Building Democracy in Late Archaic Athens 0190083573, 9780190083571

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Building Democracy in Late Archaic Athens

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BUILDING DEMOCRACY IN LATE ARCHAIC ATHENS

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JESSICA PAGA

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1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2021 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Paga, Jessica, author. Title: Building democracy in late archaic Athens / Jessica Paga. Description: New York, NY, United States of America : Oxford University Press, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2020017401 (print) | LCCN 2020017402 (ebook) | ISBN 9780190083571 (hardback) | ISBN 9780190083595 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Democracy and architecture—Greece—Athens. | Architecture and society— Greece—Athens—History—To 1500. | Athens (Greece)—Politics and government. | Architecture— Greece—Athens. | Athens (Greece)—Buildings, structures, etc. Classification: LCC NA2543.S6 P27 2020 (print) | LCC NA2543.S6 (ebook) | DDC 720.1/03—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020017401 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020017402 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America This publication has been supported by grants from the Samuel H. Kress Foundation and the von Bothmer Publication Fund, administered by the Archaeological Institute of America.

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For my parents, for Marcus, for hope to come.

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Contents

Acknowledgments Introduction

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1. The Akropolis: Monuments and Military Dominance

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2. The Agora: Form, Function, and Ideology

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3. The Astu of Athens: The Architectural Matrix of the Polis

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4. The Demes: Delineation and Interconnectivity

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5.  Buildings and Democracy

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Appendix I: Building Chronology in Athens and Attika, ca. 508/​7–​480/​79 B.C.E.

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Appendix II: IG I3 4A–​B , the Hekatompedon Decrees: Text, Translation, and Commentary

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Appendix III: Dating the Old Bouleuterion and Stoa Basileios

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Bibliography

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Index

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Acknowledgments

Nothing is done in a vacuum, this project especially. I  have been incredibly fortunate to receive support from a variety of people and institutions. The following represents only a small portion of those to whom I owe gratitude. The ideas in this book have had a long gestation. Trips to construction sites as a child with my father and long days with Legos started a love affair with architecture that shows no signs of flagging. While an undergraduate at Smith College, a chance encounter with ancient Greek and a deepening affinity for Art History led me toward Classical Archaeology. For their guidance and support, I  thank John Davis, Scott Bradbury, Justina Gregory, Caroline Houser, and Barbara Kellum. At Princeton, I  was lucky enough to have T.  Leslie Shear, Jr., as my mentor. I  learned a great deal from him, along with rest of the faculty of the departments of Art and Archaeology and Classics. Prior to his departure to Stanford, Josiah Ober offered me a seat in his final Princeton seminar. I am incredibly indebted to this class and the ideas we discussed. This book had its start as an unwieldy dissertation, and I thank the members of my committee (T. L. Shear, Jr., Nathan Arrington, Michael Padgett, and Michael Koortbojian) for bearing with me during the process of writing it. In addition, a Barr Ferree Subvention Grant from Princeton University helped with the cost of image permissions and color printing. A not insignificant portion of my time in graduate school and beyond was spent at the American School of Classical Studies in Athens, an institution that I return to again and again, a home away from home. I want to especially thank my Andrew W. Mellon Professor, Margaret Miles, for her contagious enthusiasm and keen eye for detail. It always feels special when a professional (and professorial) relationship evolves into a true friendship, and one of my favorite memories remains our mutual admiration of an

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inverted (interior angle) corner geison block of the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios in the Agora (we both claimed it as one of our “favorite” blocks). I  also thank my peers from the ASCSA, especially Johanna Best, Kelcy Sagstetter, and Emily Egan, for their laughter and encouragement. The entire staff of the ASCSA enrich the school and its mission and I am privileged to belong to such an institution. In particular, my thanks go to John Camp, Sylvie Dumont, and Craig Mauzy at the Agora, and Dylan Rogers and Maria Pilali in the Athens office. Colleagues at the College of William & Mary and Washington University in St. Louis also facilitated the completion of this project, with their unending support and encouragement. Talking with colleagues and teaching students about ancient Greece has left a strong mark on this book, and on me as a scholar. In particular, I wish to thank two of my students, who served as research assistants: Bailey M. Hall and Kathleen Lauer. Several grants and fellowships allowed this project to move forward. From 2013 to 2015, I was an Andrew W. Mellon Post-​Doctoral Fellow in Modeling Interdisciplinary Inquiry at Washington University in St. Louis and a Research Associate in the Classics department. In the Fall of 2018, I was a Fellow at the Center for Hellenic Studies in Washington, DC. William & Mary provided several summer research grants to facilitate travel. The Archaeological Institute of America also deserves my gratitude. The final push for this project was made possible by a Samuel H. Kress Grant for Research and Publication, and the inclusion of color images by a von Bothmer Publication Grant. Without these research grants and fellowships, the book would have taken far longer and been less nuanced. The editorial and production staff at OUP also deserve a round of applause. In particular, I’d like to extend my gratitude to Stefan Vranka, who stepped into the position of being my editor after the departure of Sarah Humphreville. Sarah offered unending encouragement and patience, and then Stefan helped corral this project into its final shape. At times when it seemed impossible, that this book would never be complete, I  found solace in friends. My Samothrace family, and especially the compassionate mentorship of Bonna Wescoat, provided laughter, help, and hugs. Marya Fisher sustained me through Cyprus and continues to sustain me through thick and thin. Leslie Geddes, my true soul sister, has shared in the ups and downs like few others, and so many of the initial ideas for this project were born in the stacks of Marquand after fruitful conversations.

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Most of all, I would like to thank my husband John Lombardini, without whose endless support and encouragement none of this would have been possible. He has humored my love for “rocks” and trekked along with me all over the Mediterranean, constantly ready to listen, offer suggestions, and help me achieve my dreams. Always and forever.

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Introduction Athenian history of the fifth century B.C. has, on the whole, become a battlefield where only the trained hoplite can compete. By contrast, the period from Cleisthenes down to 480 is one where the mere peltast still has an honest chance. There are . . . practically no facts known, and ingenuity and imagination have been limited only by what the audience has been ready to believe. The limits have traditionally been generous. —​E . Badian 1

Although only a brief chronological span of less than three decades, the period from the reforms of Kleisthenes in 508/​7 B.C.E. to the end of the Persian Wars in 480/​79 B.C.E.  is pivotal for understanding the formation and implementation of Athenian democracy. The reforms restructured nearly every aspect of Athenian society. First and foremost, Kleisthenes abolished the four older tribes that had been used to divide the population and replaced them with ten new ones, then further subdivided these new tribes into 30 geographic districts, each of which contained a variable number of villages and towns. This tripartite division of the populace meant that the old ties of the aristocracy were weakened and replaced with new types of networks and spheres of interaction. Alongside this, the reforms fundamentally changed how citizens identified themselves, putting an emphasis on location rather than family. The changes in networks and identification further led to changes in the makeup of the two main political bodies, the Council and the popular Assembly, both of which became more widely accessible and gained new powers. This was a time of trial and error, as the Athenians attempted to figure out not only how to make this new political order work, but how to

1. Badian 1971, p. 1. Building Democracy in Late Archaic Athens. Jessica Paga, Oxford University Press (2021). © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780190083571.001.0001

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make it work well. And we know that they succeeded in this. Regardless of the intent, the reforms passed in 508/​7 started Athens on the path towards democracy and resulted in a new era of demotic power that culminated in the radical democracy of the fifth century. This path, however, was neither straight nor easy. The very mechanisms by which these reforms were enacted remains a vexed question and ongoing topic of scholarly pursuit, as does the way in which they were implemented across the broad territory of the Athenian polis. These questions also raise the issue of how well the nascent political regime was functioning during this period of transition. Relatively underinvestigated is the equally radical transformation of the built environment of Athens and Attika during this same period. But close attention to how the spaces and buildings of the polis were changed in this period sheds light on how the reforms moved from abstract theoretical concepts to actuality and thereby helps us understand how the reforms were implemented and what the priorities of the new political system were. This book is concerned with how the transformation of the built environment of Athens and Attika during this period helped address the problems of the new political regime. The edifices under consideration did this through their forms, locations, ornamentation, and functions, as active participants in the evolving dialogue of change and continuity. In addition, this book contends that the transformation of the built environment provides evidence for the idea that Athens, by the end of this period, was flourishing. These are two separate but deeply interrelated claims. On the whole, the transformation of the built environment aided the implementation of the reforms, and some buildings and spaces helped to generate a new conception of demotic power and Athenian identity. While not every building or structure is a robust example of this, the overall scale of the transformation and building activity necessitated a strongly flourishing economy and stable administrative organization: the construction of over three-​dozen monumental structures in less than three decades implies nothing less. The changes in the built environment in this period, therefore, played a crucial role in the transformation of the political system and also function as evidence for the robust nature of that system. First and foremost, the new political system with its new and altered political bodies required new physical spaces. The Boule (council) was expanded, restructured, and given new responsibilities, the Ekklesia (popular assembly) held more power and met more regularly, and the various magistracies were filled according to the new phyletic (tribal) distribution of the populace. When we turn to the built environment, these changes were

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made manifest in the construction of a distinct building for the Boule—​the Old Bouleuterion—​as well as a clearly delineated and monumentalized space for the Ekklesia—​the Pnyx. These changes extended even further, to the deme (village) level, where local governance was given new responsibilities, like creating a deme register of their citizens. Here, the delineation of theatral areas—​spaces for communal gathering—​provides evidence for deme-​level environmental transformation to aid the political changes. At all levels, the political and administrative changes spurred architectural innovation during this period, as the Athenians transformed the civic heart of their polis to suit the needs of the new government bodies, while endowing their demes with structures to facilitate their new roles in the functioning of the political system. In this case, the built environment helped by providing spaces for these altered political bodies, while simultaneously expressing their functions and powers in monumental visual terms. Second, the shake-​up of the tribal system and the new divisions of the populace put into place by the reforms required the forging of new types of connections. The landed territory of Attika measured some 2,500 km.,2 which made it the second largest polis in mainland Greece, after the anomalous case of Sparta (Map 1).2 This territory encompassed mountain ranges, secluded enclaves, fertile plains, and an extensive coastline. The geographic parameters of the territory, with a populace spread out in dozens of variously sized nucleated settlements, meant that communication was difficult to coordinate, especially for periods in which the majority of it had to be conducted face to face. Any attempt to create a unified sense of Attika with centralized organization and administration had to overcome these territorial differences and natural topographic separations. How, for instance, does the carpenter in Sounion communicate with the farmer in Rhamnous? How do people and communities separated by topographic boundaries such as mountain ranges know when and where to gather? When it takes up to eleven hours to walk from one of the coastal borders of Attika to the city center, how do you ensure that polis-​wide events are attended and policies are enacted?3 This is a place where the built environment can provide tremendous help, because

2. Hansen notes that Athenian territory, excluding Oropos but including nearby small islands, covered ca. 2,550 km.2 and, at least in the Classical period, likely had the largest population of all Hellenic poleis (2004, pp. 624, 627). 3. McHugh calculates walking distances in Attika (2019, esp. fig. 7).

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Map 1  Map of Attika, with deme sites and ancient road networks indicated. © S. Fachard.

communication among a largely semiliterate4 and widespread populace was more easily achievable with the help of visual reinforcement and articulation. The appearance of monumental structures with well-​known and largely local materials, alongside the use of triumphant Athenocentric iconography, helped solidify the notion that the population of Attika was a singular entity, connected to each other and the polis via shared traditions, rituals, and visual expression. Moreover, the appearance of so many buildings across such a broad territory in a short span of time necessitated shared resources and movable teams of workers, which in turn indicates some degree of central oversight. Communication between laborers and suppliers of all classes, as

4. For the argument that the Athenians had higher rates of literacy than is usually proposed in the Classical period, see Sickinger 1999, with earlier bibliography.

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well as between workers and local demesmen, facilitated the spread of information across the Attic peninsula, intimately tying construction activity with the diffusion of news and announcements. Third, the forging of these new networks rooted in social and political connections went hand in hand with the creation of a new form of Athenian identity. The transformation of the tribal system under the Kleisthenic reforms had a systemic effect on the broader conception of what Athens, as a polis, was, and therefore what being an Athenian citizen meant. In the Archaic period, the people living in Attika identified themselves by their patronymic, emphasizing the patrilineal links of families, while political offices were filled according to wealth, based on the four property classes instituted by Solon.5 Any changes to these entrenched systems raised the problem of bureaucratic structuring and balance, personal identification, and the continued maintenance of proper religious comportment. Later literary sources emphasize how the Kleisthenic reforms “mixed up” the population of Athens so that more people could participate,6 and this represents another area in which a look at the built environment and material record can both emphasize the inherent problems and elucidate how the changes were achieved. For instance, at the end of the sixth century, personal identification began to transition from the patronymic to the demotic, or both were used in conjunction: one was no longer simply Demodokos, son of Anaxagoras, but was now Demodokos, son of Anaxagoras, of the deme Plotheia. The appearance of the demotic in dedicatory inscriptions in place of or in addition to the patronymic during the Late Archaic period underscores the transformation of social identity entailed in the reforms by creating an immediate link between citizen and topographic location in place of an association between citizen and family.7 The use of the demotic also draws attention to the importance of the demes as critical nodes in the spread of communication and forging of new networks. Alongside the role of the demotic in shaping a new sense of Athenian identity was the articulation of the borders of Athenian territory. After the passage 5.  AthPol 7.  As discussed below in the Historical Overview section, one of the principal problems with investigating this period of Athenian history is the relative lack of contemporary sources. The AthPol was written over a century after the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms, and yet it offers the most detailed explanation of what they were. It is thus a rich source, but one to be used with caution. 6. AthPol 21. 7. This change in self-​identification was recognized by Raubitschek (1949, pp. 472–​477); see also Keesling 2003, pp. 36–​62. The importance of the demotic is discussed further below in the Historical Overview section and in Chapters 1 and 4.

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of the reforms, it now mattered precisely where one was from: in order to be an Athenian citizen, location—​belonging—​was fundamental. The transformation of the built environment aided in this delineation through the appearance of monumental structures—​primarily temples and fortifications—​along the borders of Attika. These visually dominant edifices proclaimed to insider and outsider alike which areas were part of Athenian territory. The demotic audibly and visibly altered forms of identification, while the border definition via monumental structures provided a robust visual counterpart. Both represent places where material culture and the built environment aided the transformation of the political system. This problem of generating a new form of political and social unity was compounded by the period of stasis that directly preceded Kleisthenes’ reforms, as well as the general military instability of the Archaic period.8 For much of the sixth century, the Athenians did not enjoy much success on the battlefield, and they experienced near-​constant threats, both on land and at sea. The preparedness, deployment, and capability of the military was a problem for the new regime because the Athenians were particularly vulnerable at this moment of internal turmoil and institutional upheaval. Regime change is frequently accompanied by uncertainty, which, when combined with a relatively ineffective infantry force and limited navy, marked the Athenians as easy targets. Indeed, the assaults on Attic territory by land and sea continued throughout the late sixth and early fifth centuries, culminating in the Persian Wars. It was, therefore, crucial that the nascent political regime address this pressing problem quickly and comprehensively. The new networks of phyle-​trittys-​deme (tribe-​third-​village) helped by facilitating a more rapid mustering of the army and spreading communication more effectively. Any elements of the built environment that could aid in this communication thus indirectly also aided in a more mobile and prepared army. Over the course of the Late Archaic period, the built environment also became the preferred venue for celebrating the Athenians’ newfound military capabilities and victories. These visual celebrations took the form of temples with elaborate sculptural decoration and lavish materials, tithes and spoils from the battlefield, and communal polis-​wide dedications. Here we can appreciate how

8.  For Archaic Athens generally, see Sancisi-​Weerdenburg 2000; Lavelle 2005; and further below, in the Historical Overview section.

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the built environment aided in the visualization of victory and expression of power.9 Ultimately, in the midst of all the political uncertainty and change of the end of the sixth and beginning of the fifth centuries, the Athenians managed to build more than three-​dozen monumental structures, radically altering the landscape of the astu (city center) and chora (territory) of ancient Athens in the process. It was a period of sociopolitical trial and error, but it was also a period of intense building activity: Late Archaic Athens witnessed tremendous transformation in the built environment of the astu and countryside in the form of large-​scale construction and infrastructure projects. These built edifices revitalized sanctuaries, provided tangible structures for the new political order, facilitated access, movement, and communication throughout the polis, celebrated their newfound military triumphs, and created a physical counterpart to the abstract policy of the Kleisthenic reforms. They filled the city center and countryside with a physical substantiation of change. It is the argument of this book that by documenting and analyzing this robust material evidence we can better understand the nature of the new political regime and evaluate its level of flourishing. Though the issue of “flourishing” and how to measure it is a product of historical scholarship, how the Athenians responded to the various problems of regime change detailed above is one way that we can evaluate it for their new political regime. How did they overcome their specific territorial and geographic parameters and constraints? Resolve their internal tensions? Address their faltering army and navy? Provide their political institutions with structures and spaces? Articulate their power and authority to audiences both domestic and foreign? For all of these questions, an analysis of the transformation of the built environment during the Late Archaic period can help provide us with answers. It was by delineating their territorial borders with monumental construction. It was by emphasizing a new type of civic identity, rooted in the demes and the land. It was by restructuring their military and celebrating their triumphs in grandiose visual form. It was by combining architectural tradition and innovation to create new types of built structures tailored to the demands of their new (and newly empowered) political bodies. It was through large-​scale stone construction, predicated on the harnessing of material and labor resources.

9. This use of the built environment as a means of giving visual form to military commemoration has primarily been applied to the post-​Persian War period, most compellingly by T. L. Shear, Jr. 2016.

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Thus, by the time the Athenians, exhausted but triumphant, rowed back to their land and began to sort through the rubble of the Persian destruction in 479, we can, I believe, say that this new political regime put into place by the Kleisthenic reforms was thriving. In fact, I would argue that there is robust flourishing within a very short time of the passage of the reforms. By 480/​79, the Athenians had defeated local as well as foreign enemies in their territory, the state coffers were swelling with available funds and resources, their Hellenic and international profile was hugely enhanced, and their mercantile capabilities continued to expand, all while they implemented a complex series of reforms and tried to figure out just what it was they were doing. Alongside all this, they built over three-​dozen monumental edifices throughout a vast geographic territory. What this book demonstrates is how the built environment of Athens and Attika witnessed, reflected, and participated in these achievements of the new regime.

Framing the Argument for Late Archaic Athens Because the primary goal of this book is to address how the Athenians transformed the built environment while simultaneously transforming their political regime, it is crucial to properly identify, date, and contextualize the monuments constructed during the Late Archaic period. Although many of the buildings in question have long been recognized and several have been extensively studied, changes in dating have made it possible to create a more precise timeline of construction activity for this particular time period, both in the city of Athens and in the countryside of Attika.10 Given the high-​degree of relative dating in the Archaic and Classical periods, a modified date for one building will necessarily create ramifications in the dating of other buildings, a consequential relationship that has not always been followed through. Likewise, a series of assumptions and a reliance on out-​of-​date or incorrect conclusions has led to general misunderstandings and incorrect labels or associations for several of the major buildings of this time period.11 A clearly established and comprehensive chronology is thus of utmost importance in 10. See Appendix I for a chronological timeline for building activity in Athens and Attika from 508/​7 to 480/​79 B.C.E. All dates are B.C.E. unless otherwise specified. 11. For example, it is still quite common for scholars to refer to certain buildings built in the middle or third quarter of the sixth century as “Peisistratid,” even if the structure in question has no definitive relation to the tyrant and his family. In a particularly confusing case, both the Early Archaic (Bluebeard) temple to Athena on the Akropolis and the Old Athena Temple have been called “the Peisistratid Temple,” despite the fact that the former has no clear connection with Peisistratos and the latter was constructed after the expulsion of the remaining male members of the family. These temples and their names are treated in fuller detail in Chapter 1.

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understanding the context within which each building was erected, modified, or destroyed. A fuller understanding of the construction chronology also allows us to consider questions regarding the physical act of construction (including the supply of materials, the laborers and workforce, and the use of available space within specific areas), the hierarchical or sympathetic relationship between separate structures, and the funding for all this building activity. The identification and dating of the monuments, therefore, provide a platform from which it is possible to begin the work of analysis and interpretation. It is the contextualization of these buildings that affords the most fruitful avenue for exploration of the late sixth and early fifth centuries. In order to understand fully the fluctuations and changes in the sociopolitical and built environments of Athens at this time, it is necessary to think about how the period immediately following the expulsion of Hippias and the Peisistratid male descendants influenced subsequent events, how the Athenians reacted to the aristocratic stasis between Isagoras and Kleisthenes, how the new political system was actually established and functioned in its early stages, how the reforms of 508/​7 were engineered and implemented across the vast expanse of Attika, and how the Athenians chose to remember and conceptualize these events in the public sphere. For the moment, I  am deliberately bracketing the question of whether or not the regime brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms was a democracy.12 This long-​standing controversy over when Athenian democracy truly started is important, but more pertinent to this project is not when but how. One reason to postpone ascribing a specific label to what this political system was is that it thereby allows us more freedom to think about the nature of the reforms and how they were implemented. By doing so, it is hoped that the examination of the built environment can give us purchase on what type of regime came about from these reforms and what sort of justification we might have in calling it a democracy or not. The built environment—​and especially the monumental architectural structures (both sacred and civic) in the astu and countryside—​provides a comparatively untapped resource in approaching and thinking about these problems. It is of utmost importance that the structures visible in the Athenian landscape during this tumultuous period be evaluated as integral—​and integrated—​ components in the broader historical discourse.

12. The bibliography for this subject is vast but see particularly Badian 1971; Andrewes 1977; Ober 1989; Connor, Hansen, Raaflaub, and Strauss 1990; Ober 1996; Raaflaub and Morris 1998; Raaflaub, Ober, and Wallace 2007; Ober 2008; Cartledge 2016.

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The dramatic series of events that took place in the last fifteen years of the sixth century, as well as the turmoil of the first two decades of the fifth century, left an indelible mark on all aspects of Athenian history. This mark is also highly visible in the built environment of Athens and Attika, in the form of a multiplicity of building projects that encompassed both the sacred and secular landscape of the city and countryside. The sheer number of built edifices, their monumentality in scale and visual impact, their distribution in the landscape, and their materials suggest the possibility of what could be called a building program. It is not a program that can be pinned to a specific individual, and the precise degree of coordinated centralized funding and oversight remains unsettled. Compared to the types of building programs we generally associate with the ancient world—​those of the Samian tyrant Polykrates, the Athenian statesman Perikles, Rome’s princeps Augustus—​the one posited here may seem incomplete or insufficient. It lacks a single prime mover, an agent orchestrating its deployment; one could perhaps point to Kleisthenes, but the textual sources portray him as ghosting from the scene almost as soon as the reforms were passed.13 But I believe we should understand the unusual aspects of this period of building activity as tools to unpack the problems of the nascent political regime while also questioning what exactly we mean when we call something a “building program.” By analyzing select structures and topographical changes, and by employing an experience-​based kinesthetic approach that foregrounds issues of access and movement, I argue that it is possible to use this Late Archaic building activity to make sense of the transitions from tyranny to stasis and finally to democracy.14

13. As Ober notes, “[t]‌he ascription of authoritative leadership in all phases of the [democratic] revolution to Cleisthenes may, I think, be attributed to the uncritical (and indeed unconscious) acceptance of a view of history that supposes that all advance in human affairs comes through the consciously willed actions of individual members of an elite” (1996, p. 35). To apply Ober’s comments to construction activity, just because we cannot ascribe all the structures discussed herein to a single (elite) individual does not invalidate the proposal that they may represent a “program” of building in the astu and countryside. The issue of describing something as a “building program” is discussed in further detail in Chapter 5. 14. The spatial turn in archaeological studies of the late twentieth century along with renewed interest in phenomenology has resulted in a focus on kinesthetics and movement as tools to understand how architectural structures and spaces were experienced in antiquity. Such an approach allows us to think about how the ancient world was an active, lived space; it reinserts the human body into the static ground plans and line drawings of sites and buildings, activating their apprehension and drawing attention to the experience of space. Successful examples of this application include Jones 2000; Connelly 2011; Yasin 2012; Wescoat 2012a, 2017.

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We cannot understand how this political transition occurred and how the reforms were implemented without understanding the transformation of the built environment and the impact of this transformation on the Athenians themselves. But we also cannot understand how and why the built environment was transformed in the way it was without understanding the political and historical context of the reforms. In order to apprehend the close connections between the built environment and the reforms, it is therefore necessary to provide a brief historical overview of a well-​trodden period in order to highlight some of the ramifications of historical events and thereby provide deeper context for the chapters that follow. The events described below will be familiar to many, but their brief consideration here will provide a helpful reminder of dates and details and will illuminate the significance of deep contextualization.

Historical Overview Before beginning, a brief word on ancient sources. The literary sources available for an historical reconstruction of this period in Athens are relatively scarce. Of contemporary literature that addresses Athens in the late sixth and early fifth centuries, the most substantial is a single ode by Pindar, Pythian 7, written for Megakles, the Alkmaionid. Herodotos, writing in the mid-​ fifth century, provides the closest historical account of the period in question. Thucydides makes some mention of the period before and during the Persian Wars, but his remarks are limited to short digressions. The author of the Athenaion Politeia, writing in the second half of the fourth century, provides the most detailed description of the political systems of the Archaic and Classical periods, although his distance from the period must be taken into account. Similarly, the tragedians and comedians of the fifth and fourth centuries can be used as sources for the end of the tyranny and beginning of the democracy, but in this case the circumstances of performance might have colored some of the historical discussion, a factor which must be considered in addition to temporal distance. Plutarch, although a significantly later source, provides useful information in his biographies of Theseus, Solon, and Themistokles, and Pausanias’ description of the sites and monuments of Attika as he saw them in the early second century C.E. is also helpful. Both Plutarch and Pausanias need to be used with special care, given their greater historical distance. Overall, the literary sources can help clarify the historical context for the built environment during the period in question, but both the

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chronological distance and exigencies of genre or intention compel us to be cautious.15 With these precautions in mind, the following pages offer a brief historical narrative wherein I highlight some of the most significant events that impacted the building activity of the Late Archaic period. Throughout much of the sixth century, Athens was controlled by the family of the Peisistratidai, beginning around 560, when Peisistratos first seized power. His rule was put on firmer ground in 546/​5, when he successfully launched his third and final attempt at tyranny.16 There are several important things worth noting about Peisistratos’ third attempt at tyranny, not least of which is the perceived laxity of the Athenian infantry. The defection of some portion of Athenian soldiers to his cause highlights the continued internal unrest among the populace that plagued the Archaic period.17 Yet, despite the fact that Peisistratos gained control of the city through military means, many ancient sources describe his rule as a “Golden Age” and emphasize his adherence to earlier laws, attempts to help the impoverished people living in the country, and efforts to make Athens a more powerful polis.18 We are told that he advanced loans to poor farmers and organized local judges (dikastai) to hear disputes in the countryside, frequently traveling into the countryside himself to settle cases and interact with the populace. Thucydides also comments that the establishment of tyranny was connected to increased revenues for the polis, which can be partially attributed to the tithes levied on agricultural products, as well as continuing activity in the Strymon river area, rich in timber and gold mines.19 From 546/​5 until his death in 528/​7, Peisistratos held control of Athens and its surrounding territory in a relatively peaceful manner, increasing agricultural production and state revenues while maintaining a just and well-​ordered administration. The flourishing of the Athenian polis in the late sixth and 15. The modern bibliography concerning this historical period is vast. Chief among those to be consulted for both the general timeline and specific events are Andrewes 1982, pp. 368–​416; Ober 1989, pp. 53–​103; Osborne 1996, pp. 283–​285, 292–​314; Anderson 2003, pp. 24–​42. 16. Hdt. 1.59–​62; AthPol  14–​15. 17.  Hdt. 1.62:  ἐν δὲ τούτῳ τῷ χώρῳ σφι στρατοπεδουομένοισι οἵ τε ἐκ τοῦ ἄστεος στασιῶται ἀπίκοντο ἄλλοι τε ἐκ τῶν δήμων προσέρρεον, τοῖσι ἡ τυραννὶς πρὸ ἐλευθερίης ἦν ἀσπαστότερον. (“To those encamped in this place, partisans from the city came and others from the demes joined them, men who were more welcoming of tyranny than freedom.”) Peisistratos also took hostages from elite families once he returned to the city, a further indication of internal factions and aristocratic divisions (Hdt. 1.64). All translations are my own unless otherwise indicated. 18. AthPol 16; Plut., Solon 31. 19. Thuc. 1.13; AthPol 16.

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early fifth centuries is necessarily indebted, at least in part, to the progress made under the tyrant. After his death, control of Athens passed to his sons, Hippias and Hipparchos.20 At first, the situation in Athens continued as it had under their father:  Thucydides reports that Hippias and Hipparchos further increased the revenues of the city by imposing new taxes, made all the proper sacrifices, and continued to win battles, and that the city was still governed according to ancestral laws. Under the sons, the city was also endowed with new monuments, and its overall appearance was improved. But the rule of Hippias became much harsher after the assassination of Hipparchos in 514/​13 by the Tyrannicides, Harmodios and Aristogeiton.21 This episode is important for several reasons. First, it demonstrates the deterioration of tyrannical control in Athens in the last quarter of the sixth century. This unraveling of what had originally been a stable and prosperous period in Athenian history indicates the relatively shallow basis on which Hippias’ rule stood. Second, the change in Hippias’ comportment after the murder of his brother eventually resulted in Spartan intervention, an event that the Athenians went to great pains to ignore or deliberately forget. Even more significant, after the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms, the events of 514/​13 were elevated to the realm of myth or heroic deeds. Harmodios and Aristogeiton were labeled “Tyrannicides,” even though they only managed (or planned) to kill Hipparchos, they were eventually the recipients of yearly offerings, and their descendants were eligible for sitesis (free meals) and ateleia (freedom from taxation). Moreover, they were honored soon after the passage of the reforms by two over-​life-​size bronze statues in the new Agora.22 In the years immediately following 514/​13, though, Harmodios and Aristogeiton were remembered—​if at all—​only for killing Hipparchos. Hippias’ control further deteriorated, and his actions became violent: he put to death numerous citizens, many more were sent into exile, he began to fortify the Mounychia in Piraeus, and his overall oppression of the Athenians 20. Thuc. 1.20, 6.54; AthPol 18. 21. Hdt. 5.55; Thuc. 6.56–​59; AthPol  18–​19. 22. For the promotion of the Tyrannicides in the fifth century, see Brunnsåker 1955; Taylor 1991; J. L. Shear 2007; Azoulay 2017. The Harmodios skolia offers a further example of how the actions of the two men were heroized under the new political regime: ἐν μύρτου κλαδὶ τὸ ξίφος φορήσω /​ὥσπερ Ἁρμόδιος καὶ Ἀριστογείτων /​ὅτε τὸν τύραννον κτανέτην /​ἰσονόμους τ᾽Ἀθήνας ἐποιησάτην. (“In a myrtle bough I will wear the sword like Harmodios and Aristogeiton, when they killed the tyrant and made Athens isonomia.”) For discussion of the skolia, see Brunnsåker 1955, pp. 21–​29; Taylor 1991, pp. 22–​35.

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became worse than before.23 One of the families exiled by him in this period was the Alkmaionidai, descendants of Megakles, who had conspired both with and against Peisistratos during his earlier attempts at the tyranny; aristocratic factions clearly still ran thick. The Alkmaionidai withdrew to Delphi, where they received the contract to rebuild the Temple of Apollo.24 It is here that the Spartans were told by the priestess of Apollo that before they could receive the prophecies of the god, they must first help liberate the Athenians and destroy the tyranny.25 And so, in 511/​10, the Spartans marched on Athens, led by their king Kleomenes.26 The Spartan troops defeated the hired Thessalian cavalry and entered the city, besieging Hippias and his supporters on the Akropolis, where they had retreated.27 The Spartans captured several Peisistratid children attempting to escape and this seizure resulted in breaking the resistance and the removal of Hippias. He eventually withdrew to Sigeion, before ending up at the Persian court of Darius at some point during the first decade of the fifth century. The Athenians were finally free of Hippias’ oppression and the tyranny of the Peisistratidai, thanks to the help of the Spartans. But the power void left by Hippias’ removal was soon filled with aristocratic stasis, primarily between Isagoras and Kleisthenes (an Alkmaionid descendant of Megakles), which demonstrates the continued hostility between various elite factions so characteristic of the Archaic period in Athens. According to Herodotos, Isagoras and Kleisthenes were both vying for power in Athens following the exile of Hippias and the male Peisistratidai.28 In 508/​7, Kleisthenes found himself losing and so attempted to win the support of the common people, bringing them into his party.29 Once Kleisthenes had the support of the people, he 23. Hdt. 5.55; Thuc. 6.59; AthPol 19. 24. Pind., Pyth. 7.10–​11; Hdt. 5.63; AthPol 19. 25. Hdt. 5.63; AthPol 19. Herodotos says that the Alkmaionidai bribed the Pythia to say these things to the Spartans, but this “bribe” could have been their decision to outfit the facade of the Temple of Apollo in costly marble, going above and beyond the agreements of the contract, rather than a separate bribe for the priestess herself. 26.  An earlier attempt had been made by the Spartan king Anchimolios, who came by sea and landed at Phaleron. His forces were driven out by hired Thessalian mercenaries and Anchimolios himself was killed (Hdt. 5.63). 27. Hdt. 5.64–​65; Thuc. 6.59; AthPol 19. 28. Hdt. 5.66–​69. 29. Hdt. 5.69: ὡς γὰρ δὴ τὸν Ἀθηναίων δῆμον πρότερον ἀπωσμένον τότε πάντων πρὸς τὴν ἑωυτοῦ μοῖραν προσεθήκατο. (“Thus he [Kleisthenes] took into his own party the Athenian demos, who had previously been denied all rights.”) Cf. AthPol 20:  ἡττώμενος δὲ ταῖς ἑταιρείαις ὁ

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was stronger than Isagoras and began to implement a revolutionary series of reforms. Isagoras, now finding himself on the losing side, sought Spartan assistance from the same king, Kleomenes, who had earlier helped the Athenians remove the Peisistratidai.30 Prior to marching into Athens, Kleomenes first sent orders for the “Accursed” to be expelled, a group that included the Alkmaionidai.31 Kleisthenes and 700 of his supporters withdrew from the city but the Spartans came regardless. Kleomenes and the Spartans first attempted to seize control of the Boule, perhaps the newly established Boule of 500 instituted by Kleisthenes’ reforms or the older Solonian Boule of 400, and transfer power to Isagoras and 300 of his supporters.32 Regardless of which Boule this was, they must have been meeting in the original venue for such gatherings, presumably in the Old Agora, and their numbers would have been depleted due to the prior expulsion of the “Accursed.” Kleomenes and Isagoras were resisted, however, by these bouleutai (councilors), who drove them to the Akropolis and besieged them there. The bouleutai were joined by the multitude and together they besieged Isagoras, his supporters, Kleomenes, and the Spartan troops.33 This episode is a critical moment for understanding both the sociopolitical and built environment of the late sixth century, largely due to what happened Κλεισθένης προσηγάγετο τὸν δῆμον, ἀποδιδοὺς τῷ πλήθει τὴν πολιτείαν. (“Being in a losing position, Kleisthenes brought the demos into the [his] hetaireia, handing over the government to the multitude.”) On the problems of the term hetaireia in Herodotos 5.66 and AthPol 20, see Pearson 1937, pp. 46–​47; Humphreys 1977–​1978, pp. 100–​102; Rhodes 1986, pp. 138–​139 (with earlier bibliography); Ober 1996, pp. 50–​52; Rhodes 2018, pp. 274–​275. 30. Hdt. 5.70; AthPol 20. I follow the chronology proposed by Rhodes in his commentary to AthPol 20.2: Isagoras began to lose support and appealed for help from the Spartans because the reforms were passed by Kleisthenes (rather than the chronology that would put the passage of the reforms after the attempted coup by Isagoras). That said, Kleisthenes was not a lawgiver, like Solon, nor did he serve as archon again after his previous service in 525/​4 (M&L 6); his reforms were likely proposed to and adopted by the Assembly as it existed at that time (likely an assembly open to all citizens but in which only elites could speak, as per Ober 1996, p. 38), but with Isagoras serving as archon in 508/​7 (AthPol 21.1–​2), it remains unclear if they were implemented prior to the advance of the Spartans (for the process of passing the reforms, see Rhodes 1981, pp. 243–​245; Ober 1996, pp. 38–​39, 50–​51). 31. Hdt. 5.70–​71. The “Accursed” were those Athenians who killed members of the Kylonian conspiracy while they were seeking asylum on the altars of the gods, an act of sacrilege. For the Kylonian conspiracy, see Lang 1967; Anderson 2003, p. 149 and n. 10; Nakassis 2011. 32. Hdt. 5.72; AthPol 20. Rhodes believes that Kleisthenes’ reforms had been approved by the Assembly by this point but not yet implemented, making the Boule here Solon’s council of 400 (1981, p. 246). 33. AthPol 20: συναθροισθέντος τοῦ πλήθους. Hdt. 5.72. For the importance of this act by the demos, see Ober 1996; Paga 2017a, pp. 166–​168.

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next. While on the Akropolis, Kleomenes attempted to enter the Temple of Athena; at this time, it would have been the Bluebeard Temple, in which the sacred image of Athena Polias was housed.34 Before he could enter, he was rebuffed by the priestess with the admonition:  Ὦ ξεῖνε Λακεδαιμόνιε, πάλιν χώρεε μηδὲ ἔσιθι ἐς τὸ ἱρόν· οὐ γὰρ θεμιτὸν Δωριεῦσι παριέναι ἐνθαῦτα. (“Spartan stranger, go back and do no enter the holy place. It is not permitted for Dorians to come in here.”) Hubristically, Kleomenes responded: Ὦ γύναι, ἀλλ᾽οῦ Δωριεύς εἰμι ἀλλ᾽Ἀχαιός. (“Woman, I am not Dorian but Achaean.”)35 Against the priestess’ warnings, Kleomenes entered the temple. This should be understood as an act of sacrilege and desecration of a sacred precinct. By deliberately ignoring the sacred admonition of the priestess, Kleomenes transgressed a sacred boundary and entered a space not permitted to him. The repercussions of such an act could be severe.36 In addition to Kleomenes’ transgression, the Spartan troops, Isagoras, and any of his supporters continued to occupy the sacred citadel; such an occupation necessarily entailed other acts of miasma, including disposal of bodily waste and potential bloodshed.37 After three days, Kleomenes and the Spartans surrendered and were allowed to leave the city; Isagoras and his supporters were imprisoned and eventually killed. After the Spartans left, Kleisthenes and the other exiled families returned to the city and began implementing the reforms that formed the basis of what

34. Herodotos does not specify which temple Kleomenes attempted to enter; he only says that ἤιε ἐς τὸ ἄδυτον τῆς θεοῦ (“he went into the adyton of the goddess”) (5.72). The term “adyton” usually signifies the innermost chamber of a temple and was often considered to be the most sacred part of the building. In 508/​7, when Kleomenes was on the Akropolis, the only structure that can be considered to have had an adyton is the Bluebeard Temple, as discussed in Chapter 1. 35. Hdt. 5.72. 36.  For some possible ramifications of Kleomenes’ act, see Chapter  1. This episode can also be understood as part of Herodotos’ attempt to show the hubris of Kleomenes, fitting as it does into a pattern of abuse and sacrilege on the part of the Spartan king (see Cawkwell 1993 for Herodotos’ characterization of Kleomenes). For more on Kleomenes’ occupation of the Akropolis, see Parker 1998. Nevin emphasizes that Kleomenes entered the temple not to pray, but to question the god, a further marker of his hubristic and transgressive attitude (2017, pp. 31–​34). For Kleomenes’ self-​identification as “not a Dorian,” see Parker 1998, pp. 4–​5, 20–​21. 37. The most common types of sacrilege involve acts of transgression of boundaries (such as what Kleomenes did by entering the temple), bringing or removing specific types of objects into or out of the sanctuary, or the performance of certain types of activities, such as giving birth, dying, intercourse, or various other bodily functions (see Parker 1983, ch. 5). More recently, scholars have begun to differentiate between bodily purity (or what we might term cleanliness) and spiritual purity (Petrovic and Petrovic 2016, pp. 25–​29).

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would become demokratia.38 Kleisthenes abolished the four older Ionian phylai (tribes) and divided the citizenry into ten new ones, overseen by ten phylarchs, one drawn from each phyle. The phylai were named after Athenian heroes, chosen by the Pythia at Delphi from a list of 100; those divinely chosen became known as the Eponymous Heroes. Within this ten-​part division, the Athenians were further subdivided into one of three trittyes (thirds) according to the geographic region in which they resided: city, coast, or inland. Each phyle contained all three trittyes, so that there were thirty trittyes in total. Each trittys, in turn, consisted of one or more demes. These divisions were made so that each phyle would have a share in all of the areas of Athens and so that, by mixing up the population, all citizens could participate in the government: πρῶτον μὲν συνένειμε πάντας εἰς δέκα φυλὰς ἀντὶ τῶν τεττάρων, ἀναμεῖξαι βουλόμενος, ὅπως μετάσχωσι πλείους τῆς πολιτείας. (“First he divided all of them into ten tribes in place of the previous four, desiring to mix up the population, so that the many could have a share in the constitution.”)39 The new Boule consisted of 500 bouleutai, fifty from each phyle. The Ekklesia, on the other hand, was open to all Athenian citizens (adult freeborn males), regardless of wealth or birth. These reforms fundamentally altered the system of power-​holding in Athens, removing control from a single aristocratic family or individual magistrate and transferring it to the citizen body. The nine archons were still elected annually, but the real arenas of political control were now localized in the Boule and popular Ekklesia, where decrees were proposed and voted on by the entire citizen population and where popular decision-​making resulted in the ratification or rejection of each proposal. Active participation of the citizen population—​in both the Boule and Ekklesia—​was now integral to the functionality of the government. Ober has shown how this reliance on widespread participation resulted in the formation and distribution of strong 38. As mentioned above (fn. 30), it is unclear which, if any, of the reforms were implemented prior to the Spartan invasion under Kleomenes, or if they had only been approved at that point. It is also unclear how quickly these reforms were implemented (see Badian 2000), one of the questions with which this book grapples. AthPol 21 provides the most detailed description of these reforms, but they are also briefly discussed by Herodotos (5.69). The nature of this early political system and its functionality has been intensively explored; see especially Conner 1987; Ober 1989; Conner 1990, 1994; Ober 1996; Raaflaub 1998; Badian 2000; Ober 2005; Raaflaub 2007; Ober 2008. 39. AthPol 21. The role of the trittyes in the reforms is a key component in the debate concerning whether the deme system was a division of land or division of people (for this debate, see especially Eliot 1962; Lewis 1963a; Lewis 1963b; Eliot 1967a; W. E. Thompson 1966; Eliot 1968; W. E. Thompson 1971; Andrewes 1977; Siewert 1982).

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and weak ties, or links between close and disparate (respectively) clusters of the population.40 In Ober’s formulation, the Kleisthenic phyletic distribution of the population resulted in the forging of new weak ties that had not existed previously, whereas the grouping of local communities into demes helped to strengthen and reinforce the strong ties that likely already existed on a local level.41 These intertwined processes of participation across communities helped to ensure that the new political system was implemented throughout the territory of Attika. In addition to these administrative changes, the Kleisthenic reforms also had significant effects on Athenian society. The reforms made all of the inhabitants of a single village, small nucleated settlement, or localized area fellow demesmen. Registration in a deme (and thus as a citizen) was, therefore, dependent on verification by one’s neighbors, making all residents of a deme accountable to each other in the process.42 The use of the demotic in place of (or in addition to) the patronymic underscores this change in social identity by emphasizing that citizenship was now dependent on belonging to a specific deme. This new form of identification emphasized the role of isonomia in the new political regime over the role of wealth or birth.43 Prior to the reforms, citizens identified themselves via their patronymic; there is a marked lack of concern for where a particular person may have been from, as is seen in the dedications made on the Akropolis during most of the sixth century.44 After the passage of the reforms, citizenship was predicated on attachment to a specific deme, and thus the demotic became a means of proclaiming

40. Ober 2008, pp. 135–​142. The terms “close” and “disparate” are not used here to connote geographic separation, necessarily (although this was sometimes the case). These terms rather indicate groups of people with a high level of familiarity (the “close” communities, where strong ties are created) compared to groupings of people who may not know each other or may not know each other well (the “disparate” communities, where weak ties are created). The trittyes, in this formulation, function as “bridging ties” that linked the strong (deme) and weak (phyle) links. 41. Many demes already existed as semi-​autonomous units prior to the reforms; in these cases, the Kleisthenic reforms officially recognized their existence as constitutional entities and reorganized them into the phyletic and trittyes system, alongside newly created demes. For the demes in general, see Traill 1975; Whitehead 1986. 42. For the process of regular deme registration, see Whitehead 1986, pp. 97–​104. 43. Isonomia is often translated as “equality.” For a more nuanced treatment of the term, see Lombardini 2013. 44. As can be gleaned from a perusal of Raubitschek 1949, no dedications indicate deme, region, polis, or any other locational terms prior to the last decade of the sixth century. The role of demotics in sanctuary dedications is treated more fully in Chapter 1.

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citizenship status. The demes were allowed to retain their ancestral gene, phratries, and priesthoods, if they had any, but were also expected to participate fully in the new government. The use of the demotic emphasizes this duality: demes retained a degree of autonomy but were also integrated into the new system. The overarching effect of these reforms, both administrative and social, was a newfound sense of Athenian community and identity. To be an Athenian now meant an affiliation with a particular deme, trittys, and phyle, and the ability to participate in the government via the Boule and Ekklesia, as well as on the deme level.45 An important point worth highlighting is how the variable geography of Attika, emphasized earlier, informed the Kleisthenic division of the demes into trittyes and the ramifications of this division: each deme belonged to a trittys based, roughly, on its geographic position within Attika, and each phyle consisted of a coastal, inland, and city trittys. In this division, it is possible to recognize the preservation of the earlier Archaic divisions of Hill, Coast, and Plain, said to have emerged following the Solonian reforms.46 While it seems doubtful that these geographic areas had specific political leanings (and that either the geographic or political divisions were so clear cut), the divisions do indicate an awareness of the varied geography of Attika and the potential problems that could arise from such distinct—​and far-​flung—​topographical areas. The institution of the trittyes thus represents one way in which the new political regime attempted to tackle this problem.47 The infrastructure of the 45. The forging of Athenian identity through the Kleisthenic reforms has been discussed by numerous scholars; the most notable works on this topic include Loraux 1984 (1993 English trans.), Anderson 2003, and Ober 2008. See also Lévêque and Vidal-​Naquet, who emphasize the importance of the trittyes as creating a type of “new synoecism” in uniting the Athenians in the countryside (1964, p. 12). 46. Hdt. 1.59; AthPol 13. Herodotos’ description of the three factions is limited to their geographical organization and the men who led each group, but the author of the AthPol adds a political dimension:  Megakles was the leader of the coastal faction, the party that was considered moderate; Lykourgos was leader of the plain faction, whose aim was oligarchy; and Peisistratos assumed leadership of the hill faction, and is said to have been an advocate for the people, by which we might assume something akin to a moderate form of oligarchy. Rhodes remarks that these political distinctions were possibly present in the sixth century but could just as easily be fourth-​century extrapolations (1981, pp. 179–​180, 184–​186). Plutarch, in his Life of Solon (13, 29), also discusses the three factions and ascribes political leanings to them. See also Hopper 1961. 47.  That these problems were earlier recognized by Peisistratos is evident in several of the measures he and his sons undertook to create a more unified Attika, as discussed earlier in this section with respect to the system of traveling dikastai to judge cases in the countryside (AthPol 16.5) and his personal loans to impoverished farmers (AthPol 16.2–​3). Hipparchos is said to have erected herms throughout the countryside as mile markers to measure the distance

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deme-​trittys-​phyle networks reflected the new associations and ties that the Kleisthenic reforms sought to establish, while simultaneously forging those ties by reinforcing old and new relationships. The deme system did not necessarily break up or destroy older ties, such as those between families and gene, but rather constituted an alternate system or network through which connections could be generated. The older ties may have survived (and in some cases even continued into the Hellenistic period), but they now were supplemented and, in some cases, replaced by the newer ties of demes, trittyes, and phylai.48 Once the reforms were passed, they had to be implemented, a scenario about which we know frustratingly little, but which represents one of the most critical problems in understanding this period of political change. Among the first steps was surely compiling and editing deme register lists; an up-​to-​date deme register (essentially a census) would have been of utmost importance for any administrative affairs or offices based on phyletic assignation, such as selecting members of the Boule.49 An updated deme register would also be crucial for mustering the army and for all matters of military organization, including the expansion of the navy. Indeed, the military preparedness of the nascent political regime was put to the test almost immediately, and the Athenian successes at this time indicate that the reforms must have been implemented rapidly and with few errors, since a high degree of military coordination would have been necessary to face the multitudinous hostile threats.

from the Altar of the Twelve Gods in the Agora ([Plato], Hipp. 228d–​229a (see also Hesych., s.v. Hipparkheios Hermes, Harpok., s.v. Hermai, Suda, s.v. Hermai); the altar itself was erected by Peisistratos’ grandson, Peisistratos the Younger (Thuc. 6.54). Some have argued that these measures were intended to strengthen a preexisting unity of Attika, but I am more inclined to side with Anderson, who believes that these enactments and reforms by the tyrants were designed to facilitate the formation of a broader notion of Athenian unity, rather than reinforce a previously established polis identity (Anderson 2003, pp.  22–​33; for the preexisting unity argument, see Shapiro 1989). In other words, the actions of the tyrants were less about forging a specific type of Athenian identity (or ensuring the continuity of a previously established type of Athenian identity) and more about facilitating cohesion and organization across a large and fragmented territory. The Altar of the Twelve Gods is treated in more detail in Chapter 2. 48. For the continued presence of associations in Athens and Attika, see Jones 1999, 2004; Ismard 2010. 49. A possible timeline for the initial process of deme registration is proposed by Andrewes 1977, pp. 243–​245. By 487, bouleutai (and archons) were selected by lot; prior to this, they must have been elected or chosen by some other means (for details of the changing process, see Ober 1989, pp. 76–​77).

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Frustrated by his failed attempt to install Isagoras, the Spartan king Kleomenes marched back to Athens in 506/​5, accompanied by a Corinthian contingent; simultaneously, the armies of the Boiotians and Chalkidians were also to attack.50 The three-​pronged assault was designed to penetrate the western land border of Attika. The Spartans and Corinthians crossed the Isthmus and seized the deme and sanctuary of Eleusis, while the Boiotians and Chalkidians focused on the northwestern edge of Athenian territory.51 The Athenians had struggled in the past to deflect even minor raids on their coastline, let  alone four land armies simultaneously. And yet internal disagreements led to the disbanding of the Corinthian and Spartan forces before battle was even joined, leaving the Athenians to confront only the Boiotians and Chalkidians. Here, according to Herodotos, the Athenians achieved their first military victory under the new regime of isegoria (political equality): they routed the enemy forces, capturing and ransoming some 700 Boiotians and an undisclosed—​but likely equal—​number of Chalkidians.52 And so it was that in just two short years, the Athenians emerged from a period of stasis and an attempted tyrannical coup backed by a foreign power, passed and began to implement a complex series of reforms that restructured much of their administrative, economic, military, and social realms, and successfully met multiple enemies in the field. The process of transforming the nascent political regime into the full-​fledged democracy that we recognize for the Classical period was a continuous process that extended into the first and second quarters of the fifth century, but the events of 506/​5 demonstrate that this process was already well underway shortly after the passage of the reforms. If nothing else, this successful military campaign should be taken as a clear indication of the effective rollout of the reforms due to the level of coordination involved in mustering and deploying a field army of non-​professional soldiers in a far-​flung border of their territory. Taken together, they represent

50. Hdt. 5.74–​78. 51. There is some disagreement concerning precisely where the Boiotian and Chalkidian forces advanced. Herodotos reports that they seized the outlying villages of Oinoe and Hysiae. A kioniskos discovered near Thebes, however, lists the demes of Oinoe and Phyle, with no reference to Hysiae (Aravantinos 2006). 52. Hdt. 5.78: Ἀθηναῖοι μέν νυν ηὔξηντο. δηλοῖ δὲ οὐ κατ᾽ ἓν μοῦνον ἀλλὰ πανταχῇ ἡ ἰσηγορίη ὡς ἔστι χρῆμα σπουδαῖον, εἰ καὶ Ἀθηναῖοι τυραννευόμενοι μὲν οὐδαμῶν τῶν σφέας περιοικεόντων ἦσαν τὰ πολέμια ἀμείνους, ἀπαλλαχθέντες δὲ τυράννων μακρῷ πρῶτοι ἐγένοντο. (“The Athenians now grew in power. It is clear that, not concerning one thing but in all matters, isegoria is an excellent thing, since the Athenians, while governed tyrannically, were not better in matters of war than any of their neighbors, but, being freed from the tyrants, became the first by far.”)

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a remarkable feat and are a testament to the flourishing of the new political regime inaugurated by the reforms in an incredibly brief amount of time. In addition to the newly invigorated hoplite infantry, the Athenian navy also began to exert greater influence and power after the passage of the reforms. Throughout the first two decades of the fifth century, the Athenian navy expanded and continued to grow in importance, largely due to continuous problems with Aegina. The Aeginetans held the upper hand against the Athenians and frequently raided the Attic coastline during the Late Archaic period. These problems came to a head in the last decade of the sixth century, when the Thebans recruited the Aeginetans in their war against Athens. According to Herodotos, the Thebans attacked Attika from the west, while the Aeginetans ravaged the coastline, destroying the port at Phaleron and inflicting significant damage on many coastal demes.53 It was at this time that the Athenians consulted the Delphic oracle and were advised to wait thirty years and then consecrate a plot of land to Aiakos, one of the heroes of Aegina. The Athenians, however, immediately consecrated and built the Aiakeion in the Agora, but their war against the Aeginetans was delayed when the Spartans began plotting to restore Hippias to power.54 The Aeginetans continued to be a problem for the Athenians into the early fifth century. Herodotos recounts an episode where the Aeginetans seized several prominent Athenian men on a state vessel during a quadrennial festival at Sounion. Herodotos places this event close to the time when the Persian army advanced to Euboia and burned Eretria, so we can postulate that it took place between 499 and 490.55 This event led to a sea confrontation between Aegina and Athens, where the Athenians were victorious for perhaps the first time. The Athenian navy was also large and experienced enough by 499 that they were able to dispatch twenty triremes to assist in the Ionian revolt.56 In less than twenty years, the Athenians could count themselves victorious over the Spartans, Boiotians, Chalkidians, and Aeginetans, not to mention any lingering domestic threats and aristocratic stasis; they successfully resisted two separate attempts to install Spartan puppet tyrants and faced

53. Hdt. 5.89–​90. 54. For the Aiakeion, see Chapter 2. Herodotos places this episode prior to the Ionian revolt of 499, but after the battles of 506/​5. 55. Seizure of state vessel: Hdt. 6.87; Persian advancement to Euboia: Hdt. 6.101. 56. Hdt. 5.97. The Athenians would not have sent their entire navy; the twenty vessels thus represent some (unknown) percentage of their overall trireme holdings.

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their enemies on both land and sea. The period from ca. 506/​5 to 490 was one of unexpected but rapidly advancing martial success, and the articulation of these victories can be read in the built environment in the form of costly dedications, new buildings, and fortifications. Very soon, however, as a consequence of their assistance to the Ionians, they would be faced with an even greater danger: the Persian army, led by Darius and with Hippias in tow, was bearing down on them. When the Persians finally landed at Marathon in 490, the Athenians had notched several victories under their belts, but none against a force as massive (and as massively funded) as the Persians. The battle that ensued is justifiably famous: the Athenians, along with a contingent of Plataeans, managed to defeat a Persian force many times their size, thus avoiding a third attempt to reinstall a tyrant in control of the Athenian polis. On the basis of the death counts supplied by Herodotos—​192 Athenian dead to 6,400 Persian dead—​the Athenians killed 100 Persians for every three of their own dead.57 While Herodotos may be speaking in hyperbole or exaggerating the martial abilities of the Athenians, the numbers are nonetheless staggering. This momentous battle set the stage for another phase of intensive commemoration and building activity, between 490 and 480. The Athenian victory at Marathon is a further mark of the robust functionality and success of the polis in the decades immediately following the Kleisthenic reforms. Not only were the Athenians capable of defeating similar-​sized armies close to home (the Boiotians and Chalkidians), as well as taking on the Aeginetan navy, but they were also able to strategize against and defeat a much larger foreign threat. The surprising victory had tremendous consequences for the Athenians and was quickly memorialized in large-​ scale visual terms, both on the battlefield at Marathon itself and elsewhere in the astu and chora.58 In the decade after Marathon, the Athenians continued to celebrate their victory, but also to plan for future endeavors and issues; the massive buildup of the navy, for instance, occurred at this point, in part facilitated by the discovery of a particularly rich silver vein in the Laurion mines.59 The Aeginetans, as the silver vein episode emphasizes, remained a

57. Hdt. 6.117. On the size and organization of the Persian army, see Lee 2009. 58.  The Marathon victory monument is discussed in Chapter  4; other monuments with Marathon connections are treated throughout. In general, there seems to be a distinction between monuments built in the immediate aftermath of the events of 508/​7 and 506/​5 and those built after Marathon, leaving no doubt that this victory marked a turning point and was rapidly celebrated far and wide by the Athenians. 59. Hdt. 7.144–​145.

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concern throughout the 480s:  Herodotos reports that Themistokles used their ongoing war as justification for allocating the silver surplus to the navy, a conflict that was only resolved by a common truce in the face of a second Persian invasion. Darius’ son, Xerxes, after a campaign in Egypt, renewed his father’s vendetta and marched the Persian army back into Greece. After they made it through Thermopylai, the Persians advanced on Attika, burning and looting the countryside as they went.60 Their destruction eventually reached the astu itself, where all of the new buildings and monuments detailed in the chapters to follow, not to mention countless homes, fell victim to the Persian army.61 Civic buildings and temples were torn down and burned, statues were seized or smashed, and any remaining inhabitants were captured. The majority of the Athenians had fled their homes and retreated to the nearby island of Salamis, following Themistokles’ popular interpretation of the Delphic oracle that the “wooden wall” that would protect the Athenians was their navy.62 They could only gaze across the water, helpless, watching the flames and smoke consume their fields, homes, and sanctuaries. It was here, in the waters off Salamis, that the Athenians made their last stand. Unlike Marathon, ten years earlier, this was a naval battle, but as in the previous confrontation, the Athenians were still vastly outnumbered.63 Under Themistokles’ guidance, however, the nimble Athenian triremes managed to outmaneuver the Persian warships, bringing another resounding and unexpected victory.64 Here, again, we have evidence of the success of the Kleisthenic reforms, the reorganized military, the expanded navy, and increased revenues that made such expansion possible.65 Not all of the Persian forces retreated with Xerxes, however. A small force remained behind, under the command 60. Hdt. 7.201–​233, 8.50–​54. The physical toll of the Persian destruction of Attika is treated in Miles 2014. 61. For the effects of the Persian destruction on an individual household, see Lynch 2011b. 62. Hdt. 7.141–​143, 8.51. 63. According to Herodotos, Xerxes’ army included 1,207 triremes, 1,700,000 infantry, 80,000 cavalry, and 20,000 camel riders and charioteers, not to mention the Greek forces he absorbed along the way (7.184–​187); the Athenians, on the other hand, are reported to have had 380 triremes (8.82). Flower discusses the challenges of accurately assessing the real numbers and proposes a Persian force of 40,000–​80,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry, supplemented by approximately 300–​600 ships (2007, pp. 819–​823). 64. Hdt. 8.84–​95. 65. The finances of the new political regime are discussed in greater detail in Chapter 5; see also Papazarkadas 2011; van Wees 2013; Bubelis 2016.

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of Mardonius, to continue ravaging the Attic countryside.66 The final defeat arrived in 479 at the Battle of Plataea, which pitted the Athenians, alongside the Peloponnesians, Corinthians, and others, against the remaining Persian army.67 Success here, although mostly due to the Spartans, meant that the Athenians could truly return home and begin the arduous and emotional process of rebuilding and healing.

Structure While much of the preceding account is well known, the details and ramifications of the events carry significance for placing the monuments under consideration into their full historical context. The insertion of the built environment into this context demonstrates how the buildings and edifices of Late Archaic Athens helped address the problems of instituting a new political regime in a short—​and tumultuous—​period of time. In order to flesh out these connections and ramifications, the following chapters situate the historical events within the physical space of the polis, thereby evaluating the effect they had on the landscape and monuments of Athens and Attika and the effect the landscapes and monuments had on the events. This symbiotic relationship is predicated on understanding space and the built environment as active participants in the lives of citizens. Sociopolitical history is indelibly linked to the physical world, the space in which the events transpire. The built environment, as presented here, consists of monuments and memorials, buildings and structures, road networks and processional ways, entrances, gateways, and boundaries. It is both the structuring frame for humankind’s activity and the venue within which the activity occurs. As such, it is both an active and generative space as well as a passive and receptive space; the built environment contains, delineates, and shapes our actions, but is also a constituent part of those actions.68 The built environment is produced by humans, and, as such, “cannot exist apart from the events and activities within which it is implicated.”69 It is impossible to consider the built environment without considering the people who moved through it, experienced it, and both shaped and were shaped by it. And it is equally impossible to consider 66. Hdt. 8.113, 9.1–​3. 67. Hdt. 9.25–​71. 68. Architecture frames human activity and existence ( Jones 2000, pp. 118–​119). 69. Tilley 1994, p. 10.

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sociopolitical events absent their impact on the physical and material world and outside of their spatial framework. Space, movement, experience, and events are thus inextricably linked. This book focuses on a specific segment of the built environment at a precise moment in time:  monumental public architecture in Late Archaic Athens and Attika. These were large-​ scale, publicly used, or accessible structures, and, in the main, built of permanent materials. Most of these were built edifices, although some consist of intensive and intentional landscape modifications or earthworks. The majority were built of stone—​even marble, in some cases—​and were located in highly visible areas. The large scale, use of permanent materials, and careful placement of these structures highlight their monumentality:  they made a mark on the landscape. Similarly, the landscape modifications created a noticeable change in topography, and smaller dedications and monuments called attention to themselves with inscriptions, dynamic compositions, and prominent locations. In all cases, the structures and monuments highlighted here were meant to be seen and used by the Athenian public.70 Some might have had restricted access, some might have been more frequented by certain segments of the population than others, but none was privately owned or restricted to single individuals or families. Altogether, they shaped the physical and abstract landscape of the polis, impacting the sociopolitical and religious spheres of activity in the astu and chora. The chapters of this book are arranged topographically. The Akropolis and Agora, the twin poles of most importance within the astu, are the subjects of Chapters 1 and 2, respectively. Within Chapter 1, the Akropolis is treated chronologically, with individual structures and regions of the sanctuary discussed for both the preceding Archaic period and the Late Archaic period. The chapter presents the controversy regarding the Bluebeard Temple (the so-​called H-​Architecture or Hekatompedon) and offers a suggestion for resolution. The numerous changes and modifications that occurred on the Akropolis in the first two decades of the fifth century are discussed at length, and I propose an explanation of their motivations, symbolism, and financial ramifications, with particular attention to the military episodes of 508/​7 and 506/​5, detailed in the previous section. The sacred citadel of the polis was witness to occupation, siege, and sacrilege during the Late Archaic period, and 70. On public works of art, Hochscheid remarks that “a monument for the polis had by default a public purpose, whether it was to adorn the city or to sing the praises of its deities or inhabitants” (2015, p. 10).

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its transformation during this time underscores its real and symbolic value for the Athenians and their new political regime. Chapter 2, on the Agora, opens with a discussion of the Old Agora, as well as the new Agora during the Archaic period. The transference of the market and political center from the Old to the new Agora demonstrates how the new political regime separated itself from the tyrants and how the Athenians used the physical landscape of the city and its monuments to help enact the Kleisthenic reforms. Here, too, the abundant changes in the late sixth and early fifth centuries are highlighted, with special attention to the role of the horoi (boundary markers), Old Bouleuterion, Stoa Basileios, and Southeast Fountain House in activating and legitimizing the space of the new Agora. What we see is a radical transformation of the built environment of the astu and the use of innovative architectural structures and idioms to define the new political regime in visual terms. In Chapter 3, we turn to the buildings and structures in the astu of Athens that are not on the Akropolis or in the Agora. These include sanctuaries, theaters, and civic edifices. Attention to them as individual nodes in the cityscape highlights the role of access and movement within the astu, particularly with respect to sight lines and viewing axes. Such an analysis reveals how the lived experience of the astu was altered in the Late Archaic period, with focused attention to new areas of architectural embellishment and monumental articulation. Movement through the astu is stressed as a way to comprehend the transformation that thus affected the whole city, not just the Akropolis and Agora, under the new political regime. Chapter  4 then turns to an examination of the demes. Twelve demes are considered, as well as the independent sanctuary of Artemis at Brauron. Documentation of all the known and attested structures from Attika reveals how the abstract idea of identity—​both deme-​based and polis-​wide—​was given monumental visual form.71 In particular, consideration of the geographic distribution of large-​scale and impressive structures along the borders of Athenian territory provides a visual counterpart to the new role of the demotic in linking citizenship to the land. Throughout Chapter 4, attention is also paid to the financial resources of the demes, connections between the

71. The exigencies of excavation doubtless impact the small number of demes with attested architecture for this period. In comparison to the astu, the demes of the chora are less well-​known and explored. The twelve demes (plus Brauron) considered here represent the places that have either been excavated or otherwise have evidence for monumental construction activity in the late sixth and early fifth centuries.

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demes and astu, and the role of prominent families, gene, religious associations, and industries. Chapter 5 turns to a broader consideration of what is identified as a Late Archaic building program and what this proliferation of building activity can tell us about the nature of the early political regime brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms. The construction activity in the astu and demes, I argue, is a crucial component in comprehending the overall success and flourishing of the system that would become democracy in its earliest instantiation. The building activity provides a lens into the financial robustness of the polis in this period by shedding light on material and labor resources, administrative organization and priorities, and the integration of the demes into the broader polis matrix. This chapter also includes a discussion of the term “building program”—​its uses and limitations—​by comparing the Late Archaic activity against that of the preceding tyrants and succeeding programs of Perikles and Lykourgos. Ultimately, what all this building activity shows us is the robust nature of the nascent democracy and how the edifices detailed in the preceding chapters worked to articulate, reflect, and generate a new conception of governance in Late Archaic Athens. Three appendices close the volume. Appendix I  is a tabulated list of all building projects and structures, including those that remain hypothetical, dating from 508/​7 to 480/​79. Reference to this table should be made throughout the book. Appendix II contains a text, translation, and brief commentary on the Hekatompedon Decrees, IG I3 4A–​B, which will be particularly useful when reading Chapters 1 and 5. Appendix III is concerned with the dating controversies surrounding the Old Bouleuterion and Stoa Basileios in the Agora, most pertinent to Chapter 2. It is hoped that while individual chapters may be of greater or lesser interest, the overall thrust of the book conveys its central message, that the political system brought about by the series of reforms passed in 508/​7 witnessed a rapid and widespread monumental transformation of the built environment, and that these changes both reflected and supported the burgeoning successes and early flourishing of this new political regime. Overall, this book aims to shed new light on a long-​standing problem, namely, how these reforms were implemented and how Athens rose to such prominence so quickly, by exploring a robust set of evidence from the built environment. In the end, although Badian might still be correct that this is a period where ingenuity and imagination are necessary to create a full picture, I hope to show that, once the surface is scratched, there really is far more than initially meets the eye.

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1

The Akropolis MONUMENTS AND MILITARY DOMINANCE

The Athenian Akropolis has been studied systematically and scientifically for well over a century. Yet several problems persist in our understanding of the sacred rock. The pre-​Persian chronology of structures, while reasonably well understood, still has contested points, and the location of some buildings has remained controversial for well over 100 years. The precise dating and location of monuments during the sixth and early fifth centuries are vital because they hold the key to interpretation and analysis. In order to understand what the Akropolis meant, we must first understand what it looked like. In particular, it is of utmost importance to consider the role—​ both symbolic and actual—​of the Akropolis in the daily lives of Athenian citizens and in the workings of their political system as it changed over time. Situating the monumental structures of the Late Archaic Akropolis in their historical context facilitates a more nuanced consideration of the motivations and ramifications of their construction. But in order to do this deep contextualization, it is first necessary to outline the chronology of building activity on the Archaic Akropolis, determining with as much precision as possible when individual monumental structures were built over the course of the sixth and early fifth centuries. Once the chronology is established, the structures can then be mapped onto the sacred topography of the citadel. Because the historical events of the late sixth and early fifth centuries frequently occurred on and around the Akropolis, understanding the progression and location of structures on the sacred rock paints a more robust picture of the spatial dynamics of this period. Doing so further allows us to contemplate the shifting significance of the Akropolis from the Early/​Mid-​Archaic to Late Archaic

Building Democracy in Late Archaic Athens. Jessica Paga, Oxford University Press (2021). © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780190083571.001.0001

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period, both in the Athenian imagination and in the actual physical space in which they worshiped their patron goddess. As the site of the city’s most important religious festivals, including the Panathenaia, the Akropolis served as the spiritual heart of the polis. It was where Athena Polias, their patron deity, resided, and where the Athenians, as a whole, made manifest their devotion and piety. As the site of political contestation, including two occupations and sieges within three years of each other, the Akropolis also served as the symbolic center of power and control in the polis. Control of the Akropolis often meant—​or was intended to mean—​ control of the city.1 The buildings on the Akropolis, however, were not merely the framework within which these rituals and political-​military actions occurred, standing mutely in the background. They also served to structure those events and preserve, in their siting and ornamentation, the community’s memory. In many ways, the sociopolitical intricacies of Late Archaic Athens are made visible through the building activity on the Akropolis, which in turn gave physical expression to the complicated establishment and implementation of the new political system brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms. Taken as a whole, the buildings on the Akropolis in this time period demonstrate how the new regime sought to express itself in monumental form—​and gain divine favor—​in the heart of the polis. Before delving into these intricacies, it is necessary to provide a brief word on names of structures and principal issues at stake. Three monumental peripteral temples were built on the Akropolis between ca. 570 and ca. 480. In chronological order, they are known as the Bluebeard Temple (ca. 570–​560), the Old Athena Temple (ca. 500), and the Old Parthenon (begun 490).2 Within the fortifications of the citadel, there is also a set of foundations named after their discoverer, Wilhelm Dörpfeld, located immediately 1.  We see this correlation, for instance, in Kylon’s attempted coup and in Peisistratos’ first and second attempts at the tyranny. The various occupations and sieges of the Akropolis are discussed in the Introduction. 2. The Bluebeard Temple is also known as the Hekatompedon or H-​architecture. It has also been called the Peisistratid Temple, although this is a misnomer, given the dates of Peisistratos’ attempts at the tyranny; as discussed in the Introduction, he did not secure control of the city until his third and final bid for the tyranny in 546/​5 (AthPol 15), by which time this temple had been standing for at least fifteen years. The Old Athena Temple is also known as the Old Temple of Athena, the Temple of Athena Polias, and, in some of the ancient testimonia, the Archaios Neos (IG I3 7). All of these names are appropriate, although this temple, like the Bluebeard Temple, cannot be called the Peisistratid Temple, as some have labeled it. The Old Parthenon is the immediate predecessor to the Periklean Parthenon. In this chapter and throughout the book, I employ the terms Bluebeard Temple, Old Athena Temple, and Old Parthenon for these three discrete buildings.

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south of the Erechtheion.3 These foundations, on the northern side of the Akropolis, are matched on the south by a massive podium of Piraeus limestone. Any monumental temple on the Archaic Akropolis must be placed in one of these two locations, and it is this placement that has remained controversial. In addition to these structures, a fourth temple was probably built during this period: a naïskos or small non-​peripteral Temple of Athena Nike, perched on the Bronze Age defensive bastion that juts to the west, just south of the entrance to the Akropolis. Here too, both the date and location of this diminutive structure, not to mention the symbolic role that Nike as victory goddess played for the Athenians, resonate with the political changes of the Late Archaic period. Alongside these temples, there was also the Great Altar of Athena, located to the east of her principal temple (the temple or temples that stood on the Dörpfeld foundations), as well as a smaller altar dedicated to Athena Nike, located on her bastion. The entrance to the Akropolis was articulated with a gate, known as the Old Propylon, which stood between remnants of the Bronze Age fortifications walls that encircled the citadel. A cistern ensuring a fresh supply of water was located near the entrance area as well.4 Several smaller buildings, often referred to as oikemata, were also present on the Akropolis, although their precise number, elevation, and original location remain largely unresolved.5 Finally, a massive ramp facilitated access to the Akropolis on its western side. Scattered in and among these buildings and structures were a plethora of dedications, large and small, permanent and ephemeral. Near the beginning of the second quarter of the sixth century, large stone statuary began to appear, primarily richly decorated marble korai (maidens) standing on inscribed bases, anathemata, or votive dedications to the goddess (Plate 1).6 The number 3.  Dörpfeld 1885, 1886, 1887a, and 1887b contain his fullest remarks and explanations of the foundations, their superstructure, and the building history of the Archaic and Classical Akropolis. Bancroft provides a brief chronological summary of Dörpfeld’s various publications and hypotheses (1979, pp. 10–​11). 4.  The presence of the cistern in the pre-​Persian period is convincingly presented by Tanoulas 1992. 5. The oikemata were first identified by Wiegand (1904, pp. 148–​171). See further discussion by Bancroft 1979, pp. 46–​76; Klein 2007, 2008; Santi 2010, ch. 4; Klein 2015a, 2015b. As Klein and Stewart have argued, it is not clear whether all of the oikemata were originally located on the Akropolis; after the Persian destruction, their rubble could have been carted up from the lower city to be reused as leveling material (Stewart 2008a, p. 389; Klein 2015b, pp. 155–​156). 6. Many of these statues were found in the so-​called Perserschutt, pits filled with debris from the Persian destruction. For a thorough discussion of the Persian destruction debris pits, see Stewart 2008a. He shows that only the pit to the northeast of the Erechtheion, the so-​called

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of these korai dedicated on the Akropolis gradually increased throughout the sixth century, based on the number of inscribed bases and statuary remains, so we can imagine the Akropolis growing more crowded with lavish dedications as the century progressed.7 In addition to the korai, 210 inscribed dedications have been documented from the Akropolis for the years between ca. 510 and ca. 480.8 These include small columns (kioniskoi), statue bases, and relief stelai. The Akropolis would have also been home to uninscribed dedications, ephemeral votives (tapestries, wood, bone, and ivory objects, clothing, etc.), and large quantities of precious metals, especially bronze objects. This rich and crowded setting provides the backdrop against which we can consider the monumental architectural elaboration of the Akropolis in the sixth and early fifth centuries. The dedications and variety of objects demonstrate that, in the Early and Mid-​Archaic period, the sacred center of the polis was not just the site of ritual and worship but was also an arena for elite competition and conspicuous consumption.9 In the Late Archaic period, these uses of the space persist but are now present alongside demotic representation, objects dedicated by the demos side by side with those dedicated by individuals, and monuments that both erase and preserve the memory of the disruptive events

Kore pit, can actually be dated to the years immediately following the Persian destruction; most of the Akropolis korai were discovered in this pit. 7.  According to the catalogue provided by Langlotz (1939, pp.  41–​42), there are six korai (plus one female head) dated ca. 560 or slightly before, nine korai between ca. 550 and ca. 530, nineteen korai (plus six female heads) between ca. 520 and ca. 500, and six korai (plus one head) dated ca. 500 to ca. 480. His conclusions, however, regarding the Peisistratid “gap” and the Kleisthenic “bulge” have been succinctly and persuasively challenged by Raubitschek (1949, p. 456) and Keesling (2003, p. 39). Hochscheid explains the seeming disparity between dedications made prior to ca. 525 versus after as an indication of the rise in popularity of marble statue dedications in the late sixth century, as well as a reflection of the fact that many elite dedications earlier in the sixth century were likely to be terracotta, metal vessels, and other more ephemeral materials, most of which are lost from the archaeological record (2015, pp. 48–​65). 8. IG I3 lists 210 Akropolis dedications dated between ca. 510 and ca. 480 out of a total of 330 dedications for the sixth and fifth centuries (leaving 120 dedications to be assigned to the remaining 170 years on either side of 510–​480). This distribution is followed, in large part, by Keesling (2003, pp. 42–​43). 9. All of the inscribed statue bases from the first three-​quarters of the sixth century indicate that these were private dedications, although not all of them were dedicated by elites (Keesling 2003, pp. 63–​77). The oikemata may have been built and used by elite families or gene (family units), functioning in a similar fashion to the treasuries at Panhellenic sanctuaries like Olympia and Delphi, but there is no definitive evidence to link particular buildings with specific families or individuals, nor is it clear why a local sanctuary would include individual treasuries (for discussion of the use of the oikemata, see Shapiro 1989, p. 21; Hurwit 1999, pp. 115–​116; Anderson 2003, pp. 107–​108; Klein 2015b).

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of occupation and siege.10 The Akropolis maintains its fundamental role in the religious affairs of the polis, but it also becomes an arena for the representation of the Athenians’ newfound military dominance, economic expansion, and collective will. The dual forces of ritual and politics underscore all building activity on the Akropolis, and analyzing the monumental construction in the sanctuary during this time period demonstrates the integrated relationship between the two. Here, on the most sacred pinnacle rising out of the astu, we see how sociopolitical change was made manifest alongside continuity, as the new political regime endeavored to express itself in monumental form.

Chronology and Siting Ca. 575–​508/​7  B.C.E. For much of the sixth century, the Akropolis was home to one monumental stone temple: the Bluebeard Temple (Fig. 1.1, no. 1). Built in approximately 570–​560, this temple almost certainly housed the ancient olive wood agalma (cult statue) of Athena Polias, said to have fallen from the sky.11 It was a peripteral temple, most likely 6 × 12, measuring roughly 20–​21 × 41–​43 m., and

10. Of the inscriptions catalogued by Raubitschek, only those dated to the late sixth century or later include the demotic (Raubitschek nos. 9; 40; possibly 42; 68 = EM 6227 + 6231 + 6220; possibly 70 = Akr. Mus. 1332 + Agora I 4571 + EM 6520; 73 = EM 6412a; 94 = EM 6299 + 6247; 184 = EM 6345; possibly 191 = EM 6385; 200 = EM 6337; 201 = EM 6401 (note that it is a dedication by a woman, with father’s demotic provided); 202 = EM 6458 (note that it is not exactly a demotic, as location is indicated by ex Sounieon); 210 = EM 6320b + 6392 + 6501 + 6376; 211 = Akr. Mus. 3761 + 3762; 246; possibly 255 = EM 6438; possibly 265 = EM 6291; possibly 267 = EM 6480; possibly 272 = EM 6499; 281 = EM 6430; 289 = EM 6336; possibly 311 = EM 6391 (could be a demotic or ethnic); possibly 355 = EM 654). The earliest of these, no.  68, is possibly contemporary with the original Boiotian and Chalkidian base (Raubitschek no. 168 = EM 6286 = IG I3 501), dedicated soon after 506/​5. After the demotic is introduced, it does not entirely replace the patronymic on sanctuary dedications, and in most instances, both are present. Within the generation after the Kleisthenic reforms, there are twenty-​six dedications that only use the demotic, as compared with forty-​nine that include the patronymic and no demotic (see Raubitschek 1949, p. 474). The choice of demotic and/​ or patronymic is not necessarily a political one, however, as issues of meter and spacing may have dictated some epigraphic decisions. Dedications made by the demos as a whole, like the Boiotian and Chalkidian monument, are treated in more detail in a later section of this chapter. 11. Paus. 1.26.6: τὸ δὲ ἁγιώτατον . . . ἐστὶν Ἀθηνᾶς ἄγαλμα . . . φήμη δὲ ἐς αὐτὸ ἔχει πεσεῖν ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ. (“The statue of Athena is the most sacred [object] . . . Common report about it holds that it fell from heaven.”) In this passage, Pausanias is describing objects inside the building he calls the Erechtheion. No ancient testimonia concretely place this statue in the Bluebeard Temple, but it is commonly assumed to have been housed there due to its great antiquity and due to a lack of other suitable structures in the Archaic period. The various homes for this statue over the course of the sixth and fifth centuries are discussed further in what follows.

