenzie (eds.), A Greek– English Lexicon, revised and augmented throughout by H. S. Jones, with a supplement, 9th edn. (Oxford, repr. 1990) Maehler I H. Maehler, Die Lieder des Bakchylides, I. De Siegeslieder, Mnemosyne Supplement 62 (Leiden, 1982) M-L R. Meiggs and D. Lewis, A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions to the End of the Fifth Century B.C. (Oxford, 1988) M-W R. Merkelbach and M. L. West, Fragmenta Hesiodea (Oxford, 1967) Moretti L. Moretti, Olympionikai: i vincitori negli antichi agoni olimpici (Rome, 1957) OCD3 S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth, The Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3rd edn. (Oxford, 1996) PEG I A. Bernabé, Poetae Epici Graeci. Testimonia et Fragmenta Pars I (Stuttgart, 1996) PMG D. L. Page, Poetae Melici Graeci (Oxford, 1962) Page 2 of 3

 

Abbreviations POxy Oxyrhynchus Papyri (London 1898– ) PSI Pubblicazioni della Società italiana per la ricerca dei papiri greci e latini in Egitto (Florence, 1912– ) RE G. Wissowa et al. (eds.), Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Alterumswissenchaft (Stuttgart, 1893–1980) Rhodes-Osborne P. J. Rhodes and R. G. Osborne, Greek Historical Inscriptions, 404–323 BC (Oxford, 2003) RVAp I A. D. Trendall and A. Cambitoglou, The Red-Figured Vases of Apulia, I. Early and Middle Apulian (Oxford, 1978) SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum (Leiden and Amsterdam, 1923– ) Sn-M B. Snell, rev. H. Maehler, Pindarus, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1987–9) (p.xvi) Syll.3 W. Dittenberger, Sylloge Inscriptionum Graecarum, 3rd edn. (Leipzig, 1915–24) TrGF III S. Radt, Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, vol. 3: Aeschylus (Göttingen, 1985) V E.-M. Voigt, Sappho et Alcaeus: Fragmenta (Amsterdam, 1971) W M. L. West, Iambi et Elegi Graeci post Alexandrum Cantati, 2nd edn., 2 vols. (Oxford, 1991–2)

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Introduction: Aegina in Contexts David Fearn

h ’, t åæıæÆØ `NÆŒ ÆØ,  ŁØ Ø çÆd Æç Æ   ’ KØå Æ A ÞÆØ  PºªÆØ. ıæÆØ ’ æªø ŒÆºH  Æ Ł’ ŒÆ Ø K åæfiH Œ ºıŁØ ŒÆd  æÆ ˝ºØ ƪA ŒÆd Ø’  ææ ı · P ’ Ø oø æÆæ h ƺªªºø ºØ, –Ø P —ź  IØ Œº  læø, P Æ  ªÆæF ŁH , P ’ –Ø `YÆ  ºÆø Ø Æ ŒÆd Ææ· As for you, golden-charioted Aiakidai, I proclaim that my clearest obligation as I come to this island is to rain down praises upon it. Countless paths one hundred feet wide have been laid out by your noble deeds, one after the other: both beyond the streams of the Nile and further than the Hyperboreans. There is no city so barbarous or so backward in its speech that it does not hear the glory of the hero Peleus, blessed son-in-law of the gods; or of Ajax Telamon’s son, and of his father . . . (Pindar, Isthmian 6.19–27)

The island of Aegina was the homeland of the mythical Aiakidai celebrated here in magnificent style. Situated in the Saronic Gulf 15 miles south of Athens, it is well known as the original home of the magnificent Doric architecture and sculpture of the Temple of Aphaia, and as the home of many of the patrons of Pindar and

2

David Fearn

Bacchylides. The island and its inhabitants feature prominently in the narratives of Herodotus’ Histories, especially in the relation of the island to the nearby states of Athens and Sparta. Indeed, Aegina is the third most frequently mentioned Greek state in all of Herodotus, after her two prominent fifth-century rivals, yet this fact frequently goes unnoticed. Throughout the fifth century, as both Herodotus and Thucydides reveal, the island was a constant challenge to Athens, and consequently was eventually transformed into an Athenian kleruchy at the start of the Peloponnesian War, with the indigenous Aeginetan population deported to the Peloponnese and subsequently almost totally wiped out by the Athenians at Thyrea in 424 bc.1 The island also has a rich and complex archaeological heritage, with material finds dating back to the third millennium bc and sites that have revealed an extremely rich history of continuous occupation, with significant wider links across Greece.2 Aegina is also familiar to scholars of archaic and classical economic history, as the ground for fertile debate on the nature of the relation between commerce, landuse, and social structure in the archaic and classical periods.3 The poetry associated with the island in the fifth century, by Pindar and Bacchylides, continues to impress with its glittering beauty, mythological inventiveness, complexity, and self-confidence. It is unfortunate, then, that too many of these aspects have been studied in isolation. There is general need for joined-up thinking about the nature of Aeginetan society in the fifth-century bc, integrating a wide range of subject matter and approaches. Aeginetan poetry is rightly prominent in studies of Pindar, given that onequarter of Pindar’s epinician output was composed for Aeginetan victors; Bacchylides, too, composed his longest epinician ode for an Aeginetan victor.4 Influential modern historicist approaches to 1

Thuc. 2.27; 4.56.2–57.5. On the prehistory of the main archaeological sites on the island, see in particular ¨ gina, III.1; Felten and Hiller (1996); Pilafidis-Williams (1998); Felten and Hiller Alt-A (2004); Gauss (2007); Felten (2007); Gauss and Smetana (2008). 3 Winterscheidt (1938) 22–4; 52–8; De Ste. Croix (2004); Parker (2004); Hornblower (2004), (2007a); more generally, Finley (1985), (1979); Cartledge (1983); Scheidel and von Reden (2002). 4 Aeginetan epinician odes: Pind. Ol. 8, Pyth. 8, Nem. 3–8, Isthm. 5–6, 8–9; Bacch. 12, 13 (longest ode); Sim. 507 PMG; also paeans and prosodia: Pind. Pae. 6, Pae. 15, fr. 89b. 2

Introduction: Aegina in Contexts

3

Pindar have often underestimated the significance of the diversity of local contexts for epinician poetry, and, from a historical point of view, there is still scope for Greek historians to mine the nontraditionally historiographical sources for information.5 This is the first ever multi-contributor study of choral lyric poetry devoted to one particular context; the richness of the papers presented here aims to validate, and prove the need for, future studies of different contexts and their cultures, to add to the growing acknowledgement of political and cultural diversity that is the hallmark of fifth-century Greek culture, and of which Herodotus provided arguably the most sophisticated ancient overview. Aeginetan studies have been dominated for many years by the researches of Thomas Figueira.6 His focus has been traditionally historical, a process of trying to determine the chronology and precise nature of the events affecting the island and its inhabitants in the fifth century and beyond. Among the many virtues of his work on Aegina, his study of Aegina’s strategic position in the Saronic Gulf is one of the few which grants the island a significant role in the causes of the Peloponnesian War, building on what little Thucydides has to say about the island.7 There is, however, significant scope for other studies such as the present one, studies which are obviously indebted to Figueira, but which look at the issues and evidence with different perspectives and expertise. Where this volume touches on historical questions, contributors are particularly interested in the ways in which the presentation of the distinctive point of view constituted by an ancient source can offer insights into broader truths about the nature of Aeginetan culture and society: for instance, the broader significance of representations of the Aiakidai throughout the wide range of different literary and non-literary sources, or the nature of subsequent articulations of Aeginetan history as carefully constructed narratives reliant upon a diversity

5

See Fearn (2009) for a recent attempt to bring political and aesthetic/poetic considerations together through two individual case-studies. 6 Principally Figueira (1981a), (1991); the collection of essays published together in Figueira (ed.) (1993). 7 Figueira (1990); cf. D. M. Lewis in CAH V2.370–1: a significant part of Thucydides’ geopolitical take on causation is Corinth, not Aegina (or Megara).

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David Fearn

of oral records with their own biases and points of view, rather than straightforward reconstructions of history as fact. It was through a desire to bridge the gaps between different disciplinary approaches to fifth-century Greek contexts, and to face up to the challenges that contextualization presented, that I chose to organize a seminar series at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, in autumn 2006, with the title ‘Aegina: Poetry and Culture in the Fifth Century bc’. The aim was to invite papers from scholars who would be able to offer a diverse range of contributions on issues relating not only to Aeginetan epinician poetry, but to other subjects which might have a bearing on the poetry, and which the poetry might itself have influenced. In general, the hope was for an interdisciplinary series which would enable many aspects of Aeginetan fifth-century life to be taken into consideration, in ways that would open up the work of Pindarists to historians, art historians, and archaeologists as a serious and potentially fruitful avenue to explore, as well as inviting more literary-minded Pindarists to learn from contemporary research into fifth-century religion, art, historiography, and economics. The main intention was to bring together into one place work being done, often in isolation, by scholars with different research interests and research backgrounds, and by both those in the early stages of academic careers and those with established international reputations. The success of the seminar series initiated the preparation of the current volume, which includes additional contributions from scholars who either attended the original series and expressed an interest in being involved in the project as it developed further, or who were approached subsequently to offer contributions designed to round off and fit neatly into the broader aims of the volume (Guy Hedreen and Elizabeth Irwin). The present volume bears the title Aegina: Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry. Myth, History, and Identity in the Fifth Century bc. ‘Contexts’ is intended here to reinforce the notion that the poetry, or indeed the art, archaeology, or historical source material, must be interpreted in ways that are sensitive to a diversity on the ground: the concentration on one particular polis in a given historical moment is designed to challenge disciplinary disconnectedness. The fact that this volume is devoted to one particular set of epichoric circumstances is hardly limiting. Indeed, the detailed studies offered here increase the level of scrutiny devoted to

Introduction: Aegina in Contexts

5

individual issues that may have importance for other states, regions, and networks, and therefore impinge on broader ideas and questions about the nature of classical Greece in general. The most obvious point is that a focus on Aegina—an immensely powerful pre-classical state which was, through the course of the fifth century, progressively viewed as a threat, marginalized, and ultimately suppressed by the dominance of Athens (and Sparta) in inter-state relations, viewed as the ‘pus of the Piraeus’—resets the balance, showing that fifth-century Greek history is much more than the history of Athens and/or Sparta in relation to other relatively minor players.8 Also, this Aeginetan case-study invites thought about the nature of Greekness in the classical period, emphasizing local diversity as a key, highly productive theme. The ways localized individuals and groups interacted with and defined their identities in relation to others, and how they did so (through the whole raft of social and cultural possibilities available to them: military strategy, myth-making, networking, art, trade, cult, political identity and allegiances, religion, athletics), go together to create the very notion of Greekness in the fifth century bc. ‘Greekness’ is not a thing in itself with a status separate from that given it by those invoking it, and therefore the occasions upon which it is invoked are significant, requiring examination from multiple perspectives. In the case of Aeginetans, as we shall see, the strategies they adopted are often and importantly reflected, as well as enacted, in the lyric poetry they commissioned. And, at the same time, the poets the Aeginetans used to celebrate their achievements were Panhellenic artists with a broad (in both geographical and political terms) base of patrons; and the contexts in which Aeginetans often demonstrated their prowess, whether through religious expertise or athletic skill, were themselves often Panhellenic. The poetry therefore also articulates the tensions between epichoric individuality and inter-state competitiveness for pre-eminence and influence on broader Panhellenic stages that generate the very idea of Greekness in the early fifth century. And these are important factors which are clearly visible, for instance, throughout Herodotus’ Histories. 8

‘Pus of the Piraeus’ (the view of Pericles): Arist. Rhet. 1411a, Plut. Per. 8.5. See Irwin, this volume, Ch. 11 for detailed discussion of this metaphor of ‘medical purging’, or what we might call ‘ethnic cleansing’.

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David Fearn

‘Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry’ defines this collection in a number of complementary and overlapping senses. Some of the following chapters interpret the theme quite literally, offering interpretations of individual poems in direct and specific relation to a set of particular contexts understood to be cued to us by the poems themselves, or through connection with which the poems are seen to develop their meaning and significance. Others choose to look at a range of poetic material, whether it be Aeginetan lyric as a whole, or Aeginetan lyric in relation to other non-Aeginetan lyric, and the issues that contextualization within the poetic tradition and within Aeginetan culture raise. More broadly still, some contributions offer wider views of how the very medium of poetry as a traditional cultural product and purveyor of mythology played highly significant roles in forming Aeginetans’ views of themselves and their background, and in shaping the ways in which Aeginetans interacted with others, culturally, politically, and economically. Other contributions focus exclusively on key cultural institutions with which the poetry comes into contact, such as the Temple of Aphaia and other buildings with cultic significance, and offer new suggestions about how these should be interpreted. Finally, the volume itself generates a context for discussion of ways in which Aeginetan cultural monuments, along with the ideals they represented and articulated, were themselves recontextualized and interpreted by fifth-century historiography. We have, of course, to recognize that ‘context’ provides no stable field against which to situate the poetry of Pindar and Bacchylides (and Simonides). Choral lyric poetry, in terms of both original performance and subsequent reception, was one important part, and one important mode, of cultural expression, that makes up and constitutes what we view as ‘context’. However, we also need to be on our guard to avoid prioritizing or essentializing the unstable field of ‘context’.9 And prolonged focus on what appears to be cultural uniformity at a distance (here ‘Aegina’) emerges as a series of deeper, and more telling, diversities, dynamics, and oppositions.10 Rather like with the fractals of mathematical programming, the 9

See Feeney (1998), 141. Excellent methodological discussion with direct relevance for Hellenists at Feeney (1998), esp. 60–3 on Greek myth and context. 10

Introduction: Aegina in Contexts

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further we zoom in, the more complex, and the more fascinating, the picture inevitably becomes.

INTERDISCIPLINARY CONTEXTUALIZATION The ways in which scholarship has revealed its interpretations of Aeginetan choral lyric poetry have often been governed by modes of articulation and frameworks which have allowed too little regard for the specificity of Aegina.11 Despite the dominance of Aeginetan commissions in Pindar’s epinician oeuvre, there have been few attempts to interpret Aeginetan poetry in ways that understand the poetry and culture together, and without the literary perspective dominating. However, recent years have seen the appearance of useful broader studies of choral lyric poetry (of all genres: not only epinician poetry) as a cultural phenomenon that cannot be separated from contextually grounded issues pertaining to athletic competition, politics and society, and religion. Pindar’s epinician poetry clearly provides one of the most accessible signs of the assertive self-confidence of Aegina in the early fifth century. It therefore needs to be understood in relation to the contexts in which it was performed and received. A long-standing aid is provided by the scholarly commentaries on Pindar and Bacchylides; these have tended to dominate the scholarly field on Aeginetan poetry, at least until recently. Commentaries have obvious uses, especially for the literary elucidation of a kind of poetry justifiably characterized by its frequent difficulty and obscurity of expression. However, limitations of space generally allow only for short contextual sketches; and primary focus on textual elucidation can result in the impression of social decontextualization, or biographical or historical over-interpretation, both of which are unfortunate.12 11

And this despite some excellent work done on, for instance, Sicilian epinician poetry and its contexts and significance: e.g. Kurke (1991a), esp. Part III; Luraghi (1994); Philipp (1994); Bell (1995); Antonaccio (2007); Morrison (2007b). 12 The older traditionally historicist commentaries are still useful, but the mode of contextualization is too narrowly limited to biography. For general coverage of Aeginetan poetry, see Bury (1890) and (1892); Jebb (1905); Farnell (1930–2); historical

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In order to be able to do justice to the cultural richness that Aeginetan choral lyric poetry brings to our attention, a multi-contributor study of contextualization seemed a good idea, allowing for a rich diversity of both subject matter and approaches; this is also a useful way of dealing with a major challenge facing the whole project, namely that of how exactly such contextualization should be articulated, and what kinds of methodology such a project entails or allows. The formalist analyses by Elroy Bundy made readers sensitive to the gestures of the texts, but his insights became a rather unsatisfactory end in themselves, when they can really only be useful when instrumental for broader, more holistic readings.13 On the other hand, contextualization poses difficult methodological questions: what kind(s), or what degree, of historicism should be applicable; how ‘thick’ should we really expect our contextual surveys of choral lyric poetry to be, especially for places like Aegina where, in comparison to classical Athens, the supply of historical information is relatively meagre? One problem, then, is exactly how to determine such limits, and what to count as relevant contextual information. Answers emerge from the coherence of a given reading, but a certain circularity still threatens. Perhaps the most influential study of Pindar (at least his epinician output) of the last twenty years has been offered by Leslie Kurke, because of the way she avoids the Bundyist impasse by offering a politicized reinterpretation of Pindaric rhetoric and metaphor in the light of a New Historicist methodology, and producing a reading of Pindaric poetry as deeply embedded within the politics of its own time.14 However, Kurke had surprisingly little to say about Aegina, especially by comparison with her attention to Sicilian odes, or about

comment is often heavily reliant on the speculations of the ancient scholiasts. The principal more recent commentaries are Thummer (1968–9); Carey (1981); Kirkwood (1982); Privitera (1982); Maehler I; Willcock (1995); Instone (1996); Ferrari (1998); Pfeijffer (1999); Maehler (2004); Henry (2005). Where these touch on externals, they have tended to be more interested in ethics and mythology than in politics or society. Henry (2005) is extreme, with decontextualization systematic: see Gerber (2005). Pfeijffer (1999) is the only one to focus solely on the Aeginetan material, but his treatment is vitiated by frequent and speculative attempts at historicist contextualization without sufficient grounding in other areas of study. 13 Cf. e.g. Hornblower (2004), 28, 38–9. 14 Kurke (1991a).

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the specifics of oligarchic political conditions, thus leaving Aegina relatively under-explored.15 Other recent historicizing studies of choral lyric have offered highly promising insights into context, but rather ironically contextualization can often lead to under-engagement with the poetry itself.16 Accordingly, we need somehow to preserve a delicate balance between appreciations of the literature as literature, and appreciations of the place of that literature in broader debates opened up by historians, archaeologists, and art historians. Offering a nuanced contextualization of the kind outlined is difficult to accomplish, and the present multi-contributor volume offers a range of contextualizing readings that are designed to open up, and open out, appreciation of the interpretative possibilities. The multi-contributor approach to Aegina enables the richness of Aeginetan culture, in all its many aspects, to take centre-stage, and the interdisciplinarity aims to uncover the diversity and specificity of Aeginetan culture and society in ways that single authorship would find difficult to manage. The present study of course acknowledges its indebtedness to renewed interest in the importance of Aegina for a number of different areas of study which are relevant for open-minded discussion of Aeginetan culture and society. Aegina has been central to recent discussions of paeans, sacred pilgrimage, and cult, and has played an important part in renewed scholarly interest in the broader cultural significance of mythological genealogies and classical texts, particularly the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women. Important work has been carried out here by scholars such as Ian Rutherford and Leslie Kurke, along with the wider explorations of scholars such as Jonathan Hall, as well as Barbara Kowalzig and Giovan Battista D’Alessio.17 Sociological studies of the

15 See also my comments at Fearn (2009), 34 with n. 68; the studies of Morgan (2007) and Thomas (2007). 16 See the volume of Hornblower and Morgan (eds.) (2007), which although very useful relegates Pindar’s poetry largely to citations in footnotes. 17 Rutherford (1992), (1997), and esp. (2001); Kurke (2005); Hall (1997) on Greek ethnicity, with the Hesiodic Catalogue as a key source-text; Kowalzig (2005) and (2007), esp. ch. 4 focusing on the relation between Aeginetan performance culture, ritual, and inter-state relations; D’Alessio (2005a and b) for more detailed focus on the Catalogue and its importance as a source for Pindar and Bacchylides to draw from; Hirschberger (2004).

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significance of choral performances and mousike¯ in general across the classical Greek world are now flourishing.18 This is thanks in good part to the fundamental work by Peter Wilson on the Athenian chore¯gia, which raises important questions about the nature of the provision of choruses not just for fifth-century Athens, but also beyond Athens.19 To single out other important recent work on choral lyric in its social context, D’Alessio has also produced an excellent and suggestive study of the significance of epichoric paean for community self-definition.20 As such, this is all part of an evolving trend in social and cultural history, to see beyond Athens and to fight the biases of reception which make her dominate attention: though of course Aeginetan fifth-century culture makes no sense without Athens. All of these topics and approaches raise important questions, and without them an appreciation of Aeginetan culture in the round would be seriously incomplete. Simon Hornblower’s Thucydides and Pindar has made important advances in our understanding of the significance of a study of myth and of prosopography for Aeginetan epichoric history across both historiography and the choral lyric poets, thus making a compelling case for the relevance of Pindar, Bacchylides, and Simonides, as well as of Herodotus and Thucydides, for cultural historians of classical Greece.21 Pindar’s Aegina has been studied in further detail by Bruno Currie in Pindar and the Cult of Heroes.22 Anne Burnett’s Pindar’s Songs for Young Athletes of Aigina interestingly discusses the relation between athletics and aristocracy, though she lays emphasis on the significance of rituals of boys’ initiation to the exclusion of broader views of

18

e.g. the papers in Hunter and Rutherford (eds.) (2009); Power (2010). We await contextual studies on dithyramb in Kowalzig and Wilson (eds.) (forthcoming) and on mousike¯ in Plato’s Laws in Peponi (ed.) (forthcoming). 19 Wilson (2000): see 279–302 for thoughts about the nature of choregic administration beyond Athens. 20 D’Alessio (2009). 21 Hornblower (2004). Kinship diplomacy and myth: 118 for Aegina and Thebes; Aeginetan prosopography: 262 and 23 on Krios, and the family of Lampon. See also Hornblower (2007a), though the conclusions he offers about Aeginetan xenia seem perhaps rather simplistic. 22 Currie (2005).

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Aeginetan political issues or broader investigation of the Temple of Aphaia.23 New investigations of classical archaeology and art history concerning Aegina also find their way into discussion here at a number of points. In particular, the volume as a whole has benefited greatly from the presentation of the archaeological evidence amassed by the ¨ gina volumes. Austrian excavations detailed in the series of Alt-A Particularly significant are their treatments of the complex of buildings on the archaeological site of the so-called ‘Kolonna Hill’ in Aegina town, associated with the local cult of Apollo.24 The Temple of Aphaia, of course, benefits from frequent discussion, not only in art-historical terms—thanks to the pedimental reconstructions in Munich and the studies by Dieter Ohly25—but also through interdisciplinary investigations of the relations between the temple, its iconographic schemes, and its cults, and broader issues such as intertextualities with particular Pindaric works, its power as a symbol of Aeginetan pride and hostility to Athens, and the rituals associated with it. Recent work by Andrew Stewart has reopened questions about the dating of the temple;26 the issue of chronology remains live, and contributors to this volume give differing opinions on the new findings and their relevance to individual discussions. The publication of the discovery of the Athenian shrine of Aiakos by Ron Stroud has helped to reopen the issue of Athenian relations with Aegina from the perspective of hero-cult.27 This has been fruitful for work on Aeginetan choral lyric,28 and the possible relation between the Aeginetan and Athenian shrines to Aiakos, and connections between the various poetic, artistic, cultic, and historiographical manifestations of the Aeginetan Aiakidai and their significance

23 Burnett (2005); review by Hubbard (2007–8). For an overview of historicist issues and reviews of Hornblower (2004), Currie (2005), and Burnett (2005), see the review article of Nicholson (2007). 24 ¨ gina, I.1–3. Alt-A 25 Esp. Ohly (1976) and (2001). 26 Stewart (2008a and b). 27 Stroud (1998). 28 Fearn (2007), 88–95; Kowalzig (2007), 212–13, making a close connection with the supply of grain.

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for relations between Aegina and Athens in the fifth century receive further detailed discussion.

AEGINA: CONTEXTS FOR CHORAL LYRIC POETRY Three subjects in particular are highlighted in the present set of contributions. These are: (1) the socio-political significance of myth-making; (2) the importance of poetry as but one part of the broader cultural, especially artistic, means by which fifth-century Greeks expressed themselves; and (3) the importance of the relation between epinician poetry and historiography, especially in Herodotus. The first of these is flourishing well, thanks to a surge in contemporary scholarly interest in the wider significances of archaic and classical Greek mousike¯ and performance culture. The second is a developing area of interest, with literary scholars beginning to appreciate the significance of an understanding of the relevance of material culture to their own concerns and areas of traditional expertise, and classical art historians developing new responses to the nature of the evidence (especially for the development of classical art and the transition from archaic to classical),29 and with art historians and literary scholars striving to find ways to deal with potential interconnections across media.30 The third of these has always been seen as significant, but recent research by Simon Hornblower has revived interest in the relations between Pindar and Thucydides, and fresh takes on Herodotus’ approach to the writing of historical narrative have brought Herodotus’ own particular perspective back to prominence. He is now being recognized as a writer and intellectual keen to explore and expose the cross-cultural ironies, hypocrisies, and travesties thrown up by the multiplicitous complexity of rival and competing versions of history that were made available to him, rather more than simply a purveyor of historical

29

e.g. Neer (2002); Tanner (2006); Elsner (2006). Goldhill and Osborne (1994); Small (2003) and Taplin (2007); for Pindar specifically, Steiner (1993) and (2001); O’Sullivan (2003). 30

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truth unadorned (let alone of wilful fictional confections);31 and with Aegina specifically, we now have a study that situates the Aeginetan narratives of Herodotus book 5 in broader concerns about the nature of Herodotus’ project and its status as history.32 The presence of Herodotus is felt throughout this volume, and it concludes with a final section offering new interpretations of the place and significance of Aegina and Aeginetan narratives in the historiography of both Herodotus and Thucydides, studies which build on these new approaches to Herodotus as a sophisticated and self-conscious story-teller and memorializer.

PART I. CONTEXTS FOR HEROIC MYTH-MAKING: ETHNICITY, INTER-STATE RELATIONS, CULT, AND COMMERCE Part I of this volume investigates ways in which Aeginetan heroic myth-making relates to a wide variety of broader societal issues. As we have already seen in the passage from Pindar’s Isthmian 6 which opened this Introduction, mythology and genealogy must be considered as crucial elements for a full appreciation of classical Aeginetans. And one of the key questions which this volume seeks to address is what is particularly Aeginetan about their uses of the Aiakidai (offspring of Aiakos, son of the relationship between Zeus and Aegina, eponymous nymph and daughter of Asopos), and why and how did the offspring of Aiakos become so important that they dominate all aspects of fifth-century Aeginetan culture. It is important to get away from thinking about mythology as either a decorative or an abstract phenomenon: we need to see the particular ways and occasions on which it was manipulated and shaped, with sensitivity to both the similarities and the differences between different media and different contexts of production and

31

See esp. Munson (2001), in addition to the studies in Irwin and Greenwood (eds.). 32 Haubold (2007); Irwin and Greenwood (eds.).

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occasions of reception. Moreover, consideration must be given to the ways that both artistic and poetic traditions influenced and shaped the portrayals of myth in the classical period and for Aegina in particular. Scholarship on Greek myth has had a tendency to think of myth as functionally significant for groups rather than individuals: see Buxton’s ‘collective significance to a particular social group or groups’.33 In the case of Aegina, the mythological story-patterns provided by the Aiakidai, offspring of the eponymous nymph, do perhaps provide one kind of systematic, maybe even structural, consistency to the media which express those myths: note in particular Pindar’s unusual, quasi-institutional, use of  ŁØ to express the obligation to sing of the Aiakidai when coming to Aegina, in line 20 of Isthmian 6.34 Moreover, it is plausible that the unique attestation of the word æÆæ in all of Pindar here at line 22, in the highly assertive statement, ‘there is no city so barbarous or so backward in its speech that it does not hear the glory of [the Aiakidai]’, is a sign that the poem is, at least in part, looking outwards beyond Aegina’s shores to engage with broader debates—or indeed accusations—about Aeginetan Medism and Aeginetans’ devotion to the Greek cause during the Persian Wars, an issue that hangs over Aegina throughout the century;35 concomitantly, it may also be seen as one of the first signs of a growing fifth-century struggle to articulate ‘Greekness’ as a difficult and at times problematic negotiation between ethnic and cultural definitions.36 The usage may also be thought to be expressive of uniformity in the Aeginetan outlook. Yet this is only one articulation among many of the significance of the Aiakidai. The very diversity of media—and even the diverse mythological articulations across different Aeginetan epinician poems— through which the Aiakid myths are expressed may also question the usefulness of a strongly collectivist theory of myth, the inadequacy of which may already be revealed by the indeterminacy in Buxton’s expression (‘a particular social group or groups’; my italics). In the

33

Buxton (1994), 15, following e.g. Burkert (1979), 1–5. See Kirkwood (1982), 293 ad loc.; Thummer (1968–9), ii.103 ad loc.; Slater (1969), s.v. 35 See the contributions to this volume by Elizabeth Irwin (Chs. 10–11). 36 See in general Hall (1997) and (2002), though this passage is not discussed. 34

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case of Aegina, a lack of sensitivity to diversity would risk underestimating the problems and issues surrounding intra-aristocratic conflict to which ancient oligarchies were prone, and thus missing out on a key aspect of Aeginetan society.37 In his contribution, Gregory Nagy focuses on the myths associated with the patron heroine of the island, the nymph Aegina, daughter of the river-god Asopos. He shows how important continuities of mythological tradition from the archaic past in poetry such as the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women were for Pindar in his own take on the mythical history and foundation of the island. Of particular importance is the way in which the fifth-century lyric poetry for Aegina furthers the aims and ambitions of archaic Aeginetan myth-making. The identity, and specific geographical situatedness, of the nymph Aegina as a daughter of Asopos on the island is seen to represent the culmination of a long and dynamic process of inter-regional partnerships, hostilities, affiliations, and tusslings for primacy and for authority, between Thessaly, Thebes, Athens, and Aegina, through claims to kinship with Asopos and claims to his significant descendants, most importantly Aiakos, Peleus, and Achilles. James Watson explores the history of the Sanctuary of Aphaia and its sculptural schemes, discussing the evidence for the context of the temple’s erection within the wider history of Aeginetan–Athenian enmity in the early fifth century. From a range of possible reasons for the splendid reconstruction of the sanctuary after fire in the late archaic period, two stand out as particularly important. First, the site’s location on a hilltop overlooking the Saronic Gulf, from which it could clearly be seen, even from the Athenian acropolis, gave the Aeginetans the opportunity to present themselves to the wide audience of all those who sailed past their island. Secondly, the conflict between Aegina and Athens had reached a particularly intense level by the end of the sixth century. The Sanctuary of Aphaia embodied rivalry with Athens in several ways, in particular through the sculptures which adorned the new temple at the site, in response to Athenians repeatedly laying claim to divine figures important to 37

Excellent discussion of the limitations of sociological functionalism at Feeney (1998), 61–3. More discussion of the political ramifications of these questions in Fearn, this volume, Ch. 5.

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Aegina—especially the Aiakidai. The Aeginetans changed the sculptural decoration of their new temple to reclaim their heroes; they even tried to claim Athena from Athens by placing that goddess on the temple’s pediments. By using and contextualizing the evidence available from the site, Watson demonstrates the role of monumental art in the articulation of rivalries between these two states, with broader implications for the issue outside Aegina. This contribution therefore provides an important case-study of the relevance of the Sanctuary of Aphaia for interdisciplinary scholarship on Aeginetan art, history, and politics, revealing the fluidity of boundaries between art, myth, ritual, and the inter-state politics of the period. In his piece, Ian Rutherford provides a new reassessment of the evidence for a building identified on the archaeological site of Kolonna Hill in Aegina town, a significant subject of discussion in recent work on Aegina.38 This is the so-called Thea¯rion, or ‘Thea¯rion of the Pythian one’ (—ıŁı ¨æØ ), referred to at line 70 of Pindar’s Nemean 3, part of the complex of buildings constituting the Sanctuary of Apollo. Using a range of comparative epigraphic evidence, Rutherford assesses a variety of theories for its role in the institutional infrastructure of theo¯ria, or inter-state and inter-regional religious pilgrimage, and associated networks, and the nature of the officials who administered it. This rich and sensitive survey will impact on other issues concerning the relation between aristocratic networking, choral lyric poetry, and religious administration. Barbara Kowalzig takes the image of song as cargo travelling across the sea from the opening of Pindar’s Nemean 5 as the point of departure for a sophisticated discussion of the relation between Aeginetan mythmaking and Aeginetan economics. She focuses on the articulation of Aeginetan myth in performance culture and ritual to produce an alternative and ground-breaking perspective on the long-standing scholarly question about the nature of the relation between Aeginetan elites and Aeginetan trade. She argues that Aeginetan self-representation through myth is profoundly linked to the island’s commercial activities; in particular, a set of interconnected myths and cults embeds the island in patterns of local and regional economic activity in the Saronic Gulf; and Aeginetans also form part of a wider elite-born 38

Currie (2005), 333–40; see also Fearn, this volume, Ch. 5.

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network of commercial and maritime enterprise in the Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean. Stereotypical Aeginetan characteristics such as ‘strength at sea’ and ‘justice’ or ‘hospitality’ towards strangers are reflections of the island’s role as a cosmopolitan hub in the Saronic Gulf. Commercial activity, she argues, belongs to public Aeginetan selfrepresentation on Aegina, as well as in a Panhellenic context, and as such adds to our understanding of economic rivalry in the Saronic Gulf, and aristocratic and democratic perspectives.

PART II. POETRY, PERFORMANCE, POLITICS The tension between first performance and future reperformances and reception is at the heart of choral lyric poetry; the kleos-driven nature of epinician praise invites broader receptions beyond the relatively limited occasions of first performance: the aspiration of the poet and the wish of the patron is for these future performances (however imagined).39 Epinician poetry is likely to have been performed in a variety of different ways, sometimes chorally and sometimes not, according to the circumstances of given patrons or states; epinician, and choral lyric poetry in general, understood as a performance or set of performances, can helpfully be regarded as one part of a dynamic set of cultural modes of self-expression which can help us to gain insight into even broader aspects of a given society; and Aeginetan epinician poetry, as the largest surviving epichoric subset of the fifth-century epinician poets’ output, is capable of offering broader cultural and political insights.40 We also need to keep an eye on the questions of what makes choral lyric poetry, even when it has a ritual orientation, distinctive as poetry. And we need to bear in mind that the performance cultures of fifth-century Greece do not 39 Recent discussion of Pindaric reperformance contexts, and consequences, in Currie (2004); Morrison (2007b), with an excellent general summary of performance studies of Pindar. 40 Other general discussions in Carey (2007); Hornblower (2004), 33–6; Currie (2005). Cole (1992) discusses Aeginetan performances, but his strong historicist interpretations of poetry and context are generally too restrictive and allegorical to be compelling.

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necessarily lead us directly into organic unity of relations between poetry and ritual or religion, which put at risk the overlaps, differences, and diversities offered up by competing ‘texts’ and competing media.41 Even paeans, however performed or received, cannot be transformed into an anthropological phenomenon, if that risks jettisoning the literary qualities of a piece of poetry that form the very fabric of its being, and against which other discourses engage.42 The publication of large-scale projects such as the Copenhagen Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis (CPCInv) provide a breadth and depth of coverage that should facilitate future studies into particular features and circumstances of individual Greek states. Latest thinking on Greek political history again represents a plea for broad appreciation of diversity, to supersede overly rigid applications of democratically skewed political or cultural theory, thus moving away from the Athenocentric bias of some of our sources.43 Indeed, the ways in which the contributions to this volume are fighting methodologically against Athenian dominance are comparable with (though in many ways obviously different from) the ways the fifth-century Aeginetans had to fight, in action and through the cultural articulation of their ideals. And the contributions to this volume offer a striking validation of the historians’ quests for evermore detailed, ‘thicker’, descriptions of epichoric contexts. My own contribution to the volume explores Aeginetan performance culture and politics, providing insights into three broad issues: first, the nature of the relation between Aeginetan epinician poetry and other Aeginetan choral work; second, ways in which Aeginetan epinician poems might relate to both epichoric and Panhellenic cult; and third, the broader socio-political ramifications of such connections. The

41 Fundamental objections to ‘organic’ as part of a Hellenic model: Feeney (1998), 7, 22–5. 42 Feeney (1998), 23, critiquing Bruit Zaidman and Schmitt Pantel (1992), 228 within a broader discussion of polarized models for Greek versus Roman myth, literature, and religion. Cf. also Kurke (2005), 82, 84 for the prime importance of the relation between text and context, though I am not sure that ‘ritualization’ provides the obvious way forward, whether or not it allows us to deconstruct the text-context opposition. Some further discussion of this in Fearn, this volume, Ch. 5. 43 See in particular Brock and Hodkinson (2002), and the importance of Aristotle’s Politics as a key text for fresh studies of political diversity.

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startlingly prominent naming in this epinician poetry of victories by other family members, beyond anything we see elsewhere in nonAeginetan material, marks out the Aeginetan material as special, and has particular socio-political ramifications when considered in relation to the frequency of references to cult, cult-practice, and the polis. It is argued that the control of, and support for, non-epinician choral song was itself also in the hands of the same aristocratic group of Aeginetan individuals and clans that commissioned these poets to write epinician poems in celebration of athletic victories by members of their families. The Aeginetan epinician material, when taken together as a discrete body of work, reveals itself as a highly aggressive and competitive oligarchic form with the potential to destabilize the very fabric of Aeginetan society even as it confirms the existence of a group for whom the poetry had special currency, especially during a dangerous period for Aegina marked by external threats, and internal threats posed by factional unrest44 which intra-oligarchic rivalries instantiated by the epinician poetry itself are likely to have produced. Andrew Morrison focuses on the possibility of overlapping audiences for performances of some or all of the Aeginetan epinician poetry, using his previous study of Sicilian victory odes as his point of departure.45 He argues in detail for cross-references between the four odes for the sons of Lampon (Nemean 5, Bacchylides 13, Isthmian 6, Isthmian 5), and suggests that Nemean 5 and Bacchylides 13, both composed for the same victory of Pytheas, were designed by their respective poets with some awareness of the other’s ode. His analysis has consequences for the way we should read intertextual echoes between the odes, and for our view of ‘conventional’ material in the odes. His conclusion considers the intertextuality of Isthmian 6 and Olympian 5, which appears different from the links developed within the odes for Lampon’s sons. Olympian 5 seems to use earlier Pindaric odes as a storehouse for Pindaric words and phrases, rather than for significant allusion. Both of these approaches use the specific geographical grouping of Aeginetan poems as their point of departure to offer something new to studies of epinician poetry. Moving beyond narrowly literary genre-based definitions of epinikion enables us to gain insights into 44 45

As witnessed by the Nikodromos affair reported by Hdt. at 6.88–91. Morrison (2007b).

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the implication of encomiastic poetry in discrete environments and for particular kinds of audiences. Genre in this period was a creative and flexible negotiation between poetic authority and audience expectations, accommodating a good deal of creativity and flexibility, responding to the exigencies of poetic patronage and a live performance culture.46 Both of these chapters invite further consideration of intertextuality, both in a literal application which investigates relations between different epinician poems, and as a wider discursive phenomenon according to which a much larger range of media— literary works, monuments, performances of all kinds—can be considered as part of a broad system of signification.

PART III. INTERFACES BETWEEN POETRY, MYTH, AND ART Earlier sections of the volume explore the variety of ways in which poetry associated with Aegina engaged with myths associated with the offspring of Aiakos. This section continues to ask questions about Aeginetan uses of the Aiakidai, now bringing Aeginetan art into the equation for the unique opportunity it provides for integrated reading of art and text that has not yet been explored fully. Interdisciplinarity of this kind presents a scholarly challenge, for it is difficult to master both sides of the equation. But what is at stake is a deeper understanding of significant aspects of classical Greek culture, with all its rich complexity. Study of Aegina—clearly no ØŒæa º, though sadly we may require reminding of this—serves to prove the importance of studying seemingly less significant states and regions,47 even in the face of—or indeed as a response to—the dominance in scholarship of Athens and Attica, where evidence is 46 Cf. Carey (1995), 90–1 and Currie (2005), 21–4 on Pindar; Rutherford (2001), 91 for paeans; Fearn (2007), 219–25 for Bacchylides’ Dithyrambs; Irwin (2005), 160–4 on Solon. 47 As, of course, Herodotus and Xenophon, at least, among classical Greek historiographers knew well: Hdt. 1.5.3–4; Xen. Hell. 7.2.1 following suit: Kd b ŒE, ŒÆd Y Ø ØŒæa º sÆ ººa ŒÆd ŒÆºa æªÆ ØÆ æÆŒÆØ, Ø Aºº ¼Ø r ÆØ IçÆ Ø (a comment on Phleious—another polis with a stake in the Aiakidai, for which see Fearn (2003) and further Nagy, this volume, Ch. 1).

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much richer and well documented and interdisciplinary studies have been successful,48 and the dominant constructs offered by Thucydides the Athenian historian.49 Yet in those cases where the material or literary record is less rich, the need for interdisciplinary accounts is surely all the more pressing. The chapters which discuss the interfaces between Aeginetan poetry, myth, and art here represent some first forays into this fascinating and significant area of study, opening up possibilities for future studies of the relation between poetry and art in this period. Lucia Athanassaki aims to interpret the major poetic choices of Pindar’s Olympian 8 in light of the historical background of the composition and performance. She provides an overall reading of the poem which links the prominent use of deixis together with interpretations of the poem’s myth—Apollo’s prophecy of the double sack of Troy—and allusions to the pedimental sculptures on the Temple of Aphaia which also illustrate the myth. Pindar’s view of Apollo’s prophecy to Aiakos in the poem, with Apollo authorizing Aiakid destruction of Troy, is set against the Delphic oracle which, according to Herodotus 5.89, instructed the Athenians to mark out a precinct to Aiakos after the lapse of thirty years and before beginning a victorious war against the Aeginetans. As the mirror-image of the Athenian story, Apollo’s favour of Aiakos in Olympian 8 foreshadows the god’s benign attitude to his descendants and aims to cancel out the message of the Athenian tradition; the poem’s deictic references to performances both on Aegina and at Olympia and the allusions to the sculptures of the Temple of Aphaia reveal the Panhellenic aspirations of these Pindaric and Aeginetan counter-claims. Henrik Indergaard’s chapter focuses on Pindar’s Isthmian 6, the second of the three poems written by Pindar for the Aeginetan Lampon to celebrate the athletic victories of his sons. Indergaard observes how the Aiakidai are portrayed as a mythical parallel to Lampon’s clan, the Psalychiadai, and the possibility that Herakles is presented as a mythical parallel to Pindar himself. The mythical 48

For Athens, see e.g. Castriota (1992). This hierarchy of significance, with Athens and Sparta dominating, is largely the construct of Thucydides, who retrojects onto previous fifth-century decades the political realities of the end of the fifth century. 49

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narrative alludes to the pediments of the Temple of Aphaia, which are likely to have just been completed when the poem was written. Indergaard argues that the legendary tradition of the common exploits of Herakles and Telamon must have been particularly important on Aegina, and that the mythical narrative of Isthmian 6 provides a connection between the two Aphaia pediments, at the point when Herakles, the first conqueror of Troy, names Ajax as his successor. By providing this aetiology in a poem praising one Aeginetan family, Pindar celebrates the pedimental iconography and also appropriates its significance for Lampon and his family. The mythical narrative of the friendship between Herakles and the Aiakidai also mirrors the political relationship between Thebes and Aegina. He argues that Pindar’s inclusion of Thebes and his own presence as a Theban xenos of his patron in a poem praising the Psalychiadai and the Aiakidai together not only expresses the patron’s interests, but also articulates a Theban perspective of Aegina and the family of Lampon, grounded in shared mythological heritage and ongoing friendship. Guy Hedreen’s contribution illuminates both the pedimental sculptures of the Temple of Aphaia and the mythological narrative of Pindar’s Paean 6 through a study of their myth-making strategies of invention and appropriation. Building on tradition, both Paean 6 and the Aphaia pediments create narratives that enhance the reputations of Aeginetan heroes without blatant fabrication: the designers of the Aphaia sculptures used the conventional pairing of pediments to raise the significance of the first Trojan War, portraying the Aeginetan Aiakidai in the best possible light while subtly transforming traditional artistic portrayals of the fall of Troy; in Paean 6, emphasis on Apollo’s interest in the physical integrity of Troy plays down negative aspects of the portrayals of Achilles and Neoptolemos in the mythological tradition; and Pindar also manages to tighten the connections between Aegina, the Trojan War, and the Delphic Theoxenia. And it is Aiakos, saviour of Greece, founder both of the cult of Zeus Hella¯nios and of Aegina and the heroic lineage that produced Achilles and Neoptolemos, the principle actors in the paean’s narrative, who is the mythological figure who provides the connections. Interdisciplinary comparison across contemporary artistic media helps to isolate the particularities of Aeginetan

Introduction: Aegina in Contexts

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myth-making, thus adding to our understanding of Aeginetan negotiations within the Panhellenic canon of Greek myth.

PART IV. THE HISTORIOGRAPHICAL AFTERMATH Historical analysis of Aegina has focused on Herodotus, but at times such work has offered interpretations lacking sufficient sensitivity to the questions his text invites about historical change over the course of the fifth century, or about how individual episodes (logoi) might interrelate with their narrative surroundings within the Histories as a text to be read as a whole and debated and discussed as such.50 Herodotus has almost exclusively been treated as a source for the chronology of the conflict with Athens in the early fifth century, or for the political nature of Aeginetan society,51 with relatively little broader questioning of Herodotus’ motives as a contemporary writer composing against the backdrop of the destructions that Aegina suffered in the later stages of the fifth century. Herodotus is, of course, yet one more ‘context’ in which to think about Aegina. The portrayals of Aegina that his narratives provide differ from, yet also importantly complement and revivify, the visions of Aegina offered by the epinician poets. As part of the multi-layered complexity of historical time that Herodotus provides, his Aeginetan focus is on the time before the heyday of their epinician poetry, and his time of writing is, for the most part, beyond it. Yet the epinician poetry, and the mythological paradigms that the poetry presents, systematically inform Herodotus’ themes. His narratives also implicitly tell audiences about processes of historical change, that take Aegina from a world vividly populated by helpful heroes (the Aiakidai) and cult statues that move (Da¯mie¯ and Auxe¯sie¯) to a contemporary world of human agency characterized by Athenian dominance and Aeginetan destruction: a process of change which the chronology provided by the dates of the 50

For detailed discussion of approaches to Herodotus’ logoi, see Irwin and Greenwood (2007). 51 Notably in the work of Thomas Figueira.

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peak period of Aeginetan epinician poetry we possess, from the 480s to the 440s, maps. So this part of the book focuses on the tensions in Herodotus’ account arising from the respective dates of his subject matter and the time of composition, and also recognizes the sense in which Aegina was an island with enormous significance throughout the entire century and before, and not just by virtue of, say, her prowess at the Battle of Salamis. And it also implicitly raises questions about the use to which Herodotus is put by scholars who see him as a historically transparent source for the history of archaic Greece and the Persian Wars. We, just like Herodotus himself, that most self-conscious of ancient historians, are readers and audiences, presented with information and accounts that we need to assess and weigh up. We can acknowledge the historicity of certain events, especially through corroboration with other material evidence. And we can also investigate the mechanisms by which Herodotus brings subjects and issues not only to our attention, but also to the attention of readers and audiences contemporary with him, including to groups and individuals—Athenians, for instance—who might not have been too willing to agree with or approve of his own slant on the reports and pieces of evidence that came his way.52 In her first contribution to this volume, Elizabeth Irwin builds on her previous work on fifth-century historiography to develop new ways of reading Herodotus’ Aeginetan logoi. Irwin situates Herodotus’ Aeginetan logoi in a multi-temporal framework of both history and historywriting, according to which narrations highlight discrepancies between a variety of different historical perspectives on Aegina and the island’s significance over the course of the entire century. The events that befall Aegina in the narrative may thus be seen to provide explanations or aetiologies for ways in which the major players in fifth-century Greek history, Sparta and Athens, behaved, therefore providing important lessons for contemporary audiences later in the century, in the wake of the growth of Athenian imperialism and during the Peloponnesian War. Herodotus is open and inquisitive, eager to listen to the stories of other important historical players such as Aegina and invite scrutiny of her 52

Relevant here is the issue of the ‘floating gap’ and the question of the extent to which Herodotus’ narratives are interested in providing chronological accuracy. For good discussion see Thomas (2001), esp. 203–4 on Aegina in Herodotus book 5.

Introduction: Aegina in Contexts

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deeds, and carefully to contextualize others’ accounts of those deeds; his explanations, and invitations to ask questions about the nature of the evidence presented, often counter competing and prevailing accounts, including importantly those of Athens, and those offered by Thucydides. This marks an attempt by the historian to restore Aegina for present and future audiences to a position of great importance for the course of fifthcentury Greek history, and a warning to others not to rely, for example, on overly Athenocentric, negative, or dominating perspectives of Aegina, or grand narratives that celebrate the birth of Athenian naval imperialism to the historical detriment of Aeginetan achievements, both in the Persian Wars and subsequently. Herodotus is, like the epinician poets before him, involved in preserving Œº , and he is following closely in their footsteps, since powerful external (as well as internal) political and strategic pressures were significant factors which also influenced Aeginetans’ prolonged patronage of Pindar and Bacchylides through ever-more threatening times. Irwin’s focus on the narrative contexts of the Aeginetan logoi in Herodotus reveals the sensitivity of his investigation of the nature of Aeginetan identity in heroic, military, strategic, political, economic, and ethnic terms, inviting renewed interest in such questions as: how Dorian was fifth-century Aegina? How did Aegina contribute to the Persian Wars, and how and why might her contribution have been challenged by the claims of others, notably Athens? What was the reaction of Sparta to Aegina both during the Persian Wars and subsequently? How was Aeginetan military/naval heroism to be constructed, and how might such constructions have helped to offer insights into questions about Aeginetan identity in relation to Sparta and Athens, and indeed about the heroic military visions offered by those rival states throughout the fifth century? The Aeginetan take on a number of these questions was manifested in the poetry and material culture associated with the island in the earlier fifth century, as discussed in previous contributions in this volume. Irwin provides some solutions to the significance of Herodotus’ interest in these narratives, in his intertwining of the stories available to him concerning the relations Aeginetans had with other states and powerful individuals from the archaic period to the aftermath of the Persian Wars, and in the ways he made them available to later fifth-century audiences for retrospective views of the nature of strategic power throughout the century, and for the ways Aegina had been treated.

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In her second contribution, Irwin scrutinizes the relation between Herodotus’ Aeginetan logoi and the historian’s rationale, professed in the proem, that great deeds should not be without fame and should not fade from memory through the passage of time; moreover, she makes a significant point of contrasting this treatment of Aegina with that in Thucydides’ History, where not only are the destructive events that befell Aegina at Athenian hands during the Peloponnesian War passed over quickly with little comment—the forced deportations of 431 (Thuc. 2.27); the slaughter and enslavement of Aeginetans at Thyrea in 424 (Thuc. 4.57.4)—but the island’s earlier history is passed up as not worthy of the historian’s attention, being of little consequence (Thuc. 1.14.3). The ways in which Herodotus’ narratives present Athenians staking cultural and political claims to Aegina and vying with Aeginetans are matched by a historiographical contestation of the significance of Aegina which is fought out between Herodotus and Thucydides in the later century, a contestation which reveals that later fifth-century audiences’ own views of Aeginetan historical significance were similarly divided and opposed. Particular attention is paid to the seafaring prowess of Aeginetans referred to in books 1–4, the thalassocratic significance of the story of the statues of the epichoric Aeginetan deities Da¯mie¯ and Auxe¯sie¯ and the general nature of the narration of the conflict between Aegina and Athens at 5.79–89, Herodotus’ comment upon the conflict between the two states at 7.144–5, and his final views of Aegina in Aeginetan involvement in the aftermath of the Battle of Plataea at 9.80 and 9.85. Herodotus’ self-conscious attention to the nature of his evidence reveals his sensitivity to the existence of rival accounts of Aegina which were circulating, and to the political and strategic rivalries that were spawning them; his reflection of accounts from the Pentakontaetia helps to provide an interpretative backdrop for what Pindar and Bacchylides were writing about Aegina. Herodotus gives his audience and readers every chance of working out for themselves the nature and significance of Aeginetan glory, and whether it should be allowed to endure, surviving the factors (imperial Athens; the frailties and biases of oral history; the narratorial strategies of Thucydides) which threatened to eradicate her memory.

Introduction: Aegina in Contexts

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Fortunately, however, the fame of Aegina lives on, in the poetry, sculpture, and archaeological sites of the island, and in those accounts offered up for scrutiny by Herodotus; and this volume itself aims to help to perpetuate that fame. Moreover, we also now know that, despite the depredations of the Peloponnesian War, Aeginetans regained a foothold on their island in the fourth century after that war had come to an end. In 1999 an inscribed marble slab was discovered set into the threshold of a church on the northern coast not far from Aegina town, with an unusual pyramidal top and a niche which may originally have housed a stone vessel or small statue. The monument is best thought to have been funerary in function, and its inscription, datable to the fourth century, names one Aristouchos son of Aristomenes, who is presumably the deceased honorand.53 By a remarkable coincidence, and one which seems likely given the prosopography and the dating, this Aristouchos may be the son of the same Aristomenes (of the Meidylidai) who was the victor in the boys’ wrestling at the Pythian Games of 446 and the honorand of Pindar’s Pythian 8, probably the last epinician ode that the great poet ever composed.54 The poetic impetus of Pindar’s Pythian 8 is a recognition of the significance of uncertainty in human existence, and the importance of home and the sense of belonging, which Apollo and Aegina together provide: expressions which an epinician ode by Pindar had the best chance of articulating and preserving for posterity, even in—and perhaps because of—the depths of political and societal insecurity in the years following 457–456 bc, when the island became a tribute-paying subject of the Athenian empire,55 presaging the dark days ahead for the island’s citizens later in the fifth century.56 Pythian 8 ends with the following famous lines, the last we hear from Pindar of the Aiakidai and their importance for Aegina:

53

Polinskaya (2002). Polinskaya (2002), 404–6. Cf. Hornblower (2004), 221. 55 See CPCInv 621 for a summary: listed ten times in the tribute lists, and assessed at 30 talents in all years except 450/49 and 432/1, the latter just prior to the forced evacuation of the entire indigenous population. 56 Superb articulation of the poetic rationale of Pyth. 8 and its focus on journeys— especially journeys home—by Richard Martin: Martin (2004); Silk (2001) for an important close reading of the connection between the egregious syntax of the closing lines and the values expressed therein; historical outline in Burnett (2005), 225–7; historicist reading overdone by Pfeijffer (1995a). 54

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David Fearn KæØ·  Ø;  ’ h Ø; ŒØA Z Ææ ¼ Łæø. Iºº’ ‹Æ ÆYªºÆ Ø  ºŁfiÅ, ºÆæe ç ªª Ø I æH ŒÆd ºØå ÆN . `YªØ Æ çºÆ Aæ, KºıŁ æø fi ºø fi ºØ   ŒØÇ ˜d ŒÆd Œæ  Ø f `NÆŒfiH —źE  ŒIªÆŁfiH ºÆH Ø  ’ åغºE.

Creatures of a day! What is someone? What is no one? A shadow’s dream: mankind. But when god-given splendour comes, a shining light is upon men and life is sweet. Aegina, dear mother, bring this city safely home on a voyage that sails freely, with the aid of Zeus and lord Aiakos, and Peleus and noble Telamon, and especially Achilles. (Pindar, Pythian 8.95–100)

57

Given the prominence of homecoming here when connected with the fragility of human existence (and of Aeginetan political identity), it seems extraordinary that it is Aristomenes’ family (or indeed clan) that provides us with our only material evidence for a continuity of Aeginetan selfhood after the ravages and tragedies of the Peloponnesian War years; the few remnants of Aegina’s original fifth-century population who were able to return home from exile were, it seems, able to regroup and re-engage with their pasts; the very oddity of this solitary funerary monument may articulate a sense both of cultural dislocation and displacement and of proud nostalgia.58 We might even say that the rediscovered funerary monument of Aristouchos represents, for us, the reality of the vision offered up by the end of Pythian 8 and its prayer for future well-being. For us as scholars of choral lyric poetry and fifth-century history, Aegina, her citizens, and her Aiakidai should continue to shine brightly, proven to be capable of enduring the vicissitudes of historical contingency, and thus able to live on, in our own and others’ readings of the choral lyric poetry and the island. 57 See the important discussion of Martin (2004), 357–8 with nn. 43–5 for the interpretation and translation of KºıŁ æø fi ºø fi . . .ŒØÇ. 58 Atypicality of the form of this monument within broader contexts of fourthcentury funereal practice, and on Aegina in general: Polinskaya (2002), 405–6; we should strongly challenge, however, the notion (Hornblower (2007a) 305) that the relatively modest proportions of this fourth-century monument have any bearing on original fifth-century Aeginetans’ expenditure prior to the forced deportations of the Peloponnesian War (‘not an island of showy spenders’, Hornblower thinks).

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar

Aegina: Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry: Myth, History, and Identity in the Fifth Century BC David Fearn

Print publication date: 2010 Print ISBN-13: 9780199546510 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: January 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.001.0001

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar Gregory Nagy (Contributor Webpage)

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.003.0002

Abstract and Keywords This chapter analyses the myths about the river-god Asopos and his daughters, the Asopid nymphs, as reflected in the Aeginetan odes of Pindar and in other sources. It is argued that these myths accommodated political ideologies that pre-date the reception of Homeric poetry in Athens during the classical period of the fifth century bc. Keywords:   Aegina, Asopos, Pindar, nymphs, Homeric poetry, myth

Introduction The Aeginetan odes of Pindar show traces of a preclassical phase of epic. By ‘preclassical’ I mean a phase that pre-dates the reception of Homeric poetry in Athens during the classical period of the fifth century BC. A clear sign of such preclassical epic, I argue, is a pattern of coexistence between Homeric and Hesiodic poetry. I will concentrate on one particular aspect of this coexistence, involving myths about the river-god Asopos and his daughters. In two books about the reception of Homer, Homer the Classic (online edition 2008; printed edition 2009) and Homer the Preclassic (online edition 2009; printed edition 2010), I reconstruct two distinct phases of epic poetry as performed in a particular setting.1 That setting was the seasonally recurring festival of the Panathenaia in Athens. One of the two phases of epic as performed at the Panathenaia was the ‘classical’ period of the fifth century BC. In this Page 1 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar phase, epic was understood to be the Iliad and Odyssey as we know them, attributed to Homer. The other phase was a ‘preclassical’ period dating back to the era of the Peisistratidai, a dynasty of tyrants who (p.42) ruled Athens in the sixth century BC. As I argue in Homer the Preclassic, two features of this preclassical epic distinguished it from its classical counterpart. First, the Homer of the sixth century was understood to be the poet of not only the Iliad and Odyssey but also of other epics collectively known as the Epic Cycle. Second, the epic poetry attributed to this preclassical Homer coexisted with epic poetry attributed to other poets, especially to Hesiod. In other words, the epics performed at the Panathenaia in the sixth century BC included not only the epics attributed to Homer but also epics attributed to rival figures like Hesiod.2 Such a coexistence between Homeric and Hesiodic poetry in the sixth century became obsolete in the fifth. By the time of the fifth century, as I argue in Homer the Classic, only the Iliad and Odyssey were performed at the Panathenaia, and only these two epics were attributed to Homer. To be contrasted is the preclassical version of Homer, which coexisted with Hesiod at the Panathenaia. In the preclassical period of epic as performed in Athens, Homer still shared the stage, as it were, with Hesiod. In the poetry of Pindar we can find traces of such a preclassical Homer, and I analysed these traces in Pindar's Homer.3 In that book I concentrated on Pindar's use of epic themes he attributed to Homer as the poet of the Cycle. In this presentation I concentrate on his use of epic themes he attributed to Hesiod. These themes, as we will see, are not incompatible with Homer. In other words, Pindar's Hesiod is compatible with Pindar's Homer. One Hesiodic text stands out: it is the Catalogue of Women, or the Ehoiai. This text represents an epic tradition linked directly to the Hesiodic Theogony. The beginning of the Catalogue, Hesiod fr. 1, was designed as a continuation of the narrative that leaves off at verse 1020 of the Theogony, while verses 1019–20 of the Theogony were designed as a transition into the narrative that begins with the Catalogue. The above formulation about the link between the narratives of the Hesiodic Theogony and the Hesiodic Catalogue is in general agreement (p.43) with that of Martin West in his book on the Hesiodic Catalogue,4 except that I disagree with West when he says that the Theogony and the Catalogue were composed by different individual poets and that ‘our poet [i.e. the poet of the Catalogue] rewrote the end of Hesiod's Theogony in his own style’.5 My view is that the continuity of narration in the transition from Theogony to Catalogue is an aspect of the same oral traditions that resulted in the texts that we know as the Theogony and Catalogue. It is also my view that the composition of Hesiodic poetry cannot be divorced from the reception of that poetry in the sixth century BC.

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar West argues that the epic text of the Catalogue was composed in Athens sometime between 580 and 520 BC, and, ‘if the addition of [Theogony] 965–1020 was contemporary, the range may perhaps be narrowed to [around] 540–520 [BC]’.6 The broader and the narrower time-frames, (1) 580–520 and (2) 540–520, are based on dating criteria linked respectively to (1) the contents of the Catalogue and (2) the contents of verses 965–1020 of the Theogony. From West's point of view, the Hesiodic Catalogue was composed in Athens as a text to be added to the text of the Theogony. I agree, but I add a qualification: this overall text of Hesiod, as reconstructed by West, resulted from the reception of living oral traditions. These traditions cannot be viewed exclusively on a synchronic level, as if they resulted in individualized poetic compositions. That is because the actual process of composition was a matter of ongoing recomposition-in-performance, and such a process needs to be viewed diachronically as well as synchronically.7 With this qualification in place, I offer a reformulation of the relationship between the Hesiodic Theogony and Catalogue. From my point of view, the narrative of the Catalogue was performed in Athens as an organic continuation of the narrative of the Theogony. And the venue for such a performance, in my view, was the festival of the Panathenaia at Athens in the era of the Peisistratidai. The time-frame of 540–520 BC, which is the dating assigned by West to the transitional verses 965–1020 of the Theogony, neatly matches that era. (p.44) Testing this reformulation, I will now proceed to analyse the myths about the river-god Asopos (’Ασωπός) and his daughters the Asopid nymphs (᾿Ασωπίδϵς) as narrated in the Hesiodic Catalogue. What I will argue is that these myths accommodate the political ideology of Athens in the era that corresponds to the time-frame of 540–520 BC. And that time-frame corresponds to a preclassical era when Homeric and Hesiodic poetry still coexisted at the Panathenaia.

Aegina, Daughter of Asopos According to West's reconstruction of the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women, the overall narrative about the nymphs who were daughters of Asopos took place in Scroll 4, and this narrative followed basically the same sequence we see in the Bibliothēkē of ‘pseudo’-Apollodorus (3.12.6–13.8), where the descendants of Asopos are listed after the descendants of Atlas and before the Attic heroes.8 I concentrate on one particular daughter of the river-god Asopos: she is a local goddess or nymph called Aegina (Αἴγινα), who is the mother of Aiakos (Αἰακός), the native hero of the island that is likewise called Aegina (Αἴγινα). The basic narrative is retold in Pindar's Isthmian 8 (lines 16–31), an Aeginetan ode celebrating the victory of an Aeginetan athlete at the Isthmian festival of 478 BC. According to Pindar's retelling, the nymph Aegina is the twin sister of a Page 3 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar nymph named Thebe (Θήβη/Θήβα), local goddess of Thebes (Θη̑βαι) in Boeotia. The name of this sister nymph is significant, since the name of the place that is Thebes (Θη̑βαι) is the elliptic plural of the name of the nymph that is Thebe (Θήβη/Θήβα).9 According to the narrative of this Aeginetan ode of Pindar, Aegina and Thebe are twin nymphs, the youngest of the daughters of Asopos, who is the god of the river Asopos that waters the land of (p.45) Thebes. The myth tells how Zeus took Aegina away from this land and relocated her in another land. This other land, in Pindar's retelling, was an island once known as Oinone, which was thereafter renamed as Aegina. And it is here in Aegina that Zeus impregnated Aegina, who gave birth to Aiakos. So goes the myth as retold in Pindar's Isthmian 8. It is important to note that Aiakos was worshipped by the population of Aegina as their primary local cult hero. Pausanias gives a detailed description of the sacred space of worship, called the Aiakeion, featuring a bōmos ‘altar’ that supposedly contained the corpse of Aiakos (2.29.6–8). There is a reference to this Aiakeion in Pindar's Nemean 5 (lines 53–4), where a ritual command is made to offer garlands of blossoms at this place sacred to Aiakos.10 As I will now argue, the myth of this cult hero Aiakos as retold in Pindar's Isthmian 8 is relevant not only to the political ideology of the state of Aegina in the early fifth century BC. It is relevant also to the political ideology of the state of Athens—in an even earlier period that corresponds to the time-frame of the Hesiodic Catalogue. That earlier period, as I will also argue, was a time when Athens and Aegina were not yet enemies.

Aegina, Mother of Aiakos, and his Descendants The idea that Zeus impregnated the nymph Aegina in the land of Aegina, where she gave birth to Aiakos, is no invention by Pindar. The same idea is evident in the Hesiodic Catalogue (Hesiod fr. 205), where we find the same elements of the myth. The Hesiodic narrative goes on to say that Aiakos, growing up and reaching adolescence in Aegina (line 2), was all alone and felt lonely (μου̑νος ἐὼν ἤσχαλλϵ: line (p.46) 3) until Zeus created for him a human population, the Myrmidons, by way of transforming the local ants into men and women: ἣ δ’ ὑποκυσαμένη τέκϵν Αἰακὸν ἱππιοχάρμην… αὐτὰρ ἐπϵί ῥ’ ἥβης πολυηράτου ἵκϵτο μέτρον, μου̑νος ἐὼν ἤσχαλλϵ· πατὴρ δ’ ἀνδρω̑ν τϵ θϵω̑ν τϵ, ὅσσοι ἔσαν μύρμηκϵς ἐπηράτου ἔνδοθι νήσου, τοὺς ἄνδρας ποίησϵ βαθυζώνους τϵ γυναι̑κας. οἳ δή τοι πρω̑τοι ζϵυ̑ξαν νέας ἀμφιϵλίσσας, 〈πρω̑τοι δ’ ἱστἴ ἔθϵν νηὸς πτϵρὰ ποντοπόροιο〉

She [Aegina] got pregnant [by Zeus] and gave birth to Aiakos, who delights in the art of charioteering, but when he reached the stage of adolescence, which comes with so much delight in love, he was alone and felt troubled. Page 4 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar Then the father of men and gods took all the ants that were there on that island so full of delight, and he made them into men and also women with low-slung waistbands, and these humans, I can now say,11 were the first to fit together ships, which are curved at both ends, and they were the first to make sails, which become wings for a ship as it makes its way through the watery divide. (Hesiod fr. 205, via Σ Pind. Nem. 3.21 (iii.45 Dr))

Aeginetan Anthropogony In the poetics of this myth as retold in the Hesiodic narrative, we see a variety of details that are linked with the politics of Aegina.12 I draw attention here to one detail in particular, concerning anthropogony. In using this term, I have in mind myths concerning the genesis of humans. As we take a closer look at the Hesiodic narrative, we can see two levels of anthropogony. On one level, the hero Aiakos originates from Aegina the nymph, who is his mother. On another level, the people of this hero's native land originate from Aegina the island, which is their Mother Earth. In the case of Aiakos, his origin from (p.47) Aegina is visualized as a birth from a local goddess or nymph. In the case of the rest of the Aeginetans, their origin is visualized as a transformation from ants generated from the earth. The identity of Aegina as a nymph converges with the identity of Aegina as a land that becomes the localized Mother Earth of the native population. In an Aeginetan ode by Pindar, Pythian 8 (produced in 446 BC, according the Pindaric scholia), the nymph Aegina is actually invoked as the beloved Mother of the population: Αἴγινα φίλα μα̑τϵρ, ἐλϵυθέρῳ στόλῳ πόλιν τάνδϵ κόμιζϵ Δὶ καὶ κρέοντι σὺν Αἰακῳ̑ Πηλϵι̑ τϵ κἀγαθῳ̑ Τϵλαμω̑νι σύν τ’ ᾿Αχιλλϵι̑.

Aegina! Mother near and dear!13 Make a (naval) mission [stolos] of freedom14 for this polis [= the city state of Aegina] as you bring it back to safety, back to Zeus!15 May it happen with the help of Aiakos the Ruler. And of Peleus. And of noble Telamon. And especially of Achilles. (Pyth. 8.98–100)

Aeginetan Thalassocracy As I will now argue, this reverent invocation of Mother Aegina is a pointed reference to the glorious past of the island state of Aegina as a major maritime power in the Mediterranean world. And this reference has to do with the concept of an eleutheros stolos, that is, ‘a mission of freedom’, which is made possible by the otherworldly help (p.48) of the hero Aiakos and of his descendants, namely Peleus, Telamon, and Achilles.

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar In making this argument, I start by highlighting a detail in the passage of the Hesiodic Catalogue that pictures the Aeginetans as the descendants of an autochthonous population generated from the Mother Earth that is Aegina: that same passage also pictures these autochthonous people of Aegina as the world's first shipbuilders and navigators (fr. 205). As we will now see, this linking of the autochthonous descent of the Aeginetans with their maritime way of life is essential for understanding the concept of an eleutheros stolos, that is, ‘a (naval) mission of freedom’, as it relates to Aiakos and his descendants. We know for a fact that the economic and military prestige of the Aeginetans stemmed from their history as a maritime people.16 Strabo (8.6.16 C375) says it most succinctly when he describes Aegina as θαλαττοκρατήσασά ποτϵ, ‘having once had a thalassocracy’. As Strabo knew well, the maritime power of the state of Aegina, as expressed by the term ‘thalassocracy’, was ultimately eliminated by the rival state of Athens, which developed a ‘thalassocracy’ of its own. We recall the memorable reference to Athenian maritime power as a ‘thalassocracy’ in the work of Thucydides (1.4). By the time when Pindar composed the Aeginetan ode that we know as Pythian 8 (446 BC), the maritime power of Aegina was a thing of the past, since the island had already become a mere satellite of Athens.17 So, in terms of my argument, the fleeting reference to an eleutheros stolos, that is, to ‘a (naval) mission of freedom’ in Pindar's Aeginetan ode, can be taken as a nostalgic evocation of the island's glorious maritime past—before the onset of the political realities that prevailed by the time of Pindar's Pythian 8. But the point is, the glorious past of the Aeginetans as a seafaring people is relevant to their myths about their origins. And these myths, as we are about to see, are relevant to the wording of Pindar concerning the stolos ‘mission’ connected with the otherworldly help of Aiakos and his descendants in Pythian 8.

(p.49) Aiakos and the Aiakidai The linking of Aiakos and his descendants with the prestige of the Aeginetans as a maritime power is most evident in a narrative of Herodotus (8.40–97) about the military success of the Aeginetans in 480 BC, on the occasion of the naval battle of Salamis in the Persian War. This narrative highlights the role of the hero Aiakos and his heroic descendants, the Aiakidai, as otherworldly helpers of the Hellenes in their struggle against the Persians (8.64 and 8.83–4). Before the naval battle at Salamis, according to this narrative, the combined forces of the defending Hellenes invoked Aiakos and the Aiakidai: ϵὐξάμϵνοι γὰρ πα̑σι τοι̑σι θϵοι̑σι αὐτόθϵν μ`ϵν ἐκ Σαλαμι̑νος Αἴαντά τϵ καὶ Τϵλαμω̑να ἐπϵκαλέοντο, ἐπὶ δ`ϵ Αἰακὸν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους Αἰακίδας νέα ἀπέστϵλλον ἐς Αἴγιναν (‘they prayed to all the gods, and then they invoked [epi-kaleisthai] Ajax and Telamon to come from right there [autothen], from Salamis, but they sent for Aiakos and the other Aiakidai to come (from Aegina), sending on a (naval) mission [apo‐stellein] a ship to Aegina’; 8.64.2). When the ship bringing ‘Aiakos and the other Aiakidai’ from Page 6 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar Aegina to Salamis finally arrived at Salamis, it figured most prominently in the successful naval battle there—according to the Aeginetans, but not according to the Athenians (8.84.2). In one of Pindar's Aeginetan odes, Isthmian 5 (line 48), there is an overt reference to the military success of the Aeginetan fleet at the Battle of Salamis. The verb used by Herodotus in referring to the naval mission involving Aiakos and the Aiakidai, apo‐stellein ‘send on a naval mission’, corresponds to the noun stolos ‘(naval) mission’ as used by Pindar in Pythian 8. Embedded in that ode is a prayer that calls for a new mission involving the Aiakidai, some of whom are mentioned by name: Αἴγινα φίλα μα̑τϵρ, ἐλϵυθέρῳ στόλῳ | πόλιν τάνδϵ κόμιζϵ Δὶ καὶ κρέοντι σὺν Αἰακῳ̑ | Πηλϵι̑ τϵ κἀγαθῳ̑ Τϵλαμω̑νι σύν τ’ Ἀχιλλϵι̑ (‘Aegina! Mother near and dear! Make a (naval) mission [stolos] of freedom for this polis [= the island state of Aegina] as you bring it back to safety, back to Zeus! May it happen with the help of Aiakos the Ruler. And of Peleus. And of noble Telamon. And especially of Achilles’; Pindar, Pythian 8.98–100). In terms of my argumentation, Pindar's wording alludes nostalgically to the glory days when an (p.50) Aeginetan ship was sent back to Aegina on a mission to bring Aiakos and the Aiakidai to Salamis so that they might save the Hellenes in the naval battle there, thus freeing Hellas—including Aegina—from the tyranny of the Persian invaders. For a parallel usage of stolos as ‘naval mission’ I cite the wording of Sophocles in his Philoctetes (243–5): in answer to the question of the hero Philoctetes, τίνι ǀ στόλῳ προσέσχϵς τήνδϵ γη̑ν; πόθϵν πλέων (‘on what naval mission [stolos] have you sailed and docked your ship in this land, and sailing from where?’), the hero Neoptolemos answers, ἐξ ᾿Ιλίου τοι δὴ τανυ̑ν γϵ ναυστολω̑ (‘As of this moment, I am on a naval mission [nau‐stolein] from Troy’).18 In an earlier work on Pindar's references to Aiakos and the Aiakidai in his Aeginetan odes, I analysed at some length the relevance of the narrative of Herodotus concerning the Aeginetan ship that was sent on a mission to bring Aiakos and the Aiakidai to the naval battle of Salamis (8.64.2).19 Here I confine myself to some basic observations stemming from my analysis in that work. I start with a question: how exactly are we to imagine an ensemble of ‘Aiakos and the Aiakidai’, transported by ship from Aegina to Salamis? The conventional explanation is that ‘Aiakos and the Aiakidai’ were simulacra of the heroes, or maybe even their relics.20 But there is no way of being certain about such an explanation. The only certainty is that the presence of ‘Aiakos and the Aiakidai’ was thought to be a reality, and that this presence, however it was imagined by the Aeginetans, could actually be transported from Aegina to Salamis. I highlight the theme of mobility here: the ensemble of ‘Aiakos and the Aiakidai’ was evidently thought to be movable, mobile. It was thought that this ensemble could be moved from a safe place to an unsafe place where their help was needed. In this line of thinking there must have been some kind of a ritual connection Page 7 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar between the ensemble of ‘Aiakos and the Aiakidai’ on the one hand and, on the other hand, the land of Aegina. Or, to put it another way, there must have been some kind of a ritual connection between these native sons and their native Mother Earth. (p.51) I propose to describe this way of thinking as a sacralized metonymy. For a working definition of metonymy here, I mean an expression of meaning by way of connection, as opposed to metaphor, by which I mean an expression of meaning by way of substitution.21 I return to the question: how exactly are we to imagine an ensemble of ‘Aiakos and the Aiakidai’, transported by ship from Aegina to Salamis in the narrative of Herodotus (8.64.2)? The wording of Pindar's Pythian 8, the Aeginetan ode that I cited earlier, may hold an answer. Besides Aiakos himself, I think that the unnamed ensemble of Aiakidai in the narrative of Herodotus included Telamon, Peleus, and Achilles. All three of these heroes are invoked by name in Pindar's Pythian 8. And I also think that Ajax, though he is not mentioned in Pythian 8, was included in the ensemble of Aiakidai transported from Aegina. Still, when Herodotus speaks of ‘the other Aiakidai’ who are to be brought to Salamis from Aegina, he cannot mention Ajax and Telamon by name, since he has already said that they had been invoked from Salamis. It would be contradictory to say that they had to be invoked also from Aegina. Evidently Herodotus is sensitive to an Athenian way of thinking here. We know that Ajax and Telamon, as cult heroes of Salamis, could be claimed by the Athenians as their own, since Salamis had become an Athenian possession already in the sixth century. And the wording of Herodotus makes it explicit that the combined forces of the Hellenes had first invoked Ajax and Telamon at Salamis before they sent an Aeginetan ship to bring ‘Aiakos and the other Aiakidai’ from Aegina to Salamis (again, 8.64.2: ϵὐξάμϵνοι γὰρ πα̑σι τοι̑σι θϵοι̑σι αὐτόθϵν μ`ϵν ἐκ Σαλαμι̑νος Αἴαντά τϵ καὶ Τϵλαμω̑να ἐπϵκαλέοντο, ἐπὶ δ`ϵ Αἰακὸν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους Αἰακίδας νέα ἀπέστϵλλον ἐς Αἴγιναν). Such a Panhellenic invocation, identifying Ajax and Telamon as cult heroes of Salamis, would have differed from an invocation made by Aeginetans, who claimed Ajax and Telamon as their own native sons. The answer I have just formulated is a reconstruction that is based so far only on a comparison between the wording of an Aeginetan ode by Pindar and the wording of the narrative of Herodotus about (p.52) the Aeginetan successes in the naval battle at Salamis. In order to formulate a more decisive answer, I propose to consider the identities of the Aiakidai in the Hesiodic tradition. The sons of Aiakos, as they are named in the Hesiodic Catalogue, were Peleus, Telamon, and Menoitios (Hesiod fr. 212a). And, as we learn from the Hesiodic Theogony, there was also a half-brother named Phokos, the ‘Seal’ par Page 8 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar excellence, whose mother was a Nereid named Psamathe, that is, ‘Sand’ par excellence (Theogony 1004–5).22 It is most noteworthy that, in the myths about all four of these sons of Aiakos, not a single one of them is ultimately localized in the island of Aegina. Let us start with Peleus and Telamon. As we see in the narrative of Apollodorus (3.12.6), both of these Aiakidai were exiled from Aegina because they killed their half-brother Phokos. We see a reference to this event in an Aeginetan ode of Pindar, Nemean 5 (lines 14–16). Reading the narrative of Apollodorus, we find these further details about Telamon and Peleus: 1. Telamon moved to the island of Salamis, ruled by a king called Kychreus, whose parents were Poseidon and another daughter of Asopos, named Salamis; Kychreus died childless and bequeathed the kingdom of Salamis to Telamon, and that hero Telamon became father of Ajax (3.12.6).23 2. Peleus moved to Phthia in Thessaly, ruled by a king called Eurytion, who gave a portion of his kingdom of Phthia to Peleus (3.13.1), and that hero Peleus became father of Achilles (3.13.6). Telamon and Peleus must be contrasted with Menoitios. The narrative of Apollodorus locates both Menoitios and his son Patroklos in the kingdom of Peleus in Phthia; they had emigrated there because they were exiled from the kingdom of Opous in East Locris, where Patroklos had been guilty of a homicide (3.13.8). In Phthia, they were epoikoi ‘immigrants’ (again, 3.13.8). The Homeric Iliad shows the earliest attested version of this narrative (23.84–90). In the Iliad, however, the father of Menoitios is not Aiakos but one Aktor (11.785, 16.14). So Patroklos is not descended from Aiakos in the Iliad. (p.53) This version of the myth is also attested in Pindar's Olympian 9, an ode composed in honour of an athletic victor from Opous in East Locris. This ode shows clearly the native Locrian version of the myth. As we see in Olympian 9, the myth narrates the establishment of the kingdom of Opous after the Great Flood: immigrants came to settle there, and the most honoured of these was Menoitios (lines 69–75).24 Here in Olympian 9 we see another instance of the word epoikoi ‘immigrants’ (line 69), which refers to the list of relocated heroes headed by Menoitios. The hero Menoitios is described as the father of Patroklos (line 75); his own father was the hero Aktor (line 69) and his mother was the nymph Aegina (line 70). This Aegina, however, is figured as a nymph who is not the same as the nymph Aegina from whom Aiakos and the Aiakidai originated. And yet, this other Aegina may be an Asopid nymph in her own right, just as the mother of Aiakos is an Asopid nymph. The difference is, this nymph Aegina is localized in Opous and

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar can be linked with Opountian myths of anthropogony—just as the nymph Aegina who is mother of Aiakos can be linked with corresponding Aeginetan myths. We now come to Phokos, the fourth and last of the four sons attributed to Aiakos in the Hesiodic tradition. In the Hesiodic Catalogue, the killing of Phokos by his half-brothers Telamon and Peleus leads to the emigration of the two sons of Phokos, the heroes Krisos and Panopeus, to the territory of Phocis (Phokis), where these two sons become the eponymous heroes of the cities Krisa and Panopeus (fr. 58.7–11). There is more to be said about the localization of Phokos himself: he is linked to Aiakos—but not to the Aiakos of Aegina. As West remarks, ‘[w]hen Aiakos has intercourse with the Nereid Psamathe and so becomes the father of Phokos, he is still located on the Malian Gulf [in Thessaly]’.25 For West and others, the figure of Aiakos belongs first and foremost to the Gulf of Malis in Thessaly, and he is transposed only later to the island of Aegina.26 West cites as evidence the Homeric Iliad as we have it, where Aiakos seems to be a Thessalian, as are also his son (p.54) Peleus and his grandson Achilles (21.189).27 West observes that the patronymic Aiakidēs ‘descendant of Aiakos’, which occurs over two-dozen times in the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey, always refers to Peleus or Achilles, never to Ajax.28 According to this line of reasoning, Aiakos as the father of the Thessalian Peleus was originally a Thessalian in his own right. By contrast, Telamon was not a Thessalian. I should add that Apollodorus (3.12.6), on the authority of Pherecydes (FGrH 3 F 60), reports a myth claiming that Telamon, father of Ajax, was not even a brother but merely a friend of Peleus, and that the father of Telamon was Aktaios while his mother was Glauke, daughter of Kychreus of Salamis.29 By now we can see why I said earlier that not a single one of the Aiakidai is ultimately localized in Aegina. But the question remains: what about Aiakos himself? West thinks that the genealogy of Aiakos–Peleus–Achilles comes ‘from a south Thessalian or Malian (Myrmidon) Märchen-type tradition which was drawn into and absorbed in the Trojan saga at a fairly late stage of the latter's development’.30 In this formulation, he mentions the Myrmidons of Thessaly because he also thinks that Aiakos is ‘the local Urmensch’ in south Thessaly ‘who created the Myrmidons [Μυρμιδόνϵς] from ants, μύρμηκϵς’.31 In terms of West's thinking, a myth about the creation of Myrmidons (Murmidones) from ants (murmēkes) was relocated from Thessaly to Aegina, and the myth about the creation of the Aeginetans from ants in the Hesiodic Catalogue (fr. 205) results from such a relocation.32

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar (p.55) In what follows, I offer a different formulation. In terms of this formulation, as we will see when we take a closer look at the Thessalian and the Aeginetan traditions, Aiakos can be considered a native of both Thessaly and Aegina.

Myrmidons I start with the Thessalian traditions, focusing on the concept of Myrmidons. A prominent example is Patroklos, son of Menoitios: this hero Patroklos is described as ‘the best of the Myrmidons’ in the Iliad (18.10: Μυρμιδόνων τὸν ἄριστον). West notes that Aktor, who is named in the Iliad as the father of Menoitios and the grandfather of Patroklos (11.785, 16.14), is comparable to the Aktor named in the Hesiodic Catalogue as originating from a mother named Peisidike and from a father named Myrmidon, who is a son of Zeus (fr. 10a.99– 101; Apollodorus 1.7.3).33 In terms of this genealogy, the name Myrmidon cannot be localized in Aegina. I quote a formulation by West concerning the relevant testimony of the Hesiodic Catalogue (fr. 10a.99–101 and fr. 212a): ‘the sequence Aegina–Menoitios–Patroklos was detached from Aktor (leaving Myrmidon's family a mere stump…) and conflated with the sequence Aegina–Aiakos–Peleus– Achilles, Menoitios becoming Peleus' brother.’34 As West notes, this Myrmidon who is son of Zeus is the eponymous ancestor of the Myrmidons of Thessaly.35 Next I turn to the Aeginetan traditions, again focusing on the concept of Myrmidons. This concept is central to the myth telling how Zeus, in order to create human company for his lonely son Aiakos, changed into humans the ants native to the Mother Earth that is Aegina (Hesiod fr. 205, Apollodorus 3.12.6). We know from sources such as Strabo (8.6.16 C375) that the autochthonous people of Aegina were actually known as Myrmidons (Murmidones).36 (p.56) West sums up the myth this way: ‘Zeus created a people for him [=  Aiakos], the Myrmidons [Μυρμιδόνϵς], out of ants, μύρμηκϵς [murmēkes].’37 As we saw earlier, West thinks that the Myrmidons originate from Thessaly, and that Aiakos therefore must also originate from there. I submit, however, that there is no reason to presuppose a single myth about humans called Myrmidons who are created from ants. The linking of the name Murmidōn with murmēx, the word for ‘ant’, is attested elsewhere as well: for example, there is a myth that tells how Zeus transformed himself into a murmēx ‘ant’ in order to impregnate a nymph named Eurymedousa, who gave birth to Murmidōn (Clement of Alexandria, Protrepticus 2.39.7). And we know also of other anthropogonic myths about the creation of humans from ants: for example, there is a myth that tells of a heroine named Melite, eponym of an Attic deme, who was the daughter of Murmēx, the Ant par excellence (Hesiodic Catalogue fr. 225).38 Page 11 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar There are also typological parallels.39 Anthropogonic myths about autochthonous populations generated from colonies of ants or termites are attested in a variety of cultures that have no historic or prehistoric connections with the ancient Greeks, especially in Africa.40 Aside from the sources I have cited so far concerning a link between the autochthonous Aeginetans and the Myrmidons, we have further evidence in the wording of Pindar himself. In one of his Aeginetan odes, Nemean 3 (line 13), the ‘earlier’ (proteroi) people of Aegina are explicitly said to have been the Myrmidons (Murmidones).41 The ostentatious application of the adjective proteroi ‘earlier’ to the Myrmidons of Aegina in Pindar's Nemean 3 implies a complication. (p.57) The Aeginetans who inhabit the island of Aegina in the present time of this Aeginetan ode are not only Myrmidons by origin. The complication has to do with the fact that the population of Aegina was basically Dorian. In terms of local Aeginetan mythology, the prototypical Aeginetans must have intermarried with immigrant Dorians: in some of Pindar's odes these notional immigrants are figured as the official founders of Aegina as a polis or city-state (Isthmian 9.1–4, Olympian 8.30).42 Also, again in terms of local Aeginetan mythology, at least some if not all of the autochthonous Myrmidons of Aegina must have abandoned their island and followed Peleus to Phthia when Peleus was exiled for killing his half-brother Phokos (Strabo 9.5.9 C433). It is in the context of this ostentatious reference to the ‘earlier’ people of Aegina that the Pindaric scholia for Nemean 3 (at line 21 in the older colon-based linenumbering system) quote the verses of the Hesiodic Catalogue (fr. 205) concerning the Myrmidons as the autochthonous people of Aegina who ultimately turned to seafaring as a way of life. In the logic of this myth as retold in Hesiodic poetry, the autochthonous population of Aegina, originating from the ants generated by the local earth, invented the maritime technology of shipbuilding and navigation. This aetiology suits Aeginetan society: as we have seen, the Aeginetans were conventionally celebrated as a seafaring people.

Aeginetans as Autochthons and Migrants There is a paradox inherent in this aetiology. These autochthonous and therefore inherently non-migratory Aeginetans, indigenous as they are to their own Mother Earth, become the most migratory of humans, travelling all over the seas despite their non-migratory origins. In this same Aeginetan ode of Pindar, Nemean 3, the deeds of the sons of Aiakos are narrated (starting at line 28) with an emphasis on (p.58) their origins in Aegina, native land of Aiakos: the narration starts with the injunction οἴκοθϵν μάτϵυϵ, ‘search for things that start at home’ (line 31). The first in a series of Page 12 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar three subjects in this compressed narration is Peleus (named at line 33) and the second is Telamon (named at line 36), and then the third and most highlighted subject is Achilles (named at line 43), whose deeds are narrated with special pride (all the way to line 64). Then, as the narration reaches its conclusion, the glory of all three heroes is pointedly traced back to the beacon light of the Aiakidai, which shines forth from Aegina, that is, from their place of origin: τηλαυγ`ϵς ἄραρϵ φέγγος Αἰακιδα̑ν αὐτόθϵν, ‘the beacon light of the Aiakidai, shining far and wide, is grounded as starting from right here’ (line 64). The wording αὐτόθϵν, ‘starting from right here’, rounds out the narration by bringing it back to its starting point—back to the injunction οἴκοθϵν μάτϵυϵ, ‘search for things that start at home’ (line 31). This wording αὐτόθϵν ‘starting from right here’, in Pindar's Nemean 3 (line 64), is comparable to the same wording αὐτόθϵν as used in the narrative of Herodotus (8.64.2) concerning the invocation of the Aiakidai from Salamis, the heroes Ajax and Telamon, at the naval battle of Salamis. In the words of Herodotus, as we have seen, this invocation of these two Aiakidai took place before the conveying of ‘Aiakos and the other Aiakidai’ from Aegina to the naval battle of Salamis: ϵὐξάμϵνοι γὰρ πα̑σι τοι̑σι θϵοι̑σι αὐτόθϵν μ`ϵν ἐκ Σαλαμι̑νος Αἴαντά τϵ καὶ Τϵλαμω̑να ἐπϵκαλέοντο, ἐπὶ δ`ϵ Αἰακὸν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους Αἰακίδας νέα ἀπέστϵλλον ἐς Αἴγιναν (‘[the Hellenes] prayed to all the gods, and then they invoked [epi-kaleisthai] Ajax and Telamon to come from right there [autothen], from Salamis, but they sent for Aiakos and the other Aiakidai to come [from Aegina], sending on a (naval) mission [apo‐stellein] a ship to Aegina’; 8.64.2). I come back to the wording αὐτόθϵν (autothen) ‘starting from right here’ in Pindar's Nemean 3 (line 64), which rounds out the narration by bringing it back to its starting point—back to the injunction οἴκοθϵν μάτϵυϵ, ‘search for things that start at home’ (line 31). From the standpoint of local Aeginetan mythology, that is how it all started, with Aiakos as the native son of Aegina. To be contrasted is the formulation of West, which I have already quoted. Here I repeat only the essence, which is, that the genealogy of Aiakos–Peleus–Achilles originated ‘from a south Thessalian or (p.59) Malian (Myrmidon) Märchen-type tradition’.43 That may be so, as far as the sequence of Aiakos–Peleus–Achilles is concerned. But it does not follow that this genealogical sequence was simply relocated from Thessaly to Aegina. Such a relocation, as argued by West, would mean that Aiakos himself originated from a Thessalian tradition. But that does not necessarily follow. Aiakos may have originated from an Aeginetan tradition as well. In making his argument that the genealogy of Aiakos was transposed from Thessaly to Aegina, West notes that there may have been convergent names common to both places that made such a relocation possible. For example, he Page 13 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar notes the existence of a Thessalian river named Asopos that flowed into the Gulf of Malis (the river is mentioned by Herodotus 7.199–200).44 By implication, Aiakos could have been the son of an Asopid nymph who was impregnated by Zeus in Thessaly: ‘[s]o Aiakos’ mother may have been an Asopid from the beginning, and there is no reason why her name should not have been Aegina, for it is a name that occurs in several places (Epidaurus, Ios, Paphlagonia), and there might have been an Aegina in Malis', that is, in the region of the Malian Gulf in Thessaly.45

Contractual Mythology But there is more to it. It is not that the Aeginetans made the gesture of relocating from Thessaly a native Thessalian myth about Aiakos and a mother named Aegina by linking this myth with their own native Aeginetan myth about their own nymph named Aegina. From the standpoint of the Hesiodic Catalogue, the pathway for the relocation of myths must have been a two-way street, as it were, not one-way from Thessaly to Aegina. In the case of a Thessalian son of Aiakos like Peleus, for example, his father Aiakos must be an Aeginetan just as surely as Peleus must be a Thessalian. In other words, the Peleus of the Thessalians must have an Aeginetan father named (p.60) Aiakos, not a Thessalian father named Aiakos. From the standpoint of the Catalogue, the Aeginetan Aiakos must be accepted by Thessaly just as the Thessalian Peleus is to be accepted by Aegina. For the Thessalians as also for the Aeginetans in this case, there can be only one hero named Aiakos and only one hero named Peleus. The mythological perspective of the Catalogue is ‘contractual’, organically unifying two cognate but independent genealogies into a co-dependency. For the ‘contract’ to work, there can be only one autochthonous Aiakos, and he is the one in Aegina. And there can be only one Peleus. For the ‘contract’ to work, this Peleus will have to emigrate from Aegina and then immigrate to Thessaly. As the son of Aiakos, Peleus cannot be an autochthonous native son of Thessaly, since Aegina must retain Aiakos as the island's very own autochthon. Such a ‘contractual’ relationship between Thessalian and Aeginetan myths is what we see formalized in the Hesiodic poetry of the Catalogue. A question remains. From the standpoint of the Hesiodic Catalogue, what is the location of the river Asopos (’Ασωπός) that is named after the god who is father of the nymph Aegina and grandfather of Aiakos in that hero's role as native son of the island of Aegina? Since Aiakos must be the autochthonous hero of the land that is Aegina, it follows that the river that is Asopos must be linked to this same land, not to Thessaly. But how can this link be reconciled with the existence of a river named Asopos in Thessaly, as noted by West?46 The answer is simple: there can be no such reconciliation, and so the river Asopos in Thessaly has to be excluded from the contractual relationship between the Thessalian and Aeginetan myths. That is because Aiakos as the autochthonous son of an Asopid in Aegina cannot be at the same time the autochthonous son of an Asopid in Page 14 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar Thessaly. In terms of any single myth as mediated by the Hesiodic Catalogue, there can be only one Asopid nymph who is mother of Aiakos. And there can be only one place where the Asopid nymph gives birth to Aiakos, and that is the land of Aegina named after the nymph that is Aegina.

(p.61) Multiple Daughters of Asopos Although the land of Aegina claims to be the one and the only place where the nymph Aegina, as daughter of the river Asopos, gave birth to the native hero of the land, there can be more than one place for other daughters of the river Asopos to give birth to other native heroes of other lands. Here I come to the essence of the title of this chapter, ‘Asopos and his multiple daughters’. The fact is, there is more than one nymph who is daughter of the river Asopos. There is a multiplicity of Asopid nymphs. And part of the reason for this multiplicity is a corresponding multiplicity of streams named Asopos. We have already noted two instances. As we have seen, there is a river named Asopos in Thessaly, and there is another one in Boeotia, near the city of Thebes. Whereas the Thessalian river Asopos is excluded from the Aeginetan myth of Aegina the Asopid nymph, the Boeotian river Asopos is included. Let us review briefly the role of the Boeotian river in the Aeginetan myth. According to this myth as retold in Pindar's Isthmian 8 (lines 16–31), the nymph Aegina is the twin sister of a nymph named Thebe (Θήβη/Θήβα), local goddess of Thebes (Θη̑βαι), and these nymphs are daughters of Asopos, who is the god of the river Asopos that waters the land of Thebes. The myth tells how Zeus abducted the Asopid nymph Aegina from this land and relocated her in the land of Aegina, where she was impregnated by the god and gave birth to Aiakos. As we have seen, the detail about the impregnation of the Asopid nymph Aegina by Zeus in the land of Aegina is already attested in the Hesiodic Catalogue (fr. 205). From the fragments of the Hesiodic Catalogue that are known to us so far, we do not know for certain whether the Boeotian identity of the river Asopos was actually specified in the retelling of the myth about the abduction of the Asopid nymph Aegina by Zeus and about her relocation in the land of Aegina. It is important to take note of this uncertainty because there exists an alternative myth about the abduction of this Asopid. This alternative myth involves yet another river named Asopos—other than the Thessalian and the Boeotian rivers of the same name. This third river named Asopos is located in (p.62) the northeast Peloponnesus, flowing through the territory of the state of Phleious and emptying into the Gulf of Corinth in the territory of the state of Sikyon. In what follows, I will concentrate on the myth about the river Asopos as mediated by the state of Phleious. (I should note that Phleious was also known as Phlias, whence the conventional adjective ‘Phliasian’.) According to a Phliasian myth that was linked with the Peloponnesian river Asopos, Zeus relocated the Asopid nymph Aegina to the land of Aegina after Page 15 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar having abducted her from Phleious, not from Thebes; this alternative myth is attested by Diodorus (4.72).47 In the Phliasian myth, Aegina was abducted from the banks of the Phliasian Asopos, not the Theban Asopos. As we learn from Pausanias, this Phliasian myth about the abduction of the nymph Aegina from Phleious was unacceptable to the Thebans, who claimed that the Asopid nymph Thebe was the daughter of the Boeotian rather than the Peloponnesian Asopos (2.5.3).48 So when Zeus abducted Aegina from the banks of the river Asopos, which river was originally meant? From the viewpoint of myth-making, choices need to be made about locating the original Asopos. This river must have originated either in Boeotia or in the Peloponnesus—or even in Thessaly, for that matter. From the viewpoint of empirical observation, however, there is no single original river of choice. An application of the comparative method shows that the mutually contradictory myths about Asopos are cognate with each other and need to be analysed as multiform variants.49 The multiplicity of streams named Asopos cannot be explained in terms of any single original myth about such a stream. We have already seen a comparable phenomenon in the multiplicity of notionally autochthonous populations named after ants. In this instance as well, we cannot explain such multiplicity in terms of any single anthropogonic myth about ants turning into humans.

(p.63) The Meaning of the Name Asopos The mention of anthropogony in this context is actually relevant to the myths about the river-god Asopos, since the name of this god is connected to the theme of human creation. The connection becomes evident from a detail embedded in the retelling of Apollodorus (3.12.6). It is said that when Zeus abducted the nymph Aegina from the banks of the river Asopos, the river-god became so angry that his waters overflowed abnormally as he pursued Zeus, who reacted by striking the waters with his flaming thunderbolt, thus restoring the normal flow of the river. And because the fiery thunderbolt of Zeus made this violent contact with the waters of the river, it is said that even now you can see anthrakes ‘glowing coals’ rising up from the depths of these waters. I quote the relevant wording in the retelling of Apollodorus (again, 3.12.6): Ζϵὺς δ`ϵ Ἀσωπὸν μ`ϵν κϵραυνώσας διώκοντα πάλιν ἐπὶ τὰ οἰκϵι̑α ἀπέπϵμψϵ ῥϵι̑θρα, διὰ του̑το μέχρι καὶ νυ̑ν ἐκ τω̑ν τούτου ῥϵίθρων ἄνθρακϵς φέρονται, ‘when Asopos pursued Zeus, Zeus struck him with his thunderbolt and thus restored the river to its familiar course, and that is why even to this day there are glowing coals [anthrakes] produced by the streams of this river’. As we are about to see, the connection of the word anthrakes ‘glowing coals’ with the name Asōpos in this myth is parallel to the connection of the same word anthrakes ‘glowing coals’ with the word for ‘human beings’, anthrōpoi.

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar The connection of anthrakes ‘glowing coals’ with anthrōpoi ‘human beings’ is attested in what appears to be an anthropogonic myth about the notionally autochthonous population of the Athenian deme of Acharnai. This myth is prominently ridiculed in the comedy by Aristophanes named the Acharnians. In terms of such a local Acharnian myth, this human population was created from anthrakes ‘glowing coals’ contained in a sacrificial brazier.50 In terms of such a localized anthropogonic myth, the noun anthrōpos ‘human being’ can be understood as a compound formation meaning basically ‘having the looks of glowing coals’. There are a (p.64) number of semantic parallels in Indo-Iranian myths about the creation of humans from the glowing coals of sacrificial fire.51 Similarly, the noun Asōpos can be understood as a parallel compound formation meaning basically ‘having the looks of glowing coals’; in this case, the root as‐ in Asōpos is cognate with the root as‐ in the noun asbolos/asbolē, which refers to the sparks emitted by glowing coals.52 Such an etymology of the noun Asōpos indicates that the name of the river-god is connected to myths of anthropogony. And this connection is validated by the local Aeginetan anthropogonic myth about the god Asopos as the father of the nymph Aegina, who in turn is the Mother Earth that generates the first human being in the land of Aegina. And it is further validated by another local Aeginetan anthropogonic myth—this one about the supplementary human beings who are created from the ants that populate the land of Aegina.

Multiple Versions of Asopos But the question remains, did the Hesiodic Catalogue feature a Phliasian or a Theban version of the river-god Asopos? In the narrative of the Catalogue, did Zeus abduct the daughter of the river Asopos in Phleious or the daughter of the river known by the same name in Thebes? In what follows, I argue that the river of choice was in fact the Asopos of Thebes. I start with a detail mentioned by Pausanias, who notes that even the Phliasians acknowledged that the river Asopos had a daughter named Thebe (2.5.2). This detail is most significant, since it connects the myth about the abduction of Aegina with the Boeotian city-state of Thebes—and thus with the Boeotian river of Asopos. Such an acknowledgement on the part of the Phliasians is also evident in an ode of Bacchylides (9) celebrating the victory of an athlete who competed at the festival of the Nemea. Significantly, the victorious athlete in this ode was a native son of the city-state of (p.65) Phleious, and the wording of Bacchylides ostentatiously draws attention to the traditions of this city, highlighting the glories of the Phliasian river Asopos (lines 39–61).53 It is in this context that the

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar ode celebrates the glories of the multiple daughters of Asopos (starting at line 49). In the myth of the Asopid nymphs as narrated in this ode of Bacchylides (9), it is made explicit that these nymphs were all relocated ‘by the gods’ (i.e. by Zeus or Poseidon as alternative abductors) and that these same nymphs thus became the originators of great cities (lines 50–2). The first two such cities to be named are Thebes (line 54) and Aegina (line 55). So even in the Phliasian myth as retold by Bacchylides (9), the nymph Thebe is acknowledged as ultimately belonging to the city-state of Thebes, just as the nymph Aegina ultimately belongs to the city-state of Aegina. From the perspective of the Phliasian myth, only the river Asopos belongs to the state of Phleious, whereas the Asopids Thebe and Aegina no longer belong to it: rather, these nymphs are relocated to the respective states of Thebes and Aegina.

Alternative Daughters of Asopos Given that the state of Phleious had notionally lost the nymph Thebe to the state of Thebes, just as it had lost the nymph Aegina to the state of Aegina, we may ask whether there was any local nymph that the Phliasians could still claim as their very own Asopid. An answer emerges from a comparison of two passages taken from Pausanias. In the first of these passages, Pausanias briefly retells what he describes as a Phliasian myth concerning Asopos and three of his daughters, two of whom are Aegina and Thebe while the third is Corcyra (2.5.2); as Pausanias adds, the citystate of the island of Corcyra was named after the nymph Corcyra, just as the city-states of Aegina and Thebes were named after the nymphs Aegina and (p. 66) Thebe (2.5.2). The island state of Corcyra was the most prominent of the daughter cities of the mother city or metropolis that was Corinth. I will have more to say later about the relationship between Corcyra and Corinth. In the second passage, Pausanias mentions a statue group dedicated by the Phliasians at Olympia, featuring Asopos and his daughters. First among the Asopids to be listed is the nymph Nemea; second is Aegina, paired with Zeus, who is seen in the act of abducting the nymph; next to be listed are Harpina, Corcyra, Thebe, and then Asopos himself (5.22.6).54 In this same passage, Pausanias attributes to Pindar (fr. 290) a myth that tells how Thebe was impregnated by Zeus; then he cites an unattributed myth that tells how Corcyra was impregnated by Poseidon. We know from other sources that the son of Corcyra and Poseidon is Phaiax, eponymous ancestor of the Phaeacians (Hellanicus, FGrH 4 F 77). In this report of Pausanias it is evident that the Asopid nymphs Aegina, Thebe, and Corcyra represent respectively the states of Aegina, Thebes, and Corcyra. Also, Pausanias here makes it explicit that the myth of the Asopid Harpina, who is impregnated by Ares and who becomes mother of Oinomaos, is shared by the states of Phleious and Elis (again, 5.22.6). Page 18 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar As for the figure who takes pride of place in this ensemble, it is the Asopid nymph Nemea, eponym of the site of the Nemean festival. By implication, this Asopid represents the state of Phleious. In terms of this Phliasian myth, then, the name of the nymph Thebe is accepted as the eponym of the Boeotian city of Thebes. On the other hand, as Pausanias says explicitly, the Thebans reject the Phliasian myth, since for them the river Asopos waters the territory of the Boeotian city of Thebes, not the territory of the Peloponnesian cities of Phleious and Sikyon (2.5.2). This rejection is in part reciprocated by the Phliasians, who evidently deny that the Asopid nymph Aegina was a native of Thebes: rather, she was a native of Phleious, and she was abducted from Phliasian territory when Zeus took her from Asopos and relocated her in Aegina (2.5.2–3).

