E. Franchi - G. Proietti (eds.), Conflict in Communities. Forward-looking Memories in Classical Athens, Trento 2017

UNIVERSITÀ DEGLI STUDI DI TRENTO Dipartimento di Lettere e Filosofia QUADERNI 7 FRQÀLFWVDUHVWLOOYHU\PXFKDW Conflict in Communities. Forward-looking Memories in Classical Athens edited by Elena Franchi and Giorgia Proietti LW\LQDFRQWH[WRIFRQÀLFWDQG HG E\ SUHVHQW QHHGV DQG IXWXUH HFL¿FLPDJHRIWKHSDVWLQWXUQ QRW DLPHG DW D FRPSUHKHQVLYH XQG ,GHQWLWlW LQ GHU JULHFKLVFKHQ WHDFKHV¿UVWDQGVHFRQGOHYHO0$ VWPRQRJUDSK/H*XHUUH3HUVLDQH Trento 2017 Quaderni 7 ! ! COMITATO SCIENTIFICO Andrea Giorgi (coordinatore) Giuseppe Albertoni Fulvia de Luise Sandra Pietrini Il presente volume è stato sottoposto a procedimento di peer review. Collana Quaderni n. 7 Direttore: Andrea Giorgi Segreteria di redazione: Lia Coen © 2017 Università degli Studi di Trento - Dipartimento di Lettere e Filosofia Via Tommaso Gar 14 - 38122 TRENTO Tel. 0461-281777 Fax 0461 281751 http:// http://www.lettere.unitn.it/222/collana-quaderni e-mail: editoria@lett.unitn.it ISBN 978-88-8443-771-6 Finito di stampare nel mese di dicembre 2017 ! ! Conflict in Communities. Forward-looking Memories in Classical Athens edited by Elena Franchi and Giorgia Proietti Università degli Studi di Trento Dipartimento di Lettere e Filosofia ! ! ! ! TABLE OF CONTENTS Acknowledgements 7 Introduction by Elena Franchi, Giorgia Proietti 9 JAN ZACHARIAS VAN ROOKHUIJZEN, Where Aglauros Once Fell Down. The Memory Landscape of the Persian Siege of the Acropolis 27 GIORGIA PROIETTI, Fare i conti con la guerra. Forme del discorso civico ad Atene nel V secolo (con uno sguardo all'età contemporanea) 69 BERND STEINBOCK, The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 109 MIRKO CANEVARO, La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 171 MATTEO BARBATO, Using the Past to Shape the Future: Ancestors, Institutions and Ideology in Aeschin. 2.74-78 213 ELENA FRANCHI, La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 255 Contributors 289 Index of Ancient Sources 293 General Index 299 ! ! ! ! ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS As our two previous volumes of the same series (Forme della memoria e dinamiche identitarie nell’antichità greco-romana, 2012, and Guerra e memoria, 2014), this book originated in the intellectually stimulating environment of the LabSA (Laboratorio di Storia Antica) at the University of Trento. Since 2010, this research group has provided a forum for young and established Greek and Roman historians to engage continuously with each other’s ideas on several topics of common interest. Lately our discussions have focused not only on the relationship between the memory of the past and present needs, which was at the core of the two preceding volumes, but also on the relations of the past with future perspectives and expectations, while the milieu where social memories were contested and the aftermath of such conflicts are still very much at the centre of our endeavour. All the essays collected in this volume deal with Classical Athens. According to the philological approach which is staunchly pursued in the scholarly environment of the LabSA, literary, epigraphic and archaeological evidence is both the starting point and the focus of each chapter. At the same time, documents are examined anew by combining this evidencebased approach with the theoretical and methodological engagement with the social sciences that characterizes the scientific approach of our research group. The essays featured in this volume explore different aspects of the relationship between the past and the future which can be variously traced within the 8 Acknowledgements Athenian civic community in a context of conflict and/or its aftermath. By combining a traditional focus on the ancient evidence with a memory studies approach, all of the contributors try to answer the same question: how were collective memories of the past influenced by present needs and future perspectives and expectations? And how does a specific image of the past in turn influence its future receptions and uses? While not aimed at a comprehensive treatment, this volume strives to show the way towards further investigation of this intriguing subject through a series of case studies. We would like to thank the staff of the Department of Humanities for their technical and administrative assistance, as well as the editorial committee of the series ‘Quaderni’, especially its director Prof. Andrea Giorgi, for having this volume positively assessed!and accepting it for publication, and Lia Coen for her editorial assistance. Last but not least, our warmest thank goes to our ‘Maestro’, Prof. Maurizio Giangiulio, for his constant support and valuable pieces of advice. Elena Franchi Giorgia Proietti ELENA FRANCHI - GIORGIA PROIETTI INTRODUCTION* 1. Remembering the Past, with an Eye to the Future: War Memorials, Inscriptions, and the Monumental Landscape ! That the future represents an important component of the Greeks’ concept of temporality – viewed, according to its use in the social sciences, as the social conception and organization of time – emerges from several hints. The ancient Greeks turned to a variety of means to know the future, from astrology to oneiromancy, from ornithomancy to hieromancy, from dreams to oracles. Rites performed for the war dead – a social practice which had a striking importance in the Greek world – did not only represent an act of commemoration, but also an action for the future, meant to assuage the souls of the deceased. The same holds for the sacrifices dedicated to heroes and gods, which had the goal to achieve their future benevolence. The concern for the post-mortem fate of the dead is widely documented, as it gave rise to a variety of eschatological images and concepts. War memorials, political monuments, inscriptions, honorific decrees, public speeches such as the logoi epitaphioi, evoking the memory of the past, clearly conveyed messages which spoke to the future visitor, reader or listener.1 There are even cases where !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! * Section 1 was written by Giorgia Proietti, section 2 by Elena Franchi. We wish to thank Bernd Steinbock for his valuable comments. 10 Elena Franchi - Giorgia Proietti the evocation of the past admittedly played a prominent role of exemplum for the future, while its commemorative function was only secondary: one could think for instance of the statues of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, in the Athenian agora, which conveyed a specific anti-tyrannic message to the Athenian citizen who was going to express his vote at the ostrakophoria.2 Last but not least, the primary function of poetry, and certainly Herodotus’ historiography, was the kleos aphthiton, the immortal fame of past actions, that were meant to reach an endless future. Despite its omnipresence in the ancient evidence for the Greeks’ conception of time, the future has never been investigated per se by modern scholarship, who has actually been focused in the last couple of decades on the investigation of the past, or on how the Greeks perceived, remembered and constructed their past. A quick glance to modern literature dealing with the Greeks’ temporality, from Momigliano’s contribution in the 60s to Rosen’s and Clarke’s more recent studies, will reveal a clear displacement of the future in favour of the past: in other terms, to investigate the Greeks’ relation with time has traditionally meant to analyse their conception of the past.3 It was in the middle of my own investigation of this hotly debated topic, i.e. how the Greeks dealt with their past, that I realized that the sphere of the future is consistently underestimated: in front of the – now widespread – awareness !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It will suffice to recall the use of !"#$ in the inscriptions accompanying tombs and war memorials, which explicitly prefigures the future reception setting(s) of the text: see Wade-Gery 1933 (“when the monuments were erected, the events had already fallen into perspective”, 73; “to the long futurity of readers, !"#$ will qualify the whole story [...]: for the poet, it must refer to things which, at the moment at which he writes, have definitely receded into the past”, 76-77). 2 Di Cesare 2014, 1064. 3 Momigliano 1982 [1966]; Rosen 2004; Clarke 2008. 1 Introduction 11 of the reconstructive nature of social memory,4 it must in fact be noted that while the connection between the reconstruction of the past and present needs has been deeply investigated, the link between past events and future goals, perspectives and expectations has only rarely been examined. 5 The scarce attention paid to the future has seemed to me a missed opportunity to comprehensively understand several aspects that characterized the Greeks’ attitude towards history. To take the Greeks’ attitude towards the future into account allows in fact to grab new colours and nuances concerning several social practices in the Greek world, especially regarding wars and conflicts in general, which were the privileged subject of public discourse, inscriptions, monuments, and historiographical narratives.6 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 4 The social and reconstructive character of memory and its intrinsic connection with the present are the core key of the theoretical and methodological change in paradigm that originated from the engagement of historical research with the social sciences, from the so called sociology of memory to the anthropology of oral tradition: cf. most recently Giangiulio 2007; 2010; Proietti 2012a; 2012b; Franchi 2014. 5 An exception which is worth mentioning is the thread of research which, starting from a literary approach, examines Greek historiography through the combination between narratological models and Koselleck’s historical semantics, especially the concept of vergangene Zukunft, or ‘futures past’ (Koselleck 2004 [1979]). See Grethlein 2013; 2014; 2016, and generally the essays collected in Lianeri 2016a: apart from Grethlein 2016, the introduction by the editor (Lianeri 2016b) and the essay by Greenwood (Greenwood 2016) are particularly notable. See also Dorati 2017, which, though focused on Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex, appears to be of general interest concerning the topic of the ‘finestre sul futuro’. On the socio-anthropological side of historical research, a notable exception to the lack of interest concerning the future is Luraghi 2010, which specifically engages with the interaction between memory, present needs and future goals, in relation with honorific practice, a social custom of great importance in Greek life, as well as Lambert 2010, concerning the “paideutic engagement with the past” (p. 236), which characterized monumental epigraphy, especially that on the Acropolis, in Lycourgan Athens. ! 6 On the link between war and memory, and the multiplicity of historical, socio-anthropological, psychological, and identity-related dynamics originated from conflicts see Franchi-Proietti 2014, with a wide bibliography. ! 12 Elena Franchi - Giorgia Proietti This volume, therefore, strives to bring to the fore a perspective which is undeniably present in Greek social practices, especially regarding war and its aftermath: far from being displaced in favour of the past, the ancient Greeks always kept an eye wide open towards the future. The obsession with memory and its frailty, which Ryszard Kapusçinski (rightly!) ascribes to Herodotus and his generation,7 are nothing else than the expression of their need to look at the same time back to the past, and far, forth to the future. The first three essays (Rookhuijzen, Proietti, Steinbock) deal mainly with monuments and inscriptions, and the corresponding public discourse. In the wake of the wide attention that has recently been paid to the relationship between memory and space in the ancient world,8 they all show how the epigraphic and monumental landscape, and the corresponding cognitive topography, can be described as the result of a dynamic interplay between the memory of the past and future perspectives and expectations.9 Rookhuijzen’s essay examines through the filter of memory Herodotus’ topography of the Persian sack of the Acropolis in 480: he argues that it cannot be considered as an accurate description of the event, but is instead the result of a process of topo-poiesis which occurred at the level of oral tradition, folklore, and collective imagery. The social memory underlying Herodotus’ account had in fact connected Xerxes’ invasion to four places in or around the Acropolis, which already were famous landmarks and had specific mythological connections !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 7 Kapu!ci"ski 2005, 76-77.! See e.g. Alcock 2002; Ma 2009. 9 The perspective adopted in Luraghi 2010, focusing on the ‘demos as narrator’ in the Athenian megistai timai starting from the end of the 4th century BC, is analogous: before reminding the actions and qualities of the honorand, “the monumentalised text of a decree could (also) serve to stabilise for the future the memory of events – or rather, the demos’ version thereof” (Luraghi 2010, 257). For the concept of cognitive topography see Zerubavel 1997; 2003. 8 Introduction 13 which helped to associate the Persian invasion with them. Social memory concerning these four mnemotopes thus determined the future representation of the Acropolis and the contents of the stories which were (allegedly) set there. Proietti’s essay investigates the strategies through which the Athenian civic community, during the nearly permanent state of war that characterized the Pentecontaetia, shaped both the monumental landscape and public discourse according to a double aim: on the one hand, to cope with war trauma, and especially with the dramatic consequences of both the Persian sack of the city and the ongoing human losses; on the other hand, to provide citizens further incentives to fight, i.e. renewed reasons to accept and participate in future wars. Athens’ military hyperactivity during the Pentecontaetia in fact cannot be understood without considering the overall underlying strategy which counterbalanced the war effort and sufferings required of the Athenian citizens with future profits. Steinbock examines the Athenians’ contested and problematic social memory of Nikias and argues that the absence of the general’s name from the 412 BC casualty list – mentioned by Philistus and attested, centuries later, by Pausanias (1.29.12) – reflects (notwithstanding Thucydides’ eulogy) the predominantly hostile attitude towards Nicias in the aftermath of the Sicilian expedition. The positive image of Nikias that we can grasp in several 4th century sources is due to mechanisms typical of social memory: over time certain details fade from common historical consciousness, while others are added or emphasized according to present societal needs. Military defeats can be turned into moral victories, and failures attributed to external adversities. Even the disastrous Sicilian expedition could thus be downplayed and integrated into the idealized version of Athenian history, and the reputation of Nikias incidentally be rehabilitated. ! 14 Elena Franchi - Giorgia Proietti 2. Plotting the Future in the Forensic and Deliberative Arena ! In investigating the relevance of mediatic frameworks of memory on the one hand, and of the remembrance of war on the other, 10 I came across a speech given on July 3, 1982 by Margaret Thatcher at a Conservative Rally in Cheltenham in the aftermath of the Falklands War (a ten-week war between Argentina and the United Kingdom over two British overseas territories in the South Atlantic). I quote the most relevant passages: Today we meet in the aftermath of the Falklands Battle. Our country has won a great victory and we are entitled to be proud. This nation had the resolution to do what it knew had to be done- to do what it knew was right. […] Now that it is all over, things cannot be the same again for we have learned something about ourselves- a lesson which we desperately needed to learn. […] The lesson of the Falklands is that Britain has not changed and that this nation still has those sterling qualities which shine through our history. This generation can match their fathers and grandfathers in ability, in courage, and in resolution. We have not changed. When the demands of war and the dangers to our own people call us to arms – then we British are as we have always been: competent, courageous and resolute. […] That is the Falklands Factor. We have proved ourselves to ourselves. It is a lesson we must not now forget. Indeed it is a lesson which we must apply to peace just as we have learned it in war. The faltering and the selfdoubt has given way to achievement and pride. We have the confidence and we must use it. […] All over Britain, men and women are asking – why can't we achieve in peace what we can do so well in war? […] During this past week, I have read again a little known speech of Winston Churchill, made just after the last war. This is what he said: “We must find the means and the method of working together not only in times of war, and mortal anguish, but in times of peace, with all its bewilderments and clamour and clatter of tongues.” 11 Later in the same speech, Thatcher contrasts the excellent performance of the soldiers with the rail workers’ strikes. It seems quite clear that her speech represents the Falklands War !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 10 11 The results are forthcoming in Franchi 2018a and 2018b, respectively. Thatcher 1982, passim. Introduction 15 by using the templates of the 2nd World War in order to revive the national military myth and, furthermore, that this representation is used, in turn, to plot future scenarios in favour of the interests of the nation. "# Recently, some pioneering studies have started investigating similar dynamics with reference to ancient historiographical, literary, epigraphical, and archaeological media. "$ Thatcher’s discourse has led me to wonder if another valuable milieu where specific versions of the past and of past conflicts were articulated in order to plot some future scenarios is the forensic and deliberative arena- in ancient history, too. The orator’s attitude towards the past has been extensively investigated so far. 14 Recent studies have shown that by recalling past events orators always had their audiences’ expectations in mind. 15 This does not imply that the Attic orations are to be dismissed as sources for history: indeed, they often are our only source for oral memories otherwise not available in written sources. 16 Yet, one has to take possible manipulations 17 into account and, more generally, the performative framework, which in turn influenced the orator’s use of the past, both intentionally and unintentionally.18 It is usually assumed that the orators using the past were well aware of the fact that their audience shared the memory they !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 12 See Danilova 2015, 20ff. Kullmann 1992; Ulf 2003; Holtoff-Howard 2006; Luraghi 2010; Kamash 2016. See above, n. 5. 14 See e.g. Perlman 1961; Nouhaud 1982; Harding 1987; Thomas 1989, 101-102; Todd 1990; Worthington 1994; Milns 1995; Paulsen 1999; Bearzot 2008, 87; Clarke 2008, 245-303; Grethlein 2010, 132; Canevaro 2013; Steinbock 2013, 73; Franchi 2015; 2016, 138-168 and 252-268. 15 Bearzot 2008, 87; Grethlein 2010, 132; Barbato and Canevaro in this volume. 16 Cf. Thomas 1989, 101-102; Clarke 2008, 245-303; Steinbock 2013, 73; Canevaro in this volume. 17 Perlman 1961; Nouhaud 1982; Harding 1987; Worthington 1994; Milns 1995; Paulsen 1999. 18 Harding 1987; Todd 1990. 13 ! 16 Elena Franchi - Giorgia Proietti conveyed. 19 What is more, according to latest research, the orators consider the extent to which a specific memory was shared and tried to make the best out of their knowledge of possible gaps between their own memory and that of their audience: this allowed them to better sustain specific present needs. 20 Three papers of this volume try to go further and investigate the way in which orators exploited this gap by playing not only with the past but also with their audience’s expectations and fears for the future.21 Canevaro’s essay discusses the Attic orators’ allusion to shared cultural and historical memory. His point is that orators purport to be learned and acquainted with the cultural memory of the city because they were expected to be knowledgeable about the past as every Athenian citizen had to be: Aeschin. 1.141 and 3.135 on the memory of ancient poems by the community are particularly representative examples. This ‘shared’ memory partly explains the orators’ specific attitude towards the past and the ways in which they frequently evoke past event. Yet – and this is the most stimulating part of the paper – this memory is not completely shared: there is a gap between the knowledge of the orator and the knowledge of his audience, one or more forgotten parts that are missing points in a shared memory landscape. By counting on this gap the orator pushed his way through in order to freely shape these black holes – they are in fact open plots! Canevaro discusses many passages supporting this view, all of them showing that by introducing a past event through expressions like “as you [Athenians] know” the orators recalls a past event which everyone remembers, albeit only superficially, and this allows them to invent details and sell them as truth and part of a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 19 Thomas 1989; Ober 1989. See Clarke 2008, 245-303; Morstein-Marx 2004; Canevaro in this volume. 21 To my knowledge the tendency of the orators to construct the past with an eye to the future was neglected so far (with few exceptions, see e.g. Hesk 2009 or Greenwood 2016, 88-91). 20 Introduction 17 common understanding: D. 22.15 on a conflict against Sparta (374 BC?) and D. 15.9-10 on the liberation of Samos by Timotheus are particularly enlightening. But there is more. By filling open slots with invented details and fitting them into an alleged shared construction orators were able to heavily influence the community’s future expectations. By recalling old events and commemoration practices regarding individuals such as Themistocles and Miltiades and their role in conflicts, Demosthenes (D. 23.196-210) evoked what Jonas Grethlein defined as the ‘plupast’, i.e. events which took place prior to their narrative’s proper past (in this case, the affair of Aristocrates and Charidemus): 22 this ‘plupast’ had a specific function in Demosthenes’ rhetorical strategy, i.e. to change future commemorative attitudes and expectations of war of the Athenians. The ancestors’ ideological weight is also Barbato’s subject. The orators’ trend to exhort their audience to imitate their forefathers’ deeds and follow their example runs the risk of making Athenians’ future policies constantly re-enact past decisions and deeds that were glorious but sometimes also wrong. Yet orators were themselves able to avoid this risk and to evoke the ‘plupast’ as a reservoir of both positive and negative examples. One of Barbato’s case-studies is Aeschines’ speech On the embassy. A seminal article by Bernd Steinbock hightlighted how Aeschines here in fact launched a memory of the past competing with the prevalent one. Barbato goes further and draws attention to the institutional context of the speech. In both the assembly and the law courts the past was instrumental in guiding future choices and behaviour; to be effective, the representation of the past had to reflect, at least in part, the discursive parameters of this specific venue. By counter charging Demosthenes who portrayed his opponent as challenging the past glory of Athens (19.15-16) Aeschines pointed out that he not only encouraged the Athenians to !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 22 Grethlein-Krebs 2012, 2ff.! ! 18 Elena Franchi - Giorgia Proietti emulate their ancestors’ eubolia, but also warned them not to imitate their mistakes and untimely philonikia (2.74-78). Whereas the victory against the Persians and Tolmides’ march into the Peloponnese were positive examples, the Sicilian expedition and the refusal of Sparta’s peace terms were negative ones – both the orator and his audience know the negative aftermaths of these last events – they are a shared knowledge of futures past in Grethlein’s sense:23 both orator and audience evaluated these events in the light of later events still anterior to them. A representation of the past mixing positive and negative examples is likely to be familiar to the assembly where it was not unusual to discuss past mistakes (Barbato cites D. 1.8-9 and 3.5) that were perceived as a lesson for the future and therefore influenced policy-making. The speeches On the False Embassy and On the Embassy are also Franchi’s focus. She mostly concentrates on Demosthenes’ speech and investigates how he tried to influence Athenian future policies regarding the Macedonians by shaping the memory of the negotiations leading to the Peace of Philocrates and the fate of the Phocians. Scholarship is divided about the inclusion of the Phocians, which according to some were explicitly excluded with a specific clause. Franchi reconsiders the whole question by taking into account the historical, legal, performative and memorial context of the peace negotiations. According to Demosthenes, the Phocian question was discussed in different contexts: the embassies, the council and the assembly. The two most important audiences addressed by the orator were the assembly, where he pleaded for the Phocians (346), and a selection of dikastai (343), whom he reminded of his plea for the Phocians and charged Aeschines of having deceived both the Phocians and the Athenians. These two different debate contexts of the Phocian question trigger different modes of remembering and thus lead to the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 23 Grethlein 2013, 1-2 (and, for the concept, Koselleck 2004); Grethlein 2014; 2016. Introduction 19 construction of memories which were shared on different levels and with different degrees of familiarity. The clause !%&'( )%$*'( +,-( .*+$*' is likely to have been debated in the assembly in 346, whose members may coincide with the dikastai of the 343-trial in the context of a typical euthynai proceeding and therefore can remember what was debated and what was not. But other Phocian clauses quoted by Demosthenes as being surreptitiously added by Philocrates and Aeschines during the embassy, were invented in order to get Aeschines into trouble and to promote Demosthenes’ own policy. By exaggerating the mistreatment and alleged deceit of the Phocians, Demosthenes shaped the past in order to instil fear of the future, esp. of future wars, in the Athenians, who ran the risk of being deceived in the same way as the Phocians had been. The same recurrent phrases, applied both to the Phocians and to the Athenians, provided the Athenians with a useful frame of reference and featured their way to plot their future in a way that mutatis mutandis is similar to the one highlighted by Ulf in the Homeric epos or by Luraghi in Greek honorary decrees of the Hellenistic Age. 24 Again, the construction of narratives of the past shows itself to be shaped by expectations of the future. Bibliography Alcock 2002 S.E. Alcock, Archaeologies of the Greek Past: Landscape, Monuments, and Memories, Cambridge 2002. Bearzot 2008 C. Bearzot, La giustizia nella Grecia antica, Roma 2008. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 24 Ulf 2003, esp. 279ff; Luraghi 2010 (see above, n. 5). See also Kullmann 1992, who however concentrates on the future’s awareness of the events in the epic plot, and Chaniotis 2013 (on the adhortative function in inscriptions). ! 20 Elena Franchi - Giorgia Proietti Canevaro 2013 M. Canevaro, The Documents in the Attic Orators. Laws and Decrees in the Public Speeches of the Demosthenic Corpus, Oxford 2013. Chaniotis 2013 A. Chaniotis, “Mnemopoetik: die epigraphische Konstruktion von Erinnerung in den griechischen Poleis”, in O. Dahly-T. Hölscher-S. Muth-R. Schneider (Hrsg.), Medien der Geschichte. Antikes Griechenland und Rom, Berlin 2013, 132-169. Clarke 2008 K. Clarke, Making Time for the Past. Local History and the Polis, Oxford 2008. Danilova 2015 N. Danilova, The Politics of War Commemoration in the UK and Russia, Houndmills, Basingstoke 2015. Di Cesare 2014 R. Di Cesare, “Le ostracoforie e l’Agora”, in E. Greco (a cura di), Topografia di Atene. Sviluppo urbano e monumenti dalle origini al III secolo d.C. Tomo 3.II, Quartieri a nord e a nord-est dell’Acropoli e Agora del Ceramico, AtenePaestum 2014, 1063-1065. Foxhall-Gehrke-Luraghi 2010 L. Foxhall-H.