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Figure  1.1  Plan of Akropolis, ca. 560 B.C.E. 1: Bluebeard Temple. 2: Great Altar of Athena. 3:  Entrance. 4:  Athena Nike Bastion. 5:  Building B.  6:  Monumental Ramp. J.  Paga, modified from J.  Travlos 1971, fig.  71. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

was built of limestone, with marble used for some metopes, the sima, and possibly some roof tiles.12 The pediments were filled with lively limestone 12. Some of the metopes are Hymettian marble and some are limestone (Wiegand 1904, pp. 9–​ 12; Heberdey 1919, pp.  137–​138; Dinsmoor 1947, pp.  148–​149; Sioumpara 2016, p.  197). For

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sculpture, including a group with Herakles wrestling Nereus or Triton, heraldic lions devouring bulls, and the snaky-​bodied eponymous Bluebeard Monster (Plate 2).13 In addition to the vibrant polychromy of the pedimental figures, some of the metopes also carried painted decoration in bands of a tongue pattern across their tops. These lightly incised and painted bands can still be detected on several of the surviving metopes, many of which were later reused.14 Overall, the temple would have been colorful, lively with sculpture,

the Naxian marble roof tiles, see Kissas 2008, pp. 8, 102–​104. For the restored dimensions of the H-​architecture fragments, see Schuchhardt 1935/​36; Plommer 1960; Beyer 1974, 1977; Bancroft 1979, pp. 17, 44–​45, 166, n. 65; Paga 2015a, table 1. On the basis of Bancroft’s interaxial spacing, the front width should be 20.56 m.; on the basis of the frieze measurements provided by Schuchhardt and Beyer, it should be between 20.01 and 21.21 m. New work by Sioumpara suggests possible modifications in the overall measurements, on the basis of her proposed interaxial spacing and reconstruction of the temple with a 6 × 13 peristyle (Sioumpara 2015, 2016). She posits an interaxial spacing of 3.94 m. for the flanks and 4.06–​4.08 m. for the facades; this would result in dimensions of approximately 21.50 × 47.26 m. for a 6 × 13 plan. Note, however, that these measurements are based on several fragmentary blocks that could belong to other structures, either on the Akropolis or brought up as fill after 479, as may be the case with some of the oikemata architectural fragments; Sioumpara acknowledges this possibility (2015, p. 261). With the adjusted flank interaxial posited by Sioumpara, a 6 × 12 arrangement yields a length of ca. 43.34 m., which would still enable the temple to fit on the Dörpfeld foundations, as argued further below (corner contraction not taken into account, but surely present, would further reduce the overall length and width). For a 6 × 12 reconstruction for the Bluebeard Temple, see Riemann 1950 (on analogy with his restored elevation of the Old Athena Temple); Plommer 1960; Bancroft 1979, p. 44; Paga 2015a; for a 6 × 13 reconstruction, see Lippolis 2007, p. 554; Sioumpara 2015, 2016; Wescoat lists the temple as being 6 × 12/​13 (2012, table 14a). 13. Wiegand was the first to connect the limestone sculpture recovered from the “poros” layers of fill to the east and south of the Parthenon with the Dörpfeld foundations (1904, pp. 72–​107; Dickens 1912; for these layers, see now Stewart 2008a). 14. The most notable reuses include the lining of the forecourt of the Old Propylon and the Hekatompedon Decrees, IG I3 4A–​B (both discussed in greater detail in the next section and in Appendix II; see Fig. 6.1 and plate 12). See Kissas for discussion and a catalogue of the marble metope fragments (2008, pp. 39–​50); Sioumpara for discussion of the variety of metopes employed on the temple (2015, pp. 255–​256, 2016, p. 197). It has been proposed that the small marble panther and lion reliefs in the Akropolis Museum, as well as the quadriga protome (Akr. Mus. 577), were originally attached to the metopes of the Bluebeard Temple, but this reconstruction seems unlikely (Dinsmoor 1947, pp. 150–​151; Korres 1997, pp. 229–​231; Hurwit 1999, pp.  107–​108; Kissas 2008, p.  39; cf. Ridgway 1977, p.  199, who restores them as anta decorations; cf. Bancroft, who places them on the Great Altar (1979, p. 60); cf. Kiilerich, who places them as heraldic pedimental figures for a small building, such as one of the oikemata (1988)). The lack of cuttings for clamps or dowels on the metopes of the Bluebeard Temple for the attachment of the figures, in addition to problems of scale (the lions and panthers would not fill the metope field) and number (it is unclear how many lions and panthers there are, given the disparate fragments), would make their placement on this temple awkward, if not impossible. For the lion and panther fragments, see also Schuchhardt in Schräder 1939, pp. 337–​342.

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Figure 1.2  Dörpfeld Foundations, view to northeast. Photo by Alison Frantz (AT-​36). Courtesy Agora Excavations.

and altogether a most impressive structure, towering above the smaller votive dedications on the Akropolis. There has been considerable controversy regarding the original location of this temple, fluctuating between the north and south side of the Akropolis (on the Dörpfeld foundations or under the site of the Parthenon, respectively). The problem of location is complicated but much of it centers on the following: the Dörpfeld foundations date to the Archaic period on the basis of their materials, workmanship, and tool marks (Fig. 1.2). The Bluebeard Temple superstructure dates to ca. 570–​560 on the basis of its architectural details and sculpture. The logical conclusion is that the Archaic temple belongs on the Archaic foundations. Proponents of the south-​side theory, however, argue that there are incongruities in masonry styles between the Dörpfeld foundations and temple superstructure, incongruities in the dimensions of the foundations and temple superstructure, and circumstantial evidence that a monumental temple could have stood on the site of the Parthenon in the Archaic period. Although it may never be possible to solve this problem with complete certainty, it is more likely, in my opinion, that the Bluebeard Temple was located on the north side of the Akropolis, on the Dörpfeld foundations, as is shown in Fig. 1.1, rather than on the south side.15 15.  See Paga 2015a for the most recent argument in favor of a northern location for this

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The long-​standing sanctity and importance of the cults on the north side of the Akropolis adds an important—​but often overlooked—​ritual dimension to the association between the Bluebeard Temple and the Dörpfeld foundations. Given what we know of its eventual location in the Erechtheion in the late fifth century and on the basis of the position of the Great Altar of Athena (Fig. 1.1, no. 2), it seems certain that the cult of Athena Polias was situated on the north side of the Akropolis and that her ancient agalma thus resided on this side as well, housed in what is termed, in many of the ancient literary and epigraphic testimonia, the “old temple,” or archaios neos.16 It is this statue that received the new peplos during the festival of the Great Panathenaia and to whom a hecatomb of cattle were sacrificed.17 The Great Altar of Athena, on which the hecatomb was sacrificed, was also located on the northern half of the Akropolis, approximately 17 m. east of the Dörpfeld foundations.18 The combined evidence points to the conclusion that the cult of Athena Polias was the most sacred cult on the Akropolis, and it involved building and details of its construction, including earlier bibliography and a full explication of the controversy; also to be consulted for the north side hypothesis is Kissas 2008, although note Ohnesorg’s reservations in her review (2010) and comments in Paga 2015a, pp. 171–​172, n. 7. See Korres 1996, 1997, and Sioumpara 2015, 2016 for the southern location (below the Parthenon), including earlier bibliography. 16.  Whichever temple held this statue, regardless of its actual age, received the moniker archaios neos. This is made clear by several inscriptions and by Pausanias, who, after describing the agalma, details other objects related to the cult of Athena Polias, as well as the temple itself, which he calls the Erechtheion (1.26.7–​1.27.3). The Erechtheion is generally understood to be, in large part, a replacement of the Old Athena Temple, built ca. 500 and (at least partially) destroyed by the Persians in 480, which itself was a replacement of the Bluebeard Temple, as discussed in more detail later in this chapter. According to inscriptions, such as IG I3 474, the agalma was housed in a structure known as the archaios neos; this structure also appears in inscriptions as a general storage area for treasures on the Akropolis (e.g., IG I3 341); see also discussion by Linders regarding Xen. Hell. 1.6.1, in which a fire is reported to have occurred in the palaios neos, which she interprets as the remains of the Old Athena Temple, the newly built Erechtheion having already received the label archaios neos (2007, pp.  778–​779). The most logical explanation, therefore, is that the agalma was perennially housed in a temple on the northern side of the Akropolis, beginning with the Bluebeard Temple, passing to the Old Athena Temple, and eventually ending in the Erechtheion, each temple assuming the moniker archaios neos once it housed the agalma (see also the explanation offered by Hopper 1963, pp. 14–​16, largely on these same lines). The archaios neos with its agalma is distinct from the Parthenon and cult of Athena Parthenos, which was situated on the south side of the Akropolis; see Herington 1955, pp. 16–​23, for the cult of Athena Parthenos. For the distinction between different repositories of objects on the Akropolis in the fifth century, see Linders 2007. 17. For the role of the peplos in the Great Panathenaia, see J. L. Shear 2001, pp. 163–​164, 669–​ 700, 754, 799. 18. For the Great Altar, few traces of which survive, see Bancroft 1979, pp. 58–​61; Hurwit 1999, p. 192; Monaco 2015, pp. 127–​128.

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the worship of the ancient agalma of Athena, which was located within a structure called the archaios neos, as well as sacrifices on the nearby (and axially aligned) Great Altar of Athena: all of these elements—​cult, temple, statue, and altar—​were contained in the northern section of the Akropolis. Given the fact, therefore, that the Bluebeard Temple was the only monumental temple in existence during most of the sixth century, it should, by necessity, be the temple in which the ancient image was housed, a conclusion that thus inexorably links the Bluebeard Temple with the Dörpfeld foundations.19 Around the same time as the construction of the Bluebeard temple, a monumental ramp, 80–​90 m. long and 12 m. wide, that extended the Panathenaic Way up to the entrance to the Akropolis was built (Fig. 1.1, no. 6).20 It is even possible that the ramp was built in order to facilitate the construction of the temple.21 The ramp’s size and directionality would have aided the transportation of large blocks of stone up to the Akropolis, as well as facilitating 19.  In order to argue that the Bluebeard Temple was located on the south side, in addition to the necessary archaeological and stratigraphic evidence, one would also have to explain why the cult of Athena Polias was moved from the south to the north in ca. 500 and why the Bluebeard Temple, built for the express purpose of housing the cult statue, was located so very far off axis with her altar and on a more unstable section of the Akropolis than the northern half where the Dörpfeld foundations are located. Alternately, one would need to argue that the Bluebeard Temple did not house the agalma of Athena Polias and instead posit a different—​ and as yet unattested—​cult in this temple in the Archaic period, as well as a second temple, likewise unattested both literally and archaeologically, on the Akropolis to house the Polias cult. If the Bluebeard Temple, located on the south, housed the cult of Athena Parthenos, as the later Old Parthenon and Periklean Parthenon did, then we must also look for an additional Archaic cult statue, for which we have no evidence, as well as specific cult practices or an altar for Athena Parthenos that predates 490, for which there is also no evidence. Moreover, if the Dörpfeld foundations were built explicitly for the Old Athena Temple, and not for the Bluebeard Temple, we must also explain their masonry techniques and composition and the single-​step krepidoma, all of which are far more comfortable in the Early or Mid-​Archaic period than ca. 500 (these oddities of the foundations are discussed in more detail in the next section). I do not find the arguments regarding the two limestone column bases convincing evidence for a seventh-​century temple (cf. Nylander 1962). 20. Vanderpool suggests that city walls were constructed around the lower city at about the same time that the ramp was built (1974). He argues that the ramp represents a clear shift in the use and nature of the Akropolis from protected citadel to open sanctuary. The broad approach ramp, which replaced the previous circuitous path, negates some of the defensive capabilities of the Bronze Age gate and bastion. According to Vanderpool, the decreased defensive capabilities of the Akropolis would only be acceptable if the Athenians had already constructed a new set of walls in the lower city. The possibility of an Archaic city wall around the astu is discussed in Chapter 3. 21. Vanderpool dates the ramp to the second quarter of the sixth century on the basis of pottery uncovered from a room in an Early Archaic house found underneath the ramp (1974, pp. 157–​159). The connection between the ramp and the Bluebeard Temple is emphasized by I. M. Shear (1999, pp. 105–​106).

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the large hecatomb of the Greater Panathenaia, reorganized in 566/​5; many scholars have posited the expansion of the festival as the catalyst for the construction of the ramp.22 The restructuring of the Panathenaia, the construction of the monumental ramp, and the erection of the Bluebeard Temple can all be consistently dated to the second quarter of the sixth century, which indicates that they share a common impetus and organization; the coterminous activity would have required coordination of resources and scheduling. The Bluebeard Temple is significant because it represents a new stage in Athenian building practices. From this point onward, the Akropolis was to be continually marked by a monumental stone temple on its north side, a reification of the all-​important cult of Athena Polias. The monumental size and scale of the temple was also a visual demonstration of the evolving status of Athens within the broader Greek world: the polis in the first half of the sixth century was beginning to express itself physically in a more dynamic and impressive manner than seen previously. Although still troubled by internal political struggles—​such as that between Megakles, Lykourgos, and Peisistratos—​as well as external problems—​primarily with Aegina—​Athens in the sixth century continued to expand economically, an element that further increased under the rule of Peisistratos but that seems to have partially halted under his sons. The construction of the Bluebeard Temple thus speaks to the growing financial stability of the polis at this point, as well as, to a more limited extent, the organizational capacity of its citizens. The quarrying and transportation of the stone, in addition to the actual building of the temple and ramp, represent a considerable financial cost.23 As mentioned earlier in this chapter, oikemata with rich polychromatic and figural pediments dotted the Akropolis alongside the Bluebeard Temple and would have added further opulence to the sanctuary of Athena. These small structures, numbering between five and seven, probably functioned as treasuries or small dining rooms, but it remains unclear whether they were used by private families, gene, phratries, the demos, or some combination

22.  E.g., Vanderpool 1974, p.  159; Hurwit 1999, p.  106; Camp 2001, pp.  31–​32. For the connections between the ramp, Bluebeard Temple, and reorganization of the Panathenaia, see J. L. Shear 2001, pp. 674–​681. For the date and details of the reorganization of the Panathenaia, see J. L Shear 2001, pp. 507–​510. In her discussion of temple ramps, Sporn emphasizes the expense of ramps and argues for a ritual function, in addition to their practical use (2015, esp. pp. 358–​360). 23. See Stanier 1953, Brunt 1965, Burkert 1996, and Davies 2001b for temple building costs. The economic impact of building is treated in greater detail later in this chapter and in Chapter 5.

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thereof.24 Oikemata are mentioned in IG I3 4B, the Hekatompedon Decree, where the tamiai are charged with opening and inspecting them at set intervals, and it is often assumed that the oikemata in the inscription are these small buildings.25 It is possible that the oikema known as Building B was located to the north of the main entrance of the Akropolis, opposite the Nike bastion (as shown in Fig. 1.1, no. 5), but there is no firm physical evidence.26 It has also been postulated that Building A  (or some permutation of it) stood on the Nike bastion as an Archaic temple for the cult there; this hypothesis, however, seems unlikely for several reasons, including the size of Building A as compared to the size of the limestone temple that would have functioned as its replacement.27 Some of the oikemata may have stood in a large open area known as the “hekatompedon,” located on the south side of the Akropolis, in the area later occupied by the Parthenon.28 Dating the small pediments has proved problematic, but the majority of them can be placed 24. Early publications of the limestone pediments and sculpture include Wiegand 1904 and Heberdey 1919. Klein has most recently published on these buildings (see 2007 and 2008 for abstracts; 2015a for evidence of repairs; 2015b for a chronological overview). For the pediments, see Kiilerich 1989; Shapiro 1989, pp. 21–​24; Stewart 1990, p. 114; Hurwit 1999, pp. 112–​117. 25. They are mentioned at ll. 2, 14, 17–​18. See Appendix II for the text and translation of the decree, along with a brief commentary. 26. Building B is often thought to have been built here because many pieces of its superstructure were found in this area, reused in the foundations of the Mnesiklean Propylaia. As Stewart has demonstrated, however, find-​spots for Archaic material on the Akropolis are not necessarily related to their original location (2008a), and as Klein and others have shown, some of the Archaic material on the Akropolis was brought up from the lower city after the Persian destruction, which thus raises the possibility that some of the oikemata (including Building B) were originally constructed elsewhere and never stood on the Akropolis (2015b, pp. 155–​156). 27.  Building A  (all permutations) was built ca. 560 and was dismantled and reused on the Akropolis after ca. 490 (Klein 2015b, p. 154). For the use of Building A as an Archaic temple to Athena Nike, see Mark 1993, pp. 34–​35; for a refutation of this hypothesis, see Holtzmann 2003, p. 70 and n. 7. 28. The reconstruction posited here is the most logical reading of IG I3 4A–​B, particularly given the location of the Bluebeard Temple as argued earlier in this chapter; see further in Appendix II. A version of this theory that involves dating the Old Parthenon podium earlier than the evidence suggests is articulated by Tölle-​Kastenbein but has not received universal support (1994). Kiilerich places the A-​architecture, restored with the Olive Tree Pediment, to the north of the Dörpfeld foundations as the Temple of Pandrosos mentioned by Pausanias (1.27.2) (1989). Beyer assigns several of the small pediments to the Bluebeard Temple: on the pediment that does not contain the Bluebeard Monster, he adds the figures from the “Introduction Pediment,” as well as figures from a conjectured “Birth of Athena” scene, between the hieratic lions and the snakes that fill the corners (1974); he is followed in this by Shapiro (1989, pp.  22–​23) and Korres (see his drawing of the northeast corner of the H-​architecture (his UrParthenon): 1994a, p. 21, 1997, p. 232, fig. 7), among others. Such a reconstruction, however, is unlikely for several reasons, especially that of relative scale.

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in the second quarter of the sixth century, roughly contemporary with the Bluebeard Temple, although some may be slightly later, in the third quarter of the sixth century.29 One final feature of the Archaic period deserves mention: the sanctuary of Athena Nike (Fig. 1.1, no. 4). Although not much is known of the earliest phase of the sanctuary, worship was certainly conducted, as evidenced by the fragmentary remains of a small limestone altar, dated to the second quarter of the sixth century, dedicated to the goddess by Patrokledes (Fig. 1.3).30 No remains of a built structure can be definitively associated with this altar, but it is possible that an enthroned cult statue of Athena Nike existed at this time, supported by the limestone blocks that were later reused within the cella of the limestone temple; such a cult statue would necessitate a built temple structure, which in this case would have been of ephemeral materials.31 Sacrifices and/​or libations were certainly performed, given the presence of the altar, but little else can be deduced. For much of the sixth century, then, the Akropolis was crowned with a single monumental peripteral temple, dedicated to Athena Polias and located on the north side, on the Dörpfeld foundations; this is the Bluebeard Temple. The Great Altar, on which sacrifices to Athena Polias were made, was located east of this temple. Near the temple, probably to the south in an area known as the “hekatompedon,” stood several oikemata. Votive dedications, especially large stone maidens dedicated by elites, dotted the rest of the sanctuary, creating a crowded and lively environment. Encircling the whole were the

29. Ridgway 1977, p. 201–​205; Shapiro 1989, p. 21; Klein 2015b. Cf. Boardman, who prefers to down-​date all of the small pediments, with the exception of the Herakles and Hydra example, to after 550, thereby placing them within the secure period of Peisistratos’ tyranny (1978, pp. 154–​155). 30. IG I3 596: τες Ἀθε̣[ναίας] || τες Νίκες || βομός || Πατροκέδ̣[ες] || ἐποίεσεν. The emendation with λ was made by Raubitschek (1949, p. 359, no. 329). Mark (1993, p. 33) and Gill (2001, p. 259) restore the name as Patrokles. 31. In addition to the Patrokledes altar and possible temple, Mark also dates the first rebuilding of the Mycenaean bastion crown to the second quarter of the sixth century (1993, pp. 15–​17). These features, taken as a whole, represent Mark’s Stage I (pp. 20–​29 (base phases and chronology), 108–​110 (for the attestation of an archaion agalma)). Mark argues that the remains of the cult statue base can be dated ca. 600–​560 on the basis of tool marks. He also cites the use of poros (limestone) rather than marble as a factor more consistent with the early sixth century than later in the century. I am not convinced that either the tooling or the material constitutes a secure criterion for establishing the date of the base, particularly given the amount of later reworking, but it remains possible (if unlikely) that a cult statue and accompanying ephemeral shrine were erected around this time to accompany the Patrokledes altar. For challenges to Mark’s phasing, see Paga 2017a.

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Figure  1.3 Altar of Athena Nike, dedicated by Patrokledes. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

remains of the heavy Mycenaean fortifications.32 It is unclear how the gateway was articulated in this period (Fig. 1.1, no. 3), nor is it clear whether Building B played any role with the entrance. To the south of the entrance, the sanctuary of Athena Nike stood perched on the outthrust bastion, with a small altar and possible ephemeral shrine. As with the Bluebeard Temple and ramp, it is quite possible that many of these structures can be connected with the

32. For the Bronze Age fortifications, see Iakovides 1983, pp. 79–​82, 2006, pp. 182–​189 (for the west entrance and bastion), and 227–​228 (for the dating). Because the gateway at this period remains of unknown size and plan, it is indicated by a gray trapezoid in Fig. 1.1 (no. 3).

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reorganization of the Panathenaia in 566/​5 and general interest in the elaboration of the sanctuary of Athena. Overall, the Akropolis during much of the sixth century was the premier space for aristocratic conspicuous consumption, but it was also where citizens assembled to worship Athena Polias and Nike, both individually and as a group during major festivals. It symbolized the sacred heart of the polis, and its monumental structures reflected the gradually increasing wealth of the city and its elite inhabitants. In the years following the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms, however, the physical makeup—​and therefore the symbolic force—​ of this space was radically transformed.

Ca. 508/​7–​480/​79  B.C.E. The next large-​scale building to appear on the Akropolis is the Old Athena Temple, the first temple on the sacred citadel built by the new political regime around 500 (Fig. 1.4, no. 1).33 The new temple stood on the same foundations and shared an identical plan with its predecessor, the Bluebeard Temple, as well as nearly identical measurements (approximately 21.30 × 43.15 m. with a 6 × 12 plan), but some things were altered: the pedimental sculpture, metopes, and akroteria were now all carved in Parian marble, the marble sima included alternating lion’s head spouts and ram’s head finials, and the limestone body of the temple was updated with a straighter echinus on the capitals (Fig. 1.5), as well as moldings and profiles more in keeping with Late Archaic styles. The plan of the temple follows the plan of the Dörpfeld foundations (as did, presumably, the Bluebeard Temple): the rectangular inner cella was divided into two approximately equal halves, with a nearly square chamber in the eastern half for Athena Polias (facing her altar) and three unequally sized rooms in the west (Fig. 1.6). A small porch, either distyle in antis or, more likely, tetrastyle

33. Childs 1994. The temple had previously been dated to the early fourth quarter of the sixth century and thus considered a Peisistratid building (e.g., Wiegand 1904, pp. 115–​126; Riemann 1950; Schefold 1978, p. 64), and although this view is largely rejected now in favor of the ca. 500 date, some retain the earlier dating (Croissant 1993; Santi 2010, ch. 5, although see Stewart’s review for criticism of this date and Santi’s conclusions (2012)). Scholars are in agreement that the temple stood on the Dörpfeld foundations: the dimensions of the Old Athena Temple have been calculated with a high degree of accuracy, given the plethora of architectural remains (at least one piece of each element of the superstructure survives), and they are suitable for the foundations, which measure approximately 21.34 × 43.44 m. Moreover, the Old Parthenon was begun just ten years later, and it certainly stood on the south side of the Akropolis, which makes such a location for the Old Athena Temple impossible, given that both temples were present and burned by the Persians in 480.

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Figure  1.4  Plan of Akropolis, ca. 480 B.C.E. 1: Old Athena Temple. 2: Great Altar of Athena. 3:  Old Parthenon. 4:  Forecourt. 5:  Old Propylon. 6:  Athena Nike Bastion. 7: Cistern. 8: Building B. 9: Monumental Ramp. J. Paga, modified from J. Travlos 1971, fig. 71. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

prostyle, was appended to both the pronaos and opisthodomos.34 In addition to this interior sectioning, there is also the matter of the single-​step krepidoma 34.  The plan is restored with a distyle in antis porch by Dörpfeld (1886, pp.  338–​343) and Travlos (1971, p. 145, fig. 196); cf. the tetrastyle prostyle reconstruction offered by Dinsmoor

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Figure 1.5  Old Athena Temple capitals on the Akropolis. Photo by G. Hellner (DAI Akr. 2437). Courtesy Deutsches Archäologiches Institut, Abteilung Athen.

and the unusual relationship between the dimensions and proportions of the temple, all oddities that require some explanation. The single-​step krepidoma is most plausibly explained as a holdover from the earlier Bluebeard Temple. The canonical three-​step krepidoma was not utilized with any consistency until the late sixth and early fifth centuries. In

(1947, pp. 140–​145, fig. 7) and Plommer (1960, pp. 151–​157, fig. 14). Some scholars have associated several blocks of what could be a continuous Ionic frieze course carved of Hymettian marble with the porches (Schräder 1939, pp. 394–​396; three fragments catalogued by Brouskari 1974, pp. 52 (Akr. no. 1340), 60 (no. 1343), 68 (no. 1342); Ridgway 1993, pp. 395–​397; Stewart 1990, p. 130), but the evidence for this is scanty and it has not been universally accepted (see Childs 1994, p. 6, n. 59); for the identification of the stone, see Moltesen, Herz, and Moon 1992, p. 278. Payne and Young note that the relief could belong to a building, base, or altar (1950, pp. 46–​47).

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Figure 1.6  Old Athena Temple, restored plan, with Dörpfeld Foundations, state plan. J. Travlos 1971, fig. 196. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

the Early Archaic period, on the other hand, the number of steps fluctuated, and three was neither the standard number nor was it even the most frequent step count.35 If the Bluebeard Temple only had a single-​step krepidoma

35.  Barletta comments that the single-​step krepidoma is characteristic of early construction (2017, pp.  180–​181). Martin catalogues four examples of Archaic temples with single-​step krepidomas, and an additional four examples of Archaic temples with two-​step krepidomas (1965, pp. 334–​337), concluding that the krepidoma at first served a strictly architectonic function to elevate the structure above the ground and was thus limited to one or two steps, only later in the sixth century expanding to three or four (pp. 345–​346).

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(which would not be odd in ca. 570–​560), the Old Athena Temple would be forced to assume the same design, despite the fact that it was becoming more common for Late Archaic temples to have three steps. The single-​step krepidoma was thus a necessary oddity because if the builders of the Old Athena Temple wanted to add even one additional step to the plan, let alone two, while maintaining the reuse of the Dörpfeld foundations, the overall dimensions of the temple would become drastically constricted. In addition, the interior foundations would no longer be functional, and the interior arrangement of space would need to be altered. It would thus void the economic practicalities of reusing the foundations. The proportional system of the temple would also be reduced and the 6 × 12 plan—​which is established with certainty for the Old Athena Temple, on the basis of the number and ratio of triglyphs and metopes from the frieze course, as well as the surviving column drums and capitals—​would not fit on such a truncated stylobate. In short, the addition of even one more step to the Old Athena Temple would have severely hindered its construction. The presence of the single-​step krepidoma, therefore, is best understood as a necessary measure of continuity with the Bluebeard Temple, given the reuse of the Dörpfeld foundations.36 In general, the overall size of the Old Athena Temple can be linked to Early Archaic temples elsewhere in Greece, although the proportional relation between width and length point to comparanda with more contemporary temples.37 If we are correct that the size of the Old Athena Temple was dictated by the preexisting foundations and size of the Bluebeard Temple, then the Old Athena Temple inherited these dimensions by co-​opting the 36. This is another place where proponents of a south-​side location for the Bluebeard Temple would need to explain why, if it did not replace an earlier Archaic predecessor, the Old Athena Temple has this single-​step krepidoma, anomalous for its date of ca. 500. 37. The relatively large size of the Old Athena Temple, 21.30 × 43.15 m., is comparable to the Temple of Apollo at Corinth (21.58 × 53.82 m., ca. 550–​540), the Temple of Apollo at Delphi (23.80 × 59.50 m., second half of the sixth century), the Temple of Hera I at Poseidonia (24.50 × 54.30 m., ca. 550–​510), the Temple of Apollo at Syracuse (ca. 21.57 × 55.36 m., second quarter of the sixth century), the Temple of Apollo at Eretria (20.55 × 47.80 m., end of the sixth century), and the Temple of Artemis on Kerkyra (22.11× 47.59 m., ca. 580). Most of these Early to Mid-​Archaic temples have long, narrow plans. Despite the broad width of the Old Athena Temple, the length is comparatively short, giving the temple a different set of proportions more aligned with contemporary examples, such as the Temple of Athena Pronaia at Delphi (13.25 × 27.45 m., end of the sixth century), the Temple of Aphaia on Aegina (13.77 × 28.82 m., ca. 500–​470), and the Temple of Apollo on Delos (13.55 × 29.78 m., second quarter of the fifth century). This point is also made by Childs 1994, p. 1. All measurements and dates from Lippolis 2007. The date of the Temple of Aphaia is contested, but it can generally be placed in the first or early second quarter of the fifth century: 500–​480: Bankel 1993, pp. 169–​170; Indergaard 2011; post-​480: Stewart 2008a, 2008b, pp. 593–​597; Hedreen 2011; Polinskaya 2013.

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location. The “older” dimensions are, therefore, due to the reuse of the foundations and explainable by the replacement of the Early Archaic temple by the Late Archaic one. The problem, however, is that we then need to explain why the Bluebeard Temple had such forward-​leaning proportions. The answer to this brings us to the final oddity of the temple: its interior plan. As we saw with the Bluebeard Temple and clearly visible in Fig. 1.6, this interior plan is unique in the history of Greek temple building; it is not unique, however, in the history of buildings on the north side of the Akropolis: the Bluebeard Temple must have had the same interior arrangement, as both the inner and outer foundations were contemporary and were both reused by the Old Athena Temple. Moreover, the basic plan also seems to have been adapted in the Erechtheion, the building that replaced the Old Athena Temple, as well as in the Parthenon.38 The replication of the unusual compartmentalized interior plan, from the Bluebeard Temple to the Old Athena Temple and finally to the Erechtheion, is due to the specific nature of the cults contained within and around the area, and served by these successive temples.39 The confluence of cults and shrines on the north side of the Akropolis likely necessitated the unique interior arrangement in the successive temples that stood there. The unusual form and proportions of the temples can then be understood as a function of serving various cults located in precise topographical areas.

38. This reconstructed plan of the interior of the Erechtheion has not been agreed upon by all, with some scholars (e.g., Travlos 1971, p. 218, fig. 281) suggesting different restorations. The issue of cult continuity, however, that is so clearly articulated in the overlap of the Karyatid Porch and Dörpfeld foundations should lend support to the reconstruction of the Erechtheion with multiple interior chambers following the pattern of the Bluebeard and Old Athena Temples. The unusual interior spatial arrangement seen in all Akropolis temples is highlighted by T. L. Shear, Jr. 2016, pp. 363–​365. 39.  In addition to Athena Polias, several other cults were located on the north side. Our earliest references indicate that Erechtheus was worshipped alongside Athena, the two sharing a common temple on the Akropolis (Homer Il. 2.44, implied at Od. 7.80–​81). There are also references to the worship of Poseidon, Boutes (a local hero), and Hephaistos in the Erechtheion (Paus. 1.26.5), which can be used as comparanda for the internal divisions in the Bluebeard Temple and Old Athena Temple (for Poseidon vs. Zeus Katabaites in the floor of the North Porch of the Erechtheion, see Elderkin 1912 pp. 32–​36, 1941). The Old Athena Temple is also close to the shrine of Kekrops, sometimes called the Kekropeion; this small shrine is just to the north of the Dörpfeld foundations and was included in the plan of the Erechtheion by means of the Karyatid Porch. Likewise, Pandrosos, the daughter of Kekrops, had a small open-​ air precinct to the north of the Old Athena Temple (just west of the Erechtheion), close to her father’s cult space. For the role of the sacred olive tree of Athena in this topography, see van Rookhuijzen 2017, pp. 52–​56.

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In addition to the architectural fragments of the Old Athena Temple, large pieces of the pedimental sculpture survive.40 These pediments are the first on the Akropolis to be carved in marble, and one of them is the first to depict a figural mythological narrative:  the Gigantomachy.41 The choice of the Gigantomachy is a significant one for Athena Polias and highlights the essential martial character of the goddess, as she strides forward, brandishing her spear, exulting in her triumph over the fallen Giant foes (Plate 3). Her snake-​covered aegis hangs from her extended arm, an extension of her ferocity and power. The other pediment held a lion and bull grouping, similar to those from the pediments of the Bluebeard Temple and, like that earlier temple, the Old Athena Temple was also painted with lively polychromy. In many ways, the Late Archaic successor closely resembled its predecessor in form, ornamentation, and function; the overriding symbolic messages of the two temples, though, highlight the changing political landscape of the polis. Before the Athenians could begin construction of the Old Athena Temple, though, they had to dismantle the Bluebeard Temple, a process that likely occurred in the final decade of the sixth century.42 Some pieces of the Bluebeard Temple, such as the metopes, were reused for inscriptions and architectural enhancement.43 Other blocks may have lain in stockpiles around the Akropolis, awaiting reuse. Many of the blocks were eventually used as filling debris during the cleanup of the Akropolis following the Persian invasion or in the rebuilding of the precinct walls.44 To the best of our knowledge, there were no structural problems with the Bluebeard Temple or natural disasters, like earthquakes, that would have caused collapse. The decision to dismantle 40. A ca. 500 date for the sculpture was first proposed by Stähler 1972 and 1978. The marble pediments have been elsewhere dated to the early fourth quarter of the sixth century, ca. 525–​ 520 (Ridgway 1977, p. 207) but the communis opinio is now firmly in the last decade of the sixth century (Hurwit 1985, p. 279; Stewart 1990, pp. 129–​130; Childs 1994; Hurwit 1999, pp. 121–​ 124; Neer 2010, pp. 96–​97, fig. 56). 41. That Athena stood in the center of the pediment, rather than slightly to the side next to a central quadriga, is certain, given the height of the goddess: with her added bronze helmet and plume, she reaches the very apex of the tympanum; a shift to the side would result in the goddess’ head breaking through the raking geison, an unlikely and inelegant problem (see Marszal 1998 for a refutation of Stähler 1972 and Moore 1995). In addition to the central Athena figure, the bodies of three Giants survive, as well as at least two additional feet. 42. As we will see in the next section, this date of dismantlement can be refined to the years soon after 508/​7 or, more likely, just after 506/​5. 43. The reuse of the metopes is discussed later in this section and in Appendix II. 44. This backfill is how the limestone pedimental fragments ended up in the large pits to the south and southeast of the Parthenon.

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Figure  1.7  Old Parthenon, plan. J.  Travlos 1971, fig.  564. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

the temple thus appears to have been a deliberate choice, one with symbolic and ideological ramifications that we will consider further in the next section. More of the architectural context of the Akropolis in the late sixth and early fifth centuries can be illuminated by turning to the south of the Old Athena Temple, an area known as the “hekatompedon,” where a new temple was begun shortly after the Battle of Marathon in 490: the Old Parthenon (Fig. 1.4, no. 3).45 This temple was large, with foundations measuring 30.48 × 75.91 m. and a 6 × 16 peripteral plan (Fig. 1.7). The plan foreshadows the Periklean Parthenon: it is in the Doric order with a large eastern cella (with two rows of interior columns) and opisthodomos, both fronted by tetrastyle

45. The identification of the Old Parthenon as a victory monument for Marathon was articulated by Dinsmoor (1922, p.  237, and further in his 1934 publication, where the post-​490 date is argued in detail). For discussion of the Periklean Parthenon as a victory monument (often assumed to be a replacement victory monument for the Old Parthenon), see Herington 1955, pp.  2–​3; Harrison 1967, p.  27; Boersma 1970, pp.  68–​69; Castriota 1992, pp.  134–​138; Goette 2001, p. 11; Neils 2001, pp. 186–​189; Hurwit 2004, pp. 243–​244; Kousser 2009, p. 275; nuancing this straightforward understanding is Arrington 2015, pp. 133–​146. Ceramic evidence confirms a date around 490 for the construction of the podium (Graef and Langlotz, 1909–​ 1933, vol. 2: II.75, pl. 5; II.636 (fr.), pls. 50–​51; II.806, pl. 72; II.814d, pl. 74; Dinsmoor 1934, pp. 416–​441; Stewart 2008a, pp. 394–​395), and stratigraphic evidence indicates that the massive podium was built as a single construction (Stewart 2008a, pp. 400–​401; Paga 2015a, p. 187 and n. 67); for a full review of scholarship and reassessment of the pottery, see T. L. Shear, Jr. 2016, pp. 395–​399.

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prostyle porches.46 The foundation podium was built of Piraeus limestone, but the temple itself was to be entirely Pentelic marble. The podium and temple would have created a massive edifice rising on the southern side of the Akropolis, a structure of diminished religious importance compared to the ancient and revered cult of Athena Polias in the Old Athena Temple, but of increased magnificence and grandeur. In order to support a temple of this size on the south side of the Akropolis, a massive stone platform was needed:  this formed the first stage of the building process. Twenty-​two courses of Piraeus limestone were quarried for the podium, a demonstration of the extent to which the south side of the Akropolis had to be built up for the placement of the temple (Fig. 1.8). Toward the north, the number of courses gradually decreases, more rapidly on the eastern than western side, and as the slope rises, the courses begin to be cut into the Akropolis bedrock itself. The method of construction for the podium proceeded as follows for each of the twenty-​two courses: (1) the extent of the intended course was leveled and the bedrock was prepared; (2) the roughly quarried blocks were laid for the course, from the interior bedrock to the intended exterior surface;47 (3)  the blocks were finished in situ and their upper surfaces were prepared for the next course; and (4)  earth was dumped against the completed course. This four-​step process was repeated for every course of the podium, the ground level gradually rising as construction progressed.48 The four phases are clearly visible in the stratigraphy that accumulated against the podium, as excavated by Kavvadias and drawn by Kawerau in 1888.49 This process, from quarrying the limestone in Piraeus to 46. Hill 1912 remains the most complete inventory of known blocks associated with the Old Parthenon, but see also Bundgaard 1976, pp.  61–​65. The dimensions of the Old Parthenon measured from the lowest step are 26.19 × 69.62 m. 47.  This point is articulated by Bundgaard and made visible by the projecting blocks seen throughout courses 1–​19 (1976, p. 55). The top three courses were laid more carefully, from the exterior toward the center. 48. Phase 1 is indicated by working chips of Akropolis bedrock, evidence of the rough leveling of the Akropolis surface. Phases 2–​3 are indicated by a further layer of working chips of Piraeus limestone, the chips having been swept back from the laid and finished course and used as part of the rising terrace around the podium. Phase 4 is indicated by bands of dumped earth, sandwiched between layers of working chips. Eleven of these alternating bands of stratigraphy were observed by Ziller, who dug two pits in 1864 along the south side of the podium. He was the first to expose the truly monumental nature of the structure supporting the Parthenon. Ziller’s remarks are cited by Dörpfeld (1892, pp. 158, 161). Penrose also notes the alternating layers of Akropolis bedrock chips and limestone chips (1891, p. 281). 49. Reprinted in Bundgaard 1974, pls. 153.1 and 227 (the latter plate, from Ziller’s 1865 publication, is particularly informative). Stewart presents a schematic rendering of the stratigraphy to

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Figure 1.8  Podium of the Old Parthenon. Photo by unknown (DAI Akr. 112). Courtesy Deutsches Archäologiches Institut, Abteilung Athen.

the dumped earth terracing, represents a massive expenditure of labor and material resources, rivaled in Athens—​if at all—​only by the early stages of the unfinished Olympieion.50 Korres has estimated that the columns of the Old Parthenon were erected up to the second or third drum at the time of the Persian destruction in 480/​79.51 This building schedule means that it took the Athenians several years to quarry, transport, and construct the immense

the south of the podium (based on Bundgaard 1974, pl. 153.1) that is useful, if lacking in detail (cross reference should be made with his fig. 27 for a sense of the chronological relationship between the strata indicated) (2008a, p. 400, fig. 26). 50. For the Olympieion, see Chapter 3. 51. Korres 1999, p. 101. He makes this calculation on the basis of the projected entasis of the surviving drums. Note also the projected calculations made by Tschira 1940, pp. 245–​246.

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podium for the temple, with construction on the temple itself probably not beginning until 485, if not later.52 When the Persians arrived in Athens in 480, they would have encountered the Akropolis covered with building materials, piles of timber, metal, and stone, and with an impressive edifice rising in the midst of it, a monument to their earlier defeat and humiliation. The symbolic import of the Old Parthenon thus lies in its latent grandeur and message of victory. The massive temple, had it been completed, would have dwarfed all other structures on the Akropolis, as well as structures within the astu and countryside. It served, even in its incompleteness, as a monumental proclamation of Athenian martial success, access to valuable resources, and technological ability, all of which the Persians attempted to obliterate with their destruction and rapine. At the time of this catastrophe, the Akropolis was home to these two large-​scale stone temples (one complete, one in progress), but it also had a monumentally articulated gateway on its western side (Fig. 1.4, nos. 4–​5). This entrance, like all such temenos boundaries, represents a liminal space. The physicality of the entrance signals to the common visitor, priestess, or official that she or he is about to enter sacred space: it marks the delineation between the profane and sacred, between the everyday events of mortals and the timeless worship of the gods. It was important, therefore, that access to

52. Contra Korres, who argues that construction on the Old Parthenon ceased in 485 (1997, p.  240). He postulates that the death of Darius and succession of Xerxes in Persia would have sparked a change in priorities for the Athenians, switching their attention from the Old Parthenon to their defensive fortifications. A span of five years, however, is too short to allow for the construction of the massive podium and partial building of the temple, so Korres is compelled to invent a prior phase of building activity. He argues that the podium belongs to an earlier phase of planning for a monumental temple, begun at the end of the sixth or beginning of the fifth century (pp.  239–​240). This hypothesis then allows him to date the building of the podium to ca. 500–​490, with five additional years for the partial building of the Old Parthenon itself. This hypothesis is untenable for several reasons. First, as has been shown above, the Athenians were already at work building the Old Athena Temple on the north side of the Akropolis ca. 500. Although it would not be unfeasible to build two large-​ scale temples simultaneously within the same workspace, such a situation would cause a great level of confusion in building materials and labor and might indicate more building activity than is strictly possible at the same time on the limited surface of the Akropolis. Second, there is no evidence that construction on the Old Parthenon ceased in 485 and no reason to think that the Athenians would not have continued working on the Old Parthenon simultaneously with increased attention to their fortification walls and triremes. Third, the ceramic evidence recovered from the construction debris of the podium clearly indicates a date of ca. 490–​480, not earlier. Finally, a shift in material from the limestone podium to the marble temple is not indicative of a chronological break in building phases. The use of limestone for the podium was an economic decision; moreover, the podium would have been largely hidden from view, alleviating any perceived discrepancy between the two materials.

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the sacred citadel be controlled.53 The Hekatompedon Decrees (IG I3 4A–​B) make this point clear: certain people are allowed and even ordered to perform certain activities, whereas others are restricted in their use of the space.54 The decrees indicate that activities within the citadel were carefully monitored and that proper comportment within the sanctuary continued to be a serious concern under the new political regime. But in addition to these spatial and sacred politics, the gateway could, and frequently did, function as a defensive barrier. The Akropolis was not only the sacred citadel of the Athenians, but it was also their most secure fortress, a place they believed to be impregnable and fully protected (protection physically in the form of Cyclopean walls, as well as ritually in the form of Athena Polias).55 This twofold understanding of the entrance area can be seen in its monumental articulation in the Late Archaic period (Fig. 1.9). There is no clear evidence that the gateway to the Akropolis was modified or significantly changed between its initial Bronze Age (LH IIIB) construction date and the installation of the monumental ramp in the second quarter of the sixth century, although it remains possible, and even likely, that some changes were made to facilitate the construction of the Bluebeard Temple.56 In 508/​7, when Isagoras and Kleomenes were besieged on the Akropolis, the Athenian demos barred this Mycenaean entrance, in whatever form it existed at this time, at the top of the ramp. It is unlikely that any changes were made to the entrance immediately after this event, unless it was a further demolition of the Mycenaean gateway in order to facilitate the transportation of blocks needed for the Old Athena Temple and to install the cistern (Fig. 1.4, no. 7).57 It would not have been practical for the Athenians to construct a new gateway

53. While all Greek sanctuaries had temene, not all were physically articulated, and not all had such visually imposing gateways as we see in Athens. The Akropolis is, in many ways, entirely unique in its heightened degree of access control at the entrance and in the level of monitoring that could thus occur. For a diachronic account of this unusual relationship between the sanctuary and its defensive walls, see Gawlinski 2015. 54. For text and translation of metope B, see Appendix II. 55. The Athenians who took refuge behind the “wooden walls” of the Akropolis, rather than the ships, were certainly trusting in this twofold protection (Hdt. 7.141–​143). 56. I. M. Shear convincingly argues that parts of the original Bronze Age gate would have had to be dismantled in order to facilitate the transportation of blocks for the Bluebeard Temple up to the Akropolis (1999, p. 106). 57. Tanoulas suggests that the cistern was begun after the expulsion of the Peisistratidai but not completed until after Marathon (1992, p. 160). Its construction would have further contributed to the changes in the Bronze Age fortification wall near the entrance, on its northern side.

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Figure  1.9  Plan of the entrance area of Akropolis and Athena Nike Bastion, ca. 480 B.C.E. 1: Forecourt. 2: Old Propylon. 3: Temple of Athena Nike. 4: Altar of Athena Nike. 5: Bronze Age wall. 6: Monumental Ramp. J. Paga, after Mark 1993, fig. 12.

while they were still transporting materials and blocks for the new temple.58 The entrance needed to be clear and open for the movement of new blocks and building materials onto the citadel—​a simultaneous construction project on the gateway itself would have been difficult, if not impossible. The transport of building material posed a risk to the material itself as well as any structure near the entrance. Once the Old Athena Temple was completed, however, the Athenians were free to turn their attention to the gateway. The entrance area to the Akropolis consists of the gate itself (Fig. 1.4, no. 5, and Fig. 1.9, no. 2) as well as a forecourt area to its south and west (Fig. 1.4, no. 4, and Fig. 1.9, no. 1).59 The first clear instance of modification in this area occurs near the end of the sixth century or early fifth century. At this time, a section of the western Bronze Age wall, south of the gateway, received a 58. This point is also made by I. M. Shear 1999, pp. 108–​109. A similar pattern can be seen in the later fifth century, when construction on the Mnesiklean Propylaia was postponed until the Parthenon was nearly complete (T. L. Shear, Jr. 2016, pp. 273–​275). 59. For the history of the entrance to the Akropolis, the early excavations, and previous scholarship, see Dinsmoor, Jr. 1980, pp. 1–​15.

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Figure 1.10  Reused Bluebeard Temple metopes in forecourt of entrance area. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

marble lining on its western face and an integrated base at the northern extent for a perirrhanterion, or lustral basin (Fig. 1.10).60 A  series of rock-​cut steps led up to the lined area from the ramp, creating a physical link between the ramp, the Athena Nike bastion to the south, and the entrance, an element that is integral to understanding how these different areas of the Akropolis communicated with each other.61 The marble lining consists of at least ten, but possibly up to eighteen62 reused metope blocks from the Bluebeard Temple, turned upside down, their crowning fascias chipped off, their overall height slightly reduced, and repurposed to serve as both a protective barrier for the Cyclopean wall and a marble backdrop or dado for the newly created forecourt area. A  small marble bench, which would have lined the entire forecourt, was placed in front of these metope blocks.63 Descending from 60. This base is frequently referred to as the “tripod base,” although most scholars now agree that it was intended for a perirrhanterion. For a full discussion of the block in question, see Dinsmoor, Jr. 1980, pp. 33–​34. 61. See Paga 2017a for these connections between the Propylon area and Athena Nike bastion. 62. Eighteen: Dinsmoor, Jr. 1980, p. 23. Ten: I. M. Shear 1999, p. 108. Eiteljorg 1993 does not specify how many metopes would have originally been used to line the wall. Three of these metopes can still be seen in situ to the east and south of the southwest wing of the Mnesiklean Propylaia, visible in Fig. 1.10. 63. Dinsmoor, Jr. 1980, pp. 18, 21. The bench measures just 0.29 m. high and 0.36 m. wide.

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the marble lining and bench were five rock-​cut steps with limestone fillers in places where the natural bedrock required leveling.64 These three elements combined to delineate the forecourt of the Old Propylon:  an open area, bordered on the east and south by a marble dado and bench, with a stepped theatral area. The forecourt had an original length of at least 14.18 m., a significant amount of space for an area as topographically limited as the western approach to the Akropolis.65 The date of this first phase can be established with relative certainty. The metopes used as the marble lining came from the Bluebeard Temple, which, as we have seen, was dismantled in the last decade of the sixth century.66 The terminus ante quem is the Persian destruction, on the basis of the survival of the metope blocks, which would have probably been damaged and subsequently reburied if they had still been lying in storage on the Akropolis, rendered unsuitable for structural reuse after the destruction. Additional evidence for the date of the forecourt includes the use of Z-​clamps, which helps confirm a date between ca. 500 and 480.67 64. See Dinsmoor, Jr. 1980, pp. 19–​21, for a detailed description of these steps. Hollinshead notes that the steps are of varying heights and depths (risers and treads), which indicates that they were used for both sitting and standing (2015, p. 47). 65. Dinsmoor, Jr. 1980, p. 18; this distance is also measurable from the state plan of the area. For the implications of this space, see Paga 2017a, p. 166. 66. The identification of the marble slabs as metope blocks from the Bluebeard Temple was made by Dörpfeld (1902, p. 406) and Wiegand (1904, p. 110). It is possible that the metopes could have been loose debris on the Akropolis or kept in storage for several years before their reuse in the forecourt area, but such a situation is unknowable. 67. Dinsmoor, Jr. 1980, p. 21. Z-​clamps were once thought to be a transitional clamp, between the Archaic use of swallow-​tail clamps and the Classical use of double-​T clamps, but they were also used alongside the double-​T clamps; the concurrent use of Z-​and double-​T clamps can be observed on the Late Archaic Telesterion at Eleusis (see Chapter 4). Alongside the forecourt, comparanda for the earliest use of Z-​clamps include buildings that date to the first two decades of the fifth century. Dinsmoor, Jr. lists the Stoa Basileios, the Temple of Aphaia in Aegina, and the Marathon base associated with the Treasury of the Athenians at Delphi as the earliest examples (1980, pp. 27–​28); all of these structures have contested dates but can generally be placed in the first or early second quarter of the fifth century. To this list we can also add the Late Archaic Temple of Dionysos Eleutherios, the Southeast Fountain House, and the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion, all of which date to the early fifth century (see Chapter 3 for the Temple of Dionysos; Paga 2015c, pp. 355–​387 for the fountain house; Paga and Miles 2016, pp. 657–​710 for the Temple of Poseidon). The presence or absence of Z-​clamps cannot provide a precise date, but these examples demonstrate that it was a clamp first known and used in Athenian architecture in the first few decades of the fifth century, but not seen earlier than ca. 500. In addition, the construction of the Old Athena Temple between 508/​7 and ca. 500 would have required the transportation of large quantities of stone and other materials onto the Akropolis. Again, it is unlikely that the Athenians would have chosen this same moment to elaborate the gateway to the Akropolis with a delicate marble lining, benches, and steps. The more likely scenario would place the lining and development of the forecourt in the period immediately

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At some point after the forecourt was delineated, work began on an actual structure to replace the Bronze Age gate. This building, known as the Old Propylon, represents a distinct building phase from the forecourt, but the time lapse between the two projects must have been brief (Fig. 1.4, no. 5, and Fig. 1.9, no.  2). The Old Propylon itself also had at least two distinct phases, although it was never finished for the same reason that both it and the forecourt must predate 490: once the decision had been made to build the Old Parthenon, construction activity on the Old Propylon would have been halted to facilitate the transportation of building materials for the temple up to the Akropolis.68 The remains of the Old Propylon are fleeting, and there is still debate regarding which elements are pre-​Persian and which are post-​ Persian.69 The plan, elevation, facade, and dimensions also remain unknown and can only be restored on a hypothetical basis.70 But an important point following the construction of the Old Athena Temple and before the construction of the Old Parthenon, so between 500 and 490. Contra Dinsmoor, Jr., who argues for a date of 489–​488 for this phase, based on his belief that the metopes belonged to the “Hekatompedon” that he locates under the Old Parthenon (1980, pp. 28–​30, 54). Contra Eiteljorg, who dates the forecourt (his “lower court”) to 489–​488, on similar grounds to those of Dinsmoor, Jr. (1993, pp. 15–​24). I. M. Shear proposes ca. 500 as a date for the forecourt (1999, p. 109). 68. I. M. Shear also dates the first phase of the Old Propylon to between 500 and 490 on similar grounds (1999). 69.  The most recent discussion of the problems and disagreements is Eiteljorg 2011. A  few elements certainly seem to belong to its first phase, including the southwest corner of the stylobate, two steps of Pentelic marble, parts of the southwest interior wall and floor (although these remains might belong to the second phase of the building), and a partially preserved anta and spur wall connected to the Bronze Age wall. The anta currently in situ belongs to the second phase, but a cutting indicates that this anta was a replacement for an earlier one that should be associated with the first phase of the building. The second phase has few readily identifiable elements, and the ground plan is unclear, but it included smaller antae, a change in dimension that would have had repercussions for the overall plan and design of the building. This phase also entailed the partial installation of the floor and low marble benches against the interior face of the south wall and was most likely post-​Persian, soon after the destruction of 480, but a more definitive date cannot be provided. 70.  For some possible suggestions, see Dinsmoor, Jr. 1980, pl. 5.  These plans should be supplemented by the suggestions of Eiteljorg 1993 and I. M. Shear 1999. A further complication to any restoration of the Old Propylon (in either its first or second phase) is the lack of elements of the superstructure. Tanoulas indicates that parts of the superstructure exist but these blocks are not detailed (1996, p. 189). Dinsmoor, Jr. divides the elements of the Old Propylon into two phases, the first dating to shortly after 488, the second to the late 480s (1980, p. 54). That it was intended to be colonnaded seems certain from the antae and load-​bearing krepidoma, but the precise number of columns and their arrangement are speculative (Dinsmoor, Jr. 1980, p. 35; cf. Eiteljorg 1993, p. 23, 2011, p. 115). Its length and width also depend on the design and extent of the Bronze Age gate and wall at this point. Stevens, Bundgaard, and Dinsmoor Jr. all restore the Old Propylon with a tetrastyle facade (Dinsmoor Jr.’s restored structure has a width of approximately 19.74 m. and a length of about 16.8 m.) (Stevens 1946, pp. 73–​106; Bundgaard 1957,

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to underscore is that the orientation of the Old Propylon, however restored, differs markedly from its Classical replacement. The axis of the Old Propylon points to the northeast, funneling worshipers toward the Old Athena Temple and Great Altar of Athena on the north side of the Akropolis. This orientation emphasizes the sanctity of the north side of the Akropolis and the cult of Athena Polias located there. Despite its size and material ostentation, the Old Parthenon was not the focal point. Unfortunately, little can be said with confidence about the Late Archaic entrance to the Akropolis. The most important elements include the monumental ramp and the elaboration of the entrance area. Both of these changes to the entrance helped to communicate the evolving nature of the Akropolis as a sanctuary in the Archaic period. The ramp facilitated building activity and also funneled worshippers into the sanctuary, emphasizing the processional route from the lower city to the elevated sacred space of the goddess. The expansion and elaboration of the forecourt area continue the theme of access that the ramp signaled, but also speak to the overarching attempt to transform the Akropolis into a place of personal accountability and visibility, marked by the open theatral area. As the first monuments a worshipper would encounter on his or her journey to the Akropolis, the forecourt and Old Propylon were highly visible elements marking the transition—​and transformation—​from profane to sacred. South of the forecourt and integrated with it by means of a narrow staircase stands the Nike bastion (Fig. 1.4, no. 6, and Fig. 1.9). We have already seen how this sanctuary, in the Archaic period, was articulated with an altar, possible shrine, and partially delineated temenos. The next stage of elaboration presents difficulties in both dating and reconstruction but at some point between the dedication of the altar by Patrokledes near the mid-​sixth century and the construction of the marble tetrastyle amphiprostyle temple in the p. 72, fig. 40; Dinsmoor, Jr., 1980). Weller (1904) and I. M. Shear (1999), on the other hand, propose a narrower structure (Shear’s proposed structure has a facade approximately 11 m. wide and 13.5 m. long). Given the paucity of evidence, either proposed restoration could be possible. Shear, however, raises the important point that a propylon of the size posited by Dinsmoor Jr. would be without parallel in this period and would have all but overshadowed the newly built Old Athena Temple (1999, p. 112). Eiteljorg (1993) restores the area as an upper and lower courtyard, retaining the Bronze Age gate but without any roofed structure (no articulated Old Propylon); for a refutation of this hypothesis, see Tanoulas 1996. The precise size and placement of Building B, if located in this area, may also need to be taken into account. Moreover, the cistern to the northwest of the gate would have required even further alterations to the Bronze Age wall (Tanoulas 1992, pp. 155–​160). The changes to the wall convincingly proposed by Tanoulas mean that only the Old Propylon reconstructions of Stevens, Iakovides, Travlos, and I. M. Shear are possible; such a hypothetical plan is shown in Figs. 1.4 and 1.9.

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Figure 1.11  Late Archaic Altar of Athena Nike. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

420s, a small limestone temple, often referred to as a naïskos, was built on the bastion, along with a new, larger altar. The petite temple (ca. 3.65 × 2.47 m.) was Π-​shaped and open on the eastern end (Fig. 1.9, no. 3). The interior was largely occupied by a limestone statue base or repository, possibly in secondary use.71 A large rectangular altar crowned with an elegant cyma reversa molding (and with an identical molding decorating the base) was placed opposite, facing the eastern opening (Fig. 1.9, no. 4, and Fig. 1.11). Both temple and altar were contained within an irregular trapezoidal temenos wall that ran around the edge of the bastion, although it remains unclear whether this wall was constructed before, at the same time, or later than the temple and altar. Access to the sanctuary was achieved via the narrow staircase that entered the bastion at a gap in the wall on its northern side, connecting the area spatially with the forecourt. The most widely followed chronology would date the temple and altar to the mid-​fifth century, sometime in the 440s.72 Much of the archaeological evidence adduced in support of such a date, however, is better suited to the 71. Mark 1993, pp. 52–​53. He argues that this block was first used as a statue base in the Early Archaic period, but subsequently transformed into a repository for votive offerings. It is unclear in his reconstruction where the cult statue would be displayed if this “base” was turned into a repository, especially as it occupies a substantial amount of room inside the cella. This is the same block that was discussed briefly in the previous subsection with respect to the Nike sanctuary in the Early/​Mid-​Archaic period and the possibility of an Early Archaic cult statue. 72. Following Mark 1993, pp. 115–​122. The argument is that this temple, built after the Persian destruction, served the cult of Athena Nike prior to the construction of the temple stipulated in the Nike Temple Decree (IG I3 35 = O&R 137; M&L 44; EM 8116). The dating of this decree, however, is contested. For a date in the 420s: Mattingly 1982; Hurwit 1999, pp. 160, 348 n. 29; Mattingly 2000; Gill 2001. For a date in the 430s or early 420s: O&R, pp. 215–​216. For a date in the 440s: Meiggs 1966, p. 92; M&L, pp. 109–​110; Mark 1993, pp. 104–​107; Tomlinson

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first or early second quarter of the fifth century, making the limestone temple and its altar part of the construction activity on the Akropolis between ca. 500 and 480.73 The moldings of the altar, for instance, bear a close resemblance to those of the Altar of Aphrodite Ourania in the Agora, a structure dated ca. 500.74 In addition, the use of the claw-​tooth chisel on the temple and altar can be compared to similar uses of the claw on structures from the Akropolis and Agora dated to the first quarter of the fifth century, while the drafted margins of the temple can be compared to those on the podium of the Old Parthenon.75 And there is one further element that might lend credence to a pre-​Persian date for the temple and altar: the physical relationship between the bastion and the forecourt of the Old Propylon. Access to the sanctuary of Athena Nike was achieved only from the area to the north of the bastion, in the newly articulated forecourt. As already noted, a small flight of stairs descended from the northeast side of the bastion, terminating close to the south extension of the forecourt area.76 The level on which the stairs ended, in fact, is part of the theatral area of the forecourt (visible in Fig. 1.9). This physical connection between the two areas seems to have been integrally planned, and together they created a somewhat sheltered or sequestered area,

1995. The arguments for placing the decree in the 430s or 420s, and thus associating it directly with the construction of the marble temple, are, to my mind, most convincing. 73.  For a complete assessment of the archaeological evidence for the date, see Paga 2017a. Travlos also argues for a pre-​Persian date, sometime between the battle of Marathon in 490 and the battle of Salamis in 480 (1971, p. 148). Stevens also postulates a pre-​Persian date, but is less exact, remarking that, “the exposed position of the poros [limestone] temple must have courted destruction at the hands of the Persians” (1936, p. 446). I. M. Shear seems to imply such a conclusion but does not state it outright (1999, pp. 122–​123). T. L. Shear, Jr. prefers a date soon after the Persian destruction (2016, pp. 393–​394). 74. The Aphrodite altar is discussed in Chapter 2. 75. For the use of the claw-​tooth chisel on the temple, and implications of a painted interior (and therefore completed structure), see Paga 2015a, pp. 197–​198. Mark compares the drafted margins of the temple with the north wall of the Akropolis largely because it was constructed of similar Aeginetan limestone blocks (1993, pp. 61–​62). He further argues that the temple, north wall, and Old Propylon are the first instances on the Akropolis of a departure from the typical drafted margins that surrounded three sides of the block (p. 62 and n. 65). The variation in drafted margins within the courses of the podium for the Old Parthenon, however, demonstrates that the Athenians departed from the “typical” form of drafted margins by at least the 480s and cut margins on blocks where needed: the blocks of courses 18 and 19 of the podium display drafted margins along their upper edges, while those of course 20 have drafted margins on the bottom and two vertical sides. This evidence indicates that there was no “typical” drafted margin in the first half of the fifth century in Athens. 76. For a restored plan of what the relationship between the Nike bastion and forecourt might have looked like, see Mark 1993, p. 57, fig. 12.

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perhaps for gathering prior to entering the sanctuary or for pausing to catch one’s breadth after the steep climb up the ramp. In sum, the period between 508/​7 and 480/​79 bore witness to numerous changes, elaborations, and additions to the Akropolis that affected the visual appearance of the sanctuary, movement into and within the space, and the symbolic import it held for the Athenians. The Bluebeard Temple was dismantled and replaced by the Old Athena Temple on the north side; the new temple was no bigger but included more opulent materials and featured a symbolically charged pediment with a dynamic Athena triumphing over the Giants. Following the unexpected victory at Marathon, the oikemata in the southern part of the sanctuary were removed and the Old Parthenon was begun, a process that entailed the quarrying, transport, and erection of massive amounts of Piraeus limestone and that heralded an essential change in the physical space of the sanctuary. From now on, the Akropolis was to house two monumental stone temples on its summit and the southern one, for Athena Parthenos, would be on a scale not seen elsewhere on the Greek mainland. Over the course of this period, the Bronze Age fortification wall near the western entrance was modified, a cistern was installed, and the southern area of the entrance was refurbished with a marble lining and forecourt. Nearby, the Old Propylon was begun, providing a lavish transitional area for worshippers moving from the profane to sacred realms. South of this, atop the Nike bastion, a new temple and altar were erected to the goddess of victory, broadcasting Athenian military success to anyone approaching the citadel.

Military Power and Economic Abundance What emerges from this account of the monumental changes and additions to the Late Archaic Akropolis is an emphasis on military victory, a theme that underscores and unifies the structures. The towering sanctuary of Athena Polias, a perennial site for dedications throughout the Archaic period, became overwhelmingly focused on military victory at the end of the sixth and early fifth centuries. At the same time, the scale, materials, and sheer volume of building activity on the citadel illuminate the overall financial health of the polis in this period, broadcasting access to resources and labor on a tremendous scale. Both of these factors, in turn, are intrinsically tied to the growth and empowerment of the demotic apparatus put in place after the Kleisthenic reforms. The military victories were facilitated by the reorganization of the infantry according to the new assignments to phylai and trittyes, a new sense

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of Athenian collective identity firmly rooted in the land itself, and the explosive growth of the navy, which in turn was due to the continued exploitation of the Laurion mines. The use of costly materials on a grand scale, such as the massive podium in Piraeus limestone built for the Old Parthenon, further illuminates the ability of the polis to harness natural resources, pay a large team of laborers, and coordinate multiple building projects in the sanctuary for nearly thirty continuous years. A  fitting encapsulation of these themes of military victory and financial robustness is illustrated with one final monument. In 506/​5, just a few years after the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms, the Athenians faced the quadripartite threat of the Spartans, Corinthians, Boiotians, and Chalkidians.77 After the premature departure of the first two forces, the Athenians decisively beat the Boiotians and Chalkidians in what Herodotos refers to as a triumph of isegoria, proving that citizens sharing equal rights under the law are better and stronger than those who live under tyrants. The Athenians were able to capture and ransom hundreds, if not thousands, of prisoners, settled Athenian men in Eretria, and made several dedications on the Akropolis to commemorate the victory, including a bronze quadriga to Athena.78 Although no traces of the bronze quadriga survive, parts of the original base and its post-​Persian replacement have been recovered (Fig. 1.12). The original base was made of striking blue-​gray limestone from Eleusis, one of the first monuments on the Akropolis to be built of this stone. Only a fragment of the inscription from the original monument is preserved, but it is clear that the non-​stoichedon text was chiseled in two bands, carefully delineated by scratched guidelines. The full text of the epigram, as quoted by Herodotos, comes from the second base, where the two lines were reversed.79 The original base would have read: [δεσμõι ἐν ἀχνύεντι σιδερέοι ἔσβεσαν hύβ]ριν ⁝ /​παῖδε[ς Ἀθεναίον ἔργμασιν ἐμ πολέμου] /​|| [ἔθνεα Βοιοτõν καὶ Χαλκιδέον δαμάσαντες] /​τõν hίππος δ̣[εκάτον Παλλάδι τάσδ᾽ἔθεσαν]. (“In sorrowful iron chains they quenched their hubris, the sons of the Athenians in deeds of battle, having

77. This event is treated in more detail in the Introduction. 78. Hdt. 5.77–​78; IG I3 501. 79. The reversal is between the first and third lines. The second base, as seen by Herodotos (5.77), reads: ἔθνεα Βοιοτõν καὶ Χαλκιδέον δαμάσαντες /​παῖδες Ἀθεναίον ἔργμασιν ἐμ πολέμου ⁝ δεσμõι ἐν ἀχνύεντι σιδερέοι ἔσβεσαν hύβριν /​τõν hίππος δ̣εκάτον Παλλάδι τάσδ᾽ἔθεσαν. The second base was written in stoichedon and the letter forms are more consistent with a mid-​ fifth century date than the earlier forms on the first base (the differences are most notable in the letters Α, Ν, and Π).

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Figure  1.12  Boiotian and Chalkidian dedication base, ca. 506/​5 B.C.E. (IG I3 501). Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

conquered the races of the Boiotians and Chalkidians, they dedicated these horses as a tithe to Pallas Athena.”) This epigram, in its original form, was attributed to Simonides by Aristeides.80 The chains and fetters of the inscription were also displayed on the Akropolis, perhaps near the quadriga, likely hung on the western terrace wall that supported the Dörpfeld foundations or even on the Old Athena Temple itself.81 This statue with its inscribed base is the earliest known dedication made by the Athenian demos. In a setting crowded with individual votive dedications, largely made by aristocrats, this towering bronze four-​horse chariot, perched

80. Aristeides 28.64. The attribution to Simonides has been challenged; for a discussion of the problem, see Molyneux 1992, pp. 84–​87. 81. Hdt. 5.77: τὰς δὲ πέδας αὐτῶν, ἐν τῇσι ἐδεδέατο, ἀνεκρέμασαν ἐς τὴν ἀκρόπολιν· αἵ περ ἔτι καὶ ἐς ἐμὲ ἦσαν περιεοῦσαι, κρεμάμεναι ἐκ τειχέων περιπεφλεθσμένων πυρὶ ὑπὸ τοῦ Μέδου, ἀντίον δὲ τοῦ μεγάρου τοῦ πρὸς ἑσπέρην τετραμμένου. (“These very fetters, in which they [the Boiotian and Chalkidian prisoners] had been chained, they [the Athenians] hung up on the Akropolis; still, even in my time, they were there, hanging on the wall that had been scorched by the fire of the Persians, opposite the megaron which faces west.”) It is unclear how the chains survived the Persian destruction and existed for Herodotos to see in the mid-​fifth century, but it is possible that they were removed from the Akropolis along with other valuables, like the cult statue of Athena Polias. For an alternate interpretation of the meaning of the “megaron,” see van Rookhuijzen 2017, pp. 44–​52.

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atop a visually striking base nearly 3 m. long,82 stands as a testament to the changed political and social environment of the polis. It proclaims, in precisely chiseled letters and lavish display, the new capabilities of the Athenian military and their resilience in overcoming multiple external threats: they defeated the Boiotians and Chalkidians together and they dedicated this victory monument together, both concerted actions undertaken by the demos as a whole. The placement of the dedication on the Akropolis further underscores the connection between the Athenian military and Athena Polias, the divine favor of the goddess reified in martial victory. If there had been doubt about the military capabilities of the nascent political regime before, it was now removed. It is within this military milieu that the Old Athena Temple was constructed, a physical concretization of the power and capabilities of the new political regime ushered in by the Kleisthenic reforms. Coming as soon as it did after the battles of 506/​5, the new temple was designed to send a message to any and all enemies: the new political regime was organized, financially and administratively stable, and militarily powerful and successful. It is easy to see how the Old Athena Temple, viewed in this light, replaced the Bluebeard Temple both physically and symbolically. Although we cannot associate the Bluebeard Temple with any one individual or family, it was the preeminent temple to Athena throughout the Archaic period—​the largest stone temple on the Akropolis—​and was thus associated with the events that occurred during that time: the multiple tyrannies of Peisistratos, the violence of Hippias, the stasis between Isagoras and Kleisthenes, and the occupation of Isagoras, Kleomenes, and the Spartans on the sacred citadel itself. It was, from everything we can tell, structurally sound and more than sufficient as a house for the cult statue of Athena Polias. There are no reports of earthquakes, lightning strikes, or any other disasters—​natural or manmade—​ that would have necessitated its demolition. The decision to dismantle and replace it underscores that this was a deliberate choice the Athenians made in the years soon after the change in political regime. The Old Athena Temple can thus be understood as a wholesale physical replacement of the Bluebeard Temple, the temple that had become associated with internal and external dangers, tyranny, stasis, and the pollution incurred by armed occupation. If the Bluebeard Temple witnessed Athenian failure and turmoil, the Old Athena Temple witnessed victory and strength. The new temple functioned 82. Stevens restores the original base as approximately 2.76 m. long, on the basis of the spacing of the epigram letters (1936, p. 505).

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as a potent symbol of the ways in which the Athenians now chose to define themselves and their polis. The dismantling of the Bluebeard Temple was a symbolic and concrete dismantling of the preceding sixth century. Further support for this argument of deliberate dismantlement is provided by a consideration of the concepts of purity, miasma, and purification. Namely, that it is possible to consider the decision to demolish the Bluebeard Temple and replace it with the Old Athena Temple as an attempt to purify the sacred area from the pollution incurred by Kleomenes’ transgression of the temple and the variety of polluting activities that would have occurred on the Akropolis during the Spartan occupation.83 As Nevin has demonstrated, the prescriptions and guidelines for how to behave within a sanctuary are designed to maintain the purity of the sacred space by preventing pollution. These prescriptions can be ratified by the populace and publicly posted, such as in IG I3 4A–​B, or can exist as culturally understood traditions and rituals that encode behavior, enforced by sanctuary personnel and private individuals.84 It is the latter that Kleomenes transgressed when he went against the direct sacred prohibition of the priestess, entering the Bluebeard Temple during his siege of the Akropolis in 508/​7 with Isagoras. Although he violated no legal restriction, he cannot claim ignorance of proper comportment and access, given the vocalized warning of the priestess; he hears her and acknowledges her prohibition with his retort. In addition to the generalized pollution wrought on the Akropolis by its occupation by hostile enemy troops, Kleomenes’ defiant act would have brought miasma into the temple itself as an act of sacrilege, polluting one of the most sacred spaces on the Akropolis.85 83. This occupation is treated in the Introduction. 84. Nevin 2017, pp. 8–​12. For the role of sanctuary personnel as well as private individuals as “regulatory agents,” see Gawlinski 2015, pp. 71–​75. See also Parker 2018 for the distinction of two broad categories of “sacred laws,” those that are ratified by the citizen assembly and those that are not legally binding (such as guidelines or advice for how to behave in sanctuaries) and the differing approaches to enforcement (pp. 27–​30). See Appendix II for text and translation of IG I3 4B, and commentary on IG I3 4A and B. 85. Parker demonstrates that sacrilege should be considered a special type of pollution, wherein the physical space is polluted and requires purification, rather than (or in addition to) the polluter; the pollution incurred by sacrilege defiles a particular area or locus, and the miasma of the offender is thereby transferred to the space he or she inhabits (1983, pp. 145–​147). As he points out in a subsequent publication, sacrilege is more concerned with “respect for sacred places and sacred regulations” than it is with more common acts of pollution, namely bodily functions (2018, p.  24). Following Parker’s categorization, further refined by Petrovic and Petrovic, it is possible to understand the general pollution of Spartan troops on the Akropolis for several days as both “physical pollution” and “minor metaphysical pollution,” whereas Kleomenes’ actions constitute “major metaphysical pollution (agos),” because he transgressed a ritual norm

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Widespread purification would have been needed on the Akropolis after the Spartans departed, given the days-​long occupation by a large force: normal bodily functions and potential bloodshed would have required redress.86 During the three-​day occupation and siege, the presence of Spartan troops also prevented the Athenians from conducting their normal sacrifices and rituals, creating even more pollution, which would need to be rectified. Kleomenes’ specific transgression, though, deepens the level of miasma and brings it inside the temple of Athena Polias, the home of the sacred agalma. As Parker observes, “a very visible form of transgression is an intrusion into forbidden space.”87 Moreover, given the common trope of associating sacrilege and tyranny, it is not too much of a stretch to read in Kleomenes’ religious impropriety the threat of despotism, particularly given that his reason for being in Athens was to turn over control of the city to Isagoras, setting him up as a puppet tyrant of the Spartans.88 Although dismantling the entire Bluebeard Temple is more purification than is strictly necessary in such a situation, concerns about miasma and sacrilege could have played into the decision to remove the polluted temple and erect a new one.89 As Petrovic and violated divine authority, as embodied by the priestess (Parker 1983, pp.  5–​12; Petrovic and Petrovic 2016, pp. 29–​32 and Table 0.1). Nevin emphasizes that Kleomenes’ aggressive behavior in entering the temple against the priestess’s interdiction “marks this as a transgressive episode” (2017, p. 31). Kleomenes can also be seen to lack “a religiously correct inner disposition towards the gods” and his subsequent actions thus bring about pollution (Petrovic and Petrovic 2016, p. 5). 86. Nevin demonstrates how occupation of one’s own (or one’s allies’) sanctuary could be acceptable, but occupation of one’s sanctuary by a hostile force becomes unacceptable and illegitimate (2017, pp. 21–​48, particularly with respect to the Athenian encampment at the Delion in the Peloponnesian War). 87. Parker 2018, p. 29. He goes on to discuss the restriction of access into the abaton of Zeus on Mt. Lykaion (attested by Plut., Mor. 300a–​d) and a text from Kallion in Aitolia that imposes a fine on those who enter a forbidden place (LSS 128). Kleomenes’ violation of the temple on the Akropolis is another such example. 88. For the literary trope of an enemy leader seizing a city’s acropolis, see Nevin 2017, pp. 32–​35, 200–​201. 89. This is not to say that Kleomenes’ transgressive act was the sole motivating factor in the dismantling of the Bluebeard Temple, simply that it may have played some role in the decision. For comparison, the Lindian Chronicle contains an episode wherein a man hangs himself from the rafters of the Temple of Athena (XLII D, epiphany 2). The anxious Lindians seek advice from Delphic Apollo, but prior to the embarkation of their embassy, the goddess herself appears to the priest in his sleep. Athena commands him to remove part of the roof of the temple where the man had committed suicide, leave it open for three days, and then construct a new roof. This episode, likely from the late fourth century (Higbie 2003, p. 148), is not an exact parallel with the proposed situation on the Akropolis, but it does demonstrate that dismantlement and reconstruction could constitute elements of purification after the occurrence

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and Petrovic note, “purity mattered in the context of religious rituals, since it was perceived as an elementary prerequisite for successful communication with the divine.”90 For the Athenians to resume their favored relationship with Athena, her cult space needed to be pure; the physical removal of the polluted temple, while an extreme measure, helped ensure positive continued communication between the demos and the goddess. The dismantlement of the Bluebeard Temple can also be considered an act of collective purification of the most crucial cult space for the Athenians, a physical synecdoche for the radical changes coursing through the polis, its institutions, and its citizens.91 Like the construction of the Archaic temple, the decision to replace the Bluebeard Temple with the Old Athena Temple is an action that cannot be ascribed to a single individual or family. It is likely that the proposal to build a new temple was instigated by a member or select group of the Athenian elite who recognized the potential role(s) that the new structure could play. It is notable, however, that no single name would ever come to be associated with the Old Athena Temple. It is never referred to in the ancient sources as the “Kleisthenic” temple or the “Alkmaionid” temple, the two most prominent and likely names that might have been attached to the new building. An argument from silence carries little weight, but it is a noticeable fact that the lack of attribution for the Old Athena Temple stands in contrast to much of Athenian building activities in the sixth century, as well as the later fifth century. Herodotos and Thucydides, as well as other later authors, have assigned various buildings to Peisistratos and his sons, as well as other members of the Peisistratid family, and other prominent Athenian families, so it is entirely possible that they would have also mentioned the builder of the Old Athena of sacrilege. I thank Amanda Reiterman for bringing this episode to my attention. Another comparable example, and one more pertinent to the present discussion, is offered by Lynch, who suggests that the ceramic evidence from the Persian destruction debris wells in the Agora may indicate that the returning Athenians felt a sense of miasma or pollution—​in addition to practical concerns of poison in the wells—​due to the occupation of the city by the barbarian army (2011a, pp. 72–​74). Lynch persuasively demonstrates that the wells were filled after the Persian retreat, once the Athenians had returned to the astu, and it is possible that such action demonstrates a concern with pollution, both actual/​profane and symbolic/​sacred. 90. 2016, p. 27. 91. An inscription from Dikaia in Thrace (SEG 57, 576, dated to the 360s) describes a type of collective purification after a period of violent stasis in the city. Parker comments, “what is clear and striking is the way in which a ritual of collective purification is being used, perhaps being invented, in order to signify a new start for a community which has undergone trauma” (2018, p. 31). The situation in Athens in the years leading up to and including 508/​7 can certainly be considered traumatic: the replacement of the Athenian’s most important temple might thus be seen as both a physical and spiritual act of healing.

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Temple if a single agent could be identified.92 It is possible that the silence over the identification of the main proponent(s) of the Old Athena Temple is an indication of the collective decision-​making process of the Ekklesia, the group of citizens who would have heard the proposal to replace the Bluebeard Temple and approved the motion.93 Ultimately, the final decision to replace the Archaic temple was made by the demos, and it is that collective measure that is reflected in the construction of the Old Athena Temple. In addition to illuminating the decision-​making capabilities and priorities of the demos (the replacement of the temple being the first act undertaken by the demos on the Akropolis after the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms, alongside the dedication of the Boiotian and Chalkidian quadriga), the Old Athena Temple speaks to the financial resources of the polis at the end of the sixth century. As with the initial proposal to dismantle and replace the Bluebeard Temple, the funding for the new building could have been led by contributions from elite families or individuals vying for political advantage. It is important, however, not to overlook the considerable resources of the polis itself and the holdings of the treasury of Athena. Unlike the later fifth and fourth centuries, we have no secure evidence, such as building account inscriptions, for state resources and expenditures in the Late Archaic and Early Classical periods. It is possible, though, to reconstruct partially the costs of building the Old Athena Temple and to posit a few possible sources.94 The cost of building the Parthenon was approximately 470 talents.95 The funding for this project consisted of a mixture of state funds (generated from sources such as the Laurion mines and harbor dues), allies’ contributions, the treasury of the Goddess, the Hellenotamiai, the Trieropoioi, the Xenodikoi, 92. The more prominent examples include the Olympieion, assigned to Hippias and Hipparchos (Aris., Pol. 5.1313b.23), the Altar of Pythian Apollo and the Altar of the Twelve Gods, assigned to Peisistratos the younger, son of Hippias (Thuc. 654), and the rebuilding of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, assigned to the Alkmaionidai (Hdt. 5.62–​63). Fifth-​century examples include the fortification of Athens, assigned to Themistokles (Thuc. 1.90–​93; AthPol 23.4), the Long Walls and Theseion, assigned to Kimon (Plut., Kimon 13.6–​8), the Peisianakteion, also known as the Stoa Poikile, assigned to Peisianax, brother-​in-​law of Kimon (Plut., Kimon 4.5–​ 6), and the Odeion and Akropolis building program, including the Parthenon, assigned to Perikles (Plut., Perikles 13). The problem of the individual agent in building activity is treated in greater detail in Chapter 5. 93. The Bluebeard Temple also lacks attribution to a single individual or family and so its construction may have also been approved by the Ekklesia, although the Assembly as it existed in ca. 570 was a far different body in both power and makeup than in ca. 500. 94. See Chapter 5 for further discussion of polis finances in this period. 95. Stanier 1953; Brunt 1965, p. 25; T. L. Shear, Jr. 2016, pp. 48–​69.

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and the Teichopoioi.96 The Temple of Asklepios at Epidauros, on the other hand, built in the first half of the fourth century, cost just over twenty-​three talents.97 Closer in time to the Old Athena Temple, the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, refurbished by the Alkmaionidai in the late sixth century, cost 300 talents.98 These discrepancies in cost over the course of the late sixth through early fourth centuries primarily reflect differences in material and transport expenses. For all three temples, the cost of transporting the stone from the quarry site to the sanctuary represented the highest financial burden.99 For the Parthenon, the stone came primarily from state-​owned quarries on Mt. Pentele, located approximately 18 km. from the Akropolis, whereas the materials necessary for the Temple of Apollo at Delphi had to be transported a much greater distance and then further hauled up to the sanctuary site itself. The source of the limestone used at Epidauros is unknown, but the relatively low cost of the temple may indicate a local quarry. The size of the Parthenon was also a factor contributing to its cost, particularly in comparison with the smaller Temple of Apollo and Temple of Asklepios. The Parthenon, for instance, had a peristyle of forty-​six columns with a height of 10.433 m. each, whereas the Temple of Asklepios had thirty columns in its peristyle with an average height of 5.20 m.; these differences in the exterior colonnade alone account for a margin of 957.82 m.3 of stone surface that would need to be quarried, transported, carved, and polished.100 It is also worth noting that the 470 talent total for the Parthenon includes the rich sculptural decoration (although it does not include the cost of the chryselephantine cult statue).101 The material difference between the marble used for the facade of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi and all of the Parthenon also contrasts starkly with the

96.  Stanier 1953, p.  68. It is possible these public funds were further augmented by private contributions. 97. Burford 1969, p. 82. 98. Hdt. 5.63. 99. This point is emphasized by Stanier 1953, pp. 68–​71. See also Salmon 2001 for a comparison of construction activity at Athens and Corinth from the seventh through fifth centuries, along with calculations of labor output. 100. The figures for both the Parthenon and Temple of Asklepios are from Stanier 1953, appendix I, pp. 74–​76. 101.  Stanier 1953, pp.  72–​ 73. The pedimental sculpture, akroteria, frieze, and metopes contributed 39 talents to the overall total building expense. The ceiling, marble roof tiles, and gates made up 65 talents of the cost.