(p.67) Variations on the Theme of a Virtual Asopos Is there any way, then, for the logic of myth to resolve such contradictions? A resolution is in fact evident in the reportage of Pausanias, who goes on to say that the Phliasians and the neighbouring Sikyonians do not really claim that the waters of their river Asopos originate from their territory; instead, they claim that these waters are a continuation of the waters of the river Maeander in Asia Minor (2.5.3).55 These waters of the Maeander, as Pausanias reports, originate in the mountainous territory of Kelainai, flowing down from there through the territories of Phrygia and Caria and emptying into the sea near the city of Miletos, from where these same waters continue to flow under the world—until they surface again in the Peloponnesus, forming the river Asopos (again, 2.5.3).56 From here on, I will refer to this underworldly stream as a virtual Asopos. By implication, the waters of such a stream that flows under the known world could surface not only in the territory of Phleious but elsewhere as well, as in the territory of Thebes. That is why, from the standpoint of the Phliasians, the streams of this virtual Asopos can water the territory of Thebes as well as the territories of Phleious and Sikyon. And that is why this stream can father the nymph Thebe as well as the nymph Aegina. I turn to a second instance of such a virtual Asopos. Again it involves the river Maeander. The underworldly passage of this river is indicated also in another myth besides the myth deriving from the state of Phleious. This other myth derives from the island state of Samos. According to local Samian traditions as reflected in the poetry of a Samian native named Asios (fr. 7 PEG I; via Pausanias 7.4.1), the island of Samos was named after a nymph called Samia who was daughter of the river Maeander.57 As we have seen in the (p.68) myth deriving from the state of Phleious, this river Maeander is notionally identical with the river Asopos in the making. As we have also seen, the waters of the Maeander emptied into the sea near the city of Miletos—that is, in the territory of Priene Page 19 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar facing the island Samos. In terms of the Samian myth, then, I infer that the waters of the virtual Asopos come to the surface in the land directly facing the land where the Maeander empties into the sea, that is, in the land of the island that is Samos.58 We are about to see references to such a local Samian myth in two songs, one by Ibycus and the other by Anacreon. These references are especially significant because both Ibycus and Anacreon evidently composed these two songs under the patronage of Polykrates, who was tyrant of Samos and who presided over a powerful thalassocracy centred in Samos.59 In the case of the song composed by Ibycus (fr. 322 PMGF), we know from Strabo (6.2.4 C271) that it referred to the river Asopos as located in the territory of Sikyon: ῎Ιβυκος δ`ϵ τὸν ἐν Σικυω̑νι ᾿Ασωπὸν ἐκ Φρυγίας ῥϵι̑ν φησι, ‘Ibycus says that the Asopos in Sikyon flows from Phrygia.’ The mention of Sikyon is most relevant, since we know that Ibycus actually composed songs that were directly relevant to the politics of Sikyon (S 151 PMGF = fr. 282).60 In the case of the song composed by Anakreon (fr. 448), we know from Hesychius (A 7926 s.v.) that this song described Samos as ‘the city of Nymphs’: ἄστυ Νυμφέων· τὸν Σάμον ᾿Ανακρέων, ἐπϵὶ ὕστϵρον ϵὔυδρος ἐγένϵτο, ‘the city of Nymphs—that is what Anacreon called (p.69) Samos, since it became well watered at a later time.’ At a later point I will offer an explanation for the reference here to ‘a later time’. For now, however, I simply add a further piece of relevant lore: as we know from Athenaeus (15.672b), it was said that the temenos ‘precinct’ of Hera in Samos was founded in primordial times by the Leleges and the Nymphs. I add a third instance of a virtual Asopos. The nymph Sinope is said to be the daughter of Asopos (Eumelos of Corinth fr. 9 PEG I; Aristotle fr. 540 Rose, via Σ Ap. Rhod. Arg. 2.946). Named after this nymph is the city of Sinope, a colony of Miletos on a promontory along the south coast of the Black Sea. In the context of Milesian traditions, Asopos is to be identified with the river in Boeotia.61 By now we have seen three variations on the theme of a virtual Asopos. In the first instance the virtual Asopos comes to the surface at Phleious, in the second at Samos, and in the third at Sinope. In each of these three instances, Asopos is imagined as an underworldly stream of fresh water that pushes upward from below the earth and then surfaces as a spring in a mountainous region. The stream from that spring then flows downward from the heights and become a great river by the time it empties into the sea. In the case of the river Maeander, we see that it can even restart as a spring after becoming a river, since the stream of this river is imagined as going underground near Miletos and then resurfacing somewhere else as a spring in some other mountainous region.

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar Another Kind of Daughter for a Virtual Asopos There was also an alternative way of imagining a virtual Asopos. The stream of the spring can stay underground as it flows downward from the mountainous heights—until it surfaces at a spring located in the centre of the city. Such a spring would be another kind of daughter for Asopos. (p.70) A prime example is a spring named after the nymph Peirene, located in the city centre of Corinth.62 It is described in some detail by Pausanias (2.2.2–3), who goes on to mention a myth that identifies Peirene as the daughter of the river Achelōios (2.2.3). From the immediate context of this identification, I infer that the source used by Pausanias here is a piece of poetry. I have two reasons for making this inference. First, Pausanias goes on to mention an alternative myth that identifies Peirene as the daughter of one Oibalos, and the source of this myth is definitely poetic: it is the Catalogue of Hesiod (fr. 258). Second, as we see from another context, Pausanias views the river Achelōios as a mythical construct: it is viewed as a primal stream that generates all other streams (8.38.10). And the source used by Pausanias for such a myth about the river Achelōios as a primal stream is likewise definitely poetic: it is the Homeric Iliad (21.194).63 Something is amiss, however, when Pausanias identifies the nymph Peirene as the daughter of the river god Achelōios (2.2.3). If I am right that his thinking here about Peirene is based on his readings in poetry, what has happened is that he has momentarily lost track of the Corinthian version of the myth about the spring he is describing. It does not take long for him to get back on track, however, as he proceeds to report the local Corinthian myth about the nymph Peirene. According to the Corinthian version, as we are about to see from the further reportage of Pausanias, the father of this nymph who presides over the spring located in the city centre of Corinth is not Achelōios but Asopos. Pausanias reports that the spring of Peirene in the city centre of Corinth was said to be connected to another spring located on the summit of the Acrocorinth, near the Temple of Aphrodite (2.5.1–2). Pausanias speaks of this spring on the Acrocorinth as a gift of the river-god Asopos to the hero Sisyphus, a primeval king of Corinth. When Zeus abducted Aegina the daughter of Asopos, the trickster Sisyphus found out about the deed but withheld information from (p. 71) Asopos until the river-god gave him the gift of water. This gift, in the myth as retold by Pausanias (2.5.1), is the spring on the Acrocorinth. According to the local Corinthian lore, as Pausanias reports, the waters from this spring flow underground all the way down from the heights of the Acrocorinth and join with the waters of the spring in the city centre of Corinth: ἤκουσα δ`ϵ ἤδη τὴν Πϵιρήνην φαμένων ϵἰ̑ναι ταύτην καὶ τὸ ὕδωρ αὐτόθϵν ὑπορρϵι̑ν τὸ ἐν τῃ̑ πόλϵι, ‘and by then I had already heard people say that this spring [on the Acrocorinth] was Peirene, and that the waters that flow underground in the city Page 21 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar are from here [αὐτόθϵν]’ (again, 2.5.1). The testimony of Strabo (8.6.21 C379) confirms this tradition. In terms of this local Corinthian tradition, then, the waters of the spring in the city centre are the same as the waters of the spring on high at the Acrocorinth.64 We can now connect this tradition with an essential fact. As we know explicitly from another source, the name of the nymph of these waters, Peirene, is also the name of yet another daughter of Asopos (Diodorus 4.72). It is evident that Pausanias recognizes the nymph Peirene of Corinth as an Asopid. After tracing the waters that flow down underground from the spring on the summit of Acrocorinth to the spring of Peirene in the city centre of Corinth (2.5.1), he immediately proceeds to tell about the river Asopos itself, which he identifies with the Asopos that originates from the highlands of Phleious: that river Asopos flows through the Phliasian territory and through the territory of Sikyon before it empties into the Gulf of Corinth (2.5.2). Pausanias then proceeds to retell what he describes as the Phliasian version of the myth about the Asopids, naming the nymphs Corcyra, Aegina, and Thebe in that order (2.5.2). Then and only then does he refer to the rival Theban version of the myth about the Asopids, recording the rival Theban claim that the god who fathered the nymph Thebe was the Boeotian river named Asopos, not the Peloponnesian river by the same name that originated in Phleious (p.72) (again, 2.5.2). Evidently Pausanias is associating a Corinthian myth about the Asopid Peirene with a composite Phliasian myth about the Asopids Corcyra, Aegina, and Thebe, not with the Theban myth about the Asopids Aegina and Thebe. I should add that the Theban myth about the Asopid nymphs is more extensive than what we can see by simply comparing it with the corresponding Phliasian myth. Besides Aegina and the eponymous Thebe herself, other nymphs are included in a veritable Theban ensemble of Asopids. Most noteworthy is the nymph Antiope, described as the daughter of Asopos already in Homeric poetry (Odyssey 11.260): this Asopid figures as a virtual Mother Earth for the Thebans, since she is impregnated by Zeus and gives birth to the prototypical Thebans Amphion and Zethos (Odyssey 11.261–5). Also noteworthy are the Theban Asopid nymphs Ismene (Apollodorus 2.1.3) and Oëroe (Herodotus 9.51). As for the Phliasian myth, the inclusion of the Asopid nymph Corcyra makes that myth more compatible with the Corinthian myth about the Asopid nymph named Peirene. The connection of the nymph Corcyra with the nymph Peirene is most apt, since the island city of Corcyra was the most eminent of all the daughter cities of the metropolis that was Corinth. So far, I have been highlighting the Asopid nymph Peirene in her role as an otherworldly power who presides over the flow of fresh water from a spring located in the mountainous heights of the Acrocorinth all the way down to the Page 22 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar city centre of Corinth. As I have argued, the spring waters of Peirene emanate from the streams of a virtual Asopos, that is, from the otherworldly streams of a mighty river-god whose waters flow underground until they surface at sacred places marked by either (1) springs in mountainous heights or (2) fountainhouses in the centres of cities. I submit that a parallel pattern of thinking is visible in the myth about the nymph named Samia, eponym of the island of Samos, who was known as a daughter of the river Maeander (Asios fr. 7 PEG I, via Pausanias 7.4.1). As we have seen, this river Maeander is notionally identical with the river Asopos in the making (Pausanias 2.5.2–3). As we have also seen, there are references to this virtual Asopos in the songs of both Ibycus (fr. 322) and Anacreon (fr. 448). (p.73) In the case of the song of Anacreon, the wording of the testimony we find in Hesychius (A 7926 s.v.) is most significant, and I quote it again here: ἄστυ Νυμφέων· τὸν Σάμον ᾿Ανακρέων, ἐπϵὶ ὕστϵρον ϵὔυδρος ἐγένϵτο, ‘the city of Nymphs—that is what Anacreon called Samos, since it became well watered at a later time.’ The reference here to ‘a later time’ has to do with the public works initiated in Samos by the dynasty of the tyrant Polykrates and his predecessors. Herodotus (3.60) says that the three greatest public works in the Greekspeaking world were located on the island of Samos: (1) a grand tunnel seven stadia in length, (2) a sea-wall protecting the harbour, and (3) the temple and precinct of the goddess Hera. Herodotus links all three of these public works with the dynasty represented by the tyrant Polykrates of Samos. And ‘it is impossible not to associate [these] three great works with the erga Polukrateia (‘public works of Polykrates’) mentioned by Aristotle [Politics V 1313b24]'.65 Herodotus (again, 3.60) describes the grand tunnel of Samos as an orugma ‘excavation’ of spectacular proportions, designed by an architect from Megara named Eupalinos. It encased an underground aqueduct conveying the waters of a mountain spring all the way down to a fountain house located in the city centre of Samos.66 ‘The tunnel leads through Mount Ampelos [modern Spiliani] from a spring to the north, emerging within the city walls, and was connected by a covered conduit with a fountain-house in the city [formerly Tigani, now Pythagoreion].’67 With regard to the building of the Samian underground aqueduct, I draw attention to ‘the Megarian connection’, as suggested by the provenance of Eupalinos of Megara. In the city of Megara, Pausanias says, there existed a fountain-house commissioned by Theagenes the tyrant of Megara (1.40.1),68 and this structure was supplied by waters flowing from the nearby mountains through an underground (p.74) aqueduct (1.41.2).69 The waters of the fountain-house were sacred to nymphs called the Sithnides, and Pausanias

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar reports a local myth that tells how one of these nymphs was impregnated by Zeus and gave birth to Megaros, eponymous hero of Megara (again, 1.40.1). The relatively early dating for the rule of the tyrant Theagenes over the city state of Megara, around 650 to 625 BC, has led historians to infer that the underground aqueduct of Megara was a model for the underground aqueduct of Samos—as also for the underground aqueduct of Athens, commissioned by the tyrant Peisistratos to supply a fountain-house located in the city centre and known by the name of Enneakrounos.70 There was a comparable fountain-house located in the city centre of Aegina, as we know from a reference in the Etymologicum Magnum (s.v. ᾿Αμφιφορίτης). This fountain-house was supplied by the waters of a spring that flowed down from the mountainous interior of the island through an underground aqueduct that extended all the way to the city centre. In this instance, the aqueduct was a product of the combined forces of ‘nature’ and ‘culture’. That is, the natural pathways created over time by the course of the waters flowing down from the mountainous interior were enhanced by way of excavating artificial underground conduits to produce a continuum for the flow.71 I should add that this labour of excavating into the limestone infrastructure of the land is analogous, in mythological terms, to the labour of ants excavating their own pathways in the same limestone infrastructure: it is as if the island's autochthonous Myrmidons or ‘ant people’ had built the pathway for the flow of the water.72 So, the (p.75) ancient waterworks of Aegina—both natural and artificial—are a fitting mythological monument for marking the primal deeds of the island's autochthonous Myrmidons. There is actually a reference to this fountain-house in Pindar's Nemean 3 (lines 1–5), where the neaniai ‘young men’ (line 5) who are about to perform this Aeginetan ode are pictured as waiting for the inspiration of the Muse as they stand ‘at the waters of Asopos’ (line 3–4: ὕδατι…᾿Ασωπίῳ). According to the Alexandrian scholar Kallistratos (Σ Pind. Nem. 3.1, iii.42 Dr), these waters are to be identified with a daughter of Asopos.73 Evidently, this Asopid is the nymph Aegina herself. Relevant is the invocation of the nymph Aegina as ποταμου̑ θύγατϵρ ‘daughter of the River’ in an Aeginetan ode of Bacchylides (13.77), where the ‘River’ is none other than the god who is Asopos.74 In terms of the argumentation I have developed so far, I would add that these waters of the fountain-house located in the city of Aegina are envisaged here as a continuation of the virtual Asopos.

Asopos, Aegina, and the Aiakidai It remains to ask: what is the relevance of this virtual Asopos in Aegina to the Aiakidai as the native sons of Aegina? To formulate an answer, I return to the Hesiodic Catalogue.

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar Earlier, I argued that the Catalogue maintains an implicit mythological contract between Aegina and Thessaly with regard to the genealogy of the Aiakidai. Now I will argue that the Catalogue maintains a comparable contract between Aegina and Thebes.75 (p.76) In terms of this mythological contract, the state of Thebes accepts from the state of Aegina the Aeginetan nymph Aegina as a sister of the Theban nymph Thebe, that is, as an alternative daughter of the Theban river Asopos. Reciprocally, the state of Aegina accepts from the state of Thebes the river Asopos as the father of the Aeginetan nymph Aegina, since she is now a sister of the Theban nymph Thebe. This mythological contract is clearly recognized in the Aeginetan ode of Pindar to which I referred earlier, Isthmian 8. It is also recognized in an Aeginetan ode by Bacchylides (13) and in Pindar's Paean 6 (lines 134–7).76 And, as we have seen, this mythological contract is recognized even in the Phliasian ode of Bacchylides (9), despite the fact that this ode represents a Phliasian mythological view of the daughters of Asopos. So, why can the state of Aegina accept the river Asopos from the state of Thebes? In terms of the mythological contract, it is because the state of Aegina already has its very own Asopos. It is a virtual Asopos—one that pushes up to the heights from underground in the land of the Aeginetans and then flows down to the fountain-house in the centre of the city. This same virtual Asopos can also push up from underground in the land of the Thebans—or even in the land of the Phliasians, for that matter. We find explicit evidence for a mythological contract between the states of Aegina and Thebes in a narrative of Herodotus about a political and military alliance between these two states that dates back to a time when Aegina and Thebes made common cause against Athens (5.79–81).77 According to this narrative, the alliance was motivated by a response made to the Thebans by the oracle of Apollo at Delphi: in the words of the oracle, the Thebans were to choose as their allies a population that was genealogically anchista ‘closest’ to them (5.79.1), and so they chose the Aeginetans as their anchistees ‘closest relatives’ (5.80.2).78 Their choice was based on a myth that featured the nymphs Aegina and Thebe as twin daughters of the river-god Asopos (5.80.1). In terms of this myth, the populations of (p.77) the states of Aegina and Thebes were descended from these sister nymphs. In his narrative, Herodotus highlights a gesture made by the Aeginetans as a visible sign of their alliance with the Thebans. Planning military action against the Athenians, the Thebans asked the Aeginetans to send them reinforcements as a sign of their alliance. In response, the Aeginetans declared that they would send ‘the Aiakidai’ (5.80.2). We see here the actual involvement of ‘the Aiakidai’ as a visible sign of the alliance between the states of Aegina and Thebes. This

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar sign, I argue, is relevant to what I have described as the mythological contract between these two states. The narrative of Herodotus goes on to say that the Thebans, despite the presence of ‘the Aiakidai’, were defeated by the Athenians, and so they sent back ‘the Aiakidai’ to the Aeginetans and asked them to send andres ‘men’ instead (5.81). Then and only then did the Aeginetans launch military attacks against the Athenians (again, 5.81). The narrative here is contrasting this military action of the Aeginetans, which can be dated to 506 BC, with the inaction of ‘the Aiakidai’ as notional reinforcements in the earlier military action of the Thebans against the Athenians. I argue that ‘the Aiakidai’ that were present at that earlier event were an ensemble of contemporary Aeginetan aristocrats who were re-enacting, in stylized choral poses, the presence of their notional ancestors, the Aiakidai of the heroic age. In terms of this argument, there was a comparable re-enactment of the Aiakidai at the naval battle of Salamis as narrated by Herodotus (again, 8.64 and 8.83–4).79 Relevant is the use of the name ‘Aiakidai’ in Pindar's Aeginetan odes with reference not only to the heroes descended from the local hero Aiakos but also to the contemporary aristocrats of Aegina who claimed that they too were descended from Aiakos.80 Also relevant is the juxtaposition of ‘the Aiakidai’ as hērōes ‘heroes’ with the andres ‘men’ of Aegina in the wording of Pindar's Pythian 8 (lines 27 and 28): in this Aeginetan ode the prestige of ‘the Aiakidai’ (line 23) is realized by way of mentally associating the heroic with the human. (p.78) Such a mental association reflects what I described earlier as a sacralized metonymy. With all its sacral pretensions, such a mental association can become the subject of ridicule if it fails in a moment of political or military crisis. That is what happens, I think, in the story told by Herodotus (5.81) about the ignominious defeat of the Thebans by the Athenians: seeing that ‘the Aiakidai’ that were sent to them by the Aeginetans were of no help, the Thebans sent them back to Aegina, asking the Aeginetans to send them andres ‘men’ instead.

Conclusion From all we have seen, I conclude that the references to the Aiakidai and their Asopid mother Aegina in the Aeginetan odes of Pindar reflect an ideology that matches the ideology reflected by references to the Asopids in the epic composition known as the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women. As I have emphasized all along, the ideology of the Catalogue can be traced back to Athens in the era of the Peisistratidai. But the question remains: why should there be any sharing of mythological references between Athens and Aegina in that preclassical era? The answer has to do with an insight achieved by Thomas Page 26 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar Figueira: in the era of the Peisistratidai, there existed a political entente between Athens and Aegina—an entente that broke down only after the expulsion of the tyrants from Athens.81 I submit that the poetry of Pindar's Aeginetan odes represents a nostalgic reminiscence of that era of entente. Notes:

(1) Nagy (2008/2009), (2009/2010). (2) Traces of such a coexistence between the pre-classical Homer and Hesiod are evident in the pseudo-Herodotean Life of Homer and in the Contest of Homer and Hesiod, conventionally known as the Certamen. See Nagy (2004b); also Nagy (2009/2010) I, secs. 171–7. (3) Nagy (1990a). (4) West (1985), 126. (5) West (1985), 167. (6) West (1985), 136. (7) On the distinction between synchronic and diachronic approaches to the analysis of a given structure in the study of oral poetics, I refer to my observations in Nagy (2003), 1. (8) West (1985), 91. Hereafter, I will refer to the author of the Bibliothēkē simply as ‘Apollodorus’, understanding that he is not Apollodorus of Athens. For citations of Apollodorus, I use the numbering to be found in the translation and commentary of Frazer (1921) (who uses a text based on the edition of Wagner (1894)). (9) Nagy (2004a), 163. (10) On the hero-cult of Aiakos as worshipped in Aegina, see Fearn (2007), 89– 90. See also his pp. 90–3 for evidence indicating that both this cult of Aiakos and the corpse allegedly belonging to Aiakos were eventually relocated in Athens. A most telling piece of relevant evidence is provided by Herodotus (5.89). (11) The particle δή here has an ‘evidentiary’ force, indicating that the speaker has just seen something, in other words, that the speaker has achieved an insight just a moment ago (‘aha, now I see that…’). See Bakker (1997a), 74–80 and (2005), 146. (12) Fearn (2007), 101–2. (13) See also Pindar Nemean 5 (line 8): in this Aeginetan ode, Aegina is described as mātropolis, ‘mother city’.

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar (14) My translation of eleutheros stolos as ‘a (naval) mission of freedom’ is based on an interpretation that I will develop as my argumentation proceeds. (15) On the usage of komizein in the sense of ‘restoring’ or even ‘rescuing’ something precious and sacred, see Nagy (2001), 152–5 (with nn. 13 and 22). In a future project I study the mystical sense of the verb komizein as ‘bringing back to light and life’, associated with the noun nostos in the mystical sense of ‘coming back to light and life’ (on which see Nagy (1990b), 218–29, following Frame (1978) ). In that project I hope to show the link between such a mystical sense of komizein in Pindar's Pythian 8 (line 99: κόμιζϵ) and the context of aiōn (line 97: αἰών) in the sense of an eternally recycling and luminous ‘life-force’. Most useful for my project will be the holistic analysis of Pythian 8 by Martin (2004). (16) See the studies in Figueira (1993). (17) On the subjugation of Aegina by Athens in 457 BC, see Fearn (2007), 91. (18) Comparable is nau‐stolein in an Aeginetan ode of Pindar, Nemean 6 (line 32). (19) Nagy (1990a), 175–8 (ch. 6, secs. 56–8), with citations. (20) Nagy (1990a), 176–7 (ch. 6, sec. 57). For an impartial discussion, see Fearn (2007), 95–6, n. 29. (21) Nagy (2003), ix. (22) West (1985), 101. (23) Other versions are collected by Frazer (1921), ii. 59, n. 1. (24) See also the Scholia A for Iliad 18.10–11a. (25) West (1985), 163–4. (26) West (1985), 162–3. See also Fowler (1998), 12–14. (27) West (1985), 162. (28) West (1985), To be contrasted is the symmetry of Achilles and Ajax in the pedimental sculptures of the Temple of Aphaia in Aegina, on which see Fearn (2007), 96–100. (29) Frazer (1921), ii. 53–4, n. 7. (30) West (1985), 162. (31) West (1985), 162–3. Page 28 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar (32) West (1985), 163, n. 84. This theory about a relocation of the Aiakos myth from Thessaly to Aegina helps shape various other arguments concerning the contacts of Aegina with the Amphictyones controlling Delphi: see the impartial analysis of Fearn (2007), 102, n. 60, esp. with reference to the arguments of Fowler (1998) and Rutherford (2005). On the close cultural links between Aegina and Delphi, especially as reflected in Pindar's Paean 6, I am guided by the work of Kowalzig (2007), ch. 4; of particular interest to me are pp. 186–8, 194; also 195–201 (a section entitled ‘The Sacred War Traditions’). At 197–8 there is a most useful analysis of the important work of Hall (2002) on ‘Hellenic’ identity. (33) West (1985), 163, n. 85. (34) West (1985), 163. (35) West (1985), 61. (36) See also the Scholia D for Iliad 1.180. In the account of Strabo (8.6.16 C375) concerning the naming of the Aeginetans as Myrmidons, he does not refer to the aetiological myth about Aiakos and his ants, preferring instead an alternative explanation involving the excavating habits of ants as a model for traditional practices of the Aeginetans in excavating their land. In any case, Strabo accepts as facts (1) the naming of the Aeginetans as Myrmidons and (2) the association of the Myrmidons with murmēkes ‘ants’. See also Σ Pind. Nem. 3.21 (iii.45–6 Dr). (37) West (1985), 101. (38) See West (1985), 108, 170. (39) On the concept of a typological parallel, see Nagy (2006), sec. 4. (40) For African examples, see Baumann (1936), 27, 46, 87–8, 144, 179, 181, 215, 216–19, 224, 283, 371. (41) For other sources that localize the Myrmidons as originating from Aegina, see West (1985), 163, n. 84. (42) For more on the Dorian component of Aeginetan identity, see Kowalzig (2007), 203–7, who connects this component with the myths concerning the Sacred War. (43) West (1985), 162. (44) West (1985), 163. (45) West (1985), 163.

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar (46) As we have already seen, West (1985), 163 draws attention to the existence of this Thessalian river Asopos. (47) Fearn (2003), 359. (48) Fearn (2003), 359–60. (49) For further observations about the uses of comparative methodology in the study of cognate mythological variants, see Nagy (2006), sec. 5. (50) In Nagy (1990b), 151–2, n. 30, I offer an analysis of relevant passages in Aristophanes, Acharnians. (51) Again, Nagy (1990b), 151–2, n. 30 (52) Nagy (1990b), 152. (53) In the Phliasian myth as retold by Bacchylides, the river Asopos is at the centre of the whole world (9.40–4; see D'Alessio (2005a), 238); it is also the king of all rivers (9.45). (54) Larson (2001), 303, n. 44, who notes also that the Phliasians also dedicated a statue-group at Delphi, featuring Zeus and Aegina (Paus. 10.13.6). See also Fearn (2003), 361. (55) Fearn (2003), 366. (56) In the Peloponnesus, the waters of the Asopos emanate from the mountainous heights overlooking the territory of Phleious. In one of Pindar's Aeginetan odes, Nemean 6 (line 44), there is a reference to these mountainous heights. In Pindar's Nemean 9 (line 9) we see a reference to the streams of this Peloponnesian Asopos. (57) Larson (2001), 123 analyses this Samian myth. (58) We see a comparable mythological construct originating from the environs of Miletos: a spring on the mountain called Mykale was imagined to flow down underground from the heights and then to flow further under the Carian Sea until it surfaced as a spring at the sacred site of Didyma. The sources, including Paus. 5.7.5, are analysed by Herda (2006), 81–2 with n. 215. (59) Both Herodotus (3.39.3–4) and Thucydides (1.13.6) comment on this thalassocracy. (60) There is a relevant discussion by Barron (1964), 223–6. Though I do not agree with many of the inferences in this discussion, I do agree that the poetry of Ibycus (as reflected in the genealogies of Ibycus S151 = fr. 282) is not compatible with the politics of Sikyon during the era of the tyrant Kleisthenes— Page 30 of 32

 

Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar or with the politics of Athens in general. On the other hand, the poetry of Ibycus is compatible with the politics of Sparta, and the same can be said about the poetry of Stesichorus: see West (1985), 133, 135. (61) Herda (2006), 78, n. 198. (62) I am grateful to Betsey Robinson for showing me relevant portions of a forthcoming work of hers, Histories of Peirene: A Corinthian Fountain in Three Millennia. (63) As we see from the reportage of Pausanias (8.38.10), it is evident that he is following a version of the text of Iliad 21.194–7 that does not include the verse we know as 21.195, where the Okeanos is privileged over the Achelōios as the primal stream. For more on the Achelōios, see D'Alessio (2004). (64) As Robinson shows in the work I have cited in a previous note, the idea that the waters of the spring on the Acrocorinth and of the spring in the city centre are one and the same cannot be sustained on the basis of what we know from the modern science of hydrology. Still, as she points out, it is understandable that even a scientific thinker like Strabo would be swayed by the thinking reflected in the hydrological myths about the ‘upper’ and ‘lower’ springs of Peirene. (65) Barron (1964), 213. (66) On the archaeological background, see Privitera (1988), 67, n. 10. For more on the tunnel of Eupalinos, see Kienast (1995 and 2005); also Jantzen (2004). (67) Barron (1964), 214. (68) Figueira (1985a), 277. (69) Figueira (1985c), 145. On the archaeological background, see Privitera (1988), 67, n. 9. On the so-called Krene of Theagenes in Megara, see now also Hellner (2004), who argues that this surviving structure was built after 475 BC and is therefore too late to be the original Krene of Theagenes. (70) Privitera (1988), 66–7. On the archaeological background, see his p. 66; on the Enneakrounos in Athens, see also Fearn (2007), 103, esp. n. 63. On the archaeological background, see Camp (1989), 42–3; on the water systems of archaic Athens, see Tölle-Kastenbein (1994), esp. 88 ff. (with reference to possible vase depictions of the Enneakrounos). (71) On the archaeological background, see Privitera (1988), 65–7; also Fearn (2007), 102–5.

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Asopos and his Multiple Daughters: Traces of Preclassical Epic in the Aeginetan Odes of Pindar (72) I refer again to the myth reported by Strabo (8.6.16 C375) concerning the naming of the Aeginetans as Myrmidons: in this myth, the excavating habits of ants is a model for traditional practices of the Aeginetans in excavating their land. As I noted earlier, Strabo accepts as facts (1) the naming of the Aeginetans as Myrmidons, and (2) the association of the Myrmidons with murmēkes ‘ants’. (73) Privitera (1988), 64, 67; also Fearn (2007), 102–5. (74) On this reference to Aegina as daughter of Asopos in Bacchylides 13 (line 77), see Fearn (2007), 116–17. (75) Hall (2002), 214 remarks that the mythological link between Thebe and Aegina does not mask the distinction between Aeolians and Dorians. (76) Fearn (2003), 359; also (2007), 88–95. (77) For background, see Fearn (2007), 88–95. (78) Fearn (2003), 359; also (2007), 88–9. (79) This argument goes beyond what I say in Nagy (1990 a), 176–7 (ch. 6, sec. 57). See also Nagy (forthcoming). (80) Nagy (1990 a), 175–6, 178–9 (ch. 6, secs. 56, 60). (81) Figueira (1993).

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Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia

Aegina: Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry: Myth, History, and Identity in the Fifth Century BC David Fearn

Print publication date: 2010 Print ISBN-13: 9780199546510 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: January 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.001.0001

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia James Watson

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.003.0003

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses the Sanctuary of Aphaia, its cultic associations, and the sculptural decoration of the temple, in the context of early fifth-century history. Aphaia's characteristics as a local, kourotrophic deity with links to maritime and military affairs made her sanctuary a most suitable location for the Aeginetans to choose to express their rivalry with Athens. It is that rivalry which best explains the history of the sanctuary, including the Athenian decision to allow the sanctuary to fall into neglect once they had expelled the Aeginetans from their island at the start of the Peloponnesian War. By using and contextualizing all of the evidence available from the site, this chapter illuminates not only the Sanctuary of Aphaia itself, but also Athens and Aegina, the rivalry between them, and the ways in which such rivalries could be expressed in the ancient Greek world. Keywords:   Sanctuary of Aphaia, Aegina, Aeginetans, temple, sculpture, cult, Athens

Lying on a hilltop some 12 kilometres from Aegina town, the Sanctuary of Aphaia has long been one of the most celebrated archaeological sites in Greece. Scholars have admired the site both for showing ‘in clear order the characteristic components of a Greek sanctuary’ (Welter 1938: 64) and because it has as its centrepiece ‘the most perfectly developed of the late archaic temples in European Hellas’ (Dinsmoor 1950: 105). Scholarship on the sanctuary, however, has been dominated by studies of that temple's pedimental sculptures, the majority of which were removed in the nineteenth century and which are today displayed in the Glyptothek in Munich. (p.80) Such work has often

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Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia studied the sculptures in isolation,1 detached from their context, rather than examining the whole sanctuary as a part of Aeginetan society.2 In this chapter I put the sculptures back onto the temple, look at the temple as part of a sanctuary, situate the sanctuary in the society and religion of Aegina, and view Aegina as both an island in the Saronic Gulf and one of the poleis of the Greek world. By making use of the full range of available evidence, I seek to contextualize the Sanctuary of Aphaia and the sculptures for which it is so well known. We are fortunate to have so much good evidence for the Sanctuary of Aphaia, both in terms of material from the site itself and in terms of texts that pertain to it, and we must take it all into account if we are to provide a full interpretation of the site. I begin by providing an overview of the ancient history of and modern work on the sanctuary. In so doing, I observe that two aspects of the development of the sanctuary in the early fifth century are unusual and must be explained; to provide that explanation I then work through three possible models for interpreting the sanctuary. I conclude by suggesting that the Sanctuary of Aphaia is best understood in the context of deep hostility between Aegina and Athens, but in the process I hope both to illuminate the sanctuary and Aegina more widely and to suggest a methodology for the interpretation of Greek sanctuaries in general.

I. The Sanctuary in Antiquity and in Modern Scholarship: An Overview Pilafidis-Williams (1998: 1) has shown that ‘the site was already in existence some 1100 years before the Late Archaic temple was built’. (p.81) In her study of the evidence for cult activity at the site during the Bronze Age, she suggests that pottery dating to the Middle Bronze Age is indicative of cult in that period. Later, in the Mycenaean Period (LHIIIA2–B), ‘the sanctuary seems to have blossomed and many worshippers came and made dedications to its goddess’ (Pilafidis-Williams 1998: 158).3 That the deity worshipped at the sanctuary in the Bronze Age was a goddess is inferred from the nature of the dedications, especially figurines representing a woman holding a child. The quantity of evidence from the site diminishes during LHIIIB–C; thereafter, evidence for any activity at the site until the Protogeometric period is entirely lacking. Cult continuity through the ‘Dark Age’ cannot therefore be proven.4 Cult activity seems to have resumed at the site by the eighth century, during which the earliest buildings on the site were erected, including an altar.5 The construction of a new altar and buildings during the seventh century may have been accompanied by the building of the first temple on the site; such a structure is likely to have been largely wooden, and no traces of it have survived. By about 570, however, the sanctuary had gained its first limestone temple,6 a small tetrastyle prostyle structure built during a period of construction at the sanctuary which also saw the construction of a new altar, a new propylon, new Page 2 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia ancillary buildings, and the extension of the sacred precinct. This phase of development at the sanctuary was recorded on a contemporary inscription, the so-called ‘Great Aphaia Inscription’ (IG IV.1 1580):7 (p.82) ϵπι Θ]ϵοιτα ιαρϵος ϵοντος ταϕαια hοιϙος ϵπ[οι]ϵθϵ χοβομος χολϵφας ποτϵποιϵθϵ χο[θριγϙο]ς πϵριϵποιϵθϵ

When Theoitas was priest the temple and altar for Aphaia were built and in addition the ivory [cult statue] was made and the wall was built around. Late in the sixth century, probably around 500,8 a fire destroyed the temple and devastated the sanctuary.9 This event prompted a major reconstruction and significant enlargement of the sanctuary during the following decade, which resulted in the sanctuary assuming its final form with a new altar, a new propylon, a new set of ancillary buildings and, above all, a new hexastyle peripteral limestone temple. That temple was three times as large as its predecessor, a striking increase in scale which necessitated the expansion of the temenos to the west. Two cult statues seem to have stood inside its cella with, most likely, the ivory statue rescued from the old temple joined by a new acrolithic sculpture. (See Fig. 1, above p. 29, for ground plans.) More celebrated, however, have been the marble sculptures which adorned the east and west gables of the new temple. In its finished state the temple's east pediment was decorated with a scene of the ‘earlier Trojan war’, in which Herakles and his contemporaries, including Telamon, attacked the city of Laomedon; at the western end of the temple the pediment carried a scene from the later Trojan War, in which Achilles and Ajax are shown fighting against Hector and Paris.10 (See Figs. 2–3 and 13, above pp. 30–1 and 37, for illustrations of the pedimental sculptures.) Aeginetan mythology claimed a link (p.83) between Aegina and the Greek heroes shown on the pediments: Telamon was the son, and Achilles and Ajax the grandsons, of Aiakos, the hero-king of Aegina. For the Aeginetans, therefore, these heroes were all Aiakidai— specifically Aeginetan heroes—and also their own ancestors.11 It would seem, however, that these groups of sculptures showing Aiakidai at Troy were not those initially intended to adorn the new Temple of Aphaia. Fragmentary remains of other groups of sculptures, found in the area near the altar, have been interpreted as earlier pedimental sculptures made for the temple, then rejected in favour of the later groups, and instead set up on bases (or in stoas) near the altar.12 These first two groups are thought to have been commissioned at the same time as the temple (c.500), with that for the east pediment showing the rape of the nymph Aegina by Zeus, and with that for the west pediment showing an Amazonomachy.13 After their commission, and possibly after their installation in the temple, it was decided to replace these sculptures with the Page 3 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia groups discussed above. Stylistic differences between the two new groups have led to them being assigned different dates; the new group for the west pediment is dated to c.500–490, that for the east pediment to c.490–480. These two groups are regularly adduced in discussions of the archaic-to-classical transition in Greek sculpture, a transition which they seem to embody. Less often emphasized, however, is that a demonstrable decision to change the sculptural decoration of a temple can be documented only at the Sanctuary of Aphaia of all Greek shrines. In this regard, the changes to the pedimental decoration of the new Temple of Aphaia represent a unique feature of the site's history. Before continuing with this account of the sanctuary's development, I must note that the dating of the reconstruction to the 490s, though now accepted by most scholars, has not found universal support. David Gill, in particular, has argued that the reconstruction should instead be dated to the 470s (1988, 1993); his theory is based, to a large extent, on pottery recovered from the terraces constructed (p.84) in conjunction with the new temple and which must therefore pre-date the reconstruction of the sanctuary. That pottery was studied by Mary Moore (1986), who dated the latest pieces found in the terraces to the early fifth century; her dating was based on a comparison with similar material, also dated to the early fifth century, which was recovered from wells in the Athenian Agora. Gill disagreed with that dating and argued, again with reference to the material from the Athenian Agora, that the latest pottery from the terraces of the Sanctuary of Aphaia should be dated more precisely to c.480 and therefore that 480 should be seen as the terminus post quem for the construction of the temple. Gill's theory, however, was called into question by the fundamental study of the material recovered from the wells of the Athenian Agora by T. Leslie Shear, Jr. (1993). Shear confirmed that this pottery found its way into the wells as part of the clean-up which followed the Persian destruction of Athens in 480/479, but he also showed that the types of pottery adduced as parallels for the material from the Sanctuary of Aphaia were not the latest pieces in these deposits.14 It is therefore preferable to follow the dating of the pottery from the Sanctuary of Aphaia proposed by Moore rather than that offered by Gill, and to reject the suggestion that the reconstruction of the sanctuary post-dated 480.15 As part of an argument which would situate the origins of the ‘Severe Style’ of sculpture after 480, however, Andrew Stewart has recently claimed that the new Temple of Aphaia did indeed post-date the invasion of Xerxes (2008b). Indeed, Stewart even suggests that the fire which necessitated the reconstruction of the sanctuary was the work of the Persians. Stewart's argument is based upon a number of factors: the pottery found in the temple terraces, the iconography of the final pedimental sculptures,16 and a suggestion that ‘Persian loot’ (p.85) paid for the reconstruction. None of these factors is, however, unproblematic. Although Stewart accepts Shear's findings that the latest pottery from the Athenian Agora wells finds no parallels at the Sanctuary of Aphaia, he argues Page 4 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia that some of the pots that were found in the temple terraces had been used for some time before deposition. Such a suggestion is not implausible, but the uncertainties involved here render Stewart's attempt to ‘lower the[ir] date of deposition to ca. 480 or even later’ very speculative. As for the iconography of the pedimental sculptures, Stewart suggests—as have others—that the scenes of successive Aiakid campaigns against Troy should be seen as analogies for Aeginetan successes against the Persians in 480–479. As I will argue later, however, the use of such scenes on the Temple of Aphaia make sense before the Battle of Salamis too. Stewart's suggestions that the spoils from fighting the Persians paid for the temple and that the Persians caused the fire which prompted the reconstruction are pure speculation and must be doubted. We would expect a Persian attack on Aegina to have been mentioned by our sources —and, for that matter, to have included an assault on the main town (where there is no evidence of a destruction horizon) rather than only on what was at that time a very minor shrine.17 Furthermore, as will become clear in what follows, Aegina was already a very prosperous island in the late sixth and early fifth centuries, and as such the acquisition of ‘Persian loot’ need not be seen as a necessary prerequisite for the reconstruction of the Sanctuary of Aphaia. For all of these reasons, Stewart's re-dating of the Temple of Aphaia to after 480 cannot be accepted. This is not the place to comment at length on Stewart's broader contention that ‘Severe Style’ of sculpture entirely post-dates 479 (2008a and b), but even if Stewart is right that the first Athenian sculptures in the new style were the ‘Tyrannicides’ of Kritios and Nesiotes (dating to 477/6), I see no reason to accept that the style began in Athens. Indeed, as (p.86) the Temple of Aphaia —and therefore its sculptures—pre-date 480, perhaps the innovations of the ‘Severe Style’ should be attributed to Aeginetan artists by whom Athenian artists were in turn influenced;18 those innovations would hardly be out of place on an island renowned for its sculpture.19 Full discussions of Stewart's theory must find a place elsewhere; here it will suffice to reject the attempts of Stewart and Gill to re-date the reconstruction of the Sanctuary of Aphaia to the 470s. The dating of that reconstruction to the years between 500 and 480 offered above is to be preferred, and will be that which is accepted in what follows.20 The early fifth-century reconstruction of the sanctuary was the last major building activity to take place on the site. The expulsion of the Aeginetans from their island by the Athenians at the start of the Peloponnesian War (Thuc. 2.27) clearly affected the sanctuary; an inscribed inventory of c.410 testifies to the impoverishment of the sanctuary at that date (IG IV.1 39). The Aeginetans' return to their island at the end of the fifth century was followed by a period of renewed prosperity at the site which included some modifications to the sanctuary's layout. Dedications continued at the sanctuary through much of the Hellenistic period, but activity at the site dwindled during the Roman period; Pausanias gave the site only a passing mention (2.30.3), and the temple collapsed during antiquity, perhaps as early as during the third century AD. Page 5 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia The next recorded event in the sanctuary's history was the visit, in 1675, of Jacob Spon and George Wheler; other early visitors to the site included James Stuart and Nicholas Revett in 1765.21 It was, (p.87) however, the visit in 1811 of Charles Robert Cockerell, John Foster, Carl Haller von Hallerstein, and Jakob Linckh which was to bring an end to the sanctuary's obscurity; these men made a study of the temple and discovered its final pedimental sculptures. Those sculptures were removed from the site and sent to Rome, where in 1812 they were bought by Crown Prince Ludwig of Bavaria and, between 1816 and 1818, were restored in the workshop of Bertel Thorvaldsen; thereafter, they were transported to Munich and placed in the Glyptothek in 1827, ahead of its opening in 1830. They remain there to this day. Apart from a trial excavation in 1894 conducted by the Greek Archaeological Service under Valerios Stais, the first major investigation of the sanctuary, prompted by Bavarian interest in the sculptures, was that conducted by Adolf Furtwängler in 1901. His discovery of the ‘Great Aphaia Inscription’ led to the correct identification of the sanctuary as that of Aphaia; until then it had been thought to be either the sanctuary of Zeus Panhellenios,22 actually on Mount Oros, or that of Athena.23 Furthermore, additional pieces of the pedimental sculptures found by Furtwängler demonstrated that Thorvaldsen's reconstruction of the groups was quite wrong. It was preparing a new reconstruction of the sculptures that prompted Dieter Ohly to begin new excavations at the site in 1966.24 Ohly's excavations, which continued until 1978, not only enabled him to present a new arrangement of the pediments in the Munich Glyptothek, with Thovaldsen's ‘restorations’ removed, but also greatly improved knowledge of the sanctuary and its earlier history. Ohly's death in 1979, however, prevented him from making a full publication of either his excavations or his reconstruction of the pedimental sculptures. (p.88) From this overview, it becomes clear that the final pedimental sculptures from the Temple of Aphaia have played a critical role in the history of a sanctuary as a whole. Their rediscovery and the subsequent enthusiasm to understand them fully have driven a considerable amount of the modern investigations at the site and of the scholarship which has considered the sanctuary. What really stands out from the overview, however, are two particularly striking aspects of the sanctuary's history, both of which immediately post-date the fire of c.500, and both of which demand explanation. The first of these is the changing of the pedimental sculptures: just why was it felt necessary to replace the sculptural groups originally designed for the temple's gables? The second concerns the scale of the reconstruction of the sanctuary after the fire: the new temple was much larger than its predecessor and was decorated with sculptures of very high quality. These developments represented a massive investment in a sanctuary which had formerly been rather unimpressive; although ‘when an already existing temple was burnt, piety demanded a replacement’ (Salmon 2001: 197), this reconstruction of the Page 6 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia sanctuary went well beyond mere ‘replacement’. How, then, is the scale of the reconstruction to be explained?25 In the remainder of this chapter I seek to provide answers to these questions and therefore to account for these two unusual features of the sanctuary's history. I explore three possible explanatory models, based on, successively, (i) ‘cultic’ factors, (ii) ‘local’ factors, and (iii) ‘overseas’ factors. To establish which of the models is most satisfactory, I test each with the full range of evidence available. In my study, therefore, there remains an important role for the pedimental sculptures as iconographic evidence from the temple; I contend, however, that they must be considered alongside, and in the light of, the sanctuary's wider historical and geographical contexts, relevant literary and inscriptional texts, and other material remains from the sanctuary. By investigating which of the three models is best able to account for the remarkable features of the sanctuary's history, it becomes possible to understand more fully not only the sanctuary but also Aegina and its place in the Greek world.

(p.89) II. Model (i): ‘Cultic’ Factors As a sanctuary was, first and foremost, the principle focus of a deity's cult, the possibility that changes and developments in a sanctuary's history were occasioned by the needs of the cult or the deity should be explored. Before trying to do so for the Sanctuary of Aphaia, however, another unusual quality of the site should be noted. Throughout the Greek world, most monumental sanctuaries were those of well-known, Panhellenic deities, even if sometimes in a ‘local’ form; the Sanctuary of Aphaia, by contrast, was dedicated to a minor, local divinity. If we are to understand why Aphaia received a monumental sanctuary at all, and why her sanctuary became so impressive in the early fifth century, we need to know more about the goddess herself. I therefore turn first to a consideration of the sanctuary's ‘mysterious mistress’ (Berve and Gruben 1963: 348). Ancient literature has very little to tell us about Aphaia. Our most detailed literary source for her is the second-century AD mythographer Antoninus Liberalis; he informs us that the name ‘Aphaia’ was given by the Aeginetans to Britomartis, a daughter of Zeus and Karme, after she ‘disappeared’ on their island in the place where her sanctuary was later built. She had come to Aegina from Crete on the boat of a fisherman, Andromedes, after escaping the unwanted attentions of Minos by hiding in some fishing-nets (which gave her the name ‘Diktynna’ on Crete). Andromedes, however, also desired her, and it was while escaping from him that she disappeared (Met. 40). Pausanias, in his brief description of the sanctuary, claims that the Aeginetans worshipped Aphaia because she ‘appeared’ on their island; he also tells us that Pindar composed a cult song in her honour, but this has not survived (2.30.3).26

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Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia Although these accounts inform us of the mythological background to Aphaia, they tell us little about her nature as a divinity. Ulrich Sinn (1988) has shown, however, that the study of the votive assemblage at the sanctuary can significantly improve our (p.90) understanding of Aphaia and her cult. In particular, Sinn identified forty dedications that he considered to be cultspecific. These include eight ‘Daedalic’ terracotta relief-panels, each showing a woman seizing a breast with each hand, an archaic marble statuette of a woman holding her left breast with her right hand, and a classical terracotta of a woman holding a child. Sinn argues from such pieces that Aphaia was worshipped as a kourotrophic deity,27 a conclusion he supports with thirteen examples of a kourotrophic terracotta type (the ‘fat-bellied demon’). Sinn also noted that the votive assemblage contained nine votive ships and three figurines of a seated female holding a flower-adorned ship, all made of terracotta. These finds, along with that of a large ivory eye found in the cella of the temple which may once have adorned a wooden votive ship, are suggestive of a link between Aphaia and the sea; Sinn argues that they relate to the myth of the goddess's journey across the sea from Crete to Aegina. Other dedications not considered to be cultspecific were also made at the sanctuary; these include pottery, votive lamps, figurines made of terracotta, faience, and bronze, bronze weapons, votive shields, relief panels, kouroi, korai,28 and a sphinx atop a column some 12.5 metres high, the only feature of the sanctuary to survive the fire of c.500 and which continued to tower over the site after its reconstruction. The votive assemblage therefore has much to tell us about Aphaia and her cult. The different types and costs of the dedications made at the sanctuary imply that wealthier and poorer Aeginetans worshipped at the sanctuary side by side. This should not surprise us, given the likelihood that Aphaia was a kourotrophos; as a goddess who cared not only for mothers and newborn infants but also for those growing up, Aphaia would have been called upon by men and women alike: a goddess for all Aeginetans. Intriguingly, the votive assemblage of the Bronze Age sanctuary on the site also included items which characterize the divinity as kourotrophic and connected with the sea (Pilafidis-Williams 1998: 135–46). When this evidence is combined with the mention, in a Linear B-inscribed sealing from Thebes, of the toponym a2-pa-a2-de, the (p.91) possibility is raised that Aphaia was the goddess worshipped at the site in the Bronze Age as well as in later times.29 It has, however, been claimed that Aphaia was joined at, or even displaced from, her sanctuary by Athena in the late archaic period.30 Those in favour of such a suggestion argue that the new cult statue set up in the temple after the reconstruction of the sanctuary was one of Athena and that, therefore, the temple must by then have been dedicated to her, and not (only) to Aphaia. Of that new statue, however, only the right arm survives;31 Ohly (1972: 53–4) believed that this was the arm of a statue of the ‘Athena Promachos’ type, but such evidence is not sufficient to identify the statue, and therefore the Page 8 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia sanctuary's deity, as Athena. To identify to whom the sanctuary was dedicated, the best evidence again is the votive assemblage from the site. Inscriptions on fifth-century dedications found at the site show that they were made solely to Aphaia; they indicate that the sanctuary remained ‘dedicated to Aphaia and Aphaia alone’ (Williams 1982: 68) after its reconstruction, as it had also been in the sixth century, according to the ‘Great Aphaia Inscription’.32 Athena's presence on the final pediments of the new temple is not problematic for such an interpretation; Apollo's presence on the west gable of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia indicates that the deity represented in a pedimental group need not have been the ‘cult owner’. Furthermore, Walter-Karydi (2006: 80) has argued that Athena is the goddess at the centre of all late archaic pediments because her ‘personality’ made her especially suitable for such a role; whether such a claim is accepted or not, Athena's importance in the Trojan myths depicted on the pediments made her an eminently appropriate deity to appear on the new temple, a temple which was not her own. It is therefore clear that the sanctuary was indeed that of Aphaia, a kourotrophic goddess with links to the sea, from at least the archaic period until Roman times; more specifically, the deity of the sanctuary did not change at the time of its reconstruction after the fire of c.500. A changed recipient of the cult cannot therefore be the explanation for (p.92) the lavish scale of that reconstruction. A change in the cult activities which took place at the site, or a rise in the number of worshippers of Aphaia, could nevertheless be thought to account for the increased scale of the sanctuary in the early fifth century; support for such suggestions is, however, also lacking. Tomlinson (1976: 107) notes that the needs of Aphaia's cult were apparently remarkably consistent during the sanctuary's history, as later sets of ancillary buildings were just increasingly grand versions of those structures which had been put up at the site in the eighth century. Additionally, Sinn (1988: 154–7) has argued that the festivals of Aphaia took place not within the walled temenos itself but rather on a ‘festival meadow’ which extended to the west and the south from the sanctuary. This plausible suggestion would imply that the expansion of the sanctuary would not have been occasioned by any late sixth- or early fifth-century increase in the numbers of those who celebrated the festivals of Aphaia. It is also far from clear why changes to the cult would have required changes to be made to the decoration of the new temple. As cultic factors by themselves cannot explain the changes made to the sanctuary following the fire of c.500, I therefore move to a broader model which investigates ‘local factors’.

III. Model (ii): ‘Local Factors’ The polis of Aegina comprised the whole of the island of Aegina, whose main settlement, Aegina town, lay on the other side of the island from the Sanctuary of Aphaia, facing the Peloponnese. The total population of the island was perhaps 20,000,33 but the government of the polis was in the hands of an oligarchy. That oligarchy has traditionally been considered a ‘mercantile Page 9 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia aristocracy’, but such a view was resisted by De Ste. Croix in an article published posthumously (2004). He rightly questioned whether Aeginetan nobles were themselves involved in trade to the extent that has been claimed, but did not doubt the significance of ‘commerce’ to the Aeginetan (p.93) economy; it does indeed seem very likely that the Aeginetan polis derived considerable revenues from maritime trade.34 This is clear from the tribute requirement of 30 talents imposed upon the Aeginetans when they were forced to join the ‘Delian League’;35 as the island was generally lacking in natural resources, this amount was presumably met from ‘trade revenues’ (such as harbour taxes).36 Be that as it may, the Aeginetan aristocracy should not necessarily be seen as a single and cohesive unit.37 The great emphasis placed by Pindar, in his odes for Aeginetan victors in Panhellenic festivals, on patrai (clans) is suggestive of elite competition and a degree of rivalry between these gentilicial groups.38 It is Herodotus, however, who provides the clearest evidence for both actual hostility within the aristocracy and discord between the aristocrats and the dēmos in his account of the uprising of one Nikodromos, a disaffected aristocrat who led the dēmos against the wealthy (οἱ παχέϵς) in c.489 (6.88–92).39 The Athenians, at Nikodromos' invitation, invaded in support of the uprising, but arrived late, by which time Nikodromos and his supporters had been defeated. He and some of his followers went into exile at Sounion, but some 700 of his supporters were executed.40 Some have claimed a direct link between the changing of the pediments of the Temple of Aphaia and Nikodromos' uprising by suggesting that the original sculptures were damaged by the fighting, but this suggestion has found little support.41 It would seem better to (p.94) be less specific and, in the light of Figueira's comment that ‘on oligarchic Aegina, cult officials will have been members of the hereditary aristocracy’ (1985b: 67–8),42 to explore whether the scale of the reconstruction of the sanctuary and the decision to change the temple's pedimental sculptures can be understood in the general context of rivalries within the aristocracy (or competition between members of the elite) or between the oligarchy and the dēmos. It is possible that different sanctuaries on the island were controlled by different elements of the aristocracy, perhaps by different patrai;43 we might speculate, for instance, that the Sanctuary of Aphaia was controlled by a different group than was the Sanctuary of Apollo in Aegina town. There, a new Temple of Apollo had been completed in c.520;44 might those who controlled the Sanctuary of Aphaia have sought to respond to that construction by rebuilding their own sanctuary to a comparable scale after the fire of c.500? An alternative model of aristocratic competition takes its start from the suggestions of Williams (1983: 186) that certain wealthy merchants provided the funds to rebuild the Temple of Aphaia after the fire. If some aristocrats won the contract to build the new temple, it is possible that other aristocrats sought to compete with them by Page 10 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia making particularly elaborate dedications at the sanctuary. Some scholars claim that the sculptures described above as having been the original decoration for the east pediment of the new temple—those which showed the rape of the nymph Aegina by Zeus—were never designed to be placed in a pediment and were always intended as a votive offering to stand near the altar.45 It is certainly the case that the bases which carried these sculptures were not long enough to carry all the sculptures from a pediment, and if we choose to accept that the group was a votive offering rather than being originally intended for the east pediment, we could interpret it as an aristocratic gesture designed to rival the construction of the temple itself. (p.95) Although both of these suggestions seem inherently plausible, we are without the evidence to support them. Furthermore, neither of them accounts completely for the striking features of the sanctuary's development after the fire of c.500. Even if, as in the first scenario presented above, the Sanctuary of Aphaia was rebuilt to rival that of Apollo in Aegina town, the decision to change some or all of the pedimental sculptures would remain to be explained.46 In the second proposal offered above, we would still need to account for the scale of the sanctuary's reconstruction and to explain why the decision was taken to change the west pediment. In any case, I follow those scholars who prefer to see the group of sculptures showing Zeus and Aegina as having been intended for the east pediment, with perhaps only part of the group put on display when set up by the altar rather than in the temple gable.47 A further ‘local’ model to explain the scale of the redevelopment of the Sanctuary of Aphaia is offered by Sinn (1987). He suggests that the sanctuary was the religious centre of one of the phylai (tribes) present on Aegina, specifically the Hylleis, one of the three tribes into which Dorian states were traditionally divided.48 Sinn argues for a link between the sanctuary and the Hylleis by providing his own interpretation of the final pedimental sculptures of the temple. He points out that the belief that the pediments showed various Aiakidai fighting before the walls of Troy arose during the time when the Sanctuary of Aphaia was thought to be that of Zeus Panhellenios, and (p.96) is a belief that was not revised following the discovery of the ‘Great Aphaia Inscription’. Sinn suggests that such scenes are in fact unlikely decoration for a Temple of Aphaia, and that in any event the only figures who can be identified on the pediments are the aegis-wearing Athenas on each pediment, and the lionskin-wearing Herakles on the east pediment; as such is the case, Sinn rejects the traditional interpretation of the pedimental sculptures. For him, the key to understanding the pediments, and indeed the sanctuary, is the figure of Herakles. Sinn actually suggests that the archer wearing a lion-skin ‘helmet’ need not be Herakles, and could instead be his son Hyllos, the namesake of the Hylleis (although he acknowledges it matters little for his theory whether it is Hyllos or Herakles). He argues that the final east pediment in fact showed either Herakles or Hyllos leading a Dorian invasion of Aegina, with the final west Page 11 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia pediment being either the continuation of that invasion, under Hyllos, or else a scene from the Trojan War, for which Herakles acted as an example. Sinn's association of the Sanctuary of Aphaia with the Hylleis allows him to provide an explanation for the scale of the redevelopment of the sanctuary after the fire of c.500. He suggests that those Aeginetans who captured Kydonia on Crete from Samian settlers in c.519 (Hdt. 3.59) were Hylleis, and that to mark their success there they monumentalized the Sanctuary of Aphaia, transforming it in the process into the mother sanctuary of their new ‘colony’ at Kydonia. Such a case Sinn supports by reference to the mythological links between Aphaia and Crete. Furthermore, Sinn claims that his theory explains the decline of the Sanctuary of Aphaia too: he argues that the destruction of Kydonia by the Athenians (Thuc. 2.85) together with the Athenian removal of the Hylleis (with the rest of the Aeginetans) from their island, two events which took place early in the Peloponnesian War, broke the link between the colony and its ‘mother sanctuary’ and disrupted the governance of the sanctuary, two blows from which the site never recovered. Sinn's theory raises again the possibility that the unusual features of the history of the Sanctuary of Aphaia may be explained in local terms; whilst his arguments are, however, undeniably thought-provoking, several reasons lead me to reject them. In the first place, Sinn's attempts to distance the Aiakidai from the temple fail to convince. Whether the group showing the rape of Aegina was (p.97) intended for the east pediment or not, it was clearly considered appropriate for the sanctuary, and as the union of Zeus and Aegina led to the birth of Aiakos, the group addressed the origin of the Aiakidai. In other words, Aiakid iconography did adorn the sanctuary, irrespective of Sinn's arguments about the later pediments. Furthermore, in seeking to identify the figures on the final pediments, Sinn failed to take account of the traces of paint preserved on the statues. The remaining polychromy on the shield of the warrior standing to Athena's right on the west pediment provides crucial evidence: traces have survived of the shield-motif, an eagle with a snake in its beak on a blue background.49 This motif has been associated with the passage in Pindar's Isthmian 6, an ode written for the Aeginetan victor Phylakidas, in which an eagle is both the omen for the birth of and the namesake for Ajax (lines 40–54).50 It is therefore very likely that the figure who holds this shield on the pediment is Ajax himself, a grandson of Aiakos. Other figures on both pediments have also been identified as figures from the two campaigns against Troy,51 and so the traditional interpretation of the pediments is to be preferred to Sinn's reidentification, which in any case suffers through the impossibility, acknowledged by Sinn himself, of identifying Hyllos on either pediment with any certainty. There are other, more general objections to Sinn's theory. The link between the Sanctuary of Aphaia and Kydonia, somewhat questionable given the length of time which elapsed between the battle in Crete and the reconstruction of the Page 12 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia sanctuary, has often been strengthened by modifying the text of Herodotus. The historian comments that spoils from the conquest of Kydonia were dedicated in the Sanctuary of Athena (3.59); commentators have preferred to read ‘Aphaia’ instead of ‘Athena’ due to the status of Aphaia's shrine,52 but I see no good reason to emend the text. Furthermore, that the pedimental sculptures on which Sinn's theory is based were not the groups originally intended to adorn the temple distances the (p.98) sanctuary yet further from the supposed link between the Hylleis and Kydonia. Lastly, evidence for the importance of the Hylleis on Aegina in general, and in the colonization of Kydonia in particular, is lacking. Indeed, although Pindar refers to the conquest of the island by Hyllos' army in Isthmian 9.2–4, his poems in general emphasize competition between patrai (clans) rather than phylai (tribes); in his study of Aeginetan society, Figueira is able to state no more than ‘the Dorian tribes may have been present’ (1981: 311). Sinn's theory must, therefore, be rejected, and with it another possibility to explain in local terms the scale of the reconstruction of the Sanctuary of Aphaia and the decision to change the pediments of its temple. The suggestions made in this section so far have all assumed that the reconstruction of the Sanctuary of Aphaia was carried out by a part of the Aeginetan aristocracy; should we rather think of it as having been accomplished by the Aeginetan aristocracy as a whole, or indeed by the Aeginetan state? Although we have no building accounts for the reconstruction of the sanctuary, we do have building accounts for other temple-building projects in the Greek world which we can—with caution—use to estimate the cost of the new Temple of Aphaia. Stanier's investigation of the cost of the Parthenon concluded that the cost of building the walls, colonnade, pavement, core, ceiling, roof, and gates of that temple—that is, all of the structure except the sculptures—cost some 430 talents (Stanier 1953).53 He estimated that marble, of which the Parthenon was made, was some five-to-six times more expensive to work than was limestone, with the implication that a structure the size of the Parthenon made of limestone would have cost in the order of 72–86 talents. Knowing that the total volume of the Parthenon was approximately 22,262 m3 allows us to calculate that every 1 m3 of a marble temple would have cost about 0.019 talents, and that every 1 m3 of a (p.99) limestone temple would have cost about 0.003 talents. Such figures allow us to produce estimated costs for other temples; the new Temple of Aphaia, made of limestone and with a volume of approximately 2,107 m3, would therefore have cost approximately 6.3 talents to build.54 To that amount we must, of course, add the cost of the new cult statue of Aphaia, the four sets of pedimental sculptures, the (now lost) metopes, and the cost of building the other new features of the sanctuary that formed a part of the reconstruction after the fire of c.500. We can use Stanier's calculation that the cost of the pedimental sculptures and akroteria of the Parthenon was 17 talents to estimate the cost of pedimental sculptures for the Temple of Aphaia. The pediments of the Parthenon were five times larger than those of the Temple of Aphaia and therefore would Page 13 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia have carried approximately five times as much sculpture.55 With a likely cost for the sculptures for one pediment of the Parthenon being 8.5 talents (less an amount for the akroteria), the sculptures for one pediment of the Temple of Aphaia would therefore have cost approximately 1.7 talents. As four groups of pedimental sculptures were ultimately made for the temple, the total cost of pedimental sculptures must (p.100) have been of the order of 6.8 talents. The cost of the temple and its pedimental sculptures must therefore have been about 13 talents, to which would have been added unrecoverable amounts for other aspects of the sanctuary's reconstruction; nevertheless, my calculations do demonstrate the likely level of investment required at the Sanctuary of Aphaia following the fire of c.500. I noted above that the tribute of 30 talents demanded from the Aeginetans when they were forced to join the ‘Delian League’ is likely to correspond to the income that the Aeginetans derived from trading dues each year. In that context, a figure somewhat larger than 13 talents as the total cost of rebuilding the Sanctuary of Aphaia may seem a relatively minor expenditure, but we must remember that the Aeginetans would also have needed to spend considerable sums annually on more ‘routine’ affairs, not least the maintenance of their naval fleet. It is therefore possible that the significant expense that the rebuilding of the Sanctuary of Aphaia represented could have been met only by the Aeginetans acting together; the scale of the reconstruction and the peculiarity of changing the pedimental sculptures make it likely that no single family would have borne the cost.56 In other words, it seems probable that the Sanctuary of Aphaia was reconstructed not by just a section of Aeginetan society, but by the Aeginetan state as a whole. The iconography of the new temple's pediments may lend support to such a suggestion. The original group for the east pediment showed the rape of Aegina by Zeus, an event which led to the birth of Aiakos and ultimately, therefore, to the birth of the Aeginetan state.57 The Amazonomachy scene which was the original design for the west pediment may have included a representation of Aiakos' son, Telamon. The two later pediments, as discussed above, also certainly show scenes of the Aiakidai before Troy, and so it may be stated with confidence that Aiakos and his descendants are a constant theme of the Temple of Aphaia's iconography. Figueira (1981a: 301) has noted that ‘if the Aeginetans were metaphorically termed the Aeacids, it was all the (p.101) Aeginetans, not simply the elite’; by implication, therefore, the Aiakidai were the ‘property’ of all the Aeginetans, and not just a segment of the aristocracy. The iconography of the Temple of Aphaia—and indeed the votive assemblage from the sanctuary, discussed above—strongly suggests that the Sanctuary of Aphaia was a shrine for all Aeginetans.

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Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia We could argue that the rebuilding of the sanctuary was an attempt by the island's ruling aristocracy to write their power on the island's landscape in the context of the growing discontent among the dēmos which would culminate in the uprising of Nikodromos; in such a scenario, the decision to change the pediments could perhaps be seen as emphasizing that all Aeginetans (as represented by the Aiakidai) should fight not one another but rather the common enemy (as represented by the Trojans). The failure of Nikodromos' uprising should caution us against accepting very widespread disharmony between the aristocracy and the dēmos, and thus this suggestion, too, falls down. The suggestion that the replacement pediments represented Aeginetan battles against a common enemy, however, is a concept which needs to be explored; it, together with the failure of a ‘local’ model adequately to account for the rebuilding of the sanctuary and the decision to change the temple's pedimental sculptures, suggests that we need to look outside Aegina for an explanation.

IV. Model (III): ‘Overseas’ Factors In her discussion of the pedimental sculptures of the Temple of Aphaia, Burnett (2005: 44) concluded that the temple's ‘sculptured “message” must have been meant essentially for local eyes and ears’; her contention is based on the remote, apparently inaccessible location of the site. She allows, however, that the sanctuary was able to gaze upon the Saronic Gulf, and consequently I think we should allow that the ‘message’ of the temple may have looked beyond Aegina's shores too. In this section I will therefore test whether a model based on ‘overseas’ factors can explain the developments which took place at the Sanctuary of Aphaia in the years after c.500. The location of the sanctuary actually demands further attention. The myth of Aphaia disappearing at the site suggests that the location seemed (p.102) inherently ‘holy’ to the Aeginetans,58 but its remoteness is exaggerated by Burnett.59 From its hilltop location, the sanctuary had clear views of the Saronic Gulf to the north and to the south-east, even if the view due east is blocked by another hill. The sanctuary and its temple would have been visible from ships sailing in the Saronic Gulf; those travelling by boat to Aegina today can still discern the temple up in the hills, but it must have been more apparent in antiquity when seafarers used man-made structures as well as natural features to help them navigate.60 The waters of the Saronic Gulf were frequented by many ships in the years around 500, as traders headed for the ports of Aegina and Phaleron,61 or for the Saronic end of the Diolkos at Kenchreai. To reach any of these destinations ships would have needed to pass the island of Aegina. The likely routes taken by ships in antiquity can be reconstructed,62 and charts indicate that in the rocky waters of the Saronic Gulf there were probably only two possible routes for a ship: a northerly route, taking a ship between Aegina and Attica, and a southerly route, taking a ship between Aegina and the Peloponnesian coastline.63 (See Fig. 4, above p. 32, for a map.) As ‘the prevailing wind in the Saronic Gulf is the meltemi blowing from the N–NE’ (Heikell 2001: Page 15 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia 181),64 any ship sailing along the southerly route would have needed to perform elaborate (p.103) manoeuvres to make any headway; in the rocky waters—not for nothing did Pausanias refer to Aegina as ‘the most unapproachable island in Greece’ (2.29.6)—this may have been unwise. I suggest, therefore, that most ships sailing in the Saronic Gulf will have preferred the northern route, which would have taken them past the Sanctuary of Aphaia.65 Consequently, the sanctuary looked down upon what was probably one of the busiest shipping lanes in the ancient Greek world (photograph at Fig. 5 above, p. 33). The location of the Sanctuary of Aphaia, therefore, ensured that it was seen by many travellers and by many people from beyond the shores of Aegina. The Aeginetans must have been aware that the site gave them an opportunity to present themselves to a wide, ‘overseas’, audience; that Aphaia herself had mythological and cultic links with the sea perhaps made the sanctuary particularly suitable for communicating with those on and beyond the Saronic Gulf. That the Aeginetans were interested in making a point to non-Aeginetans in this period is suggested by their striking memorial to the Battle of Salamis set up at Delphi; Herodotus describes this monument as ‘three golden stars placed on a bronze mast’ (8.122). A similar desire for wide publicity may have lain behind those who commissioned Pindar and Bacchylides to declare and preserve the fame of Aeginetan athletic victories. The Sanctuary of Aphaia was ideally situated to make it another means by which the Aeginetans could make a point to a non-Aeginetan audience. Why, though, was it only after the fire of c.500 that the Aeginetans chose to use the site in this way? Its location, after all, never changed from the foundation of the sanctuary, yet it only became a truly impressive and ‘eye-catching’ site in the early fifth century. An increase in Aeginetan prosperity in the late sixth and early fifth centuries would have provided both the funds and the rationale for turning a modest shrine into a monumental sanctuary—as a means of making that prosperity evident to the wider Greek world. Aegina, however, was already very prosperous in the earlier sixth century, as (p.104) is suggested by all the available evidence for Aeginetan trade in this period.66 In this regard we might adduce the wide circulation of the ‘turtles’,67 Aegina's silver coinage which was the first to be minted in the Greek world, or the fact that Aegina was one of the poleis represented at Naukratis (Hdt. 2.178), or the alleged prosperity of the Aeginetan merchant Sostratos (Hdt. 4.152).68 At all events Aegina was already a wealthy city at the time of the building period of around 570 at the Sanctuary of Aphaia; that the Aeginetans could have rebuilt the sanctuary on a grand scale early in the sixth century but did so only early in the fifth century means that prosperity alone will not explain the rebuilding after the fire of c.500. If we are to test whether the scale of the rebuilding of the Sanctuary of Aphaia and the decision to change the temple's pedimental decoration during the course of that rebuilding can be explained by a model which sees the rebuilt sanctuary Page 16 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia as designed to make a point to an ‘overseas’ audience, we need to identify that audience. Whoever else noticed what the Aeginetans were doing, it is certain that the Athenians did; these two cities were not only near neighbours but also great rivals.69 Although there is evidence for a period of cultural homogeneity between the two poleis in the seventh century,70 relations between them thereafter were regularly hostile. Herodotus recounts how the Attic coastline was ravaged by the Aeginetans in 506 at the start of the so-called ‘heraldless war’ (πόλϵμος ἀκήρυκτος), and discusses the cause of the ‘ancient hatred’ (ἔχθρη παλαιή) between the two cities (5.81–9, both expressions from 5.81);71 the (p.105) subsequent Aeginetan decision to give ‘earth and water’ to Darius before the Battle of Marathon angered the Athenians, who succeeded in gaining ten Aeginetan hostages in recompense (6.49–51, 73). Herodotus goes on to relate how the Aeginetans failed to recover those hostages (6.85) but succeeded in capturing the Athenian state trireme Theōris (6.87); the Athenian response was to support the uprising of Nikodromos, already discussed (6.88– 91), and to launch an invasion of Aegina during which the Aeginetans won a sea battle (6.92–3). At 7.144 Herodotus records that it was for use against the Aeginetans that the Athenians decided to build up a vast fleet of triremes, but at 7.145 we learn that the anticipated invasion of Xerxes forced Athens and Aegina to come to terms; their conflict, we are told, was the most serious to be halted by the approach of the Persians. Other evidence would suggest, however, that there are some aspects of the hostility between Aegina and Athens about which Herodotus does not tell us. Athens was, in the late sixth and early fifth centuries, undergoing several important changes which must have affected how the Aeginetans perceived that city. It was in these years that Athens began to take a much greater interest in the sea and the trade which it could carry, as is indicated by the spread of Athens' new currency, the ‘owls’, around the Mediterranean, and by the decision of 493/2 to fortify Piraeus as a new main port (Thuc. 1.93). The need for a new harbour was presumably prompted, at least in part, by an increasing volume of trade heading to or passing through Athens, whose existing port at Phaleron, where ships could beach but not moor, must have come to seem inadequate. For Aegina, a polis whose wealth was largely dependent upon revenues from maritime trade, Athens will have looked increasingly like a direct rival.72 Furthermore, as we have seen, Aegina lost several hundred of its men to Athens following the revolt of Nikodromos; importantly, as Hornblower (2004: 230) points out, ‘Aigina's proximity to Athens meant that disaffected Aiginetans always had an obvious recourse and refuge in times of stasis: Nikodromos was surely neither the first nor the last’. If Aegina was losing an element of her population and her chief source of income to Athens in these (p.106) years, the tensions between the two poleis must have been heightened. Aegina may have been, for Perikles, the ‘eyesore of the Piraeus’ (Arist. Rhet. 1411a15),73 but for

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Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia the Aeginetans, Athens in the years around 500 must have been becoming the ‘eyesore of the Saronic’. The late sixth and early fifth centuries thus witnessed a particularly severe phase of the serious conflict and ongoing feud between Aegina and Athens, and it is in this context that the lavishly rebuilt Sanctuary of Aphaia should be understood. The fire at the site in c.500 which necessitated a rebuilding of the sanctuary gave the Aeginetans the opportunity to make use of the sanctuary's advantageous location to make a point to the Athenians, whose city, across the Saronic Gulf, was clearly visible to those at the site. The Sanctuary of Aphaia had always faced Athens; now, the site was aimed at it too. The movements of political exiles are relevant here. Just as Nikodromos and some of his supporters went into exile in Attica following their failed uprising, so ostracized Athenians regularly spent the period of their ostracism on Aegina. Figueira (1987) demonstrates that Aristeides, and probably several other Athenians, did so during the 480s; we might speculate that they followed in the footsteps of Athenians opposed to the establishment of democracy in their city.74 Exiled Athenians on Aegina will have encouraged the flow of information across the Saronic Gulf and will have fuelled the hostility between the two poleis. News will, therefore, have reached Aegina quickly in the last decade of the sixth century of the construction of the so-called Old Temple of Athena Polias on the Athenian Acropolis,75 and the establishment of a shrine of Aiakos (an ‘Aiakeion’) in the Agora below.76 The fire of c.500 at the Sanctuary of Aphaia gave the Aeginetans the perfect opportunity to respond to the roughly contemporary temple-building project of their Athenian rivals. The practice of seeking to outdo a rival city through the construction of a new temple was widespread in archaic Greece, as is made clear by Snodgrass (1986). (p.107) The Aeginetan decision to build their new Temple of Aphaia on a much enlarged scale makes it likely that it was designed, at least on some level, to respond to the Old Temple of Athena Polias. Although that Athenian temple was rather larger than the new Temple of Aphaia, the two temples should be seen as rivals. The reconstruction of the Sanctuary of Aphaia in the years after c.500 may therefore be an example of what Renfrew (1986: 8) would term ‘competitive emulation’, defined as ‘a form of interaction where neighbouring polities may be spurred to ever greater displays of wealth or power in an effort to achieve higher inter-polity status’; in other words, what we may be witnessing here is an example of peer-polity interaction. The Athenian decision to build an Aiakeion is discussed by Herodotus (5.89). Following the Aeginetan attacks on the Attic coastline in about 506, the Athenians were about to retaliate when they received an oracle from Delphi instructing them to wait for thirty years, then build a shrine to Aiakos, and then to attack Aegina;77 the Athenians in fact built their Aiakeion straightaway, and Page 18 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia would have attacked Aegina then too, but were prevented from doing so by other events. Fearn (2007: 91) notes that this story may have been invented rather later, but it remains likely that the Aiakeion was built in the Athenian Agora late in the sixth century or early in the fifth. Furthermore, scholars have routinely and rightly indicated that the consecration of an Aiakeion in Athens represented an Athenian attempt to claim the Aiakidai—to persuade those heroes to ‘change sides’, to abandon the Aeginetans, and to support the Athenians instead.78 In a world in which, as we have seen, the Aeginetans thought of themselves as Aiakidai, the Athenian claim to those heroes was effectively a claim to the island of Aegina too.79 The decision to rebuild the Sanctuary of Aphaia on a grand scale was taken, shortly after the fire of c.500, in order to make a point to the Athenians. The new temple was a statement of Aeginetan pride at (p.108) a time of extreme tension with Athens; as such, it is perhaps no surprise that the sculptures originally intended to decorate the gables of the temple emphasized the Aeginetans' descent from Zeus (east pediment: Zeus and Aegina) and the military prowess of the Aeginetans (as embodied by the likely presence of Telamon in the Amazonomachy of the west pediment); both groups showed clearly what it was to be an Aeginetan. Why, then, was it decided to replace these groups of pedimental sculptures with those depicting the Aiakidai before Troy?80 An answer to this question would become much more satisfactory if we knew precisely when the Athenians began to claim the Aiakidai. If it was after the Aeginetans had commissioned the original sculptural groups for their new Temple of Aphaia, we could speculate that the decision to replace them was taken as an Aeginetan response to those Athenian claims: by putting up new groups showing the Aiakidai prominent in battles at Troy, the Aeginetans may have been trying to emphasize that the Aiakidai were their heroes, not those of Athens.81 The problem with this line of argumentation is that, as we have seen, the original groups for the pediments also displayed the Aiakidai, and so presumably already emphasized the Aeginetan claim to those heroes. Alternatively, if Athenian claims to Aiakos had begun before the commissioning of the original pedimental groups, those sculptures could be seen as the Aeginetan response, but then we would still need to account for the decision to replace them within just a few years. Fortunately, we may be able to do just that. In the late sixth and early fifth centuries the Athenian claims to the Aiakidai were just a part of a more extensive series of mythological appropriations. Evidence survives which suggests that the Athenians were trying at this time to claim a greater role for their city in the Trojan War. Recitations of Homer at the Panathenaia may have been seen as an attempt to claim ownership of the epics,82 whilst it was suggested in antiquity (p.109) that the Athenians had even modified the Homeric texts to give themselves greater prominence in the poems.83 Page 19 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia Furthermore, there may even have been a monumental painting in Athens of the Sack of Troy which inspired two extant vase paintings of the early fifth century.84 Given the evidence that the Athenians were by these means trying to claim a greater role for themselves in the Trojan War, the new group of sculptures commissioned for the Temple of Aphaia in the first decade of the fifth century may be seen in part as an Aeginetan attempt to show that Aeginetan heroes—not Athenians—played the key role in the conflict with Troy.85 Herakles, who featured in the final group of sculptures for the east pediment, is another hero who seems to have been claimed by the Athenians.86 Before the Battle of Marathon in 490 the Athenians encamped at a Sanctuary of Herakles (Hdt. 6.108), and afterwards they honoured the hero by including him on the metopes of their treasury at Delphi, one of their memorials to the victory.87 Such actions may have been interpreted by the Dorian Aeginetans as an attempt by the Ionian Athenians to claim Dorian Herakles for themselves;88 their response, I suggest, was to change the decoration of the east pediment of their temple during the 480s, or at least to include Herakles in the new group destined for that gable. Although the Aiakidai were given prominence in that new sculptural group at the (p.110) expense of Herakles (the traditional protagonist of the first campaign against Troy),89 that hero, wearing his lion-skin, remained both prominent and instantly identifiable. His presence on Aegina's new temple was surely designed to show that Herakles was a Dorian hero: if not specifically Aeginetan, at least not at all Athenian.90 Thus interpreted, the figure of Herakles also makes it probable that the new sculptures for the east pediment were in fact commissioned as a result of a later decision, separate from that which ordered the change to the west pediment; this would explain why these two sculptural groups were carved about a decade apart, as is indicated by the stylistic differences between them. It would seem, therefore, that the decision—or rather, decisions—to replace the pediments of the new Temple of Aphaia may be understood if we see them as part of a ‘cult war’ between Aegina and Athens. Interpreted in this way, the new pedimental groups suggest that the Aeginetans may have tried to outdo the Athenians with their claims: for by placing Athena in the centre of the pediments of their new temple, the Aeginetans were indicating that the Athenians had no monopoly on that goddess and were actively claiming Athena for themselves.91 Such a suggestion is strengthened by noting that it is a peculiarly ‘Athenian Athena’ who was placed on the gables of Aphaia's temple; she appears in martial guise and looks rather similar to the Athena from the ‘gigantomachy pediment’ of the Old Temple of Athena Polias in Athens. The Aeginetans were not merely claiming Athena, they were also trumping the claims made by the Athenians: for whilst they had tried to claim Aeginetan heroes, the Aeginetans went so far as to claim the tutelary deity of their enemy. Athena's presence on the pediments does not indicate, as we saw above, that Athena was now worshipped alongside or instead of Aphaia. Goette suggested that Aphaia came to share her sanctuary Page 20 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia with Athena as ‘part of an attempt at a political rapprochement with the neighbouring rival, Athens’ (2001: 341); in fact, it seems more (p.111) likely that Athena was used on the pediments of the temple as part of the ‘cult war’ between Aegina and that city.92

Conclusion At length, a convincing explanation has been found for both the scale of the rebuilding of the Sanctuary of Aphaia after the fire of c.500 and the changes made shortly afterwards to the pedimental decoration of the temple. Having sought an explanation in ‘cultic’ and ‘local’ terms, I have shown that in fact a model based on ‘overseas’ factors is needed to account for the early fifth-century developments at the sanctuary, and that the specific ‘overseas’ factor here was rivalry with Athens. The fire of c.500 presented the Aeginetans with the opportunity to make a statement to their long-time rivals, the Athenians, who had started to encroach upon the Aeginetan economic sphere and may have started to claim Aeginetan heroes. A lavish rebuilding of the sanctuary was ordered, as a statement of Aeginetan pride and anti-Athenian sentiment. The temple may also have been designed from the outset to emphasize Aeginetan ‘ownership’ of the Aiakidai, but after the sculptural decoration for the temple had been commissioned, the Aeginetans decided to respond to Athenian claims to the Trojan War and to Herakles, and to launch their own counter-claim to the goddess Athena herself, as well as continuing to emphasize that the Aiakidai were Aeginetan heroes, by ordering a new set of sculptures for each pediment. The Temple of Aphaia came to embody a ‘cult war’ between Aegina and Athens that formed part of the longer-term hostility between the poleis. As the conflict between the two cities developed, therefore, so did the Temple of Aphaia. The fate of the site during the later fifth century provides possible confirmation of such an interpretation. As has been noted, the sanctuary seems to have become impoverished during the period of the Athenian kleruchy; as a shrine that had not merely embodied hostility to Athens but had actually been used to further the conflict with that city, it can (p.112) surely be understood why the Athenians, while still respecting Aphaia as a divinity, allowed the site to suffer when they ruled the island. Although it has been necessary to look beyond Aegina to explain developments at the Sanctuary of Aphaia, I would not want to deny the importance of looking at ‘cultic’ and ‘local’ factors; indeed, some of the observations made in doing so actually serve to support the interpretation of the sanctuary's history offered here. I noted that the votive assemblage at the site included bronze weapons and votive shields, and whilst I rejected the suggestion that the temple's cult statue was of Athena ‘Promachos’, the surviving arm of that statue makes it likely that Aphaia did indeed hold a spear—an ‘Aphaia Promachos’, perhaps. These points make it clear that Aphaia, already established as a goddess with links to the sea, also had a martial aspect;93 and her temple may therefore have appeared as a still more obvious place to the Aeginetans to wage their ‘cult war’ with Athens, Page 21 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia the enemy across the sea. Furthermore, as a sanctuary which was seemingly used by a large sector of Aeginetan society to worship a local, peculiarly Aeginetan goddess, it would have been a most appropriate place to make a statement of Aeginetan values and to express anti-Athenian sentiment. It has also become clear, however, that Aeginetan society was not a group with a single viewpoint; Nikodromos was surely just one of many Aeginetans who looked upon Athens as an ally rather than as an enemy. Some elements of Aeginetan society must always have viewed Athens positively (as certain sectors of Athenian society must have done for Aegina); as we have seen, however, the ruling aristocracy of Aegina had good reason to be opposed to Athens in the early fifth century, and it is therefore likely that they were responsible for the anti-Athenian message of the rebuilt Sanctuary of Aphaia. Furthermore, the changes made to the pedimental decoration of the temple were not only responses to Athenian claims but were also presumably the result of discussion or disagreement within the aristocracy as to the (p.113) best way to wage the ‘cult war’. Thus, even if ‘cultic’ and ‘local’ factors cannot fully explain the Sanctuary of Aphaia, my investigation of those models has emphasized that recognizing the character of the goddess and the nature of Aeginetan society can improve our understanding of the sanctuary. The pedimental sculptures for which the Sanctuary of Aphaia is most celebrated today do, then, provide an important key for understanding the history of this site, but only when they are viewed in the context of other evidence from and pertaining to the site. In this chapter I hope not only to have shown that the evidence available to us allows for a detailed interpretation of this particular site, but also to have suggested a methodology for the study of Greek sanctuaries in general. In this case, a satisfying explanation for two unusual aspects of the site's history could only be found by looking beyond the cult which took place there and the polis of which it was a part; looking ‘overseas’, however, should not be a default position for those interpreting sanctuaries, but should rather be just one of a range of possible models, the testing of all of which will provide a much richer understanding of a given sanctuary. I would also contend, in conclusion, that studying sanctuaries in such a way allows not only those sites themselves but also the societies of which they formed a part to be better understood. The Sanctuary of Aphaia is certainly one of the best reasons to visit modern Aegina, but it is also, I suggest, a fundamental source for understanding ancient Aegina and that island's place in the Greek world. Notes:

(*) I began to think about the Sanctuary of Aphaia for my M.Phil. in 2004–5; an essay written then on the subject was supervised by Robin Osborne, whom I thank not only for advising me on that initial piece of work but also for his continuing guidance and comments as my ideas about Aegina (and much else) have developed since then. For offering their thoughts on my Aeginetan work at Page 22 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia different times, I am grateful to Paul Cartledge, John Davies, Michael Scott, and Julia Shear. I feel fortunate to have been shown the traces of polychromy on the pedimental sculptures in Munich by Vinzenz Brinkmann, whom I also thank for drawing to my attention the connection between the eagle shield-motif, Ajax, and Pindar's poetry. I am grateful to the different audiences who have heard me discussing the Sanctuary of Aphaia, especially that at the Corpus Christi Classical Seminar in Michaelmas 2006; I thank David Fearn for inviting me to be a part of that series and indeed part of this volume, during the preparation of which I have benefited greatly from his advice and comments on drafts. Lastly, I must record my thanks to the Faculty of Classics, Cambridge, and Emmanuel College, Cambridge, for providing financial assistance to make trips to Aegina and to Munich. (1) To the original, fundamental, and sadly unfinished studies of the sculptures made by Ohly (1976, 2001) should be added those made of the traces of polychromy on the statues as presented e.g. in Brinkmann and Wünsche (2003) 84–113 (and expanded upon in subsequent versions of the catalogue for the ‘Bunte Götter’ exhibition). (2) A point noted also by Sinn (1988), 149, whose work, which I discuss later in this chapter, represents an attempt to redress the balance. (3) Anyone wanting to examine material recovered from the site must visit four museums: in addition to the Glyptothek in Munich, the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, the Aegina Archaeological Museum, and the Aphaia Archaeological Museum (at the site) contain finds from the sanctuary. (4) Pilafidis-Williams (1998), 160 is in favour of cult continuity, but her own recognition that ‘there is a gap in the votives’ makes such a suggestion impossible to prove. (5) For the development of the sanctuary from the eighth century onwards, see also Furtwängler (1906), 470–500, Bergquist (1967), 15–18, Tomlinson (1976), 104–8, Ohly (1981), 23–34, Williams (1987), 669–80 and Walter (1993), 65–82. (6) Studied by Schwandner (1985). (7) For the text and translation of this inscription, I follow Williams (1982); cf. LSAG 111, which dates the inscription to the middle of the sixth century. (8) The dates of this event and of the subsequent reconstruction of the sanctuary are somewhat uncertain. Ohly dated the fire to c.510, but his own later (unpublished) thoughts, as recorded by Williams (1987), 671, were to lower that date to c.500 or even to the first decade of the fifth century. Bankel (1993), 169 has dated the building of the replacement temple to the 490s, and so a date of c. 500 for the fire seems probable and has become accepted by most scholars. A Page 23 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia discussion of two attempts to date the reconstruction to the 470s is to be found later in my overview of the site's development. (9) Williams (1982), 65 plausibly suggests that this fire was accidental, caused perhaps by lightning, rather than ‘the result of any hostile action’. (10) Suggestions for the identity of every figure in these groups of pedimental sculptures are presented by Wünsche (2006). (11) The Aeginetans consciously sought to associate these heroes with their island in a gradual process that was complete by the end of the sixth century; see Burnett (2005), 17–25, Walter-Karydi (2006), 43, and Fearn (2007), 100–5. (12) Williams (1987), 671 rightly notes that ‘the alteration was premeditated’ and dismisses suggestions that the change was necessitated by damage or a competition. (13) Ohly (1981), 46 and (1992), 92–4. (14) Shear's study was itself in part a rejection of any attempt to downdate civic buildings in the Athenian Agora. (15) Cf. Rolley (1994), 204–5. It also seems unacceptable to date the reconstruction to the 470s, as on that chronology the later pedimental sculptures from the Temple of Aphaia would presumably have to be seen as contemporary with the stylistically very different sculptures from the Temple of Zeus at Olympia. (16) Stewart in fact argues that the final pedimental sculptures were the only pedimental sculptures, and that no change was ever made to the temple's sculptural decoration; he suggests that ‘a single building campaign and a conventional embellishment of only two pediments tentatively may be assumed’. Such a claim, as Stewart acknowledges, is based on unpublished studies, and cannot yet be proven; I therefore prefer to accept the theory that the temple's sculptural decoration was changed at an early stage in its history. (17) If the Persians had caused the fire which destroyed the sanctuary, I would expect them also to have toppled the tall column topped by a sphinx which in fact stood in the sanctuary both before and after the fire. (18) Stewart also doubts that the two final groups of pedimental sculptures differed in date from each other by about a decade. As I discuss later, however, what Stewart refers to as ‘an unexplained hiatus of a decade or more between two separate commissions’ is in fact explicable, and so I continue to accept that the later west pediment dates to c.500–490 and that the final east pediment to c. 490–480.

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Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia (19) For example, the statue of Zeus set up by the Greeks at Olympia as a memorial to the Battle of Plataea was the work of the Aeginetan Anaxagoras (Paus. 5.23.1–3). On Aeginetan sculpture in general, see Rolley (1994), 276–8. (20) As the reconstruction of the sanctuary and the installation of the ‘final’ pedimental sculptures were completed by c.480, I do not therefore associate the iconography of the pedimental sculptures with the Persian invasions. (21) On the exploration of the sanctuary since the seventeenth century, see Walter (1993), 67–8, 92 and Pilafidis-Williams (1998), 1–4; my comments here are also based on the information presented in the Aphaia Archaeological Museum. (22) A mistake brought about by a misreading of the text of Pausanias, and demonstrated by the title Cockerell gave to the publication of his visit (1860). (23) As in Frazer (1898), 268–71, on account of the presence of Athena in the centre of both pediments and the discovery near to the sanctuary of boundarymarkers of a sanctuary of Athena; those horoi must in fact belong to the period of the Athenian kleruchy (see discussion in Osborne (2000), 110 and cf. Athanassaki, this volume, Ch. 7). This misidentification of the temple led Frazer to express surprise that Pausanias had omitted to mention it in his account. (24) Between the excavations of Furtwängler and Ohly, restoration work and a partial reconstruction of the temple had been carried out by the Greek Archaeological Service in 1950–5. (25) The expense that both these decisions must have entailed seems somewhat out of place on Aegina, which has been claimed to be ‘not an island of showy spenders’ (Hornblower 2007a: 305). On the likely costs, see my comments later in this chapter. (26) Pindar fr. 89b; see the discussion in Rutherford (2001), 411. Callimachus (Hymn 3.189–200) and the pseudo-Virgilian Ciris (294–309) present less detailed versions of the story of Aphaia. (27) Cf. Hadzisteliou Price (1978), esp. 122. (28) For the kouroi and korai found at the site, see Ohly-Dumm and Robertson (1988). (29) The tablet is TH Wu 94. (30) Goette (2001), 341–3; cf. Spawforth (2006), 149. (31) Athens NM 4506.

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Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia (32) Cf. the entry for ‘Aphaia’ in LIMC, in which Williams also notes that the sanctuary remained known as that of Aphaia in the much later texts of (e.g.) Pausanias and Antoninus Liberalis. (33) See Hansen (2006), 5–19. His calculations are to be preferred to those of Figueira, who arrives at a total population for the island of 35,000–40,000 (CPCInv 620, cf. Figueira (1981a), 22–52). (34) On the debate over the degree to which the Aeginetan aristocracy was involved in maritime trade, see Hornblower (2004), 212–15; his ‘compromise’ conclusion (215) seems very sensible. Cf. Kowalzig (2007), 210, n. 76 and this volume, Ch. 4. (35) As attested in the Athenian Tribute Lists, e.g. IG I 3 259.VI.18. (36) Cf. Figueira (1981a). That Aegina was not a great agricultural state is noted by Hornblower (2007a), 288, 290, who observes that the excellent pistachios produced on Aegina today cannot have contributed to the island's wealth in antiquity. (37) Cf. Kowalzig (2007), 215. (38) On the patrai, see Winterscheidt (1938); Hornblower (2004), 208; Morrison (forthcoming b) and this volume, Ch. 6; cf. also Fearn, this volume, Ch. 5. (39) The date of this episode has been much debated: the suggestion of 489 is made by Figueira (1988), whilst Macan (1895) and Welter (1938) prefer 487, with Andrewes (1936–7) suggesting 493. In any event, Hornblower (2004), 221 is surely right to refer to the event as an example of stasis. (40) On the revolt of Nikodromos, see also Fearn, this volume, Ch. 5. (41) See Williams (1987), 671, who reports the theory as that of A. Thiersch and suggests reasons why it is unlikely to be correct. (42) On the Aeginetan cult officials known as theōroi, see Rutherford, this volume, Ch. 3. (43) Cf. Hornblower (2007a), 288, 308. (44) Alt-Ägina, I.1 75–8; I.3 96. (45) Bankel (1993), 50–1; Walter-Karydi (2006), 69–70. (46) It is also possible that the two sites were not cultic rivals at all; Pindar's song for Aphaia (fr. 89b), if correctly classified as a ‘prosodion’ by Sn-M (Pausanias 2.30.3 called it merely a ‘song’), might suggest that a procession

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Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia linked the Sanctuary of Aphaia with the town. On religious processions on Aegina, see Rutherford (2001), 415–16. (47) See Ohly (1992), 92–4. Mee and Spawforth (2001), 148 suggest that a doorway connecting the temple's cella and opisthodomos, added after the construction of the temple, may have been intended ‘to allow access to the cult statue during the lengthy job of replacing the east pediment’; such would support the theory that the decoration of the east pediment as well as that of the west pediment was changed during the temple's early history. Regarding the bases near the altar, Williams (1987), 672 notes ‘that neither could in fact have held a compete pediment, which means that the Aeginetans must have decided not to exhibit all the figures that had been carved’; such would suggest that their sizes cannot necessarily be used as evidence for whether they carried former pedimental sculptures or non-pedimental statue groups. (48) On the tribal organization of Dorian states, see Jones (1980). (49) A painted reconstruction of this shield has been produced as part of the ongoing studies of the polychromy of the pedimental groups; this reconstruction is shown in (e.g.) Brinkmann, Hornbostel, and Wünsche (2007), fig. 185. (50) See also Indergaard, this volume, Ch. 8. (51) For an overview, see Wünsche (2006). (52) e.g. How and Wells (1912), 272. (53) Stanier based his calculations of the cost of the Parthenon on the building accounts of the fourth-century Temple of Asklepios at Epidauros. He compared the volume and the area of the stone used in that construction project with the figures recorded in the building accounts to produce costs per ton or per square metre; these Stanier adjusted for the Parthenon by taking into account the different materials and transport costs involved in building the Athenian temple. The total cost of the Parthenon produced by Stanier was 469 talents, of which some 39 talents were for sculptural decorations. (54) Calculating the ‘cost’ of a temple from its total volume is clearly somewhat inaccurate, as temples contained a lot of open space; that inaccuracy may be less significant if we consider that many of the ‘higher’ elements of a temple (e.g. columns, capitals, etc.) were more intricate and thus more expensive than the ‘lower’ elements (e.g. stylobate). My calculations here, though, are intended to be suggestive rather than precise. They do, however, find support from another calculation performed by Stanier (1953), 73–4: he noted that the sixthcentury Alkmaionid Temple of Apollo at Delphi, built partly from limestone and partly from marble, was claimed by Herodotus to have cost 300 talents (2.180) and suggested that this cost was so high due to the high costs of transporting Page 27 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia the stone to Delphi; had the temple been built with Athenian transport costs, he suggests, it would have cost 150 talents. Applying my method to calculate the cost of the Alkmaionid Temple of Apollo at Delphi (with a volume of 13,387 m3, and allowing half of the temple to have been made from marble and half from limestone) gives a figure of 147.3 talents, very close to Stanier's estimate. The difficulty in using my method will then be how to account for different transport costs in different places; in the case of the Temple of Aphaia, for which local limestone was used, the transport costs are likely to have been lower and of the same order as those for the Parthenon, whose marble came from the relatively local Pentelic quarries. My estimate can therefore, I feel, be treated with some confidence; some inaccuracies, brought about by such issues as possible changes in the value of stone, must nevertheless remain. (55) The area of one pediment of the Temple of Aphaia was 19.08 m2, whereas that of one pediment of the Parthenon was 97.92 m2. (56) The Athenian Alkmaionid family did, of course, finance the reconstruction, during the sixth century, of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, but such may have been the exception rather than the rule. (57) Cf. Kowalzig (2007), 182, where Aiakos is described as ‘ancestor of the historical Aeginetans’. (58) For a discussion of this quality of the site, see Pilafidis-Williams (1998), 147– 9. She notes that it is likely that ‘some natural or mystical event’ took place on the spot, and that the site today is often struck by lightning and is haunted by whistling noises. She also indicates that the ‘cave’ in the north-eastern corner of the sanctuary is the result of modern erosion into the ancient cistern and that therefore this feature of the site cannot explain its sanctity. (59) Given the hospitable reputation of Aegina, as evidenced by the references to ξϵνία in Pindar's Aeginetan odes studied by Hornblower (2007a), 295–301, more non-Aeginetans may have visited the island and the Temple of Aphaia than Burnett's comments would suggest. (60) See de Souza, OCD 3 s.v. ‘Navigation’. Note too the comments of Pausanias that the so-called ‘Athena Promachos’ statue on the Athenian Acropolis was seen by those approaching Athens from Sounion by sea (1.28.2); this is suggestive of the way in which man-made features were used as an aid to navigation. Cf. Horden and Purcell (2000), 124–6. (61) Phaleron was only displaced by Piraeus as the main port of Athens in the early fifth century. (62) Cf. Malkin (1998), 62–74. (63) See British Admiralty Chart 1093. Page 28 of 31

 

Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia (64) On the applicability of modern wind data to ancient situations, see Murray (1987). (65) Even those ships heading for Aegina town probably preferred the northern route; the sea is shallow between Aegina and Angistri, and so, for safety, any ship on the southern route is likely to have been forced to go on the longer route between Angistri and Methana and then around Angistri to reach Aegina town. (66) On this issue, see De Ste. Croix (2004), Hornblower (2004), 212–17, and Kowalzig (2007), 210–13. (67) Morris (1984), 103. (68) An Aeginetan called Sostratos dedicated an anchor at the Sanctuary of Hera at Gravisca in Etruria during the sixth century; see Torelli (1971), 55–60 and Johnston (1972). It is tempting to associate this Sostratos with the figure mentioned in Herodotus, but even if we do not, the anchor testifies to the extent of Aeginetan trade in this period; cf. Hornblower (2004), 216–17. (69) The ease of modern travel between Athens and Aegina—the island can be reached in just thirty-five minutes from Piraeus by hydrofoil—should obscure neither the rivalry nor the differences between the ancient poleis. (70) Morris (1984). (71) On Herodotus' accounts of Atheno-Aeginetan hostility, see Irwin, this volume, Chs. 10–11. For a reading of Hdt. 5.82–9, see Haubold (2007). (72) On the economic and ideological rivalry between Athens and Aegina, see also Kowalzig (2007), 207–13 and this volume, Ch. 4. (73) Hornblower (2007a), 288 is right to stress the strength of this expression as referring ‘to the very nasty effects of conjunctivitis’. See further Irwin this volume, Ch. 11. (74) Cf. Kowalzig (2007), 214, n. 85. (75) As dated by Childs (1994). (76) Stroud (1998), 85–104 suggests that the building once thought to be the Heliaia is in fact this Aiakeion, on which see also Fearn (2007), 91–3. (77) On this oracle, see Bowden (2005), 115. (78) Another element of this claim may have been giving Ajax's name to one of the Kleisthenic tribes; see Osborne (1996), 326. On worshipping the heroes of a rival, see Visser (1982).

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Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia (79) Cf. Figueira (1991), 104, 158; Walter-Karydi (2006), 44. See also Athanassaki, Ch. 7 this volume, on other Aeginetan responses to Athenian claims to the Aiakidai. Kowalzig (2007), 212–13 discusses the possible role played by the construction of the Athenian Aiakeion in the economic rivalry between Athens and Aegina. (80) That the new pedimental sculptures of the temple responded in some way to Athenian claims to the Aiakidai is suggested also by Osborne (1998), 124–5 and Wünsche (2006), 151. (81) Thus Williams (1987), 673; cf. 671, where Williams notes that Ohly, in an unpublished lecture, associated the change of the pedimental sculptures with Atheno-Aeginetan hostility, ‘but did not seek a precise cause’. (82) See Plut. Thes. 20.1–2; Diog. Laert. 1.57. (83) See Strab. 9.1.10; cf. Hall (2006), 221 who discusses the ‘propagandistic intention’ in Hom. Il. 2.557–8, in which Ajax stations his troops where the Athenians stood. If this expression is an interpolation, its implied claim to the Aiakid Ajax is one of those to which the Aeginetans must have objected. (84) This idea was suggested to me by Julia Shear; the vases are ARV2 189,74 and 369,1. (85) For possible Aeginetan use of imagery of the Aiakidai at Troy as a means of establishing their Panhellenic credentials at a time when the very nature of Panhellenism was being contested, see Kowalzig (2007), 209–10, 214. (86) On Herakles, see also Indergaard, this volume, Ch. 8. (87) Some have doubted that the Athenian Treasury at Delphi was a memorial to the Battle of Marathon, but that it was is shown by the testimony of Pausanias (10.11.3), the inscription on the base adjacent to the treasury (IG I 3 1463), and the fact that the base and the treasury have been shown to be contemporaneous through a re-examination of the archaeological evidence at the site by Amandry (1998: 89). (88) Aegina is described as a ‘Dorian isle’ (Δωρίδα να̑σον) by Pindar (Nem. 3.3). On the ‘Dorian ethnicity’ of the Aeginetans, see Burnett (2005), 16 and WalterKarydi (2006), 82–4. Further discussion by Fearn and Irwin, Chs. 5 and 10–11 this volume. (89) Cf. Burnett (2005), 40–1. (90) Cf. Bankel (1993), 51.

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Rethinking the Sanctuary of Aphaia (91) For a rather different interpretation of the presence of Athena on the pediments, see Hedreen, Ch. 9 this volume. (92) Cf. Fearn (2007), 153–4. (93) Williams (1987), 674 notes the claim that the ‘phantom of a woman’ (φάσμα γυναικὸς) which appeared to the Greek forces during the Battle of Salamis (Hdt. 8.84.2) was Aphaia; if this identification were accepted, the story would indicate a belligerent side to Aphaia's nature that would support my comments here about her ‘martial’ qualities. It seems to me unlikely, however, that the ‘phantom’ was Aphaia, who would surely not have been referred to as a gynē.

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3 ‘The Thearion of the Pythian One’: The Aeginetan Thearoi in Context* Ian Rutherford

I In the course of praising the young Aeginetan victor Aristokleidas in the Third Nemean, Pindar says that his Nemean victory has brought glory on the island and in particular the ‘Thearion of the Pythian One’ (lines 67–70):
a b ØŒÆçæøØ f æØ Œº ÆØ æ Ø, n  A PŒº œ æ ŁÅŒ  ºªøØ ŒÆd  e IªºÆÆHØ  æÆØ —ıŁı ¨ æØ. Wild shouts suit Aristokleidas, victor whose triumph adds fame to this isle and splendid concerns to the august Thearion of the Pythian one. (trans. Burnett, adapted)

About the Thearion very little can be said for certain. This is the only use in classical Greece of the word or propernoun thearion or theo¯rion (to use the Ionic equivalent),1 although the word occurs in * Thanks to David Fearn. 1 A Delian sacred law was restored by Sokolowski in such a way that it contained a reference to a ‘hupaithrion theo¯rion’ (ID XI.4 1030 = LSCGS 51.9). The use of the term would be a parallel for the Aeginetan theo¯rion, except that that’s in the home city. However, other scholars have tended to doubt this restoration, probably rightly. Rejected by Feyel and Prost (1998), 459 (  øØ  ÆØŁæØøØ). Friedrich (1909), 89 suggested that there might have been Ł æØ in Thasos town.