-J. Gehrke-N. Luraghi (eds.), Intentional History. Spinning Time in Ancient Greece, Stuttgart 2010. Franchi 2014 E. Franchi, “Memory studies e classics”, in Franchi-Proietti 2014, 39-126. Franchi 2015 E. Franchi, “The Phocian Desperation and the ‘Third’ Sacred War”, Hormos 7 (2015), 49-71. Franchi 2016 E. Franchi, Die Konflikte zwischen Thessalern und Phokern. Krieg und Identität in der griechischen Erinnerungskultur des 4. Jhs., München 2016. Introduction 21 Franchi 2018a E. Franchi, “Media and Technology: Mediatic Frameworks of Memories in Ancient Times”, in B. Dignas (ed.), A Cultural History of Memory in Antiquity (800BC-AD 500), London 2018, forthcoming. Franchi 2018b E. Franchi, “Historical Remarks on why Societies Do Remember and Commemorate Wars (with an Appendix on Some Challenges Facing Scholars Engaged with Ancient History)”, in Giangiulio- Franchi-Proietti 2018, forthcoming. Franchi-Proietti 2012 E. Franchi-G. Proietti (a cura di), Forme della memoria e dinamiche identitarie nell’antichità greco-romana, Trento 2012. Franchi-Proietti 2014 E. Franchi-G. Proietti, “Guerra e memoria. Paradigmi antichi e moderni, tra polemologia e memory studies”, in E. FranchiG. Proietti (a cura di), Guerra e memoria nel mondo antico, Trento 2014, 17-139. Giangiulio 2007 M. Giangiulio, “Introduzione. Memoria, identità, storie”, in M. Giangiulio (a cura di), Storia dell’Europa e del Mediterraneo. Il mondo antico, II. La Grecia, III. Greci e Mediterraneo dall’VIII secolo all’età delle Guerre Persiane, Roma 2007, 17-42. Giangiulio 2010 M. Giangiulio, “Le società ricordano? Paradigmi e problemi della ‘memoria collettiva’ (a partire da Maurice Halbwachs)”, in M. Giangiulio, Memorie coloniali, Roma 2010, 29-43 (now translated, as well as slightly modified and updated, in Giangiulio-Franchi-Proietti 2018, forthcoming). ! 22 Elena Franchi - Giorgia Proietti Giangiulio-Franchi-Proietti 2018 M. Giangiulio-E. Franchi-G. Proietti (eds.), Commemorating War and War Dead. Ancient and Modern, Stuttgart 2018, forthcoming. Greenwood 2016 E. Greenwood, “Futures. Real and Unreal in Greek Historiography”, in Lianeri 2016a, 79-100. Grethlein 2010 J. Grethlein, The Greeks and their Past. Poetry, Oratory and History in the Fifth-Century BCE, Cambridge 2010. Grethlein 2013 J. Grethlein, Experience and Teleology in Ancient Historiography: ‘Futures Past’ from Herodotus to Augustine, Cambridge 2013. Grethlein 2014 J. Grethlein, “Future Past. Time and Teleology in (Ancient) Historiography”, History&Theory 53.3 (2014), 309-330. Grethlein 2016 J. Grethlein, “Ancient Historiography and ‘Future Past’”, in Lianeri 2016a, 59-78. Grethlein-Krebs 2012 J. Grethlein-Ch.B. Krebs, “The Historian’s “Plupast.” A Theoretical Introduction” in Ch.B. Krebs-J. Grethlein (eds.), Time and Narrative in Ancient Historiography: The ‘Plupast’ from Herodotus to Appian, Cambridge-New York 2012, 1-16. Harding 1987 Ph. Harding, “Rhetoric and Politics in Fourth-Century Athens”, Phoenix 41 (1987), 25-39. Hesk 2009 J. Hesk, “Types of Oratory”, in E. Gunderson (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Rhetoric, Cambridge 2009, 145-161. Introduction 23 Holtorf-Howard 2006 C. Holtorf-W. Howard, “Landscapes and Memories”, in D. Hicks-M.C. Beaudry (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to Historical Archaeology, Cambridge 2006, 235-254. Kamash 2016 Z. Kamash, “Memories of the Past in Roman Britain”, in M. Millett-L. Revell-A. Moore (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Roman Britain, Oxford 2016, 681-696. Kapu!ci"ski 2005 R. Kapu!ci"ski, In viaggio con Erodoto, Milano 2005 [2004]. Koselleck 2004 R. Koselleck, Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time, New York 2004. Kullmann 1992 V. Kullmann, “Vergangenheit und Zukunft in der Ilias”, in V. Kullmann (Hrsg.), Homerische Motive. Beiträge zur Entstehung, Eigenart und Wirkung von Ilias und Odyssee, Stuttgart 1992, 219-242. Lambert 2010 S.D. Lambert, “Connecting with the Past in Lykourgan Athens: An Epigraphical Perspective”, in Foxhall-GehrkeLuraghi 2010, 225-238. Lianeri 2016a A. Lianeri (ed.), Knowing Future Time in and through Greek Historiography, Berlin 2016. Lianeri 2016b A. Lianeri, “The Futures of Greek Historiography”, in Lianeri 2016a, 1-58. Luraghi 2010 N. Luraghi, “The ‘Demos as Narrator’: Public Honors and the Construction of Future and Past”, in Foxhall-GehrkeLuraghi 2010, 247-263. ! 24 Elena Franchi - Giorgia Proietti Ma 2009 J. Ma, “The City as Memory”, in B. Graziosi - G. BoysStone - P. Vasunia (eds.), Oxford Handbook of Hellenic Studies, Oxford 2009, 248-259. Milns 1995 R.D. Milns, “Historical Paradigms in Demosthenes’ Public Speeches”, Electronic Antiquity 2.5 (1995) (https://scholar. lib.vt.edu/ejournals/ElAnt/V2N5/milns.html, last accessed 30.06.2017). Momigliano 1982 [1966] A. Momigliano, “Il tempo nella storiografia antica”, in A. Momigliano, La storiografia greca, Torino 1982, 64-94. Morstein-Marx 2004 R. Morstein-Marx, Oratory and Political Power in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge 2004. Nouhaud 1982 M. Nouhaud, L’utilisation de l’histoire par les orateurs attiques, Paris 1982. Ober 1989 J. Ober, Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens. Rhetoric, Ideology, and the Power of the People, Princeton 1989. Paulsen 1999 Th. Paulsen, Die Parapresbeia-Reden des Demosthenes und des Aeschines, Trier 1999. Perlman 1961 S. Perlman, “The Historical Example, its Use and Importance in the Attic Orators”, Scripta Hierosolymitana 7 (1961), 150166. Proietti 2012a G. Proietti, “Memoria collettiva e identità etnica. Nuovi paradigmi teorico-metodologici nella ricerca storica”, in Franchi-Proietti 2012, 13-41. Introduction 25 Proietti 2012b G. Proietti, “Prospettive socio-antropologiche sull’arcaismo greco: la storiografia erodotea tra tradizione orale e ‘storia intenzionale’”, in Franchi-Proietti 2012, 181-206. Rosen 2004 R.M. Rosen, Time and Temporality in the Ancient World, Philadelphia 2004. Steinbock 2013 B. Steinbock, “Contesting the Lessons of the Past: Aeschines’ Use of Social Memory”, TAPhA 142 (2013), 65103. Thatcher 1982 M. Thatcher, “Speech to Conservative Rally at Cheltenham”, Thatcher Archive, CCOPR 486/82: https://www. margaretthatcher.org/document/104989 (last accessed on 18 November 2017). Thomas 1989 R. Thomas, Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens, Cambridge-New York 1989. Todd 1990 S. Todd, “The Use and Abuse of the Attic Orators”, G&R 37 (1990), 159-178. Ulf 2003 Ch. Ulf, “Was ist und was will ‘Heldenepik’: Bewahrung der Vergangenheit oder Orientierung für Gegenwart und Zukunft?”, in Ch. Ulf, Der neue Streit um Troia. Eine Bilanz, München 2003, 262-284. Wade-Gery 1933 H.T. Wade-Gery, “Classical Epigrams and Epitaphs. A Study of the Kimonian Age”, JHS 54 (1933), 71-104. Worthington 1994 I. Worthington, “History and Oratorical Exploitation”, in I. Worthington (ed.), Persuasion: Greek Rhetoric in Action, London-New York 1994, 109-129. ! 26 Elena Franchi - Giorgia Proietti Zerubavel 1997 E. Zerubavel, Social Mindscapes. An Invitation to Cognitive Sociology, Cambridge Mass. 1997. Zerubavel 2003 E. Zerubavel, Time Maps. Collective Memory and the Social Shape of the Past, Chicago-Ill. 2003. JAN ZACHARIAS VAN ROOKHUIJZEN WHERE AGLAUROS ONCE FELL DOWN.1 THE MEMORY LANDSCAPE OF THE PERSIAN SIEGE OF THE ACROPOLIS Abstract When Herodotus visited the Acropolis around 430 BC, some fifty years after Xerxes’ invasion of Greece, he interacted with the very places on and near the Acropolis where the Persians had violently assaulted the Athenians and their buildings: the Areopagus, the sanctuary of Aglauros, the !"#$%&', and Athena’s holy olive tree. He endeavored to substantiate his claims about the siege by pointing at those spots in his text, thereby creating a topographical narrative which is usually seen as an accurate reflection of historical events. But can we unproblematically take this ‘topography’ as such? In line with accumulating research which highlights the importance of the perspective of memory in understanding Herodotus’ work, this chapter argues that the perspective of memory is beneficial in understanding the topography in his accounts of the Persian Wars, and that folklore and local oral traditions play an important role in the establishment of this topography. Following Jan Assmann, I use the term mnemotope to describe such specific places where a particular event had allegedly happened. It will appear that the memory of the past was anchored in these places, and that they guided future representations of the event. In this process, Herodotus’ account functioned as a catalyst. Keywords: Athens - Acropolis - Herodotus - Persian Wars - mnemotopes. The Acropolis of Athens is a place where memories of the past and expectations of the future seem inextricably cast in the 1 This article has benefited from discussions with Onno van Nijf, Gloria Pinney, Nino Luraghi and my PhD supervisors. I am thankful to audiences at the Royal Netherlands Institute in Rome, Rutgers University, the University of Konstanz, and McGill University for many helpful comments. 28 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen stone of its monuments, and interwoven into its rocky landscape. The most important of these memories is that of the Persian siege, which a visitor to the Acropolis can still reexperience on the spot, nearly 2,500 years after the events. In 480 BC, Athens was the main prize of king Xerxes I, who had set out from modern Iran to conquer Greece, but eventually failed at his attempt, being defeated in the battles of Salamis and Plataea. Xerxes did, however, lay siege to the Acropolis and managed to destroy the buildings on it completely; or so goes the account told by Herodotus. When Herodotus, our only full source, visited the Acropolis around 430 BC,2 some fifty years post eventum, his perspective was not wholly different from that of the modern visitor. He, too, interacted with the very places on and near the Acropolis where the Persians had violently assaulted the Athenians and their buildings. He endeavoured to substantiate his claims about the siege by pointing at those spots in his text, thereby creating a topographical narrative which is usually seen as an accurate reflection of historical events. But can we unproblematically take this ‘topography’ as historical? In line with accumulating research which highlights the importance of the perspective of memory in understanding Herodotus’ work, I argue that this perspective is instrumental in understanding the topography in his accounts of the Persian Wars, and that folklore and local oral traditions play an important role the establishment of this topography. 3 These traditions, claiming truths about the past, in fact arise under the 2 Herodotus’ stay in Athens, and his sentiments toward that city, is a much-discussed topic; see e.g. Jacoby 1913, 237, 251, 359; Strasburger 1955; Waters 1985, 121-125; Moles 2002. 3 van Rookhuijzen 2017a; 2017b. See e.g. Luraghi 2001, 149-150 for the idea that the information which Herodotus’ local informants would have conveyed should be understood in terms of memory. Especially notable is the work of Giorgia Proietti (e.g. 2012), which highlights that the perspective of memory is a crucial instrument for understanding the account of the Persian Wars as recounted by Herodotus. Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 29 influence of, and are heavily coloured by present concerns and expectations for the future. In the fifth century BC, the past and the expected future were marked by the continued presence and conflict with the Achaemenid Empire. Against this background, the stories about the Persian siege were reshaped and dramatised so as to stereotype the Persians as treacherous, and to make history resonate with myth. This paper discusses the Persian siege of the Acropolis anew from a memory perspective. Following Jan Assmann,4 I will use the term mnemotope to describe specific places where a particular event had allegedly happened. I will explain how in the period between 480 BC and Herodotus’ writing, memories of Xerxes’ invasion came to be connected to four mnemotopes on or near the Acropolis: the Areopagus, the sanctuary of Aglauros, the !"#$%&', and the olive tree at the Erechtheion. All of these sites were not only famous landmarks, but some of them also had pre-existing mythological associations that helped to associate the Persian invasion with them. Herodotus’ topographical narrative can be seen as a codification of this reshaped past, that would guide future perceptions of the Persian siege, not only in Antiquity itself, but also that of later scholarship. 1. The Areopagus Herodotus tells us that the Persians were stationed on the Areopagus during their siege of the Athenian citadel (8.52): ()* +,* -"%.$/0* )12!3'&/* 456* 78'* 9$7$'7:&'* 7;<* =9%&52>/&<* ?@A&'* 78'* BAC'$D&/* 9$>"&E./* B%F/&'* 5G#&'0* 45&>/2%93&'* 7%25&'* 7&/2'+3H* I9J<* .7E553D&'* 53%6* 7&K<* LM.7&K<* 53%/N A"'73<*OP3/$'0*472Q3E&'*4<*78*R%G#!$S*T'A$U7$*BAC'$:J'* &)* 5&>/&%932!3'&/* I!J<* V!W'&'7&0* 9$:53%* 4<* 78* X.@$7&'* 9$9&U* =5/#!"'&/* 9$6* 7&U* R%G#!$7&<* 5%&+3+J927&<H* &Y+,* 4 Assmann 1992, 59-60. 30 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen >2#&E<*7Z'*-3/./.7%$7/+"J'*5%&.R3%2'7J'*53%6*[!&>&#:C<* 4'3+"9&'7&0* =!E'2!3'&/* +,* \>>$* 73* ='73!C@$'Z'7&* 9$6* +]* 9$6*5%&./2'7J'*7Z'*^$%^G%J'*5%8<*7_<*5W>$<*L>&/7%2@&E< =5:3.$'H* `.73* a"%QC'* 456* @%2'&'* .E@'8'* =5&%:b./* 4'N "@3.A$/0*&Y*+E'G!3'2'*.R3$<*c>3D'S* The Persians occupied the rock opposite the Acropolis which the Athenians call the Hill of Ares, and tried to besiege it in the following manner: they put hemp around their arrows, lighted them, and fired them towards the fence. There, those of the Athenians who were besieged, were still defending themselves, although they had arrived to the worst of evil and the fence had given in. Nor, when the Peisistratids were offering them words about a truce, did they accept these, and they devised other things while defending themselves, and even when the Barbarians came close to the gates they rolled down disc-shaped stones, so that Xerxes for a long time did not know what to do, as he could not capture them. (here and hereafter all translations are by the author) The Areopagus is the rocky outcropping directly in front of the Propylaea of the Acropolis.5 We should not doubt that there was a Persian siege of the Acropolis. However, Herodotus seems to provide a simple picture in imagining the Persians at the Areopagus, and only there: even if only a fraction of Herodotus’ numbers of the Persian troops is correct, the Persian ‘base’ surely extended much beyond the hill itself, which would fit perhaps only a few hundred men. Moreover, the rocky hill can hardly be regarded a very convenient base. But when, fifty years after the battle, a visitor to Athens would ask ‘where the Persians had been’, the Areopagus was what the answer would have amounted to. Apparently, the Areopagus, a convenient landmark, had become a mnemotope of the siege. There may have been more mnemotopes for this part of the account. There is in particular reason to believe that objects which lay in the valley between the Acropolis and the Areopagus were thought to have been thrown down from the Acropolis by defending Athenians: at the Acropolis north slope there is today a large 5 See already Leake 1821, 36-38 for the identification. See Longo-Tofi 2010 for a topographical investigation of the Areopagus. Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 31 column drum, perhaps a leftover from the Parthenon.6 I propose that it may be one of the very ‘disc-shaped stones’ (L>&:7%&@&/) which inspired the story that Herodotus records. 7 A similar process was at work in Delphi, where boulders in the temenos of Athena Pronaia were ‘evidence’ for the intervention of Apollo himself during the Persian siege (Hdt. 8.39). Was the column drum in Athens really thrown down by defending Athenians? It is difficult to say. It is equally possible that fifty years later, this or similar objects may have acquired a role in local touristic lore, which subsequently reached visitors such as Herodotus.8 6 This and another column drum were excavated by Broneer (1935, 120121) on the north slope, northeast of the Erechtheion. He assigned them, like the other column drums in the Acropolis north wall, to the Older Parthenon. The two drums excavated by Broneer perhaps never arrived at the top of the Acropolis to be thrown down during the siege, but were simply left at the slope. Broneer himself notes, regarding the better preserved one, that “It remains a mystery how it rolled down the rocky, precipitous hill without breaking to pieces, although the marble was already cracked in the fire”, p. 120). 7 The obscure word L>&:7%&@&< is given by LSJ as ‘large stone, boulder’, but its etymology with L>&:N related to 3d>"J ‘to roll’ or ‘to compress’ (cf. Bowie 2007, 139) or ?>>E!/ ‘destroy’, and 7%&@2<, which denotes various circular objects such as wheels, as well as the word’s alternative definition as 78* 9E>/'+%/98'* .@;!$ (Democr. 162) suggest that a translation ‘discshaped stone’, or perhaps ‘millstone’ is to be preferred. 8 For the belief that the Athenians really hurled down rocks from the Acropolis (taken from the Mycenaean fortification), see e.g. Mylonas Shear 1999, 119-120; Bowie 2007, 139. 32 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen Fig. 1. The Areopagus (right) in relation to the Acropolis. All photos are by the author. Because the Areopagus was such a recognizable landmark in the topography of Athens, its mnemotopical potential was enormous. The stories recorded as taking place here often feature a theme of death and vengeance, which is perhaps not surprising given the (folk-?)etymological connection of the hill’s name with the word =%F ‘bane’, or with the numina derived from that word: the Arai (also known as the Erinyes), the goddesses of vengeance, and Ares, the god of warfare. 9 As such, the Areopagus was considered the high criminal court of Athens in mythical times: Ares himself was put on a divine trial here for killing Poseidon’s son Halirrothios, as was Orestes for killing his mother Clytaemnestra.10 A grave of Oedipus was pointed out on the rock, 9 For the worship of the Arai see Paus. 1.28.6. On the connection with Ares see Blok 1995, 182-183. 10 Ares’ trial: Hellanicus FGrHist. 4 F 169a; Paus. 1.28.5. Orestes’ trial: A. Eum.; Paus. 1.28.5. Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 33 and there existed a tradition that Oreïthyia was abducted from it by Boreas.11 Furthermore, it was here that Paul the Apostle is believed to have delivered his sermon to the Athenians, asking them to abandon the pagan gods.12 But there had once been other occupants of the Areopagus, who may have played a role in the imaginary (though not necessarily unhistorical) placement of the Persians on the Areopagus: the Amazons. This had happened during the so-called Attic War, when the famous warrior women had attempted to free their queen Antiope, whom Theseus had taken to Athens.13 Like the Persians, the Amazons were thought to have made their basecamp on the Areopagus. As such, it appears already in Aeschylus’ Eumenides (681-95). The passage is worth quoting in full as it gives an impression of how the notion of the Areopagus as a place of ‘crime’ was a suitable one to connect to the Amazon siege: Hear my institution, people of Attica, judging the first trial for the pouring of blood. This council of judges will always be there in the future for the people of Aigeus. This hill of Ares, the seat of the Amazons and their camps, when they marched in hate of Theseus, they made a fortification opposite against this citadel, just-founded and high-towered, and they offered to Ares; hence this rock is nicknamed Ares’ hill. On this rock, the Piety of citizens and its relative Fear will guard against illegal activities, both by day and night, when they do not innovate the laws of those same citizens. By defiling clear water with bad currents and filth, you will never find a drink. Around the conspicuous rock, various other places had an alleged Amazon pedigree. 14 These included graves 15 and a 11 Oedipus’ grave: Val. Max. 5.3; Paus. 1.28.7. The abduction of Oreïthyia: Pl. Phdr. 229d. 12 Acts 17.19-34. 13 Apollod. Epit. 1.16. 14 There exists a vast literature on the topography of this area and the mythological associations of the places mentioned below, which cannot be reproduced here. See the articles in the monumental Topografia di Atene vols. 1 (2010) and 2 (2011) (ed. by Emanuele Greco) with extensive further literature. 34 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen mysterious Amazoneion, which may have amounted to fortifications thought to have left behind by the Amazons, to their graves, or to something else.16 Plutarch also mentions a place called the Horkomosion close to the temple of Theseus, called after the oath sworn at the end of the war. 17 Such mnemotopes constituted material proof for the idea that the Amazons had based themselves in this part of the city, as Plutarch states explicitly (Thes. 27.2): “that [the Amazons] encamped in the city itself is evidenced also by the names of the places and the graves of those that fell.” In addition, the Areopagus was not too far from the Theseion and the Stoa Poikile, both of which had paintings of the Amazonomachy,18 and it seems significant that the west metopes of the Parthenon, 15 Plutarch (Thes. 27.2-5) specifies that Amazons were buried at the Amazoneion, and on both sides of the street which led to the gate of Piraeus. Furthermore, Molpadia had a stele close to the temple of Olympian Ge (at the Olympieion). Graves of Antiope and Molpadia were also seen by Pausanias (1.2.1). Mayor 2014, 275-277 surmises that ancient Mycenaean and Dark Age burials were reinterpreted by later Greeks as hero or Amazon graves. 16 Diodorus Siculus (4.28.1-4) and Plutarch (Thes. 27, basing himself on Kleidemos of Athens = FGrHist. 323 F 1) preserve a tradition according to which the left wing of the Amazons took position here (while the right wing was oriented towards the Pnyx near Chrysa). This Amazoneion was close to the Mouseion, because it was here that the Athenians were stationed. Herodianus (De prosodia catholica 374) and Stephanus Byzantius (Ethnica s.v. B!$12'3/&') simply state that the Amazoneion was the place where Theseus had beaten the Amazons. If this ‘place of the Amazons’ was at the Areopagus, as has been proposed (Judeich 1931, 300) we may carefully posit that the Areopagus contained architectural structures amounting to a 5W%#&< which were thought to date to the Amazonian invasion of Athens (in the fragment quoted above, Aeschylus notes that the Amazons ‘fortified’ (='735W%#J.$') the hill ‘against’ the Acropolis). Robertson (1992, 137) thought that the Amazoneion amounted to nothing more than a grave stele, and put the Amazoneion southwest of the Olympieion. 17 The Horkomosion, whose location has long been unknown but is now sometimes located on the east side of the Acropolis (e.g. Robertson 1998, 284; 295-298). 18 For the Theseion, see Paus. 1.17.4. For the Stoa Poikile, see Ar. Lys. 677-679; Paus. 1.15. Tyrrell 1984, 12 has suggested that the Theseion and the Stoa Poikile were the disseminators of the myth. Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 35 which depict the Amazonomachy, directly faced the Areopagus. 19 As such, in the later fifth century BC, the Areopagus was the centrepiece of what we may call a memory landscape of the Amazonomachy. But that memory landscape existed in tandem with that of the Persian siege. The topographical parallel of the Amazons and the Persians at the Areopagus fits their likening in other media. It may be true that Amazons in Greek art do not directly represent Persians,20 but the popularity of the myth may be directly connected to its function as a mythical precedent to the Persian invasion. In literature, the two enemies are occasionally correlated,21 and this connection may also explain the rise in popularity of the Amazonomachy in Athenian vase painting during the fifth century BC.22 Some further evidence can be found in depictions of Amazons in public buildings in Athens and elsewhere, most famously in the Stoa Poikile, where the painting of the Amazonomachy was juxtaposed to a depiction of the battle of Marathon.23 An even more crucial example is the shield of Pheidias’ cult statue of Athena Parthenos which stood inside the Parthenon and seems to have included a depiction of the Areopagus, as well as people throwing rocks. I propose that one or more rocks or column drums in the valley between the Acropolis and the Areopagus which, I suggested above, may 19 Cf. duBois 1982, 61-64; Tyrrell 1984, 19-21. Arafat 2013, 215; Mayor 2014, 280-283. 21 E.g. Isocrates (Panath. 193-195), where both Amazons and Persians feature in a long list of armies who had invaded Attica. On the role of the Amazons in Athenian oratory, see Tyrrell 1984, 13-19; 114-116. Pausanias also generalises the Amazonomachy as the first battle against eastern foes in 5.11.8 and 1.17.2 (on these passages cf. Arafat 2013, 13). On the role of the Amazons in Greek literature from the fifth century onwards, see Tyrrell 1984, 21-22. 22 Bovon (1963, 600) discusses the prominence of Amazons in Greek vase painting, attributing a rise in the popularity in the fifth century BC to mythicisation of the Persian invasion. 23 Ar. Lys. 677-679; Paus. 1.15; see further e.g. Tyrrell 1984, 12-13; Kousser 2009, 273. 20 36 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen have inspired the story that the Athenians had defended themselves by hurling down ‘millstones’, could have simultaneously had a similar function for the Amazonomachy.24 The myth of the Amazonomachy of Athens already existed before Herodotus’ work: he himself mentions it as part of the speech of the Athenians before the battle of Plataea (9.27). It also seems that it existed before the historical Persian invasion in 480 BC, because it was in use as a subject for vase painting in the late sixth century BC, and it probably appears at the same time in the sculpture of the temple at Eretria. The myth was the subject of a work by Pherecydes (cf. Plut. Thes. 26.1 = FGrHist. 3 F 151) and of an epic poem called the Theseid (cf. Plut. Thes. 28.1). There may even have been an archaic ‘mystery building’ on the Acropolis or its south slope, hypothesised on the basis of a high-relief metope of an Amazon found south of the Acropolis that could have belonged to a building destroyed by the Persians.25 Because Aeschylus’ Eumenides probably antedates Herodotus’ Histories, we know that the specific tradition according to which the Amazons had been based on the Areopagus probably also antedates Herodotus’ work. But we do not know whether this tradition already existed when the Persians historically came to Athens, in 480 BC. It therefore remains unclear whether the Amazons or the Persians came first to the Areopagus. The default option to follow is that the version of the tale featuring the Areopagus arose only after the Persian siege, as a mythical precedent to it.26 But it is also possible that the myth, including the Areopagus, already existed in the archaic period and had reshaped popular conceptions of 24 On the shield, see Kousser 2009, 277; Mayor 2014, 274. Harrison 1966, 129 suggested that the stone-throwing heroes on the Athena Parthenos shield were inspired by the rocks thrown at the Persians in 480 BC. However, it is also possible that the inspiration worked vice versa. 25 Hurwit 1999, 136, 169; Korres 1994b, 175-176. 26 E.g. Harrison 1966, 128-129; duBois 1982, 63-64; Tyrrell 1984, 9-21; Francis-Vickers 1988, 150; Hurwit 1999, 232. Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 37 the Persian attack. One scholar has, in fact, suggested that the story about the Persian siege could have been reinterpreted within the framework of the Amazon myth.27 The relationship may have been more complex: a tradition of the Athenian Amazonomachy, even if invented after the war as a precedent to them, may then in turn have reshaped popular conception of the historical event before Herodotus committed it to writing. A minimal conclusion is that the two traditions arose in conjunction. During that process, the mnemotopes for the Amazon siege could easily have been reused for the Persian siege. Subsequently, the narrative was included in Herodotus’ influential work, and shaped perceptions of his future (ancient and modern) audiences. This cemented the reputation of the Areopagus as the ‘hill of opposition’. 2. The Sanctuary of Aglauros The Persians were initially unsuccessful in their attempt to take the Acropolis, but the tide turned after they made an important discovery elsewhere (8.53): e%2'f* +g* 49* 7Z'* =52%J'* 4RG'C* +F* 7/<* X.&+&<* 7&D./* ^$%^GN %&/./H*X+33*#_%*9$7_*78*A3&5%25/&'*5h.$'*7]'*B77/9]'*7]'* 4'* 7i* V53:%f* #3'".A$/* j58* -"%.b./S* k!5%&.A3* l'* 7;<* =9%&52>/&<0* ?5/.A3* +,* 7Z'* 5E>"J'* 9$6* 7;<* ='2+&E0* 7i* +]* &m73* 7/<* 4RW>$..3* &m7g* n'* o>5/.3* !F* 9&7"* 7/<* 9$7_* 7$U7$* ='$^$:C*='A%p5J'0*7$W7b*='"^C.G'*7/'3<*9$7_*78*)%8'*7;<* q"9%&5&<* AE#$7%8<* B#>$W%&E0* 9$:53%* =5&9%F!'