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limestone used for the Temple of Asklepios, a difference that emphasizes the high cost of marble. When considered in relation to these buildings, the Old Athena Temple would have likely cost somewhere between 25 and 50 talents. It was larger than the Temple of Asklepios at Epidauros—​21.34 × 43.15 m. compared to 11.76 × 23.06 m., respectively—​but significantly smaller than the Parthenon, which measures 30.88 × 69.50 m. The Old Athena Temple was built largely of locally sourced limestone, with imported island marble used for the metopes, pedimental sculpture, and akroteria. Although it is difficult to assess, it is also likely that inflation during the fifth and fourth centuries means that the ca. 23 (Aeginetan) talents devoted to the Temple of Asklepios would have been equivalent to somewhat less than 23 (Athenian) talents in ca. 500.102 In addition, the Old Athena Temple reused the foundations of the Bluebeard Temple, a factor that would have reduced the overall cost of the building, not to mention the overall time to complete it. Given the variety of funding sources that contributed to the financial cost of the Parthenon, it is likely that the Old Athena Temple saw a similarly mixed revenue supply.103 Moreover, there appears to be a general increase in available state funds at the end of the sixth century. This is due to several contributing factors: the ever-​expanding exploitation of the silver mines in the Laurion region, port dues and taxes, the growing importance of the Eleusinian Mysteries, as well as the growing prestige of the Panathenaia, both of which brought increasing numbers of people into Attika on a regular basis, and the continued importance of Athenian colonies in the northern Aegean, in addition to Athenian control of the island of Salamis.104 We can also consider the role of war booty and loot. For example, the Athenians captured 700 Boiotians and held them prisoner for a 102.  Stanier 1953, p.  70, discusses the problem of inflation and the conversion rate from Aeginetan to Athenian talents. In a more recent study of Athenian wages and inflation, Loomis finds evidence for at least three and possibly up to six periods of wage movement during the second half of the fifth century and into the fourth century (1998, pp. 240–​242). Although he is not concerned with the pre-​Persian War period, his study nonetheless demonstrates the fluidity of wages and the existence of inflation in ancient Athens. For the Archaic period, see the table in van Wees 2013, p. 109. 103. The ratio between state funds and individual contributions will have fluctuated depending on the type of structure being constructed, its purpose or function, and the circumstances of the period; during the tyranny, for example, it is likely that individual contributions would outnumber state funds, given the prominent role that the Peisistratidai and other elite families played in all aspects of public life as well as the heightened nature of elite competition (Anderson 2005, pp. 183–​185). 104. The economic resources of the polis and the economic ramifications of the building activity outlined here and in the following chapters is treated in more detail in Chapter 5. For the

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ransom price of 200 drachmas each from the battles of 506/​5. The Athenians also captured and ransomed a number of Chalkidians, although Herodotos is regrettably unspecific on their exact number; at most, we might speculate that the Chalkidian captives represented another 700. If, then, there were 1,400 prisoners (maximum estimate), all ransomed for 200 drachmas each, the Athenians would have amassed 280,000 drachmas. A tithe of this ransom money was used to construct the bronze quadriga (IG I3 501), worth (on the basis of the above calculations) 2,800 drachmas. The remainder of the ransom money, 277,200 drachmas, would have then reverted to the state. If a talent in the late sixth century was roughly equal to 6,000 drachmas, this remainder equals 46.2 talents. In addition to the ransom money, we can also factor in any booty acquired from the battlefield itself, some of which would have ended up in individual pockets, but the majority of which would have reverted to the state treasury. Military victories, until recently often denied to the Athenians, represent a substantial new contribution to the state coffers in this period. It is important to distinguish, however, between the role of the available financial sources and the impetus behind construction. Discretionary funds were necessary for building the Old Athena Temple, and it is unlikely that the Athenians could have afforded to dismantle the Bluebeard Temple and build a new one in the last decade of the sixth century without financial reserves. This was not, however, a case of simply building a new temple because discretionary funds were suddenly available. The increased revenues accumulating to the polis in the Late Archaic period enabled the Old Athena Temple to be built but did not dictate its construction. The replacement of the Bluebeard Temple by the Old Athena Temple thus becomes a symbol of the financial stability and capabilities of the newly enfranchised demos: the Boule approved the proposal and passed it to the Ekklesia, where the demos collectively voted and approved the measure, possibly appointing a supervisory committee to oversee the construction of the new temple and allocating the proper funds for the building activity, as was the procedure later in the fifth century. Nearly every aspect of the dismantlement of the earlier temple and construction of its successor speaks to the physical removal of the tyranny and aristocratic stasis that characterized most of the sixth century and their replacement by the new political regime, as defined by the Kleisthenic reforms and

close relationship between increasing financial resources, the growth of the navy, and access to established trade networks, see Davies 2013.

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empowerment of the demos.105 Demesmen visiting the Akropolis in ca. 500 would have seen a magnificent new temple and recognized it as a building that they themselves sanctioned and funded, a physical substantiation of their collective decision-​making power and a further testament to their military and economic capabilities, rather than a symbol of the bloated coffers of an elite tyrannical family. The Old Parthenon—​its immense size, massive podium, and opulent materials—​is a further demonstration of the financial health of the polis in this period and can be used as another measure of the economic success of the new political regime. The construction of this building initiated the first extensive quarrying activity on Mt. Pentele, the exploitation of which served as a further financial boon to the Athenians during the fifth century, while also increasing the importance of the Piraeus limestone quarries.106 The victory at Marathon, in addition to providing the impetus for the construction of the Old Parthenon, would have also provided the Athenians with large quantities of loot and booty, spoils of weapons and other precious objects, which could have contributed to the funding of the new temple. Like the Old Athena Temple, the Old Parthenon grew out of the spoils of victory and was thus both physically and symbolically tied to the martial successes of the Athenians. Herodotos also informs us that in 483/​2 the Athenians discovered a particularly rich vein of silver in the Laurion mines: the exploitation of these mines, which most likely increased in intensity in the late sixth century, would have further augmented the financial resources necessary for the Old Parthenon as well as the simultaneous competing building demands on the Akropolis, in the Agora, throughout the astu of Athens, and in the demes of Attika.107 The massive, unfinished drums of the Old Parthenon were reused in the north wall of the Akropolis, just to the east of similarly repurposed entablature blocks from the Old Athena Temple (Fig. 1.13).108 The prominent 105. For this definition of demokratia implying the empowerment of the demos, or the demos’s “capacity to do things,” see Ober 2007. 106. For the Pentele quarries, particularly in relation to the Old Parthenon, see Korres 1995 (part 1 reprinted as Korres 2000), including extensive bibliography on quarrying practices and Mt. Pentele. 107. Hdt. 7.144. The importance of the mines and their chronology is discussed in more detail in Chapters 4 and 5. 108. Korres discusses the construction phases of the north wall of the Akropolis and concludes that the section with the Old Athena Temple entablature, his section δ, was built soon after 480/​79 and should be attributed to the period of Themistokles, rather than its more typical attribution to Kimon (2002).

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Figure 1.13  Reused entablature blocks of the Old Athena Temple in the North Wall of the Akropolis, view to south. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

display of these ruins, visible from the Agora, stands as a further testament to the survival of the Athenians after the Persian destruction of their city. The Athenians were ultimately victorious, and what better way to commemorate this than by erecting recognizable fragments of their most recent and significant victory monuments? The afterlife of these two temples testifies to their evocative power. The alterations to the entrance of the Akropolis highlight both this theme of military victory already identified in the Old Athena Temple and Old Parthenon and the financial stability of the new political regime. Athena Nike—​Athena in her guise as victory goddess—​is a fitting deity to crown the Bronze Age defensive bastion, prominently thrust out and towering over anyone approaching the sanctuary. If we are correct in dating the limestone temple and altar to the period between 500 and 480, the theme of military victory becomes undeniable. The physical connection between Athena Nike and the forecourt of the Old Propylon ensured that the sanctuary on the bastion was integrated into the larger entrance area—​the first place worshippers would have encountered as they made their way up to the Akropolis—​but also serves to draw the theme of military success into the gateway. At the same time, the lined Bronze Age wall still dominated the space, reminding

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Athenians and foreigners alike of the defensive role of the Akropolis and its long-​standing sanctity. The themes of military ascendancy, divine favor, economic stability, and demotic action are even given figural form in the pedimental sculpture from the Old Athena Temple. On one side, the ravaging lions have conquered a massive bull. The size and strength of the victim serve to exaggerate the victory of the lions, while the savagery displayed by the beasts, their claws and teeth ripping and tearing into the dying animal, creates the sense of a fearsome and deadly opponent. On the other side of the temple, the scene of the Gigantomachy dominates the triangular field of the pediment. Just as the bull represents a mighty adversary to the lions, so too do the Giants represent a true threat to the Olympian gods. In the center of the melee stands Athena, triumphantly striding forth into the battle, the true symbol of Athenian military victory. The victorious goddess is an example for, as well as a reflection of, the capabilities of the Athenian demos; their unlikely and unanticipated defeat of the threat in 506/​5 mirrors the achievement of Athena against the earth-​born monsters. The use of marble in this temple surpassed any prior usage of this material on the Akropolis, and the rich pigments applied to the figures and architectural features show that no expense was spared. The temple as a whole stands as a microcosm of the Akropolis, harnessing and showcasing the resources and capabilities of the nascent political regime, an encapsulation of demotic power and success.

Conclusion The theme of military domination that was repeatedly emphasized during the Late Archaic period all over the Akropolis helped to imbue the entire sanctuary with a new type of resonance. This theme was expressed visually in the monumental forms of the Old Athena Temple and the Old Parthenon, as well as in the forecourt of the entrance and on the Athena Nike bastion. It was articulated in the narrative pediment of the Old Athena Temple and the Boiotian and Chalkidian quadriga monument. The development of this theme during the three decades between 508/​7 and 480/​79 helped to transform the Akropolis from an arena of elite competition and individual aristocratic expression into a sanctuary explicitly connected with the power of the unified demos, its military capabilities, economic strength, and collective force. The structures on the Akropolis not only passively reflected these fundamental changes in the Athenian consciousness but aided in their generation

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and propagation by means of the consistent and transparent repetition of prominent monuments attesting to the strength and power of the new political regime and its emphasis on demotic capability. The Akropolis itself towered as a victory monument, rising up above the entire city, a symbol of their ability to withstand and conquer internal and external threats, dangers close to home and from abroad. The synchronistic abundance of construction activity on the Akropolis in the late sixth and early fifth centuries is a testament to the importance of the goddess Athena for the polis, and particularly her festival of the Panathenaia, but also underscores the burgeoning wealth of the polis in the era of the Kleisthenic reforms. In the Archaic period, the Akropolis was a venue for elite contestation mainly via private votive dedications. After 508/​7, these votives continued, but they were now accompanied by monumental structures built by the demos and symbolizing its success and power. The resources on display in these buildings—​Pentelic marble, Piraeus limestone, countless workmen, quarrymen, masons, and sculptors—​is one of the clearest indications that the nascent political regime was succeeding. The financial and material resources necessary for these buildings (not to mention those elsewhere in Athens and Attika) presuppose a strong centralized administration with the ability to oversee the finances of the polis and organize multiple large-​scale construction projects more or less simultaneously. Military power and financial abundance are two of the most important components that facilitated the success of this new political regime, and the Akropolis structures monumentalize those facets on a tremendous scale. In Chapters 2–​4, these factors will be seen to underscore the building activity that occurred throughout the astu of Athens and surrounding chora in the late sixth and early fifth centuries. While the Athenians concretely and completely transformed the Akropolis into a dynamic space of military victory and demotic capability under the new political regime, the rest of the city and countryside also benefited from these changes and participated in the expression of this new concept of what it meant to be an Athenian.

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2

The Agora FORM, FUNCTION, AND IDEOLOGY

If the Akropolis can be considered the spiritual heart of the Athenian polis, then the Agora is surely its civic heart. This is the place where traders sold their goods, philosophers strolled in shaded porticoes, and where much of the business of the new political order was conducted, in the courts, magistrate offices, and council house. It is also a space filled with shrines and altars and it served as the venue for several events of the Panathenaic festival. The roads that crisscross the space link it with other regions of the astu and with the broader polis beyond the walls. Yet this superficial picture of the Agora belies the intricate architectural dialogue that took place here in the early years of the fifth century. Over the course of about twenty years, this space was carefully delineated and filled with structures both traditional and innovative, structures that broadcast the importance of the space and highlighted the transfer of activity from the old to the new Agora. Some of these structures served basic needs of the populace, like fresh drinking water and drainage. Others maintained links with earlier sacred edifices already installed in the area during the Archaic period, preserving cultic continuity, or fostered new sacred connections. And still others served entirely new functions, combining novel forms and ornamentation to better suit the demands of the new political order. These innovations had both symbolic and real impact, emphasizing the changing visual landscape that accompanied the changing political landscape of the polis and helping to foster new kinds of political activity and values. With the help of these structures, the creation and expansion of the Agora in the Late Archaic period can be understood as symbolizing and encouraging the governing capabilities of the new political regime. Building Democracy in Late Archaic Athens. Jessica Paga, Oxford University Press (2021). © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780190083571.001.0001

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These threads of continuity and change mark the space of the Agora as an exciting venue for reflecting on the Athenian polis under the Kleisthenic reforms. This space became the Agora of the polis in the years around 500 through the physical transfer of market and government activities from the old to the new Agora, a crucial moment in Athenian political and geographical history. Importantly, the transformation of this area into the new Agora was marked by intensive architectural elaboration, the built structures articulating and participating in the process of establishing the space as the Agora. As the deliberately developed civic heart of the polis, the structures, monuments, and roads in the Agora illuminate some of the problems facing the new political order and also indicate some of the ways the Athenians addressed these problems in their built environment. One of the principal problems was the need for spaces for new institutions, such as the expanded and restructured Boule, which became housed in the Old Bouleuterion. Attention to this building, the Southeast Fountain House, and the Stoa Basileios highlights the symbolic role of architectural innovation and the changing values and tenets of the new political regime.

The Agora in the Archaic Period The area that would become the Agora in the Late Archaic period is located in a low-​lying region to the northwest of the Akropolis (Map 2). It occupies a relatively flat space, bordered on the west by the Kolonos Agoraios, on the south by the foothills of the Areopagos and Akropolis, on the east by the Panathenaic Way, and on the north approximately by the path of the Eridanos river (Fig. 2.1). These topographic boundaries create a somewhat triangular space that was further defined over the course of the Classical and Hellenistic periods. The Panathenaic Way, its broad path running from the Kerameikos to the Akropolis, forms a perennially articulated boundary and important thoroughfare through the space. Some version of this road existed from the Bronze Age; it was likely resurfaced in the sixth century, possibly in conjunction with the reorganization of the Panathenaia, and debris-​filled layers indicate a massive resurfacing project following the Persian destruction of the city.1 Its original course through this space may have been further west than

1. Costaki 2006, pp. 44–​45, 259–​261. In Costaki’s exhaustive catalogue, the various sections of the Panathenaic Way in the Agora are I.5 (the northwest segment of the road, where it enters the area just north of the Stoa Basileios), I.6 (the segment opposite the Stoa Basileios, alongside the Altar of the Twelve Gods), I.20 (the lengthy section west of the Stoa of Attalos,

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Map 2  Map of Athens. J. Paga.

Figure 2.1  Plan of the Agora, ca. 480 B.C.E. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

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the road’s current appearance and reproduction on plans, passing closer to the eastern edge of the Southeast Fountain House.2 The west road runs north-​ south along the western edge of the space at the foot of the Kolonos Agoraios; just beyond the southwest corner of the Agora, this road splits, with one artery becoming the “Street of the Marble Workers,” leading toward the saddle between the Pnyx and the Hill of the Nymphs, while the other winds further southwest toward the Pnyx itself.3 Branching off the easternmost artery of the south extension of the west road is the south road, which runs along the southern boundary of the area, behind the Aiakeion and Southeast Fountain House, eventually connecting to the Panathenaic Way.4 These three roads—​the Panathenaic Way, the west road, and the south road—​effectively delineated the triangle of the area of the Agora from the Archaic period at the latest. Prior to the development of this area, the civic and administrative buildings of the polis were located in what is known as the Old Agora. The precise siting of this area is unknown, although its general location can be established east of the Akropolis, near the Ilissos river area (approximate location indicated on Map 2).5 According to the author of the AthPol, the primary magistrates with a minimum width of 12 m.), and I.40 (the southeast continuation that runs opposite the Eleusinion, paved in the Roman period). 2. The construction of the Middle Stoa in the mid-​second century may have caused the eastward shift of the road (Thompson 1968, p. 41; Costaki 2006, p. 284). 3. The lowest layers of the west road include ceramic material from the eighth century, when it was likely a simple footpath, but, after the construction of the Great Drain in the late sixth century, the road became closely connected to the drainage system and was resurfaced multiple times (Costaki 2006, p. 273). The west road is Costaki’s I.15, turning into I.17 and I.18 where it splits, opposite the Tholos; I.17 in turn becomes I.28, the “Street of the Marble Workers,” while I.18 becomes I.31, which becomes I.32, which likely becomes I.56 where it ascends the Pnyx. 4. This street seems to have existed in the Archaic period, given the orientation of several early houses. Several adjustments were made to the level of the road throughout the sixth and fifth centuries, and the water supply pipes for the Southeast Fountain House follow the line of this road for ca. 100 m. (Costaki 2006, pp. 308–​309). The south road is Costaki’s I.34. 5. There is only a single extant ancient reference to the “Old Agora”: Harpokration, s.v. πἀνδημος Ἀφροδίτη, where it is referred to as the ἀρχαία ἀγορά. The New Agora is also referred to as the Classical Agora or simply the Agora. An in situ base and nearby stele, discovered in a cave at the far eastern side of the Akropolis, refer to the sanctuary of Aglauros (Dontas 1983). Herodotos (8.53) and Pausanias (1.18.2) both mention the Aglaurion in reference to the location of the older settlement of the astu, where it is assumed the Old Agora was located, in the area east of the cave sanctuary. T. L. Shear, Jr. thus places the Old Agora to the northeast of the cave of Aglauros (1994, pp. 226–​228). Papadopoulos argues that the Old Agora should instead be to the east and slightly south, closer to the Ilissos river area (2003, pp. 280–​288; cf. Robertson 1998); this would put it close to a number of shrines and sanctuaries clustered in the southeast

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all originally had their offices in the Old Agora: the Archon Basileus in the Boukolion, the Polemarch in the Polemarcheion, the Eponymous Archon in the Prytaneion, and the other six archons in the Thesmotheteion.6 The Old Agora thus functioned as an administrative center during the period of the Peisistratid tyranny and also as a marketplace, providing goods and merchandise for the populace. Depending on the precise location of the Old Agora, the famed Enneakrounos, an elaborate nine-​spouted fountain embellished by the tyrants, would have been relatively close at hand, providing a constant source of accessible fresh water.7 Although some of the structures in the Old Agora continued in use throughout the fifth and fourth centuries, most of the administrative and economic functions were shifted to a new area in the decades immediately following the Kleisthenic reforms, and it is this transfer that is of most interest here. But before this new area could assume the functions of an agora, it had to be cleared of private workshops and residences and provided with proper drainage, a process that occurred gradually over the course of the sixth century. One of the earliest indications of this transformation was the closure of seventeen private wells in two major series dated to after 570 and soon after ca. 550.8 The sheer number of wells around the area argues against the

quadrant of the astu (for these, see Scott 2017, pp. 222–​223). In contrast, Kenzler retains the Old Agora in the same location as the Classical Agora (1997). Positive physical remains for the Old Agora have not yet been definitively identified, and so the precise location of the area can only be hypothetical at this time. Schmalz has suggested that the remains of a Classical building discovered in the area of Plaka to the east of the Akropolis are to be associated with the Prytaneion (2006). While tempting, there is little evidence to make this connection certain. Moreover, the architectural remains date primarily to the Late Classical and Hellenistic periods, so it is also unclear what the relation of this structure—​if it is the Prytaneion—​might be to an Archaic predecessor. Additional evidence (both evidentiary and circumstantial) for the location of the Prytaneion and thus the Old Agora is provided by Kavvadias and Matthaiou 2014; Pirisino 2015, pp. 122–​125. 6.  AthPol 3.5. The author of the AthPol is writing in the mid-​to late fourth century, so we must exercise caution when extrapolating backward by a century or two. Rosivach renews an alternate—​and unlikely—​theory about these magistracies and their offices, locating the Prytaneion on the Akropolis (2005, pp. 127–​133). For general commentary and bibliography on these offices and their buildings, see Rhodes 1981, pp. 103–​106. 7. Thuc. 2.15. The Enneakrounos is discussed in Chapter 3. For the relationship of the water supply and the Old Agora, see Papadopoulos 2003, p. 284. 8. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1978, pp. 4–​5. Eight wells closed in the second quarter of the sixth century: F 12:5, I 14:1, J 14:3, O 7:9, O 12:2, P 7:5, Q 12:2, R 17:3. Nine wells closed near the middle of the sixth century: F 12:6, I 10:1, P 8:5, P 17:2, Q 13:5, Q 17:2, Q 17:8, R 11:2, R 13:3. For the dates and additional bibliography, see the deposit summaries in Agora XII (pp. 383–​399) and the well summaries in Camp 1977 (pp. 198–​207). For problems regarding P 17:2, see Paga 2015c, p. 381,

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presence of any public water supply in the immediate vicinity,9 thereby also suggesting that the area was generally of a more private than public nature in the Archaic period. The distribution of the wells suggests relatively dense habitation around the area of the Agora, but their closure—​and lack of a replacement supply of fresh water—​implies that this habitation likewise ceased when the wells closed.10 The appropriation of land from private hands appears to have been systematic and final: after the closure of the nine wells in the middle of the sixth century, only one—​or possibly two—​remained in use (and only for a brief period of time), and no new wells were dug in the area. But at whose command were these wells filled? How did this seemingly deliberate orchestration of abandonment occur? As Shear has noted, the two periods of closures share a remarkable chronological correspondence with two pivotal periods of Peisistratos’ attempt to gain the tyranny: his first attempt at the tyranny took place ca. 560, and he was firmly ensconced in power in 546/​5 after the battle at Pallene.11 This correlation is tempting, even as it remains hypothetical. The reorganization of the Panathenaia in 566/​5 also could have served as a catalyst for decreasing the number of private residences in this area, either in the first instance of well closures or in both, given the vital importance of the Panathenaic Way for the festival. As the festival took on an increased profile in the second half of the sixth century, the venues for its athletic competitions and, crucially, the processional route from the Kerameikos to the Akropolis, meant that the Panathenaic Way became a critical component in the proper performance of the Panathenaia. Although a definitive answer is elusive, the closure of private wells around the area of the Agora does indicate a broader movement to transform the area to the northwest of the Acropolis from a residential or industrial quarter into a space for more public activities and uses.

n. 69. The wells are considered private due to the nature of the ceramics recovered from them (primarily cookware or unglazed vessels, water jugs, and some plain black gloss wares), as well as their small size, depth (average ca. 6.50 m.), and brief period of use (average 25–​50 years) (Camp 1977, p. 105). 9. Camp 1977, p. 105. 10. The architectural remains of these early buildings are largely lost. For one such well and its associated house, see Lynch 2011b. Papadopoulos argues that many of these wells belonged to pottery workshops, rather than private houses (2003, pp. 272–​279). 11. First attempt: Hdt. 1.59; AthPol 14.1; second attempt: Hdt. 1.62–​64; AthPol 15. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1978, p. 7.

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A further aspect of the increasingly non-​private quality of the area is the construction of the Altar of the Twelve Gods (Fig. 2.1). Thucydides provides the identification of the dedicator of the altar and its date: Peisistratos the Younger, son of Hippias, who held the archonship in 522/​1.12 The structure consists of an altar within a surrounding enclosure or low peribolos, located near the northwest corner of the Agora, close to the entry of the Panathenaic Way into the area. The precise siting of the altar here is connected to its function. Herodotos mentions the altar as a starting point in the measurement of the distance from Athens to Pisa and the Temple of Olympian Zeus, and an inscription of the fifth century further confirms that it was used as a starting point to measure distances to various places from Athens.13 It is tempting to relate this function to the account by pseudo-​Plato in which Hipparchos, the son of Peisistratos and uncle of Peisistratos the Younger, is said to have erected herms as mile markers throughout the Attic countryside.14 In addition, the altar was a place of refuge and supplication, as is attested by Herodotos, Lykourgos, and Diodoros.15 That the altar was situated close to one of the entrances of the Agora made it centrally located and easily accessible, with the (perhaps unintended) result that it became a place of refuge. The salient point is that the two primary functions of the altar, as a milestone and place of refuge, were contingent on the altar’s location. Most significantly, 12. Thuc. 6.54: καὶ ἄλλοι τε αὐτῶν ἦρξαν τὴν ἐνιαύσιον Ἀθηναίοις ἀρχὴν καὶ Πεισίστρατος ὁ Ἱππίου τοῦ τυραννεύσαντος υἱός, τοῦ πάππου ἔχων τοὔνομα, ὅς τῶν δώδεκα θεῶν βωμὸν τὸν ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ ἄρχων ἀνέθεκε καὶ τὸν τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος ἐν Πυθίου. (“And of the others [of the Peisistratidai] who held the yearly archonship in Athens was Peisistratos, son of the tyrant Hippias, named after his grandfather, who dedicated an altar to the Twelve Gods in the Agora and to Apollo in the Pythian”). A statue base (IG I3 951 = Agora I 1597) dedicated to the Twelve Gods by Leagros sometime after ca. 480 and found in situ in the northwest area of the Agora makes the identification sure and provides the precise location of the altar (Crosby 1949). For discussion of the chronology of the base and the later history of the altar, including evidence for its renovation and possible relocation in the later fifth century, see Gadbery 1992; these issues are further explored by Neer and Kurke 2014 and are discussed in more detail in the following section. Recent discoveries during rescue excavations have yet to be fully published, but see Saraga 2013 for preliminary discussion, as well as the initial press release, http://​www.ekathimerini.com/​ 132038/​article/​ekathimerini/​life/​altar-​of-​the-​twelve-​gods-​sees-​the-​light, accessed February 19, 2019. 13. Hdt. 2.7; IG II2 2640. 14. [Plato], Hipp. 228d–​229a. 15. Herodotos (6.108) says that the Plataians sat as suppliants before the altar, seeking Athenian aid in their war with Thebes; Lykourgos (Leokrates 93)  describes a moment of sacrilege in which a suppliant who had taken refuge at the altar was put to death; and Diodoros (12.39.1) recounts how craftsmen working alongside Pheidias took refuge on the altar. See Agora III for all literary and epigraphic testimonia related to the Altar (s.v. Twelve Gods).

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the construction of this altar in the Agora is a further indication of the area’s growing importance and gradual deprivatization during the second half of the sixth century, particularly when viewed alongside the well closures. In the southwest corner, nestled into the slope of the Kolonos Agoraios, is a series of buildings that largely underlie the fifth century Tholos and Hellenistic Metroön. The earliest of these is a small structure known as Building C, a long, narrow building of polygonal Akropolis limestone, built in the first quarter of the sixth century. Approximately fifty years later, Building D was built slightly to the south. Although constructed at different times, the two structures formed a coherent unit, slightly elevated from the nearby west road, facing each other and sharing a terrace that stretched between them. The precise nature of these two buildings remains unclear. Thompson originally believed that they represented a type of early bouleuterion that would have housed the Solonian Boule of 400, assuming continuity of function with continuity of location.16 He subsequently altered his hypothesis, noting that the courtyard between Buildings C and D would have been too small to accommodate 400 bouleutai and that the brief life span of Building D, which was destroyed soon after its construction, would have militated against the practicality of using this location as a bouleuterion.17 It is possible that the two buildings served a domestic purpose, but their small size, non-​communicating rooms (in the case of Building C), and brief life spans (particularly in the case of Building D) temper this hypothesis.18 A further possibility is that the two buildings served a commercial purpose. A much larger and more complex building was constructed at approximately the same time as Building D, further to the south.19 Building F underlies the Classical Tholos and is situated at the prominent point where the west road splits into two arteries, as can be seen in Fig. 2.2. The structure takes the form of a large colonnaded house or workshop (ca. 27 × 18.50 m.), with several rooms

16. Thompson 1940, p. 8. 17. Agora XIV, pp. 26–​27. 18. T. L. Shear, Jr. notes the domestic character of the pottery recovered from pit H 10:2 and takes this as evidence that Building C more likely served a private, or domestic, function than a public one (1994, p. 229). 19. For the dating of Building F, see Agora XIV, p. 28. Thompson argues that Building F may have postdated Building D by a few years (1940, p. 28); cf. T. L. Shear, Jr., whose analysis of the pottery indicates that Building F may have predated Building D instead, suggesting that Buildings C and D served as supplementary buildings to the larger and more complex Building F (1994, pp. 230–​231).

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Figure  2.2  Building F, Old Bouleuterion, Temple of Meter, restored plan, ca. 480 B.C.E. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

branching off a central courtyard, and with later modifications and additions. The western rooms likely served as a kitchen or food storage and preparation area.20 The construction materials were similar to those used for Buildings C and D: irregular blocks of Akropolis limestone socles supporting mudbrick walls; the columns of the courtyard were timber with limestone bases.21 The terrace wall that was originally constructed with Building C was extended at some point in the second half of the sixth century, uniting Buildings C and D with F and its new well, creating a large, enclosed complex. The building likely served a private or domestic purpose, albeit on a grander scale than seen elsewhere in Athens.22 The restricted access, particularly the convoluted entrance 20. These rooms include depressions for storage jars, a nearby well (G 11:8), a broiling pit, and the remains of what might be a baking oven (T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, p. 230). For a full account of Building F, see Thompson 1940, pp. 18–​28. For problems with the reconstructed plan of Building F, see Papadopoulos 2003, p. 296, n. 142. 21. Thompson 1940, p. 21; Agora XIV, p. 27. 22. Lynch treats Building F as “not an ordinary house” that did not have a “purely domestic context” (2011b, p. 22, n. 46). Note also Papadopoulos, who argues that Building F served as a potter’s workshop (2003, pp. 126–​143 [the kiln deposit H 12:17 in Building F], 296, n. 142). The primary evidence for Building F being a potter’s workshop derives from the presence of a nearby kiln and its related materials, dated by Papadopoulos, following Thompson, to the late Geometric through Protoattic period (2003, p. 129; cf. Thompson 1940, pp. 6–​7). This kiln, however, is associated with Building A, a structure that was destroyed around the middle of the

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on the southern side and the lack of direct access from the road, along with the cooking quarters to the west, imply a domestic function, or at least indicate that this was not a widely accessible public building. Furthermore, the central courtyard plan with rooms arranged along its sides is a standard form known from later Greek houses.23 The dimensions and sprawling size of the structure have led some scholars to postulate that it was used for public functions or that it served as the house of a highly ranked family, perhaps even the Peisistratids themselves.24 Regardless of the residents of Building F, it is clear that the area of the Agora was gradually but concretely divested of most private use and transformed into a more open and public space over the course of the sixth century. The closure of wells and destruction of private houses around the Agora speaks to a decrease in residential activity in the area. At the same time, the construction of a monumental and centralized altar that was used for measuring distances from the city indicates a change in overall function within this space. The building complex in the southwest corner (Buildings C, D, and F), on the other hand, indicates that a small and localized amount of private habitation likely continued, even while the rest of the area was converted to broader use. The gradual changes in the area that would become the Agora have no clear stimulus or motivation. The use of the area for theatrical events and festivals, as well as athletic contests and games, is one possibility.25 The episodic nature of such events, however, renders this hypothesis unlikely and

seventh century, at least a century prior to the construction of Building F, and there is no evidence that the kiln was renewed or replaced with the later building. If Building A was a potter’s workshop, which seems likely, there is no evidence for supposing that Building F served an identical function other than the fact that it is located in the close vicinity. 23. Nevett 1999, pp. 21–​25, 2005, pp. 3, 84. 24. Thompson originally argued that Buildings C, D, and F served functions identical to those assumed by their later successors (1940, pp. 40–​44). Building F, in this formulation, was thus the early Prytanikon, the meeting place of the prytaneis. He later suggested that Building F was the “palace” of the Peisistratidai (1962, p. 21). For a refutation of the earlier view, see T. L. Shear, Jr., who points out that Thompson’s mid-​sixth century Prytanikon is historically anachronistic, as the rotating board of prytaneis was not instituted until after the Kleisthenic reforms (1994, p. 231). For further support of the hypothesis that Building F housed an important Athenian family and might have served as the residence of the Peisistratidai, see Agora XIV, p. 28; Boersma 1970, p. 17; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1978, pp. 6–​7; Camp 1986, pp. 44–​45; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, p. 231. 25. Camp 1986, p. 46. The early theatrical contests of a Dionysiac festival are said to have taken place in the “orchestra” in “the agora” (Photius, s.v. ikria; Hesychios, s.v. par’ aigeirou thea; Suda, s.v. Pratinos; Pickard-​Cambridge 1946, pp. 11–​14) and many of the games of the Panathenaia are assumed to have occurred here by the Classical period (see, e.g., Kyle 1992; J. L. Shear 2001,

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cannot fully account for the transformation of the space. A more likely theory is that the Peisistratids were deliberately creating a new type of public space.26 There are still problems with this, including the fact that no administrative or government activities were transferred here before 500 and that the southwest corner was still used for domestic purposes. The low-​lying nature of the area and lack of drainage facilities also meant that it would have suffered from periodic flooding, making it a problematic location for any continuous activity. The area was relatively accessible and open, and became more so over the course of the sixth century, but the nature of its use remains clouded. The true conversion of the space into the civic center of the polis would not occur until after the reforms of Kleisthenes, which necessitated the creation of a public space with different kinds of structures and spaces to meet the demands of the new political regime.

Establishing the New Agora The transformation of this area from private occupation to public use continued during the Late Archaic period and culminated in a series of building projects in the last decade of the sixth and first two decades of the fifth centuries. The variety of construction activities within the Agora at this time includes both monumental architectural buildings and small-​scale altars, shrines, boundary markers, and statue groups. The chronological and topographical confluence of these monuments allows us to consider them as part of an overall project to articulate the boundaries of the space and establish it as the new seat of the government. Additionally, the organized delineation of space and creation of a topographically distinct civic marketplace and administrative center, separate from the Old Agora, signal that the building activity

pp.  676–​679 (sixth-​century use of the Agora for athletic contests)). As is demonstrated in Chapter 3, though, the City Dionysia was likely not established until the last years of the sixth century, so any theatrical events of the Archaic period cannot be considered part of this particular festival. Moreover, references to theatrical competitions in the Archaic period occurring in “an agora” should imply the Old Agora, rather than the Classical Agora (Miller 1995a, pp. 218–​ 219). It remains possible that other festivals with theatrical events occurred in the Agora and the presence of postholes for ikria indicates that bleachers were installed at various times (Camp 2010, p. 106, 1986, pp. 45–​46). It is unknown where the events of the Archaic Panathenaia were staged, although, again, the Classical Agora seems unlikely (Miller 1995a, pp. 212–​218). Prior to the construction of the Great Drain, the area was marshy and often flooded, which made it unsuitable for many of these sporting and performance events, with the exception of the pompe (procession) that crossed the space via the Panathenaic Way. 26. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1978; Shapiro 1989, pp. 5–​6; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, pp. 230–​231.

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within this span of time was comprehensive in its organization and implementation, requiring as it did intense coordination and communication. It is important, however, to remember that in many respects this project functioned as a continuation of the activities undertaken by the Peisistratids (and perhaps other leading aristocrats of the Archaic period) and, as such, should not be taken to represent a complete break with the earlier development of the space. That said, given the topographical and chronological specificity indicated by the activity here between 508/​7 and 480/​79, there is reason to consider it an organized and structured building project. This building activity consists of a tripartite process of continuity (or appropriation), destruction, and construction. Certain monuments from the earlier Archaic period were preserved intact and continued to function in much the same way. Other structures from the sixth century were destroyed, either fully or partially, in order to facilitate renovations or replacements. Still other monuments were newly created, with specific purposes and unique functions. These deliberate and carefully orchestrated changes to the built environment of the Agora fully transformed the space from a scattered assortment of structures of varying purposes into a delineated public area specially designed to facilitate the functioning of the new political system. The first branch of this division—​continuity—​can be seen in the Altar of the Twelve Gods, which continued to function in the same way under the new political system.27 A small naïskos dedicated to Apollo Patroös, possibly built around 550, also continued in use. Similarly, a small rectangular enclosure, possibly a shrine to Zeus, also dated to the mid-​sixth century, continued to function as it

27. Cf. Neer and Kurke 2014, who argue that the Altar of the Twelve Gods was moved to its current location from the Old Agora in the mid-​to late fifth century. While the stratigraphic evidence indeed indicates that the original location of the altar dedicated by Peisistratos the Younger is not the same as its later placement, the argument that it was located in the Old Agora is unconvincing. While I agree with Neer and Kurke’s assessment that the altar, especially in its capacity as the polis’s zero mile mark, functioned as “a device for regulating Athenian space” (p. 537), serious complications arise if the altar was moved so far from its original location (all mileages would need to be readjusted); it is more likely, in my opinion, that the original location was nearby, in the new Agora, and the later fifth-​century relocation was minor. Indeed, might the decision to convert the area around the Altar of the Twelve Gods into the new Agora be related to its role as the “omphalos” of the city (Pind. Fr. 75 SM, l. 3), a monumental recognition of the altar’s central role in the organization of the space of the polis? Moreover, the orientation of the altar does not match the path of the Panathenaic Way in this corner. Costaki suggests that the Archaic Panathenaic Way in the northwest corner of the Agora was laid out on a different line, which might explain the orientation of the altar, responding to the path of the earlier road (2006, p. 260), which further suggests that the altar’s original location was here, not in the Old Agora.

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had before.28 As with the Altar of the Twelve Gods, the ongoing use of these two shrines indicates that, despite the multitude of changes to the area of the Agora, the development of the space incorporated and preserved previously founded cultic areas, maintaining continued worship and rituals (Figure 2.1). The second branch of the tripartite process—​ destruction of earlier structures—​is not as drastic as the corresponding activities on the Akropolis at this time. The only structures to be destroyed completely were Buildings C and D.29 These small buildings were removed in order to clear the area for the construction of the Old Bouleuterion. Their southern neighbor, Building F, was partially destroyed and remodeled at the same time (Fig. 2.2).30 These two demolition and remodeling projects allowed for the creation of a broad terraced area in the southwest corner of the Agora, slightly elevated from the west road, which, in turn, helped to define the boundary of the Agora in this corner. This activity also implies that one of the last residential complexes in the area of the Agora was now entirely divested of private occupation. The final element of the tripartite process is the construction of new buildings and monuments. The most dynamic of these new structures include the Old Bouleuterion and the Stoa Basileios, or Royal Stoa (Fig. 2.1). These buildings served unique functions within the city and represent

28. Temple of Apollo Patroös: Paus. 1.3.4; Thompson 1937, pp. 79–​84; Agora XIV, pp. 136–​137. Scant ceramic evidence points to a date near the mid-​sixth century, although the alignment of the building with the Old Bouleuterion could suggest a date later in the sixth century. Shrine and Altar of Zeus Phratrios: Thompson 1937, pp. 8–​12; Agora XIV, p. 96. The ceramic material has a broad range from the Geometric through Archaic period, but the use of Pentelic marble should point to a date in the second half of the sixth century, perhaps even closer to ca. 500. 29. The destruction of Buildings C and D included the filling and abandonment of the shallow well or pit, H 10:2, which had served the two buildings. This destruction allowed the terrace area to be cleared and leveled. This process involved raising the terrace by over 1 m., making the southwest corner of the Agora significantly elevated above the west road: the Archaic level of the road at the northeast edge of the southwest corner is 52.88 m., while the floor level of Building C was 54.30 m. (54.30 –​52.88 = 1.42 m. difference); the raised level of the terrace after the destruction of Buildings C and D was 56.85 m., while the ground level at the road rose to 55.34 m. (= 1.51 m. difference). For the elevations, see Thompson 1937, p 130; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1995, p. 166. 30.  The north rooms of Building F were entirely demolished, which allowed the Old Bouleuterion to have a broad southern terrace; in addition, the southern dogleg entrance was partially demolished and modified into a structure known as Building J (Thompson 1940, pp. 27–​28, 42; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, p. 236). The well associated with Building F, G 11:8, appears to have partially collapsed and gone out of use ca. 500, although some of the accumulated debris above the destruction level can be dated ca. 480 (Agora XII, p. 391). A new well, G 11:3, was opened nearby, and this served the southwest buildings until the Persian destruction (Agora XII, p. 390–​391; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1993, pp. 404, 449–​451).

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important stages in the general history of Greek architectural development. The Southeast Fountain House can also be dated to the end of this period, ensuring a reliable supply of publicly accessible water in an area previously bereft of such sources.31 Additionally, three new sacred precincts were established:  an altar of Aphrodite Ourania, the Aiakeion (a sanctuary to Ajax), and a structure that may be a small temple to Meter, mother of the Gods (this last is visible in Fig. 2.2, in relation to the remodeled Building F and Old Bouleuterion).32 Somewhere in this new Agora, the Athenians also erected a statue group to the Tyrannicides, the two men (mistakenly) credited with ending the tyranny.33 But before any of these structures could be built, the Great Drain had to be installed in order to provide reliable drainage (Fig. 2.3). This piece of infrastructure, built at the end of the sixth century, made the area usable to a far greater extent than it had been before and enabled its subsequent development (the course of the drain is seen in Fig. 2.1).34 Additional infrastructure components are the horoi, or boundary stones, installed at the corners of the newly defined space; the placement of two such horoi is visible in Fig. 2.1. These markers clearly delineated the specific area of the Agora from the surrounding environment, which remained residential in some areas, 31. The Southeast Fountain House had previously been dated to ca. 525 but has been shown to belong to the first quarter of the fifth century (Paga 2015c). The Old Bouleuterion, Stoa Basileios, and Southeast Fountain House are all treated in more detail in their respective sections below. 32. Altar of Aphrodite Ourania: Paus. 1.14.7; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1984, pp. 29–​40; Edwards 1984, pp. 59–​72 (terracotta plaque); Foster 1984, pp. 73–​82 (bone and faunal analysis). Ceramic material, evidence of Persian destruction, and the profiles of the upper and lower moldings indicate a date of ca. 500. Aiakeion: Hdt. 5.89; Agora XIV, p. 63; Agora XXVIII, p. 100; Camp 1986, p. 46; Stroud 1994, pp. 7–​9; 1998; pp. 85–​108. This structure was initially identified as the Heliaia, but Stroud’s argument for it being the Aiakeion is entirely convincing. The date of ca. 500 is based on ceramic evidence, the hawk’s-​beak molding of the soffit, and the historical context provided by Herodotos. Temple of Meter: Paus. 1.3.5; Thompson 1937, pp. 115, 135–​140; Agora XIV, pp. 30–​31; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1995, pp. 176–​178 (identification as a treasury, rather than cult building). The ceramic evidence and masonry style suggest a date in the final quarter of the sixth century or (more likely) soon after 500; note also its alignment with the Old Bouleuterion and use of similar materials (Akropolis limestone) in the foundations. 33. The actions of Harmodios and Aristogeiton are treated in more detail in the Introduction. For the statue group, the literature is vast, but see Brunnsåker 1971; Azoulay 2017, pp. 23–​34, with additional bibliography. Baltes 2020 suggests that a stone base near the Odeion of Agrippa may have supported this original group. Anderson connects the Tyrannicide statue group and transformation of the Agora, noting the confluence of their dates (2003, pp. 203–​204). 34. The date of the Great Drain is indicated by its polygonal masonry style, materials (hard breccia and limestone with soft yellow limestone cover slabs), scant ceramic material, and its general necessity for the flood-​prone area of the Agora. For the drain, see Thompson 1937, pp. 134–​135; Agora XIV, p. 194; Camp 2010, pp. 56–​58.

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Figure 2.3  Great Drain, Agora. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

effectively zoning the area for public use. The Great Drain and horoi fundamentally changed the nature of this area in both practical and symbolic ways. While the drain funneled excess water away from the low, marshy space, the horoi defined areas of entrance and egress along major road axes, where these permeable boundaries played a crucial role. The space that would become the Agora now had a more defined shape, was demarcated from its geographic surroundings, and was relieved from water inundation. The horoi are a fascinating element in the renovation of this space into the Agora because they provide us with unambiguous evidence. The stones themselves boldly proclaim their function: hορός εἰμὶ τēς ἀγορᾶς (“I am the boundary stone of the Agora”). Three such horoi have been found that date to the Late Archaic period.35 One, Agora I 5510 (IG I3 1087), was found in situ at the southwest corner of the Agora, just to the east of Building F, at the split of the west road (Fig. 2.1, Fig. 2.4 and Plate 4).36 The horos was placed in a

35. Agora I 5510 = IG I3 1087 = Agora XIX: H25, pl. 2 (ed. pr. T. L. Shear 1939, p. 205); Agora I  7039  =  IG I3 1088  =  Agora XIX:  H26, pl. 2 (ed. pr. Thompson 1968, pp.  61–​63); Agora I 5675 = IG I3 1089 = Agora XIX: H27 (ed. pr. T. L. Shear 1940, p. 266). Although only three horoi are extant, it is likely that the Athenians erected multiple boundary stones at all of the entrances and exits to the space. 36.  For the implications of the location, see also Thompson 1940, p.  107 (together with addendum, p. v).

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Figure 2.4 Agora horoi I 7039 and I 5510. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

small pit, dug 0.20 m. into the bedrock of the road, and the soil that collected against it contained ostraka of Hippokrates and Themistokles. These ostraka concretely date the placement of the horos to the period preceding the end of the 480s.37 A second stone, Agora I 7039 (IG I3 1088), was found in situ nearby, close to the west end of the (later) Middle Stoa, near the western

37. For the ostraka, see T. L. Shear 1939, pp. 205–​206. The presence of the ostraka undeniably support a date for this horos prior to 480; the ostraka of Hippokrates and Themistokles could have been cast and subsequently discarded any time between 500 and 480. The similarities between horoi I 5510, 5675, and 7039 indicate that all three were erected coterminously, and thus all belong to the period prior to 480. The evidence of the ostraka is a clear refutation of the hypothesis of Papadopoulos, who argues that the approximate date given to the horoi—​ca. 500—​can be extrapolated to imply a post-​480 placement. He then uses this redating to postulate that the entire area of the new Agora was not defined and developed as such until after the Persian Wars (2003, pp. 280–​297). Papadopoulos’s expansion of the possible date of the horoi by over twenty years is unlikely. A date preceded by “ca.” should—​at most—​allow for a fluctuation of ten years in either direction (for a twenty-​year total span); to expand this range to twenty years (resulting in a forty-​year total span, ca. 520–​480) stretches the epigraphic and ceramic evidence too far.

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end of the south road (Fig. 2.1). This horos differs only slightly from I 5510, whose inscription is written orthograde across the top and right side, whereas the inscription of I  7039 is written retrograde across the top and left side (Fig. 2.4). The third horos, Agora I  5675 (IG I3 1089), was discovered in a disturbed context within a Turkish tomb in the Hephaisteion. The material of the stone, white marble, along with the style of the inscription, places it securely in the context of the other two horoi.38 Although this horos was found out of context, it might have come from the northern area of the Agora, possibly the northwest corner, another entrance point.39 The recovery of three horoi carved from (seemingly) identical stone and with nearly identical inscriptions is an indication of a systematic attempt to define the boundaries of the Agora at the end of the sixth and beginning of the fifth centuries, in coordination with the clearing of the area for more general use facilitated by the Great Drain. The purpose of the horoi was to indicate clearly what space was considered the Agora and what space was not. This is important, because there were rules and guidelines regarding encroachment of private property into the area of the Agora, as well as prohibitions regarding access. The most serious restrictions relating to access concerned cases of homicide. According to Demosthenes, an ancient law ordained by Drakon prohibited those accused of homicide from entering the Agora, and barred them from lustral water, libations, sharing wine with fellow citizens, and sacrifices.40 The author of the AthPol corroborates

38. Thompson connects the three horoi to a single project of defining the borders of the Agora (1940, p. 107). The material of the horoi has never been scientifically analyzed, to the best of my knowledge. Agora I 5510 is listed in publication as “island marble, white with bluish streaks” (Agora XIV, p. 117; see also its description as a “coarse-​grained white marble with bluish streaks” in Agora notebook Z 13-​77, p. 2493). Agora I 7039 is described as “fine grained marble, off white” in the Agora object files. In the Agora notebooks (KK 9-​62, p. 1714, KK 9-​64, p. 1717), Agora I 5675 is listed as Pentelic marble, but one of the anonymous readers suggests that it is instead a large-​grained island marble, likely Parian. We might reasonably expect a local stone, like Pentelic or Hymettian marble, for a public inscription after 480, and the use of an island marble for these horoi could possibly help support a pre-​480 date, although this material distinction should not be taken as a definitive dating criterion (with thanks to the anonymous reader for pointing this out). 39. T. L. Shear 1940, p. 7. 40. Dem. 20.158: ἐν τοίνυν τοῖς περὶ τούτων νόμοις ὁ Δράκων φοβερὸν κατασκεθάζων καὶ δεινὸν τό τιν᾽αὐτόχειρ᾽ἄλλον ἄλλου γίγνεσθαι, καὶ γράφων χέρνιβος εἴργεσθαι τὸν ἀνδροφόνον, σπονδῶν, κρατήρων, ἱερῶν, ἀγορᾶς, πάντα τἄλλα διελθὼν οἷς μάλιστ᾽ ἄν τινας ᾤετ᾽ ἐπισχεῖν τοῦ τοιοῦτόν τι ποιεῖν. (“Now Drakon, in this group of laws, marked the terrible wickedness of homicide by banning the offender from the lustral water, the libations, the loving-​cup, the sacrifices, and the Agora; he enumerated everything that he thought likely to deter the offender.”) (Loeb

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this evidence, stating that he who is accused of murder is prohibited from entering the Agora and sanctuaries.41 Aeschines expands the list of those prohibited from entering the area of the Agora and from sacrifices to include men who do not report for military duty, cowards, and deserters.42 Although this literary evidence postdates the period in which the three original horoi were erected, it is, nevertheless, instructive in understanding their purpose and role in delimiting the space of the Agora. Certain individuals were not allowed into the Agora. This restriction is not merely a prohibition against entering a particular area but carries the further ramifications of not allowing those thus accused to interact with their fellow citizens and to participate in various government offices. Prohibition from the Agora meant that the accused could not participate in the Boule, could not read the notices posted on the monument of the Eponymous Heroes, could not conduct business at the Stoa Basileios, and could not take part in the myriad other activities that took place in the Agora, such as the ostrakaphoria (casting of votes for ostracism). The restrictions regarding access to the Agora effectively prohibited the accused from taking part in the deliberative decision-​making processes of the political system, thereby voiding their citizenship to all intents and purposes. The Aeschines passage cited in note 42 above is particularly illuminating, as the precise restriction is a prohibition on using the perirrhanteria of the Agora. These vessels for lustral water seem to have been placed alongside the horoi near points of access. Just to the east of horos I 5510, excavators discovered a marble pedestal for the support of a perirrhanterion.43 Several other supports and bowls for perirrhanteria have been found throughout the Agora, particularly near the corners of the space, which further cements their

trans., adapted) During Drakon’s time, this “agora” would have been the Old Agora, but the preservation of the law into the Classical period implies that it remained in force even when the activities of the agora moved to the new location. 41. AthPol 57.4: ὁ δὲ τὴν αἰτίαν ἔχων τὸν μὲν ἄλλον χρόνον εἴργεται τῶν ἱερῶν καὶ οὐδ᾽ εἰς τὴν ἀγορὰν νόμος ἐμβαλεῖν αὐτῷ. (“The accused for the rest of time is banned from sanctuaries and forbidden by law from entering the Agora”). 42. Aesch. 3.176: ὁ μὲν τοίνυν νομοθέτης τὸν ἀστράτευτον καὶ τὸν δειλὸν καὶ τὸν λιπόντα τὴν τάξιν ἔξω τῶν περιραντηρίων τῆς ἀγορᾶς ἐξείργει, καὶ οὐκ ἐᾷ στεφανοῦσθαι, οὐδ᾽ εἰσιέναι εἰς τὰ ἱερὰ τὰ δημοτελῆ. (“Therefore the man who fails to take the field, and the coward, and the man who has deserted his post are excluded by the lawgiver from the purified precincts of the Agora, and may not be crowned, nor take part in the sacred rites of the people.”) (Loeb trans.) 43. Agora XIV, p. 118; Camp 2010, p. 56.

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association with the horoi.44 The combination of the restrictions on access and the presence of perirrhanteria near the horoi speaks to a conception of the Agora as a civic space that housed religious edifices and participated in rituals, a space given sacred meaning through these shrines and functions. In this way, it is possible to view the restrictions and horoi as defining a type of temenos, with specific rules and guidelines regarding behavior and accessibility, while the perirrhanteria clearly speak to issues of pollution, miasma, and purification.45 The Agora was not a sanctuary, but a space that participated in the religious life of the polis, its pseudo-​temenos yet another boundary imposed on the landscape informing movement and behavior. In addition to the political and religious dimensions of prohibition on access, these passages and artifacts can also be interpreted as commercial and economic barriers. The Agora was the central marketplace for the polis, taking over that function from the Old Agora. The newly drained central area appears uncluttered on plans, like Fig. 2.1, but would have been filled with ephemeral market stands, awnings, hawkers, moneychangers, and more. It also housed a new fountain house, providing a publicly accessible source of fresh water. All of these activities and resources, like those of the governing bodies and administrative structures, were unavailable to those denied access. From all this, it is easy to see how unrestricted access to the Agora meant access to everyday necessities like shopping and water, as well as bureaucratic and legal bodies and structures. Clear boundaries and demarcation of space were thus crucial for a multitude of reasons. Before the horoi were installed, the area to the east of the Kolonos Agoraios was an open space, devoid of private occupation (or nearly devoid, given Building F), and the location of a few monuments, such as the Altar of the Twelve Gods. After ca. 500, it is the official designation, physically implanted by the horoi, that endowed the Agora with its civic purpose and made the

44.  Agora XIV, pp.  118–​119. The find-​spots include a limestone base near the Altar of the Twelve Gods (in situ), a fragmentary base near the southeast corner, and a fragmentary base in the northwest corner. 45. Lalonde emphasizes the importance of the horoi in the creation of a religious space: “these markers had the objective . . . of protecting the chief civil quarter from encroachment and defilement . . . [and] Athens particularly needed to specify the limits of its Agora, because by legal atimia accused homicides and certain convicted criminals were excluded from it” (Agora XIX, p. 10). Compare the location of the perirrhanterion in the forecourt of the Akropolis and the possible presence of the Hekatompedon Decrees, demarcating the space of the Akropolis and setting out rules and guidelines for behavior.

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structures within the space fully and unarguably part of the public realm. The desire to label the area and officially delimit the space implies an awareness of the importance of the burgeoning Agora and the buildings within it, as well as a determination to make the boundaries of the area visible and unambiguous.46 The horoi thus formed a key component in the transition of this area into a fully civic space, but they were installed within the context of an expansive transformation of the built environment more broadly. It is this overall reconceptualization of the area, physically substantiated by the dual forces of destruction and construction, that led to the creation of a topographic nexus of focused civic use and purpose. With the reforms of Kleisthenes, ratified and put into effect in the years immediately following 508/​7, it became imperative that an area be set aside for administrative functions and government uses. The reforms resulted in the creation of new or altered government bodies, many of which needed their own specific structures and spaces. Although some of these administrative bodies already had buildings in the Old Agora, and many of the bodies already existed in some form prior to the reforms, the changes in their functions, size, and relative level of importance necessitated the creation of new structures and, crucially, new types of structures. The transference of activity from the old to new Agora also required attention to infrastructure and public amenities. The new buildings and new types of buildings that appear in the Agora ca. 500–​480 are important due to their symbolic value, their architectural innovations, their ability to solve public problems, and the political functionality they help engender. Three buildings in particular are pivotal for understanding the transformation of the area and its role for the new political order: the Old Bouleuterion, the Stoa Basileios, and the Southeast Fountain House. In what follows, the basic details of their forms and ornamentations are discussed, as well as the function each served, while the concluding section considers the ramifications of these architectural choices.47 46. This lack of ambiguity that I posit pertains to the ambiguity of what is private space versus what is public space. With the erection of the horoi, the distinction between what could be considered private and public was made abundantly clear. It is important to remember, however, that there was not a fence or peribolos wall surrounding the Agora, nor did the horoi line all of the boundaries. The horoi seem to have been placed at particularly crucial areas of access along roadways. In this way, the physical borders of the Agora were somewhat permeable, a fact that is made visible by the encroachment of the House of Simon the cobbler in the southwest corner, near the horos Agora I 5510. For the importance of site specificity for interpreting horoi, see Ober 2005. 47.  The dating for both the Old Bouleuterion and Stoa Basileios has been contested, although I believe the evidence for dating both ca. 500 is most convincing and suits the available

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The Old Bouleuterion One of the most important and pressing demands in the creation of a new Agora for the new political regime was the construction of a council house, or bouleuterion, for the 500 bouleutai (councilors). Although a Boule existed before the reforms, it was now bigger, more inclusive, and assumed a more specific role in the day-​to-​day functioning of the polis.48 The bouleutai needed a place to meet and discuss business, where access could be monitored and restricted, and where they would not be disturbed by noise, crowds, or inclement weather. These necessities led to the construction of a building specifically set aside for their use:  the Old Bouleuterion. Much like the Stoa Basileios for the Archon Basileus and the Epilykeion or Polemarcheion for the Polemarch,49 the Old Bouleuterion was built for one particular branch of the new political regime, and this level of specificity pervaded all aspects of the building, from the plan to the appearance to the location. In addition, the Old Bouleuterion did not merely house the Boule; any built structure could have done that.50 Instead, the Old Bouleuterion worked to entrench the new ideal of participation, crucial to the continued success of the Boule and its role in the new political order, through the mechanisms of intervisibility and accountability. The Old Bouleuterion is one of the clearest examples during this period of a building that reflects its purpose but also helps to generate a particular ideology or identity for the citizens who used it. The Old Bouleuterion is a nearly square building (23.20 × 23.80 m.), with exterior foundations of massive irregular Akropolis limestone blocks that supported yellow limestone walls (Fig. 2.5).51 On the basis of the surviving foundations and fragments of the superstructure, the plan has evidence most comfortably. A full account of the evidence for both is provided in Appendix III. For the dating of the Southeast Fountain House, see Paga 2015c. The discussion of the Old Bouleuterion in this and the following section draws heavily from Paga 2017b. 48. For the Boule generally, see Rhodes 1972. The existence of a Solonian Boule of 400 is only mentioned in later sources (AthPol 8.4; Plut., Solon 19.1) but seems implied by the events of 508/​7, when Kleomenes and Isagoras were resisted by the Boule (Hdt. 5.72); it is unlikely that Kleisthenes’ new Boule of 500 was organized and filled in such a short amount of time, although it remains a possibility that Herodotos refers to the new Boule, still meeting in its previous location (see Rhodes 1972, pp. 208–​209 for discussion of the Boule prior to Kleisthenes’ reforms). 49. AthPol 3.5. 50. In theory, the Boule also could have met outside, as it presumably did in the Archaic period, or it could have met in a preexisting building or precinct. 51. Thompson 1937, p. 130.

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Figure  2.5  Old Bouleuterion, northeast corner of foundations, view to south. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

been reconstructed with a shallow southern porch, entered from the terrace to the south most likely through a pentastyle in antis colonnaded facade, and a larger northern chamber with five internal columns supporting a hipped roof (Fig. 2.6).52 The resulting unique plan—​a hypostyle hall—​is the first occurrence of this architectural form on the Greek mainland and has ramifications for how we think about the function of the building, as

52.  Some of the foundations for an interior east-​west cross-​wall survive, indicating that the building was divided into two unequal parts: a narrow rectangular porch on the south, with a larger and more squared interior chamber to the north. The remains of two piers for internal supports were found, along with a small fragment of a third (Thompson 1937, pp. 130–​132). For a photograph of one of these piers in situ, see Thompson 1937, p. 121, fig. 65 (the southwest internal support). All three piers are indicated on Thompson’s state plan (1937, pl. VI). The pier foundations suggest a further two to be restored symmetrically on the eastern side, resulting in a Π-​shaped internal series of columnar supports for the roof (Thompson 1937, p. 132; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1995, p. 158). The restoration of five columns along the southern entrance, as well as the tristyle in antis separation of the porch from the main chamber, was made by T. L. Shear, Jr. on the basis of comparison with the bouleuterion at Assos from the first half of the second century (1994, p. 231, 1995, p. 170). Despite the chronological gap between the two buildings, the similarities in the overall plans and dimensions make such a restoration of the Old Bouleuterion attractive. The pentastyle in antis facade has also been adopted by Camp (most recently in 2010, pp. 61–​62, figs. 30–​31).

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Figure 2.6  Old Bouleuterion, state and restored plan. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

detailed further below. The restoration of the facade of the Old Bouleuterion in the Doric order is confirmed by the discovery of several fragments of a yellow limestone frieze course (identical to the material used for the walls), including triglyphs, metope slabs, and Doric capitals, all finely worked.53 The identification of the building is also derived from the rim of a marble basin, possibly a perirrhanterion, found in a nearby Persian debris pit, inscribed [τ]ο

53. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1993, p. 423, 1994, p. 232. Two fragments of triglyphs with slots for inserted metopes, as well as two additional fragments that preserve parts of the thin metope slabs covered with stucco on their fronts, indicate that the building held a Doric frieze and that it was complete at the time of the destruction. The frieze fragments were recovered from a Persian destruction fill located just south of the Old Bouleuterion that also included working chips with worked and unworked surfaces, a further indication (along with the presence of stucco) that the building was complete at the time of its destruction. For the date of the pottery associated with its destruction, see T. L. Shear, Jr. 1993, pp. 423–​424, and further in Appendix III. The triglyph fragments have been associated with the Old Bouleuterion on the basis of their find-​spot, as well as their material and overall construction. The capitals are fragmentary, but at least one preserves the full profile of the echinus (A 756).

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Figure 2.7  Inscribed marble lustral basin (Agora I 4869). Courtesy Agora Excavations.

βολευτ̣[εριο], which further underscores the line between sacred and secular that this building aesthetically straddles (Fig. 2.7).54 Both the plan and ornamentation of the Old Bouleuterion represent important advances and innovations in Athenian construction. The nearly square design of the building, with its sparse interior columnar supports, is among both the earliest (if not the earliest) appearances of a hypostyle hall and identifiable bouleuterion in Greece.55 In fact, the plan of the Old Bouleuterion was subsequently adopted and adapted throughout the Greek world for use as a bouleuterion during the Classical and Hellenistic periods, examples of which can be found in Sikyon, Assos, Messene, Thasos, and Priene, not to mention the New Bouleuterion in Athens.56 The chronological 54. Agora I 4869. 55. A hypostyle hall is a roofed structure with internal columns, and it appears in other parts of the Mediterranean from an early period. It was used in Late Bronze Age Mesopotamia and Egypt, such as for the hypostyle hall in the Temple Complex for Amun at Karnak. Closer in time, Darius’ apadana (audience chamber) in his royal palace at Persepolis is a hypostyle hall. For the origins and evolution of the hypostyle hall, see Leroux 1913. The use of the hypostyle hall for the Old Bouleuterion is treated in greater detail in the next section; see also Paga 2017b, pp. 200–​201. 56. For discussion of these bouleuteria and their relationship to the Athenian Old Bouleuterion, see T. L. Shear, Jr. 1995, pp. 169–​170. The most complete treatment of bouleuteria is Gneisz

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Figure 2.8  Old Bouleterion, restored aerial perspective. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

record suggests that the Old Bouleuterion served as a template for this particular type of structure, one that was replicated far and wide in the Greek world over the course of several centuries. In addition to its unique plan and disposition of internal space, the use of the Doric order on the Old Bouleuterion also places this building at the forefront of architectural developments in the Greek world (Fig. 2.8). Prior to its appearance on the Old Bouleuterion, the Doric order was reserved solely for buildings within the confines of sanctuaries, most commonly appearing on temples and stoai throughout the Archaic period. Nowhere in the Greek world was the Doric order applied to secular buildings, or any structures outside of a sanctuary, before this time.57 Beyond the plan and use of the Doric order, the location of this new building provides a detailed glimpse into the overall importance of the Boule and its role for the new political regime. The Old Bouleuterion was built in

1990 (but see also Camp 2016). The dates and dimensions of the structures at Sikyon, Assos, Messene, Thasos, and Priene are from Gneisz’s catalogue: Sikyon (late fourth century, 40.50 × 39.60 m.), Assos (first half of the second century, 20.60 m.2), Messene (second century, 21.60 × 20.80 m.), Thasos (early third century, 32.20 m.2), Priene (second half of the second century, 20.25 × 21.06 m.). 57.  Prior to the construction of the Old Bouleuterion, the only structure that employs the Doric order and is not a temple or other sacred building is the northern section of the so-​called bouleuterion at Olympia (dated ca. 520 by Gneisz 1990, pp. 340–​341), discussed in further detail in the next section. See T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, p. 239, and p. 247, n. 58.

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the southwest corner of the Agora, just to the north of Building F, over the area previously inhabited by Buildings C and D (Figs. 2.1,  2.2). The siting of the new building thus ensured that it was part of the officially delineated Agora and occupied one of its three angles.58 The Old Bouleuterion effectively rooted the new political order in the Agora and signaled the transfer of popular decision-​making activities from the Old Agora to the new space. At the same time, its location along a road that led to the Pnyx physically united these two spheres of political activity: the Boule and Ekklesia.59 An Athenian citizen could easily conduct his business in the Agora, attend a meeting of the Boule (if a bouleutes) or read the announcements and pre-​posted agenda, and then make his way to the Pnyx for debate and voting. This physical connection between the two major locations of the new political regime, the council and the Assembly, also strengthened their linked responsibilities and functions. The Boule debated what matters should be put forth to the Assembly, a process that resulted in the issuing of probouleumata, which were then introduced for debate and voting in the Ekklesia.60 The topographic connection between the Old Bouleuterion and the road that led up to the Pnyx solidified these bureaucratic links between the two bodies (Map 2).

The Stoa Basileios Another building with a specific political function was located further north of the Old Bouleuterion. Situated at the northwest corner of the new Agora, just south of where the Panathenaic Way entered the area, is a small building (17.72 × 7.18 m.) known as the Stoa Basileios, or Royal Stoa (Fig. 2.1, Fig. 2.9). It takes the form of a typical stoa: a narrow rectangular structure with a colonnaded facade (Fig. 2.10, Fig. 2.11).61 The building shares many similarities with

58. The horos Agora I 5510 was found in situ just to the south and slightly east. 59. The eastern artery at the split of the west road (Costaki’s I.18 and I.31) turns into “Areopagos Street” (Costaki’s I.32), which appears to connect with a street with rock-​cut steps on the northeast slope of the Pynx (Costaki’s I.56). These roads are discussed in further detail in the next section and in Chapter 3. 60. AthPol 45.4; Rhodes 1972, pp. 52–​81. 61. Eight Doric columns stood along its open east side, flanked by two antae, while two smaller Doric columns originally supported the interior ridgepole (T. L. Shear, Jr. 1971, pp. 243–​244). The two interior columns were later replaced by four, after the building was repaired in the mid-​ fifth century. Two stumps of the exterior Doric colonnade are preserved along the eastern stylobate, and the two interior column foundations remain in situ (the northernmost is visible in Fig. 2.12). See also T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, pp. 236–​237, for a discussion of the form of the Stoa Basileios.

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Figure 2.9  Stoa Basileios, state plan. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

Figure  2.10 Stoa Basileios, restored plan, modified by author. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

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Figure  2.11  Stoa Basileios, restored elevation, modified by author. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

the Old Bouleuterion, including its material (soft, yellow limestone superstructure on bedrock foundations) and ornamentation with the Doric order (secured by the survival of parts of column drums, capitals, and fragments of a triglyph and metope frieze course),62 but the two structures are quite distinct. Their differences and similarities link them to the overarching building activity in the Agora during the late sixth and early fifth centuries, but also emphasize the differing functions and uses to which they were put. Of utmost importance is the fact that the Stoa Basileios was oriented to face east, its perforated colonnade looking out into the open expanse of the Agora, whereas the Old Bouleuterion denied access—​and even visibility—​from this angle. There are two architectural aspects of the Stoa Basileios that deserve further comment: its form as a stoa and its use of the Doric order (Fig. 2.12). Prior to the construction of this building, both the stoa as a building form and the use of the Doric order (as we saw above with the Old Bouleuterion) were restricted to sanctuaries. The earliest stoai known in the Greek world were all placed within sanctuaries: at Didyma, Samos, Delos, Samothrace, and in the Argive Heraion.63 Prior to ca. 500, this building form was exclusively

62. Shear, Jr. 1971, p. 248. The exterior column capital: A 485; the interior column capital: A 3846; a triglyph: A 3845. The flanges on the triglyph block make it clear that the metopes were most likely constructed of a different stone, such as marble, and slotted into place, a similar construction technique as that employed for the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion (Paga and Miles 2016, p. 680 and n. 42). See also Agora XIV, pp. 83–​90; the yellow stone of the superstructure is identified as Piraeus limestone, although this has not been scientifically verified (p. 84). 63. Coulton 1976, pp. 26–​38. The South Stoa at Didyma is dated to the late seventh century; the South Stoa on Samos and North Stoa at the Argive Heraion are both late seventh or early sixth century; the Stoa of the Naxians on Delos is mid-​sixth century; the first phase of the Hall

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Figure 2.12  Stoa Basileios, view to north. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

found in sanctuaries, and it remained primarily associated with sacred areas throughout the following century. The use of the stoa early in the fifth century in the Agora, therefore, stands out as the first such appearance of this building type outside a sanctuary, as well as the earliest instance of a stoa deployed for secular use.64 The Archon Basileus, according to the AthPol, was responsible for the Eleusinian Mysteries, the festival of Dionysos at the Lenaion, and all torch races for festivals during the year, as well as the “traditional sacrifices.” In of Votive Gifts on Samothrace may be late sixth century, although the building is in need of further study. 64. It is possible that North Stoai A1, A2, and B1 on Cyrene, all dated to the second half of the sixth century, served a secular purpose, although it is difficult to ascertain their function, given the paucity of physical remains (Coulton 1976, pp. 33–​34, 37). There are also two small structures from Megara Hyblaia that date to the second half of the seventh century placed on the north and east sides of the agora, but it is unclear whether they were colonnaded or not.

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addition to these religious concerns, the Basileus was also in charge of judging lawsuits regarding impiety and disputes regarding priesthoods. Most importantly, he was responsible for hearing charges of homicide.65 He was, like the other magistrates, elected annually until 487/​6, when all archon positions became subject to lottery from a pre-​decided list of 100 (or, less likely, 500)  men.66 His office was, first and foremost, a civic responsibility, rather than an hereditary priesthood. The Stoa Basileios thus became the site of trial procedures and hearings by virtue of housing the Archon Basileus. But it was also most likely the site where new magistrates and bouleutai swore their oaths of office and eventually became the building in which the laws of the Athenians were displayed.67 The swearing of oaths in front of this building enhanced the authority of the structure itself, as well as the authority of the archon who held office within it.68 All of the events that took place in and before the stoa, as well as the activities associated with the Archon Basileus, tied the building to the civic environment of the Agora and divorced the form of the stoa from a strict connection to sanctuaries. Due to its east-​facing facade (Fig. 2.1), these activities at the Stoa Basileios—​trials, oaths, display of laws—​ were highly visible within the space of the Agora, tethering the building even more closely to the public marketplace and heart of the civic administration. The combination of the stoa design with the Doric order, however, also engenders parallels with typical forms of sacred architecture. As seen with the Old Bouleuterion, the Doric order, like the stoa form, does not occur outside of sanctuaries before the construction of these two buildings. Its use

65. AthPol 57.2: γραφαὶ δὲ λαγχάνονται πρὸς αὐτὸν ἀσεβείας, κἄν τις ἱερωσύνης ἀμφισβητῇ πρός τινα. διαδικάζει δὲ καὶ τοῖς γένεσι καὶ τοῖς ἱερεῦσι τὰς ἀμφισβητήσεις τὰς ὑπὲρ τῶν γερῶν ἁπάσας οὗτος. λαγχάνονται δὲ καὶ αἱ τοῦ φόνου δίκαι πᾶσαι πρὸς τοῦτον, καὶ ὁ προαγορεῦων εἴργεσθαι τῶν νομίμων οὗτός ἐστιν. (“Charges of impiety are brought before him, and those of disputed claims to hereditary priesthoods. He adjudicates among the gene and the priests in all cases of disputed claims to privileges. All murder cases are also brought before him, and proclamations of exclusion from customary rights are made by him”.) 66. AthPol 22.5. Rhodes argues that the number 500 is a mistake, and we should instead envision a presorted list of 100 men (10 from each of the 10 phylai), out of which the archon positions were drawn (1981, pp. 272–​274). 67. For the display of laws in the Stoa Basileios, see AthPol 7.1; Stroud 1979; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, pp. 239–​242. There is no evidence that laws were displayed in this first phase of use, although the presence of a broad platform built against the three interior walls of the structure may have been used as a base for ephemeral documents, such as the wooden axones and kyrbeis, prior to their inscription on stone in 404/​3. 68. T. L. Shear, Jr. discusses the presence of the lithos in front of the Stoa Basileios and its role in oath-​taking (1994, pp. 242–​245). The lithos is visible in Fig. 2.12.

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on the Old Bouleuterion and Stoa Basileios signals that these two buildings were marked off, that they were different from the private residences that had previously characterized this space, that they shared affinities with sacred architecture, and that the events that transpired within them were also marked as distinct occurrences. As with the Old Bouleuterion, the presence of the Doric order on the small stoa of the Archon Basileus sanctified the magistrate and his activities, providing a sense of legitimacy in visual form. The use of the Doric order on the stoa heightened this symbolic bestowal of divine approval to a greater extent than the Old Bouleuterion because it appeared on a building form—​the stoa—​already intrinsically associated with sanctuaries. This enhanced level of sanctity associated with a demonstrably civic building would have been particularly important during the trial and lawsuit hearings that occurred here; the Doric order on the building helped endow the Archon Basileus with the authority to hear and oversee these proceedings, his power stemming, in part, from the building itself, rooted in the typical architectural idioms of sanctuaries. The presence of this specific archon in a building adorned with a Doric facade helped establish his authority and power, while also creating a visual link between the sacred ornamentation and the archon’s role in affairs of civic worship and religious festivals. It is the very appropriation of sacred architectural idioms within the civic arena that made the Stoa Basileios such a dynamic structure. These architectural elements that had such strong connections with sanctuaries were here adopted and adapted for the demands of the new political regime. The quasi-​religious environment of the Agora as implied by the horoi and their perirrhanteria was further complicated by the mixed presence of sacred and civic buildings. The Stoa Basileios makes this contrast manifest by using the stoa and Doric order outside of a strictly defined sanctuary and on a building that served as the location for events connected with a civic office. In effect, the Stoa Basileios, and to a lesser extent the Old Bouleuterion, can be said to have secularized these architectural idioms by transferring them into a civic arena and transplanting their associations to non-​sacred purposes. The stoa design and Doric order were no longer restricted to sacred buildings within sanctuaries but could now be adapted to a wide variety of structures in a multitude of spaces. Just as the form of the Old Bouleuterion was replicated by other poleis for their administrative buildings, the Stoa Basileios released the stoa form from religious spaces and allowed the building type to be employed in other arenas and for other purposes. The reverse, however, is also true: the use of the Doric order and stoa form sacralized the office of the Basileus,

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legitimizing and ensuring the maintenance of the archon’s authority in his transfer from the Old Agora to the new space. The location of the building further rendered this sacred–​profane dialectic all the more dynamic. The Stoa Basileios was built in the northwest corner of the Agora, directly adjacent to the entrance of the Panathenaic Way into the area (Fig. 2.1). As Pausanias’ account makes clear, the Stoa Basileios was the first structure one would encounter on the right-​hand side as one entered the Agora, precisely where the west road branched off the Panathenaic Way.69 The stoa was thus firmly within the bounds of the civic space, but its placement in the northwest corner also positioned it within a surrounding landscape of shrines and altars, including the precinct of Aphrodite Ourania and the Altar of the Twelve Gods. It is also likely that a horos and perirrhanterion were set up near this corner, as at the southwest corner. Just as the Old Bouleuterion rooted the southwest angle, the Stoa Basileios rooted the northwest angle of the Agora, creating a strong spatial and visual link along the eastern slope of the Kolonos Agoraios, united by the path of the west road.

The Southeast Fountain House The final angle of the triangular space of the Agora is anchored by a third important public building: the Southeast Fountain House (Fig. 2.1). A diminutive building (6.80 × 18.20 m.), the fountain house is similar in both size and form to the Stoa Basileios (Fig. 2.13). Unlike the latter building, though, the fountain house was not a stoa but was instead likely fronted by three simple columns or pillars in antis.70 Both the foundations and walls appear to be Kara limestone and were fashioned with careful polygonal masonry and Z-​ clamps, finely worked with a claw-​tooth chisel (Fig. 2.14). Although it was once believed to have been built by Peisistratos or his sons, the date for the structure is more likely to be in the decade after 490.71 This puts the fountain house in the same context as other post-​Marathon constructions, like the Old

69. Paus. 1.3. 70. The restored form of the fountain house is hypothetical. For the difficulties of its restoration (both facade and interior), see Camp 1977, pp. 77–​81. For details of its construction, see Paga 2015c, pp. 358–​359. No elements of a Doric (or Ionic) entablature can be surely associated with the building, and it seems likely that the entablature was wooden, or even that the building was unfinished at the time of the Persian destruction (I thank Sam Holzman for discussing the interaxials and entablature proportions with me). 71. Paga 2015c.

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Figure  2.13 Southeast Fountain House, state and restored plan. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

Figure  2.14  Southeast Fountain House, detail of northeast corner. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

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Parthenon on the Akropolis and the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion. Like the Stoa Basileios, the fountain house looks into the central area of the Agora, in this instance facing roughly north (whereas the Stoa Basileios faces east). Also like the Stoa Basileios, it was located near the juncture of two roads: the Panathenaic Way and the south road. The Southeast Fountain House is a type of infrastructure, like the Great Drain and horoi, but its monumentality is also expressed in material, scale, and public visibility. After the closure of the private wells in the second and third quarters of the sixth century, no reliable source of clean water existed in this area, with the exception of the well that served Building F and which was likely private or restricted in its use. A water supply would have been necessary to make this new Agora a viable place for commercial and civic activities, however, so it should not be surprising that such a structure was among the priorities of the new political regime. If we are correct in locating the Old Agora to the east of the Akropolis, near the Ilissos river area, it had a ready supply of water in the Enneakrounos. The decision to relocate the central marketplace for the polis and many of its administrative bodies to the new space required a new source of publicly accessible water. The location of this new fountain house was likely informed, to some extent, by the available path of the aqueduct and pipes supplying the water, and this helps explain why the building was erected along the southern edge of the space. Such a siting for the fountain house also allowed the central space of the new Agora to remain clear of built structures, thereby enabling more ephemeral market stalls, tables, and the like. Pipes redirected the overflow from the fountain house to the north and east, also away from the central area of the Agora.72 The siting of the building near the Panathenaic Way ensured that worshipers ascending to or descending from the Akropolis could take advantage of its fresh water. Ultimately, the location of the building—​both generally and specifically—​aided in the full transformation of this area into the new Agora of the polis by enabling increased crowds of thirsty citizens to linger and mingle, fetching water for personal and commercial uses. The existence and use of the Southeast Fountain House offer a further interesting contribution to the question of the mixed-​use nature of the Agora. The water from the Enneakrounos, according to Thucydides, was

72. For the pipes in general, see Thompson 1953, p. 32, 1956, pp. 49–​51; Camp 1977, pp. 67–​70; Paga 2015c, pp. 366, n. 35, 375–​376. For the supply pipeline, see Camp 1977, pp. 87–​89. For the overflow, see Camp 1977, pp. 82–​85.

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used especially for ceremonies prior to weddings and other sacred rites.73 The spring house on the south slope of the Akropolis was associated with Pan and the Nymphs by the fifth century at the latest and could have carried this sacred connotation earlier, when it was initially founded at the end of the sixth century. The old Mycenaean spring house on the Akropolis became connected to the worship of the Nymphs, Eros and Aphrodite, and possibly the secret rituals of the Arrephoria. We have already observed how the perirrhanteria placed at the entrances to the Agora ensured proper purification for activities within the space. These and many other examples demonstrate the often sacred character of water and its close association with gods and rituals, particularly when the source of the water is a natural spring.74 The Southeast Fountain House, on the other hand, was not located at the site of a natural spring, nor does it seem to have had any specific sacred connection. Instead, it served a necessary function. And yet, given the central role that water played in the sacred lives of the Athenians, it is difficult to separate fully any fountain house from these connotations. The Southeast Fountain House thus participates in the broader sacred–​secular dialectic of the Agora, a space protected by horoi and perrirhanteria, filled with shrines and altars, but that was not itself a sanctuary.75

Summary The three angles of the triangular Agora area were thus delineated by civic buildings during the first two decades of the fifth century: the Old Bouleuterion at the southwest, the Stoa Basileios at the northwest, and the fountain house at the southeast (Fig. 2.1). It is notable that these three angles of the Agora were the homes of three distinct—​and distinctly civic—​ buildings. The Old Bouleuterion served a purely administrative political purpose, crucial for the new Boule; the Southeast Fountain House provided

73. Thuc. 2.15. 74. The Enneakrounos is discussed earlier in this chapter and further in Chapter 3. The South Slope Spring House is treated in more detail in Chapter 3. For its association with the Nymphs, see Lippolis 2007, p. 560; for its association with Pan and the Nymphs in the fifth century, see Walker 1979, p. 246. For the Mycenaean Spring House, see Broneer 1939. For the Arrephoria, see Simon 1983, pp. 39–​46; Parker 2005, pp. 219–​223. The sacred nature of water is discussed by many; see especially Camp 1977, p. 31; Burkert 1985, pp. 77–​79; Kearns 2010, s.v. water. 75. I thank one of the anonymous readers for pointing out the role of the fountain house in this capacity as embodying the sacred–​secular divide of the Agora.