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the sense ‘box in the amphitheatre’ (i.e. ‘viewing place’) in some later Greek texts.2 What can be said is that it had something to do with Pythian Apollo, that it was an institution or building (religious or political) or both,3 that Aristokleidas or his family were linked to it (see further V), and that it may well have had something to do with the religious or political officials called theo¯roi. Pindar’s text has often been taken to imply that the poem was performed in the Thearion.4 Prima facie, the Thearion is remarkable for two reasons: first, because the existence of the Thearion is one of the few things known about the political and religious institutions of Aegina (it is probably for this reason that it has often featured in recent discussions of Aegina’s history and society); and, secondly, because it would be the only institution specifically associated with theo¯roi known in the Greek world. The purpose of this chapter is the modest one of reviewing the evidence for it, setting it in the context of what we know about theo¯ria in general, and trying to establish, via a survey of the secondary material on the subject, what can be said about it. I begin with a survey of the primary evidence for the Thearion. The most important is the passage from the Third Nemean just cited. The scholia to the passage tell us that this was a meeting place for Aeginetan thearoi (or theo¯roi in Ionic).5 In fact the scholia give three slightly different explanations: Scholion A 122a  Ø K `NªÅØ —ıŁı  ººø ƒ æ, K zØ ƒ Ł øæd ØÅØ H  ƒ a Ł EÆ çıº · Ł øæd ªaæ ƒ Ł çºÆŒ . (It is sacred to Pythian Apollo on Aegina, and in it lived the theo¯roi who guarded the sacred things; for guardians of the gods are theo¯roi). Scholion B oƒ b, ‹ Ø K F —ıŁı  ººø ƒ æHØ r Œ K Ø ŒÆº  ¨ æØ Øa e f ¼æå Æ, Q ŒÆºF ÆØ Ł øæd K ÆFŁÆ ØÆØ AŁÆØ. (Others say that on the temple of Pythian Apollo there is a house called Thearion because the archons who are there called theo¯roi lived there.)

2 LSJ cite PSI 8.953.62 (6th cent. ad); cf. also Ł øæ E used by Hesychius to gloss ŁÆıŒÅæØ. 3 ‘College’ in Slater (1969). 4 Currie (2005), 338, n. 220 for previous references; Burnett (2005), 151; Fearn (2007), 142, with reference to the theme of feasting in Bacch. 13; Carey (2007), 202–3. 5  Pind. Nem. 3.122a–b (iii.59 Dr).

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Scholion C 122b —ıŁı ¨ æØ·   K `NªÅØ ÅØ, ŁÆ a ı ØÆ· YæÅ ÆØ b I e H Ł øæH H N  ººøÆ   ø. (Thearion of the Pythian one: a public place on Aegina, where symposia took place; it is named after the theo¯roi sent to Apollo.)

The three scholia agree, then, that the Thearion has something to with Aeginetan theo¯roi, although they differ in the analysis they give of them: scholion A calls them ‘guardians of divine things’, that is, religious officials; scholion B says they are archons, that is, non-religious officials; and scholion C says they are sacred delegates, the most usual sense of the word in religious contexts. Notice also that whereas scholia A and B say that the theo¯roi ‘live’ in the Thearion, scholion C says merely that it is a public building where there were symposia, and that it was named after the theo¯roi. Excavations at Kolonna Hill on Aegina in 1979 revealed the foundations of a large square structure from the archaic period north of the temple of Apollo. This has been identified with the Thearion partly because of Pindar’s specification that it belonged to Pythian Apollo, but primarily because it is now known that its walls, which were reused as part of the acropolis wall in the third century ad, had written on them names of individuals (2nd century bc) and references to public dining (ÅŁØÆØ) and a holy   ºØ (3rd century ad).6 Felten had already made the link between the inscriptions and the scholia to Nemean 3 in 1975, but the link with the foundations of the neighbouring building was not made until Hoffelner in 1994.7 The foundations of the building are also compatible with the function of a hestiatorion. Since scholion C mentions dining, it was reasoned that this had to be the Thearion. The inscriptions from the acropolis wall furnish one detail that we know from no other source: the existence of a ‘holy   ºØ’. The meaning of this is quite uncertain. It is difficult to believe that there were five settlements deserving the name polis on Aegina itself, so maybe we should think of an otherwise unknown religious league in the Saronic Gulf, comparable the Kalaureian Amphictiony.8 ¨ gina, I.2 43–8; public dining: I.2 48–50. Names of individuals: Alt-A Ibid. I.2 50–2. 8 Already Welter (1925) 320 (‘ . . . wohl eines religio¨ses Verbandes, der Aegina und die benachbarten Inseln umfasste . . . ’), although he still thought Kolonna was a ¨ gina, I.2 50–2. temple of Aphrodite. Cf. also Alt-A 6 7

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Finally, the boy athlete Sogenes honoured in Pindar’s Seventh Nemean was the son of a man called Thearion. This name could perhaps indicate a family association with theo¯roi,9 although Thearion was a common name: in fifth–fourth-century Athens there was a famous baker called Thearion, for example.10

II All in all, the evidence is not strong. One problem is that the references to banquets in the inscriptions are so late: a lot can change in 700 years. Secondly, the sheer variety of the scholia shows that there was no hard information around (it is not encouraging that the word Ł çºÆŒ  in scholion A is a hapax), and it seems likely that the scholiasts were guessing, working from the reasonable assumption that the Thearion was connected with Aeginetan thearoi. To be specific, the author of scholion C started from the premise that theo¯roi were ‘sacred delegates sent abroad’, and reasoned that these could not also live in the Thearion, at least while they were abroad, so that it had to have a different function. Equally the authors of scholia A and B may have started from the premise that the Thearion was where the thearoi lived, which meant that they could not be delegates sent abroad, and must have been local magistrates. If the scholia are guessing, we cannot be sure that the Thearion was a hestiatorion, and that point further undermines the, already far from certain, link with the third-century ad ÅŁØÆØ of the wall inscriptions. 9

Currie (2005), 338, n. 217 with earlier references. Ar. fr. 1 K-A (Aioliskon; or Gerutade = fr. 177 K-A); Pl. Gorg. 518b; Ath. 3.112d– e = LGPN 2 (Attica) 211, ¨ Ææø n. 2 (the same entry lists four others with the same name from Athens); LGPN 1 (Aegean islands) 211 lists one name from Crete, 3rd cent. bc; LGPN 3a (Peloponnese) 200, lists the Aeginetan Thearion mentioned by Pindar as well as two from Epidauros (4th cent. bc), one from Hermione (3rd cent. bc), one from Troizen (2nd cent. bc), one from Messenia (1st cent. ad), and one from Calabria (1st cent. bc); LGPN 3b (Central Greece) 187 lists one from Phokis (2nd cent. bc); LGPN 4 (Macedonia, Thrace, etc.) lists none. Based on this data, there seems to be a concentration of the name in the Argolid, perhaps associated with Apollo Thearios at Troizen. 10

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If the scholia were to be discounted, other possibilities would arise. Perhaps the Thearion had nothing directly to do with thearoi. If Nemean 3 was performed there, perhaps it was primarily a place for performance, or at least to watch performances (not much different from a theatre, in fact), the very meaning that the word Ł æØ has in later texts. It should be remembered that one of the primary meanings of the Greek word Ł øæÆ is ‘show/spectacle’, a sense found primarily in inscriptions from the Roman period, but also in a fragment of Pindar, and implied in the name of the Athenian ‘theoric’ fund.11

III That degree of scepticism is probably unreasonable, however. Even if the scholia were guessing, they may well have been guessing right. Pindar himself seems to guarantee that the building had a religious function when he connects it with Apollo and calls it  . Since the term thearos/theo¯ros was established in early Greece in the sense of ‘sacred delegate’ or ‘magistrate’, it seems reasonable that the building had something to do with these.12 Most scholars have preferred the ‘sacred delegate’ sense, which seems to suit the religious context.13 The idea that Aegina had magistrate-theo¯roi has not been so popular (but see section IV).14 The possibility envisaged by scholion A that the Aeginetan theo¯roi were sacred officials but not delegates has not found acceptance, presumably because this does not occur elsewhere in the record. Most recent scholars concluded that these Aeginetan thearoi visited regional or Panhellenic sanctuaries, especially Delphi, and 11

Rutherford (2001), 409. See Bultrighini (1980), Walter-Karydi (1994), Currie (2005). 13 Currie (2005), 333 observes that Pindar, Nem. 3.69 calls the building ‘ ’, and Walter-Karydi (2000),95 thinks that an objection to magistrate-thearoi is that there was a prutaneion on Aegina while the thearoi are said to dine in the Thearion. 14 See Bultrighini (1980), 142–4, though he seems to be ignorant of the archaeology and Roman epigraphy. Bultrighini (ibid. 143) also wondered why a young athlete like Aristokleidas would make a dedication to a board of magistrates. 12

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‘Puthios’ naturally suggests Delphi. Strong mythical and poetic connections between Delphi and Aegina are evidenced by Pindar’s Sixth Paean and the myth of the Aeginetan drought in which the Greeks, prompted by Delphi, beseeched Aiakos to intercede with Zeus. It would be plausible to imagine that theo¯riai to Delphi started or ended at the Thearion.15 Leslie Kurke has recently suggested that they may have started on Mount Hellanios, and used the Thearion as a way-station.16 Tom Figueira thought instead of relations with the cult of Apollo Puthiaeus in the Argolid, to which we know that Aegina was strongly attached in the archaic period.17 This is an attractive idea; it would be one of a number of ways in which Aegina’s struggle for independence shaped its religious structures and identity—though not everyone will be convinced that the epithet Puthios is the same as Puthiaeus. Another clue about the activity of thearoi in the Argolid might be the fact Apollo had the epithet Thearios at Troizen, but it is quite uncertain what to make of that.18 The Thearion might also have been be a place to receive sacred delegations from other Greek cities, also called theariai/thearoi; the Aeginetans certainly saw themselves as a Panhellenic centre (cf. the sculptures of the Aiakeion described by Pausanias 2.29.6),19 and, although we know of no such delegations in real life, it is not impossible that they happened, and that Aegina planned for them. Bruno Currie has recently suggested that a delegate from Molossia was there at the performance of Nemean 7.20 Could we imagine that delegates from several cities associated with the Aiakidai (Molossia, Salamis, etc.) visited Aegina on the occasion of festivals? Receiving such delegates might even have been its primary purpose.21 15

Rutherford (2001), 334. Kurke (2005), 120–2. 17 Hdt. 5.83.1; Figueira (1981a), 176–7; Burnett (2005), 142–4 seems to accept that the Thearion is linked to Apollo Puthiaeus, without actually arguing for it. 18 IG IV 748.15–16 and 755.10; see RE 50.1382–3, s.v.; the same epithet is attested in Theangela in Caria, which was said to be a colony of Troizen (RE 50.1373–7 s.v.). 19 And for further suggestions, see Fearn, Ch. 5 this volume. Kowalzig (2007), ch. 4 and this volume, Ch. 4, for Aeginetan networking in general. 20 Currie (2005), 340–3 on Pind. Nem. 7.64–5. 21 Again, see further Fearn, Ch. 5 this volume. On the relation between Aeginetan networking and trade, see Kowalzig, Ch. 4 this volume. 16

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Finally, there is the issue of how to fit in the pentapolis mentioned in the Roman inscriptions. With a little imagination we can come up with a whole range of possibilities, for example: (i) the other members sent delegates to Aegina when Aegina was sending a sacred delegation to Delphi (there seems to be a parallel for that from Hellenistic Kos);22 (ii) delegates sent by other members actually took part in the delegation to Delphi;23 (iii) delegates sent by the members of this hypothetical amphictiony were called thearoi. That term is not usually used in the case of smaller religious organizations and amphictionies, though there are a few cases, for example the fourthcentury sympoliteia decree between Mantineia and Helissaon (see section IV) and that between Miletos and Tralles (IMilet 37). In the case of (iii), we would no longer need to assume that the theo¯roi who frequented the Aeginetan Thearion had anything to do with Delphi. We should not, however, assume that the epigraphy reflects the religious practice of the fifth century bc. The Roman empire may have seen the creation of entirely new religious networks (such as the Hadrianic ‘Panhellenion’).24

IV As I said, scholars have tended to reject the possibility that the users of the Thearion were a board of magistrate-thearoi. The exception here is Tom Figueira, who sees the thearoi as originally delegates to Apollo Pythiaeus (not Pythios) in the Argolid in the period before independence, who achieved a degree of political power on Aegina through 22

Rutherford (2009). ¨ gina, I.2 50–2. Figueira (1981a), 319 attributes to Felten the view that the Alt-A ¨ gina, I.2. members send delegations to Delphi in turn, but I cannot find this in Alt-A 24 For which see Jones (1996), Romeo (2002). 23

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their religious expertise in that cult. Figueira’s idea that the Aeginetan thearoi combined the roles of magistrates and sacred delegates seems to me plausible, even if we reject the connection with the Argolid. When Aristotle says that tyrants tended to arise from long-term offices of demiourgia and theo¯ria,26 he seems to assume that the office of theo¯ria was a well-established one in the Greek world,27 and in fact magistrate thearoi/theoˆroi are attested for several Greek cities.28 The evidence is particularly good for Arcadia—Mantineia (5th–4th cent. bc), Tegea (4th cent. bc), Orchomenos (4th–3rd cent. bc)—and it has reasonably been suggested that the practice might have started there.29 On the mainland beyond Arcadia they are also found in Pellene (3rd cent. bc), and at Naupaktos across the Gulf of Corinth (2nd cent. bc).30 The earliest and best documented case is, however, the island-polis Thasos, for which we have rich epigraphical data— particularly the lists of Thasian theo¯roi from the so-called ‘Passage of the Theo¯roi’ near the Hellenistic agora (6th–3rd cent. bc);31 they are also known from Paros, the mothercity of Thasos (5th cent. bc).32 In addition, dedications to Apollo by thearoi are attested from Megara (3rd cent. bc) and Pergamon (3rd cent. bc), though it is not certain

25

Figueira (1981a), 220–1. Arist. Pol. V.10 1310b20–2: ƃ b KŒ H ƃæ H K d a ŒıæÆ Iæå ( e ªaæ IæåÆE ƒ BØ ŒÆŁ ÆÆ ºıåæı a ÅØıæªÆ ŒÆd a Ł øæÆ). 27 On demiourgia, Jeffery (1973–4). 28 The evidence for magistrate-thearoi/theo¯roi in Greece has been surveyed many times, most recently by Bultrighini (1980). See also Bill (1901), Ziehen (1934). 29 Tegea (Xen. Hell. 6.5.7) and Mantinea (Thuc. 5.47.9; cf. SEG 37.340); Orchomenos: e.g. IPArk n. 14, 30. One possibility is that boards of magistrate-thearoi/ theo¯roi start in Arcadia and spread from there. Haussoullier (1917), 163 and Robert (1927), 212–13 suggested that the presence of magistrate-theo¯roi at Paros/Thasos and Pergamon might be due to Arcadian influence. 30 A series of manumission decrees, mostly from the mid-second century bc, which identify their date by specifying who was grammateus of the thearoi in Naupaktos: IG IX.3 617, 620, 621, 624 (a, b, c, e, d, g), 625b, 627, 628 (a, b), 632, 634 (a, b), 635, 636 (a), 638 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 13), 639 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 11, 12), 640 (a, b, d), 643; also IG XII.5 521A1. 31 IG XII.8: Friedrich (1909), 89–128; Friedrich (ibid. 89) suggests that these might be from an Aeginetan Ł æØ, on the ground that there was an altar of Apollo (IG XII.8 358) nearby, as the Aeginetan institution was related to Apollo. See also Graham (1982), Blonde´, Muller, and Mulliez (2000). 32 Theo¯ros: IG XII.5 108 = LSCG 111 (from a sacred law). 26

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in either case whether this is a political or religious board; these could just be theo¯roi returning from Delphi.33 Most of the inscriptions tell us little about the areas of activity or responsibility of the magistrate-theo¯roi. In some cases they may have been the principal magistrates in a polis (in Arcadia especially: compare Xenophon on Tegea, see above), but in other cases their role was more limited: at Thasos there were both archons and theo¯roi, so the theo¯roi cannot have been the principal magistrates.34 Even in Arcadian Mantineia we hear of magistrates of several types: theo¯roi, polemarchoi, demiourgoi, a boule¯, and other magistracies (Thuc. 5.47.9). In his work on Thasos, Pouilloux suggested that there the theo¯roi might have been nomophulakes, but there seems to be no evidence either way.35 One clue in the same direction comes from Plato, who in his Laws envisaged that extraterritorial delegates called theo¯roi would travel abroad and report back to the nomophulakes of Magnesia, but we cannot be sure to what extent this is based on reality.36 It would be tempting to speculate that in some cases their role was primarily ‘religious’, but we should be careful about drawing a too-sharp distinction between religion and politics: although one could imagine that in some cases a board of religious theo¯roi existed permanently, in every case mentioned it seems that their role was at least partly political. I mentioned earlier that Figueira postulated that the Aeginetan thearoi were originally sacred delegates who gained political power through their experience with supra-regional sanctuaries. In the abstract this hypothesis is perfectly plausible: we would expect local power and international networking connections to belong to the same people.37 And connections to Delphi in particular were of vital importance for the political constitutions of some cities, for example Sparta, and the religious system of others, for example Athens, for which Pythian Apollo seems to have functioned as the religious 33

Bultraghini (1980) rejects Troizen, Oropos and Phaselis. Although at one point thearoi come to prominence: IG XII.8 263, from 412–11 bc; Bultrighini (1980), 140; Avery (1979). 35 Pouilloux (1954). 36 Cf. also Ł  ÆæØ in the Mantineia–Helissaon treaty, who Laurent (1988) suggests were ‘theo¯roi of the thesmoi’, though that has been disputed. 37 Helms (1988). 34

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exe¯gete¯s’. In the fifth-century decree from Delphi setting out regulations for theo¯ria from the island of Andros to Delphi, it is significant that one of the participants is the Andrian archon.39 What sort of connection it was is another matter. It is possible that one form actually developed from the other. We could imagine, for example, that the Panhellenic system of inter-state theo¯ria and the accompanying terminology becomes established first, perhaps in the seventh century bc, and the use of the term theo¯ros for magistrates in some parts of the Greek world develops from that, and indeed this development represented a transformation of the office of ‘sacred delegate’ into that of a more generalized magistrate; or alternatively, the magistrate-theo¯ros might have come first, and it is the tendency of such magistrates to represent their cities at Panhellenic sanctuaries that might have led to the generalized use of the term for Panhellenic religious activity. Equally, the link could be secondary: the two forms of theo¯ros might have originally been separate, but the role of magistrate-theo¯ros came to be coloured by, and to take on some features of, the role of theo¯roi as sacred delegates. One unexpected clue about the relationship between magistratetheo¯roi and inter-state delegates comes from a fourth-century synoecism decree between the Arcadian cities of Mantineia and Helissaon published in 1987.40 Among the clauses of the treaty is the following: Ł Ææe qÆØ K F¯ºØ=[] Ø ŒÆ  æ K ÆE ¼ººÆØ ºØØ. a ŁıÆ Ł ŁÆØ . a N. F¯ºØ Ø ŒÆd a Ł ÆæÆ  Œ ŁÆØ Œa a  æØÆ. — There shall be a thearos from Helisson as from other poleis. The sacrifices shall be sacrificed at Helisson and theariai shall be received in accordance with tradition.

The thearos here is presumably a member of the ruling council of Mantineia, who we have seen were called thearoi. The reference to receiving theariai in the next sentence seems, on the other hand, to be

38

LSCG 155b. Daux (1949), 67, referring to Sauciuc (1914), 103; on the Andrian theo¯ria see Rutherford (2004). 40 te Riele (1987). 39

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religious, in which case one might have expected the thearos to be a religious functionary also. In fact, this reaction probably reflects our modern tendency to draw a clear distinction between politics and religion. From the Arcadian perspective there was a fundamental conceptual similarity between sending theariai to attend a festival or sacrifice, and sending a thearos to take part in a common council meeting. This does not mean that the Mantineian college of thearoi was composed entirely of representatives of towns or districts, or that its origins lie in such a structure, but the idea of thearoi as festival delegates may have given the Mantineians a convenient conceptual vocabulary for expressing the relation between the members of the synoecism. Another useful clue about the relation between the two types of theo¯roi is provided by the data from Thasos which seems to show a transition from one period (the late sixth century), when theo¯roi are appointed for specific purpose, to a second period (fifth century), when three are appointed every year.41 In the first period the appointment of theo¯roi seems to be correlated with something called an ‘aparche¯’, which, as A. J. Graham argued, is perhaps most likely to mean a ‘first-fruit offering’.42 Graham compares the case of the island of Siphnos, which made offerings of gold at Delphi, and he suggests that the context for Thasian aparche¯ might have been ‘the discovery or winning control of a new mine or seam’.43 He does not say where he thinks the Thasian theo¯roi would have dedicated their aparche¯, but Delphi seems a good candidate, particularly in view of the fact that Pythian Apollo is the poliadic deity of Thasos. Hence it might be suggested that in such cases the role of being a theo¯ros had two components: inside the polis, serving as a magistrate; and outside the polis, representing one’s city at extraterritorial sanctuaries. The use of the term theo¯ros

41 See Graham (1982), 114–16 = (2001), 245–50; Graham (2001), 396–7; Salviat (1979), 120–1. On the archaeology, Blonde´, Muller, and Mulliez (2000). 42 So we find the formulas: IG XII.8 273.2, [ˇ˜¯ ¯¨¯ˇ¯ˇ]˝ K d B æ Å I ÆæåB, then 12 names, and IG XII.8 274.2, K d B  ı æÅ I ÆæåB ¥  KŁ æ  and 12 names. 43 Graham (1982), 116 = (2001), 250.

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seems to reflect a recognition that power within the polis goes along with powerful connections outside.44 Could the Aeginetan thearoi also have combined a political role with their sacred duties? The only piece of evidence that positively supports this is scholion B, which, as we have seen, may represent a guess. However, the very fact that Aegina had a special building for its thearoi might itself suggest that they had an unusually important role. The location of the Thearion in sacred space next to the Temple of Apollo counts against it only if we believe in a rigorous demarcation between religious and political authority in archaic and classical Greece. If we allow the general possibility that the Aeginetan thearoi doubled as magistrates, we can now see that there are in fact two different models for how this would have worked:  the Thasos model: Aeginetan thearoi liaising with Delphi and other extraterritorial sanctuaries derive political authority from these activities;  the Mantineia model: the Aeginetan Thearion was designed to accommodate a council of religio-political officials who included representatives from other cities of the pentapolis. Of these, I prefer the former, because, whatever the pentapolis may have been under the Roman empire, I doubt whether anything like it existed as early as fifth century bc.

V One issue remains: the role of Aristokleidas, who is associated with the Thearion. Unusually among Pindar’s Aeginetan victors, his patra is not identifiable in the epinician, and it may be that we are to understand the Thearion as some sort of substitute for the patra.45 44

Notice also that two Thasian magistrate-theo¯roi also functioned as thearodokoi for Epidauros in the fourth century bc: Perlman (2000), 40, n. 100 and n. 263. In the Roman period two theo¯roi to the oracle of Apollo at Claros were also theo¯ros-magistrates at Thasos: see Dunant and Pouilloux (1958), 127, n. 1; Busine (2005), 71. 45 Burnett (2005), 144. Cf. Fearn, Ch. 5 this volume, Table 1.

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Pindar seems to indicate that the victor was young (lines 19–20), while the delivery of the poem was ‘late’ (line 80). The following possibilities arise: 1. If Aristokleidas was a member of the Thearion at the same time as he won his victory, and if there was a minimum age for joining the Thearion, then maybe he was, after all, advanced in years when he won his victory. This is usually supported by the reference to old age in line 72.46 2. If membership of the Thearion was open to older men only, perhaps Aristokleidas had achieved membership since the victory. Pfeijffer suggested that Aristokleidas had become thearos ‘as a result of his public victory’ (1999: 227, 621); that is possible, although Pfeijffer’s interpretation of line 70 (‘added the holy Thearion to his bright concerns’), seems implausible, because it destroys the parallelism with the preceding line, as Burnett (2005: 142, n. 7) points out. 3. Another member of Aristokleidas’ family was a prominent member of the Thearion (so Burnett). Scholars have generally neglected the possibility that Aristokleidas was a member of the Thearion on the ground that he was too young, but is that a reasonable assumption? Consider the following possibilities. We know that on at least one occasion Aegina sent a theoric chorus to Delphi, and this is likely to have been a regular practice.47 We know nothing about how such choruses were organized and funded—whether by the state or a rich chore¯gos—but it seems possible that they were attached to the Thearion in some way. If we assume that Aristokleidas was a prominent member of one such chorus, perhaps the leader, we have managed to establish a direct link between him and the Thearion without positing that he was old. We have some evidence from Olympia that athletes were supervised by theo¯roi from their own city; a close relation between athletic 46

For scholars who have held this view, see Burnett (2005), 142, n. 6. Though the case of Paean 6 is difficult, the generally held current view is that it was performed, in part at least, by a theoric Aeginetan chorus: Rutherford (2001), 333–8; Kurke (2005); Currie (2005), 322–5; broader discussion in Kowalzig (2007), ch. 4. 47

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competition and theo¯ria is shown also by the case of Alkibiades, who led the Athenian theo¯ria to Olympia in 416 bc and himself entered several chariots in the chariot race.48 If one of the duties of Aeginetan theo¯roi was to supervise athletes at the festivals (including, and perhaps especially, the young athletes), there would be every reason to think that Aristokleidas’ victory would have pleased the Thearion. The problem then would become, why is it mentioned in this ode only? We could probably devise a hypothesis to explain that: say, there were two procedures for young Aeginetan men to enter the Panhellenic competitions: members of the aristocratic patrai would be trained and otherwise financed by their family, but ones without such connections could be entered by the state, as part of the official theo¯ria to the festival; and in such cases it might have been the Thearion which paid for the victory ode. The idea that theo¯roi have to be advanced in years need not have been true universally. We have cases from Hellenistic Asia Minor: Polemaios of Claros was chosen theo¯ros for Smyrna when still a young man and, having carried out his duties, ‘remained there, associating with the best students’; and a young man from Pergamon came as theo¯ros to Athens and ended up studying philosophy there.49 That a theo¯ros could be a young man is also the implication of an erotic epigram by Dioscourides of Nikopolis in honour of the theo¯ros Euphragores.50 One might also think of the world of the Greek novel, in which young men routinely serve as theo¯roi or even architheo¯roi.51 It would be easy to discount all such evidence as either Hellenistic or literary fiction or both, but that would be unwise, in view of how little we know about the realities of theo¯ria in the classical period, and about how the practice might have varied from one city to another. I could best sum up my position like this: although the scholia to Nemean 3.70 do not count for much, and although there are other possibilities (section II), the Aeginetan Thearion probably was, after

48

Theagenes’ brother was a Thasian theo¯ros: Pleket (1992); Perlman (2000), 40, 77, 84. 49 IClar 1, col. I, lines 28ff.; IG II.2 886. 50 AG 12.171. 51 Callisthenes in Ach. Tat. 2.15; Theagenes in Heliod. Aeth. 2–3.

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all, a building for thearoi. These are mostly likely to have been religious delegates to Delphi and elsewhere—the Roman evidence about a pentapolis may not tell us anything about the Classical period (section III), but it is also possible that they combined this with a political function within the polis, as on Thasos (section IV). Finally, Aristokleidas’ apparent youth would be compatible with his being attached to the Thearion, either on musical or athletic grounds, and it is even possible that young Aeginetan men served as thearoi on sacred missions abroad (section 5), although in that case the hypothesis of a double politico-religious role for Aeginetan thearoi might have to be discarded.

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina

Aegina: Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry: Myth, History, and Identity in the Fifth Century BC David Fearn

Print publication date: 2010 Print ISBN-13: 9780199546510 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: January 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.001.0001

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina Barbara Kowalzig (Contributor Webpage)

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.003.0005

Abstract and Keywords Taking as its starting-point the image of song as cargo from the opening of Pindar's Nemean 5, this chapter discusses the political and economic identity of the archaic and classical Aeginetans through detailed exploration of myths and religious practices, on Aegina itself, as well as in the Saronic Gulf and the wider Greek Mediterranean, in particular with regard to Aiakos and the Aeginetan cult of Zeus. The Aeginetan mythic self is profoundly linked to the island's commercial activities; a set of interconnected myths and cults embeds the island in patterns of local and regional economic activity in the Saronic Gulf; and Aeginetans also form part of a wider elite-born network of commercial and maritime enterprise in the Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean. Stereotypical Aeginetan characteristics such as ‘strength at sea’ and ‘justice’ or ‘hospitality’ towards strangers are reflections of the island's role as a cosmopolitan hub in the Saronic Gulf. Keywords:   Aegina, Aiakos, Zeus, maritime trade, myth, ritual, networks, economics

Οὐκἀνδριαντοποιός ϵἰμ’, ὥστ’ ἐλινύσοντα ἐργάζϵσθαι ἀγάλματ’ ἐπ’ αὐτα̑ς βαθμίδος ἑσταότ’· ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ πάσας ὁλκάδος ἔν τ’ ἀκάτῳ, γλυκϵι̑’ ἀοιδά, στϵι̑χ’ ἀπ’ Αἰγίνας διαγγέλλοισ’, ὅτι Λάμπωνος υἱὸς Πυθέας ϵὐρυσθϵνής νίκη Νϵμϵίοις παγκρατίου στέφανον, οὔπω γένυσι φαίνων τϵρϵίνας Page 1 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina ματέρ’ οἰνάνθας ὀπώραν, — ἐκ δ`ϵ Κρόνου καὶ Ζηνὸς ἥρωας αἰχματὰς φυτϵυθέντας καὶ ἀπὸ χρυσϵα̑ν Νηρηΐδων Αἰακίδας ἐγέραιρϵν ματρόπολίν τϵ, φίλαν ξένων ἄρουραν· τάν ποτ’ ϵὔανδρόν τϵ καὶ ναυσικλυτάν θέσσαντο, πὰρ βωμὸν πατέρος Ἑλλανίου στάντϵς, πίτναν τ  ’ ἐς αἰθέρα χϵι̑ρας ἁμα̑ ’Ἐνδαΐδος ἀριγνω̑τϵς υἱοί καὶ βία Φώκου κρέοντος, κτλ.

(p.130) I am not a sculptor, so as to fashion stationary statues that stand on their same base. Rather, on board every ship and in every boat, sweet song, go forth from Aegina and spread the news that Lampon's mighty son Pytheas has won the crown for the pancration in Nemea's games, not yet showing on his cheeks late summer, the mother of the grape's soft bloom, and he has glorified the Aiakidai, heroic warriors born of Kronos and Zeus and from the golden Nereids, and his mother city, a land welcoming to foreigners, which Endais' illustrious sons and mighty prince Phokos, son of the goddess Psamatheia who bore him on the seashore, prayed would one day be a land of brave men and renowned for sailing as they stood by the altar of father Hellānios and together stretched their hands towards the sky. (Pindar, Nemean 5.1–12, trans. Race) The beginning of Pindar's Nemean 5 is probably one of the most-cited passages in matters Aeginetan. Song travelling as cargo on a boat across the sea to reach its audience is a recurrent image in Pindar.1 Equally familiar are the images of the journey of the victor's fame to every corner of the Mediterranean and the implied contest between the sculpted image and crafted song, though in reality images for victors voyaged across the sea just as readily as Pindar's poetry did: Aeginetan victors were honoured with statues made by foreign artists, and Aeginetan sculptures travelled abroad to honour foreign victors.2 What is less topical is the rather specialized vehicle on which Pindar's songs for Aeginetans embark on their journey: ὅλκας and ἄκατος are differentiated merchant vessels, to be found only here in Pindar.3 Together with the plentiful maritime imagery in the Aeginetan odes, the expert mercantile world evoked here has often been thought to suggest that Pindar's Aeginetan commissioners were a maritime commercial aristocracy, deeply embedded in trading activity across the Mediterranean, and that these pursuits inspired such imagery in epinician praise. A ‘problematized’ aristocracy has also (p.131) been suspected, one that sought to buy into the habits of an old, landed elite by taking over athletics (a total of fifteen odes survive, complete or fragmentary), but not Page 2 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina quite making it—Aeginetans do not win in horse-racing, but in distinctly less noble disciplines.4 The degree to which epinician song can be productive in historical processes and the forging of social relations5 has sparked off one of the more fierce debates concerning not simply the activities of the ancient Aeginetan elite, but ultimately the nature of the archaic and classical Greek economy at large. The schism—it is fair to use a religious term, as defendants religiously adhere to the one or the other point of view—traditionally divides, on Aegina as elsewhere, minimalists and modernists. Minimalists believe that Pindar's Aeginetans were a landowning aristocracy with little or no interest in maritime commerce, at best perhaps owning and equipping some of those vessels carrying the poetic cargo, as well as the warships in use, for example, at the Battle of Salamis. The modernist opposition thinks of the Aeginetan elite as intimately involved in seaborne trade and war, with some of its members specialists in long-distance trade. De Ste. Croix's posthumous publication of his 1965 or 1966 essay ‘But what about Aigina?’ in his Athenian Democratic Origins has reignited the discussion and instantly prompted committed responses.6 Here, once again, the significance and volume of trade on Aegina is not denied, but maritime imagery and praise for Aeginetan ships are interpreted as referring to Aeginetan military prowess and not trade.7 Involvement in trade by the elite, or even by Aeginetan citizens, is forcefully rejected; such activity, it is (p.132) argued, was conducted possibly by the poor, otherwise by metics and other foreigners. Pindar's Aeginetans were a traditionally landowning elite, just as the minimalist view stipulates for many other Greek states, though the debate has surely grown more subtle since its early stages.8 It is true that Aegina's relationship to trade does present a peculiarity, and this perhaps provides the opportunity for a solution to the long-standing problem: for the Aeginetans made sure they were renowned as traders, and by themselves worked away tirelessly at the legend of their commercial enterprise. The modern debate surrounding Aegina traditionally starts from the island's size and resources: the amount of agricultural land available, and whether it could sustain its population or whether the Aeginetans had to turn to trade to survive.9 What is less often observed is that already in antiquity both factors, land and sea resources, became key elements in the stories of spectacular Aeginetan mercantile endeavour. Aegina's territory is usually thought sufficient to support c.5,000 inhabitants, while its population in the early fifth century is guessed at anything between the figure of a twentieth-century census of c.8,000 to something between 20,000 and 35,000, while there is an ancient tradition of a fantastical number of 470,000 slaves.10 Strabo, expanding at great length on Aegina's geographical location in the Saronic Gulf, discusses the poverty of Aegina's soil, citing the fourth-century Ephorus on how the islanders in ancient times had worked their land by digging Page 3 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina up the good soil from deep below the surface and scattering it on their rocky ground and, wasting nothing, then (p.133) lived in the holes they had excavated. So meagre was their revenue that the Aeginetans were compelled to turn to the sea, become θαλαττουργου̑ντϵς ἐμπορικω̑ς, ‘working the sea as traders’ or even ‘commercially’, exerting themselves at sea instead of in their fields. This is the reason, he says, why ‘small ware is called Aeginetan merchandise’ (τὸν ῥω̑πον Αἰγιναίαν ἐμπολὴν λέγϵσθαι).11 This may say less about the quality of Aeginetan land than about an Aeginetan mindset and their creative dealing with the sea, exploiting all its possibilities to the utmost. Certainly the islanders are regularly singled out for their inventiveness and always appear at the extreme of commercial enterprise and opportunism. Aeginetans are known as hucksters and ‘petty traders’ (kapēloi, pantopōloi), whose buying and selling of everything, we might infer, found its way into the expression χυτρόπολις (‘polis of χύτραι’, cheap cooking-ware).12 While Herodotus features plenty of rich Aeginetan families, he also relates how some of the island's wealth has its origin in trickery, when after the Battle of Plataea the Aeginetans cheaply bought booty from the Persians.13 At sea, ‘Aeginetan horizons were proverbial’: Sostratos grew into the richest Greek trader of the archaic Mediterranean (according to Herodotus) through, we think, the pottery trade with Etruria. An Aeginetan venture creatively linked land-locked Arcadia to the maritime outside, through the use of trains of pack-animals passing from the port of Kyllene at the westernmost tip of the Peloponnese into the mountainous interior. The island became a highly connective location for metallurgy, famous for its bronze candelabras forged partly on the island and partly in southern Italian Taras.14 Aeginetans also secured for themselves a place amongst the cities of the Eastern Aegean at Naukratis, and, like them, were (p.134) involved in the long-distance grain trade from the Black Sea.15 Aegina was not only considered the place where coinage had been invented, but its trusted currency was the standard for many places, especially in mainland Greece, and it spread widely throughout the Mediterranean, notably to Egypt and to Sicily.16 It must be clear from this list that what Hellenistic authors called Aeginetan thalattourgia was as legendary as it was profitable, and was both geographically conditioned and man-made. However, even as we acknowledge that Aeginetan mercantile activity was at least as mythical as it was factual, we continue to remain in the dark about the kind of questions that so bother ancient historians: what was the social milieu out of which such tales could arise, and how did it figure in Aeginetan identity at large? In the absence of any definitive historical evidence pointing one way or the other, I would like to propose a different way of loosening the Gordian knot. For what we know of Aegina's religion, the island's myths and cults, speaks a clearer language than the ambiguous and supposedly ‘hard evidence’ from archaeology and epigraphy, historiography, and, not least, the unspoken assumptions that come with every generation of scholarship. Local myths, Page 4 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina rituals, religious customs, and local identities are closely intertwined, and for the archaic and classical periods these will sketch a picture of a community whose self-perception revolves around economic pursuits, along with concomitant institutions and social mechanisms. What will emerge is not a simple view of economic production on Aegina itself, but a sense of an Aeginetan identity forged through the island's role in intermediary trade. Aegina appears as an important, even unavoidable, trafficking-point, aided by its opportune geographical position in the Saronic Gulf. Aeginetan myths, rituals, and cults spin a web of connectivity around the island that is both regional and Panhellenic, and continuously reinforced by regular religious practice in the attempt to maintain and further such links. Specifically, we can pin down Aegina as the centre of a network of food supply, particularly grain, perhaps kept up by a set of Aeginetan families with (p.135) a large stake in connectivity and an interest in promoting it as part of the island's ideology, and indeed civic identity. Instrumental in this process of crafting an ‘ideology of connectivity’ is, among other things, the Greek concept of xenia, ‘hospitality’, a quality particularly associated with the ancient Aeginetans in ritual song-dance by Pindar and Bacchylides. Instead of being simply ‘ritualized friendship’ between individual aristocrats, I shall argue that xenia becomes a form of civically institutionalized hospitality. It may adopt the language of aristocratic guest-friendship, but above all it forges lasting networks of seaborne commercial connectivity for the Aeginetans. Through the lens of religious practice and imagination, therefore, we can catch glimpses of a complex sociology for such a trading-post, along with its attractions and its problems, and also grasp an accompanying ideology. The Aeginetan case may be exemplary for a much broader, though as yet littledeveloped, claim that religious ties can be operative and functional in economic processes. The cultivation of such bonds, which create a sense of obligation between worshippers through veneration of a common god, fosters trusted links in trade. ‘Trust’ and ‘credibility’ are not easily seized in the ‘ancient economy’, and shared religious practice may be one of the areas in which to look for them. For the ritualization of economic relations is, I think, ultimately geared to the mastery and regulation of the unpredictability of Mediterranean communications, a strategy to offset the risks resulting from the mixture of opportunism and precariousness that regulates subsistence in the ancient Mediterranean.17 What this study cannot, and does not aim to, clarify is the factual question of ‘who did the trade?’: Aeginetan aristocrats, foreign merchants, or the island's lower echelons, the kapēloi and pantopōloi known to the oral tradition. However, what we may term ‘public’ religion on Aegina attests Aeginetans engaged in crafting an identity for their island characterized by images of maritime communication and connectivity, and by social relations often upheld across long distances. Whether and how this bears on the economic activities of individual Page 5 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina social groups is impossible to determine for sure. But the (p.136) suggestion in what follows is that ‘civic’ and ‘commercial’ identities are not opposites in this maritime locality.

I. Aiakos and Zeus Hellanios in a Regional Economic Network Aiakos, the islanders' ancestral hero, is at the heart of this discourse. Aiakos is the son of Zeus and the eponymous nymph Aegina. His offspring through four generations furnishes the cast of key warriors at Troy, namely Peleus and Telamon, fathers of Achilles and Ajax, followed by Neoptolemos. Together with Phokos, a third, bastard, son of Aiakos, Aiakos and the Aiakidai from the late sixth/early fifth century onwards feature as the Aeginetans' heroic ancestors.18 Aiakos himself is at the hub of all these traditions and a pivotal figure in myth and cult; much of the discourse on Aeginetan insular identity can be construed around him. Since Hesiod, it had been his merit to have taken the Aeginetans to sea, laying the foundations for their success in maritime business. For when Aiakos had grown to adulthood and was still alone on Aegina, Zeus turned the ants of Aegina into his people, who were the first ‘who fitted with thwarts ships with curved sides, and the first who used sails, the wings of a seagoing ship’. Aiakos here is clearly the leader of the Myrmidons of Ephorus' story outlined earlier, leading them out of their catacomb habitation and turning them to the sea.19 The key tale within Aiakos' elaborate mythology is the aetiology for the cult of Zeus Hellānios on Mount Oros on Aegina. When a severe drought had befallen all or parts of Greece and was causing many deaths, the leaders of the Greeks came to supplicate Aiakos, thinking that as the son of Zeus his prayer for rain would be heard. Indeed, water and abundance returned, and the Greeks were saved. They thanked Zeus with a cult on Aegina, worshipping him as Zeus (p. 137) Hellānios, or Panhellenios, to be understood not simply as ‘the Greek’ but also as implying that he was the saviour of the Greeks: του̑το μ`ϵν γὰρ Αἰακὸς ὁ Διὸς μ`ϵν ἔκγονος, του̑ δ`ϵ γένους του̑ Τϵυκριδω̑ν πρόγονος, τοσου̑τον διήνϵγκϵν ὥστϵ γϵνομένων αὐχμω̑ν ἐν τοι̑ς Ἕλλησι καὶ πολλω̑ν ἀνθρώπων διαφθαρέντων ἐπϵιδὴ τὸ μέγϵθος τη̑ς συμφορα̑ς ὑπϵρέβαλλϵν, ἠ̑λθον οἱ προϵστω̑τϵς τω̑ν πόλϵων ἱκϵτϵύοντϵς αὐτόν, νομίζοντϵς διὰ τη̑ς συγγϵνϵίας καὶ τη̑ς ϵὐσϵβϵίας τη̑ς ἐκϵίνου τάχιστ’ ἂν ϵὑρέσθαι παρὰ τω̑ν θϵω̑ν τω̑ν παρόντων κακω̑ν ἀπαλλαγήν. σωθέντϵς δ`ϵ καὶ τυχόντϵς ἁπάντων ὡ̑ν ἐδϵήθησαν, ἱϵρὸν ἐν Αἰγίνῃ κατϵστήσαντο κοινὸν τω̑ν Ἑλλήνων, οὑ̑πϵρ ἐκϵι̑νος ἐποιήσατο τὴν ϵὐχήν. In the first place Aiakos, son of Zeus and ancestor of the family of the Teukridai, was so distinguished that when a drought visited the Greeks and many people had perished, and when the magnitude of the calamity had passed all bounds, the leaders of the cities came as suppliants to him; for they thought that, by reason of his kinship with Zeus and his piety, they Page 6 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina would most quickly obtain from the gods relief from the woes that afflicted them. Having gained their desire, they were saved and built in Aegina a temple to be shared by all the Greeks on the very spot where he had offered his prayer. (Isocrates 9.14–15, trans. Norlin)20 This aetiological myth for the cult of Zeus Hellānios on Oros (see Fig. 6, p. 33 above, for a photograph of the site) provides an excellent starting-point for identifying two central strands of an Aeginetan ideology of connectivity. First, the local legend is one of several pointing to an Aeginetan awareness of its position in the Saronic Gulf, as a node of communications embedded in both a regional and a wider—‘Panhellenic’—commercial maritime network (this section). Furthermore, Aiakos' reception of the pan-Greek leaders epitomizes and emphasizes the social institution of xenia, the trademark of the archaic and classical Aeginetans that enabled their maritime connectedness in trade (section II below). At the heart of both is the ritualization of economic links, which will emerge as a key strategy for Aeginetans to remain at the centre of their map of connectivity. The same tendency towards ritualized networking is echoed in a variety of other Aeginetan cults, revealing that local (p.138) religious practice more broadly embraces an ideology of connectivity (section III below). The myth of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios reveals the awareness of a certain regional interdependency in the circulation of basic agricultural goods, and also tells us something about its social and political dimension.21 What is at stake becomes clear by considering the story together with the cult legend of the local heroines Dāmia and Auxēsia, closely tied to Aiakos and Aiakid matters. Herodotus tells the aetiology in the context of the war Athens is mounting against Thebes, which the Aeginetans support first through their ‘Aiakids’— enigmatic, travelling cult figurines—and later with real manpower. This sparks off a war between Athens and Aegina (dated to 509 BC) and culminates in the introduction of the hero Aiakos into the Athenian agora. In between the dispatch of the Aiakids and Aiakos' establishment in the Athenian marketplace is intercalated the story of the notorious palaiē echthrē, ‘ancestral hatred’, between Athens and Aegina, an economic rivalry which curiously arose over the vicissitudes of the two Saronic Gulf heroines, Dāmia and Auxēsia.22 The legend is this: just as in the case of Zeus Hellanios, at the beginning there was akarpia (‘barrenness’, ‘unfruitfulness’), this time at Epidauros, just across the Saronic Gulf from Athens and facing Aegina on the Peloponnesian mainland. Delphi's advice against the drought was to build statues of Dāmia and Auxēsia made from olive-wood. The Epidaurians called upon Athens whose olive trees they thought the ‘most sacred’, and Herodotus comments that allegedly ‘at that time olive trees grew nowhere else on earth other than at Athens’. An Athenian

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina tree was felled in return for a regular Epidaurian cult-tribute to Athena Polias and Erechtheus.23 At this time the Aeginetans, dependent on the Epidaurians (Herodotus stresses their legal dependence, which will become important for us later on), became ‘more and more powerful at sea’ (p.139) (thalassokratountes); when they broke free from Epidauros, they seized the statues of Dāmia and Auxēsia and honoured them with a local shrine and women's choruses.24 The attached tribute to Athena and Erechtheus, however, the Aeginetans refused to take over, and this is how war broke out between Athens and Aegina. The Athenian army was badly defeated, and angry wives stabbed to death the one returning soldier with their dress-pins, with culturally as well as economically significant consequences: the Athenians changed from Dorian garments with enormous dress-pins to the Ionian peplos without pins; by contrast, Aeginetan (and Argive) pins were now worn one-and-a-half times as big, and were dedicated in the sanctuary of the two heroines. Libations were no longer performed in Attic vessels (keramon) but instead in local epichutrides.25 The story and the context in which it is told reveal an interesting economic dynamic in the Saronic Gulf and beyond, formulated through the provision of vital agricultural produce. While the myth is usually thought to establish Aeginetan political independence and/or economic self-sufficiency, I think it particularly focuses on the emergence and the appreciation of competing networks of supply. There is the suggestion of rivalling networks, and cities under pressure searching for reliable sets of links. There are also traces of an attempt to control and to politicize connectivity, something that generally comes to the fore during the sixth century BC.26 Dāmia and Auxēsia are obviously associated with grain and growth (auxēsis) through their names; and Pausanias compares their rites to those at Eleusis.27 More to the point, it is no coincidence that the Epidaurians' akarpia is lifted by a sacred bond specifically to Athens mediated through the olive tree, because it is here that we can see economic awareness newly expressed. Recent archaeological research has revealed the importance of the olive as a cash-crop in some Athenian demes and a greater local dependence on both a (p.140) central Athenian, and, more interestingly, an international market, in a way already implied by Solon's infamous ban on the export of any goods other than olive-oil in the early sixth century.28 These are testimonies to the need of cities to import food, and suggest a developing self-consciousness of the polis not only as a social and political but also as an economic body with associated public responsibilities, especially for the grain supply.29 The desire to forge and maintain a dependable set of links is an obvious consequence, and cash-crop cultivation was a means to that end. Ideology may be more powerful than reality here: independently of the actual importance of Page 8 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina the Athenian olive on an international, redistributive market, Athens certainly capitalized on the fruit as a symbol, tying it up with its patron deity Athena and tangibly representing the intertwining of economic, religious, and civic symbolism on its coins. Quite apart from the olive's appearance in the Dāmia and Auxēsia legend, that Athens was thought to have held ‘the most sacred of olive trees’ and to be the only place growing the olive shows well the religious dimension of this bit of Athenian economic self-representation, as if the olive itself were a credible currency guaranteeing the continuity of an established set of economic links and able to attract new ones.30 To return to the Epidaurians, the sacred bond to the Athenian olive makes them obligated to, as much as it secures them a share in, the Athenian network of supply, thereby ensuring the continuity of a bond in the interest of both. (Perhaps the story is even a prototype of the religious orchestration of the grain supply especially in the later fifth-century Athenian empire.31) By the end of Herodotus' tale, however, these bonds to Athens are broken. The curious ritualization (p.141) of processes of provisions for the Epidaurians suggests that economic ties—who would ally oneself economically with whom—were by no means taken for granted but were a rather volatile business. Providers such as Athens and Aegina heavily invested in establishing and then maintaining fragile and precarious networks and were vying for access to local markets. Unfortunately, Herodotus abandons the question of the Epidaurians; but the fact that Dāmia and Auxēsia, so intimately linked to eukarpia, had representations in the Saronic Gulf at Aegina, Epidauros, and Troizen, but not at Athens, suggests that several rivalling networks were active.32 This story, then, reveals itself not as a special one-off situation but as part of a much broader consciousness, in the vein of The Corrupting Sea, of the hazardous existence in the capricious ecology of the Mediterranean, a region which necessitates constant interaction between communities, and even survival may depend on it.33 The ritualization of such interactions is one of many cultural responses to this situation. The story of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios can be understood in the same context. It too postulates a pivotal role for Aegina in this network of regional interdependency, by harking back to Aiakos as the drought-lifter for the other Greeks. Both Herodotus and Pausanias link the two legends closely to one another, which implies that they revolve around the same problematic—rather than, for example, just addressing Zeus as the ‘god of rain’.34 Isocrates' version of the Zeus Hellānios myth manifests sensitivity to a regional economic nexus, when the famine occurs ‘in the Peloponnese and beyond the Isthmos’. In a fifthcentury context Pindar's Nemean 8, as we shall see shortly, usurps the Athenians and Peloponnesians as the ‘neighbours’ perinaietaontōn (recalling the terms used for regional cultic amphiktyonies).35 The version of Diodorus 4.61 introduces Atheno-Aeginetan rivalry when Aiakos' intervention lifted the drought everywhere in Greece except at Athens. Pausanias, finally, claims that famine and (p.142) release from it affected the whole of Greece: this is significant, Page 9 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina since we shall see that in the early fifth century the Aeginetans work hard at transforming a regional interdependency into a Panhellenic one, with themselves controlling the centre of the map of connectivity.36 As in the case of Dāmia and Auxēsia, the circulation of basic agricultural goods is at stake here, or at the very least is used to express the issue of competing networks of supply. While the factual degree of Aeginetan involvement in longdistance trade of cereals is unclear, Aeginetans and other inhabitants of the Saronic Gulf frequent the right set of places (and worship the right set of gods) to pose as chief players in the grain trade: Aeginetans participate in the Greek emporion and the Hellēnion at Naukratis, and erected their own Temple of Zeus as if it were their local god; Xerxes famously watches corn ships plying through the Hellespont destined for the Peloponnese and Aegina; Megara features as the mother city of Byzantion, where there is also a cult of the third-generation Aiakid Ajax.37 Aeginetans and their neighbours were likely involved in the grain trade, though we cannot be certain of the precise extent of this. More importantly, Aiakos himself comes to be set up as the hero of the mechanisms of the grain trade; through him Athens and Aegina compete over the routes the grain takes and who should transport it. This is clear from a mixture of Aeginetan and Athenian contexts in which Aiakos occurs. Dāmia and Auxēsia's drought is part of the story of the Athenian adoption of Aiakos into their own city, and it is probably not a coincidence that the roughly contemporary Philaids, important cereal benefactors to the Athenian demos, harked back to Aiakos. Aiakos' involvement at Troy is also important: Pindar's fifth-century Olympian 8 (460 BC) is the first and only literary attestation of Aiakos' intimate involvement with the Trojan War—together with Poseidon and Apollo, he built the walls of Troy, and at his piece of wall his descendants are destined to take the city. The Trojan War cycle is sometimes thought to problematize access to the resources of the Euxine, and it certainly furnishes an extensive mythical geography for this area; the early fifth-century Aeginetan stress laid on Aiakos' participation is surely not arbitrary, and it may express, at (p.143) least in part, Aeginetan interest in forging trading links with the region.38 But the Aiakeion in the Athenian agora itself most clearly evoked the Aeginetan hero and should be understood as directly picking up on the economic rivalry: formerly thought to be the court of the Heliaia, the shrine was built of ‘Aeginetan limestone’, and Ron Stroud has argued that the building is architecturally an imitation of the Aeginetan Aiakeion described by Pausanias. But the shrine did much more than simply state an Athenian claim to the hero, by also taking on some Aeginetan prerogatives: placed prominently in the Athenian agora, this is where fourth-century Athenians instituted their public grain storage. The associated grain-tax law provides a set of rules firmly steering the cereals' route between their arrival port at Piraeus and the Aiakeion in the city39—as if Aiakos Page 10 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina were to regulate the fair flow of grain into Athens and to keep in check the volatile selling strategies of the corn merchants. It is therefore intriguing that the old ‘legal’ hypothesis about the Aiakeion returns through the back door. Literary evidence tells that [ἐν δ(`ϵ) or ἐπὶ] τῳ̑ Αἰα̣κ̣ίῳ δίκ(αι) ἀ(να)γράφοντα̣ι·, ‘trials’ or ‘verdicts are written up in the Aiakeion’.40 Stroud associates this with a group of fragments of white wallplaster found in a Hellenistic pit set against the Aiakeion's north wall, carrying letters ‘written in a thin red paint’ of a date no later than the classical period and perhaps referring to these enigmatic trials. As if this were not enough, Stroud also airs the possibility that it was at the Aiakeion that a character of Aristophanes' Knights hears ‘some old men of that most contentious kind arguing at the Dikai Bazaar’ (ἐν τῳ̑ δϵίγματι τω̑ν δικω̑ν, 977–80). The deigma was a building in the Piraeus where merchants displayed their wares, and here the old men are ‘arguing at a place in Athens (p.144) where dikai were metaphorically on display like goods for sale’.41 Whatever dikai Aiakos tried in his shrine, they seemed to have attracted commercial imagery associated with maritime trade. We have no proof of whether these disparate pieces of evidence really hang together. But it is worth dwelling on the peculiar leaps of the Athenian imagination, since the conjunction of Aiakos, the controlled provision of agricultural goods, and the exercise of dikē in a merchant world is topical in early fifth-century Aeginetan self-presentation. The Athenians respond here to an Aeginetan set of interlinked symbols that somehow emphasize the righteous delivery and distribution of grain. It is probably not a coincidence that Aiakos turns up as judge of the underworld alongside the Athenians' own corn-hero Triptolemos.42 What should we imagine lurks behind Aiakos' curious exercising of judgement in Demeter and Persephone's realm of growth? What about the seemingly unlikely conceptual association of justice and grain, as if Aiakos exercised justice in that business? To work this out we need to go back to the original myth of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios cited at the beginning. But first let us summarize the main findings so far. Two central Aeginetan myths, that of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios, and that of Dāmia and Auxēsia, deal with regional economic interdependency and competitive networks in the provision of basic agricultural goods (though it is unclear whether grain is only the most suitable expression of the larger issue). Both myths seem to dwell on the central role of Aegina in this system of relations, as if to emphasize Aegina's advantageous location, plunged as it was right into the centre of the Saronic Gulf. The Aeginetan hero Aiakos is conspicuously present in the circulation and distribution of agricultural goods and the exercise of justice in related matters. Athenian–Aeginetan rivalry visibly

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina forms the backdrop to this development at the start of the classical period, though this is an aspect that we shall not consider further in what follows.43

(p.145) II. Xenia and Aeginetan Networking The myth of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios holds a further aspect of Aeginetan identity, also inextricably linked to the issue of economic interdependency and the broader claim of this chapter, that these Aeginetan religious traditions demonstrate a ritualization of trading relations. I am referring to the celebrated Aeginetan xenia, the islanders' self-acclaimed characteristic of ‘hospitality to strangers’. It is portrayed as a principal virtue particularly in early fifth-century Aeginetan song-dance, and is inseparable from the island's maritime, military, and commercial strength. I shall argue here that xenia is the gateway to a much broader conceptualization of the island's ideology of connectivity, expressed in myth and cult and resounding in the little we know of the island's institutions. While the associations xenia carries clearly emanate from ritualized friendship between individuals, religious song captures a community of (some) Aeginetans carefully crafting xenia as typical of the island as a whole. Xenia will also emerge as lying at the core of the Aeginetan claim to Panhellenism, and, more specifically, to Panhellenism of an economic kind. Aeginetan xenia has always fascinated those studying the island. Plentiful references in Pindar and Bacchylides' songs for Aeginetan victors have led to the graphic expression of Aeginetan ‘lopsidedness’ in terms of hospitality, as if on Aegina it weighed more heavily than in other states.44 Aegina's xenia is first and foremost the friendly reception of many strangers: the island is polyxena (‘much frequented’), Aegina a ‘lady of an all-hospitable land’, a ‘land welcoming xenoi’. Nike sends Bacchylides to the ‘blessed island to adorn the (p.146) god-built city for its xenoi’.45 Specifically, however, Aeginetan hospitality entails justice to strangers. The island is called upon as the ‘common star of justice sheltering all foreigners’ in Pindar's Nemean 4, while Pindar's Paean 6 speaks of Aeginetan virtue of ‘justice with regard to the rights of strangers’ (see below for the whole passage).46 Eunomia resides on Aegina more generally; enigmatically, like ‘dolphins in the sea’, the Aeginetans are said not to transgress the ordinances and justice of xenoi.47 This juridical aspect of Aeginetan xenia will concern us in greater detail below. Aeginetan xenia is mostly understood as traditional aristocratic guestfriendship,48 the ritualized bond of reciprocity between peers who performed significant services for each other, a set of obligations often rivalling, and thought to be in explicit contrast with, civic responsibilities. While ongoing gift exchange forms part of a continuous material affirmation of these friendship ties, xenia is believed to have an explicitly non-commercial character.49 This definition warrants reconsideration: a number of the traditionally known and discussed sets of xenia relations suggest a mercantile motivation.50 More detailed investigation could reveal that xenia is above all a way of maintaining Page 12 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina trusted links over long periods of time, often between persons from places with a tradition in trade. Xenia's concern with business may well lie at the basis of ancient mercantile networking, and is inextricably intertwined with, and should not be distinguished from, connections of political or social relevance. (p.147) The broader case will have to await a study of its own, but what I would like to propose here is that, on Aegina, the working away at a reputation for xenia provides a key to the island's broader ideology of connectivity. I will therefore first look at how xenia is conceptualized in myth, and then explain how it plays out for the mobile Aeginetans in commercial contexts. Xenia as a pivotal Aeginetan quality emerges from within the myth of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios. The key scene is Aiakos' reception of the Greek leaders, which in public ideology turns into the characteristic Aeginetan xenia. A good example is Nemean 8, where ‘Athenians and Peloponnesians from Sparta’ coming to supplicate to Aiakos serve as a foil (to use an old Bundyian term) for the poet himself arriving on Aegina and clutching Aiakos' knees in supplication. οἱ̑οι καὶ Διὸς Αἰγίνας τϵ λέκτρον ποιμένϵς ἀμφϵπόλησαν Κυπρίας δώρων· ἔβλαστϵν δ’ υἱὸς Οἰνώνας βασιλϵύς χϵιρὶ καὶ βουλαι̑ς ἄριστος. πολλά νιν πολλοὶ λιτάνϵυον ἰδϵι̑ν· ἀβοατὶ γὰρ ἡρώων ἄωτοι πϵριναιϵταόντων ἤθϵλον κϵίνου γϵ πϵίθϵσθ’ ἀναξίαις ἑκόντϵς, — οἵ τϵ κρανααι̑ς ἐν Ἀθάναισιν ἅρμοζον στρατόν, οἵ τ’ ἀνὰ Σπάρταν Πϵλοπηϊάδαι. ἱκέτας Αἰακου̑ σϵμνω̑ν γονάτων πόλιός θ’ ὑπ`ϵρ φίλας ἀστω̑ν θ’ ὑπ`ϵρ τω̑νδ’ ἅπτομαι φέρων Λυδίαν μίτραν καναχηδὰ πϵποικιλμέναν, Δϵίνιος δισσω̑ν σταδίων καὶ πατρὸς Μέγα Νϵμϵαι̑ον ἄγαλμα.

Such were the loves, shepherds of Kypris' gifts, that attended the bed of Zeus and Aegina. A son was born as king of Oinona, pre-eminent in strength of hand and counsels. Many men often begged to see him, for without summons the best of the neighbouring heroes were willing and eager to submit to that man's kingship, both those who marshalled the host in rocky Athens and the descendants of Pelops in Sparta. As a suppliant I am clasping the hallowed knees of Aiakos, and on behalf of his beloved city and of these citizens I am bringing a Lydian fillet embellished with ringing notes, a Nemean ornament for the double stadion races of Deinias and his father Megas. (Pindar, Nemean 8.6–16, trans. Race) Page 13 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina (p.148) The emphasis here is on a wise, counselling Aiakos no longer graciously receiving Greeks from the old regional catchment area of the cult myth, but now extending hospitality to the Greek world that mattered at the time, thus stressing a contemporary relevance in the traditional formulation of a cult myth. The emphasis on the reception scene recurs in a plethora of direct and indirect citations of the myth in religious song, where it is duly tied to other Aeginetan qualities such as maritime and military strength. Nemean 5 for Pytheas has Aiakos' sons Peleus and Telamon re-performing the supplication scene to Zeus, but rather than for rain, they pray that the island be ‘full of brave men’ and ‘famous at sea’ (ϵὔανδρόν τϵ καὶ ναυσικλυτάν). This song was, we remember from the beginning, supposed to travel on merchant ships pronouncing victory, and honouring the Aiakidai and the island of Aegina as ‘a land dear [or ‘welcoming’] to foreigners', φίλαν ξένων ἄρουραν.51 An even more condensed correlation of cultic aetiology and local ideology occurs in Pindar's Paean 6. There, in the famous invocation of Aegina, Zeus Hellānios appears as the immediate source of Aeginetan excellence in ship-mastering and in justice for strangers: ὀνομακλύτα γά̣ρ̣ ἐσσι Δωριϵι̑ μ[ϵ]δέοισα [πό]ντῳ να̑σος, [ὠ̑] Διὸς Ἑλλανίου φαϵννὸν ἄστρον. οὕνϵκϵν οὔ σϵ παιηόνων ἄδορπον ϵὐνάξομϵν, ἀλλ’ ἀοιδα̑ν ῥόθια δϵκομένα κατϵρϵι̑ς, πόθϵν ἔλαβϵς ναυπρύτανιν δαίμονα καὶ τὰν θϵμίξϵνον ἀρϵτ[άν.

Island whose name is famous indeed, you live and rule in the Dorian sea, O shining star of Zeus Hellānios. Therefore we shall not put you to bed without a banquet of paeans; rather, as you receive waves of songs you will recount where you got your ship-ruling fortune and that virtue of just regard for strangers. (Pindar, Paean 6.123–31, D6 Rutherford, trans. Race) (p.149) The hero's hospitality and his gracious ‘reception of strangers’ both stand out in what we know of Aiakos' cult on Aegina.52 Oddly enough the Aiakeion today is a long-standing café and pastry-shop (ζαχαροπλαστϵίο) in the harbour, welcoming tourists off the boats from Athens with local delights. Aiakos' ancient shrine was also centrally located but is unfortunately not identified archaeologically. Pausanias knew that it was in the city's ‘most visible spot’ close to the port; Attalus I seems to have received cult on Aegina joined with that of Aiakos, a fine attestation of the shrine's continued significance in the Hellenistic period. The cult site consisted of a rectangular, unroofed peribolos as is typical for heroes, made of white marble. Conspicuously, at the Page 14 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina entry, presumably right and left of the door, there was sculpted the very same scene of the ambassadors of the Greek cities, tangibly drawing into the world of cult the mythical episode of their coming to seek Aiakos' reception and help.53 In this shrine Aiakos received plenty of strangers into his cult, and in the early fifth century enjoyed the ceremonial life of a prominent cult hero. At least two prosodia, processional cult songs, were specifically dedicated to him: a significant honour, since religious songs by the likes of Pindar and Bacchylides did not accompany routine religious events but were intended for occasions of high social and political relevance.54 Aiakos' local festival, the Aiakeia, was in fact a splendid event of international standing, with athletics featuring a select group of the Greek sporting elite, including the renowned Diagoras of Rhodes.55 That Herakles was xenos to several of the Aiakids and to Aiakos himself further supports the intimate link (p.150) between xenia and this mythical family: Aeginetan xenia was grounded in the myth of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios.56 Through this myth Aiakos embodied what early fifth-century Aeginetans were most keen to propagate about themselves, a reputation for xenia. In fifth-century cult song, xenia is more broadly embedded in a set of interconnected associations indelibly tying the myth of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios and the Aiakids to the island's claim to maritime strength, its eunomia, and its Panhellenism.57 In particular, the family of Lampon and his sons Pytheas and Phylakidas is credited with such mythical orchestrations of xenia. This family alone has five Aeginetan odes dedicated to itself—Nemeans 5 and 8, Bacchylides 13, and Isthmians 5 and 6. Lampon himself boasts of ‘conspicuous hospitality’ and is popular for his ‘good deeds towards strangers’.58 Pytheas' victory sheds glory on Aegina, a ‘land welcoming to strangers’, before the ode explicitly evokes the legend of Zeus Hellānios and the story of the Aiakid Peleus and his respect for Zeus Xenios.59 Zeus Xenios is invoked on several occasions in Aeginetan contexts and is plausibly to be identified with Hellānios (see below), just as the epithet Sōtēr in a song for Phylakidas further suggests identification with the god who lifted the famine, ‘rescuing all the Greeks’.60 Allusions to this myth abound in the odes for this family, even when xenia itself is not mentioned directly. Isthmian 5 praises Phylakidas, Aegina the law-abiding city (ϵὔνομον, 22), and the Aiakidai together with the Aeginetan nautai, drawing the parallel between the destructions of Troy (35–8) and Aegina's achievements at the sea battle of Salamis (46–50). This happened during Zeus' ‘devastating rain’, and is followed by praise of Zeus himself (51–4). Isthmian 6, also for Phylakidas, calls upon the ‘Olympian Saviour’ to provide a future victory for Lampon's sons at the Olympics (7–9) and has Herakles ‘stretching out his invincible hands’ (ἀνατϵίναις οὐρανῳ̑ χϵι̑ρας ἀμάχους, 41–6) towards Zeus asking him to grant Telamon a son to (p.151) be Herakles' guest-friend—just as the three sons of Aiakos in Nemean 5 stood at Zeus Hellānios' altar ‘stretching their hands towards the sky’ (πίτναν τ’ ἐς αἰθέρα χϵι̑ρας ἁμα̑, Nemean 5.11).

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina Other families, too, are integrated into this nexus of mythical associations, most graphically in Olympian 8, for Alkimedon, where in particular the link between Aeginetan xenia and eunomia is stressed. Here the victor proclaims ‘long-oared Aegina’ as his fatherland, a place where Themis Soteira features as the consort of Zeus Xenios, before Aegina is praised explicitly as the ‘sea-girt land’ set up ‘for foreigners of all kinds as a divine pillar…and governed by Dorian people from the time of Aiakos’.61 This is significantly followed by the well-known, yet otherwise unattested, episode of Aiakos, Poseidon, and Apollo building the walls of Troy and the prophecy of their later destruction by Aiakos' descendants. Aeginetan xenia, its hospitality to strangers, is rooted in the myth of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios, and cannot be dissociated either from the island's Panhellenism, its maritime strength, or its legal institutions. This is what will concern us now. Themixeny

The most enigmatic—but, as we shall see, most telling—dimension of Aeginetan xenia is the alleged ‘justice to strangers’, themixeny. The authors of the scholia to Pindar (who were the first scholars to be enthralled by the hospitable Aeginetans) explain the island's philoxenia by its emporion, its nature as a trading post, and they single out fairness to xenoi as the main feature of the island's hospitality.62 This interpretation has often been discounted or belittled, not least since xenia is supposed to be something that the landholding aristocracy is interested in, as opposed to the world of merchants. When this is not outwardly dismissed, it is suggested that Aeginetans ‘welcomed (p.152) foreign traders in their port’, perhaps by ‘a single, fictive piece of legislation’ or, more courageously, through the ‘whole legal apparatus’, but no further detail is offered.63 In what follows I will pursue this a little further, adducing some indirect pieces of evidence to suggest what the characteristic ‘justice to strangers’ might have looked like, and why it attracted such attention. I will then go on to propose that the Aeginetans' basic attribute of xenia betrays their wider mentality, an ideology of commercial connectivity. Xenia on Aegina went beyond the personal towards a mentality of networking expressed in many different spheres and institutions. There are exceedingly few traces of any ‘legal apparatus’ on Aegina; but what there is indicates that foreign merchants, or foreigners in general, may have had privileges that they did not have elsewhere. A conceivable hypothesis is that on Aegina a form of commercial jurisdiction was in place that, though it may or may not have been formally institutionalized, was practised between parties and was part of Aeginetan self-understanding. I should instantly place a caveat on what follows, and say that the documentary sources for this are thin on the ground— but then so are documents from the island generally. The case is served by indirect evidence.

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina For it may be worth considering practices reflected in the Rhodian Sea Law of the Byzantine period which developed into the medieval Lex Mercatoria (the Law Merchant) and supposedly derived from legal mechanisms on the island of Rhodes in antiquity. I am also thinking of procedures such as the dikai emporikai, commercial law-suits conducted in the so-called maritime courts of fourthcentury Athens and other contemporary cities. Both the Law Merchant and the dikai emporikai were legal mechanisms designed specifically for the (p.153) concerns of a travelling and supra-national business community operating largely by its own rules, though often in interaction with local communities. The fourth-century Athenian dikai emporikai revolved chiefly, but by no means only, around the grain supply; the specific jurisdiction practised in the maritime courts served to guarantee the flow of cereals into the city at terms that would be attractive to the suppliers and thereby exercised Athenian influence over trade in the Mediterranean at large.64 The Rhodian Sea Law of c. AD 800, based on the Justinian Digest and quite possibly going back to at least the fourth century BC, deals with the same kind of problems but without visibly privileging a single community. It is often thought to lie at the heart of medieval and modern international commercial law.65 Both the practices of the dikai emporikai and the Law Merchant aimed at an efficient resolution of cases arising from longdistance maritime trade amongst merchants, shipowners, and moneylenders from disparate parts of Greece and the Mediterranean: drowned ships, cargo lost in a storm or sold elsewhere than the promised destination, cheating over prices, and other forms of economic non-performance. Both institutions responded particularly to merchants' underlying need to trade freely, to secure a just price, and to avoid usurious interest rates. The medieval Law Merchant in its ideal form was a self-sufficient, fluid body of law, free-floating and independent of a state, serving the exclusive interests of a mobile merchant community.66 Its great draw—as for the ancient maritime courts—was that it was supra-local and uniform, informal and fast in its transactions, and the adjudicators in Law Merchant courts were often merchants themselves. It embodied a comprehensive set of merchant conventions and recognized the ability of traders to manage their affairs through (p.154) their own customs and practices as a primary source of regulation.67 Of particular interest to us is that its governing principles were driven by the shared interest in the undisturbed continuity of business relations, prompting a form of cooperation and reciprocity built on good faith and mutual trust. The fear of (often severely enforced) sanctions, and of exclusion from the market if any of these rules were broken (with the concomitant risk of earning a bad reputation in future transactions), compelled merchants to abide by given terms. Trust and reliability, therefore, emerge as the ethical core of commercial cooperation; the smooth continuity of economic relations was the primary concern of both individual merchants and of the community as a whole.

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina This short excursus into the legal mentality of the medieval merchant will not help us to identify the specific institutions or rules on Aegina, but some of the underlying principles and mentality are curiously evidenced on our island, however indirectly. These foster the mechanisms of reliability and the building of trusted relations across long distances of time and space to secure the continuity of these connections. There are, first, a few specific hints that Aegina had special legal options that might have been favourable to a mobile mercantile world. Moreover, we can observe a distinctive streak in ways that Aeginetans worked away at establishing links to places with a similar tradition of maritime trade, both on a personal level and on the level of collective traditions, devised to uphold and develop the existing network. Aeginetan law was commented on outside choral song: first of all Herodotus, in the story of Dāmia and Auxēsia, strikingly singles out Aeginetan legal dependence on Epidauros, as if this deserved extra mention in view of the Aeginetans' later juridical set-up within the developing competition over networks of supply.68 The portrayal of the indefatigably receptive Aiakos in Aeginetan song as wise-counselling local king, or enigmatically as judge for the gods, suggests that (p.155) xenia and justice came together in this hero. As we saw, Aiakos' involvement with the grain supply at Athens also drew him into the administration of associated public justice at the fourth-century Aiakeion. Surely we cannot go as far as suggesting that the fourth-century Aiakeion, the grain store where ‘trials were written up’, was the place where the business of maritime courts was dealt with. But did the Athenians put to public service a hero of a stateless Law Merchant? Whatever the case may be, it is fair to infer that Aiakos carried beyond the limits of the island an Aeginetan reputation for justice in matters of commerce.69 Aiakos is in any case implicated in commercial justice through his link to Zeus in his central cult myth. Of the four references to Aeginetan justice towards strangers in early fifth-century song, two are closely bound up with Zeus, who is either Hellānios or Xenios, likely one and the same deity.70 Though to Pindarists and literary critics Zeus Xenios is a familiar deity, we know very little from reallife cult about the competences of this Zeus.71 One piece of conclusive evidence does, however, attest a divinity who looks after the legal protection of merchants and shipowners. In a late second-century inscription from Piraeus a cult association honouring Zeus Xenios seeks permission from the Athenian boulē to put up an honorary statue of their Athenian proxenos, an epimelete of the harbour. A Zeus who looks after the rights of foreigners (just as we know a Zeus Metoikios in an Attic deme) and specializing in the legal protection of traders is perfectly plausible.72 One other significant attestation of Zeus Xenios is linked to a myth of the integration of a foreigner (p.156) in the Attic deme of the Thymaitadai, whose inhabitants were known to be particularly legally minded (dikastikoi); they were part of the tetrakōmia of Phaleron, a group of coastal

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina demes around Piraeus and Phaleron for whom maritime activities are easy enough to envisage.73 Zeus Hellānios and Xenios are equated in a piece of evidence which, though late and difficult, does make the important suggestion that xenia sponsored by a ‘god of justice’ could also have a Panhellenic dimension.74 If Zeus Xenios was a god who looked after merchants' legal representation on Aegina, labelling him as Hellānios draws attention to the ‘internationalism’ of this legal arrangement, echoing the appeal of supra-nationality in the Law Merchant and in the ancient maritime courts. Zeus Hellānios, into whose cult myth Aiakos built xenia, offered foreign merchants legal hospitality, the themixenon aretan of Pindar's Paean 6. In a world where representation of foreigners at court was reduced to bilateral arrangements between cities, this must have had appeal to those who moved freely between states.75 We can surmise, then, that the Aeginetan claim to xenia was inextricably intertwined with the island's Panhellenizing profile, and therefore its ‘international’ appeal. The myths of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios, and more broadly of the Troy-sacking Aiakids, were key. Xenia adds a further slant to Aeginetan Panhellenism and its pronounced economic dimension.76 (p.157) The internationalist flavour of Aeginetan jurisdiction also comes across in Isocrates' Aegineticus, a speech that also furnishes important information about the kind of people who were particularly well served by these regulations.77 The speech is set in the legal world of the wealthy Aegean elite in the early fourth century. An inheritance case for an exiled Siphnian is, significantly, dealt with on Aegina. Aegina here is more than a last resort, for the particular group of xenoi involved in the case seem freely to transport both themselves and their riches around the Aegean, including Siphnos, Seriphos, Paros, Troizen, and finally Aegina. On each of these we can plausibly suppose they were sure to find friendly reception—xenia—and out of the resulting connections they also arranged their marriages.78 A law from the island of Keos is brought into the trial at one point, as if this were somehow relevant to the proceedings. Suggestively, the Keian hero Aristaios claims a Zeus Hellānios for his own island in a myth strikingly similar to that of Aiakos. One of a handful of surviving proxeny decrees for Aeginetans also comes from Keos.79 Are we getting hints here of supraregional jurisdiction and institutions that catered to a travelling elite? We have no idea whether the speech's prosperous personnel were involved in trade—except that the original Siphnian Thrasyllos of Isocrates' text, whose substantial inheritance is being contested, himself had a lucrative business as island-hopping, wandering seer. We can be sure, however, that members of this social network of mobile islanders were mutually supportive and obeyed common rules; Aegina was popular with an interlinked set of international people of certain fortunes, to whom it offered among other things themixenia.

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina The suggestions about ‘justice to strangers’ on Aegina must end here, but not without a confident claim that the islanders' self-acclaimed virtues of ‘justice to strangers’ and Panhellenism must have been thoroughly interdependent, coming together in the myth of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios. In the fifth century this was a strategic (p.158) choice to bolster the island's appeal to a mobile maritime milieu, at the same time cultivating an image of connectedness that allowed the island to remain the vibrant node of communication and commerce that it had been in the sixth century. Connectivity at Large

Aeginetan xenia is inseparable from a heavily interconnected Mediterranean in which individual Aeginetans fostered specific relations serving, it seems, commercial pursuits. It is fascinating to trace their journeys in a remarkably joined-up world. The picture that emerges is one of a mercantile environment in the fifth century BC marked by great, and by no means random, connectivity: Aeginetans focused their efforts on distinct localities and interacted with particular people. An intriguing glimpse into the practices and protections of xenia in commercial contexts is offered by the very family of Lampon discussed above. Let me recall that Lampon was singled out for his generosity to xenoi; his son Pytheas had his athletic fame travelling on merchant ships from Aegina ‘dear to xenoi’ in the ode which contains the most important allusion to the myth of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios tied into Aeginetan skill and strength at sea. The five odes for Lampon and his sons offer conspicuous retellings of stories involving Aiakos and the Aiakids, and plentiful allusions to the myth of Zeus Hellānios.80 Beyond the limits of song, an interpreter, ‘son of Pytheas’, receives a much-discussed late fifth-century proxeny from the synoikized Rhodians. Though this may not definitely be the same family,81 we should note that the honorand appears to live in Naukratis, and his benefits begin with entry and exit into the harbour before the text breaks off. Aeginetan and Rhodian involvement in the foundation of the emporion of Naukratis in Egypt would encourage continued links between these places, and the granting of the proxeny to an interpreter hints at a topos for international commerce more (p.159) widely. A second decree issued by Lindos on Rhodes for a Damoxenos ‘living in Egypt’, but not naming his original home, confirms such a tie between at least two of the same three localities; and we might fancy that a name Damoxenos would not be out of line for another Aeginetan. The stele is, suggestively, to be set up ‘in the Hellānion’ (ἐν τῳ̑ Ἑλλανίῳ), the shared sanctuary of all the trading Greeks at Naukratis. Damoxenos' long list of benefits is explicit about the trading aspect when specifying import and export of goods in war and peacetimes, as well as ateleia, exemption from (harbour-) tax and other burdens.82 Should we surmise that the olkas and akatas of Lampon's and Pytheas' nautical family had interests very similar in Rhodes and Naukratis to those more expressly documented for Damoxenos the naturalized Egyptian?83 Proxenies are the civic formalization of Page 20 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina xenia relations, and just as with xenia, their mercantile dimension rarely attracts interest though it probably warrants closer attention.84 Whatever we think about the specific case of Lampon and his family, Aeginetan ties to maritime Rhodes are strong. The many Athenian aristocrats sent into voluntary exile on Aegina included Aristophanes, whose father's origins from Aegina or Rhodes already in antiquity were the subject of dispute.85 It is also on Rhodes that an Aeginetan, seemingly married to a woman from Kos—yet another place implicated at Naukratis—leaves a funerary monument for the couple, as if they were naturalized citizens. Aeginetan presence on Kos recalls a well-known Herodotean episode: when the Koan concubine Pharandates is freed from Persian slavery after the Battle of (p.160) Salamis she turns to the Aeginetans for her journey home, evidently relying on a network of friendship to ship her back safely, perhaps piggybacking one of the regular merchant ships: an intriguing, but by no means isolated, manifestation of trust placed on commercial regularity.86 But there is a yet more significant intertwining of Aeginetan and Rhodian pursuits. Diagoras of Rhodes, victor of Pindar's Olympian 7, was a keen athlete at the Aeginetan Aiakeia—he won those six times. Regularly received by Aiakos, he was clearly keyed into Aeginetan hospitality. Intriguingly, Olympian 7 contains xenia-language that evokes that of the Aeginetans when it is hoped that the victor will gain similar favour from both the citizens and the xenoi (Ol. 7.89–90). The juxtaposition of the two social groups suggests that citizens and xenoi were thought of similarly. This is interesting in the light of the fact that Rhodes is actually one of the places where we know a little more about the treatment xenoi received.87 We might associate this with a story from Aegina itself: the richest shipowner in the Greek world, Lampis, famously received ateleia, but not citizenship on Aegina.88 This should not indicate his essential inferiority to the home-grown stock of Myrmidons, but rather that citizenship was perhaps not the most important thing to acquire. The attraction of ateleia for a ship full of cargo arriving in what Pausanias calls the ‘secret harbour’ of Aegina (as if its secrecy made it accessible only for the selected few) must have been far greater than the benefit of settling on Aegina's poor soil as a citizen. Returning to Rhodes, I have maintained elsewhere that the image of a unified Rhodes constructed in Olympian 7 is built upon a civic ideology to which commercial connectivity is central and is, as on Aegina, communicated through myth and cult. That individual Aeginetans and Rhodians entertained privileged relations to each other should not therefore surprise.89 (p.161) Aeginetan representations in the Mediterranean more widely tend to turn up in economic contexts, even as part of a narrative of vying thalassocracies. Sostratos the Aeginetan, richest trader in Greece according to Herodotus, became famous in the study of the ancient economy because he or a relative supposedly advertised his merchant status through the conspicuous Page 21 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina dedication of his anchor stone to Aeginetan Apollo at the archaic Etruscan entrepôt Gravisca.90 A previous Sostratos also dedicated at Naukratis Chian pottery incised and painted with his name.91 Whether or not we are dealing here with an early Mediterranean trading dynasty, it is no coincidence that the Herodotean Sostratos is juxtaposed with the fabulous adventurer and opportunist Kolaios of Samos, whose courage in travelling beyond the Pillars of Herakles (a passion shared by Aeginetan victors92) brought him greater riches than anyone else: these men were of the same calibre and occupations, perhaps collaborators as much as rivals. The brief discussion of the cult of Aeginetan Aphaia below will reveal that the histories of Aegina and Samos are regularly intertwined, always evoking a set of long-standing commercial relationships and rivalries.93 The overall picture that arises is intriguing: much-advertised Aeginetan xenia is grounded in the myth of Aiakos' reception of the leaders of the Greeks on behalf of Zeus Hellānios. Tightly bound up with military and commercial strength at sea, Aeginetan xenia is an expression of the island's thalattourgia, which I now understand as the effort to retain its connectivity in trade. Rather than simply being a system of lofty exchanges of favours between gentlemen, xenia afforded a network of trusted relations fundamental to the island's continued success as a trading post. Xenia's legal ‘elaboration’ on (p.162) Aegina is best understood as geared towards the concerns of a merchant world and adds a distinct economic aspect to the social practice traditionally thought to belong to a landholding aristocracy not interested in mercantile pursuits. (That xenia also ritualizes the reciprocity between Pindar the song-trader and his patrons further suggests the inextricability of commercial and social relations and that xenia does not exclude profit-making.94) If Aeginetans dwell on the Panhellenic dimension of their xenia, this deliberately appeals to a stateless and mobile world in a historical milieu where Panhellenism vibrantly interacts with conceptions of locality, local identity, and community integration. By inscribing xenia into the cult of two central divinities, Zeus Hellānios and Aiakos himself, and by dwelling on the concept in a public festival probably more often than not attended by both Aeginetans and the many xenoi on the island, the Aeginetans took xenia out of the realm of the personal and into the communal. ‘Ritualized friendship’ cultivated between members of the elite without doubt lay at its heart, but the particular Aeginetan version went much further. It has been observed that Aegina is the only community in Pindar that is ‘consistently and repeatedly characterised by hospitality. Otherwise, for Pindar, hospitality is primarily a virtue of individuals or of a family.’95 Xenia became more than a quality of individuals: it represented, or was turned into, a collective, or at least a public, mentality of networking.

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina The ritualization of trading relations through religious ties is key to this strategy of networking, which functioned both to encourage and to channel exchange. In the last part of this chapter, I shall briefly show how an ideology of connectivity underlies Aeginetan cultic practice more widely. Even a superficial examination of Aeginetan myths and cults reveals the same concern with regional (p.163) and international connectivity, and repeats some of the topical juxtapositions that we know already, notably a commercially motivated concern with Panhellenism and the Trojan War cycle.

III. Myths and Rituals of Connectivity on Aegina I have already discussed how Aiakos led the Aeginetans to the sea, exemplified in the myth of the Myrmidons turning from soil-grinding ants into Greece's first shipbuilders. The myths of Aiakos' sons spreading in the Saronic Gulf, to Megara, Salamis, and Athens, with cults in Byzantion and Salamis on Cyprus, reveal an interconnected historical maritime space. The departure of Aiakos' sons from the island after the death of Phokos in Pausanias is curiously portrayed as a man-to-man combat across the sea, when Aiakos defends the island against his son Telamon while standing on a mole that would later constitute the boundaries of the ‘secret harbour’.96 Nor can it be a coincidence that the hero Ajax, Aiakos' grandson and resident on Salamis—the geographic landmark of Athenian imperialism—was competed for between the three ‘economic’ powers of the Saronic Gulf: the Aeginetans, who laid claim to him in their songs; the Athenians, who loudly turned him into a citizen; and Megara, imperial Athens' most talked-about target for transformation into an Athenian satellite.97 That ‘the Aiakids’ famously assist the Panhellenic fleet in evicting the Persians at Salamis epitomizes Athens and Aegina's vying over thalassocracy through the rhetoric of Panhellenism that this mythical family came to embody.98 Similarly, the local cult of Hekate points to Aegina as a place of maritime crossroads. This ‘threefold’ goddess appears as seaborne (p.164) enodia (‘wayfarer’), mapping out spatial configurations in the Saronic Gulf, a capacity of hers that merits wider investigation in the insular Aegean.99 Hekate was present on Aegina from at least the fifth century; Aristophanes already knew of her mysteries when Philokleon is sent there from Athens for katharsis of his addiction to law-suits.100 Sources from the later imperial period, when Hekate was ‘specially’ (malista) worshipped by the Aeginetans, speak of cultic thiasoi whose members travel by sea between Athens, Aegina, and Corinth, in each of which the goddess was represented: it is fair to say that Aeginetan Hekate kept these thiasoi networked regionally.101 Aegina's most conspicuous deity is Aphaia, whose sanctuary is located on the north-eastern slope of the island looking towards Athens (Fig. 5, p. 33 above). No other Aeginetan deity has received as much attention as Aphaia, and even without us going into too much detail here, she can be neatly linked into the island's religious connectivity. The imaginary world of this cult firmly slots her Page 23 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina into the same ideological edifice as that held up by Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios as expressed in cult song and epinikia. Just as for the latter two, Pindar composed a song for her also, though unfortunately it does not survive.102 Aphaia is frequently thought of as a ‘kourotrophic deity linked with the sea’, but as so often, we can say much less about the human concerns she dealt with (such as ‘childcare’ or ‘initiation’) than about the social ties inherent in her interlinked mythology.103 Her first monumental temple dates to c.570 BC, the period when the Aeginetans allegedly rose to naval strength and expressed their keen economic interest through (p.165) the cult of Dāmia and Auxēsia.104 The notorious change of the pediments' decoration of her later, fifth-century temple is roughly contemporary with the songs of Pindar and Bacchylides. Swapping a scene of Aiakos' birth from Zeus and the nymph Aegina to that of his destruction of Troy as recounted in Olympian 8 clearly redefines Aiakos' role for the Aeginetans as a Panhellenic hero. The portrayal of Troy's later destruction by Aiakos' descendants on the other pediment reiterates the Aiakids' ideological ubiquity and once again brings out Aegina's desire for Panhellenic recognition.105 But there are also the myths surrounding the actual cult of Aphaia, which reveal an orbit of maritime connectedness similar to that of Aeginetan xenia. Pausanias identifies Aphaia with the Cretan nymph Diktynna and a goddess named Britomartis, which he explicitly but falsely claims is exclusively worshipped on Aegina and on Crete. That Aphaia's temple was built on a Bronze Age site deepens perhaps the Cretan mythological connection.106 The cult legend of Diktynna–Britomartis is, significantly, located at Aegina's only settlement abroad, at Kydonia in Western Crete (perhaps etymologically linked to her name). The ‘Aeginetan’ goddess is also worshipped at Cape Tainaron, which links the Peloponnese with Kythera and Crete.107 In this myth Britomartis–Diktynna is a hunting virgin at Kydonia who, while fleeing the grip of the thalassocrat Minos, throws herself into the net of local fishermen, and travels with them to Aegina where she ‘appears’ (Aphaia 〈  aphanēs, or 〈 phainestai).108 Britomartis casts (p.166) her net out to other localities of maritime imperialism, such as Athens, Delos, and Rhodes, which altogether suggests that ‘net’ and ‘network’ may be overlapping concepts even for the Greeks. In other versions Diktynna started off amongst Phoenicians and travelled to Argos and Kephalonia before reaching Aegina.109 In the light of Aeginetan self-understanding, Cretan Britomartis–Diktynna's proximity to the world of sea-rule is particularly interesting, since thalassocracies, such as Athens, notoriously define themselves against, and as a distinct rupture from, the Minoan.110

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina This is also why Diktynna features in Herodotus' story of how the Aeginetans recaptured their colony from the Samians. This was a grand sea battle, and the ram of the victorious ship was dedicated into ‘the Temple of Athena’ on Aegina, reasonably identified with that of Aphaia whose pediments had sculptures of Athena in the centre as if she were the owning deity.111 As I suggested above, this is only one episode from a prolonged story of confrontation between two rulers of the sea with similar commercial interests.112 That Aphaia was a close ally of those travelling on and commanding longstanding and attractive routes by sea also comes across archaeologically. Her temple features prominent ship graffiti, and among her votives are a series of clay boats, and figurines holding boats decorated with flowers. A large ivory eye, allegedly from the seventh century, thought to belong to a wooden ship, also appears in Aphaia's (altogether very varied) treasury.113 A pair of suspected traders, Aristophantos and Damonidas, dedicated to Aphaia dozens of Chian vessels for ritual banqueting perhaps in connection with the first stone temple of (p.167) Aphaia.114 Both men seem to have been conspicuous elsewhere on Aegina, Damonidas possibly with a limestone base in the same shrine, and Aristophantos with an inscribed marble base at the port of Aegina.115 Dedicating inscribed Chian ware seems to have been a popular votive habit of suspected merchants also at Naukratis, where we remember a Sostratos too inscribed his name.116 The Aeginetan trader Sostratos—present in Etruria and perhaps in Egypt—is a good candidate for a votive statue at Aphaia's sanctuary. Egyptian finds might point in the same direction.117 Finally, weaponry also features. All of this joins Aegina's maritime, military, and commercial spheres in the worship of this deity; Aphaia happily links together military and maritime activities of the Aeginetans, through a firmly rooted and tight network of mythological and cultic ties. Poseidon's festival on Aegina,118 by contrast, employs the Trojan War narrative to bolster the island's social structure through family networks, strengthening solidarity and gentilician identity (as opposed to, for example, civic identity). Plutarch reports a sombre celebration for the sea-god lasting for the entirety of sixteen days: when the Trojan War was won, so few Aeginetan warriors returned that no outward joy was shown towards the few survivors, and families celebrated privately, ‘amongst their fathers and their kin, their siblings and relatives’. Therefore Plutarch's contemporary Aeginetans celebrated the socalled Thiasoi for sixteen silent days of feasting without their slaves; and for this reason were called ‘the solitary eaters’.119 Intriguingly, Poseidon may be linked into the Trojan cycle archaeologically: in the fifth century he possessed land (temenē) jointly with Apollo, known through a series of much-debated horos inscriptions, of contested date (c.450–404/3 BC) and usually attributed to Athenian appropriation of allied territory, the (p.168) nature of which as early as the mid-fifth century would be obscure. It is noteworthy, however, that Apollo and Poseidon do not share a significant cult at Athens.120 We might recall Page 25 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina instead that it was Apollo, Poseidon, and Aiakos who plotted the building of Troy's feeble walls, and that one of the two of Pindar's prosodia to Aiakos invokes Poseidon in a ritual procession. Inconclusive as these weak links are, even Poseidon reminds his worshippers of Aeginetan feats for Hellas that converge in the figure of Aiakos.121 Poseidon's care for inter-gentilician harmonia rooted in Trojan War victories cannot be separated from Aphrodite, whose Panhellenic aspect is more directly integrated into the world of maritime commerce. Aphrodite had a sanctuary on Aegina close to the port at which people ‘anchor most’, often held to be the island's commercial harbour, and possibly represented on imperial coins.122 'Ἐπιλιμένια (‘of the harbour’) is her name on an early fifth-century votive anchor, found together with many other such dedications, which recall the Aeginetan archetype of Sostratos as much as the similar Levantine custom for Astarte. The Greek deity, as Herodotus reminds us, is thought to have arrived in Greece carried over the sea by Phoenician traders. A regional ‘Phoenician’ Aphrodite with maritime inclinations is also invoked by a known dedication of a shell called the ‘ear of Aphrodite’ at Hermione, recognized for its murex trade, where the locals honoured their Aphrodite as Ποντία (‘of the sea’) as well as 'Ἐπιλιμένια, an epithet frequent in the Saronic Gulf.123 (p.169) The Aeginetan Aphrodisia explicitly merged military prowess and commercial aspirations; this festival concluded Poseidon's lethargic celebrations in three days of open joy. The Aphrodisia featured famous hetairai who attracted prosperous Athenians to linger, mooring their boats for long periods of time by Aphrodite's pleasure garden. The fifth-century philosopher Aristippos spent two months with Lais and Phryne, women who were clearly good currency at a commercial port, just as at Corinth. It is the prostitute Phryne, the goddess' material affirmation of fleeting commerce in a mobile economy, who perhaps brings the whole set of associations to an intriguing tipping point when at the joint festival of Poseidon and Aphrodite on Aegina she regularly re-enacted the birth of Aphrodite ‘to the assembled Panhellenes’: one more time evoking an Aeginetan Panhellenic profile that is firmly tied into pursuits of things profitable.124

Conclusions To conclude, it must be clear from the preceding exposition that religion—myth and ritual practice—played a significant role both in the conceptualization and in the realization of Aegina's commercial potential, certainly in the archaic and classical periods, and perhaps beyond them (see pp. 141 and 161–3 for the detailed conclusions drawn from the subsections, which I shall not repeat here). From the evidence presented, Aeginetan thalattourgia emerges above all as a relentless effort to produce and maintain an ideology of maritime connectivity, realizing mythical links through cultic practice in the service of supporting a complex set of seaborne relations. The central Aeginetan cultic aetiology of Page 26 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina Aiakos, the drought-lifter, and Zeus Hellānios contains the building-blocks of this ideology, and it is for this reason that it is so ubiquitous in early fifth-century song, religious imagery, and cult practice. Xenia offered to the Greek leaders by Aiakos in myth, intensely advertised in early fifth-century song, and perhaps realized in the island's legal institutions, puts the (p.170) Aeginetans in a position to lay claim to the command of a network of regional, and eventually Panhellenic, economic interdependencies. Even a cursory glance at other cults on the island reveals the same concern to foster regional connectivity, and also to frame specific, long-lasting links to significant localities all over an ‘Aeginetan Mediterranean’. Such religious ritualization of economic relations, I maintain, aims at a continuity of trading relations. The two drought myths, of Dāmia and Auxēsia, and of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios, suggest an ancient awareness of a volatile Mediterranean ecology and a resulting interlocking of economic systems; the forging of religious ties to bolster economic links are cultural strategies inculcating trust, credibility, and reliable social bonds lasting across time and space in a risky natural environment. The portrayals of Pindar's and Bacchylides' epinician victors, a chief, but by no means the only source of evidence, are thoroughly intertwined with the set of interconnected associations mediating between local myth and ideology. That an Aeginetan elite should wish to depict themselves and their island in this fashion —we should single out once again the family of Lampon and its five songs, where the entwined imagery is particularly striking—must be significant: not only for the strong suggestions about elite involvement in Aeginetan thalattourgia but also for the way in which these families fully embraced the island's public religious life. In the light of archaeology as well as our later sources, such as Isocrates and Pausanias on the myth and cult of Zeus Hellānios, we have no reason to believe that any of the cults discussed here were anything other than the island's official divinities. It is therefore attractive to postulate a convergence of civic and commercial identity on Aegina, just as for the island of Rhodes.125 Yet I wonder whether we might not go a step further here in our considerations of how so-called polis religion relates to commerce. All epichoric Aeginetan cults discussed also have a distinct non-local clientele and imagery, such as the Greeks at the cult of Zeus Hellānios, the Rhodian Diagoras at the games of Aiakos, or the Athenians in the festival of Aphrodite Epilimenia. It is clear that these men were (p.171) not one-off visitors, but regular customers of the gods in question, the very materialization of the ideology of connectivity that religious practice on Aegina represented. An Aeginetan festival which did not also offer xenia to foreign guests would therefore not have been Aeginetan ‘public’ religion. Perhaps our views on how exclusively ‘civic’ religion was in a maritime polis need to be revised—together with our ideas on how exclusively ‘foreign’ her trade was. (p. 172)

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina Notes:

(*) Many thanks to David Fearn, Tim Rood, and Brian Tamanaha for commenting on ideas and drafts of this article; to the Institute for Advanced Study at Princeton and the Herodotus Fund for providing such excellent conditions for research on this paper during 2007/8. (1) e.g. Pind. Nem. 5.21, 50–1; Nem. 6.32 where the Bassidai carry their ‘own shipload of song’ (ἴδια ναυστολέοντϵς ἐπικώμια), and 45–9, 55–7. The imagery is discussed from Bury (1890) to Dougherty (2001), 40–2 and 61 and now Hornblower (2004), 226–7; also 212–14; (2007a), 290–1. (2) Smith (2007), see esp. the chart 137–8; see also Thomas (2007), 149–50; Kurke (1991a), 250–1. (3) Velissaropoulos (1980), 59–61; Pfeijffer (1999), 101–3 on these types of ships. (4) See Figueira (1981a), 322–4 on the long-standing association of maritime imagery and mercantile aristocracy in Pindar's Aeginetan odes, aspects of which can be traced back to Müller (1817), 79–81; cf. Winterscheidt (1938), 27–31; ‘problematized aristocracy’: Hubbard (2001), 390, 392–4. (5) Cf. Kurke (1991a) on the social and economic poetics in Pindar generally; De Ste. Croix (2004), 378–83 is a comprehensive account of the portrayal of Aeginetans in Pindar and Bacchylides, put into its historical context by Hornblower (2004), 207–35. (6) The idea of a mercantile aristocracy was particularly upheld by the late nineteenth-century German ‘modernists’ Eduard Meyer, Georg Busolt, and Karl Julius Beloch, as discussed by De Ste. Croix (2004), 372–6; for Aegina now represented by Figueira (1981a), (1993); cf. Horden and Purcell (2000), 119, 370. The ‘minimalist’ side is led by Hasebrook's student Winterscheidt (1938), 27–31, 51–9, with Kirsten (1942); De Ste. Croix (2004), for responses to whom see Parker (2004); Hornblower (2004), 212–13 and (2007a), 290–1. (7) De Ste. Croix (2004), 380, with Hornblower (2004), 212–14, 226–7. (8) De Ste. Croix (2004), esp. 373, 376, 409–10 (see also (1972), 264–7). For the minimalist versus modernist debate see Finley (1985), (1979); Cartledge (1983); Scheidel and von Reden (2002). For possible elite involvement in extensive mercantile maritime loans see the updated footnote in De Ste. Croix (2004), 375, n. 11. (9) Figueira (1981a) reveals the disjuncture between island yield and population need, picked up by Purcell (1990), esp. 50–1; Murray (1993), 211–12; Horden and Purcell (2000), 119; De Ste. Croix (2004), 386–9 (whose concern is with the

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina pursuits of the elite, not the Aeginetan ‘economy’ at large) argues for an extreme social division on Aegina, where wealth was in the hands of a tiny elite. (10) Figueira (1981a), 29–52 (35,000–45,000); Horden and Purcell (2000), 119 (35,000); CPCInv. 620 (c.20,000); cf. Parker (2004), 414. The number of actual citizens is equally unclear. Hdt. 9.28.6 knows of only 500 hoplites at Plataea. Aegina sent 18 ships to Artemision, 30 to Salamis (Hdt. 8.1.2; 46.1). Slaves: Ath. 6.272d; Σ Pind. Ol. 8.30d (i.244 Dr = Arist. fr. 475 Rose) and 30l (i.245 Dr). (11) FGrH 70 F 176 = Strabo 8.6.16. Arist. Pol. IV.4 1291b17–25 groups the Aeginetan dēmos together with slave-trading Chios among the variety of dēmos (τὸ του̑ δήμου ϵἰ̑δος) that is orientated towards trade (τὸ χρηματιστικόν, τὸ ἐμπορικόν). (12) Petty traders: Hsch. and Etym. Magn. s.v. Αἰγιναι̑α; Σ Pind. Ol. 8.29a (i.243 Dr). Selling cheap pots: Com. Adesp. fr. 350 K-A (= Poll. 7.197). Cf. Irwin, this volume, Ch. 11, p. 438 with n. 30, taking account of Athenian perspectives. (13) Wealthy Aeginetans of great ‘fortunes’: Hdt. 5.81.2; 6.73.2; 91. Plataea: 9.80.3, on which cf. Irwin, this volume, Ch. 11, pp. 452 ff.; Ch. 10, pp. 415–17. (14) On Sostratos see p. 161 below. Paus. 8.5.8 (Kyllene); Plin. HN 34.9–11, where the bronzes of Delos and Aegina are discussed; Horden and Purcell (2000), 346, and 370 for the quotation. (15) Hdt. 2.178; see below on Aeginetan traders at Naukratis and in the Black Sea. (16) Cf. Ephorus FGrH 70 F 176 = Strabo 8.6.16. For Aeginetan coinage a helpful survey is still Kraay (1976), 41–9. (17) For this vision of Mediterranean life see Horden and Purcell (2000). I shall investigate the link between trust and the ritualization of economic relations more widely in a separate study. (18) Thessaly is the more commonly known home for these heroes, and their double localization is problematic: Kowalzig (2007), 185. For the Aiakidai see Zunker (1988); Burnett (2005), 13–28. (19) Hes. Cat. fr. 205 M-W (trans. Evelyn-White); cf. Str. 8.6.16; Paus. 2.29.2. (20) The myth is also told in Paus. 2.29.6; 30.4; cf. 1.44.13; ΣΣ Pind. Nem. 5.17b and Nem. 8.19a (iii.91–2 and 142 Dr); Σ Pae. 6.125; Apollod. 3.12.6; Clem. Al. Strom. 6.3.28–9; Σ Ar. Equ. 1253a, b; Diod. Sic. 4.61. (21) The argument in this section elaborates on Kowalzig (2007), 210–13; for the archaeology of the cult on Aegina see 203–7. Page 29 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina (22) Hdt. 5.82–9 (cf. Douris FGrH 76 F 24) with Figueira (1993), 35–60; cf. Haubold (2007) and Irwin, this volume, Ch. 11, pp. 430, and 445–7, and Ch. 10, pp. 381–4. (23) Hdt. 5.82.2–3. For such religious ‘tributes’ as a ritualization of relations between cities see Kowalzig (2007), index s.v. (24) Wilson (2000), 281–2, 385 comments on this instance of chorēgia. See below for the gentilician structure on Aegina. (25) A detailed discussion of the ‘pottery ban’ can be found in Figueira (1993), 37–40. (26) Cf. also Riva (forthcoming), discussing an emerging sixth-century connectivity revolving around the wine trade in the northern Tyrrhenian. (27) Paus. 2.30.5; Nilsson (1906), 413–17. (28) See Arnaoutoglou (1998), 35–6 for the continued Athenian worry about the olive trees; Moreno (2007), 37–76 for intensive versus subsistence economy in the Attic demes; Solon: Plut. Sol. 24.1. (29) The grain supply in many cultures seems to be the mainstay as well as the measure of the success of a social policy: see e.g. Kardasis (2001) for London's nineteenth-century imports from the Black Sea. (30) Cf. the role that agriculture and grain production took in the political and religious symbology of Deinomenid Sicily, notably linked to the cult of Demeter: Kowalzig (2008). (31) I will discuss this issue separately. (32) Troizen: Paus. 2.32.2; Zen. 4.20; see Nilsson (1906), 415–16. Their names varied locally: Epidauros: IG IV 2.1 386; 398; 410; Aegina: IG IV 1588. (33) Horden and Purcell (2000). (34) Hdt. 5.81.2; 89.2–3; Paus. 2.30.4–5. (35) For the workings of amphictyonic cults see Kowalzig (2005), esp. 44 ff.; (2007), index s.v.; esp. 142–9; 385–6 with n. 138 for the vocabulary. For some general remarks on amphictyonic associations see Forrest (2000). (36) Pind. Nem. 8.8–12; Diod. Sic. 4.61; Paus. 2.29.6; 30.4–5. (37) Hdt. 2.178; 7.142; Hsch. Miles. Orig. Constant. FHG iv p. 149.