&E* 42'7&<* 7&U* @p%&ES* r<* +,* 3s+&'* $Y7&K<* ='$^3^C927$<* &)* BAC'$D&/* 456* 7]'* =9%25&>/'0* &)* !,'* 4%%:573&'* cJE7&K<* 9$7_* 7&U* 73:@3&<*9G7J*9$6*+/3RA3:%&'7&*tuv* But after a while, there appeared a way out from the difficulty for the Barbarians, for according to the oracle, all of Attica on the mainland needed to come under control of the Persians. In front of the Acropolis, behind the gates and the ascent, where nobody was 27 Blok 1995, 138-139. 38 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen guarding and nobody had expected that anybody could ever go up, a few went up at the sanctuary of Aglauros, daughter of Kekrops, even though the place is a cliff. When the Athenians on the Acropolis saw that they had gone up, some threw themselves down from the wall and died […] As appears from this passage, the story about the Persian success during the siege of the Acropolis found its mnemotope in the sanctuary ()%2') of Aglauros, a mythical Athenian princess who was most famous for discovering the snake Erichthonios and then jumping down the Acropolis. The location of her shrine was long unclear, because Herodotus’ indication X!5%&.A3 ‘in front’ may be understood in different ways.28 Early topographers have therefore turned to common sense to locate the shrine. Unsurprisingly, they came up with a localisation where the Persians could physically have been able to climb the Acropolis, i.e. the western part of its north slope, where there are still the remains of a staircase.29 There is even some archaeological material from this area which has been associated with the battle, consisting of arrowheads and a skeleton. 30 However, the discovery of a third-century BC Herodotus’ reference to this location as X!5%&.A3* l'* 5%8* 7;<* =9%&52>/&<0*?5/.A3*+,*7Z'*5E>"J' has been explained by arguing that the point of reference for X!5%&.A3 is the area around the Prytaneion, where the old agora may have been located and which could have been regarded as the centre of Athens (cf. Dontas 1983, 59-61; Hurwit 1999, 136). Alternatively, the terms X!5%&.A3 and ?5/.A3 are relative and malleable. The only reason for their use may have been to underline the circumstance that this part was unguarded. For a reconstruction of the Archaic Agora on the east side of the Acropolis, and more references to Aglauros, see Robertson 1992, 43-48; 1998. Cf. Paus. 1.18.2, who mentions a prytaneion and the temple of the Dioscuri here. Jeppesen 1987, 40 simply thought Herodotus or the textual transmission was wrong, and that the Old Agora theory is too complicated. 29 E.g. Leake 1821, 126-131; Macan 1908, I 440; Judeich 1931, 303; Papachatzi 1974, 267; Travlos 1981, 72-3. For more references see Dontas 1983, 58, nn. 32-33. 30 For the arrowheads, see Broneer 1933, 342; 1935, 114-115. However, the find context of the first group contained much later material, and the second group of arrows were all of types common in Greece (which did not stop Broneer from associating them with the Persians, as “their original 28 Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 39 marble stele in 1980 in the large cave on the east side of the Acropolis showed that this view was incorrect. This stele has an inscription which mentions that it was meant to be set up inside the sanctuary of Aglauros. Because the inscription was found in situ, it secures the cave, in which evidence for cult practice has been found, as the identification of or as tied up with the sanctuary of Aglauros.31 Fig. 2. The cave on the east side of the Acropolis: the shrine of Aglauros. supplies would have been exhausted”). For the skeleton, see Broneer 1935, 117. 31 IG II3 1 1002 = SEG 33.115. See Dontas 1983 for a full text of the inscription and an analysis. The new identification has found wide acceptance, e.g. Hurwit 1999, 135-136; Saporiti 2010, 159. Leake 1821, 126131 already reported that scholars before him had surmised that the sanctuary was at the eastern end, but he himself believed that that view was incorrect. For an exploration of the cave, which yielded scant evidence for ritual practises, see Broneer-Pease 1936. 40 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen The new location of the sanctuary of Aglauros leads to the conclusion that in the tradition recorded by Herodotus, the Persians climb up the steepest slope of the citadel, which is in reality nearly (though perhaps not completely) impossible. But this is precisely the point that Herodotus wants to make, as underlined by his 9$:7&/* 53% ‘even though’. Faced with the reality of the temple’s location, scholars have on the whole been tacit about the problem. Those that do comment on the episode, still assume its historicity: if the facts do not fit the Persian Wars, the Persian Wars fit the facts.32 There is even an example of a scholar who sees the discovery of the sanctuary’s location as a confirmation of the historicity of Herodotus’ account.33 However, the realization that the ascent was very difficult on this spot enables us to be open to the view that it may, perhaps, not have happened at this particular place. The drama of the story becomes apparent when it is compared to the many stories in the Histories (and elsewhere) which follow the pattern of what we may call ‘the enemy’s bypass’.34 Whatever the historicity of these stories, they were not only effective narrative tropes, but also a means of stereotyping the Persian as prone to try to win by stealth, or unheroic. Another example from Herodotus may be added which resonates perfectly with the siege of the Athenian Acropolis: the sixth-century BC Persian siege of the Acropolis 32 Müller 1987, 614 for example, admitted that the new location made it understandable that the Persians went ‘unseen’. Dontas 1983, 59 even found it necessary to point out that “it is obvious that [Herodotus] does not mean by this a detachment of regular soldiers but rather those especially trained in mountain warfare.” 33 Kousser 2009, 279 n. 25. 34 As part of Xerxes’ invasion, such bypass stories are also encountered at the ‘Macedonian mountain’ (Hdt. 7.131), during the battles of Thermopylae (7.216-218) and Artemision (8.13), and during the sieges of Potidaia (8.129) and Sestos (9.118). There are many examples elsewhere in Herodotus’ work and in Greek literature. The similarity of the Athens episode to Thermopylae is noted by Bowie 2007, 137-138. Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 41 of Sardis in Asia Minor (1.84).35 In that case, the Persians want to take the citadel, but initially fail because it is well-fortified and guarded at the entrance. However, there is an unguarded spot at the steepest side. The defenders mistakenly believe that it is not possible to climb the citadel from here. Then, a helmet rolls down the slope. A Persian sees this and gets the idea that this is possible. The Persians climb up and finally, the citadel is taken. While the Persian destruction of Sardis has reportedly left traces in the archaeological record, 36 a few scholars have pointed out that the story of the bypass adheres to a wellestablished common place.37 For the Athenian story, the point has not been made yet. It seems that the traditions on which Herodotus relied had recast the story to fit the by-pass pattern, and that it was served or even prompted by the local topography, i.e. the shrine of Aglauros. Why, then, was the story of the bypass told at the sanctuary of Aglauros? Its location at the ‘hidden’ backside of the Acropolis could, by itself, have made the shrine the location par excellence of the climbing episode. Additionally, there may have been two mythical ‘catalysts’ at this spot. First, our sources say that the sanctuary was founded after the princess 35 It has, as far as I know, been acknowledged only once that both sieges follow the same pattern: Hart 1982, 133: “the citadel was taken in a manner recalling the fall of Sardis.” Hart did not question the story’s historicity. 36 Evidence includes a wide array of armour, skeletal remains and traces of fire, as mudbrick from the upper old fortification wall was dumped on the lower parts (Cahill 2010, 344-357). 37 It has been recognised that the anecdote of the Sardis siege is a variety of the universal folk-tale of the Achilles’ heel (Hansen 2002, 481-489); Cahill 2010, 341 suggests that the story had become embellished by the time it reached Herodotus. Nevertheless, other commentators have connected burnt levels in the stratigraphy of various points in the lower city, and arrowheads found on the south slopes with the invasion (Mierse 1983, 101; Müller 1997, 709). Herodotus describes another siege of Sardis as part of the Ionian revolt (498 BC) in 5.100-102. The city was burnt completely, safe for the acropolis, which was controlled by the Persian general Artaphrenes. Trapped by the fire, the Persians and Lydians fled to the Paktolos river in the agora. As this happened, the Ionians were frightened and fled. 42 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen had jumped down from the Acropolis to end the war between Athens and Eleusis.38 Although Aglauros’ role as a city-saving priestess was just one version of her myth, it was the version which was probably most strongly connected to her cult. 39 Therefore, in Herodotus’ story, the Persians climb the Acropolis at a place which marked the heroic death of an important person in Athens’ mythical history. If the symbolism was not already obvious, Herodotus additionally details that some Athenians jumped down the Acropolis when they saw that their death was near.40 It seems that it was believed that the myth had repeated itself on the same spot. The second catalyst for the story about the Persian ascent may, as in the case of the Areopagus, have been the Athenian Amazonomachy. It has been argued that the Amazons who besiege the Athenian Acropolis on the shield of Pheidias’ statue Athena Parthenos are a mythical reflection of the historical siege of the Persians.41 Elements in the plot of the Persian siege ‘projected’ upon the Amazon siege in the shield would include scaling by ladders, the shooting of arrows and the moment 38 Philoch. FGrHist. 328 F, 105-106. For the Aglauros myth and its cults, see e.g. Oikonomides 1990; Merkelbach 1972; Parker 2005, 434; Sourvinou-Inwood - Parker 2011, 24-50. On the temple as a mnemotope for the myth, see Hölscher 2010, 133. 40 This seems to be usually taken as a historical fact, cf. (seemingly) Bowie 2007, 140 (“one wonders if some [of the Athenians who jumped down] thought of the myth when they realised that they, like the daughters of Cecrops, had made a bad mistake”); Kousser 2009, 265. 41 Harrison 1966, 128-129; she elaborated her thesis in an article from 1981, where she argues (pp. 295-310) that the shield depicted a schematic topography of Athens amidst the battle of Marathon in the lower half, and the Athenian Amazonomachy in the upper half, including depictions of the temple of Athena (p. 303), the Areopagus (301, 303-304), perhaps the olive tree (303, 310) and other holy places, while the Greeks are to be interpreted as figures from Athens’ legendary past, including Kekrops and Erechtheus (300-301). The imaginary siege of the Acropolis in Lucian’s Piscator (42) involves ladders at the Anakeion (the temple of the Dioscuri), which was probably located on the east side of the Acropolis (cf. Robertson 1992, 45). Also see Kousser 2009, 277. 39 Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 43 before the discovery of the secret path, the moment of and the moment of setting fire to the Acropolis. Here, too, figures are depicted who fall down from the Acropolis. As we have seen in the case of the Areopagus, it is difficult to secure whether it was the myth or the history that was reshaped. Again, I suggest that history may have been reinterpreted against the storylines that already existed in the myths of Aglauros and the Amazons. Through the mediation of Herodotus’ work, which set the standard for the history of the Persian wars for future generations (including our own), there existed no doubt that the steep backside of the Acropolis was its Achilles’ heel. There are more stories of figures jumping down from the Acropolis to their death. For example, Aegeus was sometimes thought to have found his death by throwing himself down from the Acropolis in the false belief that his son Theseus had been killed by the Minotaur (Apoll. Epit. 1.10). Konstantinos Koukidis, one of the euzonoi on guard on the Acropolis on the day that the Germans took the city in the Second World War, is supposed to have jumped down the east side of the Acropolis after wrapping himself in the Greek flag, so that the Germans could not capture it.42 That last story, still widely believed in modern Greece, has recently lost much of its credibility, as an investigation could not ascertain the very existence of Koukidis.43 Perhaps, Herodotus’ story about the Persian siege resonated into the distant future. 42 Stories of heroes throwing themselves down citadels also occur in other contexts. In the battle of Chapultepec Citadel in Mexico City, during an invasion by American forces in 1847, a defender of the citadel, Juan Escutia, is said to have thrown himself down the Acropolis, wrapped in the Mexican flag, so that it could not be captured by the Americans. I am thankful for Thomas Figueira for pointing out this parallel. 43 See http://www.iospress.gr/ios2000/ios20001022a.htm (last consulted on 23 November 2016). 44 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen 3. The !"#$%&' When the Persians were finally in possession of the Acropolis, the sanctuary ()%2') on it was plundered and the whole Acropolis was set to fire (Hdt. 8.53): tuv* &)* +,* 4<* 78* !"#$%&'* 9$7"R3E#&'S* wZ'* +,* -3%."J'* &)* ='$^3^C9273<* 5%Z7&'* !,'* 47%G5&'7&* 5%8<* 7_<* 5W>$<0* 7$W7$<* +,* ='&:Q$'73<* 7&K<* )9"7$<* 4R2'3E&'H* 4536* +"* .R/* 5G'73<* 9$7".7%J'7&0* 78* )%8'* .E>F.$'73<* 4'"5%C.$'* 5h.$'S*tuv* […] other [defendants of the Acropolis] fled into the hall. Those of the Persians who had gone up first went to the gates, and having opened them they killed the suppliants. And when all had been killed, they plundered the temple and set the entire [Acropolis] on fire. […] The identification of this !"#$%&' or ‘hall’ has proven difficult for various reasons. First, the exact translation of the word, and Herodotus’ use of the term is, as we will see, a matter of debate. The term referred to palace rooms in Homeric Greek. But in the passage above, the use of the word )9"7$/ as a description of the people who fled into the !"#$%&' demonstrates that this one was (part of) a religious building, in conformity with other instances of Herodotus’ use of the word (my translation of !"#$%&' with ‘hall’ is meant to convey the varying sense of the term).44 Also the relation of this !"#$%&' to the term )%2' (which usually means ‘sanctuary’) is unclear. They may or may not refer to the same structure. Even so, the very lack of any elucidation given by Herodotus seemingly demonstrates that there was only one structure worthy to be called 78* !"#$%&' or ‘the hall’.45 This mirrors his description of ‘the’ sanctuary ()%2') in the story about Kleomenes, who sought refuge there when he was being besieged by the Cf. LSJ s.v. !"#$%&', where it is claimed that Herodotus uses this word only for temples or shrines, as in 1.47; 1.65; 2.143; and 6.134. 45 Penrose 1891, 275-276. 44 Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 45 Athenians (5.72), as well as in the famous story about the disappearance of the temple snake (8.41). Second, the archaeology of the archaic and classical Acropolis is notoriously complex. In Herodotus’ time, the citadel was probably a building site with a mix of partly ruined, older buildings and several new ones, allegedly begun by Pericles, in various states of completion. 46 Old and still unresolved debates surround practically every hypothesized or extant structure of the archaic and classical Acropolis, and a full reproduction of these discussions is not within the scope of this article. In the following I will only underline the difficulty in identifying Herodotus’ !"#$%&'*on the basis of reconstructions of the appearance of the Acropolis in 480 BC, precisely because of the inherent uncertainties of these reconstructions. In addition, I will point out that this enterprise itself is possibly misleading, because the perspective of memory calls attention to the question to what extent Herodotus had access to the appearance of the Acropolis some fifty years before the publication of his work. While some scholars have in passing assumed that Herodotus’ !"#$%&' refers to a predecessor of the Parthenon,47 less casual commentators have instead proposed the Old Temple of Athena Polias as its identification.48 The foundations of that 46 The construction dates of these buildings are much discussed. For an overview with further literature see Hurwit 1999, 158-159, 194-195 (Propylaea); 206 (Erechtheion); 209-211 (temple of Athena Nike). The Erechtheion and the temple of Athena Nike were almost certainly finished in the final quarter of the fifth century, and possibly postdate the publication of the Histories, if we tentatively set this at 430 BC. Herodotus is likely to have taken notice of the Parthenon and the Propylaia (both finished in 432 BC). 47 For the Parthenon or one of its earlier stages as the identification of the hall, see Penrose 1891, 295-296 (the Urparthenon; believing that the Old Temple of Athena Polias was to a large extent already dismantled); Jeppesen 1987, 39; Robertson 1996, 42. 48 E.g. Dörpfeld-Petersen 1887, 27; Furtwängler 1893, 157; Preißhofen 1977, 82-84; Müller 1987, 614; Ferrari 2002, 15. For the identification of the temple in the story of Kleomenes with the temple of Athena Polias see e.g. Preißhofen 1977, 82. 46 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen temple, discovered by Wilhelm Dörpfeld in 1885, can still be seen between the Parthenon and the Erechtheion.49 It has been argued that architectural material of poros stone consisting of architraves, triglyphs and geisa in the Acropolis north wall (some of which preserves its original painting), Doric capitals and column drums found during nearby excavations, and other material, also belonged to this temple. 50 Despite earlier suggestions that the Old Temple had been razed to the ground by the Persians,51 it has also been argued on the basis of literary and inscriptional evidence that parts of it remained in use as one or more shrines throughout Antiquity.52 When Herodotus visited the Acropolis, the temple, however scarred, may still have been there for him to see. A further complication is that Herodotus earlier in his own work mentions another !"#$%&' on the Acropolis, seemingly different from the one discussed above, because it is qualified as ‘facing west’. He refers to it in passing in order to locate the fetters by which the Athenians had once taken Boeotians and Chalcidians captive (5.77): $x* 53%* X7/* 9$6* 4<* 4!,* y.$'* 49 Dörpfeld 1885; 1886; 1887; Wiegand 1904, 115-26. For an overview of research on the temple of Athena Polias, see Monaco 2010. 50 Cf. Dörpfeld 1885; 1886, 341-342; Wiegand 1904, 118-119. Penrose 1891, 275-276, however, connected this material in the Acropolis north wall to the hypothetical predecessor of the Parthenon, the Urparthenon. Kissas 2008 assigned to this building fragments of geisa (pp. 56-86) and acroterium bases (87-98). 51 This idea started with Dörpfeld 1885, who (at that time, before his redating of the Parthenon substructure to 490-480 BC) believed that there was no other major temple on the Athenian Acropolis. 52 Ferrari 2002. The Old Temple was a “point of relay to which the other buildings responded” (p. 14). Not only did the south wall of Erechtheion partially coincide with the north wall foundation, and the east wall of the Erechtheion’s cella align with the east peristyle of the temple of Athena; the Caryatids were precisely visible through the gap between cella and opisthodomos (pp. 21-24). Accordingly, a picture emerges of a Periclean Erechtheion whose strange shape was partly inspired by the remains of the adjacent temple of Athena, and formed a marked contrast with it, much like the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church in Berlin (p. 28). Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 47 53%/3&U.$/0*9%3!G!3'$/*49*73/@"J'*53%/53R>3E.!"'J'* 5E%6* j58* 7&U* zF+&E0* ='7:&'* +,* 7&U* !3#G%&E* 7&U* 5%8<* c.5"%C'*737%$!!"'&E (“These were still present in my time, hanging from walls scorched by fire by the Mede, and opposite the hall which faces the west”). While this west-facing !"#$%&' was apparently extant in Herodotus’ time, it is unclear whether Herodotus envisaged it to have been coexistent with (or even identical to) the ‘hideout’ !"#$%&' in 480 BC. Scholars who recognized the west-facing !"#$%&' in a room of the Old Temple of Athena Polias have given various identifications for the walls on which the fetters were hung.53 But another candidate for this hall could be the great opisthodomos of the ‘Periclean’ Parthenon, which was (near)finished in Herodotus time, and only accessible from the west.54 Following this identification, the likely candidate for the scorched walls is the western part of the Acropolis south retaining wall which faces the opisthodomos of the Parthenon, and which would be part of, or later be incorporated into, the Chalkotheke or ‘metal store’, known to have existed from at least the fourth century BC. 55 The store of fetters in this Chalkotheke or a hypothetical predecessor would fit the recorded practice of dedicating military spoils in that building. If the ‘west-facing !"#$%&'’ could have referred to the opisthodomos of the Periclean Parthenon, it was not necessarily the same as or even contemporary with the ‘hide-out’ 53 E.g. Preißhofen 1977, 82; Bundgaard 1976, 118; Dinsmoor 1980, 5. The walls may then have belonged to any structure in this area, including the Acropolis’ fortifications or the Propylaea (Jeppesen 1987, 38; Müller 1987, 614-615; Hurwit 1999, 144); or the inner hall of the Pandroseion (Bundgaard 1976, 118). Robertson 1996, 42 maintained that the west-facing !"#$%&' was in fact a building in the southeast corner of the Acropolis, which he also identifies with the temple of Erechtheus (it is normally usually identified as a workshop or as the shrine of Pandion). According to this view, the walls on which the fetters hung were part of the precinct of Zeus Polieus. 54 Jeppesen 1987, 39. 55 The existence of this building is known from various inscriptions mentioning military spoils (cf. Hurwit 2004, 198-200; Camia 2010). 48 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen !"#$%&', and its existence has no bearing on the question of the identification of the other hall. The ground for the common view that Herodotus’ !"#$%&' should be identified with the Old Temple of Athena Polias is the conventional reconstruction of the Acropolis on the eve of the arrival the Persians. According to this reconstruction, only that temple was a finished building that could accommodate )9"7$/, for the place where the Parthenon would later stand was at this time the construction site of its precursor, the never finished Older Parthenon. 56 But I call into question even this often presumed certainty. It is now commonly believed that the Older Parthenon was conceived as a thank offer to Athena for the victory in the battle of Marathon (490 BC), and should hence be dated to the decade between the battle of Marathon and Xerxes’ invasion (480 BC).57 For this temple, the pre-existing archaic Bluebeard Temple (the H-Architecture) would have been willingly dismantled. 58 The Older Parthenon would have been 56 The theory of the Older Parthenon was first proposed by Dörpfeld (1892; redating in 1902), and its main reconstruction, still unchallenged today, is that of Hill 1912, who showed that the foundation consisted of two poros steps, one kara step and two marble steps and the temple as a peristyle of 6 by 16 columns. This building is supposed to have been equal to the ‘Periclean’ Parthenon in all of its features except for the older building’s narrower dimensions that suited an earlier stage of the Parthenon fundament (cf. Bundgaard 1976, 61-62; Korres 2003, 10-12). 57 The interwar dating, originally proposed by Dörpfeld 1902 and confirmed by Dinsmoor 1934, is followed by most textbooks and overview works, but also by e.g. Tölle-Kastenbein 1983, 582; Steskal 2004, 151-154 (believing that Athens could simply not afford to build the Pre-Parthenon after the wars). Korres 1994a, 41-42; 1997, 239-240 (specifically connecting the decision to stop building the Older Parthenon with Xerxes’ enthronement in 485 BC); Connelly 2014, 71. Cf. Di Cesare 2010. 58 The Bluebeard temple is known to have existed on the basis of surviving pedimental sculpture and other remains. Its location on the Acropolis and its relation to the term Hekatompedon is much discussed; on these issues and references to older literature see Korres 1997, 221-223; Holtzmann 2003, 75-81; Di Cesare 2010, 97-100; cf. Monaco 2010 on the difficulties involved in reconstructing the archaic Acropolis. Even so, recent Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 49 far from complete when the Persians destroyed it: work had only progressed to its foundation and the columns. However, there are serious problems with this theory. The conventional dating of the Older Parthenon to the period between Darius’ and Xerxes’ invasions has been challenged numerous times. 59 Moreover, I believe that it is possible to doubt the very existence of this building, as the material evidence for it can be more comfortably assigned to the ‘Periclean’ Parthenon and the Bluebeard Temple.60 At this time definite proof for this idea can hardly be given. Still, if there is some argumentative room for the assertion that the Older Parthenon did not exist, or at least that it was not begun until after 480 BC, we also have to be open to the idea that the Bluebeard Temple was still standing in tandem with the Old Temple when the Persians arrived in Athens, which means that Herodotus’ !"#$%&'* does not automatically refer to the Old Temple of Athena Polias. But if there were possibly at least two major temples on the Acropolis in 480 BC, why does Herodotus make us guess about work seems to indicate that this temple stood at the site of the later Parthenon (e.g. Sioumpara 2016). 59 E.g. Kolbe 1936, 23-27; Tschira 1940, 260; Schefold 1953-1954, 141142; Carpenter 1970, 44; Kalpaxis 1986, 112. 60 For the conventional idea that the north wall is a memorial, conspicuously reusing material from the Older Parthenon see e.g. Dörpfeld 1885, 27; Dörpfeld 1902, 412; Korres 1994a, 41-42; 1994c, 58; Rhodes 1995, 32-34; Hurwit 1999, 142; Ferrari 2002, 25; Connelly 2014, 74; Miles 2014, 111; 123-124; Di Cesare 2014, 144; 2015, 128-129. For the idea that the lapis primus was an architrave block from the Older Parthenon, see Miles 2011. For the view that the drums in the north wall are not necessarily a memorial, see Kalpaxis 1986, 113 with n. 859; Steskal 2004, 210-211. As I intend to argue at full force in a future article, I also hypothesise that this material may potentially be seen as rejected building material of the ‘Periclean’ Parthenon. This matches the idea of Tschira 1940, 247-251 that the column drums that still had bosses had belonged the Periclean Parthenon. The first (smaller) phase of the Parthenon fundament, on which the Older Parthenon would have stood, is in fact of uncertain date (Steskal 2004, e.g. at 46; 147) and can in my view be assigned to the H-Architecture (the Bluebeard temple). 50 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen the identification of the hide-out of the Athenians on the Acropolis, 78*!"#$%&'? The Older Parthenon theory seemed to solve this problem, for it dictated that there was only one major finished temple on the Acropolis in 480 BC, the Old Temple. But even in the scenario that there were two finished temples at that moment, various explanations for Herodotus’ use of the definite article are available. As elsewhere on and around the Acropolis, the perspective of memory may help us. When the Father of History climbed the Acropolis around 430 BC, what did he observe, and what stories would locals have told him? Could he accurately reflect on the state of the Acropolis building ensemble in 480 BC? Perhaps Herodotus could, and knew that there had been two temples at the time. In that scenario, one can maintain that the main chamber of the Bluebeard Temple was Herodotus’ !"#$%&'. Further evidence for the view that the Bluebeard Temple was simply ‘the’ temple is furnished by the so-called Hekatompedon inscription (IG I3 3 and 4) which may be taken as employing the terms 78* {9$72!53+&' and [ 'C2< interchangeably.61 This dovetails with the references to its successor, the Parthenon, in the epigraphic record, in which it is often simply called ‘the temple’, even though others existed simultaneously. Herodotean scholars at last recognise that the Histories often do not offer a direct window onto the events that they describe. It is possible that Herodotus, or the sources on which he relied, had assumed that the buildings standing in his time, albeit new, were exemplary for the old situation. After all, he does not mark any of the temples as ‘former’ or ‘still-existing’, perhaps because he regarded the new buildings as the continuation of the former ones, so that a distinction was not necessary. It is possible that the enormous ‘Periclean’ Parthenon (under construction or just finished) was then the obvious focal point of the Acropolis, and worthy to be called 78* !"