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fresh water for civic consumption in an area previously deprived of its private water sources; and the Stoa Basileios symbolically and physically brought the previous administration from the Old Agora into the new space. The three primary points of entrance or egress, and the Agora’s spatial connections to the Akropolis, Pnyx, and Kerameikos, occurred at locations where these important civic buildings were constructed. In this way, these buildings worked together with the horoi and roadways to define the parameters of the new Agora. Over the course of approximately twenty-​five years, the area of the Agora was defined, delimited, and filled with buildings and monuments that served sacred, civic, utilitarian, and symbolic purposes. The relegation of these various structures to the corners and edges of the space is an indication that it functioned as an agora—​as a marketplace and area for public speaking—​in addition to fulfilling several other religious, civic, and administrative needs; the central area remained uncluttered and open, free from permanent buildings. The use of the horoi and structures to mark out the boundaries ensured that the space could be utilized for these two integral functions, commercial center and area of civic governance. The confluence of construction projects in the area of the Agora at the end of the sixth and beginning of the fifth centuries shows how the new political regime actively sought to define and concretize itself in monumental visual terms. This definition was achieved by destroying and renovating certain structures, continuing to use others, and constructing new buildings to meet specific needs. The distribution and chronology of building activity within the Agora attests to an overarching building project instantiated by the new political regime to provide physical spaces for its various bodies. If the Akropolis represented the military prowess and strength of the new political system, then the Agora symbolized its governing capabilities. Most of all, the structures and monuments of the Agora participated in the building of the new political system, while simultaneously enabling its functionality. It is this crucial facet to which we now turn.

Form, Function, and Visibility The Old Bouleuterion, in many ways, can be considered the architectural symbol par excellence of the nascent political order brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms.76 Through its plan, ornamentation, orientation, and siting, it worked 76. The Pnyx (treated in Chapter 3) might also be in this category of representative architectural symbols of the new political regime, although the paucity of the remains—​and their

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to enable several key tenets of the new political system, and these tenets, in turn, facilitated the rapid and robust flourishing of the political order. That the Old Bouleuterion was built within years of the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms and that it survived as a building type after the Persian destruction indicate that it should be considered an active or generative part of the success of the new political system, and not merely a reflection of political ideals. Especially when considered alongside the Stoa Basileios and Southeast Fountain House, the Old Bouleuterion reveals how the demos chose to articulate their new Agora and, by extension, themselves. When the Athenians undertook to build the Old Bouleuterion,77 they did so without any clear prototype; the only structure that might possibly be a bouleuterion and that predates the one in Athens is a building from the Sanctuary of Zeus at Olympia. It is unclear if and when this structure was used for a council, but it was certainly considered a sacred edifice, built immediately adjacent to the altis, still within the temenos of the sanctuary.78 Most scholars assume that the Athenian council in the Archaic period largely met outdoors or in preexisting structures or precincts.79 Lacking a readily identifiable council building “type,” the builders of the Old Bouleuterion had a multitude of choices and available design options, curtailed only by structural limits and their imagination. Given this freedom, the size, materials, appearance, and plan of the building should be understood as deliberate choices rather than rote copying. By understanding distinct elements of the

ambiguity in some instances—​makes it a more difficult case for this time period. The Old Bouleuterion has a further advantage in that the Boule likely was the more dominant branch of the political system at this time: although the sources are not without problems, it is possible that the bouleutai were elected, not chosen by lot, prior to 487 (AthPol 22.5; Rhodes 1972, pp. 6–​7, 1981, pp. 272–​274; Ober 1989, pp. 71–​72, 76–​77). 77. Nothing in our sources indicates who designed and built the Old Bouleuterion; there is no information concerning its architect, the proposal to build it, or how it was funded, but since it was a civic structure, the funding likely came from the state treasury, either wholly or in large part. 78. See Gneisz 1990, pp. 340–​341. The building’s assignation as a bouleuterion is not certain and its function seems to have been closely related to sacred matters related to the sanctuary, rather than the overt civic uses of the Old Bouleuterion. 79. McDonald 1943, p. 86. Miller, while not explicitly concerned with the Archaic council, argues that the Boule met outdoors until the construction of the New Bouleuterion in the last quarter of the fifth century, likely on the series of “poros” benches that lined a portion of the Kolonos Agoraios just north of the Old Bouleuterion (1995b, pp. 144–​152). These benches, though, date to the second or third quarter of the fifth century (Agora XXVIII, p. 95).

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structure in this way, as deliberate choices, we are able to recover—​or at least consider—​some of the motivating factors underlying its construction. The decision to create a hypostyle hall, the decision to ornament it in the Doric order, the decision to locate it in the southwest corner of the Agora and to rotate its facade to face south—​these are all aspects of form that speak to function and that were not predetermined or mandated by any preexisting idea of what a council building should look like. The plan of the Old Bouleuterion is the element that speaks most clearly to its function. Nearly square with only five internal columns, the hypostyle hall appears here for the first time in the Greek world. Although they did not invent this architectural form, the Athenians put it to new uses, and its appearance in Athens ca. 500 stands as the first application of this form outside the Near East and Egypt and its first application in a purely civic context.80 The open square plan, divided into a narrow porch and broad main chamber, allowed for a maximum use of the space, while the sparse number of internal columns created greater visibility and maneuverability, so that the people within the structure could be accommodated in a variety of ways (Fig. 2.15). Although there are no traces of the original seating arrangement, a series of movable benches lining the west, north, and east walls and placed on the flat floor of the building could readily accommodate the 500 members of the Boule.81 The inherent flexibility of this space—​the fact that seating arrangements could be manipulated in a variety of ways—​certainly contributed to its success and continued popularity (as evidenced by its replication in other Greek poleis throughout the Classical and Hellenistic periods), as internal configurations could be altered depending on specific circumstances and needs.

80. As discussed in note 55, the hypostyle hall was employed throughout the ancient Near East and Egypt from the Bronze Age on in sacred and palatial contexts. The Telesterion at Eleusis is also a hypostyle hall and could have predated the Old Bouleuterion, but it is more likely that the two buildings were constructed simultaneously (see Chapter 4). 81. The building as a whole is approximately 554 m.2, while the main chamber (without porch) measures 21.26 × ca. 16.90 m., which results in 342 m.2 With benches restored along three walls (as shown in Fig. 2.6), the inner chamber could accommodate 504 seated people with a seat width of 0.50 m., slightly wider than that afforded in the fourth-​century Theater of Dionysos (Pickard-​Cambridge claims that the Theater of Dionysos seats are approximately 0.406 m. apart (1946, p. 140); cf. 0.487 apart, according to T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, p. 232). There is no evidence for banked seating or any sort of hierarchical arrangement of the interior space. The standing capacity of the space is much larger (ca. 1,000–​2,500 standing people, calculated at 2–​5 people per m.2 for the whole building, or ca. 680–​1,700 for the inner chamber alone), but the bouleutai are generally assumed to have sat.

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Figure  2.15  Old Bouleuterion, restored perspective view of interior. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

Importantly, the flexible, open design and relative lack of columnar impediments within the building permitted a high level of intervisibility, so that all of the bouleutai could see and be seen by each other. Intervisibility is important for thinking about in terms of the Boule because it forms a key component in accountability, which in turn facilitates deliberation, two factors crucial to the successful functioning of the Boule as formulated under the Kleisthenic reforms. Inward-​facing circles, wherein all of the attendees can see each other and be seen in turn, foster a sense of accountability and unanimity through their forms by encouraging visual lines to circulate freely and without hierarchy.82 Intervisibility thus creates situations in which attendance and participation can be monitored and verified, where the participants themselves become the regulatory element.83 Participation thus encouraged, in turn, facilitates both personal and group accountability, concepts vital for 82. Chwe 2001, pp. 30–​32. See also Ober 2008, pp. 199–​205; Paga 2010, pp. 367–​371. 83. In this respect, the inward-​facing circle can be directly contrasted with its formal cousin, the panopticon. The methods of surveillance and accountability in each structure depend on the internal arrangement of their viewing axes and (inter)visibility, or its lack. Whereas the panopticon is designed, via its segregation and disavowal of group visibility, to centralize power and authority in the guard tower, the inward-​facing circle embraces inclusiveness and intervisibility by removing physical barriers to sight and physical mechanisms of hierarchy, thus rendering

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the political regime brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms.84 This was especially the case for the Boule, where attendance by the bouleutai was mandatory and necessary for the proper functioning of that political body. The plan of the Old Bouleuterion (Fig. 2.6) is an approximate inward-​ facing circle, given the flexible seating arrangements, where each of the 500 bouleutai could ascertain that his fellow council members were present and make his own presence known. Debate and discussion could not be anonymous; each member of the council was responsible for his own decisions and could see and hear what his fellow members thought, and they could thereby hold each other accountable for those opinions and words. While anonymity is important in some legal and bureaucratic institutions, its absence within the Boule rendered every bouleutes accountable for attending, listening, and participating in the affairs of the council. The axes of viewing within the space direct attention toward the center, as well as among the other bouleutai. The circulation of the visual lines, centripetally as well as laterally, is a further means of ensuring accountability and the full participation of all of the bouleutai by making each member part of the regulatory unit of attendance and participation, which is necessary for robust deliberation. The principle functions of the Boule were to engage in deliberative decision-​making regarding matters of state finance, religion, public works, and the army and navy, and to draw up the probouleumata to present to the Ekklesia.85 The open power and authority a shared concept that is distributed throughout the circle. We might compare this to the role of Kleisthenes’ reforms in breaking up the old (aristocratic) alliances of the polis, which resulted in a new distribution of power across the broader citizen body (see AthPol 21). 84. I am concerned here not with accountability as it is often understood in the Classical period, through the procedures of euthynai and dokimasia; rather, I am interested in the concept of participation as an everyday civic duty, and one that could thus be encouraged and monitored via the intervisibility enshrined in the Old Bouleuterion. Carter, drawing on the speeches of Perikles in Thucydides, identifies two conceptions of the apragmon: (1) one who avoids political activity; (2) one who is involved in politics but is trying to shift Athens toward a less imperialistic policy (1986, pp. 27–​39). Although primarily concerned with the second of these types in the Peloponnesian War period and into the fourth century, Carter’s exposition of the concept of apragmosyne is useful for thinking about the civic duty of participation that is implicit in demotic governance. If we are correct in associating attendance and active participation with popular rule, accountability to be present is thus a necessity. The process of euthynai is established by the first two decades of the fifth century by the Hekatompedon Decrees (IG I3 4A–​B), detailed in Appendix II. It is less clear when the dokimasia is established. Rhodes suggests it was handled by the Areopagos prior to the Kleisthenic reforms (1981, p. 316), but it is only clearly attested in the Classical period (Ober 1989, p. 110). These procedures are important to the proper functioning of the democracy as well but are not the main concern here. 85. AthPol 45.4; Rhodes 1972, pp. 52–​81, 88–​143.

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square plan of the Old Bouleuterion supported these functions by ensuring that the bouleutai were visible to each other, thereby encouraging them to participate actively in the creation of an agenda for the Assembly, a process that involved discussion and debate. The civic duty of participation, its importance now enshrined by the Kleisthenic reforms, was how the new political order was able to work, given the lack of a tyrant or king overseeing the processes of polis administration; indeed, the implementation of the reforms, sans a prime agent dictating the procedure, required such participation across the citizen body in order to be successfully implemented and sustained. The setting and siting of the Old Bouleuterion in the Agora have additional ramifications for understanding the role of this structure for the new political regime. As we have seen, it monumentally rooted one of the angles of the new Agora and was located immediately adjacent to a horos (Fig. 2.1). Parts of the western foundations of the building are even cut into the bedrock of the Kolonos Agoraios, physically integrating structure and place.86 The Old Bouleuterion—​and by extension the Boule itself—​was thus physically inseparable from the Agora. Yet despite this clear siting within the Agora, the rotation of the Old Bouleuterion so that its facade faced south, onto the graded terrace between it and Building F, dislocated the building from the central area to the east (Fig. 2.2).87 A  colonnaded eastern front would have permitted—​ and even encouraged—​more access and a high degree of visibility from the Agora, thereby fully integrating the structure into the rest of the civic space, as with the Stoa Basileios. These two things—​access and visibility—​are concepts often associated with demotic forms of governance (ancient and modern), but they are here limited or tempered by the orientation of the building.88 Their

86. Thompson 1937, pp. 134–​135; Shear 1994, p. 236. 87. That the principal facade of the building faced south has been challenged by Miller: instead of a structure built for the Boule facing south, he instead restores a tripartite temple dedicated to Meter, with an octastyle in antis or prostyle facade facing east, directly into the Agora (Miller 1995b, pp. 133–​156). Miller’s hypothesis is cogently and persuasively refuted in the same volume by T.  L. Shear, Jr. (1995). While Miller’s proposed restoration is structurally and stratigraphically impossible, the underlying premise—​that the building could have faced east instead of south—​is worth considering in more detail. What Miller’s hypothesis demonstrates is that there is enough physical space for a building of the dimensions of the Old Bouleuterion to face east and that such a construction was physically possible. That the facade did not face east, but south, should thus be understood as another deliberate choice, like the plan and ornamentation of the building. 88. Parkinson, for instance, highlights freely accessible places of interaction that emphasize visibility and scrutiny as one important component of public spaces and later includes open accessibility as one of his key determinants in measuring the “public-​ness” of space (2012, pp. 51, 61).

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opposites—​restriction, limitation, obfuscation—​are highlighted by the oblique and multiphased entrance to the Old Bouleuterion. One must first cross the peribolos wall to the south of the building, then walk west before turning back to the north; a series of screens, grilles, and doors in the porch of the building further served to limit access.89 Such an oblique entrance shares parallels with domestic architecture from this period,90 further marking the Old Bouleuterion as a distinct type of civic structure, truly innovative in its form and use. This southern orientation may not seem unusual—​and perhaps was not considered out of place when the building was originally constructed—​but the lack, or outright denial, of direct entrance and access from the Agora itself stands in stark juxtaposition to several neighboring structures, both during the early fifth century and later in the Classical period. The Southeast Fountain House opened to the north into the central space of the Agora and thereby permitted free and uninhibited admittance to its water, underscoring its public accessibility. The Stoa Basileios faced east, as did the shrines of Apollo, Zeus, and Meter, situated between the Old Bouleuterion and Stoa Basileios, all facing the central area of the Agora (Fig. 2.1). Later in the fifth century, most of the western side of the Agora became a forest of columns with the addition of the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios, creating a continuous line of perforated entrances that abruptly stops with the rotated council building on its slightly elevated terrace.91 Even after the Persian destruction, the Old Bouleuterion was again restored with its principal facade to the south, and the New Bouleuterion faced south as well.92 Viewed in light of the surrounding buildings, which opened onto the broad expanse of the Agora and thereby accentuated the openness of the demotic space and its civic and sacred structures, the Old Bouleuterion resolutely rejected this ideal and instead

89. On the basis of comparison with the bouleuterion at Assos, as well as a reference to the building in Aristophanes’ Knights, it has been suggested that the pentastyle facade restored for the Old Bouleuterion would have been partially closed off by a series of grilles (δρύφακτοι) holding latticed barriers (κιγκλίδες), which would have restricted access, either into the porch of the building or into the inner chamber, or both (T. L.  Shear, Jr. 1994, pp.  232–​236; Ar., Knights, 640–​642, 674–​675). The New Bouleuterion is mentioned by Xen., Hell., 2.3.50–​56, in a passage where men with daggers are stationed at the dryphaktoi in order to intimidate the bouleutai within the main chamber. 90. Nevett 2005, p. 84. 91. For the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios, dated to the last third of the fifth century, see Agora XIV, pp. 96–​103; Thompson 1937, pp. 5–​77; Travlos 1971, pp. 527–​533; Camp 2010, pp. 73–​75. 92. For the reconstructed Old Bouleuterion after the Persian destruction see T. L. Shear, Jr. 1993, pp. 424–​427.

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presented a long solid wall, probably pierced only by a few small windows, to the crowds mingling in the space to the east, as shown in Fig. 2.8.93 Given this deliberate orientation, it is worth considering the appearance of the building in more detail. The scale and material of the Old Bouleuterion immediately mark it as a monumental structure. It towered over all previous edifices in the area of the Agora, had a bigger footprint than any other building, and its gleaming limestone walls would have contrasted greatly with the mudbrick of its neighbor, Building F. The distinctive Doric facade further signals the importance of the structure and effectively makes it even more monumental, the ornamentation supplementing the material and scale. Throughout the sixth century, the appearance of a large-​scale stone building with the Doric order would have been a de facto indication of a sacred building, so its appearance in the Agora, on a building used for civic purposes and in an area so recently home to private dwellings, is significant. The capitals and frieze would have evoked the feeling of entering a temple or other sacred structure for the bouleutai, sanctifying and legitimizing their position and duty. At the same time, the very fact that the bouleutai were entering the building in order to conduct secular business, rather than offer sacrifices or make dedications, signals the changed force of the frieze and capitals. The elements of the Doric order were not divorced from their original and long-​standing sacred context, but the manipulation of them on the Old Bouleuterion represents a groundbreaking shift in perception; it shows that sacred architectural idioms could be appropriated and repurposed for non-​sacred means, effectively demonstrating that the Doric order was not immovably riveted within its previously established sacred boundary. After the construction of the Old Bouleuterion and Stoa Basileios, the Doric order had greater flexibility and adaptability, features that enhanced the overall value of using the order as a means of ornamentation. The repetitive triglyphs and metopes, as well as the pillowy Doric capitals, were no longer fixed in the language of sacred architecture, but could be applied to any monumental structure. This break with architectural tradition is a clear sign of the innovative choices made by the new political regime, and that it is seen here, on a secular building for one of the branches of government fundamentally reorganized by the Kleisthenic reforms, only accentuates how radical a building it was.

93. The windows are plausibly restored so that the council members could have additional light for their proceedings, likely supplemented by torches as needed. The southern orientation of the building would have also increased the amount of sunlight penetrating into the central chamber.

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The experience of entering the Old Bouleuterion and passing through the Doric facade would have stimulated this juxtaposition of sacred and civic, familiar and unfamiliar, for the bouleutai.94 Despite the lack of a peripteral colonnade and other typical cultic accoutrements, the presence of the Doric order on the Old Bouleuterion endowed the building with a sacred facade. Its use on this building cannot be overemphasized: the visually distinct frieze and colonnaded southern front represent an entirely new and unique use of the Doric order, one that might have been aesthetically jarring at first. The unexpected employment of the Doric order on a civic structure would have triggered expectations that varied from actual experience; rather than entering a temple or sacred stoa, the bouleutai entered a secular place of civic administration. Nevertheless, the sacred architectural idiom of the Doric order imbued the entrance to the building with a distinct sacral quality, thereby imbuing the actions and events that took place within it with a similar quality. The real power of the Doric order in this instance seems to lie precisely in its ability to transfigure a secular structure into a sanctified edifice within the public sphere. The use of the Doric order on the Old Bouleuterion ambiguously places the structure between the two realms of sacred and civic, a fitting role for the building (and council that occupied it), topographically situated within a space that was neither wholly secular nor religious, and used by a council that debated matters from both realms. The Agora itself is a public, civic space, granted a measure of sacrality by virtue of housing shrines, altars, and other (non-​sacred) buildings ornamented with sacred architectural idioms. Likewise, the Old Bouleuterion is a public, civic structure, granted a measure of sacrality by its ornamentation with the Doric order. It is not a sacred building, nor is the Agora a sacred precinct, but both participate in a deliberately crafted dialogue of sacred–​profane, one that demonstrates the fluidity of these categories in the ancient world. With the Old Bouleuterion and Stoa Basileios, the Athenians placed the Doric order at the heart of that dialogue. In addition to this provocative use of the Doric order, the Old Bouleuterion, as one of the earliest, if not the earliest, uses of the square hypostyle plan in Greece, serves as a paradigm for the melding of form and function. These twin aspects of tradition—​the Doric order, monumental stone architecture—​and innovation—​ the use of religious architectural features on a civic building, the open hypostyle

94. This is part of what Jones calls the “ritual-​architectural event,” namely, the juxtaposition between known elements (large-​scale, stone buildings, the Doric order) and unknown elements (a monumental building with the Doric order that is not a temple), the result of which is a dissonance that triggers reflection ( Jones 2000, esp. ch. 4).

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form—​make the Old Bouleuterion one of the hallmarks of the building activity undertaken by the new political regime empowered by the Kleisthenic reforms. This political system itself consisted of long-​standing or traditional parts of the Athenian administrative organization, such as the autonomy of demes within the polis, a system of rural dikastai (judges), and the four-​part division of property classes instituted by Solon, along with new and unique departures from the preceding regimes, including the division of the demes into trittyes and phylai, the establishment of the Boule of 500, and the empowerment of the Ekklesia. The combination of tradition and innovation, in both political policy and the built environment, is an indication of the intimate relationship between these two discourses in the late sixth and early fifth centuries. Before leaving the Old Bouleuterion, it is worth returning to its rotated facade, an architectural choice that highlights this connection between form and function. As noted earlier, the Doric columnar entrance would not be visible from the central area of the Agora.95 The best and clearest vantage points would be for a bouleutes entering the building within the enclosed southwest complex, or for someone walking down to the Agora from the Pnyx. From this second vantage point, prior to the construction of the Tholos in the mid-​fifth century, the Old Bouleuterion’s roof and parts of its superstructure would have been visible above the smaller Building F to its south. Given the deliberate choice to orient the building to the south and ornament this facade with the Doric order, the fact that one of the principal views of the Old Bouleuterion was for citizens walking down to the Agora from the Pnyx underscores the relationship between the two governing bodies. The entire building complex at the southwest corner (the Old Bouleuterion along with the renovated Building F and the broad terrace that stretched between them) was situated in relation to the road that led from the Agora to the Pnyx, a topographic connection that spatially linked the Boule with the Ekklesia (see Map 2 and Fig. 2.1).96 An Athenian citizen could easily conduct his business in the Agora, attend a meeting of the Boule as a participating bouleutes or listen as a spectator, 95. It is possible that the Doric frieze continued around all sides of the building, but the evidence is not complete enough to know if this was the case. The columns were placed only on the south side. 96. The west road splits just south of the Old Bouleuterion and one of its arteries (Costaki I.18 + I.31 + I.32) likely ended in a steep stepped road (Costaki I.56) cut into the northeast slope of the Pnyx; the hypothetical continuation of I.32 to I.56 lies below modern Apostolou Paulou St. Some surfaces of these roads date to the Archaic period, indicating that it likely existed in some form from an early period; it also seems to have formed part of the boundary between the demes Melite and Kydathenaion (Costaki 2006, p. 304). The dotted lines on Map 2 indicate the approximate path of this road between the Agora and Pnyx.

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read any announcements or pre-​posted agenda notices, and then make his way to the Pnyx.97 This spatial connection between the two principle nodes of the new government, the Council and the Assembly, also strengthened their linked responsibilities and functions, such as the probouleumata prepared by the Boule and presented for final debate and voting to the Ekklesia. The topographic connection between the Old Bouleuterion and the Pnyx solidified these bureaucratic links between the two bodies. The rotated facade of the Old Bouleuterion and its positioning along a road that led to the Pnyx are brought into stark relief when we consider the viewing angles afforded by these locations. A viewshed analysis, situated ca. 2.0 m. above the ground at the approximate location of the Old Bouleuterion, reveals a relatively unhindered view of the north wall and slope of the Akropolis, much of the Agora, and large parts of the Pnyx hill (Fig. 2.16).98 But from where can one see the south facade of the Old Bouleuterion? The two clearest views come from the approximate area of the forecourt of the Old Propylon on the Akropolis and from the Pnyx (Fig. 2.17, Fig. 2.18). These dynamic viewsheds illuminate two of the principal audiences for the Doric facade on this building: citizens assembled on the Pnyx and worshipers ascending to or descending from the Akropolis. These twin views further emphasize the ambiguity of the Doric order on the Old Bouleuterion, creating a strong visual link with the sacred structures on the Akropolis and underscoring the spatial and functional connection between the Boule and Ekklesia. From 97. It appears that Athenian citizens who were not current members of the Boule could attend, or at least listen to and potentially address, the council during its meetings (Dem. 8.4, 19.17; Aes. 3.125; Pl. Menex. 234a–​b); these passages and their implications for the accessibility of the meetings of the Boule are discussed by Rhodes (1972, pp. 40–​42, 80). Note, however, Ar. Ekkl. 441–​444: γυναῖκα δ’ εἶναι πρᾶγμ’ ἔφη νουβυστικὸν /​καὶ χρηματοποιόν. κοὔτε τἀπόρρητ’ ἔφη /​ ἐκ Θεσμοφόροιν ἑκάστοτ’ αὐτὰς ἐκφέρειν, /​σὲ δὲ κἀμὲ βουλεύοντε τοῦτο δρᾶν ἀεί. (“He said that a woman is a clever and money-​making being. And he also said that they never disclose the secrets of the Thesmophoria, as you and I always do [with the secrets] of the Boule”). There is also [Dem.] 25.23:  τὸ τὴν βουλὴν τοὺς πεντακοσίους ἀπὸ τῆς ἀσθενοῦς τοιαυτησὶ κιγκλίδος τῶν ἀπορρήτων κυρίαν εἶναι, καὶ μὴ τοὺς ἰδιώτας ἐπεισιέναι. (“The Boule of 500, due to this barrier, although it is weak, is master of its secrets and private individuals cannot enter”.) The Aristophanes and pseudo-​Demosthenes passages support the hypothesis that non-​bouleutai citizens could not enter the council chamber itself, although the other cited passages imply that it remained possible to stand outside of the building and listen to the proceedings; it was perhaps permitted to stand in the porch and view and address the bouleutai through the doorways, although full access to the inner chamber was restricted and could be entirely closed off, if necessary. All of these passages, with the exception of Aristophanes, refer to the New Bouleuterion, but its similarity in form to the earlier structure and the relatively consistent work of the Boule should allow such comparisons. 98. The viewshed analyses were all taken with Google Earth Pro in 2019, which uses a restored viewing altitude of 2.0 m. above pin placement (Visible areas appear as light gray).

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Figure  2.16  Viewshed from Old Bouleuterion toward Pnyx. Made by author using Google Earth Pro 2019.

Figure  2.17 Viewshed from forecourt of Akropolis toward Agora. View partially occluded by north wing of Mnesiklean Propylaia. Made by author using Google Earth Pro 2019.

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Figure 2.18  Viewshed from Pnyx toward Agora. Made by author using Google Earth Pro 2019.

the forecourt on the Akropolis, one could see both the Pnyx and the Agora, a view that would have encouraged the ancient worshiper to ponder the relationship between these two spheres of demotic governance, while also reflecting on the presence of the Doric order on the Old Bouleuterion from a sacred environment filled with that same architectural idiom. From the Pnyx, on the other hand, the view toward the Akropolis and down to the Agora emphasized the strange new use of the Doric order outside a sanctuary, while also reinforcing the spatial connection between the Ekklesia and the Boule. The rotated facade of the Old Bouleuterion and its ornamentation symbolically and physically worked to create a distinct building for its distinct governing body. Further emphasizing the important job of the Boule, the restricted access into the Old Bouleuterion ensured the privacy of the bouleutai and also helped to focus their attention and activity on each other and the business at hand. This isolation would have enhanced the intervisibility engendered by the interior form of the building by underscoring the cohesiveness of the council and its administrative and physical distinction from other deliberative bodies. At the same time, the bouleutai were effectively separated from the crowds mingling in the central area of the Agora while still remaining within that space, physically and spatially grounded in the civic center of the polis, despite the privacy and inward focus of the building. This combination

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of openness and privacy, visibility and restriction, is precisely what made the form of the Old Bouleuterion so appropriate for this specific governing body. A building, especially a large-​scale stone one with handsome and intricate features, represents a specific moment when “trial and error” become “established fact.” Understanding the decoration, form, and orientation of the Old Bouleuterion as deliberate choices underscores this moment of transformation when the abstract ideas of what exactly this new political system was were given more solid footing. The construction of the Old Bouleuterion meant that the role of the Boule in the regulation and administration of affairs in the new political system was provided with visual and concrete form. And the fact that after the building was destroyed by the Persians, it was rebuilt in an identical fashion (and rebuilt in a nearly identical form in the New Bouleuterion) tells us that this particular visual form given to the Boule by the building was a form worth retaining and replicating, in other words, a successful piece of architecture. The Old Bouleuterion did not dictate behavior or action, nor did it mandate the deliberative decision-​making function of the Boule. What it did do, though, is encourage and enable certain types of activities and functions, prioritizing the accountability of participation, debate, and proper conduct over alternate—​non-​democratic—​types of activities and functions.99 This is how the building worked to facilitate the functioning of the new political order and why it served as an integral part of the successful implementation and growth of the nascent political regime into the full-​fledged democracy it would soon become. During the decades after the passage of the reforms, the new political regime was, in some ways, still a work in progress. The physical act of building the Old Bouleuterion, and the activities and relationships that the plan, ornamentation, and siting of that building encouraged, both implicitly and explicitly shaped the evolving form of the Boule and its role in this new political system. Overall, the placement, form, and function of the Old Bouleuterion served as a physical concretization of the Kleisthenic reforms. The structure emphasized the necessity of privacy for the Boule through its restricted levels of access, while simultaneously inserting itself into the ideal of broader transparency—​and thus public scrutiny—​via its location within the boundaries of the Agora. The open hypostyle interior plan encouraged maximized intervisibility and accountability among the bouleutai, ensuring 99. For more on this power of architecture to nudge us both toward and away from certain types of behaviors and relationships, see Chapter 3.

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active participation and discouraging hierarchy. The ornamentation of the facade with the Doric order legitimized the activities taking place within the structure, while also alerting the bouleutai to the importance of their business and marking the building as a unique structure. In these ways, the Old Bouleuterion demonstrates the integral link of form and function that reflected, maintained, and generated the ideology of the new political system.

Conclusion The transfer of government activities from the old to the new Agora in the Late Archaic period represents an important moment for the new political regime in the years immediately following the Kleisthenic reforms. While we may never know the full reasons behind this switch, the congruence between new political system, reorganized branches of government, and the appearance of new (and new types of ) civic structures implies that the decision to move to the new Agora was not an idle one. It represents yet another deliberate choice with long-​lasting ramifications for the development of the astu and the development of the political regime. The new and revised institutions brought about by the reforms received new and revised buildings, where architectural innovation carried both symbolic and functional value. Symbolically, the move to the new Agora signaled the changed focus of the Athenian polis from the older aristocratic spheres of activity (and thus control) in the Old Agora to the new demotic forms enshrined in a distinct geographic region of the astu. The groundbreaking use of the Doric order on non-​sacred buildings further conveyed this break, while still rooting the new political system in familiar idioms of decoration, even as their appearance on secular buildings shocked their viewers. The innovative form of the Old Bouleuterion and the innovative use of the Doric order in this way emphasized how these new types of spaces visually altered the physical fabric of the polis, in the same way the reforms altered the fabric of Athenian society. Above all, both the symbolism and the innovation seen in the Agora structures highlight how the functions of these spaces participated in the dialogue of political change that threaded its way into all aspects of life in the Late Archaic polis.

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3

The Astu of Athens THE ARCHITECTURAL MATRIX OF THE POLIS

The astu (cit y center), although not in the geographic middle of Attika, represented the center—​political, social, and religious—​of the territory of the polis. The prominent natural landmarks include the Akropolis, the Areopagos hill, the hill of the Muses and the Pnyx, the Kolonos Agoraios, and the Ilissos and Eridanos rivers (Map 2). The ancient city developed around these geographic features over the course of the Geometric and Archaic periods, gradually expanding in circumference. During the Late Archaic period, the building activity within the astu can be roughly grouped into five different areas or sectors, both geographic and functional. The Akropolis and the new Agora, as treated in the preceding chapters, each constituted a distinct section of the city. A third area is sanctuaries and structures on the slopes of the Akropolis. The City Eleusinion, the sanctuary and theater of Dionysos Eleutherios, and the South Slope Spring House belong in this category; the City Eleusinion also benefited from its proximity to the new Agora. A  fourth area of development consists of the structures and topographic modifications that were made for specific political or administrative needs, such as the Pnyx and the possible Delphinion law court. The fifth and final area is the Kerameikos, which served as the location of the demosion sema (public military cemetery) and staging ground for assorted ritual activities. Numerous other areas of the astu surely saw construction activity on various scales during the late sixth and early fifth centuries; these five sectors, however, stand out due to their monumentalization and clear distinction from the rest of the landscape. In examining these distinct areas of development in the astu it is possible to trace the priorities and necessities of the political regime brought Building Democracy in Late Archaic Athens. Jessica Paga, Oxford University Press (2021). © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780190083571.001.0001

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about by the Kleisthenic reforms. As in the Agora, some of the new political and administrative bodies put into place by the reforms required their own structures or spaces, but not all of these could be located in the new Agora. The variety of law courts employed by the polis, as well as the burgeoning size and power of the Ekklesia, meant that old spaces, if they existed, no longer sufficed, and if they did not exist, now required and received delineated areas and edifices. New cults and the expansion of preexisting cults also required upgrades, renovations, and elaborations of space, which were accommodated in various areas of the astu, including the creation of a state cemetery for Athens’ war dead. All of these areas reflect the growing needs of the polis for discrete spaces for discrete activities, but when considered together, underscore the interrelated nexus of politics and religion that dominated building activity in the late sixth and early fifth centuries. Two elements of critical importance for the new political regime were accessibility and visibility, and an examination of these diverse spheres of the astu highlights how such elements linked disparate regions of the city together. In particular, consideration of these areas as both individual spaces and a unified whole through the lens of movement and sightlines demonstrates how the various sectors functioned individually in fulfilling certain needs of the polis and functioned together in crafting a new experience of the astu. Athenians did not experience their city as isolated sectors but daily moved through the lived space of the polis. Attention to this movement reveals how accessibility and visibility were emphasized in the variety of structures built by the new political regime via their functions, locations, and appearance. It also reveals how the changing space of the astu, as a result of these new areas of attention, entailed alterations in how that space was experienced, how it was used, and how the Athenians interacted with each other within it. This chapter traces the major spatial and architectural developments that occurred in the late sixth and early fifth centuries within or immediately around the astu, excluding the areas of the Akropolis and Agora. The physical layout of the city during the Archaic period is first considered, with subsequent sections devoted to specific structures and regions, in order to put the changes under the new political regime in starker contrast and highlight how the overall appearance—​and thus experience—​of the astu was transformed in the Late Archaic period. The chapter concludes by considering the relationship between these different nodes within the astu, particularly with respect to sightlines and access.

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The Astu in the Archaic Period The precise bounds of the astu were delineated with a series of walls during the Classical and Hellenistic periods, but the evidence for an Archaic circuit wall is more tenuous.1 Several ancient sources refer obliquely to city walls prior to the Persian destruction of 480 and subsequent rebuilding under Themistokles in 479/​8.2 Thucydides is perhaps the most explicit source for their presence, although his statements do not constitute definitive proof of their existence.3 Although firm archaeological evidence for this wall has not yet been discovered, it seems likely that a city wall of some sort did exist during the Late Archaic period, as is shown on Map 2.4 The very fact that the activity after 479 is described as a rebuilding of the walls indicates that walls of some sort did exist in the Late Archaic period. Vanderpool, in fact, suggests that the construction of the monumental ramp up to the Akropolis 1. For the later wall phases, see Theocharaki 2011. In support of an Archaic wall, see Travlos 1960; Vanderpool 1974; Winter 1982; Weir 1995; the lack of an Archaic wall was most recently argued for by Papadopoulos 2008 (with earlier bibliography both for and against). 2. Herodotos (9.13) describes how Mardonios destroyed walls along with houses and temples when he abandoned Athens in 479: ὑπεξεχώρεε ἐμπρήσας τε τὰς Ἀθήνας, καὶ εἴ κού τι ὀρθὸν ἦν τῶν τειχέων ἢ τῶν οἰκημάτων ἢ τῶν ἱρῶν, πάντα καταβαλὼν καὶ συγχώσας. (“He [Mardonios] left, burning Athens in a conflagration, and if anything was upright, be it walls or houses or temples, he destroyed and demolished it all.”) Andokides (1.108) echoes Herodotos, remarking on the ruinous state of the walls and houses in the city found by the Athenians on their return after Salamis: τοιγάρτοι διὰ ταῦτα, τὴν πόλιν ἀνάστατον παραλαβόντες ἱερά τε κατακεκαυμένα τείχη τε καὶ οἰκίας καταπεπτωκυίας . . . (“Therefore on account of these things, finding their city and temples burned completely, the walls and houses destroyed . . . ”) 3.  He thrice describes walls in terms that imply that fortifications of some sort existed:  at 1.89 and 1.93 he refers to the damage inflicted by Mardonios’ army on the walls of the city, emphasizing Themistokles’ plan to rebuild and enlarge the city walls as quickly as possible, because only small parts remained standing. Thuc. 1.89: καὶ τὴν πόλιν ἀνοικοδομεῖν παρεσκευἀζοντο καὶ τὰ τείχη· τοῦ τε γὰρ περιβόλου βραχέα εἱστήκει καὶ οἰκίαι αἱ μὲν πολλαὶ ἐπεπτώκεσαν. (“And they prepared to rebuild the city and the walls; for a small amount of the circuit wall still stood and all of the houses were destroyed.”) For possible interpretations of the term βραχέα, including a short or low socle, see Weir 1995, p. 252. Thuc. 1.93: μείζων γὰρ ὁ περίβολος πανταχῇ ἐξήχθη τῆς πόλεως. (“The circuit wall of the city was extended to a large degree on all sides.”) At 6.57, he recounts the murder of Hipparchos by Harmodios and Aristogeiton, describing how the Tyrannicides were outside of a gate of the city in the Kerameikos (ἔξω ἐν τῷ Κεραμεικῷ καλουμενῷ) but then rushed inside to murder Hipparchos before their plot was detected (ὥρμησαν ἔσω τῶν πυλῶν). 4. The lack of physical evidence for the Archaic wall is explained by its double-​destruction fate:  it was first destroyed by the Persian army and then further dismantled during the Themistoklean rebuilding project (for the dismantling of the walls and their reuse in the Themistoklean fortifications, see Weir 1995, pp. 253–​254). Theocharaki also proposes a hypothetical Archaic phase (2011, pp. 75–​76). The wall of Map 2 is the later Themistoklean wall, but the assumption is that it largely followed the course of its predecessor.

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in 570–​560 indicates that the sanctuary stopped functioning as a fortified citadel at that point, thus implying other measures of security for the city, namely, fortifications around some portion of the lower city.5 Moreover, the presence of a wall around (some portion of ) the astu during the Late Archaic period would have helped to delimit the bounds of the city, particularly in terms of habitation and burial.6 The physical layout and structures within the astu in the sixth century are largely unknown or have disappeared. Few remains outside of the Akropolis and Agora have been found that can be securely identified and dated to the Archaic period.7 One area that does appear to have received attention under the tyrants, though, is the space around the Ilissos river (Fig. 3.1). Peisistratos the Younger dedicated another altar in this area, to Pythian Apollo. Remains of the altar, along with later inscribed bases, have been discovered near the banks of the Ilissos river, confirming Thucydides’ narrative and locating the sanctuary of Apollo Pythios in this general area of the polis (Fig. 3.1).8 Several fragments, including most of the elegiac couplet dedicatory inscription, along with a handsome Ionic molding, support a date in the early part of the last quarter of the sixth century, consistent with Peisistratos’ archonship in 522/​ 1 (Plate 5).9 It is unknown how large the sanctuary to Apollo Pythios was in the Archaic period, nor if other structures or monuments existed within it; no architectural remains besides the altar can be positively attributed to the sanctuary. The presence of the large altar, though, indicates that it was important and received embellishment in the Late Archaic period. Thucydides also reports that the Enneakrounos, the Nine-​Spouted Fountain House, 5.  Vanderpool 1974. The broadness of the ramp and the open approach to the Akropolis it facilitated makes it, according to Vanderpool, “evidently designed for ceremonial use and completely unsuited for defense” (p.  157). For arguments against Vanderpool’s assumptions, see Papadopoulos 2008. 6. Winter 1982. 7. The exigencies of excavation and the modern city of Athens particularly impact our knowledge of the Archaic astu. 8. Thuc. 6.54. For the inscribed bases, see Travlos 1971, p. 100 (including earlier bibliography on find-​spots). Pirisino treats the Pythaïs festival, with particular attention to its ritual locations; she describes the Pythios sanctuary near the Ilissos as the “primal Pythion” (2015, pp. 105–​117); see Broneer 1960 for locating the Pythion on the north slope of the Akropolis. 9. IG I3 948 (EM 6787 = M&L 11 = LSAG 37). An additional fragment of the altar was discovered in 2009 in the Ilissos river area, securing the restoration of the dedicatory inscription and confirming the original location of the altar; see Charame and Bardane 2009. The dating of these fragments has been questioned by some (e.g., Raubitschek 1949, pp. 449–​450) on the basis of the letterforms; for a convincing rebuttal, see Keesling 2003, pp. 52–​53.

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Figure 3.1  Plan of Ilissos River area. 1: Temple of Olympian Zeus. 2: “Delphinion” law court. 3: Temple of Apollo Delphinios or Apollo Pythios. 4: Precinct of Kronos and Rhea. 5: Panhellenion. 6: Path of Ilissos river. J. Paga, modified from J. Travlos 1971, fig. 380. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

was dedicated or elaborated by the tyrants, and he locates it close to the Old Agora and Ilissos river area.10 If we are correct in putting the fountain house

10.  Thucydides (2.15) refers to the Enneakrounos in conjunction with the sanctuaries of Olympian Zeus, Pythian Apollo, Gaia, and Dionysos en limnais. All of these elements are described as being to the south (πρὸς νότον) of the Akropolis, near the older areas of habitation. For literary attestations of the Enneakrounos, see Agora III, pp. 137–​142. For the archaeological

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here, it would have been an important source of water for anyone visiting the Old Agora.11 In addition, the Ilissos river area was home to the sanctuary of Olympian Zeus. There is some literary and archaeological evidence that an early temple to Zeus existed here, possibly from the Early Archaic period,12 but the first clear signs of monumental construction come under the sons of Peisistratos, who began to build a monumental temple here in the early fourth quarter of the sixth century, sometime in the 520s, or by 515 at the latest.13 At the time of the tyrant’s expulsion in 511/​10, it remained unfinished: the foundations and krepis were in place, and the first drums of the exterior peristyle columns were erected. The plan was identical to that of its Hellenistic-​Roman successor: a dipteral Doric temple, 8 × 21, with a tetrastyle amphiprostyle addition in front of the pronaos and opisthodomos and a central cella with an interior colonnade (Fig. 3.1, no. 1). The overall measurements for the temple are 107.89 × 41.11 m., making it over twice the size of the Bluebeard Temple or Old Athena Temple. The foundations are made of Akropolis and Kara limestone, like the debate over where the nine-​spouted fountain was located, see Travlos 1971, s.v. Enneakrounos-​ Kallirrhoe, and further discussion in Paga 2015c. 11. Papadopoulos 2003, p. 284. As with the Southeast Fountain House in the new Agora, the Enneakrounos would have provided a source of fresh water for commercial and personal uses in this area, in addition to its ritual uses detailed by Thucydides. 12. Thucydides lists the shrine of Olympian Zeus in his roster of sanctuaries dating to the period of synoikism under Theseus (2.15), and Pausanias claims that the first temple was built by Deukalion (1.18.8). Excavations within the foundations of the temple have brought to light the remains of an earlier predecessor, measuring some 30.50 × 60 m., but none of the superstructure survives (Boersma 1970, p. 25; Travlos 1971, p. 402). The foundations were constructed of Akropolis limestone and seem to have been designed to support a peripteral colonnade. Tölle-​Kastenbein suggests a date of ca. 590–​560 (1994, p. 134). For details and discussion of this earlier temple, see Tölle-​Kastenbein 1994, pp. 98–​115, 129–​136; for a reconstruction, see her plans 1–​4. 13. Aris., Pol. 5.1313b; contra. Vitr. VII, praef. 15, who claims that it was Peisistratos himself who began building the Olympieion. The unfinished state of the building, as well as the architectural details, supports a date between 528/​7 (the death of Peisistratos) and 511/​10 (the expulsion of Hippias), rather than earlier in the third quarter of the sixth century. Wycherley proposes reading Aristotle and Vitruvius together, ascribing the planning of the temple to Peisistratos and the actual construction to his sons (1964, pp.  162–​163). The most complete discussion of the Peisistratid Olympieion is Tölle-​Kastenbein 1994, pp. 75–​97, 136–​142. The temple was eventually finished by Hadrian in the early second century C.E., with prior construction activity by Antiochos IV in the second century B.C.E. Both Boersma (1970, p. 25) and Travlos (1971, p. 402) prefer an initial construction date for the Peisistratid Olympieion in 515. Shapiro points out that there is no evidence for the start date of the project and, given the size and scale of the building, as well as its unfinished state, a date in the 520s is more likely (1989, p. 112). This dating would put the temple more in line with the massive Heraion on Samos, with which the Olympieion was probably competing (Shapiro 1989, pp. 6–​7, 112).

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Dörpfeld foundations on the Akropolis, but in this case used and jointed together. The euthynteria, krepis, and column drums were a softer limestone, and double-​T clamps were employed throughout. The construction of the temple, however, was stopped, most likely following the expulsion of the Peisistratidai in 511/​10. The project was still in its initial phases at that time and represented a costly expenditure that had surely been funded entirely—​or at least in large part—​by the Peisistratidai themselves.14 While financial concerns were likely an important factor in the decision to leave the temple unfinished, the Athenians did not lack for discretionary funds in the first decades of the new political regime: over the course of approximately twenty-​five years, the astu saw the construction of numerous temples and civic buildings, many of which were likely funded by a mixture of private and state contributions. In light of this flourishing building activity, it is possible that the Athenians could have resumed work on the Olympieion if they chose to do so, perhaps at the expense of some of the other projects in the astu and demes; construction certainly could have resumed after 480/​79 or when the Athenians took control of the Delian League funds. The financial practicalities involved in the continued construction of the temple can thus have only played one part in the decision to abandon work on it. We are, therefore, warranted in looking to the symbolic and political ramifications of leaving the Olympieion unfinished. The cult of Olympian Zeus continued to function without the temple; so long as there was an altar and a place where dedications could be made, the rites and worship associated with the deity could continue without interruption. The abandonment of the construction of the temple did not necessarily have any negative or adverse effects on the cult itself. Ultimately, however, it is abundantly clear that construction of the Temple of Zeus was abandoned and its architectural members were left to slowly degrade, some fragments finding their way into later structures, such as the Themistoklean fortifications and the foundations of the later, Hadrianic temple. The reuse of parts of the temple in the immediate aftermath of the Persian destruction indicates that already in the 470s the temple was completely abandoned and there were no plans to resume its construction. It is even possible that parts of the structure were demolished for the purpose of rebuilding the wall. But even though ritual activity could continue without the temple, the decision

14. Private funding seems implied by the comments of Aristotle (Pol. 5.1313b).

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to abandon its construction was surely not one made lightly or without debate; we might even imagine that a proposal was put forward to the Ekklesia regarding its fate. The unfinished state of the temple is remarked on by several later scholars. Herakleides, writing in the mid-​third century describes the Olympieion as half-​finished:  ἡμιτελὲς.15 Suetonius refers to the temple as unfinished: incohatam. Vitruvius provides a fuller account and describes how the structure was abandoned after the death of Peisistratos, which we should amend to after the expulsion of Hippias. Pliny the Elder also mentions the unfinished state of the temple (incohatum) and further describes how Sulla removed several of its columns and brought them to Rome for the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline.16 What is particularly interesting about all of these literary attestations of the unfinished state of the Olympieion and the similar record of non-​construction in the material evidence is that the temple not only remained unfinished in the years immediately following the expulsion of the Peisistratidai, but that it continued to remain unfinished into the Hellenistic and early Roman period. At no point did the Athenians decide to resume construction or rebuild the temple. The ruins of the temple would have always been visible in the landscape of the astu. The Ilissos river area is easily noticeable from the Akropolis (Fig. 3.2) and the upper parts of the theater of Dionysos, and the continuation of the cult of Zeus, as well as the numerous other cults, shrines, and structures in the area meant that the unfinished temple was continually seen; its ruins were a permanent fixture in the astu. This deliberate decision neither to continue building nor to destroy the Olympieion resulted in the creation of an unique monument. In the first place, the hulking ruins symbolized the power and wealth of the Peisistratids 15. On the Cities of Greece, fr. 1. For the text, see Müller, FHG II, pp. 254–​261. See also Jacoby, FGrH III.B.369.V; Wycherley discusses this passage in detail, drawing particular attention to Herakleides’ use of the terms hemiteles and hupographen (1964, p. 168). 16.  Suet. Aug. 60; Vitr. De Arch. VII praef. 15; Pliny NH 36.45. Note, however, Wycherley, who argues that the passage from Pliny is better understood as a reference to the Corinthian columns erected by Antiochos, rather than the limestone drums of the Peisistratid temple (1964, pp.  168–​169). Overall, the literary evidence for the unfinished state of the temple would seem to contradict Korres’ unpublished report that he found “substantial masonry” of a Classical date in the marble piles located to the south of the Olympieion and his suggestion that the temple’s cella may have neared completion during this time (pers. comm. Robert Lamberton). Limited personal inspection of the site did not reveal any blocks that must be associated with a hypothetical Classical phase of the temple. There are several buildings in the general vicinity of the Olympieion, and many of them date to the Classical period; the blocks noted by Korres could belong to any number of structures.

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Figure  3.2  View toward Ilissos river area from Akropolis. Photo by E.A. Dowker (photo © E.A. Dowker).

in the second half of the sixth century. The temple was a massive undertaking and—​if it had been completed—​would have dominated the landscape of the city. In the decades immediately following the death of Hipparchos and expulsion of Hippias, however, the ruins of the incomplete temple may have come to symbolize the deterioration of that power and wealth that the tyrants held. The unfinished state of the temple did not deny or erase the fact that the Peisistratids provided many embellishments to the city and countryside of Attika, but its ruins did serve to mitigate the memory of their long-​standing control of Athenian political (and sociocultural) life. The temple remained rooted in the landscape of the astu as a memorial to Peisistratid power, but also to their ultimate downfall. The last descendants were forced to flee the city in disgrace, within a decade statues were erected in honor of the men who murdered Hipparchos, and their massive project on the Ilissos river was left to disintegrate and fall into ruin. The incomplete Temple of Zeus eloquently encapsulates the ruinous state in which the polis of Athens was left after 511/​10, when the city was overcome by stasis. To an Athenian visiting the Ilissos river area and seeing the unfinished Temple of Zeus, the jumble of architectural fragments and partially raised column drums would have served as a warning that, after 508/​7, to strive for tyranny was to face disaster and abandonment. The fact that the Athenians left the temple as it was and did not destroy or demolish it represents another deliberate choice on the part of the demos. The aborted shell of the Olympieion

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continued to exist, and the cult of Zeus Olympias was maintained, but the incomplete status of the temple indicated an immediate and visceral distinction between the two regimes. Finances and cult practicalities aside, the abandonment of the construction of the temple to Olympian Zeus also symbolically represented the new political order and its attempt to distance itself from the policies of the tyrants. The decision to leave the temple unfinished was one likely motivated, in part, by financial considerations, but is also indicative of a policy of distancing that is visible in other aspects of the built environment in the early years of the new political regime. Several of the building projects associated with the Peisistratidai were deliberately destroyed or abandoned after 511/​10, while others were left intact, some with modifications. We have already seen how this approach to structures from the tyranny played out in the Agora, where the Altar of the Twelve Gods was left unmodified, but Building F was renovated to suit the needs of the new political order. On the Akropolis, the Bluebeard Temple was entirely dismantled. The abandonment of the Olympieion represents another route for the treatment of these buildings after the expulsion of Hippias. It was neither destroyed nor modified, but was left unfinished, as a memorial to the failed projects—​and by extension, failed political control—​of the Peisistratids. Just as the ruins of the Old Athena Temple following the Persian destruction served as a reminder of the actions of the barbarians and eventual Athenian success, so too would the “ruins” of the Olympieion have recalled the overreaching and egomaniacal tendencies that came to characterize the tyrants after 514/​13, and the eventual triumph of the demos.17

The Ilissos River Area Now that the physical space of the earlier astu and its connections to the tyrants have been explicated, we can consider how it was modified under the new political regime and how these modifications had broader ramifications for movement in and through the city. We have already seen how the area around the Ilissos river was home to several cults during the Archaic period (Fig. 3.1). During the first few decades under the nascent political order, however, this space was chiefly ignored, while other areas of the astu received architectural focus. When Pausanias reaches this region of the astu, he comments on a number of structures, statues, and altars, and Thucydides

17. For the evocative power of ruins, see esp. Young 1993; Sturken 2004.

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also describes the region.18 Of the structures mentioned by Pausanias and Thucydides and dated to the late sixth and early fifth centuries, few archaeological remains survive. Scattered remains of a temple to the south of the Olympieion have been identified as the Temple to Apollo Delphinios (Fig. 3.1, no. 3), but the structure is dated to the mid-​fifth century and there are no traces of a predecessor.19 Further west and nestled into an outcrop of bedrock just southwest of the Olympieion enclosure are Late Archaic foundations with later fourth-​or third-​century repairs and renovations (Fig. 3.1, no. 2, Fig. 3.3).20 The foundations are a combination of Akropolis and Kara limestone in polygonal masonry over a floor partially hewn from the bedrock, outlining a rectangular building that measures ca. 21.50 × 11.20 m. and consists of a central square room flanked by two smaller rectangular rooms to the east and west.21 Although the evidence is paltry, the structure has been identified by some as the Delphinion law court, where cases of justifiable homicide were

18.  Thuc. 2.16, 6.54. Pausianias (1.19) mentions the Temple of Olympian Zeus, by his time completed by Hadrian. He then mentions a statue of Pythian Apollo; this must have stood near the altar dedicated by Peisistratos the Younger. He also describes a sanctuary of Apollo Delphinios, a sanctuary of Aphrodite of the Gardens with a temple and revered statue carved by Alkamenes, the sanctuary Kynosarges, dedicated to Herakles (and with altars to Hebe, Alkmena, and Iolaos), the Lyceum, a monument to Nisos, an altar of the Ilissian Muses, sacred to the river, and a monument marking the place where Kodros, king of Athens, was killed by the Peloponnesians; across the river was the sanctuary and temple of Artemis Agrotera. The sanctuary of Herakles Kynosarges is possibly the same as the sanctuary of Herakles to which the Athenians rushed following the battle of Marathon (Hdt. 6.116), although many scholars believe that the Kynosarges area mentioned by Herodotos must have been outside of the city, closer to Phaleron, because the author seems to imply that the Athenians and Persians (who were assembled on their ships off the port at Phaleron) could see each other. Herodotos, though, does not imply visual contact and it is not necessary to assume that the Athenians at Kynosarges could see the Persian ships. It is also possible that “Kynosarges” was adopted as an epithet of Herakles and that there existed two sanctuaries with the same name: the sanctuary of Herakles in a place called Kynosarges, and a second sanctuary of Herakles Kynosarges in the city. 19. Travlos 1971, p. 83. 20. The most complete account of this structure is Travlos 1971, p. 83. The area is also briefly discussed in Vanderpool 1962, p.  389. An excavation report of the entire area south of the Olympieion is provided in Threpsiades and Travlos 1961/​1962. The masonry and building materials have been compared to those of the Old Bouleuterion (Travlos 1971, p. 83), but comparison should also be made with the Temple of Triptolemos and the Temple of Dionysos; the comparanda suggest a date of ca. 500 for this structure. For a full discussion of this area, see Pirisino 2015, pp. 105–​117. 21. The basic details of construction are provided by Threpsiades and Travlos 1961/​1962, p. 10. The identification as the Delphinion court was made by Travlos 1971, p.  83. Further details about the structure and testimonia about the types of trials held here are detailed in Agora XXVIII, pp. 91, 135–​139.

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Figure  3.3  “Delphinion” law court, state and restored plan. C.  Lightfoot, modified from J. Travlos 1971, fig. 114. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

tried. While attractive, this identification rests solely on the proposed date of the building (ca. 500), its somewhat unusual form, and its general location.22 Despite the problems regarding the identification of the building, it is tempting to consider the possibility that the Athenians established a law court in this area around 500. This would suggest that justice and the administration of the courts were considered important by the nascent political order and that there was a demand for multiple courts. In addition to 22. The structure is located to the west of a temple identified as belonging to Apollo Delphinios (Fig. 3.1, no. 3). The identification of the temple is based on four sherds of pottery with graffito of ΑΠΟΛ-​(Travlos 1971, p. 83); some have challenged this assignation and argued instead that the temple is better associated with the sanctuary of Apollo Pythios (Robertson 1995, pp. 52–​ 55; see also Pirisino 2015, pp. 107–​110, 117). The threads connecting the Archaic structure with the temple, let alone with the Delphinion law court, are thus rather thin. Boegehold also notes that the Delphinion court, as a site for homicide trials, should be unroofed, which would discount this building (Agora XXVIII, pp. 48–​49, 91).

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the law court in the Delphinion, there were several courts and judges present throughout the polis in the years around 500:  the local dikastai, who may have continued to travel throughout Attika, the court of the Areopagos, which is attested as early as Drakon and whose origins are postulated to be much earlier, and the court of the Archon Basileus.23 If the Delphinion law court was instituted and received a built structure at this time, it would indicate that several subdivisions of litigation were already established and that it was viewed as a matter of importance that these separate courts be given independent structures or set locations within the city. This concern with the proper administration of justice in turn demonstrates that the new political order had a vested interest in ensuring the rights of its citizens and went to great lengths to create reserved areas for these purposes.24 The visual impact of multiple courts dotting the landscape of the astu would have also reflected this concern with justice and physically underscored the commitment of the new political regime to the processes and administration of the law. Unfortunately, without more concrete evidence that the structure was the law court of the Delphinion, little can be said about the small Late Archaic structure. Given the lack of evidence, it could have served a sacred, industrial, or domestic purpose, just as easily as a civic one. The most that can be deduced is that the area around the Ilissos river was a space of continuity, construction, and abandonment in the early years of the new political regime. This tripartite division is made vivid in the sanctuary of Apollo, the Enneakrounos, the Olympieion, and the small structure possibly associated with the Delphinion. The Ilissos river area continued to function as an integral part of the astu, particularly given its fresh water supply and abundance of cult areas, but it was no longer a focused site of architectural activity as it had been under the tyrants. One reason for this shift in importance was the transference of the marketplace and chief government activities from the nearby Old Agora to the new Agora. Fewer people would frequent this area after ca. 500, and it no longer enjoyed the benefit of spatial proximity to the civic hub of the polis. Here is a place where the movement of citizens through and within the astu

23. Dikastai: AthPol 26.3; Areopagos: IG I3 104; Dem. 23.66; Plut., Solon 22; Pollux 8.117–​128; Archon Basileus: AthPol 57. It is unclear when the Archon Basileus assumed the duties of a homicide judge but the antiquity of the office itself suggests an early date. 24.  See AthPol 1.9 on the close relationship between the system of jury courts and popular power: κύριος γὰρ ὢν ὁ δῆμος τῆς ψήφου κύριος γίνεται τῆς πολιτείας. (“The people, having the sovereignty of the vote, become sovereign in governance.”)

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was fundamentally altered with the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms and the restructuring of space they impelled.

The Pnyx To the west of the Akropolis rises a series of three small hills: the hill of the Muses, the hill of the Pnyx, and the hill of the Nymphs (Map 2). The summit and upper slopes of the Pnyx command a view toward the low-​lying area of the Agora and the Akropolis (Plate 6), with the Attic countryside beyond. The foothills of Mt. Aigaleos rise to the west, Mt. Parnes in the distance; Pentele and Hymettos are visible on the horizon to the northeast and east, respectively. The view from the Pnyx in the opposite direction, to the south, reveals Piraeus and the sea, the island of Aegina glimpsed in the far distance. The hill is not as high as the Akropolis but nonetheless shares its elevated vistas. Few built structures survive on the Pnyx hill, but from what remains it is clear that the area was host to one of the most important elements of the democratic polis: it served as the meeting place for the citizen assembly, the Ekklesia. Three distinct building phases have emerged from excavations but only the first is under consideration here.25 The evidence for this early phase (Pnyx I) consists of bedrock cuttings and isolated stretches of masonry for a retaining or terrace wall on the northern part of the hillside and bedrock cuttings further to the south (Fig. 3.4).26 Some of the limestone masonry for the retaining wall survives but is fragmentary; the wall likely supported a dumped earth fill that helped articulate and smooth the natural slope of the hill, from south to north, and provided a level area for the speaker’s platform, the bema.27 The combination of retaining wall and dumped earth created a structure similar to a theater, where the natural slope of the hillside was used for sitting or standing and an artificially leveled area was used for speaking or addressing the assembled demos (Fig. 3.5, Fig. 3.6). The approximate area of the first

25. For the comprehensive excavation report, see Thompson and Kourouniotes 1932. For a brief history of the excavations, see Calligas 1996. 26. A series of cuttings just to the inside (south) of the massive retaining wall constructed for the third phase have been interpreted as a bedding for an earlier retaining wall, associated with the first phase (Thompson and Kourouniotes 1932, pp. 98–​102). There do not appear to be any breaks in the retaining wall for a stairwell, so access from this direction is unclear. 27. Thompson and Kourouniotes 1932, p. 102. This terracing can be favorably compared to that employed in the theatral area at Thorikos, treated in Chapter 4.

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Figure  3.4  Pnyx I, retaining wall and bedrock cuttings. K. Kourouniotes and H. A. Thompson 1932, fig.  3. Courtesy of the Trustees of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens.

phase has been calculated to be ca. 2,400 m.2, which results in a capacity of approximately 5,000–​6,000.28 Although not a towering stone edifice like the

28. A capacity of ca. 5,000 is suggested by Thompson and Kourouniotes (1932, p. 104) and Calligas (1996, p.  3). Using contemporary estimates of seated audiences, with each person occupying approximately 0.40 m.2, Hansen argues that the first phase of the Pnyx was explicitly designed to accommodate 6,000, the quorum necessary for some legislative procedures (1976, pp. 130–​131, 1981–​1982, p. 242, 1996, pp. 25–​28). The most common procedure that took place on the Pnyx and that required this quorum—​grants of citizenship—​was not employed until the fourth century, and the ostrakaphoria that required 6,000 occurred in the Agora. There are, therefore, no procedures that would have occurred in Pnyx I for which a 6,000 quorum was necessary. It is also unclear whether demesmen stood or sat, with standing individuals requiring less space than seated ones—​it was likely a combination of the two. For seating vs. standing capacities, see Paga 2017a, p. 166 and nn. 90–​91.

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Figure 3.5  Pnyx I, plan. Travlos 1971, fig. 592. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

Figure 3.6  Pnyx I, section. Travlos 1971, fig. 593. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

temples on the Akropolis or buildings in the Agora, Pnyx I is an impressive and monumental earthwork that required a tremendous output of labor and made a substantial impact on the topography of the astu. The dating of Pnyx I  is not straightforward. The retaining wall likely collapsed toward the end of the fifth century and much of the earth fill it

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supported washed down the hill.29 As a result, little pottery was recovered during the excavations, providing only a general date of Archaic to Early Classical.30 The bedrock cuttings and fragmentary masonry from the retaining wall are likewise inconclusive, with comparanda ranging from ca. 700 to the late fifth century.31 Literary references to the Pnyx in Aristophanes provide little additional information for the date of this phase other than that it must predate 425.32 In addition, there is a boundary stone, inscribed ḥόρος Πυκν̣ός (“boundary of the Pnyx”), recovered from somewhere in the vicinity (no precise find-​spot was recorded). The horos consists of a single slab of marble and has been dated to the mid-​fifth century on the basis of letterforms.33 The horos served as a boundary marker for the area of the Pnyx, but it is unclear whether it was specifically intended to designate the meeting area of the Ekklesia or whether it functioned to delimit the territory of the Pnyx hill from other areas in the astu, such as the nearby demes of Koile, Melite, and Kollytos.34 The mid-​fifth century date of the horos may imply that there was a concern with the delineation of spaces at that time, but it does not necessarily mean that the first phase of the Pnyx should be dated contemporaneously. The Pnyx could have been used as a meeting place for the Ekklesia for some time prior to the official marking of the space via the horos. The lack of a clear find-​spot and broad dating of letterforms severely limit the usefulness of the horos as an indicator of Pnyx I’s date. 29. Thompson and Kourouniotes 1932, pp. 102, 113. They suggest that the collapse of the retaining wall from the first phase of the Pnyx served as the impetus for the construction of the second phase, rather than a deliberate destruction to make way for the second phase. 30. Thompson and Kourouniotes 1932, p. 107; Thompson 1982, p. 136. 31. Thompson and Kourouniotes 1932, pp. 107–​108. 32.  These references indicate that citizens attending the Ekklesia sat on the bare hillside, without benches or ikria (Knights 754, 783; Wasps 31–​33, 42), that the bema was constructed of stone—​it is referred to both as a λίθος (Peace 680) and as a πέτρα (Knights 956)—​and that benches were located near the bema for important magistrates, such as the prytaneis (Ach. 19–​ 33, 37–​52). These plays were all produced in the last quarter of the fifth century, when the first phase of the Pnyx was still in use, but it is unclear whether they reflect the original disposition of Pnyx I or whether subsequent changes were made. 33. IG I3 1092; EM 10069. The stone was recovered in 1853. For the date, see Thompson and Kourouniotes 1932, pp. 108–​109, where it is compared to IG I3 24, a casualty list dated to 448. The mid-​fifth-​century date for the Pnyx horos is confirmed by Travlos 1971, p. 446; Thompson 1982, p. 137; Calligas 1996, p. 2. Cf. Delmousou, who dates it more broadly ca. 500–​450 (1996, p. 103). 34. Lalonde argues that the Pnyx, like the Agora, was an independent area within the astu and did not belong to any single deme (2006b, pp. 106–​110). In this case, the horos would help preserve the bounds of the Pnyx from encroachment by the nearby demes.

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Although some have argued that Pnyx I should date to the period after Ephialtes’ reforms, a date closer to ca. 500 fits the historical context and material remains more comfortably.35 If the Pnyx were not laid out as the meeting area for the Ekklesia until the mid-​fifth century, we would be forced to seek a different location for their meetings prior to this point. A possible candidate is the theater of Dionysos, built ca. 500 on the south slope of the Akropolis, and treated in more detail in the next section. There is no evidence, however, literary or archaeological, that the theater was put to such use on a regular basis in the first half of the fifth century. Another option could be the newly established Agora, but its broad accessibility to citizens and non-​ citizens and its necessity for daily commercial enterprises also make it a less than optimal candidate; it also lacks attestations for regular meetings of the Ekklesia, outside of the occasional ostrakaphoria. Barring other options for large-​scale meetings of the Assembly in the period immediately following the Kleisthenic reforms—​meetings that required a space capable of holding upward of 5,000–​6,000 citizens in an accessible location that could also be restricted from non-​citizens, and in a place that would not hinder other important events and activities—​dating Pnyx I to ca. 500 seems a necessary conclusion. This would put the Ekklesia’s meeting place in a contemporary setting with the Old Bouleuterion for the bouleutai:  two new structures for two newly reorganized and empowered political groups. Pnyx I is monumental in scale and purpose, and required a large expenditure of labor resources to create the leveled area filled with vast quantities of dumped earth. This monumentality and harnessing of resources link Pnyx I to similar embellishments throughout the astu in the late sixth and early fifth centuries, a further indication of how the civic landscape of the city was being transformed by the new political regime.

35.  Much of the clamor for pushing the date of Pnyx I  to ca. 460–​450 is generated by Thompson’s later claims that Pnyx I should be seen as a contemporary building project with the earliest monumental buildings in the Agora, which he dates after the Persian destruction (1982, pp. 136–​137). See also Hansen 1981–​1982, p. 242. For those who argue for a date of ca. 500 for Pnyx I, see, e.g., Thompson and Kourouniotes 1932, p. 216; Travlos 1971, p. 446; Stanton and Bicknell 1987, pp. 73–​76; Calligas 1996, p. 3; Camp 2001, p. 46.

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The South Slope of the Akropolis The slopes of the Akropolis, the area often referred to as the Pelargikon, are home to multiple sanctuaries and points of interest.36 Numerous caves pit the surface of the cliffs, the majority dedicated to various local and Panhellenic deities, like Pan and the Nymphs, and Aphrodite and Eros, all participants in the cultic and mythic landscape of the astu.37 The maiden Kreousa, as detailed in Euripides’ Ion, was raped and gave birth to the eponymous Ion in one such cave. The famed Klepsydra fountain house was built over a natural spring in the rock face on its northwest side.38 As discussed in Chapter 2, the Sanctuary of Aglauros on the east slope is not only important from a cultic perspective, but also plays a crucial role in locating the Old Agora (both for modern scholars and for Thucydides). These examples show that although the sanctuary of Athena on the top of the Akropolis reigned supreme, the cult areas on the slopes contributed to shaping the broader ritual environment of the city. The abundant water sources of the slopes likewise shaped personal interaction with the sacred rock of the Akropolis, as people approached the caves and sanctuaries with both religious reverence and practical need. The south slope in particular served as a locus for both cult and water-​based activity, with its adjacent sanctuaries of Dionysos Eleutherios and Asklepios continuously expanded and embellished throughout the Classical and Hellenistic periods. Each space, however, had its origins in the Late Archaic period.

The Sanctuary of Dionysos Eleutherios At the end of the sixth and beginning of the fifth centuries, an area on the southeastern slope of the Akropolis was transformed into a sanctuary of Dionysos Eleutherios (Map 2). The sanctuary included a temple, altar, and theatral area (Fig. 3.7). The xoanon of Dionysos that resided in the temple was of great antiquity: Pausanias remarks that it was taken to Athens from Eleutherai—​hence the eponym of the cult—​and although there is no clear

36. For a brief summary of the Pelargikon and its attendant problems, see Camp 1984; earlier report by Beschi 1967–​1968. Hdt. 5.64, Thuc. 2.17, and IG I3 78 indicate that the Pelargikon had ample sources of fresh water, was marked off in some way, and contained sacred areas. 37. For a physical description of the caves and their associated finds, see Wickens 1986, pp. 168–​ 196 and catalogue nos. 61–​66. For the cave of Aphrodite and Eros, see Broneer 1932; Hurwit 1999, pp. 41–​42. For the association of the caves with Aglauros, see Oikonomides 1990. 38. The Klepsydra and its associated paved court was built in the 460s (Hurwit 1999, p. 142).

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Figure 3.7  Sanctuary of Dionysos Eleutherios, plan. C. Lightfoot.

evidence for when the statue was transferred to Athens, historical context makes the last decade of the sixth century a likely date.39 Eleutherai is located on the Athenian–​Boiotian border (Map 1); its contested history indicates that Athens and Thebes vied for control of the village, and by extension a large portion of the fertile Mazi plain, but it never seems to have held the official status of an Athenian deme.40 It seems probable that the village fell under Athenian control after the battles in 506/​5 against the Boiotians and Chalkidians.41 This historical timeline would chronologically fit with the building activity in the sanctuary in Athens, indicating that the statue of

39. Paus. 1.38.8. This dating is argued persuasively by Connor 1990, largely on literary and historical evidence. See also Despinis, who dates the temple to the first two decades of the fifth century on the basis of its architectural and, principally, sculptural components, and finds it to support Connor’s argument (2000b, pp. 212–​213). Despinis also believes that this temple may have replaced, at least partially, an older temple from the third quarter of the sixth century (2000b, pp. 212–​213). 40.  For the contested history of Eleutherai and its non-​deme status for the Athenians, see Camp 1991, 2001, pp. 319–​321; Taylor 2002; Fachard 2013, 2017, pp. 31–​34. 41.  According to Pausanias (1.38.8), the citizens of Eleutherai willingly came over to the Athenians, wanting to escape the oppression of the Thebans.

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Figure 3.8  Temple of Dionysos Eleutherios. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

Dionysos Eleutherios was brought to Athens around 506/​5, at which time the sanctuary was dedicated and constructed.42 The creation of the sanctuary can thus be understood as a physical incorporation of the outer border of Attic territory into the astu, a connection reified during the processions of the City Dionysia out to the Academy and back. The partial remains of a Late Archaic Temple of Dionysos survive and support the historical context outlined above. The structure took the form of a small non-​peripteral building, with a distyle in antis pronaos and a small cella. The foundations were constructed of hard blue Akropolis limestone with a Kara limestone krepidoma and softer limestone superstructure, with some elements in island marble (Fig. 3.8).43 The building employed polygonal 42. Camp also suggests that the cult of Dionysos Eleutherios was likely imported to Athens around this time (2001, pp. 319–​320). Connor further argues, persuasively in my opinion, that the civic festival of the City Dionysia was established at this time, rather than reorganized or revised (1990, pp. 12–​13). The incorporation of Eleutherai into Attika (although not in an official deme capacity), the transfer of the cult statue, the construction of the sanctuary, and the establishment of the City Dionysia would thus all be components of a singular event. 43. The limestone architectural members of the temple, including fragments of column drums, triglyphs, and sculptural figures possibly associated with the structure, are currently under study by M. Magnesale and some can be seen on site to the east of the Late Archaic temple remains; earlier studies are reviewed in Despinis 2000b. For the sculpture, see Heberdey 1919, pp. 75–​77; Despinis 2000a, 2000b. Santaniello suggests that a relief slab with two satyrs and one maenad, traditionally assigned to the tympanum of the temple, may instead belong to

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masonry and Z-​clamps, and the claw-​tooth chisel was used on the krepidoma; these structural elements support a date around 500. The materials are similar to those used for the Temple of Triptolemos in the City Eleusinion, as well as the Dörpfeld foundations on the Akropolis, and the Southeast Fountain House, the Old Bouleuterion, and the Stoa Basileios in the Agora. The use of Z-​clamps further suggests comparison with the forecourt of the Old Propylon, the Southeast Fountain House, the Stoa Basileios, and the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion. The metopes were inserted between the triglyphs, as in the Stoa Basileios, Old Athena Temple, and Temple of Poseidon at Sounion. The building details all fit comfortably within this period and share similarities with many other contemporary structures, both in the astu and in the chora. In addition to the small temple, a theatral area was constructed to the north, on the sloping foothill of the Akropolis. The remains of the early theater are sparse and controversial. A short course of masonry consisting of five or six stones extending approximately 4 m., running in a slightly curved line, southwest to northeast, and flattening out at the eastern end represents the most extensive remains of the first phase of the theater; a few short sections of similar walls also survive in the vicinity of the orchestra (Fig. 3.9). These walls probably served as a retaining or terrace wall for the orchestra.44 It is likely that this early theater was rectilinear, with a roughly semicircular retaining wall to support the area of the orchestra, as is shown in Fig. 3.7.45 Regardless of its the altar (2010, p. 166). Stewart compares a free-​standing Parian marble torso of a satyr, possibly associated with the pediment of the temple, to the Tyrannicides of 477/​6 and uses this as evidence to downdate the temple to the post-​480 period (2008b, pp. 581–​582). This torso, however, strikes me as being closer to the Herakles wrestling the Hind from the metope of the Treasury of the Athenians at Delphi, which would place its date, and thus the date of the temple, in the first two decades of the fifth century (Despinis also compares this fragment and a few others that he associates with the sanctuary of Dionysos to the Treasury of the Athenians at Delphi: 1986, p. 179, 1996–​1997, 2000a, pp. 362–​371, 2000b, pp. 200–​206). 44. The evidence for and against the walls, referred to as SM1–​SM3, being part of a circular orchestra wall is summarized by Pickard-​Cambridge 1946. The wall shown in Fig. 3.9 is SM3. Wiles provides a detailed and updated summary of the arguments for and against a rectilinear orchestra for the first phase of the theater (1997, pp. 44–​54); see also Paga 2016b, pp. 361–​365. 45. The archaeological remains for the first phase of the theater do not allow a precise reconstruction, and there is no way to determine whether the early theater was circular or rectilinear. A rectilinear form is proposed here on the basis of chronological and geographic comparanda, but a circular form is equally possible. Proponents of a rectilinear orchestra for the early theater of Dionysos include Bieber 1961, figs. 221, 229, 238, 281; Gebhard 1974, pp. 432–​434; Moretti 2000, p. 289; Santaniello 2010, p. 167; Senseney 2011, p. 86; Meineck 2012, pp. 4–​14. For a defense of a circular orchestra, see Wiles 1997, pp. 44–​52. On the basis of her recent work in the theater, Papastamati-​von Moock proposes that the canonical circular shape of the orchestra

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Figure 3.9  Retaining wall for Theater of Dionysos Eleutherios. Photo and drawing by author (photo © J. Paga).

form, it is clear that a theater was built within the sanctuary of Dionysos, close to the early temple, in the years around 500.46 There is no evidence for the seating arrangement in the early theater; it is possible that ikria were used, but

originated only in the mid-​fifth century but was rectilinear or trapezoidal before that (2015, pp. 66–​67, 71–​73); note, however, that her comparison of the retaining wall of the earliest (rectilinear) phase of the theater to a retaining wall at Eleusis is incorrectly labeled “Peisistratid”: it is, in fact, ca. 500 (p. 56, n. 76). 46. The date for the first phase of the theater is based on the use of polygonal blue Akropolis limestone for SM1 and the architectural elaboration of the general sanctuary—​the temple and altar—​ca. 500. A date in the Peisistratid reign, as suggested by Travlos (1971, p. 537) and others, is no longer tenable, given the evidence from the temple and overall historical context. Pickard-​ Cambridge (1946, p.  14) also notes that Dörpfeld and Reisch (1896, pp.  30–​31) discovered sherds dated to the early fifth century in the earth fill of the lower theatron, further support for the ca. 500 date for the first phase of the theater.

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most of the spectators probably would have sat directly on the hillside itself, as in the Pnyx.47 At this time, ephemeral structures would have been erected for the dramatic competitions of the City Dionysia; a permanent skene was not built until the early fourth century.48 The theater was thus a simple structure. Only the elements necessary for the structural integrity of the edifice were constructed in stone (e.g., the retaining wall). The temple—​and presumably also the altar—​would have been the most impressive structures in the sanctuary and the focus of cult activity. The sanctuary as a whole combines cultic necessities with a new venue for entertainment, all located in the heart of the astu. The theater additionally served as a venue for meetings of the Ekklesia following the festival, to hear matters related to the performance of the City Dionysia and to vote on the winners, spatially integrating government and religion.49 The area was closely linked to the Akropolis and nearby Ilissos river area (Map 2),50 but the eponym of the god emphasized connections to the broader polis, particularly its borders. It was a space easily accessible from multiple points in the city, and it became a new node in the ritual experience of the astu, with regular processions and sacred activity. It is, therefore, similar to the City Eleusinion (see the section “The City Eleusinion” below), as both crafted these connections between astu and border and both helped restructure the sacred landscape of the city in the Late Archaic period.

South Slope Spring House Slightly west of the sanctuary of Dionysos Eleutherios, hugging the southern slope of the Akropolis, is an area that would later become sacred to Asklepios.

47. A few late sources report that the theater was moved from “the agora” to the slope of the Akropolis when the ikria collapsed during a performance (for the use of ikria and the location of the earlier theater, see Photius, s.v. ikria; Hesychios, s.v. par’ aigeirou thea; for the collapse and transfer of the theater, see Suda, s.v. Pratinos). As Miller points out, the “agora” to which these late sources refer would be the Old Agora (1995a, pp. 218–​219). 48.  For the later additions and modifications to the theater and sanctuary, see Pickard-​ Cambridge 1946, pp. 15–​29 (note that he argues for a “Periclean” date for the expansion of the theater and construction of the stone skene); Travlos 1971, p. 537; Townsend 1986; Papastamati-​ von Moock 2015. 49. McDonald 1943, pp. 44–​61; Lambert 2008; Paga 2016b. 50. Korres suggests that the road that skirts the southern edge of the peribolos of the sanctuary is of relative antiquity and originally functioned as a link between the Ilissos river area and the South Slope Spring House and Akropolis (1996, p. 76).

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Figure  3.10  South Slope Spring House, plan and section. J.  Travlos 1971, fig.  188. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

Sometime in the late sixth century, prior to the arrival of Asklepios in the polis, a well and associated spring house were built against the cliff face in the region subsequently used as the “middle terrace” of the Asklepieion. This structure is known as the South Slope Spring House and was likely connected with the worship of the Nymphs, perhaps in conjunction with Pan (Fig. 3.10; also visible in Fig.  1.4).51 The walls of the spring house draw basin are polygonal masonry of Kara limestone, with Akropolis limestone superstructure walls, materials that find comparison in several structures of the Late Archaic period. A  limestone Doric capital has also been associated with the spring house, perhaps as part of a vestibule or colonnaded entrance, as shown in Fig. 3.10.52 This building activity represents a clear phase of architectural development in the area and appears to have remained unchanged until the founding of the Asklepieion in the second half of the fifth century. A late fifth-​century 51. Walker suggests that the association with Pan and the Nymphs is a fifth-​century phenomenon (1979, p. 246); cf. Hurwit 1999, p. 220; Lippolis 2007, p. 560. For the connection between the spring house and the later Asklepieieon, see Alshire 1989, pp. 22–​23. 52. Travlos proposes a small “stoa” entrance on the south side of the spring house, demolished in the fourth century, when he suggests the well also went out of use (1971, pp. 138–​142). Camp, on the other hand, believes the well continued in use after this; he dates the capital to the late sixth century, “perhaps somewhat earlier” than the capitals of the Old Athena Temple (1977, pp. 98–​100, 318–​320). Lippolis suggests a tristyle Doric vestibule, dated to the end of the sixth century (2007, p. 560).