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina (38) Hdt. 6.35 (Philaids); Pind. Ol. 8; see also below on the pediments of the Aphaia temple. On the Trojan War and access to the Black Sea see Korfmann (1986), (1995). Cf. Kowalzig (2007), 212–13. The peculiar and intense spread of cult and legends of Achilles in the Hellespont and the corn-fields bordering the north-western Black Sea is intriguing: see now Hupe (2006). For Aeginetan involvement in the sixth- and fifth-century Black Sea grain trade see now Bresson (2007), esp. 58–60, using numismatic evidence. (39) Stroud (1998). (40) POxy 2087.18, for which see Stroud (1998), 90–1, 99–104. (41) Stroud (1998), 99–101. (42) Aiakos as an underworld judge, often together with Triptolemos: Ar. Ran. 414–78; Pl. Ap. 41a; Gorg. 523e–24a; Isoc. 9.15; Dem. De Cor. (18) 127; cf. CIG III 6298; LIMC 1.311–12 s.v., nos. 1–3. Aiakos as mediator of the gods: Pind. Isthm. 8.26. (43) I have discussed elsewhere how Athenians and Aeginetans during and after the Persian Wars compete over modalities of the grain trade by articulating different forms of Panhellenism which each carried distinct social and economic visions. This lay at the heart of a commercial rivalry that led to Aegina's famous stigmatization as the lēma in the eye of the Piraeus, that disturbing ‘pus’ blocking (economic?) vision (Kowalzig (2007), 201–18). Cratinus fr. 176 K-A speaks of an ancient life when everyone eats ‘Aeginetan bread’. For historiographical contextualization of such imagery, see Irwin, this volume, Ch. 11, pp. 428–9. Cf. also Athanassaki, this volume, Ch. 7. (44) Most recently Hornblower (2004), 214–17; (2007a), 297–302; cf. already Winterscheidt (1938), 27–31; Bowra (1964), 380–4; Figueira (1981a), 321–30; Hubbard (2001), 394; De Ste. Croix (2004), 380–3; Pfeijffer (1999), 62–3, 111– 12. (45) Pind. Nem. 3.2–3; 5.8; Bacch. 12.4–7; cf. 34; 13.95: δέσποινα παγξϵ[ίνου χθονός. (46) δίκᾳ ξϵναρκέι κοινόν ǀφέγγος, Pind. Nem. 4.12–13; θϵμίξϵνον ἀρϵτ[άν, Pae. 6.131. (47) Eunomia: Bacch. 13.182–9; Pind. Isthm. 5.22; Pyth. 8.22 (δικαιόπολις); Isthm. 9.5–6: οὐ θέμιν οὐδ`ϵ δίκαν ξϵίνων ὑπϵρβαίνοντϵς. (48) Winterscheidt (1938), 30, ‘adelige Fremdenfreundlichkeit’; De Ste. Croix (2004), 381, ‘aristocratic hospitality’; Hornblower (2004), 215, ‘hospitality as normally understood’. For Greek xenia see Herman (1987).

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina (49) Herman (1987), 10 for the ‘non-mercantile spirit’. (50) e.g. Hdt. 4.154.3–4: Etearchos, king of Oaxas and Themison, the Therean trader; see also Plut. Mor. 151f (Conv. sept. sap. 7) and Hdt. 3.43.2; 7.29; a young man from the Bosporos had been introduced to Pasion the Athenian banker by a Phoenician (!): Isoc. 17.4 (Trapeziticus). Herman (1987), 64, fig. 9: record of a xenia alliance between a Phoenician and a Greek, 2nd cent. BC, from Lilybaeum: ‘Imylch, son of Imilcho, Inbialos Chloros concluded a pact of xenia with Lyson, son of Diognetos, and his descendants’ (IG XIV 279). These instances are merely extracted from Herman (1987); a full investigation may be desirable. (51) Pind. Nem. 5.1–18. (52) Fearn (2007), 88–93 has the most recent account of Aiakos' cult on Aegina. (53) Paus. 2.29.6; for the architecture of the Aeginetan Aiakeion see particularly Stroud (1998), 92–3; Burnett (2005), 19–21; Attalid inscription (with Allen (1983), 147, 208–9): IG IV 2.2 747.17 (c.210–200 BC), where Aiakos' kinship (syggeneia) with Herakles may also be mentioned. (54) Kowalzig (2007), 1–13. Prosodia: Pind. Pae. 15 and Pae. 6.123 ff. with Rutherford (1997); Rutherford (2001), 306–7, 323–31, 410–18; Kurke (2005). (55) The Aiakeia occur in Pind. Ol. 7.86; Σ Pind. Ol. 7.156c (i.233 Dr), together with the Theoxenia at Pellene; Ol. 13.109 (won by family of Xenophon of Corinth); Nem. 5.53–4. See Angeli Bernardini (1983), 187, n. 72, 188, n. 74 for local festivals in the victory odes. (56) Pind. Isthm. 6.46; Σ Nem. 4.36b (iii.69–70 Dr); Nem. 7.84–6. (57) Figueira (1981a), 321–30, esp. 326 first phrased Aeginetan ‘ideology’ as a chain of juxtapositions and noted their proximity to ship-epithets. (58) Bacch. 13.224–5 ξϵνίαν τϵ [φιλά]γλαον; Pind. Isthm. 6.70 ξένων ϵὐϵργϵσίαις. (59) Pind. Nem. 5.9–18; 25–39. Peleus's reverence for Zeus Xenios prevents him from accepting Hippolyta's advances. (60) Pind. Isthm. 6.7–9; Σ Isthm. 6.10a (iii.251–2 Dr). (61) Pind. Ol. 8.19–30. (62) Σ Pind. Ol. 8.28b (i.243 Dr): τουτέστι φιλόξϵνοί ϵἰσιν, ἴσως διὰ τὸ ἐμπορϵι̑ον ϵἰ̑ναι τὴν Αἴγιναν. Σ Pind. Ol. 8.28–30 are somewhat enigmatic remarks by the scholiasts on Aeginetan legal treatment of foreigners, attributed

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina also to the island's proximity to the sea. On ‘justice to strangers’, see also Irwin, this volume, Ch. 10. p. 382 n. 19. (63) Figueira (1981a), 326–32 with some speculations based on Isocrates' Aegineticus, criticizing Winterscheidt (1938), 29–31; Pfeijffer (1999), 62–3 considers the importance of xenia to the safety of ships and crews in foreign harbours; Hubbard (2001), 393–4. De Ste. Croix (2004), 380, ‘it is an absurd error to treat this as essentially mere friendliness to traders’, may not be as damning as usually assumed: this does not exclude a link to trade, merely that Aeginetan xenia should exclusively be related to trade: ‘some of the xenia…is very likely to be extended…even to visiting traders’ (381), though the anticommercial bias is strongly maintained: ‘much as he may despise the foreign trader…he is likely to cultivate and protect him’ (381–2). Cf. ‘A ruling merchant class…nearly always tries to exclude, or at least restrict and hamper, its foreign competitors’ (382). (64) Cohen (2005), 297–305; cf. Velissaropoulos (1980), 235–67; Bresson (2008), 67–71. Bravo (1980), 944–7 on the conditions of maritime commerce before the late fifth century. (65) Trakman (1983) is a standard reference point for the Law Merchant. (66) ‘That commonwealth of merchants hath always had a peculiar and proper law to rule and govern it; this law is called the Law Merchant where of the law of all nations do take special knowledge’ (Sir John Davies, The Question Concerning Impositions, 10 (1956), cited by Trakman (1983), 7). (67) Thayer (1939), 141 on the 12th–13th centuries: ‘its cosmopolitan character, based on a common origin and a faithful reflection of the customs of merchants’ (cf. Malynes 1622). Trakman (1983), 139, n. 7 on ‘custom’ and the Law Merchant. (68) Hdt. 5.83.1. For a different interpretation of the juridical dependence on Epidauros, see Irwin, this volume, Ch. 10, pp. 387–8. (69) See pp. 143–4 above. (70) Pind. Ol. 8.21–2; Pae. 6.123–31; Nem. 4.12 and Isthm. 9 do not mention Zeus. (71) Vürtheim (1928), 6–8 has a helpful brief survey of Zeus Xenios in the literary sources; for attestations see Roscher (1884–1937), vi. 522–5 s.v. Burkert (1985), s.v. barely mentions Zeus Xenios. (72) IG II 2 1012 = Syll.3 640. Velissaropoulos (1980), 104 also citing Διὸς Ξϵνιασταί on Rhodes (IG XII.1 161 and 162, also as Σωτηριασταί); cf. Foucart (1873), 108–9 referring to the Cypriot Jupiter Hospitis (Ov. Met. 10.224; Lactant. Page 33 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina Plac. Div. inst. 1.21—Narr. fab. 10.6); Poland (1909), 112–13, 176–7 considers this an association of foreigners perhaps resident on Delos; Ziebarth (1896), 167–8. Other (less helpful) epigraphic references to Zeus Xenios are: IG III.1 199 (Roman?); IG IV 1 1087 = IG IV 2.1 523 (pyrophoros inscription from Epidauros); Stob. Flor. 1.12; 4.24.15: who is ‘unjust’ (adikos) against xenoi insults Zeus Xenios; cf. 4.2.24. (73) IG I 2 886 = IG I 3 1057, (with Lambert (1993), 327–8) mentions the sanctuary of Zeus Xenios of the phratry Thymaitis; elsewhere the Thyma/oitadai are a deme and belonged to the tetrakōmia of Phaleron (Parker (1996), 328–9 for the tetrakōmia and their special dance, the τϵτράκωμος ὄρχησις): e.g. Poll. Onom. 4.105; dikastikoi: Phot. Bibl. 762; Etym. Magn. 288.18; Suda 1515.3; Ar. Vesp. 1138 mentions a Thymaitian (= Persian-looking?) cloak. The figure Thymoites is associated with Attic hospitality in Demon ap. Ath. 3.96d–e (FGrH 327 F 1); see Parker (1996), 108, n. 25. Note also Theseus' building his fleet against Crete in this deme, and the ‘strangers' way’, Plut. Thes. 19 = Cleitodemus FHG i.359). Zeus Xenios and Philios are often joined: Cook (1964– 5), ii. 2, 1177, n. 2. (74) Antiochus IV Epiphanes transformed the temple on Mt. Gerizim either into a temple of Zeus Xenios (2 Macc. 6: 1; Euseb. Chron. Abr. 1850 (v.l. 1848) ii.126 Schoene) or of Hellēnios: Joseph. AJ 12.5.5; Zonar. 4.19 (i.317 Dindorf). (75) Bravo (1980), esp. 960–83 offers thoughtful reflection on the standard line that foreigners were ‘rechtlos’ in states other than their own; cf. also 944–7 (as n. 64 above). Gauthier (1972) is the standard work on symbola, bilateral arrangements between cities. (76) Cf. n. 43 above. (77) On this speech see briefly Figueira (1981a), 304–5, 331–2 and De Ste. Croix (2004), 382–3. (78) Xenia: Isoc. 19.10; 18; 22; cf. 5; philia: 10, 1, 17, 29, 32, 34, 48, 50. See De Ste. Croix (2004), 382. (79) Isoc. 19.13; Diod. Sic. 4.82; cf. Burkert (1983), 110–11 for other sources for this myth. For the proxeny see n. 84 below. (80) See pp. 150–1 above. (81) On this family see Hornblower (2004), 219; cf. Hdt. 9.78. Perhaps Pytheases from Aegina pass on an aretē of mobility to their descendants when they appear at fourth-century Delphi: CID 2.12 col. ii.1.15; 2.31.78, 93. (82) Lindos II 16; 16 app. The most recent detailed discussion is Gabrielsen (2000), 179–80, 185–7; see Kowalzig (2007), 252 and n. 86. Page 34 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina (83) Many East Greek (?) merchants met at Naukratis, as we know from inscribed pottery; Williams (1983), 184–5 and nn. 114 and 115 below. For the presences of Greek cities at Naukratis see now Möller (2000). (84) Aeginetan proxenies are known from places of significance in trade: at Samos (IG XII.6 56, c.306 BC, for an actor); Eresos on Lesbos (IG XII Suppl. 127.22–5, 3rd cent. BC); Keos (IG XII.5.542.24; 4th cent. BC); and several at Delphi between the 4th and 2nd cents. BC. Marek (1984), 134 thinks that grants of proxeny served exclusively public interests. (85) Aristophanes from Aegina (Σ Ar. Ach. 654b; Theogenes FGrH 300 F 2) or Rhodes (Σ Vita Tzetziana ed. II, XXXIIb, p. 144 Koster; XXXa, p. 141 Koster; XXXc, p. 143 Koster). (86) Aeginetan‐Koan monument: Berges (1996), no. 264. Pharandates: Hdt. 9.76; her father was a xenos of the Spartan Pausanias. Arion's homeward journey on a Corinthian merchant ship is another legendary example of commercial regularity in the Mediterranean (Hdt. 1.21). (87) e.g. Morelli (1956); Sacco (1980). (88) Plut. An seni 6 (Mor. 787a); Apophth. Lac. 48 (Mor. 234f); Comm. in Hes. fr. 59; Stob. Flor. 29.87; Cic. Tusc. 5.40. (89) Kowalzig (2007), ch. 5, esp. 250–60, 264–6. (90) Hdt. 4.152, with Johnston (1972); Harvey (1976); Murray (1993), 225. Torelli (1971), 55–60, 65–6 suspects based on this passage that Sostratos himself was involved in the metal trade with the far west. The inscriptions from Gravisca are now assembled in Johnston and Pandolfini (2000); for social profiles of Greeks frequenting Gravisca see now Torelli (2004). On Sostratos see also Irwin, this volume, Ch. 11. (91) Incised: BM 88.6-1.456: Boardman (1999b), 122, fig. 139. Painted: BM 1924.12-1.783 (see Williams (1983), 195); for Sostratos' possible dedication to Aphaia on Aegina see below. (92) Pind. Nem. 3.20–1. (93) See p. 164 below. (94) See Figueira (1981a), 304–5, 330–2. Legends about poets' voracity and search for profit and about their exorbitant prices affirm that these poets were not gentlemen-artists, even though they may well have been rich by birth. Pindar's Delphian and Aeginetan proxenies suggest more than poetic diplomacy. For the language of reciprocity and a more symbolic economy see Kurke (1991a), part II. A xenia relationship is most conspicuously played out poetically Page 35 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina in Nemean 7 (44, 61, 50, 84–6, 70). See Fearn, Ch. 5 this volume, for further thoughts here. (95) Figueira (1981a), 328. (96) Paus. 2.29.7. (97) See Kowalzig (2006), 85–91. References to Ajax in Aeginetan odes: Pind. Nem. 4.44–8; 7.24–30; 8.23; Isthm. 5.46–50; 6.26; 52–4. Megara: Athena Aiantis (Paus. 1.42.4); Byzantion: Hsch. Miles. Origin. Constant. FHG iv.149; Athens: Soph. Aj. 201–2; 859–65; 1216–22. (98) Kowalzig (2007), 207–10. See also Irwin, this volume, Ch. 11, passim, and Ch. 10, pp. 405–14 (on Salamis). (99) Hekate and the sea: Hes. Theog. 413 (the ‘barren’ sea); 439–43. On Thasos she held threefold worship at the ‘maritime’ gates and at those of Silenus and Hermes; see Johnston (1999), 207 for references to her protecting gateways to and from enclosed civic spaces; cf. Henrichs, OCD 3 s.v. (100) Ar. Vesp. 122; for the cult on Aegina see Nilsson (1906), 398–9. (101) Paus. 2.30.2 speaks of a xoanon by Myron; a classical Hekate seems also to have been in nearby Hermione: Horos 10–12 (1992–8), 251–8. Lucian, Navigium 15 has a thiasos on theōria to Hekate from the Piraeus; a certain Menander participated in Hekate's mysteries at Corinth and on Aegina in the 4th cent. AD (Lib. 14.426b). The mysteries are compared to those of nearby Eleusis by Origen, Cels. 6.22. (102) Paus. 2.30.3 mentions the song. Aphaia's cult has a long legacy of interpretations particularly by German scholarship, for which see Watson, Ch. 2 this volume. (103) Sinn (1988), (1987); taken up by Watson, Ch. 2 this volume. Sinn's (1987), 140–2 idea of a tribal shrine for the ‘Dorian’ Hylleis is daring but has little firm ground in the evidence. (104) Schwandner (1985); cf. IG IV 1580 (mid-6th cent. BC), with Williams (1987); for the contemporary context see briefly Sinn (1987), 131–6; for the continued votives of the second limestone temple to Roman times see Williams (1987), esp. 669–80 for the historical contexts. (105) On the pediments and Aeginetan Panhellenism see Watson, Ch. 2 this volume. (106) Identity of Britomartis–Aphaia: Diod. Sic. 5.76; Paus. 2.30.3. PilafidisWilliams (1998) has studied the Bronze Age levels of the cult. Page 36 of 38

 

Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina (107) Paus. 2.30.4; 3.14.2; Diod. Sic. 5.76; Str. 10.4.12; [Scylax] 47.17; Call. 3.189–200; Ant. Lib. Met. 40; [Verg.] Ciris 294–309; Hsch. a 8533 s.v. Ἀφαία. See also Nonnus, Dion. 33.333–45; Σ Ar. Ran. 1356. For a fifth-century identification of Aphaia with Diktynna see Eur. Hipp. 1123; 1459. Hdt. 3.59 (see below) also knows of Diktynna's temple at Kydonia. (108) On the importance of Crete for Aeginetan trading interests see Figueira (1981a), 133–6, 280, with notes. Kydonia was destroyed in 431 BC by the Athenians, the same year as Aegina's final subjugation: Thuc. 2.85. Paus. 2.30.3 for her ‘appearance’ on Aegina. Cf. Irwin, this volume, Ch. 10, p. 423 n. 117. (109) Ant. Lib. Met. 40. (110) Kowalzig (2007), 88–94. (111) Ohly (1972), 53–4, though her cult statue is also thought to bear similarities to figures of Artemis (Williams, LIMC I 877; critiqued by Sinn (1988), 149–50). Hdt. 8.84 has a female epiphany before the Battle of Salamis. (112) Hdt. 3.59. Apparently Samos attacked Aegina under the seventh-century (?) king Amphikrates (who tellingly overcame the local ‘landholders’, the geōmoroi: Plut. Quaest. Graec. 59 (Mor. 303e–4c), on which episode see Figueira (1993), 23–8, 53–4. Cf. also the Samians' purchase of the island of Hydra from ancient Hermione, then entrusted to the Troizenians, located just opposite Aegina. Smilis the Samian sculptor was active on Aegina: Figueira (1993), 22–3. Cf. Irwin, this volume, Ch. 11, pp. 432 ff. (113) Sinn (1988), 151–3. For the fantastical eye, see Furtwängler (1906), 426, no. 1. (114) Williams (1983), 186, speculating that the merchants paid for the temple. Cf. also LSAG 110. (115) Williams (1983), 184–5 and figs. 21–2. (116) Williams (1983),184–5 cites Chians and Teians, as well as Mytilenaeans writing on Lesbian ware. The Chian votives on Aegina are indistinguishable from those found on Chios itself, at Cyrene, and at Naukratis. (117) Furtwängler (1906), 368, no. 10, pl. 25.2, with a name ]τρατος (late 6th cent. BC). Egyptian finds: Williams (1983), 186, n. 64. (118) Mylonopoulos (2003), 49–52; Nilsson (1906), 73–4. (119) Plut. Quaest. Graec. 44 (Mor. 301e–f); cf. Nilsson (1906), 73 for the gentilician aspect.

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Musical Merchandise ‘on every vessel’: Religion and Trade on Aegina (120) IG I 3 1481–90; Barron (1983) (c.450 BC); Smarczyk (1990), 120–9 (lower datings); Parker (1996), 144–5, arguing for land confiscated and dedicated to Athenian gods; 145, n. 94 on the unlikely association of Poseidon and Apollo at Athens; Mylonopoulos (2003), 49–51. Polinskaya (2009) re-examines all known horos inscriptions, four of which were only recently discovered, and attributes them to Athenian intervention after 431 BC, but remains inconclusive on the joint Apollo–Poseidon temenē. (121) Lucia Athanassaki, Ch. 7 this volume, discusses the contemporary relevance of the divine junction Apollo–Poseidon. (122) Paus. 2.29.6; [Scylax] 53; cf. Imhoof-Blumer and Gardner (1964), pl. 50,1. (123) SEG 11. 18 for the Aeginetan anchor-stone; Hsch. s.v. οὐ̑ς Ἀφροδίτης (cf. Ath. 3.88a); Hermione and the murex: Plut. Alex. 36; Alciphron, Letters 3.10.4. For a ‘maritime’ Aphrodite see Parker (2002) and Pirenne-Delforge (1994), 433– 7 and 176–8 on Aphrodite on Aegina. Pind. Nem. 8.1–7 interestingly invokes Aphrodite and Aeginetan Zeus together, before alluding at greater length to the myth of Aiakos and Zeus Hellānios. (124) Phryne: Ath. 13.588e; 590f. (125) See p. 160 above.

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics

Aegina: Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry: Myth, History, and Identity in the Fifth Century BC David Fearn

Print publication date: 2010 Print ISBN-13: 9780199546510 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: January 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.001.0001

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics David Fearn (Contributor Webpage)

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.003.0006

Abstract and Keywords Taking as its point of departure the prevalence of catalogues of family victories and the unusual emphasis on personal names in extant Aeginetan epinician poetry, this chapter asks important questions about the relations between the commissioning of Aeginetan choral poetry in all its forms, local and Panhellenic cult, and Aeginetan aristocratic politics. It is likely that the control of and support for non-epinician choral song was itself in the hands of the same aristocratic group of Aeginetan individuals and clans that commissioned the poets to write victory odes in celebration of the athletic achievement of their family members. By forging links between Aeginetan aristocratic selfrepresentation, ritual, and competitive oligarchic politics, this chapter adds sharpness and contextual specificity to modern scholarly theories about the broader cultural and political significance of epinician poetry; the chapter also includes a new treatment of the significance of Simonides' poem for Krios. Keywords:   Aeginetan poetry, personal names, cult, aristocracy, families, politics, Pindar, Bacchylides, Simonides

Amongst the extant corpus of epinician poetry, the Aeginetan commissions loom large. They, rather like the Sicilian odes, can be thought of and examined as a discrete body of works.1 However, the presence of the large number of these poems is more often observed than examined in detail, or any cultural consequences investigated, despite the recent resurgence of interest in some

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics relevant related areas, such as the connections between non-epinician choral lyric and epichoric and Panhellenic ritual.2 This chapter attempts to make further headway through consideration of three interrelated issues: first, the relation between Aeginetan epinician poetry and other Aeginetan choral work; second, the relation of Aeginetan epinician poetry to both epichoric and (p.176) Panhellenic cult; and third, the broader sociopolitical ramifications of such connections. Statistics garnered from the entire corpus of epinician poetry will reveal that the naming of family victories is radically more frequent in Aeginetan commissions than non-Aeginetan ones. Further investigation is therefore warranted into the possible contextual reasons for this discrepancy. This startling fact, which has so far gone unnoticed, will be seen to have important ramifications for the specific conditions of patronage and performance in Aeginetan poetry, when considered in relation both to the frequency of references to cult and cult-practice in Aeginetan epinician poetry, and to Aeginetan politics. The arguments put forward here aim to inspire further studies into the religious and political significance of Aeginetan cults, and of choral song in all its forms. They will also suggest that further thought is needed concerning the epichoric commissioning circumstances not only of epinician poetry but also of other non-epinician choral lyric texts.

I. Naming Aeginetan Victors First, statistics. The level of interest in families, and family victories in particular, in Aeginetan epinician poetry is remarkable. A total of seven Aeginetan clans (patrai) are referred to and implicit in the fifteen Aeginetan epinician odes which remain (complete or fragmentary) (see Table 1). Table 1. Aeginetan clans Clan

Poem

Bassidai

Pind. Nem. 6

Blepsiadai

Ol. 8

Euxenidai

Nem. 7

Chariadai

Nem. 8

Meidylidai

Pyth. 8

Psalychiadai

Isthm. 6, Nem. 5, Bacch. 13, and Isthm. 5

Theandridai

Nem. 4

Note: Poems with no clan identifiable: Pind. Nem. 3, Isthm. 8, and fragmentary Isthm. 9; Bacch. 12; Sim. 507 PMG. Further thoughts on

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics Aeginetan patrai: Morrison (forthcoming b); fundamental early work: Winterscheidt (1938). (p.177) Moreover, though the total number of archaic and classical Aeginetan athletic victories is unknown, a total of twenty-five or twenty-six Aeginetan victors are known by name, including many mentioned in epinician poems not addressed to them (see Table 2). The majority of Aeginetan odes also contain catalogues of family victories (see Table 3). The data collected in Tables 2 and 3 compare with the much more limited evidence for the naming of ‘supplementary victors’ in non-Aeginetan odes (see Table 4). Table 2. Aeginetan victors and victories Name

Source

Alkimedon

Pind. Ol. 8

Alkimidas

Nem. 6

Aristokleidas

Nem. 3

Aristomenes

Pyth. 8

Deinias

Nem. 8

Euthymenes

Nem. 5.41, Isthm. 6.58

Hagesimachos(?)

Nem. 6.22

Kallias

Nem. 6.36

Kallikles

Nem. 4.80

Kleandros

Isthm. 8

Kleitomachos

Pyth. 8.37

Kreontidas

Nem. 6.40

Krios

Sim. 507 PMG

Megas

Nem. 8.16, 44–8

Nikokles

Isthm. 8.61

Pherias

Paus. 6.14.1

Phylakidas

Isthm. 5 and 6

Praxidamas

Nem. 6.15–22, Paus. 6.18.7

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics

Name

Source

Pytheas

Bacch. 13/Nem. 5, Isthm. 5.19 and 59, Isthm. 6.58

Sogenes

Nem. 7

Taurosthenes

Paus. 6.9.3, Ael. Var. Hist. 9.2

Teisias

Bacch. 12

Themistios

Nem. 5.50

Theognetos

Pyth. 8.36, Paus. 6.9.1, [Sim. Ep. XXX]

Timasarchos

Nem. 4

Timosthenes

Ol. 8.15–16

Compare also Polytimidas, relative of the addressee, at Nem. 6.62, with Σ Nem. 6.104a (iii.114 Dr) Notes: name = victor recorded exclusively in non-epinician source; name =  epinician addressee: ‘principal victor’; name = individual named as a victor in a poem not addressed to him: ‘supplementary victor’; name  = epinician addressee also named as a victor elsewhere in a poem not addressed to him: ‘principal and supplementary victor’. (p.178) Table 3. Aeginetan family victories Poem

Catalogue

Olympian 8 15–16 and 56–9 for Nemean victories. Pythian 8

35–8 for family victories at Olympia and Isthmia; 78–9 for Aristomenes' victories at Megara, Marathon, and Aeginetan (?) Heraia.

Nemean 3

83–4 for Aristokleidas' victories at Nemea, Epidauros, and Megara.

Nemean 4

19–22 for Timasarchos' victories at Athens and at Thebes by the tomb of Amphitryon.

Nemean 5

39–46 for Euthymenes' victories at Nemea and Megara, and, with Pytheas, at Aeginetan ?Delphinia; 50–3 for Themistios' twin victories at Epidauros.

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics

Poem

Catalogue

Nemean 6

8 ff. for elaborate catalogue of family successes, culminating in ‘through god's fortune boxing has revealed no other house as steward of more crowns in the heart of Hellas’ (24–6); 34–44 for another elaborate list of achievements at Delphi, Isthmia, and Nemea.

Nemean 8

16–17 for Nemean victories by father and son.

Isthmian 5

17–19 for victories of Phylakidas and elder brother Pytheas at Isthmia and Nemea; Pytheas praised as Phylakidas' trainer at 59–61.

Isthmian 6

1–9 for elaborate catalogue of victories of Lampon's sons, with hopes for an Olympic success; 57–73 for elaborate praise of Lampon's family and successes by Phylakidas, Pytheas, and Euthymenes.

Isthmian 8

1–5 for Kleandros' Isthmian and Nemean successes; 61–5 for successes of victor's dead cousin Nikokles at Isthmia; 65a–8 for Kleandros' successes at Megara and Epidauros.

Bacchylides 35–42 (at least) for elaborate catalogue of victories at Delphi, 12 Isthmia, Nemea, and Olympia: thirty more (unnamed) Aeginetan victories mentioned at 36–7. Table 4. Non-Aeginetan ‘supplementary victors’ Poem

Victor

Olympian 83 for Lampromachos of Opous, close relative (brother?) of 9 addressee. Olympian 35 ff. for Thessalos, Ptoiodoros (cf. also Sim. 519B fr. 13 PMG), 13 Terpsias, and Eritimos of Corinth, all Oligaithid relatives of addressee; cf. Barrett (1978). Pythian 10

16 for Phrikias of Thessaly, father of addressee.

Nemean 10

39–40 and 49 for Thrasyklos, Antias, and Pamphaes(?) of Argos, forebears of addressee.

Isthmian 3

15 for Kleonymos of Thebes, ancestor of addressee.

Note: Excluding Karrhotos of Pind. Pyth. 5.26 (victorious charioteer for and brother-in-law of Arkesilas of Cyrene), Thrasyboulos of Pyth. 6.15 and 44–51 (though a victor, not named as such in either passage), Theron of Akragas at Isthm. 2.28–9 (alluded to but not named explicitly), and the mythically Page 5 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics ancestral Alexidamos of Pyth. 9.121; cf. also the extended passage honouring and lamenting the glorious death in war of Strepsiades of Thebes, the victor's namesake uncle, at Isthm. 7.23–39. (p.179)

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics

Table 5. Total statistics for naming of victors ‘Supplementary victors’

:

Extant ‘principal victors’

Whole corpus

± 22

:

43 (35 Pind. + 8 Bacch.)

=

roughly 1 : 2

Non-Aeginetan poems

9 or 10

:

32 (25 Pind. + 7 Bacch.)

=

roughly 1 : 3 (and roughly 1 : 5 if Ol. 13 omitted)

Aeginetan poems

12 or 13

:

11 (10 Pind. + 1 Bacch.)

=

slightly over 1 : 1

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Ratio

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics When collected together and compared, the evidence tabulated above, in Tables 2–4, provides the overall statistics for the practice of naming victors in epinician poetry (Pindar and Bacchylides only) shown in Table 5.

Comparison across the entire epinician corpus of Pindar and Bacchylides reveals that the Aeginetan practice of naming other family victors is highly exceptional, with the one interesting exception provided by Pindar's Olympian 13, for a member of the Corinthian Oligaithidai, to which we shall return later. Whereas in non-Aeginetan poems victors who are named in addition to the prime focus of praise (‘supplementary victors’) are rather uncommon, appearing in five poems only,3 in the Aeginetan material the total number of such supplementary victors is slightly more frequent than the names of the victors whose victories the poems' ancient titles record as praising uniquely, the ‘principal victors’.4 (p.180) This discussion has begun with a focus on victors and naming because the atypical highlighting of family names in victory catalogues ought to have a very strong bearing on the work these poems are doing and how they relate to questions of context, allowing us a way in to explore the uniqueness of Aegina as a recipient of epinician poetry.5

II. Poems, Cults, and Rituals This section explores some of the ways in which Aeginetan epinician poetry formed part of a broader range of ritual and choral events. A particular contextualizing methodology is implicit or explicit in some recent discussions of epinician poetry: not only that we should be aware of ways in which Aeginetan epinician poetry may be grounded in a ritual and choral context guaranteed by the home polis of its victors, but also that we can appeal to this grounding in order for Aeginetan epinician song to find its origin and function in specifically communal terms, whereby epinician poetry is understood as a poetic force mediating between mass and elite interests, or between aristocracy and broader polis-community. This approach is here challenged; the possibility of a broader range of interactions between Aeginetan poetry and cult is explored. It seems likely that the control of and support for non-epinician choral song was itself also in the hands of the same aristocratic group of Aeginetan clans and families that commissioned the same poets to write epinician poems to celebrate athletic victories by their own relations.6 This possibility invites further consideration of the (p.181) religious and political significance of Aeginetan cults and choral song in all its forms, especially once we factor in the striking evidence for the naming of individuals in Aeginetan epinician poetry set out in section I above.

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics Aiakos

Consider first the relation between two texts—one epinician ode, one prosodion —in which Poseidon's conveyance of Aiakos over the sea to Aegina is described with similar detail: Ὀρσοτρίαινα δ’ ἐπ’ Ἰσθμῳ ποντίᾳ ἅρμα θοὸν τάνυϵν, ἀποπέμπων Αἰακόν δϵυ̑ρ’ ἀν’ ἵπποις χρυσέαις

The trident-wielding god urged his swift chariot towards the Isthmos by the sea, bringing Aiakos home here on golden horses. (Ol. 8.48–52)

str. A

τὠ̑δ’ ἐν ἄματι τϵρπνὠ̑

Α[ἰ]γινήταις

ἵπποι μ`ϵν ἀθάναται

ϵἰ[ς] Αἰακόν

Ποσϵιδᾶνος ἄγοντ’ Αἰακ[ Νηρϵὺς δ’ ὁ γέρων ἕπϵτα[ι· πατὴρ δ`ϵ Κρονίων μολ[ο̑υσι πρὸς ὄμμα βαλὼν χϵρὶ[ τράπϵζαν θϵω̑ν ἐπ’ ἀμβ[ρο ἵνα οἱ κέχυται πιϵι̑ν ν ̣[ —

str. B

ἔρχϵται δ’ ἐνιαυτὠ̑ ὑπέρτάταν [̣⏑ ˘̣]ονα ̣[

For the Aeginetans, to Aiakos On this pleasant day the immortal mares of Poseidon lead Aiakos…and old Nereus follows. Father Zeus…coming…casting his eye, with his hand…to the immortal table of the gods, where…?…is poured out for him to drink. At the end of a year there comes…the highest… (Paean 15, S4 Rutherford) (p.182) Olympian 8 celebrated the victory by Alkimedon of Aegina in the boys' wrestling at the Olympic games of 460;7 Paean 15 is undated. Instead of thinking about how Olympian 8 might be consciously or intentionally alluding to Paean 15 in a direct appropriation of the theoxenic ritual content of the paean, we might Page 9 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics consider a live intertextuality existing between both these poems and the ritual setting (or settings) of the Aiakeia festival at which it has plausibly been argued that Paean 15 was performed.8 With particular regard to paeans, Leslie Kurke has recently suggested that, rather than simply ‘reflecting’ ritual, these texts, and Paean 6 in particular, may be thought of as scripts for ritualization, according to the language of the anthropologist Catherine Bell: [S]cholars' comfortable reliance and reference to ‘ritual context’ as a stable category simply reenact a native mystification, rather than analyzing how that mystification comes into being in practice…[W]e can see the elaborate form and production of choral song and dance as precisely a means of ‘making special the everyday’—a cultural practice that marks off and differentiates a particular space and time from the ordinary, while it serves to form and produce ritualized bodies in action. In this sense, there is no gap between ‘text’ and ‘context’; the texts we have are the thing itself —scripts for ritualization…[P]oem and context are simply interacting parts of the same process of ritualization.9 This is an ambitious and worthy attempt to break down the distinction between ‘text’ and ‘context’, and it might be that some will find the concept of ritualization (rather than ‘ritual’ or ‘context’) fruitful for further analysis of choral lyric poetry of an obviously religious or cultic dimension. On the other hand, I still worry about a potential (p.183) risk, that such poetry might thus be reduced to and equated with ‘ritualization’, and that the peculiar qualities and significances of the poetry—rather than, say, a sacrifice, a libation, or any other kind of religious performance—might go by the wayside. The way I will proceed is to investigate the literary intertextualities, along with the force (cultural; political; ritual?) of the relations constructed, between those choral lyric texts directed ϵἰς θϵούς (paeans, prosodia, hymns, partheneia) and those ϵἰς ἀνθρώπους (in this case, epinicians), in the specific Aeginetan conditions which section I has helped to highlight. By so doing I will hope to shed some new light on what Aeginetans did with ritual and what that means, yet at the same time preserving the literary dimension of the poetry itself as a highly significant articulation of Aeginetans' values. If we return to the first pair of texts, it is possible that Paean 15 and Olympian 8, taken together, reflect mythology of the Aiakeia festival, whose ritual activities, including Paean 15 itself, performed the return of Aiakos from overseas, welcoming him back home.10 But we might ask why Olympian 8 has a stake in this same matrix of myth and ritual about Aiakos, given that this is an epinician ode rather than a paean. How should we understand the relevance of epichoric

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics ritual performance to an Aeginetan epinician poem, and, by implication, the context of its celebration? There has been a tendency recently to suppose that such references have a communitarian function, a sign that Aeginetan epinician appropriates epichoric cult in order to root itself into a polis context understood as communitarian in ethos.11 Yet it might also be useful to think about potential continuities between paean and epinician, rather than discontinuities, and to think hard about what such connections may say about the political as well as the ritual connotations of both forms. The intertextuality should be thought to work in both directions, rather than simply providing a more limited perspective of how epinician poetry might rely on the more religiously authoritative form of paean in order to generate any authority in relation to the polis that it somehow lacked on its own account. (p.184) Another instance where epichoric cult may be detected is in reference to the Aeginetan Sanctuary of Aiakos. In the opening of Pindar's Nemean 8, the pick of the heroes of Sparta and Athens are said to have come to Aegina and to have submitted willingly to Aiakos' power: ἔβλαστϵν δ’ υἱὸς Οἰνώνας βασιλϵύς χϵιρὶ καὶ βουλαι̑ς ἄριστος. πολλά νιν πολλοὶ λιτάνϵυον ἰδϵι̑ν· ἀβοατὶ γὰρ ἡρώων ἄωτοι πϵριναιϵταόντων ἤθϵλον κϵίνου γϵ πϵίθϵσθ’ ἀναξίαις ἑκόντϵς, — οἵ τϵ κρανααι̑ς ἐν Ἀθάναισιν ἅρμοζον στρατόν, οἵ τ’ ἀνὰ Σπάρταν Πϵλοπηϊάδαι. ἱκέτας Αἰακου̑ σϵμνω̑ν γονάτων πόλιός θ’ ὑπ`ϵρ φίλας ἀστω̑ν θ’ ὑπ`ϵρ τω̑νδ’ ἅπτομαι φέρων Λυδίαν μίτραν καναχηδὰ πϵποικιλμέναν, Δϵίνιος δισσω̑ν σταδίων καὶ πατρὸς Μέγα Νϵμϵαι̑ον ἄγαλμα.

A son was born as king of Oinona, best in might and mind. Many times did many men beg to see him: unbidden, the pick of neighbouring heroes were willing voluntarily to submit to his lordship at least, both those who marshalled the host in rocky Athens, and those descendants of Pelops in Sparta. As a suppliant I am clasping the hallowed knees of Aiakos, bearing on behalf of his beloved city and of these citizens a Lydian headband ornate with ringing tones, a Nemean ornament for the double stadion races of Deinias and his father Megas. (Nem. 8.7–16)

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics This introduces the supplication of Aiakos by the persona loquens in his offer of praise to the victor Deinias, as well as his father; most striking is its politicized naturalization of Athenian and Spartan subservience to Aeginetan authority in the Saronic Gulf. This perspective recognizes Aegina's cardinal position in the Saronic Gulf, situated between the two rival powers of Athens and Sparta, though the view offered seems rather more self-assured than the picture of an Aegina problematized throughout the fifth century as offered by some scholars.12 (p.185) Importantly, this poetic presentation needs to be set in relation to the iconographic scheme of the sculptural decoration at the entrance to the Aiakeion itself, as recorded by Pausanias:13 Wrought in relief at the entrance are the envoys whom the Greeks once dispatched to Aiakos. The reason for the embassy given by the Aeginetans is the same as that which the other Greeks assign. A drought had for some time afflicted Greece, and no rain fell either beyond the Isthmos or in the Peloponnese, until at last they sent envoys to Delphi to ask what was the cause and to beg for deliverance from the evil. The Pythian priestess bade them propitiate Zeus, saying that he would not listen to them unless the one to supplicate him were Aiakos. And so envoys came with a request to Aiakos from each city. By sacrifice and prayer to Zeus Panhellenios, he caused rain to fall upon the earth, and the Aeginetans made these likenesses of those who came to him. (Paus. 2.29.6–8) Pausanias presents this myth and its representation on the shrine as one with a broad Panhellenic thrust, and indeed a broad Panhellenic appeal, but also as one which represents at least part of the rationale of the epichoric cult of Aiakos and its relation to Delphi.14 Nemean 8 is, however, more particular: the drought is not itself mentioned, and the only Greek states picked out are Athens and Sparta, willingly submitting to Aiakos' power. Even as Nemean 8 is buying in to, and is indeed part of, the Panhellenic thrust of the cult of Aiakos, this part of the poem sends a clear message of challenge to Aegina's nearest and most important polis rivals. This does not mean, however, that Nemean 8's reinterpretation of the mythology of the cult of Aiakos is any less representative of religious experience of epichoric cult than experience of the iconography on (p.186) the temenos itself; we may be dealing here with a range of different, rather than a hierarchy of, modes of cultic representation.15 As such, Nemean 8 can be seen as an important element in a range of discourses of Aeginetan religious experience, rather than as a work somehow subservient to or dependent upon the cultimagery of Aiakos to connect with any wider communal experience of Aeginetan cult external to the poem.16 Indeed, the projection of supplication of Aiakos by

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics the persona loquens, which evokes a timeless aristocratic viewpoint, as representative of the whole Aeginetan community, is particularly powerful.17 Compare now the conclusion to Pindar's Nemean 5, where we hear of the triumphant dedication of victory spoils in the Aiakeion: ϵἰ δ`ϵ Θϵμίστιον ἵκϵις ὥστ’ ἀϵίδϵιν, μηκέτι ῥ̄ίγϵι· δίδοι φωνάν, ἀνὰ δ’ ἱστία τϵι̑νον πρὸς ζυγὸν καρχασίου, πύκταν τέ νιν καὶ παγκρατίου φθέγξαι ἑλϵι̑̑ν’Ἐπιδαύρῳ διπλόαν νικω̑ντ’ ἀρϵτάν, προθύροισιν δ’ Αἰακου̑ ἀνθέων ποιάϵντα φέρϵ στϵφανώματα σὺν ξανθαι̑ς Χάρισσιν.

If it is Themistios [the victor's grandfather] that you have come to sing, hold back no longer: give forth your voice, hoist the sails to the topmost yard, proclaim that as a boxer and in the pankration he won at Epidauros a double victory, and bring to the entrance of Aiakos' shrine the leafy crowns of flowers with the aid of the fair-haired Graces. (Nem. 5.50–4) Again, we have here an epinician evocation of Aeginetan cultic experience, associated with the Aiakeion. Pindar here transforms a ritual act of dedication into a trans-temporal evocation of success for (p.187) the maternal side of the family of the victor Pytheas. This poses important questions about how to interpret appropriation of the Aiakeion, and how to interpret the dedicatory act that Pindar's poem memorializes. Dedication of wreaths by a successful family at a local sanctuary could hardly be thought to be part of a strategy of mediation between the interests of the Aeginetan elite and those of the wider Aeginetan community, conceived of as separate or opposed to those interests. Recent scholarship has quite frequently assumed that such evocations of cult in epinician may give us access to a festival context at which the poems themselves were performed.18 While the jury should remain out about the precise specificity of such connections (and we should remain rather sceptical about Nemean 5), the important point is that, even if Aeginetan epinician performance were given a regular part in Aeginetan cult festivals such as the Aiakeia, we could not then simply assume that such festival contextualization would mean that such poems had the interests of any separable Aeginetan community in mind, given both the frequency of such successes and the specific oligarchic context.19 And although it is obvious that epinician poems have Panhellenic aspirations, such aspirations must have relied on networks of aristocratic xenia for their Panhellenic appreciation.20 Furthermore, even if we were to consider the actual foundations of epichoric Aeginetan cults (supposing we could access such Ur-moments Page 13 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics directly), or the building of sanctuaries (e.g. Aphaia), as the authentic results of shared local endeavour (with opposition to the growing threat of Athens providing some important sense of unity), the best guess that we can hazard about the ongoing rationale behind and actual administration of (p.188) such cults suggests that they represented and supported the outlook of a relatively small group of competing aristocratic families or clans.21 Consider further the cultic associations of the Aeginetan water-supply. We now know that the Aeginetans in the sixth century went to extraordinary lengths to provide themselves with a connection to Asopos and his daughter Aegina through the use of water, and the provision of a spring named ‘Asopis’, or ‘Asopian’, which is likely to have been located close to the Aiakeion in Aegina town.22 The principal evidence for the existence of this spring is provided in the opening of Pindar's Nemean 3: Ὦ  πότνια Μοι̑σα, μα̑τϵρ ἁμϵτέρα, λίσσομαι, τὰν πολυξέναν ἐν ἱϵρομηνίᾳ Νϵμϵάδι ἵκϵο Δωρίδα να̑σον Αἴγιναν· ὕδατι γάρ μένοντ’ ἐπ’ Ἀσωπίῳ μϵλιγαρύων τέκτονϵς κώμων νϵανίαι, σέθϵν ὄπα μαιόμϵνοι.

O Mistress Muse, our mother, I beg of you, come, in the sacred Nemean month, to the Dorian island of Aegina abounding in hospitality: for, by the Asopian water, craftsmen of honey-voiced revels await, young men eager for your voice. (Nem. 3.1–5) It would be perverse to deny from this that the first performance of Nemean 3 took place by the Asopian spring. Moreover, we should also note the poem's evocation of ritual time here. For the poem implies a connection in time with the Nemean festival at which the athletic victory that the poem celebrates was won. Looking at Pindar's Nemean 5, the same poem which mentions dedications to Aiakos at its close, we find an explicit connection between Panhellenic and epichoric time. We hear from line 44 of that poem, that ἁ Νϵμέα μ`ϵν ἄραρϵν μϵίς τ’ ἐπιχώριος, ὃν φίλησ’ Ἀπόλλων, ‘Nemea, and the local month which Apollo loves, is his firm support’; a scholiast on this line interprets Pindar as stating that the local month of Apollo Delphinios, during which the epichoric Delphinian Games were (p.189) staged, actually coincided with the month in which the Nemean Games themselves were held.23 We also hear that the Aiakeia festival itself hosted athletic events.24 In view of the central role Aiakos played in the provision of water for the island and for Greece generally in Aeginetan cult, and the evocations of both the Asopis spring Page 14 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics and the epichoric cult of Aiakos in the Nemean texts cited above, it might be that the Delphinian Games were associated with Aiakos, and that the Aiakeia festival itself hosted the Delphinian Games. Alternatively, we might prefer to keep the two separate; the timing of the Aiakeia would then be unknown. What is, however, clear is that at least one major epichoric festival was itself intercalated directly with the Nemean festival. Festivals in honour of Apollo Delphinios are relatively widely attested beyond Aegina's shores;25 but the striking Aeginetan characteristic is the imposition upon Nemean time. Accordingly, the connections set out above suggest that there existed on Aegina, in some quarters, a strong desire to forge links between Panhellenic and epichoric time specifically in relation to festivals to which, on the one hand, Aeginetan aristocrats could travel to compete, and, on the other hand, at which they could welcome aristocratic athletes from outside.26 Such a temporal and festal connectivity should be thought of as rather more than simply an Aeginetan attempt to Panhellenize local festivals. Since epinician poetry itself provides the evidence for such overlaps in festal time, this suggests (rather unsurprisingly) that epichoric Aeginetan festal administration was managed by elite interests, and probably the same elite interests who maintained the cultic connections with Asopos and the mainland. It also suggests, more specifically, that administration was handled by aristocrats with a more direct stake in epinician poetry itself, as members of victorious (p.190) families who were able to commission poets like Pindar. Aeginetan epinician poetry reveals the slippage between private and public spheres, but we should be wary of interpreting this socio-political interrelation in terms that make the interests of the private subservient to the interests of an external public, even if such poems were themselves performed in public at Aeginetan festal occasions. Aeginetan epinician poetry represents the expression of aristocratic power in all its competitive ‘glory’ of self-promotion, rather than as a solution to or wateringdown of that glory.27 Parthenoi and Partheneia

Bacchylides 13, with its chorally projected parthenoi, is another case where an external ritual practice is evoked in an Aeginetan victory ode. This poem, commissioned to celebrate the same victory as Pindar's Nemean 5, provides an interesting opening frame to its extensively Iliadic myth of Aiakid glory at Troy.28 In lines 77 and following we are given the choral projection of dancing parthenoi singing the praises of Aegina's heroines: ὠ̑ ποταμου̑ θύγατϵρ δινα̑ντος Αἴγιν’ ἠπιόφρον, — ἠ̑ τοι μϵγάλαν̣ [Κρονίδας] ἔδωκϵ τιμάν ἐν πάντϵσσι ν[ϵορτόν] πυρσὸν ὣς Ἕλλ[ασι νίκαν] Page 15 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics φαίνων· τό γϵ σὸν ̣ [κράτος ὑμ]νϵι̑ καί τις ὑψαυχὴς κό[ρα] [στϵίχουϲ’ ἀνὰ γα̑ν ἱϵ]ράν πόδϵσσι ταρφέ͜ως ἠΰτϵ νϵβρὸς ἀπϵν[θὴς] ἀνθϵμόϵντας ἐπ[’ ὄχθους] κου̑φα σὺν ἀγχιδόμ̣[οις] θρώισκουσ’ ἀγακλϵιτα[ι̑ς ἑταίρα]ις· — (p.191) ταὶ δ`ϵ στϵφανωσάμϵ[ναι φοιν]ι̣κ̣έων ἀνθέ͜ων δόνακός τ’ ἐ[πιχω-] ρίαν ἄθυρσιν παρθένοι μέλπουσι τ[ϵὸν τέκο]ς, ὠ̑ δέ̣σποινα παγξϵ[ίνου χθονός,] [’Ἐν]δαΐδα τϵ ῥ̅οδό[παχυν,] ἃ τὸ̣[ν ἰσ]ό[θϵ͜]ο̣ν ἔτι[κτϵ Πηλέα] καὶ̣ Τ̣ϵλαμ̣[ω̑]ν̣α [κο]ρ̣υ̣[στὰν] Αἰακωι̑ μϵιχθϵι̑σ’ ἐν ϵὐ̣[ναι̑·]

Daughter of the whirling river, gentle-hearted Aegina, truly the son of Kronos has granted you great honour, shining your newly won victory like a beacon for all Greeks to see. And many a proud girl sings the praises of your power, walking on sacred soil, time and again lightly springing with her feet like a carefree fawn to the flowery hills with her far-famed neighbouring companions. Crowned with red flowers and the local decoration of reeds, maidens sing of your child, mistress of an allhospitable land, and of Endaïs with her rosy arms, who bore a man like a god, Peleus, and Telamon famed for his helmet, offspring of her union with Aiakos. (Bacch. 13.77–99) We are invited to imagine a whole tradition of such girls, dressed up with local reeds, performing, time after time, by Aegina town's supply of fresh water, the Asopis spring, just like the nymph Aegina herself by the waters of her mainland father, prior to her rape by Zeus.29 For the reference to reeds as well as flowers as part of the epichoric dress of parthenoi suggests a connection with fresh water and provides a neat comparison with Aegina herself as the parthenos-daughter of her river-god father.30 What is particularly significant for our purposes is that this vision and representation of ritual performance by Aeginetan parthenoi is embedded within Bacchylides' poem, which is in turn performed by a chorus of young men, as we are informed near the poem's close in line 190 and its address to a group of neoi. The projected singing of the parthenoi provides the imaginative frame and contextual foil for (p.192) the male Aiakid myth of the song sung by these Page 16 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics Aeginetan young men.31 Bacchylides 13 thus arrogates to itself the traditional associations with cult that the setting by the Asopis spring offered for performances by children, imagining their performances in its own. Such choral projection of performance by parthenoi is particularly appropriate, given the extraordinary visualizing power of partheneion itself.32 The compelling aesthetic and ritual effect draws both audience and poet into the fiction, with Bacchylides not only visualizing and imagining performing parthenoi here, but almost composing partheneion itself at this point. Bacchylides' epinician poem celebrates the Aiakid line in a way that constructs gender roles and naturalizes Aeginetan aristocratic prestige by means of contact with the mythical tradition central to Aeginetan society and cults. It also fuses together in both performative and ideological terms two different aspects of Aeginetan performance-culture. However, rather than supposing that Bacchylides 13 appropriates the epichoric choral and ritual force of traditional partheneion in order for an anxious Aeginetan aristocratic family to reintegrate themselves into the choral culture and communitarian ethos of their home city, such choral appropriation may instead be interpreted as a means by which a highly self-confident and competitive Aeginetan aristocratic house imposed their own elite ideals onto the culture of their city, projecting a totalizing and suspiciously harmonious view of Aeginetan festivity for the specific benefit of a minority.33 Again, if we bear in mind the strong probability that control of epichoric nonepinician choreia was in the hands of the same elite group who patronized epinician poets, we may not be so ready to assume that partheneion any more than even paean, say, can ever provide an ideologically neutral civic base or context on which to impose our readings of epinician poetry. This compares interestingly with the situation at Thebes, where Pindaric partheneia and daphnephorika clearly celebrate, and were indeed performed by, members (p. 193) of the Theban aristocracy at the Daphnephoria.34 Pindar's Partheneion 1 includes praise of the family of Aioladas,35 as does Pindar's Partheneion 2, a daphnephorikon honouring the same family, which glorifies Pagondas (of the same family as, if not identical with, the subsequently famous Theban general who features prominently in Thucydides).36 A fascinating recent discussion of this Theban choral material speaks of its ‘para-epinician’ qualities, discussing how the ideology of its associated festival, the Daphnephoria, staged the natural propriety of oligarchic power, yet still needed the whole city ‘as admiring audience and witness’.37 In this context it is interesting to recall the associations between Thebes and Aegina established in Herodotus on the basis of an oracle, which presumably reflect an international aristocratic network between the two oligarchic poleis.38

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics Despite such oligarchic ‘top-down’ choral and cultural leadership, it has been suggested that the Theban oligarchy remained relatively stable and stasis-free. Two relevant arguments have been made: first, occupation of the priesthood was shared out annually between the different Theban families, allowing no single family to take overall charge for all time;39 second, the Theban Daphnephoria created and sustained a vision of the unity of both Thebes and Boeotia more widely.40 We will see, however, that the evidence from Aegina supplies a rather less harmonious picture than this Theban model. It might be that Aeginetan epinician performance may not have been sufficiently embedded in specific epichoric rituals to avoid (p.194) appropriating the authority of other traditional forms of choreia that were so embedded. However, the evidence provided by the number of Aeginetan athletic victories we know of, and by the poems we know were composed to honour some of them, shows that Aeginetan epinician poetry by at least the early fifth century had made a very significant cultural impact indeed on the island. We need therefore to take care not to assume a prioritization of cultic experience whereby poetry with a supposedly more direct orientation to religious experience took precedence over, and was more authorized than, epinician song in performance, if that were somehow understood as a less direct, or less neutral, form of religious experience.41 Again, we are here dealing with overlapping and competing modes of cultural and religious experience, rather than a hierarchy or reified structure according to which some forms of cultural practice, and some poems (or indeed genres), matter more and some matter less for an appreciation of the religious or the political. This is not to underestimate the cultic and religious significance of paeans or other choral forms eis theous, but to stress the competing, powerful claims for religious attention and authentication that Aeginetan victory odes were themselves making. Paeans and the Aeginetan Theārion

Another case of overlap between praise and the evocation of cult is the use in Aeginetan epinician poetry of allusions to the Theārion, or meeting-house for theōroi, part of the Apollo temple-complex in Aegina town.42 (See Fig. 7, p. 34 above for a photograph of the (p.195) extant remains.) It is clear from a passage from Nemean 3 that the Theārion was a significant building on Aegina: τηλαυγ`ϵς ἄραρϵ φέγγος Αἰακιδα̑ν αὐτόθϵν· Ζϵυ̑, τϵὸν γὰρ αἱ̑μα, σέο δ’ ἀγών, τὸν ὕμνος ἔβαλϵν ὀπὶ νέων ἐπιχώριον χάρμα κϵλαδέων. βοὰ δ`ϵ νικαφόρῳ σὺν Ἀριστοκλϵίδᾳ πρέπϵι, ὃς τάνδϵ να̑σον ϵὐκλέϊ προσέθηκϵ λόγῳ καὶ σϵμνὸν ἀγλααι̑σι μϵρίμναις Πυθίου Θϵάριον.

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics The light of the Aiakidai is fixed to shine afar, from this place. Zeus, yours is the blood, and yours the contest, which this hymn has hit upon with the voices of young men, celebrating local delight. The shout of acclaim befits victorious Aristokleidas, who has connected this island to glorious words, and the hallowed Thearion of the Pythian god to splendid ambitions. (Nem. 3.64–70) In other words, Aristokleidas' athletic victory at Nemea has enabled the specificities of the local cult of Pythian Apollo also to be celebrated throughout time—and not the other way around, we might add.43 Both Nemean 3 and Nemean 7 independently attest to controlling aristocratic patronage of the Aeginetan cult of Apollo; unfortunately Nemean 3 does not provide the name of Aristokleidas' clan, so it is impossible to tell whether control of the cult and its buildings was in the hands of one clan or more than one. It has been plausibly suggested that Nemean 7 received its first performance at the Theārion.44 Given the significant role played by the cult of Apollo in both Nemean 3 and Nemean 7, the relation between these victory odes and this cult is worth scrutiny, and also invites fresh consideration of the relation of Nemean 7 to Paean 6. Bruno Currie has performed an excellent service to Pindaric scholarship by convincingly scotching the long-standing notion that Nemean 7 was composed in order for Pindar to apologize to the Aeginetans for any offence committed against their hero Neoptolemos (p.196) in Paean 6.45 As he shows, much of the controversy relies upon untenable assumptions based upon poetic pseudobiography with no grounding in the realities of the relation between poet and patron.46 He suggests, further, that Nemean 7 was an ode that used the praise of the victor Sogenes son of Thearion in order, in part, to celebrate Thearion's proxeny of the Epirote Molossians, whose royal house also had a significant stake in the cult of Neoptolemos.47 We now need to evaluate the evocation of ritual activities associated with the Theārion and with aristocratic networks that we find in Nemean 7, and of the intertextuality between Nemean 7 and Paean 6. An important point recognized recently is that the family who commissioned Nemean 7 is very likely to have been a family of priests or high-ranking Aeginetan officials with a direct interest in, or indeed control of, the workings of the Aeginetan Theārion;48 more specifically, that Sogenes' father Thearion was hereditary proxenos of the Molossians, whose duty it was to receive foreign theoric delegations on the island.49 Once this is taken into consideration, it may seem more difficult to take Nemean 7 as an example where Pindar appropriates communitarian culture outside of the victor's oikos as a way of mediation between the interests of the aristocracy and the wider polis-community. This is not to deny that Nemean 7, or Page 19 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics indeed many other Aeginetan epinician poems, have a deep interest in addressing the wider community or as serving as its representatives. As we shall see, the Pindaric persona loquens is the force that creates this link with an audience outside the specifics of the commissioning oikos. However, the expression of aristocratic magnificence in epinician poetry need not always entail the taming of that magnificence. (p.197) Neoptolemos is the central figure of the myth in Nemean 7. Not only is his hero-cult at Delphi described in some detail, in lines 44–7, but as an introduction to this his rule and its lineage in Molossia is celebrated: Μολοσσίᾳ δ’ ἐμβασίλϵυϵν ὀλίγον χρόνον· ἀτὰρ γένος αἰϵὶ φέρϵι του̑τό οἱ γέρας.

He ruled in Molossia for a short time. But his line carries this privilege for him forever. (Nem. 7.38–40) Pindar implies here that the royal house of Molossia traces its descent in a direct line back to Neoptolemos, claiming full Aiakid descent.50 Thus Molossian royalty should feel at home on Aegina, and thus it is appropriate for Pindar to allude to the Molossian royal lineage in an Aeginetan epinician ode. In the theoric mythmaking of Nemean 7 the shared heritage of this connection is asserted and strengthened. More particularly, it is only through the mechanics of the reinforcement of ancestral theoric networks that the following lines can be fully explained: ἐὼν δ’ ἐγγὺς Ἀχαιὸς οὐ μέμψϵταί μ’ ἀνήρ Ἰονίας ὑπ`ϵρ ἁλὸς οἰκέων, καὶ προξϵνίᾳ πέποιθ’, ἔν τϵ δαμόταις ὄμματι δέρκομαι λαμπρόν, οὐχ ὑπϵρβαλών, βίαια πάντ’ ἐκ ποδὸς ἐρύσαις· ὁ δ`ϵ λοιπὸς ϵὔφρων ποτὶ χρόνος ἕρποι. μαθὼν δέ τις ἀνϵρϵι̑, ϵἰ πὰρ μέλος ἔρχομαι ψάγιον ὄαρον ἐννέπων.

An Achaian man living above the Ionian sea [i.e. a Molossian], who is nearby, will not reproach me [the laudator], and I put my faith in proxeny. And among the citizens I have a bright look in my eye, not overstepping the mark, and dragging all violence out of the way. May future time approach with kind-heartedness. Any man who knows will speak up if I come uttering a crooked song out of tune. (Nem. 7.64–9)

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (p.198) The passage is no simple reference to cultic and genealogical relations at a specific moment in time: Pindar has a much wider, and temporally transcendent, aim. Just as the Molossian institution of kingship is eternal following on from the time of Neoptolemos (lines 38–40), so too is Pindar's own rhetoric. The trans-historical persona loquens of Pindar's poem has a view not only of the present theoric ties between Aegina and Molossia but also of how this relationship should be greeted with acceptance throughout time by the citizenry of the island as part of what it is to be Aeginetan. Just as the royal house of Epiros is to last for all time, so is the connectivity between it and Aegina through hereditary ties of proxeny that apply not only to Thearion but also to his son Sogenes (‘Preserver of Family’: note the speaking name) and to all his descendants too.51 Sogenes' victory in the boys' pentathlon at Nemea has enabled his house and its diplomatic and mythological ties with Molossia to be projected through time. A comparison of specific interest because of its focus on inherited proxeny ties can help to make this point more clear. An inscribed bronze votive plaque from Dodona bears the following text:52 Θϵός : Τύχα Ζϵυ̑ Δωδώνης μϵδέων, τόδϵ σοι δω̑ρον πέμπω παρ’ ἐμου̑: Ἀγάθων ᾽Ἐχϵφύλου καὶ γϵνϵὰ πρόξϵνοι Μολοσσω̑ν καὶ συμμάχων ἐν τριάκοντα γϵνϵαι̑ς ἐκ Τρωίας Κασσάνδρας γϵνϵά Ζακύνθιοι

Gods; Fortune. Zeus, Lord of Dodona, I send this to you as a gift from me, Agathon son of Echephylos, and my forebears, proxenoi of the Molossians and their allies in thirty generations from Troy, the line of Kassandra, Zakynthians. This text, in a similar but inverse way to Nemean 7, enshrines the specific relation of proxeny between the Molossian royal house and a family of hereditary priests, and again an epichoric myth—in this case (p.199) an obscure, otherwise unattested Zakynthian one which connects the family forebear Kassandra with Troy—provides the trans-temporal connection with the Molossian Aiakidai.53 Whereas Nemean 7 creates an elaborate mythological and encomiastic set of connections which project the ritual ties of proxeny between Molossia, Aegina, and Delphi as eternal, the Zakynthian votive plaque aims to secure (analogously to, if rather less self-confidently than, Nemean 7) eternal ties between the priestly Zakynthian proxenoi and Dodona through connections between themselves and the Aiakid and Iliadic inheritance of the Molossian elite. Despite the lack of secure relative dating for the two poems,54 let us next consider the relation between Nemean 7 and Nemean 4 in their different uses of

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics the Epirote Neoptolemos. Neoptolemos features prominently as a Molossian in the Aiakid catalogue in the latter poem:55 ἐξύφαινϵ, γλυκϵι̑α, καὶ τόδ’ αὐτίκα, φόρμιγξ, Λυδίᾳ σὺν ἁρμονίᾳ μέλος πϵφιλημένον Οἰνώνᾳ τϵ καὶ Κύπρὠ̑̆, ἔνθα Τϵυ̑κρος ἀπάρχϵι ὁ Τϵλαμωνιάδας· ἀτάρ Αἴας Σαλαμι̑ν’ ἔχϵι πατρῴαν· — ἐν δ’ Εὐξϵίνῳ πϵλάγϵι φαϵννὰν Ἀχιλϵύς να̑σον· Θέτις δ`ϵ κρατϵι̑ Φθίᾳ· Νϵοπτόλϵμος δ’ ἀπϵίρῳ διαπρυσίᾳ, βουβόται τόθι πρω̑νϵς ἔξοχοι κατάκϵινται Δωδώναθϵν ἀρχόμϵνοι πρὸς Ἰόνιον πόρον. Παλίου δ`ϵ πὰρ ποδὶ λατρίαν Ἰαολκόν πολϵμίᾳ χϵρὶ προστραπών Πηλϵὺς  κτλ.

(p.200) Weave now, sweet lyre, this song forthwith, in the Lydian mode loved by Oinona and by Cyprus, where Teukros son of Telamon rules in exile; Ajax holds Salamis, his ancestral land; by the Black Sea Achilles rules on the shining island; Thetis wields power in Phthia; Neoptolemos rules on the continuous mainland where lofty cattle graze on ridges that begin at Dodona and slope down to the Ionian sea. At Pelion's foot Peleus fell upon Iolkos… (Nem. 4.44–56) Here Neoptolemos' Aiakid family heritage means that the whole region of Epiros, including Molossia and the Molossian royal house, is, from an Aeginetan perspective, in fact properly Aeginetan.56 In Nemean 4 the reference implies that Aegina is dominant over Molossia through Aeginetan Aiakid myth, yet Nemean 7 projects harmony between the two parties with stakes in the mythology of Neoptolemos, and at least asserts a plea for stability and peaceful acquiescence in this association, through lines 67–9, the ode closing with a rejection of any negative treatment of Neoptolemos: τὸ δ’ ἐμὸν οὔ ποτϵ φάσϵι κέαρ ἀτρόποισι Νϵοπτόλϵμον ἑλκύσαι ἔπϵσι· ταὐτὰ δ`ϵ τρὶς τϵτράκι τ’ ἀμπολϵι̑ν ἀπορία τϵλέθϵι, τέκνοισιν ἅτϵ μαψυλάκας “Διὸς Κόρινθος.”

Never will my heart say that it has maltreated Neoptolemos with unyielding words. But to work over the same ground three or four times is a council of despair, like a man who barks at children with ‘Corinth belongs to Zeus’. Page 22 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (Nem. 7.102–5) These lines are a pointed and highly unusual recapitulation of the Neoptolemos myth, which require further explanation, beyond simply being an encomiastic topos.57 Though prominent and positive, the view of Neoptolemos in the Aeginetan catalogue of Nemean 4, composed for a member of a different clan, the Theandridai, with no extant links with the Theārion or the Aeginetan cult of Apollo, (p.201) invites suspicion that alternative, or indeed rival, articulations of the relation between Aegina and Molossia were possible. Whereas the theorically well-connected Euxenidai of Nemean 7 were keen to press equality in the relationship and appeal for calm acceptance of it, other views were possible and likely, views that the plea for calm in Nemean 7 anticipates. On this reading, the pleas for restraint in Nemean 7 have nothing to do with any apology for Paean 6, and everything to do with local Aeginetan aristocratic rivalries.58 The close of Nemean 7 is not, therefore, some biographically Pindaric self-defence against his own earlier maltreatment of Neoptolemos, but a statement that the Euxenidai have an excellent working theoric relationship with Neoptolemos and his north-western associates, unlike some other Aeginetan rivals. As such, Nemean 7 is a text that reveals the epichoric fractures that could appear between epichoric political communities on the one hand (in this case a highly competitive group of elite Aeginetans) and inter-state theoric groupings on the other.59 It is significant that Pindar uses epinician poetry in the case of Nemean 7 to deal with theoric matters, given that this is what paeans often deal with. It would be unwise to seek out a direct parallelism in time and commissioning between Nemean 7 and Paean 6, because neither poem can be securely dated on its own account. On the other hand, Nemean 7 is particularly interested in the transhistoricality of ritual and theoric time beyond the ‘here and now’ of a specific context, something we might have expected to appear rather more prominently in paeanic texts.60 (p.202) Though Paean 6 differs from Nemean 7 in a number of fundamental ways, these differences are not necessarily differences in the articulation or representation of the cult of Neoptolemos, except in the obvious sense that Paean 6 is more directly connected to the Apolline cult of Delphi than Nemean 7, which alludes to it through the Aeginetan theoric connections with Delphi which the family of Sogenes maintain.61 However, the respective presence and absence of a specific encomiastic framework should not be thought of as preventing Nemean 7 from having any less significant ritually connected meaning than its paeanic analogue. We should also note here the important difference between the frequency of personal names in the epinician evidence of section I earlier and their complete lack in the paeanic material. Paeans, unlike their epinician cousins, are not interested in projecting the kleos of families (or priesthoods) into the future, and part of the reason for this must lie in what the Page 23 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics commissioning individuals or families of paeans thought was acceptable, generically, and contextually. Yet the absence of specific naming of officials in Paean 6 should not prevent us from thinking that the commissioning of paeans was not also controlled by Aeginetan aristocratic families who had special interests in the continuity of Aeginetan theoric heritage, such as the family of Sogenes of the clan Euxenidai. On this reading, the commissioning of Pindaric epinician poetry was a way for an Aeginetan family connected with the theoric operations of the island's ritual diplomacy to celebrate those operations in a way that was not immediately available to them through the Delphic paean, with its carefully controlled emphasis on the Panhellenic force of the joint heritage of Delphic and Aeginetan cults—particularly if Paean 6 was performed at Delphi by a double chorus of Delphians and Aeginetans.62 Yet the separate transmission of (p.203) the closing section of Paean 6 as an Aeginetan prosodion might also be a sign that original theoric thrust of the paean was capable of redirection for epichoric effect by Aeginetan elite administration, through separate and repeated subsequent performances.63 The reference to ‘the excellence of righteous networking’, τὰν θϵμίξϵνον ἀρϵτ[άν, at line 131 in the prosodion section emphasizes the theoric impact of the Delphic paean, but, through reperformance, could serve separately, though in a subtle way, to celebrate the current Aeginetan theoric administrators as organizers of the ongoing tradition of ritual pilgrimage.64 Here we may compare and contrast the choregic situation in democratic Athens. There, victorious chorēgoi whose names were not celebrated in the poems or works performed under their democratically sanctioned financial and cultural administration were able to erect choregic monuments and commission epinician epigrams for them which celebrated their involvement and supplemented or challenged the democratic aspect of choral prestige, especially in particular cases of ‘oligarchic extravagance’ at Athens.65 However, the important difference from the Athenian situation is that it should, on Aegina, be difficult to conceive of any structural or polar opposition between the interests of the elite and those of the wider Aeginetan community, precisely because of the closeness of the relation between political and cultural power in oligarchic conditions, and more particularly of the much more close and controllable relation between political administration, ritual and choregic administration, and poetic patronage.66 Even though Aeginetan paeans do not mention (p.204) the names of specific aristocratic individuals, this should not mean that Aeginetan paean represents the outlook of the Aeginetan community conceived as separate from—let alone opposed to—a narrowly oligarchic perspective. Aeginetan paeans present a different articulation of what it means to be Aeginetan, but one which may still tie in directly with the rival myth-making of the Aeginetan elite which we can witness separately in epinician commissions.67 Page 24 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics Simonides and Krios

To complete this discussion of relations between Aeginetan poetry and cult, let us turn to the well-known fragment of Simonides on Krios, the Aeginetan aristocrat famous from Herodotus.68 Section I revealed the extent of the Aeginetan obsession for personal names in the already narcissistic genre of epinician poetry, and in this section contextual resonances of naming are explored in greater detail through one example. I offer here a reading that rehabilitates the fragment by contextualizing it within the performance of elite Aeginetan ritual. This reading will continue the present discussion of the variety of ways in which Aeginetan epinician poetry uses ritual practice for its own purposes. Simonides 507 PMG is notoriously referred to by Strepsiades at Aristophanes, Clouds 1355–6; the opening lines are quoted by the scholiasts on the passage: ΣTP. πρω̑τον μ`ϵν αὐτὸν τὴν λύραν λαβόντ’ ἐγὼ ’κέλϵυσα ἀι̑σαι Σιμωνίδου μέλος τὸν Κριὸν ὡς ἐπέχθη.

ΣΣ RVE ad loc. (p. 238 Holwerda): ἀρχὴ μέλους (ᾠδη̑ς RV) ἐς Κριὸν τὸν Αἰγινήτην, ἐπέξαθ’ ὁ Κριὸς οὐκ ἀϵικέως. φαίνϵται δ`ϵ ϵὐδοκιμϵι̑ν καὶ διαφανὴς ϵἰ̑ναι. (p.205) ΣΣ EΘ MRs: Σιμωνίδου ἐξ ἐπινίκου, ἐπέξαθ’…ἀϵικέως. ἠ̑ν δ`ϵ παλαιστὴς Αἰγινήτης. Σ E: τῃ̑ πρὸς τὸ ζῳ̑ον κοινωνίᾳ τη̑ς λέξϵως συνέπλϵξϵ τὰς †κοινωνίας† ὁ ποιητὴς λέγων ἐπέξαθ’ ὁ Κριὸς οὐκ ἀϵικέως ἐλθὼν ἐς ϵὔδϵνδρον ἀγλαὸν Διὸς τέμϵνος.

STREPSIADES: First I told him to take the lyre and sing a song by Simonides, the one about Krios, how he was shorn. Scholiast: This is the beginning of a song for Krios the Aeginetan, ‘it was in not unseemly fashion that Krios had himself shorn’. He seems to have been well known and distinguished. Scholiast: From an epinician ode by Simonides, ‘it was in not unseemly fashion that Krios had himself shorn’. He was an Aeginetan wrestler.

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics Scholiast: The poet has woven together the common features of man and animal in his usage by saying: ‘It was in not unseemly fashion that Krios had himself shorn when he came to the glorious shrine of Zeus with its fine trees.’ (Sim. 507 PMG) Notice that none of the scholiasts mention anyone other than Krios himself; they must surely know that Simonides wrote his victory ode in praise of Krios, a famous and distinguished athlete, rather than for some opponent who defeated him.69 Yet the most commonly held view in modern scholarship is that Simonides ridiculed Krios in this poem.70 This view became the orthodoxy following an influential (p.206) discussion by Denys Page.71 Page believed that Simonides' poem is jocular or scornful abuse of a defeated competitor, thus rejecting Wilamowitz' earlier interpretation of ἐπέξαθ’ as literal (‘had his hair cut’) and not metaphorical (‘was shorn’).72 However, the suggestion that it is not epinician practice to make puns on the name of an athlete can be rejected. In a genre where naming is crucial for permanent fame, it is not epinician practice to ridicule, let alone name, defeated opponents,73 and in fact name-puns are a common feature of encomiastic poetry, used to praise the laudandus in memorable, auspicious, and occasionally paraenetic fashion, often at the start of poems.74 The same is happening in the Simonidean example, with the litotes ‘in not unseemly fashion’ (οὐκ ἀϵικέως) expressing the happy outcome of the omen generated by the name Krios.75 In other words, it is ludic, not ‘ludicrous’ (page). The ridicule lies rather in the very different generic and contextual conditions of an Aristophanic, later Athenian, reception and reworking of Simonides' poem (with passive ἐπέχθη ‘was shorn’ for middle ἐπέξαθ’ ‘had his hair cut’), subsequent to Krios' being held as a hostage in Athens and also subsequent to the later Athenian (p.207) evacuation of Aegina and repopulation of the island with an Athenian kleruchy. The real challenge is to explain exactly why, if Simonides is praising Krios, he should make mention of hair-cutting and pun on his ram-like name at all. In fact, we may ask why Krios was so named. An immediate answer may be that Simonides is not ridiculing Krios, but praising him by reference to a ritual dedication of hair.76 And when taken with such a dedication of hair, Krios' very name may suggest a good deal. We know from a wide variety of sources from antiquity that hair-offerings were made to symbolize transitions into adulthood.77 Krios' cutting of his hair is happy because this significant moment in his life, marking his transition into adulthood, coincides with an athletic victory, and both events are fused together for memorialization in an epinician ode.78 Krios' victory was his last as a youth,79

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics the cutting of his hair after the victory marking the successful end of his career as a boy-athlete.80 Furthermore, Krios' very name, given to him by his parents, may bear witness to the existence of a ritual trajectory for a youth into his Aeginetan family, with ritualized hair-growing having an integral part to play.81 Krios' naming may have been designed to impart some (p.208) virtues, such as leadership, to the child, harking back to the role of rams in Iliadic similes.82 Moreover, Krios' very name fits with the swearing of a vow by his parents to a kourotrophic deity earlier in the child's life to keep the hair uncut, designed to instigate an ongoing relationship in ritual with that deity, with ritual hair-cutting as only one part of a long process of growth and ritual activity.83 Simonides' poem would thus represent a cashing-in of this vow, the culmination of Krios' adolescence and growth to manhood.84 We may assume that Krios had undergone a long programme of training to become a competitive young athlete: in this, Krios has much in common with the majority of other Aeginetan victors commemorated by Pindar and Bacchylides.85 Yet in Krios' case, the coincidence of ritual and victory in Simonides' poem marks a double culmination of processes. This double culmination offers a mutual reinforcement in tradition of conservative aristocratic values advantageous for Krios' family as part of the Aeginetan elite. And his family's commissioning of Simonides to celebrate the success of this young ‘ram’ is an earlier endorsement of Herodotus' remark that Krios is one among ‘the most powerful Aeginetans through wealth and pedigree’ (τοὺς πλϵίστου ἀξίους καὶ πλούτῳ καὶ γένϵϊ, Hdt. 6.73.2). (p.209) Another question is the identity of the kourotrophic deity. Krios' dedication may have taken place either at Nemea or Olympia, the two most plausible sites for his victory given the poem's reference to a ‘well-wooded sanctuary of Zeus’.86 The fragment may or may not indicate that the site of competition was the site of the dedication itself as well as of the act of cutting.87 However, it would be rather more natural for the kourotrophic deity to be epichoric, given that hair-cutting was merely the end of a long ritual process of nurturing and growth. In this case, the obvious epichoric deity would be Aegina herself, and her kourotrophic worship would have been connected with the Asopis spring in Aegina town.88 Another candidate would be Aphaia. Archaeological evidence suggests that Aphaia was principally (p.210) worshipped as a kourotrophic deity;89 votive dedications have been found, including small pieces of sheet bronze used for hair-offerings by young men.90 If we look for an occasion for the performance of Simonides' poem, where better than at a celebration of Krios' dedication, either to Aegina or to Aphaia, his kourotrophos, of the hair he cut after his victory? On the reading I have put forward, the Simonidean fragment memorializes a merging of elite athletic Page 27 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics success and ritual in a way that incorporates the ritual action, and ritual growth of hair, into the aristocratic trajectory of one Aeginetan family. Although the general conclusions we can make on the basis of this small and fragmentary piece of text can only be tentative, I would suggest that the epinician poem that Simonides wrote for the youthful Krios was a way of celebrating relatively more widely—whether in a public choral performance, or to a more select audience through sympotic performance91—not simply Krios' victory itself, but in particular the link between his athletic prowess (very publicly demonstrated on the Panhellenic stage) and the more personal fulfilment of a ritual obligation to his kourotrophos. If this interpretation is plausible, it provides an extra dimension to the use of ritual in Aeginetan epinician poetry: one which allows privileged access to more personal (p.211) aspects of the life of an Aeginetan aristocratic family, but one which provides little evidence for a communitarian orientation to the evocation of ritual in Aeginetan epinician poetry.

III. ‘This is how the Aeginetans treated each other’:92 Epichoric Politics In this final section the different strands of the discussion are drawn together, and consequences for the way we interpret Aeginetan epinician poetry in context are brought out. Section I emphasized the lengths to which poets composing for Aeginetan patrons went to maximize family exposure to the power of epinician memorialization, through the extensive use of victory catalogues naming what I have termed ‘supplementary victors’. Section II revealed ways in which Aeginetan epinician poetry could evoke cult and ritual and use them for its own purposes. These factors are now brought together for an assessment of Aeginetan epinician poetry as a political discourse. It should now be beyond doubt that we need to take very seriously the specifics of individual epichoric conditions when evaluating the socio-cultural meaning of epinician poetry: there is an ever-increasing realization amongst scholars that epichoric conditions provide the key to a rounded understanding of choral lyric.93 Aegina was clearly an exceptional place for the performance and cultural symbolism of epinician poetry, given what we have seen in section I concerning not only the prevalence of Aeginetan victories and epinician commissions,94 but also the extent of exposure granted in these poems to other family members. In conjunction with my readings of the evocations of cult and ritual in the poetry in section (p.212) II, that should not be read in any politically neutral way, these factors press us to offer a new and nuanced contextual reading of Aeginetan epinician poetry in action. So, how do we go about constructing the relation between the commissioning circumstances of Aeginetan epinician poetry and the historical context of this poetry and its patrons? In what follows I will offer a brief critique of some

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics important scholarly positions with a bearing on this important issue, before offering a different perspective of my own. One position with a bearing on how we relate text to context with Aegina and the island's historical circumstances runs as follows: Given their pan-Hellenic audience, epinicia can function as ‘public relations’ advertisements. Indeed, it is significant that most of Pindar's epinicia were composed for individuals or states whose positions within the broader Greek world were problematic and thus in need of public relations…Aegina, the state for which Pindar undertook more commissions than for any other, was a relatively new power within Greece, whose ‘new wealth’, as T. J. Figueira has shown, was entirely built on commerce, including such disreputable pursuits as piracy and slave-trading; particularly during the latter part of Pindar's career, it was under the heel of Athens and isolated from its fellow Dorian states, to whom it looked in vain for help.95 This view offers a vision of a problematized Aeginetan elite who needed the likes of Pindar and Bacchylides to project a positive view of their island at a difficult time, especially in relation to Athens and burgeoning democratic power, and accusations of Medism: the way in which reference to the kleos of the Aiakidai is made in Isthmian 6 (‘There is no city so barbarous or so backward in its speech that it does not hear the glory of the hero Peleus, blessed son-in-law of the gods; or of Ajax Telamon's son, and of his father’ (22–7), with the only usage of barbaros in all of Pindar) should perhaps best be interpreted as a response to such accusations.96 However, although pressure from (p.213) Athens is clearly an important factor, the ideas presented here by Hubbard seem implausible, for a number of reasons. First, the view underestimates the amount of self-confidence expressed in Aeginetan epinician poetry, especially if we bear in mind the opening of Nemean 8 discussed earlier, with its mythically projected authority over Athens and Sparta: it would be a shame to dilute such self-glorification.97 Second, Aeginetan epinician poetry contained a competing range of visions, rather than one single outlook. A text like the opening of Isthmian 9, with a possible appeal for unity with the full Dorian tribal identity of Sparta, as a Dorian colony, might be thought to offer support for the Hubbard's view:98 Κλϵινὸς Αἰακου̑ λόγος, κλϵινὰ δ`ϵ καὶ ναυσικλυτὸς Αἴγινα· σὺν θϵω̑ν δέ νιν αἴσᾳ ῞ λλου τϵ καὶ Αἰγιμιου̑ Δωριϵὺς ἐλθὼν στρατός ἐκτίσσατο·

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics Famous is the story of Aiakos, and famous too is ship-renowned Aegina. With the help of god-given fate the Dorian army of Hyllos and Aigimios came and founded her. (Isthm. 9.1–4) Yet the rest of the poem is lost, and it would be rash to build too much on such shaky foundations. More importantly, even here there is an odd juxtaposition of the story of Aiakos, autonomous founder of the island, with the story of Dorian colonization.99 It therefore (p.214) seems possible that Isthmian 9 originally constituted a different kind of attempt to link together Aiakos' population of the island with the Peloponnesian myth of Dorian colonization, a mythological link that compares well with how Pindar in Paean 6 has been seen to be attempting to suture together the different Delphic and Aeginetan drought-myths.100 As such, a similar strategy, but a different vision: clearly, there were further complexities on the ground. Third, it is not obvious that Figueira's ‘modernist’ model of Aeginetan aristocracy is correct; recent work has questioned the assumption that Aeginetan elites' interest in trade need indicate that their wealth is in any sense ‘new’; moreover, the opposing ‘minimalist’ view (that the Aeginetan aristocracy was a landowning class with no interest in maritime commerce) is shown to be equally extreme.101 Next, here is a model of inter-state relations that presents a rather frenetic picture of aristocratic networks, producing stasis all over the Greek world: [T]hroughout its history, the Greek city was torn by conflict between upperclass factions who derived their power and resources from foci of power which lay outside its boundaries. Networks of alliances linked factions from several cities and radiated from the great empires located at the fringes of the world of cities, creating a system of external friendships that could offer rewards—wealth, fame, position—even more tempting than those of the city itself. It was a system that had not changed significantly since the days of the epos. What had changed was the range of services available for exchange: when the city came into being, the services that could be performed through (p.215) political institutions came to be added to the repertoire of ‘private’ services that had circulated in the prepolitical world.102 Though a little too extreme, this position is, perhaps, more likely to ring true for the fifth-century Aeginetan situation than the first view offered above. By the time of Simonides and Pindar Aeginetan aristocratic families were able to wield cultural power in ways that could directly affect the self-image and positioning not only of the island as a whole but also of other rival aristocratic houses; the significance of the later archaic period was not so much that Aeginetan aristocratic society somehow suddenly sprang into existence fully formed at that Page 30 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics point, but that external pressures—especially from Athens—increased, also therefore affecting internal societal dynamics and coherence.103 Important views have also been put forward concerning the relation between epinician poetry as political lyric and its use of traditional myth, especially foundation myths—which appear frequently in Aeginetan odes, given their general adherence to the myth of Aiakos. Consider the following: Pindar succeeds in merging the oikos and the polis through the narration of foundation myths. By their very nature, foundation myths are political myths, which transform an entire polis into a single family descended from a common mythic ancestor. Their purpose is to unify a city and to evoke for it the loyalty and services due one's family, so it is significant that Pindar chooses such myths as centrepieces in certain odes.104 The notion that epinician poetry merges the individual aristocratic oikos with the polis does indeed fit with some of the Aeginetan material discussed earlier, especially with regard to the poetry's evocation of Aeginetan cults and rituals. However, what matters is how this merging is then to be interpreted. Often the polis is seen as a (p.216) separate and dominating force with which the aristocratic oikos is brought into line by epinician poetry. However, with the Aeginetan context, care is needed over how to formulate precise notions of the Aeginetan polis or notions of a ‘broader community’. Throughout the present discussion a different position is taking shape, according to which such mergings represent the aristocracy's competitiveness for and celebration of control of the institutions of the polis, and their associated rituals and festivity.105 It is also important to factor in the significant part that inter-state relations must have played, over hundreds of years, in the forging of the very notion of Aegina as a distinct entity with discrete mythical traditions: Aeginetan socio-political identity must have been constituted out of the continuing tensions between different and competing internal and external articulations and representations.106 All the explicit statements in Aeginetan epinician poetry where the polis and victorious oikos are brought close together are collated below (excluding Nemean 8.13–16, discussed earlier): I pray that in their allotment of fine deeds, (Zeus) may not make the portion controversial (διχόβουλον), but rather grant them a lifetime free from pain, exalting them and their city. (Ol. 8.86–8) I rejoice that the whole city fights (μάρναται) over noble achievements. (Nem. 5.46–7)107 But I (pray to) find favour with my townspeople, ἐγὼ δ ’ ἀστοι̑ς ἁδὼν…(Nem. 8.38) For I have come with the Graces at the bidding of Lampon's sons to this well-governed city (τάνδ’ ἐς ϵὔνομον πόλιν). (Isthm. 5.21–2) Page 31 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (p.217) Lampon…as he brings to his city a shared adornment, Λάμπων…| ξυνὸν ἄστϵι κόσμον ἑῳ̑ προσάγων· (Isthm. 6.66–9)108 For lady Victory bids me go to Aegina's blessed island and adorn its god-built city (κοσμη̑σαι θϵόδματον πόλιν) for my hosts. (Bacch. 12.4–7) Excellence (Ἀρϵτ[ὰ])…truly honours the fame-winning island of Aiakos; with the aid of Eukleia, who loves crowns, she guides the state (πόλιν κυβϵρναι̑); and with Eunomia too, safe in mind (Εὐνομία τϵ σαόφρων), who has her fair portion of festivities, and who guards in peace the cities of pious men. (Bacch. 13.176–89)109

The upshot is that aristocratic competitiveness generates the very notion of an Aeginetan community which is the willing (qua well-governed) recipient of oligarchic adornment, with the important factor being Aeginetan aristocratic striving to adorn their city with their successes. However, this does not mean that Aeginetan oligarchic elites are engaged in an ideological fight against any separable interests of a broader community; the rhetoric of Aeginetan epinician representation of the polis makes it automatically in tune with the elites who administer it.110 Moreover, if Aeginetan oligarchs were beleaguered, or set against the interests of a notional ‘broader community’, we should have expected to find rather more, and more detailed, appeals to the Aeginetan polis in their epinician commissions than we actually find—especially in a body of material which, as we have seen from section I, is remarkably well capable of emphasizing the relevance of particular individuals and groups. The issue of phthonos is another factor. Again, all relevant passages are collated below:111 And if I have rerun in my hymn the glory of Melesias gained from beardless youths, let no phthonos cast a rough stone at me. (Ol. 8.54–5) I seek the gods' ungrudging favour (ὄπιν ἄφθονον), Xenarkes, upon your family's successes. (Pyth. 8.72) (p.218) We shall be seen to enter the contest in the light, far superior to our foes. Another man, with an envious look in his eye (φθονϵρὰ…βλέπων), rolls in the dark convictions that are empty (γνώμαν κϵνϵὰν), which fall to the ground in failure. But whatever excellence lord Destiny has granted me, I know well that coming time will accomplish what is fated. (Nem. 4.37–43) For many things have been said in many ways, and to find new ones and put them to the touchstone for testing is sheer danger, since words are a tasty delight for the envious (ὄψον δ`ϵ λόγοι φθονϵροι̑σιν), and envy

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics fastens always on achievements, and has no quarrel with lesser men (χϵιρόνϵσσι δ’ οὐκ ἐρίζϵι). (Nem. 8.20–2) If someone has turned onto the clear path of god-given deeds, do not be grudging (μὴ φθόνϵι) in blending into your song a vaunt that fits with his efforts. (Isthm. 5.22–5) In the passage from Olympian 8 the issue of the force and intent behind the reference to phthonos is complicated slightly through its direction at Melesias, the boy's Athenian trainer; yet there is every reason to suspect that the phthonos here comes from rival Aeginetan families at the lavish expenditure on such a star trainer, whether or not Melesias' nationality was also of concern.112 In the second it is divine phthonos that is at issue, something that all victors of whatever political persuasion or social context may be subject to. In the passage from Nemean 4 we find a strongly worded and highly competitive statement, pouring scorn and ill-will on the envious who are metaphorically defeated; there is no good reason to deny that this is evoking the attitude of the victor and his family.113 In the passages from Nemean 8 and Isthmian 5, on the other hand, we find that the envy of rivals is of concern to the poet and his patrons;114 the (p. 219) opposition between greater and lesser men invites us to think that the envious are rivals of the same high status as the victor and his family. In sum, the evidence of these passages taken together does not offer a neat pattern for how Aeginetan epinician poetry deals with phthonos. They do not offer unequivocal support to the notion that Aeginetan epinician poetry attempts systematically to defuse the phthonos of elite success. Nor do the references to phthonos always work hand-in-hand with the references to the Aeginetan polis, when the latter are themselves supportive of families' broader competitive claims to priority in that same polis. The Aeginetan epinician situation may therefore appear rather more like that with tyrants than is usually thought, where the envious are mocked and dismissed.115 The fact that Aeginetan epinician poetry contains relatively few overt references to the phthonos of Aeginetan citizens should not be interpreted as revealing directly that contemporary Aegina was in reality a harmonious society with little concern with or stake in citizen phthonos; in fact, the opposite is more likely, especially in the light of the strikingly frequent use of family victory catalogues and naming of supplementary victors (when evidence is gathered from the entire corpus of Aeginetan material, as in section I). These factors are more likely to have increased rather than reduced rival aristocratic responses (though it is probable that some families were more, and some less, concerned by the phthonos of rivals). Eager as Aeginetan epinician poems are to ‘adorn the city’, the generally meagre evidence for paraenetic references to phthonos probably means that the intensity of aristocratic competitiveness often invalidated, for the individual families involved, the need for warnings about phthonos, when Page 33 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics phthonos was a fact of Aeginetan life. This was particularly so in a context which, with its own epichoric contests, did not always expatriate aristocratic conflict onto the sphere of Panhellenic athletics.116 Indeed, Nemean 4.37–43 above, where athletic competition is used as the metaphorical vehicle for aristocratic (p.220) rivalry and phthonos, reveals how porous the boundary could be between athletic competition and civic rivalry.117 In addition, other factors are also worth consideration. The Panhellenic ambitions represented in the epinician form, and the specific Aeginetan desire to use it to project local myths, cults, and identities onto the wider Hellenic world, including to states with traditional network-ties with the island, may also suggest, in a political and strategic climate in which Athens was posing an increasingly dangerous threat to the island's well-being, that some poems, when taken individually (as opposed to the different results provided by the statistical evidence of the Aeginetan corpus as a whole, from section I), were keen at least to present a relatively harmonious and united (though no less purposeful) face, with a concomitant diminution of individual expressions of phthonos. These two different takes on phthonos in the Aeginetan evidence are important. They show that different ways of analysing the same body of poetic material (both statistically across the whole corpus, and individually according to the rhetoric of individual poems) can help to produce a more developed and complex picture of the political nature and functioning of this form of poetry, and the cultural truths it may provide, in a specific fifth-century setting. If we factor in questions of performance and reperformance, it would seem that the competitive energies of Aeginetan epinician poetry would best be served by performances (and possibly even reperformances) in public, whether on the occasion of local festivals, or on other occasions as individual families saw fit; symposia would provide the best alternative medium for other re-performances, and thus the broader Panhellenic circulation, of individual poems and the values they contained (with Simonides' poem for Krios, reperformed in Athenian symposia, providing direct evidence of this).118 Let us now turn to the evidence provided by Herodotus. We can now use a combination of evidence from the historian to show how (p.221) intense Aeginetan inter-aristocratic competitiveness was perceived to have caused enormous problems for Aeginetan oligarchy. First, let us consider seriously Darius' observations made in the ‘constitution debate’ on the failings of even the most perfect of oligarchies, and apply them to the Aeginetan situation: ἐν δ`ϵ ὀλιγαρχίῃ πολλοι̑σι ἀρϵτὴν ἐπασκέουσι ἐς τὸ κοινὸν ἔχθϵα ἴδια ἰσχυρὰ φιλέϵι ἐγγίνϵσθαι· αὐτὸς γὰρ ἕκαστος βουλόμϵνος κορυφαι̑ος ϵἰ̑ναι γνώμῃσί τϵ νικα̑ν ἐς ἔχθϵα μϵγάλα ἀλλήλοισι ἀπικνέονται, ἐξ ὡ̑ν στάσιϵς

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics ἐγγίνονται, ἐκ δ`ϵ τω̑ν στασίων φόνος, ἐκ δ`ϵ του̑ φόνου ἀπέβη ἐς μουναρχίην… In oligarchy, with many cultivating excellence in relation to the public, strong private antagonisms tend to develop. Since each man wishes to be leader and to be victorious through the force of his convictions, they reach the point of great feuds with each other; that generates civil strife, and from strife comes murder, and murder leads to monarchy. (Hdt. 3.82.3) This bears interesting comparison both with Herodotus' vision of Aeginetan stasis elsewhere, with the poetic evidence we have been reviewing throughout this discussion. Herodotus famously details the civil unrest brought about by the activities of Nikodromos in book 6: There was on Aegina a well-known individual (ἀνὴρ δόκιμος) named Nikodromos, son of Knoithos, who resented (μϵμφόμϵνος) his compatriots for their former banishment of him from the island. When he learnt that the Athenians were planning to attack Aegina, he agreed to betray the island to the Athenians, and fixed the day on which to make his attempt and expect the arrival of Athenian support. He subsequently carried out his side of the bargain with the Athenians, by occupying what is called the ‘old city’ (παλαιὴ καλέομϵνη πόλις). But the Athenians failed to arrive at the agreed time…The Aeginetan elite overcame the revolt of the dēmos under Nikodromos, arrested them and led them out for execution. During this they committed an act of sacrilege, which they were not able to rid themselves of by propitiatory sacrifices, and before they regained the favour of the goddess, they were driven from the island. When they were bringing out 700 of the dēmos as prisoners for execution, one of them broke loose and sought refuge in the entrance of the shrine of Demeter Thesmophoros, gripping the door handles. His pursuers were unable to drag him off, and finally did so by cutting off his hands. His hands stayed where they were, still gripping (p.222) the handles. That was how the Aeginetans dealt with each other. (Hdt. 6.88–91)119 Herodotus shows us the phthonos, and indeed phonos, of oligarchic power, rather than the kosmos associated with it. And though Herodotus does not here show us monarchy that is the end-result that Darius self-servingly predicted for oligarchy, he does show us Athens. This is especially apposite, given that oligarchic stasis shown by the Nikodromos affair both presages and ultimately results in the dominance of Athens, the tyrant city, over all things Aeginetan in the later fifth-century world of the historian.120 It should come as no real surprise either that the leader of the revolt, Nikodromos, has a name which speaks for an aristocratic, athletic background;121 and we might also recognize as part of the rationale of his occupation of the ‘old city’—to be identified with

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics Kolonna Hill, the site of the city's major cults and a virtual acropolis—an attempt to snatch the Aeginetan cults from the oligarchs who controlled them.122 Recently, Leslie Kurke has made suggestive remarks about Darius' description of oligarchy in view of its chorally inspired language of leadership.123 She then proceeds to argue that in Thebes, the Daphnephoria and associated choral activity were designed precisely to forestall the problems with oligarchy that Darius identifies.124 (p.223) For Aegina, however, a more straightforward reading of Darius' oligarchic metaphor linking choral/political leadership with oligarchic stasis should also be available. In an Aeginetan context we may also detect a further metaphor in Darius' words, and one that provides a direct link with a Pindaric passage discussed a little earlier. When Darius speaks of oligarchic competitiveness manifesting itself not only in the wish to be the koruphaios, but also in the desire ‘to be victorious through the force of his convictions’ (γνώμῃσί…νικα̑ν), we should think of not only political competitiveness, but also athletic and epinician competitiveness, through comparison with Nemean 4, lines 37–43 quoted earlier. There the purposes or convictions (γνώμαν) of envious rivals are empty, falling flat in the face of far superior opposition; the wrestling metaphor is particularly appropriate in an ode for a victorious wrestler. The convictions and values of competitive oligarchs were felt across all modes of cultural expression: in politics, in ritual, in athletics, and commemorative sculpture; and it is through epinician poetry that they received their most coruscating and memorable articulation as literary art.125 And yet, however final and complete the successes and triumphs over rivals are presented as being in epinician poetry (god willing), these convictions and values can also lead directly to civil unrest.126 Here, finally, we can compare the extraordinary naming of victors in Aeginetan epinician poetry with the evidence from Corinth provided by Pindar's Olympian 13 and also by fragments of Simonides, all reflecting the ambitions and successes of one Corinthian family, the Oligaithidai. Although Pindar only composed the one epinician poem for a Corinthian victor, the extraordinary focus on this family and its achievements cannot be explained simply as some kind of Pindaric captatio benevolentiae, especially in the light of the Simonidean fragments, where the naming of family members is similarly prominent;127 (p. 224) the majority of the names are highly evocative of aristocratic prestige, inter-state networking, ritual activity, and display.128 Olympian 13 itself contains in its opening lines a good deal of praise of the virtues of Corinth itself, but in oligarchic conditions once again the family's status would have been further exalted through identification with the city's own interests. The selfconsciousness of the display of high status here by Corinthian oligarchs invites us, again, to think about the live possibility of intra-elite competitiveness, a

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics competitiveness that could quite easily produce civil unrest in any oligarchic setting, Aegina included.129

Conclusion In its use of cult, projection of choral performance, and incorporation of cult mythology, it is now clear that Aeginetan epinician poetry provides for its audiences, through the power of its persona loquens, a range of views of Aeginetan society seen from the top down. Aeginetan epinician poetry, when seen as a collective body of poetic material, is revealed as a particularly aggressive and assertive manifestation of the form, able to appropriate the authority of other performance forms in its glorification of an impressively and atypically wide array of victors, associated family members, and clans. (p.225) The extraordinary breadth of onomastic evidence, coupled with the evident interrelation between poetic patronage (of all kinds), local cult, and local politics, and the ways in which both the commissioning and the performance of individual poems took place against a background of other commissions and performances, necessitates that we be methodologically flexible when analysing this poetry, both as a whole and as individual pieces of performance art. Aeginetan epinician poetry does not support a ‘one-size-fits-all’ approach to the sociology of choral lyric poetry, and the use of family-naming in particular clearly marks out Aeginetan epinician poetry as something very special. We should also be prepared to be flexible enough to seek out a range of different, and indeed competing, manifestations of Aeginetan elite self-positioning, not only through athletic success and cult participation, but also through priesthoods and the maintenance of inter-elite networks, and through a sense of awareness of the external political climate marked by the growth of Athenian imperial power. This discussion has highlighted some of these manifestations, though there were undoubtedly many more; in particular, it would be fascinating to know much more about epichoric Aeginetan athletic competitions than the meagre snippets of evidence that the scholiasts and poetic allusions provide. Particular case-studies have emphasized a variety of different aspects: appropriation of rival modes of ritual performance (prosodion in Olympian 8, paean in Nemean 7, partheneion in Bacchylides 13); differing attitudes to inter-polis networks (as revealed in the articulations of the cultic mythology of Neoptolemos and its connotations in Nemeans 4 and 7 and Paean 6), and to the mythological background of the Aeginetan population and Dorian as well as autochthonous Aiakid identities (in the case of Isthmian 9); and the intertwining of epinician celebration, Panhellenic victory, and epichoric cult in the case of Simonides' poem for Krios, which, as the Herodotean intertexts reveal, sent him out onto the broader political stage of Aeginetan adult life successfully.

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics Aeginetan epinician poetry is revealed as an exceptionally rich body of material, one that requires a broad range of approaches. Comparisons with what we can say about the political and choregic arrangements of other states—Corinth, Athens, Thebes—suggest (p.226) continuities as well as contrasts. Finally, Aeginetan epinician poetry is a dynamic manifestation of elite oligarchic power, memorializing Aeginetan greatness and instantiating Aeginetan aristocratic— and not only competitive, athletic, political, but also poetic—values, projecting for local and Panhellenic audiences the obsessions of elite families (with ritual and cultic administration, and with competitive naming and listings of successes). And, in so doing, it also contains the social problems inherent in such manifestations of power. Notes:

(*) Many thanks to all the other contributors to this volume for Aeginetan discussions, and especially to Lucia Athanassaki, Ian Rutherford, and Liz Irwin for sharing their thoughts over a number of years. (1) Analysis of Aeginetan and Sicilian odes together now by Morrison, Ch. 6 this volume. (2) Hornblower (2007a) for a rather different take on the prevalence of Aeginetan material in the corpus; Lowe (2007), 176, n. 31 for the possibility of better preservation of Aeginetan poems locally for subsequent collection. Burnett (2005), with a focus on youthful competitors and initiation. For Pindar's Paeans, esp. Rutherford (2001); Aeginetan Paeans and Prosodia: Rutherford (1992), (1997); Kurke (2005). See also Kowalzig (2007), ch. 4 for the dynamic between epichoric and Panhellenic dimensions in Aeginetan choral poetry. (3) And in two of these cases, Nem. 10 and Isthm. 3, the supplementary victors are ancestors of the addressee, and in at least one case possibly mythical (Pamphaes: cf. Bury (1890), 205). (4) In fact, nine of the eleven non-fragmentary Aeginetan poems mention ‘supplementary victors’, Nem. 3 and Nem. 7 being the only ones that do not. The standard, ultimately Alexandrian, editorial practice of listing only one name and victory at the head of each poem in the epinician corpus has obscured the broader practice of naming in the Aeginetan evidence. These poems often celebrate other associated victors and victories that the present celebrations revive. For connected issues here surrounding reperformance, see Currie (2004), esp. 60 on Nem. 4; Morrison (2007b) and this volume, Ch. 6. (5) The evidence presented in this section compares usefully with the statistics for victory catalogues in Pindar and Bacchylides, collated in an appendix by Gerber (2002), 71–2 and 76. Out of a total of 38 Pindaric victory catalogues from 23 complete poems, 13 come from Aeginetan compositions (8 poems featuring catalogues): this is the most significant group both by number of entries and by Page 38 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics number of poems. Gerber also lists 5 victory catalogues in Bacchylides, and one of these (Bacch. 12.37) is an Aeginetan poem. It is also noteworthy that the Corinthian Ol. 13 has by far the highest number of victory catalogues (a total of 5). (6) Cf. Burnett (2005), 15: the members of the Aeginetan clans ‘will have filled the various priesthoods, decided on building projects, and maintained the calendar of religious celebrations, while they, or some inner group, also fixed alliances and city policy.’ Also Figueira (1985b), 67–8. (7) Further discussion by Athanassaki, Ch. 7 this volume. (8) Rutherford (1992), 63, 66–7; (2001), 411. Rutherford (2001), 415–16 notes the correspondence. ‘Intertextuality’ rather than ‘allusion’: pace Currie (2005), 330 dismissing any relevant connection between Pind. Nem. 7.33–47 and Pae. 6.102–20, intertextuality has sufficient conceptual flexibility to deal with interrelationships that go beyond intended interrelations between two texts, and beyond biographical premises. In general, see Allen (2000); for methodological issues for Classicists, Fowler (1997); cf. Hinds (1988), 34; Irwin (2005), 119, n. 19; also Morrison, Ch. 6 this volume. For methodological approaches to the interplay between religious poetry and cult-contexts, see in general Feeney (1998), esp. 23, 141; Kurke (2005), 83; detailed discussion at Kowalzig (2007), 13–23, esp. 22–3. (9) Kurke (2005), 83–4. (10) See Rutherford (2001), 411–18 for general discussion. (11) e.g. Power (2000), following Kurke (1991a). (12) e.g. Hubbard (2004), 74; see further below, sec. III. Also Irwin, this volume, Ch. 10 for the subsequent perspective offered by Herodotus. (13) Also note Walter-Karydi (2006), 44–5 with fig. 24 and Alt-Ägina, II.2 82–3, 126, and 128 with Taf. 43 no. 57 for the hypothesis that an extant relief fragment showing portions of two chariots (Aegina Mus. 752, c.490 BC) may come from the Aiakeion relief. If this is so, the original height of the relief would have been over 2 metres, and the monument would have been truly impressive in scale. For sensible thoughts about the original location of the Aiakeion (now lost), see Walter at Alt-Ägina, I.1 6. See also Athanassaki, Ch. 7 this volume, pp. 279–81. (14) It may be that Pausanias is reading the epichoric monument through a Delphic filter, in light of the similarity between this presentation and that argued for Pindar's Paean 6 as a text for the negotiation between Panhellenic and epichoric traditions: see Kurke (2005), esp. 85–6, 93–5.