#$%&'. But 61 In favour of two temples: Preißhofen 1977, 77-78; Connelly 2014, 58. In favour of one temple: e.g. Kissas 2008, 45. Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 51 perhaps more likely, Herodotus may not have been aware that the Acropolis once housed the Bluebeard Temple which at the time of his visit had long been torn down to make space for its successor and to furnish material for the Acropolis walls and fills. He would have projected his stories on the clearly older, mutilated, but still extant Old Temple. Like many scholars, I would therefore be inclined to identify the !"#$%&' with this building, but the pathway by which I reach this conclusion is not merely based on a reconstruction of the Acropolis in 480 BC, but also shaped by the perspective of memory. We may imagine the venerable Old Temple not just to have been a magnet of attention from tourists desiring to see a relic of the invasion; it may, in that process, have prompted various stories by its very existence. For example, it may have been responsible for the tradition about the Oath of Plataea, according to which the Greeks would have vowed to keep the ruined temples standing, as future reminders of the Persian havoc. Similarly, the temple may also have elicited the dramatic story of the hide-out in its !"#$%&'. The drama was especially poignant because the story invited the idea that the horror committed by Xerxes would eventually meet divine retribution at Salamis.62 The Old Temple was thereby enveloped in the narrative constructed about the siege within folk memory and transmitted as such by Herodotus, just like the Areopagus and the temple of Aglauros. This does not in itself disprove the historicity of the story. But we should be weary of accepting it at face value, as is usually done.63 The idea that we should, before anything else, see the temple as a mnemotope, is in agreement with the observation that ‘refuge’ mnemotopes are a common occurrence elsewhere in Herodotus’ account of the 62 Cf. Mikalson 2003, 73-74, who points out that the killing of the Athenian suppliants was a hybristic breach of nomos, which would always lead to punishment. 63 See e.g. Kousser 2009, 265 for the idea that the hiding episode is historical. 52 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen Persian Wars. 64 Moreover, the story is understandable as a ‘temple legend’ which made the sanctuary more interesting, like other temples in the stories about the Persian invasions.65 We have also seen that the Old Temple probably was the locality for the story about the snake. The stories about the hideout and the disappearance of the snake are, after all, connected. The disappearance of the snake was a satisfying clarification given to any visitor of the Acropolis in Herodotus’ time, who was wondering why the city’s patron goddess had not come to the rescue of the defendants in her temple. The answer was that she herself had abandoned her sanctuary. 4. The Temple of Erechtheus and Athena’s Olive Tree An inferno swept over the Acropolis. Herodotus recounts that Xerxes afterwards commanded the Athenian exiles in his army to go up the Acropolis and to offer to the goddess. They then saw that Athena’s sacred olive tree had miraculously survived the fire (8.54-55): |@}'*+,*5$'73>"J<*7_<*BAF'$<*a"%QC<*=5"53!P3*4<*|&U.$* \##3>&'* )55"$* B%7$^G'f* =##3>"&'7$* 7]'* 5$%3&U.G'* .R/* 3Y5%CQ:C'S* B58* +,* 7;<* 5"!P/&<* 7&U* 9F%E9&<* +3E7"%b* ~!"%b* .E#9$>".$<*BAC'$:J'*7&K<*RE#G+$<0*cJE7*+,*c5&!"'&E<0* 49">3E3* 7%25f* 7* .R37"%f* AU.$/* 7_* )%_* ='$^G'7$<* 4<* 7]'* =9%25&>/'0* 3Ä73* +]* l'* ?P/'* 7/'_* d+}'* 4'E5':&E* 4'37">>37&* 7$U7$*3Ä73*9$6*4'AW!/2'*&)*4#"'37&*4!5%F.$'7/*78*)%2'H*&)*+,* RE#G+3<*7Z'*BAC'$:J'*45&:C.$'*7_*4'737$>!"'$S* w&U* +,* 3x'393'* 7&W7J'* 453!'F.AC'0* R%G.JS* k.7/* 4'* 7i* =9%&52>/* 7$W7b* T%3@A"&<* 7&U* #C#3'"&<* >3#&!"'&E* 3s'$/* 'C2<0* 4'* 7* 4>$:C* 73* 9$6* AG>$..$* X'/0* 7_* >2#&<* 5$%_* BAC'$:J'*-&.3/+"J'G*73*9$6*BAC'$:C'*4%:.$'7$<* 53%6*7;<* @p%C<* !$%7W%/$* A".A$/S* w$W7C'* l'* 7]'* 4>$:C'* O!$* 7* 64 E.g. the mountain Tithorea during the invasion of Phocis (8.32) and the Korykian cave during the siege of Delphi (8.36). 65 Conspicuous examples are the anaktoron of Eleusis and the temple of Demeter at Plataea (both mentioned in 9.65). Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 53 \>>f* )%* 9$7">$^3* 4!5%C.A;'$/* j58* 7Z'* ^$%^G%J'H* +3E7"%b*+,*~!"%b*=58*7;<*4!5%F./&<*BAC'$:J'*&)*AW3/'*j58* ^$./>"&<* 93>3E2!3'&/* Å<* ='"^C.$'4<* 78* )%2'0* `%J'* ^>$.78'*49*7&U*.73>"@3&<*I.&'*735C@E$D&'*='$+3+%$!C92N 7$S*(Ç7&/*!"'*'E'*7$U7$*XR%$.$'S* Now possessing Athens entirely, Xerxes sent a messenger to Sousa to tell Artabanos about their success. On the second day after they had sent the messenger, and had called together the exiles of the Athenians, he ordered them to go up the Acropolis and to respect the temples in their own manner. He ordered this either because he had seen the vision of a dream or because he regretted having set the temple on fire. The exiles of the Athenians did what had been ordered. I will say why I mentioned this. In this Acropolis there is a temple of Erechtheus, who is said to be ‘earthborn’, inside of which there is an olive tree and a salt-water pond, which (according to the story of the Athenians) Poseidon and Athena, who had quarreled about the land, put there as testimonies. That olive tree happened to be put to fire by the Barbarians, together with the rest of the temple. On the second day after the fire, when those of the Athenians, who were ordered by the king to offer, went up to the temple, they saw a shoot from the trunk, which had grown to a cubit in length. Immediately they made this known. Herodotus refers to the shrine of Erechtheus both by the words 'C2< (‘temple’) and )%2' (‘sanctuary’). Because Herodotus’ story refers to the situation in 480 BC, one could surmise that there once was an Older Erechtheion.66 But as we have seen above in the quest for 78* !"#$%&', it is possible that Herodotus projected the situation of the Acropolis in his time onto that of the recent past. In the light of this, and the lack of archaeological evidence for an ‘Older Erechtheion’, we cannot ascertain the existence of that building. However, a minimal conclusion is that we may take 66 Bundgaard 1976, 103-111 believed that the surviving building largely corresponds to its predecessor. Müller 1987, 616 suggested that Herodotus’ )%2' of Erechtheus referred to part of the temple of Athena Polias. Jeppesen 1987, 38-44 and Robertson 1996, 37-42 locate the Erechtheion elsewhere on the Acropolis. Robertson specifically identified it with a building in the southeast corner of the Acropolis. He also supposes that there were two sacred olive trees on the Acropolis, the other being in the Pandroseion (pages 42-43). Cf. Hurwit 1999, 144-145. 54 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen Herodotus to refer to the area where today stands the ‘Periclean’ Erechtheion, because the mnemotopes of the olive tree and the saltwater pond are widely believed to have once been present in or near that temple, and not likely to have moved around, as the unconventional shape of the ‘Periclean’ Erechtheion partly serves to accommodate them. 67 The third-century BC historian Philochorus (FGrHist. 328 F 67) described the olive tree in close relation to the Old Temple of Athena Polias, the Pandroseion and the altar of Zeus Herkeios, in the approximate location of the modern olive tree. Remains of bosses on the Erechtheion’s west facade and on the roof of the Caryatid porch, which apparently could not be polished away, are supposed to mark the place where the olive tree touched the building and might show that the Erechtheion was partially conceived as a support for the already full grown olive tree.68 It was still present in Pausanias’ time (1.27.2). Fig. 3. The Periclean Erechtheion behind the Dörpfeld fundament, with a new olive tree marking the approximate place of the original olive tree. 67 Ferrari (2002, 16 n. 30) believes that it is not possible to see the Erechtheion in another location because of the cultic continuity and the Philochorus fragment (FGrH 328 F 67). For the Erechtheion as a collection of different mnemotopes, see e.g. Boardman 2002, 109-110; Hölscher 2010, 132-134. 68 Bundgaard 1976, 87-100 with figures 50, 58 and 66. Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 55 When Herodotus visited the Acropolis several decades after the war, the olive tree apparently had become the mnemotope for the story which he describes. It may well be that a new tree was visible on a burnt (or more generally dead?) trunk, as is common in olive trees. It is, in itself, not strange that trees develop into mnemotopes (in the context of Xerxes’ invasion, we may compare the story in Hdt. 7.31 about a beautiful plane tree near Kallatebos in Lydia which Xerxes would have adorned with gold). Here we even witness a process of ‘accumulation’ of stories at the same mnemotope. The story about the siege added to the tree’s prominence, which was already in place, because it supposedly was the tree which Athena herself had given to the city (as Herodotus underlines). The miracle story appealed to ancient visitors to the Acropolis, who had just seen the Areopagus and the Old Temple, and thus re-experienced the story of the Persian siege before their eyes. After all, one question was not answered yet: How was Athens finally rescued? The olive tree responded to this by telling a story of hope in times of utter despair, because the shoot from which it had grown signaled that Athena herself had returned.69 Herodotus details that it was Xerxes, the destroyer of her sanctuary, who had made that possible, by making the Greeks in his army worship according to their custom. This story is still often explained as a historical event and as evidence for the popular idea that the Achaemenids were not Zoroastrian zealots, but actually tolerant towards other religions.70 Instead, however, 69 On the symbolism of the event see Vandiver 1991, 99-102; Hollmann 2011, 71. On the olive trees of the Acropolis, Demandt 2002, see 78-82. See Demandt 2002, 208-209 for more modern parallels of trees as symbol of the resurrection of a city. Note that Herodotus elsewhere (6.37) refers to pine trees as the only trees that cannot grow new shoots after they have been burnt (the parallel is noted by Ferrari 2002, 30). 70 E.g. Macan 1908, I, 441; Boyce 1982, 169-170; Georges 1994, 57 (suggesting that the fire was meant to cleanse the Acropolis of the demons in order to institute a cult of Ahura Mazda there); Briant 1996, 566 (suggesting 56 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen it is also possible that it arose in touristic lore in response to the olive tree’s miraculous ‘revival’. The story, and thereby the shoot, then highlights Xerxes’ temperament. The act appears in stark contrast with his earlier blasphemy of temple-burning, the gravest offence to the gods one can think of. Moreover, by using the word 93>3WJ, Herodotus does not present Xerxes’ act as an instance of religious tolerance, but rather as a command that amounted to being an attempt at using the Greeks in his army to hastily heal the havoc caused by his own men. The remedy was too little, too late, as Xerxes would lose the battle of Salamis not much later.71 The story can be compared to other futile Persian attempts to appease Greek divinities, to Athena and the heroes at Troy (Hdt. 7.43) or to Thetis and the Nereids at Sepias in Thessaly (Hdt. 7.191).72 5. Conclusion I have argued that in the course of the fifth century BC, after the Persian invasion of Athens, the Acropolis developed into a memorial space where the Persian siege could be re-experienced that Xerxes may have felt a real need to appease the territorial gods); Rosenberger 2003, 72; Allen 2005, 55; Kousser 2009, 269. Hauvette 1894, 399 noted that Herodotus himself had a slight reserve about the story’s historicity. 71 It has been suggested that the mention of Poseidon’s ‘sea’ and Athena’s olive tree evoke the imminent victories of the Greeks at Salamis and Plataea: Xerxes’ burning of the temples on the Acropolis triggered the vengeance of the gods (Bowie 2012, 277). 72 I have argued elsewhere (van Rookhuijzen 2017a) that the worship at Troy more likely reflects Greek imagination than historical Persian piety. On the worship of Thetis and the Nereids see van Rookhuijzen 2017b. Scheer 2000, 207 supposes Xerxes’ reconciliation at Athens is unlikely and connects the worship to the return of Athenian exiles. That Herodotus thought in terms of divine vengeance is shown by his story of another eastern king, Alyattes (1.19): he had accidentally burnt the temple of Athena at Assesos (near Miletus). The Lydian ruler suffered ill health until the temple was rebuilt. For the correspondence between these events see Baragwanath 2008, 285-286, suggesting that Herodotus gives his readers a conscious choice: did Xerxes sacrifice here because of repentance or divine cogency? Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 57 by mnemotopes. This anchoring of Herodotus’ account in these Athenian landmarks enhanced its plausibility: future audiences had no reason to doubt the tourist stories that Herodotus had encountered during his visit. These stories were important, as they brought present and future struggles with the Persian Empire into relief. Thus, the siege of the Acropolis, through its landmarks, was made to adhere to the dramatic and very common ‘bypass story’, to resonate with the Athenian Amazonomachy and the myth of Aglauros, and, moreover, to tell the story of Athena’s return when all hope was lost. That such processes are at the basis of Herodotus’ account of the Persian siege of Athens’ holy citadel, is a new perspective. Perhaps, the delay in its development can be sought in the overall staunch belief in the story’s exact historicity. That belief can be misleading, as the case of the quest for the location of the temple of Aglauros demonstrates. However, the perspective of memory in itself does not touch upon the historical events, but only seeks to explain why the story mattered at the time of its creation, and how it guided its future representations. In the end, trying to find the real place where the Persians once climbed up the Acropolis, may be no different from trying to find the real place where a mythical princess once fell down. Bibliography Allen 2005 L. Allen, The Persian Empire, Chicago 2005. Arafat 2013 K. Arafat, “‘Records of Hate’: Pausanias and the Persians”, in K. Buraselis-E. Koulakiotis (eds.), Marathon: The Day After. Symposium Proceedings, Delphi 2-4 July 2010, Delphi 2013, 201-216. 58 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen Assmann 1992 J. Assmann, Das Kulturelle Gedächtnis. 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Proietti, “Prospettive socio-antropologiche sull’arcaismo greco: la storiografia erodotea tra tradizione orale e ‘storia intenzionale’”, in E. Franchi-G. Proietti (a cura di), Forme della memoria e dinamiche identitarie nell’antichità grecoromano, Trento 2012, 181-206. Rhodes 1995 R.F. Rhodes, Architecture and Meaning on the Athenian Acropolis, Cambridge 1995. Robertson 1992 N. Robertson, Festivals and Legends: The Formation of Greek Cities in the Light of Public Ritual, Toronto 1992. Robertson 1996 N. Robertson, “Athena’s Shrines and Festivals”, in J. Neils (ed.), Worshipping Athena: Panathenaia and Parthenon, Madison 1996, 27-77. Robertson 1998 N. Robertson “The City Center of Archaic Athens”, Hesperia 67 (1998), 283-302. Rosenberger 2003 V. Rosenberger, “Reisen zum Orakel: Griechen, Lyder und Perser als Klienten hellenischer Orakelstätten”, in M. WitteS. Alkier (Hrsg.), Die Griechen und der Vordere Orient: Beiträge zum Kultur- und Religionskontakt zwischen Griechenland und dem Vorderen Orient im 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr, Freiburg 2003, 25-57. Saporiti 2010 M. Saporiti “Il santuario di Aglauro”, in Greco 2010, 159. Scheer 2000 T.S. Scheer, Die Gottheit und ihr Bild. Untersuchungen zur Funktion griechischer Kultbilder in Religion und Politik, Munich 2000. Schefold 1953-1954 K. Schefold, “Weihgeschenke nach den Perserkriegen”, AEph 1953-1954, 141-144. Where Aglauros Once Fell Down 67 Sioumpara 2016 E. Sioumpara, “A New Reconstruction for the Archaic Parthenon, the Archaic Acropolis and the Evolution of Greek Architecture Revisited”, Revue Archéologique 61.1 (2016), 196-205. Sourvinou-Inwood - Parker 2011 C. Sourvinou-Inwood-R. Parker, Athenian Myths and Festivals: Aglauros, Erechtheus, Plynteria, Panathenaia, Dionysia, Oxford 2011. Steskal 2004 M. Steskal, Der Zerstörungsbefund 480/79 der Athener Akropolis. Eine Fallstudie zum etablierten Chronologiegerüst, Hamburg 2004. Strasburger 1955 H. Strasburger, “Herodot und das perikleische Athen”, Historia 4 (1955), 1-25. Tölle-Kastenbein 1983 R. Tölle-Kastenbein, “Bemerkungen zur absoluten Chronologie spätarchaischer und frühklassischer Denkmäler Athens”, AA 88 (1983), 573-584. Travlos 1971 J. Travlos, Bildlexikon zur Topographie des antiken Athen, Tübingen 1971. Tschira 1940 A. Tschira, “Die unfertigen Säulentrommeln auf der Akropolis von Athen”, JDAI 55 (1940), 242-264. Tyrrell 1984 W.B. Tyrrell, Amazons: A Study in Athenian Mythmaking, Baltimore-London 1984. van Rookhuijzen 2017a J.Z. van Rookhuijzen, “How not to Appease Athena: A Reconsideration of Xerxes’ Purported Visit to the Troad (Hdt. 7.42-43)”, Klio 99.2 (2017), in press. 68 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen van Rookhuijzen 2017b J.Z. van Rookhuijzen, “Thetis in the Ovens: A Reconsideration of Herodotus’ Topography of Magnesia”, JHS 137 (2017), 1-18. Vandiver 1991 E. Vandiver, Heroes in Herodotus: The Interaction of Myth and History, Frankfurt am Main 1991. Waters 1985 K.H. Waters, Herodotus the Historian: His Problems, Methods and Originality, London-Sydney 1985. Wiegand 1904 T. Wiegand, Die archaische Poros-architektur der Akropolis zu Athen, mit Unterstützung aus der Eduard Gerhardstiftung der Königlich Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Kassel-Leipzig 1904. GIORGIA PROIETTI FARE I CONTI CON LA GUERRA. FORME DEL DISCORSO CIVICO AD ATENE NEL V SECOLO (CON UNO SGUARDO ALL’ETÀ CONTEMPORANEA) Abstract War represents a characterizing feature of ancient societies. This is especially true concerning Athens after the Persian Wars and during the following decades. Despite the prevailing attention dedicated by modern scholarship to the celebration of war, this paper deals with the dramatic perception and experience of war by the Athenian civic community during the Pentecontaetia. By focusing on two main post-war concerns – urban destruction and human losses – it aims first at pinpointing traces of war trauma within Athenian collective behaviour; second, at exploring the communal strategies which were developed in order to both cope with war trauma, and provide citizens with a renovated input to fight, according to a perspective which at the same time looked back to the past and forth to the future. Keywords: 5th century Athens - post war trauma - coping mechanisms - war memorials - commemoration of the war dead. Il trauma della guerra, tra antico e contemporaneo ‘Fare i conti’ (con la guerra) è un’espressione con cui può efficacemente tradursi l’espressione inglese ‘to come to terms with’ oppure ‘to cope with’, ricorrenti nella letteratura scientifica di ambito psicoanalitico che si occupa delle reazioni psicologiche innescate da eventi traumatici di rilevanza collettiva, in particolare la guerra, nell’età contemporanea. Il cd. war trauma, o post war trauma, considerato come una fattispecie del distur- 70 Giorgia Proietti bo post-traumatico da stress, è divenuto oggetto d’attenzione della psicologia clinica a partire dalla prima guerra mondiale, ed è stato poi al centro di un rinnovato interesse, in ambito soprattutto americano e anglosassone, in occasione prima della guerra in Vietnam e della Guerra del Golfo, e poi delle più recenti esperienze militari in Iraq e in Afghanistan.1 I fenomeni connessi alla psicopatologia bellica e la corrispondente letteratura, che indaga sia le cause e le manifestazioni del trauma sia le complesse strategie di compensazione e superamento di quest’ultimo (coping mechanisms o coping strategies),2 hanno fatto di recente il loro ingresso nella ricerca storica contemporanea. Sulla scorta del taglio prettamente socio-antropologico inaugurato dall’École des Annales, ispirato a una concezione di storia totale, negli ultimi decenni lo studio della storia del ’900 ha infatti iniziato a considerare il fenomeno della guerra non soltanto in una prospettiva politico-istituzionale e politico-militare, ma anche in rapporto ai suoi effetti – psicologici, emotivi, mentali, memoriali e identitari – sugli individui e sulle comunità coinvolte.3 Il fondamentale spostamento di prospettiva dal singolo alla comunità, avvenuto proprio nel momento in cui la fenomenologia del war trauma è stata abbracciata dalla ricerca storica, ha seguito due direzioni principali: l’una, quella dei cd. trauma studies, che in una prospettiva di continuità con l’analisi stret!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1 La nevrosi di guerra, o shellshock, definita clinicamente per la prima volta dopo la Grande Guerra, è stata poi soprannominata anche ‘sindrome del Vietnam’ e, più tardi, ‘sindrome della guerra del Golfo’. Per la definizione della nevrosi di guerra come patologia clinica ascrivibile alla categoria del PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) e in generale la storia della psichiatria militare cf. e.g. Crocq-Crocq 2000; Shepard 2001. Sul trauma di guerra in una prospettiva storica più ampia vd. Hunt N. 2010. 2 Sul concetto di ‘trauma sociale’ e ‘trauma culturale’ (di cui la guerra è naturalmente solo una delle fattispecie) cf. Alexander et al. 2004; 2012. Sui coping mechanisms in generale cf. Carver-Scheier-Weintraub 1989; più specificamente per il superamento del trauma post-bellico cf. Martz 2010. 3 Per una sintesi delle linee della ricerca sulla guerra come ‘fatto sociale totale’ cf. Proietti in Franchi-Proietti 2014b, in particolare le pp. 29ss., con precisi riferimenti all’approccio polemologico inaugurato da Gaston Bouthoul, e introdotto nella studio della storia greca da Yvon Garland. Fare i conti con la guerra 71 tamente psicologica si concentra sull’impatto traumatico della guerra e di altri tipi di catastrofe sulla popolazione civile e i meccanismi di compensazione messi in campo dalla stessa; l’altra, di impostazione più storico-storiografica, che indaga l’influenza del trauma della guerra sull’elaborazione del ricordo collettivo e dei corrispondenti racconti, nonché sulla ricostruzione propriamente storiografica.4 L’interesse per il war trauma maturato nei termini di cui sopra dalla ricerca storica contemporanea è stato di recente fatto proprio dalla ricerca storica antichistica. Questo contributo si propone in primo luogo di fare il punto sulla letteratura moderna dedicata alla fenomenologia del trauma di guerra nell’antichità e di discuterne sinteticamente le problematiche storiche e metodologiche; in secondo luogo di utilizzare il paradigma moderno del trauma per cogliere aspetti inediti dell’esperienza e del ricordo della guerra in un contesto storico specifico, Atene durante la Pentecontetia, caratterizzato da uno stato di conflitto pressoché permanente. L’approccio comparativo: problemi metodologici e storici ! Il contatto interdisciplinare tra la letteratura dedicata alla psicopatologia bellica e la ricerca antichistica, per il tramite necessario della storia contemporanea, è frutto dell’intersecarsi di backgrounds personali e approcci disciplinari molto diversi tra loro, ma accomunati dalla familiarità, diretta o meno, con il trauma di guerra dei veterani. Esso è stato infatti inaugurato dagli studi path-breaking di Jonathan Shay, psichiatra americano, noto per aver introdotto la lettura di Omero nella cura del com!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 4 Avviatisi anch’essi a partire dal primo trauma di massa dell’Occidente, la Grande Guerra, i cd. trauma studies indagano appunto l’effetto traumatico della guerra e di altri tipi di catastrofe sulla popolazione civile e i meccanismi di compensazione messi in campo dalla stessa. La nozione di trauma è onnipresente nella letteratura dedicata alle guerre del ’900, dalle guerre mondiali agli interventi americani, dai contesti postcoloniali a quelli di guerre civili. ! ! 72 Giorgia Proietti bat trauma nei veterani,5 seguiti da quelli di Lawrence Tritle, Professore di Classics a Los Angeles e lui stesso veterano del Vietnam,6 e da alcuni recenti volumi monografici e collettanei.7 In questi studi si cerca da un lato di individuare nel comportamento di singoli protagonisti del mito, della letteratura e della storia greca (Achille, Odisseo, Aiace, Filottete, così come Epizelo, Aristodemo, Clearco e Alessandro Magno) sintomi tipici del war trauma nell’età contemporanea come la rabbia, l’isolamento, il senso di colpa, la sfiducia nel mondo, fino alla volontà di suicidio;8 dall’altro di ricostruire l’esperienza drammatica, quando non traumatica del conflitto, da parte di intere comunità coinvolte attivamente o passivamente nella guerra, da quella dei veterani alla popolazione civile.9 L’approccio comparativo messo in campo nella letteratura corrente evidenzia problemi storici e metodologici di non poco conto, dal momento che, salvo una o forse poche eccezioni, sembra dare per scontata l’universalità del fenomeno del trauma di guerra, ed evitare sistematicamente la necessaria contestualizzazione di tipo socio-antropologico:10 al di là della ovvia dif!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 5 Shay 1995; 2002. Per Shay! il teatro tragico ateniese era “a theater of Tritle 2000; 2003; 2004; 2009. Sulla drammatica attualità del problema del war trauma nei campus americani, dove il caso di giovani studenti in uniforme è molto più frequente che altrove, cf. Lauriola 2013; 2014a; 2014b; Weineck 2016. 7 Cosmopoulos 2007; Meineck-Konstan 2014; Gabriel 2015. Più immatura può dirsi la riflessione su questo tema a proposito del mondo romano: l’unico contributo che si interroga sull’esistenza o meno del war trauma nel mondo romano è quello di Melchior 2011. Cf. anche Stewart 2011. L’indagine delle problematiche connesse al war trauma nel mondo antico è in ogni caso da considerarsi incipiente: essa è infatti non a caso ancora assente nei principali Companions dedicati alla guerra nel mondo greco-romano. 8 Per esempio: King 2001; Tritle 2003; 2004; 2009; Retief 2005; Ustinova-Cardena 2014; Gabriel 2015. 9 Payen 2012, sp. capp. III-V; Raaflaub 2014; Bearzot 2015a; CecchetDegelmann-Patzelt 2018.! 10 Per la presunta universalità del war trauma, presupposta da tutti gli studi citati supra, n. 8, vd. anche Grossmann 1995; Konstan 2014. Sulla necessità di una contestualizzazione storica e socio-antropologica nell’indagine com6 Fare i conti con la guerra 73 ficoltà documentaria, derivante dal fatto che mentre lo storico contemporaneo ha accesso alle cartelle cliniche e alle scritture autobiografiche dei soldati, gli antichisti non hanno ovviamente a disposizione le memorie degli opliti che hanno combattuto a Maratona o dei teti che hanno remato sulle triremi a Salamina, esiste infatti una problematica di tipo prettamente storico-metodologico, collegata alla necessità di ricostruire il contesto antropologico-culturale entro cui eventualmente il war trauma in Grecia antica potesse originarsi e manifestarsi. Come è stato già osservato, infatti, non è per nulla scontato che in Grecia antica esistessero le condizioni sociali e culturali perché un soldato, tornato a casa dal fronte, soffrisse di disturbo post-traumatico da stress.11 Cionondimeno, se anche la dimensione individuale e intima del trauma per gli antichi Greci è verosimilmente irrecuperabile, e in ogni caso problematica, il paradigma moderno del trauma mantiene un grande potenziale euristico per la ricerca sulla guerra, sull’esperienza e sulla memoria della guerra in Grecia antica, dal momento che ci permette di guardare alla guerra antica da una prospettiva nuova, e soprattutto di sollevarla da quel!