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Figure  3.11  Area of the Asklepeion and South Slope Spring House. J.  Travlos 1971, fig. 171. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

boundary stone inscribed horos krenes (“boundary of the spring,”) subsequently delineated the fountain area from the adjacent Asklepieion, drawing attention to the distinct sacred spheres (Fig. 3.11).53 Nevertheless, water was an integral part of the rituals associated with Asklepios, so the proximity of the South Slope Spring House to the healing sanctuary is unlikely to be coincidental. The cliff of the Akropolis was cut back to accommodate the spring house, which firmly rooted the structure into the sacred rock. In general, the caves and structures around the base of the Akropolis take advantage of the plentiful natural springs, drawing on the natural resources of the rock plateau in addition to the sacred proximity of Athens’ spiritual heart. The South Slope Spring House participates in this dual association of practical necessity and sacred nexus. Pan, like his neighbor Dionysos Eleutherios, was a figure more commonly associated with the rural areas of Attika, so his physical incorporation into the Akropolis—​both in the South Slope Spring House and in other caves in the slopes of the Akropolis—​concretely ties this deity to the center of

53. IG I3 1098. Walker, building on Travlos, argues that the boundary stone, dated ca. 420, was erected in part to differentiate the area of the Asklepieion from the area of the spring house (1979, p. 247; Travlos 1971, p. 127). This separation is also favored by Wickens, who persuasively argues for an association of the spring with the Nymphs (1986, pp. 331, 333–​334).

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the polis while maintaining his rustic roots with largely unembellished natural caves.54 The Nymphs are also deities closely associated with water sources, which creates a further intersection of religious worship and access to fresh water.55

The City Eleusinion Just beyond the southeast corner of the Agora is an area dedicated to the Eleusinian goddesses, Demeter and Persephone, as well as their assistant, Triptolemos (visible in Fig. 2.1). The sanctuary seems to have been relatively large by the second half of the fifth century and was a distinct enclosed space, as is implied by Thucydides. Its location just outside the Agora, along the Panathenaic Way toward the Akropolis, is attested not only by the literary sources and architectural remains, but by a plethora of inscribed stelai, sculptures, and votive offerings (Fig. 3.12).56 The City Eleusinion featured prominently in the rites associated with the Eleusinian Mysteries. On the first day of the festival, Boedromion 14, the hiera (sacred objects) were transported from Eleusis to the City Eleusinion, where they were kept until Boedromion 19, when they were escorted back to Eleusis in the pompe (procession). At the end of the festival, on Boedromion 24, the Boule met in the City Eleusinion to hear matters concerning the ritual, such as the conduct of the sacred officials.57 Two inscribed altars, IG I3 231 and 232, found in the Agora near the area of the Eleusinion, detail sacred laws concerning the Mysteries, perquisites of priesthoods, and sacrifices at festivals. The inscriptions were carved boustrophedon on Pentelic marble and are dated ca. 510–​480.58 Other archaeological

54. For the worship of Pan in Attika generally, see Scott 2017. 55. Wickens discusses the connection of the Nymphs to cave sites with water sources (1986, pp. 173–​174). 56. Thuc. 2.17. The evidence for the location and identification of the City Eleusinion is detailed in Agora XXXI, pp. 1–​9. 57. And. 1.111. Clinton 1993, p. 119; Agora XXXI, p. 18. This meeting can be compared to the meeting of the Ekklesia in the theater of Dionysos following the City Dionysia. For a daily summary of the elements of the Mysteries, see Clinton 1993, pp. 116–​119. 58. Jeffery 1948, p. 102. The editors of IG provide a date of ca. 510–​500 for both altars. The dating is based on the letterforms, which compare well with several inscriptions of the late sixth and early fifth centuries; the use of the boustrophedon style has been explained as a deliberate “archaizing” convention, likely retained out of religious conservatism; Jeffery argues that the boustrophedon style of the inscriptions, as well as their distinct divisions into clauses, may indicate that the two inscriptions represent a compilation of various earlier, shorter leges sacrae,

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Figure 3.12  City Eleusinion, plan of area. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

evidence includes votive dedications from as early as the seventh century.59 Architectural elaboration at Eleusis and corresponding modifications in this consolidated and transcribed as two individual documents in the Late Archaic period ( Jeffery 1948, p. 103). 59. Agora XXXI, pp. 16–​18. In the first half of the sixth century, a peribolos wall was built to delineate the upper terrace of the sanctuary. At the same time, two wells near the sanctuary were filled in, an event likely associated with the closure of wells elsewhere in the Agora at this time, detailed in Chapter 2 (Agora XXXI, pp. 25–​27). There is no reason to associate the activity in the area of the Eleusinion with Peisistratos, however; more likely, it represents a growing

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satellite sanctuary indicate that the two functioned simultaneously and that the cult activities at each were linked from at least the sixth century. The middle terrace in the Eleusinion seems to have been partially occupied by private dwellings up to the late sixth century, but, around 500, domestic occupation stopped, the lower terrace was filled and leveled, and a new peribolos wall was installed.60 This wall was constructed of blue Akropolis limestone and the pottery associated with its construction provides a date in the early fifth century.61 The leveling of the terrace and installation of the wall delineated a space approximately 28 × 36–​48 m., on which the Temple of Triptolemos was situated. This temple was just over 11 × 17 m. in size and took the form of a tetrastyle amphiprostyle building with a deep pronaos and square cella (Fig. 3.13, Fig. 3.14).62 It was begun ca. 500, with construction work continuing into the 490s, although the building seems to have been unfinished at the time of the Persian invasion.63 It is possible that additional structures were built at interest in the cult consistent with the construction of the Early Archaic Telesterion at Eleusis, likewise dated to the first half of the sixth century (see Chapter 4 for the Archaic Telesterion). For the connections between the City Eleusinion and the Peisistratids, see Shapiro 1989, pp. 67–​71; for a rebuttal, see Agora XXXI, pp. 27–​28. For the relationship between the city and deme sanctuaries, particularly in the Roman period, see Miles 2012. 60. Agora XXXI, pp. 30–​31. 61. Agora XXXI, p. 31. There seems to be some confusion over the date of the leveling of the terrace and the construction of the peribolos wall. On pp. 30–​31, a post-​Persian date is suggested for the leveling and filling of the terrace, whereas on pp. 32–​33, a date of ca. 500 is provided for the peribolos wall and expansion of the terrace, on the basis of four sherds dated ca. 500 found in the packing fill associated with the southern extension of the peribolos wall at the eastern end of the preserved north extent. The concluding remarks (p. 33) emphasize the links between these activities and other building projects undertaken ca. 500 (e.g., the Old Bouleuterion), and I  have, therefore, adopted this date for the Late Archaic construction activity on the middle and lower terraces in the Eleusinion. Later (pp. 38–​39), it is remarked that “after the houses of the late 6th century B.C. were demolished and leveled, and the extended peribolos wall was constructed, the foundations of the new temple were laid. Then the whole terrace was packed in with earth, dug bedrock, and construction debris, all of which was supported by the new peribolos wall and the foundations.” This reconstruction of events means that the sixth-​century houses were destroyed just before 500, at which time the terrace was leveled and graded. The Temple of Triptolemos was then installed on this terrace shortly after 500. Later, after 480/​79, the area was subsequently filled in, which resulted in pottery dated to the later first quarter of the fifth century. 62. For the plan and construction of the temple, see Agora XXXI, pp. 35–​57; for its identification with Triptolemos, see pp. 48–​56. Miles prefers an Ionic assignation for the temple, although she notes that neither she nor Dinsmoor, Jr. could positively assign any Doric or Ionic capital fragments to the temple (pp. 44–​45). 63. Agora XXXI, pp. 39, 41. Only the foundations can be securely dated to ca. 500. The scant remains of the superstructure are better dated to the second quarter of the fifth century (pp. 40–​ 42) and the entire Eleusinion sanctuary seems to have been damaged by the Persians (p. 41).

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Figure 3.13  Temple of Triptolemos, state plan. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

Figure 3.14  Temple of Triptolemos, restored plan. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

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this time in the Eleusinion, but the full extent of the sanctuary has not yet been excavated. In the Late Archaic period, then, the area of the City Eleusinion was expanded, delineated, and endowed with a new monumental temple. These changes can be linked with those in the sanctuary at Eleusis, which indicates a concerted effort on the part of the new political regime to court the favor of these goddesses and create architectural and ritual links between the astu and the deme in western Attika. Although the City Eleusinion was not as large as the sanctuary at Eleusis, it was necessary for the performance of the Mysteries, functioning as the place where preliminary initiation most likely occurred.64 But this is not merely a case of bringing a “rural” cult into the city center; rather, the elaboration of the City Eleusinion highlights the importance of the deme sanctuary by demonstrating that—​due to the popularity of the cult—​additional locations and structures were now necessary. Although preliminary rites occurred in the astu, the focal point and final destination remained the sanctuary at Eleusis. The location of the City Eleusinion also emphasized these links, located as it was along the Panathenaic Way, midway between the Agora and Akropolis. It was tied to the sacred center and new political and mercantile center of the polis, on one of the main thoroughfares that funnels into the Kerameikos, where the Sacred Way to Eleusis also entered the city. Its proximity to the new Agora also highlights the role that the Boule played in the proper administration and conduct of the festival. As with the sanctuary of Dionysos, the elaboration and monumentalization of the City Eleusinion in this period demonstrate how the sacred fabric of the astu was changing in the Late Archaic period, which therefore altered how the urban space was lived and experienced by Athenians.

The Kerameikos Another thing that both the sanctuary of Dionysos and City Eleusinion share is their connection with the area of the Kerameikos, particularly in terms of processions, extending as it does northwest of the Agora, along both the Sacred and Panathenaic Ways (Map 2). The region is often divided into the “Outer Kerameikos” and the “Inner Kerameikos” by modern scholars, the

64. Clinton has interpreted the sacred law IG I3 6 (dated ca. 460) as evidence that the preliminary initiation into the Mysteries could occur either in the courtyard of the sanctuary at Eleusis or in the courtyard of the City Eleusinion (2008b, pp. 28–​29).

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two areas separated by the city wall.65 The Eridanos river runs through the region, which made the space marshy and prone to flooding, and thus somewhat unsuitable for habitation.66 In the Archaic period, the Kerameikos became a distinct area for aristocratic burial: grave tumuli begin to appear in the late seventh and early sixth century, the mounds frequently delimited by a low stone socle around the base and stelai or vases placed on the top.67 The grave monuments of the sixth century are also notable for their material—​ marble—​and for the fact that many were decorated with incision, paint, or relief sculpture.68 The monumentalization of the burial mounds and the erection of increasingly costly funerary markers signal that both the north and south banks of the Eridanos river had become the symbolic property of the Athenian elite. In general, these aristocratic graves tended to be clustered around the Leokoriou road, which led toward Hippios Kolonos, just to the east of the Dipylon and the Sacred Gates (Fig. 3.15).69

65. The deme is frequently referred to by modern scholars as “Kerameikos” although “Kerameis” would appear to be the correct name (Agora III, p. 221). Several marble horoi have been discovered delimiting the bounds of the Kerameikos, supporting the hypothesis that the deme lay within the bounds of the city (IG II2 2617, 2618, 2619; Agora XIX, nos. H30 and H31). The horoi are briefly discussed by Travlos 1971, p. 299; Costaki 2006, pp. 205–​206. For a more detailed treatment of the Agora horoi, see Agora XIX, p. 28; Papadopoulos 2003, pp. 292–​293; all of the horoi are discussed by Arrington 2010, pp. 523–​524, with earlier bibliography. For the argument that the deme was located outside the bounds of the walls, see Travlos 1971, p. 299; Traill 1975, p. 47. Some scholars have suggested that the deme encompassed areas both inside and outside the astu, extending from the northwest corner of the Agora to the Academy, and this proposal seems most likely: Agora III, p. 221; Knigge 1991, p. 8; Goette 2001, pp. 59–​64; Papadopoulos 2003, pp. 280–​316 (arguing that the name “Kerameikos” should also be applied, as Pausanias does, to the area of the Agora as well). Costaki, building on the work of Stroszeck, argues that the horoi found in the Agora refer to the name of the street (her V.16, the Dromos, which becomes the Panathenaic Way inside the city walls) (2006, pp. 205–​207; Stroszeck 2003). The region of the so-​called Inner Kerameikos has not been the subject of much excavation. 66. There is no evidence for any sort of occupation in the Outer Kerameikos. Rather, the area seems to have functioned as a cemetery from an early period, with scattered graves from the Late Bronze Age and clearly defined burial areas during the Protogeometric and Geometric periods (Travlos 1971, p. 299; Knigge 1991, pp. 14–​20). 67. For a discussion of the Archaic graves and the overall development in funerary practices as reflected by the Kerameikos burials, see Knigge 1991, pp. 14–​30. For the aristocratic nature of these graves, see Arrington 2010, pp. 529–​531. 68. Travlos 1971, p. 299; Knigge 1991, p. 30. 69. Arrington 2010, p. 529; he also refers to this road as the “Old Academy Road.” Segments of this road are described by Costaki: V.2, V.3, V.12, VIII.33, VIII.35–​37, possibly V.9, VIII.1, VIII.5, VIII.14, and VIII.34 (2006). The Dipylon Gate was called the Thriasian Gate until the fourth century (Knigge 1991, p. 9), but for the sake of clarity, the name “Dipylon” is retained here. In Fig. 3.15, the Dipylon Gate is no. 14.

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Figure 3.15  Kerameikos, plan. J. Stroszeck 2014. Courtsey J. Stroszeck.

Toward the end of the sixth century, a new area within this space began to receive greater attention, and the overall area of the Kerameikos expanded slightly to the west. This new space of funerary development was centered on the Academy road, which led from the Dipylon Gate to the Academy.70 It is here that the Athenians located their state cemetery, the demosion sema, where the war dead were buried collectively and communally at state expense, indicated in Fig. 3.15.71 The most likely date for the establishment of the demosion sema is the early fifth century. One of the reasons for this date is that the Marathon dead were buried on the battlefield itself, and this was considered a special or unusual act, differing from the typical Athenian custom of burying the dead in the state cemetery.72 Pausanias also reports seeing a polyandrion in the Kerameikos for the Athenians who died fighting

70. Costaki’s road V.16, also called the Dromos (2006). In Fig. 3.15, the Academy road is no. 4. 71.  This location for the demosion sema has been convincingly proposed by Arrington on the basis of literary references and archaeological discoveries along the road (2010, 2015, ch. 2). Arrington emphasizes the distinction between the aristocratic burial ground along the Leokoriou road and the new demosion sema along the Academy road and points to how this distinction indicates a contrast with—​rather than an adoption or adaptation of—​elite tendencies (2010, pp. 529–​533). 72. Thuc. 2.34.1–​7; Paus. 1.29.4. See also Chapter 4.

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the Aeginetans, either in 491/​0 or 487/​6. Such an early polyandrion has been found in the Kerameikos, with pottery dating from the first quarter of the fifth century.73 A date in the first quarter of the fifth century for the inauguration of the demosion sema would also accord with the historical context.74 We know that the war dead were buried here as they fought, according to the ten phylai, a factor that implies a post-​Kleisthenic establishment for the public cemetery.75 In addition, the road along which the demosion sema was located led to the area of the Academy, near which a small shrine dedicated to Dionysos Eleutherios was located, which possibly dates to the period when the cult was founded in Athens and which certainly played a role in the festival of the City Dionysia.76 In this way, the Academy road linked an area with newly endowed martial significance in the form of the shrine of Dionysos Eleutherios—​the god who had been transferred from Eleutherai, likely after the battle against the Boiotians—​with the public cemetery for the burial of Athenian citizens who died in battle. The Kerameikos did not only function as a cemetery. Several shrines were located both in and nearby, including the shrine of the Tritopatres.77 The Academy road that passes through the Kerameikos was used for the two processions of the City Dionysia, in addition to the Panathenaia, both of which periodically endowed the area with even greater sanctity. By the later fifth century, torch races also took place on this road for the festivals of the Hephaisteia, Prometheia, and Epitaphia.78 The demosion sema and the tomb of the Tyrannicides would have been highly visible monuments within the space used for these festival events.79 In addition, the Sacred Way also cut

73. Paus. 1.29.7. Stoupa 1997, p. 52; Arrington 2010, p. 503, 2015, p. 43. 74. Arrington also argues for an inauguration date of ca. 500 for the institution of mass public burial of the war dead at state expense (2015, pp. 40–​49). 75. Thuc. 2.34. 76. The xoanon of Dionysos Eleutherios was brought out to the Academy sanctuary prior to the festival in order to be ritually washed. 77.  For the Tritopatreion in the Kerameikos, see Knigge 1991, pp.  103–​105. A  horos of the Tritopatres, found built into the Themistoklean wall, attests to the presence of the shrine by the early fifth century (IG I3 1067, dated ca. 500–​480). It is unclear whether the Tritopatres received any sort of built structure or whether they were worshiped in the open air. 78. Arrington 2010, pp. 525–​526. 79. The tomb of the Tyrannicides is mentioned by Paus. 1.29.6.

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through the area of the Kerameikos, connecting Eleusis with the astu.80 Like the Academy road, this functioned as a major processional route, used during the festival of the Mysteries. Processions on the Sacred Way are unlikely to have passed directly by the demosion sema, but the general proximity warrants consideration. The Mysteries celebrated the reunion of Demeter and Kore, highlighting the afterlife and realm of the Underworld. The initiates would have passed quite close to the demosion sema on their way to Eleusis, which perhaps prompted reflection on the war dead. The roads in the Kerameikos, frequently used for sacred processions and festival events, thus likely played a role in the decision to locate the demosion sema here. Such a location both reflects and enhances the physical connections between the sanctuaries, the rites, and the astu itself. The roads that passed through the Kerameikos also emphasized the importance of this area for the astu and polis as a whole. The Kerameikos is the only place where three distinct roads entered the city, roads that connected the city with various parts of Attika to the west and northwest, where the polis bordered the territories of Boiotia and Megara, with further passage into the Peloponnese.81 The very location of the Kerameikos speaks to its status within the polis; over the course of the fifth century, it would become one of the principal axes of the astu, integrally connected to—​and with—​the Agora and the Akropolis. Movement through this space was never static or unreflective, largely due to the presence of the demosion sema, earlier aristocratic burials, important graves, such as that for Harmodios and Aristogeiton, and the proliferation of shrines. Rather, the use of the space for a multitude of functions enhanced the various roles that the Kerameikos played for the new political regime and engendered manifold interpretations and meanings: of death, the war dead, Athens’ military power, the Kleisthenic reforms (the burial of the war dead according to phyle), the role of the Tyrannicides, the Mysteries and nature of the afterlife, the Panathenaic procession and Athenian victories, agonistic competition, border areas, and the dialectic between periphery and urban center. In this way, the Kerameikos functioned not merely as a receptacle for the dead, but rather as a focal point for remembrance, movement, and ritualized activity. 80. The Ἱερὰ ὁδός, also called ὁδὸς ἡ Ἐλευσινάδε (IG I3 1095; IG II2 2624) is one of the oldest streets that passes through the area of the Kerameikos (Costaki 2006, p. 497; the Sacred Way is Costaki’s VI.16). In Fig. 3.15, the Sacred Way is no. 5. 81.  For the road network between Attika and Boiotia, see Fachard 2013, 2017; Fachard and Pirisino 2015.

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Inter-​Astu Demes Six demes of the city trittys were located within the walled bounds of the astu:  Kollytos (Tribe II Aegeis), Kydathenaion (Tribe III Pandionis), Skambonidai (Tribe IV Leontis), Melite (Tribe VII Kekropis), and Koile (Tribe VIII Hippothontis).82 Excavations of individual demes within the astu are limited, and our evidence for the location and physical appearance of each is likewise constrained. Kollytos is generally located to the west and south of the Akropolis, bordering Koile further to the west, which encompasses most of the region of and around the Hill of the Nymphs. Melite extends from the western border of the Agora (the line of the Kolonos Agoraios) to the Themistoklean Wall further west, and between the Pnyx and the Panathenaic Way;83 Skambonidai was likely located on the opposite side, north of the Panathenaic Way, possibly bordering Kerameis, and with Kydathenaion further to the east, north of the Akropolis. All of the city demes had relatively high percentages of metics, which is not surprising, given the plethora of job opportunities for foreign residents in the city center, but it remains unclear what the situation was in the Late Archaic period, when the demes were initially registered.84 The two demes with the most documented material evidence from the Archaic periods are Kollytos and Melite, both located on the western side of the astu and likely divided by the street running from the Agora to the saddle between the Hill of the Nymphs and the Pnyx, the so-​called Street of the Marble Workers.85 Three roadside shrines with likely Archaic phases are located in either Kollytos or Melite, and an additional Late Archaic shrine is located in either Melite or the Inner Kerameis.86 Only the last-​ mentioned shrine, at modern Poulopoulou 29, can be dated with certainty to the Late Archaic period. A small sanctuary of Zeus has also been identified

82. Other city trittys demes were located in the suburban area around the astu, quite near the walled center; some city trittys demes have not yet been located with certainty. For the problem of Kerameis/​Kerameikos, see n. 65 above. 83. Lalonde convincingly proposes these parameters for Melite (2006b, pp. 113–​116). 84. For the metic populations, see Whitehead 1986, pp. 82–​84. 85. Lalonde 2006b, p. 105; Costaki 2006, no. I.28. Lalonde argues that the road divided Melite to the north and west and Kollytos to the south and east. 86. Best 2015, pp. 123–​128, 146 (S006, S007, S008, S015), with additional bibliography and preliminary excavation notices. For the Late Archaic shrine in either Melite or Kerameis, see Costaki 2006, pp. 132–​133; Best 2015, S015.

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on the northeast spur of the Hill of the Nymphs and assigned to Melite; its boundary stone is dated to the late sixth or very early fifth century on the basis of comparison with the Agora horoi, but it is unclear whether the structures within the sanctuary can be likewise dated to that period.87 None of these putative Archaic structures is truly “monumental” in size, scale, or materials, but given their presence alongside prominent roads in the astu, they nevertheless functioned as important landmarks for people living in the city center and helped structure their movement through the urban environment.88 The shrines impacted the ritual landscape of the city and provide evidence of more personal or individual religious practice, alongside the broader Panathenian festivals. Melite was also home to the cult of Hephaistos, its sanctuary perched on the top of the Kolonos Agoraios, overlooking the newly established Agora. Recent work in the area has revealed that the splendid Classical temple had a predecessor, dated between 490–​480, its construction spurred by Miltiades’ conquest of Lemnos ca. 500.89 The foundations for the original temple (reused for its marble successor) are built of various stones, including Piraeus limestone, and would have supported a temple longer and narrower than the subsequent Classical one. Construction on this temple was halted due to the Persian invasion of 480, and the unfinished nascent structure was burned. In many ways, the early Hephasteion mirrors similar constructions in the polis. In the use of local materials, especially Piraeus limestone, it is like the podium of the Old Parthenon. Its post-​Marathon date also aligns it with the Old Parthenon, as well as the Temple of Triptolemos in the City Eleusinion and the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion, among others. That it was unfinished in 480 and thus covered in flammable scaffolding places it among the many architectural victims of the Persian’s fire. Its visually stunning placement and prominence on the Kolonos Agoraios integrated the deme cult into the broader ritual landscape of the astu and the growing elaboration of the new Agora. The rising temple thus became a simultaneous participant in the articulation and expression of deme identity alongside that of the polis as a whole.

87. IG I3 1055 A. For the dating of the horos, see Lalonde 2006a, pp. 5–​6. For the reconstruction of the sanctuary, its attribution to Zeus (Meilichios), and its historical context, see Lalonde 2006a. 88. This point is emphasized by Best (2015, p. 146). 89. Lynch and Miles, forthcoming.

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Sight Lines, Viewing Axes, and Access The astu of Athens became a different place in the last decade of the sixth and first two decades of the fifth centuries. New areas were developed into discrete topographical zones, sanctuaries were established and expanded, and specific structures were built to accommodate the demands of the nascent political order brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms. In addition to these changes in the built environment of the city center, a fundamental alteration occurred in the role of the astu vis-​à-​vis the polis. In particular, various centripetal and centrifugal axes were developed and elaborated, with the result that a nexus of interconnected movement and association was created. This movement—​ both actual and metaphorical—​facilitated communication and the spread of information both into and out of the astu, communication that was necessary to the implementation and success of the new demotic government. The astu received a significant amount of architectural attention in the Late Archaic period, but this building activity was not conducted at the expense of the peripheral territory, nor did it disconnect or disassociate the astu from the land of Attika; the two were integrally connected, and many of the topographical alterations in the landscape of the astu can be understood in terms of their relationship with the rest of the city and broader polis of Athens. The links between the different areas within the astu articulated above, and their links with the demes in Attika, are worth looking at more closely. To start with the Pnyx, both the sightlines and roads of access can be understood as integral components in the symbolic and practical functioning of the Ekklesia (Map 2). Some of the topographical advantages of the Pnyx are its gentle slope, broad summit, and easy ascent, particularly in comparison with other hills in the astu like the Areopagos and Akropolis (Fig. 3.16). These factors make it an approachable and malleable area, well suited to large gatherings. Its location between three demes of different phylai (Koile, Kollytos, and Melite) also made it an impartial space within the city. The road connecting the Agora with the Pnyx underlines this fact, as both areas were independent of the deme network, bordering demes but not contained within them; this road also facilitated attendance at meetings of the Ekklesia by providing a direct route from the commercial and administrative center of the polis up to the assembly place. As explored in Chapter 2, this physio-​ spatial link between the two spheres of political administration emphasized their common functions. Moreover, the view from the seating area of the Pnyx provided one of the most direct sightlines to the new Agora (now obscured by vegetation and modern buildings, Fig. 3.17). The Pnyx hill was

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Figure 3.16  Pnyx. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

Figure 3.17  View toward Agora from Pnyx. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

also close to the Akropolis and afforded views in this direction as well, particularly of the western entrance area (Plate 6). A viewshed simulation indicates that the west facade of the Old Athena Temple and the rising columns of the Old Parthenon also would have been visible from the Pnyx, as would most of the structures in the Agora (Fig. 3.18). From the newly empowered Ekklesia’s

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Figure  3.18  Viewshed from Pnyx toward Akropolis. Made by author using Google Earth Pro 2019.

meeting place, citizens would have enjoyed sweeping views of the city’s civic and sacred cores, both bustling with construction activity during this period. The Agora, Pnyx, and Akropolis form a triangle within the landscape of the astu, reflective of the importance of these three areas and their significance for the overall functioning of the new political order (Map 2). In a landscape as carefully constructed as the astu of Athens, these viewing axes are not easily ignorable. The spatial relationship between the Agora and the Pnyx visually and physically reinforces the sociopolitical connections between the popular Assembly, the Boule, and the magistrates, while the visual connection with the Akropolis underscores the divine favor and protection of the goddess, sought after and bestowed on the nascent political regime. The multifaceted links between the governing bodies are supported and enhanced by the built environment in which they are situated and in which they interact with one another. The Boule provided the preliminary agenda for the Ekklesia, but the proposals were ultimately voted on by the citizens in the Assembly. The elevated position of the meeting place on the Pnyx visually reinforces this system of oversight. The Old Bouleuterion was located in the heart of the new civic center, a prominent location that stressed the crucial role that the Boule played for the political order established by the Kleisthenic reforms. The Pnyx, on the other hand, was removed from the Agora, but acted as a

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commanding force in the landscape and provided a physical representation of the control that the Ekklesia was capable of exercising over the proposals put forth by the bouleutai. The Pnyx and Agora thus took part in the creation of a civic landscape within the astu, wherein movement between the two spheres was carefully structured. The towering Akropolis overlooked them and was highly visible from both spaces, providing the fulcrum around which this new demotic topography of the astu developed. In addition to the sightlines and road links, the physical form of the first phase of the Pnyx also acted as a visual reminder of the nature of the Ekklesia and the political function it served. As detailed above, the Pnyx was relatively isolated from most day-​to-​day traffic and few roads crisscrossed its slopes.90 This siting provided some amount of privacy for the proceedings of the Ekklesia, which were open to all citizens, but not to women, metics, and uninvited foreigners. The proposed reconstruction of Pnyx I with only one or possibly two hypothetical points of access further reinforces this concept of limited exclusivity and underscores the fact that the meeting place was the domain of the adult male citizens of Athens and no one else. On the other hand, the natural articulation of the meeting area, hewn into the bedrock of the hill and supported by a retaining wall, combined with the open-​air nature of the space, transmits a sense of visibility, transparency, and equality among citizens. We have no evidence for designated seating areas in the first phase of the Pnyx, so it appears that citizens could sit wherever they wanted, on a first come, first served basis.91 The open space of the Pnyx worked much in the same way as theatral areas and the Old Bouleuterion in promoting intervisibility, a facet that aided the decision-​making capabilities and functions of this political body. As with the Old Bouleuterion, civic structures with open plans and inward-​facing seating arrangements can foster a sense of accountability by increasing attendance and participation, and they thus simultaneously reflect 90.  It remains unclear to what degree the meeting area on the Pnyx could be closed off or restricted. For possible wicker or timber screens used in later periods, see Hansen 1985, pp. 241–​245. In addition to the road that connected the Pnyx to the Agora (Costaki’s I.15-​I.18-​ I.31-​I.32-​I.56, detailed in Chapter 2) and possibly the rock-​cut path I.62, Costaki’s I.55 entered the Pnyx at its north side from the mid-​fifth century onward, while I.61 ran across the area, between the Pnyx auditorium and the later stoai, although does not seem to have been in use for a long period of time (Costaki 2006, p. 343). If our interpretation of the horos discovered somewhere in the vicinity of the Pnyx is correct (as discussed in the section “The Pnyx” above), it would demonstrate an awareness or concern with encroachment and a desire to delineate clearly the space of the Pnyx from other areas, such as the surrounding demes. 91. Contra Stanton and Bicknell 1987. The exception to this would be important magistrates, such as the archons, who sat on special benches placed near a/​the bema.

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and create the equality of the citizen body.92 As with the Boule, participation in the Ekklesia is another civic duty for demotic forms of government and was crucial to the implementation of the Kleisthenic reforms and their rapidly successful functionality. The non-​hierarchical space of the Pnyx underscores these principles, aiding in the decision-​making capabilities of the Assembly by rendering the mechanisms of political procedure more transparent and accessible. The theater in the sanctuary of Dionysos served a similar purpose when it was used for meetings of the Ekklesia following the City Dionysia: the final day of the festival consisted of a special meeting of the Assembly in the theater itself, in order to judge the contests and evaluate the conduct of the officials responsible for the festival.93 This level of accountability and oversight regarding the conduct of officials and general execution of the festival helped to ensure that the City Dionysia was carried out with minimal problems and that the administrative system was transparent. It also emphasizes the dual role that all male Athenian citizens had the opportunity to perform, as observers and as active participants. The men who attended the festival of the City Dionysia were not merely passive spectators, watching the performances and sacrifices at leisure, but they were held responsible for monitoring their fellow citizens’ behavior, much in the way they monitored the behavior of their fellow bouleutai and other officeholders. Here again we see the importance of participation as a civic virtue crucial to the success of the new political regime, that said participation is self-​regulatory, and that specific venues with free-​flowing visual lines facilitated this monitored participation. Given its use as an occasional meeting place for the Ekklesia, the sanctuary of Dionysos Eleutherios also participated in forging a new civic landscape within the astu, while simultaneously contributing to its religious landscape. The two pompai (processions) associated with the City Dionysia further underscore the links between the civic festival and newly developed and expanded civic nodes within the astu. The initial pompe involved the transfer of the statue of Dionysos from his sanctuary in the astu to the small temple near the Academy. The god was then escorted back to his sanctuary in the 92. Chwe 2001, pp 30–​36; Paga 2017b. See Chapter 2 for the role of intervisibility in the Old Bouleuterion. For these functions in theatral areas, see Ober 2008, pp. 205–​208; Paga 2010, pp. 366–​371. 93. Pickard-​Cambridge 1968, pp. 69–​70. The Eponymous Archon was given general oversight of the festival (AthPol 56.4), and he and his assistants were examined at this time. It was also possible for citizens to make complaints against officials for misconduct, as well as against fellow participants for any injuries suffered during the festival.

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astu with a torch-​lit procession.94 This procession has been interpreted as a re-​enactment of both the god’s first arrival on Attic soil as well as the ritual transfer of his cult from Eleutherai to Athens.95 One of the more notable aspects of this rite is that the two roads by which one might travel to Eleutherai both exit the city near the Academy, which underscores the symbolism of the procession of the god from the Academy sanctuary into the astu as a re-​enactment not only of Dionysos’ arrival in Attika, but his specific arrival from Eleutherai (Map 1).96 The physical transfer of the statue from the Academy sanctuary into the city expressed the incorporation of the border area into the domain of the polis and emphasized the military victories and territorial expansion of the new political regime. At the same time, however, the preliminary procession out of the astu toward the Academy paid homage to the fact that the cult originated outside of the astu, even outside of the territory of the polis.97 The next day, the first true day of the festival, began with a second procession, starting from the sanctuary in the Academy and moving through the Kerameikos and new Agora, before circling around the west end of the Akropolis and ending in the sanctuary of Dionysos Eleutherios. What is particularly interesting is that the participants frequently paused during the pompe to perform additional rites: hymns were sung and offerings made at the Altar of the Twelve Gods, and a goat sacrifice occurred at the eschara in the northwest corner of the Agora.98 The halting of the passage of the procession through the Agora highlights the role of this newly developed space for the religious rites of the polis; the Agora was not merely a central node in the civic landscape, but a node in the ritual landscape as well. If the City Dionysia had its origins in the immediate aftermath of 506/​5, as has been suggested, the 94. Paus. 1.29.2. Pickard-​Cambridge 1968, p. 60; Parker 2005, p. 318. At some points during the festival the statue of the god resided in the theater (presumably during the competitions) but was otherwise kept in the temple (Pickard-​Cambridge 1968, pp. 59–​60; Parker 2005, p. 318). 95. Parker 2005, p. 318. 96. Eleutherai could be reached by taking the Sacred Way to Eleusis, then heading north toward Oinoe; this path is referred to by Pausanias as a “direct [road]” (9.2.1: γῆς δὲ τῆς Πλαταιίδος ἐν τῷ Κιθαιρῶνι ὀλίγον τῆς εὐθείας ἐκτραπεῖσιν ἐς δεξιὰ Ὑσιῶν καὶ Ἐρυθρῶν ἐρείπιά ἐστι. (“In the territory of the Plataians, on Mt. Kithairon, having turned off to the right a short distance from the direct road, there are the ruins of Hysiae and Erythrae.”)); Fachard and Pirisino 2015, pp. 139–​140. 97. For the symbolic resonance of centripetal processions, see Polignac 1995, ch. 2; Graf 1996, pp. 57–​59. 98. Sourvinou-​Inwood 2003b, pp. 69–​70. For the singing of hymns at the Altar of the Twelve Gods, see Xen., Hipp. 3.2; for the sacrifice at the eschara in the Agora, see IG II2 1011; for the singing of hymns at the eschara, see Alkiphron 4.18.16.

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earliest instances of the festival and procession would have occurred within a space undergoing rapid and significant topographic change. The Altar of the Twelve Gods was a permanent fixture in the Agora since 522/​1, but the area around the altar was experiencing tremendous activity in the last decade of the sixth and first two decades of the fifth centuries. The performance of songs and offerings within this area during the procession of the City Dionysia, like that of the Panathenaia, helped to legitimize the new Agora by activating the space ritually.99 The processions of the City Dionysia linked four distinct areas: the Academy (and symbolically the western border of Attika), the Kerameikos, the new Agora, and the sanctuary of Dionysos. All four areas were spatially united into the ritual landscape of the polis via these pompai, and the inclusion of the Agora as a key stopping point also linked the ritual performance with the civic center. The festival of the City Dionysia began in connection with military victory and border incorporation, it passed through and interacted with the newly established and bustling Agora, and its theater was used for special meetings of the Ekklesia. The processions, rites, and post-​performance activities shed light on the position of the new political order in relation to its borders, neighbors, and the developing spatial organization of the astu. Ultimately, the City Dionysia processions demonstrate how movement through the built environment could activate and legitimate a variety of spaces while providing links between disparate areas; in this case, the processions connected the extreme western border of Attika with the city center, and also linked the area near the Academy with the Kerameikos, Agora, and south slope of the Akropolis. A similar link can be seen in the case of the City Eleusinion. The concurrent architectural programs at the City Eleusinion and sanctuary at Eleusis may indicate that the Mysteries were undergoing a phase of expansion at this time. After the Kleisthenic reforms, it is possible that the Mysteries and the process of initiation became more widely available to citizens living in Attika. The integration of the broader territory of Attika may have made access to the Mysteries easier via more interconnected roadways, a broader incorporation of shared ritual throughout the demes, and increased communication. The construction projects at both Eleusinian sanctuaries indicate that considerable money was being directed to the rituals associated with Demeter

99. Compare this ritual activation of space to that described by Wescoat 2012a and 2017.

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and Persephone.100 The building projects in these sanctuaries demonstrated to both Athenian and non-​Athenian initiates that the new political order was not only capable of maintaining the Mysteries but was also able to improve substantially the built environment associated with them. Moreover, the processions associated with the Mysteries, as with the Dionysiac pompai, physically connected the two sanctuaries and connected them with the new Agora, all constituent parts in the ritual landscape of the polis.101 The presence of the City Eleusinion near the new Agora also emphasizes the overall role that the astu came to play for the new political order. Although the sanctuary at Eleusis remained the primary focus and ritual center of cult activities, the City Eleusinion marked out the astu as a centralized location for the performance of part of the Mysteries and therefore an integral part of the rites. The elaboration of the sanctuary in the city emphasized the connections between the deme and the astu itself, creating a physical and ritual link. Viewed in this light, the development of the city sanctuary is indicative of what might be characterized as an attempt to draw the Athenian populace into the city, a movement from the extra-​urban spaces of Attika into the astu.102 The creation of the new Agora and the lavish building projects on the Akropolis would have brought increased numbers of people into the city center for religious purposes, labor and business opportunities, and government and administrative functions. The City Eleusinion fits within this milieu, serving both religious and administrative purposes. The use of the area for meetings of the Boule following the Mysteries (like the use of the theater after the City Dionysia) demonstrates how these two aspects—​religion and politics—​frequently intersect in the built environment of Athens.103 The very location of the City Eleusinion speaks to the varied uses of the area and

100. In addition to the Mysteries, the Thesmophoria, Eleusinia, Haloa, Chloïa, Kalamaia, and Proerosia all contained components that took place at Eleusis (Parker 2005, pp. 327–​368). 101. For the schedule of the Mysteries and details regarding the processions, see Clinton 1993, esp. pp. 116–​119; other treatments of the processions to be consulted include Graf 1996, pp. 61–​ 64; Sourvinou-​Inwood 2003a; Parker 2005, p. 348 (see esp. n. 90 for the controversy regarding one or two processions back to Eleusis from the City Eleusinion). The connections between Eleusis and the astu are treated further in Chapter 4. 102. This is not to say that the astu was promoted over the broader territory of Attika. As will be seen in Chapter 4, the demes in the chora were also the recipients of building activity during this period. 103. For the antiquity of using the City Eleusinion for meetings of the Boule, see Agora XXXI, p. 8, where it is argued that these meetings would have started by at least the beginning of the fifth century.

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physically demarcates the space as both religious and administrative, situated between the bounds of the Agora and Akropolis, along the route of the Panathenaic Way. The Kerameikos is another type of liminal space. In addition to facilitating communication between the living and the dead, the presence of the demosion sema ensured that this area also straddled the line between ritual and civic space, the two spheres linked by military sacrifice and commemoration. Not only does the Academy road link the area of the Academy with the astu, but once it passes through the Kerameikos and into the city itself, it becomes the Panathenaic Way, which ran to the Altar of the Twelve Gods in the new Agora and eventually culminated at the Akropolis. During the Panathenaic festival, the area of the demosion sema was effectively turned into a staging ground for the massive procession. The congregation of Athenians in the area of the demosion sema prior to the start of the pompe ensured that the memory of the dead was carried with the living during the procession, symbolically linking the deceased with the celebration by the living, who owed their continued freedom and prosperity to those who died in battle. At the end of the procession, the sacrificial meat was distributed according to phyle within the Kerameikos, which brought the procession back to its starting point and again emphasized the connections between the cemetery, the goddess, and the new political order.104 The presence of the demosion sema near the start of the Panathenaic Way also ensured a link between the war dead and the new Agora.105 The physical link between the two spaces would have emphasized their temporal and symbolic connections. We might even interpret the use of the Panathenaic Way to connect the Kerameikos and Agora as an indication of how the new political system was integrally related to the new martial successes of the Athenians. The act of walking along the Panathenaic Way during the pompe of the Panathenaia served as a kinesthetic manifestation of this ideological symbolism. The actual movement of Athenians from the demosion sema into the Agora functioned as a human chain linking the war dead with the new civic center; at some points during the pompe, the vast number of people participating in the procession would have physically connected the two spaces, with some processers entering the Agora as others still waited near the Dipylon Gate. This human train was a visual reminder of the connection

104. IG II2 334. 105. Arrington 2010, p. 528, 2015, pp. 36–​38, 50–​53.

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between the war dead and the Agora and allowed the memory of the deceased to be physically transferred to the administrative and political seat of the nascent political regime via the ritual of procession. And if a pre-​funerary prothesis (viewing) of the war dead in the Agora took place prior to their burial, the ekphora (procession to the grave) of the cremated citizens and mourners from the civic space out to the demosion sema in the Kerameikos further enacted this connection between governance and military sacrifice.106 This funerary procession, along the same roads used in the Panathenaic pompe (the Panathenaic Way to the Academy Road), thereby ties together the war dead, civic governance, and the goddess Athena, a palimpsest of the Panathenaic procession. In the years immediately following the Kleisthenic reforms, the Kerameikos played an important role in the new political order. In the first place, it became the seat of the public cemetery and home of the demosion sema. This use of the area echoed its previous associations with the murder of Hipparchos by the Tyrannicides, forging a link between the overthrow of tyranny, the passage of the reforms, and the Athenians’ new military prowess. The convergence of several important road networks in the area of the Kerameikos, including the Sacred Way, the road to the Academy, and the Leokoriou road, is a further indication of the prominence of this space. Moreover, the use of the Sacred Way and Academy road for festival activities and processions created a ritualized environment within the Kerameikos, particularly alongside the newly established demosion sema. This sacralized area wove together the interrelated threads of public ritual, public burial, and public gathering, with the result that the Kerameikos aided in the generation of a new and specific ideology that combined these various factors. The Kerameikos was not merely a cemetery where the dead were buried and mourned, but rather an active and engaged space that preserved the memory of the war dead within the nexus of ritual and communication.

Conclusion The building activity that occurred in the astu in the late sixth and early fifth centuries is ultimately a testament to the desire and capability of the demos to transform their built environment. Throughout much of the sixth century, the two primary areas of architectural attention were the Akropolis

106. Arrington 2015, p. 36.

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and Old Agora. In the third quarter of the sixth century, the Peisistratidai began to expand the spheres of construction to the area of the Ilissos river, with the dedication of the altar of Pythian Apollo and initial erection of the Olympieion, and to the area of the new Agora, with the dedication of the Altar of the Twelve Gods and changes to the building complex in the southwest corner. In comparison, the alterations and modifications of the built environment undertaken between 508/​7 and 480/​79 can only be characterized as a veritable explosion of building activity. The number of buildings and the expanded areas of architectural attention and elaboration stand in stark contrast to all earlier periods. The astu itself became the scene for dramatic renovation as the organization, layout, and general use of the city center was fundamentally altered. In contrast to the isolated pockets of architectural construction during the sixth century, the astu underwent a large-​scale transformation under the new political regime. In Chapter 4, we will see how this transformation extended beyond the bounds of the astu and into the demes of Attika.

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The Demes DELINEATION AND INTERCONNECTIVITY

The polis of Athens included the vast territory of Attika, an area of nearly 2,500 km.2 with extensive coastal regions, fertile plains, and multiple mountain ranges (Map 1). A minimum of 5 demes were located within the bounds of the astu, which left the remaining 134 dispersed throughout the chora (territory or countryside) of Attika. The demes ranged in geographic size, population density, and relative level of significance, but each was an integral part of the broader polis organization—​politically, economically, militarily, and ritually. Several existed in some form prior to the Kleisthenic reforms, many were created anew, but all were recognized and organized into the new system of phyle-​trittys-​deme in the years immediately following 508/​7. Under the new political regime, the demes were thus fundamental units within the complex matrix of the Athenian state, semiautonomous but full participants in the broader polis. Citizenship depended entirely on deme affiliation, which validated the power of the demes and made their integration into the polis crucial to administrative functionality. This chapter explores several of these individual demes in order to examine how the building activity documented in the previous chapters for the city center spilled out into the countryside during the late sixth and early fifth centuries. The sheer volume of deme construction activity in the Late Archaic period warrants this close look. The deme structures are not dissimilar from those in the astu:  temples, altars, civic structures, gates, walls, and theatral areas all appear in the countryside. The materials and scale are also similar in many cases: marble makes an appearance, as do local stones, and the structures are primarily monumental in scope, if not always in size. The siting and visibility of, and access to, monuments plays an important role in the demes, Building Democracy in Late Archaic Athens. Jessica Paga, Oxford University Press (2021). © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780190083571.001.0001

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just as they did in the city center, as does the multipurpose functionality of several of the structures in question. Overall, the deme buildings both complement and augment the construction activity identified in the preceding chapters. In particular, three main conclusions stand out from an analysis of deme construction in the Late Archaic period:  the use of deme structures (both physical and organizational) to define the boundaries of the polis; the interconnectivity between demes (and between demes and astu); and the importance of locality and deme identity. These conclusions all highlight the important role the demes played in the successful implementation of the Kleisthenic reforms, both administratively and symbolically, in articulating a new conception of Athenian identity. In what follows, the geography of Attika and its relation to nearby territories and islands are first considered in order to situate the region within a broader Greek and Mediterranean context. Examinations of individual demes follow, with particular attention to those with large-​scale or monumental structures, or those that held special significance for the development of the polis under the new political regime. The individual demes are arranged in order of relative population size (roughly based on bouleutic quota) and extent of monumental construction in the Late Archaic period. Some demes are treated together, such as Piraeus and Phaleron, due to their interrelated functions. Although not a deme, Brauron is also included because it saw a high level of construction activity during this period and was a significant extra-​astu sanctuary. The chapter concludes with a discussion of building activity as a whole in the demes, with additional consideration of its relation to concurrent construction in the astu.

Geography and Siting Attika shares a land border with the territories of Boiotia and Megara to the northwest, the Isthmus and access to the Peloponnese is not far from the southwest border, and the waters to the northeast and south contain several islands:  Salamis, Aegina, and Euboia. Athens was thus simultaneously isolated—​confined to this delineated peninsula—​but also integrally connected to the broader Mediterranean and Greek mainland via both land and sea routes. These twin factors, and particularly its extensive coastline with numerous natural harbors, put Attika in an unique position. Indeed, as discussed in the Introduction, this particular geography had ramifications for the way the Athenian political system developed in the sixth and early fifth centuries; it is even possible that the demands of the territory were more

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compatible with certain political regimes than others.1 Whatever political system was in place at any given time would have to combat the tendency toward isolation for the nucleated settlements in the countryside as well as the variable topographic demands of coast, plain, and mountain. The land and sea borders of Attika, and its relative isolation, led to alternately friendly and hostile relations with neighboring territories and islands. The proximity of Megara and land routes across the Isthmus and into the Peloponnese made the border of Attika near Eleusis and the Thriasian plain (called the Rarian Plain in antiquity) highly susceptible to issues of territorial control. Similarly, the western and northwestern areas of Attika, from the Mazi Plain toward Mt. Parnes and then up toward Oropos, bordered Boiotia, which was centered around the wealthy and influential polis of Thebes, and which thus presented another threat to the control of this area.2 These land borders were challenged in 506/​5 when the Boiotians, Chalkidians, Spartans, and Corinthians launched their quadripartite attack against the fledgling political system put in place by the Kleisthenic reforms.3 Nor were the coastal regions of Attika safe:  the proximity of Euboia and Aegina, flanking the Attic peninsula to the north and south, respectively, constituted a perennial threat. Athens and Aegina had a long history of hostilities throughout the Archaic period and the southern coast of Attika was frequently subject to raids and attacks. Throughout the sixth century, the sea power of Aegina rendered Athens relatively weak in terms of trade advantages and naval power, and the frequent Aeginetan raids on the southern coastline would have made the maintenance of the harbor at Phaleron particularly difficult.4 Overall, the borders of Attika—​both land and sea—​were weak, vulnerable to attack, and often exploited by enemies during the Archaic period.5

1. See, for instance, Hopper 1961, on the plain, shore, and hill factions of the Archaic period (cf. Andrewes 1982, pp. 393–​398). 2. The variable control of the northwestern border is treated by Ober 1985; Camp 1991; Fachard 2013; Fachard and Pirisino 2015; Fachard 2017 (with earlier bibliography); see also Fachard’s project website, https://​www.bordersofattica.org/​. 3.  Hdt. 5.74–​77. These events are treated in greater detail in the Introduction, as well as Chapter 1 and in the sections that follow. 4. For hostilities between Athens and Aegina, see Hdt. 5.79–​90, 6.49–​50, 6.87–​94, 7.145, also discussed in the Introduction. 5. A further example of the permeability of the coastal borders can be seen in Peisistratos’ third attempt at the tyranny, when he landed his mercenary army on the northern shore of Attika and marched to Pallene (Hdt. 1.62).

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At the same time, however, the extensive coastline and access to the Aegean meant that the Athenians were at all times connected to the Cycladic islands, as well as the shores of Asia Minor, and points north (particularly Thrace and the Chersonese) and south (particularly Delos, but also Egypt).6 It is possible to view the Athenian response to the Ionian Revolt in 499—​their dispatch of twenty triremes—​as both a demonstration of their preexisting connections with eastern Greece (Miletus was founded by Athenians, as Aristagoras reminds them) and a mark of their desire to continue and even strengthen this relationship.7 After the fall of Miletus, inter-​Mediterranean trade routes through Athens increased, which further strengthened the relationship of the polis with the broader Mediterranean world.8 Throughout the Archaic period, Athens was an active participant in the trade routes crisscrossing the Mediterranean basin, but it was not until the Late Archaic period that its trans-​Hellenic and trans-​Aegean status rose toward the top. The geography of Attika and its multitude of demands (on food supply, exports and imports, and communication) informed the transformation of the built environment during the Late Archaic period. This highly variable landscape underscores the importance of the level of interconnectedness present in the Kleisthenic divisions—​the multitude of ways all the demes were tied to each other. And it is these connections that enabled the implementation of the reforms and helped guarantee their robust functionality. Beyond bureaucratic organization, the various levels of connectivity and the networks created by the reforms are also visible in the built environment of the individual demes. Just as the structures and monuments built in the late sixth and early fifth centuries demonstrate the individual nature of the demes, so too do they provide insight into the broader matrix in which the demes were situated. A temple built in Sounion, for example, is a product of that particular deme, but it must also be viewed within the larger context of contemporary building projects in both Attika and the city center. Monumental built structures in Attika are thus deme-​specific while also participating in an extensive network stretching across mountain ranges, through plains, and skirting the coast.

6. For Athenian interest in Thrace, see Moreno 2007; Sears 2013. For the artistic relationship between Athens and Egypt in the Archaic Period, see Palagia and Bianchi 1994. 7. Hdt. 5.97–​99. 8. Some have argued that the expansion of the Piraeus in the Late Archaic and Early Classical period was a direct response to the collapse of Miletus as a principal trading hub (treated in more detail below, in the section “Piraeus and Phaleron”).

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Eleusis The deme of Eleusis is located in the western corner of Attika, south of Mt. Parnes and west of Mt. Aigaleos, within the fertile Thriasian plain (Map 1). Eleusis is the largest deme in this area, in the coastal trittys of phyle VIII, Hippothontis, with a bouleutic quota of perhaps eleven.9 The relatively large population size of Eleusis was due in part to the renown of its sanctuary and ready access to nearby agricultural lands, but it is also likely related to its function as a border site near the territory of Megara.10 This aspect of the sanctuary is highlighted by the episode of 506/​5, when the Spartans and Corinthians marched on Attika, halting their progress at Eleusis and occupying the deme and/​or sanctuary, effectively taking ownership of the fertile plains and exercising control of the road from Athens toward Megara.11 Even though the forces never came to blows at Eleusis, the foreign occupation of one of the most important Athenian border demes—​and, by extension, one of the city’s most important sanctuaries—​illuminates the vulnerability of this area of Attika. Several of the architectural features at Eleusis betray this dual function of cult center and border guard post. Two structures in particular deserve special attention:  the peribolos or fortification walls and the Late Archaic Telesterion (Fig. 4.1). These contemporaneous features have long been interpreted as evidence of Peisistratid activity in the area, but both are better dated to the years immediately following 506/​5 and the attack of the Spartans

9. Traill provides the bouleutic quotas for all demes (1975, pp. 67–​70). The evidence for the bouleutic quotas is primarily derived from fourth-​century (and Hellenistic) epigraphic sources. When the demes were reorganized in 307/​6 for the addition of two new phylai (Antigonis and Demetrias), some of the quotas changed, presumably to reflect changes in population and overall deme size. There is no evidence, however, that any reorganization occurred before this time. Many of the earlier fourth-​century attestations of bouleutic quotas, therefore, are likely accurate representations of deme size at the end of the sixth century. Nevertheless, caution should be exercised when using the bouleutic quotas as evidence for population size, particularly given the mobility of the Athenian populace, as highlighted by Kellogg (2016). I use the quotas here only to give a sense of the general population size of the deme. I thank Danielle Kellogg for discussing the issue of bouleutic quotas with me and sharing some of her current research on deme populations and mobility. 10. Compare Eleusis’ bouleutic quota of 11 with other border demes, such as Rhamnous (8) and Aphidna (16). Several of the coastal demes located near protected harbors were also of considerable size and functioned as sea borders: Marathon (10), Anaphlystos (10), Pireaus (10), Anagyrous (6) with its neighbor Halai Aixonides (7), and Phaleron (9). Daly convincingly treats Eleusis as a strategic border deme from an early period (2015). 11. Hdt. 5.74–​76. For the route to Megara, see Fachard and Pirisino 2015.

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Figure 4.1  Plan of Eleusis, ca. 480 B.C.E. J. Travlos 1988, Abb. 136. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

and Corinthians.12 Given this precise historical context, it is possible to interpret the architectural embellishments to the sanctuary as concrete responses to these events. The construction of the walls speaks to the importance of secrecy in the rites of the Mysteries, but also emphasizes the vulnerable position of Eleusis and its military potential. Indeed, the sanctuary walls, as extensions 12. The Peisistratid date was first proposed by Noack (1927, esp. pp. 68–​70); for a defense of this date with updated bibliography, see Palinkas 2008, pp. 67–​82. Since the 1990s, however, many scholars have recognized that this assignation is untenable. Clinton remarks that the Late Archaic Telesterion is “certainly [dated] after the third quarter of the sixth century, possibly even as late as the end of the century” (1994, p. 162). Hayashi, relying primarily on the evidence of the ram’s head finial (Fig. 4.5), shows that the Peisistratid date for the building must be discarded (1992, pp. 20–​29). Miles, in Agora XXXI, highlights the lack of ancient testimonia associating the Peisistratidai with the Mysteries and further argues that both the Telesterion and fortification walls should be considered products of the new democracy, concomitant with expansions in the City Eleusinion (pp.  27–​28). This later dating has also been presented in Lippolis 2006, pp. 163–​180, 2007, pp. 589–​590; Daly 2015, pp. 40–​42; Paga 2015b, pp. 109–​112.

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of the walls that surround the deme center and akropolis, gain particular importance when considering the deme’s access to the nearby plain and the prominent road that connects the area to the astu.13 The new Telesterion, on the other hand, while first and foremost serving as the principal cult building in the sanctuary, may also hint at the dangers of a hostile occupation of sacred space and associated miasma, as we saw with the Bluebeard Temple on the Akropolis in Chapter 1.14 Little survives of the Late Archaic fortifications, but it is certain that they were built prior to the Persian destruction of Eleusis in 480, as is clear from their continued use in the fifth century despite indications of damage.15 As mentioned above and seen in Fig. 4.1, the walls encircled not only the sanctuary, but some of the deme site as well; they thus protected the sacred rites as well as the inhabitants and resources of Eleusis.16 The walls were constructed in three parts: foundations of roughly hewn limestone blocks, socles of polygonal local Eleusinian stone, and superstructures of mudbrick (Fig. 4.2).17 The wall had a variable thickness of between 2.80 and 3.10 m., a further indication that it was not a mere peribolos wall defining the temenos of the sanctuary.18 13. The walls protected the sanctuary but also—​and perhaps more importantly—​protected the granaries and workers, crucial resources for the Athenian polis: the produce from the Thriasian plain provided the Athenians with a reliable and much-​needed source of grain. See esp. Daly 2015 for the strategic importance of Eleusis as a border deme; also Gawlinksi 2015, p. 65. I thank one of the anonymous reviewers for bringing this to my attention. 14. The occupation of Eleusis by the Spartans and Corinthians in 506/​5 mirrors the occupation of the Akropolis by Kleomenes, Isagoras, and the Spartans in 508/​7. Both events resulted in new construction activity that was, at least partially, a response to the pollution and desecration that these occupations created, both by deliberate incursion into restricted sacred space and by normal bodily functions within the sanctuary. For a different interpretation of Kleomenes’ presence at Eleusis, see Tritle 1988; while it raises intriguing questions, I do not find his argument that Isagoras and his supporters seized Eleusis and held it for two years, from 508/​7 to 506/​5, tenable. 15. For evidence of the destruction of both walls and Telesterion, see Hdt. 9.65; Noack 1927, pp. 30–​32, 90–​92 (walls); Mylonas 1961, pp. 93, 107–​108 (walls, attributed to the Persians); Boedeker 2007 (Telesterion); Miles 2014, p. 124 (general). Burned debris was also recovered in pits similar to those on the Akropolis (Noack 1927, p. 93; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1982, p. 133, n. 20 for additional bibliography). 16. Clinton estimates the circumference of the walls in the Late Archaic and Classical periods to be around 850 m., approximately one-​quarter of which was taken up by the sanctuary (1994, p. 162). 17. For a description of the walls and gates, see Mylonas 1961, pp. 91–​96; Palinkas 2008, pp. 68–​ 71 (although note that she argues that they are “Peisistratean” in date). 18. These walls are often referred to as “peribolos” walls, but their overall construction details and extent can be favorably compared with other fortification walls. Lang classifies these

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Figure 4.2  Eleusis, Late Archaic fortifications. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

Several gates provided access, and three in particular stand out for their size and orientation: the South Gate, North Gate, and Asty Gate.19 The presence of these gates with their accompanying towers, as well as the overall extent and careful construction of the wall, underscores the defensive purpose they served. The remains of the Late Archaic Telesterion include the entire extent of the southern foundations (Fig. 4.3 and Plate 7)  and portions of its euthynteria, sections of the eastern portico, and bedrock cuttings for the western wall; altogether, they indicate a structure that measured 25.30 × 27.10 m., not including the porch, which would add an additional 4.55 m. to the east-​west length (resulting in overall dimensions of 29.85 × 27.10 m.).20 walls within the rubric of fortifications (Lang’s “Type 4;” 1996, pp. 22–​24); the point is also emphasized by Clinton 1994, p. 162. An earlier wall encircled the sanctuary, possibly connected to the Early Archaic Telesterion, but little is preserved and the extent is unknown (Mylonas 1961, pp. 64–​65). 19. The South Gate measures ca. 4 m. wide and includes a square tower, parts of which are still visible; it would have provided access to the sanctuary and deme from the sea (Mylonas 1961, p.  92 (near his H38)). The North Gate served as the primary gate for the sanctuary, through which the Sacred Way passed, and was also furnished with a square tower, still visible in places (Mylonas 1961, p. 93 (his H18)). The Asty Gate shares similar dimensions with the South Gate but was arranged with a large enclosed interior space, which created a double gate layout with a dogleg, a militaristic arrangement of space (Mylonas 1961, pp. 94–​95 (his H10)). Palinkas includes extensive discussion of the gates and access points into the sanctuary (2008, pp. 72–​75). 20. The north wall of this building was subsumed into the Classical Telesterion, which makes the north-​south measurements approximate. The construction of the Late Archaic Telesterion

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Figure  4.3  Eleusis, Late Archaic Telesterion, view to west. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

The nearly square interior space was supported by twenty-​two columns, possibly Ionic, while the entire structure was likely fronted by a porch of nine or ten Doric columns, perforated by one or three doors to permit access to the inner naos (Fig. 4.4).21 Above foundations of irregular Kara limestone rose also required the extension of the terrace supporting it to the west, which entailed the partial quarrying of the hillside, and the east, which required dumped fill and a retaining wall (see Mylonas 1961, pp. 78, 90–​91, for the terrace). 21. The use of the Ionic order for these columns is adduced from the reference to σπεῖραι in IG I3 386/​387. For discussion of the number of columns and their order on both the facade and interior, see Mylonas 1961, pp. 80–​83. In form, the Telesterion was another hypostyle hall, like the Old Bouleuterion. The deployment of twenty-​two columns, however, was clearly not

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Figure 4.4  Eleusis, Late Archaic Telesterion, plan. C. Lightfoot.

the euthynteria and wall blocks, built of a different, softer type of limestone (perhaps local) and set in ashlar courses, with a sima and roof tiles carved from Parian marble, altogether a material monumentalization of the building that far surpassed any earlier cult building on the site.22 The sima was articulated with sensitively carved ram’s head finials, identical to those carved for the Old Athena Temple on the Akropolis (Fig. 4.5). Tiers of nine steps were built along the full length of the north wall and parts of the south and west

structurally necessary (the Old Bouleuterion has nearly identical dimensions and five columns were sufficient to support the roof ): the superfluity of columns is an architectural and cultic choice that would have heightened the mysteric elements of the rites that occurred inside the building. 22. For further description of the building, see Noack 1927, pp. 48–​70; Mylonas 1961, pp. 78–​ 91. The distinctive dark gray Eleusinian limestone was not used for this building, but other local sources of stone may have been employed for the superstructure. For the so-​called Solonian Telesterion of the late seventh or early sixth century, see Noack 1927, pp. 16–​48; Travlos 1950–​ 1951, pp. 10–​11; Mylonas 1961, pp. 63–​76 (both Noack and Mylonas attribute much of the remains of the Late Archaic Telesterion to the earlier structure); Travlos 1988, pp. 92–​93. Note Agora XXXI, p. 28, where the date is adjusted to the first half of the sixth century, a date more in line with similar embellishments in the City Eleusinian sanctuary.

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Figure  4.5  Eleusis, ram's head finial from the Late Archaic Telesterion. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

walls.23 These steps were partially cut into the bedrock on the north side but otherwise built up from carefully worked limestone blocks. The steps were too narrow to function as seats, so it is likely that the initiates stood to observe the rites of the Mysteries, which presumably took place in the center of the building.24 It is in the years immediately following 506/​5 that we should envision the construction of this new Late Archaic Telesterion and the surrounding fortification walls.25 As many have pointed out, it is also likely that the growing popularity and Panhellenic nature of the Mysteries may have necessitated a larger cult space by this time.26 While it is surely true that the increased profile of the cult, both within Attika and within the broader Panhellenic world, would have necessitated a larger building, I would like to propose a 23. For the number of steps and details of their construction, see Mylonas 1961, p. 88. 24. Hollinshead 2012 and 2015 details the significance of monumental staircases, both those used for sitting and standing, and while she does not include the Telesterion as one of her examples, it certainly fits her rubric of stairs as viewing platforms. 25. Clinton also associates the building of the fortification walls with the occupation of Eleusis by the Peloponnesians (1994, p.  162); his argument would seem to apply implicitly to the Telesterion as well. 26. Mylonas 1961, p. 77; Clinton 1994, p. 162; Palinkas 2008, pp. 80–​85.

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slightly different and more immediate impetus. If it is correct to interpret the Kleisthenic reforms as, in part, an attempt to unify the disparate population and territory of Attika into a singular political and administrative system, communal participation in shared religious rituals would have helped forge and strengthen these bureaucratic links. The roads that crisscrossed Attika, many in place since the Bronze Age, facilitated movement between demes and throughout the Attic peninsula. These roads would have been particularly important in the Late Archaic period.27 It is, therefore, possible that participation in the Mysteries, although open to all Athenians throughout the Archaic period, became more feasible, desirable, and encouraged among the broader population living within Attic territory in the decades following the Kleisthenic reforms. For the Athenian populace residing outside of the astu and at points far distant from Eleusis, the changes in 508/​7 may thus have resulted in increased attendance at and participation in this exclusive cult. It is even possible that initiation into the Mysteries was, or became, a prerequisite for serving in the Boule.28 One final aspect of the walls and Telesterion is worth highlighting: the use of the distinctive gray-​blue local Eleusinian limestone.29 It was used for the socles of the fortification walls, and parts of the Telesterion were carved directly out of the bedrock. This utilization of local materials is practical: local stone is cheaper than transporting limestone or marble from elsewhere, it is more readily available and accessible, and the quarries are likely operated by (and employ members of ) the deme. But the use of local stone also emphasizes

27. Fachard and Pirisino note the early road networks and suggest that ca. 100 routes likely existed in Attika by the Archaic period (2015, p. 141). They further note that the importance of a good road-​network became even more vital after Cleisthenes’ reforms. The success of the new political organization, which included the wider participation of citizens and bouleutai from all over Attica, rested on the possibility of traveling to the city quickly and relatively comfortably in order to participate . . . This is particularly true for the years closely following the reforms. (pp. 143–​144) See also Siewert 1982 for the road networks in Attika at the time of the Kleisthenic reforms. 28.  Meetings of the Boule occurred in the City Eleusinion following the annual festival of the Mysteries (like the meetings of the Ekklesia in the theater after the City Dionysia), which implies that all bouleutai were initiates (And. 1.111). For these meetings, see Agora XXXI, p. 18; Clinton 1993, p. 119; and Chapter 3. 29.  For the use of local stone in deme building projects more generally, see Osborne 1985, pp. 93–​110; also treated in Chapter 5.

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the importance of this resource to the deme and may thus carry symbolic value. Compare, for example, the use of Eleusinian stone on the Akropolis for the Chalkidian and Boiotian monument.30 The deliberate choice of this visually distinctive material for a monument that commemorates the first successful Athenian military victory under the new political regime is surely not coincidental, given the plethora of stone choices available for the commemoration.31 After “defeating” the Spartans and Corinthians at Eleusis, the Athenians then actually defeated the Boiotians and Chalkidians: the use of Eleusinian stone for the victory monument would be both fitting and symbolically resonant, accentuating the military triumph on the western land borders of Attic territory with a monumental dedication by the demos in the heart of the polis. The use of this material in the defensive walls at Eleusis and its presence in the very roots of the Telesterion emphasize the autonomy of the deme, the site specificity of the Mysteries, and the importance of the area as a border site. We see here how the use of locale-​specific materials was more than mere practicality.

Piraeus and Phaleron The astu of Athens is located some 7–​8 km. from the sea, and a close connection with a port or harbor was integral to the success of the polis. In the sixth century, that primary port was Phaleron, but during the course of the early fifth century the rapidly developing Piraeus superseded it (Map 1). The two demes were close to each other, the Bay of Phaleron forming part of the eastern boundary of the Piraeus peninsula. Both demes, moreover, were enclosed by the Long Walls, built in the second quarter of the fifth century, and both were of relatively large sizes with robust populations (Phaleron had a bouleutic quota of 9, Piraeus of 10).32 The harbors at Phaleron and Piraeus were large, close to the astu, and easily accessible from both land and sea. The decision to adopt Piraeus as the official port and harbor of Athens in the Late

30.  IG I3 501 (EM 6286). The replacement base, erected after the Persian destruction, was Pentelic marble (EM 6287). This monument is discussed in detail in Chapter 1. 31. The gray-​blue color of Eleusinian limestone stands out prominently against white marble, pink Kara limestone, and the bluish bedrock of the Akropolis—​the three primary building materials used on the Akropolis in the Late Archaic and Early Classical periods. Raubitschek also comments on the associations between the use of this particular stone and the events of 506/​5 (1949, p. 193). For Attic quarries in the fourth century, see Flament 2015. 32. For the Long Walls, see Conwell 2008.

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Archaic period, a deliberate choice by the new political regime, represents not only a substantial change in the topographical orientation of the astu and countryside, but also a momentous reorientation of the fiscal, administrative, and defensive policies of the polis.33 There is no evidence, either archaeological or literary, that Piraeus was considered of much importance before ca. 500, whereas Phaleron enjoys a richer tradition. Phaleron is the port from which the Athenian leader Menestheus sailed for Troy, and from where Theseus departed for Crete.34 These references imply that Phaleron was a port of long-​standing antiquity and that it served as an embarkation point for the Athenians from an early time. The Athenians also celebrated a festival called the Kybernesia at Phaleron, which involved the worship of Theseus’ captain and lookout man, Nausithoös and Phaiax.35 The Spartans, led by Kleomenes, landed at Phaleron in 511/​10, when they came to depose Hippias for the second time.36 When the Aeginetans began to make raids on the Attic coastline at the behest of the Thebans in the last decade of the sixth century, they first descended on Phaleron.37 And after the battle of Marathon in 490, the Persian fleet sailed

33. It has been argued that the new commercial vessels of the early fifth century would have been unable to dock in the relatively shallow Bay of Phaleron, whereas the harbor of Kantharos was better suited to these larger ships (Garland 1987, p. 18). Others see Piraeus as a “new” Miletus, a replacement of the Ionian trade center after the events of 499 and their repercussions (Boersma 1970, pp. 48–​49). Garland disagrees but does admit that the Piraeus was better suited than Phaleron to commercial activity and that the development of Piraeus had both “offensive” and “defensive” goals (1987, p. 18). It is also possible that the urban layout of Miletus influenced the eventual Hippodamian plan of Piraeus. The Persian destruction of Miletus in 494 would have drastically affected trade relations throughout the Mediterranean and while I do not believe that Piraeus was deliberately developed to take advantage of this resulting disruption, the new Athenian harbor undeniably benefited from the situation, and it could have played some role in the choice to change harbors. For connections between the development of Piraeus and the location of the new Agora, see Papadopoulos 2003. 34. Homer, Il. 2.552; Paus. 1.1.2. 35. Plut., Thes. 17.6 = Philochoros FGrH 328 F 111. Theseus is said to have established a heroön to these two men at Phaleron, near the temple of Skiros. 36. Hdt. 5.63. 37. Hdt. 5.81. Phaleron is the only deme mentioned by name by Herodotos in this attack, which perhaps signifies the importance of its destruction by the Aeginetans. He further comments that these attacks on the coastal towns were a serious blow to the Athenians: ἐπιπλώσαντες μακρῇσι νηυσὶ ἐς τὴν Ἀττικὴν κατὰ μὲν ἔσυραν Φάληρον κατὰ δὲ τῆς ἄλλης παραλίης πολλοὺς δήμους, ποιεῦτες δὲ ταῦτα μεγάλως Ἀθηναίους ἐσικνέοντο. (“They [the Aegenetans] attacked Attika with many warships and destroyed Phaleron and many other coastal demes; they pierced the Athenians greatly by doing these things.”) The date of this conflict is sometime between 508/​7 and 499.

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around the Attic peninsula and anchored just off Phaleron.38 The attack by the Aeginetans on Phaleron and the fact that the Persians sailed there after the battle of Marathon imply that it was still considered the primary harbor of Athens in 490, not yet having been fully supplanted by Piraeus. The deme site of Phaleron has not yet been located with certainty, nor have any remains been positively associated with it.39 Pausanias, however, mentions several altars and temples, which would indicate that the deme enjoyed prosperity and cultic significance, even after Piraeus became the main harbor for the polis. In particular, he refers to a sanctuary of Demeter, temples of Athena Skiras and Zeus, and several altars dedicated to gods and heroes. On the way from Phaleron to Athens, he also notes a Temple of Hera that dates to the period before the Persian wars and was burned by Mardonios.40 This temple had neither doors nor a roof, which might imply that it was never repaired after 480/​79, although it continued to function as a cult space. There is no evidence in the bay at Phaleron for the permanent installation of ship sheds or other structures to facilitate harbor activity, nor do any of the ancient sources mention protection for the port. The bay of Phaleron is large and open, particularly in comparison to the three smaller and more secluded harbors of Piraeus, and it is likely that the indefensibility of the harbor contributed to its eclipse by Piraeus. Prior to ca. 500, there is little evidence—​either archaeological or literary—​ for significant settlement and activity at Piraeus. The area may have had limited occupation during earlier periods: Strabo claims that Piraeus used to be an island and the marshy plain that stretches from Piraeus to Athens could indicate that what is now a peninsula might have earlier been a detached (or partially detached) island.41 In addition to this isolation, the Piraeus peninsula has few agricultural resources and a limited supply of fresh water.42 On the other hand, Archaic grave stelai indicate occupation and a certain amount

38. Hdt. 6.116. 39. Garland suggests that the ancient site of Phaleron may be near the church of Agios Georgios in the Palaio Phaleron area (1987, pp. 176–​177). 40. Paus. 1.1.4–​5. He notes that the cult image in the Temple of Hera, made by Alkamenes, was not burned (the sculptor’s floruit is the second half of the fifth century, so presumably this image was made after the burning by Mardonios). 41.  Strabo 1.3.18. This view is adopted by Garland 1987, p.  7; Steinhauer, Malikouti, and Tsokopoulos 2000, p. 10. 42. The lack of fresh water is brought into stark illumination by Eickstedt 1991 (see especially his cistern catalogue).

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of prosperity, and the sanctuary of Artemis Mounychia was established by the sixth century at the latest.43 In 511/​10, when Hippias perceived that sentiment in Athens was no longer in his favor, he began to fortify the Mounychia hill in Piraeus, hoping to use it as a stronghold.44 The tyrant surely chose Mounychia because he had supporters there, but his action also demonstrates that the defensive advantages of Piraeus were recognized by the late sixth century. The decision to move the Athenian harbor to Piraeus was largely due to the genius of Themistokles.45 He recognized that the three smaller and better protected harbors of Piraeus (Kantharos, Zea, and Mounychia) were better suited to the needs and purposes of the growing Athenian state than the single, broad, and unprotected bay at Phaleron (Fig. 4.6).46 Why the Athenians did not take advantage of Piraeus earlier is unclear, although it is possible that lack of a motivated central organization, a relatively weak and small navy, and an inability to fortify and adequately defend Piraeus contributed to the continued use of Phaleron through the Late Archaic period. With the expansion of the navy in the first two decades of the fifth century, however, along with the improved organizational and administrative capabilities of the new political regime and the resources (both financial and material) to build up harbors and fortifications, the transfer to Piraeus was made possible. In addition to Themistokles’ proposal to fortify the Piraeus and relocate the primary port of Athens there, he also served a crucial role in the overall 43. Garland 1987, p. 14. The date for the Artemis sanctuary is based on the fact that it gives its name to the month Mounychion and that the cult was served by a hereditary priesthood; Garland claims that this indicates a seventh-​century date for the origins of the cult and likewise implies the presence of a prominent genos in the area. For a more recent study of the cult of Artemis Mounychia, see Palaiokrassa 1991. The earliest material evidence for the cult of Artemis Mounychia dates to the mid-​fifth century: two joining black gloss sherds of a column krater inscribed [ἱερὸ]ν ⠇Ἀρτέμιδος, dated by Palaiokrassa to the mid-​fifth century (1991, p. 88, with photo, pl. 50, ΕΠ 2). See also Eickstedt 1991, cat. 1.94, SEG XXXVII.60 + SEG XXXIX.50. 44. AthPol 19.2. 45. Themistokles’ devotion to the development of the Piraeus is reflected in the fact that he was buried not in his home deme of Phrearrhioi, but in Piraeus (Paus. 1.1.2; Plut., Them. 32.4–​ 5). An alternative tradition has Themistokles’ bones scattered secretly in Attika (Thuc. 1.138; Ar., Knights 813–​818), but as Garland points out, this would not prohibit the Athenians from erecting a cenotaph in honor of Themistokles in Piraeus (1987, pp. 147–​148, 216–​217). Several different locations have been proposed for Themistokles’ tomb, with the most likely hypothesis placing it near the western tip of Akte. This tomb took the form of a square peribolos with an unfluted Ionic column nearby. For a possible reconstruction, see Garland 1987, p. 148, fig. 26. Wallace discusses the archaeological and literary information for the Tomb of Themistokles and concludes that none of the possibilities fits the available evidence, although the peribolos and column on the Akte are the more probable location (1972). 46. Thuc. 1.93.3–​7.

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Figure 4.6  Piraeus, plan. W. Judeich 1905 (reprinted 1931), plan III.

growth of the navy. We have already seen how he parlayed the exploitation of the silver mines in the Laurion region into an expanded fleet, an action that, together with the drive to build up and fortify Piraeus, resulted in Athens becoming the largest and strongest Greek naval power by the mid-​fifth century. More important to the current discussion, however, is how Themistokles’ policies in the 490s and 480s resulted in a greater sense of demotic consciousness and the forging of a topographic connection between the new political system and the land (and waters) of Attika. The links between popular governance and the navy were already recognized and commented upon in antiquity: Plutarch says of Themistokles’ actions: εἰς ναύτας καὶ κελευστὰς καὶ κυβερνήτας τῆς δυνάμεως ἀφικομένης (“handing over power to the sailors and signalmen and captains”).47 This was, in some ways, a quite literal handing over of power. The sailors who rowed the fleet were now the commanding voice in the affairs of the government thanks to the expanded power of the Ekklesia; the new political regime sank or swam on the basis of their actions. Several other administrative changes in the first two decades of the fifth century enhanced Themistokles’ advancement of the navy and the non-​elite citizens that powered it. Around 500, the strategoi (generals) began to be elected 47. Plut., Them. 19.4.

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by phyle (which resulted in a broader cross-​section of where they were from), ostracism was introduced in 488/​7, and in 487/​6, sortition replaced election for the nine archonships.48 The continued exploitation of the Laurion silver mines permitted the growth of the navy, as the events of 483/​2 make clear.49 The use of Piraeus limestone in the early fifth century would have likewise brought greater attention to the new harbor and added to the deme (and perhaps state) treasuries; increasing quarry activity also provided employment to a large swath of both skilled and unskilled laborers, free and enslaved.50 Vast quantities of stone were needed for the podium of the Old Parthenon, and the construction of the fortification walls in Piraeus was likewise a monumental undertaking. Overall, the expansion of Piraeus in the first two decades of the fifth century was concomitant with the growth of the Athenian navy, the mining activities in the Laurion area, the increased need for massive quantities of stone, and the insightful military acumen of Themistokles; the people who benefited from all of these developments were, by and large, non-​ elite members of the populace. Thucydides tells us that Themistokles instigated the construction of fortification walls for Piraeus when he was archon in 493/​2, although they were not finished by the time of the Persian invasion and destruction of Attika in 480/​79. The archaeological remains are unfortunately scant.51 Some stretches of fortification walls on the Akte peninsula and on the Eetioneia land jog in Kantharos harbor may belong to the pre-​Persian period of construction, as well as short stretches of a fortification wall near the entrance to Zea harbor (Fig. 4.7).52 These sections of wall consist of large blocks of ashlar masonry with no mortar or rubble fill, a construction technique that corresponds with how Thucydides describes their erection.53 It remains unclear, however,

48. AthPol 22.2–​5. For the significance of election by lot, see Rhodes 1981, pp. 272–​274. The nine archons were chosen from a preliminary list of five hundred (presumably fifty from each phyle, as in the Boule). 49. See particularly van Wees 2013, ch. 4. 50.  It has been suggested to me by Margaret Miles that the quarrying activities may have instigated the development of Piraeus, perhaps just as much as the need for a defensible harbor (pers. comm.). The quarry activity at Piraeus is discussed in more detail in Chapters 1 and 5. 51. The modern rapid development of Piraeus and its suburbs in the mid-​nineteentth century, and then again in the mid-​twentieth century, has limited the possibility of excavating. For an account of the early explorations of the area, see Steinhauer 2000, p. 41. 52. Boersma 1970, p. 37; Garland 1987, pp. 163–​165; Eickstedt 1991, pp. 23–​24. 53. Thuc. 1.93.

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Figure 4.7  Piraeus, possible section of pre-​480 B.C.E. Themistoklean wall. Photo by K.-​V. v. Eickstedt (photo © K.-​V. v. Eickstedt).

whether these traces of the wall belong to the pre-​or post-​Persian period; it is also unclear how much damage the Persian army inflicted on the earlier stage of the fortifications. A large city gate (near modern Kodrou Street) has been dated to the earliest phase of the fortifications, although it too could easily be from the continuation of building activity after the Persian Wars.54 Recent investigations in Zea harbor have brought to light four phases of construction activity, the first of which has been tentatively dated to the early fifth century.55 This first phase consists of five unroofed rock-​cut slipways, ramps cut into the bedrock with rock-​cut slots to hold transverse timber sleepers; more may have existed but were subsequently leveled by later construction activity.56 Slipways like these were designed to facilitate hauling and maintenance operations, as well as off-​water storage, all necessary actions for the growing navy of the Athenians. Unfortunately, the slipways themselves do 54.  Steinhauer, Malikouti, and Tsokopoulos date this gate, the Astikos Pyrgon, to the first phase of construction (they seems to imply a pre-​480 date), but then quote Thucydides, who describes the second Themistoklean building phase, after 480 (2000, pp. 42–​45). There is also a short stretch of wall built in Lesbian masonry style on the Mounychia hill, which has been tentatively assigned to Hippias’ attempt to fortify the area in 511/​10 (Garland 1987, p. 160). 55. The principal publication is Lovén 2011. 56. For a description of the slipways, see Lovén 2011, pp. 53–​72.