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (15) Cf., again, Feeney (1998), 23: ‘literature's overlap with non-literary contexts (themselves not categorisable under any one heading) is…problematic as far as one can go in Greek literary history. There was no age of Kronos when literarity was not a problem, when belief in “art” and belief in “religion” cohered in a perfect mesh, when one frame of mind could carry you over from a non-literary context to a literary one and then back again.’ (16) Kurke (1991a), 190. (17) See D'Alessio (1994), 129; also Steiner (2001), 264–5. (18) Esp. Krummen (1990); useful brief discussion at Currie (2005), 17–18; also now Carey (2007). (19) Cf. Carey (2007), 201, noting the difference here between poleis with many successes and many associated victory odes (Aegina being the clearest case) and states for whom victories were very scarce indeed; compare the Aeginetan situation being discussed here with the very different circumstances at Phleious discussed in Fearn (2003), where evocation of state cults could give us something approaching our best access to full civic sponsorship of a given victory. Contrast the argument of Kurke (1998). (20) For more on xenia and international aristocratic networks, see further below; cf. Hornblower (2007a), though with biographical rather than theoric or political conclusions. Aristocratic circulation: Hubbard (2004); Carey (2007), 200 n. 5. (21) Again, cf. Feeney (1998), 58, 115–16 for discussion of the problematic quest for authentic origins rather than analysis of ongoing practice in the search for meaning in myth and ritual. On Aphaia, see Watson, Ch. 2 above. (22) Privitera (1988); Fearn (2007), 102–5; Nagy, Ch. 1 above, pp. 74–5. (23) Σ Nem. 5.81a (iii.97 Dr), παρ’ Αἰγινήταις Δϵλφίνιος μὴν ἄγϵται Δϵλφινίου Ἀπόλλωνος ἱϵρός, ἐν ᾡ̑ ἴσως φησὶ γϵγϵνη̑σθαι τὰ Νέμϵα; cf. ΣΣ Pyth. 8.88, 91 (ii. 215 Dr). (24) Σ Ol. 7.156b (i.232 Dr); Σ Nem. 5.78c (iii.97 Dr). (25) See Graf (1979); Burnett (2005), 47. (26) Aegina in general as a site for athletic competition: Isthm. 9.7–8. Outsiders' victories on Aegina: Ol. 13.109 (victory by a Corinthian Oligaithid); Ol. 7.86 (Diagoras of Rhodes a winner six times on Aegina); Pyth. 9.90 (victory by Telesikrates of Cyrene); Bacch. 10.35–6 (an Athenian victory). (27) Kurke (1991a); more recently, Stenger (2004) on Bacchylides. Page 40 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (28) For more on this poem and its use of parthenoi, see Fearn (2007), ch. 2, esp. 112–43. (29) For detail on the myth cf. Nagy, Ch. 1 this volume. (30) For narratives of desire and rape linked directly with dancing by parthenoi, compare, for instance, Σ D on Hom. Il. 9.553, with Ps.-Plut. Parallela minora 315e5 = Dositheus FGrH 4 F 401; cf. Hom. Il. 16.180 ff. (31) Cf. Power (2000); Fearn (2007), 116–17. (32) See Peponi (2004). (33) See further Fearn (2007), 147–8. (34) See also Paus. 9.10.4 for the elite associations; in general, Kurke (2007). (35) Parth. 1.11–14. (36) Parth. 2.6–12; cf. 38–49; Thuc. 4.91–3. Bowra (1964), 99–100; Hornblower (2004), 159 seems to hedge his bets on the identification; Hornblower and Morgan (2007), 35–9 for further prosopography; also Kurke (2007), 71; Kowalzig (2007), 383. (37) Kurke (2007), 67, 79; cf. 99. (38) Hdt. 5.79–80, with the Asopid link between the nymphs Aegina and Thebe. (39) Rotation: Paus. 9.10.4; Kurke (2007), 76–7, though even here we need to be a little suspicious about the extent to which this served to neutralize, rather than promote, inter-elite rivalry in Thebes, especially given that the dedication of tripods commemorating the priesthood ‘itself became another locus for elite competitive display’: Kurke (2007), 77. (40) Kurke (2007), 69–71 (with the findings of Emily Mackil), 93–5, 99. (41) Here the later classificatory bifurcation between lyric ϵἰς θϵούς and lyric ϵἰς ἀνθρώπους is relevant; partheneion is the genre which at least Proclus recognized as a form which destabilized this opposition, and we should be equally wary of the dangers of reifying all choral lyric according to this structure. Lowe (2007), 169 for the evidence of Proclus, and the possibility that this goes back only as far as Didymus; Pfeiffer (1968), 184 for the orthodox ascription of the division to Aristophanes' classification of Pindaric genres; D'Alessio (2000), 259–60 for Proclus on partheneion as ‘mixed’; Rutherford (2001), 102, table 2. Serv. ad Virg. Aen. 10.738 suggested that Pindar's Paeans could have ‘contained the praises of gods and men’, but this is unlikely in any straightforward sense: again, D'Alessio (2000), 260.

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (42) Walter-Karydi (1994), (2000); Alt-Ägina, I.3; also now Rutherford, Ch. 3 this volume. (43) For some different thoughts on the relation between Aristokleidas and the Theārion, see Rutherford, Ch. 3 this volume. (44) Currie (2005), ch. 13, esp. 338; cf. Walter-Karydi (2000), 92 and (2006), 8–9. (45) Currie (2005), 315, 321–30. Cf. also Burnett (2005), 199–201 for an alternative dismantling. (46) Currie (2005), 329. (47) Currie (2005), 340–3. For a helpful map locating the Molossians, see Davies (2000), 236, fig. 13.2. How the relation between Aegina and Molossia arose is uncertain, but a combination of Aeginetan maritime trade and theoric journeys to Dodona seems at least plausible. (48) Cf. Rutherford, Ch. 3 this volume: priests and magistrates. (49) For sensible comment on the sense of proxeny as the entertainment of theōroi in Nem. 7, see Currie (2005), 341–2; cf. also Ol. 9.82, adduced by Kowalzig (2007), 386, n. 139. For preliminary remarks on theōria in classical Greece, see Elsner and Rutherford (2005), 12–24; cf. Kowalzig (2005). (50) Corroboration for Molossian ruling family descended from Neoptolemos: Currie (2005), 309, n. 75, with Eur. Andr. 1247–50; Strab. 7.7.8; Plut. Pyrr. 1.2; Paus. 2.29.4; Heliod. Aeth. 2.34. Also Davies (2000), 241–2, 251; Hammond at CAH VI2.430–6; Paus. 1.11.1–2. (51) For fifth-century evidence for hereditary proxenoi, see Fraser (2003), 32, n. 26, with IG V.2 387. (52) Ath. NM 803; IG IX.12 4.1750: Dodona, late 4th cent. BC; discussed most recently by Fraser (2003). (53) The link is forged between the Zakynthians, Dodona, and her Aiakid rulers through the opening intertext with Achilles' prayer to Zeus at Iliad 16.233 ff. (54) Nem. 7 date: Carey (1981), 133; Burnett (2005), 185 prefers a date in the late 460s, at a time when we know from Thuc. 1.135 that Molossians were nearby; this of course does nothing to preclude an earlier (or later) date. Nem. 4 date: 473? (Willcock (1995), 93); the use of Melesias as a trainer for wrestling in Ol. 8 (objectively dated to 460) as well as in Nem. 4 and 6 may help to secure the latter two poems around the same period. (55) Cf. Currie (2005), 342.

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (56) Compare this Aeginetan catalogue of the geographical spread of the Aeginetan Aiakidai with the spread of the (Phliasian) Asopidai at Bacch. 9.45 ff., with Fearn (2003), 358–62. More on Asopidai in Nagy, Ch. 1 this volume. (57) Cf. Rutherford (2001), 322 on the need for special explanation here. (58) As such, a more specific and more heavily politicized version of the position of Currie (2005), 315. See further Currie (2005), 319–20 for a rather different reading of such appeals, as encomiastic attempts to avoid offence towards Neoptolemos for purported connections and comparisons between him and the victor Sogenes. The antipathy of rival Aeginetan families would be corroborated if Davies (2000), 237 is correct that, in the earlier fifth century Molossia was in general felt by Greeks to be an alien and indeed barbarian region; use of Trojan War ancestry was a way for Molossians to fight against such antipathy. Compare here my thoughts at Fearn (2007), ch. 1 on the nature of Macedonian regal ethnicity as seen through the enkomia of Pindar and Bacchylides. (59) Cf. Kowalzig (2005), 44–5 for the competition between theoric and other political forms of identity. (60) Nem. 7.39–40, ἀτὰρ γένος αἰϵὶ φέρϵι | του̑τό οἱ γέρας ~ 44–7, ἐχρη̑ν δέ τιν’ ἔνδον ἄλσϵι παλαιτάτῳ | Αἰακιδα̑ν κρϵόντων τὸ λοιπὸν ἔμμϵναι | θϵου̑ παρ’ ϵὐτϵιχέα δόμον, ἡροΐαις δ`ϵ πομπαι̑ς | θϵμισκόπον οἰκϵι̑ν ἐόντα πολυθύτοις ~ 67–8, ὁ δ`ϵ λοιπὸς ϵὔφρων | ποτὶ χρόνος ἕρποι. For the importance of ‘ritual time’ in paeanic texts, see Kurke (2005), 82–3; cf. Pae. 6.5, ἐν ζαθέῳ…χρόνῳ: not, properly, an evocation of a specific historical moment in time, but an authorization of a special, particular kind of time, qua sacred. (61) Cf. Kurke (2005), 101. D'Alessio (1994), 138, n. 68 notes the intertextuality between Nem. 7.9–10 δορικτύπων | Αἰακιδα̑ν and Pae. 6.176–7 δο̣ [ρικτ]ύπων…| Αἰακ]ι̣δα̑ν, though this need not now be interpreted through the filter of the ‘apology theory’. (62) Double chorus: Rutherford (2001), 337–8; Kurke (2005). (63) Prosodion section separately transmitted: D'Alessio (1997), 58–9; reperformed on Aegina: Rutherford (2001), 337; Kurke (2005), 119–24 for performance before departure. Ferrari (1999), 157–8 argued that the prosodion section was originally entirely separate, intended for performance at the Aeginetan Aiakeia; though Kurke (2005), 91, n. 34 rightly criticizes this view for underestimating the connections with the remainder of Paean 6, it is still possible that the third triad could have been reperformed separately on Aegina subsequently. (64) With the generality of the expression (eschewing mention of any particular family, priestly clan, or individual) emphasizing a sense of trans-temporal Page 43 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics religious and administrative continuity and conservatism that this particular kind of ritual activity relied upon. (65) See Wilson (2000), ch. 5, esp. 226–35 on the ‘oligarchic extravagance’ represented by the choregic monuments of Nikias and Thrasyllos. (66) Cf. Carey (2007), 203. (67) Greater clarity is therefore needed in discussion of ‘community-building’ paeans (Rutherford (2001), 86), a view which occludes the extent to which paeans may still reflect and promote elite, and indeed oligarchic, ideology. (68) See Hdt. 6.50, 6.73.2, cf. 8.92; at 6.73.2 he is one of the ten Aeginetan hostages chosen as τοὺς πλϵίστου ἀξίους καὶ πλούτῳ καὶ γένϵϊ, and one of two marked out by Herodotus as having μέγιστον κράτος. (69) These scholia are supplemented by the remarks of Tzetzes, Comm. Ar. Nub. 1354a (p. 672 Koster). Despite being a late source full of guesswork (Dickey (2007), 30), Tzetzes provides corroboration, and extension, of the earlier scholiasts' interpretation. In an otherwise garbled discussion (of a garbled secondary source?), Tzetzes, too, tells us that Krios was a famous wrestler, and states explicitly that Simonides wrote a victory ode in his honour: οὗ νικήσαντος ἐν Ὀλυμπίᾳ γράφϵι ᾀ̑σμα ὁ Σιμωνίδης. (70) Bowra (1961), 313–14; Figueira (1988), 84; Nagy (1990a), 393, n. 62; Molyneux (1992), 51; Hornblower (2004), 23, 218–19; despite her focus on boys' initiations, the fragment is also incorrectly interpreted by Burnett (2005), at 42, n. 54 and 46, n. 2. An exception is Fränkel (1975), 436, followed by Gentili and Catenacci (2007), 299–300. (71) Page (1951), 140–1. This was also the orthodox view until Wilamowitz (1922): see Bergk (1914), 393; Kroll, RE suppl. IV 1101 s.v. Krios (9). (72) Wilamowitz (1922), 118, n. 1; cf. Wilamowitz (1913), 145, n. 1. ἐπέξαθ’ is middle, neither passive (unlike ἐπέχθη in Ar. Nub. 1356) nor middle-for-passive (as understood by Page): Kugelmeier (1996), 78, 79. The change of mood in Aristophanes is, in fact, the marker of the passage's subsequently skewed sympotic Athenian transmission, as I hope to demonstrate elsewhere in work on the fifth-century Athenian reception of Krios. (73) Kugelmeier (1996), 78. The defeated famously slink home along the back alleys at Pind. Pyth. 8.83–7, in ‘the shame and sorrow of defeat’ (Kirkwood (1982), 213; cf. Ol. 8.67–9). But this is not ridicule, and no individuals are named: as usual in Pindar, the point is the general contrast drawn with success, however fleeting. Cf. Gentili and Catenacci (2007), 299.

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (74) See Bacch. 6.1–2 with Jebb (1905), 295 ad loc. Cf. Pind. fr. 120, with Fearn (2007), 48–50; Pind. fr. 105a, with Σ Pind. Nem. 7.1a (iii.116 Dr). (75) Kugelmeier (1996), 79. Cf. Wilamowitz (1922), 118, n. 1: ‘Daß Krios ein gehänselter überwundener Gegner ware, widerspricht ganz der Sitte, als Anfang eines Liedes ist es vollends undenkbar. Also schertzte Simonides freilich, aber nicht zu Unehren des Krios.’ Litotes with ἀϵικής follows impeccable Homeric precedent (e.g. Hom. Il. 24.594, Achilles commenting on the quality of Priam's ransom) as a way of affirming an action or object as morally and socially ‘right and proper’. (76) Cf. Kugelmeier (1996), 79. The alternative view of Fränkel (1975), 436 that being shorn is a jokey metaphor for ‘taking a beating’ (‘referring to the severity of the contest which the winner had had to endure’), will not do, because it fails to account for why the verb in the Simonidean original is middle rather than passive. (77) Leitao (2003); Burkert (1985), 70 with 373–4; Hadzisteliou Price (1978), 103, 211; Braswell (1988), 178 ad loc. Pind. Pyth. 4.82(a), with Σ Pyth. 4.145 (ii. 119 Dr); Aesch. Cho. 6. (78) Cf. Leitao (2003), 117 for travel by ambitious families to significant sanctuaries to make hair-offerings, with Theopompus FGrH 115 F 248 = Ath. 13.605a–d; Theophr. Char. 21.3; IStratonikeia 405. In Theophrastus this is marked out as rather atypical behaviour. See further below for epichoric Aeginetan evidence for hair-dedications. (79) Or, alternatively, though rather less plausibly, his hair-cutting before competition marking his transition into a new age class, in which he was victorious. (80) Cf. Papalas (1991), 173 and Christesen (2007), 525, discussing the case of Pythagoras of Samos (Moretti no. 88, 588 BC): Eratosth. FGrH 241 F11A apud Diog. Laert. 8.47 with Euseb. Chron. lines 169–72 (Greek text at Christesen (2007), 391, entry for Ol. 48). There is, incidentally, no entry for, or discussion of, Krios in either Moretti or Christesen (2007). (81) Again, Leitao (2003), emphasizing the importance of ritual hair-growth as process; importance of family: 114–15. (82) Iliadic similes using rams as a vehicle to figure leadership: Il. 3.196–8, 13.492; cf. Od. 9.446–52. Independently, I note that the famous black-and-white style name-vase of the Ram Jug Painter was found on the Kolonna site, Aegina town (and is now on display in the site museum): Aegina Museum 566; Morris (1984), 51–3. (83) Leitao (2003), 113. Page 45 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (84) Cf. Leitao (2003), 122 on Anacreon's lament for Smerdies' hair being cut off in fr. 414 PMG and fr. 347 PMG: ‘What troubles Anacreon is not that the boy's beauty is diminished, but that the cutting of the boy's hair marks his entry into adulthood and thus the end of the pederastic relationship.’ This reading supports the interpretation offered of οὐκ ἀϵικέως in Simonides' poem, which highlights the change in Krios' status: a young man whose loss of boyhood is, in some ways, a shame, but now also a marker of success and greatness in victory. Interestingly we also have a fragment of Archilochus, according to which Glaukos is to be praised as τὸν κϵροπλάστην, which a Homeric scholiast (Σ (b)T Hom. Il. 24.81) glosses as expressing ‘the horn-like interwining of the hair’; cf. Poll. Onom. 2.31. If Simonides is alluding to aristocratic hairstyles as well as to hair-dedications, then Krios' name (and Simonides' play on it) has even further point. (85) In general, Burnett (2005); Morgan (2007), 226. An expensive business: Papalas (1991), 176. (86) The fact that the Nemean Games had a category for ageneioi as well as paides, whereas Olympia had no separate category for ageneioi, is no barrier to thinking of Nemea as a possible location, if what is being celebrated is Krios' transition from youth to man. As Crowther (1988) has argued, the Olympic categories allowed for a broader range of ages, with Olympic paides therefore potentially overlapping with Nemean ageneioi (presumably therefore it was all the more difficult to win as an Olympic pais, as one might expect). Moreover, the evidence of Pind. Ol. 9.89–94, with Frisch (1988), 183 and Wilamowitz (1922), 350, reveals a good degree of flexibility, with officials seemingly able to take into account the athletic physique as much as (if not more than) the actual age of young competitors when assigning them to age-classes at individual festivals (a factor which probably also allowed a fair amount of corruption); cf. Papalas (1991), 173–4. I suspect that Krios' victory, if at Nemea, would have been as an ageneios: if at Olympia, as a pais. Krios' victory may, however, more plausibly be Nemean rather than Olympic, given: (i) the absence of further evidence in support of an Olympic success, e.g. from the (though not fully complete) Olympic victory lists; (ii) the dominance in the late archaic period of wrestling victories by Argives and western Greeks at Olympia; (iii) the much greater prevalence of Nemean successes over Olympic ones in the Aeginetan epinician odes of Pindar and Bacchylides. Cf. Morgan (2007), 225–6, with statistics. Little should be made to rest on the suggestion by Tzetzes that Krios' victory was at Olympia: this is just as likely to be a guess as it is to rest on reliable information: see n. 69 above. (87) Though the evidence for ritual dedication of hair at Nemea is lacking—and the cults there do not in fact seem to have had any kourotrophic role— dedications of hair could have been made to the river Alpheios at Olympia. Another possibility would be a dedication to the river Asopos flowing nearby Nemea, given the close link between Asopos and Aegina, and what we know Page 46 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics about kourotrophic dedications to river-gods. See the evidence assembled by West (1966), 263–4 ad Hes. Theog. 347, adding Pind. Pyth. 9.88; Hadzisteliou Price (1978), 5, 103, 124. (88) See earlier for discussion of the significance of this spring, associated with both youths and the performance of epinician poetry at Pind. Nem. 3.1–5. Hadzisteliou Price (1978), 194 also notes the nymph Aegina's invocation as ‘mother’ at Pind. Pyth. 8.98, though the context there is very general. However, given the Aiakid–Asopid genealogical associations of this spring (for which Fearn (2007), 102–5), and thus potential connections with Achilles, hair-offerings here might have been thought of as successful ritual re-enactments of Achilles' own dedication of hair to the Spercheios denied to him, as he recounts, at Hom. Il. 23.141–51. For further evidence for hair-cutting and hero-cult, see Ekroth (2002), 200–2. (89) Sinn (1988), 149. Cf. Hadzisteliou Price (1978), 122; Watson, Ch. 2 above, p. 90. (90) Sinn (1987), 138–9, 140 with 139, fig. 2; (1988), 158; Furtwängler (1906), 417 with pl. 116, nos. 35, 38, 40–2. Sinn's conclusion (1988: 158–9; 1987: 138– 40), however, that the Sanctuary of Aphaia was a religious centre for an Aeginetan tribal confederation rests on no solid evidence, and does not square with the findings of Leitao (2003) on the importance of the family unit rather than the broader community in such dedications: again, see Watson, Ch. 2 above, pp. 95 ff. (91) As Liz Irwin points out to me, the possibility of sympotic epinician performance (for which Clay 1999) is worthy of consideration because of the precedent for discourse on hair-cutting and hair-styling provided by earlier demonstrably sympotic lyric poetry; cf. n. 84 above for evidence from Anakreon and Archilochos; we also know, of course, that Simonides' poem was transmitted sympotically (the context of Ar. Nub. 1355–6); cf. Morrison, Ch. 6 this volume, p. 232. (92) ταυ̑τα μέν νυν σφέας αὐτοὺς οἱ Αἰγινη̑ται ἐργάσαντο, Hdt. 6.92.1. (93) Note in particular Morgan (2007) on Argos and Corinth, and esp. 219; Stamatopoulou (2007) on Thessaly; Kurke (2007) on Thebes; Morrison (2007b) on Sicily and Antonaccio (2007) on Magna Graecia; Kowalzig (2007), esp. 4 on Aegina; Fearn (2003) on Phleious and (2007), ch. 2 on Aegina. (94) Cf. Morgan (2007), 216. (95) Hubbard (2004), 74; cf. Hubbard (2001), 392–4. However, as Liz Irwin points out to me, Figueira provides no evidence for piracy and slave-trading in any late archaic or classical context. Page 47 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (96) Especially in a context where rival politically charged versions of the prowess of the Aiakidai against barbarian figures were operating, such as Simonides' Plataea elegy: cf. Irwin, Ch. 10 this volume, p. 398 n. 55. (97) Aeginetan self-confidence through poetry and ritual: Kowalzig (2007), ch. 4 in general. (98) Cf. Pyth. 1.61–5 as a Dorian advertisement, with Hubbard (2004), 74–5. (99) Carnes (1990–1) notes this juxtaposition, with Ol. 8.30 and Nem. 3.3 also, but without further comment. Cf. Pae. 6.123–4 for the Saronic Gulf as itself Dorian. Such interconnections are what we should expect, given Aegina's position as a central node in networks linking Peloponnesian and central Greek myths and interests; for Peloponnesian sculptural commissions, and the later Delphic denomination of Aeginetan hieromnēmones as Dorians of the Peloponnese, see Walter-Karydi (2000), 97–8 and (2006), 82. Argos and Epidauros are transmitted as having colonizing connections with Aegina: Paus. 2.29.5, Stab. 8.16.1; ΣΣ Pind. Ol. 8.39 (i.247 Dr) and Nem. 3.1a (iii.41 Dr); cf. Hdt. 8.46; cf. Kowalzig, Ch. 4 this volume, for the rituals shared with Troizen and Epidauros. Tausend (1995) posits the existence of another Aegina on the mainland local to Epidauros to explain the sources, but this begs the question of why the additional place, if it did exist, was so named. For Kalaureia and its amphictiony (involving Aegina), see Kelly (1966), Tausend (1992), 12–19, Constantakopoulou (2007), 29–37; for Kalaureia's connections with Panhellenic cults of Apollo, including Delphi, see Jackson (2002) on Call. fr. 593 Pfeiffer, with Paus. 2.33.2, Strab. 8.6.14, and Ovid, Met. 7.384–5. See also Rutherford, Ch. 3 this volume. (100) Kurke (2005). (101) Figueira (1981a); cf. Hubbard (2001); De Ste. Croix (2004), with additional comments by Robert Parker for a reinstantiation of the opposing ‘minimalist’ position; for unpacking of the opposition, see Hornblower (2004), 211–15; cf. Hornblower (2007a) 295–7; Kowalzig, Ch. 4 this volume. Hubbard's position is further questioned by Morgan (2007), 213, 262–3 and Thomas (2007), 141–3. (102) Herman (1987), 155–6. (103) Cf. Watson, Ch. 2 this volume; an issue which also affects the view of Aegina in subsequent historiography: see both the contributions of Irwin, Chs. 10–11 this volume. (104) Kurke (1991a), 200; cf. Mann (2000), 44; (2001), 213–14. In general, such a position is uncontroversial, esp. in the light of those passages which celebrate in general terms the fame of the island because of aristocratic achievement:

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Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics Pyth. 8.22; Nem. 7.9; cf. Bacch. 13.77–83; Isthm. 6.24 ff.; also Isthm. 5.48–50 for reference to Salamis as a shared Aeginetan conflict. (105) Cf. also Kurke (2007), discussed below, for an epichorically focused reading of Theban poetry and ritual and its connections with Theban oligarchy. (106) Cf. Fearn (forthcoming) for discussion of Keian identity along such lines. See further Watson (Ch. 2) and Kowalzig (Ch. 4), this volume, for the impact of Athens here; Kowalzig, Ch. 4 this volume, for the Aeginetan cult of Zeus, and the relation between Aeginetan Aiakidai and the Persian Wars. Elsewhere, Kurke suggested that aristocratic epinician performance ‘represents a kind of a counterrevolution’ against polis-interests (Kurke (1991a), 258–9), but this argument seems to have less power in the context of oligarchic administration, where polis-interests cannot successfully be separated off. Cf. Morgan (2007), 262–3. (107) Cf. Bury (1890), 96; the military interpretation of Pfeijffer (1999), 176 ad loc. 46–7 is over-literal. (108) Cf. lines 65–6. (109) Cf. also Bacch. 13.67–76; Fearn (2007), 145–8 for interpretative issues surrounding polis-orientation there. (110) Cf. Thomas (2007), 166. (111) Not including the rather less pointed Nem. 3.7–9. (112) For sensible interpretation of Melesias in Ol. 8, see Robbins (1986), esp. 321, n. 23; cf. Ol. 8.65–6, indicating that Alkimedon's victory is the thirtieth which has resulted from Melesias' training. For too single-minded a focus on supposed Aeginetan antipathy towards the trainer Menandros qua Athenian at Nem. 5.48–9, see Pfeijffer (1995b), 324–5. See Figueira (1993), 205–11, esp. 210–11 for Melesias and Aeginetan connections with Athenian aristocracy; Fearn (2007), 152–7 for thoughts on the presence of Menandros in Bacch. 13, disagreeing with the view of Nicholson (2005) that Bacchylides or Pindar were particularly concerned with any tension between training and inherited excellence in their mentions of trainers. (113) Kurke (1991a), 52 reads the passage in self-consciously poetic terms. (114) See Kurke (1991a), 212 on Isthm. 5.21–5. (115) On tyrants, see in particular Kurke (1991a), ch. 8, esp. 220. (116) See above, p. 189 with nn. 23, 24, 26, for evidence of epichoric athletic competitions. Page 49 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics (117) These poetic observations therefore support the general historical point about Aeginetan political factionalism and diversity made by Kowalzig (2007), 215. (118) Cf. Currie (2004); more thoughts on potential intertextualities between different Aeginetan epinician poems by Morrison, Ch. 6 this volume. (119) Additional commentary by De Ste. Croix (2004), 376–7. (120) Implied in the allusion in Hdt. 6.91.1 to the expulsion of the population by the Athenians at the start of the Peloponnesian War: Thuc. 2.27. See further the essays by Irwin in this volume (Chs. 10–11) for the ways in which Herodotus' dealings with Aegina invite subsequent, and retrospective, thought about the nature of Aegina and its fall to Athens. (121) Hornblower (2004), 220; Fearn (2007), 157. Even here we should be careful not to separate aristocratic and demotic interests: cf. earlier Aeolic sources for demotic support of aristocratic stasis, with Alcaeus on Pittakos for the comparison with how the Achaeans should have killed the hubristic Ajax, at Alc. fr. 298 V, and the implication that inter-aristocratic conflict could be predicated on supposed demotic support; cf. too Alc. frr. 70.12–13 and 129.20 V; also Alc. fr. 348 V = Arist. Pol. III.14 1285a35–b1; also Thomas (2007), 147–8. (122) Felten (2001), 133–4. (123) Kurke (2007), 78, discussing κορυφαι̑ος: ‘this complete interpenetration of the political and choral spheres’; Wilson (2000), 358, n. 50. (124) Kurke (2007), 78–9. (125) Compare also the excellent commentary at Silk (2007), 180 (and cf. Silk (2001), 30–8) on the importance of the elevated, heightened, special, defamiliarizing qualities of Pindaric epinician style that places it in direct relation to aristocratic value as its very means of articulation. (126) Cf. Arist. Pol. V.6 1305b22–6b5 for oligarchies as prone to stasis; for further thought on the relation between classical encomiastic poetry and oligarchic politics see Fearn (2009). (127) Barrett (1978); Morgan (2007), 228. (128) Eritimos (‘Man of High Status’; ‘Top-Dog’); Thessalos (‘Thessalian One’), the name of the father of the victor Xenophon, reveals ties of ritualized friendship with northern Greek elites in the sixth century: Stamatopoulou (2007), 318; the name Ptoiodoros makes an association with dedications at the Boeotian Ptoion, itself heavily associated with inter-state aristocratic networking, including by significant Alkmaionidai: Schachter (1981), 65 with n. Page 50 of 51

 

Aeginetan Epinician Culture: Naming, Ritual, and Politics 1; (1994), 297, with n. 33; cf. Hornblower (2004), 203; Kowalzig (2007), 364–71, also emphasizing Thessalian presence in ritual at the Ptoion. (129) On Corinth here, again Morgan (2007), 228. In addition to Oligaithid Olympic victors (and not including the semi-mythical victories of Diokles and Dasmon of 728 and 724 BC: Moretti nos. 13 and 14), race-horse victories by Pheidolas and his sons, in 512 and 508 BC respectively, are recorded at Paus. 6.13.9 and 10 (Moretti nos. 147 and 152); Moretti no. 229 also lists an Agesandridas(?) of Corinth, a boy victor in the Olympic stadion of 472.

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Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality

Aegina: Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry: Myth, History, and Identity in the Fifth Century BC David Fearn

Print publication date: 2010 Print ISBN-13: 9780199546510 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: January 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.001.0001

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality Andrew Morrison

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.003.0007

Abstract and Keywords This chapter investigates the different performances (including reperformances) and audiences of Pindar's Aeginetan odes, one of the two main clusters of Pindaric odes for victors from one locale (the other being Pindar's fifteen odes for Sicilian victors), and the possibility in the case of Aeginetan compositions that a substantial proportion of the audience for one ode might have heard another ode. A good case for audience overlap are the three Pindaric and one Bacchylidean odes for the victories of the sons of Lampon (Nemean 5, Bacchylides 13, Isthmian 6, Isthmian 5). Cross-references between these four odes are discussed, and it is suggested that Nemean 5 and Bacchylides 13, both composed for the same victory of Pytheas, were designed by their respective poets with some awareness of the other's ode. This has important consequences for the way we should read intertextual echoes between odes, and for our view of ‘conventional’ material in epinician poetry. Keywords:   Pindar, Bacchylides, Aeginetan odes, audiences, performance and reperformance, Pytheas, intertextuality

Victory odes were composed to celebrate in grand style the athletic or equestrian (or sometimes musical)1 victories of those Greeks rich enough to commission epinician poets such as Pindar or Bacchylides. As such we have grown used to thinking of them as ‘occasional’ poetry, focused on the spectacular first performance and intended principally for the audience of that first performance,2 and (from Bundy's point of view) directed at praising the victor to that first audience.3 Recently, however, scholars have paid more Page 1 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality attention to the possibility of the regular re-performance of the victory odes of Pindar and Bacchylides,4 and it is the consequences of the likelihood of reperformance, and of the network of the intersecting audiences of (p.228) the various performances and reperformances of different victory odes, which I explore here. A promising way to begin looking at the reperformances of Pindaric and Bacchylidean victory odes is to examine those odes which celebrate victors from one particular locality. There are two strikingly prominent clusters of Pindaric odes from this perspective: the eleven odes for Aeginetan victors, and the fifteen for victors from Sicily.5 Here I concentrate on the former, though it will be useful at various points to compare the Aeginetan odes of Pindar and Bacchylides to those which celebrate Sicilian victors. One might think, however, that these two groups of odes are very different in a number of crucial respects, not only the difference between a small, one-polis island as against Sicily ‘with her rich peaks of cities’ (κορυφαι̑ς πολίων ἀφνϵαι̑ς, Nem. 1.15), not all of which were Greek, but also the contrast between the tyrannies of Syracuse and Akragas as against the aristocratic dominance on Aegina, and the clear difference between victory odes celebrating equestrian victories (as the great majority of the Sicilian odes do) and those celebrating Aeginetan victories in the gruelling disciplines of wrestling or the pankration: Aeginetan odes by event:6 Wrestling:

Nem. 4, Nem. 6, Ol. 8, Pyth. 8; Bacch. 12

Pankration:

Nem. 5, Isthm. 6, Isthm. 5, Isthm. 8, Nem. 3; Bacch. 13

Diaulos:7

Nem. 8

 

Nem. 7 8

Pentathlon:

Sicilian odes by event: Chariotrace:

Ol. 2, Ol. 3, Ol. 4, Pyth. 1, Pyth. 2, Pyth. 6, Nem. 1, Nem. 9, Isthm. 2; Bacch. 3, Bacch. 4

Horse-race:

Ol. 1, (Pyth. 3); Bacch. 5

Mule-race:

Ol. 5, Ol. 6

Aulos-playing:Pyth. 12 Dolichos:

Ol. 12

(p.229) But the very differences between the two groups can help begin to articulate what in the odes and their contexts of performance and reperformance is individual and specific to the particular part of the Greek world in which they were performed.9 Comparison between the Aeginetan and Page 2 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality Sicilian odes can also help to uncover significant patterns within and between the two clusters, which may tell us something about the strategies of Pindar (and Bacchylides) when composing odes for different victors from broadly the same place. There are also some ways in which the two sets of odes are strikingly similar (particularly with regard to the ways in which Pindar accommodates and manipulates the different audiences of an ode), and I shall investigate towards the end of this chapter the significance of particular intertextual relationships between certain Aeginetan and certain Sicilian odes. One particularly interesting aspect of the commissioning, performance, and reperformance of several victory odes in one place is the possibility that the audiences of these odes might have ‘overlapped’; that is, that a substantial proportion of the audience of a performance or reperformance of a given victory ode would also have heard another Pindaric (or Bacchylidean) ode for another victory won by someone from the same city (or possibly a nearby city, in the case of the Sicilian odes). In the case of the Sicilian odes, we have a group of odes connected not only in space but in time: the majority (ten of the fifteen Pindaric odes, and all three fragmentary Bacchylidean odes) celebrate the victories of the tyrants Hieron of Syracuse or Theron of Akragas (or their families or courtiers) in a fairly short period— about 476 to about 466:10

Hieron of Syracuse:

Ol. 1 (476), Pyth. 1 (470), Pyth. 2 (probably 477–474),11 Pyth. 3 (476–467); Bacch. 5 (476), Bacch. 4 (470), Bacch. 3 (468)

Hieron's courtiers:

Ol. 6 (Hagesias of Syracuse, probably 472 or 468), Nem. 1 (Chromios of Aitna, after 475–467), Nem. 9 (Chromios of Aitna, 475–467)

Theron of Akragas:

Ol. 2 (476), Ol. 3 (476)

Theron's family:

Isthm. 2 (Xenokrates of Akragas, c.472–470, cf. Bowra 1964: 410)

(p.230) This makes study of their potentially intersecting audiences, and the ways in which Pindar might be exploiting such audiences, much more straightforward than is the case with the Aeginetan odes, because of the great uncertainty about the dates of the latter. This uncertainty is largely a result of all but two of the eleven Aeginetan odes being for Nemean or Isthmian victories, for the dates of which we have much less information than the Olympian victories which feature prominently among the Sicilian odes. As Simon Hornblower has put it, ‘we are almost completely in the dark about the precise dates of the Nemeans and Isthmians’.12 A list of the dates of these odes has a depressing number of question-marks (or worse), and many of the dates for the odes are just guesswork:

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Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality

Nem. 5: Pytheas, s. of Lampon

c.485/483 (?)

Isthm. 6: Phylakidas, s. of Lampon

c.480 (?)

Isthm. 5: Phylakidas, s. of Lampon

478 (?) [after Salamis]

Isthm. 8: Kleandros, s. of Telesarchos

479/478/c.475 (?)

Nem. 4: Timasarchos, s. of Timokritos

late 470s–early 460s (?)

Nem. 3: Aristokleidas, s. of Aristophanes

unknown

Nem. 6: Alkimidas, gr. s. of Praxidamas

unknown

Nem. 8: Deinias (and f. Megas?)

c.460 (?)

Nem. 7: Sogenes, s. of Thearion

c.461 (?)

Ol. 8: Alkimedon, s. of Iphion

460

Pyth. 8: Aristomenes, s. of Xenarkes

446

Bacch. 12: Teisias

unknown

Bacch. 13: Pytheas, s. of Lampon

as Nem. 5

Hence, it is much more difficult to get a sense of the chronological clustering of odes (and hence an idea of their more immediate or (p.231) obvious interconnections) than in the Sicilian odes (compare the list of Sicilian odes above). Many of the dates for Pindar's Aeginetan odes I've taken from Burnett's recent book,13 but most are very speculative indeed.14 The Sicilian odes are easier to tie down, even if only to a range of date in some cases, because the Sicilian tyrants left firmer chronological traces, for example by founding Aitna, or by being famous enough for the dates of their deaths to have been recorded. But the problem of the dates of the Aeginetan odes isn't quite the devastating obstacle which it might seem, and ought not to mean that we confine ourselves to study of the working of a given Aeginetan ode on its first audience.15 Part of what I want to do here is to draw attention to the likelihood that the Aeginetan odes were probably regularly reperformed on Aegina (and elsewhere), and that therefore we must bear in mind the audiences of these reperformances, and their potentially overlapping or interlocking nature. These reperformances themselves mean that it is not vital to establish the strict chronology of the odes: audiences might overlap at later reperformances as well as at the first performance. I should say here that I divide up the various audiences of a Pindaric or Bacchylidean victory ode as follows (the terminology should be transparent):16 the first or ‘primary’ audience is that of the first, original performance, sometimes called the ‘première’. ‘Secondary’ audiences are the audiences of subsequent reperformances which are relatively close in time and space to the Page 4 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality première. By ‘relatively close in space and time’ I mean, for example, in the case of Pindar's odes for Aeginetan victors, local, Aeginetan reperformances taking place within a few years of the première. Hence I distinguish between secondary audiences and tertiary audiences, the latter being ‘wider’ audiences across the Greek world, and/or separated from the first performance by a longer period of time. I think that the distinction between secondary and tertiary audiences is important, and I'll return to the tertiary audiences of certain Sicilian and Aeginetan odes towards the end of this discussion. (p.232) I should also say that I think it likely that Pindaric and Bacchylidean victory odes were first performed by a chorus, and subsequently reperformed most commonly by a solo singer to the accompaniment of the lyre (that is to say, ‘monodically’). I'm happy to form part of what Bruno Currie has called the ‘broad consensus’ which succeeded the choral–monodic debate of the 1980s and 1990s (and which was still raging when I first read Pindar as an undergraduate).17 I'm not going to argue in detail for my view, but it may be useful to cite here some of the main evidence for the likelihood that reperformance was probably usually solo, and usually at symposia. It is sympotic reperformance which Theognis envisages for his elegies (Theognis 237–40), and plural (i.e. repeated) symposia for which Bacchylides' song for Alexander, son of Amyntas, is destined (as a συμποσ̣[ίαι]σιν ἄγαλμ’ [ἐν] ϵἰκάδϵσ̣[σιν], ‘ornament for symposia in the final days of the month’, fr. 20B.5).18 Pindar can assimilate the performance of his ode with (future) solo reperformance, for example at Olympian 1.14–18: ἀγλαΐζϵται δ`ϵ καί | μουσικᾶς ἐν ἀώτῳ | οἷα παίζομϵν φίλαν | ἄνδρϵς ἀμφὶ θαμὰ τράπϵζαν. ἀλλὰ Δωρίαν ἀπὸ φόρμιγγα πασσάλου | λάμβαν’ (‘he [sc. Hieron] is glorified in the pick of songs too, such as regularly round a friendly table we men play. But now, take the Dorian lyre from its hook…’), while it is precisely the solo reperformance of an Aeginetan victory ode at a symposium which Strepsiades unsuccessfully requests of his son at Aristophanes, Clouds 1354–7: πρω̑τον μ`ϵν αὐτὸν τὴν λύραν λαβόντ’ ἐγὼ ’κέλϵυσα | ᾀ̑σαι Σιμωνίδου μέλος, τὸν Κριόν, ὡς ἐπέχθη. | ὁ δ’ ϵὐθέως ἀρχαι̑ον ϵἰ̑ν’ ἔφασκϵ τὸ κιθαρίζϵιν | ᾄδϵιν τϵ πίνονθ’, ὡσπϵρϵὶ κάχρυς γυναι̑κ’ ἀλο̑υσαν (‘first I asked him to take the lyre and sing a song of Simonides, “Krios, how he was shorn”. But straightaway he said it was out-of-date, playing the lyre and singing when having a drink, as if you were a woman grinding barley’). But the most convincing piece of evidence is the fact that the clearest reference to epinician reperformance in Pindar clearly describes solo reperformance: ϵἰ δ’ ἔτι ζαμϵνϵι̑ Τιμόκριτος ἁλίῳ | σὸς πατὴρ ἐθάλπϵτο, ποικίλον κιθαρίζων | θαμά κϵ, τὠ̑δϵ μέλϵι κλιθϵίς, | υἱὸν κϵλάδησϵ καλλίνικον (‘if still Timokritos, your father, were warmed by the strong sun, playing his lyre intricately, regularly he would, (p.233) depending on this song, have celebrated his victorious son’, Nem. 4.13– 16).19 I don't by this mean to rule out other possible modes and places of performance, and there have been a number of recent suggestions about the different possible circumstances for Pindaric reperformance,20 but I do think the Page 5 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality most common form of reperformance is likely to have been solo sympotic reperformance. That the odes of Pindar and Bacchylides were reperformed (whatever the precise means) is, I think, very strongly implied by several passages in the odes themselves. Pindar anticipates the reperformance of his odes and, what is more, he characterizes this reperformance as one important means for securing the wide and lasting fame of his patrons.21 In other words, reperformance is key to the promise he made his patrons, and hence formed an important element of what Pindar was being paid for. Several of the most important passages on Pindaric reperformance happen to be from Aeginetan odes, such as the beginning of Nemean 5, where Pindar contrasts his song with motionless statues, and instructs it to travel on every boat from Aegina and proclaim the victory of Lampon's son, Pytheas:22 Οὐκ ἀνδριαντοποιός ϵἰμ’, ὥστ’ ἐλινύσοντα ἐργάζϵσθαι ἀγάλματ’ ἐπ’ αὐτᾶς βαθμίδος ἑστᾰότ’‧ ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ πάσας ὁλκάδος ἔν τ’ ἀκάτῳ, γλυκϵι̑’ ἀοιδά, (p.234) στϵι̑χ’ ἀπ’ Αἰγίνας διαγγέλλοισ’, ὅτι Λάμπωνος υἱὸς Πυθέας ϵὐρυσθϵνής νίκη Νϵμϵίοις παγκρατίου στέφανον…

No sculptor am I, making statues to stand motionless on the same base. No, on every merchant-ship and on every boat, sweet song, travel from Aegina announcing that Lampon's son powerful Pytheas has won the crown for pankration at the Nemeans… (Nem. 5.1–5) In Bacchylides too we find passages which suggest an awareness of the possibility of reperformance and its importance to the fulfilment of the purpose of a victory ode. For example, in Bacchylides 13, composed to celebrate the same victory as Nemean 5, the song ends with a reference to future plural songs proclaiming the victor to ‘all the people’: τὰν ϵἰκ ἐτύμως ἄρα Κλϵιὼ πανθαλὴς ἐμαι̑ς ἐνέσταξ[ϵν φρασίν,] τϵρψιϵπϵι̑ς νιν ἀ̣ο̣ι̣δαὶ παντὶ καρύξοντι λα[ω̑]ι̣.

If it is truly all-blooming Kleio who has dropped this in my [mind], songs with words to delight will proclaim him to all the people. (Bacch. 13.228–31)

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Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality These future proclamations in song are best explained as referring to the regular reperformance of Bacchylides 13 itself.23 I mentioned above that one particular aspect of the audiences of the different performances and reperformances of victory odes which interests me is the possibility that such audiences might have overlapped, that is, that a substantial proportion of the audience of a given ode's performance (or reperformance) might also have heard another Pindaric (or Bacchylidean) victory ode. My interest in this possibility partly derives from the consequences which result from overlapping audiences for our view of Pindaric and Bacchylidean intertextuality or cross-reference. One might think, if one approaches the victory odes as orally received, performed songs without the (p.235) immediate ‘afterlife in books’ of a Callimachean poem,24 say, that resemblances between victory odes are (just) coincidental or ‘conventional’ (a favourite word in Pindaric criticism), or at least that they can have had no effect on the audience: they had ears (and eyes) only for the performance before them, and even if they had once heard another Pindaric ode, they would be unlikely to remember much of it on one hearing. But if victory odes were regularly reperformed, and hence audiences regularly exposed to the material in the odes, and Pindar and Bacchylides were aware of such reperformances (as they seem to have been), then ‘active’ and extensive intertexts between odes become much more likely. I think it is also possible to see why a victor, or his polis or oikos, might have gone to the trouble of reperforming a victory ode, and hence presenting it to further audiences. Leslie Kurke has made a strong case that further victories are an important means of renewing the stock of glory (the ‘symbolic capital’) of an oikos,25 which can have the effect of reactivating the power of earlier victories, and there are some excellent examples of this in the Aeginetan odes:26 ἄραντο γὰρ νίκας ἀπὸ παγκρατίου τρϵι̑ς ἀπ’ Ἰσθμο̑υ, τὰς δ’ ἀπ’ ϵὐφύλλου Νϵμέας, ἀγλαοὶ παι̑δές τϵ καὶ μάτρως. ἀνὰ δ’ ἄγαγον ἐς φάος οἵαν μοι̑ραν ὕμνων· τὰν Ψαλυχιδᾶν δ`ϵ πάτραν Χαρίτων ἄρδοντι καλλίστᾳ δρόσῳ, τόν τϵ Θϵμιστίου ὀρθώσαντϵς οἰ̑κον…

Because they have won three pankration victories from the Isthmos, and others from well-leafed Nemea, these shining boys together with their maternal uncle. And they carried into the light such a share of songs! The clan of the Psalychiadai they refresh with the Graces' most beautiful dew, and raise up Themistios' oikos… (Isthm. 6.60–5)

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Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality The new victory of Phylakidas in the pankration at the Isthmos affords Pindar the opportunity to mention in Isthmian 6 the family's (p.236) earlier victories and their ‘refreshing’ effect on their patra and their exalting of their grandfather's oikos. But if the glory gained from earlier victories is not reactivated, then a victor's symbolic capital or stock of glory diminishes, as indicated by the following passage from Isthmian 7 (for a Theban victor): ἀλλὰ παλαιὰ γάρ ϵὕδϵι χάρις, ἀμνάμονϵς δ`ϵ βροτοί, ὅ τι μὴ σοφίας ἄωτον ἄκρον κλυται̑ς ἐπέων ῥοαι̑σιν ἐξίκηται ζυγέν·

but because glory of old sleeps, and mortals forget what does not reach the very peak of poetry, yoked to glorious streams of verses… (Isthm. 7.16–19) I suggest that the reperformance of a victory ode for an earlier victory could also reactivate a family's stock of glory. This seems to be the situation which Pindar in Nemean 4 (another Aeginetan ode) imagines would have taken place, if Timokritos were still alive (see above for the quotation): several times he (i.e. Timokritos) would have reperformed the victory ode celebrating his son Timasarchos' victory in the boys' wrestling. And Bruno Currie has also suggested that there may be a further reference to epinician reperformance in the same ode at verses 89 and following, which he would explain as a reperformance by Euphanes of an earlier victory ode for Kallikles.27 We find another, related example of the ability of the victory ode to reawaken past glories in the phenomenon of odes which celebrate victories won substantially before the composition of the ode, such as Isthmian 2, perhaps for some memorial or anniversary of Xenokrates of Akragas (he seems to be dead by the time of the ode).28 It may be no coincidence that many of the clearest references in Pindar and Bacchylides to reperformance are found in the Aeginetan odes, given David Fearn's demonstration (in this volume) of the extraordinary level of reference to earlier victories (or, as he terms them, ‘supplementary’ victories) in those odes. It is tempting to associate Aeginetan interest in previous family victories with an interest in reperformance (itself a means, I suggest, for preserving/reactivating the glory gained by the family through such victories), (p.237) and to connect them further with the particular performance- and reperformance-contexts on the island. Might it be that the Aeginetan kin-groups called patrai, which feature prominently in many (but, perhaps surprisingly, not all) the Aeginetan victory odes of Pindar and Bacchylides,29 played some role in the financing of the celebration of victories (and/or the membership of the chorus), or formed a principal element in the audience of the first performance of an ode (and perhaps subsequent reperformances)?30 Whatever the precise function of the Page 8 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality patrai, it seems clear that athletic competition and corresponding epinician song were central to the ways in which Aeginetan aristocratic family-groupings defined, maintained, and promoted their identity and position on the island. Nevertheless, for all the likelihood of regular Aeginetan reperformance and its importance for spreading and maintaining a victor's and his family's glory, you might still think that the problem of the dates of the Aeginetan odes makes study of their overlapping and interlocking primary and secondary audiences difficult (or impossible). After all, I specified in my definition of secondary audiences that they were those audiences of reperformances ‘relatively close in space and time’ to the original performance. But how can we tell which primary audiences are likely to have overlapped, and when the audiences of reperformances of different odes are close enough in time to the première to count as ‘secondary’ (and hence with a closer connection to the victor, and probably a greater knowledge of the circumstances of the victory, the première, and so forth, than later audiences), if we do not know (for the most part) when the odes were composed or performed? How can we know which odes' primary and secondary audiences would have overlapped, if we cannot date the odes? Fortunately there is one group of odes within the Aeginetan odes of Pindar and Bacchylides which we can be fairly sure had (p.238) overlapping primary and secondary audiences, and which were fairly close to each other in time. These are the odes for the sons of Lampon: Nemean 5, Bacchylides 13, Isthmian 6, and Isthmian 5, to put them in chronological order. The first two (as we have seen) were composed to celebrate the same victory, that of Pytheas in the pankration at Nemea, and the latter two for his younger brother Phylakidas' two victories in the boys' pankration at the Isthmian games. Both Pytheas and Phylakidas are referred to as παι̑δϵς (‘boys’) at Isthmian 6.62, which suggests that Pytheas is not too much older than Phylakidas, and hence that Isthmian 6 was composed not too long after Nemean 5 and Bacchylides 13, which themselves may have celebrated a victory by Pytheas in the boys' pankration.31 It is sometimes thought that the absolute dates for these odes, as well as their relative dating, are more secure, because of a reference in Isthmian 5 to the Battle of Salamis as having taken place ‘recently’ (ν̑υν, Isthm. 5.48 ff.), but this still leaves a large span of possible dates, and the ode need not have been composed in the immediate aftermath of the battle,32 just as the ‘newly founded Aitna’ of Nemean 9.2 does not tie that ode to 475 or just after. There is likely to have been substantial overlap between the primary audiences for all four of the odes for the sons of Lampon: all four are for members of the same family, two for the very same victory, and the odes make extensive crossreferences to one another, or the victories which those odes celebrated, or other victories won by other family members: Euthymenes' victories: Page 9 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality τὺ δ’ Αἰγίναθϵ δίς, Εὐθύμϵνϵς, | Νίκας ἐν ἀγκώνϵσσι πίτνων ποικίλων ἔψαυσας ὕμνων. | ἤτοι μϵταΐ̈ξαις σϵ καὶ ν̑υν τϵὸς μάτρως ἀγάλλϵι κϵίνου ὁμόσπορον ἔθνος, Πυθέα, You, Euthymenes, twice from Aegina fell into Victory's arms and experienced varied hymns. Indeed, following behind you, Pytheas, now also your maternal uncle exalts the kindred race of that hero. (Nem. 5.41–3) (p.239)

Themistios' victories: ϵἰ δ`ϵ Θϵμίστιον ἵκϵις, ὥστ’ ἀϵίδϵιν, μηκέτι ῥίγϵι· δίδοι | φωνάν, ἀνὰ δ’ ἱστία τϵι̑νον πρὸς ζυγὸν καρχασίου, | πύκταν τέ νιν καὶ παγκρατίου φθέγξαι ἑλϵι̑ν Ἐπιδαύρῳ διπλόαν | νικω̑ντ’ ἀρϵτάν…, But if you have come to sing of Themistios, no more remain cool: give your voice, and hoist up the sails to the sailyard, and declare that he won a double success at Epidauros in boxing and the pankration… (Nem. 5.50–3) Pytheas' earlier victory: Φυλακίδᾳ γὰρ ἠ̑λθον, ὠ̑ Μοι̑σα, ταμίας | Πυθέᾳ τϵ κώμων Εὐθυμένϵι τϵ, Because I have come, O Muse, to tend the revels for Phylakidas and Pytheas and Euthymenes… (Isthm. 6.57–8). Cf. also Isthm. 6.60–5, quoted above. Pytheas and Phylakidas: τὶν δ’ ἐν Ἰσθμὠ̑ διπλόα θάλλοισ’ ἀρϵτά, | Φυλακίδα, κϵι̑ται, Νϵμέᾳ δ`ϵ καὶ ἀμφοι̑ν, | Πυθέᾳ τϵ παγκρατίου, Phylakidas, for you a double success remains blooming at the Isthmos, and at Nemea for both you and Pytheas in the pankration… (Isthm. 5.17–19) Pytheas as Phylakidas' trainer: αἰνέω καὶ Πυθέαν ἐν γυιοδάμαις | Φυλακίδᾳ πλαγᾶν δρόμον ϵὐθυπορη̑σαι | χϵρσὶ δϵξιόν, νόῳ ἀντίπαλον, I praise also Pytheas among limb-conquerors for directing right the course of Phylakidas' strikes, smart of hand, with a mind to match. (Isthm. 5.59–61)

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Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality The fact that Pytheas and Phylakidas are brothers also makes it likely that the secondary audiences of reperformances of the odes would also have overlapped, probably at symposia in the context of the oikos as the Timokritos passage from Nemean 4 suggests,33 and as hinted at in the opening of Isthmian 6, which assimilates Pindar's celebration in song to a second wine-bowl at a symposium: θάλλοντος ἀνδρω̑ν ὡς ὅτϵ συμποσίου δϵύτϵρον κρατη̑ρα Μοισαίων μϵλέων κίρναμϵν Λάμπωνος ϵὐαέθλου γϵνϵᾶς ὕπϵρ… (p.240)

As when at a blooming symposium of men, we are blending a second wine-bowl of the Muses' songs for the sake of Lampon's successful family… (Isthm. 6.1–3) It may also be that the audiences of our four odes also overlapped with the audiences for other victory odes which we do not possess: the address to Euthymenes, maternal uncle of Pytheas and Phylakidas, in Nemean 5 makes reference to his experiencing ποικίλων…ὕμνων (‘varied hymns’) on account of his athletic victories (see above). Perhaps Lampon's wife's family commissioned odes from poets other than Pindar or Bacchylides (though the reference may be to more informal celebration in song than the grand choral performance of a victory ode).34 If we consider the list of cross-references above, it is clear that there's a striking difference between the three Pindaric odes and the Bacchylidean one. Bacchylides 13 does not seem to refer to the earlier victories of the family in the same way as Pindar does. Why should this be? One possibility is that Bacchylides 13 was commissioned by a different person from Nemean 5, and perhaps also Isthmians 6 and 5. Nicholson, for example, has suggested that it may have been Pytheas' trainer, Menandros, who commissioned Bacchylides 13, an ode which contains high praise of Menandros and his many victories:35 νίκαν τ’ ἐρικυ[δέα] μέλπϵτ’, ὠ̑ νέοι, Πυθέα, μϵλέτα̣[ν τϵ] βροτωφ[ϵ]λέα Μϵνάνδρου, τὰν ἐπ’ Ἀλφϵιο̑υ τϵ ῥο[αι̑ς] θ̣α̣μὰ δὴ τίμασϵν ἁ χρυσάρματος σϵμνὰ μϵγάθυμος Ἀθάνα, μυρίων τ’ ἤδη μίτραισιν ἀν̣έ̣ρ̣ων ἐστϵφάνωσϵν ἐθϵίρας ἐν Πανϵλλάνων ἀέθλοις. (p.241)

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Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality O boys, sing of the famous victory of Pytheas and the man-helping attention of Menandros, which often by the Alpheios' streams holy golden-charioted Athena has honoured, and crowned with headbands countless men's hair in the contests of all the Greeks. (Bacch. 13.190–8) But Nemean 5 also contains an acknowledgement of Menandros' importance to the victory (in verses 48–9), and as Nicholson himself notes, the context for the first performance of Bacchylides 13 seems clearly to be a celebration in some sense presided over by Lampon, the victor's father: ὕμνων τινὰ τάνδϵ ν[ϵόξαντον μίτραν φαίνω, ξϵνίαν τϵ [φιλά-] γλαον γϵραίρω, τὰν ἐμοὶ Λάμπων, σ[ὺ πορὼν δόσιν οὐ] βληχρὰν ἐπαθρήσαις τ[έκϵι·]

I make clear this [newly combed chaplet] of hymns, and honour the hospitality which [loves] splendour, which to me you, Lampon [have given]. May you welcome [the not] insignificant [gift] for your son… (Bacch. 13.223–7) The poet's song seems to be his recompense for the xenia shown him by Lampon, which strongly implies he commissioned Bacchylides 13. Perhaps, in view of the prominence of Pytheas' mother's family and their victories in Pindar's odes, it was they who commissioned those odes (recall the designation of Euthymenes as Pytheas and Phylakidas' ‘maternal uncle’ in Nemean 5 and Isthmian 6), and Lampon who commissioned Bacchylides 13, where these victories are not mentioned. The possibility that Nemean 5 and Bacchylides 13 were commissioned by different people derives some support, perhaps, from the fact that these two odes form the only certain example of ‘double’ odes for one victory in a running or fighting event (as opposed to equestrian events like the horse-race or chariot-race). Perhaps commissioning two odes at the same time would usually have stretched an Aeginetan too far.36 (p.242) Whatever the truth about who commissioned which ode, I think we need to take seriously the possibility that Nemean 5 and Bacchylides 13 were first performed at the same celebration, and hence that their primary audiences would have overlapped (they would, I take it, have been the same). One might think, however, that intertexts between these odes must be coincidental, if the odes were composed in ignorance of each other, one by Pindar and the other by Bacchylides. But I think there is a good chance that the two poets might have collaborated, or at least been aware of the other's odes. If a stay for some considerable time at the house of the victor or patron was part of the way Pindar Page 12 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality and Bacchylides were paid (recall the xenia which Lampon has shown Bacchylides at the end of Bacchylides 13, and the fact that Pindar's Aeginetan odes are rich in ‘hospitality-related words’37) then it seems likely that it might have been in the run-up to the grand first performance of Nemean 5 and Bacchylides 13 that Pindar and Bacchylides could have become aware of each other's odes. Equally, collaboration or mutual awareness between the two poets might also have been an element of the original commission. If this is right, then several intertexts between the odes become particularly interesting, such as: ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ πάσας ὁλκάδος ἔν τ’ ἀκάτῳ, γλυκϵι̑’ ἀοιδά, στϵι̑χ’ ἀπ’ Αἰγίνας διαγγέλλοισ’…

No, on every merchant-ship and on every boat, sweet song, travel from Aegina announcing… (Nem. 5.2–3) [ὣς ν̑υν παρ]ὰ βωμὸν ἀριστάρχου Διὸς [Νίκας] φ̣[ϵ]ρ̣[ϵ]κ̣υδέος ἀν[θρώπο]ισιν ἄ[ν]θϵα, [χρυσέ]αν δόξαν πολύφαντον ἐν αἰ[ω̑νι] τ̣ρέφϵι παύροις βροτω̑ν [α]ἰ̣ϵί, καὶ ὅταν θανάτοιο (p.243) κυάνϵον νέφος καλύψηι, λϵίπϵται ἀθάνατον κλέος ϵὖ ἐρχθέντο̣ς ἀσφαλϵι̑ σὺν αἴσαι.

[Thus now] by best-ruling Zeus' altar glory-bringing [Victory's] blooms foster conspicuous golden fame during their lives for men, for few mortals, and when death's dark cloud hides them deathless glory remains for what has been well done, along with a certain fate. (Bacch. 13.58–66) While Nemean 5 begins with an instruction to the song to travel far and wide announcing (διαγγέλοισ', 3) Pytheas' victory, Bacchylides 13 emphasizes rather the enduring kleos which this victory brings Pytheas. This glory will last even after death. The two passages, we might think, complement one another, between them suggesting both the wide reach and the lasting nature of the fame of Pytheas' victory, secured through song (Bacchylides' ἄ[ν]θϵα in verse 60 as referring to song?). The terms in which Pytheas' victory has affected Aegina are described in similar fashion: Αἰακίδας ἐγέραιρϵν Page 13 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality ματρόπολίν τϵ

he honoured the Aiakidai and his mother city. (Nem. 5.8) Λάμπωνος υἱέ, πανθαλέων στϵφάνοισιν [ἀνθ]έ̣[ων] χαίταν [ἐρ]ϵφθϵίς, στϵίχϵις] π̣όλιν ὑψιάγυιαν Αἰακο̑υ, τϵ]ρψιμ̣[β]ρότων ὥ̣[στϵ βρύϵν] ἁβ̣[ροθρ]όων κώμ̣ω̣[ν] π̣ατρ[ώια]ν νᾶσο[ν]…

son of Lampon, crowned with garlands of all-blooming flowers [you walk in Aiakos'] city of stately streets so that your ancestral island [swells] with softvoiced, mortal-pleasing revels… (Bacch. 13.68–75) In Bacchylides 13 Pytheas returns to his city (π̣όλιν, 71) and so makes his π̣ατρ[ώια]ν | νᾶσο[ν] (‘ancestral island’, 74–5) rich in revels, while in Nemean 5 he has honoured (ἐγέραιρϵν, 8) the Aiakidai and (p.244) his ματρόπολιν (‘mother city’, 8). Such praise, of course, is ‘conventional’,38 but I think it would have had special reference for an audience hearing it phrased in similar terms twice in quick succession. Something similar is true, perhaps, of the praise of the hospitable nature of Aegina: in Bacchylides 13 Aegina is δέ̣σποινα παγξϵ[ίνου χθονός] (‘queen of an all-welcoming land’, 95) and in Nemean 5 a ‘land welcoming of guests’ (φίλαν ξένων ἄρουραν, 8), although (of course) the Aeginetan odes in general are rich in the language of xenia.39 Other shared material may have prompted the first audience to look for further crossreferences between the odes (and perhaps should prompt us to do the same): both odes make clear reference to Peleus and Telamon as sons of Endais (Ἐνδαΐ̈δος ἀριγνω̑τϵς υἱοί, ‘Endais’ famous sons', Nem. 5.12 ~ [Ἐν]δ̣αΐδα τϵ ῥοδό[παχυν,] | ἃ τὸ̣[ν ἰσ]ό[θϵ]ο̣ν ἔτι[κτϵ Πηλέα] | καὶ̣ Τ̣ϵλαμ̣[ω̑]ν̣α [κο]ρ̣υ̣[στὰν] | Αἰακωι̑ μϵιχθϵι̑σ’ ἐν ϵὐ̣[νᾶι·], ‘Endais the rosy-armed, who gave birth to godlike Peleus and [helmeted] Telamon, having joined with Aiakos in bed…’, Bacch. 13.96–9). Perhaps the reference in Bacchylides 13 to the union of Aiakos and Endais would have prompted the first audience to think of the other union between Aiakos and Psamatheia which gave rise to Phokos, if they had already heard Nemean 5, which describes his birth (ὁ τᾶς θϵο̑υ, ὃν Ψαμάθϵια τίκτ’ ἐπὶ ῥηγμι̑νι πόντου, ‘The goddess’ son, whom Psamatheia gave birth to on the seashore', Nem. 5.13). Secondary audiences too may have thought of this other son of Aiakos.

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Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality There are further verbal or narrative parallels between the mythological characters and their actions in the two odes: Peleus, Telamon, Phokos stretch their hands to heaven in Nemean 5 (πίτναν τ᾽ ϵἰς αἰθέρα χϵι̑ρας ἁμᾶ, 11), while the Trojans stretch theirs to the gods in Bacchylides 13 (θϵοι̑σιν̣ ἄντϵιναν χέρας, 138). It is interesting that in (p.245) Bacchylides 13, after stretching their hands in this way, the Trojans rush into battle and come to the seashore (ἷξον τ’ ἐπὶ θι̑να θαλάσσας, 149), after which we hear of the slaughter of men by Hector, while in Nemean 5 we hear of the Aiakidai stretching their hands in prayer then of Phokos' birth on the seashore (ἐπὶ ῥηγμι̑νι πόντου, 13), but not of the slaughter of Phokos by his brothers which Pindar refuses to tell in verse 14 (αἰδέομαι μέγα ϵἰπϵι̑ν ἐν δίκᾳ τϵ μὴ κϵκινδυνϵυμένον, ‘I am ashamed of telling of a great act unjustly attempted’). Perhaps we should see here an allusion in Bacchylides to Pindar's omission, or in Pindar to the killing he will not mention. There may also be a different sort of interaction between the odes where Nemean 5 hints strongly at, but never names, Achilles, who is of course the result of the union of Peleus and Thetis, the reason for which Pindar explains (Peleus resists the temptations of Hippolyta and Zeus rewards him with Thetis), and Bacchylides 13, which gives us a potted version of the Achilles of the Iliad, both fighting (118–20) and staying out of the battle on account of Briseis (134– 7).40 Achilles' prominence in one ode may have supported his ‘present absence’ from the other. It is not, however, just in the myths of the two odes where we can see interaction: some of the two poets' other statements seem to recall one another. Take, for example, the picture Pindar presents of himself in Nemean 5 as an athlete (ἔχω γονάτων ὁρμὰν ἐλαφράν, ‘I have a light jump in knees’, Nem. 5.20). Would this ‘light jump in the knees’, with which Pindar indicates his readiness to praise olbos, strength of hands, and war have put an audience in mind of the girl in Bacchylides 13 who ‘hymns’ (i.e. praises) Aegina, ‘springing lightly on her feet’ (πόδϵσσι, 86; κο̑υφα…| θρώισκουσ’, 89–90), or vice versa?41 Whatever one thinks of that possibility, it seems likely to (p.246) me that audiences would see a significant cross-reference between Pindar's statement that ‘not all strict truth is more profitable by displaying its face, and often it is wisest for a man to heed silence’ (οὔ τοι ἅπασα κϵρδίων | φαίνοισα πρόσωπον ἀλάθϵι’ ἀτρϵκές· | καὶ τὸ σιγᾶν πολλάκις ἐστὶ σοφώτατον ἀνθρώπῳ νοη̑σαι, 16–18), in connection with the ‘unjust deed’ which Pindar won't elaborate on (14), and Bacchylides' that ‘truth loves to win, and time the all-subduer always preserves the deed done well’ (ἁ̣ δ’ ἀλαθϵία φιλϵι̑ | νικᾶν, ὅ τϵ πανδ[α]μάτω̣ρ̣ | χρόνος τὸ καλω̑ς | [ἐ]ργμένον αἰ`ϵν ἀ[νίσχϵι·, 204–7), which ends the praise of the trainer Menandros. This need not be any more than a cross-reference, rather than a contradiction of one poet by the other, but it does seem a striking parallel between two odes which were probably performed alongside one another. Some scholars might want, however, to see here a more ‘agonistic’ relationship between Pindar and Bacchylides (which does not, of course, mean they did not Page 15 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality collaborate or know what the other was composing). Perhaps ‘truth will out’ was meant to conflict with ‘silence is best’. We cannot, of course, rule this type of ‘agonistic’ relationship out, although I am inclined to see them as more akin to cross-references, as I am the ‘superlative vaunts’ or explicitly exclusive boasts which Pindar and Bacchylides make in their odes for the different Sicilian tyrants.42 Why would you commission both Pindar and Bacchylides to celebrate a victory? I've raised the possibility above that distinct parts of Pytheas' family may be responsible for the two odes, but we should also bear in mind that another potential reason for the double commission may be a desire to display one's wealth ostentatiously (which was presumably part of the reason tyrants such as (p.247) Hieron or Theron commissioned ‘double odes’); it is interesting in this regard that Isthmians 5 and 6, the other two odes for Lampon's sons, are the only two odes where the word δαπάνα (‘expense’, ‘expenditure’) is used of spending on non-equestrian events.43 Perhaps Lampon (or the wider oikos or patra?) was particularly wealthy, and wanted to show off. If so, this might give special point to the way in which phthonos is handled in Isthmian 5, where the language of verses 21–5 recalls that of good civic governance and the avoidance of conflict in an injunction not to begrudge Lampon's sons their due:44 σὺν Χάρισιν δ’ ἔμολον Λάμπωνος υἱοι̑ς τάνδ’ ἐς ϵὔνομον πόλιν. ϵἰ δ`ϵ τέτραπται θϵοδότων ἔργων κέλϵυθον ἂν καθαράν, μὴ φθόνϵι κόμπον τὸν ἐοικότ’ ἀοιδᾷ κιρνάμϵν ἀντὶ πόνων.

I have come with the Graces for Lampon's sons to this well-ordered city. If someone turns onto the pure path of god-given deeds, do not begrudge him the mixing into your song of a fitting vaunt for his labours. (Isthm. 5.21–5) Fearn (this volume) suggests that there does not appear to be a systematic attempt in Aeginetan epinician poetry to defuse phthonos directed at victors by the wider Aeginetan polis; perhaps this particular reference in Isthmian 5 looks in part to the special circumstances of the sons of Lampon and their families, who could commission two odes for a single victory and emphasize the expense of their endeavours. These, one might think, would be circumstances in which one might have to take seriously the potential displeasure of one's fellow Aeginetans, especially other aristocratic families. This might itself be a reason for commissioning double odes not from one epinician poet (as Theron of Akragas did with Olympians 2 and 3), but from two different ones: the different character of the two poets' work might assist in a careful balancing of selfpromotion and acknowledgement of potential envy. In this regard it is worth considering Glenn Most's characterization of Bacchylides as concerned more to Page 16 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality take the point of view of the polis as a whole, praising the victor, in contrast to a Pindar who adopts the viewpoint of the victor, (p.248) raising him above his fellow citizens to a much greater degree.45 Most also sees a difference between their manner—the ostentatious first persons of Pindar as against a more withdrawn narratorial persona in Bacchylides,46 with a greater emphasis on the pathetic or ironic (as in Bacchylides 13 and the misplaced hopes of the Trojans). Pindar, by contrast, explicitly reforms or avoids myths or parts of myths (again, Nemean 5 gives us an example with the pious silence about Phokos' killing). If Pindar's victory odes ‘individualize’, and Bacchylides' ‘integrate’, as Most suggests, then we can see why it might be attractive to have both.47 It is worth considering further the interrelation of the other two odes for the sons of Lampon, Isthmian 5 and Isthmian 6 (both for Phylakidas). As we have seen, Isthmians 5 and 6 also make clear cross-references to the earlier victories of Pytheas (celebrated in Bacchylides 13 and Nemean 5), as well as other members of Lampon's wife's family. Isthmian 5 even makes reference, at the end of the ode, to Pytheas' role in training his brother (see above), which makes us think of his earlier victory in the same event, and the victory odes which celebrated it. In this way, then, Isthmians 5 and 6 set themselves up for their various primary and secondary audiences to look for further intertexts with those earlier odes. Indeed, one obvious context for the reperformance of those earlier odes for Pytheas might well have been the victory celebration of Phylakidas' victories, which would then have juxtaposed the odes for the audience. And at subsequent reperformances, odes for Pytheas and Phylakidas might well have gone together. We can in fact see some further echoes of the earlier odes in Isthmians 5 and 6, to add to the cross-references listed above: (p.249) Recompense for ponos: γλυκϵι̑άν τοι Μϵνάνδρου σὺν τύχᾳ μόχθων ἀμοιβάν | ἐπαύρϵο, you won, mind, sweet recompense for toils through the good fortune of Menandros (Nem. 5.48) ϵἰ δ`ϵ τέτραπται | θϵοδότων ἔργων κέλϵυθον ἂν καθαράν, | μὴ φθόνϵι κόμπον τὸν ἐοικότ’ ἀοιδᾷ | κιρνάμϵν ἀντὶ πόνων, If someone turns onto the pure path of god-given deeds, do not begrudge him the mixing into your song of a fitting vaunt for his labours (Isthm. 5.22–5) ϵἰ γάρ τις ἀνθρώπων δαπάνᾳ τϵ χαρϵίς | καὶ πόνῳ πράσσϵι θϵοδμάτους ἀρϵτάς | σύν τέ οἱ δαίμων φυτϵύϵι δόξαν ἐπήρατον…, Because if some man, rejoicing in expense and labour, effects god-made successes, and also for him a god plants lovely fame…(Isthm. 6.10–12). Mythological γαμβρός (‘relative by marriage’): Poseidon in Nem. 5.37; Peleus in Isthm. 6.25

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Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality Herakles ἀνατϵίναις οὐρανὠ̑ χϵι̑ρας ἀμάχους, stretching forth to heaven his invincible hands (Isthm. 6.41) ἀρτιϵπής | γλω̑σσα, ‘clear-speaking tongue’ (Isthm. 5.46–7)  ~   θϵρσι̣[ϵ]πὴς | φθόνος, ‘bold-speaking envy’ (Bacch. 13.199–200). Phylakidas, of course, is Pytheas' younger brother, and where Pytheas had a myth about Peleus in Nemean 5, Phylakidas gets Telamon, Peleus' younger brother, in Isthmian 6.48 We have more stretching of hands in prayer in Isthmian 6, this time by Herakles in a prayer about Telamon's son, Ajax, whereas in Nemean 5 Telamon had been one of those stretching his hands in prayer, in an ode which hinted strongly at Ajax's cousin, Peleus' son Achilles. Both Isthmian 5 and Isthmian 6 also make use of the same image of victory or song as recompense for ponos (‘toil’) we see at Nemean 5.48. This is, of course, ‘conventional’, and also appropriate for events like the pankration, but it may have connected the odes more closely together for overlapping audiences. Isthmian 5 may also pick up the ‘present absence’ of Achilles in Nemean 5—in Isthmian 5 his exploits against Kyknos, Hector, Memnon, and Telephus are listed (verses 39–42) but he is not named. Contrast again his named and explicit presence in Bacchylides 13. Pindar's phrase ἀρτιϵπής | γλω̑σσα (‘clear-speaking tongue’, Isthm. 5.46–7) may pick up and reverse the θϵρσι̣[ϵ]πὴς | φθόνος (p. 250) (‘bold-speaking envy’) of Bacch. 13.199–200. Both come in contexts of praise. We could explore the relationship of the Phylakidas odes to the Pytheas odes further,49 but in the final section I leave the overlapping primary and secondary audiences of the four odes for Lampon's sons, and look instead at (some of) the tertiary audiences of Pindaric victory odes, which will also bring us back to the relationship of Aegina and Sicily. The final datable Pindaric epinician is, of course, one of the Aeginetan odes, Pythian 8, which celebrates the wrestling victory of one Aristomenes in 446. Pythian 8 is interesting for many reasons, but here I draw attention in particular to its intertextual relationship with one of Pindar's Sicilian odes, Pythian 1 (which celebrates Hieron's chariot-race victory at the Pythian Games in 470).50 Pythian 8 clearly echoes, for example, the impressive description of Typhos under Aitna from Pythian 1.51 In both odes we find Typhos' Cilician origins and his hundred heads,52 while in Pythian 8 Typhos is one of those overcome by Hesychia (addressed by Pindar at the beginning of the poem), and in Pythian 1 he is similarly a θϵω̑ν πολέμιος (‘a foe of the gods’, 15). More particularly, in Pythian 1 he shudders at the song of the Muses (13–14), which itself brings hesychia to the gods (5–12), together with the golden lyre which Pindar invokes at the start of Pythian 1.53 Typhos effectively stands for hybris, opposed to hesychia, in both poems, as Krischer has argued.54 It is into hesychia or ‘peace’ that Pindar at Pythian 1.70 says Hieron can lead his people with Zeus' help, in a Page 18 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality passage which itself picks up the image of peace and rest (p.251) brought by the golden lyre at the beginning of the ode.55 What is important for our purposes here is that these echoes of Pythian 1 in Pythian 8 suggest that Pindar assumes a detailed familiarity with the earlier ode on the part of the audience(s) of Pythian 8. The echoes appear to point the audience of Pythian 8 firmly in the direction of Pythian 1, in order, perhaps, to highlight both how the two odes resemble one another and how they differ. The most important of these differences is the pervasive emphasis in Pythian 8 on changeability, which is clearest in the final lines of the poem (verses 92–100), as compared with the contrasting idea of persistence and the hope for Hieron's and Aitna's continuing good fortune in Pythian 1 (e.g. 46, 56–7, 67–8).56 The degree of familiarity which Pindar appears to expect on the part of what amounts to a tertiary audience of Pythian 1, that is to say, those audiences on Aegina in 446 and just after, suggests that on Aegina in the middle of the fifth century there must have been an accurate text of many of Pindar's odes, and not just those for victors from Aegina. It may well be, then, that the sympotic (and presumably text-based) reperformance on Aegina envisaged for Nemean 4 could also extend to odes celebrating victors from elsewhere in the Greek world, and from several years earlier. The fact that we find such clear echoes in an Aeginetan ode of an ode for a Sicilian tyrant may even hint at an element of the self-image of some Aeginetan aristocratic families. A text of some Pindaric odes might still, then, have been a key for regular reperformances on Aegina into the 440s. But it is worth considering whether the upheavals which were about to engulf Aegina from 446 might have broken, or radically altered, the tradition of performance and reperformance there. It may be helpful to bring in one final Sicilian comparison. There are signs in two late odes of Pindar for one Psaumis of Kamarina on Sicily that the contexts of performance and reperformance for victory odes there might have (p.252) changed substantially from the days of Hieron and Theron. Olympians 4 and 5 (from 448 and 452)57 seem to treat earlier Pindaric odes, including (in the case of Olympian 5), Isthmian 6, one of the Aeginetan odes for the sons of Lampon, not by engaging in detail with the intertexts and relying on the audience's knowledge of the original contexts (as I have suggested is the case within the odes for Lampon's sons, or the relationship of Pythian 8 to Pythian 1), but as a storehouse for verbal reminiscence of Pindar:58 Close parallels (mainly verbal) between Ol. 5 and Ol. 3, Ol. 4: ὑψηλᾶν ἀρϵτᾶν (high successes, 1) ~ ὑψηλοτάτων μάρτυρ’ ἀέθλων (‘witness of highest contests’, Ol. 4.3) ἄωτον γλυκύν (sweet choicest prize, 1) ~ γλυκϵι̑αν (sweet, Ol. 4.5), ἵππων ἄωτον (choicest prize for horses, Ol. 3.4) Page 19 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality ἀκαμαντόποδός τ’ ἀπήνας (mule-car with tireless feet, 3) ~ βροντᾶς ἀκαμαντόποδος (thunder with tireless feet, Ol. 4.1), ἀκαμαντοπόδων | ἵππων ἄωτον (choicest prize for horses with tireless feet, Ol. 3.3–4) δέκϵυ Ψαύμιός τϵ δω̑ρα (receive the gifts of…Psaumis, 3) ~ Οὐλυμπιονίκαν | δέξαι (receive an Olympic victor, Ol. 4.8–9) τὶν [sc. Kamarina] κ̑υδος ἁβρόν | νικάσας ἀνέθηκϵ (for you he has dedicated delicate glory through victory, 6–7) ~ ὅς ἐλαίᾳ στϵφανωθϵὶς Πισάτιδι, κ̑υδος ὄρσαι | σπϵύδϵι Καμαρίνᾳ (who, crowned by olive from Pisa, is keen to awaken glory for Kamarina, Ol. 4.11–12) ἵκων (coming, 9) ~ ἵκϵι (comes, Ol. 4.10) γη̑ρας (old age, 22) ~ Erginos' aged appearance, but athletic success (Ol. 4.25–7) Verbal echoes between Ol. 5 and Isthm. 6: ὑψηλᾶν ἀρϵτᾶν καὶ στϵφάνων ἄωτον γλυκύν |…|…δέκϵυ Ψαύμιός τϵ δω̑ρα (sweet choicest prize for high successes and crowns…receive this, the gifts (p.253) of…Psaumis, 1–3) ~ τίν ἄωτον δϵξάμϵνοι στϵφάνων (through you receiving the choicest prize of crowns, Isthm. 6.4) Σωτὴρ ὑψινϵφ`ϵς Ζϵ̑υ (saviour Zeus, high in the clouds, 17) ~ σωτη̑ρι… Ὀλυμπίῳ (for the saviour of Olympos, Isthm. 6.8) ὑπ’ ἀμαχανίας ἄγων ἐς φάος τόνδϵ δᾶμον ἀστω̑ν· (leading this citizenpeople from helplessness into light, 14) ~ ἀνὰ δ’ ἄγαγον ἐς φάος οἵαν μοι̑ραν ὕμνων· (they carried into the light such a share of songs!, Isthm. 6.62) Ἵππαρις οἷσιν ἄρδϵι στρατόν (by which the Hipparis waters the people, 12) ~ ἄρδοντι καλλίστᾳ δρόσῳ (they refresh with the most beautiful dew, Isthm. 6.64) ὃς τὰν σὰν πόλιν αὔξων, Καμάρινα, λαοτρόφον (who by magnifying your city, Kamarina, which cares for its people, 4) ~ τόν τϵ Θϵμιστίου ὀρθώσαντϵς οἰ̑κον τάνδϵ πόλιν | θϵοφιλη̑ ναίοισι (raising up Themistios' oikos, they live in this god-loved city, Isthm. 6.65–6) The majority of these echoes seem to aim at producing a noticeably Pindaric manner and language (rather than pointing the audience to compare an earlier ode with the present one). Perhaps, therefore, audiences in Kamarina in the late 450s and early 440s received their Pindar in a different manner from audiences on Aegina in the same period. Sicily at this time was a very different place from the (by then vanished) Sicily of the tyrants—perhaps the function and Page 20 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality performance conditions of Pindaric victory odes had also changed with the political upheavals which brought the tyrannies to an end. A similar fate may have awaited the performance of Pindaric and Bacchylidean victory odes on Aegina. (p.254) Notes:

(1) Pyth. 12, for example, celebrates the victory of one Midas of Akragas in the aulos-playing at the Pythian Games. (2) For a statement of the interpretative primacy of the first audience see Pfeijffer (1999), 7–11. (3) Cf. the famous statement at Bundy (1962), 35 that the ‘listening audience’ would be ‘hostile to personal, religious, political, philosophical and historical references that might interest the poet but do nothing to enhance the glory of a given patron’. (4) Cf. e.g. Loscalzo (2003), Currie (2004), Hubbard (2004), and see in general for performance and reperformance in Pindaric criticism Morrison (2007b), 5– 10. (5) On the Sicilian odes of Pindar see Morrison (2007b). (6) I include the relevant odes of Bacchylides here also. (7) Or possibly stadion: see Henry (2005), 77–8. (8) The pentathlon culminated in a wrestling-bout, so it fits in well with the odes for victors in wrestling and the pankration. (9) On the importance of the particular local circumstances for the production and performance of victory odes (and other forms of choral song) see Fearn (ch. 5, this volume). (10) Another of Pindar's Sicilian odes also dates from this period, Ol. 12 for Ergoteles of Himera, probably from 466: see Barrett (1973). (11) Cf. Carey (1981), 21–3. (12) Hornblower (2004), 42. (13) Burnett (2005). (14) Cf. Hornblower (2007a), 304, n. 72. (15) Though there is much to say here, of course: see Burnett (2005).

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Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality (16) For a detailed statement of my categories and approach see Morrison (2007b). (17) Currie (2004), 49. (18) Cf. Fearn (2007), 83. (19) Currie (2004), 57–8 suggests that the description of reperformance at Nem. 4.13–16 may not be to solo reperformance, but to Timokritos leading a chorus, but this seems unlikely: cf. Carey (2007), 209 with n. 38, who notes that there in nothing in these lines which suggests more than one singing voice. (20) e.g. ‘informal’ solo reperformance by members of audience at first performance (Currie 2004: 51); solo reperformances based on ‘informal’ reperformances or written texts (Loscalzo 2003: 108 ff., Currie 2004: 52, Hubbard 2004: 86–9); more ‘formal’ (possibly choral) reperformance within victor's oikos or polis, possibly in context of festival (Currie 2004: 55–69, Loscalzo 2003: 103 ff.); reperformance (possibly choral) at games on anniversary of victory (Loscalzo 2003: 116–18, Hubbard 2004: 75 ff.). (21) Cf. ῥη̑μα δ’ ἐργμάτων χρονιώτϵρον βιοτϵύϵι, ‘the word lives longer than the deeds’ (Nem. 4.6); καὶ ὅταν καλὰ {μ`ϵν} ἔρξαις ἀοιδᾶς ἄτϵρ, | Ἁγησίδαμ’, ϵἰς Ἀΐδα σταθμόν | ἀνὴρ ἵκηται, κϵνϵὰ πνϵύσαις ἔπορϵ μόχθῳ βραχύ τι τϵρπνόν. τὶν δ’ ἁδυϵπής τϵ λύρα | γλυκύς τ’ αὐλὸς ἀναπάσσϵι χάριν· | τρέφοντι δ’ ϵὐρὺ κλέος | κόραι Πιϵρίδϵς Διός, ‘Hagesidamos, when a man comes to the house of Hades having accomplished fine deeds but without song, he has panted in vain and has won only a short delight for his labour. But for you the pleasant-sounding lyre and the sweet aulos sprinkle grace: and the Pierides of Zeus nourish your broad fame’ (Ol. 10.91–6). (22) Cf. also Ol. 9.23–5; Ol. 14.20 ff. (23) Cf. also Bacch. 3.93–8, again at the end of a victory ode, where Bacchylides anticipates the future celebration of the truth of the victor Hieron's achievements alongside the singing of Bacchylides' χάρις or ‘friendship-gift’, i.e. the victory ode itself. (24) On such an ‘afterlife’ for Callimachean poetry cf. Barbantani (2001), 8–13. (25) Cf. Kurke (1991a), 43–76, e.g. on ἐμ`ϵ δ’ οὖν τις ἀοιδᾶν | δίψαν ἀκϵιόμϵνον πράσσϵι χρέος, αὖτις ἐγϵι̑ραι | καὶ παλαιὰν δόξαν ἑω̑ν προγόνων, ‘and so someone exacts from me, as I satisfy my song-thirst, a debt to reawaken also the ancient fame of his ancestors’ (Pyth. 9.103–5). (26) Cf. also Nem. 5.41 ff. (27) Currie (2004), 58–60. Page 22 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality (28) On Isthm. 2 see Morrison (2007b), 89–92. (29) For details of the patrai mentioned in particular Aeginetan odes see Fearn (Ch. 5 this volume). (30) The role of the patrai in the performance-contexts of the Aeginetan odes must remain open, but I suggest elsewhere (Morrison, forthcoming b) that it seems prima facie unlikely that the audiences of Aeginetan victory odes were restricted to the members of a particular patra, because of the competitive nature of the glory sought through athletic competition and its celebration in song (on which see also Fearn, Ch. 5 this volume). (31) So Burnett (2005), 62, n. 5 suggests, on the strength of Nem. 5.6, which refers to Pytheas' cheeks not yet showing a late-summer bloom. (32) As Hornblower (2004), 223 has pointed out. (33) Again we should consider a role for the patra here, though perhaps we should not see the audience as limited to members of the oikos or patra, given the competitive nature of the glory being claimed and preserved by epinician song. See further Morrison (forthcoming b). (34) There has been some debate about where Euthymenes won his victories—if they were local victories won on Aegina (as Pfeijffer (1999), 169–70, for example, believes) this need not preclude celebration in an elaborate victory ode (Nem. 10 is an example of a Pindaric ode for a local victory). But in fact it seems more likely that Euthymenes won his victories at the Isthmian Games: see Fearn (2007), 344–6. (35) Nicholson (2005), 186. (36) Cf. however below for another possible explanation of the Aeginetan double odes, Nem. 5 and Bacch. 13. (37) See Hornblower (2004), 214–15. (38) Noting the ‘convention’ should, of course, be not the end of interpretation, but an invitation to further elucidation, as Irwin (2005), 119, n. 19 urges, developing Hinds (1998), esp. 34–51. It is also worth emphasizing Hinds' injunction that there ‘is no discursive element in a Roman poem…no matter how frequently repeated in the tradition, that cannot in some imaginable circumstance mobilize a specific allusion’ (1998: 26). The circumstances of production and performance for Greek epinician song are very different, but the situation of repeated performance and shared audiences should make us all the more attentive to the limitations of an approach which views two instances of a

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Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality ‘convention’ or topos as unable, under any circumstances, to refer to one another. See further Morrison (forthcoming a). (39) On which see Hornblower (2007a), 297–300. (40) Achilles in Bacch. 13: ϵὖτ’ ἐν πϵδίωι κλονέω[ν] | μαίνοιτ’ Ἀχιλλϵύς, | λαοφόνον δόρυ σϵίων, ‘whenever Achilles rushed and raged on the plain, brandishing his people-slaying spear’ (118–20); [αἰ-] | χματὰν Ἀχιλλέα | μίμνοντ’ ἐν κλισίαισιν | ϵἵνϵκ[ϵ]ν ξανθᾶς γυναικός, | [Β]ρ̣[ι]σ̣ηί̈δος ἱμϵρογυίου…, ‘… spearman Achilles staying in his hut because of a fair woman, Briseis of the delightful limbs…’ (134–7). On the Homeric intertexts here, and their particular effects in Bacch. 13, see Fearn (2007), 120–43. (41) καί τις ὑψαυχὴς κό[ρα] | ]ραν | πόδϵσσι ταρφέως | ἠύ̈τϵ νϵβρὸς ἀπϵν[θής] | ἀνθϵμόϵντας ἐπ’ [ὄχθους] | κο̑υφα σὺν ἀγχιδόμ̣[οις] | θρώισκουσ’ ἀγακλϵιτα[ι̑ς ἑταίρα]ις, ‘…and some high-vaunting maiden, often on her [ ] feet like a griefless fawn towards the blooming [hills] springs lightly with her famous nearby companions’ (Bacch. 13.84–90). (42) ‘Superlative vaunt’ is Race's phrase (1987: 138–9) for those claims of allencompassing superiority which Pindar employs to praise tyrants such as Hieron or Theron (e.g. Ol. 1.103–5, Ol. 2.92–5). Certain examples from the Sicilian odes (e.g. those just cited) resemble one another closely in form, position within the ode, context, and exclusivity, which suggests that they may have recalled one another for the overlapping audiences of performances and reperformances of those odes. But the effect may be one of association with one's only plausible analogue, rather than contradiction of the similar claim: see further Morrison (2007b), 84–6. (43) At Isthm. 5.57; Isthm. 6.10. See Nicholson (2005), 175. (44) On this passage and its language see Kurke (1991a), 212. (45) See Most (forthcoming). (46) On the differences between the primary narrators of Pindar and Bacchylides see Morrison (2007a), 89–90, 99–102. (47) It may be, however, that we should not distinguish so sharply between Pindaric and Bacchylidean strategies in this regard. For example, as Fearn (Ch. 5 this volume) suggests, the way in which phthonos is handled across different Pindaric victory odes for Aeginetans is not uniform (as it is not across Pindar more generally), and it may be that it is the particular complex of victor, family, and polis at a particular point in time which determines how far Pindar or Bacchylides should ‘individualize’ or ‘integrate’ their patrons. (48) See Burnett (2005), 82. Page 24 of 25

 

Aeginetan Odes, Reperformance, and Pindaric Intertextuality (49) e.g. through the mythological γαμβρός shared between Nem. 5 and Isthm. 6 (Poseidon in Nem. 5.37, Peleus in Isthm. 6.25). (50) I treat this relationship at greater length in Morrison (2007b), 116–17. (51) See Robbins (1997), 276, and esp. Krischer (1985), 115–20. (52) He is ‘Typhos the Cilician, the hundred-headed’ (Τυφὼς Κίλιξ ἑκατόγκρανος) at Pyth. 8.16; cf. ‘Typhos the hundred-headed whom the famous Cilician cave once fostered’ (Τυφὼς ἑκατοντακάρανος· τόν ποτϵ | Κιλίκιον θρέψϵν πολυώνυμον ἄντρον) at Pyth. 1.16–17. (53) Cf. Burton (1962), 179–80 on the similarity of the power of the lyre in Pyth. 1 to that of Hesychia in Pyth. 8, and also Krischer (1985), 116–17. (54) See Krischer (1985), 115–16. (55) There are further echoes: cf. φιλόφρων (Pyth. 8.1, Pyth. 1.94), used in Pyth. 1 of Croesus' ἀρϵτά and in Pyth. 8 of Hesychia itself, and similar descriptions of encomiastic celebration as a combination of singing and the lyre (Pyth. 8.31, Pyth. 1.97–8). Cf. Krischer (1985), 118, who notes several further echoes. (56) See Krischer (1985), 120. (57) On the date of Ol. 4, see Gerber (1987), 7–8; on that of Ol. 5, Bowra (1964), 121–2; Morrison (2007b), 109. (58) I treat the Pindaric echoes in Ol. 4 and Ol. 5 at greater length at Morrison (2007b), 110–12. The large number of close verbal echoes of earlier Pindaric odes is, of course, one reason why Ol. 5 has been thought not to be by Pindar (on the question of authenticity see Ruffa 2001). Even if this ode is not by Pindar, however, it provides good evidence for the reception of Aeginetan odes on Sicily in the middle of the fifth century. It is also worth noting that Ol. 4, which has not come under the same suspicion, shares with Ol. 5 the characteristic of considerable verbal echoing of earlier Pindaric odes: see Morrison (2007b), 110.

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Part III Interfaces Between Poetry, Myth, and Art

7 Giving Wings to the Aeginetan Sculptures: The Panhellenic Aspirations of Pindar’s Eighth Olympian* Lucia Athanassaki

Pindar’s Eighth Olympian is a song of lavish praise for the young Alkimedon, his trainer, his family, and his city. Pindar captures Alkimedon in action at Olympia, stresses the accomplishments of the youth’s Athenian trainer Melesias, mentions at least three generations of Blepsiadai and their six Panhellenic victories, and as usual in his poetry for Aeginetans gives centre-stage to the Aiakidai while extolling the divine favour the Aeginetans enjoy, their superb hospitality, and their fairness.1 In what follows I will focus on poetic choices that further the interests and strengthen the claims of the city as a whole in the light of Aegina’s intense and long-lasting rivalry with Athens.2

* Warmest thanks to David Fearn for inviting me to his seminar on Aegina and to all participants in the lively and stimulating discussion that followed, and especially to Angelos Chaniotis, Bruno Currie, Jas Elsner, Gregory Hutchinson, Chris Pelling, Ian Rutherford, and Riet van Bremen. For helpful comments and suggestions on this version I am indebted to Ewen Bowie, Angelos Chaniotis, David Fearn, Elizabeth Irwin, and Barbara Kowalzig. 1 For Pindar’s praise strategy and a defence of the quality of the ode see in particular Race (1990), 141–64 and Burnett (2005), 203–19. 2 I discuss the Pindaric strategy of praise of the inborn excellence of the Blepsiadai in another paper; see Athanassaki (2009b), 423–8.

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Unlike most Pindaric epinicians for Aeginetans, which are impossible to date with any degree of certainty, the Eighth Olympian is dated to 460 on the authority of the scholiasts.3 The date has gained wide acceptance among modern scholars as well.4 But this is where scholarly agreement ends. The ode raises several major and minor questions, of which two are central to my argument: (a) Was the ode composed for performance at Olympia or Aegina? (b) Is the mood gloomy and anxious on account of the escalating tension between Athens and Aegina, which led to the end of Aeginetan independence a few years later?5 I will address these questions by examining the political significance of some major poetic choices in light of the historical background of the composition. I accept 460 as the date of composition and performance. Nevertheless, the date does not significantly affect my interpretation, which is based on the welldocumented tensions between Athens and Aegina from 506 until the capitulation of the island in 457. In this sense the political significance of the ode would not be much different if the song was composed a decade or so earlier. The only truly significant date for my reading is the time of the consecration of the Aiakeion in Athens, which I consider as terminus post quem for Pindar’s conception of the innovative mythical narrative. Yet the political message of the ode gains in power if it was composed at a time of escalating tensions. In section I I discuss the two performance settings that the deictic pattern of the ode indicates. Instead of trying to determine which is the locus of performance, as has been the common practice, I examine the significance of the interplay of localizations in section V correlating the opening Panhellenic performance setting with the significance of the prophecy of Apollo to Aiakos for contemporary politics. In section II I examine the prophecy of Apollo, which, following the ancient scholiasts, I consider Pindar’s invention, as well as the relevant epic passages that indicate the Pindaric version’s points of contact with and departure from prior traditions. In section III I bring 3 Hornblower (2004), 230 accepts the date with the reminder that it is not as secure as those supported by the Olympic victors list (POxy 222 = FGrH 415). 4 An exception is Figueira (1991), 84, n. 15 who thinks that the ode cannot have been performed until after the capitulation of Aegina. See also sec. V. 5 For shadows of anxiety see e.g. Gildersleeve (1885), 193 and 200, Podlecki (1976), 411, and in particular Figueira (1991), 84, n. 15. Cf. however Bowra (1964), 299 who detects an optimistic tone in the mythical narrative.

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into the discussion Herodotean evidence that shows the widespread belief in the importance of the Aiakidai for winning contemporary wars, and I argue that the Pindaric version is a response in mythical guise to Athenian claims to the favour of Aiakos and the Aiakidai. In section IV I argue that the Pindaric version draws its authority from Aeginetan art and cult, which Pindar explores from a new vantagepoint, forging links between the temple of Apollo, the Aiakeion, and the representations of the two sacks of Troy in the pediments of the Aphaia temple. In section V I bring the threads of the argument together and argue that the tone of the ode is confident and that Pindar envisioned a Panhellenic forum for his brilliant exposition of the age-old favour of Apollo to Aiakos and his descendants.

I. THE TWO PERFORMANCE SET TINGS The description of a triumphant procession of the victory revel to the grove of Olympia dominates the first triad (1–20):
Aæ t åæıçø I Łºø, ˇPºı  Æ,

Ø’ IºÆŁ Æ, ¥ Æ Ø ¼ æ K æØ Œ ÆØæ Ø ÆæÆØæHÆØ ˜Øe IæªØŒæÆı, Y Ø’ åØ ºª IŁæø  æØ

ÆØ Æ ªºÆ Iæa Łı fiH ºÆE, H b åŁø I . — ¼ÆØ b æe åæØ P Æ I æH ºØÆE• Iºº’ t — Æ h  æ K’ ºçfiH ¼º,   ŒH  ŒÆd çÆÆçæ Æ ÆØ. ªÆ Ø Œº  ÆN , fizØØ e ª æÆ ’ IªºÆ. ¼ººÆ ’ K’ ¼ºº Æ IªÆŁH, ººÆd ’ ›  f ŁH Pæƪ Æ. — Ø Ł, h

 ’ KŒºæø   ZÅd ªŁº ø fi • n b b ˝ Æ fi æçÆ,

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Lucia Athanassaki ºŒØ Æ b aæ ˚æı ºçø fi ŁBŒ  Oºı Ø ŒÆ. q ’ KæA ŒÆº, æªø fi ’ P ŒÆa r  Kº ªåø K  ŒæÆ ø ºÆ fi ºØåæ  `YªØÆ æÆ•6

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Mother of golden-crowned games, Olympia, mistress of truth, where men who are seers examine burnt offerings and put Zeus to the test, lord of the bright thunderbolt, to see if he has any word concerning men who are striving in their hearts to win great success, and respite from their toils; but in return for piety men’s prayers are fulfilled. Come, well-wooded grove of Pisa on Alpheos’ banks, receive this revel and its wearing of crowns; for great fame is always his whom your illustrious honour attends. A variety of different blessings come to men, and many are the paths to success with the gods’ help. Timosthenes, destiny assigned your family to Zeus, lord of heredity: he it was who made you famous at Nemea, and by the hill of Kronos made Alkimedon an Olympic victor. To behold he was handsome, and cast no shame on his looks by his action; winning in wrestling, he proclaimed long-oared Aegina his fatherland.

The elaborate opening invocation of Olympia (1–2), the equally elaborate invocation of the grove of Pisa and the request to receive the crown-wearing komastic procession in the antistrophe (9–10), the use of the deictic pronoun   (10), and the following secondperson reference to the grove (, 11) anchor the performance of the ode at Olympia. The focus on Olympia is sustained by the iterative description of the pyromantic practices, whereby seers test the will of Zeus, and the account of Alkimedon’s beauty and excellence in the wrestling contest which led to the victorious proclamation of Aegina. The address to Timosthenes and Alkimedon (Ø Ł, h

, 15) indicates that they are present in the performance, but does not shift the focus from Olympia.7 Up to the end of the first triad one has the impression that this is a performance that takes place at Olympia. 6

All Pindaric quotations from Sn-M. The scholiasts identify Timosthenes as Alkimedon’s brother. Some scholiasts think that Iphion is Alkimedon’s father and Kallimachos his uncle, whereas others consider them dead relatives (16 (i.241 Dr); 106a, d, f, k (i.262–3 Dr)). Carey (1989a) has proposed instead that Timosthenes is the name of the grandfather mentioned in 70–1. Cf. Kurke (1991b), 293–8 who returned to the scholiast’s interpretation on the assumption that the grandfather was also called Alkimedon. 7

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The mention of Aegina at the end of the first epode, which is followed by the anaphoric ŁÆ (21), is the first step in the process of introducing Aegina as a new setting (21–30): ŁÆ ØæÆ ˜Øe  ı æ æ IŒEÆØ ¨ Ø — å’ IŁæø. ‹ Ø ªaæ ºf ŒÆd ººfi A Þ fiÅ, OæŁfi A ØÆŒæ Ø çæd c Ææa ŒÆØæ

ıƺ • Ł e  Ø IŁÆø ŒÆd  ’ ±ºØæŒ Æ åæÆ Æ ÆEØ  Æ  Ø Œ Æ ÆØ  Æ— › ’ KÆ ººø åæ F æø c Œ Ø— — ˜øæØE ºÆfiH Æ Øı Æ K `NÆŒF•

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where the saviour goddess Themis, she who sits by Zeus’ side, the god of strangers, is venerated most among men. For where much lies in the balance and there is much to lose, straight-minded decision-making and the avoidance of untimeliness is a difficult thing to grapple with. Yet some ordinance from the immortal gods has set up this sea-girt land too as a heavenly pillar for foreigners from all parts—and may time rolling on not tire of accomplishing this—a place ministered by a Dorian people since the time of Aiakos.

The new setting is introduced by the same deictic pronoun ( , 25).8 The island is praised for the superb justice and hospitality of its Dorian inhabitants since the time of Aiakos. In spite of the famous Aeginetan hospitality, however, it becomes immediately clear that the audience is encouraged to transport itself vicariously to yet another different place and time. In typically Pindaric manner, the mention of Aiakos leads to the introduction of the mythical 8 Gelzer (1985), 111 n. 21, who argues in favour of performance at Olympia, observes that the demonstrative ‹  can point to faraway places as well, citing the great number of examples collected by Ku¨hner-Gerth (1898), 643–5. Ol. 8 is a good example, because ‹  qualifies both the ko¯mos celebrating at Olympia (10) and Aegina (25). If one has to decide between the two locations solely on the basis of textual pointers, the case for Olympia is made stronger by the sustained secondperson reference (1–11). For deictic indeterminacy more generally see Calame (2004) and Athanassaki (2009c).