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! parativa in relazione al tema della guerra (e non solo), cf. le considerazioni proposte in Proietti 2018b. Vd. anche Franchi c.d.s. 11 Vd. ad esempio Stewart 2011; Crawley 2012; 2014 sull’assenza strutturale delle condizioni ambientali, sociali, valoriali, tattiche e tecnologiche per lo sviluppo dello stress combat e del war trauma nell’antichità greco-romana (Stewart) e nel caso specifico degli opliti ateniesi (Crawley). Appaiono a mio giudizio prive di fondamento, in quanto decontestualizzate, e in definitiva astoriche, letture come quelle che vedono – per limitarsi a un paio di esempi – nell’accecamento di Epizelo al termine del racconto erodoteo di Maratona (6.117) una manifestazione ante-litteram del fenomeno dell’hysterical blindness (King 2001), o nella definizione senofontea di Clearco, comandante dei Diecimila, come philopolemos (An. 2.6.6) l’indizio di una patologica war addiction (Tritle 2000, 55-78; 2004). Per una sintesi di presunti casi antichi di PTSD cf. Tritle 2007, 181-183. Per la stessa ragione non convince lo studio di Abduhl-Amid-Hughes 2014, in cui si ritiene di poter individuare la sintomatologia del war trauma contemporaneo (per es. ‘flashbacks, sleep disturbance! and low mood’) persino nella documentazione relativa alla Mesopotamia durante la dominazione assira (1300-609 a.C.).! ! ! 74 Giorgia Proietti la dimensione di normalità quasi irrilevante in cui l’ha collocata la storiografia moderna. Atene durante la Pentecontetia: la ‘normalità’ della guerra? La guerra è in un certo senso ordinaria – si potrebbe forse dire normale? – nel mondo antico, tanto greco quanto romano.12 E lo rimane in una certa misura nella storia occidentale probabilmente proprio fino alle soglie del ’900, quando si verifica, come bene coglieva Freud nei suoi Thoughts for the Times on War and Death del 1915, uno scollamento tra la normalità e la guerra, una frattura tra il quotidiano e la violenza in generale.13 L’Atene post-persiana e periclea è il contesto geografico e cronologico privilegiato a partire dal quale spesso e volentieri, e per molti versi non senza ragione, si è insistito sulla centralità e la pervasività della guerra nella società greca.14 All’apice della sua potenza internazionale, Atene si riconosce e si auto-definisce nella guerra, e sulla guerra si fonda, su tutti i livelli: in termini di potenza economica, di splendore culturale, di costru!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 12 Per la concezione della guerra come lo ‘stato normale’ delle cose per i Greci, cui spesso ci si richiama, vd.!e.g"!Havelock 1972 (cui si deve la celebre definizione della guerra “as a way of life” nell’antichità classica) e Vernant 1990 [1974] (vd. per es. p. 29, che si apre con la secca considerazione per cui “war was quite natural for the Greeks of the Classical period”). Tuttavia, sulla scia delle sofisticate considerazioni proposte da Hornblower 2007, 27 (e passim), occorre distinguere tra una società ‘militarista’ (dove “military institutions determine civic”) e una società non militaristica, come quella ateniese del V secolo, dove “it is the other way round: the civic is the dominant model, which the army structure reproduces”. Cf. anche Payen 2012, sp. capp. 1-2.! 13 Il saggio di Freud (I. The Disillusionment of the War; II. Our Attitude Towards Death) è raccolto in Strachey 1957, 275-288. Che la Grande Guerra abbia provocato un orrore generalizzato tale da ingenerare un respingimento della violenza in generale dalla sfera dell’esperienza quotidiana cf. gli spunti in Shipley 1993, 21-22, con ulteriori riferimenti bibliografici. Per una diversa sfumatura nell’interpretazione del distacco tra ‘noi’ e la guerra vd. Palaima 2007. 14 Soprattutto in relazione al rapporto strutturale tra guerra e democrazia: e.g. Meier 1990; Raaflaub 1998; Hanson 2001; Pritchard 2010b; Porciani 2011. Fare i conti con la guerra 75 zione dell’identità ‘nazionale’. Di conseguenza celebra insistentemente la guerra come matrice di se stessa: la topografia urbana dell’Atene classica è punteggiata di monumenti che celebrano le vittorie militari, e i caduti in guerra sono celebrati come eroi della patria, e nei monumenti funerari e nel discorso pubblico. Sulla scorta di ciò l’Atene della Pentecontetia è comunemente immaginata come una società compatta attorno alla guerra e in favore della guerra, fino almeno all’affiorare del diffuso anelito alla pace che le fonti permettono di individuare a partire dagli anni della Guerra del Peloponneso.15 Sulla scia dei recenti tenta!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 15 La trasformazione del discorso civico ateniese sulla guerra nell’ultimo trentennio del V secolo meriterebbe una trattazione a sé: basti in questa sede accennare al fatto che la documentazione coeva alla Guerra del Peloponneso e agli eventi drammatici che la caratterizzarono (le ripetute invasioni dell’Attica da parte di Sparta, la peste, il disastro in Sicilia) permette infatti di cogliere un anelito generalizzato alla pace, al quale avrebbe dato voce, ad esempio, il teatro (Raaflaub 2001). Alcune commedie di Aristofane (Gli Acarnesi, La Pace, Lisistrata) esprimono il desiderio diffuso di pace che stava prendendo corpo negli anni ’20 e che si è poi concretizzato nella pace di Nicia, mentre alcune tragedie di Euripide esprimono in maniera drammatica l’incapacità della comunità civica di fare i conti con la guerra, dando voce a una posizione antimilitarista (Elena, Supplici), che può sottendere una ‘inversion of official ideology’ e la condanna esplicita di fatti contemporanei come quelli di Melo, nelle Troiane del 415 (cf. Raaflaub 2001; citazione da p. 337). Anche il commento di Erodoto, per cui una guerra civile è tanto peggiore di una guerra internazionale, quanto la guerra è peggiore della pace (8.31), testimonia verosimilmente la percezione di un cambiamento complessivo del discorso civico ateniese sulla guerra e la connessione di tale cambiamento con la Guerra del Peloponneso; tale cambiamento è confermato dalla caratterizzazione negativa della generazione della Guerra del Peloponneso, a confronto di quella, sempre celebrata, dell’epoca delle Guerre Persiane, negli oratori di IV secolo (vd. il saggio di Barbato in questo volume). Il fatto che, proprio tra l’ultimo trentennio del V secolo e il primo quarto del IV secolo, nel discorso civico-politico compaia la parola eirene, con il significato di pace totale, cioè assenza di guerra, accanto alla parola filotes, che indica invece la pace nel senso di interruzione della guerra (Santi Amantini 2012), costituisce un ulteriore indizio del fatto che in effetti si stava compiendo o si era almeno in parte già compiuto un mutamento profondo nell’esperienza collettiva della guerra, così come nell’ideologia civica e nel dibattito politico che la riguardavano. La letteratura sul tema della pace in Grecia è ampia: da ultimo vd. Raaflaub 2007a; 2009; 2012; 2016b; 2016c; Wilker 2012. ! ! 76 Giorgia Proietti tivi di contrastare questa visione polemocentrica, attraverso il richiamo dell’attenzione, da un lato, su altre forme di definizione degli assetti poleici, interpoleici e internazionali,16 dall’altro, sulle tracce di varie forme di problematicità della guerra nell’esperienza dei Greci,17 appare dunque inevitabile mettere in discussione la monolitica immagine moderna dell’Atene periclea come una società in cui la guerra rappresenta (ed è a sua volta rappresentata come) un’esperienza normale e aproblematica. Il dramma della guerra ! Occorre infatti chiedersi, anche alla luce della rinnovata attenzione riservata all’impatto traumatico della guerra nell’età contemporanea, se l’insistita dimensione celebrativa che impregna il discorso civico ateniese durante la Pentecontetia esaurisse veramente l’esperienza, l’immagine, il ricordo della guerra nella società ateniese del V secolo. Secondo un calcolo spesso ripetuto Atene tra il 490 e il 338 era in guerra due anni su tre: ciò significava che non c’erano mai due anni consecutivi senza guerra. La comunità cittadina aveva costantemente a che fare, dunque, con caduti da recuperare, rimpatriare e seppellire; c’erano inoltre feriti da curare, invalidi di guerra in giro per le strade, orfani e vedove di cui prendersi cura.18 Fino alla metà del secolo !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 16 Oltre al già citato Hornblower 2007, vd. ad esempio Alonzo 2007; Giovannini 2007, sp. 137-218; Raaflaub 2007b; Tritle 2007. 17 Si consideri in proposito, oltre alla citata attenzione riservata alle reazioni psicologiche collettive delle diverse comunità coinvolte durante e dopo la guerra, alla ricostruzione del dibattito politico tra l’età cimoniana e quella periclea sul tema del ‘risparmio dei corpi’ proposta da Mosconi 2014a; 2014b, chiaro indizio della problematizzazione dell’esperienza della guerra negli anni centrali della Pentecontetia. In generale, per una lettura problematizzante, e a tutto tondo, della guerra nel mondo antico, cf. Payen 2012, e, con un utile sguardo comparativo rispetto all’età contemporanea, i volumi collettanei curati da Bonandini-Fabbro-Pontani 2017 e Camerotto-Fucecchi-Ieranò 2017. 18 Per i caduti Krentz 1985; Vaughn 1991; Arrington 2011; 2015; Low 2010; 2012, e più in dettaglio infra; per i feriti: Sternberg 1999; Salazar 2000; Fare i conti con la guerra 77 Atene inoltre doveva ancora fare i conti con la distruzione persiana della città, che aveva coinvolto non solo le architetture sacre, ma anche l’edilizia civile e le infrastrutture.19 Di fronte a questo quadro, vale allora la pena interrogare la documentazione antica sulla scorta del paradigma del trauma, e verificare se in essa siano o meno individuabili tracce di una partecipazione sofferta, drammatica alla guerra. Occorre cioè chiedersi se l’adesione alla guerra fosse intrinseca e spontanea, o fosse piuttosto l’esito di complesse strategie discorsive finalizzate a renderla, appunto, ‘normale’, quando non necessaria. Il punto della questione, che questo contributo tenta di mettere in luce, è proprio il fatto che durante la Pentecontetia la partecipazione sofferta, drammatica, se non traumatica alla guerra non è assente, ma è puntualmente compensata da altri meccanismi (le cd. counterbalancing strategies, per continuare a usare il lessico della psicologia) che continuano a legittimare le guerre recenti e al tempo stesso fornire sempre validi input alla belligeranza:20 è proprio questa strategia complessiva di bilanciamento e compensazione a rendere la guerra ‘normale’ fino a un certo punto, vale a dire fino alle soglie della Guerra del Peloponneso.21 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 2013; Raaflaub 2014, 26-28; Samama 2017; per le donne cf. Raaflaub 2001; 2014, 32-35; Payen 2004; 2012, 138-155; cap. VII; Gaca 2008; 2011; 2014; Fabre-Serris - Keith 2012; Wintjes 2012; Pache 2014; Rabinowitz 2014; per gli orfani di guerra cf. Stroud 1971; Fournier-Hamon 2007; Bearzot 2015b. 19 Come testimonia l’evidenza sia archeologica che letteraria: vd. infra. 20 Su questa sorta di circolo vizioso che viene a crearsi nel discorso pubblico sulla guerra cf. già Hunt P. 2010, dedicato appunto al “vicious cycle of war, militarism, excessive optimism and hence more war” (p. 225). 21 Il cambiamento complessivo nel mood collettivo della comunità civica rispetto alla guerra e l’anelito alla pace degli anni ’20 (vd. supra, n. 15) può allora proprio essere ricondotto al venir meno di quella strategia complessiva di compensazione tra la celebrazione e il dramma della guerra che aveva dominato la Pentecontetia: il dramma della guerra prende il sopravvento e si traduce in un discorso civico incentrato sull’ostilità al conflitto e il desiderio di pace. Il public discourse sulla guerra, da one-sided, si spacca in due. È significativo in questo senso che manchi nella letteratura greca una concettualizzazione teorica della pace: la pace non era una condizione razionalmente definita, perseguita e ottenuta, ma uno stato in cui la comunità civica piombava nel ! ! 78 Giorgia Proietti L’immagine monolitica, priva di sfumature, di un’Atene compattamente proiettata sulla dimensione della guerra durante la Pentecontetia sembra dunque corrispondere solo ad un versante della realtà storica. La guerra non era per sua natura intrinseca la normalità: era un evento drammatico, anche traumatico, rispetto a cui però per un lungo periodo la comunità civica ateniese era riuscita a fare i conti. Questa strategia di compensazione complessiva che durante la Pentecontetia permette ad Atene di fare i conti con la guerra avviene su piani diversi, tra loro connessi, due dei quali saranno oggetto di indagine ravvicinata nelle pagine che seguono: la topografia monumentale e il trattamento dei caduti. La topografia monumentale: war memorials e rovine sacre ! Sul versante della topografia monumentale, molta attenzione è stata rivolta al boom di monumenti celebrativi della guerra, di war memorials, che vengono eretti ad Atene (e non solo) a partire dalle Guerre Persiane. Una fitta rete di monumenti celebrativi di vittorie militari riveste il centro urbano di Atene durante la Pentecontetia: sull’Acropoli e le sue pendici, nell’Agora del Ceramico, nel cd. Ceramico fuori le mura, nell’area dell’archaia Agora.22 Di recente, pur essendosi molto insistito sulla profonda valenza cognitiva, da un lato, e identitaria, dall’altro, della monumentalizzazione del ricordo delle Guerre Persiane all’interno del paesaggio urbano, 23 si è mancato di rilevarne un’importante !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! momento in cui venivano a mancare i meccanismi (quelli sì, razionali) che rendevano la guerra accettabile, normale e necessaria: cf. Raaflaub 2007b; 2012, con utili spunti comparativi con altre civiltà antiche e moderne. 22 Cf. da ultimo Di Cesare 2014; 2015, con ampia bibliografia precedente. Rimangono sempre importanti Boersma 1970; Castriota 1992. Per una più ampia overview sulla topografia della memoria delle guerre ad Atene tra l’età di Clistene e il IV secolo cf. Monaco 2014. 23 Secondo i concetti di mappa mentale e topografia cognitiva di Zerubavel 1997; 2003. Fare i conti con la guerra 79 funzione. I monumenti celebrativi, correntemente intesi come manifestazione oggettiva del bellicismo insito nella società ateniese, rappresentano infatti in realtà solo un versante della topografia monumentale ateniese, e del relativo paesaggio memoriale e mentale. Accanto ai monumenti celebrativi devono essere infatti considerate in primo luogo le cosiddette rovine sacre. La guerra contro i Persiani era risultata sì in una epocale vittoria, ma aveva comportato, con l’invasione persiana del 480/79, un fatto altrettanto epocale: la (duplice) distruzione della città, dell’Acropoli così come della città bassa. L’impatto devastante della distruzione persiana sulla realtà quotidiana e la memoria civica ateniese è desumibile dalle stesse fonti antiche: l’incendio dell’Acropoli è citato come tragico esempio di hybris nei Persiani di Eschilo,24 e raccontato con drammatica vividezza da Erodoto.25 La reazione disperata degli Ateniesi alla messa in !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! vv. 809-812: !"#$%&#'!()&*+,#-((./0#!1#2+3&#456*7#8/!9&*!#:;< (=&# !1/># ?@'?5.&A@# &+B,C# 4D'!E# /0# F@:*!@G# /A@')&D&# 20# H/5I'A*A# ?5)55@JA# KI5/7&# LMA&6:*5A?*A@# 4.25D&N Essi che giunti all’Ellade non 24 ebbero scrupolo di rapire i simulacri, di incendiare i templi degli dei: abbattuti gli altari, scalzate dai piedistalli e rovesciate furiosamente a terra le statue dei numi! Cf. anche l’allusione di Dario nei versi precedenti, 780-781: OP$Q#?.< (!;#*0#RO;5:A#*!9?+5#S2+(!&#OP?+:*5.*+;:A#?!((T#:U&#?!((V#:*5A< *V#P((0#!1#OAOW&#*!:)&/+#?5!:64A(!&#?)(+@ (trad. Ferrari). 25 Hdt. 8.53.2: X3&# /># Y+5:6D&# !H# P&A4+47O)*+,# ?53*!&# '>&# L*5.< ?!&*!# ?5W,# *T,# ?I(A,G# *AI*A,# /># P&!ZMA&*+,# *!U,# HO6*A,# LK)&+;!&[# L?+E# /6# :K@# ?.&*+,# OA*6:*5D&*!G# *W# H5W&# :;(\:A&*+,# L&6?57:A&# ?=:A&#*]&#PO5)?!(@&^ / I Persiani che erano saliti si diressero dapprima alle porte, le spalancarono e uccisero i supplici; dopo averli massacrati tutti, saccheggiarono il santuario e dettero fuoco a tutta l’Acropoli; 9.13.2: […] _?+M+`B5++# L'?5\:A,# *+# *T,# a2\&A,G# OAE# +b# O!I# *@# c52W&# d&# *3&# *+@< `6D&#e#*3&#!fO7'.*D&#e#*3&#H53&G#?.&*A#OA*A4A(Q&#OAE#:;$`B:A,. / […] si ritirò dopo aver incendiato Atene, e abbattuto e raso al suolo tutto quanto rimaneva in piedi delle mura, delle case e dei templi. Cf. anche 8.144.2: […] ?!((.#*+#$T5#OAE#'+$.(A#L:*@#*T#/@AOD(I!&*A#*A9*A#']# ?!@6+@&#'7/0#e&#L26(D'+&G#?53*A#'>&#OAE#'6$@:*A#*3&#2+3&#*T#P$.(< 'A*A# OAE# *T# !fO\'A*A# L'?+?57:'6&A# *+# OAE# :;$O+`D:'6&AG# *!g:@# h'6A,# P&A$OAZD,# R`+@# *@'D56+@&# L,# *T# '6$@:*A# '=((!&# S# ?+5# i'!(!< $6+@&#*V#*A9*A#L5$A:A'6&j#k […] Molte e gravi sono le ragioni che ci im- pediscono di fare questo [scil. allearci con i Persiani), anche se lo volessimo. Prima di tutte e più di tutte importanti, le immagini e le dimore degli déi in- ! ! 80 Giorgia Proietti scena della Presa di Mileto di Frinico non può che scaturire dalla mancata metabolizzazione del trauma dei propri mali (*T# !fO+gA#OAO.), vale a dire della distruzione della propria città.26 Tucidide racconta poi l’attività febbrile, drammatica anch’essa nella sua urgenza, di ricostruzione urbana: case e mura vengono ricostruite grazie all’attività incessante della popolazione intera, attraverso il reimpiego, come materiale edilizio, di edifici, statue, e materiali diversi.27 Ben presto viene ristrutturata, e ampliata, anche la rete idrica urbana.28 Di fronte a questo quadro è degna di nota la decisione della comunità civica ateniese di non !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! cendiate e sconvolte, che noi dobbiamo di necessità vendicare fino all’estremo piuttosto che venire ad accordi con chi tali misfatti ha compiuto […] (trad. Fraschetti). Sul sacco persiano dell’Acropoli, in una diversa prospettiva, vd. il saggio di Van!Rookhuijzen in questo volume. 26 Cf. Hdt. 6.21.2. Dell’interpretazione della reazione ateniese come frutto di un social trauma si discute più ampiamente in Proietti 2018a. 27 Th. 1.89.3: l27&AZD&# /># *W# O!@&)&G# L?+@/]# A1*!g,# !H# 4.54A5!@# LO# *%,# `B5A,# P?%(2!&G# /@+O!'ZJ!&*!# +12U,# m2+&# _?+M62+&*!# ?Ag/A,# OAE# $;&AgOA,#OAE#*]&#?+5@!9:A&#OA*A:O+;\&G#OAE#*]&#?)(@&#P&!@O!/!'+g&# ?A5+:O+;.J!&*!# OAE# *T# *+Z`7n# *!9# *+# $T5# ?+5@4)(!;# 45A`6A# +H:*\O+@# OAE# !fOZA@# AH# '>&# ?!((AE# L?+?*BO+:A&G# c(Z$A@# /># ?+5@%:A&G# L&# Ao,# A1*!E#L:O\&D:A&#!H#/;&A*!E#*3&#Y+5:3&^ / Ma la comunità degli Atenie- si, poiché i barbari furono partiti dalla loro terra, subito vi riportarono i bambini e le donne da quel paese in cui li avevano lasciati, insieme alle suppellettili superstiti, e si prepararono a ricostruire la città e le mura. Ché della cinta muraria erano rimasti in piedi piccoli tratti, la maggior parte delle case erano andate distrutte e poche se ne erano salvate, quelle in cui avevano alloggiato i potenti dei Persiani. Th. 1.90.3: pqr#*+@`ZJ+@&#/>#?.&*A,#?A&/7'+E#*!U,#L&# *s#?)(+@#OAE#A1*!U,#OAE#$;&AgOA,#OAE#?Ag/A,G#K+@/!'6&!;,#'\*+#f/Z!;# '\*+#/7'!:Z!;#!fO!/!'\'A*!,#m2+&#*@,#tK+(ZA#R:*A@#L,#*W#R5$!&G#P((T# OA2A@5!9&*A,#?.&*A. / […] Che tutti i cittadini, uomini e donne e bambini costruissero le mura, senza risparmiare nessuna abitazione, né privata né pubblica, che potesse essere utile al lavoro, ma tutte abbattendole (trad. Ferrari). Per una sintesi delle operazioni di ricostruzione all’indomani del sacco persiano, cf. Lippolis-Livadiotti-Rocco 2007, 361-375, e, con particolare attenzione al tema del reimpiego di materiali precedenti, Di Cesare 2015, 52-58 (per quanto riguarda l’Acropoli); 122-136 e 136-140 (per quanto riguarda l’Acropoli, rispettivamente la cinta muraria e l’area centrale del plateau). 28 Cf. Monaco 2004, 34-41; Marchiandi 2014c; per una sintesi della storia della rete idrica ateniese tra l’età tardo-arcaica e classica cf. Marchiandi 2014d. Fare i conti con la guerra 81 ricostruire le architetture sacre distrutte dai Persiani, le cui rovine avrebbero quindi dovuto costituire una traccia perenne dell’empietà dei barbari: tale fatto, spesso e volentieri chiamato in causa a proposito del cd. ‘giuramento di Platea’,29 è invece raramente citato quando si cerchi di comprendere le caratteristiche dell’esperienza quotidiana della città e dei suoi spazi da parte della comunità cittadina nel contesto del dopoguerra persiano. Le rovine sacre diventano infatti parte integrante di quella topografia monumentale e cognitiva citata sopra, della quale appunto si ricorda spesso e volentieri soltanto il versante celebrativo. Il primo esempio di rovine sacre che merita di essere considerato è rappresentato dalle statue votive dell’Acropoli, le famose korai dedicate ad Atena poliade in età tardo-arcaica, le quali, danneggiate e bruciate nel sacco persiano, vengono intenzionalmente sotterrate: la colmata persiana, lo strato di materiali di scarico e di riempimento archeologicamente riconoscibile sul lato settentrionale del plateau acropolitano, conserva traccia di questo sotterramento rituale;30 significativamente, quasi a indicare, come dei semata, l’esistenza di questo strato di materiali sacri, alcune korai bruciacchiate dall’incendio persiano non vengono sotterrate ma vengono rialzate e ricollocate: Pausania, centinaia di anni dopo, le vede ancora.31 Il secondo caso di rovine sacre che diventano parte integrante del paesaggio memoriale post-persiano è rappresentato dai templi pre-persiani dell’Acropoli (l’Athenaion tardo-arcaico e il cd. Pre-Partenone, di discus!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 29 Su cui vd. da ultimo Papini 2013; Lippolis 2014; Vannicelli 2014, con bibliografia precedente. 30 Cf. Monaco 2010b. 31 Paus. 1.27.6: R:*@#/># a27&=,#P$.('A*A# P5`AgAC# OAZ# :K@:@&# P?+*.O7# '>&# !1/6&G# '+(.&*+5A# /># OAE# ?(7$]&# L&+$O+g&# L:*@&# P:2+&6:*+5AC#L?6(A4+#$T5#OAE#*A9*A#h#K()MG#m*+#L:4+47O)*D&#L,#*T,# &A9,# a27&AZD&# 4A:@(+U,# +o(+&# R57'!&# *3&# L&# h(@OZu# *]&# ?)(@&. / Ci sono poi delle antiche statue di Atena ancora intere in ogni loro parte, ma piuttosto annerite e troppo fragili per sopportare un urto. Il motivo è che anche queste furono attaccate dalle fiamme quando, imbarcatisi gli Ateniesi sulle navi, il re di Persia occupò la città abbandonata dagli uomini atti alle armi (trad. Rizzo). ! ! 82 Giorgia Proietti sa datazione clistenica o post-maratonia): essi vengono in parte lasciati in rovina, in situ, e in parte reimpiegati attraverso l’esposizione intenzionale di alcune membrature architettoniche nel lato settentrionale della nuova cinta muraria dell’Acropoli. Più specificamente, vengono lasciati in rovina sia il tempio di Atena Polias, che secondo l’interpretazione corrente sarebbe rimasto integro – o quasi – nella cella e nell’opistodomo e quindi funzionante come sede del culto della divinità poliade, ma squarciato in mezzo, 32 sia la poderosa piattaforma del PrePartenone, il tempio eretto secondo i più dopo Maratona, che era ancora in costruzione all’epoca dell’incendio persiano. 33 D’altro canto, nel muro settentrionale della nuova cinta, rivolto verso l’Agora del Ceramico, vengono reimpiegati, intenzionalmente esibiti come memoriali della distruzione, gli architravi dell’Athenaion e i tamburi delle colonne del Pre-Partenone. Come è già stato osservato, si tratta di un reimpiego chiaramente motivato da ragioni ideologiche e non, come nel caso della ricostruzione delle case e delle mura cittadine accennato sopra, di un’operazione dovuta alla necessità di risparmio, di soldi e di tempo, nel reperimento di materiale edilizio: nel caso del PrePartenone, i rocchi delle colonne vengono trasportati dal lato meridionale dell’Acropoli per essere reimpiegati nel muro dal lato settentrionale – un’operazione assolutamente anti-economica, che secondo le stime avrebbe riguardato in tutto sei tonnellate di materiale!34 Per diversi decenni dunque gli Ateniesi, quegli stessi Ateniesi che intanto con la guerra stanno costruendo l’Impero, praticano le loro attività devozionali, sia private sia pubbliche, sia quotidiane sia periodiche (in primis le Panatenee) entro uno scenario intenzionale di rovine. Erodoto, che racconta le Guerre Per!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 32 Per una sintesi cf. Monaco 2010a. Per una sintesi cf. Di Cesare 2010. 34 Sull’intenzionalità del reimpiego vd. le belle pagine di Di Cesare 2010, e anche 2014, 144. Per una sintesi dei materiali di reimpiego vd. Di Cesare 2015, 128-129. 33 Fare i conti con la guerra 83 siane parecchi decenni dopo gli eventi, ancora vede le mura affumicate dall’incendio persiano.35 È possibile inoltre immaginare che tale scenario di rovine fosse altrettanto impattante anche per coloro che non salivano sull’Acropoli: esso doveva tradursi infatti in una assenza raggelante per coloro che dalla città bassa rivolgevano lo sguardo verso la rocca.36 Lo stesso vale per il sotterramento delle korai, la cui assenza non voleva certo dire oblio, o invito all’oblio, ma, viceversa, ricordo del fatto che esse c’erano e che erano state drammaticamente violate. Se dunque accanto ai monumenti celebrativi consideriamo le rovine, occorre ammettere che l’immagine complessiva della topografia monumentale e il relativo paesaggio cognitivo dell’Atene postpersiana cambia significativamente. Rovine sacre e memoriali celebrativi appaiono come le due facce della stessa medaglia: da un lato, il dramma della distruzione, la violazione della memoria sacra della città e la conseguente decisione di trasformare le rovine in reliquie civico-sacrali; dall’altro, i monumenti celebrativi, ai quali verosimilmente era demandata anche la funzione di compensare la distruzione. È come se i monumenti delle vittorie, facendo tra l’altro leva, da un punto di vista artistico e iconografico, su elementi chiave dell’identità e della sensibilità civica ateniese, ricordassero ai cittadini che in fondo di fare la guerra ne era valsa la pena. Che questi due versanti della memoria monumentale della guerra non possano essere considerati l’uno a prescindere dall’altro, è ulteriormente suggerito dal fatto che l’Atena Promachos, la famosa statua fidiaca simbolo del primato ateniese su scala panellenica,37 viene eretta esattamente davanti al temenos che delimitava le rovine del tempio arcaico !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hdt. 5.77, che parla di O5+'.'+&A@# LO# *+@`6D&# ?+5@?+K(+;:'6&D&# ?;5E# _?W# *!9# v\/!;G# P&*Z!&# /># *!9# '+$.5!;# *!9# ?5W,# w:?657&# *+< *5A''6&!; (“mura bruciacchiate tutt’intorno dal fuoco acceso dal Medo, da35 vanti al megaron volto ad Occidente”). L’identificazione del megaron citato da Erodoto è discussa: una disamina recente del problema è reperibile in Berti 2012, 60-63. 36 Kousser 2009. 37 Cf. da ultimo Monaco 2009; Palagia 2013. ! ! 84 Giorgia Proietti di Atena Polias. Inoltre, a partire dal 454, data del trasferimento del tesoro della lega delio-attica da Delo ad Atene, anche le stele che registravano il tributo degli alleati erano collocate ‘all’ombra della Promachos’: dunque, ancora, esattamente davanti alle rovine persiane.38 È difficile non riconoscere in tali scelte topografiche, evidentemente non casuali, una precisa strategia di compensazione, finalizzata a esprimere su un piano di ‘topographic semantics’,39 il messaggio per cui alla distruzione corrispondeva un importante tornaconto in termini di potere politico e economico, nonché di splendore culturale e monumentale. ‘Ares cambiavalute di corpi’: i caduti in guerra tra dramma privato e celebrazione collettiva ! Un’analoga prospettiva, incentrata su una dialettica compensativa tra esperienza drammatica e istanze celebrative, sembra potersi individuare nel trattamento riservato ai caduti. La morte in guerra era un fatto comune, frequente, quotidiano. Ma non per questo meno drammatico. Troppo spesso negli studi sul tema ci si dimentica il fatto tanto ovvio e banale quanto importante che, oltre a, o prima di, essere morti ‘speciali’, oggetto di un trattamento distintivo da parte della comunità civica, i caduti erano dei morti ‘normali’, delle vite strappate alle famiglie, recipienti delle stesse cure e attenzioni post-mortem che venivano rivolte agli ordinary dead, ai morti comuni. Ad un certo punto però, e, significativamente, proprio nel momento in cui, dopo le Guerre Persiane, la guerra diventa una componente pressoché permanente della vita civile, lo stato inizia a farsi carico della sepoltura, del ricordo collettivo e del culto post-mortem dei caduti in guerra, i quali vengono strappati alla dimensione privata del lutto, dunque al versante più drammatico e doloroso del do!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 38 Monaco 2009 (dal cui titolo è ripresa l’espressione tra virgolette). L’associazione topografica tra la Promachos e le liste dei tributi avrebbe un senso ancora più puntuale se la statua fidiaca fosse stata finanziata dal phoros degli alleati, come è stato di recente proposto (Palagia 2013). 