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not provide much firm dating evidence and any conclusions must be principally based on literary evidence and historical context. The terminus post quem can be established as 493/​2, when Themistokles began to refocus Athenian naval energy on Piraeus instead of Phaleron; another likely impetus could be the Laurion silver strike of 483/​2; the formation of the Delian League in 478/​ 7 also could have instigated this first phase; the terminus ante quem is the construction of the second phase of ship sheds, sometime between 470–​430.57 In general, as the Athenian navy grew, the necessity of a protected harbor likewise increased. Although Phaleron seems to have still been the main naval base in 490, when the Persians retreated there after Marathon, Piraeus could have begun to supersede this site by 480. Lovén notes that the Persians again used Phaleron in 480, but this does not necessarily mean that it was still the main Athenian base at the time:  Phaleron was larger and more open than Piraeus, thus more suited to the number and types of ships used in the Persian navy.58 In addition to the preexisting sanctuary of Artemis Mounychia, mentioned earlier in this section, it is possible that the cult of Zeus Soter was established in Piraeus during the early fifth century.59 A temple to Aphrodite was possibly dedicated in Piraeus by Themistokles following the battle of Salamis, but the precise date and location are unknown.60 A cult to Demeter and a Thesmophoreion existed in the vicinity of Piraeus, outside the walls.61 The Rural Dionysia at Piraeus seems to have been the most elaborate of all of the deme celebrations, and likely predated the mid-​fifth century Hippodamian layout of the city.62 The theater of Dionysos on Mounychia, however, is more likely to have been part of this later construction activity, although it remains

57. All three possibilities are discussed by Lovén 2011, p. 11; see also pp. 168–​171, where he tentatively settles on a date in the late 480s–​early 470s. 58.  Lovén 2011, p.  10; Hdt. 6.116, 8.66–​67, 8.91–​93, 9.32. According to Lovén, if naval installations existed at Piraeus in 480, they would, at most, accommodate 200 triremes, but the Persian fleet numbered 600–​1,207 triremes. 59.  Steinhauer, Malikouti, and Tsokopoulos 2000, p.  115; they suggests that the cult was connected with the founding of the city. Garland (1987, p.  137) suggests that the cult was founded around 480, in response to the victory at Salamis. The surviving evidence for the cult is late, and the sanctuary has not yet been located. 60. Garland 1987, p. 112. 61. Garland 1987, p. 122; Steinhauer, Malikouti, and Tsokopoulos 2000, p. 112. 62. Garland 1987, pp. 124–​125; Steinhauer, Malikouti, and Tsokopoulos 2000, pp. 112–​115.

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possible that an earlier theatral area existed from the beginning of the fifth century.63 Ultimately, the development of Piraeus should be viewed alongside the enhancement of the other borders demes, including Eleusis, Rhamnous, and Sounion; in this case, it is the coastal border of Attika in an area directly across from Athens’ longtime rival, Aegina. The exploitation of the natural advantages and resources of Piraeus, on the other hand, is consistent with the program of development of the Laurion mines and expansion of Thorikos, a focus on deme-​specific resources that is both practical and symbolic, like that also seen at Eleusis with the use of local stone. Piraeus, like most of the demes that witnessed building activity in the Late Archaic period, saw a focus on defense, sanctuary spaces, and civic centers. The synchronicity of the projects across demes should not be considered mere coincidence, but rather an indication of an emphasis on the borders of Attic territory, as well as the capability of the nascent political regime to exert an influence on the built environment of the broader territory of Attika, in addition to the city center. The development of Piraeus by the new political system proved to be integral to its continued success in the fifth century. The development of Piraeus thus represents one of the ways the shaping of the built environment had a direct influence on the functioning of the new political order. Although it remains unclear how much the harbor was developed prior to 480/​79, it is certain that the shift from Phaleron to Piraeus was already in place by the 490s, during the rise of Themistokles. The architectural focus on Piraeus was, therefore, integrally linked to the astu and the needs of the new political order. The rise in importance of Piraeus—​physically represented by the transfer of the naval and commercial harbor from Phaleron—​in turn helped to support the generation of a new military identity for the Athenians, one that did not focus on the infantry and hoplite phalanx, but rather on the role of the rowers. The development of Piraeus, as instigated by Themistokles and backed by the central government,64 was a physical substantiation of the new political order,

63. Garland 1987, pp. 161, 221; Travlos 1988, pp. 342–​343; Paga 2010, pp. 360–​361. 64. Moving the principal harbor of Athens from Phaleron to Piraeus would not have been a straightforward and easy decision, but one that necessitated a high degree of planning and oversight. The proposal was likely put before the Ekklesia after preliminary discussion in the Boule. The funding for the construction of the fortification walls around the deme, as well as the preparation of the harbors for naval and commercial uses, was surely provided primarily by the state, rather than the deme of Piraeus, given the importance of the harbors for the navy, as well as the harbor dues and taxes that would accrue to the state. In this way, much of the development of Piraeus appears both centrally motivated and centrally financed.

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where naval power and the demarcation and defense of Attika’s borders were of utmost importance.

Marathon The deme of Marathon has not yet been located with certainty, although we know that it was between Probalinthos to the south and Trikorynthos to the northeast; it was not within the plain or directly on the coast, but it must have been nearby, with access to these natural advantages (Map 1).65 It was part of the coastal trittys of phyle X, Antiochis, and it was a large deme with a bouleutic quota of 10, possibly a reflection of its important position along the eastern coast of Attika, as well as the fertile plains it commanded. Due to its elusiveness, not much is known about the deme in the Late Archaic period. A few things, though, can be said regarding its early affiliation with the other nearby demes of the Marathonian Tetrapolis, as well as its general importance for the polis in the first two decades of the fifth century. Marathon, Trikorynthos, Oinoe, and Probalinthos once formed part of the Marathonian Tetrapolis. The Kleisthenic reforms divided these demes into two different phylai, assigning Probalinthos to phyle III, Pandionis, and substituting the border deme of Rhamnous in the coastal trittys of phyle IX, Aiantis, alongside the remaining members of the Tetrapolis. Not much is known of the Tetrapolis during the Archaic period, but extrapolation from the Classical and Hellenistic periods indicates strong cultic ties and ritual associations. The four demes had several common cult centers, many of which seem to have been located at Marathon, such as an Eleusinion, the sanctuary of Athena Hellotis, the Dionysion, the sanctuary of Delian Apollo, a possible shrine of Pan, and the Herakleion.66 The sanctuary of Herakles played an integral role in broader Athenian religion and also served as a rallying point 65.  Camp notes several areas of occupation around the coastal plain, ranging in date from the Neolithic to Geometric periods, with a notable congregation of Bronze Age tombs, but there are no certain traces of the Archaic-​Classical deme site (2001, pp. 291–​294). Vanderpool 1966a suggests a possible location for the deme in the southwestern section of the plain of Marathon, to the west of the soros and at the foot of Mt. Agrieliki. This site benefits from having a source of fresh water, being approximately 2.5 km. from the coast, and being near the road that connected the ancient plain to the astu. For other suggestions, see Hammond 1968; van der Veer 1982 (with earlier bibliography). 66. The sacrificial calendar for the Tetrapolis (IG II2 1358) provides the most information about the organization; the inscription is dated to the first half of the fourth century. See also Schol. Pi. Ol. xiii 56; Hom. Od. 7.80; Hdt. 6.108, 6.116; Paus. 1.32.7. Ismard discusses the evidence for these sanctuaries and their possible locations (2010, pp.  243–​247). For the sanctuary of Athena, see also Hammond 1968, pp. 23–​25; for the sanctuary of Herakles, see Hammond 1968,

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during the battle of Marathon, and it continued to be a vital part of the regional rituals conducted by the Tetrapolis even after it was brought to greater civic prominence.67 Despite the Kleisthenic separation of the four demes of the Tetrapolis—​ which some have viewed as a means of weakening the association and lessening their importance in the northeast area of Attika—​they nevertheless retained their cultic ties and sacred associations under the new political regime.68 The continuation of the sacrifices and rituals conducted by the Tetrapolis demonstrates that the reforms did not cause a great degree of disruption in the cultic activities of the association, nor did the division of the Tetrapolis hinder the demes’ ability to send independent embassies to Delphi and Delos, a measure of autonomy that no other demes enjoyed.69 The level of autonomy permitted to the demes of the Tetrapolis indicates one of the ways that the previously existing villages in Attika retained a deme-​specific identity within the broader Panathenian identity of the new political order. The fact that many of the sanctuaries of the Tetrapolis were located in Marathon also sheds light on the significance of this deme for the association, particularly during the Classical period.70 In addition, Marathon was the location of one of the most important battles of Athenian history, as detailed by Herodotos and described in the Introduction. While the earlier victory against the Boiotians and Chalkidians in 506/​5 served to legitimize the new government and assert Athenian prowess in the face of local Greek enemies, the victory at Marathon in 490 projected the Athenians (and their new political system) onto an international stage of triumph that stretched far beyond the borders of Attika. This victory, like that in 506/​5, also served to demonstrate how effective the new reforms were for the organization, deployment, and overall functionality of the Athenian citizen army. pp. 25–​26; van der Veer 1982, pp. 292–​297 (with earlier bibliography); for worship of Pan, see Scott 2017, pp. 223–​226. 67. Ismard 2010, p. 247. 68. For the preservation of the cultic ties of the association, see Camp 2001, p. 292; Ismard 2010, pp. 249–​251. The breaking up of the Tetrapolis is often cited alongside claims of how Kleisthenes sought to weaken the power of other aristocrats and break up old ties. See, e.g., Eliot 1962, p. 145, n. 15 (although note that he does not believe that this was the motivating reason behind removing Probalinthos from the Tetrapolis trittys); Lewis 1963a, pp.  30–​34; Jones 1999, pp. 116–​117; Anderson 2003, p. 37. 69. Possibly attested in IG I3 255; Camp 2001, p. 292; Ismard 2010, pp. 245–​246. 70. Ismard discusses the role that many of the sanctuaries played for the deme of Marathon itself, in addition to their role in the rituals of the Tetrapolis (2010, pp. 243–​251).

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Figure 4.8 Marathon soros. Photo by K. Dooley (photo © K. Dooley).

The memorialization of the battle of Marathon occurred immediately and in various locations: in Athens with the construction of the Old Parthenon; in Delphi with the construction of the Treasury of the Athenians and its integrated statue base; and at Marathon itself. The Athenian dead were buried at the site of the battle, rather than in Athens.71 Their bodies were cremated and covered with a large tumulus (the soros) (Fig. 4.8); stelai were also erected around the grave.72 In addition, an exterior passage or trench was cut for grave offerings, much in the manner of hero or ancestor cult.73 The result was a monumental earthwork, rising proudly from the plain. This seemingly unprecedented practice—​burial on the battle site, erection of a soros, and presence of an offering trench—​emphasizes the importance not only of the battle, but of the site itself. The soros permanently grounds the Athenian sacrifice and victory with site specificity. Marathon was forever immortalized by the 71. Thuc. 2.34–​35; Paus. 1.29.4, 32.3. The significance of this departure from normal practice is striking: neither distance, transportation, nor time prohibited the Athenians from bringing their dead back to the astu for burial in other cases; the decision to bury the fallen at the site of the battle was, therefore, deliberate. 72. Whitley 1994, p. 216. 73. Hammond 1968, p. 16; Whitley 1994, p. 216.

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construction of the soros, and the siting of the grave here linked the deme forever with Athenian martial success.74 In addition to the soros, a tropaion (victory trophy) was erected at the battle site. It is probable that an ephemeral or temporary tropaion was erected in the immediate aftermath of the battle, and it most likely took the typical form of this type of monument, a tree or stake hung with a panoply of the enemy’s armor.75 The permanent and large-​ scale victory trophy was installed later, likely in the second quarter of the fifth century.76 The deme of Marathon, as the site of the greatest battle the Athenian army had ever fought, retained its importance and significance throughout the fifth century. Prior to this period, Marathon served as an important cult site, together with the other demes of the Tetrapolis. After the separation of these demes in 508/​7, Marathon distinguished itself by providing an ideal landscape for the battle of 490. Both prior to and after the institution of the new political regime, Marathon functioned as an integral deme within the territory of Attika. Although only the soros and tropaion can attest to the place of Marathon in the topographic memory of the Athenians, these two monuments demonstrate the reverence for the battle site and emphasize the significance of Marathon for the collective demotic and military identity of the polis. Here, we can clearly see how building activity in the demes—​in this case, earthworks and tropaia—​highlighted the interconnectivity of the demes while simultaneously asserting both individual deme and communal polis identities.

74.  It has also been suggested that the location of the soros indicates the place where the Athenian central line was broken by the Persians (Hammond 1968, p. 18). For the excavation and early publication of the soros, see Staïs 1890, 1891, and 1893. Hammond provides a useful summary and discussion of the soros (1968, pp.  14–​18). Whitley is among the more recent treatments (1994, especially pp. 215–​217). 75. Vanderpool 1966b, p. 105. 76. This second tropaion was a monumental marble Ionic column, approximately 10 m. tall, with a crowning sculptured element, possibly a winged Nike (see Vanderpool 1966b, p. 100, for the height of the reconstructed column and its parallels). Vanderpool does not mention the Nike of Kallimachos, although his reference to “one gigantic Ionic column” as a comparandum may be to the Kallimachos monument. Raubitschek restores the Kallimachos monument at 12 ft. (1940, p. 55); for a restoration and drawing, see Korres 1994c, p. 174. The remains of the Marathon column were recovered from a Medieval church tower, where several of the unfluted drums and the capital were reused as spolia and known since the eighteenth century, while a small fragment of sculpture in white Pentelic marble was also found near the tower and seems to be related; for a full account of the discovery, restoration, and contextual history of the monument, see Vanderpool 1966b.

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Rhamnous The deme of Rhamnous lies in the northeast corner of Attika (Map 1). The site is well situated, elevated above the coast with a view north over the gulf to Euboia and south toward Marathon. These natural advantages led to the fortification of the deme in the Classical period, when it was used as a garrison.77 Although the deme lacked fortification walls in the Late Archaic period, it still would have served as an important lookout spot for enemies approaching from the north, and with its bouleutic quota of 8, it housed a medium-​sized population. Rhamnous, like Eleusis and Marathon, is another deme where we can see the expression of both a deme and a polis identity, and where there is a further monumental articulation of the borders of Athenian territory. In the Archaic and Early Classical periods, Rhamnous was home to two important and interrelated cults: Nemesis and Themis. Their sanctuary was located outside of the deme center, approximately 500 m. to the south, and was approached via a long processional way lined with tombs and funerary monuments (Fig. 4.9).78 Although the deme center preserves little permanent monumental evidence from this period, the sanctuary material is indicative of a thriving cult center throughout the Late Archaic period, signifying a deme with resources for multiple building projects. Votive evidence from the sanctuary indicates cult activity from the beginning of the sixth century, and there is also evidence of occupation during the Bronze Age.79 It is only at the close of the sixth century, however, that we find concrete evidence of a built cult structure: a limestone temple.80 A large number of fragments survive, principally in drawings made by John Peter Gandy, a member of the Society of the Dilettanti, who excavated the site in 1813; other fragments have been recovered in the more recent excavations by Petrakos.81 From this material, Petrakos has reconstructed the building as a distyle in antis temple of 77. For the later garrison, see Pouilloux 1954, pp. 23–​92; Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, pp. 51–​184. 78. The cemeteries along the road from the deme center to the sanctuary date from the fifth century through the Roman period (A. N. Dinsmoor 1972, p. 1). 79. Petrakos 1983, p. 7. The Bronze Age settlement does not seem to have been extensive, and there is no evidence for occupation in the area during the Iron Age and Geometric period. 80. Petrakos 1983, p. 194, dates this temple to the very end of the sixth century on the basis of its architectural fragments. 81. See, e.g., Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, p. 195, fig. 111, for drawings of a triglyph block, an anta capital with a handsome hawk’s-​beak molding, and a Doric capital. Petrakos’ excavations of 1975 brought to light several new fragments of the temple and allowed for a more accurate reconstruction than that offered by Gandy (Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, p. 195; see also p. 194, fig. 110, for

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Figure  4.9 Rhamnous, plan. J.  Travlos 1988, Abb. 502. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

the Doric order, probably with a small pronaos and cella, not unlike the small Temple of Dionysos Eleutherios in the astu.82 The material for the temple was likely derived from nearby limestone quarries, such as those near Marathon.83 As at Eleusis and Piraeus, the use of locally sourced stone is economically advantageous and ideologically significant, materially tying the structure to the deme and its environs. This temple was destroyed by the Persians in 480, and likely stood on the north side of the sanctuary, under the later Temple of Petrakos’ reconstruction). The original discussion of the finds and evidence is presented in Petrakos 1982, pp. 136–​142. 82. Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, p. 195. The distyle in antis facade is secure due to the survival of parts of Doric columns as well as anta blocks. 83. Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, p. 194.

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Nemesis.84 Petrakos has suggested that this temple replaced an earlier sixth-​ century temple (built largely, or entirely, of ephemeral materials) and that both stood as precursors to the Classical temple.85 Further support for the hypothesis that the Late Archaic temple served as a predecessor for the later Temple of Nemesis and was thus originally located on the northern part of the terrace can be found in the physical relationship between the Classical temple and the small structure immediately to the south. In the early fifth century, this small building was erected on the southern part of the terrace, likely a temple dedicated to the goddess Themis.86 It was petite, measuring approximately 9.90 × 6.15 m. (at the level of the krepidoma), and had no columns (Fig. 4.10, Fig. 4.11); it compares favorably with the Temple of Athena Nike on the Akropolis from the same period.87 As with the limestone temple to its north, the interior space was divided into a narrow pronaos and a rear chamber. The exterior wall faces were constructed in polygonal Lesbian masonry, likely from nearby quarries at Agia Marina, and the interior walls were formed with irregular courses of small stacked stones.88 The building has been dated to the early decades of the fifth century on the basis of its masonry 84. Bergquist 1967, pp. 42–​43. 85.  For the Persian destruction at Rhamnous, see Petrakos 1983, p.  11; Miles 1989, pp.  137–​ 139; Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, pp. 24–​2, 194–​198; Miles 2014, p. 124. The evidence for this earlier Archaic structure is slight and consists only of fragments of Laconian roof tiles, one stamped with a lion, discovered below the Classical temple, as well as part of a brightly painted sphinx head, possibly used as an akroterion (Petrakos 1982, p. 136; 1999, vol. 1, p. 192). Unfortunately, the form and precise location of this early temple remain unknown, although it was likely a small, distyle in antis structure, possibly constructed from local limestone with a terracotta roof. Fragments of the hypothetical Early Archaic temple and the later sixth century temple were found within the terrace that supports the Classical Temple of Nemesis (Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, p. 194). This terrace was modified during the first half of the sixth century (Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, pp. 192–​193) and further expanded in the second half of the fifth century. The area of the sanctuary slopes down to the north, and retaining walls were needed on this side in order to facilitate building activity as well as cult worship in the area. A short length of a rubble wall running east-​west, a few meters to the south of the Classical retaining wall, may indicate earlier terracing of the site, possibly from the early fifth century (A. N. Dinsmoor 1972, p. 5; Petrakos 1983, p. 10, 1999, vol. 1, p. 213). 86. Bergquist 1967, pp. 42–​43; Boersma 1970, pp. 77–​78, 143; A. N. Dinsmoor 1972, pp. 19–​22 (although note that she believes it is more likely an older temple to Nemesis, p. 19); Miles 1989, p. 139; Goette 1993, p. 248; Camp 2001, p. 301; Paga 2015b, pp. 114–​116. 87. The small building had previously been reconstructed with a distyle in antis facade (see, e.g. A. N. Dinsmoor 1972, p. 19; Petrakos 1983, p. 11). Petrakos subsequently divorced the columnar facade from this building and assigned it to the Late Archaic limestone temple to the north instead (1999, vol. 1, p. 199). 88. For the source of stone for this temple and the Classical Temple of Nemesis, see Osborne 1985, p. 100; Miles 1989, p. 145.

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Figure 4.10  Rhamnous, Temple of Themis, plan. M. M. Miles 1989, fig. 8. Courtesy of the Trustees of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens.

Figure 4.11  Rhamnous, Temple of Themis, view. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

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Figure  4.12 Rhamnous, alignment of Temple of Themis and Classical Temple of Rhamnous. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

and the pottery discovered within and immediately outside of it.89 The relationship between this small polygonal structure and the Classical Temple of Nemesis is peculiar: the two structures are built so close together that they are separated by mere centimeters at their eastern corners (Fig. 4.12).90 This

89.  A.  N. Dinsmoor 1972, p.  19; Petrakos 1983, p.  11. Cf. Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, pp.  198–​199, where he prefers a post-​480 date. The latest pottery published dates to the first quarter of the fifth century (Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, p. 217), so it may be impossible to determine whether the building was pre-​or post-​Persian. 90. Miles discusses the closeness of the two buildings and describes how the south krepidoma of the later Temple of Nemesis takes the smaller building into account (1989, pp. 150–​153, n. 34).

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unique siting is possibly explained by the existence of a predecessor to the Nemesis temple—​a precise sacred topographical location from which the cult could not be moved. The Late Archaic limestone temple may have stood in this exact location, although its dimensions were significantly smaller, and thus the two buildings (the Late Archaic temple on the north and the polygonal structure to the south) would not have appeared so close together. After the Late Archaic temple was destroyed by the Persians and its replacement built ca. 430–​420, the increase in size of the Temple of Nemesis resulted in the near overlap of the two buildings.91 To summarize, in the first two decades of the fifth century two small temples stood within the sanctuary at Rhamnous. One, distyle in antis, was likely located on the northern part of the terrace, below the later Temple of Nemesis, and was dedicated to that goddess. The other, constructed of polygonal masonry in the Lesbian style, was located just to the south, and was dedicated to the goddess Themis. The construction of two temples—​although relatively small in size, both built of stone—​within the span of two or three decades speaks to the increasing wealth of Rhamnous and the greater prominence of the deme in the Late Archaic period. The goddess Nemesis was reported to have assisted the Greeks during the nearby battle of Marathon, and the victory in 490 would have elevated the status of the deity and emphasized her important role within Attika.92 Although we lack clear evidence for the Archaic and Early Classical occupation of the deme site itself, it is possible that certain structures, such as the theatral area, were already in place at this time.93 The present stone remains have been dated to the late fourth century on the basis of epigraphic evidence, but an earlier phase may have existed in the Late Archaic and Early Classical period, given the rectilinear form of the theater and structural similarities with theatral areas at Thorikos and Ikarion, which both had their first phases ca. 500, as we will see in subsequent sections of this chapter (Fig. 4.13).94 In 91. For the Classical Temple of Nemesis, see Miles 1989. For evidence of Persian destruction at Rhamnous, see Miles 1989, pp. 137–​139; Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, pp. 24–​26, 194–​198; Miles 2014, pp. 119, 124. 92. Paus. 1.33. The cult statue of Nemesis that stood in the Classical temple was said to have been carved from a stone brought to Marathon by the Persians, concretizing the connection between the goddess and the Athenian victory there in 490. The epigram detailing this reuse of the stone is attributed to Parmenion and is dated to the first century (see Miles 1989, pp. 137–​ 138 for the epigram, translation, and earlier bibliography). 93. Pouilloux 1954, pp. 73–​78; Petrakos 1999, vol. 1, pp. 89–​94; Paga 2010, pp. 361–​363. 94. Dilke also suggests that an earlier theatral area likely existed at Rhamnous (1950, p. 30).

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Figure 4.13  Rhamnous, theatral area. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

the Classical period, the theatral area of Rhamnous was also used as the agora of the deme; such a multipurpose use of the space would similarly apply for the Late Archaic period if the theatral area existed at that time. One of the advantages of using the theatral area for a variety of purposes is that it reduces the need for the construction of multiple spaces for individual functions; in other words, the deme could save time, money, and space by combining multiple functions within a single area. If the theatral area at Rhamnous was in use in the decades immediately following 508/​7, it could indicate that the deme played an integral role in the trittys connections of phyle IX, and it might also reveal that the deme quickly organized itself within the matrix of the Kleisthenic reforms.95 A delineated theatral area used as a civic center would demonstrate that the residents of Rhamnous were rapidly able to incorporate some of the new provisions of the Kleisthenic reforms, such as deme Assembly meetings, deme registration of citizens, and deme-​specific elections, all elements necessary for the proper and rapid implementation of the reforms. The space would also serve as a focal point for the citizens of Rhamnous, providing them with a centralized meeting or gathering area, if one did not already exist. The wealth of the sanctuary, in addition to the important topographical position that Rhamnous occupied, indicates that the deme was flourishing

95. For the connection between deme theaters and the trittyes, see Paga 2010.

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by the late sixth and early fifth centuries.96 As with Eleusis, the fact that Rhamnous was located on the border of Attika was surely part of the reason behind its wealth and overall importance. As the polis of Athens attempted to define itself and its borders in the Late Archaic period, demes such as Rhamnous served to articulate where Attic territory began and helped to delimit the edges of Athenian control. The northeast corner of Attika bordered Boiotia and overlooked Euboia, and thus Rhamnous occupied a unique location to declare to both Athenians and non-​Athenians where the borders of the territory lay. Particularly after the events of 506/​5, Rhamnous would have served as a convenient lookout area for continued threats emerging from the Boiotians and Chalkidians. As Fachard has observed, borders have the ability to articulate power and authority; settlements on the borderlands are, therefore, areas primed for the expression of communal identity.97 The elaboration of the sanctuary of Nemesis during the Late Archaic period is reflective of the personal commitment and pride the Rhamnousians had for their goddess, who came to the aid of the Athenians at a moment of crisis. It also demonstrates that the deme had the resources and ability to use the sanctuary to elevate its own standing within Attika. These buildings would have been prominent landmarks in the northeast corner of Attika, and they visually expressed the important role that Rhamnous played in this border area. Much like the Mysteries at Eleusis and the Telesterion, the sanctuary of Nemesis was an integral part of the deme of Rhamnous and helped to define the citizens who lived there.98 The cult of Nemesis was never as popular as the Eleusinian Mysteries, but it remained essential to the residents of Rhamnous and continued to play a defining role in their lives and deme identity, as is evidenced by the abundant number of personal dedications made to the goddess by citizens of Rhamnous.99 In many ways, the elaboration of 96. The funding for the construction of the two new temples and hypothetical theatral area was likely made in part by the deme of Rhamnous itself, along with private contributions. It is possible that the state treasury contributed money as well. Unlike Eleusis, where the astu of Athens played a clear and integral role in the rites at the sanctuary, the particular attachment of Nemesis and Themis to the deme and lack of evidence for a Panathenian festival here may indicate that the state did not take a leading role in the expansion of the sanctuary, but on the evidence of IG I3 247bis (Petrakos 1999, vol. 2, no. 181), a lead tablet from the sanctuary of Nemesis dated ca. 500, Bubelis has proposed that money from the public treasury of Athens was received by certain epistatai in Rhamnous and likely earmarked for religious expenditures, including building activity (2016, pp. 178–​187). 97. Fachard 2017, p. 21. 98. Miles 1989, pp. 138–​139, especially p. 138, n. 4. 99. All of the inscriptions from Rhamnous are collected in Petrakos 1999, vol. 2.

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the sanctuary at Rhamnous is indicative of how the demes in the late sixth and early fifth centuries attempted to define themselves and their specific deme identities in the face of the new conception of Athenian identity as represented in the Kleisthenic reforms. Within the deme of Rhamnous, we see expressions of both deme and polis identity in the sanctuary of Nemesis and the articulation of a centralized civic area for gatherings and meetings, respectively. These two areas would have helped the Rhamnousians retain their deme-​specific identity in light of the broader polis collective, but they also served to integrate the deme fully into the wider political matrix of the Late Archaic period. Rhamnous demonstrates three of the most notable signifiers of deme functionality in the immediate post-​508/​7 period: the elaboration and embellishment of sanctuary space, the formation of a civic center, and a simultaneous exertion of both deme and polis identity. Rhamnous was able to achieve this due to its wealth and location, strategically poised on an important border of Attic territory and close to the fertile plains near Trikorinthos and Marathon. One final element that may have increased the prominence of Rhamnous within the broader territory of Attika is its possible connection with the nearby Marathonian Tetrapolis. There is no direct evidence for the inclusion of Rhamnous within the Tetrapolis, but after the reforms of 508/​7, the attachment of the deme alongside three demes certainly in the Tetrapolis might have brought the Rhamnousians into greater association with the Tetrapolis. If this connection existed, Rhamnous would have benefitted from strengthened communication and extra-​deme ties with the larger area of northeast Attika.100 With the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms, Rhamnous was placed in a coastal trittys with Marathon, Trikorynthos, and Oinoe. As explored in the section on Marathon above, this separation of the original four demes of the Tetrapolis does not seem to have greatly diminished their links, and it is possible that Rhamnous participated in the rituals of the Tetrapolis alongside its new trittys members. Moreover, the inland trittys of phyle IX, Aiantis, consisted only of Aphidna, which was also located close to Rhamnous. The demes of the coastal and inland trittyes of phyle IX were, therefore, contiguous and effectively dominated the northeast corner of Attika.101 The attention lavished on this deme in the far northeast corner of 100. See Ismard for the evidence for the Tetrapolis in the fifth and fourth centuries, specifically the cultic connections (2010, pp. 239–​251). 101. This is not to say that phyle IX exerted singular control over this area. The contiguity of the coastal and inland trittyes was slightly broken up by the existence of Semachidai and Eitea, two

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Attica demonstrates that even geographically isolated demes were being physically transformed during this period.

Xypete Alongside Piraeus, Phaleron, and Thymaitadai, Xypete was one of the four demes in the Tetrakomai, another religious association similar to the Marathonian Tetrapolis. The Tetrakomai shared a common sanctuary of Herakles in Piraeus, but little else is known about the group.102 Like the Tetrapolis, the four demes of the Tetrakomai were separated into different phylai under the Kleisthenic system; in this case, Piraeus and Thymaitadai were assigned to phyle VIII, Hippothontis, while Phaleron went to phyle IX, Aiantis, and Xypete went to phyle VII, Kekropis. Jones has argued that this separation was a deliberate attempt to weaken the Archaic cultic association, although he notes that the Tetrakomai continued to exist into the fourth century.103 Ismard, however, raises the important point that there exists no evidence that the Tetrakomai existed in the Archaic period other than the etymological connection between the name of the association and the pre-​ Kleisthenic komai (villages).104 Regardless, the existence of the Tetrakomai during the period following the Kleisthenic reforms indicates how demes could and did participate in communal groups outside the boundaries of trittys and phyle. Along with Piraeus, Phaleron, and Thymaitadai, Xypete, with a bouleutic quota of 7, thus served an important role in forging extra-​ phyletic ties and expanding the networks of communication vital to the success of the new political regime. Xypete’s deme center has not yet been identified with certainty, but it is approximately sited northeast of Piraeus (Map 1). It was likely near the point where the Ilissos river, which originally bent to the west outside of the astu walls, connected with the Kephissos river. The only monumental structure that can be associated with Xypete in the Late Archaic period is a sacred small demes that formed part of the inland trittys of phyle X, Antiochis (along with Pallene, located significantly further to the south). Nevertheless, the close proximity of five of the demes of Aiantis within the northeast area of Attika would have facilitated greater communication in this border territory, a factor that may have influenced their phyletic assignations. The city trittys of Aiantis consisted solely of Phaleron, yet another border deme. 102. Pollux 4.105; Hesychios, s.v. τετράκωμος. 103. Jones 1999, pp. 116–​117, and n. 132; see also p. 237. 104. Ismard 2010, pp. 211–​212; cf. Parker 1996, pp. 328–​329.

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Figure  4.14  Xypete, Sanctuary of Kybele, plan. J.  Travlos 1988, Abb. 365. Courtesy Archive of the Archaeological Society at Athens.

temenos dedicated to Kybele. The sanctuary consists of a peribolos wall with limestone foundations (delimiting a space ca. 30 × 27 m.) and a small temple or naïskos; a feasting area or house for cult personnel may have also existed within the temenos (Fig. 4.14). Petritaki dates the lowest floor level in the temple to the late sixth or early fifth century, although the site awaits full publication.105 The assignation to Kybele is based on the survival of a statue of the 105. Petritaki 2013. See also brief remarks on the sanctuary by Lamont and Boundouraki 2019. For the later phases of the sanctuary, see Travlos 1988, pp. 288–​289. I thank Jessica Lamont for discussing this deme with me.

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goddess, along with other votives with fertility motifs. Given the relatively high percentage of metics living in the Tetrakomai demes, it is not surprising that a cult to a foreign goddess existed here from such a relatively early date.106 Final publication of this site will surely augment our understanding of this deme and its relationship to the other members of the Tetrakomai.

Cape Zoster (Halai Aixonides) The sanctuary of Apollo, Artemis, and Leto on Cape Zoster is situated approximately halfway between Piraeus and Sounion, near several demes along the southern coast of Attika, most notably Aixone and Halai Aixonides (Map 1). It is located on the promontory of the cape, a southwestern projection of Mt. Hymettos, the modern Vouliagmeni peninsula. There is some debate about which deme had oversight of the cult space: Strabo lists Cape Zoster as the first cape after Aixone and says that Halai Aixonides is the next deme down the coast; Stephanus of Byzantium reports that the Ἁλαεῖς worshipped Apollo Zoster, Artemis, and Leto there.107 In terms of geography, the overall remoteness of the cape and limited access supports an association with Halai Aixonides, rather than Aixone. Nevertheless, as an extra-​urban sanctuary, the cult space was most likely frequented by demesmen from throughout the area, as well as sailors and merchants, who might dock at the nearby bays on route to Piraeus. The deme of Halai Aixonides has been located to the northeast of Cape Zoster.108 The late sixth century remains consist of foundations for domestic houses and pottery from two primary settlement areas.109 These settlements were located along the four major road networks that ran through the deme, 106. For metic population percentages, see Whitehead 1986, pp. 83–​84. 107.  Strabo 9.1.21; Stephanus of Byzantium, s.v. Zoster. Eliot persuasively argues that this should be considered strong evidence that Halai Aixonides, rather than Aixone, was the deme to which Cape Zoster belongs (1962, p. 25). Halai Aixonides, with a bouleutic quota of 7, is also larger than Aixone, although relative size should not be taken as the deciding factor. 108. See Andreou for the identification of Halai Aixonides (1994, p. 191); the fullest account of the evidence is Andreou 1994 (with earlier bibliography), but see also Lauter 1993, pp. 27–​70. 109. Andreou 1994, p. 191. These remains are not extensively documented or accessible. Most of the evidence for occupation and activity within the deme is from the Classical and Hellenistic periods. In the Classical period, Halai Aixonides had two main settlements on the slopes of a low hill that formed their akropolis (see Andreou 1994, pp. 192–​193, figs. 1–​2, for the distribution of the settlements). Parker emphasizes the split nature of the deme center and draws particular attention to the fact that the settlement to the southeast has a far greater number of small sanctuaries, altars, and temene than the settlement to the northwest (2005, pp. 68–​69).

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connecting it to the nearby demes of Aixone and Anagyrous, as well as the sanctuary on Cape Zoster.110 The evidence for settlement and increased occupation within the deme at the end of the sixth century suggests that the population of Halai Aixonides was augmented during this period. While the population growth does not necessarily imply centripetal movement from the countryside into the deme center(s), it could be indicative of the increased importance of the deme as a place of residence after the Kleisthenic reforms, when citizenship was dependent on deme registration. The growth of the settlements could also reflect the increasing importance of the nearby sanctuary on Cape Zoster, which was elaborated at the end of the sixth or beginning of the fifth century. The sanctuary was dedicated to the Delian triad of Apollo, Artemis, and Leto, as well as Athena.111 Epigraphic evidence recovered from the sanctuary verifies the literary accounts concerning the identification of the cult area.112 The sanctuary itself consists of a small temple, with evidence for several construction phases from the sixth through fourth centuries, and a large altar.113 The form of the temple is a simple cella with a single doorway for access and a narrow adyton in the back, with overall dimensions of 10.80 × 6.0 m. (Fig. 4.15).114 The earliest evidence for cult activity comes from three in situ statue bases discovered within the cella of the temple, all with inscriptions dating to the early fifth century, reading: hαλαιēς ⋮ ἀνέθεσαν.115 These bases, integrated with the paving slabs of the cella (Fig. 4.16), indicate that the temple was in use by the first quarter of the fifth century; one section of Cycladic polygonal masonry in the north wall has also

110. Andreou 1994, pp. 192–​194. 111. Paus. 1.31.1., Steph. s.v. Zoster. It was believed that the goddess Leto paused at the cape while on her way to Delos to give birth to Apollo and Artemis. While there, she loosened her girdle (ζώνη) in preparation for labor. Athena welcomed the goddess in Attika, hence her inclusion among the Delian triad. 112.  See Kourouniotes for an account of the epigraphic finds from the temple (1927–​1928, pp. 22–​26, 37–​43). The throne, found in situ in the cella, refers to the priest of Apollo Zoster (p. 28). 113. The remains were excavated by Kourouniotes in 1926–​1927 (for the excavation report, see Kourouniotes 1927–​1928). 114. A 4 × 6 peristyle of monolithic, unfluted columns was added in the second half of the fourth century (Kourouniotes 1927–​1928, pp. 15, 30–​31; Camp 2001, p. 316). 115. IG I3 1013a–​c ; SEG X.328a–​c ; Kourouniotes 1927–​1928, pp. 23–​25. The editors of IG date them to “475?.”

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Figure 4.15  Cape Zoster, Temple of Apollo. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

Figure  4.16  Cape Zoster, Temple of Apollo, interior with in situ thrones and bases. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

been dated to the Late Archaic period and resembles the masonry used for the Temple of Themis at Rhamnous.116 116.  Kourouniotes 1927–​1928, pp.  16, 49. Kourouniotes compares this section of wall with examples from Rhamnous, Sounion, and Eleusis (1927–​1928, pp. 50–​51). The dating of the wall is entirely based on masonry styles; there is no report of stratigraphy or ceramic finds to corroborate the late sixth-​century date. The statue bases are dated by their letterforms, as well

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The development of the sanctuary at Cape Zoster at the end of the sixth or beginning of the fifth century may be a further demonstration of attention to the coastal borders of Attika at this time. The building activity here is contemporary with similar projects at Sounion, Piraeus, and Eleusis; these four areas of development line the southwestern coast of Attika, facing Aegina. Although the Zoster sanctuary was not located within a deme and did not serve any defensive or military function, it may be possible to view it as an extension of the other building projects along the coast. The temple at Cape Zoster is smaller in size and stature than buildings at these other demes, but it shares with them a propensity for visual prominence, situated immediately adjacent to the coastline. Also like them, it seems to have participated in the broader religious context of the polis. Later evidence of the Classical period indicates that the sanctuary at Cape Zoster was considered a “polis cult” but that its priest was appointed by the deme of Halai Aixonides.117 If this rubric is applicable to the Late Archaic period, we might imagine that funding for the construction of the temple and altar could have come from both the state treasury and the deme. But even if the sanctuary was not designed to articulate the coastal border in the way that such construction did at Eleusis, Piraeus, and Sounion, the overall effect is nonetheless one of delineation and definition of the territory of Attika, even if—​in this case—​it is the result more of synchronicity than a purposefully executed border policy. Moreover, even though the Halai Aixonidians seem to have exerted—​at minimum—​ general oversight of the sanctuary of Apollo Zoster, as an extra-​urban cult area it surely functioned more broadly within the surrounding territory. This sanctuary would have served as a place of contact between demesmen from the nearby areas, a common place where new ties and relationships could be forged.118

as the partial cyma reversa molding preserved on the top of one of them (see Kourouniotes 1927–​1928, fig.  16 for a drawing). Travlos, Camp, and Lambert all argue that the sanctuary dates to the sixth century at the latest (Travlos 1988, p. 467; Camp 2001, p. 316; Lambert 2010, pp. 164–​165). 117. These connections are demonstrated by Lambert 2010, pp. 164–​166. The polis cult connection is indicated by an inscription from Zoster (Kourouniotes 1927–​1928, p. 39, no. 3), as well as the fact that Apollo Zoster was one of the “other gods,” established in the 430s or 420s, and that his priest enjoyed a seat in the prohedria in the Theater of Dionysos. It remains unclear whether these links between Zoster and the polis administration existed in the Late Archaic period. For Lambert, Zoster is an example of a “deme-​administered polis cult” (2010, p. 166). 118. The demes in the near vicinity of Cape Zoster belonged to three different phylai, so the mingling that would take place here would be both intra-​and extra-​phyletic.

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Thorikos and Laurion Despite its low bouleutic quota (5), Thorikos was one of the most important demes in Attika. It was located along the southeastern coast, in an area frequently associated with wealthy, aristocratic families in the Archaic period (Map 1).119 More crucially, Thorikos was the closest deme to the silver mines of the Laurion neighborhood. The connection between Thorikos and the silver mines directed much of the activity in the deme throughout the Archaic and Classical periods and is almost certainly the reason behind the relatively early construction activity that took place here. The nearby coast likely enhanced the overall importance of the site, as well as the deme’s access to the Agrileza quarries, which were also utilized by the builders at Sounion. Thorikos had limited access to a few small neighboring plains, but the silver mines, quarries, and nearby harbor guaranteed this deme’s wealth and prosperity. Continuous occupation at Thorikos is established from at least the seventh century by ceramic evidence and graves.120 In addition, there is some evidence for cult activity in the sixth century: a diminutive sanctuary in the residential quarter (Insula 10), with a single-​roomed shrine or naïskos, most likely dedicated to Hygieia, partially hewn from the bedrock of the hillside and partially built of irregular blocks of local stone.121 Several votive objects, such as 119.  For the hypothetical connections between Thorikos and the Alkmaionidai, see Camp 1994, pp. 9; Anderson 2000, p. 401. For my objections to this assumption, see below, regarding Sounion. The likelihood of Alkmaionid control of Thorikos is just as tenuous as their supposed control of Sounion; the family may have influenced events in the southern part of Attika during the sixth century, but this in no way supports the conclusion that Thorikos was an Alkmaionid deme or that the family played a particularly important role in the development of either Thorikos or Sounion. 120. Two Bronze Age tholos tombs were locations of tomb or hero cult activity in the sixth century (for the Bronze Age remains at Thorikos, see Mussche 1974, pp. 14–​23, 1994, pp. 211–​212 (with discussion of Archaic ceramic evidence associated with Graves I and V), 1998, pp. 17–​22). Ten graves dating to the late sixth century were found in the West necropolis, the majority of the graves in the South necropolis are dated to the Early Archaic period (second half of the seventh century), the necropolis D1 only contains graves from the Archaic period or earlier, and several more graves from this period were found in the theater necropolis, the earliest of which can be dated to the second quarter or middle of the sixth century (Mussche 1994, pp. 212–​213, 1998, pp.  22–​29, 40–​44). Of the ninety-​four graves for which reasonably secure dates have been ascertained, forty-​one are from the Archaic period (see the chart in Mussche 1998, p. 28). See also Hackens 1964, pp. 92–​96, for the grave from the theater necropolis. Throughout the industrial area of the deme, sherds of the Archaic period were found in the fill and foundation trenches that supported fifth-​and fourth-​century dwellings and ore washeries (Mussche 1994, p. 212, 1998, pp. 50, 53, 55). 121. For the identification of the building and divinity, see Bingen 1968, pp. 149–​150; Mussche 1974, p.  45, 1975, p.  48, 1998, pp.  58, 62. Mussche suggests that the divinity may have been

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Figure  4.17  Thorikos, theatral area, plan. 1: Temple of Dionysos. 2: Late Archaic retaining wall for theatral area orchestra. 3: Classical retaining wall. 4: Altar of Dionysos. C. Lightfoot.

lekythoi and small terracotta figurines, were found in the vicinity, which help secure its identification as a shrine.122 The first phase of the sanctuary is dated to the Late Archaic period, roughly coterminous with the first phase of the theatral area, on the basis of the pottery and figurines.123 Cuttings for benches or klinai can be identified, which were possibly used for dining purposes or incubation connected with the healing divinity.124 The construction of the nearby theatral area was a large-​scale undertaking (Plate 8). The physical remains of the earliest phase of construction are limited to a retaining wall that delimited the southern extent of the orchestra with a preserved length of ca. 13.50 m. (Fig. 4.17, no. 2).125 There are no traces Athena Hygieia (1968, pp. 132–​133); De Smet, on the other hand, suggest the shrine was dedicated to Hera Teleia and Zeus Teleios (2018, pp. 36–​37). For the four building phases of the structure, see Mussche 1968, pp. 117–​128. 122. Mussche 1968, pp 132–​133, 1974, p. 45. The dedicatory inscription that identifies the shrine with Hygieia was also found nearby. 123. Mussche 1968, pp. 121–​122 (two lamp fragments help secure a date at the end of the sixth century), 132–​133, 1998, p. 62. 124. Mussche 1968, pp. 120, 132. 125. For the theater at Thorikos, see Hackens 1965, pp. 80–​84; Gebhard 1974, pp. 429–​432; Mussche 1975, pp. 46–​47, 52, 1990, 1994, pp. 213–​214, 1998, pp. 29–​31; Paga 2010, pp. 355–​ 356; Kapetanios and Docter 2018, pp. 37–​39. A complete restudy of the theater is currently

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of permanent seat construction; presumably, wooden ikria could have been erected or the spectators could have sat directly on the hillside. The area of the orchestra would have needed to be leveled, as is indicated by the retaining wall that was built to hold the dumped fill. Most of this fill washed down the hill, toward the nearby theater necropolis, due to heavy rains that also destroyed part of the retaining wall, but excavations have shown that it contained gravel and Archaic sherds.126 The pottery from these strata, as well as from the fill directly behind wall (Fig. 4.17, no.  2), indicate an initial construction date between 525 and 480, most likely close to the beginning of the fifth century, which would align well with the dating of the small naïskos in the industrial quarter.127 The theatral area would have been used for performances during the Rural Dionysia, but it would have more frequently served as a venue for deme Assemblies and gatherings, like the theatral area at Rhamnous.128 That this civic center was considered a necessity ca. 500 speaks to the challenges—​and successes—​of implementing the Kleisthenic reforms in the period after 508/​7. Thorikos was an important deme for the new political system, given its access and links with the mines in the Laurion district, as well as its position near the coast. Although it did not have a particularly large citizen population, it was, nevertheless, a crucial deme for the economic health of the polis.129 Organization and administrative clarity would have been of utmost importance at Thorikos in order to facilitate and monitor mining activity. The use of the theatral area as a civic center for gatherings and meetings would have provided an ideal location for this type of administrative activity. The construction of the theater should be viewed alongside the early naïskos in the industrial area, as well as the extensive evidence for nucleated occupation of the deme in the late sixth century: all of these elements provide a underway as part of the Thorikos Archaeological Research Project, under the direction of A. Kapetanios and R. Docter (https://​www.thorikos.be/​, accessed April 15, 2020). 126. Mussche 1998, p. 30; Hackens 1964, p. 78. The collapse of the retaining wall was on the eastern end, which makes the original length of wall (Fig. 4.17, no. 2) indeterminable. 127. Hackens 1965, pp. 80–​84; Gebhard 1974, p. 429; Mussche 1975, pp. 46–​47 (prefers a date ca. 500), 1994, p. 213, 1998, pp. 30–​31; Paga 2010, p. 355. 128. Contra Mussche 1994, p. 214, who does not believe that the theater was used for dramatic performances at this time. I do, however, agree with Mussche that the Rural Dionysia was not the reason that the theater at Thorikos was built, but once the theater was in place, it would have been used for performances. For the uses of rectilinear theaters in the Classical period, see Paga 2010 (esp. pp. 366–​372). 129. A large portion of the population of Thorikos consisted of the slaves who worked in the mines and who would not be counted in the citizen census that determined the bouleutic quota.

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picture of a deme that was flourishing in the Late Archaic period and that appears to have benefited from the new political system. This flourishing was due, in large part, to the nearby silver mines in the area of Laurion. The proximity of Thorikos to the seacoast made this connection between the deme and the mines even more pronounced: the silver could be shipped by sea from Thorikos (to Phaleron, Piraeus, or other areas), a transportation strategy that would reduce the cost of moving the precious—​and heavy—​material over land; the close geographic connection between Thorikos and the sea would have expedited the process of transforming the raw metal into coinage.130 Various silver mines in the Laurion district were already being exploited in the sixth century, and numismatic evidence shows a peak in the first two decades of the fifth century.131 Although there is no evidence for mining at the site of Thorikos in the Late Archaic and Early Classical periods, the fact that the Laurion mines were being intensively exploited by the beginning of the fifth century allows us to assume that Thorikos, as well as other nearby demes, benefited from this activity. The confluence of mining activity and monumental building in the southern part of Attika at the end of the sixth and beginning of the fifth centuries cannot be coincidental, particularly when Thorikos is considered alongside the nearby deme of Sounion, discussed in the next section. Moreover, it is highly likely that the growth of the navy during this same period, including payment for the rowers, construction and maintenance of the triremes, and storage provisions in Piraeus, was aided by the mining activity in the south of Attika.132 The circumstances surrounding the Laurion mines, 130. One hundred talents of silver coinage is equal to nearly three tons (Kraay 1968, p. 4). 131. Conophagos 1980, p. 56; Kraay 1968, pp. 3–​4; Agora XXVI, pp. 4–​5; Kroll 2009, p. 196. The famous Themistokles episode in 483/​2 further demonstrates that the silver mines in the Laurion district were active at this time; in fact, it may be this very episode that is reflected by the spike in coin strikes in the first decades of the fifth century. Moreover, both Herodotos and the author of the AthPol seem to imply that the event in 483/​2 occurred when the Athenians found a particularly rich vein of silver, or when they found an entirely new vein (Hdt. 7.144; AthPol 22.7; Plut., Them. 4). This distinction would indicate that the mines in the area had been in use for some time prior to this, but it was only in the 480s that the Athenians began to discover more valuable or extensive deposits. The early Wappenmünzen coins of Athens had a higher ratio of gold and copper, metallurgical components that differ from the known silver veins in the Laurion mines; it is only in the late sixth century that Athenians coins display clear evidence of Laurion silver (Flament 2007, pp. 16–​17, 27–​28, with earlier bibliography). Athenian coinage and its connection to the nascent democracy is treated in greater detail in Chapter 5. 132.  This correlation at least seems implied by Herodotos (7.144). I  would also note the building activity at Sounion, discussed in the next section, as corroborative evidence that links

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together with the building activity in Thorikos ca. 500, present a view of a successful and prosperous deme that soon became integral to the continued functionality of the nascent political regime. Thorikos demonstrates how a “rural” deme, separated from the central astu of the polis by significant distance and topographic barriers, could nonetheless become an integrated—​and necessary—​part of the overall administrative system.133 The implementation of the Kleisthenic reforms over a broad territory was here achieved via the creation of a large centralized meeting area, where demesmen could gather to discuss business, and through the increased exploitation of the nearby silver mines, which provided the new political system with much needed revenue.

Sounion The deme of Sounion in the southernmost part of Attica is situated on a narrow promontory of land that juts into the sea (Map 1). The projecting cape makes Sounion a relatively isolated deme site (the bouleutic quota is only 4), but this geographic position emphasizes the important role the deme could—​ and did—​play in the Athenian polis: from Sounion, most ships approaching Attica could be seen. This strategic location made Sounion a border deme, and the area of the cape was eventually fortified and manned with a garrison. The promontory did not serve as the residential center at Sounion, but the population was instead spread out in isolated nuclei and individual residential dwellings associated with the nearby quarries, mines, and farmlands.134 What the mining activity in the Laurion area with increased wealth for the neighboring demes, as well as increased attention to the navy. The dialogue between Queen Atossa and the chorus in Aeschylos’ Persians makes clear the link between the silver supplies in Attika and the impressive wealth of the Athenians (ll. 237–​238): atossa: καὶ τί πρὸς τούτοισιν ἄλλο; πλοῦτος ἐξαρκὴς δόμοις; chorus: ἀργύρου πηγή τις αὐτοῖς ἐστι, θησαυρὸς χθονός. atossa: And what else do they have, in addition [to the fighting men]? Is there sufficient     wealth in the houses? chorus: They have a spring of silver, a treasury in the ground. In reference to this passage, Kraay remarks that, “the mines of Laurium were thus one of the foundations of Athens’ achievement in the fifth century and after” (1968, p. 4). 133. On the basis of McHugh’s projections, it would take approximately eleven hours to walk from Thorikos to the astu (2019, fig. 7). 134. At present, only small sections of the area within the late fifth-​and fourth-​century fortification walls near the sanctuary of Poseidon have been systematically excavated. It has been assumed that the dwellings uncovered probably housed the garrison of the Classical and Hellenistic period (Dinsmoor, Jr. 1971, p. 37). There is some evidence of non-​centralized habitation during the Archaic period, largely in the form of graves and burial goods; for more

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Figure 4.18  Sounion, plan of sanctuaries. J. Paga.

is certain, though, is that the deme is home to two prominent sanctuaries dedicated to Poseidon and Athena (Fig. 4.18), in the former of which there is evidence for significant cult activity from the second half of the seventh century, if not earlier, while votive evidence in the Athena sanctuary begins in the eighth century.135 At that time, monumental stone kouroi were dedicated

recent discoveries in the general area around Sounion and the hypothesis of separate nuclei of habitation, see Salliora-​Oikonomakou 2004, especially pp. 37–​39. In addition, ceramic evidence, isolated rock-​cut inscriptions, and two fragmentary herms further attest to occupation of the area around the cape and in the Agrileza quarries throughout the late seventh and sixth centuries (Salliora-​Oikonomakou 2004, pp. 34–​39). The two herms (NM 4868 and Laurion Museum no. 776) are both of the horos/​stele type. It is possible that they should be associated with the mile marker herms erected by Hipparchos, which measured the distances between demes and the Altar of the Twelve Gods in the Agora. 135. For Poseidon, see Dinsmoor, Jr. 1971, pp. 2–​4; for Athena, see Barletta 2017, pp. 5–​8. The earliest literary reference to Sounion occurs in Homer, Od. 3.276, where it is referred to as Σούνιον ἱρὸν. Sounion is also identified as the place where Phrontis, one of Menelaus’ sailors, was buried. For possible evidence of a heroön or worship of Phrontis, see Sinn 1992, pp. 176–​ 177; Barletta 2017, pp. 81–​82 (with earlier bibliography).

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in great numbers, particularly in the Poseidon sanctuary, along with other objects such as bronze weapons, vases, and terracotta figurines.136 It is possible that an ephemeral shrine also existed in the Poseidon sanctuary, but no traces are currently known.137 The size and material of the kouroi dedications indicate that Sounion was an influential site already in the Early Archaic period. Some scholars have attempted to associate specific elite Athenian families—​namely the Alkmaionidai—​with the area of southern Attica, particularly around Anaphlystos, Aigilia, Thorikos, and Sounion.138 Although the Alkmaionid family may have had strong links with nearby Anaphlystos or Aigilia, and it is known that Themistokles was from the deme of Phrearrhioi 136. Dinsmoor, Jr. discusses the early evidence for cult activity in the sanctuary of Poseidon (1971, pp. 2–​5). He also reports that fragments of at least seventeen marble kouroi were found in a pit just to the east of the Poseidon temple (p. 11). For additional comments on the early votive finds from the Poseidon sanctuary, see Staïs 1917, pp. 189–​194, 201–​213 (kouroi), 195–​ 197 (small finds, Poseidon sanctuary), 207–​213 (small finds, Athena sanctuary), figs. 7–​10, 17–​ 21; Salliora-​Oikonomakou 2004, pp. 116–​118, figs. 106, 107, 108. Dinsmoor, Jr. compares the kouroi to the Persian destruction debris pits in Athens (1971, p. 11); see also the section on Eleusis in this chapter for discussion of the debris pits there. For votive evidence in the Athena sanctuary, see Barletta 2017, pp. 19, 40–​41. Votive finds from both sanctuaries are extensively catalogued in Theodoropoulou-​Polychroniadis 2015. 137. Contra Salliora-​Oikonomakou (2004, pp. 36–​37), who argues that the limestone Temple of Poseidon was constructed well before ca. 500 (or that an even earlier temple existed in the second half of the sixth century) and assigns a peribolos wall and possible early fortification wall to this phase. 138. For the connections between the Alkmaionidai and Anaphlystos and, by topographical association, Sounion, see, e.g., Camp 1994, p. 9; Anderson 2000, pp. 388–​393 (with earlier bibliography). Eliot also associates the Alkmaionidai with the district of Anavyssos and suggests a “home deme” of Aigilia during the sixth century (1967b). Both Camp and Anderson argue that the Alkmaionidai exerted a controlling influence in all areas of southern Attika, stretching from Anaphlystos on the western coast to Steiria on the eastern coast and all of the territory south of this projected line, an argument that is partially based on the claim that the Alkmaionidai were “people of the coast” (Hdt. 1.59; AthPol 13.4; Camp 1994; Anderson 2000). The connection between the Alkmaionidai and Anaphlystos has been made on the evidence of the so-​called Anavyssos kouros and his statue base (also known as the Kroisos kouros), and while this argument is seductive on prosopographical grounds, it cannot be taken as fact (contra Camp 1994, p. 9; Anderson 2000, p. 389). The link between the Anavyssos base and the Alkmaionidai was originally made by Eliot (1962, p. 74, n. 21, later expanded in 1976b; for other iterations of the connection between the Alkmaionidai and the Anavyssos kouros, see Camp 1994, p. 12, n. 6). Likewise, the connection between the Alkmaionidai and Steiria is based on an assumption that because the Alkmaionidai had connections with towns in Phokis (a point I do not dispute) and because Steiria has a “sister city” called Stiris in Phokis, the Alkmaionidai must have been connected with Steiria (Camp 1994, p. 8). This argument strikes me as a convenient solution to the problem of where the Alkmaionidai lived, but does not definitively provide an answer, merely a suggestion. It is possible that the Alkmaionidai lived in Steiria, just as it is possible that they lived in Anaphlystos; neither deme, however, can be linked concretely with the wealthy family. There is, therefore, no positive evidence to connect the Alkmaionidai with Thorikos and the silver mines, or with Sounion and the Poseidon sanctuary (contra Camp 1994, p. 9).

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(which was in the same trittys of phyle IV, Leontis, as Sounion), there is, unfortunately, no positive evidence for associating either of these families directly with Sounion and the growth of the sanctuaries of Poseidon and Athena there in the sixth century. In fact, the Alkmaionidai have stronger links with Alopeke, a city deme of phyle X, Antiochis, than with any other deme in Attica.139 The connections between Themistokles’ family and the area of Phrearrhioi, however, along with the possibility of Alkmaionid activity in the general area of southern Attica, do demonstrate that several wealthy families lived in the nearby vicinity of Sounion, which may explain why the sanctuary of Poseidon in particular received elite attention in the Early and Mid-​Archaic periods. The earliest built cult structure likely comes from the Athena sanctuary:  a small rectangular shrine measuring roughly 5 × 9.25 m., with two Doric columns arranged prostyle before the entrance, built around 500 and destroyed by the Persians, with an associated small rectangular altar nearby (Fig. 4.19). The walls were built with a two-​skin technique using roughly worked local stone and fragments of local Agrileza marble for the socle, with mudbrick uppers; a single rectangular block of Agrileza marble served as the threshold (Fig. 4.20).140 Inside the shrine lies a large dark gray statue base, which may or may not have been original to the structure.141 Although some scholars have interpreted the shrine as a heroön to Phrontis, the more convincing argument assigns it to Athena, understanding it as a predecessor of the

139.  AthPol 22.5:  καὶ ὠστρακίσθη Μεγακλῆς Ἱπποκράτους Ἀλωπεκῆθεν. (“Megakles, son of Hippokrates, from the deme Alopeke was ostracized.”) The demotic for members of the Alkmaeonidai is also attested in numerous ostraka, for which, see Agora XXV, nos. 628–​639 (pp.  93–​95), and Kerameikos III, p.  83, Kerameikos XI, p.  23, no.  53, p.  153, nos. 2a–​2c. This strong political affiliation between the Alkmaionidai and Alopeke should indicate that the family was more closely connected with the area immediate south of the astu, rather than the southern tip of Attica. The argument that links the Alkmaionidai with the demes of Thorikos, Stiria, Prasiai, Potamioi Deiradiotai, and Aigilia is partially based on the association between the Alkmaionidai and the paralia (Hdt. 1.59; AthPol 13.4), but Alopeke is between the astu and Piraeus, which makes it also quite near the sea. Although it was later made part of a city trittys, it was close to the coast and could easily have been considered part of the paralia during the sixth century. 140. For the details of construction, see Barletta 2017, pp. 56–​71; for dating, pp. 71–​73. The Temple of Themis at Rhmanous was also built with a two-​skin technique. 141. The competing arguments regarding the statue base are treated in Barletta 2017, pp. 73–​78. The stone of the base has not been scientifically tested, but it bears a visual resemblance to Eleusinian limestone, a striking choice given the distance between Eleusis and Sounion.

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Figure 4.19  Sounion, Temple of Athena, plan. Courtesy Agora Excavations.

Figure 4.20  Sounion, Temple of Athena. B. A. Barletta 2017, fig. 60. Courtesy of the Trustees of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens.

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Figure 4.21  Sounion, Sanctuary of Athena, plan. B. A. Barletta 2017, fig. 31. Courtesy of the Trustees of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens.

larger Ionic temple built ca. 460–​450.142 The decision to replace the temple with one near—​but not directly on top of—​the earlier temple is a curious choice (Fig. 4.21), given other Attic parallels (including in the neighboring Poseidon sanctuary), wherein post-​Persian structures directly overlay their predecessors; it is likely that topographic concerns dictated the repositioning of the temple, given the limited amount of room on the hill of the Athena sanctuary. Opposite the Athena sanctuary, on the towering hill dedicated to Poseidon, the earliest built structure identified with certainty is the Late Archaic limestone predecessor of the Classical marble temple (Plate 9). The marble temple both masks and incorporates remnants of the earlier temple, which succumbed to the Persians in 480 (Fig. 4.22).143 This earlier temple, although unfinished at the time of its destruction, had nearly identical

142.  Abramson contains the most complete argument associating Phrontis with the temple (1979). For a history of the controversy and a refutation of the association with Phrontis, see Barletta 2017, pp. 78–​82. 143. For the Archaic Temple of Poseidon, see Paga and Miles 2016.

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Figure  4.22 Sounion, Temple of Poseidon, reused triglyph blocks in podium for Classical temple. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

Figure 4.23  Sounion, Temple of Poseidon, plan of Late Archaic and Classical temples. Dörpfeld 1884, pl. XV.

measurements (ca. 13.06 × 30.20 m.) and plan (6 × 13)  as the later fifth century temple, and it was constructed of limestone, possibly with marble metopes inserted between the triglyphs (Fig. 4.23). The preserved blocks have traces of cuttings for both T-​clamps and Z-​clamps, as well as cuttings for dowels, lifting channels, alignment bands, and pry marks; a relatively fine-​ toothed claw chisel was employed, and several lifting bosses on the step blocks

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include mason’s marks (Plate 10).144 In material, size, and care of construction, not to mention its highly visible siting within the landscape, this can truly be considered a monumental edifice; it was, in fact, the first peripteral temple to be constructed outside of the astu. The temple is dated to the second decade of the fifth century; it should, therefore, be considered alongside the building projects that occurred in the astu and chora after the battle of Marathon, like the polygonal Temple of Themis at Rhamnous, the Hephaisteion in the astu, and the Old Parthenon on the Akropolis.145 Throughout the first two decades of the fifth century, the Athenian navy expanded and grew in importance, largely due to continual problems with Aegina, which came to a head in the last decade of the sixth and early fifth centuries with the capture of an Athenian state vessel by the Aeginetans during a festival at Sounion.146 In addition to the increased importance of the navy, the sanctuary at Sounion may have also benefited from the expanding exploitation of the nearby silver mines in the Laurion district. These two factors—​navy and silver mines—​were integrally connected in the decade after Marathon, as the well-​known passage of Herodotos regarding Themistokles makes clear. The Athenian statesman is said to have persuaded the Athenians to take the profits from a particularly rich vein of silver and invest them in the creation of 100 or 200 new triremes.147 This passage emphasizes two of the most important concerns of the Athenian state in the early fifth century. Sounion, as a coastal deme with a sanctuary dedicated to Poseidon and in close proximity to the Laurion mines, seems to have benefited from these dual areas of interest. Moreover, Themistokles himself came from the deme of Phrearrhioi; both Phrearrhioi and Sounion belonged to the coastal trittys of phyle IV, Leontis.148 The Athenian statesman would have been familiar with Phrearrhioi and the general area around Sounion. His knowledge of this 144. The use of both T-​and Z-​clamps points to a date in the late sixth or early fifth century, as does the use of a fine-​toothed claw (Paga 2015a). 145. Paga and Miles 2016, pp. 687–​688. 146. Hdt. 6.87. This event led to a sea confrontation between Aegina and Athens, where the Athenians were victorious for perhaps the first time. The perennial problems between Athens and Aegina are treated in the Introduction. 147.  Hdt. 7.144. This episode is also recounted in the AthPol 22.7 and in Plutarch’s Life of Themistokles, 4.1–​2; the AthPol and Plutarch say that Themistokles had 100 triremes built, whereas Herodotos says 200. See also the discussion in the section on Piraeus and Phaleron in this chapter regarding Themostokles’ actions concerning Piraeus. 148. Themistokles’ demotic is provided by Plut., Them. 1.1, as well as several ostraka. The AthPol only mentions his patronymic, son of Neokles (23.3).

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area, close to the sea and also close to the silver mines, may be reflected in the growth of the navy under his command, as well as the further exploitation of the mines. It is even possible that a captured Persian ship was dedicated in the Poseidon sanctuary following the battle of Salamis, a visual reminder of the intersection of divine favor, military victory, and the empowered rowers.149 The Temple of Poseidon at Sounion epitomizes several elements that helped define the first three decades of the new political regime. The first and arguably most important factor in the long-​term development of the Athenian polis was the connection between the sanctuary and seafaring; a monumental sanctuary and temple to the god of the sea would be prudent under such circumstances. In addition, the great wealth of the sanctuary, as rendered visible in the construction of the large-​scale peripteral temple of Poseidon and smaller temple of Athena, was surely connected to the nearby silver mines. The deme was close to the mining district, and it is not a stretch to postulate that Sounion would have benefited from the exploitation of the mines. The importance of the navy and the silver mines both lead to connections between Sounion and the fiscal and military policies of Themistokles;150 the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion fits within his promotion of Athenian military sea power. The peripteral temple itself, above and beyond these connections to the navy and the silver mines, represents an important step in the implementation and visual definition of the new political regime. Along with the building activity at Eleusis and Rhamnous, the temple at Sounion served as a physical delineation of the boundaries of the territory of Attika; the three points of the Attic peninsula were defined by these monumental buildings. Moreover, as the first Athenian monument seen by most seafaring travelers and visitors to Athens, the Temple of Poseidon stood as a bastion of Athenian power and supremacy, a warning to potential enemies and a symbol of the breadth and extent of the new demotic strength of the polis.

Ikarion The small deme of Ikarion (bouleutic quota of 4 or 5) is located just north of Mt. Pentele, nestled into its wooded foothills and relatively secluded (Map 1).151 149. Hdt. 8.121–​122. For the display of a captured ship in the Poseidon sanctuary, see Lorenzo 2015, pp. 131–​132. 150. The links between the silver mines and growth of the navy are treated by van Wees 2013. 151. Ikarion is an enclave: the deme of Plotheia is nearby, but the other demes of the inland trittys of Aigeis are on the southern side of Mt. Pentele. For a rebuttal of Traill’s later reassignment of Ikarion to the city trittys of phyle II, see Paga 2010, pp. 377–​378, and n. 95.

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The deme had two important cults, Dionysos and Pythian Apollo, both of which provide evidence for settlement and occupation of the area from the Late Archaic period at the latest, although it is likely that habitation existed earlier. The principal remains of the deme site include a small theatral area (Fig. 4.24,

Figure 4.24  Ikarion, plan. 1: Stoa (?). 2: Dedication. 3: Dedication. 4: Choregic dedication. 5: Temple of Dionysos (?). 6: Temple of Pythian Apollo. 7: Altar (of Apollo?). 8: Retaining wall for theatral area orchestra. 9: Theatron for theatral area. C. Lightfoot.

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nos. 8–​9), a Temple of Apollo Pythios (Fig. 4.24, no. 6), a large rectangular altar (Fig. 4.24, no. 7), two unidentified buildings (Fig. 4.24, no. 1, possibly a stoa, and no. 5, possibly a Temple of Dionysos), and several smaller monuments and private dedications (Fig. 4.24, nos. 2–​4). The unidentified buildings (Fig. 4.24, nos. 1 and 5) and the Temple of Apollo (Fig. 4.24, no. 6) date from the fourth century, although the finds from within and around these buildings help elucidate their functions and role within the deme. The cult of Apollo, for example, is epigraphically attested by the last quarter of the sixth century, and its location in Fig. 4.24, no. 6 is firmly established by the presence of a different inscription to the god carved into the building’s threshold block.152 It is assumed, therefore, that the cult of Pythian Apollo was in existence by the end of the sixth century, possibly housed in a cult building that was subsequently replaced. The cult of Dionysos is also attested by the same Late Archaic inscription, IG I3 1015, where reference is made to an agalma of the god.153 This inscription, carved on a slab of Pentelic marble and found near the Pytheion, appears to be a dedication and it secures the identification of the two cults of Apollo and Dionysos at Ikarion from the Late Archaic period at the latest. Further evidence for the cult of Dionysos is provided by the discovery of several fragments of a seated image of the god, bearded, wearing a chiton and himation, and holding a kantharos in his right hand, perhaps the agalma mentioned in the inscription.154 Romano has persuasively argued that this figure represents a cult statue of the god, a hypothesis confirmed by Despinis, who further reconstructs a carved baldacchino for the god.155 The statue is dated to the Late Archaic period, ca. 530–​520, and, like IG I3 1015, was probably carved from Pentelic marble.156 The cult 152. IG I3 1015 attests to cults to Dionysos and Apollo Pythias in Ikarion by the last quarter of the sixth century; it is dated to “525?” by the editors of IG; IG II2 4976, inscribed Ἰκαριῶν τὸ Πύ[θιο]ν, dates Fig. 4.24, no. 6 to the fourth/​third century (for this second inscription, see Buck 1889, p. 174; Biers and Boyd 1982, p. 15). Biers and Boyd suggest that the “primitive plan” of the temple, as well as the presence of an otherwise unidentified feature (visible on their state plan underneath and alongside the western wall of the temple building) may indicate that the fourth-​century temple replaced an earlier predecessor (1982, pp. 17–​18). 153. Robinson 1948, p. 142, no. 2 (ed. pr.) = SEG XII 58, XXI 1096; EM 13318. 154. Buck 1889 pp. 461–​467; Romano 1980, pp. 316–​334; 1982; Despinis 2007. 155. Romano 1980, pp. 326–​327; 1982, pp. 406–​409; Despinis 2007. 156. For the dating of both the torso and head, see Romano 1980, pp. 323–​324 (with additional bibliography); for the material, see p. 320. No scientific testing of the inscription or statue has been conducted; Robinson calls the inscription Pentelic without reservation (1948, p. 142); Romano argues that the statue is “probably Pentelic” (1980, p. 404). Although Mt. Pentele was not quarried extensively until construction began on the Old Parthenon, after 490, the

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of Dionysos at Ikarion is possibly of even greater antiquity than the late sixth century, though, if the later attestations of the god’s advent can be trusted: Dionysos was said to have arrived in Ikarion first when he came to Attika, imparting the art of viticulture to Ikarios.157 Thespis, the figure associated with the beginnings of tragedy and comedy, is also reported to have come from Ikarion, and the Rural Dionysia was certainly celebrated there in later periods.158 The presence of the baldacchino for the Late Archaic agalma could indicate that the cult statue was not housed within a temple but was in the open air in this period. That the statue was publicly accessible is further suggested by IG I3 254, a later fifth-​century inscription, where the chosen choregoi are instructed to take an oath while placing their hand on the statue. If Despinis is correct in locating the statue on a base,159 somewhere within the open precinct area around the later temple (Fig. 4.24, no.  5), the cult image would be prominent and highly visible within the deme center. This level of visibility is important when we consider the nearby theatral area and its likely role as the civic center of the deme, as is made clear in Fig. 4.24. The remains of permanent construction for the theater are scarce, consisting of a wall (Fig. 4.24, no. 8), which served as both a retaining wall and a rear backing for the orchestra, and five stone thrones for the prohedria (Fig. 4.25).160 The theater was rectilinear with a theatron consisting of the earth that rises in a slight slope to the southwest (Fig. 4.24, no. 9). The stone thrones likely date to the mid-​fourth century, contemporaneous with most of

proximity of Ikarion to the mountain likely explains the use of the material here in an early context (for the Pentelikon quarries, see Korres 1995, 2000). The statue displays evidence of piecework, not uncommon in Late Archaic sculpture in Attika, as well as holes for metal attachments (Romano 1980, p. 322). 157. Hyg., Poet. astr. 2.4, Fab. 130; Eratosth., Epigone frr. 22–​27 Powell; Apollod., Bibl. 2.14; Arist. fr. 515 Rose; Ael. NA 7.28. 158. For sources on Thespis, see Pickard-​Cambridge 1962, pp. 69–​89. The references for his origin at Ikarion are Ath. 2.40a–​b and the Suda, but see Pickard-​Cambridge for a critique of these late attestations, as well as for the problematic reality of “Thespis” himself. Pickard-​Cambridge also discusses the general origins of tragedy and comedy with Ikarion (1968, pp. 48–​49). See Paga for the epigraphic evidence for the Rural Dionysia (2010, p. 354, n. 5). 159. Despinis 2007, pp. 128–​129. 160. For description of the theater remains, see Buck 1889, pp. 176–​178; Bulle 1928, p. 6; Dilke 1950, pp.  30–​31; Gebhard 1974, pp.  434–​436; Biers and Boyd 1982, pp.  12–​14; Paga 2010, pp. 357–​360.

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Figure 4.25  Ikarion, theatral area. Photo by J. Paga (photo © J. Paga).

the monumental architecture of the site, but the physical form of the theater suggests that this elaboration was a secondary or tertiary phase, with the first phase possibly in the late sixth or early fifth centuries.161 As with Thorikos and Rhamnous, the theatral area would have served as the deme center for Ikarion.162 Its proximity to the nearby cult precincts further solidifies this identification. The excavated area, including the theater and cult spaces, functioned as the agora for the deme, where meetings would have taken place, as well as ritual activities, a market, and general gatherings of the residents of Ikarion. Ikarion may have also functioned as the center for the inland trittys of Aigeis, a reflection of the deme’s importance as a cult center and the presence of the theatral area.163 Although the elaboration of the cult of Dionysos here occurred earlier than the Kleisthenic reforms, the continued

161. For the dating of the theater, see Paga 2010, p. 357, with earlier bibliography, n. 23. Travlos also suggests a late sixth-​century date for this first phase (contemporary with the first phase of the Pnyx: 1988, p. 85). This would be in line with the general elaboration of the cult of Dionysos in the last quarter of the sixth century, in both the astu and demes, as discussed in Chapter 3. 162. Biers and Boyd 1982, p. 14; Paga 2010, pp. 357–​360. Cf. Camp, who suggests that the true deme center is most likely located elsewhere in the vicinity, not yet excavated (2001, p. 289). 163. Paga 2010, pp. 374–​382.

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promotion of the Dionysia under the new political system would have ensured that Ikarion maintained an elevated position in Attika.164 Moreover, the increasing exploitation of the quarries on Mt. Pentele in the early fifth century may have brought greater focus (and potentially greater wealth) to the deme.165 Ultimately, Ikarion functioned as an important cult center from the late sixth century onward, and its location on the northern slopes of Mt. Pentele, near the plain of Marathon, ensured that it retained a prominent position throughout the Late Archaic period.

Demes with Insecurely Attested Architecture: Prasiai and Pallene The small demes of Prasiai and Pallene (bouleutic quotas of 3 and 6, respectively) were not located next to each other and have no clear topographic and phyletic links (Map 1). They are considered together here, though, because they both appear to have had sanctuaries in the Late Archaic period that received some degree of monumentalization, but which is only attested by scattered and incomplete material, none of which is well published or accessible. Nevertheless, if positively ascribed, this material would indicate that both Prasiai and Pallene participated in the monumental articulation of the Attic chora in the Late Archaic period and did so via sacred architecture and dedications. The structures in Prasiai and Pallene show that some of the themes highlighted throughout this chapter—​border articulation, deme identity, and, above all, deme construction—​were present even in smaller demes. Prasiai was situated along the eastern coast of Attika, south of Brauron and north of Thorikos, near the modern city of Porto Rafti. It belonged to the coastal trittys of phyle III, Pandionis, along with the three nearby demes of Myrrhinous, Angele, and Steiria, as well as Probalinthos, further to the north. Not much is known of Prasiai, although Pausanias mentions a Temple of Apollo, to which the first fruits of the Hyperboreans are brought.166 In the mid-​1980s, two important Late Archaic finds from the area emerged, 164. Rural cults of Dionysos would only have benefited from the increased attention to the god in the city center ca. 500. The erection of other deme theaters in the late sixth and early fifth centuries serves as further evidence of the promotion of the Dionysia (City and Rural) under the new political regime. 165. The role of the quarries of Attika is discussed in more detail in Chapter 5. 166. Paus. 1.31.2.

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both found reused in Late Antique walls of an apsidal Hellenistic building. One is a dedicatory base, 0.82 × 0.80 × 0.23 m., possibly carved of Pentelic marble, with a partial inscription: Πῦθις ⠇τόδε ἐποίε.167 The letterforms show similarities with two dedications from the Akropolis, both of which are also signed by the sculptor Pythis: IG I3 680 and 762.168 All three bases have been dated ca. 500, and the similarities in letterforms imply a single hand, assumed to be that of Pythis himself. The base also preserves a cavity on the upper surface for the insertion of a standing stone statue, positioned with the right foot slightly forward. The other find is a partial head of a kouros, said to be carved of Parian marble. Apostolopoulou-​Kakavoianni has identified the sculpture as a wreathed or garlanded male head belonging to a Late Archaic statue, similar in form to the head of Theseus from a metope of the Treasury of the Athenians at Delphi as well as the figure of Theseus from the west pediment of the Temple of Apollo Daphnephoros in Eretria, both dated to the Late Archaic period.169 On the basis of these comparisons, as well as the presence of the garland or wreath, indicated by holes for a metal attachment, and the testimony of Pausanias, Apostolopoulou-​Kakavoianni identifies the figure as Apollo.170 The head and base may belong together and constitute a cult statue or dedication for the sanctuary of Apollo at Prasiai; if it is a cult statue, we must also presuppose a shrine or naïskos for shelter.171 Given the chronological congruity between the two finds, the use of marble for both (albeit potentially from two different sources), and their similar find spots, such a connection seems plausible. Unfortunately, neither the sanctuary nor any other portion of ancient Prasiai has yet been identified with certainty, although the two finds indicate that the deme possessed a sanctuary in which costly votives (as suggested by the use of marble and the large scale of the base) were dedicated by the Late Archaic period. If Prasiai did indeed have a Temple of

167. IG I3 1018[3]‌. The provenance of the marble has not been confirmed; it is listed as “Pentelic” in SEG XXXVII 47. 168.  Raubitschek 1949, nos. 10 and 90, respectively. The connection between the three inscriptions was made by Apostolopoulou-​Kakavoianni, in her editio princeps of the Prasiai inscription (1986, pp. 172–​173). 169. Apostolopoulou-​Kakovoianni 1986, p. 174; see also Stewart 2008b, p. 591. 170. Apostolopoulou-​Kakovoianni 1986, p. 174–​175. 171. Apostolopoulou-​Kakovoianni uses the cutting in the upper surface of the base as evidence for her restoration of the statue, thus linking the two finds (1986, p. 175). For a brief English summary of the finds, see Catling 1986–​1987, p. 9.

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Apollo constructed ca. 500, this structure would fit into the rubric of temples used to delimit and define the coast of Attika and to express a deme-​based identity rooted in ritual.172 Further inland lies the deme of Pallene, part of the inland trittys of phyle X, Antiochis. Two Ionic capitals from the nearby modern towns of Stavro and Jeraka have been tentatively assigned to a structure in or near this deme and dated to the Late Archaic period.173 A  third possible capital and fragment of a base were also found at Stavro and may be related.174 The tops of the capitals, carved from island marble, indicate that they were load-​bearing and supported an entablature, which necessitates their reconstruction as part of a building. No foundations, however, suitable for such a structure and dated appropriately have yet been identified in or near Pallene. It remains possible that the Stavro-​Jeraka capitals are to be associated with the Ionic capital found reused in the Agora and its twin, found near the Nike bastion of the Akropolis; all four share stylistic and material similarities and Shoe groups them together as a Late Archaic “type,” but the astu capitals and the Stavro-​ Jeraka capitals must ultimately derive from two different structures.175 The Stravro-​Jeraka capitals thus likely represent a distinct small Ionic building located in or near Pallene. It is difficult to speculate on the nature of such a building, although the use of the Ionic order and costly marble in the Late Archaic period implies a sacred and monumental structure. The Classical Temple of Athena at Pallene could have had a predecessor, but a switch from the Ionic order in the Late Archaic period to Doric in the subsequent temple 172. Parker groups the Temple of Apollo at Prasiai with that of Poseidon at Sounion and Apollo at Cape Zoster as seaside cults that relate to the sea and/​or are directed at seafarers, with the implication that these were coastal sanctuaries frequently visited via the sea, as opposed to overland routes (2005, p. 57 and n. 30). 173. Shoe compares these capitals to two from the astu: an Ionic capital from the Agora (A616) and one from the slope near the Nike Bastion, both of island marble (1982, p. 86). The capitals from Stavro-​Jeraka (as well as other material recovered from several churches in the area) are discussed by Möbius (1927); see also Goette 1992–​1998, p. 112, and n. 19. I thank Samuel Holzman for drawing my attention to these fragmentary capitals and for discussing their proportions with me; my own conclusions differ slightly from his regarding their chronology. 174. Shoe 1996, p. 137, n. 46; this third capital is now lost. 175. Shoe’s Type IV: Carved Details (1996, pp. 136–​139). Regarding the twin capitals from the astu (Agora A616 and the Nike Bastion capital), they are too small for the Late Archaic Temple of Triptolemos in the City Eleusinion (Agora XXXI p. 45 and n. 28). They are also too small for the Southeast Fountain House and Temple of Meter in the Agora, two structures that hypothetically could have been of the Ionic order. It remains possible that the two capitals from the astu belonged to a small structure like one of the oikemata from the Akropolis, but they remain floating for the time being.