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narrative, partially narrated and partially dramatized, which leads us to Troy in illo tempore. The new space and time, which invades the here and now of the performance, is the time of the fortification of Troy by Apollo, Poseidon, and their human collaborator, Aiakos, in anticipation of future wars. Just as the wall has been completed, three snakes jump upon it: two of them fall down and die, whereas the third one leaps in with a triumphant shout. Seeing the omen, Apollo turns immediately to Aiakos and interprets it to the progenitor of the Aeginetans in a dramatized speech (31–52): e ÆE › ¸ÆF Pæı ø  —Ø ,  º ø fi ºº Kd  çÆ FÆØ, ŒÆº Æ ıæª  å, q ‹Ø Ø æø  Oæı ø º ø ºØæŁØ K åÆØ ºæ I FÆØ ŒÆ. — ªºÆıŒd b æŒ, Kd Œ ŁÅ  , æª Kƺº Ø æE, ƒ  b Œ, ÆsŁØ ’ IıÇ Ø łıåa º, x  ’ Kæı ÆØ.  ’ I  ›æ Æ ø  æÆ PŁf ººø• “— æªÆ  I çd ÆE, Xæø, åæe KæªÆ ÆØ ±º ŒÆØ• S K d ç Æ º ªØ ˚æ Æ  çŁb Ææıª ı ˜Ø• — PŒ ¼æ Æ ø  Ł, Iºº’ – Æ æØ ¼æÆØ9 ŒÆd æØ.” S qæÆ Łe çÆ YÆØ ˛Ł Xت ŒÆd  ÆÇÆ P ı ŒÆd K  æ KºÆø.  Oææ ÆØÆ ’ K’  Ł fiH  Æ fi –æ Æ Łe ı, I ø `NÆŒ

Fæ’ I’ ¥ Ø åæı ÆØ — ŒÆd ˚æ Łı Øæ ’ Kł  ÆØØŒºı 9

Some scholars opt for the emendation ÞÆØ. See the discussion in sec. II.

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. . . he whom the son of Leto and wide-ruling Poseidon, as they were preparing to fashion a crown for Troy, called upon to help build the wall, because it was fated that at the outbreak of wars it would, in city-sacking battles, breathe forth furious smoke. Blue-grey snakes, when the wall was freshly built, tried to jump up the rampart, three of them: two fell down and, stricken by terror, gave up their lives there and then, but one leapt in with a cry. Apollo pondered the adverse portent and spoke out at once: ‘Pergamos is to be captured, hero, at the site of your handiwork: this is how the apparition sent by the son of Kronos, loud-thundering Zeus, speaks to me. But not without your children: it will begin with the first ones and with the third.’ So the god clearly spoke, and spurred on his team, driving to Xanthos, and the Amazons with their fine horses, and the Istros. The Lord of the Trident drove his swift chariot to the Isthmus by the sea, escorting Aiakos back here with golden horses, and going on to visit the ridge of Corinth renowned for festivities.

By impersonating Apollo the singers draw the past into the present, enabling their audience to witness, as it were, Apollo’s speech to Aiakos.10 As long as the chorus sings of Apollo, Poseidon, and Aiakos the Trojan setting eclipses the Aeginetan setting, which, however, is reintroduced by the deictic adverb Fæ (51). The transition to present time is effected through a gnome which links the mythical narrative with the immediately following praise of the trainer Melesias (53–66). After the return to Aegina through the deictic adverb Fæ there is no textual pointer to this or any other setting. The praise of Melesias culminates with the mention that Alkimedon’s victory is the thirtieth for the accomplished trainer, and here the praise of the victor resumes. The fourth triad begins with yet another glimpse at Olympia, which offers a more detailed account of Alkimedon’s victory: he won four successive victories and caused the four defeated boys a most hateful return through hidden paths with no praise (67–9). The strophe concludes with the observation that Alkimedon’s victory gave strength to his grandfather to wrestle against old age and forget 10 Egbert Bakker’s distinction between performative and non-performative genres is important: ‘Unlike written fiction, the activity of the performer does not draw the audience into the past; rather, the past is, conversely, drawn into the present through the non-fictional activity of the performer’, Bakker (1997b), 24. See also Athanassaki (2004), 329–30 for achieving the same effect by means of dramatized speeches.

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about death (70–3). The antistrophe opens with a reminder of the six victories which the Blepsiadai won at the stephanitic games and concludes with the assertion that the dead have their own share in celebratory rituals (77–80). This idea is further developed in the epode where the speaker expresses the wish that Angelia communicate to the dead father and uncle of the victor, Iphion and Kallimachos, the Olympic victory that Zeus granted (81–4). The ode ends with the speaker’s prayer to Zeus to secure the well-being of the family and the city. The deictic markers in this ode delineate three deictic centres, two of which are performance venues: (i) Apollo’s dramatized speech to Aiakos is of course an example of deixis am Phantasma inviting the audience to see the god and his interlocutor with their minds’ eye. (ii) The deictics   . . . ºØ and Fæ point to Aegina. (iii) The opening invocation to Olympia, which is followed by an extended invocation to the grove of Pisa and the request to receive this victorious procession, localizes the performance at Olympia.11 So far as the first performance of the ode is concerned, if we posit a performance at Olympia we have an instance of ocular deixis (deixis ad oculos) which necessitates a deixis am Phantasma for Aegina, and vice versa.12 Scholars who favour performance at Aegina interpret the opening image of performance at Olympia as fictive.13 An exception is Wilamowitz, who suggested a performance in Aegina at the local Olympieion.14 Wilamowitz’s suggestion resolves the conflict of deictics, but posits a sanctuary for which there is no literary or archaeological evidence. An alternative solution is to posit composition with an eye to two performances, one at Olympia and one at 11 Performance at Olympia: e.g. Boeckh (1821), 179; Gildersleeve (1885), 192; Farnell (1930–2), 59; Bundy (1962), 81; Gelzer (1985), 96 with n. 5 and 111 with n. 21. 12 The terminology is Karl Bu¨hler’s; see the concise introduction to deixis by Felson (2004), 253–66 with updated bibliography. 13 Performance in Aegina: e.g. Puech (1949), 101–2 after some hesitation; Thummer (1968–9), 32 n. 11 interprets the opening as poetic fiction whereby poet and audience are vicariously transported to Olympia; Race (1990), 143–5 who basically reacts against the view that Pindar composed a careless song, because he had to work fast; Burnett (2005), 208, n. 4 suggests that the invocation to Olympia is equivalent to the wish to please a distant audience as at Nem. 4.46. 14 Wilamowitz (1922), 403.

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Aegina.15 The Eighth Olympian is certainly not the only instance of conflicting signals, but offers the clearest example of the tendency of occasional poetry to ‘overload’ references to its own occasion, ‘so that all the given references could not possibly fit any one time and any one place of performance’, to use Gregory Nagy’s succinct formulation.16 The two distinct performance settings in this ode point to audiences of different composition. Performance at Olympia after the victory implies the Panhellenic audience of the games, whereas performance at Aegina would have a predominantly Aeginetan audience, their xenoi, and visitors. I will come back to the different audiences of the performance in the last section.

II. APOLLO’S PROPHECY TO AIAKOS AND THE UNDERLYING EPIC TRADITIONS Pindar’s attribution of clarity to Apollo’s interpretation of the omen (çÆ YÆØ, 46) has found no followers among either the ancient scholiasts or modern critics. It is clear from Apollo’s words that Troy will be conquered from the part of the wall Aiakos built, and that his descendants will play a role in the sack of Troy as well. What is totally unclear is the relation between symbol and interpretation: what do the snakes stand for, and why does the god speak about four generations on the basis of three snakes? Various emendations and interpretations have been proposed, but no solution is free of problems.17 The most satisfactory solution is, in my view, the suggestion of Luigi Lehnus, who entertained the possibility that the two snakes which fall and die represent the two times that the walls of Troy will fall.18 In this scheme the victorious snake that leaps upward inevitably

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I had suggested the possibility of a double performance in Athanassaki (2004), 337, n. 42 only to discover subsequently that Ferrari (1998), 146–7 had already made a similar suggestion. 16 Nagy (1994), 19. 17 For a survey of the various suggestions see Robbins (1986). 18 Lehnus (1981), 138–9.

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represents the building activity of the gods and their human collaborator. This view has been criticized by Emmet Robbins, who objected on the grounds that if the wall falls twice, it is also built twice.19 This is certainly true, but Pindar’s priority was to foreground Aiakos’ collaboration with the gods in the fortification of Troy and the role of his descendants in conquering the city twice. From the point of view of Aiakid contribution to the destruction of Troy, the three most important events are the initial building and the two subsequent conquests. Dissociation of the four generations of Aiakidai from the three snakes results in a very loose relation between portent and interpretation, if the text is left unemended. We must assume that Apollo says less than he sees: of the four generations that will be involved in the double sack of Troy he singles out for mention the first generation counting inclusively, that is, Aiakos who is unintentionally responsible for the weak spot, and the fourth, that is, Neoptolemos and Epeios.20 If the transmitted text is what Pindar composed, the only explanation is that he left it to his audience to solve the puzzle by drawing information both from the symbol, which is briefly described, and Apollo’s interpretation. Lehnus reads ÞÆØ, with Gildersleeve and Wilamowitz, instead of the manuscripts’ ¼æÆØ, and æØ, with Ahrens, instead of the manuscripts’ æØ.21 The emendations restore the correspondence between portent and Apolline interpretation. In this version the walls will crack (ÞÆØ) at the hands of the first generation of Aiakos’ descendants, Telamon, and also the third (æØ), Neoptolemos and Epeios. An ancient scholion reports that Didymus considered the collaboration of Aiakos Pindar’s innovation (Ææ’ P d b æı æø fi —Ø æı ƒæ Æ, ! Ol. 8.41a, i.247 Dr). The two divergent accounts in the Iliad corroborate Didymus’ view.22 In book 7 Poseidon complains to Zeus about the new Achaian wall and 19

Robbins (1986), 318, n. 10. For other Pindaric parallels of inclusive reckoning of generations see Robbins (1986), 318–19. 21 Burnett (2005), 213–14 opts for the same combination of emendations. 22 See also Hubbard (1987), 17–22 who argues in favour of Pindaric innovation. Cf. Zunker (1988), 82 with n. 542, who suggests that the collaboration of Aiakos with Apollo and Poseidon was a local Aeginetan tale that originated in the seventh century, 20

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voices the fear that the wall he and Apollo once built will be forgotten (451–3). In book 21 Poseidon reminds Apollo of their service to Laomedon, when he built the wall, and Apollo tended Laomedon’s herds (441–9). The divergence has been variously explained, but it is notable that neither version acknowledges the participation of Aiakos.23 In the second Iliadic passage Poseidon claims that he built a wide and very strong wall so as to make the city unconquerable (21.447). In book 6, however, Andromache mentions a weak spot in the wall, where both city and wall can be overrun (I Æ KØ ºØ ŒÆd K æ  º Eå, 434). Andromache does not give reasons for the vulnerability of that part of the wall, but as Farnell suggested, the Iliad may here reflect a tradition according to which the cause of the weak spot was the work of a mortal.24 Even more interesting for our purposes is Andromache’s point that some of the Achaians tried this spot three times either on their own initiative or because somebody skilled in prophecy told them (6.435–9). The identity of the prophet is not specified. Andromache refers to him as Łæ ø KV N  (438). Apollo must be excluded, for as the defender of Troy in the Iliad he would certainly not be the one to reveal the weak spot to the Achaians. What is implausible within the logic of the Iliad, however, can become plausible if one chooses to tell a different story. Pindar may have seen, indeed, the opportunity offered by Homer when he was thinking out his own version.25 The Homeric account certainly invited some more precision and, as I will argue in section IV, the splendid sculptures of the Temple of Aphaia invited a broader perspective. Oracular predictions of the fall of Troy are found in other odes as well, but nowhere else is Apollo the prophet of its doom.26 The double sack of Troy is the subject of two other epinicians, the Third Nemean (36–7 and 56–63) and the Fifth Isthmian (35–42). In both

but offers no argument in support of this view; according to Zunker, Pindar combined this traditional tale with the snake portent which he invented. 23 For the divergence see Kirk (1990), 288–9 and Richardson (1993), 89–90. 24 Farnell (1930–2), 45. 25 For Apollo’s prophecy as Pindar’s innovation see Hubbard (1987), 21. 26 For Apolline prophecy in Pindar see Ste´fos (1975), and Athanassaki (2009b).

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odes the two expeditions are presented as past events with no reference to prophecy. In contrast, in the Sixth Isthmian the focus is clearly on the first expedition (25–40), but Herakles’ prayer for and prophecy of the birth of warlike Ajax is an allusion to the second (41–56).27 The only other prophecy of the fall of Troy is found in the Eighth Isthmian. The praise of Aiakos and of his sons for their warlike valour and wisdom forms the basis for the prophecy of Themis of the birth and death of Achilles at the battlefield, which is followed by a catalogue of Achilles’ glorious deeds at Troy (49–61). Another interesting feature of the Eighth Olympian is that this is the only case where Pindar makes Apollo interpret an omen. Of course it is not a random omen; it is an omen sent by Zeus. The motive behind this resourceful solution is not hard to see. In Pindar’s own account in the Sixth Paean, Zeus did not dare undo Troy’s fate and Apollo strove with all his might to postpone the fall of the city as long as he could (79–98). To make Apollo prophesy not simply the first but also the second fall of the city, which he defended with such vehemence, was clearly a bold stroke. Of course, Pindar did his best. He placed the event in the remotest past, when gods and men worked together to shape the human world long before the conflicts that divided the gods into partisan camps came to pass.28 The question that arises, however, is why Pindar thought it important to involve Apollo in the first place. This is an ode celebrating, above all, Zeus and his games.29 The will of Zeus, who in turn complied with the mandates of fate, would be excellent justification for the double sack by the Aiakidai. In my view Pindar involves Apollo in order to offer a fresh and much broader perspective on the antagonism between Apollo and the Aiakidai. The conflict between Apollo and Achilles was an integral part of the Trojan saga, and Pindar sings about it in the Sixth Paean, where he also offers an account of the antagonism between Apollo and Neoptolemos (104–20). This brings us, inevitably, to the vexed question of the relation of the Sixth Paean with the Seventh Nemean, 27

See Indergaard, Ch. 8 this volume. For the political implications of Pindar’s tendency to place prophecies in illo tempore see Athanassaki (2003a). 29 For the prominence of Zeus in this song see Burnett (2005), 209–10. 28

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and specifically whether the Nemean ode is a recantation on Pindar’s part on account of Aeginetan annoyance at his unfavourable treatment of Neoptolemos in the paean. Ian Rutherford’s discovery of a marginal subtitle that designates the last triad of the Sixth Paean as a prosodion for the Aeginetans in honour of Aiakos has revived the apology theory and has opened the way to other interpretations as well.30 Rutherford, who defended the ‘apology’ theory, suggested that if the Aeginetans were offended, the reason must have been the sacrilege of Neoptolemos killing a suppliant at Troy, and that his death at Delphi was a continuation of the antagonism between Apollo and Neoptolemos.31 Leslie Kurke, taking her lead from one of the performance scenarios that Rutherford put forward, argued against recantation and in favour of ritual negotiation in a joined performance at the Theoxenia by a Delphic and an Aeginetan chorus.32 Following a different line of argumentation, Bruno Currie rejected the ‘apology’ theory and advanced the view that the cult of Neoptolemos was already established in Delphi at Pindar’s time and that the paeanic and epinician versions are variants stemming from a myth associated with the Delphic cult.33 Whichever position one takes in the controversy, however, there is an uncontroversial fact. Whatever the reasons may have been, the Seventh Nemean downplays the antagonism between Apollo and Neoptolemos. If the paeanic account, which inevitably influences one’s judgement, had not been preserved, it would even be possible to say that there is no trace of antagonism in the Seventh Nemean. Neoptolemos’ accidental death has caused grief to the priests in Delphi (43); he is buried in Delphi because it was preordained that an Aiakid should dwell there as a rightful overseer of heroic processions and sacrifices (44–7). According to one line of interpretation, the witness that presides over his accomplishments is Apollo himself (49).34 Whether one views the Seventh Nemean as a recantation or simply a different version, the differences between the epinician ode

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Rutherford (2001), 298–338. See ibid. 321–3. Kurke (2005). Currie (2005), 296–343. For the various identifications of the enigmatic witness see Carey (1981), 155.

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and the paean suggest that the question must be reversed. Instead of asking how much offence a tale can cause, we may ask how favourable a reception it seeks to enjoy. There are no grounds for doubting that the epinician version of Neoptolemos in Delphi would have had greater appeal for an Aeginetan audience. To return to the Eighth Olympian, comparison with the representation of Apollo’s relations with the Aiakidai in the Seventh Nemean shows that, from an Aeginetan point of view, Pindar has taken the matter a step further. In place of priests who are grieved, an Aiakid to be buried in Delphi, and an enigmatic witness to Neoptolemos’ deeds, the Eighth Olympian puts into relief Apollo’s singular favour to Aiakos, chosen by Apollo and Poseidon as their collaborator. The prophecy of Apollo to Aiakos is a masterstroke, whereby the antagonism of Apollo against the Aiakidai is subsumed to the will of Zeus, which Apollo himself announces publicly and impartially at the moment of the fortification of the doomed city.

III. AEGINETAN AND ATHENIAN CLAIMS TO AIAKID FAVOUR Pindar’s tale was meant to enrich the Aeginetan Aiakid lore sub specie aeternitatis, but I suggest that contemporary concerns were at play as well. From Herodotus we learn that in the late sixth and early fifth centuries the favour of Aiakos and his descendants was widely believed to be decisive in winning contemporary wars. Herodotus lists three instances which, taken together, show the Panhellenic diffusion of the belief. In the first instance the Aeginetans are reported to have lent the cult-images of the Aiakidai to the Thebans in response to their request for aid against the Athenians.35 After their defeat by the Athenians the Thebans sent back the statues to the Aeginetans and 35 For another interpretation of the identity of the Aiakidai see Nagy, Ch. 1 this volume, who argues against cult-images and in favour of ‘an ensemble of Aeginetan aristocrats who were re-enacting, in stylized choral poses, the presence of their notional ancestors, the Aiakidai of the heroic age’.

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requested instead the aid of men (5.80–1). The fact that they are represented as relying on this symbolic aid and attacking the Athenians shows the conviction that the Aeginetan contribution carried in the first place. To the second request of the Thebans the Aeginetans responded by raiding the coast of Attica (5.82). Second, it is also notable that the Athenian resolve to retaliate against the Aeginetans for the great damage they inflicted on them also involves the favour of Aiakos (5.89.2–3): ŒÆd ŁÅÆ ØØ ›æ Å ØØ K’ `NªØÆ æÆŁÆØ qºŁ ÆØ KŒ ˜ºçH KØåÆ Ie F `NªØÅ ø I ØŒ ı æØŒÆ Æ fiH "d ŒÆd æØÅŒfiH `NÆŒfiH   I ÆÆ ¼æåŁÆØ F æe `NªØÆ º ı, ŒÆ çØ åøæØ a ºÆØ• j b ÆP ŒÆ KØæÆøÆØ, ººa  ç Æ K fiH Æf F åæı  ŁÆØ, ººa b ŒÆd ØØ,  º Ø ŒÆÆæ łŁÆØ. ÆFÆ ‰ IØåŁ Æ XŒıÆ ƒ ŁÅÆEØ, fiH b `NÆŒfiH   I Æ F e F Kd B IªæB ¥ æıÆØ, æØŒÆ b Æ PŒ I å IŒÆ ‹Œø åæe YÅ KØåE ŁÆ æe `NªØÅ ø IæØÆ.36 When the Athenians were about to start their assault on Aegina, an oracle from Delphi came advising them to hold back for thirty years from the start of the Aeginetans’ wrongdoing, and in the thirty-first year to dedicate a sanctuary to Aiakos and start the war against the Aeginetans then, and what they wanted would come about. If instead they attacked Aegina straightaway, they would suffer much in between, while afflicting much damage on the enemy; they would, however be victorious in the end. On hearing this news the Athenians did follow the instructions in consecrating the shrine to Aiakos, which is still to be seen in the Athenian Agora; but they couldn’t bear to have to wait for thirty years, as they had been told to, since they had suffered so terribly at the hands of the Aeginetans.

Herodotus places the oracle and the consecration of the precinct in the late sixth century, but a number of scholars have challenged his chronology.37 I will come back to this question, but regardless of the time of the oracular utterance and the consecration of the precinct, the story shows that both the Delphic oracle and the Athenians,

36 37

All Herodotean quotations are taken from Hude’s edition. See also Irwin’s discussion in this volume, Ch. 10.

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who opted for selective compliance with its instructions, acknowledged that Aiakos’ favour was of paramount importance for winning the war. The third instance reveals the Panhellenic diffusion of the belief of the importance of Aiakid favour, and also offers a glimpse into the antagonism between the Athenians and the Aeginetans. Before the Battle of Salamis the Greeks gathered there decided to pray to all the gods and to the Aiakidai after an earthquake (8.64):

æÅ  Kª  ŒÆd – Æ fiH º ø fi IØØ Ø e Kª    B fi ªB fi ŒÆd B fi ŁÆºfiÅ.   çØ hÆŁÆØ EØ ŁEØ ŒÆd K،ƺ ÆŁÆØ f `NÆŒ Æ ı

åı. ‰ çØ  , ŒÆd K ı ÆFÆ• P Ø ªaæ AØ EØ ŁEØ ÆPŁ b KŒ !ÆºÆ E `YÆ  ŒÆd ºÆ HÆ KŒÆº , Kd b `NÆŒe ŒÆd f ¼ººı `NÆŒ Æ  Æ I ºº K `YªØÆ. Day broke, and just as the sun rose there was an earthquake both on land and sea. The Greeks resolved to offer prayers to the gods and to call upon the Aiakidai as allies. This was their decision, and they acted upon it: praying to all the gods, they called upon Ajax and Telamon there in Salamis, and sent a ship to Aegina for Aiakos and the other Aiakidai.

The Herodotean narrative captures the importance that all Greeks attributed to the favour of the Aiakidai and the antagonism between Athens and Aegina. The invocation of Ajax and Telamon at Salamis is in this instance combined with the mission to fetch Aiakos and the Aiakidai from Aegina. In this case Athens and Aegina may be allies, but neither concedes to the other the favour of the Aiakidai. Invocation of Ajax and Telamon on Athenian territory would privilege the Athenian claims to the favour of the Aiakidai.38 At this critical moment the antagonism gives way to compromise and a ship is dispatched to Aegina to fetch the Aiakidai.39 After the victorious outcome of the Battle of Salamis, however, the Aeginetans claimed

38

Williams (1987), 674 observes: ‘Even here an Athenian version seems to intrude, for when we first hear of the decision the general term “Aiakidai” is used, but when it is carried out Salaminian Ajax and Telamon are suddenly added to the Aeginetan Aiakidai.’ 39 For Herodotus’ representation of the Athenian and Aeginetan versions see Irwin, Ch. 10 this volume, p. 0000.

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that it was the trireme which had meanwhile fetched the Aiakidai that started action against the Persians, whereas the Athenians claimed that the first to engage the enemy was an Athenian ship under the command of Ameinias (8.84). The three events are spread roughly over a quarter of a century, covering the period from the victory of the Athenians over the Thebans in around 506 to the Battle of Salamis in 480. The date of the consecration of the Athenian Aiakeion, however, has been a matter of dispute. Macan has argued that Herodotus 5.89 refers to later events, and dated the consecration of the precinct to 487.40 In a recent survey of scholarly opinion and new archaeological, epigraphical, and lexicographical evidence Ronald Stroud has defended the Herodotean chronology and placed the episode before the sack of Miletus, some time between 506 and 499.41 The date of the Aiakeion bears to some extent on the authenticity of the Delphic oracle as well. Some of those who date its consecration to 487 consider the oracle a vaticinium ex eventu.42 According to this view, the Athenians fabricated the oracle after the capitulation of Aegina thirty years later. But if the Herodotean chronology is right, as Stroud has forcefully argued, the oracular prediction of victory without loss after thirty years could not have been perceived as fulfilled. After all, the Athenians complied with the oracle selectively. They chose not to wait, for two reasons. The explicitly stated reason is that they could not tolerate the injury they had suffered at the hands of the Aeginetans. The implicit reason is that the oracle was unconditional in one crucial respect, the ultimate victory of the Athenians over the Aeginetans. Whether Herodotus reports an authentic oracle, or an Athenian fabrication, or a partisan interpretation of the Apolline word, there can be little doubt that the consecration of a temenos was an important cultic matter on which the Athenians either consulted Delphi or, at the very least, claimed that they did. Delphic sanction of a temenos for Aiakos would undoubtedly give far greater authority to the project than mere Athenian initiative. A Delphic oracle, authentic or fabricated, was therefore the aition of the consecration of the 40 41 42

Macan (1895), 109–10. Stroud (1998), 85–104. See also Irwin’s discussion, Ch. 10 this volume, p. 0000. Macan (1895), 109–10.

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precinct. This oracle, even if it only gave sanction for the consecration, could easily give rise to expansions or interpretations such as the ones which Herodotus reports.43 In the light of the hostile relations of Athens with Aegina throughout this period and beyond, the obvious explanation is that oracular predictions of the eventual defeat of Aegina originated with the consecration of the temenos, were revived in some form or other at times of crisis, and were still remembered at the time of Herodotus’ enquiries. Was Pindar aware of the Athenian story that linked Apollo with Aiakos and Aiakos with the Athenians to the ultimate destruction of Aegina? Certainty is impossible, but the striking choice of casting Apollo as the prophet of Troy’s destruction, as well as the similarity of pattern between the Herodotean version and the Eighth Olympian, suggest that he did. In the Eighth Olympian Pindar links Apollo with Aiakos, and Aiakos with the destruction of Troy through his descendants. In this respect, the epinician version shares the same pattern with the Athenian story which links Apollo with Aiakos, and Aiakos with the ultimate defeat of the Aeginetans by the Athenians. The Pindaric version, however, is projected into the remote past and, for this reason, the combatants take a different shape. To the extent that Apollo’s favour to Aiakos foreshadows the god’s benign attitude to his descendants at large, the aim of the Pindaric version is to boost Aeginetan morale at a time of crisis, especially in view of the Athenian counter-claims to the favour of Aiakos. There is every reason to think that Pindar was aware of the inauguration of the cult of Aiakos in Athens and its Delphic sanction. He had his own Athenian connections, as is clear from the epinicians he composed for Megakles and Timodamos, the thre¯nos for Hippokrates, and his paean and dithyrambs for the Athenians; he would surely even have seen the temenos some time in the early fifth century during one of his visits to Athens.44 Neither Pindar nor his Aeginetan friends would have failed to see the political implications of the Athenian initiative, for which there was another important precedent as well. As Thomas Figueira has pointed out, ‘as the Eurysakeion solidified an Athenian claim to ownership of the island of Salamis, 43 44

See Fontenrose (1978), 244–67 for a list of consultations on cultic matters. Pyth. 7, Nem. 2, fr. 137, Pae. 5, and frr. 75 and 76.

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the Aiakeion expressed a similar claim to Aigina. If the descendants of Aias could make Salamis over to Athens, why could they not transfer a title to Aigina, inherited from Telamon, son of Aiakos?’45 Apolline sanction, the favour of Aiakos to the Athenians, and the ensuing Athenian claims to Aegina were therefore basic elements of the Athenian propaganda, which at the time of the composition of the Eighth Olympian in 460 were long known to all interested parties. Pindar was long acquainted with the Athenian claims to the favour of Aiakos as well as the Apolline sanction of these claims.

IV. THE CULTIC AND ARTISTIC BACKGROUND OF THE ODE In reinforcing Aeginetan counter-claims, Pindar also drew his inspiration from Aeginetan art and cult. The excavations of the successive temples on Kolonna Hill in Aegina town show that Apollo’s cult in Aegina was very old and very significant.46 Pindar’s visits to the island gave him plenty of opportunity to view the late sixth-century temple and reflect on its sculptures. Apollo was accorded centre-stage in the east pediment. A central fragmentary male figure wearing a himation has been identified as Apollo by Elena Walter-Karydi.47 The figure of Apollo was framed by a pair of two-horse chariots placed symmetrically on either side of the pediment.48 Athena was the central figure of the west pediment, which represented an Amazonomachy.49 The dominance of Apollo in the centre of the east pediment and the vicinity of Apollo’s temple to the nearby Aiakeion may have actually suggested to Pindar the idea of their collaboration.50 In any event, the mention of Apollo’s hasty departure for the Amazons at 45

Figueira (1991), 104; for the Eurysakeion, see also Figueira (1985a), 300–3. Walter (1993), 34–53; Walter-Karydi (2006), 85–93. 47 ¨ gina, II.2 148–9. Alt-A 48 Ibid. Walter-Karydi also raised the possibility of the presence of Leto and Artemis on either side of the god. 49 Ibid. II.2 147–8; Walter-Karydi (2006), 47–62. 50 Note Gildersleeve’s (1883), 178 view of the impact which the east pediment of the Temple of Aphaia had on Pindar for the composition of Isthm. 5: ‘Here then, is a 46

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the conclusion of the mythical narrative (46–7) evokes the sculptural themes of the two pediments of the archaic temple and links them together. There may be yet another link between the mythical narrative of the Eighth Olympian and Aeginetan cultic topography. The names of Apollo and Poseidon are mentioned together on four horosinscriptions: ‹æ  ı ººø, —Ø H (IG IV 33).51 These boundary stones, written in Attic and Ionian script, have been variously dated either to the 450s after Aegina’s capitulation or to the time of the Athenian kleruchy in 431.52 Since they have not been found in their original site, there can be no certainty with regard to the temenos to which they belonged.53 Moreover, it has been a matter of debate whether this, as well as the other temene¯ demarcated by the horoi, were cult-sites or agricultural estates. Finally, it is unclear whether the Athenians consecrated a new temenos, thus inaugurating a shared cult (or alternatively an agricultural estate) of Apollo and Poseidon, or simply used the horos-inscriptions to mark the boundaries of an already existing sanctuary, thus preserving an old local cult.54 The belief in a shared cult of Apollo and Poseidon has been

case which we can conceive that the poet’s immediate theme may have occurred to his mind as he gazed on the sculptor’s work in the splendid entablature of the temple; and we recall Pindar’s own comparison of an opening song to the front of a stately building—Iæå ı ’ æªı åæc æø Ł  źÆıª .’ For a different view see Walter-Karydi (2006), 47 and 51, who states that poetry and sculpture are not interdependent in the sense that sculpture is not poetry translated into visual terms nor do poets compose because they have seen sculptures and are impressed by them. I would agree that different artistic media are not interdependent, but since poets are viewers and sculptors and painters are auditors the interaction of poetry and visual arts, conscious or unconscious, is inevitable. For the interaction of literature and the visual arts see Taplin (2007), 22–6 and Athanassaki (2009a), passim. 51 Also: IG IV 34, 35, and 36 (= IG IV2.2 798, 799, 800, and 801). 52 450s: Barron (1983); 431: Fraenkel in IG IV ad 38. For a detailed account of the various views see now Polinskaya (2009) who argues in favour of a date post-431. 53 See Mylonopoulos (2003), 51–2 and now Polinskaya (2009), 245 with n. 58. 54 Mylonopoulos (2003), 50 with n. 9 and 51 stresses that the date of the horoi is not necessarily coincidental with the inauguration of cults and adduces examples. For the view of a new cult see in particular Barron (1983), 10–11, suggesting that the Athenians consecrated the temenos in honour of Delian Apollo and Helikonian Poseidon, both appropriate patrons ‘for a maritime League of Ionians’. In contrast, Smarczyk (1990), 126–9 suggested that the Athenian kleruchs simply took over an already existing Aeginetan cult. For Athenian respect for old local cults see Parker

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challenged by Hans Walter, who argued that the boundary stones demarcated two adjacent but separate sanctuaries.55 According to Walter, the horos-stones marked the boundaries of the sanctuary of Apollo on Kolonna Hill and that of Poseidon which was probably situated in the area of the north bay, reaching down to the sea.56 The horoi attest the spatial proximity of Apollo and Poseidon in Aegina, but the question of their cultic association is more complex.57 In her recent and meticulous re-evaluation of the already known horos-inscriptions as well as four newly discovered ones Irene Polinskaya has advanced new arguments in favour of (a) a post-431 date; (b) of agricultural estates, the revenues of which could be used to finance religious festivals in honour of the worshiped god(s) or state enterprises such as military campaigns; and (c) of the dedication of the agricultural estates to gods who owned sanctuaries in Attica.58 In the case of Apollo and Poseidon, she suggests that the temenos could be dedicated to Apollo Delios or, less likely, to Zosterios and to Poseidon Erechtheus, Sounios, or Kalaureios. With regard to the curious association of the two gods, who did not have a common

(1994). Welter (1938), 121 and Walter (1993), 83 assign the boundary-stones to the sanctuary of Apollo on Kolonna Hill. Figueira (1991), 118–19 thinks that the cult of Apollo and Poseidon was introduced by the Aeginetan refugees to Sounion after the failure of the Nikodromos coup upon their return to Aegina around 457: these Atheno-Aeginetans would accordingly have taken the initiative to worship the Aeginetan Apollo and the Sounian Poseidon together. However, as Mylonopoulos (2003), 51 observes, it is hard to see why they did not opt for Dorian script and dialect. Polinskaya’s view is summarized hereafter. 55 The view of shared cult-space was advanced by Fraenkel in IG IV ad 38 and has gained favour among some scholars, whereas others opt for agricultural estates. For the diverging views see now Polinskaya (2009). But the pairing of the two has remained a puzzle. See e.g. Figueira (1991), 118–19; Parker (1996), 145 with n. 94. 56 Walter (1993), 83. Angelos Chaniotis points out to me that if the horoi demarcated two adjacent sanctuaries we would expect the plural temene¯ instead of the singular. 57 Parker (1996), 145 raises the possibility that the horoi may not demarcate cult precincts but revenue-earning estates; in this case the horoi ‘may rather record the most abhorred of all imperial practices, appropriation of allied land for the benefit of absentee landlords, in this case the gods and heroes of Athens’. Parker (1996), 145 n. 94, however, also observes that ‘the pair “Apollo and Poseidon” is a puzzle, since they had no important joint cult in Athens’. Similar is the view of Polinskaya (2009). 58 Polinskaya (2009).

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cult in Athens so far as we know, she concludes that ‘the pairing of the two on the Aeginetan horoi remains puzzling’.59 If Polinskaya is right, the association of Apollo and Poseidon in Pindar’s Eighth Olympian and the Aeginetan horoi, intriguing as it may be, must be a coincidence. If it is pure coincidence, Pindar’s association of the two gods may have simply been an innovative reworking of the Homeric model, which has been discussed in section II. But since our evidence may not tell the whole story, I will briefly discuss the possibility of the cultic background as a source of inspiration as well. Apollo’s cult on the island was very old. Did Poseidon have an ancient cult as well?60 Joannis Mylonopoulos points out that, since Aegina was a great sea-power, one would expect that Poseidon would have an important cult there as in almost all other maritime cities; moreover, Aegina was a member of the Kalaureian Amphiktiony, the centre of which was the famous Poseidion on the island of modern Poros.61 Plutarch mentions a festival in honour of Poseidon in Aegina which he associates with the Trojan War: many Aeginetans died in Troy and even more perished at sea during the return journey. The families of those who came safely back did not want to sacrifice to the gods and celebrate publicly out of consideration for the grief of families who suffered human losses; thus each family had a private feast for its own members with no guests. In imitation of that celebration, the ‘thiasoi’ sacrifice to Poseidon and feast privately in silence for sixteen days. This festival is immediately followed by another one, the Aphrodisia (Plut. Aetia graeca 44).62 Apollo and Poseidon did not have a joint cult of any significance in Athens, but interestingly enough, Poseidon was worshipped at the sanctuary of Apollo Maleatas in Epidauros.63 The famous story of the 59

Ibid. 261. In an update of his 1938 study of Aegina, written in Greek and published in 1962—but essentially completed in 1950—Gabriel Welter reported that traces of a proto-geometric temple and many cups were found in the area of the sanctuary of Apollo; he tentatively suggested that they belonged to the sanctuary of Poseidon; see Welter (1962), 32. 61 Mylonopoulos (2003), 52. 62 For the festival see Mylonopoulos (2003), 52 and Kowalzig, Ch. 4 this volume. 63 For Apollo and Poseidon in Athens see Parker (1996), 145, n. 94. For the cult of Poseidon at the sanctuary of Apollo Maleatas in Epidauros see Mylonopoulos (2003), 59–60. For the interaction of the two gods see also Kowalzig (2007), 149–50. 60

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theft of the statues of Damia and Auxesia that Herodotus reports shows that the Aeginetans modelled the worship of these deities on Epidaurian cult-practice after their independence from Epidauros.64 It is therefore possible that the association of Apollo and Poseidon in Aegina is of Epidaurian origin as well.65 In the Eighth Olympian Poseidon, on his way back from Troy, makes a stop at Aegina before setting off for the Isthmus, famous for its festival in his honour. Does Pindar make Poseidon stop in Aegina simply to highlight the god’s favour to Aiakos, or does he have a specific cult-site in mind? In light of our evidence the question must remain open. But if the poet had a specific Aeginetan cult-site in mind, it is not hard to see how this cult-site together with the sanctuary of Apollo may have activated the memory of the collaboration of the two gods in Troy, and how in turn the vicinity of the Temple of Apollo with the shrine of Aiakos may have triggered the idea of linking all three together.66 In what follows we will see how Pindar linked together the Temple of Apollo on the Kolonna Hill and the neighbouring Aiakeion with the faraway Temple of Aphaia. The Sanctuary of Aiakos was somewhere near to the Temple of Apollo on Kolonna Hill; according to Pausanias, it was in the most conspicuous part of the city (K KØçÆø fi b B ºø), a quadrangular structure with walls of white stone that contained ancient olive trees and a low altar.67 It was a holy secret that the altar was the tomb of Aiakos (Paus. 2.29.6). The reliefs on the walls of the entrance represented the Panhellenic embassy to Aiakos to pray

64

Hdt. 5.83.3. For the long history of the sanctuary of Apollo Maleatas see Mylonopoulos (2003), 59 with the references in n. 75. 66 For the nexus of references to the Aiakeion in the Eighth Olympian and the prosodion to Aiakos (Paean 15) see Fearn, Ch. 5 this volume. 67 ¨ gina, II.2 82–3, 126, and Walter-Karydi at 2006: 44–5 (with fig. 24) and Alt-A 128 with Taf. 43 no. 57 suggests that the relief fragment no. 752 in the Museum of Aegina showing two overlapping chariots may have belonged to the Aiakeion. According to Walter-Karydi the fragment does not come from a free-standing stele, but from an architectural context; its height, 1.115 m., indicates that if it belonged to the Aiakeion the walls of the hero¯on must have exceeded 2 m. in height, an impressively grand-scale structure. Made from Parian marble, it was found on Kolonna Hill, though this does not rule out an original location elsewhere, e.g. east of the hidden ¨ gina, I.1 6. harbour: Walter in Alt-A 65

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to Zeus to put an end to the drought that had afflicted Greece (Paus. 2.29.7–9). Pindar mentions the shrine of Aiakos three times. In two instances, the Fifth and Eighth Nemeans, the hero’s shrine is associated with epinician performances in Aegina.68 At the end of the Fifth Nemean the dancers urge themselves to bring leafy wreaths to the portals of Aiakos’ shrine (53–4). In the Eighth Nemean the story of how men from neighbouring places, Athens and Sparta, begged to pay visits to Aiakos (ºØı N E, 8) when he was alive, is followed by a self-referential statement whereby the chorus represent themselves as suppliants bringing to the hero the song they sing (7–16). This is clearly a variant on the story of the Panhellenic embassy to Aiakos to request his mediation to Zeus, which suggests that the reliefs that Pausanias describes were in all likelihood in place at Pindar’s time.69 Pausanias’ cultural geography reflects to some extent the sequence of visual experiences of visitors to the island: near the main harbour the Temple of Aphrodite was visible; in the most conspicuous part of town there was the shrine of Aiakos, with the grave of Phokos by its side. Near the Secret Harbour there were the theatre and a stadium behind it. There were also three temples in close proximity to one another, those of Apollo, Artemis, and Dionysos (see Fig. 8, p. 0000 above, for a map of Aegina town). Pausanias then mentions sanctuaries that are not located in the town: the temples of Asklepios and Hekate, without any further specification of their location; finally he mentions the Sanctuary of Aphaia, which he locates in the direction of Mount Hellanios, and concludes with the observation that the only sight worth seeing on Mount Hellanios is the Sanctuary of Zeus (Paus. 2.29.6–30.4). Geographically, the location Pausanias gives for Aphaia is misleading (see Fig. 4, p. 0000 above, for a map of the island). A possible explanation is that during his visit to the Sanctuary of Zeus Hellanios his guides informed him that Aphaia was far 68

At Ol. 13.109 the reference is to the athletic contests in honour of Aiakos. For the mythical variant see Fearn (2007), 144, who suggests that Pindar gives the myth an anachronistic twist for political reasons. For the relation of the Pindaric account with the entrance reliefs see Stroud (1998), 93. Walter-Karydi (2006), 44 suggests that `NÆŒØ A PæŒb ¼º at Ol. 13.109 is possibly a reference to the Aiakeion and in this case the date of Ol. 13, i.e. 464, is a terminus ante quem for the entrance reliefs described by Pausanias. 69

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to the north-east—indeed, Aphaia is clearly visible from the summit of Mount Hellanios (see Fig. 9, p. 0000 above, for a photograph). In view of the limited accessibility of the island on account of rocks and reefs (Paus. 2.29.6), visitors to Aegina would normally arrive by boat at the main harbour and see the town before setting out for the Sanctuary of Zeus Hellanios, or Aphaia, or other out-of-town places. Pindar had surely visited all major sites in Aegina, for a number of his epinicians mention or evoke various locations: the Temple of Apollo, the Aiakeion, the Sanctuary of Zeus Hellanios, and the Temple and sculptures of Aphaia. For the Sanctuary of Aphaia Pindar had composed a cult song, which Pausanias mentions but which has not survived (2.30.3). Three of these sites are evoked in the Eighth Olympian: the Temple of Apollo, the Shrine of Aiakos, and the Temple of Aphaia. The Temple of Aphaia was the most recent Aeginetan statement of their Aiakid legacy. Sometime around the turn of the century the sculptural programme of Aphaia underwent a costly change of plan. The Aeginetans decided to replace the originally carved pediments, Zeus’ pursuit of the nymph Aegina and an ‘Amazonomachy’, and commissioned a new set that commemorated the prominent role of the Aiakidai in the wars against Troy.70 The first sack of Troy was the theme of the new east pediment, the second sack the theme of the west.71 The new pediments were in place by 480 and the figures that belonged to the old pediments were kept on display in the east part of the sanctuary.72 A number of scholars have seen political motivation behind the change of plan.73 The temple’s location and its visibility from the Attic coast indicated the primary target of the Aeginetan propaganda: Athens. Dyfri Williams has suggested that the 70

It is a matter of dispute whether Zeus’ abduction of Aegina was originally a pedimental sculpture or an independent votive offering; Walter-Karydi (2006) provides a summary of the scholarly opinion. 71 Ohly (1974), 47–66 and (1976). See also Watson, Ch. 2 this volume. 72 For the history and dates of the temple see Williams (1987), 669–74; WalterKarydi (2006), 66–9; Watson, Ch. 2 this volume; Stewart (2008b), 593–7 (additional arguments in Stewart 2008a) proposes a lower date, i.e. in the 470s for both pediments and suggests that (a) the Persians were responsible for fire that destroyed the temple, and (b) the Aeginetans financed the reconstruction by Persian loot. 73 Williams (1987), 673; Osborne (1998), 124–7; Fearn (2007), 96–100; Watson, Ch. 2 this volume.

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Aeginetans launched the new sculptural programme as a reaction to the appropriation of the Aiakidai by the Athenians.74 In his recent discussion of the political significance of the monument, David Fearn has suggested that ‘myths concerning heroes from the Trojan War are especially associated with historical affirmations of military might’.75 The Herodotean picture of the importance of Aiakid favour for winning contemporary wars is in line with the evidence Fearn adduces and corroborates his view that the valour of the Aiakidai reflects the military prowess of the Aeginetans in the fifth century. To this day the temple is visible on a clear day from Phaleron and Sounion and other spots on the Attic coast. But in spite of their size and colour, would the pedimental sculptures be visible to the Athenians? James Watson, in this volume, suggests that the temple looked down on one of the busiest shipping-lanes in the ancient world, and therefore those sailing by would be able to glimpse the magnificent sculptures. On this view, although the Athenians would be the primary recipients of the Aeginetan message, the location of the temple guaranteed a wide and ever-increasing Panhellenic audience. The Aeginetans did not restrict themselves to the monumental display of the aristeia of the Aiakidai, but commissioned a great number of odes, mainly from Pindar but also from Bacchylides, the great majority of which commemorate the individual or collective valour of the Aiakidai.76 Why did these poets, and particularly Pindar, who composed a remarkable number of epinicians for the 74

Williams (1987), 673. See also Watson, Ch. 2 this volume. Fearn (2007), 99–100. Pindar: Nem. 5, Isthm. 6, Isthm. 5, Isthm. 8, Nem. 4, Nem. 3, Nem. 6, Nem. 8, Nem. 7, Ol. 8, Pyth. 8; the fragmentary Isthm. 9; the cult song for Aphaia (Paus. 2.30.3 = Pind. fr. 89b), possibly Pae. 6 (with Rutherford (2001), 298–338), and Pae. 15 (with Rutherford (2001), 400–18); Bacch. 12 and 13. The song for Aphaia has not survived. Except for Pyth. 8 and Bacch. 12 (itself incomplete) all other songs contain Aiakid myths. For the intriguing question why the Aeginetans commissioned so many odes from Pindar and Bacchylides see Hornblower (2007a). Kowalzig (2007), 181–223, focusing on Pae. 6 and taking into account the rivalry of Aegina with Athens, offers an interesting answer: Pae. 6 asserts the Aeginetan commitment to the Panhellenic ideal, as the Aeginetans perceived it, before the Panhellenic audience of the Delphic Theoxenia. Kowalzig argues convincingly in favour of different notions of Panhellenism after the Persian Wars, based on different socio-economic models, both across the Greek world and within Athens itself. As I argue in section V, Ol. 8 also foregrounds a Panhellenic audience as the forum for the promotion of the Aeginetan 75 76

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Aeginetans, choose almost exclusively Aiakid themes for their epinicians? The obvious answer is that by interpreting their patrons’ wishes they enabled each victor and his family to share in the common Aiakid ancestry and thus partake in ancestral glory.77 The pedimental sculptures constituted a public message to the outside world and to the Aeginetans themselves of their collective glorious ancestry. The epinicians individuated the public message and made it relevant to specific victors and families who, in typically aristocratic manner, vied for noble ancient lineage. Insofar as local elite competition was concerned, allowing each family a share was a shrewd move on the part of a poet who was a xenos of many of the ruling families. The cumulative effect of the individual songs, however, was an elaborate picture of Aiakid achievements that enhanced the fame and the claims of the island as a whole.78 In this sense, every song contained some of the colourful pebbles that made up the big poetic mosaic of Aiakid and Aeginetan accomplishments, interacting with the visual representations of the Temple of Aphaia and other Aeginetan monuments. Pausanias’ mention of Aphaia and Pindar’s song for the sanctuary in the same breath is one of the many examples that illustrate the interaction of literature and the visual arts. The evocation of the two pediments of Aphaia in the Eighth Olympian and other Aeginetan odes has long been noticed.79 I wish to add only that, unlike Apollo who dominates the mythical narrative, Athena, who features prominently in both pediments, is absent from Pindar’s reconfiguration.80 The nexus of cultural allusions in the Eighth Olympian, however, is much richer and includes additional references to the pediments of the Temple of Apollo and to the Aiakid legacy and mutatis mutandis also promotes the contribution of the Aeginetans to the Panhellenic cause since time immemorial. 77 For a similar view see Indergaard, Ch. 8 this volume. For competition among the Aeginetan elite see Fearn (2007), 145–60, and Ch. 5 this volume. 78 For the impact of Pindar’s epinicians on the ‘megaloprepeia’ of the polis see Kurke (1991a), 163–256. 79 Gildersleeve (1883), 177–8; Podlecki (1976), 405–8; Burnett (2005), 29–44 (detailed description of the monument) and 219. For the evocation of the pediments in other Aeginetan odes see Burnett (2005), passim; Santi (2006); Indergaard (Ch. 8) and Hedreen (Ch. 9) this volume. 80 For a similar reconfiguration of the east frieze of the Siphnian Treasury see Athanassaki (forthcoming).

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shrine of Aiakos. In the previous section I have argued that the mythical narrative of the Eighth Olympian is a response in mythical guise to Athenian claims to the favour of the Aiakidai and of Aiakos himself on Apolline authority. In this section I have focused on the three monuments that provided the inspiration. Yet the monuments did not simply offer a stimulus. More importantly, they lent valuable support to the credibility of the Pindaric version of Apollo’s favour to the Aiakidai. The vicinity of the Aiakeion to the Temple of Apollo offered material, visible proof of the proximity between Apollo and Aiakos. The closeness of Aiakos to the gods was well established in the tradition, but Aeginetan cultural geography gave Pindar the opportunity to capitalize on the proximity of Aiakos to Apollo in particular and to subsume through the medium of prophecy the achievements of the Aiakidai, which were brilliantly depicted on the pediments of the temple that overlooked the coast of Attica.81 In this sense, poetry and monuments lent one another mutual support. Any pilgrim acquainted with Pindar’s song, heading from the town to Aphaia, was invited to see through the poet’s eyes the significance of the vicinity of the sanctuary of Apollo and the shrine of Aiakos and the relevance of the two cult-sites to the faraway temple at the north-east end of the island. In this sense, the relation of Pindar’s song to Aeginetan traditions was close: the song offered a fresh perspective on art and cult that had, for the most part, deep Aeginetan roots. References to cult and ritual are abundant in Pindar’s songs, but the relation of his poetry to monumental sculpture is complex.82 81

Aiakos is mentioned as son of Zeus at Hom. Il. 21.189, and in the Catalogue of Women at Hes. fr. 205 M-W an account is offered of how Zeus turned ants into men and women so as to provide company for his son. For the myths of Aiakos and his connection with Aegina see Zunker (1988), 63–89; Burnett (2005), 17–20; WalterKarydi (2006), 40–6; Kowalzig (2007), 201–13; Nagy, Ch. 1 this volume. 82 The relation between Pindar’s poetry and sculpture has received much attention in the last fifteen years. Scholarly interest falls in two categories: (i) Pindar’s poetry and victory statues. Steiner has argued in favour of the analogies between Pindar’s odes and victory monuments suggesting that Pindar is ‘no different from the sculptor’: Steiner (1993), (1998), (2001). Kurke (1998) emphasizes the similarities too, focusing however on the kudos epinician odes and victory monuments bestow on the athlete and the city. By contrast, O’sullivan (2003) has seen a polemical tenor in Pindar’s comparison of his art with visual images, which the poet considers both

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Pindar ranks poetry higher than sculpture in terms of both the greater endurance and the mobility of song. The greater endurance of poetry versus monuments is the subject of Pythian 6.5–18. The mobility of song versus the immobility of statues is a claim that Pindar makes twice, at Nemean 5.1–5 and Isthmian 2.45–6. The circumstances of Pindar’s evaluation of poetry and monumental structures are, however, quite remarkable. Pindar composed the Fifth Nemean for Pytheas, son of Lampon. He also composed the Fifth and the Sixth Isthmians to celebrate the victories of his brother, Phylakidas. Both Isthmian odes evoke the pedimental sculptures of the Temple of Aphaia. In the Fifth Isthmian the double sack of Troy is narrated as a past event (34–8), whereas in the Sixth Isthmian, which evokes the east pediment, the prophecy of Herakles to Telamon alludes to the second sack of Troy and therefore to the west pediment, as Henrik Indergaard suggests in this volume. Thus Lampon, his sons, and the audiences of the three performances were both recipients of the Pindaric disclaimer—‘I am not a statue-maker’—and witnesses of the two successive reconfigurations of the monument and its incorporation into songs, whereby the monument acquired the mobility it lacked as an architectural structure. Pindar plays the same trick in the odes he composed for the Emmenidai of Akragas. I have argued elsewhere that the representations of the east frieze of the Siphnian Treasury in Delphi is the point of contact and departure for three odes that Pindar composed for the Akragantine family.83 The odes that allude to and reconfigure the

immobile and lifeless. Following a historical line of interpretation, Yvonneau (2003) has also identified a polemical tone. See also Thomas (2007), arguing for the greater ostentation of statues and victory epigrams; Smith’s (2007) comparative study focuses on statues. (ii) Pindar’s dialogue with civic monuments. Gildersleeve (1883), 177 who focused mainly on Pindar’s dialogue with civic monuments, interpreted Pindar’s pronouncements on poetry and sculpture in positive terms: ‘Without imagining any rivalry in a jealous or sordid sense, we can understand how a poet conscious that his work possessed the secret of unfading youth, should have been impelled to claim for it a permanence so much less obvious to the many in his own day than that of the marbles which seemed to have made the victory immortal.’ Other studies focusing on Pindar’s dialogue with civic monuments include Podlecki (1976); Shapiro (1988); Neer (2004); Burnett (2005); Athanassaki (forthcoming); Athanassaki (2009a); Indergaard (Ch. 8) and Hedreen (Ch. 9) this volume. 83 Athanassaki (forthcoming); see also Athanassaki (2009a), 000–000.

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Siphnian sculptures are the Sixth Pythian, the Second Olympian, and the Second Isthmian. The Sixth Pythian, which calls itself a treasurehouse of hymns but, unlike monuments, is immune to the destructive forces of nature, draws its inspiration from the right-hand part of the east frieze, the battle of Memnon and Achilles over the body of Antilochos.84 The sculptural battle offered the stimulus for the poetic reconfiguration, but Pindar chose to sing of an earlier moment, the battle of Antilochos and Memnon to save Nestor. This transposition necessitated another, and thus Pindar depicted Achilles being schooled by Cheiron at an early age. For those in the audience who were familiar with the Siphnian frieze the points of contact and departure would have been clear. For those who were not familiar, the Aethiopis and the Precepts of Cheiron could always supply some background. The Second Olympian, on the other hand, assimilates the left-hand part of the frieze, namely the agonizing efforts of Thetis and Eos to mediate in favour of their sons, which Pindar had left unexplored in the Pythian ode.85 In the still later Second Isthmian the poet instructs Thrasyboulos never to allow ancestral virtue or Pindar’s hymns to lie in silence, because he did not fashion them to remain stationary (PŒ KºØÆ ÆPf KæªÆ Æ, 46). The sculptural image in the later ode recalls, of course, the treasurehouse poem (Pyth. 6) and its companion (Ol. 2).86 As in the case of the Psalychiadai, the function of the disclaimer is to draw attention to the mobility that songs afford to monuments. Comparative study of the relation of Pindaric odes to sculptural representations shows that Pindar is not interested in staying close to the monuments to which he alludes: he frees, as it were, the sculptures from their buildings so as to create new formations. His poetic monument for the Aeginetan Blepsiadai is no exception. Yet unlike the earlier Akragantine sequence for the Emmenidai and the Aeginetan trilogy for the Psalychiadai, which evoke one monument each, the Eighth Olympian makes references to sculptural themes in order to map a substantial and diverse geographical and cultic territory and link together the Temple of Apollo, the Aiakeion, and the Temple of 84 85 86

See Shapiro (1988). Ol. 2.75–83; see Athanassaki (forthcoming). See Athanassaki (forthcoming).

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Aphaia. Apollo, Aiakos, and the Aiakidai are bound together through prophecy, the most authoritative means to link events that are separated in time and reveal their causation. Henrik Indergaard, in this volume, suggests that the prophecy of Herakles to Telamon in the Sixth Isthmian links the two pediments of Aphaia. Apollo’s prophecy in the Eighth Olympian clearly goes much further: it broadens the frame of reference of the more recent pedimental representations of Aphaia by linking them with the older sites of the cults of Apollo and Aiakos in town. Thus Apollo’s favour to Aiakos and his descendants is anchored in the Aeginetan cultic and artistic context.

V. THE PANHELLENIC PERFORMANCE SET TING OF THE ODE Thomas Figueira has detected a pessimistic tone in the ode and suggested that the occasion of the performance was postponed on account of the outbreak of hostilities between Athens and Aegina in 459. Specifically, he has seen a strongly consolatory tone in the mythological narrative that relates the fate of cities destined to fall and the role of Aiakos and his descendants.87 It must be noted, however, that the city that falls is not one favoured by the Aiakidai. It is a city which the Aiakidai attack and capture twice. Troy therefore cannot stand for Aegina in this ode.88 To the extent that the mythical battles and combatants reflect the present, Troy represents the enemies of Aegina and the descendants of Aiakos stand for the Aeginetans themselves. In this sense, the tone of the ode is confident. The city that enjoys the favour of the Aiakidai will prevail. As such, the Pindaric story is a complete reversal of the Athenian claims to Apolline sanction that secure Aiakos’ favour and will lead to the destruction of Aegina sooner or later. The mythical guise of the Pindaric claim does not diminish the importance of Apollo’s favour to Aiakos and his descendants, but on the contrary invests it with the lustre and 87

Figueira (1991), 84, n. 15. See also Bowra (1964), 299, who interpreted Apollo’s prophecy as a prediction of Aeginetan success. 88

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venerability of the remotest antiquity.89 In the previous section I have discussed the aspects of Aeginetan cult and art that corroborate Pindar’s fresh perspective on the relations of Poseidon, Apollo, Aiakos, and his descendants. In this section I focus on the Panhellenic aspirations of Pindar’s tale. In the opening section I have argued that the use of identical deictics for two different performance settings does not allow certainty as to the locus of the first performance, but invites instead examination of the significance of the interplay of localizations. The controversy of the choral-versus-monodic hypothesis in the late 1980s and early 1990s has shown that although references to the performance cannot be taken as stage-directions, it would be unwise to discount them altogether.90 The two performance settings that are delineated in this ode point to two different types of audiences. Performance at Olympia implies the Panhellenic audience of the games, whereas performance in Aegina implies a larger or smaller audience depending on the nature of the celebration: a public celebration would include many Aeginetans and visitors to the island, whereas a sympotic occasion would include Timasarchos’ peers and his xenoi.91

89 For similar effects of projections of prophecy to the remotest past see Athanassaki (2003a). 90 See Morgan (1993) with a survey of the main arguments advanced in favour of the monodic and the choral hypothesis. 91 Burnett (2005), 8–9 thinks that, with the exception of Nem. 3, all other Aeginetan odes were composed for private performance in a limited space in the courtyard or the hall of the house before a small and familiar audience. In contrast, Walter-Karydi (2006), 3–12 envisages a large public event: upon arrival the victor and the festive procession accompanying him headed from the harbour to the Aiakeion, where the victor dedicated his victory crown, and then on to the Temple of Apollo where the festivities proceeded with sacrifices and choral performances. In the case of Ol. 8 Walter-Karydi sides with those who believe that it was premie`red at Olympia. Carey (2007), 199–205 makes a different distinction: he thinks that odes for autocrats such as Ol. 1 for Hieron of Syracuse or Pyth. 5 for Arkesilas of Cyrene were big public events, whereas odes for private citizens were performed in houses. Our evidence is scanty and comes mainly from the odes themselves, which often do not yield a performance context, or overload references to their performance setting, or yield settings that are disputable. On the basis of my work on individual odes I think that private individuals staged big public choral premie`res as well: see Athanassaki (2009a), (2009c), (2003b).

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The most natural solution is to assume, with Franco Ferrari, a first performance at Olympia which anticipates a performance at Aegina after the return of the victor. Thomas Gelzer has classified the Eighth Olympian in the group of odes composed to celebrate an athletic victory in the context of a festival.92 All the other songs in this category were composed for festivals in the home town of the victor.93 The Eighth Olympian is significantly longer than the group of songs which, according to Gelzer, were composed for performance on the spot right after the victory ( FÆ ÆPŁØª).94 Would there be enough time for Pindar to compose the song and train the chorus of Pytheas’ hetairoi? By 460 Pindar had a very long and rich experience.95 He was also well acquainted with Aeginetan choruses and thus could count on the training which Aeginetan boys had already received in order to dance at religious festivals and epinician celebrations in their homeland.96 The combination of an experienced poet and an already-trained group of dancers suggests that the possibility of an original performance at Olympia should remain in the picture. The other possibility is that the opening image indicates the suitability of the ode for reperformance at Olympia. Thomas Hubbard has made a strong case for the possibility of reperformance of the odes on site at the next convocation of the festival where the victory was won.97 In Hubbard’s scheme, powerful and wealthy patrons would also see to the distribution of written copies of the odes to other cities through their proxenoi. Thus the written copy would keep interest in

92

Gelzer (1985), 96 and with n. 5 and 111 with n. 21. Ibid. 96 n. 5: Ol. 3 (Akragas), Ol. 6 (Stymphalos), Ol. 9 (Ajax in Opous), Pyth. 5 (Cyrenaean Karneia), Pyth. 11 (Ismenion in Thebes), Nem. 5 and Bacch. 13 (Aiakos in Aegina), Nem. 8 (Aiakos in Aegina), Isthm. 3 and 4 (Herakles in Thebes), fr. 6 c–f (Oschophoria in Athens). For a detailed discussion of the performance context of Ol. 3, Pyth. 5, and Isthm. 4 see Krummen (1990). 94 The only ode in this group that is of comparable length is Pyth. 6. 95 For Pindar’s ability to work fast and train the choruses see Gelzer (1985), 108–11. 96 For this assumption see also Mullen (1982), 145–6. For Aeginetan festivals see Fearn, Ch. 5 this volume. 97 Hubbard (2004). For a survey of scholarly opinion on the issue of reperformance see Currie (2004); also now Morrison (2007b) for Sicilian odes. 93

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reperformance alive, and vice versa.98 If the Aeginetans were prepared to launch the expensive project of replacing the pediments of Aphaia, chances are that individual families would not mind spending the money, time, and energy required for the wide publicity of their brilliant achievements through circulation of written copies and reperformance at the Panhellenic games that would enhance their own prestige as well as that of their homeland.99 Whether the opening of the Eighth Olympian points to a first performance at Olympia or indicates the suitability of the ode for reperformance there, it is undeniable that the opening image projects its performance as a stephanephoric ritual before the Panhellenic audience of the games.100 Along with the lavish praise of the victor, his accomplished trainer, and the impressive athletic record of his family, the song extols the divine favour that Aegina enjoys, exemplified by the age-old favour of Apollo to Aiakos and his descendants. Lest one interpret this as a mere assertion, the song draws attention to the Temple of Apollo and thereby to the vicinity of the cult-sites of god and hero. Apollo’s prophecy to Aiakos forms the link to the temple which looks across to Athens, the city that had also claimed the favour of the Aiakidai and had consecrated a temenos to Aiakos a couple of decades earlier. Ronald Stroud, who identified the building in Athens known as the Heliaea as the Aiakeion, has pointed out that it was modelled on the Aeginetan Aiakeion.101 Pindar was familiar with both the Athenian Aiakeion and the Athenians’ claim of Apolline sanction for its 98 Currie (2004) has argued in favour of informal, semiformal, and formal reperformances in the homeland of the victor, which he considers the epicentre of oral dissemination. Nevertheless, Currie does not dismiss the possibility of reperformance at the site of the games in certain cases, e.g. Pyth. 6, which styles itself ‘as a “treasure house of songs” in Delphi which will always proclaim the laudandus’ fame’ (verses 5–18): Currie (2004), 63. For reperformances in Aegina see also Morrison, Ch. 6 this volume. 99 Walter-Karydi (2006), 9 on the analogy of Ol. 7 makes the attractive hypothesis that copies of epinician songs might have been kept in the Sanctuary of Apollo. 100 See Fearn (2007), 158–9, who suggests that in the closure of his ode for Pytheas (Bacch. 13.230–1, æłØE Ø I•••Ø Æd j Æd ŒÆæØ ºÆ[H]Ø•) Bacchylides constructs a Panhellenic audience or audiences, which the Bacchylidean song will reach thus giving them the opportunity to appreciate the Aeginetan youth’s victory. 101 Stroud (1998), 94–102. For the two Aiakeia see also Kowalzig, Ch. 4 this volume.

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consecration. Regardless of his feelings for Athenian aggressive politics, he was the least likely candidate to challenge Apolline authority. But in the context of ‘cult-wars’, to use James Watson’s formulation, and the escalating political crisis between Athens and Aegina, he could certainly counterbalance the Athenian claims and hopes of conquest by offering a fresh perspective from which to view the support which the Aeginetans might reasonably expect from Apollo and Aiakos in return for long-established cult and worship. The message was obviously intended to boost Aeginetan morale, but Pindar envisioned a much wider audience, as the opening of the song shows. In light of the ongoing tensions between Athens and Aegina, this is the kind of tale that is meant to circulate as widely as possible among one’s friends to rally sympathy and support, but also among one’s enemies in order to shake their confidence. Aegina capitulated three years later, but in 460 there was still room for optimism and hope.102 The effect of the Eighth Olympian is to undermine Athenian propaganda. It is a brilliant tour de force that puts in relief Apollo’s prediction of the victories of Aiakos’ descendants without any reference whatsoever to Athenian counter-claims.103 It is thus an assertive exposition, not a defensive account. Athens enters the picture only through Melesias, who receives the highest praise for his training skills and his impressive record of victories.104 Some critics have found the praise of an Athenian awkward under the circumstances, while others have argued, more plausibly, that Pindar ungrudgingly

102 As Hornblower (2004), 231 points out, we enjoy the hindsight that Pindar and his audience did not. 103 In the conclusion of his recent chapter on Pindar and the Aeginetans, Hornblower (2007a), 308 observes: ‘Finally, a word on the Athenian dimension. One reason of writing and listening to those peaceful celebrations of Dorianism was surely political: the best way of countering Athenian polypragmosyne¯ was simply—to pretend that the Athenian empire did not exist. To ignore someone is the most provocative and infuriating form of rejection.’ I agree with Hornblower’s assessment but I would place extra emphasis on the act of pretending. 104 Wade-Gery (1958), 243–7 identifies him with Melesias, father of the Athenian politician Thucydides who was a brother-in-law of Kimon. He also surmises that Melesias was Pindar’s closest Athenian friend. In favour of this identification see Figueira (1991), 85 with n. 16 and Hornblower (2004), 53 with bibliography.

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granted the express wish of the victor’s family.105 The fact that Melesias, probably a member of the Athenian elite, had coached two other victorious Aeginetans, Timasarchos (Nem. 4.93–6) and Alkimidas (Nem. 6.64–6), indicates that he was trusted and appreciated in certain Aeginetan circles. The question that arises concerns the potential tension between the praise of an Athenian and the latent polemics underlying the appropriation of Apollo’s favour to the descendants of Aiakos. Ever since the late sixth century relations between Athens and Aegina had been tense. However, these tensions, which took a variety of forms, did not prevent Athenian trainers from coaching Aeginetan athletes, and did not prevent poets from praising them.106 This shows that all parties had learnt to cope with tensions and the ensuing claims and counter-claims. Moreover, as David Fearn has recently suggested, the case of Melesias indicates that the ties between Athenian and Aeginetan aristocracies were strong.107 The lavish praise of an Athenian in an Aeginetan ode constitutes strong proof of the hospitability of the island to xenoi from every place and underlines its cosmopolitan orientation. City elites made up the Panhellenic audience of the Olympic Games which Pindar envisions in the opening of the Eighth Olympian. Performance at the site of the most prestigious athletic games would undoubtedly enhance the prestige of the Blepsiadai in interstate aristocratic circles. Simultaneously, it would further the interests and enhance the prestige of Aegina. A great number of the participants were Dorians and would have lent a sympathetic ear to the song’s intimations of Apollo’s favour to the Doric island. But the statement that set the record of Apollo, Aiakos, and his descendants straight was directed to all, whether they sympathized with the Aeginetan case, were hostile to it, or were simply indifferent. Regardless of the range of responses that the song could elicit, Pindar 105 Wade-Gery (1958), 247–8 and Woloch (1963), 121 following him think that Pindar took the liberty to praise Melesias in spite of the unpopularity of Athenians in Aegina at the time. See contra e.g. Race (1990), 154–8 and Burnett (2005), 216–17, who argue in favour of spontaneous praise. 106 On the Athenians Melesias and Menandros see Woloch (1963); Nicholson (2005), 135–90; and Fearn (2007), 155–7. 107 Fearn (2007), 156. See also Hornblower (2004), 231 and Kowalzig (2007), 215–16, who stresses that not all leading Aeginetans were anti-Athenian or vice versa.

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indicated that it deserved a hearing before such an audience. The monuments that offered the poet both the stimulus and support for his claims were immobile, but, as he had pointed out to the Aeginetans some years earlier, his song could be a passenger on any ship to any destination (Nem. 5.1–8). The Eighth Olympian carried within itself a brilliant new ‘aetiology’ of Aeginetan cult-sites and their importance for securing the favour of gods and heroes to the city.

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6

Aegina: Contexts for Choral Lyric Poetry: Myth, History, and Identity in the Fifth Century BC David Fearn

Print publication date: 2010 Print ISBN-13: 9780199546510 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: January 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.001.0001

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 Henrik Indergaard

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199546510.003.0009

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses the myth contained in Pindar's Isthmian 6, in which Pindar tells the story of how Herakles, visiting Telamon to summon him for their expedition against Troy, prays to Zeus that his host will have a son who will be a great warrior, naming the child Ajax. The importance of the common exploits of Herakles and Telamon for Aegina is discussed, especially in light of the pedimental sculpture of the Temple of Aphaia, along with the increased prominence of Ajax in the Aeginetan tradition, which reveals revisionism of more ancient versions of the Ajax myth. Also of interest is the way in which the mythical narrative of the friendship between Herakles and the Aeginetan Aiakidai seems to mirror contemporary relations between Thebes and Aegina, as an aetiology for cultural and political ties, between Theban poet and Aeginetan patron, and between Thebes and Aegina more broadly. Keywords:   Herakles, Ajax, Aegina, Thebes, Aphaia pediments, Aiakidai, Pindar, Isthmian 6

Pindar's Isthmian 6 was commissioned by the Aeginetan Lampon to celebrate the victory of his son Phylakidas in the boys' pankration in the Isthmian Games. In the poem, Pindar presents the Aiakid heroes Telamon and Ajax as a mythical parallel to Lampon and his son, and also claims a position of prominence on Aegina for their clan, the Psalychiadai. But although the poem was commissioned to celebrate the victorious Psalychiadai, Herakles, the greatest Greek hero, is surprisingly cast in a role corresponding to that of the Theban xenos, Pindar, who thereby places himself centre-stage in the Aeginetan Page 1 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 celebration. I shall argue that the mythical xenia and alliance of the Theban Herakles and the Aeginetan Aiakidai which is a central theme in Isthmian 6 (and also referred to in other Aeginetan odes) should be read as an allusion to the present-day relationship between Thebes and Aegina. In addition, the mythical narrative of Isthmian 6 alludes to the pediments of the newly completed Temple of Aphaia, providing an aetiology that links together the two temple pediments and appropriates—in opposition both to Homer and to Athenian claims—the Trojan tradition for Thebes and Aegina. Isthmian 6 and (p.295) other epinicians written by Pindar for Aeginetans thereby form part of a struggle between poleis phrased in mythical terms.1 New light is thereby cast on the role of the poet, as he not only represents his Aeginetan patron but also expresses the interests of the Theban elite to which he belongs. His role seems likely to be embedded in an inter-polis network between Thebes and Aegina, and is not merely that of an independent poet for hire.

Dating of Poem and Temple The dating of epinicians written for Aeginetans is particularly difficult, since they were mostly commissioned to celebrate victories in the Nemean and Isthmian games, for which we have no reliable dates in external sources.2 In the case of the odes written for the sons of Lampon we can at least establish a relative chronology: Nemean 5 and Bacchylides 13, celebrating the same Nemean victory of Pytheas, are followed by Isthmian 6 and then by Isthmian 5, both celebrating victories of his younger brother Phylakidas. As for the absolute chronology, the only thing we can safely say is that Isthmian 5 is written after Salamis, since it praises the Aeginetan effort in the battle, which is referred to as recent (Isthmian 5.48). On this basis, a generally accepted hypothesis places the odes around 480, with Isthmian 6 usually in that year, celebrating a victory won at the Isthmian Games in the spring before the Battle of Salamis in September, as the battle is not mentioned.3 But in spite of the popularity of this dating there remains, as Simon Hornblower has recently reminded us, ‘radical uncertainty about the dates of the whole group [of odes written for Lampon]’.4 As for the date of the late archaic Temple of Aphaia, according to recent studies its construction was begun around 500, and completed (p.296) with the second set of pedimental sculptures around 490 or in any case before 480.5 It therefore seems likely that the temple had just been completed when Isthmian 6 was written, or—in the less plausible case that it was written several years before Salamis—that Isthmian 6 was written during the period when work on the temple was being completed. We should be aware of two possible dangers when discussing the relationship between poem and monument. First, the danger of circularity: the Pindaric poem is an important source for the identification of the Aphaia statues, statues which in turn are used for understanding the poem.6 The second danger is that Page 2 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 the poem perhaps does not so much allude to the temple as that both pediments and poem allude to the same mythical tradition—in fact, I will argue later that Isthmian 6 and other poems of Pindar in combination with the Aphaia temple do point to such a mythical tradition, which would pre-date both Pindar and the temple. However, even if Isthmian 6 alludes as much to the legendary tradition reflected in the temple pediments as it does to the pediments themselves, a reading of the one in any case influences the reading of the other: they would not simply be products of the same tradition, but would also be taking part in the ongoing conception of that tradition.

Performance Context Isthmian 6 is the second epinician Pindar wrote for Lampon, and he makes a point of this in the opening strophe of the poem, likening it to the second of three libations made at a symposium, and praying to Zeus that there will also be an Olympic victory to celebrate as a third: Θάλλοντος ἀνδρω̑ν ὡς ὅτϵ συμποσίου δϵύτϵρον κρατη̑ρα Μοισαίων μϵλέων (p.297) κίρναμϵν Λάμπωνος ϵὐαέθλου γϵνϵᾶς ὕπϵρ, ἐν Νϵμέᾳ μ`ϵν πρω̑τον, ᾦ Ζϵ̑υ, τὶν ἄωτον δϵξάμϵνοι στϵφάνων, ν̑υν αὖτϵ Ἰσθμο̑υ δϵσπότᾳ Νηρϵΐδϵσσί τϵ πϵντήκοντα παίδων ὁπλοτάτου Φυλακίδα νικω̑ντος. ϵἴη δ`ϵ τρίτον σωτη̑ρι πορσαίνοντας Ὀλυμπίῳ Αἴγιναν κάτα σπένδϵιν μϵλιφθόγγοις ἀοιδαι̑ς.

As when a men's symposium is flourishing, we are mixing a second bowl of the Muses' songs to honour the outstanding athletic achievements of the offspring of Lampon. First at Nemea, Zeus, by your favour they received the choicest crowns, and now again by the grace of the Lord of the Isthmos and the fifty Nereids, the youngest of your sons, Phylakidas, is victorious. May there yet be a third for us to prepare and offer in libation to the Olympian Saviour upon Aegina with honey-voiced songs. (Isthmian 6.1–9) This leads to the prayer to the Moirai that Lampon may experience such a happy fate, which takes up the antistrophe. There then follows, in the epode, the praise of the Aiakidai, which leads to the mythical narrative beginning in line 27, the second line of the second triad, which tells of how Herakles, when he came to summon Telamon for their common heroic campaign, including the sack of Troy, performed a libation to Zeus, and prayed that his host would have a son that would be a great warrior and a guest-friend of Herakles. Zeus responds by sending an eagle, and Herakles interprets this, at the beginning of the third Page 3 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 triad, as a sign that his prayer has been heard, telling Telamon to name his son Ajax after the eagle. The narrative is then broken off, as the persona loquens reminds the Muse in lines 57–8 that he has come as a ταμίας κώμων, a ‘dispenser of revels’, for Phylakidas, Pytheas, and Euthymenes, the boys' maternal uncle,7 whose victories are then praised in the following antistrophe. Finally, in lines 66 and following, Lampon is praised as the coach of his sons, for putting on the present celebration, and for his benevolence to xenoi. In the last sentence (74–5) the poem is described as a libation made with water from the Theban spring Dirke. (p.298) This imagery of libations recurs throughout Isthmian 6, from the grand sympotic opening simile, likening the poem to a libation, via the mythical centrepiece, Herakles' arrival at the banquet of Telamon and his libation and prayer to Zeus, to the final lines and the waters of Dirke. It is therefore an obvious assumption that Isthmian 6 was written to be performed at a banquet at the house of Lampon, who is praised in line 70 for his hospitality. This idea was suggested by Dissen,8 and has also found favour more recently.9 The beginning and end of the poem would tie in with this performance context,10 and the situation in the mythical narrative would also reflect it. The narrator's description of himself in lines 57–8 as a ‘dispenser of revels’ seems to imply that he is leading a choral performance,11 and this metaphor, coming at a point where the praise of the Psalychiadai is resumed after the mythical narrative, itself continues the poem's opening image. Especially when seen in combination, these images encourage us to think of the κω̑μος or chorus (which the poet is himself overseeing) as participants in the symposium.12 It has been argued that the symposium in the archaic and classical period could involve the greater polis-community, and that the distinction between private and public spheres is suspended in this context.13 There are some indications that the symposium at which Isthmian 6 was apparently performed was also presented as a public occasion: line 69, where Lampon is praised as ξυνὸν ἄστϵι κόσμον ἑὠ̑ προσάγων, ‘bringing a common adornment to his own city’, could be read as a reference to the present celebration.14 The scholia take it to (p.299) refer to the victories achieved through Lampon's coaching,15 but it seems more likely to be a continuation of the description of the present performance (coupled with previous celebratory odes for this family) in lines 62–4, which is now described as an ‘adornment’.16 A ‘portion of hymns’ is said to have been ‘brought to light’ by the Psalychiadai in line 62, and in line 69 the ‘adornment’, that is, the victory song is introduced into the community. The impression that line 69 refers to the present celebration seems to be strengthened by the reference to Lampon's hospitality in the following line, and the typically sympotic praise of lines 71–2. The members of this sympotic chorus make a point of identifying themselves as Aeginetans in lines 58–9, where they refer to their own brevity of speech as Doric immigrants from Argos. Also, the poem opens with a prayer to Zeus that the Theban guest be able to pour a third libation of Page 4 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 song on Aegina (line 9), a location marked out as the setting of Lampon's symposium by the deictic reference in line 21, τάνδ’…νᾶσον, ‘this…island’, and by lines 65–6, τάνδϵ πόλιν θϵοφιλη̑, ‘this city beloved of the gods’. These deictic references are also reminiscent of passages in other epinicians where it seems natural to identify the persona loquens with the civic community.17 David Fearn warns against assuming a polarity or opposition between elite and polis in an oligarchic society like Aegina, where it is unlikely that polis institutions could have existed independent of the interests of the elite,18 and we should not necessarily assume that the chorus performing Isthmian 6 or the banquet in connection with which the poem was performed were somehow staged by the polis, or that participation in the celebration extended beyond an aristocratic clique.19 Nevertheless, in light of the observations made above (p. 300) concerning the references to performers and the performance context, the chorus are in fact cast in the role of the Aeginetan civic community in praise of the Psalychiadai, and the celebration itself is at least presented as a civic concern. Schmitt-Pantel's model for the operation of the symposium assumes a temporary suspension of the polarity between public and private; an alternative is suggested by Thomas Levine, who argues that the symposium should be seen as a microcosm of the polis, constituting a space where the opposition between public and private becomes reduntant.20 In principle, the participants are thereby identified with the larger community. From Isthmian 6 and other Aeginetan epinicians, it is evident that different clans sought to present themselves as pre-eminent on the island, through an appropriation of the island's mythical traditions.21 In my reading of Isthmian 6 I suggest that the portrayal of the heroes Telamon and Ajax, Aiakid heroes fundamental to Aeginetan identity, not only reflects Lampon and his son Phylakidas, but also appropriates for the Psalychiadai the great civic building project of the Temple of Aphaia. Yet the persona loquens is not the voice of the chorus of Aeginetan sympotoi alone: the poem is also emphatically marked out as the statement of Pindar, the Theban xenos, from beginning to end. In the opening lines it is described as the second krāter of song mixed for Lampon's offspring, something which draws attention to the fact that it is the second song Pindar wrote for Lampon's sons (Bacchylides had also written an epinician, ode 13, for the previous victory of Pytheas, to be performed by a chorus of Aeginetan neoi);22 this is a point which is repeated when he prays for a third libation.23 The speaking voice of Isthmian 6 is thereby associated with Pindar as the composer as much as with Aeginetans as performers. The imagery of libations is continued throughout the song, and the last sentence is a (p.301) kind of sphragis,24 inscribing the poem as a drink of water from the Theban spring Dirke: πίσω σφϵ Δίρκας ἁγνὸν ὕδωρ, τὸ βαθύζωνοι κόραι Page 5 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 χρυσοπέπλου Μναμοσύνας ἀνέτϵιλαν παρ’ ϵὐτϵιχέσιν Κάδμου πύλαις .

I shall offer them [Lampon and his sons] a drink of sacred water from Dirke, which the deep-girdled daughters of golden-robed Mnemosyne have caused to gush forth by the well-walled gates of Kadmos. (Isthmian 6.74–5) The Theban origin of the poem and thereby Pindar's authorship is further emphasized by the illocutionary force of the future πίσω, as a performative description of the poem as drink-offering.25 The emphasis on guest-friendship in the mythical narrative also singles out Pindar as a xenos of Lampon, whom he refers to as an ἀνὴρ φίλος, a friend, in line 18. In lines 20–1 the persona loquens describes his duty to praise the Aiakidai when he comes to the island, and this should again be taken to refer to the visiting Theban poet. I follow Giambattista D'Alessio in arguing that it is Pindar himself, the Theban poet and xenos, rather than the chorus alone or an impersonal laudator and narrator, who is speaking in the poem, and that this presence is not, as Mary Lefkowitz claims,26 merely a pose and a fiction: The speaker's authority does not rely only on his ability to compose literarily elaborated poems. This would be of little relevance were not the composer authoritative and outstanding as a person. His role abroad is often that of a ξϵι̑νος in the frame of inter-familiar aristocratic relationships. It would be misleading to read the hospitality-motif as a mere travesty of a business deal. Praise itself is substantiated by this social construction. It is as a ξϵι̑νος that the poet receives and lends prestige to his patron. His benefit and reward are part of his host's praise and their relationship has to be seen as a mutual (p.302) (and theoretically reversible) one. As an additional feature, this figure can be functionally opposed to that of the (potentially envious) fellow-citizen.27 As he later concludes: ‘[t]he construction of the poet's literary persona in this period cannot be divorced from the construction of his social persona.’28 I would add that the persona of the poet cannot be perceived by the audience merely as a literary construction if the purpose of praise is to be successfully achieved, for the ability of the laudator to convince his audience depends on their trust in him. And trust is inevitably a personal relation. The presence of someone who can vouch for the truthfulness of praise is required; the success of the act of praise, its peithō or power to convince, depends on the audience's faith or pistis in this person. Praise is therefore a sort of testimony, and the laudator frequently insists on the truthfulness and sincerity of his praise, sometimes describing himself as a martus, a witness.29 The identity of the laudator is therefore crucial

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 for the success of the epinicians, and the poet has in some way to be present in the poems. The prominence of Pindar as a Theban xenos in a poem presumably commissioned by Lampon to celebrate himself and his family must also be viewed in the light of the established relationship between Thebes and Aegina. The poem is not only an expression of an economic transaction between Lampon and Pindar, but also of the inter-polis network that must have existed between the Theban and Aeginetan oligarchies: in Isthmian 6 Pindar promotes not only the interests of Lampon but also those of the Theban elite to which he himself belongs. This should be seen in connection with D'Alessio's observations of the striking difference between the roles played by the Pindaric persona loquens in Thebes and abroad: In the victory odes composed [by Pindar] for his native city we would look in vain for all the features of the prominent praiser we have met in other poems. In Thebes, where the ξϵι̑νος-figure does not find any place, he is very careful not to appear as a personally outstanding figure…[In Pythian XI] (p.303) the speaker is represented as a good citizen, just as the praised victor is. The identification with the victor himself goes even further in Isthmian VII…The figure of the praiser is in the background only…30 Using these observations of D'Alessio as a starting-point, I will show that in Isthmian 6 the Theban Herakles is cast in a role which corresponds to that of the Theban xenos Pindar.31 By contrast, though it is notable that Herakles also features prominently in Isthmian 4, written for the Theban Melissos to be performed at the Theban Herakleion,32 in that poem there is no suggestion of any parallel between Herakles and the persona loquens. While Pindar is portrayed as one citizen among others at home in Thebes, on Aegina he appears in the role of a Theban xenos reflecting the role of Herakles, and is thus the representative of the aetiological myth of alliance between Thebes and Aegina. This suggests that he is present as a member of the Theban elite to which the Aeginetan aristocracy had close ties;33 the strongly underscored individuality of Pindar in Isthmian 6 also represents the interests of an aristocratic network whose interests he fosters and gives voice to.

Asopid Sisters: Thebes and Aegina That there were close links between the Theban and Aeginetan oligarchies seems natural when we consider that Athens was their common enemy,34 and when these elite networks were couched in terms of mythical kinship and ritual friendship, xenia. Herodotus (p.304) tells of how, during a war between Thebes and Athens around 506, the Thebans appealed to Aegina when told by the Pythia to ask for help ‘from those closest to them’.35 The utterance was interpreted as referring to the Aeginetans because the nymphs Aegina and Thebe were sisters, Page 7 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 daughters of the river-god Asopos.36 In reply to this appeal the Aeginetans sent the Aiakidai—cult statues of the heroes kept (one presumes) in the Aeginetan Aiakeion—to Thebes.37 At first the alliance with the Aiakidai gave a boost to Theban morale, ‘but when the Thebans tried the chances of war on the strength of the alliance with the Aiakidai, and were severly defeated by the Athenians, they again sent envoys to the Aeginetans, returning the Aiakidai to them and asking for men’.38 Herodotus turns the episode into an anecdote illustrating the arrogance of the Aeginetans and the futility of sending cult statues rather than soldiers.39 However, the gesture of sending the Aiakidai would surely have been meant as a serious act of support by the Aeginetans, and as Herodotus also says, it did have an effect on Theban morale, so it must have been acknowledged as such by the Thebans. This becomes clear in the light of another incident, some two decades later, in 480—the same year that Isthmian 6 is generally thought to date to. The Greek fleet gathered at Salamis decided to summon the Aiakidai as summachoi, allies: ‘[T]hey prayed to all the gods and called on Ajax and Telamon to come from Salamis, where they where gathered, and they sent a ship to Aegina to fetch Aiakos and the other Aiakidai.’40 Again, the cult statues were probably brought from the Aeginetan Aiakeion. (p.305) Plutarch talks of an apparition of the Aiakidai as armed warriors, coming from Aegina to protect the Greek triremes at Salamis.41 It should also be noted that Herodotus speaks of the Thebans' alliance with the Aiakidai, rather than with the Aeginetans, a peculiarity which demonstrates how decisively myth defined social identity and political reality. The Asopid genealogy seems to have been a Boeotian preoccupation, as Corinna composed a poem about Asopos and his nine daughters,42 but it must also have been important on Aegina: Fearn observes that ‘[t]he Aeginetans went to extraordinary lengths to provide themselves with a connection to Asopos and his daughters through the use of water’,43 constructing in the sixth century an underground water channel from Mount Panhellenios to a spring called Asopis in Aegina town.44 A representation of Zeus carrying off Aegina from the company of her sister was also chosen for one of the original pediments of the Aphaia temple, a pediment which was not used but put on display in the temenos. The mythical past represented political force in the present, and the close relationship between the two poleis, conceived of in terms of mythical kinship, forms the backdrop to Pindar's activity on Aegina in general, and to Isthmian 6 in particular. However, it is not the common Asopid descent of Thebes and Aegina that is evoked in this poem (unlike in Isthmian 8 at lines 16 and following), but the more martial shared tradition of the Aiakidai and Herakles. Herakles served a similar function in Thebes as the Aiakidai did at Aegina, as a local warrior-hero:45 Pausanias reports that the image of Herakles at the Theban Herakleion was called promachos,46 and before the (p.306) Battle of Leuctra the weapons deposited in the Herakleion were said to have mysteriously disappeared, indicating that Herakles had moved into battle.47 The mythical Page 8 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 xenia and alliance between the Theban Herakles and the Aeginetan Aiakidai would have been strongly felt at the occasion at which Isthmian 6 was first performed.

The Mythical Narrative of Isthmian 6 The mythical narrative of Isthmian 6 (lines 27–56) praises the Aiakidai, enumerates the common exploits of Herakles and the Aiakidai, and finally describes Herakles' visit to the marriage feast of Telamon, his prayer for a son for his host, and subsequent prophecy about Ajax. The focus is on the close relationship, in war as well as in the symposium, of Herakles and the Aiakidai. When seen in connection with the praise of the Psalychiadai that surrounds this narrative section, it is clear that the Aiakidai are portrayed as the mythical parallel and paradigm for this Aeginetan clan, and that the role of their Theban xenos Pindar parallels that of Herakles. In his retelling of the mythical tradition Pindar modifies it to reflect the situation at hand: this includes allusions to the pediments of the new Temple of Aphaia, whose protagonists are rearranged in Pindar's narrative in a way which promotes Thebes to a place of prominence in the praise of the Psalychiadai. The image in lines 12–13 of a successful sea journey to the limits of prosperity, used to figure utmost happiness for a man of aristocratic means and effort (δαπάνᾳ τϵ χαρϵίς καὶ πόνῳ; in this case, Lampon), echoes the recurring Pindaric image of the Pillars of Herakles as the extreme of human achievement.48 The imagery of travel is continued in the following epode, where the Aiakidai are given the epithet (p.307) χρυσάρματοι (‘with golden chariots’, 19), and ‘countless highways one hundred feet wide’ (μυρίαι…ἐκατόμπϵδοι… κέλϵυθοι, 22) are said to have been cut for their noble deeds to the ends of the earth; there is no city so barbaric, the narrator declares, that it has not heard of them. Then, in the second strophe, the common campaigns of Herakles and Telamon are recounted, and consequently, through this complementary imagery of travel to the ends of the earth, Herakles, the Aiakidai, and the hopes of Lampon are assimilated.49 However, while Lampon can hope to cast his anchor at the Pillars of Herakles, the limit set for man, both the Aiakidai and Herakles have reached further: the fame of the Aiakidai stretches even to the Ethiopians and the Hyperboreans,50 beyond the regions of the world accessible to mortals. Also, Peleus married a goddess (25) and resides on the Isle of the Blessed,51 while Herakles himself of course became a god and went to Olympus—a tradition to which this poem in fact alludes, as we shall see. The mythical narrative of Isthmian 6 turns on the birth of Ajax and his paternity. It is noteworthy how, at the opening of the second triad, Telamon is mentioned in a circumlocutory manner that focuses attention on his fathering of Aias:…οὐδ’ ἅτις Αἴαντος Τϵλαμωνιάδα καὶ πατρός, ‘[there is no city that does not hear of the fame] of Telamonian Aias or of his father’ (26–7). Within the present context of celebration, this also suggests the relationship of Lampon to his victorious son Page 9 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 Phylakidas. In the broader political context, the strong emphasis on Ajax as the son of Telamon and the rooting of the hero in an Aeginetan Aiakid genealogy should be seen against the background of the ongoing rivalry between Athens, Megara, and Aegina concerning Salamis and its heroes, implying a (p.308) counter-claim to Athenian attempts to appropriate Ajax.52 According to Pherecydes, Telamon was the son of the Attic hero Aktaios,53 while the tradition reported by Plutarch that Theseus married the mother of Ajax can be traced as far back as the first half of the sixth century:54 on the François Vase, dated to c. 570–560 BC, Ajax' mother Eriboia is illustrated next to Theseus as one of the Athenian youths sent as tribute to Crete;55 Bacchylides 17, composed in the early years of the Delian League for performance on Delos by a chorus of Keians, tells of how Theseus rescues Eriboia from the advances of Minos, the untold implication being that the Athenian hero won her for himself and fathered Ajax.56 In Isthmian 6 Pindar responds to these Athenian attempts at appropriating Ajax, claiming the hero for the Aeginetans.57 The second strophe is a catalogue of the common exploits of Herakles and Telamon (27–34), a mythical tradition that must have been important on Aegina: not only is it mentioned repeatedly in the epinicians Pindar wrote for performance on the island, but it was also depicted on some of its most prominent monuments. In Isthmian 6 the war against Laomedon, represented on the east pediment of the Temple of Aphaia, is accorded the greatest space, and the sufferings of the Achaians in the second Trojan War are brought to mind, along with the pediments of the Temple of Aphaia and their expressive representations of dying warriors, in the description of Troy as ἥρωσι μόχθον, ‘a labour for heroes’, in line 28. This is followed by a brief mention of the Meropes, while the climax is formed by Herakles' participation in the Gigantomachy and defeat of Alkyoneus, τὸν βουβόταν οὔρϵϊ ἴσον, ‘the cowherd great as a mountain’ (p.309) (line 32). The catalogue ends in the portrayal of Herakles as an archer at lines 33–5, and this is also how he is represented on the east pediment of the Temple of Aphaia, where on the opposite side a warrior who is probably Laomedon lies dying, shot by one of his arrows. The exploits of Herakles and Telamon are also mentioned in two other epinicians written by Pindar for Aeginetans: Troy, the Meropes, and Alkyoneus are listed in the order of Isthmian 6 at Nemean 4.25–7, while in Nemean 3.36–9 Telamon is said to have destroyed Laomedon and the Amazons while fighting alongside Iolaos, which must imply that he took part in the expedition of Herakles.58 This tradition of a common heroic expedition of Herakles and Telamon differs from that attested in the Iliad and by the extant fragments of the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women, where nothing is said about the participation of Telamon;59 in the Iliad Herakles is explicitly said to have landed on Kos alone, bereft of his companions in a storm. According to a scholiast on Isthmian 6,60 the episode recounted in this poem, of Herakles coming to summon Telamon for the expedition against Laomedon, is taken from the Megalai Ehoiai, a poem that Page 10 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 D'Alessio has recently suggested might have originated in Boeotia in the sixth century.61 That the tradition of the joint exploits of Herakles and the Aiakidai was important on Aegina is an impression left not only by Pindar: apart from the east pediment of the completed Temple of Aphaia, depicting the war against Laomedon, it seems likely that Telamon was the protagonist along with Herakles in the Amazonomachy represented on the west pediment of the late archaic Temple of Apollo, completed around 510; again the heroes were backed by Athena, just as on the Aphaia pediments.62 One of the original pediments of the Aphaia temple, not used but displayed in front of the temple, may also have showed an Amazonomachy involving (p.310) Herakles.63 An earlier Temple of Apollo, which was built around 570 to 560 and burned down around 520, again depicted Herakles on one of its pediments, possibly fighting against the Giants.64 The close ties between Thebes and Aegina go back at least as far as the sixth century, as demonstrated by the incident involving Aiakidai reported by Herodotus, and the tradition of the common exploits of Herakles and Telamon recounted in the Megalai Ehoiai, a poem of possible Boeotian origin and—as the temple pediments make clear—also important on Aegina, was well established before the time of Pindar. However, in his allusions to the east pediment of the Temple of Aphaia, Pindar modifies the account of the first Trojan campaign represented there:65 while on the Aphaia pediment the protagonists on the Greek side are Telamon and Peleus, with Herakles placed in the periphery,66 in Pindar's version the participation of Peleus in the campaign is not mentioned, and Telamon disappears into the background, hidden behind a relative pronoun in line 27,67 leaving Herakles to take centre-stage as the leader of the expedition. Pindar thereby claims a greater part for Thebes, his home city, in the mythical past of Aegina than she is accorded on the Aphaia pediments. Another difference between the pediments of the temples of Aphaia and Apollo and Isthmian 6 is that in the poem it is Zeus rather than Athena who is the attending god. Once again, this might be seen to shift attention to Herakles, and also to the relationship between Thebes and Aegina: Zeus was the father of both Aiakos and Herakles, who is described as Aiakos' brother and xenos in another Aeginetan poem at Nemean 7.86; line 25 of Isthmian 6 also reminds us that Peleus is Zeus' son-in-law. Herakles, with Telamon, is the protagonist of the heroic campaign which is the subject of the second strophe, and his presence may be (p.311) felt already in lines 12–13 through the image of the Pillars of Herakles which is implied there. Yet mention of his name is delayed until the beginning of the second antistrophe, in enjambed position in line 35, where the hero makes his surprise entry into Telamon's feast.68 This appearance and naming immediately follows the description of his participation in the Gigantomachy, and it is interesting to note Page 11 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 that the same transition from the image of Herakles showering his arrows upon the Giants69 into a sympotic setting is also found in Nemean 1.67–72, and in Euripides' Heracles 177–80; in these passages, however, the scene moves to one of divine feasting, not to a symposium of mortal heroes. In Nemean 1 the implication must be that the apotheosis is a reward given to Herakles for his assistance in the Gigantomachy, a notion already found in the Theogony.70 This tradition of Herakles' apotheosis and participation in the symposium of the gods is nevertheless alluded to in Isthmian 6, where Herakles' participation in the Gigantomachy is followed by his arrival into a symposium. Essential to this tradition was, of course, the marriage to Hebe,71 and it seems likely that Telamon's dais is also a marriage feast: in fact, Peter von der Mühll suggested the supplement γάμον or γάμους in line 36.72 The context does seem to suggest a marriage feast: this would be the proper time to pray for a son, and as von der Mühll points out, the impression from line 45 is that not only men are present, as would be the case in a normal symposium.73 Finally, von der Mühll provides several mythical parallels for the motif of a surprise guest at a marriage feast who prophesies the birth of an extraordinary child. It would therefore seem likely that Telamon's celebration is in fact a marriage symposium. (p.312) Lines 35 and following describe the arrival of Herakles at this feast. The introduction of Herakles to Zeus and his entry into the circle of the gods on Olympus is a popular motif in Attic art, especially in the archaic period.74 On a red-figure cup by the Sosias Painter dated to 510–500, Herakles greets Zeus with Ζϵ̑υ φίλϵ, ‘dear Zeus’, as a feast is being prepared;75 in many other depictions Herakles is offered a libation by Hebe symbolizing his welcome into the symposium, and thereby his immortality.76 In Isthmian 6 great emphasis is given to the moment of thauma—placed at the mid-point of the song, the centre of the second antistrophe, in lines 37–40—when Telamon hands over the phialē to Herakles to welcome him to his symposium. The divine symposium which Pindar alludes to is in fact overtly combined with Telamon's when in line 37 Telamon asks Herakles ‘to begin the libations of nectar’, νϵκταρέαις σπονδαι̑σιν ἄρξαι.77 Herakles proceeds to invoke Zeus, whose presence in the symposium marks a further approximation to the apotheosis, and prays that Ajax will be immortal—in the same way that Herakles himself will one day be made immortal by Zeus in the symposium of the gods. However, as we shall see below, the failure of Herakles' intent marks the difference between the two occasions: while Herakles will be made immortal by Zeus in the symposium on Olympus, Ajax is destined to die and end up in Hades.78 Telamon's feast in the mythical narrative not only alludes to the apotheosis of Herakles, but also mirrors the banquet of Lampon at which Isthmian 6 was intended to be first performed: in line 21 the (p.313) persona loquens speaks of himself as arriving on ‘this island’, reflecting the arrival of the Theban Herakles, at the mid-point of the song, as a guest and xenos at the feast of his Aiakid host Telamon. In the same way that the narrator, to be identified at least partly with Page 12 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 the Theban xenos, prays on behalf of his host to Zeus that his son will be victorious at Olympia, Herakles prays to Zeus that his host will have a glorious son. The parallellism is emphasized through the use of temporal and local deictics in Herakles' prayer, which has the effect of situating in the here and now the there and then of myth: “Εἴ ποτ’ ἐμᾶν, ᾦ Ζϵ̑υ πάτϵρ, θυμὠ̑ θέλων ἀρᾶν ἄκουσας, — ν̑υν σϵ, ν̑υν ϵὐχαι̑ς ὑπὸ θϵσπϵσίαις λίσσομαι παι̑δα θρασὺν ἐξ, Έριβοίας ἀνδρὶ τὠ̑δϵ ξϵι̑νον ἁμὸν μοιρίδιον τϵλέσαι·

‘O father Zeus, if ever you heard my prayers with a willing heart, now, now I implore you with sacred prayers to bring to birth a brave son from Eriboia for this man, to be my fated guest-friend…’ (Isthmian 6.43–7) Mythical past and encomiastic present converge in this speech, where the persona loquens impersonates Herakles.79 What is passed over in silence, however, in this assimilation of the symposium of Telamon to that of Lampon, is the difference in location: whereas Lampon's celebration takes place on Aegina, Telamon's home was on Salamis, an island now—in spite of its inclusion in catalogue of Aeginetan Aiakid territories at Nemean 4.46–7—claimed as an Athenian possession.80 As Xenophanes tells us, the Titanomachy, Gigantomachy, and Centauromachy were typical themes for sympotic song;81 the theme of divine celebration after the defeat of their foes is appropriate for a sympotic setting, and in Pindar is not limited to Isthmian 6 but present in other epinicians also.82 As such, the symposium is (p.314) not only a microcosm of the polis but is also homologous to the world-order of Zeus. In Isthmian 6 Herakles' victory over the Giants and his subsequent apotheosis, the mythical paradigm of all victory celebrations par excellence,83 is celebrated at the same time as Phylakidas' victory at Isthmia. The scene of the symposium is opposed to that of war and violence, but the two are also inseparably joined together, as the symposium follows and celebrates the victory. In Pindar's poem, although Telamon's marriage feast follows the description of the Gigantomachy and thereby appears to celebrate this cosmic victory, Herakles' arrival at the banquet to summon Telamon of course chronologically precedes their common exploits, with the sympotic scene ending with a prophecy that Telamon's son Ajax will be a great warrior, and, by implication, a protagonist of the second Trojan campaign. Once more, there is a mirroring of the performance context of the ode: Lampon's symposium both

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 celebrates the Isthmian victory of Phylakidas and expresses the hope of a future Olympic victory. But we may also see a political implication in the martial context of the symposium. In his discussion of Bacchylides 13, a poem written for Lampon on the occasion of a previous victory by his son Pytheas, Fearn remarks that ‘[t]he link between athletics and war in turn offers an authorization of elite aristocratic command in war in the contemporary context, which…was very highly militarized’.84 These words are of course equally relevant in a discussion of Isthmian 6: the visit of the Theban Herakles to his Aiakid ally to summon him for their common campaign should be seen against the background of the previous war against Athens, as well as possible future ones. The description of Herakles' army as Tirynthians in line 28 would fit with the Argive identity adopted by the Aeginetan chorus in line 58, given Argive dominance over Tiryns in the archaic period.85 Pindar's insistence upon the close ties between Thebes and Aegina would also be in opposition to those factions of the Aeginetan elite that might (p.315) have been inclined to seek help from Athens in the internal powerstruggles on the island, as Nikodromos had done recently.86 In line 47 Herakles prays that Telamon's son might be ἄρρηκτος, ‘unbreakable’, like the lion-skin he himself is wearing. In another version of this myth, implied by Aeschylus and Sophocles, Herakles intervenes after the birth of Ajax and swaddles the child in the lion-skin to make him invulnerable.87 However, as often in myths where a god, or in this case Herakles, a hērēs theos, intervenes to make a child invulnerable or immortal, the intention is not carried out,88 and in the version where Ajax is swaddled in the lion-skin his body becomes impenetrable except at one single point where the skin has not touched him. Pindar's version, seemingly similar to that found in the Megalai Ehoiai,89 rationalizes the myth by substituting Herakles' physical intervention after Ajax' birth with a prayer to Zeus before it, made presumably at the wedding banquet of his parents. In the Iliad, on the other hand, which is generally purged of fantastic elements,90 Ajax appears as vulnerable,91 and there are no traces of any tradition of his invulnerability. Against the background of these diverging mythical traditions, the wording chosen by Pindar, that Zeus should make Ajax, like Herakles' lion-skin, ἄρρηκτον φυάν, is clearly ambiguous: it can either be interpreted metaphorically to mean that Ajax should be ‘unbreakable of nature’/‘unbending in fighting spirit’, like the Ajax we know from the Iliad; or, to an audience familiar with the tradition of Ajax' invulnerability, it could be understood more literally as ‘impenetrable in body’, ‘invulnerable’. By using these words and by referring to the skin that Herakles is wearing, Pindar alludes to this alternative, non-Iliadic version as well, one which would have been current at the time, at least in Athens, and may well have been (p.316) familiar to an Aeginetan audience; Pindar merges the two traditions in recalling them both. This double allusion has the effect of marking the failure of Herakles' intention: the lion was not invulnerable—a fact which is ironically manifested by Page 14 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 Herakles carrying its skin and boasting about how he killed it; neither will Ajax be.92 Although he never faced anyone superior in battle, he nonetheless met a tragic end, skewered on his own sword.93 This foreboding of Ajax' death introduces into the auspicious, hopeful atmosphere of Pindar's symposium a darker note. A parallel for this inauspicious undertone in the mythical narrative of an epinician can perhaps be seen in Bacchylides 5, also involving Herakles, where the hero listens in Hades to Meleager's tale of how his death was caused by his mother, a narrative that ends on an ominous note, with Herakles asking Meleager if he has a sister that he can marry, and Meleager then telling him about Deianeira, who will cause Herakles' death in the same way that Meleager's mother caused his. As Richard Martin notes, discussing the myth of the Seven against Thebes in Pythian 8, another Aeginetan poem, ‘Pindar always presents success as shadowed by potential failure’.94 Ending his prayer, Herakles utters the wish that the child may have the thumos of the lion as well: θυμὸς δ’ ἑπέσθω (line 49). In preserved epic literature, the epithet θυμολέοντα, ‘lion-spirited’, is only used of Herakles, Achilles, and Odysseus.95 The lion-skin that Herakles wears is associated with his ferocious nature; by wearing the skin of the Nemean lion he acquires its character, and in this prayer he transfers it also to Ajax, in a way naming him as his own successor.96 This is (p.317) emphasized by the allusion to the tradition of Ajax being swaddled in the lion-skin. In addition to being the greatest hero, Herakles was also the first conqueror of Troy, and so repeating this exploit is necessarily an emulation of Herakles. In the tradition of the Trojan War, the role of Herakles' successor is aspired to by several heroes. Herakles' sack of Troy and Troy's sack in the following generation are symbolically linked through Herakles' bow, passed on by him to Philoktetes, the bow being required to repeat the feat. In Sophocles' Philoctetes both the eponymous hero and Neoptolemos ‘presume to be like Heracles, and each ends up as a Heracles manqué’, as Galinsky puts it.97 Towards the end of the play Herakles himself appears as a deus ex machina to set things straight, telling the two heroes that neither of them can capture Troy without the help of the other—none of them can repeat Herakles' feat alone, but together they will succeed. The bow of Herakles is also emphasized at Isthmian 6.34, reflecting the representation of Herakles as an archer in the east pediment of the Temple of Aphaia.98 At Iliad 5.633–46 (and see also 2.660) Herakles' son Tlepolemos boasts of how his father sacked Troy in the previous generation, but any pretence of living up to his father is brutally discredited when he is killed by Sarpedon immediatly afterwards.99

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 However, in Isthmian 6 Herakles bestows his own epithet on Ajax and goes on to prophesy that he will be λαω̑ν ἐν πόνοις ἔκπαγλον Ἐνυαλίου, ‘terrifying among the host in the toils of Enyalios’ (lines 53–4). Pindar then rounds off the narrative with ἐμοὶ δ`ϵ μακρὸν πάσας 〈ἀν〉αγήσασθ’ ἀρϵτάς, ‘but it would take me too long to relate all of the exploits’ (56).100 Seen in connection with the pediments of (p. 318) the Temple of Aphaia, where Herakles and Ajax appear in parallel roles and are juxtaposed as protagonists of successive Trojan campaigns, it is clear that Herakles' prophecy appoints Ajax as his successor, thus establishing a link between the two pediments. A desire to emphasize this connection partly explains the prominence of Herakles in Isthmian 6 at the expense of Telamon; in a sense, Herakles takes over the role as the father of Ajax, shaping the hero's identity through words that determine not only his nature and future greatness as a warrior, but also his eventual vulnerability. After seeing the eagle sent by Zeus, Herakles speaks ἅτϵ μάντις ἀνήρ, ‘like a prophet’ (line 51), declaring that Telamon's prayer will be heard and that he will indeed father a great warrior, and telling him to name his son Ajax after the eagle. This again suggests the representation of Ajax on the west pediment of the Temple of Aphaia, which was identified as such by the eagle painted on his shield.101 Moreover, Herakles' prayer to Zeus on behalf of Telamon and μάντιςlike speech mirrors the role of the Pindaric narrator, who prayed to Zeus for an Olympic victory on his host's behalf back in lines 6–9. The association of poetry and prophecy is often encountered in Pindar, and in Nemean 1 Pindar's role clearly reflects that of the Theban seer Teiresias in the mythical narrative.102 If Herakles' promise that Ajax will be a great warrior suggests the second Trojan expedition, the last sentence of the mythical narrative adds further epic colour: ὣς ἠ̑ρα ϵἰπὼν αὐτίκα ἕζϵτ’ (‘having spoken thus, he immediately sat down’, lines 55–6) is, as Privitera points out, an obvious variation of the epic formula ὣς ϵἰπὼν κατ’ ἄρ’ ἕζϵτο (‘having spoken thus he sat down’).103 The break-off that follows, ἐμοὶ δ`ϵ μακρὸν πάσας 〈ἀν〉αγήσασθ’ ἀρϵτάς (56), suggests the possibility of continuing the narration of Ajax' exploits as an epic poem, which the narrator self-consciously turns down. As Carey puts it, the break-off formula can be used when the poet ‘wishes to embark on a grand theme but still treat it in a lyric fashion. He picks up material (p.319) from epic and drops it when he has said all he wishes to say.’104 In this way the break-off formula marks a sort of compromise between epic and lyric: the fact that there is no time to narrate an epic poem is expressed by breaking off and reminding the audience of the limitations set by the occasion; Pindar breaks off the narrative of the joint exploits of Herakles and Telamon in similar fashion at Nemean 4.33. At the same time, the Pindaric break-off marks this poem as not epic, but rather governed by squarely mortal poetic limitations—especially given the way in which the persona loquens earlier prays for future successes for Lampon's family yet has no means of foreseeing whether such successes will be forthcoming.