39 L’espressione è mutuata da Arrington 2010. Fare i conti con la guerra 85 poguerra, e inclusi, come protagonisti, nella dimensione pubblica celebrativa della guerra.40 Ma vediamo meglio. A partire dall’età post-persiana gli Ateniesi caduti in guerra vengono rimpatriati e sepolti in tombe comuni, i polyandria, nel cd. Ceramico esterno, fuori dalle mura: un’area tradizionalmente multi-funzionale, all’interno della quale viene ricavata una porzione di spazio innegabilmente compatta nella sua funzione di cimitero civico, e chiaramente percepito e fruito come tale da parte della comunità civica ateniese.41 Entro quest’area, le tombe dei caduti appaiono uniformi nella loro configurazione monumentale, costituita da una base di pietra, sormontata da stele su cui erano incisi, preceduti da un’intestazione asciutta e sintetica, gli elenchi dei nomi dei caduti divisi per tribù. I monumenti funerari e le relative casualty lists sono nel complesso sobri, privi di decorazioni, e sono corredati di uno o più epigrammi, iscritti sulla base o sulle stele.42 Collocati ai lati della via delle Tombe, essi creano un landscape, e corrispondente mindscape, che esibisce uno “shift in focus which emphasises the sorrows of war rather than its glories”;43 al contrario, i monumenti celebrativi che punteggiavano gli altri settori della città sono focalizzati su “the less problematic outcomes of battles, such as heroic leadership and collective endeavor, political superiority and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 40 Non senza che questo passaggio sia privo di conflitto, come dimostra notoriamente l’Antigone sofoclea (442 a.C.): cf. Ferrario 2006, 82-95. Sulla tensione tra pubblico e privato in relazione al trattamento dei caduti cf. da ultimo Marchiandi-Mari 2016, con bibliografia precedente. Ringrazio Manuela Mari per avermi permesso di leggere il testo prima della sua pubblicazione. 41 Per una sintesi recente, corredata di bibliografia aggiornata, sull’uso di seppellire i caduti in patria anziché sul campo di battaglia e sull’origine del cimitero civico del Ceramico si rimanda a Marchiandi 2014a. L’area in questione è comunemente indicata come Demosion sema, definizione che in questa sede si preferisce evitare in quanto frutto, a giudizio di chi scrive, di una arbitraria toponimizzazione dell’espressione usata da Tucidide (2.34.5). A tale problema è dedicato un contributo in preparazione. 42 Per il repertorio aggiornato delle casualty lists si rimanda a MarchiandiMari 2016, 189 n. 47. Sulla configurazione delle casualty lists cf. da ultimo Arrington 2011; 2013; Barringer 2014. 43 Low 2010, 346. ! ! 86 Giorgia Proietti financial gain”.44 Se le rovine sono la traccia tangibile e drammatica della distruzione urbana, altrettanto lo sono le tombe dei caduti al Ceramico in rapporto al tema delle perdite umane. Le fonti letterarie conservano traccia della percezione drammatica delle morti in guerra: micidiale in questo senso per potenza evocativa è l’immagine di ‘Ares cambiavalute di corpi’ (i#`5;:A< '!@4W,# :D'.*D&) che compare nell’Agamennone eschilea (v. 437): nel 458, a ridosso della sepoltura dei caduti ateniesi su sei fronti di battaglia contemporaneamente,45 sulla scena teatrale il coro invoca non certo a caso Ares, che riceve corpi e ne restituisce cenere.46 Così come le rovine sacre convivono, in un rapporto di bilanciamento, con i monumenti celebrativi della guerra, le tombe dei caduti costituiscono il polo negativo di un preciso rapporto dialettico intrattenuto, oltre che con gli stessi monumenti celebrativi, con il cerimoniale epitafico tributato dalla polis ogni anno ai caduti in guerra. Esso comprendeva come è noto un agon epitaphios, che si svolgeva verosimilmente nell’area che va dal !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 44 Ibid., 357. La lista dei caduti relativa alla sola tribù Eretteide, IG I3 1147, registra 177 nomi. 46 A. Ag. 432-444: ?!((T#$!9&#2@$$.&+@#?5W,#x?A5C#k#!y,#'>&#$.5#*@,# 45 R?+'z+&# k# !{/+&G# P&*E# /># KD*3&# k# *+I`7# OAE# :?!/W,# +f,# wO.<k# :*!;# /)'!;,#PK@O&+g*A@^#k#i#`5;:A'!@4W,#/0#|57,#:D'.*D&#k#OAE#*A(A&*!9< `!,# L&# '.`}# /!5W,# k# ;5D2>&# LM# ~(Z!;# k# KZ(!@:@# ?6'?+@# 4A5U# k# z%$'A# /;:/.O5;*!&#P&<k#*\&!5!,#:?!/!9#$+'Z<#kJD&#(647*A,#+126*!;,^ Molti dolori toccano nel profondo: tutti ricordano bene chi accompagnarono, ma al posto di uomini tornano adesso alla casa di ognuno ceneri e urne. Il cambiavalute che scambia corpi umani, Ares, che regge la bilancia nella mischia di guerra, da Ilio rimanda ai parenti una polvere greve, bruciata sul rogo, che suscita amaro pianto, riempiendo di cenere in cambio d’uomini i vasi, carico leggero (trad. Medda). Per un commento di questi versi in linea con l’interpretazione proposta in queste pagine cf. Fabbro 2017, 75-77. Sull’immagine di ‘Ares cambiavalute di corpi’ e i suoi significati in rapporto ad alcuni sviluppi politico-militari e socio-politici contemporanei cf. Fraenkel 1950 II, 227, in relazione all’uso del rimpatrio dei caduti; Bakewell 2007 in relazione all’incremento dello sforzo militare richiesto alla popolazione, all’introduzione del pagamento per il servizio militare e del sussidio per gli orfani di guerra. Fare i conti con la guerra 87 Dipylon all’Accademia, e soprattutto un logos epitaphios, pronunciato nel cimitero stesso da un cittadino scelto.47 Il dato saliente che occorre qui richiamare è che l’orazione funebre non compiange i caduti, ma li celebra. E li celebra pubblicamente non come singoli – in quella prospettiva prevarrebbero evidentemente il lutto e il compianto – ma collettivamente. La consolatio ad parentes, obiettivo fondamentale nell’orazione funebre privata, nell’orazione pubblica viene infatti pronunciata solo dopo un lungo elogio di tutti gli Ateniesi che, alla pari di quelli caduti in quell’anno, erano morti, generazione dopo generazione, combattendo per la polis.48 La strategia che consente il passaggio dal dramma privato alla celebrazione pubblica può essere allora definita nei termini di una spersonalizzazione del lutto: i morti oggetto dell’orazione funebre non sono i singoli individui morti in quell’anno di guerra ma la categoria, priva di tempo e di spazio, dei caduti per la patria. Le stesse modalità di sepoltura pongono le premesse per questo elogio collettivo e impersonale: i caduti sono sepolti, in tombe collettive, come membri di una comunità di cittadini-soldati, non come singoli individui; i loro nomi sulle casualty lists sono privi sia del patronimico che del demotico e qualificati solo dall’appartenenza filetica: ancora una volta sono quindi connotati come cittadini-soldati, non come membri di un oikos.49 I singoli individui morti in guerra vengono strappati alla dimensione privata del dolore e del dramma familiare e acquisiti in una dimensione celebrativa impersonale, atemporale, valida sempre. In questa prospettiva il logos epitaphios, tra le tante angolature a partire dal quale può !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 47 Per una sintesi recente con bibliografia aggiornata cf. Marchiandi 2014a. 48 È il cd. Tatenkatalog, l’elenco delle azioni gloriose che costituiva l’ossatura dell’identità civica ateniese: oltre al sempre imprescindibile Loraux 1986, cf. da ultimo Proietti 2015 con ampia bibliografia. 49 La strategia della ‘spersonalizzazione’ dei caduti non è scontata; oggi ad esempio, viceversa, l’effetto consolatorio e terapeutico di monumenti come il Vietnam Memorial di Washington (‘the healing wall’:!Shay 2002, 8889) si riconnette all’enfasi sull’individualità privata di ciascun caduto. ! ! 88 Giorgia Proietti essere considerato, può allora essere inteso anche come una terrificante strategia di compensazione rispetto al dolore delle famiglie per le perdite umane.50 Il fatto che le casualty lists e la cerimonia funebre fossero sempre previste, e in ugual modo e misura, in caso sia di vittoria che di sconfitta dimostra che loro funzione primaria non era quella di celebrare la performance militare dei caduti: 51 viceversa, il loro scopo era da un lato quello – rivolto verso il passato – di risarcirne in qualche modo la morte, dall’altro quello – rivolto verso il futuro – di creare un !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 50 Mutatis mutandis, soprattutto in rapporto alla diversità strutturale del sistema comunicativo tra potere e comunità (tendenzialmente verticale oggi, ma non in antico), tale funzione sembra costituire una costante del discorso pubblico per i caduti in guerra. Degno di essere menzionato tra gli esempi di età moderna e contemporanea è ad esempio il Gettysburg Address, sia nella sua formulazione originaria da parte di Lincoln sia nella sua recente riproposizione da parte di Giuliani in occasione del primo anniversario dell’attentato delle Torri Gemelle, in entrambi i casi finalizzato a giustificare e rendere il più possibile accettabile il sacrificio di vite umane per la patria (cf. Stow 2007; Pepe 2009, in prospettiva comparativa rispetto all’epitaffio di Pericle). 51 Cf. D. 18.208: P((0# !1O# R:*@&G# !1O# R:*@&# m?D,# h'.5*+*0G# F&/5+,# a27&Ag!@G# *W&# _?>5# *%,# ?.&*D&# L(+;2+5ZA,# OAE# :D*75ZA,# OZ&/;&!&# P5.'+&!@G# 'T# *!U,# vA5A23&@# ?5!O@&/;&+I:A&*A,# *3&# ?5!$)&D&G# OAE# *!U,# L&# Y(A*A@Ag,# ?A5A*AMA'6&!;,G# OAE# *!U,# L&# ÄA(A'g&@# &A;'A< `\:A&*A,# OAE# *!U,# L?0# a5*+'@:ZjG# OAE# ?!((!U,# w*65!;,# *!U,# L&# *!g,# /7'!:Z!@,#'&\'A:@&#O+@'6&!;,#P$A2!U,#F&/5A,G#!y,#Å?A&*A,#i'!ZD,#h# ?)(@,# *%,# A1*%,# PM@B:A:A# *@'%,# R2Az+&G# lf:`Z&7G# !1`E# *!U,# OA*!52B:A&*A,#A1*3&#!1/>#*!U,#O5A*\:A&*A,#')&!;,^#/@OAZD,C#Ç#'>&# $T5# d&# P&/53&# P$A23&# R5$!&# Å?A:@# ?6?5AO*A@C# *s# *I`}# /0G# É&# i# /AZ'D&# R&+@'+&# wO.:*!@,G# *AI*}# O6`57&*A@^# / Ma non è possibile, non è possibile che voi abbiate sbagliato, o Ateniesi, affrontando il pericolo per la libertà e la salvezza di tutti, per quanti degli antenati affrontarono il pericolo a Maratona, e quanti si schierarono a Platea e quanti parteciparono alla battaglia navale presso Salamina e quanti lo fecero all’Artemisio, e per molti altri uomini valorosi che giacciono nei monumenti pubblici, seppelliti dalla città che li riteneva degni dello stesso onore, tutti ugualmente, Eschine, e non solo quelli di loro che avevano avuto il successo o la vittoria! Ed è giusto: perché il dovere che compete agli uomini valorosi è stato compiuto da tutti; quanto alla sorte, hanno avuto quella che la divinità ha assegnato a ciascuno di loro (trad. Bartolini Lucchi). La celebrazione indistinta dell’areté dei caduti, indipendentemente dal valore militare effettivo di ciascuno, è il fil rouge dello studio di Hannah 2010. Cf. anche Yositake 2010. Fare i conti con la guerra 89 ‘paesaggio pedagogico’ a beneficio dei futuri cittadini-soldato, che abitualmente attraversavano il viale delle Tombe per raggiungere il ginnasio dell’Accademia.52 E certo rientra in questa prospettiva l’adozione, nell’orazione funebre ma anche nel testo delle iscrizioni che accompagnavano i monumenti stessi, di un lessico ‘familiare’: i caduti sono paides di Atene,53 Atene è mater dei caduti. Ma la madre Atene non piange i suoi figli caduti in guerra: li celebra. E ne genera e alleva ancora: non c’è soluzione di continuità tra passato e futuro.54 La guerra in scena: il teatro come superamento del trauma, ieri e oggi ! La topografia monumentale e il trattamento dei caduti sono solo due tra i diversi milieaux, peraltro tra loro connessi, in cui si ritiene di poter riconoscere in atto una strategia di compensazione degli aspetti drammatici, quando non propriamente trau!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 52 Per questa prospettiva cf. Marchiandi-Mari 2016, e più approfonditamente Marchiandi 2018 (ringrazio Daniela Marchiandi per il gentile invio di quest’ultimo). 53 ?Ag/+,# a27&AZD&# ricorre nella documentazione sia letteraria sia epigrafica sin dall’epoca successiva alle riforme di Clistene (IG I3 501), ed è frequente nella commemorazione delle Guerre Persiane: cf. e.g. IG I3 784; XXIV FGE; Pind. fr. 77 Snell-Maehler. 54 Topica all’interno del logos epitaphios, la concezione della madre patria (patr!s) che genera uomini, ovvero futuri cittadini e soldati, fa riferimento a un tema complesso e stratificato, per cui si rimanda in primis agli studi di Nicole Loraux (Loraux 1986; 1998). Cf. anche Vannicelli 2002, sulla presenza del topos del contributo delle donne alla città in quanto madri dei soldati nella Lisistrata e nelle altre commedie ‘femminili’ di Aristofane. Per il periodo in esame meritano infine di essere ricordati i versi eschilei tratti dai Sette contro Tebe (467 a.C.), in cui la terra madre alleva i suoi figli come ‘abitanti portatori dello scudo’ (vv. 16-20): *6O&!@,# *+G# Ñs# *+# '7*5ZG# K@(*.*}# *5!KVC# k# h# $T5# &6!;,# Ö5?!&*A,# +1'+&+g# ?6/jG# k# Å?A&*A# ?A&/!O!9:A# ?A@/+ZA,# Ü*(!&G# k# L256zA*0# !fO7*%5A,# P:?@/7K)5!;,# k?@:*!U,# m?D,# $6&!@:2+# ?5W,# `56!,# *)/+^ Poi i figli, la Terra materna: ci ha nutrito, l’abbiamo nel sangue! Lei si faceva appoggio amoroso al vostro arrancare di bimbi, lei salutava con gioia sacrifici, fatiche per crescervi. V’ha fatto uomini, braccia buone allo scudo, da fidarsi, quando l’ora critica giunga (trad. Savino). ! ! 90 Giorgia Proietti matici, della guerra. Un altro ambiente, fisico e ideale, cui occorre riservare almeno un cursorio accenno è la scena teatrale. Qui, durante le Grandi Dionisie, non solo venivano messe in scena pièces teatrali, ma si svolgevano anche dei ‘preplays cerimonials’ che in forme diverse riguardavano la comunità civica e l’attualità politico-militare. Alcuni di essi, a ben vedere, possono essere intesi non soltanto come espressione dell’ideologia della città, secondo la prospettiva inaugurata da Goldhill e divenuta corrente, ma come specifici meccanismi di compensazione del dramma della guerra. Il primo di questi cerimoniali è la consegna pubblica della panoplia agli orfani e la processione di questi ultimi in armi.55 Gli orfani sono tali perché la guerra li ha privati dei loro padri, ma la polis li ha nutriti e cresciuti, e, ora che essi hanno raggiunto la maggiore età, dona loro la panoplia affinché possano adempiere a loro volta al loro ruolo di cittadini-soldati: e la guerra continua. Siamo di fronte allo stesso meccanismo discusso per il trattamento riservato ai caduti, sia nei termini della compensazione tra dramma privato e celebrazione collettiva, sia sul piano della dialettica tra passato e futuro. Il secondo cerimoniale è il versamento dei tributi degli alleati della lega, che, a partire almeno dal 454, anno del trasferimento del tesoro della lega da Delo ad Atene, avveniva nell’orchestra del teatro di Dioniso:56 anche in questo caso non siamo di fronte soltanto a un autoreferenziale e fine a se stesso “public display of the success in military and political terms of the city”,57 ma a un’operazione che rientra in un preciso meccanismo di bilanciamento, finalizzato a compensare i costi umani della guerra attraverso la visualizzazione concreta, letteralmente scenografica, del comune tornaconto, della ricchezza di cui non soltanto i generali vit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 55 Cf. Aeschin. 3.154; Isoc. 8.82. Vd. Goldhill 1987, 63-68; Spineto 2005, 254-271. 56 Cf. Isoc. 8.82; Ar. Ach. 496ss. et schol. ad 504. Vd. Goldhill 1987, 6062; Spineto 2005, 271-277. 57 Goldhill 1987, 61.! Fare i conti con la guerra 91 toriosi ma l’intera cittadinanza, riunita a teatro, avrebbe beneficiato.58 Tutto ciò non deve essere inteso in una bieca prospettiva propagandistica e strumentale, come se attraverso momenti ‘politici’ come la parata degli orfani e la divisione del tributo i policy makers, secondo una modalità comunicativa tipicamente verticale tra potere e cittadini, potessero ingannare una comunità civica inconsapevole e sprovveduta. Siamo invece di fronte – almeno fino alle soglie della guerra del Peloponneso – a un meccanismo complessivo di cui al tempo stesso autrice e destinataria era la comunità della polis: il teatro era infatti il luogo per eccellenza in cui la cittadinanza poteva sinceramente fare i conti la guerra, metabolizzarla e superarne il trauma. La guerra, come è noto, era tema privilegiato della tragedia: il tragediografo, che era anch’egli soldato o veterano,59 metteva spesso e volentieri in scena gli orrori della guerra, filtrandoli o attraverso lo sguardo dei nemici (i Persiani di Eschilo) o attraverso il mito (Le Troiane di Euripide) – per citare gli esempi più celebri – e così facendo conduceva alla catarsi il pubblico, ovvero la comunità di cittadini che aveva partecipato (e si apprestava a partecipare di nuovo), attivamente o passivamente, alla guerra.60 Del resto, il fatto che prima della messa in scena delle tetralogie fossero i generali a compiere le libagioni di purificazione nel!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 58 Cf. in questo senso già Winkler 1985, 31-32: “If the tribute and the presence of the city’s friend represent her active military alliances, the war orphans who are ready to become soldiers in their fathers’ places inevitably bring to mind the city’s battles, both past and future. […] it is important to underscore that the toto caelo difference we experience between the military realm and the theatrical, between marching to war and going to a play, did not apply to the City Dionysia”. 59 Eschilo aveva partecipato a Maratona, e forse anche nella seconda guerra persiana: per un elenco e una discussione delle fonti cf. Frassoni 2013, 4758; Sofocle era stato generale in età periclea e durante la guerra archidamica: per fonti e problemi cf. Woodbury 1970. 60 Nel momento in cui manca il filtro, la catarsi non può avvenire, anzi il dramma reale della guerra e dei suoi orrori viene rivitalizzato, come accade nel caso della Presa di Mileto di Frinico: cf. supra n. 26. ! ! 92 Giorgia Proietti l’orchestra verosimilmente connotava e orientava la ricezione delle pièces in una prospettiva purificatrice e terapeutica rispetto al tema stesso della guerra:61 dimostrazione ulteriore che i ‘preplays ceremonials’ non erano atti di forma calati dall’alto, ma parte integrante, assieme alla messa in scena della tragedie, della rappresentazione e dell’esperienza della guerra sulla scena, delle guerre passate e di quelle future. Vale la pena allora, in chiusura, riallacciarsi a quanto detto all’inizio a proposito dell’incontro disciplinare tra il mondo greco e la psicologia che si occupa del war trauma nella società contemporanea. Non è un caso che oggi in America, e in misura minore anche nel Regno Unito, non solo la lettura di Omero, ma anche e soprattutto la lettura o la vera e propria messa in scena dei testi teatrali greci sia usata per curare il war trauma nei soldati e nei veterani: negli ultimi anni il mondo anglosassone ha conosciuto il fiorire di diversi progetti di lettura drammatizzata o di messa in scena di tragedie incentrate sul tema della guerra (soprattutto l’Aiace e il Filottete), rivolte a soldati e veterani (e alle loro famiglie), i quali, riconoscendo nei personaggi le stesse manifestazioni della propria sindrome sono facilitati a riconoscerle, a parlarne e a chiarirle, e infine a liberarsene.62 Sulla scia !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 61 Plu. Cim. 8.7-9; cf. anche IG II2 1496, discussi da Goldhill 1987, 60. Sulla scorta della funzione terapeutica del teatro, è stato di recente proposto di identificare proprio nella riconosciuta funzione civica del teatro come scenario della compensazione del trauma di guerra il motivo della scelta di ubicare nei pressi del teatro di Dioniso il santuario di Asclepio: cf. Meineck 2016. 62 Il progetto inaugurale di questa serie ormai nutrita di eventi culturali, sociali e terapeutici, Philoctetes Project/Theater of War (ora ridenomianto Outside the Wire), porta la firma di un classicista direttore di Teatro, Bryan Doerries, che ne rende conto nell’omonimo recente volume (Doerries 2015). Cf. in proposito anche Meineck 2009. Il volume già più volte citato sopra, Combat Trauma and the Ancient Greeks (Meineck-Konstan 2014) è il frutto di un’altra analoga iniziativa nata nel 2011 e ancora in corso, la cui denominazione Ancient Greeks/Modern Lives. Poetry, Drama, Dialogue fa riferimento allo storytelling catartico ispirato al teatro antico e l’immedesimazione con i suo personaggi. Una sintesi di tali progetti, corredata di commenti e osservazioni derivanti dal coinvolgimento diretto dell’autrice, è in Lauriola 2013. Fare i conti con la guerra 93 della riflessione di fondo che pervade il recentissimo volume collettaneo Our Ancient Wars. Rethinking War through Classics, 63 appare evidente quale possa essere, in relazione all’esperienza e al ricordo della guerra, l’intensità del dialogo tra antico e contemporaneo, tra passato e futuro. Come Silke-Maria Weineck afferma nel suo denso epilogo al volume, “it is easier for scholars and soldiers to talk to one another if the wars are ancient – as if our shared distance to the Iliad in the end lessened the distance between us in some way and gentled our differences:” ma il senso di una riflessione di lungo corso tra l’antichità classica e oggi “may not be to bridge or erase distances but to experience them anew, to measure the ones we can, to acknowledge the ones we cannot, to let the ‘long ago’ of the ancient not be a consolation to us but an appeal”.64 Bibliografia Abdul-Hamid - Hacker Hughes 2014 W.K. Abdul-Hamid-J. Hacker Hughes, “Nothing New under the Sun: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorders in the Ancient World”, Early Science and Medicine 19 (2014), 1-9. Alexander et al. 2004 J.C. Alexander-R. Eyerman-B. Giesen-N.J. Smelser-P. Sztompka, Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity, Berkeley 2004. Alexander 2012 J.C. Alexander, Trauma. A Social Theory, Cambridge 2012. 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Collective Memory and the Social Shape of the Past, Chicago-Ill. 2003. BERND STEINBOCK THE CONTESTED MEMORY OF NICIAS 1 AFTER THE SICILIAN EXPEDITION Abstract This paper argues that the memory of Nicias was contested in Athenian public discourse after the failure of the Sicilian expedition. Defending the reliability of Pausanias’ testimony (1.29.11-12), it makes the case that the conspicuous absence of Nicias’ name on the public funeral monument of 412 BC prompted Pausanias to report the story he had read in Philistus (FGrHist 556 F 53). Thucydides’ silence concerning this damnatio memoriae of Nicias stems from the historian’s disapproval of the Athenians’ action; his eulogy of Nicias (7.86.5) is a deliberate correction of the exclusion of Nicias’ name from the Athenian casualty list. By the middle of the 4th century, Nicias played again a positive role in Athenian social memory, as Demosthenes’ positive reference to him in one of his assembly speeches shows (D. 3.21). This restoration of Nicias’ reputation is largely due to the Athenians’ 1 Individual parts of this paper were presented at the annual meetings of the Midwestern Consortium of Greek Historians and Political Theorists, the Israeli Society for the Promotion of Classical Studies, the Internationales Netzwerk historiae, the Classical Association of Canada and in invited talks at the University of Trento, the Friedrich-Alexander-Universität ErlangenNürnberg, the Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, the Martin-Luther-Universität Halle-Wittenberg, the Julius-Maximilians-Universität Würzburg, the Ruprecht-Karls-Universität Heidelberg, the Otto-Friedrich-Universität Bamberg and at the Friedrich-Meinecke-Institut of the Freie Universität Berlin; I wish to thank those audiences for their many critical questions and insightful comments. I owe a particular debt of gratitude to Charles Leslie Murison, Paul McGilvery and Richard Parker for reading drafts of this paper and for their many useful suggestions. I am most grateful to Elena Franchi and Giorgia Proietti for their patience and their editorial acumen and to the anonymous referee for the judicious criticism and many keen insights. All misconceptions and mistakes that remain are, of course, my own. 110 Bernd Steinbock memorial practices: the annual public funeral orations downplayed defeats and integrated them into the idealized version of Athenian history which celebrated all the fallen as manifestations of timeless Athenian excellence. Over the decades, the details of particular campaigns and the failings of individual generals faded from common historical consciousness. This process facilitated the rehabilitation of Nicias’ reputation in the eyes of later generations of Athenians. Keywords: Social memory - Sicilian expedition - Nicias - logos epitaphios Pausanias. In his survey of the Athenian demosion sema, the public cemetery in the Ceramicus, the 2nd-century AD traveler Pausanias mentions two funeral monuments for the fallen of the Sicilian expedition (Paus. 1.29.11-13). In this context, he makes the following remark about the Athenian general Nicias: The generals are inscribed with the exception of Nicias, and of the soldiers the Plataeans are inscribed together with the citizens. But Nicias was passed over for the following reason, and I write nothing different from Philistus, who said that while Demosthenes made a truce for the others excluding himself and attempted to commit suicide when taken prisoner, Nicias voluntarily submitted to the surrender. For this reason Nicias was not inscribed on the stele, being condemned as a voluntary prisoner and an unworthy soldier.2 (Paus. 1.29.12). Pausanias’ testimony about Nicias’ damnatio memoriae has often been dismissed as late and therefore unreliable.3 Westlake, for instance, writes: Pausanias may well be mistaken in assuming the deliberate omission of [Nicias’] name; the inscription can scarcely have been a complete 2 The renderings of Greek into English are my own, but they sometimes draw freely on standard published translations. 3 For the sake of convenience, I follow Knoepfler 1996, 295 in applying the Latin term damnatio memoriae to Nicias’ case, even though this term generally denotes the eradication of someone’s memory by erasing his/her name in existing inscriptions, whereas Pausanias describes the deliberated omission of Nicias’ name from a new funeral monument at the moment of its erection. For the use of this modern term as shorthand to refer to a wide range of individual Roman memory sanctions, see Flower 2006, xix-xx. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 111 casualty list, which would be enormous, and may have referred only to certain tribes. The quotation from Philistus contained in this passage concerns only the voluntary surrender of Nicias and has nothing to do with the inscription.4 The arguments against the reliability of Pausanias’ testimony are threefold. Calling Pausanias’ method into question, Westlake and others deny the plausibility of his description of a single monument for those who fell in Euboea and Chios, at the borders of the continent of Asia and in Sicily (Paus. 1.29.1112). The second objection is based on Thucydides’ complete silence concerning the Athenians’ alleged anger with Nicias after the failure of the Sicilian expedition.5 Finally, if one accepts Pausanias’ testimony concerning the omission of Nicias’ name on the funeral monument, one has to explain the positive assessment of Nicias by writers and orators in 4th century Athens.6 This paper argues that the memory of Nicias was indeed contested in Athenian public discourse after the failure of the Sicilian expedition, just as Pausanias’ testimony suggests. Kenneth Dover is essentially right in asserting that there are “no good grounds for disbelieving Pausanias’ datum or denying that effective !"#$%&' of Nikias and glorification of Demosthenes at the time when the casualty list was erected may have given currency to the story which Philistus records.”7 I make the case that Pausanias did see the monument he described, including the names of the generals Demosthenes and Eurymedon; the conspicuous absence of Nicias’ name prompted him to report 4 Westlake 1941, 64 n. 5. Jacoby FGrHist 3b Kommentar 512 [ad Philistus FGrHist 556 F 53], Pédech 1980, 1732 n. 99, and Piccirilli 1990, 386 n. 3 similarly dismiss Pausanias’ information about the damnatio memoriae of Nicias as the result of a misunderstanding of the monument and his erroneous inference from Philistus. 5 Cf. Jacoby FGrHist 3b Kommentar 512; Knoepfler 1996, 283. 6 This third objection is raised (but insufficiently answered) by Dover HCT 4, 463-464. 7 Dover HCT 4, 463. 112 Bernd Steinbock the story he had read in Philistus. Thucydides’ silence concerning the public anger at Nicias can be explained by the historian’s disapproval of the demos’ action: his eulogy of Nicias (Th. 7.86.5) is sincere and should be seen as a deliberate correction of the exclusion of Nicias’ name from the public funeral monument. Finally, I propose that the restoration of Nicias’ reputation in the course of the 4th century is largely due to the Athenians’ memorial practices: the annual Athenian funeral orations downplayed defeats and integrated them into an idealized version of Athenian history according to which all the fallen were celebrated as manifestation of timeless Athenian excellence. Over the decades the details of particular campaigns and the failings of individual generals faded from common historical consciousness. This process facilitated the rehabilitation of Nicias’ reputation in the eyes of later generations of Athenians. 1. Pausanias’ Description of the Public Funeral Monument of 412 BC Before turning to Thucydides’ silence and the Athenians’ social memory of the Sicilian campaign, I make the case for the reliability of Pausanias’ description of the funeral monument for the fallen in Sicily, which runs as follows: ()*+, !-, *%./, 01%2#343*#/, 53, 6%78329, :*'&;3, 51<, *%=:!), >:*?3#", *@3, #A*@3, :;(#83)", *+, 5&)B)=#C, *%=/, (-3, 53, DA$%8E, F#<,G89,*)&)H*':#:"C,*%./,!-,51<,*%=/,5:I?