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would be unusual. It is more likely that the Ionic capitals belong to an as yet unattested sacred building in the deme. Although the evidence for both Prasiai and Pallene is limited, I believe both demes were participants in the ritual landscape of the chora during the Late Archaic Period. In addition to the large Panathenian festivals and cults, like those at Eleusis and Sounion, individual demes had their own sanctuaries and rituals, many of which would have been more frequent places of worship for individuals than these larger sites. These smaller sanctuaries played important roles in the everyday lives of the demesmen and helped forge deme-​specific identities and connections. Their accessibility afforded more opportunities for individual interaction with the deity, and their rites brought the deme community together for shared worship. These types of sanctuaries represent venues wherein deme autonomy could be asserted and expressed, existing as they did alongside the “polis religion” of the major statewide festivals and events.176

Non-​Deme Evidence: Brauron Brauron is located along the eastern coast of Attika, approximately 38 km. from the astu (Map 1). The closest deme to the sanctuary is Philaidai, ca. 1.5 km. to the west. Brauron itself was not a deme under the Kleisthenic reforms of 508/​7, despite the fact that there is evidence for activity—​both cultic and occupational—​at the site and its adjacent akropolis since the Bronze Age, and even earlier in the Neolithic period.177 Given its proximity, the sanctuary may have been included within the territory of Philaidai, but it seems to have functioned independently of any single deme.178 Regardless of its bureaucratic status, the sanctuary of Artemis located here was an important cult center for Attika from the seventh century onward and is worth considering alongside other deme building activity in the Late Archaic period. Like Sounion and 176. For the concept of polis religion, see Sourvinou-​Inwood 1990; for its difficulties, see Kindt 2009 (with earlier bibliography). 177. Brauron was said to be one of the original twelve demes included in the synoikismos of Theseus, along with Eleusis, Ikarion, and Thorikos. The antiquity of Brauron is further attested by the legends concerning the origins of the cult and Iphigeneia, who was said to have brought the xoanon of Artemis here from the Taurians (Eur. Iph. Taur., 1462–​1467; Paus. 1.33). For the chronology of the site, see Travlos 1988, p. 55. The Neolithic and Bronze Age settlement was centered on the akropolis southeast of the sanctuary (Themelis 1971, pp. 9–​10; Alavanou 1972, p. 8). 178. Lavelle argues for Brauron and Philaidai as distinct entities (2005, pp. 171–​172, 174).

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Thorikos, Brauron is a site that has previously been linked to elite Athenian families in the Archaic period, in this case, Peisistratos and his sons. The association, however, is quite tenuous, and there is only limited evidence for any sort of connection; the primary text is a brief story in Plutarch’s Life of Solon, wherein Peisistratos is said to have been from the deme Philaidai, named after Philaios, son of Ajax.179 There is no reason to doubt Plutarch, but to extrapolate from this brief aside that Peisistratos was thus deeply involved in the Brauronia, that he promoted the cult throughout Attika, and/​or that he commissioned buildings either at Brauron or on the Akropolis or both stretches the limited evidence too far.180 That the sanctuary at Brauron was important throughout the Archaic period is without doubt, given the copious amounts of votive material recovered from the sanctuary that date to the seventh and sixth centuries, but its monumental architectural expansion is more securely linked with the nascent political regime brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms.181 At the end of the sixth century, a limestone retaining wall and adjacent terrace (16.50 × 8 m.) were constructed east and south, respectively, of the Sacred Spring in order to create a large level area at a point where the natural bedrock of the site rises abruptly (Fig. 4.26, Fig. 4.27). On this rocky outcrop, facilitated by the retaining wall and terrace, the site’s earliest identifiable temple was built (Plate 11). All three elements—​retaining wall, terrace, and temple—​belong to the same building project, dated to the late sixth or early fifth century.182 The foundations of the temple are largely preserved and indicate that it was a small non-​peripteral Doric building measuring 19.90 × 10.35 m., with two columns in antis giving access to a narrow porch and four interior columns in the cella; the temple has also been restored by some scholars with a small adyton at the 179.  Plut., Sol. 10:  καὶ δῆμον ἐπώνυμον Φιλαίου τῶν Φιλαϊδῶν ἔχουσιν, ὅθεν ἦν Πεισίστρατος. (“And they have a deme named after Philaios, Philaidai, which Peisistratos was from”.) The demotic is also attested by [Plato] Hipp. 228b. Lavelle also distrusts this evidence and suggests that the connection of Peisistratos with Philaidai was only established in the fourth century B.C.E. (2005, pp. 171–​174, 307, n. 3). 180. Simon’s comments are typical: “In the sixth century B.C. Peisistratos founded in Athens a Brauronion” (1983, p. 83); see also Shapiro 1989, pp. 65–​66; Goette 1993, p. 221. The issue of the Brauroneion on the Akropolis is discussed later in this section. 181. For the Archaic material, see Kahil 1963; Alvanou 1972; Camp 2001, pp. 277–​281; Themelis 2002, p. 109. 182. The date of the temple is derived from the profiles and proportions of its remaining superstructure pieces, the masonry of the terrace and temple foundations, and the historical context. The material from the temple is yet to be fully published. Proposing a late sixth or early fifth century date: Papadimitriou 1963; Camp 2001, pp. 277–​281; Nielsen 2009, pp. 96–​97.

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Figure 4.26  Brauron, plan. J. Paga, after J. Travlos 1988, Abb. 58.

Figure  4.27  Brauron, retaining platform, view to east. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

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Figure 4.28  Brauron, Doric column fragment from Late Archaic Temple of Artemis. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

rear, as is shown in Fig. 4.26.183 In addition to the foundations, a few frieze blocks, an anta capital, and fragments of fluted Doric column drums survive, the stone for all of which likely derived from nearby quarries (Fig. 4.28).184 Although it was initially thought to be a tyrannical building project due to its pre-​Persian date and the above-​mentioned Peisistratean “connection,”

183. Papadimitriou 1963, p. 113; Themelis 1971, p. 15, 2002, p. 104; Travlos 1988, p. 55. For the issue of the adyton and its supposed connection with cults of Artemis, see Hollinshead 1985. 184. For the stone, see Osborne 1985, p. 97; Themelis 2002, p. 104.

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most scholars now date the terrace and temple to ca. 500.185 The temple was destroyed by the Persians during their pillaging of the Attic countryside in 479, much like the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion and the Telesterion at Eleusis; the limestone blocks of the temple’s superstructure show fire damage, and the Persians also seized the cult statue of Artemis and brought it back to Susa.186 This construction activity is closely connected with the ritual activity around the Sacred Spring, further evidence that the spring itself was considered one of the most sacred areas within the sanctuary.187 North of the temple, the spring was crossed by means of an impressive stone bridge, possibly contemporaneous in date with the terrace and temple; this seems to have been the primary means of accessing the sanctuary.188 The course of the spring was not diverted or entirely covered, and the waterway retained an important place in the sanctuary, defining its western edge. The close proximity of the temple to the spring and the presence of the large terrace southwest of the temple projecting over the spring emphasize the sanctity of the water and we might suppose that water itself played some role in the rites that occurred there. A  further possible elaboration of the sanctuary during this time occurred in the cave to the southeast of the temple, seen in Fig. 4.26. Votive evidence from the seventh century indicates that this area, like the spring, was long considered sacred, and a small shrine—​often described as a heroön to Iphigeneia—​was built sometime in the Archaic period. It measures ca. 8 × 5 m. and takes the simple form of a rectangular edifice, perhaps with a narrow pronaos. This structure is generally thought to be part of the

185. Papadimitriou convincingly argues for a date just before 500 and has been followed by most subsequent authors (1963, pp. 113–​115). 186. Paus. 3.16.8; Miles 2014, p. 119. 187. Themelis 2002, p. 104. Vast numbers of votives (pottery, figurines, bronze and gold jewelry, mirrors, and bone and wooden objects) have been recovered from the Sacred Spring. Nearly all of the objects date from before the destruction of the sanctuary by the Persians in 479 (Alavanou 1972, p. 17). 188. Papadimitriou reports that it is 30 ft. long and 30 ft. wide (about 9 × 9 m.) and dates to the fifth century (1963, p. 120). It is unclear whether the bridge pre-​or postdates the Persian destruction, but it must predate the stoa, built in the 420s. If it is to be dated after 480, we must reconstruct a wooden bridge in its place. Themelis links the stone bridge with the Late Archaic building phase of the sanctuary (2002, p. 108). The bridge is shown only in outline in Fig. 4.25 to indicate its uncertain status.

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building activity associated with the temple.189 It was constructed of identical materials (locally sourced stone, cut in ashlar blocks), is closely linked to an area of preestablished sacred import, and little votive material postdating the Late Archaic period has been recovered from the cave. The architectural elaboration of the sanctuary is indicative of the important role of the cult within the Athenian ritual calendar. The principal ritual event that occurred here was the Brauronia, which, like the Panathenaia, was one of only a handful of penteteric festivals in Athens and, like the Eleusinian Mysteries, forged a physical and ritual link between the astu and the chora.190 The comparison with the Mysteries is particularly apt because there also existed a satellite sanctuary of Brauron on the Akropolis, called the Brauroneion. It seems to have served as a starting point for the theoria to Brauron, much as the City Eleusinion did for the Mysteries, and was also a place for the dedication of votives.191 Little remains of this sanctuary aside from bedrock cuttings and assorted limestone blocks; the evidence suggests a stoa, perhaps with a small temple, that was gradually expanded over three phases. There is no evidence, however, to date any of these phases before the mid-​fifth century.192 Indeed, the Brauroneion as a built cult structure seems most likely to date to the third quarter of the fifth century because the north line of the temenos

189. Themelis 2002, p. 108. For Iphigeneia at Brauron, see Ekroth 2003, although note that he argues that the shrine should instead postdate 480, a replacement for Archaic and Late Archaic rooms further in the cave damaged by a collapse in the fifth century (pp. 74–​87). 190. The festival is attested in Herodotos (6.138), as well as Philochoros (FGH 328 F 101, quoted in a scholium to Lucian), Aristophanes (Peace, 872–​876), the AthPol (54.7–​8), a scholiast to Theocritus (2.6), and Hesychius (s.v. Brauronios). For details of the Brauronia and arkteia, see Ekroth 2003; Parker 2007, pp. 51–​52, 179–​180, 228–​248; Nielsen 2009. 191.  For the City Eleusinion, see Chapter  3. Parker suggests that the Brauroneion on the Akropolis was the starting point and also emphasizes that the procession out to Brauron was a theoria, not a pompe, because nothing was “escorted” (2007, pp. 52, 179–​180). 192. The phasing is explicated by Rhodes and Dobbins 1979. Evidence that is sometimes used to argue for a Peisistratid or Late Archaic phase for the Brauroneion includes two marble statues of couchant hounds (Akr. 143, 550), a head of a bear or, more likely, a lion (Akr. 621), and a fragment from a krateriskos (Akr. 621, dated ca. 510), all found on the Akropolis. None of these, however, can definitively be connected to Artemis and none imply or necessitate a built cult structure to Artemis Brauronia on the Akropolis in the Archaic period. The evidence is discussed in Hurwit 1999, pp. 117, 197–​198. Despite the scant nature of this evidence, numerous people have used it to argue that the Brauronia was established by Peisistratos or his sons, with the further implication that a cult building of some sort existed on the Akropolis during the sixth century (e.g. Simon 1983, p. 83; Shapiro 1989, pp. 65–​66; Camia 2010). A similar view to my own is expressed by Hurwit, who finds the evidence inconclusive but still believes that the Brauroneion was established by Peisistratos’ sons, but not elaborated architecturally until the 430s (1999, pp. 117, 197–​198).

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runs parallel with the Mnesiklean Propylaia, indicating that the sanctuary of Artemis takes the monumental gateway into account. The lack of evidence for a built cult structure in the Brauroneion on the Akropolis in the Archaic period, however, does not mean that the festival of the Brauronia was not celebrated with a procession from astu to chora, nor that Artemis Brauronia was not worshiped on the Akropolis during this period. It seems most likely that a small area sacred to Artemis, perhaps explicitly Artemis Brauronia, was set aside on the Akropolis at some point in the Archaic period, perhaps with a small altar or ephemeral building for the display and storage of votives. This area served to connect the city to the main sanctuary at Brauron and featured in the festival of the Brauronia. Later, in the third quarter of the fifth century, perhaps contemporaneously with the Classical architectural elaboration of Brauron itself, the sanctuary on the Akropolis was endowed with a monumental stone stoa, which further strengthened the links between the astu and the extra-​urban sanctuary. This strong connection between city and countryside was reified in the participation of Athenians from all parts of Attika, both men and women, boys and girls, in the Brauronia. The ritual movement from center to periphery activated the eastern coast of Attika with liminal significance, as youths passed into puberty and began the path toward the next generation of Athenian citizens. Given the Panathenian nature of this cult and the likely detachment of Brauron from a specific deme, the monumental elaboration of the sanctuary in the Late Archaic period was likely initiated and principally funded by the demos, perhaps with additional private (elite) financial contributions.193 The architectural activity in the sanctuary thus represents a deliberate attempt by the new political order to promote the cult of Artemis and include it within the broader religious awareness of the polis. We can also understand the temple at Brauron as an intermediate link between the Temple of Nemesis at Rhamnous and the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion: all three lined the eastern coast of Attika, monumentally defining the coastal border. The deities at these sanctuaries also played distinct and crucial roles for the polis. Nemesis and Themis, Artemis, and Poseidon are all appropriate deities for extra-​urban worship, along with Demeter and Persephone at Eleusis. The gods along the eastern coast in particular are deities that are integral to the protection of borders, the delineation of space, the maturation of future generations, and the administration of justice, all of which were concerns for the 193. Parker 2007, pp. 58–​59; the financial impact of the deme building activity is discussed further in Chapter 5.

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new political system. Moreover, the contemporaneous construction activity at Rhamnous, Brauron, and Sounion was spurred and aided by the increase in financial revenues generated by Athenian martial and commercial successes in the late sixth and early fifth centuries, and all reflect the desire to articulate the bounds of the polis.

The Role of the Demes Several observations can be drawn from the study of construction activity in the demes outlined above. In total, as many as twenty-​three discrete monumental structures can be dated to the years between the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms in 508/​7 and the Persian destruction of 480/​79. Of these, there are twelve or thirteen temples, two sets of fortification walls, and four theatral areas. With the exception of those theatral areas that lack stone articulation at this stage (Rhamnous and Ikarion) and the early tropaion at Marathon, these structures are all monumental in scale and material, as well as representative of large expenditures of money, resources, and labor. Nearly all were conspicuous landmarks in the landscape of the chora and located in highly visible areas. Several served infrastructure or military needs, like the ship sheds in the Piraeus, while the majority added to the ritual landscape of the countryside. The concentration of construction activity within the span of approximately twenty-​five years demonstrates a remarkably consistent and intensive focus on deme building within a precise chronological period, a coherent counterpart to the building activity within the astu. The impetus behind many of the buildings is not difficult to discern. The attacks of the Spartans, Corinthians, Boiotians, and Chalkidians in 506/​5 represent a turning point in Athenian history. This unexpected moment of victory, visually represented in the bronze quadriga dedicated on the Akropolis, was also concretized in the demes. On the other hand, the continued and escalating problems with Aegina stood as a perennial threat to Athens’ coastal borders and created interference with the polis’ access to commercial trading routes in the broader Aegean. These persistent threats demonstrate how the borders of Attika were particularly permeable and vulnerable areas of the territory in the late sixth century.194 An emphasis, therefore, on clear border 194.  The elasticity and continued susceptibility of the borderlands is well articulated by Fachard 2017. At no period in history did the polis have a clearly delineated terrestrial border in the manner of modern nations or states, but it was constantly in flux. Nonetheless, it remains possible to delimit a rough approximation of what could be considered Athenian (as opposed to Theban or Corinthian, for instance) territory.

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delineation by the new political regime should not be surprising. Of the demes with evidence for building projects in this time period, only two—​Ikarion and Pallene—​are not located on or immediately adjacent to a border.195 In particular, the elaboration of sanctuary space at Eleusis, Rhamnous, and Sounion indicates not only growing wealth and prosperity within the demes themselves, but also an awareness of the potential weaknesses of Attic territory and a corresponding need to shore up defenses and create lookout areas. These three demes are all located at crucial borders for the Athenians: Eleusis borders the territory of Megara, close to the Isthmus and the Peloponnese; Rhamnous borders the territory of Boiotia and Thebes, with a view to Euboia; and Sounion stands at the furthest southern edge of Attika, overlooking the sea routes. The triangle formed by Eleusis, Rhamnous, and Sounion effectively contains the entire territory of Attika;196 all three sites were increasingly fortified in later periods and garrisons were installed, a further recognition and monumentalization of their defensive capabilities. The twelve temples (or thirteen, if we are correct in hypothesizing a sacred Ionic structure in or near Pallene) built in these disparate sanctuaries are not defensive in purpose, and only Eleusis was surrounded by heavy walls at this point. But the visual and symbolic resonance of these structures scattered across the countryside and lining the borders speaks to the new power of the Athenians: a power to delineate the extent of their territory and articulate that space monumentally. This is not a phenomenon unique to Athens, but the appearance of such a system of construction here in the Late Archaic period serves as another example of a well-​known pattern of using monumental buildings—​especially sanctuaries—​to articulate spatial control.197 We might also compare this definition of Attika with the use of the horoi in the Agora:  they are both physical signals of borders, indicating where space transitions from one use or purpose to another. That both the land and coastal borders were quickly dotted with large-​scale construction projects broadcasts the capabilities of the new political system, both internally and externally, and highlights the potential of demes both large and small. An outsider approaching the polis, friend or foe, could not help but be awed by such 195. The exigencies of excavation should be noted: we are only ever dealing with a partial data set. As more areas of the Attic peninsula are explored and excavated, this picture will likely evolve. 196. Paga 2015b. 197. For the connections between border articulation with temples and state formation, see Polignac 1995.

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a great extent of simultaneous and monumental construction, an impression further elevated when they arrived at the astu itself. The sanctuaries in the chora also ensure divine protection at these vulnerable borders, and their elaboration in the Late Archaic period serves as an euergetistic thank-​offering for continued divine favor and support. In addition to the symbolic projection of power against outside enemies, the architectural focus on these demes is also evocative of the integration of the widespread territory of Attika into the newly defined polis of Athens; it sheds light on the internal relationship between the demes, and between the demes and the polis, rather than just the external relationship between Athens and other poleis. One of the principal results of the Kleisthenic reforms was the creation of a more nuanced and codependent system of deme and polis, whereby the demes continued to exist as independent units but within the broader framework of Athenian society, politics, and bureaucracy. The proliferation of building projects throughout the demes at this time can be understood as a physical substantiation of this same policy, through their forms and monumentality, as signifiers of the wealth and resources of the demes and astu, and through their placement, along the borders and edges of an Attic territory that was now fully integrated into the broader administrative network of the polis. The deme building projects should thus be viewed alongside the use of the demotic that begins after 508/​7.198 The introduction of the use of the demotic in place of or in addition to the patronymic is one of the most notable ways in which the Kleisthenic reforms sought to recognize the individuality of the demes, while simultaneously weakening familial birth ties. In many ways, the use of the demotic strengthened the place of the demes within the new political system and elevated them to a higher level of visibility and prominence. From 508/​7 onward, each freeborn male resident of Attika was registered to a specific deme and carried that name with him as a means of identification, even if his physical residence changed.199 The demes were thus invested with a power or authority that seems to have been previously understated or not acknowledged by the centralized political system (such as existed in the Archaic period): it now mattered precisely where you were from, rather than simply who your father was. This level of specificity instantly and integrally linked every citizen with a single deme and was a measure that granted demes a type

198. For the general significance of the demotic, see the Introduction and Chapter 1. 199. See Kellogg 2016 for mobility between demes.

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of recognition that conveyed a sense of autonomy. But this autonomy did not mean independence from the new political system of Athens. Rather, it was an autonomy contained within a larger matrix of inclusion: the demes belonged to the Athenian polis, but the polis was made up of the individual demes and could not exist without them. This bilateral relationship was one of the strengths of the new political system and shows how the reforms of 508/​7 integrated the demes into the polis but also allowed them to maintain their individual identities. In addition to the replacement of the patronymic with the demotic, the demes were also made responsible for registering all of the citizens within each deme.200 To belong to a deme was now synonymous with Athenian citizenship, and deme registration was therefore an important step in establishing Athenian identity throughout Attika, as well as a means by which the polis could make an account of the freeborn male population.201 An Athenian citizen was a member of a single deme, and to belong to a deme was to be an Athenian citizen. The use of the demotic thus represents one of the ways the Kleisthenic reforms attempted to integrate the demes into the polis and how the notion of a new demos-​based Athenian identity permeated Attika. The individual deme buildings further emphasize the importance of demes and the role of deme identity. As noted throughout this chapter, many of the deme structures were built with local materials,202 and several of the

200. AthPol 42. Ober emphasizes that this process thereby made political identity dependent on fellow citizens and demesmen for verification (1989, p. 70). We might compare it to the type of accountability seen in the Boule and described in Chapter 2. 201. In order to structure and organize the Boule, law courts, and military, a record would be needed of all of the eligible male citizens in Attika. It is unlikely that such a register or census existed prior to 508/​7, but the provision of the deme registers would have enabled such a census on a regular basis and would have ensured that the records were consistently updated. 202. Proximity to stone quarries was likely a factor in the construction of these buildings, given the cost of moving large quantities of stone overland. Osborne notes that, with the exception of Eleusis (where local stone is used alongside extensive employment of marble and limestone from elsewhere), the majority of deme construction in the Classical period can be traced to local quarries (1985, pp. 102–​103). He goes on to argue that the adherence of all locally important building programmes to local resources will have served to reinforce the strength of local feelings of identity and have contributed both marginally to the economic welfare of the local people and substantially to the social standing of the group as a whole, and in particular, no doubt, of those individuals who pushed the projects through. (p. 109) See also Appendix I.

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sacred structures housed deme-​specific cults. While there is scant evidence for financial expenditure in the demes in this period, it is not unreasonable to assume that much of the deme construction activity was funded by the demes themselves, either from wealthy individuals and families, or from deme treasury funds that might accrue from sacred property, quarries, mines, taxes, and festivals, or (most likely) some combination of the above.203 In some cases, however, the polis itself may have contributed. At Eleusis, for example, where the fortification walls provided real defensive protection for a crucial border site and where the cult of the Mysteries was of Panhellenic importance, financial contributions from the polis coffers seem likely. The walls, ship sheds, and general development of Piraeus were likewise surely funded to a large extent from the central treasury. The temples of Poseidon at Sounion and Themis at Rhamnous, both built in the post-​Marathon boom of construction, may have also received state funding, particularly given the growth of the navy in this period and the role of the Rhamnousian goddess in the battle, respectively. The diminutive temple on Cape Zoster, on the other hand, forges a strong connection between the island of Delos and the Athenian polis; partial funding from the central treasury would not be unexpected here, although the bulk of financing was like from Halai Aixonides and other nearby demes.204 While it is impossible to determine the precise degree to which the deme building projects were centrally funded or motivated, their locations around the perimeter of Attika, their monumentality, and their similarities in form and function do demonstrate the interconnected nature of the Attic countryside. When viewed alongside the building projects in the astu, they contribute to the use of the built environment as an agent for forging and crafting a new sense of Athenian identity. To be an Athenian was now about belonging to the land of Attika itself, and the embellishment of this land in the form of monumental building projects underscores the connection between citizenship and place.

203. Polis and deme finances are considered in greater detail in Chapter 5. 204.  Parker suggests state involvement at the sanctuaries of Poseidon at Sounion, Nemesis at Rhamnous, Athena Pallenis at Pallene, and possibly Demeter at Thorikos, in addition to sanctuaries with Panathenian penteteric festivals, like Brauron and Eleusis (2007, p. 58).

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Buildings and Democracy

When tabulated, the buildings, edifices, and major topographic modifications discussed in Chapters 1–​4 result in a total of as many as forty-​ five monumental structures erected between 508/​7 and 480/​79. In Attika, twelve individual demes plus the sanctuary of Artemis at Brauron account for as many as twenty-​three structures. Within the astu, there are an additional twenty-​two monuments or structures. Not all of these can be positively verified and some remain hypothetical, whether through lack of adequate material remains, incomplete evidence for their dates, or subsequent rebuilding phases that obfuscate traces of earlier structures. The majority, however, are built edifices that can be positively identified and dated to the period in question, through either their material remains or textual and epigraphic evidence (or both). This total does not include large-​scale votive dedications such as the quadriga dedicated after the victory over the Boiotians and Chalkidians, which stood on the Akropolis, or the Tyrannicide monument, which was prominently displayed in the Agora.1 Such dedications, made by the demos rather than private individuals, would raise the number of highly visible monumental edifices. This total also does not include monuments erected by the Athenians outside of Attika, such as the Treasury and Marathon statue base at Delphi.2 Many of the forty-​five structures included in the list constitute sanctuary elements, such as temples, while others fulfilled more multipurpose or 1.  Boiotian and Chalkidian monument:  IG I3 501, EM 6286, M&L 15, DAA 168 and 173, LSAG 78, pl. 4.43; Hdt. 5.77, Diod. 10.24, Paus. 1.28.2, discussed in Chapter 1. For the original Tyrannicide monument, the bibliography for which is vast, see especially Brunnsåker 1971; Taylor 1991; J. L. Shear 2012a, 2012b; Azoulay 2017; Baltes 2020. 2. For the Treasury of the Athenians at Delphi with an integrated monument base for statues of the eponymous heroes, dated ca. 490–​480, see Dinsmoor 1946; Amandry 1998; Neer 2004; Hoff 2009; Scott 2010, pp. 77–​81. Building Democracy in Late Archaic Athens. Jessica Paga, Oxford University Press (2021). © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780190083571.001.0001

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utilitarian needs, such as theatral areas and fortifications. Most were located in highly visible and frequently trafficked locations, beacons in the landscape, and their size and materials often enhanced this prominence. Many employed local materials in their construction. Sadly, most of them stood only a short time and many were victims of the Persian destruction of Athens and Attika in 480 and 479.3 This final chapter offers further reflection on the meaning of all these buildings, when taken together, and analysis of their impact on how we think about the political regime instituted by the Kleisthenic reforms. Given the experimental nature of the new political order and the relative dearth of literary sources, such reflection on and analysis of the built environment can help shed light on this murky period of Athenian history. Attention to the structures and edifices built in the Late Archaic period allows for consideration of the nature of the Athenian economy under the new political regime, as well as the available material and labor resources of the polis, but it also prompts reflection on what we mean when we describe something as a “building program.” Crucially, attention to and analysis of these buildings, both individually and as a whole, provide insights into the nature of the political regime itself. Ultimately, what this concerted focus on the built environment of Late Archaic Athens does is provide novel ways to think about the problems of instituting a new political order, and particularly problems specific to democratic or demotic states, even—​or especially—​in their nascent forms.

Economic Ramifications In less than three decades, the Athenians built over three-​dozen monumental structures in the urban center and countryside. This represents a tremendous output of capital, both economic and material, as well as a robust labor force of skilled and unskilled workers. What remains to be seen, and what may never be fully understood, is who proposed, organized, and financed all these structures. After Kleisthenes, very few individual agents can be identified from the literary sources. Aristocratic families like the Alkmaionidai surely continued to play an important role, politically, socially, and economically, in both the astu and the chora, but we hear less of them than we had in the preceding decades. When we do learn of prominent individuals—​Miltiades, Themistokles, Kimon—​it is frequently in a military context and/​or on an

3. See Appendix I for a full table of the structures.

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archon list, when preserved. From this, we might extrapolate political power, or at least bureaucratic influence, but the details are elusive, and it is unclear how much force an individual agent could exercise when it comes to public building and infrastructure. We are lacking the singular “genius” behind these buildings and monuments; there is no Perikles or Lykourgos orchestrating their construction, and this makes the task of understanding the impetus for and completion of them particularly beguiling. With that caveat, those structures built in the astu are slightly easier to untangle: the civic and public buildings in the Agora, infrastructure projects like the Great Drain, and Panathenian sanctuary elaborations almost certainly went through some sort of public vetting process. At the very least, they would have been proposed in the Boule, debated and brought to a vote in the Ekklesia, and public funds would have been either partially or wholly earmarked for their construction. As in most monumental public building in ancient Greece, supplemental financial contributions were likely expected from members of the community, particularly those of the upper classes, in the form of an ad hoc eisphora (tax levy), liturgy, and/​or public contract.4 It is impossible to know if a separate board of epimeletai (managers/​overseers) or epistatai (supervisors/​overseers), whether appointed, chosen by lot, or elected, supervised the building activity, but some system of delegated oversight and administration would be necessary, given the coordination problems involved in so much concurrent construction. For any construction activity in sanctuaries, the relevant sacred officials would also need to be consulted and building work coordinated with the ritual calendar and any ritual restrictions, such as at Eleusis. While such procedures and processes would also have been required to some degree during the earlier Archaic period, the need for coordination was limited by the smaller output of construction and the smaller input of diverse finances. During the Late Archaic period, the sheer volume of construction activity would have necessitated a more sophisticated system of oversight, implementation, and remuneration. Moreover, after the implementation of the Kleisthenic reforms, final authorization now rested in the Ekklesia, whereas previously such approval might not have been necessary or

4. The Late Archaic Temple of Apollo at Delphi provides such an example, where contributions were sought widely from both poleis and individuals; for additional examples, see Burford 1965, pp. 26–​27. For the quasi-​liturgical system of deme property leases, applicable here to expected elite contributions to polis spending, see Papazarkadas 2011, pp. 151–​152, and further in this chapter.

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might have been mere formality, making the entire process more rapid but less transparent and communal. For the structures in Attika, the situation is somewhat more complicated. Some sanctuary projects had Panathenian appeal and use:  the sanctuary of Demeter and Persephone at Eleusis, the sanctuaries of Poseidon and Athena at Sounion, the sanctuary of Nemesis at Rhamnous, and the sanctuary of Artemis at Brauron, to name a few. The fortifications and harbor works at Piraeus were likewise designed for the benefit of all Athenians and had both a military and economic impact on the polis as a whole. Other edifices are wholly deme-​or region-​specific: the sanctuary of Hygieia at Thorikos, or the sanctuary of Pythian Apollo at Ikarion, for instance. The multipurpose or infrastructure projects, like theatral areas, fortification walls, and harbor installations, might be considered a mix of local and “national.” In all these instances—​including those with Panathenian application and use—​the construction process and its attendant economic complexities are less straightforward because there is even less literary evidence about building in the chora than there is for the astu. While not all of these structures can be called “political”—​not all of them served functions explicitly connected to the new political regime, or any specific political regime—​they nevertheless raise interesting questions about the nature and functionality of the early political system, as well as some of the inherent problems of regime change on a broad scale. The large-​scale and widespread construction activity throughout Athens and Attika can and should be viewed as another lens, another form of evidence, for this transitional period. By breaking down the various factors that went into the construction of these buildings, it is possible to tease out links between economic stability, specialization of labor, and flourishing political health.

Labor and Material Resources When it comes to calculating the cost of all this building activity, the Athenians were fortunate in several respects. Many of the structures were built of local stone, including bedrock and limestone; imported marble was used infrequently, and the quarries on Mt. Pentele saw a marked uptick in use at the same time. Much of the labor was likely supplied by local stone crews, craftsmen, animal wranglers, and enslaved people, both skilled and unskilled; in this respect, the substantial population of the polis facilitated a robust labor force.5 The ability of the Athenians to employ their own people 5.  According to Hansen and Nielsen, Athens likely had the largest population of all Greek

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and exploit the natural resources of their land speaks to a sense of economic conservatism but also a high degree of practicality. The choices available for stone construction, both in the astu and in the chora, include bedrock, limestone, and marble. Usable bedrock could be found in numerous locations throughout the city and countryside, although it was generally restricted to use in the foundations of buildings and retaining walls. Limestone could come from various sources, but the most frequently used were the pink-​hued Kara limestone found in the foothills of Mt. Hymettos and the yellow-​hued Piraeus limestone from the Akte peninsula; Eleusis also had a strong supply of distinctive gray limestone, but this was not as widely used outside of the deme.6 Domestic marble could come from Mt. Hymettos (typically a bluish-​hued stone) or Mt. Pentele (a fine-​grained white stone with visible mica flakes). In some cases, stone foundations of either bedrock or limestone might be topped with mudbrick, as with the fortifications at Eleusis, but the vast majority of the structures treated in this book are entirely stone. The choice of one stone over another speaks to a variety of concerns: economic, practical, and aesthetic. From an economic angle, using local bedrock or limestone can be considered a cost-​saving measure. These two stone types are less expensive than marble and more widely found in the landscape of Attika. Some demes, like Eleusis, even had their own limestone quarries, which they administered and controlled.7 In the case of deme ownership of quarries, local building projects using that stone might not be charged fees for the stone itself, or charged reduced fees; at the least, transportation fees would be greatly reduced.8 Even if the stone itself was free or cheap, however, payment would still need to be made to the quarry workers, masons, and other personnel. Another advantage of using local limestone is that it requires less time to work than marble, a

poleis in the Classical period, with an estimated citizen population of 50,000–​60,000 (2004, p. 627). This total does not include the enslaved population, nor women, metics, and minors. 6. According to Burford, only the Piraeus quarries were exploited commercially (1965, p. 29). For the deliberate use and legacy of Eleusinian limestone, see Shoe 1949. Flament discusses quarries more generally, with specific attention to the ancient terminology (2015). 7. Shoe relays a personal communication from Travlos regarding the location of the Eleusis quarries (1949, p. 341, n. 2). At Eleusis, the deme controlled access to the quarries through the Archaic period and into the fifth century, but by the fourth century the sanctuary had taken over ownership and arranged the leases for exploitation (Hochscheid 2015, pp. 128–​129). 8. Hochscheid 2015, pp. 128–​129. That the sanctuary of Demeter paid for the use of the deme’s limestone, and therefore did not always control the quarry, is attested epigraphically by I.Eleusis 143 (IG II2 1666), dated 356/​3–​353/​2; see also Ampolo 1982, p. 252.

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further cost-​saving reason to choose that material.9 The relatively small size of several of the deme structures may also be understood in terms of economic frugality. A smaller structure cuts down on the cost of materials, the number of materials that have to be transported, and the number of masons and time required to construct the building. All of these economic issues also speak to a measure of practicality. The demes had more limited financial, material, and labor resources available than the polis writ large and it is not clear how much assistance in any of the above a deme might receive from the polis itself. Using the readily available and abundant local resources and reducing the overall size of the project allowed the demes to save time and money, while still resulting in a monumental structure. The availability and choice of material in the astu is a different matter. Bedrock from both the Akropolis and the Kolonos Agoraios was employed, but limestone and marble had to be brought into the city from outside.10 Marble, when used during this period, frequently came from the famous quarries of Paros and Naxos, but Attic sources were also employed with increasing regularity toward the end of the sixth and first decades of the fifth centuries.11 The growing exploitation of Mt. Pentele in the Late Archaic and Early Classical periods meant that an abundant and beautiful source of fine-​grained white marble was readily available to the Athenians and only had to be transported a short distance.12 The Old Parthenon, as described in Chapter 1, serves as an admirable example of the use of Attic materials, as well as the growth of certain quarries at the end of the sixth and beginning of the fifth centuries.13 The massive platform 9. Burford notes that Pentelic marble takes approximately five times as long to work as limestone (1965, p. 24). 10. So-​called “Akropolis stone” or “Akropolis bedrock” is actually derived from the Akropolis, Hill of the Nymphs, Philopappos Hill, Lykabettos, and others (Korres 1995, p. 62). 11. According to Korres, Mt. Pentele saw only limited surface quarrying prior to ca. 490; the catalyst for intensive exploitation there was the construction of the Old Parthenon (2000, p. 10). In her analysis of marble sculpture in Athens from the sixth to the fourth centuries, Hochscheid demonstrates that the use of Pentelic marble for votive statues and gravestones increases markedly in the last quarter of the sixth century and first quarter of the fifth century; it does not displace the use of Parian and Naxian marble for statues, but the overall percentage of Pentelic marble statues becomes significantly higher (2015, pp. 105–​113, and see esp. Table 3.1). T. L. Shear, Jr. also comments on the limited use of Pentelic marble prior to the early fifth century (2016, pp. 57–​58, and n. 92). 12. Mt. Pentele is approximately 17–​20 km. from the Akropolis; Mt. Hymettos is about 18 km. For the quarries on Pentele and the lithagogia, see Korres 1995 (part one reproduced as Korres 2000); Hochscheid 2015, pp. 137–​141. 13. As Davies notes, “temples remain the best indicator of the impact on society of the processes involved in building” (2001b, p. 215).

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Figure 5.1  Old Parthenon podium, view along west face, to northeast. Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

for the temple was built entirely of Piraeus limestone in approximately five years, an indication of intense and rapid quarrying activity in the newly developed main harbor of the polis (Figs. 1.8, 5.1). Although it was occasionally used prior to 490, the employment of Piraeus limestone here represents the largest scale of its exploitation. After quarrying, the stone would need to be transported approximately 10 km. inland and approximately 150 m. up to the Akropolis summit. Although most of the podium was covered by backfill and terracing as construction advanced, the sheer volume of materials and labor required—​at the quarry as well as the work site—​represents a tremendous, if largely invisible, output. Like the transfer of the navy and harborage facilities to Piraeus, the exploitation of the limestone quarries speaks to the critical role this deme played for the polis, and particularly for the new political system. Not only did Piraeus provide a safe harbor for the triremes, it also provided the material structurally necessary to support one of the most ambitious temples in existence. Above this podium, the entire superstructure of the Old Parthenon was to have been Pentelic marble, a monumental use of this stone not seen before. Just a single column capital for this temple weighed approximately 12 tons, and there were to have been 42 capitals total; this is a staggering output from a marble quarry that had previously seen

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scarce activity.14 This stone needed to be transported approximately 20 km. but was primarily downhill (a difference of ca. 600 m.) until the very end of the journey. As with the use of Piraeus limestone, the employment of Pentelic marble here indicates an intense period of growth and exploitation of these quarries made necessary by the abundance of buildings in this period. When we turn to labor resources, it is important first to emphasize that this category does not only include masons, but incorporates all of the various support personnel needed for monumental construction:  quarry workers, draught animal wranglers and teamsters, carpenters, smiths, tile-​ makers, painters, people to construct and oversee the use of carts, sledges, pulleys, winches, and other transport and lifting devices, people to construct and oversee infrastructure projects as needed, such as road construction and maintenance, and people to produce essential raw and worked materials, such as glue, pigments and dyes, nails, rope, and so on. In some cases, these different jobs and resources might overlap, such as carpenters, who might build and repair the sledges for transport as well as the scaffolding for erection. Some occupations and tasks could be accomplished with inexpensive slave labor of either the skilled or unskilled variety. The quarries themselves would have required a huge team with varying specialties and skills, not all of which are transferrable from limestone to marble.15 Nearly all of these jobs, though, entail varying degrees of internal and external administrative organization, with general oversight exercised by the architect(s) and his assistants. Many of these jobs could—​and would—​have been locally sourced as needed, and many would have employed Athenian citizens and residents, even if only as day laborers.16 In most cities other than Athens, we might reasonably expect skilled workers to be hired from outside the city, and indeed 14. Korres provides the weights (2000, p. 30). He estimates it would have taken ca. two months to extract a block of the appropriate size for a single capital and rough-​carve it in the quarry. Further highlighting the scale of exploitation, for any architectural block of Pentelic marble, only about one-​third of the total amount extracted will result in a finished block (p. 14). For additional transport costs, see Loomis 1998, pp. 191–​202. 15. In other words, not all (or even most) of the limestone quarry workers at Piraeus could simply be transferred to Mt. Pentele, as needed. The skills and techniques used to extract limestone at Piraeus are different from those needed to extract marble at Pentelikon. For marble extraction particularly, see Hochscheid 2015, pp. 120–​135. 16. Hochscheid concludes that not all quarry workers would have been slaves due to the technical insight and experience that quarrying entails: unskilled laborers (both slaves and non-​ slaves) could have been employed in cleaning debris, manning ropes, and the like, but much of the work in the quarries required experience, skill, and a high degree of oversight (2015, pp. 124–​126). Such a mix of skilled, unskilled, enslaved, and free workers is likewise attested in the Erechtheion building accounts (IG I3 474). For a detailed discussion of the quarrying and

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there is evidence that skilled masons were mobile during the Archaic and Classical periods.17 Athens, though, is one of the few places where a stonemason or quarry worker might find year-​long specialized employment and therefore make his living in a single polis.18 This would particularly be the case during periods of robust building activity, such as the two and a half decades of concern here, or the second half of the fifth century, when monumental construction was practically an ongoing state of affairs. The profusion of building activity during the late sixth and early fifth centuries thus provided consistent employment to a wide spectrum and percentage of the Athenian population. The similarities shared across buildings—​materials, size, plan, and even function—​both in the astu and in the demes might also indicate shared construction or labor resources, such as teams of masons, architects, or the like, who traveled throughout Attika as needed to assist and/​or oversee construction activity. The use of Pentelic marble stands out as one such material resource, shared across buildings and sites, that required special knowledge and skills. As the mountain was increasingly quarried over the course of the early fifth century, more laborers would need to be hired and trained, which resulted in the creation of a skilled workforce intimately familiar with this particular local resource. The limestone quarries at Piraeus likely saw a similar development and creation of a dedicated workforce. In both instances, local men—​free and enslaved—​would have constituted the bulk of the labor force; there is no evidence that teams or groups of workers were bought, imported, or invited into Attika for such purposes. The uptick in construction activity in the Late Archaic period, therefore, brought with it an uptick in specialization, as it pertains to quarrying, transport, erection, and finishing.19 transport processes entailed in the construction of the Periklean Parthenon, see T. L. Shear, Jr. 2016, pp. 57–​62. 17.  Burford 1965, p.  31; Hochscheid 2015, p.  212; T.  L. Shear, Jr. 2016, pp.  9–​11. Iktinos and Pheidias are among the more famous examples of architects and sculptors who worked in various locations, but the same was likely true for more humble masons and builders. 18. Another city for which this is true in the Classical period is Akragas (Burford 1965, p. 31). Carpenters, smiths, and the like could, of course, find year-​long employment because their trades were more adaptable to non-​monumental building activities. T. L. Shear, Jr. demonstrates how Athenian workers found employment at building sites throughout mainland Greece, particularly Epidauros and Delphi, in the fourth century (2016, p. 10). 19. The only construction project that would have required a remotely comparable workforce in the second half of the sixth century was the Olympieion, whose foundations were a mixture of Akropolis bedrock and Kara limestone. It is highly plausible that the men working on that temple would have found subsequent work in the Late Archaic period, given the burst of

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In cases where the polis itself served in a financial and/​or advisory function, such as is proposed for Eleusis, Piraeus, and Sounion, among others, it is also possible that part or all of a structured team of architectural workers (from architect down to mason) was assigned by a central board or committee, perhaps appointed and supervised by the Boule itself, as in later periods.20 This partial or full team could then be moved to a new project as needed. The benefits of such an arrangement are plentiful. In terms of basic organization and functionality, teams that are already established will be able to begin work more rapidly, and their projects will likely come to completion in less time. Such teams would also have established relationships with day laborers and additional personnel (guilders, carpenters, smiths, and the like), which would make the procurement and specification of such materials more rapid and streamlined. Familiarity with materials and the preferences of the architect would also save time and result in fewer errors and accidents. Given the rapidity with which these forty-​five structures appeared in Athens and Attika, it would be highly unlikely if such teams of organized workers were not utilized in some capacity, at least for the larger and more involved projects of temples and fortifications. Overall, the ability to design, quarry, transport, and erect all these structures in such a short period of time indicates the presence of a carefully organized and coordinated system, if not for all, then at least for most projects. The architect (or architects) would have been involved in most of the stages of production, but the delegation of responsibilities, particularly for larger projects like the Old Athena Temple and Old Parthenon, would have distributed the necessary oversight for many aspects of quarrying, transport, and finishing. Moreover, just as the construction process required an organizational system, many of the individual components of quarrying, transport, and finishing would have also required their own organizational systems. While it is not possible to provide absolute numbers for how many building activity, but the sheer output of construction in the late sixth and early fifth centuries would have necessitated an even larger workforce with increasing specialization. 20.  Davies demonstrates how monumental construction (especially of temples) “drove innovations in administration,” with the creation of various supervisory boards, both in Athens and other poleis (2001b, p. 16). In the Classical period, contracts for public works and monuments were made by the poletai, a board directly supervised by the Boule and said to have existed since Solon’s time (AthPol 47; see discussion in Rhodes 1972, pp.  96, 124; van Wees 2013, pp. 42–​44). By the fourth century (if not earlier), the Boule was also charged with inspecting all public buildings (AthPol 46.2), a further demonstration of their oversight with respect to construction activity. For the bouleutic procedures related to public works, see Rhodes 1972, pp. 122–​127.

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people were involved at any one time in these projects, it certainly seems to be the case that these numerous construction jobs in Athens and Attika provided plentiful employment to a wide variety of local workers. In addition, these jobs would have been more or less ongoing for much of the time under consideration. The multiplicity and rapidity of the building activity implies nothing less.

Financial Robustness The cost of building a temple or other large public building depends on several factors: size, material, labor, and transportation. In Athens, as discussed above, many material resources available to the polis—​stone, bronze, silver—​ were relatively extensive and, in some cases, free or offered at reduced cost, while others—​timber, gold—​largely had to be imported.21 During the Late Archaic period, the Athenians certainly did not skimp on size when it came to buildings within the astu, although some demes preferred to keep their constructions smaller and employ a higher ratio of ephemeral materials, like mudbrick. The use of local materials, in addition to their being more readily available and potentially offered at a discount or free, cut down on the significant costs of overland transportation, which made up the bulk of expenses for monumental building. There is no indication of large teams of foreign workers coming into the polis during this period for the purpose of building, so we might also assume that the majority of labor was provided by citizens, metics, and slaves within Attika. By using primarily local materials and the local workforce, the Athenians were able to reduce the overall cost of this robust building activity. That said, building forty-​five structures in the span of twenty-​eight years or less represents a substantial financial output. Where did this money come from and what does it tell us about the state of the polis—​ and especially its public finances—​in the years following the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms?22

21.  The quarries on Mt. Pentele were state-​owned, at least in the Classical period, so any structures built by the state with this material would entail the cost of labor and transport, but not material (T. L. Shear, Jr. 2016, p. 58). We are probably correct to imagine a similar arrangement for the limestone quarries on the Akte peninsula in Piraeus, the marble and limestone quarries on Mt. Hymettos, and the various bedrock quarries within the astu. 22. Van Wees argues that the Athenians already had a complex understanding of public finance by the Archaic period, which was rapidly accelerated in the decades following the Kleisthenic reforms (2013). He analyzes this development through the lens of the military, specifically the growth of the navy. The Late Archaic building activity identified here further augments his

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Let us begin with sources of income. The financial holdings of the sanctuary of Athena Polias and the majority of Attic sanctuaries through the sixth century would have consisted primarily of votive offerings, dedications, and sanctuary fees or fines rendered in kind.23 In order to make use of such resources to fund a monumental temple, they would first need to be converted into building materials or bullion to pay for contractors, labor, workmen, and the like, whenever possible and within the bounds of sacred norms: not all materials would be suitable to monumental construction, and sanctuary laws and norms doubtless restricted certain types of reuse. With the expansion of state minting activity in the Late Archaic period, bullion might also be stored in sanctuaries and may have been available for some sanctuary building activity. Moreover, with the increased appearance of standardized coinage in varying denominations, the work of transforming sanctuary holdings into bullion was much simplified.24 By about 500, sanctuaries such as Eleusis and Delphi could also count on coined revenue for the payment of initiation and consultation fees, respectively.25 For the sanctuary of Athena Polias on the Akropolis and most of the Attic sanctuaries, no such fees are attested, although violation of sanctuary-​specific rules and regulations could result in the accumulation of fines, an inconsistent but enforceable source of income. A good example of how the Akropolis could have acquired bullion in the Late Archaic and Early Classical periods is indicated in the Hekatompedon Decrees (IG I3 4A–​B).26 Clearly inscribed, painted, and possibly displayed near the entrance to the Akropolis, these decrees lay out precise rules and regulations for behavior, with particular attention to the inspection of sanctuary property. Fines for bad behavior, lack of proper and timely inspection,

thesis about centralized institutions, financial administration, and a collective sense of public finance. 23. For sanctuary resources and financial holdings in the sixth through fourth centuries, see Davies 2001a. He emphasizes the significance of the appearance of coinage for funding monumental construction. The treasury of Athena Polias was the main treasury of the polis for the Classical period (Papazarkadas 2011, p. 18), and it seems entirely plausible to retroject this role into the Late Archaic and Early Classical periods, as van Wees does (2013, pp. 136–​137). 24. For the phasing and chronology of Late Archaic coinage, see Flament 2007 (with earlier bibliography). 25. Davies 2001a discusses both examples. For Eleusis, particularly instructive is IG I3 6 C (= I.Eleusis 19 C), dated ca. 470–​460. 26. A full text, translation, and commentary of IG I3 4B can be found in Appendix II. The decrees are also treated in Chapter  1. For sanctuary fees, fines, and taxes more broadly, see Pafford 2006.

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and failure to report infractions are to be inflicted on worshipers, sanctuary personnel, and administrative officials alike. The fines themselves range from a discretionary “up to three obols” to the more serious 100 drachmas.27 The fines were presumably paid to and held in the sanctuary. What remains unknown, unfortunately, is how often these rules (and, presumably, others like them) were transgressed and therefore how much income accrued to sanctuaries as a result; fines like those described in this decree more likely served as deterrents than as income generators, and any money they brought in would be sporadic, but the potential is there for revenue. Evidence that sanctuaries also owned property, both within the sanctuary itself and outside the temenos, is more concrete and reliable. In the Classical period, these properties were leased out, with income accruing to the sanctuary’s—​and therefore the polis’—​coffers.28 Athena Polias, for instance, held property in the astu as well as the chora, and in some periods also possessed property outside the polis, in places such as Euboia.29 These holdings could be leased out, with any rental revenue distributed back to the sanctuary itself (to pay for sacrifices, priestly perquisites, and building upkeep, for instance) or earmarked for other purposes, even non-​sacred ones, within the polis.30 While all of our textual and epigraphic evidence for this process is Classical and Hellenistic, it is not unlikely that similar rentals would have taken place in the Late Archaic period, although perhaps on a less extensive scale. The state itself also leased out properties, including agricultural land, quarries (both stone and clay), and mines, all of which resulted in income to the state treasury. Building contracts for sacred edifices also seem to have been a regular occurrence in the Archaic period, if we are to judge from the rebuilding of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi.31 While this does not constitute income accruing directly to the sanctuary (or polis), it could have offset some of the costs associated with the building activity.

27. For perspective, a soldier in the Peloponnesian War made about 1 drachma a day. 28.  The management of sacred and public property in the Classical period is treated by Papazarkadas 2011; for the Archaic period, see van Wees 2013, pp. 101–​104. 29. Papazarkadas 2011, pp. 18–​20. The bulk of her property was within the bounds of the polis and was agricultural or pastoral in nature. 30. AthPol 48.2. 31. Hdt. 5.63; also treated in Chapter 1. The building of the temple at Delphi is, of course, different, given the Panhellenic nature of the sanctuary and its oversight by the amphictyony, but that does not negate it as a comparable example.

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Other forms of revenue that the polis could take in include taxes and non-​ sacred fines, such as harbor dues and interest and rent payments on public land use. With the fall of Miletus as a major Mediterranean trading center after its destruction in 494, the harbors in Piraeus saw a noticeable increase in activity, which would translate to an increase in harbor fees and taxes.32 The export of Pentelic marble and Piraeus limestone would also generate income for the polis, as would the continued export of Attic pottery, wine, and olive oil, as supposedly encouraged under Solon.33 Celebrations and festivals, like the Greater Panathenaia and Eleusinian Mysteries, also brought money into the polis, although much of that likely went to private citizens in the market stalls. Booty and loot collected from the battlefield represent a potentially substantial revenue source, particularly as the Athenians began to win more battles. Most of the loot was collected and sold, in exchange for payment to soldiers, while the remainder was deposited in the public treasury; some items might be dedicated as tithes in sanctuaries, which increased the treasuries of the gods, but very little went into individual pockets.34 As indicated by changes in Athenian coinage, the Laurion silver mines witnessed increased activity in the last quarter of the sixth century, further supplemented by the discovery of rich new veins in the early fifth century.35 The bulk of the income from the mines was likely needed to support the burgeoning navy: import of timber and procurement of other raw materials, construction of ships, construction of slipways in Piraeus, maintenance and upkeep of ships, and payment for rowers. Public funds must have been earmarked for this, given the costs of building and maintaining the growing fleet and its increasing importance for the polis.36 Last, but certainly not least, increasingly regular eisphorai, liturgies, and other forms of public largesse by the wealthy elite surely padded the coffers of the polis and supplemented building activity during this period much in the same way they did in the later fifth and fourth centuries.37 Indeed, van Wees has suggested that the eisphora was of particular 32. For Piraeus as a commercial hub, see Chapter 4 and Boersma 1970, pp. 48–​49. Van Wees notes that taxes on trade are not explicitly mentioned in any sources, but were almost certainly levied in Archaic Athens, as elsewhere in Greece (2013, p. 101). 33. Plut., Sol. 24. 34. Van Wees 2013, p. 69. I thank Nikolaos Papazarkadas for discussing this issue with me. 35. Flament 2007, pp. 27–​31; Kroll 2009, pp. 195–​196. 36. Van Wees argues that this public financial support for the navy likely began under Hippias but was fully transformed after the Kleisthenic reforms (2013, pp. 66–​67). 37. For liturgies in the Classical period, see Davies 1971, pp. xvii–​xxxi; Osborne 2010, pp. 114–​115.

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importance in the Archaic period and became standardized following the Kleisthenic reforms, given the rapid expansion of the navy.38 If the substantial costs of the navy were to be supported by the silver mines and elite liturgies, as suggested, the income from the remaining sources would be available for public works, including monumental buildings and infrastructure projects. Deme finances in particular are woefully underrepresented for this period and can only be roughly extrapolated from later sources. Given that many of the available financial sources are from the fifth and fourth centuries, we must also be aware of inflation and changing costs over time.39 With that caveat, some of these income sources would have been similar at the deme level, if reduced in scale. Papazarkadas has demonstrated for the Classical period that the phylai and demes held property that could be leased out for agricultural, pastoral, mining, and quarry exploitation.40 The earliest evidence for deme leasing of property is IG I3 258, a decree of Plotheia dated ca. 420, but Papazarkadas suggests that such practices, potentially based on the Archaic system of naukrariai, go back to the period immediately following the Kleisthenic reforms.41 Potentially augmenting that argument is an inscribed lead sheet from Rhamnous, dated ca. 500, that mentions epistatai giving and receiving public money (demosion) from a group of hieropoioi.42 Bubelis believes that this money came from the public treasury of Athens itself, brought to Rhamnous and parceled out or distributed thence.43 It is difficult to know whether this money should be considered income or expenditure (or both) for Rhamnous, but the reference to hieropoioi suggests that it was used, stored, or otherwise affiliated with the sanctuaries in the deme, perhaps connected to property owned by Nemesis. Given Rhamnous’ location, the flow of state money here also highlights the critical role of these

38. Prior to reliable output from the Laurion mines and regular tribute payments from allies, Athens would have especially depended on levies of the propertied upper classes (van Wees 2013, pp. 83–​84, 92–​100, 140–​141). 39. Note, however, Burford: “And what little evidence there is suggests that the total costs of temples remained within the same range, from the sixth to the fourth century at least” (1965, p. 27). For inflation generally, see Loomis 1998; for the Archaic period specifically, see van Wees 2013, pp. 109–​111. 40. Papazarkadas 2011, esp. ch. 3. He believes that phyletic income likely had a more sacred than secular nature in the early to mid-​fifth century (p. 111). 41. Papazarkadas 2011, p. 113; on the naukrariai, see also van Wees 2013, pp. 44–​61; Bubelis 2016. 42. IG I3 247bis; Petrakos 1999, vol. 2, no. 181; discussed in Chapter 4. 43. Bubelis 2016, pp. 178–​187.

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border demes. Other forms of income available to the demes are similar to those available to the broader polis: taxes, liturgies, and interest on loans.44 Demes located in close proximity to quarries and mines, such as Thorikos, benefited from their exploitation, while coastal demes might impose their own harbor or trade dues, as at Piraeus and Phaleron. A few caveats are in order. Not all of the income that accrued to the polis or individual demes was used for the construction of public buildings. As at the polis level, much of it would have been earmarked for military and political or administrative purposes, such as building and outfitting triremes, sending embassies to treat with other poleis, and paying the bouleutai, jurors, rowers, and soldiers.45 Revenues derived from sacred property were also used to pay for sacrifices and their attendant costs, such as animal wranglers, firewood, and the like, general sanctuary upkeep and maintenance, and any additional priestly perquisites. It is also unknown what percentage of the overall cost of monumental public buildings and structures the polis contributed to as compared to the sanctuaries themselves and private individuals. In all likelihood, these forty-​five edifices were paid for through a combination of public, sacred, and private funds, mixed to varying degrees on the basis of function, location, materials, and necessity. What the building activity under the new political regime demonstrates, though, is that the Athenian polis (and individual demes) had significant enough financial holdings in the late sixth and early fifth centuries to fund, either wholly or in part, a substantial number of buildings, infrastructure projects, and topographic modifications. This financial robustness is partially due to the work of Peisistratos46 and partially due to changing economics in the broader Mediterranean, but that cannot fully account for the burst of both necessary and discretionary spending attested by this explosion of building activity. While it is not possible to trace accurately all of the sources of income or to reconstruct a detailed model of budgetary spending by the polis or demes, the forty-​five structures outlined in the preceding chapters do indicate that the new political order brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms achieved financial security and flourishing well before the Persian Wars. The variety of structures built during this period show that they spent their money

44. Whitehead 1986, pp. 149–​160. 45. According to van Wees’ calculations, a single trireme crew would cost approximately 4,000 drachmas per month (2013, p. 75). 46. Thuc. 1.13; AthPol 16.

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on both necessary and unnecessary edifices. The lavish size and ornamentation of several of the buildings also indicate that the polis did not scrimp on such expenses, while the numerous smaller structures display a sense of frugality alongside this ostentation.

“Building Programs” and Demotic Agency The proliferation of buildings in this period and the degree of economic robustness they imply underscore the need to reassess what we mean when we call something a “building program.” The modern understanding of the term implies a coherent public policy, often entailing centralized impetus, oversight, or administration, as well as centralized funding, and almost always spearheaded by a singular individual. Thanks to Aristotle and Plutarch, building programs are also generally understood as a way to employ a large portion of the populace, who would otherwise lack a productive means of income and/​or foment unrest.47 Such a multipronged definition, however, is difficult to apply in toto to any specific context in the ancient world, even those with plentiful textual, epigraphic, and archaeological evidence, such as that of Perikles.48 So what do we mean when we describe ancient periods of intense construction activity as indicative of a “building program?” Can something be considered a “building program” when it lacks clear evidence of an overarching centralized plan of implementation, when it is funded from disparate public and private sources, and when we have no “big name” to pin to it? As I hope to have shown, I believe the answer is yes. When applied to the ancient Greek world, the term “building program” should not exclusively denote a fully state-​organized, implemented, and funded plan, ascribed to a singular “genius,” because any period to which we might apply the label “building program” cannot fulfill all of these requirements. The term must be more flexible. The appearance of multiple large-​scale public edifices within a short period of time that share similarities in material and form and that would have required intensive coordination among a broad spectrum of the available labor force should indicate—​regardless of planning and funding and regardless of 47. Aris. Pol. V.1313b9; Plut., Per. 12. The term “building program” is most frequently used in Greco-​Roman contexts, such as for Perikles and Augustus, but it can also be found applied to the ancient Near East and Egypt (see, e.g., Roller 1998 regarding the building program of Herod; Berman 1998 regarding the building program of Amenhotep III). 48.  T.  L. Shear, Jr. demonstrates Plutarch’s misunderstanding of the situation in Classical Athens (2016, p. 9). For discussion of Kimon’s “building program” and problems with the term, see Di Cesare 2015.

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attestations of a single motivating agent—​a program of building. It is the final part of this equation—​the need for extensive coordination—​that is perhaps most illustrative of what a building program is and what it is not. The construction of multiple large-​scale buildings within a confined space, such as the Akropolis, or of structures that require the same materials and workforce necessitates shared resources. When resources, like quarries, are shared across multiple construction projects, the same workers will be involved in various phases of the process, sharing knowledge alongside labor. This type of communication between the men doing the actual work of construction (both free and enslaved, skilled and unskilled, but especially between the architects and overseers) is what enables the tremendous coordination needed to build so many structures in such a brief amount of time. When only a small number of structures are built over a longer amount of time, the same level of coordination is not required because the jobs are more spread out. When resources do not need to be shared and are not in intense demand by multiple simultaneous construction projects, the same level of coordination is not required because the materials (and access to them) do not compel the same amount of distribution and oversight. In these cases, communication is more limited, and there is thus the potential for less correspondence across building sites. It is the concentrated energy of multiple projects in a short span of time that necessitates such coordination, and this, I argue, is the key to understanding what we mean when we call something a building program. Seen in this light, the construction activity that occurs in Athens and Attika from 508/​7 to 480/​79 can be understood as nothing other than a building program. We will perhaps never know the complete details of its implementation and funding, but I hope to have demonstrated that the extensive construction activity of the new political regime fits these revised parameters of what a building program should be understood to be. It necessitated an extraordinary amount of coordination, employed vast quantities of material and labor resources, and cost a substantial amount of money.49 To put this building program in perspective, it is illustrative to consider briefly other well-​known building programs that have been recognized as such in Athens both prior and subsequent to this period and that scholars generally do not have trouble labeling building programs. This account is not intended to be

49. Increased attention to the road networks in Attika will no doubt shed further light on how this high level of communication was facilitated. For recent attempts to identify, date, and trace the ancient roads of Attika, see Costaki 2006; Korres et al. 2009; Fachard 2013; Best 2015; Fachard and Pirisino 2015; Pirisino 2015; Fachard 2017; McHugh 2019.

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exhaustive, but merely to bring the Late Archaic period into starker relief, to provide recognized comparanda, and to further nuance what we mean by the term “building program.” During the second half of the sixth century, prior to the Kleisthenic reforms, we have evidence in the so-​called “tyrannical building program” of Peisistratos and his sons of barely one quarter of the output observed for the period from 508/​7 to 480/​79.50 The tyrant himself does not seem to have built anything, despite attempts to associate him with both the Bluebeard Temple and the monumental ramp up to the Akropolis.51 The tyrant’s grandson, Peisistratos the Younger, dedicated two altars (one to Pythian Apollo in the Ilissos river area and one to the Twelve Gods in the area that would become the Agora). The tyrant’s sons embellished a preexisting fountain house (the Enneakrounos) and started—​but never finished—​the Temple of Olympian Zeus.52 There is no positive physical or reliable textual evidence that the tyrants had anything to do with structures at Brauron or a satellite Brauronieion on the Akropolis.53 The total output is thus four structures, or five if we include the so-​called “Herms of Hipparchos,” the evidence for which is slight.54 A handful of contemporary structures, including Building F in the Agora, possible shrines of Apollo and Zeus in the Agora, Buildings C and B on the Akropolis, and a possible shrine of Dionysos at Ikarion would bring the total up to at least eleven.55 Many, but not all of these structures were built of stone, and several were large and impressive. Relatively few, however, 50. I am here only counting structures built in Athens and Attika that date between ca. 546/​ 5 (when Peisistratos fully assumed the tyranny) to 511/​10 (when Hippias and the other male descendants were exiled), a period of approximately thirty-​six years, which is longer than that allotted herein for the Late Archaic period between the reforms of Kleisthenes and the Persian destruction. 51. The chronology will not allow such a connection: the Bluebeard Temple was built ca. 570–​ 560, and Peisistratos did not firmly have control of the city until 546/​5 (Hdt. 1.59–​64; AthPol 14–​15), as discussed in the Introduction and Chapter 1. 52. The Altar of Pythian Apollo, attested by Thuc. 6.54, is treated in Chapter 3; the Altar of the Twelve Gods, also attested by Thuc. 6.54, is treated in Chapter 2; the elaboration of the Enneakrounos, discussed by Thuc. 2.15, is treated in Chapter 3; for the Temple of Olympian Zeus, ascribed to the sons of Peisistratos by Aris., Pol. 5.1313b, see Chapter 3. 53. The problems with this association are treated in Chapter 4. 54. [Plato] Hipp. 228d–​e. For the Hipparchan Herms, see Quinn 2007, pp. 93–​95; IG I3 1023 (now lost). 55. Building F and the shrines to Zeus and Apollo are treated in Chapter 2; the oikemata of the Akropolis are treated in Chapter 1; the evidence for the cult of Dionysos at Ikarion is treated in Chapter 4.

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would have necessitated contemporaneous construction, so that resources and workforces would not need to be shared at all or to the same degree as with the building activity in the Late Archaic period. It is also possible to compare the tyrannical and Late Archaic building programs with two later and well-​known ones—​those of Perikles in the third quarter of the fifth century and of Lykourgos in the last quarter of the fourth century. As with the tyrannical output, we can consider both structures proposed and/​or funded by these individual men as well as roughly contemporary structures not directly initiated by them (using the dating parameters of ca. 450–​420 and ca. 330–​300, respectively, both slightly longer than the dates for the Late Archaic period used in this book). Athenian revenues in these later periods were significantly different—​and far greater—​than the earlier period under consideration here, but inflation and rising labor and material costs were also a factor; this is not the place, however, for a full financial accounting.56 Such a comparison with subsequent phases of intense and well-​established building activity nevertheless brings the building efforts of the new political order into even greater relief. Perikles is credited with instigating at least two major buildings on the Akropolis, the Parthenon and the Propylaia; he may have also had a hand in planning the Erechtheion and the marble Temple of Athena Nike.57 He is also credited with building the Odeion, next to the Theater of Dionysos, and may be responsible for the middle Long Wall connecting the astu to the Piraeus. If we look to the Attic countryside during this period, there are several structures that are coterminous with Perikles but were likely not directly sponsored by him, with the possible exception of an unfinished phase of the Telesterion at Eleusis. These other structures include the rebuilt Temple of Nemesis at Rhamnous and the rebuilt Temples of Poseidon and Athena at Sounion, the Temple of Athena at Pallene (subsequently moved to the Agora by the Romans), and the curious double stoa at Thorikos.58 We could also add the Hephaisteion,59 the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios, and possibly the South Stoa in the Agora, and the Sanctuary of Artemis Agrotera, likely associated 56. A detailed account of the finances involved in the Parthenon is provided by T. L. Shear, Jr. 2016, pp. 48–​69; for Lykourgan finances, see Burke 1985, 2010. 57. For the Periklean building program, see T. L. Shear, Jr. 2016. The most complete ancient source concerning Perikles’ building policy is Plut., Per. 13. 58. For the enigmatic double stoa at Thorikos, see Miles 2015. 59.  Note, however, that ongoing work by Miles and Lynch may demonstrate that the Hephaisteion predates the Parthenon by some years.

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with the now lost little Ionic temple on the banks of the Ilissos river. During the period of the Peloponnesian War, several border sites were fortified or existing walls were repaired (Eleusis, Rhamnous, Sounion, Thorikos, and Oinoe), and though these are difficult to date with accuracy, we could assign a few to this period as well. We can thus say that the Periklean building program itself consisted of five or six monumental buildings. If we include other contemporary buildings in the astu and demes, the total can be bumped up to twenty or so. Nearly all of these can be considered monumental in scale and materials, and their coterminous construction would have required increased coordination at quarries and work sites. To turn to the period of Lykourgos in the last quarter of the fourth century (when the financial increases begun under Euboulos could be drawn on), there are the renovated Theater of Dionysos, the third phase of the Pnyx, the Panathenaic Stadium, the gymnasium and tree plantings at the Lyceum, and the ship sheds in Piraeus, along with the arsenal designed by Philon.60 This would give Lykourgos six monumental structures or renovations that can be concretely attached to his name. Contemporary buildings raise this total to about fifteen:  the Temple to Zeus Phratrios and Athena Phratria, the new Temple of Apollo Patroös, the Monument of the Eponymous Heroes, the law court known as the Square Peristyle, and perhaps the Southwest Fountain House in the Agora, additions to the Asklepieion on the south slope of the Akropolis, the portico of Philon added to the Telesterion at Eleusis, repairs to the City Eleusinion sanctuary, including the building of the Plutonion, repairs to the Amphiaraion at Oropos, and the spring house of Ammon. As with the activity under Perikles, most of these structures are large-​scale, used both domestic and imported materials, and required large workforces, factors which all raise the degree of coordination and oversight needed to bring them to completion. To summarize, this is what we can say about building activity in Athens from the mid-​sixth century to the later part of the fourth century. Under the tyrants, there are four or five structures or repairs certainly associated with them, with contemporary buildings raising that total to roughly eleven. Under the new political regime brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms, there are as many as forty-​five edifices. Under Perikles and during the early part of the Peloponnesian War, there are roughly twenty. Under Euboulos 60. Ancient sources for the Lykourgan building program include IG II2 457, Plut., Lives 7. For brief discussion of the structures and historical context, see Mikalson 1998, pp. 28–​29; Camp 2001, pp. 144–​160.

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and Lykourgos in the second half of the fourth century, there are about fifteen. Even if we expand the later timelines and add more contemporary structures to those of Perikles and Lykourgos, neither comes close to the concentrated building activity seen during the first three decades of the new political order. In contrast, the so-​called tyrannical building program represents the smallest output of any of these periods, and we might even question whether or not it really meets the parameters for a “building program” as explicated at the beginning of this section. I do not want to imply that there is a numerical quota necessary for the application of the term “building program”; it must all be understood in relative terms. The changing political and financial stability of the polis played a crucial role in each of these four case studies, and they must also be understood within the broader historical context of monumental stone construction in the Greek world. But the upshot of all of this—​and the reason understanding the Late Archaic construction activity as a building program matters—​is what it tells us about agency. There is prejudice in our (admittedly scarce) literary sources and a tendency to ascribe agency to a single exceptional individual. This makes us inclined to look for these—​primarily aristocratic, elite male—​individuals and to ascribe to them great power and oversight, to consider them visionaries in some way. Such is the attitude frequently taken toward Kleisthenes himself, who is often posited as the father of democracy, acting altruistically to save the Athenians from would-​be tyrants and corruption.61 While Kleisthenes certainly played an important role in Athenian history and contributed greatly to the development of a political regime that would become democracy, he all but disappears from the record after 508/​7. He does not serve as archon again, he does not lead the army as a general, and he does not sponsor any of the buildings detailed in the preceding chapters. Nor do we hear of any other men assuming such a dynamic role outside of Themistokles in the 480s–​470s. As Ober has shown for the revolutionary events of 508/​7, when the Athenians besieged Isagoras and the Spartans on the Akropolis, this lack of a single agent allows us to focus on the collective action of the demos.62 The demotic agency thus expressed is an example of how we can think of collectivities—​in this case, the demos—​as organizational forces comparable to the single individual. The lack of names associated with so much building activity in the Late Archaic period, when viewed in this light, is another

61. Ober provides several representative examples of such attitudes (1996, p. 35, n. 3). 62. Ober 1996, pp. 35–​46. These events are detailed in the Introduction and Chapter 1.

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example of the demotic power that begins to be truly exercised after the passage of the reforms. It is not the spontaneous uprising envisioned for the siege of 508/​7, but a measured, organized, and carefully coordinated program of building throughout the polis, astu, and chora.63 The Late Archaic building program identified here was surely not without problems, setbacks, and mistakes, but the volume of buildings and their synchronicity in both time and materials does indicate a high level of coordination and communication, both things made possible by general sociopolitical and economic stability, which was achieved rapidly out of a period of chaos and stasis. The plethora of synchronous building activity provides us with a material expression of demotic agency, made manifest in the exploitation of local resources, architectural innovation, and discretionary spending by both demes and polis. Understanding this activity as a building program opens the door to thinking more closely about demotic agency and the collective force of the demos in the years immediately following the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms.

Democratic Problems Throughout this book, I  have avoided calling the political regime brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms a democracy, although this is, of course, what it became. By reserving judgment in this way, I hoped to think critically about the relationship between the built environment and the political regime of Late Archaic Athens and use the material record as a way of trying to get at the nature of this political system. Could, I wondered, we use archaeology to figure out what type of political system the Athenians had in this chaotic time, or at least to think about how well it was working and what its priorities might have been? Because the material evidence is so much more robust than the literary evidence for this period, it seemed like a fruitful approach, and the sheer volume of construction activity between 508/​7 and 480/​79 has provided plentiful food for thought. In particular, careful attention to what was built and where it was built sheds light on some of the issues that have proven to be thorns in the side of anyone looking at this period of Athenian history. As detailed in the Introduction, the institution of the new political regime under the Kleisthenic reforms entailed identifying and solving several coordination problems, including accommodating and overcoming the 63. Ober remarks that, “[t]‌he Athenian siege of the Acropolis in 508/​7 is best understood as a riot—​a violent and more or less spontaneous uprising by a large number of Athenian citizens” (1996, p. 43).

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vast geography of the Attic peninsula, healing internal divisions and forging a new collective identity, and reforming the military to increase Athenian martial successes on the field and on the water. Most of all, the new political system had to find a way to work, translating the abstract and complicated reforms into actual change. That these changes did occur and that the political system worked are made clear by the flourishing of the democracy in the Classical period. Somewhere in the twenty-​eight years between the passage of the reforms and the Persian destruction of the astu and chora, the Athenians figured it out. What the building activity makes concrete is not only that the Athenians figured it out quickly, but how they figured it out and expressed it in visual and spatial terms. In the first place, the building activity in the demes betrays a careful attention to the borders of Athenian territory and an emphasis on locale as a marker of identity. The delineation of what is Attika and what is not—​and therefore who counts as Athenian and who does not—​is something that happened within two decades of the passage of the reforms. The orchestrated rapidity of this definition, alongside the use of the demotic, shows us a priority of the new political regime: identity and its connection to the land. This is related to the levels of connectivity between demes and between demes and the polis as a whole that is brought into stark relief by the buildings. The distribution of the structures, the widespread use of local materials, and the correspondences in size, scale, and form give visual shape to the complex nodes of the phyle-​trittys-​deme structure. The built environment here provides real shape for abstract policy. The interconnectivity between the demes and throughout the polis and the degree of widespread coordination that was necessary to build all these structures should be understood as clear indications that the reforms were implemented quickly and suggests that they worked relatively fluidly. Based on the border definition and deme-​ polis coordination, it strongly indicates the role of demotic collective action in forging a new Athenian identity rooted in the territory itself. It is also possible to understand the innovative architectural forms and use of ornamentation, as well as the proliferation of monuments to military victories, as expressing or symbolizing important values of the demos, thereby activating the changed political landscape of astu and chora. The choice to abandon the Olympieion, the choice to move the Agora, the choices regarding the placement, form, and orientation of the Old Bouleuterion, the choice to delimit a set location for meetings of the Ekklesia—​all carry symbolic weight and convey the decision-​making capabilities of the demos. In all such instances, we see an emphasis on distance from the past combined

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with a strong current of forward-​looking invention. Together, these elements represent how the demos altered the physical space of their polis to better suit the needs of the new government. The military commemorations like the Boiotian and Chalkidian monument, the soros at Marathon, and the Old Parthenon are also part of this, as they articulate in pointed and symbolic visual terms the changing tide of Athenian martial success, made possible by the restructured infantry and expanded navy. Such edifices show us what the priorities of the new government were and how they chose to commemorate pivotal events of demotic sacrifice and triumph. The robust nature of demotic agency evidenced by the Late Archaic building program indicates the nature and functionality of the political regime brought about by the passage of the Kleisthenic reforms. It was a regime in which collective action and coordination were not only necessary but prevalent. It was a regime in which interconnectivity facilitated military success. It was a regime predicated on accessibility, participation, and accountability. It was a regime rooted in territory, the land, and the demes. It was a regime connected to the past but looking to the future. It was ambiguous in its motivation, but it was flourishing in its implementation. It was democracy in its nascent form. This is what understanding the construction activity as a building program does for us. It deepens and nuances how we think about the decades after the passage of the reforms. The Athenians were largely stumbling in the dark, attempting to implement a complicated new political system only loosely connected to previous regimes, all while beset by enemies on all sides (and likely, to some extent, within, given continued elite tensions). While we cannot know fully how they managed to implement the reforms, we can monitor the resulting success of the political regime in its administrative organization, military flourishing, robust economy, and increased profile in domestic and foreign affairs. The building activity that occurred between 508/​ 7 and 480/​79 represents a further testament to these successes, rendering the power of the early democracy and its vigorous demotic agency manifest in monumental visual terms. Perhaps without meaning to, Kleisthenes set Athens on the path to democracy, but its early years remain cloaked in shadows. Where the literary sources are lacking, however, we have the archaeological record. And it reveals robust flourishing in the economic realm, celebratory and commemorative activity in the military realm, and keen attention to public spaces. It illuminates how the vast territory of Attika was delineated and how important the demes were to the proper functioning of the new political system. It demonstrates

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that the polis was not experiencing the same degree of stasis and chaos it felt during the years after Hipparchos’ murder. It indicates that careful systems of oversight and administration were put in place. It shows a keen awareness of the resources of Attika. To borrow from Herodotos, it exhibits just how successful the Athenians could be under isegoria. The visual expression of the built environment during the Late Archaic period in Athens is a measurable indication of how communication and coordination were implemented and how they facilitated the spread of information that made the realization of the reforms possible. The building activity itself is thus an indication of robust flourishing and a high level of functionality: it shows us that the new democracy did not just work, it worked well.

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A p p e n d i x  I

Building Chronology in Athens and Attika, ca. 508/​7–​480/​79  B.C.E.

Structure /​Monument

Date

Additional remarks

Old Athena Temple

ca. 500

Located on north side of Akropolis; limestone and Parian marble

Forecourt and Old Propylon ca. 508/​7–​490

Limestone and marble; reused metopes from Bluebeard Temple

Archaic Temple of Athena Nike

ca. 500–​480

Includes altar

Old Parthenon

490–​480

Located on south side of Akropolis; Piraeus limestone podium

Pre-​Mnesiklean cistern

490–​480

Located at northwest corner of Akropolis

Agora horoi

ca. 500

Possibly island marble

Altar of Aphrodite Ourania

ca. 500

Limestone and island marble; double T-​clamps

Great Drain in Agora

ca. 500

Bedrock and limestone; polygonal masonry

Aiakeion

between 507 and 499

“Aeginetan” limestone

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Appendix I

274 Structure /​Monument

Date

Additional remarks

Building F renovations

ca. 500

Partial demolition and reorganization of space

Old Bouleuterion

ca. 500

Limestone with marble (?) metopes

Unidentified south building in Agora

ca. 500

So-​called Metroön or Temple of Meter

Stoa Basileios

ca. 500

Date contested; limestone with marble metopes

Southeast Fountain House

ca. 490–​480

Limestone

Pnyx I

ca. 500

Retaining wall

Archaic Temple of Dionysos

ca. 500

Dionysos Eleutherios; limestone and bedrock

Theater of Dionysos

ca. 500

Likely rectilinear

South Slope Spring House

ca. 500

Located near later Asklepieion

Temple of Triptolemos

begun ca. 500

Located in City Eleusinion

“Delphinion” law court

ca. 500

Located in Ilissos river area; Akropolis and Kara limestone; polygonal masonry

Hephaisteion

490–​480

Unfinished; limestone foundations (including Piraeus limestone); located in Melite

Demosion Sema

ca. 500

Perhaps first used after 506/​5

Telesterion at Eleusis

between 506/​5 and 480

Local limestone

Fortifications at Eleusis

ca. 500

Local limestone

Temple of Hera outside Phaleron

before 480

Attested by Paus. (1.1.5); no archaeological remains; unclear location and date

Fortifications at Piraeus

first quarter of fifth century

Begun prior to Persian destruction; local limestone

Slipways at Piraeus

first quarter of fifth century

Rock-​cut

Theatral area at Mounychia

possibly first quarter of fifth century

Possibly rectilinear

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275

Structure /​Monument

Date

Additional remarks

Soros at Marathon

490

Monumental tumulus with ephemeral tropaion

Limestone Temple at Rhamnous

late sixth century

Probably dedicated to Nemesis; local limestone

Temple of Themis at Rhamnous

ca. 500

Temple (rather than treasury); local limestone

Theatral area at Rhamnous

possibly sixth century or early fifth century

Rectilinear; also functions as agora of deme

Temple of Kybele at Xypete

late sixth century or early fifth century

Local limestone?

Temple of Apollo, Artemis, and Leto at Cape Zoster

ca. 500

Local stone

Theatral area at Thorikos

ca. 500

Rectilinear

Temple of Hygieia at Thorikos

ca. 500

Contemporary with theatral area; local stone

Temple of Poseidon at Sounion

ca. 500–​480

Local limestone; unfinished

Temple of Athena at Sounion

ca. 500

Local materials, including Agrileza marble; dedicated to Athena (not Phrontis)

Theatral area at Ikarion

possibly first quarter of fifth century

Rectilinear

Temple of Pythian Apollo at Ikarion

late sixth century or early fifth century

Cult attested by last quarter of sixth century; may imply cult building

Temple of Apollo at Prasiai

ca. 500

Cult attested by Paus. (1.31.2); statue base and head (possibly from a cult statue)

Ionic structure at/​near Pallene

Late Archaic

Attested by scattered fragments of Ionic capitals

Temple of Artemis at Brauron

ca. 500

Includes retaining wall and terrace; local stone

Bridge over Sacred Spring

possibly ca. 500

Limestone

Cave structure

possibly ca. 500

So-​called heroön of Iphigeneia

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A p p e n d i x  II

IG I3 4A–​B, the Hekatompedon Decrees: Text, Translation, and Commentary

The pair of inscriptions known collectively as the Hekatompedon Decrees (IG I3 4A–​ B) are among the earliest decrees passed by the new political system and therefore stand as crucial documents in understanding its priorities and functionality. In addition, because the decrees concern rules and regulations pertaining to the Akropolis, they illuminate (and complicate) our understanding of what the sanctuary looked like in the Late Archaic period and what sorts of activities occurred there. Due to the highly fragmentary nature of decree A  (sixteen fragments, the majority of which are non-​ joining), only the text and translation of decree B are presented here (Fig. A.1). The text reproduced below is based on the edition in IG, supplemented by personal autopsy. It is followed by a select apparatus criticus, a select epigraphic commentary, a translation, and a textual commentary.