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 The suicide of Ajax is a mythological theme in Nemeans 7 and 8 and Isthmian 4.105 In the first two of these poems, written for Aeginetans, emphasis is laid on the injustice done to Ajax by the Greeks when he is not awarded the arms of Achilles. In Nemean 7 the fame of Odysseus is said to be greater than he deserves because of Homer. Ajax' ignominous end was described in the Little Iliad, where the hero was refused customary burial honours.106 Ulrich Sinn contested the identification of the pediments as the Trojan campaigns,107 and one of his arguments is that the prominence of Ajax would not conform to what we find in Homer.108 It seems right that if the version of the Trojan War found in the Iliad were the prevailing one on Aegina we should expect to see another Aiakid hero, Achilles, depicted as the protagonist in the west pediment. However, Fearn points out that both in Bacchylides 13 and in Isthmian 5 the Homeric prominence of Ajax is enhanced,109 something which confirms the impression left by the indignation expressed in Nemeans 7 and 8 at the hero's unjust treatment. This is also supported by Ajax' appointment as Herakles' successor in Isthmian 6 and by the epic-style handling of the subject. This suggests an Aeginetan tendency to (p.320) allow Ajax a more central role in the Trojan War, and undermines Sinn's view of the Aphaia pediments. In Isthmian 6 Herakles speaks not only to Zeus, Telamon, and the guests at the wedding, but also, through the embedded speeches, to the audience of Pindar's poem, as a parallel for Pindar's own prayers for future successes for Lampon's family. An essential feature of guest-friendship is a perpetual bond inherited through the male line, and the xenia of Herakles and Telamon which Herakles prays will be continued by Telamon's son in lines 45–6 thus also points towards the present-day relationship between Thebes and Aegina, and between Pindar and Lampon. At the same time, the difference in status between the divine Herakles and the mortal Aiakidai is suggested by the prayer where the latter are thought of as a chain of generations, in contradistinction to Herakles, whose divine existence is alluded to by the poem.

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 The close relationship between Thebes and Aegina is alluded to by Pindar elsewhere in other epinicians composed for performance on the island. At Isthmian 8.16 and following Pindar says that as a Theban he is obliged to offer to Aegina ‘the most exquisite gift of the Charites’, Χαρίτων ἄωτον, because Aegina and Thebes are twin sisters and daughters of Asopos. In Nemean 4 the victory of Timasarchos at the Theban Herakleia is described, with great emphasis placed on the friendly relationship between the two communities: the Kadmeioi, or Thebans, are said to have crowned Timasarchos gladly because of Aegina; they were glad to crown him because he was an Aeginetan, coming as a friend among friends, and to a city linked to the island through ancestral ties of ritual friendship: Θήβαις τ’ ἐν ἑπταπύλοις οὕνϵκ’ Ἀμφιτρύωνος ἀγλαὸν παρὰ τύμβον Καδμϵι̑οί νιν οὐκ ἀέκοντϵς ἄνθϵσι μϵίγνυον, Αἰγίνας ἕκατι. φίλοισι γὰρ φίλος ἐλθών ξένιον ἄστυ κατέδρακϵν Ἡρακλέος ὀλβίαν πρὸς αὐλάν.

…and because in seven-gated Thebes by the illustrious tomb of Amphitryon the Kadmeians willingly showered him with flowers, because of Aegina. (p. 321) For, coming as a friend among friends, he beheld the hospitable city on his way to the blessed hall of Herakles. (Nemean 4.19–24) Timasarchos' visit to ‘the blessed hall of Herakles’, referring to the Theban Herakleion in the city,110 seems to suggest that he was received as a guest by Herakles himself.111 Once again, the relationship between the two communities is conceived by Pindar in terms of aristocratic guest-friendship continuing from the mythical past. The mention of Herakles here provides the pretext for a short mythical narrative, a catalogue of the same common exploits of Telamon and Herakles that we find in Isthmian 6, again bringing in the alliance between Herakles and the Aiakidai. Finally, at Nemean 7.86 the Aeginetan chorus invokes Herakles as the xenos and brother of Aiakos, the ruler of Aegina, and the protector and helper of the laudandus Sogenes. Although there is no explicit reference to Thebes there, it seems likely that an association between the cities of Aiakos and Herakles is again implied.

Conclusion Incorporating the Aeginetan myth of the Aiakidai and their alliance with the Theban Herakles into a poem praising one Aeginetan family is a way of forging a new version of a myth, and accords the Psalychiadai a prominent place in the Aeginetan community. Through the aetiological function of the mythological narrative in particular which expounds the connection between the two Aphaia pediments, this great contemporary building-project is integrated into an ode Page 18 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 which celebrates one Aeginetan clan. For the audience, not only would the temple be brought to mind by the poem, but the poem would also be brought to mind by the temple. In a poetic (p.322) interpretation of Aiakid myth where Thebes is accorded a place as prominent as that of Aegina, the Temple of Aphaia is built into Pindar's poem as one of the pediments, as it were, the other being taken up by praise of the Psalychiadai. However, the meaning of the myth is not simply ornamental or parainetic: it is also agonistic. The celebration of the Psalychiadai, presented as a communal occasion and also as a reflection of the symposium of the gods, is linked to Phylakidas' Isthmian competition, to the internal and external conflicts of Aegina, and ultimately to the mythical battles depicted on the island's temples, fought by heroes and Olympian gods. It thus uses Phylakidas' Isthmian victory to stage the aristocratic prominence of the Psalychiadai in relation to their Aeginetan rivals, as well as projecting Aeginetan national identity through myth in a very particular way that emphasizes connections with Thebes through ageold as well as contemporary xenia, to the detriment of Aegina's principle rival, Athens. Notes:

(1) This agonistic use of myth in inter-city rivalries is also discussed by Fearn (2007), Kowalzig (2007 and Ch. 4 this volume), and by Athanassaki (Ch. 7) and Watson (Ch. 2), this volume. (2) Cf. Morrison, Ch. 6 this volume, pp. 230–1. (3) Cf. Maehler I.2 250–1; Nicholson (2005), 255–6, n. 18. (4) Hornblower (2004), 223. (5) So Bankel (1993), 169–70. Cf. Ohly (1972); Boardman in LIMC s.v. Herakles no. 2792; Williams (1987), 671; Fearn (2007), 97; Watson (Ch. 2 this volume). The suggestion by Gill (1988 and 1993) of dating the temple after the Persian Wars, in the 470s, fails to convince. Fresh attempts at downdating by Stewart (2008a and b). (6) Compare the approach of Athanassaki (Ch. 7 this volume). (7) So Σ Isthm. 6.89a (iii.258 Dr). (8) Dissen (1830), ii.572. (9) Krummen (1990), 276; Kurke (1991a), 138–9; Clay (1999), 29. (10) Clay (1999), 29.

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 (11) I take κω̑μος to designate the performing chorus, following Carey (1989b), 549, n. 9 and (1991), 192–4, contra Heath (1988) and Heath and Lefkowitz (1991), 175–6. Cf. Currie (2005), 16; also the discussion of Calame (2004), 427– 31. (12) Cf. Kurke (1991a), 138–9 for the implication of the audience through the sympotic imagery and use of the first person. (13) Schmitt-Pantel (1990); Clay (1999); Hutchinson (2001), 361, 364; Currie (2005), 18. (14) So Thummer (1968–9), ii.110; Burnett (2005), 87, n. 23 sees a possible reference in this expression to a contribution made by Lampon towards the new Aphaia pediments, but that must remain pure speculation. (15) Σ Pind. Isthm. 6.97 (iii.259 Dr). (16) Cf. Ol. 11.13; Nem. 3.30; fr. 194.3. (17) Cf. esp. Ol. 5.13–14, Ol. 13.25–8, Nem. 8.13–16, and Pyth. 8.98–100 (the latter two both Aeginetan odes); also λαόν τόνδϵ at Pae. 6.179–80. See also Martin (2004), esp. 356–7, for Pindar's personal presence as performer and/or chorodidaskalos on Aegina in Pyth. 8. (18) Fearn (2007 and Ch. 5 this volume). The notion of a polarity between elite and polis is frequently associated with the assumption that the epinician assumes the function of mediating between the interests of elite and the polis society at large. (19) Cf. also Currie (forthcoming a). It is noteworthy that even in democratic Athens the seating capacity of the Theatre of Dionysus in c.400 BC must have limited the audience to a select group: Goette at Csapo (2007), 120 concludes that ‘it is clear that the Classical theatre provided much less capacity for seats than its later incarnation, maybe just a little more than one-third of the c. 17,000 stone seats of the later rounded theatron belonging to the Lykurgan theatre’. (20) Levine (1985). (21) Cf. Fearn (2007 and Ch. 5 this volume). (22) Cf. Bacch. 13.190; Fearn (2007), 112–20. (23) As pointed out to me by Bruno Currie. (24) Cf. Thummer (1968–9), ii. 74–5.

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 (25) I take this as a performative future, following the suggestion of Bundy (1962), 21–2, contra Pfeijffer (1999), 40, who claims that ‘the effect of πίσω is fictionally to project the whole drink-song into the future’. (26) Lefkowitz (1991). (27) D'Alessio (1994), 127. (28) D'Alessio (1994), 138. (29) Cf. Pind. Ol. 2.92, Ol. 4.3 and 17, Ol. 6.12 and 20, Ol. 13.52 and 99, Nem. 1.18, Nem. 7.61 and 70, Parth. 2.38; Gundert (1935), 53 and 129, nn. 242–4. (30) D'Alessio (1994), 130. (31) I also argue elsewhere that Pindar's role is reflected in that of Herakles in Olympians 9, 10, and 3, and that of another Theban, Teiresias, in Nemean 1—all of these poems written for non-Thebans. (32) Krummen (1990), 33–97. (33) See Rutherford (Ch. 3), Kowalzig (Ch. 4), and Fearn (Ch. 5), in this volume, for the Aeginetan elite and international theoric networks, with further references. (34) Jeffery in CAH IV2 365 thinks that there may well have been commercial links between Boeotia and Aegina, and that the similarity in design between the earliest Boeotian coins and those of Aegina ‘could indicate that technical experts from Aegina were called in to start the first Boeotian coinage’. Cf. CPCInv 456. (35) Hdt. 5.79–81. (36) On the Asopid genealogy, perhaps set out in the fourth book of the Catalogue of Women, see West (1985), 100–3; Larson (2001), 39, 139–40, 144–5, 285, n. 85; Fearn (2003), 358–9. Cf. Diod. Sic. 4.72; Apollod. 3.12.6. Also Nagy, Ch. 1 this volume. (37) Cf. Nenci (1994), 276; Burnett (2005), 26–7. In keeping with the more conservative understanding of this Herodotean passage, I see this as a reference to cult statues rather than to members of the Aeginetan elite that understood themselves as descendants of Aiakos, as Gregory Nagy suggests in this volume (Ch. 1). Simonides mentions epiphanies of Boreas at Artemision (fr. 3 W) and the Dioscuri at Plataea (fr. 11.30 W), and Hornblower (2001), 140 similarly connects these with cult statues that the Spartans transported with them. (38) Hdt. 5.81. (39) Cf. Burnett (2005), 27–8. Page 21 of 26

 

Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 (40) Hdt. 8.64, cf. 8.83. See too Watson (Ch. 2) and Athanassaki (Ch. 4), this volume. (41) Plut. Them. 15.1. On the phenomenon of gods or heroes helping in battle, see Speyer (1980), 60–9. (42) Fr. 654 PMG; Bowra (1938). A Boeotian red-figure Lekythos dated to c.450 BC depicts Zeus and Aegina (Thebes, Archeological Museum, from Thespiai, ARV² 1010,1). Cf. Hornblower (2004), 118, who thinks that when the Theban speakers at the Plataean debate at Thuc. 3.64.3 single out the enslavement of the Aeginetans in their denouncement of Athenian injustice, this ‘is not random at all, but…[a] concealed mythical kinship link’. See also Hornblower (1991), 458–9. (43) Fearn (2007), 102. (44) Cf. Privitera (1988); Fearn (2007), 102–5. (45) Cf. Krummen (1990), 39–40. (46) Paus. 9.11.4. (47) Xen. Hell. 6.4.7; Diod. Sic. 15.53.4. According to Polyaen. Strat. 2.3.8, Epaminondas had arranged with the priest to open the temple at night, clean the weapons deposited there and place them next to the god, and then leave without telling anyone; when the army came to the Herakleion the next morning they were filled with divine courage, as if Herakles had been their commander in the battle. (48) Cf. Bury (1892), 108 ad loc. 12; Ol. 3.43–5, Pyth. 10.28–9, Nem. 3.22, Nem. 4.69, Isthm. 4.11–12; Péron (1974), 72–84; Race (1990), 191–5. (49) The images of the ‘countless roads in every direction’ and the Pillars of Herakles are also connected at Isthm. 4.1–12. (50) The reference to the Ethiopians might suggest Achilles' victory over Memnon, but no surviving tradition associates the Aiakidai with the Hyperboreans. In Ol. 3 Pindar tells of Herakles visiting the Hyperboreans, so there may another allusion to Herakles here. (51) Cf. Ol. 2.78 and Currie (2005), 41–2, who thinks that Peleus at Isthm. 6.25 ‘is perhaps mentioned as the subject of cult songs’. He further suggests (44) that ‘[t]he presence of Peleus and Kadmos on the Isle of the Blessed may be justified by the fact that, like Menelaos at Odyssey 4.569, they are γαμβροὶ θϵω̑ν’.

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 (52) On which see Kron (1976), 171–6; Shapiro (1989), 154–7; Fearn (2007), 91– 3, and, with special reference to Sophocles' Ajax, Scodel (2006), 65–71 and Kowalzig (2006), 85–91. (53) Pherec. FGrH 3 F 60. (54) Cf. Kron (1976), 171–2 with n. 819; Simon (1981), 73–4; Kowalzig (2006), 87 with n. 30. (55) Florence, Mus. Arch. 4209; ABV 76.1; ARV Para 29; ARV Add. 21; Simon (1981), pls. 52–7. (56) It seems that the Athenian Philaidai, and possibly other Athenian noble families, claimed descent from Ajax: cf. Paus. 2.29.4; Pherec. FGrH 3 F 2; Σ. Pind. Nem. 2.19 (iii.36–7 Dr); Fearn (2007), 92 with n. 25. (57) Compare Athanassaki (Ch. 7) and Watson (Ch. 2), this volume, for further thoughts on the rivalry between Aegina and Athens. (58) Pind. fr. 172 (itself perhaps part of an Aeginetan ode?) tells of the common exploits of Peleus and Herakles; cf. Σ Nem. 3.64b (iii.52 Dr). (59) Il. 14.550–60; Hes. fr. 43a.63–5 M-W. Cf. D'Alessio (2005a) 235, n. 72. (60) Σ Isthm. 6.53a (iii.255 Dr) = Hes. fr. 250 M-W. (61) D'Alessio (2005b), 200. (62) See Alt-Ägina, II.2 132–49, esp. 148. (63) Cf. Ohly (1972), 68–70; Williams (1987), 670; Fearn (2007), 96 with n. 34; Watson, Ch. 2 this volume. (64) Alt-Ägina, II.2 129–32. (65) Cf. Burnett (2005), 86. (66) See Figs. 3 and 13, pp. 31 and 37 above. (67) Cf. the comment of Burnett (2005), 82–3: ‘Telamon…begins as a mere patronymic, and he continues as a relative pronoun in an oblique case (τόν, 27) through a swift résumé of adventures that cleverly confounds him with Alkmena's son (27–33).’ (68) Cf. Burnett (2005), 82–3. (69) As Vian (1952), 51–2 notes, Herakles is generally depicted with a bow and arrow in the Gigantomachy.

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 (70) Hes. Theog. 954 with West (1966), 419 ad loc. Cf. Vian (1952), 193–5 and 210–14 with references; Pelliccia (1989), 85–7 and 96–7. On the Gigantomachy in general, see Vian (1952) and LIMC s.v. Gigantes. (71) Cf. Hom. Od. 11.602–4; Hes. Theog. 950–5; Brommer (1984), 123–4; LIMC s.v. Herakles nos. 3292–343. (72) von der Mühll (1957), 130–2. See also D'Alessio (2005b), 194: ‘in capital letters, ΓΑΜΟΝ might have easily been omitted by haplography after ΠΛΟΟΝ.’ (73) Cf. the opening of Ol. 7 and Clay (1999), 28–9. (74) Cf. LIMC s.v. Herakles nos. 2847–76, with the commentary of Boardman. (75) ARV 21,1: Sosias Painter; ARV Para 323; ARV Add 154; LIMC s.v. Herakles no. 2859. (76) Cf. LIMC s.v. Herakles nos. 3306, 3313, 3316, 3317, 3321, 3324 with commentary by Laurens. (77) On the thauma-motif, cf. Bundy (1962), 3, 8–9, 14 and Miller (1986), 55 with n. 136. A sense of wonder is effected by the extended description in 37 of the nectar-filled phiale offered to Herakles, especially as gold in Pindar is associated with immortality and is characteristic of the possessions of the gods: see Duchemin (1955), 226–7; Verdenius (1987–8), i. 22; Nagy (1990a), 278 with n. 21. (78) Cf. Hom. Od. 11.543–65 and 601–4, and Pind. Isthm. 4.35–6b and 58–60, where the respective fates of Ajax and Herakles mark two very different ends of a heroic career: while Herakles takes part in eternal Olympian feasting, Ajax is consigned to an embittered existence in Hades. (79) Cf. also Currie (forthcoming b) on Bacch. 11. (80) Cf. Zunker (1988), 132. On the Panhellenic ideology of the Aeginetan cult of Aiakos, see Kowalzig (2007), 181–223. (81) Xenoph. fr. B1.21–2 W. (82) See Nem. 1.67–72, and Isthm. 4.58–60 with Krummen (1990), 56–8. (83) Cf. Vian (1952), 210–14; cf. the concluding scenes of Ar. Av.; LIMC s.v. Herakles nos. 3307, 3319, and 3323–7. (84) Fearn (2007), 151. (85) Piérart (1997), 335–6 and CPCInv. 615.

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 (86) Hdt. 6.88–92; cf. Hornblower (2004), 230; Fearn (2007), 100 and 157, and Ch. 5 this volume. (87) Cf. Aesch. fr. 83 (TrGF III 206–7) = Σ Soph. Aj. 833a; Pl. Symp. 219e; Lycophr. Alex. 459 with Tzetz. ad 455; RE i.932 and LIMC I.1 313 and 316 s.v. Aias I; Burnett (2005), 84–5 with n. 14. (88) e.g. Pelops in Pind. Ol. 1, Demophoon in H.H.Dem., Asklepios in Pind. Pyth. 3, and the tradition of Achilles suggested by Mackie (1998). (89) Cf. Σ Isthm. 6.53a (iii.255 Dr) = Hes. fr. 250 M-W. (90) Griffin (1977). (91) Il. 23.820–3; cf. Severyns (1928). (92) Cf. Kirkwood (1982), 294 ad loc. 47. (93) Sophocles alludes to the mythical tradition of Herakles trying to make Ajax invulnerable—possibly even to Isthm. 6—when he lets Ajax leave his shield to his infant son Eurysakes at Aj. 574–6: ἀλλ’ αὐτό μοι σύ, παι̑, λαβὼν τοὐπώνυμον, | Εὐρύσακϵς, ἴσχϵ διὰ πολυρράφου στρέφων | πόρπακος ἑπτάβοιον ἄρρηκτον σάκος. Ajax proceeds to commit suicide, while his son Eurysakes will go on to hand over Salamis to the Athenians: cf. Plut. Sol. 10; Ferguson (1938), 15–17. For an attempt to argue for other allusions to Pindar in Soph. Aj. see Hubbard (2000). (94) Martin (2004), 353. (95) Herakles: Il. 5.639, Od. 11.267; Achilles: Il. 7.228, Hes. Theog. 1007; Odysseus: Od. 4.724, 814. Cf. LfgrE s.v. θυμολέων. (96) At Isthm. 4.45–7 Pindar speaks of Melissos, a Theban victor in the pankration, as τόλμᾳ γὰρ ϵἰκώς θυμὸν ἐριβρϵμϵτᾶν θηρω̑ν λϵόντων ἐν πόνῳ, and goes on to tell a myth implicitly comparing the laudandus to Herakles, while in Bacch. 1.142–3 the boy boxer is described as λέοντος θυμὸ[ν ἔχων]; cf. Maehler I.2 18 ad loc. with further parallels. Herakles was a mythical paradigm especially relevant for athletes competing in the combat sports (cf. Krummen 1990: 89, n. 36 with references; Golden 1998: 152–4; Fearn 2007: 148 with n. 163), so when Herakles confers his own lion-like thumos onto Ajax this also reflects the mettle Phylakidas has shown at Isthmia. (97) Galinsky (1972), 53. (98) Cf. Anderson (1997), 96–7. (99) Cf. Anderson (1997), 95–6.

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Thebes, Aegina, and the Temple of Aphaia: A Reading of Pindar's Isthmian 6 (100) Burnett (2005), 85–6 notes that ‘[t]hese words signal the end of the mythic section, but they are sung to the same melodic phrase that covered the fall of Pergamon (31)’. (101) Cf. Burnett (2005), 35 with n. 30. (102) Cf. also Pind. fr. 150 and Pae. 6.6, with Rutherford (2001), 307. (103) Privitera (1982), 211; cf. Hom. Il. 1.68 and 101, 2.76, 7.354 and 365; Od. 7.153; H.H.Herm. 365. (104) Wade-Gery (1958), 243–7 identifies him with Melesias, father of the Athenian politician Thucydides who was a brother-in-law of Kimon. He also surmises that Melesias was Pindar's closest Athenian friend. In favour of this identification see Figueira (1991), 85 with n. 16 and Hornblower (2004), 53 with bibliography. (104) Carey (1981), 5, with reference to Horace imitating Pindar. (105) Nem. 7.20–30, 8.23–31; Isthm. 4.35–9. These passages and their relationship to the mythical tradition are discussed by Nisetich (1989), 9–23 and in Nagy (1990a). (106) Lesches, Mikra Ilias fr. 3 PEG I. (107) See Watson (Ch. 2 this volume) for further discussion. (108) Sinn (1987), 145–6. (109) Fearn (2007), 140–1. (110) Mezger (1880), 393; Krummen (1990), 36–7, n. 6; Henry (2005), 33. Willcock (1995), 98 takes it to refer to the city itself, following Σ Pind. Nem. 4.21c (iii.67–8 Dr). (111) For the Theban Herakleia festival, cf. Isthm. 4.61–8 and Krummen (1990), 33–97.

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9 The Trojan War, Theoxenia, and Aegina in Pindar’s Paean 6 and the Aphaia Sculptures* Guy Hedreen

Pindar’s Paean 6 is a song composed for performance at the Delphic Theoxenia but preoccupied with Aeginetan interests. The first strophe begins with the arrival of the chorus at the fountain of Kastalia in Delphi, and the final line of the antistrophe identifies the occasion: αγώ να Λ ο ξ ία κ α τ α β ά ν τ εύρύν εν θεών ξενία, ‘having come to the broad gathering for Apollo during the Theoxenia’ (60-1). The second triad of the poem begins with an explanation of the purpose of the festival (62-5): θύεται, γ ά ρ ά γλ α ά ς ύπερ Π ανελλάδος, αν τ ε Δ ελ φ ώ ν εθ[ν]οζ εΰξατο λιμού, ‘for it [sc. the Theoxenia] is being sacrificed on behalf of the entirety of the splen­ did land of Greece, for which the community of Delphi prayed [for relief] from famine.’ Then the poem turns (καί π ο τέ, ‘and once upon a time’, line 73) to a pair of related tales from the past that begin to unfold far from Delphi and concern Aeginetan heroes: Apollo’s murder of Achilles and defence of Troy; and the capture of Troy by Neoptolemos, his emigration to Molossia, and finally the murder of * With thanks to David Fearn for the invitation to provide an essay for this book. Thanks to David, Richard Hamilton, and several anonymous readers for constructive criticism on the manuscript. Special thanks to Greg Leftwich for stimulating ob­ servations on this paper. And thanks to Jacklyn Burns and Irene Bösel for help securing photos. The abbreviation BAD = Beazley Archive Database (http://www. beazley.ox.ac.uk/).

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Neoptolemos by Apollo at Delphi. The third triad of the poem is directly concerned with neither Troy nor Delphi but the island of Aegina. It recounts the island’s origins in a lovely image that marries physiognomic and topographical description: once on the waters of Asopos, [Zeus] dragged from her home the voluptuous virgin Ae­ gina; the golden tresses of the air hid your “epichoric” back with shadow, so that on an immortal co u ch ...’ (134-40). In the very fragmentary remains of the third triad, it appears that the poem related one or more of the deeds of the child of the union of Zeus and Aegina—Aiakos. The relevance of an extensive encomium to Aegina in a poem addressing a festival at the distant sanctuary of Delphi remains a question 100 years after the fragmentary papyrus containing the text of the poem was first published.1 The papyrus contains a marginal note at the beginning of the poem, ‘for the Delphians to Pytho’, which has suggested that the poem was composed for a chorus of Delphians, underscoring the question of the pertinence of Aegina.2 Long ago, Farnell went so far as to suggest that the third triad was not part of the original paean but a later addition.3 The recent discovery that the third triad was transmitted separately from the poem in its three-part entirety as ‘for the Aeginetans in honour of Aiakos, a prosodion’ might have been taken as confirmation of Farnell’s hy­ pothesis.4 Instead, more interestingly, recent scholarship has tended to see Aeginetan concerns in other parts of the poem, and to envision Aeginetan involvement in its original Delphic performance. The identity of the intricate metres used in all three triads as well as verbal echoes among them have been taken to support the view that the three parts were originally conceived as a unity.5 In addition, the recently restored ‘love your native city, love this (rovSe) kind people’ (177-80), which follow immediately upon the name of the family of Aiakos, imply that the Aeginetans were present at Delphi 1 The editio princeps is Grenfell and Hunt (1908). For the history of scholarship see Furley and Bremer (2001), i. 102-16 and ii. 24-37; Rutherford (2001), 298-338; Kurke (2005). Still useful is the commentary of Radt (1958). 2 See also Σ Pind. Nem. 7.64 (ill. 129 Dr) as noted by Rutherford (2001), 333. 3 Farnell (1930-2), i. 313. 4 Rutherford (2001), 323-4 on the new marginal note. 5 Currie (2005), 325.

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for the performance of the poem.6 Lines 10-11 further suggest that the Deiphians did not perform the poem: ‘I have come to ward off helplessness from your (re o fa iv ) people and my (ε μ α ΐς ) honours.’ The nearby references to Pytho and Kastalia (2, 8) assure us that ‘your people’ are the Deiphians, and the contrast between the second-person possessive and first-person verb form and adjective suggest that the speaker is someone other than the Deiphians. Although the marginal note claims that Paean 6 was composed for the Deiphians, the most economical explanation of the demonstra­ tive adjectives is that the Aeginetans performed the poem.7 This line of argument has obvious implications for the infamous allegations of ancient scholiasts that the Aeginetans were offended by the characterization of Neoptolemos in Paean 6. The scholiasts claim that Pindar’s Nemean 7 was written in part as an apology to the Aeginetans for the handling of their hero in the paean.8 If the paean were composed with even partial Aeginetan performance and recep­ tion in mind, then the plausibility of the ancient allegation seems doubtful (how could they have agreed to perform a poem that so offended them?)9 Indeed, if the poem were composed for an Aegi­ netan, as much as a Delphian, audience then the question to be addressed is, how might the treatment of the Aeginetan heroes, Achilles and Neoptolemos, relate to or even support Aeginetan mythology or interests, rather than contradict or offend them? My chapter begins with an examination of a portion of the paean that has received much less attention than others, the account of Apollo’s murder of Achilles. The narrative respects the essential motivations of the epic tradition, but Pindar has emphasized themes and em­ ployed discursive methods in this portion of the paean that recur in Trojan War narratives incorporated into epinicians composed for the Aeginetans, in particular Olympian 8. My chapter examines four

6 See Rutherford (2001), 327-8; Currie (2005), 322-3. 7 Burnett (1998), 503; Rutherford (2001), 333-5; Currie (2005), 324. Alternatively, Kurke (2005) argued that the poem was performed by a Delphian chorus (triads 1-2) and an Aeginetan chorus (triad 3). But the point I am trying to make remains, the composition of the poem envisioned Aeginetan performance and reception. 8 For the scholia, see Heath (1993). 9 For a comprehensive critique of the ‘apology’ theory of Nemean 7, see Currie (2005), 326-9; cf. Fearn, Ch. 5 this volume, pp. 195if.

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specific themes of interest to the Aeginetans arguably at work in the Pindaric narrative: the myth of Apollo’s construction of the walls of Troy, the wedding of Peleus and Thetis as a theoxenia, the Trojan War as a Panhellenic event, and the role of Aiakos as Aeginetan founder of a family of Trojan War heroes. The intertwining of the themes of Aeginetan ancestry, Trojan War leadership, Panhellenic significance, and even the physical fabric of Troy is not unique to Paean 6 or Pindar’s Aeginetan epinicians. It also informs the sculptural programme for the new temple of Aphaia on Aegina, which is the subject of the latter part of my chapter. Perhaps the only thing that can be said with real confidence about the subjectmatter of the pedimental sculptures is that they represent two cam­ paigns at Troy, not one. Furthermore, the symmetrical character of the pedimental format gives the campaign of Herakles and the Aeginetan hero Telamon, unparalleled as a subject of Greek art at that date, as much visual emphasis as the celebrated campaign of Agamemnon and Menelaos. Even the concrete image with which Pindar works in Olympian 8, which I believe haunts Paean 6 as well, the physical fabric of Troy, is arguably visualized by the image of Athena dominating each pediment. The pediments also arguably address the issue of Aegina’s ‘Hellenism’ in the Persian War period, if, as seems likely today, they were created in the aftermath of the Battle of Salamis. By emphasizing the central roles played by Aeginetans in the Trojan Wars, the sculptures implicitly comment on the roles played by Aeginetans in the more recent Persian Wars, just as Pindar does in his striking juxtaposition in Isthmian 5 of the double sack of Troy and the Battle of Salamis.

‘H IM THE FA R-SHO OTER SHOT, A GOD TAKING THE FORM OF A MORTAL’ The brevity of the narrative of Apollo’s work during the Trojan War conceals a nuanced understanding of the motivation behind Apollo’s involvement in the war. The diction and themes call to mind fuller accounts elsewhere in Pindar and early Greek

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poetry.10 To begin with the narrative of Achilles’ death, which is very short (78-98): Taking the mortal form of Paris, the god Apollo, skilled in archery, shot the forceful child of the blue-haired sea-goddess Thetis, and in that way the god put off for a time the destruction of Troy. The fail-safe defence of the Greeks Apollo killed in cold blood. How the god clashed with the goddess of the lovely skin, Hera, matching his unbending strength against her, and against Athena as well! Before serious hardships had been suffered, Achilles would have captured Troy, had Apollo not been standing watch.

Pindar’s crisp account begins with what may be a striking innovation. Other ancient writers claim that Apollo killed Achilles in collabora­ tion with Paris. Pindar’s narrative is the first, and virtually unique one to specify that Apollo took the mortal form of Paris in order to kill Achilles.11 This is not the only instance in Paean 6 in which Apollo himself, without a human go-between, murdered a man. In the epode of the second triad the god himself kills Neoptolemos in his own sanctuary at Delphi (119-20). In other narratives (e.g. Pindar, Nemean 7.40-2), that story too, like the story of Achilles’ death, involves a human intermediary. Paean 6 goes out of its way to emphasize the personal involvement of the god Apollo in the deaths of both Achilles and his son Neoptolemos. Why put the god in disguise at all? The participation of Paris was a traditional part of the story of the destruction of Achilles, well known already in the Iliad (e.g. 22.359-60). By having Apollo take on the physical form of Paris, Pindar’s narrative remains within the framework of the tradi­ tion and, at the same time, shifts credit for the mighty achievement to the god, who is the focus of this poem insofar as it is a paean. There is also a sinister twist in the idea that the god confronts the hero not in his divine form but in that of the mortal Paris. Pindar’s narrative contains no indication that Apollo ever revealed himself as a god to Achilles. At the moment of his death this hero, whom no one

10 Compare the concept of narrative compression articulated by Dué (2002), 3-16. 11 Whether or not there ever existed narrative traditions in which it was explicit that Apollo or Paris killed Achilles on his own, without a collaborator, is debatable: for differing views, see Escher (1894), 238; Radt (1958), 142; Gantz (1993), 625; Burgess (1995), 235.

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but a god could stop, laboured under the illusion that he was cut down by a lady’s man.12 Sinister as his methods may be, in Pindar’s poem, Apollo’s primary motive for killing Achilles is not personal. The explicitly stated con­ sequence of the death of the hero is not Schadenfreude, but the immediate postponement of the destruction of Troy (lines 81-2). The direct causal connection between the death of Achilles and the postponement of Troy’s demise is reiterated two sentences further on: προ πόνων 8é Ke μ ε γ ά λ ω ν Ααρδανίαν επραθεν, εΐ μ η φύλασσεν Ά π ό \Χ \λ [ω]ν, ‘before great suffering, he would have destroyed Dardania, if

Apollo had not been on guard’ (89-91).13 In the Archaic poetic and visual traditions there are other motives for Apollo’s action against the hero, but this poem emphasizes his interest in protecting the city.14 Apollo not only fought off Achilles but also, Pindar says, went up against the two goddesses most passionately committed to effecting the destruction of Troy, Hera and Athena. The idea that there was open warfare among the gods parallel to the mortal struggle between Achaeans and Trojans is familiar from the Theomachia in the Iliad. There are in fact striking similarities in diction between this part of the paean and the Theomachia.15 Common to both accounts is the role of Zeus as overseer of the fracas. But the language of the paean is 12 A partial parallel exists in Horn. II. 21.600-22.20, where Apollo takes the form of Agenor to trick Achilles and save the Trojans—though he reveals himself to the hero in the end. As Pinney (1983), 139-41 with figs. 9.11a-b, has suggested, the alabastron by Psiax in the Archaeological Museum at Odessa, ARV2 7,5, may juxtapose Achilles and Apollo disguised as Paris. The archer makes the kind of menacing gesture toward the young warrior that Apollo makes in vase-paintings of the duel between Achilles and Hector (e.g. the hydria in the Vatican by the Eucharides Painter, ARV2 229,38, illustrated by Pinney in fig. 9.12). But the archer on the vase in Odessa bears no unambiguous mark or attribute to indicate to the hero that he is the god Apollo and not a mortal archer, such as Paris. 13 The expression προ πόνων Sc κε μεγάλων alludes to the traditional theme of the cost of the Trojan War to the Achaean aggressors. Housman (1908), 11 called attention to two parallels in Pindar’s epinician odes, Pyth. 1.54 and Nem. 7.35. 14 For other motives, see Hedreen (2001), 170-1. The special threat posed by Achilles is not an invention of Pindar. The problem is already articulated in the Iliad (20.26-30). But Pindar developed the theme in striking and perhaps original ways: see on Isthmian 8 below. 15 Cf. Pindar’s οσσα τ’ εριξε λενκωλένω άναμπτον 'Ήρα μένος άν[τ]ερείδων όσα τε Πολιάδι (87—9) with Iliad 20.66: τόσσος άρα κτύπος ώρτο θεών εριSt ξννώντων. The affinities include the comparative or exclamatory expressions ‘how much’ or ‘so

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worth close attention with respect to the motivation behind Apollo’s involvement.

APO LLO ’S ROLE IN TH E ‘D E STIN Y ’ OF TROY In Paean 6 the conflict escalates from the mortal level to the divine, and then it seems to increase in magnitude even further: ‘but Zeus, sitting amidst the golden clouds, the highest heights of Mount Olympos, overseer of the gods, did not dare to undo fate. For the sake of glamorous Helen, it was necessary for the gleam of blazing fire to consume lofty Troy.’16 The first sentence is troubling because it sug­ gests that the unfolding of events during the Trojan War was being guided according to a preordained plan by some mechanism beyond the control even of the gods. That is true in one sense only: from a vantage-point outside of the unfolding story one might say that not even Zeus could alter the traditional conclusion of a tale as well known as this one. Within Greek narrative poetry, however, the concept of fate or destiny does not stand in contradiction with gods or mortals making voluntary decisions or undertaking actions that alter the course of events. As Ehnmark demonstrated, in Homeric poetry fate is conceived not as a force greater than the power of the gods but as an order of things maintained through the often-active intervention of the gods.17 In the Iliad (4.13-72) Zeus asks why is it necessary that much’ and words related to épis. In both accounts, Zeus stays out of the fighting; he sits among the peaks of Mt. Olympos, and oversees the activities of the other gods. Cf. Iliad 20.22-3, άλΧ η το i /xev εγώ μενέω τττνχι Ονλνμττοια ήμενος, ένθ’ όρόων φρένα τερφομαι, with Pindar’s νέφεσσι δ’ eV χρνσέοιζ Ό λνμι τοίο και κορνφα[ΐσι]ν ίζω ν. . . Zeti; ό βιών σκο-ιτο? (92-4). The verbal affinities include forms of the verb ημαι, verbs of seeing, and references to the clefts or peaks of Mt. Olympos. 16 Insofar as the narrative juxtaposes mortal struggle, strife among the Olympian gods, and Zeus as ultimate arbiter, in a Trojan War context, the mythological narrative in the paean recalls a visual narrative that also happens to have been presented at Delphi, the east frieze of the Treasury of the Siphnians, which must pre-date Pindar’s poem by one or two generations. The frieze depicts the battle between Achilles and Memnon, the argument between Thetis and Eos on Olympos over which of their sons shall prevail, and Zeus preparing to weigh the souls of the two heroes in a balance and decide the outcome of the battle. See Sparkes (1991), 5 with bibliography. 17 Ehnmark (1999). See also Dodds (1951), 6-7.

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Troy fall, and proposes (facetiously perhaps) allowing the Greeks and Trojans to part in friendship. In her response, Hera acknowledges that she cannot force Zeus to back down, because he is stronger than she (55-6). She argues merely that her hard work to destroy Troy ought to be respected, given her status as both eldest daughter of Kronos and Zeus’ wife. Why does Zeus accede to Hera? Out of concern lest the disagreement over Troy’s future become a source of strife between them. Zeus’ decision-making is not constrained by a belief that the destruction of the city is preordained; his decision-making is the very thing that shapes the city’s fate.18 Elsewhere in Pindar the word μ ό ρ σ ιμ ο ς {-ο ν ) corresponds in usage to the dynamic conception of fate that one finds in Homer. In Nemean 4 (line 61) it is correlated with Zeus’ plan to marry Peleus to Thetis. In that case, the identity between what is ‘fated’ and what Zeus chooses to do is clear. In Isthmian 8 Themis explains to the assembled gods that it is fated for Thetis to bear a son more powerful than his father, if Thetis begot a child with Zeus or any of his brothers (31-5a). Although two of the vocabulary words might suggest that Themis is foretelling (θ εσ φ ά τω ν , 31) a fixed destiny (ττεττρω μενον, 32) beyond the influence of the gods, it is easy to see how her warning may be a prediction based on precedent in the early history of the cosmos. Ouranos and Gaia produced Kronos, who overpowered his father, and Kronos and Rhea gave birth to Zeus, who was able to overthrow his father (Hesiod, Theogony 156-82, 453-506). As Bowra put it, ‘the gods being what they are, such a union will inevitably bring forth a being even stronger than they. The gods have their own nature, and this is a consequence of it.’19 In Paean 6 Pindar explains that Troy must fall because of what happened to Helen.20 The follow-up statement clarifies what the

18 Truly, as Griffin (1999), 454 so nicely put it, ‘a nightmare picture for men’. On the decision-making in this passage, see Reinhardt (1997), 180. For ‘fate’ in the Iliad in relation specifically to the fall of Troy, see Jones (1996), 114-16. 19 Bowra (1964), 89. See also Slatkin (1991), 70-3. For other occurrences of the word μόρσιμος(-ον), cf. Nem. 4.61, lsthm. 7.41, Of 2.12, and Nem. 7.44. For the argument against the idea that Pindar conceived of a Fate that was independent of Zeus and to which the god was bound, see Bowra (1964), 87-9. 20 Pindar also claims that Troy was destroyed by fire on account of Helen in Pyth. 11.33—4: αμφ 'EXéva πνρωθεντων Τρώων.

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word ‘fate’ means in this case. Troy’s ruin is not a result of some cosmic game of chance, but mandated by the law of guest-host relations.21 The logic is fully articulated in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon: ‘so Zeus Ξένιος [i.e. Zeus the god who presides over ξενία, ‘guest-host relations’] sent the children of Atreus to Alexandras’ (60-2); ‘Great Zeus, god of guesthost relations, I revere, who, having brought these events to pass, had long ago stretched the bow against Alexandras’ (362-4); ‘Paris, having come to the house of the sons of Atreus, shamed the table of hospitality (ξενίαν) by stealing a wife’ (399-402). Brought out very well in the Agamemnon is the complex interrelationship between ‘law’ or ‘fate’ and the actions of the gods. The law of hospitality may be Zeus’ law, but he is bound nonetheless to uphold it: ‘Zeus acts as he decreed’ (369).22 In Pindar’s poem it is Zeus, not Apollo, who is concerned to uphold ‘destiny’.23 In the statement ‘before great suffering had oc­ curred, he [Achilles] would have sacked Troy, if Apollo had not been on guard’, Apollo is standing guard not over destiny but over Troy.24 Nothing in the text suggests that Apollo would not have been happy to see Troy’s destruction postponed forever (compare Athanassaki in this volume). Precisely because of the intensity of Apollo’s engage­ ment on behalf of Troy, the narrative must explain how it was ensured that Troy perish because of what happened to Helen. It explicitly gives the role of responding to the necessity of law not to Apollo but to Zeus. The language suggests that Apollo’s defence of Troy has the potential to go too far: ‘[Zeus] did not dare to undo fate’, that is, did not dare let Apollo succeed. And the text specifically suggests that Zeus’ role in part is to ensure that the rest of the gods conform their behaviour with that necessity: that is why Zeus is referred to in this connection as θεών σκοπός, ‘overseer of the gods’.25 21 In this respect, Sitzler (1911), 1016 is not precise enough. 22 The idea that Troy was destroyed specifically on account of Helen is a common­ place in archaic poetry: see Alcaeus frr. 42 and 283 V. For Paris’ breaking of the law of xenia, see Alcaeus fr. 42 V, Ibycus S 151 PMGF. 23 In this respect, I do not agree with Burnett (1998), 509-13; Rutherford (2001), 312. 24 On the question of whether the verb ‘to guard’ is transitive or intransitive, see Radt (1958), ad loc. 25 Compare Suarez de la Torre (1997), 170: ‘it is a way of recreating the epic state of things (so is the case in the Iliad): Apollo protects the Trojans and Zeus tries to counterbalance the partial attitudes of the gods.’

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In its succinctness, the account of Apollo’s role in the Trojan War leaves unstated the motivation behind the god’s partisanship. The motive is clarified in the Iliad in a myth that was of special interest in Pindar’s Aeginetan poetry. In the Iliad, as in the paean, Apollo is constantly watching out for Troy in case it be sacked unexpectedly (e.g. 4.507-13). He physically protects Troy at a moment of real vulnerability, when (the poet tells us, in language reminiscent of the paean) the Achaians would have sacked the city under the leader­ ship of Patroklos, if Apollo had not taken a stand on the city wall (16.698-9). When all the other gods retired to Olympus, in triumph or anger, after the Theomachia, Apollo alone stayed on and entered Troy: ‘the walls of the well-built city were a concern for him, lest the Danaians destroy them in contradiction to what was to happen on that day’ (21.515-17). Bergold asserted that Apollo’s chief role in the epic is to oversee fate and administer the will of Zeus, but the interpretation of Apollo’s interest in the Trojan War is not simple.26 When Zeus pulls out golden scales, and puts into each pan a këres of death, one for Achilles and another for Hector, and Hector’s pan descends, and we hear—in a chillingly brief line— ‘Phoibos Apollo left him’, Apollo does not necessarily do so out of any abstract interest in seeing that fate unfolds without a glitch. He defers to the will of Zeus for the same reason given by Hera in the poem (4.55): ‘I achieve nothing by objecting [to your plans, Zeus], since you are so much more powerful than L’ Significantly, that is how Athena interprets the relationship of Apollo to the will of Zeus immediately after the climactic weighing: ‘now it is no longer possible for him [Hector] to be a fugitive from us, not even if far-shooting Apollo should undergo much, grovelling before father Zeus who holds the aegis’ (22.219-21).

26 Bergold (1977), 185-6 with n. 1. One argument in particular seems open to question, namely, that Apollo directly causes the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon in book 1 in order to effect the plan of Zeus. It would be more accurate to say that the quarrel resulted from a series of actions taken by mortals and immortals alike: Apollo did not force Agamemnon to disrespect Chryses.

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Karl Reinhardt pointed out that, in the epic, Apollo’s orientation toward the conflict at Troy differed from that of Hera or Athena.27 Their support for the Achaians was merely instrumental, and so, if it advanced the aim of sacking Troy, the goddesses would turn against the Achaians as well. Hera bargained away the safety of her three favourite Achaian cities if only Zeus will permit her to continue her pursuit of the total destruction of Troy (4.51-3). Apollo did not display a comparable hatred of the opponents of his Trojan protégés; he was not motivated to help the latter by hatred of the former.28 He inflicted a devastating plague on the Greeks only after their leader Agamemnon had violently rejected the supplication of the god’s priest—and only after Chryses had specifically requested help from the god (1.9-52). When the Achaians made satisfactory restitution to the priest, Apollo responded favourably even though that response benefited the enemies of the Trojans (1.430-57). Apollo’s support for the Trojans cannot be accounted for on the basis of hatred for the Achaians; it must be based on some genuine, positive interest in the Trojans or their city. Reinhardt concluded that the only explanation of the two god­ desses’ allegiances and the strength of their hatred of Troy is a story that occurred long before the period narrated in the epic, the judge­ ment of Paris. An important feature of the narrative is accounted for by a story that is only briefly alluded to in the poem. Apollo’s protec­ tion of the Trojans in the epic is accounted for in a similar way, by a story that occurred long before the war. When Poseidon wonders why Apollo would align himself with the Trojans, he recalls the story of the building of the very walls before which the combatants fight (21.441-60). Poseidon’s speech is rhetorically deft: he diminishes the importance of Apollo’s role by saying that Apollo tended Trojan flocks while he, Poseidon, built the walls of Troy, although in an earlier passage (7.452-3) Poseidon gave equal credit for building the walls to Apollo. And Poseidon claims that the gods were not paid for their work, so there is no reason for Apollo to support the cheapskate

2' Poseidon’s orientation is different again: see Reinhardt (1997), 176. 28 Reinhardt (1997), 176. I am not persuaded by the passages enumerated in Davies (1981), 60 that Apollo exhibits hostility towards the Greeks in general in the Iliad. Davies’ claim that one may detect hostility toward Achilles in particular in the epic has greater merit.

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Trojans. Whether or not the Trojans adequately expressed their gratitude for their superior walls, the important point is that, when Poseidon poses the question—why do you support the Trojans, Apollo?—the sea-god turns immediately to the story of the building of Troy. The mythological narrative in Pindar’s Paean 6 corresponds so closely in terms of the allegiances of Hera, Athena, Zeus, and Apollo that it is reasonable to suppose that the reason why Apollo in particular stood in defence of Troy is the same as that given in the epic—namely, that he built parts of the city. It is possible that other considerations may have influenced the story of Apollo’s murder of Achilles, but I contend that Apollo’s concern for the physical integrity of Troy is a fundamental factor in the development of the myth.29 Three arguments in support of this interpretation may be ad­ vanced: Pindar’s account of the building of the walls of Troy in Olympian 8, the ability of the interpretation to account for the particular emphasis in the narrative of Neoptolemos’ death in Paean 6, and the probable role of Panthoos in the paean.

O L Y M P IA N 8 Olympian 8 brazenly introduces Aegina’s ancestral hero Aiakos into the traditional myth of the building of Troy’s walls: ‘Aiakos, whom the child of Leto and far-ruling Poseidon, when they were about to build the battlement for Ilion, summoned as helper on the wall. Since it was determined (ττεττρω μένον ) that, when war began in city-sacking battles, the city would breathe forth furious smoke’ (30-6).30 The implication of the second sentence is that if the walls 29 Cf. the emphasis on ritual antagonism between god and hero in Nagy (1979), 61-2, 144; Rabel (1990), 430. But I cannot go so far as Nagy (144); ‘we may now even ask whether the antipathy of the god toward the Achaeans in the Iliad has less to do— at least in origin—with his sympathy toward the Trojans and more with the theme of his antagonism toward the hero of the Iliad! For the importance of the myth of the building of the walls of Troy for the narrative logic underlying the Trojan War, see Hedreen (2001), 233-4 and passim. 30 What does Olympian 8 mean by saying that it was ιτεττρωμενον that Troy breathe out furious smoke? In other poems of Pindar, ττΐ-πρωμΐνον is used of what is determined by the gods: see Bowra (1964), 88. The word is compatible with the idea that Troy had to fall so that justice would be served for what happened to Helen.

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of Troy were built by Apollo and Poseidon alone, the city could not be destroyed. To be vulnerable, the fortifications will have to have been built by a mortal at least in part. That principle accords with the statement made by Poseidon in the Iliad (21.447), that he made the walls of Troy ‘wide and extremely good, so that the city would be inviolable’.31Olympian 8 continues: when the wall was newly built, three gleaming snakes leapt onto the tower, the two fell down, distraught from fear, and gave up their lives on the spot. But one leapt in with shouts of triumph. And Apollo, considering the omen, said: ‘Pergamos is (to be) captured at the place where you worked, hero. Thus the vision tells me that the son of Kronos sent, loud-thundering Zeus. Not without your children, but it will begin with the first, and (end) with the fourth.’ (37-46)

The number of snakes that made an attempt on the newly built walls of Troy being the same as the number of builders, the coincidence suggests that each snake tried a section of the wall constructed by a different builder.32 Apollo’s interpretation of the miracle suggests that the short-lived snakes were attempting entry through the sections built by the two gods, because the successful snake is explicitly associated with the work done by Aiakos. The omen confirms what is implied by the earlier narrative: if Aiakos (or some other mortal) had not participated in the fortification project, the walls could never have been breached. The myth blatantly advances the Aeginetan aim of asserting ances­ tral leadership in the Trojan War (see further below). But it also

31 Many scholars, beginning with the Alexandrian commentator Didymos, believe that Pindar invented the myth of Aiakos’ participation in the building of the walls of Troy: see Hubbard (1987), 19-20. If the myth is Pindar’s invention, it nevertheless addresses a traditional question: to what extent, if at all, was Troy vulnerable to attack? The possibility that the walls were susceptible to mortal attack was raised already in the Iliad (6.433-9) in Andromache’s speech to Hector. On the basis of that passage, some have concluded that there was a traditional myth about a vulnerability in the walls of Troy: see Leaf (1900), i. 289; Farnell (1930-2), i. 45-6. Andromache’s hypothesis that the walls of Troy might be surmountable is not in contradiction with Poseidon’s claim that he and Apollo built the walls of Troy to be unbreakable, because Andromache, being merely mortal, would have had no way of ascertaining the truth of that claim. 32 Cf. Robbins (1986), 318.

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fonctions as a gloss on Paean 6. Apollo’s assertion that Troy will fall is in response specifically to an omen sent by Zeus. By interpreting the omen, Apollo effectively accepts that things will come to pass as Zeus ordains (see Athanassaki in this volume). Structurally, the relation­ ships of power or authority are comparable to what is described in Paean 6: Zeus’ determination that Troy would burn because of what happened to Helen trumps Apollo’s commitment to the city’s de­ fence.33 Pindar has, in effect, meditated on the narrative logic of the paean’s mythological narrative and created a new myth to account for it. If Apollo’s undying support of Troy is coextensive with his building of its city walls, and Zeus’ law of hospitality cannot go unpunished, then a way around Apollo’s walls needs to be found. The myth of the Trojan horse was one solution. Pindar’s Olympian 8 provides an alternative that has the virtue of advancing the Aeginetan aim of involving their heroes as early and as centrally as possible in the war. For my purposes, the importance of Pindar’s myth is two­ fold: first, it emphasizes that the burden of the defence of the city lay with Apollo rather than the walls themselves. By including the fallible Aiakos in the construction project, it is no longer possible for any god who cares about the city to leave it unguarded, trusting in his immortal handiwork. What Pindar’s myth accounts for is Apollo’s ever-present watchfulness. Second, in thinking about Apollo’s parti­ sanship for Troy in relation to Zeus’ determination to carry out justice, Pindar identifies the myth of the construction of Troy as the key. He does so explicitly in Olympian 8 and, I believe, implicitly in Paean 6.

THE SH ORT LIFE OF N EO PTO LEM O S The belief that Apollo had a deep interest in the monuments of Troy assists in the interpretation of the second half of the mythological narrative in Paean 6, the death of Neoptolemos. As Nagy put it, ‘the death of the father and the death of the son are both celebrated as 33 Note the similarities in the use of language of necessity, O l 8.33 7ταττρωμίνον, and Pae. 6.96 χρήν; and of fire, Ol. 8.36 and Pae. 6.97-8.

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parallel events in Pindar’s Paean 6 to Apollo’.34 I contend that the murder of Neoptolemos is similar to that of Achilles also in the motivation behind the god’s intervention. Pindar tells us that Apollo killed Achilles in order to prolong the existence of Troy. The poet tells us that: ‘the god [Apollo] vowed, because [Neoptolemos] killed the aged Priam who had leapt on the courtyard altar (èpKtîov βωμόν), he would reach neither his welcoming home nor old age. But while he was quarrelling with servants over countless(?) honours, [Apollo] slew him in his own sanctuary at the broad naval of the earth’ (11220). In other sources, Neoptolemos came to Delphi to demand recompense for the death of his father, an act of hubris, or to sack the sanctuary, an act of sacrilege.35 In those accounts the hero brings upon himself his early death through his intentions or actions at Delphi. In Paean 6 the explicitly articulated motive for Apollo’s murder of the hero is not any of his actions at Delphi but a deed committed long before the hero’s arrival at the shrine and far away, the murder of Priam on the altar at Troy.36 That Apollo took it upon himself to punish the hero for killing a suppliant on an altar requires special explanation, because the altar at Troy did not nominally belong to Apollo. Many literary and visual narratives of the murder of Priam claim that the courtyard altar belonged to Zeus. On two late archaic red-figure cups by Onesimos the altar is labelled as belonging to Zeus. On one the altar bears the inscription Η Ε ΡΚ [Ε)ΙΩ , ‘[belonging to] Herkeian [Zeus]’.37 On another the altar is labelled Δ i6s h iepo[, ‘shrine of Zeus’.38 One might expect Zeus to avenge the dishonour to his own shrine, not Apollo. For the desecration of her shrine at Troy by Oïlean Ajax, for example, Athena herself created serious hardships for all the Achaians.39 Earlier in the paean Apollo took the extraordinary step of personally killing the

34 Nagy (1979), 121. 35 See Fontenrose (1960), 212-18. 36 So also Suarez de la Torre (1997), 171. 37 Rome, Villa Giulia 121110 (formerly Malibu 83.AE.362), BAD 13363, LIMC 8, pi. 400 Ilioupersis 7, Immerwahr (1990), 166 no. 1156; Williams (1991), 50-1, with fig. 8e. 38 Berlin F 2280, F 2281, plus other fragments, ARV2 19, 1 and 2, BAD 200097 and 200098, Williams (1976); Immerwahr (1990), 70-1 no. 418. 39 For details, see Hedreen (2001), 30-1.

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demigod Achilles in order to protect Troy from destruction for as long as possible. Only the myth of the god’s involvement in the building of Troy can account for his passionate, partisan defence of the city. I suggest that, for similar reasons—that is, in defence of a city that he built and thereafter cared for—Apollo punished Neoptolemos for the desecration of the altar of Zeus. The sacrilege at the Herkeian altar was not only an affront to its titular deity, but also an insult to the god responsible for the construction of the space. There is no surviving literary account in which Apollo specifically built the altar of Zeus at Troy, but in Euripides’ Hecuba (23) the altar on which Priam was murdered is described as θ εό Β μ η το ς, ‘built by the god’. The word is not unattested elsewhere in tragedy, but its earliest occurrence in literature (Iliad 8.519) is in connection with the story of the construction of Troy’s fortification walls by Apollo and Posei­ don. It suggests that, in Euripides, the altar of Zeus is also understood to have been part of the construction project undertaken by those two gods.40 Archaic Athenian vase-painting substantially supports such an interpretation, for in a number of carefully constructed representations of the death of Priam the sanctuary of Zeus Herkeios is outfitted with attributes (tripod cauldron, palm tree) that are otherwise exclusively associated iconographically with sanctuaries belonging to Apollo. For example, on a cup in Malibu by Oltos (Fig. 10, above p. 35), the altar on which Priam sits fearfully as Neoptolemos rushes madly at him is shaded by a palm tree.41 As I have argued in detail elsewhere, the Apolline attributes gracing the shrines of the gods at Troy do not indicate that the shrines no longer belong to Zeus (or, in other cases, Athena); other visual elements often confirm the association of the shrines with Zeus or Athena. Rather, the attributes indicate that the shrines were also of concern to Apollo. The nature or origin of that concern is best understood as originating in the god’s construction of the fair city of Troy.42

40 Cf. Collard (1991), 132. 41 Malibu, J. Paul Getty Museum 80.AE.154, Oltos, BAD 16776. 42 For details, see Hedreen (2001), 67-80.

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PA N TH O O S The account of the Trojan War in Pindar’s Paean 6 contains one element that draws our attention back in time to events, like the building of the walls of Troy, that long preceded the war but still affected its course. This narrative element not only effects a transition between Delphi and Troy, but also employs retrospection across generations in connection with the narration of the Trojan War. This principle of retrogression is exemplified in the account of the prophecy of the fall of Troy in Olympian 8, which occurs four generations before the sack of Troy, when Aiakos was brought to Troy to work on its walls. The allusion to, or account of, Panthoos in Paean 6 may even, like the myth in Olympian 8, refer specifically to Apollo’s role in the building of the walls of Troy. In the paean, the narrative of Apollo’s role in the deaths of Achilles and Neoptolemos is marked off from the preceding account of the purpose of the Theoxenia by the expression καί πο τέ, ‘and once upon a time’ (line 73). In the line immediately following are the letters πανθοο[ (74). Most scholars, beginning with the first editors of the papyrus, have taken the letters as part of a proper name, Πάνθοο[ς, -v, ‘Panthoos’.43 In the Iliad Panthoos is enumerated among the elderly Trojan men sitting with Priam above the Skaian Gate, the sound of their lively, wizened caucus compared to the dry chirping of cicadas (3.146-53). Panthoos occurs nowhere else in the epic, except as a patronymic of Poulydamas, Euphorbos, or Hyperenor.44 In the Aeneid (2.319) Panthus is a priest of Apollo at Troy. Servius’ commen­ tary tells us how he came to live there: Panthoos was a handsome young priest of Apollo at Delphi when Priam became king of Troy. Priam sent the son of Antenor to the oracle at Delphi to enquire why Troy fell under the assault of Herakles and Telamon. At Delphi the Trojan ambassador encountered Panthoos, became infatuated with

3 e.g. Grenfell and Hunt (1908), 95-6; Tosi (1911), 204; Sitzler (1911), 1016. SnM read the letters as part of an adjective modifying the name of Achilles (παν 0oô[r]), ‘swift’. For a detailed discussion of the various readings, and the conclusion that proper name, Panthoofs], is by far the most likely reading, see Radt (1958), 134-8. 44 For a survey of the few remaining literary of Panthoos, see Aly (1949).

Guy Hedreen him, and abducted him back to Troy, where Priam made him a priest of Apollo at Troy.45 A scholion to the Iliad (12.211-12; see also schol. on 15.521-2) tells the story somewhat differently: once upon a time the Trojans sent an embassy to Delphi with a query, and they returned with Panthoos, a priest of Apollo, so that he could explain the oracular response to Priam; and so Panthoos came to live at Troy. Long ago it was pointed out that Panthoos’ Delphic origins may account for his presence in Pindar’s paean. The movement in myth of Panthoos, taken or sent from Delphi to Troy, mirrors the movement of the poetic discourse from the subject of Delphi and the Theoxenia to the theme of the Trojan War. The few words that survive from this part of the poem support this interpretation (73-5): καί -π-ore... Π α ν θ ο ο [ν . . . ] δ ’ is Τρο ί α [ ν . ..] ήν€γκε[ν. And the movement of Panthoos from Delphi to Troy at the beginning of the Trojan War narrative is mirrored by the movement of Neoptolemos from Troy to Delphi at its end.46 But the significance of Panthoos in this poem is not only spatial but also temporal. His presence indicates that Apol­ lo’s interest in Troy pre-dated Menelaos’ war. Panthoos was taken or sent to Troy in the early years of Priam’s reign, shortly after the sack of the city by Herakles and Telamon during the reign of Priam’s predecessor, Laomedon. The reference to Panthoos at the beginning of the account of Apollo’s vigorous defence of Troy provides an indication of where to look for an explanation of the god’s partisan­ ship, because Panthoos’ only associations in the few surviving refer­ ences to him concern, as Servius’ commentary put it, whether or not to rebuild Troy on the same foundation where Apollo originally worked. Because extant testimonia about Panthoos are so rare, it is worth noting that he appears on a relatively recently published early Athe­ nian vase-fragment (Fig. 11, above p. 36). The fragment was found on Samos but lost during World War II.47 It included virtually the entire figure of an aged, grizzled man. He wears a long chiton and mantle. He carried a spear (or staff) in his left hand, and lifts his right

5 Serv. ad Virg. Aen. 2.318, text in Rutherford (2001), 311, n. 26. 46 Rutherford (2001), 312. 47 Samos K 963 etc., hydria fragment, BAD 43936, published by Kreuzer (1998), 57-60, 133-5, pis. 17-19 no. 75. See also LIMC 7, pi. 105, Panthoos 1.

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hand to his lips. The man is identified by name through an inscrip­ tion, ΠΑΝΘΟΣ. This fragment has been persuasively associated with the style of Kleitias, the artist who signed the well-known François krater as painter.48 The attribution means that the fragment dates from around 570 b c . The lost fragment has been associated with several other pieces of a large hydria (Fig. 12, above p. 36). The decoration on them includes parts of a warrior bending down to buckle his greave. He is about to step into a quadriga. The chariot is already occupied by a driver. In front of the horses stood a man dressed in a chiton and mantle and holding a staff. The inscribed letters, ΠΡΙ[, show that this is Priam. It is likely that Panthoos stood behind Priam. Typologically, the scene on the hydria is a warrior’s departure, and the prominent place of Priam in the composition suggests that it depicted the departure of Hector.49 The scene on the fragments in Samos invites comparison with the one passage in the Iliad in which Panthoos himself plays a role. The comparison shows, however, that the vase-painting does not correspond closely to any part of the Homeric narrative.50 The comparison suggests that ar­ chaic vase-painters envisioned Panthoos as playing a more promi­ nent role in the affairs of the Trojan royal family than the text of the Iliad gives him. One other aspect of the vase-painting may be significant. In Greek art, when a figure makes the gesture of the hand held to the mouth, like Panthoos, it sometimes seems to convey fear owing specifically to foreknowledge of a misfortune to come. The best-known example of the motif is figure N from the east pediment of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia. The figure looks toward the action unfolding at the centre of the pediment, the preparations for the chariot-race against Pelops performed by Oinomaos at the altar of Zeus (see below). But figure N sees something in the preliminary action that causes him to bring his clenched hand to his cheek and furrow his brow in alarm. Most modern scholars identify figure N as a seer, because his anxiety 48 For the attribution, in addition to Kreuzer, see Beazley (1986), 96, n. 32. 49 One may compare a lavish representation of this subject on a contemporary Corinthian krater in Paris: Louvre E 638, Amyx (1988), 574-5; Schefold (1993), 301, fig. 325. For the inscriptions, see Lorber (1979), pi. 34. The vase is discussed or illustrated in numerous entries in the LIMC: see the entry in the index of museums. See the comparative analysis of Kreuzer (1998), 58-60.

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appears to be based on an awareness of what specifically is going to happen in a race that has not yet begun.51 As Jeffrey Hurwit noted, the gesture made by the seer was popularized in Greek art around 580 BC, approximately the time when the hydria from Samos was made.52 The fragmentary vase in Samos thus contributes a small but signifi­ cant piece of information to the understanding of Paean 6. It suggests that Panthoos was already understood to have prophetic abilities in early archaic narrative. The vase-painting does not explicitly indicate that Panthoos hailed from Delphi, but the man’s possession of prophetic abilities itself points in that direction. The fragmentary vase supports the idea that, in archaic narrative traditions about the Trojan War, Panthoos was a seer who had emigrated to Troy from Apollo’s shrine at Delphi, a relocation that expresses the god’s long­ standing interest in the city.

TH EO X EN IA , AIAKOS, AND THE TROJAN WAR In Pindar’s Nemean 7 (44—7), the hero Neoptolemos is said to preside after death as θεμισκόπον, or ‘overseer’, at Delphi on the occasion of the sacrificial procession honouring heroes. It is possible that the Theoxenia is meant, because a scholion to the passage states that heroes were honoured in a xenia hosted by the god Apollo.53 In Paean 6 the narrative of Apollo’s role in the deaths of Achilles and Neopto­ lemos is preceded, it appears, by an account of the origins of the 51 Olympia, east pediment, figure N, completed around 457 bc, LIMC 1, pi. 609 Amythaon 1. The figure is discussed by Simon (1968), 157-62; Hurwit (1987), 12. 5 Compare the well-known, now-lost Corinthian column krater, depicting the departure of Amphiaraos. The figure on the ground, in front of the chariot, holding one hand to his forehead, labelled Halimedes, has been identified as the family seer. Once Berlin F 1655, Late Corinthian column krater, LIMC 4, pi. 236 Halimedes 1, Amyx (1988), 263, A l. For the identification, see Wrede (1916), 270-7. For the relationship between the vase-image and the pedimental sculpture at Olympia, see Hurwit (1987). 53 The scholion is printed in Rutherford (2001), 310, n. 20. On the relationship between the two rituals, see Bruit Zaidman (1984), 360-1. Currie (2005), 297-312 has argued in detail that Neoptolemos is presented in the poem as a recipient of herocult, and that celebration of his cult coincided with that o f the Theoxenia.

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Delphic Theoxenia, the occasion for which Pindar composed the poem. The second triad of the poem begins with an explanation of why the ritual is held (62—5): θ ύ ετα ι γ ά ρ ά γλ α ά ς υπέρ TlaviXXàhos, âv τ ε Δ ελ φ ώ ν εθ[ν]ος εΰξατο λ ψ ο ΰ . . . , ‘for it [sc. the Theoxenia] is being sacrificed on behalf of the entirety of the splendid land of Greece, for which the community of Delphi prayed [for relief] from famine Neoptolemos’ posthumous role in the Theoxenia would make a narrative of his death in the sanctuary at Delphi particularly relevant to the paean’s account of the origins of the festival. Several scholars have argued that Paean 6 traces the origins of the Delphic Theoxenia back to an event comparable to, or identical with, a disaster mitigated by Aiakos on Aegina. The first sentence of the tribute to Aegina, through its use of the epithet of Zeus, Έ λλανίου (125), alludes to the Aeginetan cult of Zeus Hellänios.54 Isocrates and several later sources tell us that, when a drought affected all of Greece and resulted in widespread suffering, the leaders of the Greeks asked Aiakos to intercede with his father Zeus. The intercession succeeded in averting disaster, and a cult of Zeus Hellänios (or Panhellenios) was established in thanksgiving on the summit of Aegina’s highest peak, the place where Aiakos had offered his prayer.55 The affinities between the foundation legends of the Delphic Theoxenia and Aegi­ netan cult of Zeus Hellänios include the type of problem to be solved: famine in connection with the Theoxenia, or drought in relation to the cult of Zeus. The affinities also include the involvement of Greece in its entirety, and the role of Delphi: the recommendation to send an embassy to Aiakos concerning the drought came from the oracle (e.g. Paus. 2.29.7), and Paean 6 gives an important role to the Delphians in interceding with the god(s) for relief from the famine.56 Several scholars have gone even further, suggesting that the catastrophes leading to the establishment of the Theoxenia at Delphi and the

54 See the scholion to line 125; text in Rutherford (2001), 304. 35 See Isocr. 9.14; Paus. 2.29.7-8; Apollod. 3.12.6, and the other sources listed in Radt (1958), 123. According to Pausanias, the embassy to Aiakos was depicted in the pediment of his hero-shrine on Aegina: see Fearn, Ch. 5 this volume, p. 185, and Athanasakki, Ch. 7 this volume, p. 279. 36 See Wilamowitz (1908), 350; Sitzler (1911), 1017; Tosi (1911), 203-4; Finley (1951), 72; Radt (1958), 89, 132-3; Hoekstra (1962), 2-3; Gentili (1981), 105; Currie (2005), 332; Kowalzig (2007), 181-7.

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cult of Zeus Hellänios on Aegina were one and the same.57 The possibility that the Delphic Theoxenia was related in some way to the Aeginetan cult of Zeus Hellänios has encouraged speculation about the role of Aegina in the performance of this paean and in the celebration of the Theoxenia generally.58 What of the possible affinities between the Delphic Theoxenia, or Aeginetan cult of Zeus Hellänios, and the subject of the poem’s mythological narrative, the Trojan War? The Theoxenia is a festival in honour of more than just Apollo. Leto and Dionysos are among the deities explicitly attested in this context.59 The presence of deities other than the Apolline triad, as well as the Panhellenic character of the festival, suggest that the Twelve Gods were included, as in the theoxenia at Magnesia on the Maeander.60 The paean’s account of the death of Achilles emphasizes the roles of the Olympian gods in shaping the outcome of the war: Hera and Athena working for Troy’s destruction; Apollo taking up arms against anyone, hero or god, who would threaten the city; and Zeus managing the explosive struggle among those gods, ensuring that the law of hospitality over which he presides is upheld. The festival that facilitates a sit-down dinner among the Olympian gods is matched, in the mythic narra­ tive, by an account of bitter strife among the same group of divine powers. In Homeric epic theoxenia is very rarely referred to because, in the world of the poem, gods no longer banquet with mortals of the here and now.61 In Hesiod banquets of gods and mortals belong to the remote past, when gods and mortal women still begot children together (Hesiod fr. 1.6-7 M-W), prior to the time when Prometheus

57 See Sitzler (1911), 1017; Tosi (1911), 204; (1929), 200-1; Stehle (1997), 144. The reference to Zeus (Kpôv[ie, 68) in the fragmentary account of the foundation of the Theoxenia has tentatively been taken to be part of a description of the intercession of Aiakos. For reservations, see Rutherford (2001), 331-2. 58 In addition to the references given in the introduction of this chapter, see Hoekstra (1962), 5. 59 For the sources, see Nilsson (1906), 160-2. 60 See esp. Bruit Zaidman (1984), 365-6; Kowalzig (2007), 189. For the festival at Magnesia, see below. 61 The reticence to refer more often to the ritual practice may reflect a conventional practice of avoiding reference to certain ritual customs of the here and now. For the epic’s systematic avoidance of overt references to hero-cult, see Nagy (1979), 116-17.

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made the epochal division of the sacrificial meal (Hesiod, Theogony 535-57). From that point on, sacrificial ritual, through the complete destruction of the gods’ portion of fat and bones, signalled the absence of the gods from the table of mortals.62 Theoxenia rituals stand in partial opposition to ordinary sacrificial ritual: instead of symbolizing the unbridgeable distance between gods and mortals, created by strife, they symbolize a return to an earlier era, when gods and men still harmoniously shared the same table.63 In the Iliad there is one reference to a banquet attended by gods and mortals together within Greece and recent memory. As Hera reminds the gods (24.603), they all attended the wedding of Peleus and Thetis. Likewise in Pindar, only a few mortals in recent memory have experienced a true theoxenia: ‘[Kadmos and Peleus] are said to have achieved the great­ est blessing of all men, for they heard the Muses singing [at their weddings] and the gods feasted with them, and they saw the children of the Kronos. . . ’ (Pythian 3.87-98). The description of Peleus’ vision of the divine feast is particularly significant, because it suggests that Pindar has in mind a ritual theoxenia: ‘he saw the fine circle of seats on which the lords of heaven and sea sat’ (Nemean 4.66-8). The formal seating arrangement is strikingly reminiscent of a theoxenia that regularly took place during the festival of Zeus Sosipolis at Magnesia on the Maeander. At Magnesia, the xoana or wooden statues of the Twelve Gods were set up on coaches within a temporary tholos that was most likely circu­ lar.64 The description of Peleus’ vision of the gods and goddesses dining with him at his wedding possesses a concreteness that confers a paradigmatic status on the wedding of Peleus and Thetis. It is a mythical exemplar of the historical practice. It is also the very occa­ sion when the strife among the gods referred to in Paean 6 originated. The dispute over the golden apple led to the judgement of Paris, Aphrodite’s promise of the wife of another man, protected by solemn oaths and Zeus’ law of hospitality, the hatred of Athena and Hera for the Trojans, and the threat to a city loved by Apollo. And it is the

62 This theme is explored by Nagy (1979), 213-18, among others. 63 On the distinctions, see Bruit Zaidman (1990), 170-2; Jameson (1994), 35, 37; Kowalzig (2007), 188. 64 See Jameson (1994), 41-2.

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occasion on which, one may imagine, was conceived the hero who is the object of strife among Apollo, Athena, and Hera in the paean, Achilles. The crisis that engulfed Greece and its gods, the subject of the paean’s mythological narrative, had its origins at this ‘theoxenia’. A rhetorical question at the end of the first triad appears to focus attention on an event in the distant past: καί πόθεν άθαν[ατων/-ος . . . α]ρζατο. τ α ΰ τ α θεοΐσι [μ]εν ττιθεΐν ao^>où[s] δυνατόν, βροτοΐσιν § άμάχανο[ν εύ]ρεμεν, ‘and whence the im m orjtal... bjegan: these

matters it is possible for the gods to teach the wise, but for mortals they are impossible to discover’ (50- 4); a prayer to the Muses for help in presenting a song about those matters immediately follows. The statements that follow in the second triad, beginning with θύεται γ ά ρ . . . , ‘for [the Theoxenia] is being sacrificed.. . ’, ought to con­ stitute the information the poet has requested from the Muses. Unfortunately (but, for this poem, typically), the text is fragmentary in precisely the part of line 50 that identified the subject of the rhetorical question, ‘whence the immortal such-and-such began?’ Long ago, Bury suggested that the word épis, ‘strife’, should be restored in line 50—‘whence began the strife among the immortals’. This restoration was suggested by the occurrence of the word in line 87 in connection with hostility among the immortals Apollo, Hera, and Athena concerning the fate of Troy.65 Some have objected that the strife among the gods in the mythical narrative is too unim­ portant to the themes of the poem as a whole to warrant a reference in what appears to be an introductory sentence to the entire middle section of the composition. They prefer some sort of restoration that aligns the rhetorical question with the origins of the Theox­ enia.66 But Alex Hardie called attention to one fragmentary scholion from the lost lines 19-49 that directly preceded the rhetorical ques­ tion, ‘whence began the immortal such-and-such?’: ]τά $ θεάς, ‘the goddesses’, on line 37. Few conceivable identifications other than Hera, Athena, Aphrodite, and the judgement of Paris, present themselves.67 But even if the judgement were not an explicit subject

65 See Grenfell and Hunt (1908), 93-4; Nagy (1979), 60. 66 See Radt (1958), 121-3; Rutherford (2001), 309; Furley and Bremer (2001), ii. 33; Kurke (2005), 101, n. 60. Cf. Burnett (1998), 502. 67 See Hardie (1996), 244-5.

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of the poem, Bury’s reading of epis in line 50 is not irrelevant in a poem concerned with the form of ritual known as theoxenia, since the wedding at which the immortal strife began seems to have been envisioned by Pindar in Nemean 4 as a mythical exemplar of such a ritual event. ‘For sacrifice is made [during the first Theoxenia] on behalf of all splendid Greece, which the community of Delphi prayed in connec­ tion with a famine’ (62-5). Π ανελλάδος, ‘entirety of Greece’, is a key word.68 Among calamities that affected all of Greece in the past, the Trojan War figures in the archaic and early classical literary imagina­ tion as perhaps the most important and influential down to the time of the Persian Wars. As Thucydides memorably put it (1.3.1-2), ‘before the Trojan War, it seems that Greece did not engage in any common deed. It seems to me that it did not even have that name as a whole’ (cf. also 1.10.5: ‘all of Greece’). The word Π α νίλλην α ς occurs once in the Iliad itself (2.530) in reference to all the Achaian fighters at Troy. Although the date at which that word may have entered the Homeric text or tradition is disputed, another synonymous expres­ sion, Π αναχαίοι, is well attested in the epic.69 The involvement of all of Greece in what one might have considered a personal vendetta of Menelaos is accounted for in mythology through the circumstances in which Helen came to be married to Menelaos. Every hero in Greece of that generation desired to be the husband of Helen, and Tyndareos extracted an oath from them all to defend her against any attempt to remove her from the husband that he chose.70 The point is, the Panhellenic scope of the famine and/or drought ended by the founding of the Delphic Theoxenia, or commemorated in the Aeginetan cult of Zeus Hellanios, dovetails with the Panhellenic scope of Achaian involvement in the Trojan War. Highlighting Panhellenism may be one of the functions of the mythological narrative in Paean 6.71

68 For the fifth-century political implications, see Kowalzig (2007), 187-200. 69 See Kirk (1985), 202. 70 The oath is mentioned in Hes. fr. 204.78-80, and is familiar to Thucydides (1.9.1). 71 Kowalzig (2007), ch. 4, esp. 219-23.

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AIAKOS, AEGINA, AND A M ULTI-GEN ERA TIONA L TROJAN WAR In Paean 6 one very likely link between the Delphic Theoxenia, the Trojan War, and Aegina was effected by the figure of Aiakos. The hero’s role in the foundation of the parallel cult of Zeus Hellänios was certainly alluded to, if not narrated, in the poem. It appears that Paean 6 related one of more stories about Aiakos in the now virtually lost third triad. Snell’s restoration σωφρο]νέστατον, ‘wisest’ (144), calls to mind Aiakos’ reputation as best in council of his generation (e.g. Pindar, Nemean 8.8-12). The restoration of Μ υρ[μ ιδο, ‘Myrmi­ don’ (143), if correct, suggests that there was an account of the creation of the first inhabitants of Aegina out of ants to keep Aiakos company (cf. Hesiod fr. 205 M-W). And Σ τ υ γ ο ς δρκι,ον. . . δικάσαι, ‘Stygian o a th ... to settle’ (155, 157), may refer to a dispute among the gods settled by Aiakos, perhaps the very story told in Isthmian 8 (see below). Whether he was brought into explicit connection with the Trojan War in this poem cannot be determined on the basis of what survives of the text. But a role for Aiakos in the genesis of the war is emphasized frequently in the poetry of Pindar written for the Aeginetans. And the way in which that role is concretely articulated is consistently paternal: his function in the story of Troy is to be the father, grandfather, and great-grandfather of the heroes who actually effected the city’s destruction. In a number of Aeginetan poems stories about particular heroes of the Trojan War contain explicit reminders that they trace their ancestry back to Aiakos. Nemean 3, for example, begins with a request to the Muses to bring the narrative to Aiakos and his family (28), and a directive to look near at hand, that is, on Aegina, for suitable material. The poem offers an in-depth account of the youth­ ful deeds of Achilles to epitomize the maxim that ‘whoever has inborn glory prevails greatly. But the one who has (mere) learning is an obscure man’ (40-1). It emphasizes the hero’s inherited great­ ness by reciting a litany of his ancestors, touching on his uncle Telamon and the capture of his mother Thetis by his father Peleus (28-39). The poem describes Achilles as a kind of child prodigy:

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ξανθός δ’ Ά χ ιλ ε ν ς τ α μεν μόνων Φιλύρας εν δόμοις, παίς εών άθυρε μ ε γ ά λ α έργα, ‘blond Achilles, while staying in the house of Philyra

[the mother of Cheiron], being a child outdoors, accomplished mighty deeds’ (43-4). With a child-sized spear, the little boy brought down lions and boars, and carried his prey still gasping its life out to Cheiron— έξετης τό πρώ τον, ‘beginning at the age of 6’ (44-9). The principle that inborn greatness trumps learning is subtly modified by an acknowledgement of the role of Cheiron in the shaping of Achilles’ abilities, ‘so that, having been sent by gusts of wind over the seas to Troy, he might hold his ground against the spear-rattling cry of the Lykians, Phrygians, and Dardanians. . . ’ (57-63). At which point the poem emphasizes again, as a form of ring composition, the genealogical link to Aiakos and Aegina: ‘the far-shining light of the Aiakidai is fixed from here’ (64), that is, from Aegina.72 Owing to the fragmentary condition of Paean 6, it is unclear how precisely the mythological narrative about Achilles and Neoptolemos was related to the references to Aiakos. But the account of the origins of the Theoxenia, which immediately precedes the myth, certainly al­ luded to Aiakos’ role in the cult of Zeus Hellänios, if it did not actually tell the story, and the Trojan myth is immediately followed by the account of the procreation of Aiakos. It seems very likely that the mythological narrative of Achilles was framed, in the paean, as in Nemean 3, by reference to Aiakos. Pindar not only introduces stories about Telamon, Peleus, Achilles, Ajax, and other heroes of Aegina with reference to their descent from Aiakos, but he narrates at least one story, and perhaps two, in which Aiakos is a protagonist. Isthmian 8 introduces a narrative about a crisis among the gods concerning the mother of Achilles with a reference to the hero’s grandfather Aiakos. The poem attributes to him the achievement of resolving disputes among the immortals: S κ α ί δαιμόνεσσι δίκας επείραινε (23— 4). As Hubbard persuasively 72 Further examples include Isthm. 6.19, where an address to the Aiakidai intro­ duces a brief narrative of the expedition of Telamon and Herakles against Laomedon, and a longer narrative recounting Herakles’ prayer to Zeus for Telamon’s future son Ajax and the propitious omen sent by Zeus in response. Or Nem. 5.8, where the reference to the Aiakidai introduces a glancing allusion to a scandalous story invol­ ving the three sons of Aiakos and an account of Peleus’ respect for the laws of xenia when tempted by the wife of Akastos.

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argued, the reference is to the immediately following subject, the quarrel between Zeus and Poseidon over marriage with Thetis, with whom both were besotted— Ζ ε υ ς ότ άμφι Θετιος αγλαός τ έρισαν Π οσειδάν γ ά μ ω (27-9).73 Aiakos himself did not settle the dispute directly. In an assembly of the gods, Themis explained that it was fated for the sea-goddess to bear a son more powerful than his father if Thetis begot a child with Zeus or any of his brothers (31-5a). Themis proposed that the gods ensure that Thetis shared the bed of a mortal and saw her son die in battle: βροτεων δε λεχεων τυ χ ο ΐσ α υιόν είσιδετω θανόντ εν π ολεμώ (35a— 6a).74 When Themis turns to the question of whom to choose to be the mortal husband of Thetis, she opts for a man renowned for his piety (εύσεβεστατον), Peleus, who happens to be a son of Aiakos (38-40). The nature of the hero’s piety, established by his rejection of the adulterous advances of his hostess Hippolyta, out of respect for Zeus Xenios, is elaborated in other Aeginetan poems of Pindar.75 As Hubbard argued, Aiakos helped to effect a solution to the crisis on Olympus by raising a son respectful enough of divine law for the gods to marry one of their own to him.76 His interpretation supports the idea that the chief role played by Aiakos in the Aeginetan saga of Troy is that of father. He produced the family instrumental in destroying the celebrated city of Troy, and because of his paternity, all those heroes are Aeginetan. The one direct role played by Aiakos in events shaping the Trojan War in Pindar’s poetry is his part in the building of the walls of Troy, but even this myth puts as much emphasis on paternity as on skilled labour. The story of his participation, together with Apoho and Poseidon, in the construction project, contained in Olympian 8, is recounted above. There is more to be said about this myth, because it highlights Pindar’s aim in his poetry for the Aeginetans of shifting

73 Hubbard (1987), 7-9. 74 The second part of Themis’ recommendation is not a gratuitous addition but in fact the very reason for enforcing such a marriage. The child’s potential must be neutralized, the most effective way of ensuring that is death, and for the child to be susceptible to death, at least one of his parents must be mortal. Cf. Carey (1981), 194, 196. 75 Nem. 4.57-60, Nem. 5.25-37. On the accounts as a whole, see Bowra (1964), 308. 76 Hubbard (1987), 7-9.

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the burden of initiative in the Trojan War to the Aiakidai. Having predicted that ‘Pergamos is (to be) captured at the place where you worked, hero’, Apollo immediately shifts the attention away from the act of building and onto Aiakos’ role as founder of a family of Trojan War heroes: ‘not without your children, but it will begin with the first, and (end) with the fourth’, ο ύκ a re p π α ιδ ω ν σέθεν, άλλ’ ά μ α π ρ ω το ις α ρ ξ ε τ α ι κ α ί τ ΐ τ ρ ά τ ο ις . Scholars dispute the correctness of the manuscript reading a p ije ra i and τ ε τ ρ ά τ ο ις , but it is possible to find some sense in the unemended text: ‘[Pergamos is (to be) cap­ tured] not without your children, but it [i.e. the process leading to the total destruction of the city, as the scholia suggest] will begin with the first [of your descendants], and (end) with the fourth [genera­ tion].’77 Aiakos’ son Telamon (and, in some accounts, his son Peleus as well) participated in Herakles’ campaign against Laomedon. The myth is mentioned on numerous occasions by Pindar in his Aeginetan odes.78 For the multi-generational emphasis in the language, compare Isthmian 5: ‘the heroic natures of the children of Aiakos, who in combat twice destroyed the city of the Trojans, first following Herakles, and (then) with the Atreidai’ (34-8). Or Isthmian 8: ‘Aiakos. .. whose godlike sons and the sons of his sons, lovers of war, distinguished themselves in courage in tending the brazen groaning din of battle and were wise and cautious at heart’ (24-6). Paean 6 similarly relates the deeds of two generations of Aiakidai.

AEGINA’S TROJAN WARS AND TH E FABRIC OF TROY IN TH E APHA IA SCULPTURES The goal of developing a myth of a multi-generational campaign against Troy, spearheaded by Aeginetan heroes descended from 77 See Borthwick (1976), 203; Race (1997), ii. 141. But Beattie (1955) prefers to see πρώτοι? as referring to Aiakos’ generation; see also Hill (1963); Robbins (1986), 319. For a recent review of the difficulties in wringing meaning out of the text, see Burnett (2005), 213-14; also Athanassaki, Ch. 7 this volume, pp. 265-70. 78 See Nem. 3.36-7; 4.25-6; Isthm. 6.27-31. See also Pind. fr. 172 (which includes Peleus in the expedition). For Peleus’ participation, see also Eur. Andr. 797-801.

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Aiakos, is not unique to Pindar but seems to have been an Aeginetan project. Three different kinds of evidence support this interpretation. There is the indirect evidence of not only Pindar’s poetry but also Bacchylides (13.70-185), for those poems in which members of the house of Aiakos figure were commissioned, almost without excep­ tion, by Aeginetan patrons. It is also widely accepted, as discussed by Nagy and others, that several members of the house of Aiakos did not originally have any genealogical connection with Aiakos or geogra­ phical association with Aegina, but already had associations with other places.79 The incorporation of those heroes into the family tree of Aiakos almost certainly resulted from Aeginetan storytelling. Finally, monumental public evidence of Aeginetan interest in the development of the mythology about Troy is the sculpture from the Aphaia sanctuary on the island (Figs. 13 and 2-3: above, pp. 37 and 30-1). Two sets of pedimental sculptures were made at the end of the archaic period for a new Temple of Aphaia (on the problem of chronology, see below).80 No ancient testimonium identifies the subjects of the sculptures. Both pediments represented combat among men, armed with swords, spears, shields, or bow and arrow. Athena occupied the central position in each composition. One figure in the east pediment is almost certainly identifiable, the kneel­ ing archer wearing a cap or helmet made out of the skin of a lion. This must be Herakles.81 His presence narrows the range of possible subjects to the handful of conventional battles fought by Herakles (this is no Amazonomachy). Many scholars accept the identification of the subject as Herakles’ assault on Troy to punish Laomedon for his refusal to pay what was promised in return for the rescue of Hesione. The similarities in general subject-matter and repetition of Athena in each pediment encourage one to see the unfolding events in relation to each other. If the east pediment represents the first

79 In addition to Nagy, Ch. 1 this volume, see West (1985), 162-3; Gantz (1993), 221-2; Burnett (2005), 22-5. 80 The east pediment is thoroughly published in Ohly (1976). The west is illu­ strated in Ohly (2001). A summary in Williams (1987), 669-74. 81 The lion-skin helmet is also employed to identify the figure of Herakles on the Kyknos metope from the Athenian Treasury: see De La Coste-Messelière (1957), 131, pis. 62-4; Schefold (1992), 152.

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Trojan War, then the west pediment may depict the assault on Troy by the Greeks under Agamemnon.82 The identification of the subject of the east pediment as the attack on Laomedon’s Troy means that the sculptures are the earliest surviv­ ing visual representation of that relatively rare story. The myth itself is attested in Homer and, as noted earlier, abundantly narrated in Pindar’s Aeginetan odes, but it is otherwise rare in early Greek literature, and there is no precedent or parallel for it as the subject of a major work of public sculpture.83 The story of the joint ThebanAeginetan war against Laomedon is much rarer than the tale of the campaign led by Agamemnon and Menelaos against Priam’s Troy, which is ubiquitous in early Greek poetry, and represented in a number of works of public sculpture of the archaic and classical periods, not to mention hundreds of works of private art. A massive public representation of the first war at Troy thus seems very likely to have been the original invention of the Aeginetan overseers and sculptors working on the Aphaia temple. Especially noteworthy is the manner in which the pedimental format of the sculptures essentially elevates the significance of the attack on Laomedon’s Troy to equal prominence with the more famous war against the city of Priam. The format governing the placement and composition of pedimental sculptures, requiring two identically sized sets of sculptures, one for each side of the building, makes a semantic contribution to the overall meaning of the temple’s pedimental decorations. The sculptural message is com­ parable to the prophecy of Apollo in Olympian 8, ‘Pergamos is (to be) captured. .. not without your children [Aiakos], but it will begin with the first, and (end) with the fourth’, or the statement in Isthmian 5, ‘the children of Aiakos, who in combat twice destroyed the city of the Trojans, first following Herakles, and (then) with the Atreidai’, insofar as those statements emphasize the multi-generational role of the descendants of Aiakos in the efforts to sack Troy. But the pedimental sculptures deliver the message in a uniquely detailed,

See e.g. Furtwängler (1906), 308-15; Ohly (1976), 62-5; Robertson (1978), 209-10; Burnett (2005), 35-9. The allusions to the story in Homer and other early literature are nicely discussed by Anderson (1997), 92-5.

Guy Hedreen palpable, and naturalized manner. The first war at Troy just is the equal to the second. Or even more daringly, The East pediment— being the most important side, facing the altar—told the most important story, that of the first campaign’.84 Besides Herakles, only one other figure in either set of pedimental sculptures is positively identifiable, that of Athena, who occupied the centre of each pediment. The figure of Athena from the west pediment is almost complete; of the figure from the east pediment only the head, shoulder, hand, and feet survive.85 In visual representations of the Trojan War the figure of Athena plays two distinct roles. Sometimes the figure represents the goddess herself, having appeared to defend or assist a hero.86 Sometimes the figure represents a statue of the goddess standing within the citadel of Troy, or having been carried off by Odysseus or Diomedes. When depicted as part of the setting of Troy, the statue of Athena usually appears as an integral part of the story of the rape of Kassandra, who took refuge at the foot of the statue.87 In the pediments from Aphaia, which type of figure does the central image of Athena evoke, the goddess herself or her statue? Although generally identified as representations of the goddess, there are good reasons to understand the figures to represent the statue of the goddess on the citadel of Troy. Recognizing the figure of Athena as representa­ tive of the fabric of the city offers another point of comparison with Pindar’s Aeginetan poetry, especially with the myth of the building of the city in Olympian 8 and perhaps in Paean 6. Typologically, the compositions of the Aphaia pediments have more in common with representations of the sack of Troy than with depictions of the war as it was fought on the Trojan plain. There exist very few visual representations of massed battle in which multiple single combats are envisioned as occurring simultaneously. Even a vase-painting as ambitious as the one on Exekias’ calyx krater in the Athenian Agora, which includes seven warriors in all, is organized 84 Ohly (1974), 57. 85 West: Ohly (2001), pis. 80-9; east: Ohly (1976), pis. 1-11. 86 e.g. supporting Achilles in the ambush of Troilos or in his duel with Hector, rousing Achilles and Ajax from a game of backgammon, or supporting Odysseus against Ajax in the dispute over Achilles’ armour: see the surveys in Beckel (1961), 132-4; Demargne (1984), 1007-9. 87 For the iconography of the rape of Kassandra, see Hedreen (2001), 22-32.

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around a single event, the fight over the body of Patroklos.88 The pictorial conception underlying the pedimental compositions—mul­ tiple individual heroes involved in distinct incidents envisioned as occurring at the same time and place—is best paralleled in Trojan War iconography by the ambitious attempts in late sixth- and early fifthcentury Athenian vase-painting to capture in a single image several horrific or heroic events occurring on the last night of Troy.89 In those representations the goddess Athena herself is virtually always absent, but her cult image plays an important role, both as a feature of a particular story and also as a prominent means of characterizing the setting. Representations of statues of Athena most often take one of two forms (standing or striding), both of which depict the goddess with a raised spear.90 But there are representations of Athena closely resembling the standing figure of Athena with spear at rest from the Aphaia West pediment, and they clearly represent statues of the god­ dess, since the images are held in the arms of Odysseus or Diomedes.91 There are numerous sixth-century representations of statues of Athena in which there is no base underneath the figure of the goddess to indicate that the figure is a statue and not the goddess; only the narrative context or iconographie tradition helps us determine the status of the divine figure.92 The goddess Athena appears in archaic visual representations of individual events of the Trojan War, but she plays a very different role from the one that the figure of Athena plays in the Aphaia pediments. In some representations of duels between Achilles and Hector, Ajax and Hector, or Diomedes and Aeneas, each combatant is supported by an immortal helper who stands directly behind his/her fighter, and converges with him toward his opponent.93 In others, for Athens, North Slope AP 1044, A B V 145,19, Broneer (1936). 89 For a survey, see Pipili (1997). 90 See Demargne (1984), 965-74. 91 e.g. Stockholm 1963.1, amphora, A R V 2 1643,33bis, Tyskiewicz Painter, B A D 275163, L IM C 2, pi. 714 Athena 103; Athena, NM, marble statue of the Palladion, from the pedimental sculptures of the Temple of Asklepios at Epidauros, L IM C 2, pi. 714 Athena 98. 92 See Hedreen (2001), 25-32. 93 e.g. London E 468, volute krater, A R V 2 206,122, Berlin Painter, B A D 201941, L IM C 1, pi. 114 Achilleus 565, where Apollo turns away from Hector to signal the end for that hero.

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example, a vase-painting in Munich, Athena occupies the centre of the composition.94 But the differences between the vase-painting in Munich and the pedimental compositions are significant: in the vasepainting the mortal combatants converge toward the place occupied by the goddess; she is in motion, matching step with Achilles; she looks back directly at Achilles, she is attending to the event.95 In contrast, the combatants in the Aphaia pediments move away from the central position occupied by Athena. In the west pediment she stands unmoving, with her spear at rest, uninvolved in the battles. And she does not engage with any of the figures in the pediment visually. In the east pediment the figure of Athena may have been in motion. Ohly restored the legs of the goddess some distance apart; and it seems certain that her left arm was lifted.96 Walter-Karydi, however, argued against Ohly’s restoration of a wide stance. She restored the figure of Athena in the east pediment as a standing figure, like the figure of Athena from the west pediment.97 The raised arm of Athena in the east pediment cannot easily be understood to be a gesture of protection or support, motivated by what is just now unfolding in the pedimental scene, because the warrior underneath her arm, the one she would be protecting, is most likely a Trojan and not an Aeginetan Aiakid.98 More importantly, the direction of the goddess’ gaze in the east pediment was almost certainly directed out of the pediment and not at any of the combatants within the image.

94 e.g. Munich 2406, stamnos, A R V 2 207,137, Berlin Painter, B A D 201956, L I M C 1, pi. 115 Achilleus 566, which Ohly (1976), 25 compared to his reconstruction of the figure of Athena from the east pediment. See also London E 438, stamnos, A R V 2 20,3 Smikros, B A D 200104, L IM C 1, pi. 235 Aias I 36. 95 She holds rather than wears her helmet, to suggest that she is not really fighting Achilles’ battle for him as much as providing support or encouragement: see Beckel (1961), 21. 96 Ohly (1976), 16-31. 97 A lt-Ä g in a , II.2 136-8. The fact is that the middle of the plinth in which Athena’s feet were embedded, the only evidence that can settle the question of the goddess’ stance, has not been found. Very similar to Walter-Karydi’s standing figure is the figure of the goddess on Munich 2650, cup, A R V 2 402,2, L IM C 2, Foundry Painter, B A D 204341, pi. 707 Athena 42. The context of the image—sculptor’s workshop—suggests that the figure of Athena as well as that of the horse represent statues. 98 Ohly (1976), 64.

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It is generally held that the goddess Athena is invisible to the combatants in the Aphaia pediments. Walter-Karydi compared the sculptures from the Temple of Zeus at Olympia, in the east and west pediments of which Apollo and Zeus occupy the central positions. Her assumption is that Apollo and Zeus are to be understood as invisible to the heroes, heroines, or centaurs in the pediments, un­ seen divine powers determining the outcome of the depicted events. In this interpretation, the pedimental figures (for the exact place­ ment of which there is no conclusive technical evidence) are usually arranged so that the central figures turn or move away from the deity, as if he were invisible." In his description of the east pediment, however, Pausanias (5.10.6) records that he recognized the figure of Zeus as a statue (zhos âè άγαλμα tos ). In identifying the rest of the figures of the pediment Pausanias does not qualify what he sees with the word agalma, but simply names them.99100 Pausanias interpreted the pedimental composition as representing a particular moment in an important local story, the preparations for the chariot-race be­ tween Pelops and Oinomaos, which entailed a sacrifice at the altar of Zeus Areios. An early fourth-century vase-painting, depicting more or less the same configuration of protagonists and a similar moment in the story, shows Oinomaos pouring libations before an altar and pillar inscribed to Zeus.101 In earlier scholarship the east pediment was understood to represent the preparations for, or act of, sacrifice before an altar and cult statue of Zeus, the altar being restored even though no trace of it was found.102 Bulle convincingly argued that 99 A lt-Ä g in a , II.2 132. This interpretation of the deities in the Olympia pediments is a widely held point of view, e.g. Furtwängler (1906), 310; Robertson (1975), 277, 280; Kyrieleis (1997), 14. 100 Säflund (1970), 144-5 is incorrect, in my opinion, in suggesting that Pausanias, in this instance, did not mean to suggest that he understood the figure of Zeus to represent, within the virtual world of the imagery, a statue of the god. Contrast the way in which the passage is understood by Bulle (1939), 146. The manner in which Pausanias, Pliny, and other ancient writers refer to images of the gods is touched on by Gordon (1979), 7-8. 101 London F 331, Apulian amphora, R V A p I 338,5, Varrese Painter, L IM C 5, pi. 310 Hippodameia 12. See also Naples H 2200, bell krater, A R V 2 1440,1, Oinomaos Painter, BAD 218098, L IM C 5, pi. 310 Hippodameia I 10, where the preparations are occurring before a statue of Artemis. The vases are well discussed by Gaifman (2005), 255-60. 102 See Weege (1935b), with earlier bibliography.

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the pedimental sculptures were devoid of the physical apparatus of sacrifice (altar, phiale).103 He and other scholars have argued that the pedimental sculptures can be meaningfully understood to evoke more than one moment in the story, to represent the characters of the protagonists more than any particular episode, or to emphasize the eternal over the contingent.104 But no one has convincingly argued that Pausanias’ perception of Zeus as a statue is illegitimate. What the scholarship has demonstrated is that the figure of Zeus is more multivalent than the reading of Pausanias might suggest. The central figure of the west pediment of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia can also meaningfully be understood to represent the cult image of a god, even if it also visualizes the god’s epiphany. Although Pausanias identified this figure as Peirithoos, its relatively more monumental scale and its lack of direct involvement in the action suggest that it represents a deity. The figure’s youthfulness, hairstyle, and nudity correspond to the features of Apollo. Although many scholars prefer an arrangement of the two centremost groups of hero, heroine, and centaur whereby the heroes fight outward from the centre, there are iconographical and architectural reasons to prefer an arrangement in which they converge on the central figure of Apollo. The latter arrangement places the female figure uniquely and richly dressed in chiton and himation—and therefore likely to represent the bride—directly under the protective arm of Apollo. It also places the most important hero, Theseus, who saves the bride in contemporary and compositionally related Attic vase-paintings of this story, on the more prominent side of Apollo. And it also allows the extended right hand of Apollo to be supported on the head of the centaur.105 As Grunauer has shown through the discovery of the block from the apex of the cornice, the pediments of the Temple of

103 Bulle (1939), 209 and p a ssim . On the basis of the rediscovered feet of Zeus, Kunze (1944) argued against the possibility of an altar in front of the statue of Zeus. 104 See the survey of interpretations in Aebli (1971), 187-228. 105 For the chiton and himation as identifying the bride, see Studniczka (1889), 167; Harrison (1982), 41-2, n. 4. For Theseus as the rescuer of the bride in Attic vasepainting, see Shefton (1962), 341-2, 356, 360-1; Barron (1972), 26 (though Shefton believes that the axe-swinger in the pediment is Peirithoos). In Latin poetry see Ov. M e t. 12.227-40. For the technical problem of supporting the extended arm of Apollo, see Younger and Rehak (2009), 62, 67, 84.