*%"/,*J/,K:"#3J/, L1)87%H, !"#M2#7J3#", !;&%=C, *%./, !-, 53, N"F)&8EO, PQRS, B)B7#((T3%", !T, )U:"3, %V, *), :*7#*;B%<, 1&@3, W"F8%HC, F#<, *X3, :*7#*"Y*X3,Z(%[,*%=/,0:*%=/,\&#*#")=/],W"F8#/,!-,51<,*^!), 1#7)82;C,B7?MY,!-,%A!-3,!"?M%7#,_,`8&":*%/C,a/,bM;,cOOOdO, After those who were killed at Corinth, elegiac verses (*+,5&)B)=#) indicate that one and the same monument (:*'&;3) stands upon the following, – on the one hand – upon those who met their end in Euboea and Chios, and – on the other hand – they make known that The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 113 those perished at the outermost regions of the Asian continent (51<, *%=/, 5:I?*%"/, *J/, K:"#3J/, L1)87%H) and in Sicily. [12] The names of the generals are inscribed with the exception of Nicias, and of the soldiers the Plataeans are inscribed together with the citizens. But Nicias was passed over for the following reason, and I write nothing different from Philistus, who said [...].8 (Paus. 1.29.11-12) Is Pausanias’ description of this particular Athenian funeral monument compatible with the public funeral practices of the Athenian war dead, as we can reconstruct them from Thucydides’ famous account (Th. 2.34.1-7) and the archaeological findings form the demosion sema?9 According to Thucydides, every winter the Athenians, following their ancestral custom (patrios nomos), held a public funeral for those Athenians who had fallen during the preceding campaigning season.10 The bones of the dead, which had been repatriated to Athens, were laid out for two days, so that the relatives could bring their offerings. On the day of the funeral, wagons carried the bones in ten coffins – one for each tribe – in a solemn procession to the public cemetery, the demosion sema, in the Ceramicus.11 One empty bier was borne, symbolically representing the dead who had not been found and recovered.12 Citizens and non-citizens took part in this funeral procession, and female kin came and lamented at the tomb. After the bones were covered with earth, a man chosen by the city for his high 8 For the grammatical construction of this difficult sentence, see n. 24 below. 9 For the most recent, comprehensive discussion of Athenian funerary practices for the war dead, see Arrington 2010, 2011, and 2015. Cf. also Stupperich 1977 and Clairmont 1983. 10 The public funeral took place in winter (Th. 2.34.1, 34.7, 47.1) for the fallen of each year (Th. 2.34.7; Isoc. 8.87; IG I3 1147.4), but it did not occupy a fixed place in the Athenian festival calendar. Cf. Bradeen 1969, 152; Pritchett 1985, 110-112; Knoepfler 1996, 285; Arrington 2015, 36. 11 For the layout of the demosion sema in the Ceramicus, see Arrington 2010 and Arrington 2015, 55-90. See also Marchiandi 2014a. 12 Cf. Hoffman 2011. 114 Bernd Steinbock intelligence and esteem delivered the public funeral oration, the logos epitaphios, for the fallen.13 The public funeral monuments erected above these mass graves were not mentioned by Thucydides, but can be reconstructed from the fragmentary casualty lists that have been excavated. In the Classical period the ten tribal coffins were placed in a rectangular enclosure,14 and marked with marble stelae, which listed the names of the fallen (without patronymikon or demotikon), tribe by tribe, under geographical rubrics, indicating the place where the Athenian soldiers had lost their lives. A funeral epigram – written at the top or bottom of the stele or on its base – often accompanied the casualty lists and memorialized the death of the fallen.15 Even though every public funeral monument was an individual creation and no two monuments were completely alike, they nevertheless share several characteristics, as the archaeological record suggests.16 The funeral monument for the war dead of 447 BC is one of the most complete memorials that have survived from the demosion sema and provides an excellent example of the most common features (IG I3 1162).17 It consists of a single stele with two columns, in which the names of the fallen are listed according to their tribes and places of death. The heading of column 1 reads “In the Chersonese | of 13 For the funeral ceremony, see Loraux 1986, 15-76; Low 2010, 341-350; Arrington 2015, 33-54. 14 For a rectangular polyandrion, most recently excavated at modern Salaminos Street in Athens, see Arrington 2015, 61-3, 80. See also Stoupa 1997 and Marchiandi 2014b. 15 For discussion of these funeral monuments for the war dead, see IG I3 1142-1193bis; Bradeen 1969; Stupperich 1977, 4-22; Clairmont 1983, 1, 4654; Pritchett 1985, 139-140; Bakewell 2007; Lewis 2000-2003; Low 2010; Low 2012; Arrington 2015, 91-108. 16 Cf. Pritchett 1985, 157 and Arrington 2015, 95-96. 17 Cf. Clairmont 1983, 1, 165-169 and Pritchett 1985, 183-184. The date for this casualty list is based on Plu. Per. 19.1, which mentions an expedition to protect the Chersonese. For photographs of this stele, see Guarducci 1969, 165-166, figs. 40a-c; Clairmont 1983 plates 45-46; Low 2012, 20 fig. 2.2. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 115 the Athenians the following | were killed | Epiteles: strategos | Of the tribe Erechtheis | Pythodorus | Aristodicus” (lines 1-7). Similarly, the heading of column 2 reads: “In Byzantium | of the Athenians the following | were killed | Of the tribe Erechtheis | Nicostratus | Philocomus” (lines 49-54). Both columns continue to list those who fell at the Chersonese and at Byzantium, respectively, under their appropriate tribal headings. In the lower part of column 1 a third rubric of casualties was added by another hand: “The following – in the other | wars – were killed | of the tribe Erechtheis | Lysanias” (lines 41-44). The names belonging to this rubric were inscribed at the bottom of column 1 and 2 in somewhat smaller letters (lines 43-44, 7497).18 The last name, Semichides, is listed under the heading “from Eleutherae” (e&)H2)7f2)3; line 96), presumably since this dependent border town was not part of the original Cleisthenic tribal organization of Attica.19 A short epigram, consisting of two elegiac distichs commemorating those who died at the Hellespont, runs across the entire stele below the two columns (lines 45-48). 18 Bradeen 1969, 146-147. Cf. Bradeen 1967, 324-325; Clairmont 1983, 1, 166. For Eleutherae’s incorporation into the Athenian state after Cleisthenes’ reforms, see Paus. 1.38.8 and Anderson 2003, 180-181. 19 116 Bernd Steinbock Figure 1: IG I3 1162 (EM 10618) Athenian casualty list (Courtesy of the photographic archive of the Epigraphical Museum, Athens) The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 117 Even though Pausanias’ account presents several challenges, I maintain that the funeral monument emerging from his description in 1.29.11-12 is in fact compatible with what we know of Athenian public funeral monuments like the one erected for the war dead of 447 BC. Given the high number of casualties in Sicily alone (especially in the final phase of the expedition), scholars have objected that one single stele could not have been large enough to contain all the names of the fallen of these different campaigns.20 Yet :*'&; in this passage ought not to be taken too literally; apart from a single slab of stone, :*'&; can also denote an entire funeral monument,21 comprising multiple individual stone slabs, joined together like the ones that stood upon the three-stepped, more than six-meterlong inscribed base (IG I3 1163d-f), which is to be associated with the Athenian defeat at Coronea in 446 or at Delium in 424 BC.22 What are we to make of the plural *+, 5&)B)=# in Paus. 1.29.11, considering that Pausanias elsewhere in his work uses 5&)B)=# either in reference to several elegiac epigrams or to several elegiac distichs of one and the same epigram?23 A review of the evidence indicates the latter. Page has proposed that *+,5&)B)=# “may well imply that each of the parties had a separate epitaph on the stele.”24 Pritchett initially accepted 20 Cf. Westlake 1941, 64 n. 5. For this reason, among others, Knoepfler 1996 proposed the ingenious (but unconvincing) solution, that Pausanias actually saw the monument for the fallen of the first Sicilian expedition of 424 and erroneously attributed it to 413 BC. 21 For :*'&; as monument rather than slab, see Pritchett 1998, 45 with n. 33. 22 For a reconstruction of this five stelae monument and its association with the battle of Delium rather than the battle of Coronea in 446 BC (as the editor of IG I3 1163d-f has it), see Arrington 2012. 23 Gavrilov 1996, 215 n. 12. 24 Page 1981, 155. Page 1981, 155 and Pritchett 1985, 201; 1998, 51 believe that Euripides’ 51"F'!)"%3 for the fallen in Sicily (Plu. Nic. 17.4 = Euripides T 92 Kannicht), is one of the 5&)B)=# mentioned in Paus. 1.29.11. Yet it is far more likely that Euripides’ epigram belongs to the other Sicilian monument, described in Paus. 1.29.13, i.e. the one for those “who were 118 Bernd Steinbock Page’s interpretation of one monument with several epigrams,25 but later revised his position. Pointing to the lack of parallelism in the construction of this sentence, he now postulates a lacuna in the text after *)&)H*':#:",26 and claims that Pausanias lumped together a number of different monuments that he identified solely based upon their elegiac epigrams, since – as Pritchett surmises – they had been damaged and lacked geographical headings.27 What we have in Pausanias’ extant text then is – according to Pritchett – the description of three separate monuments (each with its own epigram): one and the same stele upon the dead of Euboea and Chios, and two further monuments (also identified thanks to their epigrams) for the dead of Asia and Sicily, respectively. There is no reason to jettison the transmitted text in favor of Pritchett’s speculative explanation.28 The lack of parallelism in this sentence is not due to a lacuna, but is typical of Pausanias’ rhetorical style, as Strid has shown.29 In this particular case, it probably stems from Pausanias’ incorporation of verbatim citations from the epigram into his description. The words :*'&;3, 51<, *%=:!) could very well constitute the end of a victorious over the Syracusans before Demosthenes arrived in Sicily” (Paus. 1.29.11-13), as Gavrilov 1996, 216-220 has convincingly shown. Cf. the more detailed discussion below. 25 Pritchett 1985, 198. 26 The grammatical difficulties of this sentence are discussed in Pritchett 1985, 147 n. 160. After the phrase :*'&;3,51<,*%=:!),>:*?3#",*@3,#A*@3, :;(#83)",*+,5&)B)=#! one expects a coordinating (T3,g!T construction, but the *%=/,(-3,53,DA$%8E,F#<,G89,*)&)H*':#:", is not followed by *%=/,!T"# Instead, the !T clause introduces a second verb (!;&%=). Pritchett 1985, 147 n. 160 pondered the possibility of a lacuna after *)&)H*':#:", but then followed Bradeen 1969, 158-159 in accepting Pausanias’ description of a single monument (cf. Pritchett 1985, 147, 198-202). 27 Cf. Pritchett 1998, 44-47; 1999, 59-60. Pritchett now calls the idea of one single monument for the dead of three separate years preposterous. 28 Cf. Knoepfler 1996, 282-283. 29 See Strid 1976, 28-30, who lists Paus. 1.29.11 as an example for a typical feature of Pausanias’ prose style, i.e. the “Verselbständigung des !-g Gliedes und als Folge davon Inkonzinnität der Glieder” (30). The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 119 hexametric line ( - | - ! ! | - x | ).30 The phrase “at the outermost regions (i.e. at the coast) of the Asian continent” (51<, *%=/, 5:I?*%"/, *J/, K:"#3J/, L1)87%H) is most likely also directly borrowed from the inscription.31 Moreover, Pausanias’ description of the tomb of Coroebus in Megara (1.43.8) provides a good example for his use of the plural 5&)B)=# in reference to a single poem.32 In sum, Pausanias’ text makes good sense as it stands: *+, 5&)B)=#, i.e. elegiac verses of one individual epigram, possibly written across the entire base as in IG I3 1163d-f, indicate that one and the same multi-stele monument stands upon those who died in Euboea and Chios, at the borders of the continent of Asia, and in Sicily.33 Identifying these geographical locations with known military campaigns has also proved difficult. Combing through Thucydides’ account, some scholars have dated the war dead of Sicily to 413 (Th. 7.87), the fallen in Chios and in the border regions of Asia to 412 (Th. 8.24-25), and those of Euboea to the summer of 411 (Th. 8.95).34 As a result, Pausanias’ description of a single monument for the fallen of these three different years seems to contradict the Athenian practice of holding a public funeral for the war dead in the winter of each year in which 30 Knoepfler 1996, 282. Hitzig-Blümner 1896, 322; Knoepfler 1996, 282 n. 17; Pritchett 1998, 48-49. Pritchett 1998, 47-49 argues convincingly that 51<, *%=/, 5:I?*%"/# does not mean “in the remote parts,” but rather “at the boundary, i.e. at the coast,” thus referring to any fighting off the southwest coast of Asia Minor, such as the battle of Miletos in the summer of 412 (Th. 8.25). Pritchett’s reference to the “southeast coast” of Asia Minor is clearly an unintended error. 32 Cf. Chamoux 1992, 268 and Paus. 1.43.8: “Elegiac verses pertaining to Psamathe and to Coroebus himself are inscribed” (BTB7#1*#", !-, 5&)B)=#, *+,5/,h#(?2;3,F#<,*+,5/,#A*i3,bI%3*#,647%"$%3). This very epigram is transmitted in the Anthologia Palantia (Anth. Pal. 7.154). For a defense of its authenticity against the doubts of Page 1981, 388-391, see Chamoux 1984, 181-187. 33 Cf. Chamoux 1992, 229 and Knoepfler 1996, 282 n. 16. 34 Cf. Pritchett 1998, 49-51 and Arrington 2012, 69. 31 120 Bernd Steinbock there were casualties.35 This apparent contradiction can be resolved, though. Given the utter destruction of the Athenian expeditionary corps in Sicily, it is unlikely that the Athenians would have been able to compile a complete casualty list of those who fell during the final sea-battle in the Great Harbor and the disastrous retreat in time for the public funeral ceremony in the winter of 413/412.36 Over the span of a year, the Athenians probably managed to draft a first list of all those who perished during the final phase of this ill-fated endeavor, based upon the accounts of survivors and the conscription lists of the expedition.37 Bradeen makes the reasonable suggestion that the “list for 412 could have included the generals and a good many others,” but also notes that the listing of casualties might have gone on for several years, since it must have been very difficult to ascertain whether someone was dead or still alive as a slave.38 That the names of the generals and of many of the soldiers of the Sicilian expedition were listed on a funeral monument alongside those who lost their lives in Chios and 35 See n. 8 above. The funeral monument for the fallen of 413 must have predominantly listed the names of those, whose ashes had been repatriated to Athens before the Syracusans blocked the entrance to the Great Harbor, shortly after Demosthenes’ arrival at the end of July of 413. This is most likely the monument, mentioned in Paus. 1.29.13, which probably contained Euripides’ funeral epigram for the fallen of the Sicilian expedition, mentioned by Plutarch (Plu. Nic. 17.4 = Euripides T 92 Kannicht), as Gavrilov 1996, 216220 convincingly shows. For a more detailed discussion, see below. 37 Cf. Pritchett 1985, 201. Pritchett’s suggestion that the Athenians obtained a list of the Athenian prisoners from the Syracusan authorities and thus compiled a “reasonably accurate list of the dead” seems too optimistic. For the identification of casualties by means of the conscription lists, see Bakewell 2007, 94 and Arrington 2015, 34. 38 Bradeen 1969, 158. Thucydides mentions that in addition to the 7000 Athenian and allied prisoners, held by the Syracusan state in the stone quarries (Th. 7.87.4), there were also countless Athenian and allied soldiers, who had been appropriated by their captors and hidden away as personal slaves, so that “the whole of Sicily was full of them” (Th. 7.85.3). 36 The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 121 Miletus in the summer of 412 (Th. 8.24-25) is therefore entirely plausible. To date those who died in Euboea is slightly more challenging. According to Thucydides, the Athenians suffered heavy casualties as the result of a lost naval battle off the coast of Eretria in the summer of 411 (Th. 8.95), but there is no mention of any major battles in or near Euboea in 412. Yet this does not prove that the Athenians did not suffer any casualties there. From Thucydides’ description of a growing Euboean revolt (8.5 and 8.60) Bradeen draws the sensible inference that the Athenian casualties from Euboea, mentioned by Pausanias, must have resulted “from scattered resistance in that island in 412 B.C.”39 In sum, there are good reasons to accept Pausanias’ description of a single funeral monument for those who were killed in Chios, Euboea, at the Asiatic coast and during the final phase of the Sicilian expedition.40 A large multi-stelae monument like the one sitting on the inscribed base of IG I3 1163d-f could easily accommodate a substantial portion of the 39 Bradeen 1969, 158, endorsed by Pritchett 1985, 147, 199 and Chamoux 1992, 229-230. Thucydides places the Euboeans’ decision to revolt from the Athenians right after their defeat in Sicily (Th. 8.5). Since there is no mention of Euboea at all in Th. 8.6, but a description of the Eretrian and Boeotian capture of Oropus right before the end of the winter 412/411 in Th. 8.60, Knoepfler 1996, 287 n. 31 seems entirely justified to consider “cf. Thuc. 8.5 and 6” in Bradeen 1969, 158 a typographical error for “cf. Thuc. 8.5 and 60”. Athenian casualties resulting from the Eretrian intervention at Oropus (Th. 8.60) could probably still have been included on memorial for the fallen of 412. Knoepfler 1996, 287-289, who rejects Bradeen’s dating of Athenian casualties in Euboea to 412 in favor of dating the entire monument to 424 is not convincing, though. See more below. 40 Von Domaszewski 1917, 4 makes the unfounded suggestion – followed by Jacoby 1944, 40 n. 12 – that the single monument described in Paus. 1.29.11 resulted from restorations after the devastation of individual monuments by Philip V and Sulla. For a convincing refutation, see Gomme HCT 2, 96 and Knoepfler 1996, 291-292. 122 Bernd Steinbock several thousand Athenians who died in Sicily in the fall of 413 as well as the casualties of the campaigns in 412 BC.41 2. Omission of Nicias’ Name on the Funeral Monument What prompted Pausanias to mention the omission of Nicias’ name on the public funeral monument? This central question pertains both to Pausanias’ general method and to specific features of the Athenian casualty lists. Knoepfler has recently argued that Pausanias in fact saw the monument commemorating the war dead of the Sicilian campaign of 424 but mistakenly associated it with the Sicilian disaster of 413.42 This alleged confusion is – according to Knoepfler – the result of Pausanias’ method: rather than providing a detailed description of what he actually saw, Pausanias merely copied down the elegiac poem (which mentioned, among others, casualties in Sicily), and later enhanced his account of this misidentified monument with additional information from written sources describing the monument of 412.43 Knoepfler’s proposed solution to this difficult passage has justifiably been greeted with scepticism. Bowie, for instance, rightly takes issue with the high “degree of mendacity attributed to Pausanias.” Even though Pausanias does not explicitly claim autopsy here, the phrase “the generals are inscribed with the exception of Nicias (B)B7#((T3%",!T,)U:"3,%V,*),:*7#*;B%<,1&@3,W"F8%H; 1.29.12)” surely implies that he reports what he saw, and not – as Knoepfler claims – “what he has culled from a written 41 Arrington 2012, 67 estimates that the stelae mounted on IG I3 1163d-f could accommodate about 1130 names. Pointing to the American Vietnam memorial and the Greek practice of using all exposed surfaces for inscriptions, Pritchett 1985, 201 argues that the “architect of 412 B.C. could have designed a monument to accommodate thousands of names.” 42 Knoepfler 1996. 43 Ibid., 302-306. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 123 source.”44 Moreover, elsewhere Pausanias does state explicitly that his descriptions are based on autopsy. Concerning the aforementioned tomb of Coroebus in Megara, for instance, he asserts emphatically: “Having seen them, I know (U!j3, %k!#), that these are the oldest stone images among the Greeks” (1.43.8). Even if we accept autopsy, one has to wonder how Pausanias – or anybody else for that matter – could have noticed the absence of Nicias amidst hundreds if not thousands of names.45 Some scholars have postulated that Pausanias was simply unable to find Nicias’ name on the monument due to damage or partial destruction, and –remembering a passage of Philistus that contrasted Nicias’ voluntary surrender to Demosthenes’ attempted suicide (Paus. 1.29.12 = FGrHist 556 F 53) – erroneously inferred that Nicias’ name must have been deliberately omitted.46 Yet the statement “the generals are inscribed with the exception of Nicias” suggests that Nicias’ name was not just illegible or hard to find, but – for anybody familiar with Nicias’ fate – conspicuously absent besides the 44 Bowie 1996, 313. See also Pritchett 1985, 114-115 n. 64 and 199-200, who argues persuasively that Pausanias, “in writing a guide-book, was listing monuments which were to be seen” (200). In response to Knoepfler 1996, Pritchett 1998, 1-60 re-examines and convincingly defends Pausanias’ account of the demosion sema. By explaining the phrase 51l,m&&n,:*'&n,in Paus. 1.29.13 (which seems to refer to several different monuments ranging from 445-414 BC) as a scribal error resulting from the common abbreviation )1 #&&, :*;&, for 51l, m&&#"/, :*'&#"/C, Pritchett 1998, 42-44 manages to disarm the main counter-argument to Pausanias’ reliability. Cf. Kannicht TrFG 5, 92, who states that Pausanias seems to have had the monuments he describes in 1.29.11-13 in front of his eyes. 45 If one assumes that Pausanias used an earlier written source, such as Diodorus the Periegete’s \)7<,(3;(?*Y3 (Jacoby FGrHist 3b Kommentar 512) or Menecles and Callicrates (Knoepfler 1996, 306), this question applies equally to those authors. 46 Cf. Westlake 1941, 64 n. 5; Jacoby FGrHist 3b Kommentar 512; Pédech 1980, 1732 n. 99; Piccirilli 1990, 386 n. 3; Knoepfler 1996, 303 n. 74. 124 Bernd Steinbock names of his fellow generals Demosthenes and Eurymedon.47 It was this conspicuous absence that reminded Pausanias of the passage in Philistus, which probably mentioned not only the details of Nicias’ and Demosthenes’ surrender but also the deliberate omission of Nicias’ name from the funeral list by the Athenian demos.48 The archaeological evidence also supports my hypothesis that the absence of Nicias’ name would have been obvious to a casual observer aware of Nicias’ end. Two extant casualty lists suggest that fallen generals were not simply listed amidst their fellow tribesmen, as Knoepfler assumes,49 but could be recorded (with proper military titles) in prominent places on the funeral monument: i.e. above all of the tribal headings (like Epiteles in IG I3 1162.4), at the top of the respective tribal list (like P[ylar]chos, the acting strategos in IG I3 1147.5-6) or at the bottom of the entire casualty list (like Hippodamas in IG I3 1147.62-63).50 It is thus entirely plausible that Demosthenes and 47 Paus. 1.29.12 must refer to Eurymedon and Demosthenes, since they were the only two strategoi who died in 413 BC; cf. Hamel 1998, 206. Eurymedon fell in a naval battle in the Great Harbor in the summer of 413 BC (Th. 7.52.2; D.S. 13.13.4; Plu. Nic. 24.3; Just. 4.5.7). Demosthenes was executed (alongside Nicias) in the fall of 413 BC (Th. 7.86.2; D.S. 13.33.1; Plu. Nic. 28.5). 48 Pace Jacoby FGrHist 3b Kommentar 512: “Doch ist mir zweifelhaft ob das spezifisch athenische faktum der fortlassung von Nikias’ namen in der verlustliste, das Thukydides nicht hat, wirklich bei Ph[ilistos] gestanden hat. Er wird doch wohl einfach die tatsachen der übergabe berichtet haben, und wie er selbst über Nikias urteilte steht dahin.” There is no reason for Jacoby’s excessive scepticism; Pausanias states unequivocally that he writes “nothing different from Philistus” (%A!-3, !"?M%7#, _, `8&":*%/;, 1.29.12). Considering that Sicily was an integral part of the Classical Greek world with open lines of communication, there is no reason to doubt a priori that Philistus mentioned this ‘specific Athenian fact’ of Nicias’ damnatio memoriae. 49 Knoepfler 1996, 295 claims that Pausanias would not have taken the time to look closely at these rather monotonous lists: “On peut dès lors metre sérieusement en doute qu’il ait regardé de près ces listes assez monotones.” 50 Low 2010, 343 and Shear 2013, 526 n. 96 consider the inclusion of military titles (such as strategos and trierarchos) as exceptions from the usual The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 125 Eurymedon were conspicuously inscribed as strategoi at the top or bottom of this casualty list. Similarly, Pausanias’ statement about the commemoration of “the Plataeans together with the citizens” (1.29.12) is probably not based upon his identification of individual Boeotiansounding names amidst the long Athenian tribal lists, as Tsirigoti-Drakotou suggests,51 but rather owed to a separate heading \&#*#"42)3 (“from Plataea”), following the ten Cleisthenic tribal lists, if the rubric e&)H2)7f2)3 (“from Eleutherae”) in IG I3 1162.96 is any indication.52 Consequently, both of Pausanias’ comments about the inclusion of the Plataeans and the absence of Nicias are most likely prompted by autopsy. Given what we know about Athenian practices, is it conceivable that Nicias’ name was deliberately omitted from the public funeral monument due to his voluntary surrender, as Pausanias with reference to Philistus claims? Even though there is no exact historical parallel, this damnatio memoriae is nevertheless very likely in light of both the Athenians’ general attitudes towards their strategoi and the particular situation in the fall of 413 BC. In her detailed study of the strategia during the Classical period, Hamel demonstrates that Athenian generals operated under the close scrutiny of the assembly and faced egalitarian practice of listing the names of the fallen simply by tribes (i.e. without patronymikon and demotikon). Yet given the limited number of extant fragments, it is impossible to estimate the frequency of this phenomenon. 51 Tsirigoti-Drakotou 2000, 99 identifies a recently found casualty list of the tribe Erechtheis (SEG 52 [2002], 60) with the funeral monument of 412 BC (as described in Paus. 1.29.11-12) based, among other things, upon the names o)&8!%7%/ (l. 38), 6&)8(;&%/ (l. 36) and p)7%"*?!)/ (l. 46), which are attested in Boeotia, but not in Athens. 52 For the local adverb \&#*#"42)3, see LSJ s.v. \&?*#"#. Just like Eleutherae, Plataea had not been an integral part of the Athenian polis by the time of the Cleisthenic reforms. For Plataea’s relationship to Athens and specific Athenian citizenship grants during the 5th century, see Hammond 1992. 126 Bernd Steinbock serious consequences in case of contravening its directives or incurring military failure.53 During the Peloponnesian War alone, 22 generals faced trials. Of the 20 trials where the outcome is known, 19 ended in conviction: nine generals were executed; five were sentenced to death in absentia (i.e. they fled rather than stand trial); three were fined; the penalties in the remaining two cases are unknown.54 If one considers the general mood in Athens after the failure of the Sicilian expedition, it is not surprising that the Athenians would turn on Nicias and express their anger and frustration in this so far undocumented way. Thucydides provides a vivid picture of the Athenians’ reactions to the news of the catastrophic defeat in Sicily (Th. 8.1.1-2): disbelief, even denial; pain in light of the enormous losses which both each individual personally and the whole city had suffered; fear and consternation caused by the impending danger of an immediate attack upon Athens by its now united enemies; and finally anger resulting in the search for scapegoats. Thucydides names two groups of people who became the primary target of the Athenians’ wrath: the orators who had lobbied for the expedition and “the oracle-mongers and seers, and whoever at that time, by practicing divination, had led them to hope that they would conquer Sicily.” (Th. 8.1.1). By blaming scapegoats, the Athenians acted “as though they had not voted for [this expedition] themselves,” as Thucydides sharply remarks (Th. 8.1.1). It is entirely believable that the Athenians’ wrath was also directed at Nicias, as Pausanias’ reports. The Athenian demos was not “loath to inflict severe penalties on magistrates who had failed them.”55 After the recall of Alcibiades in the summer of 415 BC (Th. 6.61) and the death of Lamachus in the summer of 53 Hamel 1998, 158-160. On the wrath against unsuccessful generals, see also Pritchett 1998, 52. 