IG I3 4B Preamble Hymettian marble, twenty-​ five fragments (numerous joins). Inscribed on reused metope block from the Bluebeard Temple. Found in various post-​Persian deposits on the Akropolis in campaigns of the late nineteenth century. H. 1.165 m., W.  1.023 m., Th. 0.125 m.  (overall restored measurements). Attic letters. Average height of letters 0.021 m., average width 0.018 m. Some traces of color (red). Punctuation indicated by vertical rows of three superimposed compass-​ drawn dotted circles. Partial remains of incised and painted tongue (Doric leaf ) pattern along bottom, separated from text by incised fascia.

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Figure  A.1  Hekatompedon Decree (IG I3 4B, EM 6794). Photo by author (photo © J. Paga).

IG I 18–​19 Kirchhoff, Lolling; IG I2 Hiller; IG I3 Jameson; Lolling, Δελτ. Ἀρχ. 1890, 96–​97, Ἀθηνα 2, 1890, 627–​662; Dittenberger, Hermes 26, 1891, 472–​ 473; Wilhelm, AM 23, 1898, 487–​492; Michaelis, Arx Athenarum3, 1901, 99; Dörpfeld, AM 27, 1902, 406; Wiegand, Poros Arch., 1904, 110; Hill, AJA ser. 2, 10, 1906, 87–​93; Körte, Götting. gel. Anz., 1908, 838–​839; Dörpfeld, JdI 34, 1919, 1; Hiller von Gaertringen, SB Ak. Berlin, 1919, 661–​662; Luria, Hermes 62, 1927, 257–​275; Paton, Erech., 1927, 438–​446; Judeich, Hermes 64, 1929, 398–​399, Topographie2, 1931, 260; Dinsmoor, AJA 51, 1947, 118–​119; Plommer, JHS 80, 1960, 150; Sokolowski, LSCG 3, 1969, 4–​6; Renehan, Lexic., 1975; Preißhofen, AA, 1977, 74–​84; Bancroft, Acropolis, diss. 1979, 12–​15; Jordan, Servants of the Gods, 1979, 19–​55; Dinsmoor, Jr., Propylaia I, 1980, 24–​26, 29–​30; Develin, Klio 68, 1986, 67–​83; Tölle-​Kastenbein, JdI 108, 1993, 43–​75; Németh, JDAI 108, 1993, 76–​81, Ancient Greek Cult, ed. Hågg, 1994, 59–​64;

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Butz, Hek., diss. 1995; Robertson, Worshipping Athena, ed. Neils, 1996b, 34–​ 37; Lipka, ZPE 122, 1998, 79–​80; Hurwitt, Akropolis, 1999, 111–​116; Butz, AJA 104, 2000, 361, JRA suppl., 2002, 150–​156; Holtzmann, L’Acropole, 2003, 85–​ 87; Stroud, Ἀττικαί Ἐπιγραφαί Wilhelm, 2004, 85–​97; Butz 2010, The Art of the Hekatompedon Inscription.

ca. 508/​7–​480

Stoichedon  38 Text

[τὰ χαλκία τὰ ἐ]μ̣ πόλει ⋮ hόσοις χρο̣͂νται ⋮ π[λ]ὲν hόσα [..6. . . σεσεμ]α̣σμένοις ⋮ οἰκε͂μ[ασι ἐ]α̣μ παρ ἑκάστ-​ [. . . .9. . . . κα]τὰ τὲν πόλ̣ι̣ν ⋮ γρά[φσα]σθαι ⋮ τὸς ταμί-​ [ας ⋮⋮⋮ hόταν δρο͂]σι ⋮ τὰ hιερὰ ⋮ hοι ἔ[νδο]ν̣ ⋮ hιε[ρ]οργο͂ντ-​ 5 [ες, μὲ παρhιστ]ά̣ναι ⋮ χύτραν ⋮ μεδὲ̣ [ . . . 7 . . . ]αν μεδὲ [ . . . . . . 13 . . . . . . ] μεδὲ τὸ πῦρ ⋮ ἀν[ . . . ]ε̣ν̣· [ἐὰν] δ̣έ τις ⋮ τ̣-​ [ούτον τι δρᾶι εἰ]δός ⋮ ἐχσε͂ναι θ[οᾶ]ν̣ ⋮ μέχ[ρι τρ]ι̣ο͂ν [ὀ]-​ [βελο͂ν τοῖσι τ]αμίασι ⋮⋮⋮ τὸς ἱ̣ε̣[ρορ]γ̣ο͂ντα[ς] μ[..5..] με[ . . . 7. . . ν]ε̣ὸ ⋮ καὶ το͂ προ̣[ . . . 8. . . .]ο̣ β̣[ο]μο͂ ⋮ [..5..] 10 τοθεν ⋮ τ̣[ο͂ ν]εὸ ⋮ ἐντὸς το͂ Κ[εκροπίο μεδ ἀν]ὰ πᾶν ⋮ τ̣ὸ hε-​ κατόμπ[εδ]ον ⋮ μεδ ὄνθο[ν] ⋮ ἐγβ̣[αλε͂ν· ἐὰν] δ̣έ̣ τις ⋮ τούτο-​ ν τι δρᾶ[ι εἰδὸς ἐ]χ̣σ[ε͂]ναι ⋮ θοᾶν̣ [μέ]χ̣ρι τριο͂ν ⋮ ὀβελο͂-​ ν ⋮ τοῖσι ταμ̣[ίασι ⋮⋮⋮ τὰς] hιερέα[ς] τ̣ὰς ἐμ πόλει ⋮ καὶ τ-​ ὰς ζακόρος [μὲ hέχεν οἴ]κεμα τ̣αμιεῖον ⋮ ἐμ πόλει ⋮ μ-​ 15 εδὲ ḥιπνε[ύεσθαι· ἐὰν δέ τις τ]ούτον τι δρᾶι ⋮ εὐθύ-​ νε[σθαι hεκατὸν] ⋮ δραχμε͂σ[ι καὶ] τ̣ὸ̣ς ταμίας ⋮ ἐὰν ἐο͂-​ σ[ι εὐθύνεσθαι] hεκατὸν δραχμε͂[σι ⋮⋮⋮] τὰ ο̣ἰκέματα [. . . . το͂ι hεκατ]ομπέδοι ⋮ ἀνοίγεν ⋮ [τὸς] τ̣αμίας ⋮ μὲ ὄ-​ [λειζον τρὶς τ]ο͂ μενὸ[ς] θ̣εᾶ̣σθαι ⋮ τὰ[ς hέν]α̣ς ⋮ ἑμέρ̣ας 20 [τὰς πρὸ τε͂ς νο]μενία[ς καὶ τ]ε̣͂ι̣ [δεκάτει κα]ὶ τε͂ι εἰ-​ [κάδι hυπὲρ hέμ]ι̣συ ⋮ πα[ρ]ό̣ντα[ς· hὸς δ ἂν λεί]πει ⋮ δυν-​ [ατὸς ὂν ἀποτίνε]ν̣ ⋮ δύο δραχμ[ὰ ἕκαστον· ἐσπρ]ά̣ττε-​ [ν δὲ τὸπ]ρύ[τανιν {τὸν πρύτανιν}· ἂ]ν̣ δὲ μέ, κα̣[ὶ αὐτὸν κατὰ ταῦτ] εὐθ-​ [ύνεσ]θ̣αι ⋮ φα[ί]νεν δὲ ⋮ τὸπ̣[ρύτανιν {τὸν πρύτανιν} τὰ ἀδικέματα] το-​ 25 [ῖ]ς̣ τ̣αμίασι ⋮ τὰ ἐν το͂ι λί[θοι γεγραμμένα]. vacat ταῦτ ἔδοχσεν ⋮ το͂ι δέ[μοι ἐ]π̣ὶ Φ[. . . .9. . . ἄρχοντ]-​ ος ⋮ τὰ ἐν τοῖν λίθ̣οι[ν τούτ]οιν.

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Select Apparatus Criticus 1 [τὰ χαλκία τὰ ἐ]μ Lolling ‖ 2 [ἐστὶ ἐν σεσεμ]ασμένοις Körte; [ἐν τοῖς σεσεμ]ασμένοις Jordan ‖ 2–​3 ἑκάστ|[οισι μένει κα]τὰ Sok.; ἑκάστ|[οισιν, τὰ δὲ κα]τὰ Hiller ‖ 4 τὸς ταμί|[ας ⁝⁝⁝ hόταν θύο]σι Jordan ‖ 5 [ες μὲ παρhιστ]άναι Sok.; [ες μὲ ἔχσο ἱστ]άναι Jordan; μεδ[ὲ πρὸς θύρ]αν Sok. ‖ Line 6 [πρὸς τὸν τοῖχον] Sok.; ἀν[άπτεν] Lolling ‖ 7 Lolling ‖ 8–​9 μ᾽[ὲ ὀρεν]|με[ταχσὺ το ν]εὸ Körte; μ᾽[ὀπτᾶν]|με[ταχσὺ το ν]εὸ Sok.; μ[ὲ κάεν]|με[ταχσὺ το ν]εὸ Jordan ‖ 9 με[ταχσὺ το ν]εὸ καὶ το πρὸ[ς ἕο μεγάλ]ο̣ [βο]μο Wilhelm, Sok., Jordan; προ̣[. . . . . 9 . . . . βο]μο Butz 1995b ‖ 9–​10 [καὶ νο]|τόθεν Sok., Jordan; [καὶ κά]|τοθεν Judeich, Dinsmoor ‖ 10 Κ[εκροπίο καὶ ἀν]ὰ παν Mich. ‖ 11 μεδ’ ὄνθο[ν] ἐγβ[άλεν Wilhelm, Körte ‖ 11–​13 Lolling ‖ 14 [μὲ ποιεν οἴ]κεμα ταμιεῖον Sok.; [μὲ hέχεν οἴ]κεμα ταμιεῖον Dittenberger; [μὲ κινεῖν/​οἴγειν/​οἰκεῖν οἴ]κεμα ταμιεῖον Renehan ‖ 15–​17 Lolling ‖ 18 [τὰ ἐν τοι hεκατ]ομπέδοι Lolling, Sok.; [πρὸς/​παρὰ hεκατ]ομπέδοι Dinsmoor ‖ 19–​20 τὰ[ς hέν]α̣ς ⁝ ἑμέρ̣ας|[τὰς πρὸ τες νο]μενία[ς Lolling, Wilhelm, Sok.; τὰ[ς αὐτ]ὰς ἑμέ̣[ρ]ας|[. . . . . . τει νο]μενία[ι Jordan ‖ 20–​21 Lolling, Wilhelm, Körte ‖ 21 π[α]ρόντα[ς ἐὰν δέ τις ἀ]πει Jordan ‖ 21–​22 Körte ‖ 23 κα[τὰ τὰ νομιζόμενα] Körte; κα[τὰ γεγραμμένα] Sok.; κα̣[ὶ αὐτὸν κατὰ ταυτ’] Jameson ‖ 24 τὸπ̣[ρύτανιν τὰ ἀδικέματα] Körte; τὸ π[ρύτανιν -​-​-​-​το] Jordan; τὸ π̣[ρύτανιν ⁝ . . . . . 11 .  .  .  .  .  .  ] Butz 1995b ‖ 25 λί[θοι γεγραμμένα] Körte; λί[θοι ἑκατέροι -​-​-​-​] Jordan ‖ 26–​27 ἐ]π̣ὶ Φ[ιλοκράτος ἄρχοντ]|ος Kirchhoff, Dinsmoor, Jordan, Dinsmoor, Jr., Jameson, Robertson, Stroud, Butz 2010; ἐ]π̣ὶ Φ[. . . . 9 . . . . . ἄρχοντ]|ος Németh, Butz 1995b, Lipka.

Select Epigraphic Commentary Line 1: Twelfth stoichos preserves lower right diagonal; alpha or mu possible.1 Line 2:  Twenty-​ninth stoichos preserves apex and bottom right diagonal; alpha, gamma, or delta possible. Line 5: Twelfth stoichos preserves apex and right diagonal; alpha or delta possible. Line 7:  Thirty-​fifth stoichos preserves partial upper vertical; iota or lambda possible. Line 9: Twentieth stoichos preserves partial upper left circle; theta, omicron, or phi possible. Line 10: Thirty-​fifth stoichos preserves nearly full vertical; iota or tau possible. Line 11:  Twenty-​first stoichos preserves partial left vertical with connected short bottom diagonal; beta or lambda possible. Line 15:  Fourth stoichos preserves partial right vertical; aspirate, iota, or lambda possible. Twenty-​seventh and twenty-​eighth stoichoi show recutting without rasura; original letters iota and delta (respectively), recut as omicron and nu.

1. Only variations from the text printed in IG are indicated.

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Line 19: Twentieth stoichos preserves apex; alpha, gamma, or delta possible. Thirty-​ sixth stoichos preserves partial lower vertical; iota, pi, rho, or tau possible. Line 21: Thirteenth stoichos preserves partial upper vertical; iota, kappa, or lambda possible. Line 22:  Fourteenth stoichos preserves upper right diagonal; kappa, nu, or chi possible. Line 23: Fifteenth stoichos preserves partial upper right diagonal; kappa, nu, or chi possible. Line 27: Thirteenth stoichos preserves partial upper right circle; theta, omicron, or phi possible.

Translation The bronze vessels on the Akropolis, as many as they use, except for those in marked oikemata, if -​-​-​-​within each on the Akropolis, the treasurers are to make a record. -​-​-​-​ the sacrificers -​-​-​-​the sacrifices inside, they are not to -​-​-​-​the earthen pot, neither -​-​-​-​, nor -​-​-​-​, nor are they to light a fire. If anyone should do any of these things knowingly, it is permitted to the treasurers to penalize the offender up to three obols. The sacrificers are not to -​-​--​​between the temple and the great altar to the east, and below the temple in the Kekropion, and all along the hekatompedon. Nor are they to throw about animal excrement. If anyone should do any of these things knowingly, it is permitted to the treasurers to penalize the offender up to three obols. The priestesses on the Akropolis and the attendants are not to -​-​-​-​a treasury-​oikema on the Akropolis, nor are they to bake (bread). If any of them should do any of these things, she is to be fined one hundred drachmas, and if the treasurers should allow it, they are to be fined one hundred drachmas. The treasurers are to open the oikemata in the hekatompedon for inspection no fewer than three times a month, on the first day before the new moon and on the tenth and twentieth days of the month. More than half [of the treasurers] are to be present; whoever is absent, although able [to be present], each is to pay two drachmas. The prytanis is to collect the fine; if he does not, -​-​--​​subject to a euthynai. The prytanis -​-​-​-​ to the treasurers -​-​-​-​the things which are inscribed on these stones. These things inscribed on these stones were decreed by the demos in the archonship of Ph-​-​-​-​-​-​-​-​.

Textual Commentary The “Hekatompedon Decrees” were discovered on the Akropolis during the course of excavations in the late nineteenth century. Like the statues and architectural members uncovered in the 1880s and 1890s, most of the forty-​one fragments were

28

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found in the post-​Persian “poros” layer to the south and east of the Parthenon, with some fragments recovered from around the Propylaia, the area of the old Museum, and the “Ergane-​Terrasse.”2 Both of the decrees were inscribed on reused Hymettian marble metope blocks from the Bluebeard Temple (also known as the H-​architecture or Hekatompedon, whence their eponyms), which is dated to 570–​560. At some point after the demolition of the temple, two of these metopes were turned upside down, their crowning fascias chipped off, and part of the incised and painted tongue pattern was erased (Plate 12). The inscriptions were then carefully carved onto the prepared blocks and erected somewhere on the Akropolis. Several other metopes from the Bluebeard Temple were reused, without inscriptions, as a lining for the forecourt of the Old Propylon, as discussed in Chapter 1, but it is not clear whether the decrees were also displayed in that area.3 It is tempting, however, to envision them somewhere in the vicinity of the entrance to the sanctuary due to the restrictions and rules regarding behavior and procedure that the decrees proclaim—​a message to priestesses, administrators, and visitors that would be highly appropriate for a gateway. First, it is necessary to highlight a few important phrases and terms in the decree. The το͂ νεὸ in lines 9 and 10 is relatively straightforward. Due to the fact that the inscription was carved on a reused metope block from the Bluebeard Temple, the neos referred to here must be the Old Athena Temple, the temple located on the north side of the Akropolis and the home of Athena Polias. As the decree only refers to a temple in the singular, we can safely assume it is the temple of Athena Polias, in which the ancient and revered cult statue was housed. Even if, as some have argued, this decree preserves the text of an older Archaic decree, the neos would still be the temple in which the agalma of Athena Polias was held; for the period before ca. 500, that structure would be the Bluebeard Temple itself, but subsequent to its demolition, it would be the Old Athena Temple.4 The structures near the neos, the μεγάλο βο͂μο (l. 9) and Κεκροπίο (l. 10), are also readily identifiable and were likewise located on the northern half of the Akropolis. The bomos is the Great Altar of Athena, located east of the temple, and the Kekropion, a sanctuary to Kekrops, is an area that was later incorporated into the Erechtheion, partially underneath the Karyatid Porch, and thus near the northwest portion of the temple. The fire, τὸ πῦρ, mentioned in line 6, is possibly the sacred fire of Athena, kindled on her altar. The term οἴκεμα or οἰκέματα occurs three times in the decree. In the first instance (l. 2), the oikemata are marked in some way (sesmasmenois) and used for the storage of 2. Lolling 1890, p. 627. 3. Dinsmoor, Jr. notes that the lack of chamfered corners on the metopes of the decree indicate that they were not used as part of the lining of the Bronze Age wall, like the other reused metopes (1980, p. 25). 4.  For arguments that the inscriptions preserve and reproduce an earlier decree, see Jordan 1979, pp. 52–​53; Butz 2010, p. 59 (where it is suggested that some parts, particularly on Metope A, are a republication and some are new procedures).

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something, likely including the bronze vessels restored in line 1 and also mentioned on Metope A  (ll. 19–​20). In the second instance (ll. 13–​14), the priestesses and attendants are prohibited either from doing something to, near, on, or with an oikema that belongs to the treasurers or from doing something to, near, on, or with a treasury-​ oikema (oikema-​tamieion).5 In the final instance (l. 17), the treasurers are charged with opening the oikemata that are within the hekatompedon at least three times a month, presumably in order to inspect their contents and/​or condition. In the context of this decree, the most likely meaning of oikema is storeroom: they are places where objects are stored (l. 1), they are marked or sealed, which indicates their unique function (l. 1), special prohibitions surround activities taking places near or within them (ll. 1, 14), the treasurers have a sacred duty to open and inspect them (l. 17), and one of them may have been the specific property of the treasurers themselves. These storerooms might have functioned like treasuries, holding cult instruments, or they might have been used by specific people or groups for the storage of materials, votives, and the like. It is unclear whether these oikemata are private or public structures, but the fact that the tamiai have jurisdiction to open and inspect the structures might imply the latter. These oikemata could be the same as the small architectural structures briefly highlighted in Chapter 1 and represented on the Akropolis by their limestone architectural and pedimental remains recovered from the Persian destruction and cleanup pits (hence their modern eponynm).6 Related to the oikemata, and the most challenging term of the inscription, is τὸ hεκατόμπεδον. In the first instance (ll. 10–​11), the sacrificers are not to do something “all around the hekatompedon” (ἀν]ὰ πᾶν ⋮ τὸ ḥε/​κατόμπ[εδ]ον). In the second instance (l. 18), the treasurers are to open the oikemata that are in the hekatompedon (τὰ ο̣ἰκέματα /​[τὰ ἐν το͂ι hεκατ]ομπέδοι ⋮ ἀνοίγεν). The ἐν is restored but seems the most likely word here. Three things can be deduced from these appearances of hekatompedon: (1) it is an autonomous space or structure on the Akropolis, distinct from the neos; (2) activities can (or cannot, in the case of the prohibition in lines 10–​11) occur “all around” this space or structure; (3) storerooms were located within this space or structure. The primary question, however, is whether “hekatompedon” is, in fact, a space or a structure. If the word is being used as a noun, the references in the inscription would imply a built structure, presumably a large-​scale temple. If, on the other hand, the word is being used in an adjectival sense, as a substantive adjective, it would refer to a large space or area. As shown in Table A.1, a search of the TLG reveals forty-​one instances of words formed from hεκατομπεδ-​. When used as a noun, as in Ἑκατόμπεδον, it almost always

5. For this enigmatic structure, see Bubelis 2016, pp. 135–​136. 6. We must still keep in mind, however, that some of the architectural and pedimental fragments of the oikemata could have been brought up to the Akropolis from the lower city. It is, therefore, not possible to correlate precisely the numbers of archaeologically restored oikemata with the plural term used in the decrees.

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table A.1  Literary Attestations of ἑκατομπεδ-​ Author

Work

Form of term

Usage

Athenaeus

Deipnosophistae 12.38.30

ἑκατόμπεδον

hundred-​foot oikema

Aristides

Hieroi logoi e, Jebb p. 360, l.16

ἑκατομπεδος

temple in Lycia

Ctesias

Jacoby 3c.688F, Frag. 1q, l. 9

ἑκατόμπεδον

hundred-​foot oikema

Etym. Mag.

Kallierges p. 321, l.21

Ἑκατόμπεδον

Parthenon

Eutocius

Commentarii de sphaera et cylindro, p. 88, l.7

ἑκατομπεδος

hundred-​foot tomb/​grave

Harpocration

Lexicon in decem oratores Atticos, p. 106, ll.7–​8

Ἑκατόμπεδον /​ Ἑκα τόμπεδος

Parthenon

Hesychius

E, 1276, l.1

ἑκατόμπεδον

theater

Homer

Iliad 23.164

ἑκατόμπεδον

hundred-​foot fire

Sch. Homer

Iliad 23.164

ἑκατόμπεδον

hundred-​foot fire

Sch. Homer

Iliad 23.164a, scholion l.1

ἑκατόμπεδον

hundred-​foot square

Sch. Homer

Iliad 23.164, scholion l.1

ἑκατόμπεδον

hundred-​foot square

Lexica Segueriana

E, p. 247, l. 24

Ἑκατόμπεδον

Parthenon

Lexicon Patmense

p. 159, l.26

Ἑκατόμπεδον

Parthenon

Lexicon Patmense

p. 160, l.3

Ἑκατόμπεδον

Parthenon

Lycurgus

Oration 1, frag. 3, l.1

Ἐκατόμπεδον

Parthenon

Lycurgus

Oration 1, frag. 3, l.3

Ἑκατόμπεδος

Parthenon

Lycurgus

Oration 9, frag. 2, l.6

Ἑκατόμπεδον

Parthenon

Menekles

frag. 6, ll.1–​2

Ἑκατόμπεδον /​ Ἑκα τόμπεδον

Parthenon

Nonnus

Dionysiaca 37.44

ἑκατόμπεδον

hundred-​foot fire

Nonnus

Dionysiaca 40.222

ἑκατόμπεδον

hundred-​foot kolpos around pyre

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Author

Work

Form of term

Usage

Philostratus

Vita Apollonii 6.11.185

ἑκατομπέδων

Temple of Apollo at Delphi

Photius

Lexicon E, 354, l.1; E 355, ll.1–​2

Ἑκατόμπεδος νεώς /​ Parthenon Ἑκατόμπεδον /​ Ἑκα τόμπεδος

Pindar

Isthmia 6.22

ἑκατὀμπεδοι

roads

Sch. Pindar

Isthmia 6, scholion ἑκατόμπεδοι 31b, l.2

roads

Sch. Pindar

Isthmia 6, scholion ἑκατόμπεδοι 32b, l.1

roads

Plutarch

De gloria Atheniensium, 349D3

ἑκατόμπεδοι

Parthenon

Plutarch

De gloria Atheniensium, 351A3

ἑκατόμπεδους

Parthenon

Plutarch

De sollertia ἑκατόμπεδον νεὼν animalium, 970A6

Parthenon

Plutarch

Cato Maior 5.3.1

Ἑκατόμπεδον

Parthenon

Plutarch

Dion 45.3

Ἑκατόμπεδον

Parthenon

Plutarch

Perikles 13.7.1

ἑκατόμπεδον

area near city gate

Polybius

Historiae 6.29.7, l.5

ἑκατόμπεδου

area near tribunes’ tents

Ptolemaeus

Geographia 3.13.5, l.4

Ἑκατόμπεδον

hundred-​foot Dodona

Suda

E, 368, l.1

Ἑκατόμπεδος νεώς /​ Parthenon Ἑκατόμπεδον /​ Ἑκα τόμπεδος

Thucydides

3.68.3, l.9

ἑκατόμπεδον

Temple of Hera in Plataia

refers to the Periklean Parthenon, the east cella of which was called the Hekatompedon.7 But when it is employed adjectively, it modifies things such as roads, buildings or rooms, fires, tombs, and open areas. Moreover, there is a chronological gap between the usage of the term in the decree and the literary sources: with the exception of single references 7. For the terminology of different sections of the Periklean Parthenon, see Linders 2007.

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in the Iliad (23.164) and Pindar’s Isthmian 6.22, the literary sources all postdate the Persian Wars and many are significantly later. This gap supports the hypothesis that the use of “hekatompedon” as a proper noun developed later in the fifth century and, at least in the beginning, had a specific association with the Parthenon. Epigraphic evidence for “hekatompedon” indicates a similar development of the term (see Table A.2). Including IG I3 4, there are thirty-​eight inscriptions from Athens and Attika that refer to a “hekatompedon” in some form. The overwhelming majority refer specifically to the east cella of the Parthenon and largely constitute the Parthenon inventory documents or treasury accounts from the late fifth and fourth centuries (e.g., IG I3 317–​341). In the few cases where the term is used outside of the treasury inventories, the meaning is vague. IG II2 1504, dated to the early fourth century, seems to mention three distinct areas or structures:  [Παρθ]ενῶνι, [Αρχαί]ωι Νεώ[ι], and Ἑ[κατομπέδωι]. The restoration might give cause for pause except that a similar grouping of these three structures can be found in many of the Parthenon treasury inventories. IG II2 1686, dated to 407/​6, mentions a νεὼ το͂ Ἑκατο[μπέδο]. The meaning

Table A.2  Epigraphic Attestations of ἑκατομπεδ-​ Corpus IG I

3

Number

Reference

Date

4

oikemata in an area called “the hekatompedon”

ca. 500–​490

317

Parthenon inventory account

434/​3

318

Parthenon inventory account

433/​2

319

Parthenon inventory account

432/​1

320

Parthenon inventory account

431/​0

321

Parthenon inventory account

430/​29

322

Parthenon inventory account

429/​8

323

Parthenon inventory account

428/​7

324

Parthenon inventory account

427/​6

325

Parthenon inventory account

422/​1

326

Parthenon inventory account

421/​0

327

Parthenon inventory account

420/​19

329

Parthenon inventory account

418/​17

330

Parthenon inventory account

417/​16

332

Parthenon inventory account

415/​14

333

Parthenon inventory account

414/​13

334

Parthenon inventory account

413/​12

335

Parthenon inventory account

412/​11

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Appendix II

Corpus

IG II

2

IG IX, 2 IG XIV SEG XXIII SEG XXXVIII

Number

287

Reference

Date

336

Parthenon inventory account

411

339

Parthenon inventory account

409/​8

340

Parthenon inventory account

408/​7

341

Parthenon inventory account

406/​5?

379

Treasury accounts

405/​4

482

Reference to an agalma, possibly in the/​a Hekatompedon (presumably as east cella of Parthenon)

304/​3

1388

Treasury accounts

398/​7

1407

Treasury accounts

385/​4

1410

Treasury accounts

377/​6

1414

Treasury accounts

post-​385/​4

1421

Treasury accounts

374/​3

1423

Treasury accounts

ca. 370

1424a

Treasury accounts

369/​8

1425

Treasury accounts

368/​7

1428

Treasury accounts

367/​6

1443

Treasury accounts

344/​3

1455

Treasury accounts

341/​0

1457

Treasury accounts

340/​39

1504

Possible reference to the Hekatompedon (as east cella of Parthenon)

beginning of fourth century

1686

Reference to to neo to Hekatompedon, likely as part of an inventory or treasury account

ca. 407/​6

1029

Reference to a hundred-​foot road

undated

1093

Reference to a hundred-​foot road

undated

645

References to tracts of land

late fourth century

81

Reference to to neo to Hekatompedon, likely as part of a treasury account

403/​2

143

Reference to an agalma of Athena in the Hekatompedon, likely the chryselephantine cult statue of Athena Parthenos

304/​3

28

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Appendix II

of this inscription is uncertain, and very little of the stone survives, but the inclusion of neo with Hekatompedon again signals the eastern cella of the Parthenon. IG I3 4 remains the earliest epigraphic attestation of the term, and it clearly does not refer to the east cella of the Periklean Parthenon.8 Taken together, the literary and epigraphic references to “hekatompedon” display an evolution of the term over the course of the fifth century. Following the construction of the Periklean Parthenon, the proper noun is used almost exclusively to refer to the east cella of the temple. Prior to this specific usage, the term is always used in an adjectival sense to refer to a space, area, or object. Indeed, it would appear that before it became the specific word for the east cella of the Parthenon, “hekatompedon” was used in a strictly adjectival sense. The two uses of the word in IG I3 4B, therefore, should not be taken as references to a building on the Akropolis called the “Hekatompedon,” but should rather be considered references to a large area or space, within which were located several oikemata.9 Where was this space known as the hekatompedon? This issue is intrinsically tied to the date of the decrees. The terminus post quem must be when the Bluebeard Temple was dismantled, an event which occurred sometime in the last decade of the sixth century; the metopes would not have been available for reuse before then, regardless of where we think the Bluebeard Temple was located. The enactment clause at ll. 26–​27, as well as at l. 14 of Metope A, further indicates a post-​Kleisthenic date. Given their discovery in Persian cleanup pits, the decrees must have been carved prior to the destruction of Athens and Attika by Xerxes and Mardonios. The decrees were thus inscribed and erected sometime between 508/​7 and 480. The hekatompedon area itself had to be large enough to contain more than one oikema and to warrant the moniker “hundred-​foot.” As of ca. 500, the north side of the Akropolis contained the Old Athena Temple, so there is little space there for a large precinct. The west side was occupied by the Bronze Age walls, the new forecourt, and the early phases of the Old Propylon. Given the general topographic limitations of the eastern spur of the Akropolis, the most logical remaining space is on the south, near or under the area of the Parthenon. Locating the hekatompedon area on the southern part of the Akropolis would also indicate transference of name and function. It is possible that the name “hekatompedon,” as it came to be used for the east cella of the 8. I have not seen but am aware of an Archaic rupestral inscription in Attika that supposedly says hekatompedon and includes a rough sketch of a building, perhaps a temple. This does not prove that the Archaic temple of Athena on the Akropolis was called the “Hekatompedon.” It only proves that someone living in Attika during the Archaic period sketched a temple and then labeled it a hundred-​footer. It could be a fictitious temple, it could be a temple from anywhere in the Greek world, or it could be the temple on the Akropolis and the inscriber wanted us to know that it was big, but it in no way constitutes positive evidence that the Bluebeard Temple on the Akropolis was called the “Hekatompedon.” 9.  For similar conclusions, see also Sokolowski 1969, p.  6; Hurwit 1985, p.  243; Tölle-​Kastenbein  1993.

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289

Parthenon, was inherited from the earlier designation of this general area. The fact that the Parthenon was used for the storage of objects also indicates a continuation of function, since the oikemata that were located within the hekatompedon area served as storerooms, much in the way that the various rooms of the Periklean Parthenon also functioned to hold the sacred treasures of the goddess. Such a location also narrows the dating range. Shortly after the battle of Marathon, the south side of the Akropolis was given over to the construction of the Old Parthenon, at which time the use of the area as a hekatompedon for oikemata would no longer be possible. So now our decrees must be dated between 508/​7 and 490. In ll. 26–​27 of Metope B and ll. 14–​15 of Metope A, there are preserved parts of the eponymous archon’s name. On Metope B we see that his name started with Φ and consisted of nine letters. On Metope A there is a partial apex that would fall in the seventh letter of the archon’s name. Most scholars have restored the missing archon as Φιλοκράτες, archon in 485/​4, whose name fits the available spaces and preserved letters. If, however, the decrees date between 508/​7 and 490, Philokrates will not work, and the other two known archons with names beginning in Φ will not work either (Φίλλιπος [495/​4] and Φαίνιππος [490/​89] for reasons of spacing). There are six missing archons between 508/​7 and 490, so our missing archon must be one of those. With the terminology and chronology now established, it is worth briefly turning to the complicated list of restrictions and prohibitions contained in the decrees. The intended audience of the decrees includes the priestesses and temple attendants, the tamiai, sacrificers performing rites on the Akropolis, and the elusive prytanis, restored in l. 24. Any literate visitor to the Akropolis, domestic or foreign, presumably would also have access to these decrees and be able to read their contents. The clarity and precision of the carving and the vivid red paint would have made the decrees highly visible. The thrust of the decrees is accountability.10 They are among the earliest surviving documents of the new political regime brought about by the Kleisthenic reforms and are likewise one of the earliest texts of a “sacred law” from Athens that we possess.11 The proper maintenance of the rules and regulations for actions on the Akropolis was, first and foremost, crucial to protecting the sanctity of the sanctuary and pleasing the gods. During this period of sociopolitical turmoil and change, the continuation of appropriate activities on the Akropolis would have been of the utmost importance in order to secure divine favor. Moreover, the chaotic nature of the Akropolis at this time, with multiple building projects, animals, laborers, and materials scattered around, might have also increased anxiety about ritual behavior. In this sense, the decrees functioned as a means of ensuring proper religious comportment during a time when mistakes in

10. Metope A, not reproduced here, also contains references to infractions, fines, and potential legal actions (for brief discussion, see Butz 2010, pp. 55–​56). 11.  The terminology of “sacred law” is fraught with difficulties. See Carbon and Pirenne-​ Delforge 2012 for discussion, http://​cgrn.ulg.ac.be/​, accessed April 16, 2020.

290

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ritual could easily be made, but a time when such accidents would be particularly dangerous for the polis.12 The decrees also indicate that there was a real and serious concern with the behavior of officials. The text betrays anxiety regarding the proper regulation and oversight of officials: the tamiai are instructed to inspect and monitor the activities of the priestesses and attendants on the Akropolis, but they are likewise instructed to monitor themselves and the behavior of their fellow treasurers (most explicitly at ll. 16–​17 and ll. 20–​ 22). Each of the four clauses of the decree contains an assessment of fines and specifies who has authority to penalize and collect the fees. In the first two instances, the fine is “up to three obols,” which implies that the treasurers had some amount of flexibility in determining how serious an offense was committed and to what extent the offender was responsible. The role of responsibility in committing an offense is indicated by the recurring phrase ἐὰν δέ τις τούτον τι δρᾶι εἰδός (“if anyone should do these things knowingly”) in lines 6–​7 and 11–​12, a phrase that emphasizes personal responsibility and accountability, in addition to that provided by the tamiai. The third clause entails more drastic penalties and more serious offenses: 100 drachmas was a considerable sum. The offenses punishable by such an assessment apply to both the priestesses and the attendants, as well as the treasurers themselves. The priestesses and attendants are not to do something to or with a treasury-​storeroom, nor are they to bake bread (ll. 13–​15), and if the tamiai allow them to do so, they are likewise subject to a 100-​drachma fine (ll. 16–​17).13 That the tamiai can also be held responsible for these transgressions is a further indication of the seriousness of the offense. The priestesses and attendants are forbidden from certain activities, but the real responsibility lies with the treasurers to enforce the prohibitions and collect the fines. In the final clause, this responsibility is further emphasized: the tamiai are required to open and inspect the oikemata at least three times a month and if any treasurer is absent, although able to be present, he is to be fined two drachmas (ll. 18–​23). The tamiai, then, are responsible not only for ensuring that the sacrificers, priestesses, and attendants follow the restrictions, but also for ensuring that they themselves adhere to the rules and guidelines set forth in the decree. The line of command extends one step further, to the prytanis, who is to collect the fine assessed to absent tamiai. If he neglects to collect this fine, he is to be subject to a euthynai, or financial audit. It is unclear who the prytanis is, but it seems that the tamiai have oversight of the assessment and enforcement of penalties, but the prytanis has oversight of the tamiai.14

12. As Butz points out, the regulatory elements of the decree “mark off space appropriate to given forms of behaviour” (2010, p. 74). 13. The amount of the penalty assessed to the priestesses and attendants is restored, but the restoration appears sound based on the spacing of the stoichoi and the following clause assessing a similar fine to the tamiai. 14. Bubelis also highlights the various levels of oversight indicated in this decree (2016, p. 137).

291



Appendix II

291

While it is true that high fines often serve as a deterrent to prohibited activities, it is also possible that the fines, both small and large, were put in place as income-​generating mechanisms.15 That is not to say that the primary force of the fines was to generate income for the polis, but it is possible that it was a secondary motive, or, more likely, a fortunate side effect. The small fines of three obols would not create a substantial bulge in state funds, but the larger and more serious fines could result in definite financial increases. The emphasis on accountability combined with the emphasis on fines could be an indication of a desire for increased administrative oversight and consolidation of state funds. One of the primary concerns during the early years of the new political regime was surely to establish consistent and monitored revenue systems, a concern that seems reflected in the language of these decrees. In sum, the Hekatompedon Decrees display an increasing awareness of accountability, distributed to various officials and with graded levels of personal responsibility. As one of the earliest known documents of the nascent democracy, the decrees show how the new political regime attempted to monitor appropriate behavior on the Akropolis, assess and enforce penalties and restrictions, and structure religious and civic accountability.

15. For sanctuary fees and taxes generally, see Pafford 2006.

29

293

A p p en d i x   I II

Dating the Old Bouleuterion and Stoa Basileios

Both the Old Bouleuterion and Stoa Basileios have complicated chronologies and the ramifications of their dating impact how we understand the transformation of the Agora. The Old Bouleuterion is dated by most scholars to the years around 500, although challenges have been raised that seek to downdate it approximately twenty years, to the period after the Persian destruction. The date of the Stoa Basileios has fluctuated even more widely, with arguments ranging from the mid-​sixth century to after 480. To begin with the Old Bouleuterion, those who wish to date the structure after the Persian destruction adduce the following evidence: some of the internal pier foundations employ reused Archaic blocks that show signs of fire damage, the foundations are partially sunk into the fill that is contemporary with the Great Drain, and the ceramic evidence draws comparison with the pottery from the Rectangular Rock-​Cut Shaft and other deposits traditionally considered to be Persian destruction debris.1 In addition, challenges to the plan and reconstruction of the building (its form, its orientation, and its function) have been used as support for the downdating (see Fig. 2.6 and Fig. 2.8).2 As discussed in Chapter 2, the topographical alterations to the southwest corner of the Agora resulted in a raised terrace on which the Old Bouleuterion was situated. With the destruction of Buildings C and D, the entire area was raised by a dumped

1. For the various components of the redating, see Thompson 1978, 1981, pp. 345–​346, 1982, p. 136, 1988, p. 200; Francis and Vickers 1988, pp. 154–​160 (Great Drain and Old Bouleuterion); Miller 1995a, pp. 202, 220, 224, n. 4, 1995b, p. 135; Papadopoulos 2003, p. 289. 2. Miller 1995b.

294

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Appendix III

fill.3 Foremost among the inclusions within the fill were working chips of bedrock, a result of the inset western foundations and overall leveling of the terrace, along with working chips of yellow limestone, the material used for the walls and superstructure of the Old Bouleuterion.4 The ceramic evidence recovered from a deposit within this fill at the southeast corner of the Old Bouleuterion (H 10:7) includes fragments that can be dated to the last quarter of the sixth century and up to ca. 500, but none can be dated twenty years later, to a post-​480 context.5 The pottery related to the construction of the building does not support a post-​480 date. In addition, the Doric capitals, although fragmentary, have an echinus profile that can be generally dated to the Late Archaic period, but would be out of place much later than ca. 480. The eastern foundations of the Old Bouleuterion are set directly into the fill associated with the laying of the Great Drain, linking the two projects chronologically; the Old Bouleuterion must have been built shortly after the drain was finished, which places it in the years around 500. In addition, the use of two different materials for the foundations of the Old Bouleuterion –​Kara limestone for the exterior and a softer limestone for the interior –​has similarities with several other buildings in Athens and Attika, including the Archaic Telesterion at Eleusis and the Olympieion.6 These comparanda help narrow the range of possible dates to the last quarter of the sixth century. The comparison with the Telesterion is of particular importance, given the similarities in the materials, size, and overall plan of the cult building and the Old Bouleuterion.7 Concerning the reused Archaic blocks with signs of fire damage, it is instructive to turn to the original description of the internal foundations. Thompson initially reported that four surviving reused blocks at the west end of the foundations for the interior east-​west cross-​wall were of “soft gray poros.” Elsewhere for the internal foundations (both for the cross-​wall and the piers), blocks of “granular poros” were employed, some

3. Thompson 1937, p. 130; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1995, pp. 159, 166. The changing ground levels are discussed in Chapter 2. 4. Thompson 1937, pp. 134–​135; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, p. 236. 5. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, p. 236: “Not a single sherd from the building of the Old Bouleuterion needs to have been manufactured after the turn of the century.” The pottery deposit is published in T. L. Shear, Jr. 1993, pp. 419–​422, with a full catalogue, pp. 472–​473. Shear carefully restudied all of the deposits in the Agora believed to be indications of Persian destruction cleanup and challenged by Francis and Vickers, including the Rectangular Rock-​Cut Shaft, and his conclusions are entirely persuasive (1993; note particularly p. 384, n. 4). In general, the redating arguments of Francis and Vickers have not gained widespread acceptance, although their general point about the problems of absolute dating in the Archaic period is fair and should prompt us to be more careful in assigning strict dates. For additional challenges and cautions to the ceramic chronologies posited by Francis and Vickers, see Cook 1989; Lynch 2011b, pp. 20–​28. 6. Thompson 1937, pp. 134–​135. 7. The Archaic Telesterion (and its similarities to the Old Bouleuterion) is treated in Chapter 4.

295



Appendix III

295

recut for this secondary use, all of varying sizes.8 There is nothing in these reports to warrant the contention that any of the blocks were damaged by fire, let alone that the “fire-​damaged” blocks were victims of the Persian invasion specifically. The gray color of the blocks could be a naturally occurring pigmentation or indicative of a particular limestone quarry or vein. In general, the use of fire-​damaged blocks in the foundations here is suspect and there are few instances of this practice in Athens.9 If, on the other hand, the gray color is indicative of fire damage, there is no reason to assume that it is from the Persian destruction. Buildings C and D were destroyed in the second half of the sixth century, and parts of Building F were also dismantled in the last quarter of the sixth century; it is possible that fire damaged some of these blocks, which were subsequently repurposed for the Old Bouleuterion foundations. Moreover, Building F contained an oven and broiling pits, which could have resulted in fire damage to some blocks that were subsequently repurposed. It is also possible that the reused blocks came from a separate source unrelated to the southwest corner of the Agora. As a supplement to the archaeological evidence, there is also AthPol 22.2, which recounts the first swearing of the bouleutic oath in 501/​0: πρῶτον μὲν οὖν ἔτει πέμπτῳ μετὰ ταύτην τὴν κατάστασιν [the reforms of Kleisthenes in 508/​7] ἐφ᾽ Ἑρμοκρέοντος ἄρχοντος τῇ βουλῇ τοῖς πεντακοσίοις τὸν ὅρκον ἐποίησαν ὅν ἔτι καὶ νῦν ὀμνύουσιν. (“First, then, in the fifth [eighth] year after these things had been enacted, in the archonship of Hermokreon, they instituted the oath of the Boule of 500 that is still sworn even now.”)10 If this truly was the first swearing of the bouleutic oath, it would be fitting for it to have occurred when the Old Bouleuterion was completed and the council could officially meet in the building. The topographic, architectural, ceramic, and literary

8. Thompson 1937, p. 132. Thompson also notes that the gray poros blocks “would seem to have been cut for their present position,” implying that they may not be in secondary use. The earlier excavation reports and Agora notebooks do not mention the material of these blocks or their condition in any detail; there is no surviving documentation, other than the brief mention of gray color in Thompson’s excavation report, that any blocks showed signs of fire damage. 9.  The most notable examples of reused blocks with fire damage are the entablature of the Old Athena Temple and column drums of the Old Parthenon rebuilt in the north wall of the Akropolis (Fig. 1.13); this reuse, however, was a deliberate attempt to create a visually arresting memorial of the destruction of the Persians. The reused blocks in the foundations of the Old Bouleuterion were not visible and thus did not serve a similar “memorializing” purpose. Reusing fire damaged blocks in the foundations of a monumental building is also a dangerous building practice for structural reasons, and it would be surprising to see it employed here. 10.  The passage is not without controversy. The fifth year after 508/​7 would be 504/​3. The author continues, however, to describe how, in the twelfth year after the reforms (ἔτει δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα δωδεκάτῳ), in the archonship of Phainippos, the Athenians fought at the battle of Marathon. The calculation in the AthPol would place that event in 497/​6, although the archonship of Phainippos has been elsewhere dated to 490/​89 (on the basis of the fragmentary archon list IG Ι3 1031). The twelfth year before the battle of Marathon would be 501/​0, a year for which no archon has yet been attested. Rhodes suggests that πέμπτῳ in this case should be emended to ὀγδόῳ, assuming that at some point the numeric assignation of ή was transcribed as έ (1981, pp. 262–​263). For an alternate view of the emendation, see Badian 2000.

296

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Appendix III

evidence all support a date for the completion of the Old Bouleuterion at the end of the sixth century, ca. 500; its first official use may indeed have been in 501/​0, with the first official swearing of the Boule. The arguments for placing this building after 479 are thus not only unconvincing, but also incompatible with the archaeological and textual evidence. The Stoa Basileios, on the other hand, presents more problems. Much of the controversy stems from similar issues, though, including the reuse of Archaic materials and the nature of the ceramic evidence. When the structure was first discovered in 1970, the soft friable yellow limestone of its superstructure, the presence of a Z-​clamp in the north wall, and the polygonal foundations of the west wall suggested a date in the Late Archaic period, while the two surviving Doric capitals and column drums with sixteen flutes pointed toward the mid-​sixth century. Pottery recovered from the lowest foundation packing below the floor of the building was initially dated to the second quarter of the sixth century.11 Subsequent investigations in 1973 revealed additional reused blocks, including six Doric column shafts with eighteen flutes built into the east krepidoma, and exposed the broad precinct area that extended immediately east of the stoa (visible in Fig. 2.12). The ceramic material from the stratum of this area contemporary with the construction of the building included limestone working chips and pottery ranging in date from ca. 500 to 470, and the stratum below that, which represents the fill brought in to level the area prior to construction, included sherds ranging from the Middle Helladic period to the first quarter of the fifth century.12 The pottery from the fill within the building also included a layer of limestone working chips and pottery ranging from the sixth century to ca. 500.13 The later excavations also brought to light an additional fragment of the Doric frieze course associated with the building.14 The initial reports thus offered conflicting conclusions. The architecture points to a date in the second half of the sixth century, while the ceramic material is more aligned with the first quarter of the fifth century. Subsequent discussion of the building, while noting this discrepancy, tends to lean toward a date near the end of the sixth century

11. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1971, pp. 243–​250. The capitals are dated to the mid-​sixth century or third quarter of the sixth century in Agora XIV, p.  84. The reused material includes limestone blocks—​three of which are Archaic Doric capitals, cut down for reuse—​supporting the later interior columns (dating to a period when the building was repaired or renovated); concurrently with the installation of these new column supports, the floor was renewed, and the ceramic evidence from that operation indicates a date in the third quarter of the fifth century (T. L. Shear, Jr. 1971, p. 250). 12. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1975, pp. 366 (reused blocks), 368–​369 (strata associated with the precinct fill and interior layers). 13. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1975, p. 369. 14. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1975, pp. 369–​370.

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297

or around 500.15 Several scholars, though, have sought to push the building later still, into the period after the Persian destruction.16 While the final publication of the material related to the Stoa Basileios has not yet appeared, it is still possible to make a few observations that suggest a date closer to ca. 500 than after 480. Several of the identifiable fragments of the columns belonging to the first phase of the stoa were recovered from a deposit (L 5:2) of Persian destruction debris.17 The pottery from this deposit has been analyzed in detail and requires that, if we want to associate these architectural fragments with the stoa (and we do), the building itself must have been standing prior to ca. 475.18 It seems unlikely that a building, even of the relatively diminutive size of the stoa, would be built, dismantled, and its pieces buried in under five years. Additional analysis of the ceramic material from the building fill, including sherds from layers containing working chips of yellow limestone associated with the construction of the stoa, also points to a date around 500.19 As noted, the limestone used for the superstructure of the Stoa Basileios is visually identical to that used for the Old Bouleuterion. This shared material, while not definitive, could indicate that the two projects were undertaken more or less contemporaneously. The presence of a Z-​clamp also finds parallels with buildings of the early fifth century, including the Temple of Dionysos on the south slope of the Akropolis, the forecourt of the Old Propylon, the Southeast Fountain House, the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion, and possibly the Telesterion at Eleusis.20 The use of a small-​tined claw-​tooth chisel on the in situ blocks of the north wall also shares similarities with the small limestone temple of Athena Nike on the Akropolis, while traces of fire on this wall could point to damage from the Persian destruction.21

15. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1993, pp. 427–​429, 1994, pp. 237–​239. Acknowledging the controversy, but leaning toward ca. 500 is Camp 1986, pp. 53, 100, and 2010, p. 79 (“the style of the architecture points to an original date for the stoa in the neighborhood of 500 . . . [while] the reuse of much old material in the foundations, however, would be more explicable if the building had been erected after the Persian sack of 480/​79 B.C.”). 16. Thompson 1978, p. 63, 1981, pp. 345–​346, 1982, p. 136, 1988, pp. 202–​203; Papadopoulos 2003, pp. 291–​292; Martin-​Mcauliffe and Papadopoulos 2012, pp. 344–​352. 17. T. L. Shear, Jr. 1993, p. 427. This deposit is included among the Persian cleanup deposits discussed by Lynch, although she labels it a “delayed” deposit, dating to ca. 475–​460 (2011b, p. 22). 18. Pottery catalogue: T. L. Shear, Jr. 1993, pp. 459–​461. 19. Preliminary discussion of this material can be found in T. L. Shear, Jr. 1993, pp. 428–​429. 20.  For the Z-​clamp in Late Archaic Athenian architecture, see Paga 2015c, pp.  365–​366 and n. 33. 21. For the claw on the Stoa Basileios, see Paga 2015a, pp. 194–​196. In the preliminary excavation report, this fire damage is assigned to the sack of Sulla in 86 B.C.E. (T. L. Shear, Jr. 1971, p. 252).

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While little of this evidence can be considered conclusive, a pre-​Persian date between ca. 500 and 480 is more comfortable than a date after the Persian destruction. This would place the Stoa Basileios alongside the Old Bouleuterion, Southeast Fountain House, and horoi as elements that helped delineate and define the new demotic use of this space. Throughout the early period of the new political regime, important civic offices were moved or installed in the area to the northwest of the Akropolis, including the Old Bouleuterion for the 500-​man Boule and the elaboration of the Pnyx for the Ekklesia. The Archon Basileus was moved from his previous seat in the Boukolion and into his new eponymous stoa, closer to the activities of the Boule and Ekklesia.22 This transfer (and establishment) of council and magistrate physically grounded the new political order in the Agora, just as the horoi announced its boundaries and identity. The Agora became “The Agora” by virtue of these structures and we are therefore warranted in understanding them as components of the Late Archaic articulation of the space.

22. Note also the presence of the lithos in front of the Stoa Basileios, on which new archons and the bouleutai swore their oaths of office, further linking the activities, offices, and buildings of the Boule and Basileus, visible in Fig. 2.12 (Camp 1986, p. 101; T. L. Shear, Jr. 1994, pp. 242–​245).

29

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36

37

Index

The Academy, 169–​70 Academy road, 159–​60, 172–​73 Aegina Athens’ history of conflicts with, 22–​23, 39, 177, 195, 226, 242 naval power of, 177 Phaleron attacked by, 177, 188–​89 Aeschines, 94 The Agora Aiakeion, 22, 90, 273 The Akropolis’ connection with, 112, 122–​24 Altar of the Twelve Gods, 83–​84, 95, 108, 136, 169–​70, 172, 174, 265 Altar of Aphrodite Ourania, 61, 90, 108, 273 Building C, 84–​86, 89 Building D, 84–​86, 89 Building F, 84–​86, 89, 95, 110, 117, 119, 121, 136, 265, 274 City Eleusinion, 127 construction costs in, 73 Enneakrounos, 81 Eponymous Heroes Monument, 17, 94, 267 Great Drain, 90–​91, 93, 110, 249, 273

horoi (boundary stones), 90–​96, 107, 110–​12, 243, 273 Kerameikos and, 172–​73 Kleisthenic reforms reflected in built environment of, 78, 81, 87, 96, 112–​21, 124–​26, 139–​40, 249, 270 Kolonos Agoraios, 108, 113, 117, 252 New Bouleuterion, 100, 118, 125 Old Agora and, 15, 27, 77, 80–​81, 87–​88, 94–​96, 102, 108, 110, 112, 126, 139, 145, 150, 174 Old Bouleuterion, 27–​28, 78, 85, 89, 97–​102, 104, 106–​8, 111–​26, 144, 166–​67, 270, 274 Panathenaia and, 77–​78 Panathenaic Way, 78–​80 Peisistratidai family and, 81, 86–​88 perirrhanteria (vessels for lustral water), 94–​95, 107, 111 The Pnyx and, 3, 102, 121–​24, 166–​67, 231, 267, 274 restrictions regarding access to, 94–​95 Southeast Fountain House, 27, 80, 90, 108–​12, 118, 274 Southwest Fountain House, 267 Stoa Basileios, 27–​28, 89–​90, 94, 102–​8, 110–​12, 117–​20, 274

38

338

Index

The Agora (cont.) Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios, 118 Temple of Meter, 85, 90, 274 Tyrannicide statues, 13, 90, 247 well closures, 82, 86, 110 Agrileza marble, 215, 222 Aiakeion, 22, 90, 273 Aiantis, 196, 208–​9 Aigeis, 231 Aixone, 211–​12 The Akropolis The Agora’s connection with, 112, 122–​24 anathemata (votive dedications), 31, 41, 76 Athena Nike Temple, 31, 41–​42, 55, 59–​62, 202, 266, 273 Athena Polias cult, 30, 37–​39, 41, 43, 51, 54, 59, 258–​59 Athenian military victories reflected on, 75–​76 Bluebeard Temple, 16, 26, 30, 33–​39, 41, 43, 45–​50, 54, 56, 57, 62, 65–​69, 71–​72, 136, 181, 265, 273 Boiotian and Chalkidian quadriga monument, 63–​65, 69, 75, 187, 242, 247, 271 Brauroneion, 240–​41, 265 Building A, 40 Building B, 34, 40, 42, 44 Dörpfeld foundations, 30–​31, 36, 37–​38, 41, 46, 47, 64 Erechtheion, 31, 37, 48, 266 Great Altar of Athena, 31, 34, 37–​38, 41, 42, 44, 59 Hekatompedon area, 26, 50, 258 Hekatompedon Decrees regarding access to, 40, 54, 95, 258, 277–​79 Kleisthenes-​Isagoras conflict and, 15–​16 Kleisthenic reforms, 30, 43, 65 korai (statues of maidens), 31–​32 monumental ramp, 34, 38–​39, 44, 54, 55, 59, 265

Mycenaean gateway, 54 Nike bastion, 34, 40, 44, 55, 56, 59, 61–​62, 75 oikemata, 31, 32n9, 39–​41, 62, 265 Old Athena Temple, 30, 43–​51, 54–​55, 59, 62, 64–​66, 68–​75, 136, 256, 273 Mycenaean spring house, 111 Old Propylon, 31, 44, 55, 57–​59, 61–​62, 74, 122, 273 Panathenaia and, 30, 37, 39, 43, 71 Old Parthenon, 30, 36, 44, 48, 50–​53, 59, 61–​63, 69–​75, 110, 163, 192, 198, 226, 229, 252–​53, 255–​56, 266, 271, 273 Pelargikon, 145–​53 Persian destruction, 53, 57, 74, 136, 181 The Pnyx and, 166–​67 Spartan’s siege, 66–​67, 268 Theater of Dionysos and, 150 Alkmaionidai, 14–​15, 70, 221–​22, 248 Alopeke, 222 Altar of the Twelve Gods, 83–​84, 95, 108, 136, 169–​170, 172, 174, 265 Amphiaraion at Oropos, 267 Anagyrous, 212 Anaphlystos, 221 Angele, 232 Antiochis, 196, 209, 222, 234 Aphidna, 208 Aphrodite Ourania Altar (Agora), 61, 90, 108, 273 Apollo Temples in the Agora (Apollo Patroös), 88–​89, 267 at Cape Zoster, 213–​14, 275 at Delphi, 14, 70, 249n4, 258–​59 at Eretria, 233 at Ikarion, 229, 250, 265, 267, 275 in the Ilissos river area, 137, 139, 265 at Prasiai, 232–​34, 275 Archon Basileus, 81, 105–​8, 139 Areopagos, 127, 139, 164 Aristeides, 64

39

Index Aristogeiton, 13, 161 Aristophanes, 143 Artemis Mounychia sanctuary (Pireaus), 190, 194 Asklepieion, 145, 151–​52, 267 Asklepios Temple at Epidauros, 70–​71 astu (Athens city center) Temple of Apollo Delphinios, 137, 139 Altar of Apollo Pythias, 130–​31, 174 Areopagos and, 127, 139, 164 Athenian economic successes and construction in, 133, 257 City Dionysia and, 147, 150, 160, 168–​71 City Eleusinion, 127, 148, 153–​57, 163, 170–​71 construction costs, 73 construction labor in, 254–​55 Delphinion law court, 127, 131, 137–​39, 274 demes’ connection with, 176, 187–​88, 195, 219, 243–​46 demes located inside, 162–​63, 175 Eleusis and, 171 Enneakrounos, 130–​31, 139 Hill of the Muses, 127, 140 Ilissos river area, 130–​32, 134–​40, 150, 174 Kerameikos and, 127–​28, 157–​61, 169–​ 70, 172–​73 Kleisthenic reforms, 128, 140, 144, 161, 164, 166, 168, 170, 173–​74, 247–​49, 269–​70 Kolonos Agoraios, 127, 162–​63 Olympieion, 131–​36, 139, 174, 255n19, 270 Pelargikon, 145–​53 Persian destruction, 24, 270 The Pnyx and, 127, 140–​44, 164–​68 Sacred Way and, 157, 160–​61, 173 Theater of Dionysos, 134, 144, 148–​50, 153 Temple of Triptolemos, 148, 155–​57, 163 walls, 129–​30

339

Athenaion Politeia (AthPol), 11, 89, 93 Athena Polias Akropolis as home of cult, 30, 37–​39, 41, 43, 51, 54, 59, 258–​59 Athenian military victories and, 62, 65 Bluebeard Temple, 16, 33, 65 Gigantomachy, 49 Old Athena Temple, 51 Spartan siege and, 67–​68 votive offerings, 258–​59 Athena Temples Athena Nike Temple (Akropolis), 31, 41–​42, 55, 59–​62, 202, 266, 273 Bluebeard Temple (Akropolis). 16, 26, 30, 33–​39, 41, 43, 45–​50, 54, 56, 57, 62, 65–​69, 71–​72, 136, 273 Old Athena Temple (Akropolis), 30, 43–​51, 54–​55, 59, 62, 64–​66, 68–​75, 136, 256, 273 at Pallene, 234–​35, 266 at Sounion, 220, 222–​24, 227, 250, 275 Athens. See also Attika; specific buildings; specific demes Aegina’s conflicts with, 22–​23, 39, 177, 195, 226, 242 civic identity in, 5–​6, 18 isegoria (political equality), 21–​22, 63 Marathon victory and, 23–​24, 62, 196–​97, 205 navy, 20, 22, 191–​94, 226 Persian destruction, 53, 57, 74, 129, 136, 248 Attika. See also Athens; specific demes civic identity, 4–​5 communication challenges, 3–​5 construction labor, 254–​57 materials, 251–​52, 257 geography, 176–​78 Kleisthenic reforms, 178, 269–​70 Sparta’s campaign in, 21–​22, 177, 179–​80, 187, 242

340

340

Index

Bluebeard Temple (Akropolis) Athena Polias, 16, 33, 65 construction of, 30, 33, 36, 39, 54 dating, 273 dismantling of and reuse of materials, 49–​50, 56, 57, 62, 66–​69, 71–​72, 136 location, 26, 36–​38, 41 materials, 33–​35 Old Athena Temple, 43, 45–​50, 65–​66, 71–​72 Panathenaia and, 37 Boiotia Athens’ history of military conflicts with, 63, 71–​72, 207 Attika’s border with, 176–​77, 243 Battle of 506/​5, 21–​22, 146, 177, 197, 242 Chalkidian monument on Akropolis and, 63–​65, 69, 75, 187, 242, 247, 271 The Boule City Eleusinion as meeting place for, 171, 186n28 The Ekklesia and, 116–​17, 121–​24, 166–​67 Eleusinian Mysteries and, 186 Kleisthenic reforms and, 1–​2, 15, 17–​19, 115–​16, 121, 166 Old Agora and, 15 Old Bouleuterion, 3, 78, 97, 111, 114–​17, 122–​25, 144, 166 restrictions regarding access, 94 selection of members, 20 visibility of debate, 115–​17, 124–​26 Brauroneion 240–​41, 265 Brauron Brauronia, 236, 239–​41 dating, 238–​39, 275 layout, 236–​38 Peisistratidai and, 236, 238, 240n92, 265 Persian destruction, 239 Temple of Artemis, 27, 235, 241, 247, 250, 275

Cape Zoster (Halai Aixonides), 211–​14, 246, 275 Chalkis Athens’ history of military conflicts with, 63, 72, 207 Battle of 506/​5, 21–​22, 146, 177, 197, 242 Boiotian monument on Akropolis and, 63–​65, 69, 75, 187, 242, 247, 271 City Dionysia Academy road and, 160 dating, 169–​70 Dionysos Eleutherios sanctuary, 147, 160, 168 festivals and competitions, 150, 168 pompai, 168–​71 City Eleusinion Agora and, 127 Boule meetings at, 171, 186n28 dating, 274 Eleusinian Mysteries and, 153, 157, 170–​71, 240 layout, 154–​55 Panathenaic Way and, 157, 172 Temple of Triptolemos, 148, 155–​56, 163, 234, 274 Corinth Battle of 506/​5, 21, 177, 179–​80, 187, 242 Plataea, battle of, 25   Darius, 14, 23–​24, 53n52 Delian League, 133, 194 Delos, 178, 197, 246 Delphi oracle, 22, 24 Temple of Apollo, 14, 70, 249n4, 258–​59 Treasury of the Athenians, 198, 233, 247 Delphinion law court, 127, 131, 137–​39, 274 demes. See also Attika; specific demes astu connections, 176, 187–​88, 195, 219, 243–​46

341

Index citizen registry and, 3, 20, 206, 212, 244–​45 Kleisthenic reforms and the reorganization of, 18–​20, 175–​76, 195, 197, 207–​9, 212, 219, 244–​45, 270 military organization and, 6, 20 Demeter, 153, 161, 170, 189, 194, 241, 250 demosion sema, 127–​28, 159–​61, 172–​73, 274 dikastai 12, 121, 139 Dionysos Eleutherios sanctuary, 145–​50, 168–​70 Dipylon Gate, 158–​59, 172 Dörpfeld foundations Bluebeard Temple, 36–​38, 41 Boiotian and Chalkidian dedication, 64 dating, 36 Old Athena Temple, 46, 47   eisphorai, 260–​61 The Ekklesia The Boule and, 116–​17, 121–​24, 166–​67 Kleisthenic reforms and, 1–​2, 17–​19, 121, 128, 168, 191, 249–​50 The Pnyx, 3, 102, 140, 143–​44, 164–​68 Theater of Dionysos, 144, 150, 168, 170 Eleusis architectural elaboration, 154–​55, 157, 170, 179–​81, 249 Battle of 506/​5, 21, 179–​81, 187 Demeter and Persephone sanctuary, 157, 179, 181, 250, 258 Eleusinian Mysteries, 71, 105, 153, 157, 161, 170–​71, 180, 185, 187, 207, 240–​41, 246, 249, 260 fortification walls, 246, 251, 267, 274 location, 177, 179–​81, 243 Persian destruction, 181 Sacred Way, 157, 161 Telesterion, 114n80, 181–​86, 239, 266–​67, 274 Eleutherai, 145–​46, 160, 169 Enneakrounos, 81, 110–​11, 130–​31, 139, 265

341

Eponymous Heroes, 17, 94, 267 Erechtheion, 31, 37, 48, 266 Eretria, 22, 63, 233 Eridanos River, 78, 158 Euboia, 22, 176–​77, 259 Euboulos, 267–​68   Gigantomachy, 49, 62, 75 Great Altar of Athena (Akropolis), 31, 34, 37–​38, 41, 42, 44, 59   Halai Aixonides (Cape Zoster), 211–​14, 246, 275 Harmodios, 13, 161 Hekatompedon area (Akropolis), 26, 50, 258 Hekatompedon Decrees, 40, 54, 95, 258, 277–​79 Hellenotamiai, 69 Hephaisteion, 93, 226, 266, 274 Hera Temple at Phaleron, 189, 274 Herodotos on Aegina-​Athens conflict, 22 on the Altar of the Twelve Gods, 83 on Athens city walls, 129n2 on Battle of 506/​5, 21, 72 on Isagoras and Kleisthenes, 14, 16n34, 16n36 on isegoria, 63, 272 on Laurion mine discoveries, 73 on Marathon, 23, 197 on Solon’s reforms and factions, 19n46 on Themistokles and the Athenian navy, 24, 226 Hill of the Muses, 127, 140 Hill of the Nymphs, 140, 162–​63 Hipparchos assassination of, 13, 135, 173, 272 mile markers in Attic countryside, 83, 220n134, 265 Hippias expulsion of, 9, 14, 134–​36 Hipparchos’ assassination, 13

342

342

Index

Hippias (cont.) Persian Wars, 23 Piraeus, 190 Sparta, 22, 188 Hippothontis, 162, 179, 209   Ikarion cult of Dionysos, 228–​31 location and layout, 227–​28, 232, 243 Temple of Apollo, 228–​29, 250, 265, 267, 275 theatral area, 228–​31, 242, 275 Ilissos river area astu and, 130–​32, 134–​40, 150, 174 Delphinion law court, 137–​39, 274 Enneakrounos, 139 Olympieion, 139 Sanctuary of Olympian Zeus, 132-​36 Temple of Apollo Delphinios, 137, 139, 265 Theater of Dionysos, 134, 150 Ionia, 17, 22–​23, 178 Isagoras Akropolis siege (508/​7), 66–​67, 268 death of, 16 Kleisthenes and, 9, 14–​16, 21, 54, 66 Kleomenes and, 15, 21, 54, 66 isegoria, 21–​22, 63, 272 Isthmus, 21, 176–​77, 243   Jeraka, 234   Kekropis, 162, 209 Kerameikos Academy road, 159–​60, 172 Agora and, 172–​73 aristocratic burials, 158 City Dionysia, 169–​70 demosion sema (public military cemetery), 127–​28, 159–​61, 172–​73, 274 layout, 157–​59 Panathenaia and, 172–​73 Panathenaic Way and, 78, 157, 172–​73

Sacred Way, 157, 160–​61 Kimon, 248 Kleisthenes. See also Kleisthenic reforms Isagoras’ conflict with, 9, 14–​16, 21, 54, 66. Kleisthenic reforms Agora and, 78, 81, 87, 96, 112–​21, 124–​26, 139–​40, 249, 270 Akropolis and, 30, 43, 65 astu and, 128, 140, 144, 161, 164, 166, 168, 170, 173–​74, 247–​49, 269–​70 Athenian economic successes and, 62, 76, 257, 262 Attika and, 178, 269–​70 Boule and, 1–​2, 15, 17–​19, 115–​16, 121, 166 civic participation, 5, 8, 20, 69, 72–​73, 76, 117, 186, 244–​45, 270, 271 deme organization, 18–​20, 175–​76, 195, 197, 207–​9, 212, 219, 244–​45, 270 Ekklesia and, 1–​2, 17–​19, 121, 128, 168, 191, 249–​50 Eleusinian Mysteries and, 170 Persian Wars and, 8, 22–​25, 62, 270 phylai, 1, 5, 17–​20, 62–​63, 121, 175, 196, 270 trittyes, 19–​20, 63, 121, 175, 270 Kleomenes Akropolis siege (508/​7), 66–​67 Isagoras’ conflict with Kleisthenes, 15, 21, 54, 66 Sparta’s intervention in Athens (511/​10), 14, 188 Klepsydra fountain house, 145 Koile, 162, 164 Kollytos, 162, 164 Kybele, 210–​11, 275 Kybernesia festival, 188 Kydathenaion, 162   Laurion silver mines Athenian naval buildup, 23–​24, 63, 191–​92, 226, 260–​61 discovery and development, 23, 73, 194–​95, 260

34

Index Old Athena Temple, 71 Parthenon, 69 Sounion, 226–​27 Thorikos, 215, 217–​19, 262 Lemnos, 163 Leokoriou road, 158, 173 Leontis, 222, 226 Lykourgos, 19n46, 28, 39, 83, 249, 266–​68   Marathon battle of, 23–​24, 62, 196–​97, 205 burial of soldiers, 159, 198–​99 commemorations of battle, 198–​99 cults, 196–​97 Delphi, 197 location, 196 Nemesis, 205 Rhamnous, 208 soros, 198–​99, 271, 275 Tetrapolis, 196, 208 tropaion, 199, 242, 275 war loot from, 73 Mardonius, 25 Mazi Plain, 146, 177 Megakles, 11, 14, 19n46, 39 Megara, 176–​77, 179, 243 Melite, 162–​64 Menestheus, 188 Miletus, 178, 260 Miltiades, 163, 248 Mounychia hill (Piraeus), 13, 190, 193 Mt. Aigaleos, 140, 179 Mt. Hymettos, 140, 211, 251–​52, 257n21 Mt. Parnes, 140, 177, 179 Mt. Pentele, 70, 73, 227, 229, 232, 250–​52, 254, 257n21 Myrrhinous, 232   New Bouleuterion (Agora), 100, 118, 125 Nike bastion (Akropolis) Athenian military victories, 74–​75 location and layout, 34, 44, 55, 56, 59 oikemata, 40

343 Old Propylon, 61, 74 Temple of Athena Nike, 59–​60, 62

  Oinoe, 21, 196, 208, 267 Old Athena Temple Athena Polias, 51 Athenian military victories, 74–​75 Bluebeard Temple, 43, 45–​50, 65–​66, 71–​72 Boiotian and Chalkidian dedication, 64 construction, 30, 54–​55, 62, 65, 68–​70, 74 costs, 70–​72 dating, 273 design and layout, 44, 46, 48, 184 Dörpfeld foundations, 46, 47 Gigantomachy, 49, 62, 75 Old Propylon, 59 pediments, 49, 75 Persian destruction, 136 Old Bouleuterion (Agora) Boule, 3, 78, 97, 111, 114–​17, 122–​25, 144, 166 construction, 3, 113 dating, 28, 274 design and layout, 85, 97–​101, 104, 106–​7, 113–​26, 167 Doric order, 99–​101, 106–​7, 114, 119–​22, 124, 126 Kleisthenic reforms, 102, 112–​17, 119–​21, 124–​26, 270 location, 108, 111, 114, 117–​19, 121–​24 Persian destruction, 125 The Pnyx and, 102, 121–​24 restrictions in access to, 124–​25 Old Parthenon Athenian military victories, 74–​75, 198, 271 costs of construction, 69–​73 dating, 30, 40, 273 layout, 44, 50–​51 labor and resources, 51–​52, 62–​63, 70

34

344 Old Parthenon (cont.) materials used in construction of, 51, 70–​71, 252–​53 methods of construction, 30, 50–​53, 226 podium, 52, 61, 63, 192, 252–​53 size, 53, 59, 73 Old Propylon Akropolis entrance, 31, 55, 57, 122 construction, 58, 62 dating, 273 forecourt, 57–​58, 61, 74, 122, 148, 273 Nike bastion, 61, 74 Old Athena Temple, 59 Olympieion construction, 52, 132–​33, 255n19 cult of Olympian Zeus, 133–​34, 136 dating, 113, 132 design and layout, 131–​33 Peisistratidai, 132–​36, 174, 265 reuse of materials, 133–​34 unfinished status, 133–​36, 265, 270 ostrakaphoria, 94, 141n28, 144   Pallene Battle of 546/​5, 82 Ionic structure, 234-​35, 275 Temple of Athena, 234–​35, 266 Panathenaia Academy road, 160 Agora and, 77–​78 Akropolis and, 30 Bluebeard Temple, 37 growing prestige, 71, 76 Kerameikos, 172–​73 pompe, 172–​73 reorganization, 43, 78, 82 Panathenaic Stadium, 267 Panathenaic Way Agora, 78–​80 Akropolis entrance, 38 Altar of the Twelve Gods, 172

Index City Eleusinion, 157, 172 Kerameikos, 78, 157, 172–​73 Pandionis, 162, 196, 232 Patrokledes, 41–​42, 59 Pausanias account of monuments in Attika, 11 on Athena Polis cult, 37n16 on Dionysos Eleutherios sanctuary, 145–​46 on Ilissos river area, 136–​37 on Kerameikos, 159–​60 on Phaleron, 189 on Stoa Basileios, 108 on Temple of Apollo at Prasiai, 232–​33 Peisistratidai. See also Peisistratos Agora, 81, 86–​88 building program, 8n11, 30n2, 68, 136, 265 Brauron, 236, 238, 240n92, 265 Olympieion, 132–​36, 174, 265 expulsion, 14–​15, 133–​34 Peisistratos. See also Peisistratidai ascent to power, 12 death, 12, 134 economic expansion under, 39 financial reforms, 12 political rivals, 39 Southeast Fountain House, 108 third attempt at tyranny, 12, 14, 82 Peisistratos the Younger, 83, 88n27, 130, 265 Pelargikon Asklepieion, 145, 151–​52 Dionysos Eleutherios sanctuary, 145–​50 Klepsydra fountain house, 145 Sanctuary of Aglauros, 145 South Slope Spring House, 127, 150–​53 Peloponnese, 176–​77 Perikles, 10, 28, 249, 263, 266–​68 Persephone, 153, 171, 241, 250 Persian Wars destruction, 53, 57, 74, 129, 136, 248

345

Index Kleisthenic reforms, 8, 22–​25, 62, 270 Marathon, battle of, 23–​24, 62, 196–​97, 205 Phaleron, 188–​89, 194 Piraeus, 193 Rhamnous, 201, 205 Salamis, battle of, 24, 194, 227 Sounion, 222, 224, 227, 239 Phaleron attacks by Aegina, 177, 188–​89 connection with astu , 187–​88 Kybernesia festival, 188 Laurion silver mines, 218 location, 189 Persian Wars, 188–​89, 194 port, 177, 187–​90, 194–​95, 262 public finances, 262 Temple of Hera, 189, 274 Tetrakomai, 209 Philaidai, 235–​36 phylai (tribes) civic participation and, 17, 20 Eponymous Heroes, 17, 94, 267 Kleisthenic reforms, 1, 5, 17–​20, 62–​63, 121, 175, 196, 270 military organization, 6, 62–​63 strategoi, 191–​92 trittyes, 17 Pindar, 11 Piraeus Akte peninsula, 192, 251, 257n21 Artemis Mounychia sanctuary, 190, 194 connection with astu, 187–​88, 195 cults, 194 Laurion silver mines, 218 limestone, 31, 51, 62–​63, 73, 76, 163, 192, 251, 253–​55, 260, 273–​74 Mounychia hill, 13, 190, 193 Perikles’ building program, 266 Persian Wars, 193 port, 187, 189–​95, 260, 262 ship sheds, 189, 194, 242, 246, 267

345

Tetrakomai, 209 Themistokles, 190–​92, 194–​95 walls, 192–93, 242, 246, 250, 267, 274 Zea harbor, 192–​93 Plataea, battle of, 25 Pliny the Elder, 134 Plutarch, 11, 191, 226n147, 236, 263 Plutonion, 267 The Pnyx Akropolis and, 166–​67 astu and, 127, 140–​44, 164–​68 dating, 142–​44, 274 design and layout, 140–​42, 164–​65, 167–​68 Ekklesia, 3, 102, 140, 143–​44, 164–​68 Kleisthenic reforms, 112, 144, 270 location, 102, 121–​24, 164, 166–​67 Lykourgos’ building program, 267 Old Bouleuterion, 102, 121–​24 Pnyx I, 140–​44, 167, 274 restrictions and access, 167 Polemarch, 81 Polykrates, 10 Prasiai, 232–​35, 275 Probalinthos, 196, 232 Propylaia, 40n26, 56n62, 241, 266   Rhamnous connection with astu, 207, 242–​43 fortification walls, 267 garrison, 200 Kleisthenic reforms, 196 Late Archaic temple, 200–​202, 205, 275 layout, 200–​201 location, 200, 243 Marathon, 208 Persian Wars, 201, 205 public finances, 261–​62 Temple of Nemesis, 201–​2, 204–​5, 207–​8, 241, 250, 266 Temple of Themis, 203–​5, 226, 246, 275 theatral area, 205–​6, 217, 231, 242  

346

346

Index

Sacred Way, 157, 160–​61, 173 Salamis, battle of, 24, 194, 227 Sanctuary of Aglauros, 145 Simonides, 64 Skambonidai, 162 Solon exports, 260 Hill, Coast, and Plain divisions, 19 Plutarch’s account, 11, 236 property classes, 5, 121 Solonian Boule, 15, 84, 97 Sounion Agrileza marble, 215, 222 Alkmaionidai, 221–​22 connection with astu, 242–​43 fortification walls, 267 Laurion silver mines, 226–​27 Persian destruction, 222, 224, 239 Persian ship, 227 Temple of Athena, 220, 222–​24, 227, 250, 275 Temple of Poseidon, 148, 163, 220–​21, 224–​27, 239, 241, 246, 250, 275 location, 219–​20, 226, 243 Southeast Fountain House (Agora) construction, 90, 108 dating, 90, 274 design and layout, 108–​9 location, 80, 110–​11, 118 South Slope Spring House, 127, 150–​53, 274 Southwest Fountain House (Agora), 267 Sparta Akropolis siege, 66–​67, 268 Battle of 506/​5, 21–​22, 177, 179–​80, 187, 242 Hippias, 13–​14, 22, 188 Kleisthenes-​Isagoras conflict, 15–​16 occupation of Eleusis, 21, 179–​81, 187 Plataea, battle of, 25 Square Peristyle, 267

Stavro, 234 Steiria, 232 Stephanus of Byzantium, 211 Stoa Basileios (Agora) Altar of the Twelve Gods, 108 Archon Basileus, 106–​8 construction, 89–​90 dating, 28, 274 design and layout, 102–​8, 119–​20 Doric order, 104–​7, 119–​20 location, 102, 108, 111, 117–​18 political symbolism, 106–​8, 112 restrictions regarding access, 94 Strabo, 189, 211 Street of the Marble Workers, 80, 162 Suetonius, 134 Sulla, 134   Teichopoioi, 70 Telesterion at Eleusis dating, 114n80, 274 design and layout, 181–​85 Eleusinian Mysteries, 185–​86 Lykourgos’ building program, 267 materials, 183–​87 Perikles’ building program, 266 Persian destruction, 181, 239 Temple of Meter (Agora), 85, 90, 274 Temple of Nemesis (Rhamnous) design and layout, 202, 204–​8 Panathenian appeal of, 250 Temple of Poseidon at Sounion dating, 163, 275 funding, 246 kouroi, 220–​21 layout, 225 materials, 148, 225–​26 Panathenian appeal, 250 Persian destruction, 239 Temple of Themis (Rhamnous), 203–​5, 226, 246, 275

347

Index Temple of Triptolemos (City Eleusinion), 148, 155–​56, 163, 234, 274 Temple to Zeus Phratrios and Athena Phratria, 267 Tetrakomai, 209, 211 Theater of Dionysos design and layout, 148–​50 Ekklesia meetings, 144, 150, 168, 170 Thebes, 22, 146, 177, 188, 243 Themistokles Athenian navy, 24, 191–​92, 194, 226–​27 city walls, 129 Delphic oracle, 24 Kleisthenic reforms, 191 Phrearrhioi, 221–​22, 226 Piraeus, 190–​92, 194–​95 Salamis, battle of, 24–​25 Thorikos Agrileza marble, 215 Alkmaionidai, 221 double stoa, 266 fortification walls, 267 Laurion silver mines, 215, 217–​19, 262 Piraeus, 195 sanctuary of Hygieia, 250 theatral area, 216–​17, 231, 275

347

Thriasian plain (Rarian Plain), 177, 179 Thucydides on the Altar of the Twelve Gods, 83 on Apollo Pythias sanctuary, 130 on fortification wall around Athens, 129 on Enneakrounos, 110–​11 on Hippias and Hipparchos, 13 on Ilissos river area, 136–​37 on Peisistratos, 12 on Themistokles, 192 Thymaitadai, 209 Trieropoioi, 69 Trikorynthos, 196, 208 trittyes civic participation, 17, 20 Kleisthenic reforms, 19–​20, 63, 121, 175, 270 military organization, 6 as phyle subdivisions, 17 Tyrannicides (Harmodios and Aristogeiton), 13, 90, 160–​61, 173, 247   Vitruvius, 134   Xenodikoi, 69 Xerxes, 24, 53n52 Xypete, 209–​11, 275

348