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Zeus were higher and wider than previously thought. The greater height and width allows the arrangement of the two central groups of heroes, heroines, and centaurs so that they converge on Apollo. The new findings also show that, in a convergent arrangement, the biggest, most prominent sculptural masses fall directly over the columns, except for Apollo, who occupies the dead centre of the composition. In this way, architecture and sculpture work together as a ‘Gesamtkunstwerk’.106 The convergent arrangement of the central figures of the west pediment undermines the assumption that the figure of Apollo is invisible to the other figures in the pediment, since the bride is running toward the image of the god. In this arrangement, the bride is running not merely out of fear but specifically in order to seek protection from the god Apollo. In this way his presence in the pediment is motivated and his concern for the outcome is clarified. The bride supplicated the god in his sanctuary, and the centaurs have violated not only the rules of civilized behaviour but also the god’s precinct. Other visual representations of the centauromachy dating to the second half of the fifth century bc, including the frieze of the Temple of Apollo at Bassai and the Parthenon metopes, arguably tell us something about how the sculptural group of bride and Apollo may have been interpreted, and they show Lapith women taking refuge at a cult statue.107 One function of the divine figures in these pedimental composi­ tions, that of specifying the setting of the representation, is exempli­ fied by the Parthenon frieze. I follow Robertson and Boardman in understanding the moment (or moments) shown in the frieze to be Grunauer (1974), 40-5 and p a ssim . For the Bassai frieze, in which the bride wraps her arms around a cult statue of Artemis, and there is an epiphany of Artemis and Apollo, see Kenner (1946), pis. 4-5. For Parthenon south metope 21, and the likelihood that the women at a cult image are Lapith women seeking refuge from the centaurs, see Mantis (1997), 77-9. See also Vienna IV 1026, calyx krater, A R V 2 1087,2, Nekyia Painter, B A D 214586, L IM C 8, pi. 425 Kentaouroi et Kentaurides 172, and Ovid, M e t. 12.245-51. Weege (1935a), 472 restored an altar to this pediment of the Zeus temple, to clarify the idea that the women have taken refuge at a shrine. For the possibility of an altar, see now Younger and Rehak (2009), 84. But to recognize that Apollo represents the object of their flight, even while he embodies the epiphany of the deity himself, it is not necessary that there be an altar.

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preparatory, when the Panathenaic procession was assembling be­ tween the Dipylon Gate and the Agora, prior to ascending the Acropolis.108 The figures in the frieze often and persuasively identi­ fied as the eponymous heroes of the ten tribes of Athens had a physical presence in the Agora in the form of a statue group erected most likely just around the time of the creation of the frieze.109 The twelve Olympian gods represented in the frieze also had a place in the Agora, at the nearby altar of the Twelve Gods, which dates from the late archaic period.110 In the frieze the figures of the gods do not call to mind statues so much as the epiphanic presence of the deities at their collective shrine in the Agora for the beginning of the procession to the Acropolis, the kind of epiphany envisioned by Pindar in his dithyramb for the Athenians: ‘Come to the chorus, Olympians... you gods who are coming to the city’s crowded, in­ cense-rich navel in holy Athens and to the glorious, richly adorned agora.’111 The representations of the Olympian gods and eponymous heroes serve to situate the action spatially within the Agora as well as visualize the epiphany of the gods and the living continuity between mortal present and heroic past. Although the gods may be invisible to mortals in their epiphanic presence, they embody concreteness of location.112 Pausanias’ identification of the figure of Zeus as a statue in the east pediment of the Temple of Zeus has often been discounted because the figure is in motion: ‘[b]y the turn of the head and the movement of the right hand the figure is depicted as living and present, not as a xoanon.’113 It is true that the pose suggests that the figure is moving, but that does not rule out the possibility of seeing the figure also as a statue, since it is well known that movement, or the semblance of movement, was a celebrated characteristic of Greek statues in

108 Robertson and Franz (1975), 11; Boardman (1977), 47; (1984), 212-13; (1999a), 325-6. See also Gauer (1984), 223. 109 For the identification of the figures, see Harrison (1979). For the statue base see Wycherley (1957), 86; A g o ra XIV, 38-41. 110 A g o ra X IV , 129-36; for a revised architectural chronology, see Gadbery (1992). 111 Pind. fr. 75.1-5, trans. Race. 112 For the invisibility of the gods see Himmelmann (1998), 155, n. 45. 113 Säflund (1970), 98. With more nuance, Aebli (1971), 194.

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antiquity.114 Two more or less distinct experiences are relevant here. One is the religious experience of perceiving the presence or will of the god in his/her statue through movement. Two figures in the east pediment often identified as seers are shown to be engaged visually with the centre of the pediment, and one (figure N, described above in comparison to Panthoos) expresses grave concern at what he sees. ‘These two alone, one would say, can see Zeus, and have noted the fateful turn of the head.’115 To put it another way, these two alone perceive in the inanimate stone statue marking the setting of the event the active presence or concern of the god.116 The other experi­ ence is the aesthetic experience of seeing an animate figure and the inanimate material in which it is represented at the same time.117 This ‘twofold’ experience is fundamental to the ways in which visual or artistic representation is described in Greek literature, beginning with Homer’s descriptions of the brooch of Odysseus or shield of Achilles.118 Recognition of the material support of the representation not only contributed to the understanding of the function and limitations of representation, but also made possible the expressive use of material. In the case of pedimental sculpture, the material out of which the divine figures are formed links the figures with other sculptural representations of the gods. Sculptural representations of human figures, through their materiality, also potentially evoke other sculptural images, but images of gods are categorically different from those of humans insofar as their referents—the divine powers that they represent—do not visibly exist in an obvious or unproblematic way.119 The most familiar referent for a sculptural representation of a deity, visually, is another representation.

4 See e.g. Spivey (1996), 47-52. 115 Robertson (1975), 279. 116 On moving statues generally, see De Cesare (1997), 79-91. For a mid-fifthcentury vase-painting of a statue that moves in response to a man’s prayers, see New York 08.258.25, oinochoe, A R V 2 776,3, B A D 209571, De Cesare (1997), 85-6, fig. 35. See also Louvre G 107, amphora, ARV2 18,1, now often attributed to Eupronios, B A D 200088, L IM C 4, pi. 446 Herakles 16, for a statue of Herakles depicted as moving. 117 For the concept, see Wollheim (1987), esp. chs. 1-2. 118 Becker (1990); Steiner (2001), 19-22. 119 A point exemplified in Vernant (1991).

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The interpretation of the central figures of Athena in the Aphaia pediments as statues of Athena ameliorates one long-standing problem surrounding the sculptures. Very little information identi­ fies the pedimental sculptures as warriors fighting at Troy. Furtwän­ gler argued that Herakles was the single positively identifiable mortal figure in either pediment; that no other combatant was individually identified by the sculptors.120 Although Ohly argued that the eagle emblazoned on the shield of one principal fighter in the west pedi­ ment would have identified him as Ajax, and Paris is probably identified through his tight-fitting archer’s costume, it remains the case that little visual information in the sculptures identifies them as warriors at Troy.121 Recognized as a statue, the figures of Athena contribute significantly to the legibility of the pediments’ narrative contexts, because the statue of Athena was a regular feature of representations of the sack of Troy in archaic Greek art. This reading of the central image of Athena also weakens the force of one of Sinn’s principal objections to the identification of the sculptures of the west pediment as Aeginetan heroes at Troy. Sinn argued that it would not be likely that Ajax would be shown on the right hand of Athena, as if championed by the goddess, given the animosity between them in other fifth-century narratives.122 This objection loses its force if the figure of Athena does not primarily function to relate her support for the Achaeans, but to convey a sense of place. This interpretation of the central figure of Athena in the Aphaia pediments conjures up, or brings into proximity, the physical infra­ structure of Troy. It localizes the battles close to the city itself, rather than leaving them spatially ill-defined. It puts the stakes of the battle, the fabulous city of Troy, before our eyes. It evokes the climax of the long story of Troy, because the statue figured in an especially ugly Achaean (but not Aeginetan) war crime during the last night at Troy. The spatial concreteness supplied by the statue of Athena enhances the plausibility of Robertson’s suggestion that the leftmost warrior in the east pedi­ ment, the warrior often envisioned as Laomedon, dying from an arrow shot across the pedimental space by Herakles, is dying on the top of the 120 Furtwängler (1906), 309-10. 121 Ohly (1976), 63. 122 Sinn (1987), 146. But Sinn’s observation (142ff.) that Athena is not the obvious divine candidate to be supporting the Aiakadai is worth noting.

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wall of Troy, in which, it was said, he was interred.123 The means of evoking the stones of Troy in the sculptures may differ from the means employed by Pindar in Paean 6, but the fabric of the city haunts both works of art. Identifying the image of Athena as the statue of the goddess at Troy also has implications for the intriguing hypothesis that the inclusion of the goddess in these pediments aligns with Aegina the goddess traditionally associated with Aegina’s rival and enemy, Athens (see Watson in this volume). As a statue on the citadel of Troy, Athena is not playing the traditional role so familiar from Greek, and especially Athenian, art of standing by her favourite heroes. The Aeginetan heroes at Troy are making their own opportunities and achieving success without the help of the goddess of the Athenians. That subtle statement of self-sufficiency might have positive significance in Aeginetans’ attempts to shape the image of their island in relation to Athens. The pedimental sculptures on view in the Glyptothek today were created to adorn a lavish new temple erected as a replacement for the sixth-century Temple of Aphaia, which was destroyed by fire. When the old temple burned, and when the new temple and its sculptures were erected, are notoriously difficult questions. Shaping the discus­ sion of those questions has been the belief that the sculptures of the west pediment, being more archaic in style than those of the east pediment, must have been created appreciably earlier than the latter. In support of that scenario, scholars pointed to the discovery at Aphaia of a set of sculptural fragments that, for reasons of scale and sheer number, seemed impossible to accommodate in the exist­ ing pedimental groups, and therefore were identified as a third pedimental group. The hypothetical pediment was envisioned as the original east pediment, created at the same time as the west pediment but subsequently replaced by the stylistically later sculp­ tures displayed as the east pediment in the Glyptothek today. Further complicating an already Byzantine scenario was the reconstruction of a fourth set of pedimental sculptures. Many scholars have not only postulated a difference of ten to fifteen years in date between the west and east pediments, but have also advanced a date prior to 480 bc for the latest sculptures, in the belief that the severe style of Greek

123

Robertson (1978), 209-10.

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sculpture, of which the east Aphaia pediment is exemplary, came into existence in the two decades preceding the Persian Wars. This was the position of Dieter Ohly, who carried out the most important investigations of the sculptures in the later twentieth century. Ohly believed that only a hiatus in the construction of the temple could account for the passage of enough time for sculptural style to develop from what we see in the west pediment to what is visible in the east.124 That elaborate scenario has met with increasing resistance. First, several scholars have questioned the evidence of additional pedimental sculptures or the significance of the stylistic differences between sculptures of the west and east pediments. In his extensive survey of fifth-century pediment sculptures, Angelos Delivorrias argued that the creation of a third set of pedimental sculptures was without precedent in Greek architectural practice, and would have been prohibitively expensive. Noting that a head originally assigned by Furtwängler to the ‘earlier’ east pediment was more recently shown to be part of the current (i.e. later) east pediment, Delivorrias suggested that it might be possible for all the existing pedimental fragments to be accommodated into two pedimental composi­ tions.125 The movement of the head from the supposedly stylistically earlier to the later group of sculptures also suggests that the differ­ ences among the pedimental sculptures from Aphaia need not be chronological in significance. Both Brunilde Ridgway and Andrew Stewart have noted that the Athena from the west pediment seems very mannered in its elaborate zigzag drapery folds, as if it were archaizing rather than genuinely archaic. The difference in style may not signify a date much earlier than that of the east pediment.126 The

124 For a summary of Ohly’s work, see Ohly (1974), 45-66. See also Williams (1987), 670-2. 125 Delivorrias (1974), 180-1. 126 Ridgway (1970), 13-16; Stewart (1990), 137-8. Delivorrias called attention to Lippold, who dated all the sculptures within a ten-year period, noting that there were similarities in the treatment of details between the west and east sculptures. As Greg Leftwich reminded me, the stylistic differences between the Siphnian Treasury south/ west and north/east friezes or Parthenon south metope 27 and 31 would lead some to date them to appreciably different time-periods, if there were not external evidence of their contemporaneity.

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archaizing style of the figure of Athena would be especially appro­ priate to an image of a statue. Second, evidence has been accumulat­ ing in favour of a lower chronology for the entire temple project. During the 1960s excavation yielded pottery that appears to have been deposited during the laying of the temple’s foundations. Many scholars date this pottery to the time of the Persian Wars.127 Although some scholars have preferred to date the Aphaia pediments earlier than the Persian Wars on the basis of sculptural style, there are very few firmly dated sculptural monuments between the Siphnian Treasury at Delphi (530-525 bc) and the Temple of Zeus at Olympia (470-457 bc) on the basis of which one might date the sculptures (or the architecture) of the Aphaia temple stylistically.128 And one key late archaic monument has been recently downdated. In his study of the Aphaia temple architecture Hansgeorg Bankel concluded that the temple must post-date the Treasury of the Athenians at Delphi. Both Ridgway and Stewart believe that the earlier of the two sculptures of Athena from the Aphaia pediments, the west Athena, must post-date the figure of Athena in the Treasury sculpture. Once dated to 500 bc or to the 490s, the erection of the Treasury of the Athenians has now convincingly been connected with the building of the base for the Marathon trophy, which obviously post-dates 490 bc.129 In a recent comprehensive study of the emergence of the severe style in Greek sculpture, Stewart has argued that the first traces of the style cannot be detected in any firmly datable monument until the sculptures of the Tyrannicides of 478-477 bc. Those who would date the Aphaia

127 The black-figure pottery was published by Moore (1986). For her conclusions about the date, ‘the latest pieces from the fill of the North Terrace... were massproduced during the time of the Persian Wars’, see p. 53. David Gill argued at length that the latest pottery from the north terrace fill is comparable to pottery found in several deposits in the Athenian Agora datable to 479 b c : see Gill (1988), (1993). The Agora deposits in question have been convincingly associated with the clean-up after the sack of Athens by the Persians in 479 in the detailed study of post-Persian War well deposits from the Athenian Agora undertaken by Shear (1993). For the reliance on sculptural style see Williams (1987), 669-70. 129 Bankel (1993), 169-70. For the connection between the Marathon base and Athenian Treasury see Cooper (1990); Amandry (1998). Bankel himself acknowl­ edged that, if the date of the Athenian Treasury were ever securely established as after the Battle of Marathon, then the date of the Aphaia temple would have to fall accordingly to 480-475 for the sculptures.

Guy Hedreen sculptures earlier than 480 bc on the basis of sculptural style no longer have any firmly datable monuments to rely on.130 If the sculpture programme was created with the experience of the Persian Wars in mind, part of its significance may very well be captured in Pindar’s Isthmian 5, written for an Aeginetan victor. Having introduced the victor, the speaker turns, as so often in Aeginetan odes, to the children of Aiakos. The speaker introduces the heroes with the general statement, ‘the children of Aiakos, who in combat twice destroyed the city of the Trojans, first following Hera­ kles, and (then) with the Atreidai’. As if embarking on a mythical narrative, the speaker enumerates four mighty foes dispatched by Achilles, but in lieu of calling the hero by name, or telling any of the tales in detail, the poem employs a periphrasis to call our attention back to the Aeginetans: ‘one’s mouth proclaims Aegina as their [i.e. the Aiakidai] homeland, that illustrious island.’ And then the poem makes its most important connection between the mythical deeds and the here and now: ‘From old she [i.e. Aegina] has been built as a bastion for men to scale with lofty achievements. My fluent tongue has many arrows to ring out in praise of them [i.e. the Aiakidai], and recently in war Salamis, the city of Ajax, could attest that it was preserved by her sailors during Zeus’ devastating rain, that hailstorm of gore for countless men’ (43-9). In making an equation between the achievements of the great Achaean warriors at Troy and the victories of the Greeks in the Persian Wars, Pindar’s poem is remi­ niscent of the relatively recently discovered elegy composed by Si­ monides in commemoration of the battle at Plataea. The elegy invokes Achilles in a hymnic introduction to a poem that will focus on the more recent event.131 Both poems suggest that the accom­ plishments of the mythical heroes of the Trojan Wars could be fitting comparanda for the heroism displayed in the Persian Wars. It has been suggested before that the pedimental sculptures of the Aphaia temple might have been created with the Persian Wars in mind, but not every interpretation along those lines is compelling. In the nineteenth century J. W. Blakesley suggested that ‘the triumph 130 Stewart (2008a and b). 131 Published by Parsons (1992). For introductions to the poem, see Rutherford (1996), 174-84; Obbink (1996).

367 of the Hellenic race over the Asiatics appears in the two tympana of the temple, symbolized by two triumphs of the Aeacidae, led by Athene, over Trojans, represented by figures combating’.132 The diffi­ culty with this interpretation is that it is not supported by what is visible in the sculptures. While a few individual figures are identifiable through their unique dress (Herakles, Paris), the Achaians and Tro­ jans are otherwise indistinguishable from each other with respect to their physical appearance, arms, and armour.133 Moreover, the Achaians are not represented as prevailing over the Trojans. As Ohly has shown, on the east pediment, and very likely on the west pediment too, a successful Achaian fighter in one half of the pediment is balanced by a successful Trojan in the corresponding position in the other half. And an equal number of Greeks and Trojans are shown to be wounded or dying. As he well put it, ‘the message of the pediment groups is not the glorification of war and of the winning side, for Greeks and Trojans are equally matched’.134 The emphasis of the sculptures is on the seriousness or nobility of the struggle, and the involvement of so many great Greek heroes, with Aeginetans playing the leading roles.

CO N C LU SIO N To summarize, archaic Aeginetan storytellers essentially stole Peleus and Telamon from their original, traditional homelands, transferring their childhoods to Aegina, where they grew up in the house of the island’s founder Aiakos. The radical appropriation of those heroes allowed the island to claim many of the greatest Achaian Trojan War heroes as its own. Such a brazen, daylight robbery of mythological tradition might lead one to think that the artists who worked for the 132 The quotation is in Gill (1988), 175 after Blakesley’s 1854 commentary on Herodotus. I have not seen the original text. For the history of this line of interpreta­ tion, see Sinn (1987), 162. 133 The archer in the west pediment dressed in the tight-fitting, colourful outfit familiar from representations of Scythian archers is probably thereby identifiable as Paris, the Trojan archer par excellence. See Hampe (1981), 513. 134 Ohly (1974), 60.

Guy Hedreen Aeginetans always disrespected tradition. The Aphaia pediments and Pindar’s Paean 6 tell otherwise. Both works of art build on tradition, creating narratives that enhance the reputations of Aeginetan heroes without blatant fabrication. And both do so, as it happens, by enga­ ging creatively with traditions concerning the monuments of Troy. The Aphaia pediments brilliantly rethink the traditional pictorial convention of the last night of Troy, with its multiple, seemingly simultaneous encounters between frantic Trojans and Achaians out of control amidst the shrines of the gods. In so doing, the designer(s) of the pediments subtly ennobled the war at Troy: here it appears as an honourable struggle between nearly evenly matched heroes, with­ out reference to more ignoble offences against women, children, the elderly, and the gods. The designers also put the architectural con­ vention of paired pediments of equal scale to good semantic use, to suggest that the obscure first Trojan War was at least equal in significance to the more famous second campaign. Shifts of emphasis in the traditional manner of representing the story of Troy resulted in pedimental sculptures that put the actions of Aeginetan ancestors at Troy in the best possible light. In the composition of Paean 6 there was no denying the involvement of Apollo in the deaths of both Achilles and Neoptolemos. But by emphasizing Apollo’s traditional interest in the physical fabric or integrity of the city of Troy, as a motivation for his actions against Achilles and Neoptolemos, it was possible to avoid mention of the ugliest deeds attributed to them (the murder of Troilos deliberately on Apollo’s altar, or the intention to sack Delphi). Through a series of deft comparisons, Pindar also tightened the links between the Trojan War, the Delphic Theoxenia, and Aegina. The foundation of the Theoxenia is implicitly, and perhaps originally explicitly, compared with the foundation of the Aeginetan cult of Zeus Hellänios. The Panhellenic scope of the crisis, or crises, that led to the foundation of both cults is implicitly paralleled in the Panhellenic scope of Achaean involvement in the Trojan War, with Aeginetan leadership in the foundation of the cult paralleled by the leading roles played by the island’s ancestors in the war. The ritual meal in honour of all the gods at the Theoxenia seems to evoke the mythological banquet where all the gods dined with mortals for the last time, the wedding of Thetis to the Aeginetan hero Peleus. This banquet seems to have functioned for Pindar as a

369 paradigm of theoxenia. It was also the occasion of the quarrel between the goddesses that ultimately resulted in the strife between Hera, Athena, Apollo, and Zeus described in the paean’s mythologi­ cal narrative. Linking all of those themes is Aiakos: saviour of all Greece, founder of the cult of Zeus Hellänios, father of the man pious enough to be given a goddess as wife and a theoxenia as wedding gift, grandfather and great-grandfather of the stars of the paean’s mytho­ logical narrative, and, not least of all, founder of Aegina.

Part IV The Historiographical Aftermath

10 Herodotus on Aeginetan Identity* Elizabeth Irwin

In this chapter I focus on two dimensions of Herodotus’ Aeginetan logoi. First and foremost, I examine what the logoi attempt to convey about the creation and articulation of Aegina’s identity in the events prior to and during the Persian Wars. Second, I consider also the meta-narrative they construct regarding themes relevant to the his­ tory of Aegina after the Persian Wars, how her cultural, political, and economic identities contributed to the events which befell her in the period that followed. Herodotus’ logoi will be seen to explore the complexity of Aegina’s position, literal and metaphorical, as a Dorian polis with a long-established maritime economy, one whose geogra­ phical position as an island in the Saronic Gulf—equidistant from Athens and her Peloponnesian mother city, Epidauros—symbolizes the complexities of her situation within the political realities of the later fifth century and the cultural categories and political alliances that came to be dominant in framing them. Given the copious amount of Aeginetan material in the Histories, I will narrow my

* Very many thanks to David Feam for the invitation to contribute to this volume and all his many virtues as editor. E x trem e gratitude goes to Emily Greenwood and Robin Osborne, who were unstinting in their generous engagement with my Aegi­ netan travails. I also thank the Arts and Humanities Research Board for funding die project, ‘Anatomy of a Cultural Revolution: 430-380 b c ’, in which the methodology of my Herodotean studies first developed, and the Centre for Hellenic Studies and the Cambridge Classics Faculty Library for providing excellent environments in which to pursue this research.

Elizabeth Irwin focus to that of Aegina’s relationship to Sparta and the Peloponnese.1 The strength of her early and thriving trading economy—her thalassocratic and insular identities— generated ambiguous cultural and political ties to the Peloponnese, and shaped interactions with Sparta that would contribute to the fate she was allowed to suffer-at the hands of Athens after the Persian Wars. In what follows I will treat Herodotus’ material in the order in which he provides it and as three parts which correspond to the periods prior to (books 5 and 6), during (7.179-82; 8.84, 91-3, 122), and immediately after the Persian Wars, or more precisely, after Plataea (9.78-9, 80, 85), and finally will consider how those logoi of book 9 in particular, the last words on Aegina in the Histories, reverberate into the future-present of Herodotus’ audi­ ence. Since each discussion will lead inevitably to consideration of how the themes that Herodotus relates engage with attitudes and events most pressing on the consciousness of his contemporary audience, some preliminary words about Aeginetan identity as articulated in the later fifth century and relevant for the discussion of Herodotus will be useful.

Preliminaries A few comments should be made to contextualize the features of Aeginetan identity most contested in the period in which Herodotus’ logoi were circulating, that is, her status as thalassokratores and her cultural identity as Dorian and Greek. Against the categories that became dominant in the later fifth century, Aegina posed a problem of classification: she was a Dorian polis, as so prominently asserted in Pindar and Herodotus, and yet was almost exclusively engaged in a trading economy contrary to the ideology at least of traditional

1 I will not deal here with the scholarly debate on the narrow question of Aegina’s membership of the Peloponnesian League (see e.g. Leahy 1954, Figueira 1981 b), since my aim is to provide instead a close engagement with Herodotus’ evidence qua logoi which, given that they constitute our only evidence on the subject, must precede any such discussion. This article is the complement to my other contribution to this volume, Ch. 11, centring on Aegina and Athens.

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Dorians.2 Here comparison with Corcyra and Corinth as Dorian naval powers is informative:3 an island city, like Corcyra, she was nevertheless, unlike Corcyra, geographically close enough to her Peloponnesian kin, and to her naval competitor and enemy Athens, to lead her to closer association and interaction with the Peloponnese than the Corinthian colony which had so early on flouted her relationship to her mother city and therefore that city’s political ties. And yet Aegina’s geographical situation as an island— a status so coveted by Athens—and strength as a maritime economy posses­ sing the oldest mainland currency—well established and of greater value than Athens’—could nevertheless induce her to feel sufficiently independent to reject Spartan authority in a way not readily available to, for instance, mainland Corinth; that is, at least until Athens began to demonstrate aggressive intent toward her. This relationship to the Peloponnese seems to have led to the Peloponnesian League, and Sparta in particular, showing a certain ambivalence toward Aegina that might be inferred from other sources. Thucydides’ account of the outbreak of the war suggests these underlying tensions: while Aegina’s compromised autonomy figured as part of the Spartan ultimatum at Athens (1.139), her fellow Dorians of the Peloponnese were apparently content enough to look on when the Athenians expelled the Aeginetans from their island on the pretext that they had precipitated the war (Thuc. 2.27).4 Just why this could

2 See Hdt. 8.46.1 for Aegina as Dorian colony of Epidauros, with Figueira (1983), 16 with n. 29 and (1985b), 61 with n. 27 for full sources; on the Dorianism of Aegina in Pindar see e.g. OL 8.30, P yth. 8.20, Isth m . 9.1-4 and Pae. 6.123-5; Pfeijffer (1999), 246-7, Burnett (2005), 16-17, Waiter-Karydi (2006), 82-3. See also Nagy (Ch. 1), p. 57, and Fearn (Ch. 5), pp. 213-14, this volume. 3 Compare, for instance, the concern with (in)justice prominent in discussions of both, the strained relationship with their mother cities, and the imputation of arro­ gance related to their success of their nautika: Corcyra, Thuc. 1.37-9 (cf. the Corcyrans’ first word, δίκα ιον, 1.32.1); Aegina, Pind. 01. 8.19-30, N em . 4.11-13, Pae. 6.131-2 (justice) and Hdt. 5.81.1, 83.1, Diod. Sic. 11.70.2, 78.3 (arrogance), with Amit (1973), 12, Figueira (1985b), 62-3, Hubbard (2001), 394, Kowalzig (2007), 202 n. 64. 4 Amit (1973), 46 calls it ‘astonishing’ that the Athenians ‘were able to act as they did without hindrance’. This is, of course, provided that Thucydides’ treatment of Aegina in relation to the outbreak of the war is not misleading. For what it is worth, Ar. Ach. 652-4 shows that Athens’ relationship to Aegina did not cease to be a condition of peace, although by 425 the demand had changed from autonomy to restoration of the native population.

Elizabeth Irwin happen is a perplexing question, but one to which Herodotus’ logoi—only ostensibly about the past—provide some insight, as we shall see. The irreconcilable tensions in the sources explaining the Spartan motivation for resettling these Aeginetans in Thyrea seem to embody this ambivalence: Thucydides and Diodorus agree that the reason the Spartans provide them with territory goes back to the Messenian revolt after the earthquake in 464 bc, but they differ as to whether this was a reward for the Aeginetan help at the time and for her continued Spartan sympathies despite being an Athenian subject (Thuc. 2.27, 4.56.2),5 or whether these resettled Aeginetans were used by the Spartans as revenge on Athens in kind for her resettle­ ment of the Helots of Mount Ithome in Naupaktos (Diod. Sic. 12.44.3). Such claims about retaliation not only suggest that a kind of visceral hostility existed between Athens and Aegina such that the resettled Aeginetan population was considered as vexatious to Athens as the Messenians of Naupaktos were to the Spartans, but also render the Aeginetans parallel to Helots in Spartan eyes. How much this is the viewpoint of the Spartans and how much we are simply dealing with the motivations attributed to them by Athenians is unclear; mixed motivations no doubt prevailed at Sparta, and Herodotus’ Aeginetan logoi may shed some light on Sparta’s later fifth-century attitudes towards Aegina.6 Other testimony provides some suggestion that issues of lifestyle placed Aegina at odds with Spartan/Dorian values. Although Aegina’s currency was valued as ‘the coin of the Peloponnese’, money was of course famously treated with extreme ambivalence at Sparta.7 Telling is the Aeginetan face given to the Dorian proverb, r à v â p e r à v κ α ι r à v σ ο φ ί α ν ν ι κ ά ν τ ι χ ζ λ ώ ν α ι (‘Turtles defeat virtue and wisdom’), in which Aeginetan coin embodies that which is at

5 Thucydides prefers rather uncharacteristically (cf. Thuc. 1.9.3) to accept some­ thing like ch arts as a motivation (evepyeVai ήσα ν) over the more cynical interpreta­ tion of Diodorus. For this same dichotomy cf. Hdt. 3.47. 6 Ephorus is the likely source for Diodorus. On Aeginetans and Helots see Hdt. 9.80 with discussion below. Mixed attitudes at Sparta toward Aegina are a dominant theme of the A eg in etik o i logoi of book 6; see below. 7 Xen. Lac. Pol. 7.5-6; Plut. Lyc. 9.1-2.

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odds with traditional values.8 Moreover, a Spartan saying about the famous Aeginetan trader Lampis is similarly suggestive of tensions: when someone commented on how he seemed to be very well off because of his maritime activities ( δ ι ό τ ι i S o K e i π λ ο υ σ ι ώ τ α τ ο ς e î v a i ν α υ κ ή ρ ι α π ο λ λ ά ΐ χ ω ν ) , a Spartan supposedly responded that he paid no attention to an eudaimonia that hung from ropes ( ί κ σ χ ο ι ν ι ώ ν ) , the metonomy (synecdoche) of ropes for ships reflect­ ing a land-based aristocracy’s prejudice against trade which was likely to belong to Spartan attitudes towards Aegina in the late sixth and fifth centuries.9 When Thucydides states that the Spartans gave Aeginetans land to cultivate (γ η ν ν ε μ , ό μ ε ν ο ι ) in Thyrea (2.27), this detail is capable of suggesting that the Aeginetans were brought into line by assuming aspects of a more appropriate Dorian/Peloponnesian lifestyle. As we shall see, Herodotus’ Aeginetan logoi tell both these stories, a story about Aegina’s political relations with Sparta and the Pelo­ ponnesian League, and a story about the cultural identity of the Aeginetans, a problematized elite, as Hubbard calls them,10 to be sure (at least from the vantage-point of some elite circles), but one which we might specify as a problematized Dorian elite, as they came to represent themselves when faced with a neighbour aggres­ sively competing to eclipse their reputation as thalassokratores and prepared to call into question their commitment to the Greeks to do so.

I. CULTURAL AND POLITICAL IDENTITIES BEFORE THE PERSIAN WARS Aegina literally occupies the very centre of the Histories. Her conflicts with Athens and Sparta are prominent stories in books 5 and 6 8 Pollux 9.74; contrast with the more generic formulation (although still Doric despite being in elegiacs) in an oracle alleged to have been given to Lycurgus (Diod. Sic. 7.12.6; on which see Irwin (2005), 110, n. 62); ά φιλοχρηματία Στταρτάν όλεΐ άλλο oûSeV (‘love of money will destroy Sparta, and nothing else’). 9 Plut. A p o p h th . Lac. 48 (Mor. 234f). 10 Hubbard (2001), 391-2.

Elizabeth Irwin (5.79-90; 6.49-50, 61.1, 64-65.1, 73, 85-94), and her logoi are juxta­ posed with those of the constitutional and early histories of each of these two most important poleis. Her introduction into the narrative proper with the logos of book 5 vies for position with no less than the birth of Athenian democracy, while the logos of her conflict with Athens in book 6 is narrated in such a way as to be a recurrent presence, told at intervals in alternation with logoi regarding the tensions within the Spartan dual kingship, both in its origins and latest instantiation. As is the case with so much of books 5 and 6, in terms of both structure and content, the Aeginetan logoi contained in them are complementary.11 They speak to two questions about the Aeginetans, one cultural, the other political: namely, who are these Aeginetans, as their naval/maritime identity struggles with their Dorian origins, or rather with what these origins (can be made to) mean; and where do they stand, both in relation to Sparta and also given the imputation of their Medism? The complexities of the Aeginetans’ several identities— as Dorians, as thalassokratores, and as Greeks— and of the relation of these identities to each other that ultimately arose from the early and sustained success of her mar­ itime economy are on full display in Herodotus’ text. In short, his stories narrate the consequences of her naval power, her gaining independence from the Peloponnese, which her stance vis-à-vis her mother city Epidauros represents, as well as the competition that arose from Athens and caused her to seek to return to the ‘Dorian fold’. We will see that Athens posed two different threats to Aegi­ netan cultural and political identity as Dorians and as Greeks, threats arising first by analogy, and then by design: analogy, since from a classic Dorian vantage-point Aegina’s, naval interests could be seen as more akin to Ionian Athens; design, since the Medism that Athens imputed to Aegina to her detriment was apparently persuasive in Sparta. The later fate of Aegina will be seen to underlie in the Aeginetan logoi of each of these books.

11 Much work remains to be done on the complementary structure, content, and themes of books 5 and 6, and the H isto ries in general, but see the preliminary remarks of Irwin and Greenwood (2007), 9-19.

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B ook 5: ‘D orian’ thalassokratores't

When Aegina enters the Histories proper in book 5, she is introduced by a logos that constitutes a just-so story about Aeginetan identity (5.81-7). Drawing on the structure and topoi of Homeric hymns, the logos seems to fill an expansive time-frame, taking as its startingpoint the defining moment in Aegina’s early history, the introduction of ships, and ending with the present in aetiologies of cult practice and changes in clothing antagonistic to Athens, which Herodotus marks as prevailing still in his day {ès εμέ, 5.88.3).12 A summary of the logos is in order. Aegina enters the main narrative of the Histories when called upon by the Thebans to assist them in their struggle with the newly democratic Athens. The Aeginetans accept the invitation, having both the means and the motive: ‘encouraged by great good fortune ( ε ύ δ α ι μ ο ν ί η re μ ε γ ά λ η ) and recal­ ling their inveterate hostility (έ χ θ ρ η ς π α λ α ί ή ς ) towards the Athe­ nians’ (Hdt. 5.81.2). And so, they begin to wage an ‘unheralded war’ against Athens, using their ships to ravage the coast of Attica. As the Aeginetans recall their echthrê, so Herodotus ‘recalls’ its apparently ancient arche for his audience. When the earth would not yield fruit for the Epidaurians, instructed by Delphi they make cult statues of two goddesses out of the sacred olive of Athens, agreeing to repay Athens in yearly offerings to Athena Polias and Erechtheus. Aegina re-enters the narrative some time later, when the Aeginetans build a fleet, and revolt from Epidauros’ control becoming thalassokratores. With this new-found strength they steal the cult statues of the Epidaurians, who in turn cease paying the offerings due to Athens on the grounds that they no longer possess the statues. The Athenians respond by demanding that the Aeginetans hand over to them the statues, and, when rebuffed, they unsuccessfully attempt to remove the statues by force, though here versions of what transpired conflict. The final episode of the story deals with the return of the single Athenian survivor whom the newly widowed Athenian women kill 12 For a fall discussion of the evolving textures of history written into this logos see Haubold (2007).

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with their dress-pins, demanding as they stab to know where their husbands are. This egregious act leads, in turn, to aetiologies regard­ ing dress and cult: the dress of the Athenian women changes from Dorian to Ionian in order that they no longer require pins, and the Aeginetans (and Argives), by contrast, adopt larger dress-pins, which jhey dedicate in the sanctuary of the goddesses, from which also Athenian goods are banned. This was the arche of the hostility between the Athenians and Aeginetans ( τ ή ς δ ε ε χ θ ρ η ς τ ή ς π ρ ο ς Α ι γ ι ν ή τ α ς Ά θ η ν α ί ο ι σ ι γ ι ν ό μ ε ν η ς ά ρ χ ή κ α τ ά τ α ε ϊ ρ η τ α ι ε γ ε ν ε τ ο ) , and it was in remembrance of this incident involving the statues ( τ ω ν π ε ρ ί τ α ά γ α λ μ α τ α γ ε ν ο μ ε ν ω ν ά ν α μ ι μ ν η σ κ ά μ ε ν ο ι ) that the Aeginetans ‘ea­ gerly’ (π ρ ο θ ν μ ω ς ) helped the Thebans (5.89.1). Here the story is broken off: the impending threat of Athenian retaliation—about to be exacted in disregard of Delphi’s admonition to wait thirty years— is forestalled by fresh trouble for Athens from Sparta, but will be realized in book 6. Herodotus’ positive assertion that this was the ‘start of the hos­ tility’ between Aegina and Athens stands rather at odds with the quality of the story told.13 The aetiologies with which he concludes are impossible,14 as the archaeological record shows, and as Her­ odotus himself must (if apparent to us at this distance) have been aware.15 The self-conscious reflection on ‘the shifting grammar of history itself’ constituted by the logos, coupled with the overall temporal vagueness of the events recalled, also suggest that rather more is in play than the transmission of history as it actually hap­ pened.16 If the story ostensibly provides an aetiology for hostilities with Athens, the meta-narrative is about Aeginetan identity, as

13

κ α τά τά εϊρ η τα ι

points to his own narrative: on this use of the perfect cf. Thuc.

1.21. 1, 22. 1.

14 Dunbabin (1936-7). 15 Cf. Hdt. 5.9. 16 Haubold (2007) has discussed brilliantly the elegant meta-narrative provided by the logos on the nature of historical change and its narration as it progresses through the divergent ‘textures of reality’ from the epic—a Homeric hymn in which the earth withholds its fruit and olive trees may still only exist in Athens—to the historic, cult practice in the present day. The attempts of Figueira (1983) to make ‘history’ of this story are valiant but not entirely persuasive.

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Aegina evolves from dependent colony of a Dorian mother city to independent and thriving naval power. Once upon a time Aegina was subordinate to her mother city Epidauros, in a subject relationship conspicuously defined in terms characteristic of Athenian arche; the Aeginetans gain a navy, become thalassokratores, and throw off Epidaurian control; this in turn brings them into conflict with Athens and leads to an unresolved struggle over possession of the cult statues, one of which is significantly called Auxësiê ('Growth’, ‘Increase’).17 Both sides go on to make exagger­ ated efforts in oppositional cultural self-definition through clothing: Athens adopts Ionian, or, strictly speaking, Carian clothing, while Aeginetans become hyper-'Dorian’ with their enlarged dress-pins as the traditional clothing of the Greeks now becomes known as ‘Dorian’ through contrast with Athens’ importation of Eastern garb. The self-consciously stylized mythic narrative warrants further attention be paid to its details. The logos begins not just with a break from Aegina’s mother city, Peloponnesian and Dorian,18 but a break brought about through the introduction of ships. The topos of the introduction of seafaring resonates both with the epic register with which the story begins and with the cultural politics in which it ends: from the point of view of the former, seafaring is ambivalent, representing the progress denied to a Cyclops (Od. 9.125-9) in a world valorizing the values of an Odysseus, but more usually a fall from Golden Age grace, the sign of the unjust city whose earth does

17 D à tn iê is not so straightforwardly interpreted, but that it invites interpretation is suggested by Herodotus not using the cult name known in Aegina and in analogous cults around the Saronic Gulf, which was Mnia (1G iv 1588; cf. Epidauros IG iv2.l 386, 398, 410, 434). At the minimum, the change in name forges greater associations with Demeter and potentially with Eleusinian cult (made explicit in Paus. 2.30.4). D à m iè perhaps may farther suggest another association with Athens, newly dem ocratic at this very point in the narrative (for the similarity of at least one of archaic Aegina’s institutions with that of a democratic Athens see the status of Demokedes as statephysician: 3.122, Βημοσίχι), the Doric alpha, however, rendering it Dorian (cf. Σ OL 9. 107 and Ch. 11, this volume, n. 46). Herodotus’ treatment of Aegina’s cult figures may engage with their manifestations at Athens, in which their names, Auxö and Hegemone, carry more obvious political connotations: see Figueira (1993), 57-8 and 79-80. 18 See Hdt. 8.46 for the declaration that Aeginetans are Dorians from Epidauros. See also Figueira (1983), 19 and (19851?), 46, esp. n. 27 for farther sources on the Aeginetans’ origins.

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not bear its citizens crops (Hes. Op. 236-7) or a means to perpetrate lawlessness.19 In terms of cultural politics, the adoption of a seafaring lifestyle represents a turning away from all that Epidauros represents as Dorian mother city, a classic, land-based Dorian lifestyle. Choosing to make themselves masters of the sea, the Aeginetans acquire success and wealth at the expense of their landed kin, but the cost of this transformation is at once both their alignment with the buzz-words of Athenian naval power in the late fifth century and alienation from their origins as they transform themselves into a sea-people, and with the success of this transformation acquire a concomitant arrogance.20 And yet their acquisition of (what) these statues (represent) results in a conflict with Athens over their possession, a conflict that ironically induces the Aeginetans under assault from Athens to exaggerate their Dorian identity through a feature of clothing, an indicator that Herodotus problematizes since it does not in fact become an indi­ cator until the Athenians, as a response to the same historical event, adopt Ionian—that is, Carian—clothing, a choice that aligns them with Ionia,21 the consequence of a conflict that Herodotus will later describe as having transformed them into thalassioi (7.144). It is significant that, at the juncture in the narrative when Athens is 19 Haubold (2007), 234; see the ships which enable Helen’s abduction, or Medea’s. One might arguably read Pindar’s repeated allusions to the justice of the Aeginetans as counter-allusion to this negative portrayal of seafaring: see esp. the short Isth m ian 9 which celebrates the adherence to justice and th em is of n au siklu tos Aegina, and the epithet d ik a io p o lis , as an adjective applied uniquely to Aegina (P yth . 8.22): see Figueira (1985b), 47-8 and Hubbard (2001), 394. See also Kowalzig, Ch. 4 this volume, pp. 146, 150ff. 20 The eu d a im o n ië of Aegina which arises from her naval power and its attendant wilfulness or a g n ô m o su n ê (see Hdt. 9.4.2; cf. Diod. Sic. 11.27), as well as the celebra­ tion of rites that Pausanias explicitly compares to those of Eleusis (5.83.3; Paus. 2.30.4; on the logos’ intertextuality with the H o m e ric H y m n to D em eter, see Haubold (2007), 231-2), paint the new th alassocrats in Athenian colours. Henderson (2007), 305, n. 54 points to Hdt.’s association of the concept of growth with the newly democratic Athens: ‘“Augmentation” of the free “people” of Athens: 5.66.1, 78, 91.1.’ ■' As a response to the single survivor, the Athenian women’s behaviour has (albeit grotesquely) Spartan evocations (cf. Aristodamos, Hdt. 7.231; Plut. Lac. A poph th . 240-1), significantly enacted through their ‘Dorian’ clothing. Thus seen, the change of clothing would then represent the moment Athenian males rejected the expecta­ tions symbolized by that act, becoming ‘Ionian’ with all the derogatory weight the ethnic implies (cf. Battezzato (1999-2000), 353-6).

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about to flex her muscles as a naval power through mobilizing ships in the direction of Ionia on the basis of Ionianism (5.97.2),22 an event is narrated which ‘explains’ the moment when the cultural identity of each city became fixed, and that identity is represented for what it was, a choice.23 Aeginetans chose to articulate their Dorianism as a response to the attempt of a newly empowered neighbour to wrest Auxësië from her, while Athens, unable to deprive Aegina of her Auxêsië, turned her efforts eastwards, forging a link with Ionia. The expression of Dorianism has a twofold function: it represents an attempt both to strengthen Aegina’s association with the Pelopon­ nese, and to contrast her with the Athenians whose Ionian associa­ tions would become even stronger as the Athenians became thalassioi (7.144.2) or nautikoi (Thuc. 1.18.2). The story gestures towards themes developed within Herodotus’ narrative of book 6, and recurring in book 9, in particular the problems in Aegina’s relationship with her Peloponnesian kin in terms of culture and politics, to which we’ll return. But outside of Herodotus, the just-so story he narrates chimes with the aggressive assertion of Dorianism recurrent in the Aeginetan choral lyric poetry, perhaps best epitomized in Pindar’s dubbing of the sea they rule as Dorian (Pae. 6.123-5).24 The ideology apparent in Pindar’s impos­ sible claim that Aiakos was the first Dorian inhabitant of Aegina becomes in this context perfectly intelligible as designed to render Aeginetans both of good Dorian stock and the descendants of the very best line of heroes of land warfare, the Aiakidai.25 And it is the Aiakidai who are rendered the source of Aegina’s naval identity, their

22 In terms of narrative sequence, if not also chronology (Herodotus is vague here), this event follows almost immediately Athens’ thwarted efforts closer to home against Aegina, the narrative element of the schoinia (5.85.2, 86.3) suggesting the use of ships: cf. Plut. A p o p h th . Lac. 48 (quoted above p. 377) and this volume, Ch. 11, p. 446. On the anachronisms of this logos see this volume, Ch. 11, n. 47. 23 On the fluidity and constructedness of cultural identity as a theme of book 5, see Irwin and Greenwood (2007), 29-33, with Hdt. 5.9. 24 See above, n. 2, on the use of the adjective Δ ω p ievs for Aegina or Aeginetans. 25 See Hes. fr. 203 and Pind. N em . 8.9-12. The fact that the poet’s statements regarding the mythological origins of their Dorianism (i.e. Aiakos, 01. 8.30, or the Herakleidai, Isthm . 9.1-4) are contradictory reveals praise of the Aeginetans’ Dorian ethnicity to be of paramount importance to the poet, and therefore we may infer to his patrons, even should these statements reflect internal divisions amongst the Aeginetan elite, on which see Fearn, Ch. 5 this volume.

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prayer that the island be euandros and nausiklutos providing an aetiology with a conjunction that foregrounds the martial aspects of seafaring (Nem. 5.7-10).26 One might see the Aeginetan patronage of the poet of Dorian lyric as at least in part aimed at asserting the Dorian identity and good heroic credentials of its elite patrons in the face of Dorian mainland prejudice against seapower at a time when Aegina was increasingly feeling the need to emphasize (or manufac­ ture) ties of kinship. At a time of mounting aggression from her Athenian neighbours, she was perhaps eager to assert a distinction from them that otherwise might not have been perceived as so significant or relevant from the Peloponnesian vantage-point.27 Read on its symbolic level, the logos of book 5 is able to convey something about the politics of Aegina’s articulation of its cultural identity in the period prior to the .Persian Wars. But before leaving the logos, some attention must be given to what the logos conveys about this issue in the period after the Persian Wars, the period between the ostensible subject-matter of the Histories and the circu­ lation of them; for within this logos, and indeed that of book 6, many indications are present that an audience ought to be thinking ahead to what will befall Aegina in the Pentekontaetia and in conjunction with the Atheno-Peloponnesian War. The logos of book 5, with its hymn-like quality, seems to describe a remote time in the past, but as soon as it finishes that stability erodes. It is not only the case that the aetiologies with which it ends brings Herodotus’ present-day into view (/cat is que', ‘still in my day’, 5.88.3), but immediately following this aetiology the main historical narra­ tive likewise conspires to draw the audience’s attention to future events and the present day. Athens is given an oracle by Delphi that in thirty years she should produce a temenos for Aiakos and at that

26 For the significance of eu a n d ro s see Hornblower (2007a), 291. See also Kowalzig, Ch. 4 this volume, p. 148. 27 Seen this way, the connection between the two most prominent homes of Pindars patrons becomes apparent, Aegina and Sicily (n.b. Δ ω ρ ιεύ ς in Pindar, an adjective only applied to Aeginetans a n d Hieron): Aeginetans and Sicilians are linked by their culturally ambiguous status as Dorians, whether because of a maritime economy in one case, or their tyranny in the other; cf. Hubbard (2001), 395-7 and Thuc. 1.18 and Hdt. 5.92a. On Dorianism in the West, see Hdt. 7.158 with Irwin and Greenwood (2007), 29-33 and Hornblower (2007b).

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time will overcome Aegina, but in the meantime should abstain from hostilities or else during those thirty years she will inflict and experi­ ence much hardship (5.89.2-3). The Athenians disregard the oracle; instead, they ‘show’ a temenos right away, the one which still stands in the agora in Herodotus’ day (τ ο ύ τ ο τ ο vw êm τ ή ς ά γ ο ρ ή ς ) , and resume hostilities. The oracle presents major historical problems that have caused more critical readers to linger. On the one hand, manifestly a vatici­ nium post eventum, it has seemed hard to accept the historicity of the oracle;28 and on the other, the exact date purported for the oracle seems too early to reconcile with the future events it is considered to foretell, namely the assumption of Aegina into the Delian League in 457 Be.29 A final problem is raised by Herodotus’ assertion that the Aiakeion then founded is the same as the one standing in his day, since it seems unlikely that it would have withstood the Persian invasion.30 I will suggest below that these historiographical problems are there by design, as the tell-tale signs cueing an alert audience in to the need to interpret. Although historically problematic, the Delphic oracle’s specific temporal allusion to thirty years and Herodotus’ comment that the Aiakeion built then is the one ‘now’ ( v w ) standing serve a specific and shared function: both telescope the narrative to a later time. One allusion brings Athenian-Aeginetan hostilities of the next thirty years into the frame of narrative, and particularly the end of that period, while the other invokes Herodotus’ present day (vw). As such, the allusions— fleeting and yet specific—constitute a subtle invitation for audiences to connect this logos of past events with those more recent and current: on one level, a logos of an oracle unheeded by the Athenians renders Athenian difficulties in subduing Aegina the con­ sequence of disregard for Delphi, and as an explanation would vie with any that would explain the difficulties otherwise and more 28 Macan (1895), ii. 110-11; see also Fearn (2007), 91, Athanassaki, Ch. 7 this volume, p. 273. 29 Macan (1895), ii. 108-10, i. 233. See Jeffrey (1962), 44, η. 1 for a detailed bibliography. See also Stroud (1998), 86-7 who attempts to refute an extensive list of scholars (provided in n. 3) who would redate the oracle, including those who would see the Aiakeion as Kimonian. 30 See Stroud (1998), 86-7 for a survey of this view.

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favourably towards Athens; but, on another, more general level, the audience is invited to make whatever associations, inferences, and conclusions that they will from the juxtaposition of distant and more recent past, and the present.31 While with ‘thirty years’ the text provides a seemingly precise indication of how much further ahead to look, one may nevertheless be left questioning just where exactly that future point should be seen to lie: despite Herodotus explicitly placing this event among those that he declares occurred before the Ionian revolt and Athens’ in­ volvement in it, scholars feel compelled to ‘help’ Herodotus by moving the date of this event to a later point, to 487 bc, in order to make the terminus of these thirty years correspond to Aegina’s subjection to Athenian arche, which is temporally the closest event that it can seem to describe.32 But unfortunately they are not per­ plexed enough by the author’s glaring ‘oversight’ in misdating the event. For a suggestive analogy exists between an element of the narrative, the ‘thirty years’ with its invitation to look ahead, and the narrative itself, which compels more careful readers to ascribe to its events a starting-point later than that which the author explicitly provides. That analogy between forward-looking content and the impulse to downdate should begin to suggest design, constituting a twofold invitation to look ahead. The text at once seems to sanction the ascription of a later date to its events, but that move is itself a Pandora’s box, raising a question central to the meaning of the logos: for once readers take it upon themselves to reject the text’s explicit dating and provide a new date, what should that new date be? And what will inform such a decision? For moving the events ahead by just a few years (trying to ‘help’ Herodotus) is hardly less problematic: grief with Aegina hardly ends in 457 bc. Instead, to report a prophecy regarding the end of Athens’ trouble with Aegina is to raise the spectre of 431 bc, a date that happens to be very close to the ‘now’ (vw) in which Herodotus says the Aiakeion still stands—Solon’s 31 For more on what associations the passage may evoke see below and this volume, Ch. 11, pp. 445-9. 32 Hdt. 5.65.5. The principle discussions of the chronology of the events of books 5 and 6 are Macan (1895), ii. App. viii, Andrewes (1936-7), Hammond (1955), Jeffery (1962), Podlecki (1976), and Figueira ( 1985&). On the complementary difficulties in chronology in book 6 see below.

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dictum ‘look to the end’ is relevant here. If the expulsion of the Aeginetans is the ‘end’ the prophecy points to, then the story Herodo­ tus tells becomes a veiled recounting of the preliminaries of the war in which Aegina was first subjugated and which began c.461—thirty years before the expulsion—and would raise fundamental questions about just what kind of text Herodotus is writing, how it should be read, and what it is actually about.33 Addressing these larger questions directly must remain the task of its own study. Here, instead, one might limit oneself to the more modest claim that the logos of book 5 is designed to evoke more generally later Aeginetan history, in particular the events leading immediately up to the expulsion of 431 bc , the ‘now’ in which the present-day Aiakeion sits. The suggestion of a thirty-year cessation of hostility, disregarded by Athens, and the Aeginetans’ ‘unheralded war’ (5.81.2), would then have had topical referents closer to home: Athens’ recent treatment of Aegina, the violation of her autonomy, about which Aegina secretly complained to Sparta, thereby waging what might well be described as ‘an unheralded war’ (Thuc. 1.67), constituted, in some eyes at least, Athenian disregard for the Thirty Years Peace (Th. 1.139), their complaint seen by some in 431 bc to have precipitated the war and justified the expulsion of the Aegine­ tans from their homes (Thuc. 2.27). Such events could not have been far from the consciousness of Herodotus’ contemporary audiences,34 and the more astute would begin to ask whether such evocations were made by design, and if so, to what end. Once the closing frame of the logos on early Aegina brings the future into view, details of the logos itself take on new meaning, bringing the meta-history of the logos of Aeginetan cultural iden­ tity down to Herodotus’ day. Two elements may be highlighted, each conspicuously ‘wrong’ and therefore requiring interpretation:

33 And, of course, all would become clear were we to know, as some in a contemporary audience with historical sensibilities would, when in fact the pre­ sent-day (τούτο τό νϋν) Aiakeion was constructed. If there is any significant link lying behind P O x y 2087’s collocation of the Aiakeion and the Tholos, the date of the Tholos (c.460 or a little earlier, Stroud (1998), 91) becomes suggestive; see, however, Stroud ( 1994). For similar questions regarding the date of the events that Herodotus describes see below on book 6. 34 See e.g. Schwartz (1969), 369.

Elizabeth Irwin Aegina’s former judiciary dependence on Epidauros with which Aegina’s appearance in the narrative begins, and the enlarged ‘Dor­ ian’ pins with which the logos ends. First, judiciary dependence: the depiction of Aegina’s early sub­ ordination to her mother city as the compulsion to cross over to Epidauros to have her cases tried is anachronistic and as such hardly historical;35 rather, the extraneous and erroneous detail had contem­ porary resonance, evoking the unique dependency that Athens im­ posed upon her subjects, and is topical in that it is likely to have been an element of the breach of Aegina’s autonomy during the Thirty Years’ Peace about which she was later to complain.36 The inclusion (if not invention) of this detail, its conspicuously anachronistic visage, functions to position these Aeginetans of the logos— thalassokratores at the moment of the narrative—between their past and the future awaiting them as known to Herodotus’ audience, between two periods of judiciary dependence. From that future vantage-point (the recent past of the audience), the Aeginetans can be seen to have merely exchanged one state of subjection— Dorian, prior to the acquisition of ships—for another—Athenian (Ionian), once ships had thus changed them. Aeginetan prosperity arising from the ac­ quisition of ships— their eudaimonië (Hdt. 5.81.2)—is thereby ren­ dered only a fleeting interval of ‘happiness’, and thus provides an implicit demonstration of Herodotus’ main thesis, that eudaimonië is not constant (Hdt. 1.5).37 The conspicuously anachronistic terms in which their subjection to their mother city is sketched render past and future subjection identical, and generate a further irony: Aegina’s attempt to baulk against such subjection to Athens, her complaints to Sparta regarding her compromised autonomy, are what was to bring the existence of her polis to an end, at least temporarily. The Herodotean injunction to ‘look to the end’ (Hdt. 1.32) is ever-present.

35 Frequently noted as the exceptional requirement of Athens: see e.g. Thuc. 1.77 and [Xen.j A th . Pol. 1.16; on the latter see Marr and Rhodes (2008), 90-1. 36 See e.g. Meiggs (1972), 182; the Aeginetan complaint of their autonomy being compromised may have included other elements (e.g. a garrison). 37 The changeability of human good fortune, eu d a im o n ië, may have had special application to thalassocracy: here the Spartan saying quoted above (p. 377) becomes particularly apropos.

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Second, the enlarged ‘Dorian’ pins (Hdt. 5.88) also carry ominous evocations of the expulsion of the Aeginetans. As narrated, the adop­ tion of these pins was seen to articulate a hyper-Dorianism that arose from Athenian aspirations and aggression. But this does not fully account for their appearance in the logos. For some audiences, these pins were topical: for inventories generated by the Athenians when they appropriated the island in 431 recorded the many iron pins found in the sanctuary.38 One imagines that the contents of the sanctuaries of their prosperous neighbour and competitor might have long been the subject of much speculation and anticipation, if not also ethnographical curiosity. That Herodotus’ aetiology for these pins is historically so plainly problematic, visible even to us despite our limited evidence, constitutes an invitation to the alert reader to provide an aitië (‘explanation’) for its presence. Rather than narrating history wie es eigentlich war, the pins serve the same function in the narrative as Delphi’s thirty years and the judiciary dependence on Epidauros: they bring the narrative down to the present day of his audiences—or in Herodotean terms, cause them to ‘look to the end’—and by doing so connect this ostensibly past event with one far more recent. The pins may be said to perform their function, as they fasten the (futile) attempt of Aegina in face of Athens’ aggression to re-connect herself to her Dorian origins with the most recent—and most final— consequence of that aggression (or rather the last one before the Atheno-Peloponnesian War).39 Hardly historical, the story provides another aetiology on a meta-level: sometime in the past Athens believed she had a claim to Aegina’s Dâmië and Auxësië-, then, in the time of Herodotus’ audience, Athens finally realizes that claim, taking them (along with the whole island). Athens’ efforts to wrest Aeginetan Auxësië and Dâmië have at once both allegorical meaning in the logos of the past, and also literal meaning in the

38 346 pins are counted: IG iv 1588.10-14, 27,40-4. See Figueira (19856), 51. The inventories may have served a dual purpose: at once, ostensibly demonstrating to the gods the Athenians’ commitment to respect their property, a gesture possibly aimed at mitigating the travesty of destroying a p o lis (a ‘sacred’ entity with patron deities) by driving out its native (Greek) population, while also providing an account to the Athenian d e m o s of what was acquired in appropriating the island. 39 In the absence of a firm date for our text, one might prefer to say the last event before the outbreak of the Atheno-Peloponnesian War: see n. 48 below.

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lived experience of Herodotus’ audience in the events attending the appropriation of the island which an (alleged) elongation of (what were to become) ‘Dorian’ pins—that is, Aeginetan efforts to attach themselves to their Dorian Peloponnesian kin— did nothing to avert.

B ook 6: A eginetan R elations w ith Sparta and the Charge o f M edism

The logos of book 5 narrated a story at once about the origin of the hostility between Athens and Aegina and about Aeginetan cultural identity. While the logos suggested analogies between past and pre­ sent thalassocracies, it also implicitly narrated how Aeginetan iden­ tity as figured in clothes and cult practice was influenced by Athenian aggression, and intimated the ultimate consequences of that aggres­ sion. As a complement, the several Aeginetan episodes of book 6 relate the consequences of that inveterate hostility, and convey in­ stead a meta-narrative about Aeginetan political relations with Sparta during the period before the Persian Wars that constitute an aitië for trends in the post-Persian War history of Aegina. The overall story concerns the Athenians’ attempt at retaliation for the insult they suffer over the statues, and the structure of the story is provided, as Immerwahr well notes, by ‘the story of the hostages exacted from Aegina and deposited in Athens’ with which the logos begins and ends.40 It is a disjunctive narrative that occurs at intervals over the course of some forty chapters, interspersed with digressions on Spartan royal history, and the tensions arising from the dual kingship that result in, or perhaps are made to embody, contrary trends in attitudes at Sparta toward Aegina. To summarize briefly: when Aeginetans, like other islanders, give earth and water to the messengers, Athens denounces them to Sparta with the prophasis that they have betrayed Greece (6.49); in response, Kleomenes attempts to take hostages but is prevented by the famous Krios on the grounds that he has come alone, a single Spartan king,

40 Immerwahr (1966), 38; cf. 121-2 for further analysis of its structure and placement.

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and therefore his actions are illegitimate (6.50; cf. 73).41 From here, references to Kleomenes’ intention to deal with the Medizers in Aegina, culminating in the taking of hostages which are given to the Athenians, punctuate a series of digressions regarding the Spartan kingship (6.61.1, 6.64, 6.73): first the origins of the dual kingship (6.51-60) and then the successful efforts of Kleomenes and Leotychidas to depose Demaratos based on questions of his legitimacy (6.61-3, 65-71). The Aeginetan material of book 6 culminates in the events that follow the death of Kleomenes, when the Aeginetans successfully denounce Leotychidas for handing their hostages over to Athens, and despite his subsequent support fail to win them back from Athens (6.85-6). Open hostility follows, with the Aeginetans attacking an Athenian festival at Sunium, and the Athenians re­ sponding with the famous Nikodromos affair in which they agree to support the Aeginetan Nikodromos’ efforts to hand his island over to them (6.88-91). The coup fails when the Athenians are late. The men of substance in the island punish the rebels with death, includ­ ing the chopping off of a suppliant’s hands at the doors of the Temple of Demeter. This brutal act gives rise to a curse and also an allusion to one of the latest dateable events in the Histories and the final event to befall Aegina before the Peloponnesian War: this curse, Herodotus tells us, could not be expiated before the Aeginetans were expelled from the island, that is, in 431 bc (6.91.1; Thuc. 2.27). There follows a land-battle in which Athens wins and a sea-battle in which Aegina emerges as victorious. Here Aeginetan-Athenian hostilities are once again put on hold as in book 5, now not by the threat of invading Spartans, but by that of an invading Darius. The story is one of the most complicated in the Histories: the disjunctive mode of narration combines with fundamental difficulties regarding when to date these events. Although Herod­ otus explicitly locates the events before Marathon, scholars almost unanimously move the date forward to the decade before Xerxes’

41 The basis for resisting to give hostages to Kleomenes is conspicuously problem­ atic given that the requirement of two kings was supposed to have been dealt with and dismissed in 5.75, an episode we are explicitly reminded of in 6.64: see Macan (1895), i. 308, How and Wells ( 1912), ii. 82. The episode will end with the Athenians claiming the same justification, refusing to return the hostages to a single king (6.86.1).

Elizabeth Irwin invasion.42 The story forms a partner logos to book 5, but also its complement: one foregrounds relations with Athens, the other with Sparta; one focuses on cultural identity, naval power versus Dorian/ Peloponnesian origins, the other on politics, the relation to Sparta and the imputation of Aeginetan Medism; one narrative deals with providing an account of the arche of the echthrë palaië between Aegina and Athens (5.82.1, 89.1) that will play itself out in books 5 and 6; the other makes explicit reference to the last instantiation of that echthrë before the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War, the expulsion of the Aeginetans (6.91.2). The Aeginetan logos of book 6 may be seen as providing the political counterpart to the ethnographic ambivalence of the Aegi­ netans in relation to their Peloponnesian origins. Within this story, three aspects of Spartan-Aeginetan relations are narrated that are crucial for explaining what befalls the Aeginetans in the pre-Persian War period, but also, I would argue, in the post-Persian War period: first, a willingness of Sparta to acquiesce to Athenian demands regarding Aegina, demands that use Medism as their prophasis; second, an ambivalence at Sparta regarding the Aeginetans which is represented by divisions both within the kingship and between the kings and people; and finally, a certain resistance among at least some Aeginetans to acknowledge Spartan authority. As for the first, the logos is rather a surprise: why is Kleomenes willing to acquiesce to the Athenian request for hostages given the culmination of their relations in book 5, which included the revela­ tion of the bribery of the Delphi oracle? One must conclude some­ thing either about the Persians or the Aeginetans: that the Persian threat was considered so serious—despite being at this point aimed only at Athens— or that Aegina had less cachet (or evoked more antipathy) than Athens in some Spartan circles, thus enabling Athens’ interests to be more readily accommodated. The events as narrated suggest the latter, since the other Spartan king, Demaratos, seems indifferent to Aeginetan Medism (6.50), suggesting it is either not there or not particularly threatening; indeed, his attempts to hinder Kleomenes in Aegina are attributed to his hatred of his

42

See n. 32.

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colleague rather than to any particular concern for the Aeginetans (6.61.1; cf. 51.1). Next, one notes the ambivalence at Sparta towards Aegina which is embodied in Kleomenes depositing the Aeginetan hostages in Athens as a guarantee against their Medism. When Kleomenes is opposed in his first attempt to take hostages and Leotychidas is later refused in his request for their return, both Krios and the Athenians resist the respective king’s demands on the same grounds, that each king, appearing as he does alone, does not represent Sparta: that is, the actions of each regarding the Aeginetans is claimed not to represent the undivided will of the Spartan kingship, or by extension of Sparta. This latter episode provides a more elaborate account of Spartan ambivalence toward Aegina: although the Spartans as a body agree that Leotychidas has treated the Aeginetans over-harshly and as a result even hand over their king to the Aeginetans for punishment, there is, as Herodotus narrates it, no follow-up on any recovery of the Aeginetan hostages; they are, in fact, forgotten.43 Frankly, it is not clear that anyone at Sparta really cares enough about the Aeginetans, except in as much as they impact on their own internal politics, their relationship to Athens, and perhaps overall safety if the Persian threat is considered to be at all serious, though at this point the Spartan people seem indifferent to it. The reason for this ambivalence, if not indifference, toward Aegina is elegantly conveyed by the logos both in its first episode and its last, in the Aeginetan response to the Spartan kings and by extension to Spartan authority. Krios’ defiance of Kleomenes’ request for hostages, called a προπηλακισμός (‘insult’; ‘contumelious treatment’ according to LSJ; striking as a hapax), parallels the Aeginetans’ readiness to lead away Leotychidas for punishment. The latter act is one from which they are saved only by the warning of a Spartan, one Theasides, who makes explicit just what it is they are doing in leading away a Spartan king: ‘What are you planning to do, men of Aegina? Lead away the Spartan king who was handed over to you by his citizens? If, however, moved by

43 They seem to be ‘forgotten’ by Herodotus as well: Macan (1895), i. 331, ‘How long these hostages remained in Athens, how they were treated, who had them in charge, what finally became of them; on these vital questions Hdt. apparently felt no curiosity.’

Elizabeth Irwin anger the Spartans took this decision, you had better take care lest sometime in the future, they inflict complete destruction (panölethron kakon) on your land, if you carry out your intentions’ (Hdt. 6.85.2). Both the Krios episode and the necessity of Theasides’ warning show the Aeginetans’ ambivalence towards Spartan authority: respect for the Spartan kingship is not a given of Aeginetan behaviour, or policy. Moreover, both narratives contain ominous warnings for the Aeginetans: Kleomenes warns Krios that he should tip his horns in bronze as trouble is coming his way, while Theasides’ warning applies to the entire Aeginetan people, reminding them of the respect they ought to give a Spartan king, lest their failure to do so result in their experiencing panölethron kakon,44 a fate which the Aeginetans will have suffered at least twice by the time of Herodotus’ narration: once in 458/7 and again in 431, not of course at Sparta’s hands, but presumably not sufficiently opposed by her either. Moreover, that Krios and the Athenians both thwart Spartan authority on the same grounds creates a parallelism between them. The Spartan kingship is divided in their policy towards Aegina, while these two naval powers both demonstrate their ‘arrogance’ in their relations with Sparta by their failure to respect the Spartan kingship.45 We will return to both of these themes in the Aeginetan logoi of book 9. But before leaving book 6 we must note that, no less than in book 5, we find later events intruding on the narrative, whether in the form of direct allusion, evocation, or anachronism.46 On the one hand, the events of the Pentekontaetia make frequent incursions into the text. The scandal of the bribery of Leotychidas and raids of Aegina’s coast by the exiled Aeginetans of Sunium are explicitly labelled as events which ‘happened later’ (6.72-73.1, 91). Likewise, the reference to the pentathlete, Sophanes of Decelea (6.92), carries with him the reminder of the Athenian fiasco in Ennea Hodoi (c.465 bc ), as Herodotus will himself later make explicit in one of his rare cross-references (9.76).

44 The term is very strong: π α νω λεθ ρ ία is used exceptionally, in conjunction with disasters on the scale of Troy (Hdt. 2.120.5) and Sicily (Thuc. 7.87.7). 45 For arrogance as characterizing Aegina and Athens, see Hdt. 5.81.1, 83.1, Diod. Sic. 11.70.2, 78.3 (Aegina); and Hdt. 9.4.2, Diod. Sic. 11.27.2 (Athens). 46 The frequency of such late-gesturing allusions must be considered significant even if the evidence for this period does not allow us to understand the full resonance of these events and therefore the function that allusions to them in Herodotus’ text perform.

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On the other hand, more general, but no less ominous, portents of future woes occur in all the major episodes of the logos. Not only are there the warnings to Krios that he should gild his horns for future trouble (6.50.3) and of the panölethron kakon in store for the Aeginetans should they lead away Leotychidas (6.85.2),47 but the ‘wrong’ the Aeginetans did Athens in helping Thebes (cf. 5.81, 89-90) is high­ lighted by Herodotus as still unpaid (6.87), and then augmented by further acts which together are left to await payment at some time beyond the formal terminus of the Histories. Moreover, the curse of Demeter, said still to be unexpiated at the time of the Aeginetans’ expulsion—therefore apparently unexpiated by it—points to even worse events in store for the Aeginetans, possibly those of 424 bc .48 More elusive—and disturbing—is the narrative of the Nikodromos affair in which Athens supports a pro-democratic fifth column in Aegina: it seems unusually precocious for the infant democracy to be embroiled in events that smack so much of later policy.49 If this is an event that did in fact happen, at the least the anachronistic recounting causes the logos to reverberate beyond its supposed 47 Although ceding to the advice of Theasides, the Aeginetans are nevertheless still guilty according to the absolute ethics of the Spartans if the a i m s that Leotychidas goes on to tell the Athenians should be applied also to what they almost did to the Spartan king: the logos of the ruin of the house of Glaukos warns its audience that just entertaining the possibility of committing wrongs is equivalent to actually commit­ ting them, bringing on the same consequences regardless (6.86). 8 Commentators’ vociferous dismissals of the possibility of such an allusion might be felt to belie their certainty: Macan (1895), i. 348, How and Wells (1912), ii. 101, Abbott (1893), 253. Should Herodotus be intimating that the events of424 bc constitute the expiation of the curse, the amputation of the suppliant’s hands would have a correspondence in that later event, evoking the amputations inflicted by Athens on the Thyrean community (Ael. Var. H ist. 2.9 and this volume, Ch. 11, n. 2); a parallelism is perhaps encouraged by Herodotus’ use of parataxis regarding the former event: ταυτα μ ί ν νυν σφ έας αντους ο ι ΑΙγιν-ητο,ι Ιρ γά ο α ντο . Α θ η να ίο ισ ι Sc ... (‘These things the Aeginetans did to themselves, but the Athenians... ’, Hdt. 6.92.1). 49 See e.g. Macan (1895), ii. 115: 'If the story of the intrigue with Nikodromos is to be placed here, it takes rank as the first instance of the fatal policy, in pursuance of which the Athenian democracy sought to establish its own supremacy upon the good will of local partisans, supported by Athenian arms.’ Macan, often so astute at identifying possible contemporary resonances in Herodotus’ logoi elsewhere, con­ gratulates Herodotus that ‘rarely’ is the ‘perception of the difference between his own time and time about which he write’ ‘dearer’ than with his Aeginetan logoi (pp. 1034), but this is perhaps more a function of our ignorance of Aeginetan affairs which has been assisted by the silences of Thucydides, on which see this volume, Ch. 11.

Elizabeth Irwin date, cueing the more astute audiences to associate the episode with more recent events and trends.50 It is, however, possible that it is not the mode of narration but rather the event itself that is the anachron­ ism; on this reading, the logos would constitute a veiled recounting of an event belonging to a later day. This can only remain speculation given the paucity of evidence for Aeginetan affairs during the Pentekontaetia.51 In the absence of such positive evidence, we may, how­ ever, recall again the notorious problems that the text creates for those trying to understand the date of these ‘past’ events, problems that unite the logoi of books 5 and 6. Scholars are almost universally encouraged to re-date the events of books 5 and 6, to place them later than Marathon despite the text’s clear assertion, and to extend them over a longer period. Another way to understand the historical difficulties posed by these logoi would be to recognize fully the extent to which these narratives of ‘past’ events repeatedly draw audiences’ attention forward: the anachronisms, ex­ plicit allusions to later events, and pervasive chronological difficulties compel the more alert reader to downdate the events of the text. Their frequency can only be a function of design. In book 5 it is impossible to reconcile the assumed terminus of the precise interval of ‘thirty years’ belonging to Delphi’s injunction (i.e. 457 bc ) with the apparent date ascribed to the oracle by the text (sometime before Marathon), and with the fact that even the preferred later date (c.487) does not accommodate the fact of the continuation of reciprocal kaka between Aegina and Athens beyond 457. In book 6 the problem is one of reconciling the seeming precision of the temporal markers that the text employs with the impossibly short overall duration of the events it implies. In both cases, a question arises: once Herodotus’ text compels its careful readers to reject the text’s own explicit chronology for events, what limit will they place on how far forward they will go?52

50 See e.g. Samos (Thuc. 1.115); for the general policy see [Xen.] A th . Pol. 3.10. 31 Our chief sources for Aegina in the early part of the P en tekon taetia are Thuc. 1.105, 108.4 and Diod. Sic. 11.70, 78. 52 For comment on the issue, see Amit (1973), 25: ‘Since our only source is Herodotus, any reconstruction is arbitrary, because it is always based on drawing a distinction between those details in his narrative that are regarded generally as historical and those that are explained away as irrelevance, gossip or in the wrong place.’ Compare the inadvertent Macan (1895), ii. 120: ‘But, it is due to Herodotus

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The answer, I venture, will be a function of readers’ knowledge of later history and their estimation of Herodotus. It may prove impossible, given the nature of our evidence, to know exactly how precise a relationship Herodotus’ logoi have been designed to strike with events of the Pentekontaetia,53 but the narrative makes repeatedly clear that these later events are never far away. Herodotus has constructed his logoi of these events of Aegina’s ‘early’ history in such a way as to imply their relevance to the later history of Aegina, a history that will ‘continue’ to be defined by the way in which the subsequent developments of the fifth century exaggerated the conflict between their identities as Dorians and as sea-people.

II. AEGINETAN NAVAL ID EN TITY AND THE PERSIAN WARS Herodotus’ treatment of Aegina at the outset of the Persian invasion and in her performance at Salamis establishes the importance of her contribution to the naval strength of the Greek cause. Furthermore, his narrative is designed to accentuate features of Aeginetan kleos in the Persian Wars that carry a particular resonance and function in the context of later fifth-century events and attitudes towards them. In what follows I will demonstrate how Herodotus’ logoi of the Aegine­ tan contribution to the Greek cause prior to and at Salamis have been designed to shape the reception of the Aeginetans— their kleos—in a particular way and against contrary attitudes toward them circulat­ ing in his present day. His logoi configure Aeginetan behaviour, and by extension their identity, in terms which one might call ‘Dorian’ or ‘Spartan’, that is, aspiring to the same martial valour and virtues throughout to acknowledge that, n o tw ith sta n d in g the incompleteness, inconse­ quence, and anachronism of his record, virtually from that record itself b y re a d ju st­ m e n t a n d reconstruction a reason able perspective and account of the whole course of affairs may be obtained’ (with my italics). 53 The extremes would be either that the events Herodotus records genuinely belong to the period in which they are purported to belong, but are narrated in such a way as to evoke later ones, or that they are in fact actually veiled recountings of later events with little if no actual historical referent in that earlier period.

Elizabeth Irwin traditional to Dorian/Spartan ideology, chief among these being to remain in station, and kill or be killed.54 He does this by employing three interrelated strategies. First, by presenting their contribution to the Greek cause in epic terms and with allusions to and evocations of Aegina’s heroes, the Aiakidai, he places the focus on the arete of the Aeginetans rather than on the medium—ships— by which they demonstrated it, and therefore ren­ ders their contribution compatible with Spartan values and heroic self-fashioning.55 While Aeginetan excellence in this battle may be predicated on their capacity as a naval people, the implicit and explicit presence of their forebears, the Aiakidai, great heroes of Troy, and the stress placed on the epibatic element of sea-battle— namely, the hand-to-hand combat—highlight the martial excellence of the Aeginetans,56 both as Dorians and as belonging to the line of ‘the best of the Achaians’.57 Second, the performance of the Aegine­ tans is presented as qualitatively different from that of Athens, and this is done for a reason. In the world of Herodotus’ contemporary audiences in which representations of land- and sea-power have become so polarized, and the Greek world in a sense divided by 54 For this portrayal of Spartan/Dorian ideology in Herodotus, see Demaratos’ praise of ‘all the Greeks who live in Dorian lands’ and superlatively of Spartans (7.102, cf. 209), Mardonios’ summary of Sparta’s reputation (9.48, discussed below), and the Thermopylae narrative (7.208-9, 220-32). 55 For Spartan heroic self-fashioning in Herodotus, see their appeal to Agamem­ non (7.159) and Kleomenes’ claim to be Achaian (5.72.3); cf. Simonides’ poem for Plataea (fr. 11 W), particularly if, as has been suggested by Pavese (1995), the dead Achilles has some evocation of Leonidas. Herodotus largely denies Athenians an lliadic epic register. See e.g. the contrast between the Spartan and Athenian spokes­ men before Gelon: both use Troy to defend their right to command, but the named Syagros (cf. 7.153.1) immediately laments the groans their forebear Agamemnon would utter at the thought of Sparta giving up her leadership (7.159.1), while, by contrast, the unnamed Athenian representative can only adduce as a last argument an unnamed hero from Catalogue of Ships (7.161.3), glossing his authority, Homer, as ‘the epic poet’ (ό έπ ο π ο ιό ς , itself ambiguous, on which see Macan (1908), ad loc.), evidence itself dubious since widely held to be the result of interpolation. 56 This is analogous to the way that Pindar controls the valence of Aegina’s naval identity by having it arise as fulfilment of the prayer of none other than the Aiakidai themselves, and conjoined with e u a n d ria ( N e m . 5.7-10): see above, pp. 383-4; see also Kowalzig, Ch. 4 this volume, pp. 148 ff. 57 Note that the tension in identities reflected by Kleomenes’ claim not to be ‘D örie u s but Achaian’ finds a counterpart in the contrived collocation of Dorianism and Aiakos in Pind. O l. 8.30, at odds with Isthm . 9.1-4: see above, n. 25.

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these categories, Herodotus problematizes any easy association of Aeginetans, one-time thalassokratores, with the present-day thalassocracy of Athens, and therefore also renders problematic whatever ends to which such associations might have been made. Finally, Aeginetans are made to refute through erga the Athenian imputa­ tions of Medism when Herodotus narrates the clash of the arete of Pytheas and the aristeia of Polykritos with the soon-to-Medize Themistokles.58 Together, these strategies push Aegina closer to Dorian Sparta and the Peloponnese and starkly differentiate her from Athens, while also attempting to remove an issue—Aeginetan Med­ ism—used as leverage with Sparta against Aegina in the decades after the war.

The Prelude: H erodotus 7.17 9 -8 2

The first story of the joint action of the Greeks is programmatic. Book 7.179-82 narrates what happened to each of three Greek ships posted as lookouts for the advanced guard of Xerxes’ fleet as it made the significant crossing from Therma to Skiathos. It reads almost like an ethnic joke; ‘Three ships get chased by the Persian guard, a Troizenian, an Aeginetan, and an Attic o n e .. . ’ The cities of each of the three ships move from west to east, crossing from land-based Dorians to seafaring Athenians, with Aegina, seafaring Dorians, occupying the pivotal middle position.59 The identity of each and the logoi of their respective fates at the hands of Xerxes’ pursuing forces generate ‘national’ and ‘ethnic’ comparisons, as the behaviour of the first two ships is contrasted with the third in the

38 While a full discussion of epinician is outside the scope of this contribution, one might note that the first and third strategies I outline above are conjoined in the allusions to the Aiakidai at Troy that pervade the epinicia of Pindar (and to a lesser extent) Bacchylides, in which the two Aiakid campaigns against the Trojans essen­ tially declare the inevitability and naturalness of the Aeginetan stand against the latter-day Trojans, the Persians, fighting side-by-side with Sparta, just as they had done earlier with Herakles and the Atreidai (see e.g. Pind. Isthm . 5.34-50 and O l. 8; see also the Trojan programme of the Aphaia temple with Feam (2007), 94-100, and Watson, Ch. 2 this volume, pp. 108-11). 59 David Fearn points out to me the evocations here of a Catalogue of Ships.

Elizabeth Irwin . . . 8 è construction of 7.182: a l μ έ ν δ ή δ ύ ο . . . ή δ ί τ ρ ί τ η . .. (‘the first two ships . . . but the third The Peloponnesian representative,60 the ship from Troizen, is caught first (7.180). The captors, significantly termed barbaroi given what they are about to do, choose the ‘finest epibatês [‘marine’] of the ship’ (τ ω ν ό π ι β α τ ό ω ν α υ τ ή ς τ ο ν κ α λ λ ι σ τ ί ύ ο ν τ α ) as an auspicious sacrifice, one Leon, the ‘first and most beautiful of the Greeks’ (τ ώ ν ' Ε λ λ ή ν ω ν π ρ ώ τ ο ν ^ κ α ί κ ά λ λ ι σ τ ο ν ) . The passage closes with Herodotus adding the thought that perhaps he was killed because of his name ( τ ά χ α δ’ ά ν τ ι κ α ί τ ο ύ ο ύ ν ό μ α τ ο ς ί τ τ α ύ ρ ο ι τ ο ) . The tentativeness of the hypothesis as to why he was killed (note the potential optative) provides a mild challenge to the reason expressed by the logos, his characterization as superlative, offering a subtle invitation to readers to reflect for themselves on the possible cause of the deed and by extension also its narration.61 The representation of the ship from Troizen is carefully balanced: although caught first, it contains what is superlative and worthy of logos. The superlative beauty among hand-to-hand fighters (albeit on ships), the Pelopon­ nesian epibatês is made to participate in a blend of stereotypes: the swift capture of the ship confirms the derogatory representations of the naval capacities of the Peloponnesians, but his death at the hands of barbarians furnishes a perverse rendition at sea of the kalos thanatos characterizing Spartan, that is, Dorian, ideology before its appropriation in Athens. But the removal of the Troizenian ship at the start is structurally important, allowing direct comparison of the two naval powers, Aegina and Athens, and a differentiation of them that aligns Aegina, despite being a maritime people, with the Dorians of the Peloponnese. The Aeginetan ship marks an improvement on its Dorian kin (7.181). Skilled seamen, the Aeginetans both put up a fight as a collective ( τ ι ν ά σ φ ι θ ό ρ υ β ο ν π α ρ ό σ χ ΐ ) and derive kleos from one of the ship’s epibatai, Pytheas, son of Ischenoos, who, although hacked μ έν

60 Macan (1908), i. 267, ‘apparently one of only five (8.1 in fra), but representing the Peloponnesians’, 61 Macan (1908), ad loc. rehearses several of the ways one might read this line. From a narratival point of view Leon’s name, of course, gestures towards Leonidas’ self-sacrifice at Thermopylae (7.219-24). Macan also notes self-referentiality in the author according fame to this ship from Troizen, the mother city of Halicarnassus.

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to pieces, fights bravely, almost to his death (άρίστου γινο μ ένο υ). Pytheas’ heroics so impress the enemy that the Persian epibatai strive to save his life, and upon bringing him to their camp ‘show him off in amazement to the entire army and treat him well’ (άπεδείκννσαν εκπ α γλίόμ ενοι πάστ] rfj στρατιή, nepiéwovres ea),626 3treatment con­ trasted with that accorded to the rest of the Aeginetans, who are made slaves (a distinction underscored by the repetition of the verb 7Tepiérrio— nepieînov d»s ανδράποδα). 63 Taken together, the stories of these Dorian ships both foreground distinguished epibatai whose superlative qualities (recognized by the enemy and therefore an ‘objective’ verdict), beauty (kallistos) in death or bravery (aristos), are both traditional values of hand-to-hand combat. In providing the motivation behind the barbarian enemy’s special treatment of Pytheas—their amazement at the Aeginetans valour— βκπαγλέομαι (‘marvel at’) is an operative word in the story, and its repetition at 8.92 makes this clear: there Pytheas, whom ‘severely wounded the Persians kept in their ship marvelling at him on account of his bravery (αρετής eiWtca)’, and his fellow Aeginetan, Polykritos, furnish a rebuttal to Athenian imputations of Aeginetan Medism. The repetition of εκπαγλέομαι coupled with αρετή and further distinguished by the relative rarity of Herodotus’ internal references to his own logoi leaves a strong impression of the excellence of this Aeginetan. εκπαγλέομαι is, moreover, a highly marked word in Herodotus’ text. Poetic, as Macan notes, it is used elsewhere only on one other occasion in Herodotus outside the amazement in­ duced by Pytheas, in a context of great significance for conveying Dorian identity. It appears in a declaration of the ethos for which the Spartans are famed, on the moment of their most glorious battle, 62 Again one might see self-referentiality here in that Herodotus’ narrative makes an e p id eix is of Pytheas, a character whose significance is underscored by his return in 8.92 where it is repeated that the Persians were struck, ίκ π α γ λ έ ο μ ε ν ο ι, by his αρετή. 63 Already implicit is the notion that Pytheas’ treatment by the Sidonian ship had nothing to do with the alleged Medism of the Aeginetans: on the one hand, a ll the Aeginetans are enslaved, i.e. n o t given the special treatment of Pytheas, and, on the other, Herodotus has provided an explanation for the care given to Pytheas, the consequence of his staunch o p p osition to them. The next appearance of Pytheas will engage explicitly with Aeginetan Medism when Polykritos’ ramming of the Sidonian ship carrying Pytheas furnishes a rebuke to (the future Medizer) Themistokles for the allegation of Aeginetan Medism; cf. Kowalzig (2007), 207, n. 71.

and—as with Pytheas— presented as the recognition of the enemy, this time a named figure, Mardonios. At Plataea he is made to convey his awe through direct speech: ‘Lakedaimonians, you indeed are said to be the best men ( α ν δ ρ ε ς ά ρ ι σ τ ο ί ) by the men in this land because they marvel ( ε κ π α γ λ ε ο μ ε ν ω ν ) at how you neither flee from battle nor flee your post, and standing fast either kill your enemies or are yourselves killed ( ο ύ τ ε φ ε ύ γ ε τ ε ε κ π ο λ έ μ ο υ ο ύ τ ε τ ά ξ ι ν ε κ λ ε ί π ε τ ε , μ ε ν ο ν τ ε ς τ ε ή ά π ό λ λ υ τ ε τ ο ύ ς ε ν α ν τ ί ο υ ς ή α υ τ ο ί ά π ό λ λ υ σ θ ε ) ’, ( 9 . 4 8 . 1 ) .

The Spartans’ reputation derives, as Pytheas’ does here, from being prepared to stand firm in battle even until death. The restricted usage in Herodotus of the verb conveys precisely the Aeginetan’s— and by implication his people’s—affinity with the Spartan ethos as it is programmatically articulated on the eve of Plataea: one might say that it casts Pytheas’ behaviour in a superlative Dorian, that is, Spartan, light which counterbalances the fact that naval engagement is not traditionally valorized in Spartan ideology. So stands the Aeginetan ship, and with this characterization Pytheas and his fellow Aeginetans provide the basis against which the beha­ viour of the final ship, representative of that other naval people, the Athenians, will be compared. Herodotus chooses to mark a strong division, confirming the association of the first two ships and distin­ guishing them from the third in some as yet unknown way: ‘Two ( μ ε ν ) of the ships were thus captured ( ο ΰ τ ω ε χ ε ι ρ ώ θ η σ α ν ) ,6465 but ( δ ε ) the th ird . . . ’ One might expect the actions of the Athenians, qua the third and final element (and particularly given their reputation to come), to improve upon those of the Aeginetans, just as Pytheas improved on the passive, if very beautiful, Leon. But that expectation is (comically for some, rudely for others) disappointed: what one gets instead is an Athenian ship that flees, running aground at the mouth of the Peneios, its crew abandoning their ship and hightailing it back to Athens: ‘For indeed as soon as the Athenians beached their ships, they leapt ashore, and travelling through Thessaly they reached Athens’, ώ ς γ ά ρ δ η τ ά χ ισ τ α ε π ώ κ ε ιλ α ν τ η ν ν εα ο ίΑ θ η ν α ίο ι, ά π ο θ ο ρ ό ν τ ε ς κ α τ ά Θ ε σ σ α λ ίη ν π ο ρ ε υ ό μ ε ν ο ι ε κ ο μ ίσ θ η σ α ν ες Α θ ή ν α ς , 7 .1 8 2 ) .

64 T h e d e ic tic a d v e r b is p r e g n a n t, in v itin g th e re a d e r to e la b o ra te th e m se lv e s o n w h a t e x a c tly th is ‘th u s ’ p o in ts to , b u t c e r ta in ly a t le a s t to th e kleos o f e a c h epibatês. 65 επο κ /λλω m a y b e as m a r k e d as έκπαγλεομ αι, b o th in re g is te r a n d e th n ic te rm s : first a tte s te d in H e r o d o tu s a n d d is tin c tly b e lo n g in g to p r o s e , it is u se d o n ly a sin g le tim e e ls e w h e re in H e r o d o tu s , o f Ionians in th e fa ile d I o n ia n re v o lt (6 .1 6 .1 ).

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How a contemporary audience might read the actions of the various agents in the logos of the three ships might be open to some debate, its contours likely to be drawn along the lines of pofo-affiliation, ethnicity, and politics. One might read the Dorian ships as engaged foolhardily in an outmoded form of warfare, whereas the cunning Athenians realize their situation and, in the style of an Archilochos, perform the naval equivalent of throwing away their shields to fight another day, something the silly Spartans would never allow. But one might equally see in the Athenian beha­ viour a form of kakia, with any expectation of greater achievement by the ship of the great naval power and the purported heroes of Salamis frustrated, and instead their crew living up to the derogatory depictions of the cowardice of sea-peoples, even throwing away their ship.66 This logos would then turn the tables on those gloating too soon over the stereotype of the inadequate Peloponnesians implicit in the Troizenian story. Whether Herodotus is faithfully recounting history or not, the inclusion of the story of these three ships, its placement at the very start of the Persian War narrative, and its mode of pre­ sentation sets up a framework of comparison that engages with the diverging values of its audiences who will apply their own criteria to the comparative exercise.67 Although both readings of the Athenian actions in contrast to the other two— Dorian—ships are possible, Herodotus’ narrative may be seen as subtly privileging one. Herodotus’ express task is to record the klea of past deeds, a term which puts us in an epic framework and against which these actions are measured. The Dorians of the Troi­ zenian ship and the Aeginetan ship offer up individuals— epibatai— worthy of kleos: their names are recalled and what befalls them is deemed worthy of logos. This judgement stands in sharp contrast to the nameless crew members of the Athenian ship: only its trierarch is named, a generic detail provided for each of the three ships. The passage becomes rather more pointed if one takes on board those

66 This is implicit in the contrast between the modes of fighting of land and sea powers in [Xen.] A th . Pol. 2.4-5. 67 The stylized account has a perfect symmetry: the fates of the Trotzen and Athenian ships are exactly the same length, and each of their logoi are, in turn, half the size of that of the Aeginetan ship which they frame.

Elizabeth Irwin inadequacies in the Athenians’ behaviour that Macan well identifies but too quickly dismisses: ‘ά π ο θ ο ρ ό ν τ α ς . . . is Α θ ή ν α ς . Apparently they did not pause to destroy rigging, stores, etc, as might be inferred from σ κ ά φ ο ς above; and why did they not go to Thermopylai and so to Artemision? Perhaps only because Hdt. has not thought of it.’68 The behaviour certainly does not reflect well on the Athenians as a collective: there is no self-sacrifice for kleos. The epic register of the language used contributes to foregrounding the inadequacies of the Athenians’ actions: with the poetic ά π ο θ ρ ώ σ κ ε ι ν ,69 the choice to run becomes not one of expediency as some might see it, but rather kakia, or the thoughts of an Odysseus who contemplates flight, rather than of an Aiakid whose aristeia consists in facing death while defending his ships.70 This mythic dichotomy is no mere analogy: the juxtapo­ sition of Athens and Aegina in the Persian War narrative itself has significance, Athens being home to the Odysseus-like Themistokles and Aegina to the Aiakidai whose presence at Salamis will be so crucial an element of Herodotus’ narrative (8.64, 83-4).71 It remains, of course, open for an audience to prefer the kleos of the seafaring Odysseus to that of the champions of hand-to-hand combat, even on board ship, but the narrative’s bias subtly reminds an audience that kleos need not always be good. Or, seen from a contemporary debate over which form of warfare is superior, land or sea, the epibatic element is presented as perhaps the only opportunity in naval war­ fare for true individual arete and good kleos, and one which allows the Aeginetans to be distinguished starkly from, and refute in erga

68 Macan ( 1908), i. 269. David Fearn points out to me that the Athenians’ escaperoute is rather suspiciously through Thessaly, whose Medizing is fresh in a reader’s mind (7.172). 69 Macan (1908), i. 269 on the poetic register of ά π ο θ ρ ώ σκ ειν (and θρώ σκβιν); an epic framework has already been suggested by Leon whose name can evoke the frequent animal simile of the epic fore-fighter. 70 For Odysseus as contemplating flight, see II. 11.404-10 (cf. O d. 9.43-4); it is noteworthy that Odysseus is still pondering this choice (411) when his decision is forced—and consequently his reputation only inadvertently saved—by the Trojan ranks preventing his flight (412). On Ajax’ defence of the ships, II. 15.414-746 with Bacchylides 13.100-9 (and cf. Soph. A j. 1266 ff. for this event, and his duel with Hector, as epitomizing Ajax’ valour). On the vindication of Ajax over Odysseus see N em . 7.9-30: Herodotus may well be alluding to Aeginetan epinician’s use of myth, 71 For Odysseus-like Themistokles, see Plut. D e m al. Her. 38 (M o r. 869f).

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any affinity they might from some vantage-points be held to share with, their naval competitor, Athens.

The Battle o f Salamis

Herodotus’ account of the Battle of Salamis itself, and how provoca­ tively it contrasts Athens and Aegina, is worthy of a full study in its own right. Here I wish only to focus once again on the three strategies which are intertwined in his narrative: the way in which the Aiakidai are both actually present and implicit in Herodotus’ account; the contrast drawn between the performances of Aegina and Athens, which distinguishes Aeginetans as worthy of kleos and distances them from the nautikoi who will become their thalassocratic succes­ sors; and finally the answer Herodotus’ Salamis furnishes to the im­ putations of Aeginetan Medism. Each element aligns Aegina with Sparta and with the Greek cause. These alignments will be important for what the logoi of book 9 suggest about Sparta’s relationship to Aegina after the war, how Sparta may have been induced to regard Aegina in the wake of Athenian thalassocracy, and in particular the negative impact such allegations of Aeginetan Medism may have had on Spartan sympathies and policy towards the island.

Salamis, the Aeginetans and the Aiakidai: the first and final words on the battle Herodotus’ logoi narrating the start of the battle and rendering the final words on it at once explicitly reflect competition over which ship, Athenian or Aeginetan, was to be considered responsible for its start (8.83-4), and implicitly deny competition over which city ought to have been awarded the battle’s aristeia (8.122); otherwise said, Athens’ distinction is contested, while Aegina’s is left unchallenged. In each case the competition is effected through allusions to the Aiakidai, which serve to elevate the Aeginetans. Sent for from their home in Aegina earlier in the narrative (8.64), the Aiakidai and Aiakos establish the importance of Aeginetan participation in the Battle of Salamis and in the logos to come, which is confirmed by Herodotus’ account of the battle’s start

Elizabeth Irwin (8.84): as Herodotus narrates it, the heroes defend their kleos against Athenian claims when Athenian and Aeginetan versions collide over who initiated the battle. Was it an Athenian, Ameinias, who first rammed an enemy ship and, entangled with that ship, induced the Greeks to assist him? Certainly he is later distinguished as one of three worthy of the most renown.72 Or was it the appearance from Aegina of the ship sent to bring the Aiakidai, as the Aeginetans say? Of course, strictly speaking both may be true, if the arrival of the ship carrying the Aiakidai defined the moment upon which battle was to begin, but Ameinias was the first to engage—however clum­ sily—an enemy ship.73 But, as presented, the Athenians’ version might be seen as rather Odysseus-like, an attempt to wrest from the Aiakidai (among whom Ajax, of course, figures) the credit that the Aeginetans and those adopting their version attribute, piously if also self-servingly, to the heroes. Herodotus’ account provides no explicit guidance on which of the two versions to prefer; instead, he allows the unresolved claims, the competition between Athens and Aegina, to stand emblematically over the battle to come, thus ensuring that the debate remains unsettled in the present day of his audiences.74 It is, however, likely that this veneer of neutrality masks what is in fact a polemical act, given that one side believed itself to have effec­ tively silenced the other, through subjection, expulsion, and eventual destruction of its community, and had been using its performance in the Persian Wars to justify both those very acts and acts of that nature (e.g. Thuc. 1.73-4; cf. 67.2 and 3.64.3). So the Salamis logos begins. It ends with the (in)famous logos of the dedications at Delphi (8.122)—the god confirming the award of the aristeia as deserved by Aegina—which so infuriated 72 8.92, a distinction he shares with another Athenian and the Aeginetan, Polykritos. Herodotus has apparently deprived Ameinias of a more flattering (epicizing) version of his feats—see Plut. T hem . 14.3. 73 Macan (1908), 490 notes, ‘The Aeginetan [story] was more probably the true one. Whether it was the ship that had been away for the Aiakids, which was actually the first engaged, may be more doubtful.’ 74 It must be said, however, that the last element of the logos, the recounting of the popular belief (Ae'ycrai) in the appearance of an apparition of a w o m a n , rebuking the Greek ships for hanging back, might cast a shadow over the Athenian claim if Ameinias is understood as among those chided. Later, Ameinias will be distinguished as the person duped by a w o m a n , albeit an exceptional one, Artemisia.

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Plutarch.75 Given that no indication of ‘malice’ is present in his account here, why should Plutarch begrudge Aegina the kleos con­ ferred on her by Herodotus for her aristeicû. The question is worth asking in the context of this discussion because its answer pertains most directly to the issue of Aegina’s relationship to Sparta and reveals another Aiakid allusion to be lurking in Herodotus’ Salamis narrative. When Plutarch inveighs that Herodotus ‘ventriloquizes’ the god at Delphi, ‘as Aesop uses crows and monkeys’, in order to deprive Athens of her glory at Salamis by awarding it to Aegina, the tone of his objection—and its argument from silence—may distract readers from considering the possibility that his complaint had some basis. It seems that the validity of the award was in fact contested in antiquity: Diodorus reflects a tradition, presumably recorded by Ephorus, that Aegina won the prize because the Spartans wished to humble the Athenians whom they saw as becoming a threat for hegemony of the sea.76 There is no reason to believe this tradition was not contem­ porary with Herodotus, if not also the events themselves,77 and if so Plutarch’s view that the god’s verdict was designed to silence any contestation would gain some confirmation in the fact that, in con­ trast to the battle’s contested beginning (and Athens’ claim to it), Herodotus’ text gives no indication that any dispute over the award ever existed.78 Plutarch’s further complaint that Herodotus’ inclusion of the oracle’s testimony ‘pushes Athens from first place in the Battle of Salamis’ {απω θεί των èv Σ α λα μ ίνι πρω τείω ν τάς Αθήνας) cannot be denied, particularly given his treatment of Athens and Aegina earlier in book 8 which we will discuss further below. There is, of course, a chance that Plutarch is wrong to imply that the oracle’s testimony was a Herodotean fabrication,79 but regardless, if established,

7= Plut. D e m al. Her. 40 {M ar. 871c-d). 76 Diod. Sic. 11.27.2: πάσίν ίγίνο ντο

καταφ ανείς ώς το ίς Λ ακεδα ιμονίοις άμ φ ίβ η τή σ ο ντςς τη ς κ α τά θά λα ττα ν ηγς,μονίας' èiorrçp οί Λ ακςδα ιμόνίοι ττροορώμενοι τό μ έλλο ν έφ ιλο τιμο νντο ταττζινοϋν το φρόνημα τω ν Αθηναίω ν.

77 Indeed, for evidence to support this view, see below. 78 In withholding the competing version, Herodotus in essence silences the dis­ pute, since later reception must then depend on other versions surviving to preserve the kleos that the Spartans are purported to have contrived to withhold from Athens. 79 Pace How and Wells ( 1912), ad loc.: ‘Plutarch carps at H. for stating the simple facts of the case: these comments of later authors are without foundation.’ It is far from clear whether the god’s testimony was a ‘fact’ of the tradition, but with the greater number of accounts available to him than to us Plutarch was surely better equipped to judge than we are.

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the ‘fact’ of the oracle need not have prevented Athens at the time from feeling that they had been cheated by a Delphi complicit with Sparta. By providing no hint of the dissenting view, Herodotus allows the Aeginetans to be presented as the unquestioned and divinely recognized best.80 One might disagree with Plutarch’s tone, but he is surely right that the version presented in Herodotus is ‘a compliment to the Aeginetans, and a setback to Athens’.81 What is interesting for our discussion here is the relevance to Aeginetan identity of other factors in play in this event and its representations. Reading Herodotus against the version of events recorded in Diodorus suggests that further epic shaping may be involved in Herodotus’ treatment of Athens and Aegina, and even in how this decision was portrayed by contemporaries. When Diodorus talks of the Spartans weighing in on the decision, the κ ρ ίσ ι ς π ε ρ ί τ ώ ν α ρ ι σ τ ε ί ω ν (‘decision over the aristeiai’), there is an unmistakable evocation of the famous krisis over the arms of Achilles, the hoplön krisis, a decision similarly contested with competing explanations, among which divine assistance and/or the ill intent of Ajax’s foes (in that case, the Atreidai).82 In the historical narrative of Salamis the chief players are easily represented by mythic counterparts: the Aiakid, Ajax, as Aegina, Odysseus as Athens, and Agamemnon as Sparta,83 and in a nice reversal of myth as mapped on contemporary events, Ajax as Aegina comes out on top, and with the help of Apollo, not Athena, divine patronage which is also not without political

80 From Herodotus’ numbers, moreover, it is all the more remarkable that Aegina should have performed deeds worthy of the aristeia at all: at 8.46 he reports that only 30 Aeginetan ships were at Salamis, which even if they did not include the 18 mentioned at 8.1 would still be far less than the 127 Athenian ships mentioned there. Herodotus’ numbers are wonderfully ambiguous, supporting the conclusion that either the Aeginetans really did possess the superior navy, performing the great­ est feats with comparatively few ships—a view endorsed by the god—or that there was some foul play in the krisis, as Diodorus claims and Plutarch seems to suggest, because surely 127 ships ought to have made a greater contribution. 8‘ Macan (1908), i. 549. 82 These explanations need not be mutually exclusive. The subject is covered in the Little Iliad, and Aeschylus wrote a Hoplön Krisis. For the various traditions of the story see Kamerbeek (1953), 1-6. 83 For Spartan identification with Agamemnon in the Histories see 7.159 (cf. 1.68).

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connotations in the late fifth century.84 Outside of the structural parallels and its neat reversal, the archaeological record suggests that this mythic episode was extremely topical in the first quarter of the fifth century: eight cups depict with consistency the krisis with the very tableau of Agamemnon, Ajax, and Odysseus at the moment of the award. The popularity of the image suggests that Athenian audiences of these images may have found solace in depicting this mythic moment, whether through their identification with Ajax, similarly a victim of an unjust krisis and a figure whom they contended with Aegina in claiming as their own,85 or through remembering Odysseus and the award of the arms to him in the face of the defeat they suffered in the krisis over the aristeia of Salamis, a story whose versions were capable of evoking at once both the treachery of the Atreidai (Sparta) and the superiority and/or divine favour of Odysseus (Athens).86 84 Delphi and Apollo supported Sparta at the outbreak of the war: Thuc. i.l 18.3, 2.54.4. On the prominence of Pythian Apollo at Aegina see e.g. the Theârion on their acropolis with Walter-Karydi (2000) and (2006), 82, and Σ Pind. N e w 5.81. On the Thearion see Rutherford (Ch. 3) and Fearn (Ch. 5), this volume, pp. 194-204. 85 An exploration of Athenian counter-claims to the Aiakidai in the context of control of the Saronic Gulf (including, of course, their early appropriation of Salamis, on which see Figueira ( 1985a), 300-3) is certainly relevant to this discussion, but beyond the scope of this contribution; see Athanassaki, Ch. 7 this volume, sec. III. Suffice it to say Herodotus resoundingly aligns Aegina with Aiakos and the Aiakidai (cf. 8.64); by contrast, he reveals Athens’ association with the heroes to be compara­ tively recent, if not also contrived. He makes clear that Ajax is n o t an epichoric hero of Athens, but rather a neighbour, ally, and x en os (5.66.2) and that the inception of the Aiakeion had its origin in war with Aegina (5.89.2-3); moreover, the proximity of the appropriation of Adrastos and tribal naming performed by the tyrant, Kleisthenes of Sikyon, whom his grandson imitated (as Herodotus stresses), can hardly be compli­ mentary (5.67.1-69.1). He also states unequivocally that Philaios, son of Ajax, was the fir s t o f the line o f Aiakos to be Athenian (6.35, γ ιν ο μ έ ν ο υ π ρ ώ του τής ο ίκ ίη ; τα ύτη ς Ά θ ψ α ίο υ ) , which would counter the claim repeated in the lexica that the Aiakeion is where Aiakos actually lived: e.g. Hsch. s.v. ου φ α σ ιν Α ια κ ό ν ο ικ ή σ