54 Hamel 1998, 133-134, 141-147. 55 Ibid., 122. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 127 414 BC Nicias was, after all, the sole commander of the Athenian troops in Sicily and thus solely in charge of all military operations in Sicily (Th. 6.103). Even after Eurymedon and Demosthenes’ arrival at the end of July 413, Nicias was – thanks to his superior knowledge of the situation on the ground – largely responsible for the continuation of the siege. 56 Nicias’ voluntary surrender to Gylippus – a historical detail which Thucydides confirms (Th. 7.85.1) – might indeed have been the stated reason for his condemnation as “a voluntary prisoner and an unworthy soldier,” as Pausanias (with reference to Philistus) asserts (Paus. 1.29.12 = FGrHist 556 F 53). This charge of cowardice might have resonated with Athenians who were used to the portrayal of Nicias as a wavering coward on the comedic stage, ever since he relinquished his generalship to Cleon in 425 BC.57 In sum, the deliberate omission of Nicias’ name on the public funeral monument honoring the fallen of the Sicilian expedition is entirely credible. For this reason, a considerable number of scholars accept Pausanias’ testimony at face value, despite the two serious objections that the remaining parts of this paper address.58 56 After the failed night attack at Epipolai, Demosthenes proposed a return to Athens, but Nicias -afraid of the disapproval of the Athenian demos and still hopeful for a successful conclusion of the campaign (based upon his personal, secret communications with Syracusan traitors) -insisted on continuing the siege and prevailed; cf. Th. 7.47-49 and Hornblower CT 3, 631-639. 57 Cf. Plu. Nic. 8.1-2 with Ar. Av. 639-640. 58 Cf. Grote 1872, 180; Classen-Steup 1908, 282; Dover HCT 4, 463; Green 1970, 345; Clairmont 1983, 1, 191; Kagan 1981, 352 with n. 53; Connor 1984, 186 n. 3; Lehmann 1987, 35 n. 6; Hornblower CT 3, 741. 128 Bernd Steinbock 3. Thucydides’ Silence If Pausanias’ testimony is to be accepted, one has to contend with two potential counterarguments: Thucydides’ utter silence concerning Nicias’ damnatio memoriae and the positive assessment of Nicias by writers and orators in 4th-century Athens.59 I suggest that the key for understanding Thucydides’ silence lies in the famous death notice for Nicias that concludes the historian’s account of Nicias and Demosthenes’ execution: For this reason, then, or for a reason very near to this, Nicias had been put to death, being the least worthy of the Greeks of my day to come to such misfortune because he had ordered his whole life in accordance with virtue (!"+,*@3,1f:#3,5/,07)*@3,3)3%(":(T3;3, 51"*'!)H:"3dO60 (Th. 7.86.5). This eulogy has baffled many commentators, since it seems to be at odds with the historian’s at times critical account of Nicias’ leadership during the Sicilian expedition. Dover, for instance, provides a detailed list of Nicias’ failings and claims 59 That Thucydides’ silence casts doubts on Pausanias’ report has been noticed by Jacoby (FGrHist 3b Kommentar 512) and Knoepfler 1996, 283. 60 Th. 7.86.5: F#<, Z, (-3, *%"#q*n, _, r*", 5BBq*#*#, *%q*Y3, #U*8E, 5*)23'F)"C, sF":*#, !@, mt"%/, u3, *X3, B), 51l, 5(%[, v&&'3Y3, 5/, *%[*%, !H:*HI8#/, 0M"FT:2#", !"+, *@3, 1f:#3, 5/, 07)*@3, 3)3%(":(T3;3, 51"*'!)H:"3O,The grammatical construction of the long prepositional phrase is ambiguous. Some commentators have proposed to take 1f:#3 or 3)3%(":(T3;3 with 5/,07)*@3 - “towards every virtue” (cf. Dover HCT 4, 463) or “towards conventional virtue” (cf. Müller-Strübing 1873, 639; Cauer 1899, 409; Burns 2012, 223). Yet following Classen-Steup 1908, 227, 280, Marchant 1910, 211, Kagan 1981, 352 n. 52, Rood 1998, 184 n. 9, and Hornblower CT 3, 742, I take !"+, *@3, 1f:#3 … 3)3%(":(T3;3 51"*'!)H:"3, together (“because of the ordering of his entire life”). In this construction, 5/,07)*@3 is left in “forceful isolation” (Rood 1998, 184 n. 9) in this hyperbaton. For a convincing interpretation of this prepositional phrase as a shorthand for !"+,*@3,51"*'!)H:"3,w,1f:#,5/,07)*@3,53)34(":*%, see Classen-Steup 1908, 281. It has been rightly noted that Thucydides’ eulogy echoes Nicias’ characterization of his attitude towards men and gods in his final speech in Th. 7.77.2 and evokes his concern for the Spartan prisoners from Sphacteria, mentioned in Th. 7.86.3; cf. Rood 1998, 184 n. 9. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 129 that no one “who has read this history up to the present point is likely to have formed a very favourable view of Nikias.”61 Consequently, some scholars view this eulogy as ironical,62 others as a slight against Nicias, since he is only being praised for 07)*'C, while others – like Pericles and Brasidas – are also being praised for intelligence (tq3):"/)63! or since Nicias’, 07)*',is merely “conventional.”64 It is beyond the scope of this paper to discuss comprehensively Thucydides’ characterization of Nicias, but his portrayal is surely too nuanced and subtle to allow for the type of straightforward condemnation of Nicias Green and others have seen in the historian’s narrative.65 Moreover, there are 61 Dover HCT 4, 461. Dover HCT 4, 462 highlights Nicias’ “obsessive anxiety to preserve his own reputation as a successful general” (cf. Th. 4.28.1, 5.16.1, 6.9.2, 6.23.3, 7.48.3-4) and characterizes his conduct as sole commander as “inept, dilatory, and querulous” (cf. Th. 7.42.3). See also Kagan 1981, 368-369: “[Nicias’] admirable behavior during the retreat cannot begin to compensate for his indefensible behavior up to then. In that light Thucydides’ decision to single him out in a eulogy as the man in his time least deserving such a fate is more than a little puzzling.” 62 Green 1970, 346: “However smooth the irony, however veiled the barb, Thucydides could hardly help giving Nicias very short shrift indeed […]. The historian might have permitted himself a brief sardonic smile had he known how many people would take that double-edged tribute as an undiluted compliment. In fact, it is about as merciless an epitaph as the wit of man could devise.” Similarly, Cauer 1899, 409: “Aber wer möchte Thukydides zutrauen, daß er einen Feldherrn, der durch seine Bedenklichkeit und Ängstlichkeit sich und sein Vaterland in’s [sic!] Verderben gestürzt hat, deshalb bedauert, weil er in seinem Privatleben ein Biedermann ist. Die Worte sind nur zu verstehen, wenn man sie ironisch auffaßt.” 63 Cf. Kagan 1981, 371 and Rood 1998, 184 n. 8. 64 Müller-Strübing 1873, 639; Cauer 1899, 409; Burns 2012, 223. See also, Rood 1998, 183-184. Nicias’ 07)*' can be construed as merely “conventional” if 3)3%(":(T3;3,is taken with 07)*'3 and not -as it is more natural – with 51"*'!)H:"3; see n. 59 above. 65 Cf. Green 1970, 346: “Throughout the History, Thucydides makes no bones about Nicias’ ineffectuality.” See also, Kagan 1981, 368-369. For an example of Thucydides’ subtle and nuanced narrative artistry, see Th. 6.104.3 and 7.1.2 with Hornblower CT 3, 542. In the latter passage the reader learns that Nicias did in fact send some ships to intercept Gylippus; Thucydides thus encourages his readers to revise their initial judgment of Nicias’ failure to 130 Bernd Steinbock good arguments for regarding Thucydides’ obituary notice of Nicias as sincere. One reason for this pathos-evoking eulogy is surely owed to Thucydides’ depiction of Nicias as a tragic hero (standing in for the Athenian people as a whole), as Rood has argued persuasively.66 But this is only one part of the story. I suggest that Thucydides had yet another reason for writing this eulogy, and that is to protest implicitly and rectify – by literary means – the Athenians’ decision to exclude Nicias’ name from the funeral monument for the fallen at Sicily. Several scholars have already seen in Thucydides’ sympathetic death notice a reaction to the demos’ damnatio memoriae of Nicias;67 Yet, guard against Gylippus’ approach due to his contempt for the Spartan’s small flotilla. Similarly, the verdict against Nicias’ overly cautious execution of the war in Th. 7.42.3, is put into the mouth of Demosthenes and thus does not necessarily reflect Thucydides’ own view; cf. Hornblower CT 3, 622-623. 66 Cf. Rood 1998, 183-201, especially 198-199: “The predominant focus on Nikias […] has been the vehicle for profound pathos: and the account of his death arouses pity and horror in an intense – and tragic – way. And it is because of his own moral qualities (07)*') that […] he becomes a figure of such power, bringing out a sense of loss at the undermining of Athens’ ‘ancestral virtues’ […]. Thucydides’ evocation, through Nikias, of the Athens of Perikles reflects a ‘dramatic genius parallel to the Oedipus Tyrannus of Sophokles’ [Grote 1872, 182].” Thucydides’ eulogy of Nicias uncannily exhibits all the characteristics of Aristotle’s 4th century definition of tragedy (cf. Arist. Po. 1453a7-10): a character, highly esteemed and famous for his good fortune ()A*HI8#; cf. Th. 5.16.1d,falls into misfortune (!H:*HI8#dC not through badness or villainy, but rather on account of some kind of error (!"l, x(#7*8#3,*"3?). As such, he is deserving of pity; cf. Rood 1998 n. 72. For Nicias as “the most tragic character in the History,” see also Westlake 1968, 210-211. 67 Steup in Classen-Steup 1908, 282: “Vielleicht ist Thuk. zu seiner Äußerung über Nikias durch die ungünstige Beurteilung veranlaßt worden, die der unglückliche Feldherr nach seinem Tode in Athen erfahren hat (vgl. Paus. 1, 29, 12).” This hypothesis was taken up, but quickly dismissed by Jacoby FGrHist 3b Noten 304 n. 151: “Sein [i.e. Thukydides’] schlusswort 7, 86, 5 klingt fast wie ein protest gegen den athenischen beschluss, ist aber nach § 4 schwerlich so gemeint.” Lehmann 1987, 35 n. 6 connects Thucydides’ “menschlich-warme (und überraschend positive) Würdigung des Nikias (7,86,5)” to the demagogues’ denigration of Nicias as scapegoat for the Sicilian disaster. Kagan 1981, 372 argues that the main purpose of Thucydides’ eulogy was “to prevent what he judged to be a misinterpretation, The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 131 there are four specific arguments that allow us to see in this death notice not only an expression of the historian’s sympathy, but a literary epitaph for this hapless general. First, it is striking that Thucydides – unnoticed by most translators and commentators – used the pluperfect 5*)23'F)" “he had died/ he had been put to death” to introduce Nicias’ death notice.68 This marks not only a clear break from the preceding narrative of Demosthenes and Nicias’ execution, but also signals to the reader that these lines ought to be read as spoken “from the point of view of a somewhat later time” – just as in a real epitaph on a public funeral monument.69, Second, Ossipova has recently compared Thucydides’ eulogy of Nicias to traditional Greek epitaphs and has found “many of the characterizing adjectives [and nouns] used in funerary inscriptions: 07)*'C, mt"%/C, !H:*HI8#C, 70 51"*'!)H:"/O” She concludes that in “this particular case the historian appears to have adopted both the traditional norms and the ways to express them.”71 Ossipova does not draw any connections between her analysis and the omission of Nicias’ name from the public funeral monument attested by Pausanias, but her article provides further evidence for my hypothesis that Thucydides composed this eulogy – among other things – to or at least an oversimplification, of the disaster in Sicily which fixed the blame solely on the faults of Nicias,” but concedes that Thucydides also “would have been glad to” defend the general’s reputation. See also Kagan 2009, 220-221. 68 Among the commentators, only Classen-Steup 1908, 227 find the pluperfect noteworthy. Most translators render 5*)23'F)" with a past tense verb: “Nicias was put to death” (Smith 1935, 177); “he suffered death” (Jowett 1900, 333; Hornblower CT 3, 741); “he was killed” (Warner 1972, 536); 69 Cf. Classen-Steup 1908, 227: “5*)23'F)", Plusqpf., weil vom Standpunkt einer etwas späteren Zeit aus gesprochen wird.” 70 SEG 51 (2001), 2316, summarizing Ossipova 2001. See also Hornblower CT 3, 743. 71 Ossipova 2001, 118. 132 Bernd Steinbock provide Nicias with the well-deserved funeral memorial of which the Athenian demos had deprived him. Third, that Thucydides was indeed very concerned about the proper commemoration of the fallen at Sicily has recently also been demonstrated by Rachel Bruzzone, who makes a compelling case for viewing Thucydides’ description of the final Great Harbor Battle (7.69-71) as an ersatz funerary monument, i.e. a literary tomb that evokes the imagery of the reliefs on Athenian public monuments for the war dead.72 Finally, viewing this eulogy of Nicias as a deliberate correction of the exclusion of his name from the public monument also provides a compelling explanation for the surprising fact that none of the other generals – Lamachus, Eurymedon, not even Demosthenes – received an obituary notice from Thucydides;73 the historian saw no need, since their names did feature prominently on the Athenian war memorial for those who died in Sicily, as Pausanias confirms.74 4. Positive Assessment of Nicias in 4th-century Athens Thucydides’ silence concerning the damnatio memoriae of Nicias can be attributed to his disapproval of the Athenians’ decision, but if one wants to accept the historicity of Pausanias’ report, one also has to account for the number of positive references to Nicias in Plato, Aristotle and the Attic orators, since these seem to suggest that Nicias – despite his military failure in Sicily and his voluntary surrender – was held in high esteem in 4th-century Athens.75 72 Bruzzone (forthcoming). For this surprising fact, see Hornblower CT 3, 531, 646, 738. Cf. also Grote 1888, 182; Rood 1998, 183. Since Lamachus was killed in the summer of 414 BC (cf. Th. 6.101.6), his name was presumably engraved on public funeral monument set up in the winter of 414/413 BC. 74 Cf. Paus. 1.29.12. 75 Cf. Dover HCT 4, 463 and Rhodes 1981, 351, 358. 73 The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 133 The attractive portrayal of Nicias as a “patient, serious, honest man” in Plato’s Laches, which has Socrates question two of Athens’ famous generals about the nature of courage, might be ascribed to the sympathies of a fellow elite figure, who was “not afraid to hold unpopular opinions.”76 Similarly, in a brief description of democratic and aristocratic leaders in 5th-century Athens, the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia, singles out Nicias, Thucydides and Theramenes as “the best statesmen after those of earlier times” (Arist. Ath. 28.5). It states that “concerning Nicias and Thucydides, almost everybody agrees that they were not only honorable gentlemen (F#&%./, F0B#2%./), but also statesmanlike and men who led the whole polis like a father” (1%&"*"F%./, F#<, *y, 14&)", 1?:n, 1#*7"FX/, I7Y(T3%H/; Arist. Ath. 28.5).77 One might object that – despite the claim that “almost everybody agrees” – this extraordinary praise of Nicias and Thucydides, son of Melesias, might be merely a reflection of the aristocratic outlook of the original source, rather than the widely held view of Nicias in 4th-century Athens.78 While the praise of Nicias in Plato’s Laches and the Athenaion Politeia might be attributed to the conservative bias and class-solidarity of their authors, the presentation of Nicias as a role-model of democratic leadership in Demosthenes’ Third Olynthiac, a symbouleutic speech addressed to a mass audience of Athenians in the assembly, clearly shows that in 349 BC Nicias no longer played a negative role in Athenian collective memory.79 In this speech, the orator Demosthenes mentioned 76 Dover HCT 4, 464. Geske 2005, 76 makes the attractive suggestion that this assessment of Nicias ultimately derives from his own self-promotion as conscientious and steadfast leader. 78 Cf. Rhodes 1981, 358, who suggests that the author of the Athenaion Politeia is “not producing a spontaneous comment of his own but is repeating with his approval a comment which he found attached to the list of 17%:*?*#"” in his source, perhaps composed by Stesimbrotus of Thasus, who favored Sparta and aristocracy; cf. Rhodes 1981, 22-23, 29. 79 For the underlying assumption that an orator, seeking to persuade a mass audience, was more likely to evoke commonly held beliefs, see Wolpert 77 134 Bernd Steinbock Nicias, 64 years after his death, alongside Aristides, his own namesake and Pericles in a list of exemplary Athenian statesmen, who did not pander to the Athenian people (3.21). The preceding remark that these famous orators of the past “are always praised, but not always imitated” (3.21) by Demosthenes’ contemporaries, suggests that Demosthenes’ positive allusion to Nicias and the others was not an exception, but a common occurrence in 4th-century Athenian public discourse. Dover concluded from these positive references that Nicias’ character and his military reputation “were secure in the fourth century” and proposed that the public wrath against Nicias must have been merely a “temporary phase.”80 This is surely essentially correct, yet I suggest that Nicias’ rehabilitation did not happen overnight.81 That his reputation was still under threat about 15 years after his death can be inferred from the remarks made by his nephew, one of Lysias’ clients, in a court case concerning his family’s property, which took place shortly before the outbreak of the Corinthian War, in the early 390s. To obtain the jurors’ goodwill, the defendant praised his uncle’s service for the city:82 So first remember our uncle, Nicias: [2] in all that he did for your commonweal using his own judgment, it will be evident in each case that he was responsible for many benefits to the city and inflicted the most and greatest harm on the enemy; but in all that he was compelled to do, not of his own wish but against his will, he bore not the slightest part of the suffering himself, while those who persuaded you ought to be rightly blamed for the misfortune [*J/, :H(M%7f/S, [3] 2002b, xiii: “The stakes in deliberative and forensic oratory were too high for a speaker to risk professing values that the audience did not endorse.” This is true for attitudes concerning historical persons and events as well. Cf. Thomas 1989, 200 and Canevaro in this volume. 80 Dover HCT 4, 463. 81 As argued above, the positive portrayal of Nicias in Plato’s Laches, presumably written in the 390s or 380s, should not be taken as a trustworthy reflection of popular opinion at that time. 82 Cf. Todd 2000, 191-193. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 135 since he demonstrated his loyalty to you and his excellence [07)*'] in your successes and in your enemies’ disasters. For as your general, he took many cities, and set up many splendid trophies over the enemies; to mention them each in turn would be wearisome. (Lys. 18.1-3) Todd characterizes these words by Nicias’ nephew as a eulogistic summary of Nicias’ achievements.83 Similarly, Dover regards them merely “as a partisan statement”84 and thus implies that they cannot be used to gauge the popular opinion of Nicias at the time of their delivery. On the contrary, the very fact that (1) Nicias’ nephew felt compelled to address – in veiled terms – the disaster, the :H(M%7?Cz{,in Sicily, that (2) he reminded the jurors that Nicias took on the command against his own will and “bore not the slightest part of the suffering himself”, and that (3) he tried to deflect the blame to those who persuaded the Athenians to launch the expedition clearly shows that about 15 years after the event the blame for the catastrophe in Sicily was – at least to some extent –still attached to his uncle. 5. Social Memory in Classical Athens It is impossible to tell at which point in the 4th century Nicias could again be presented as an exemplary figure in Athenian public discourse, but Demosthenes’ historical allusion to Nicias in an assembly speech in 349 BC (D. 3.21) proves that the Athenians’ attitude towards Nicias had in fact changed over the course of two generations. One reason for this change might be that elite writers such as Thucydides and Plato held up his reputation. Yet given their limited readership, it seems more likely to me that Nicias benefitted from a general transformation of the Athenians’ collective memory of the Sicilian expedition. I 83 Todd 2000, 191. Dover HCT 4, 464. 85 For the euphemistic oratorical reference to the disaster in Sicily as “misfortune” (:H(M%7?), see Wolpert 2002a, 120. 84 136 Bernd Steinbock argue that the annual public funeral ceremonies for the war dead enabled the Athenians to integrate this catastrophic defeat into their idealized version of Athenian history celebrated in the logoi epitaphioi. The funeral orations commemorated the Athenians’ heroic fight for the freedom of their Sicilian allies, whereas the complex motives for the launching of this expedition and the actual reasons for its failure (including Nicias’ decisions as general) gradually faded from common historical consciousness. In making this case I draw heavily on the concept of social memory, which I consider an invaluable analytical tool. Social or collective memory denotes “the shared remembrances of group experience,”86 or – put simply – it comprises what average people would tell you about the history of their communities.87 It signifies “that which a society knows and holds for true about its past, [which] is of fundamental significance for the imaginaire, for the way a society interprets and understands itself, and therefore for its inner coherence and ultimately its collective identity.”88 Collective memories usually do not stand up to the scrutiny of professional historians. They are often simplistic, contain fictitious elements and show signs 86 Alcock 2002, i. Maurice Halbwachs, a student of the French sociologist Émile Durkheim and murdered in Buchenwald 1945, was the first to establish memory as a social category. For his concept of ‘collective memory’, see Halbwachs 1925, 1941, 1950 (posthumously published and first translated into English in 1980). To avoid suspicions of social determinism most scholars in the field today prefer the term ‘social memory’ to Halbwachs’ ‘collective memory’. While emphasizing the dynamic and communicative aspects of the concept, I use, for the sake of variation, both terms interchangeably. By now, the body of research on social memory has become enormous. For concise introductions to this concept, see Alcock 2002, 1-35 and Steinbock 2012, 7-19. For comprehensive treatments, see FentressWickham 1992; Misztal 2003; Erll-Nünning 2008. For an excellent survey of the role of war and conflict in recent memory studies, see Franchi-Proietti 2014. 88 Gehrke 2001, 286, who coined the term ‘intentional history’ for this very phenomenon. 87 The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 137 of distortions, but they are real to the remembering community, since they conform to the view the community has of itself.89 Social memory comes into existence whenever people share the memories they consider important.90 In Athens, social memory was manifested and transmitted on different levels (at the polis level, but also in tribes, demes, phratries, families and other subgroups)91 as well as in different media: through public speeches, at festivals, in the theater and in everyday conversations; through published works, monuments, inscriptions and visual representations. All these memories mutually influenced and sustained each other, but could also be in conflict.92 The influence of present concerns on the shared image of the past is not to be underestimated. Just as social groups change over time, so do their memories. The past – or, better, people’s image of their past – is therefore constantly “modeled, invented, reinvented, and reconstructed by the present.”93 In classical Athens, the public funeral oration (logos epitaphios) was arguably the most important institution for the formation and transmission of the Athenians’ view of themselves and of the history of their city.94 For this reason, the epitaphic version of Athenian history has rightly been called the 89 Loraux 1986, 171; Thomas 1989, 206; Fentress-Wickham 1992, 25-26; Steinbock 2012, 7-8. For the relationship between history and memory, see A. Assmann 2001. 90 Cf. Steinbock 2012, 12. 91 Cf. Steinbock 2017. 92 For the interplay of these different ‘carriers’ of Athenian social memory, see Steinbock 2012, 48-99. 93 Assmann 1997, 9. 94 For the Athenian funeral oration, see Walters 1980; Loraux 1986; Thomas 1989, 196-237; Parker 1996, 131-141; Mills 1997, 58-78; Pritchard 1999, 14-26; Gehrke 2001, 301-304; Porciani 2001; Jung 2006, 128-165; Clarke 2008, 309-313; Grethlein 2010, 105-125; Steinbock 2012, 49-58; Shear 2013; Proietti 2015; Barbato in this volume. 138 Bernd Steinbock “official polis tradition”95 or the “master narrative of Athenian history.”96 Established soon after the Persian Wars, the logos epitaphios, delivered by the city’s leading statesman (Th. 2.34.6), was the culmination of the state funeral of the war dead of each year.97 Unfortunately only five of these epitaphioi have come down to us: Pericles’ speech (as it is represented by Thucydides) for the first Athenian casualties of the Peloponnesian War (431 BC); Lysias’ epitaphios for the fallen of the Corinthian War (ca. 391 BC); Demosthenes’ and Hyperides’ speeches for the war dead of Chaeronea (338 BC) and the Lamian War (322 BC), respectively; the parodistic funeral speech in Plato’s Menexenus.98 Judging from these few examples, these speeches were rather conventional; they had the same structure, expressed the same ideals, and praised the same Athenian achievements. The central part of the speech consisted of a Tatenkatalog, which celebrated the Athenians’ exploits from the origin of the city to the most 95 Thomas 1989, 200, 208. Forsdyke 2005, 242. Cf. Steinbock 2012, 20, 49. It is important to stress, however, that these terms do not denote a single, fixed, and officially authorized narrative, but rather the sum of the converging, polis-wide narratives of the Athenian past that conveyed the democratic and hegemonic Athenian self-image, derived from the Persian War experience. Moreover, the epitaphios was not the Athenians’ only source for knowledge of Athens’ past. As noted above, various carriers of social memory mutually sustained and influenced each other, but could also be in conflict. Cf. Steinbock 2012, 4899. 97 For further bibliography on the origin of the epitaphios, see Steinbock 2012, 50 n. 3 and Proietti 2015, 518 n. 5. 98 Cf. Th. 2.35-46; Lys. 2; D. 60; Hyp. Epit.; Pl. Mx. 236d-249c. For the reconstruction of the genre one can also use fragments of an exemplary funeral speech written by Gorgias (DK, 82, B 5a, 5b, 6) and Isoc. Panegyricus, which is a eulogy of Athens, using many of the themes of the funeral oration. Cf. Grethlein 2010, 107 and Shear 2013, 511-512. The authorship of Lysias’ and Demosthenes’ funeral speeches has long been doubted on stylistic grounds, but they are now generally seen as genuine; cf. Todd 2007, 157-164 and Herrman 2008, respectively. 96 The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 139 recent battles in which the heroes of the day had lost their lives as manifestations of the timeless Athenian 07)*'.99 These epitaphioi are an invaluable key to the Athenians’ mentality. The heroic experience of the Persian Wars had a profound effect on the Athenians’ self-image.100 After their glorious victories at Marathon and – ten years later – at Salamis,101 the Athenians saw themselves as brave and selfless champions of Greek liberty against both barbarian invaders and Greek oppressors, as Lysias’ résumé of the Athenians’ seventy year-long naval supremacy illustrates: And neither did triremes sail out of Asia, nor did a tyrant establish himself among the Greeks, nor was any Greek polis enslaved by the barbarians. This was the level of moderation and fear which their [i.e. the Athenians’] bravery (07)*') inspired among all mankind. On account of these things they alone ((43%H/), ought to be the champions of the Greeks (17%:*?*#/, *X3, v&&'3Y3d, and the leaders of the poleis (|B)(43#/,*X3,14&)Y3). (Lys. 2.57) To us, this self-congratulatory version of Athenian history might seem chauvinistic and full of historical distortions.102 But the same ideals, examples and justifications appear elsewhere in Athenian public discourse, which suggests that “most Athenians believed in them passionately.”103 The history, presented in the epitaphios, was a “cornerstone of their identity”104 and “true for the Athenians, in that it conform[ed] to the idea that they wish[ed] to have of themselves.”105 99 Steinbock 2012, 50; Shear 2013, 513. Cf. Loraux 1986, 132-171; Thomas 1989, 196-237; Gehrke 2001; 100 2003. 101 The symbolic meaning of Marathon, where the Athenians fought “alone” against the Persians on behalf of the other Greeks, was thereby extended to Xerxes’ invasion as well. Cf. Thomas 1989, 224-226. 102 For distortions, see, for instance, the commentary on Lysias’ epitaphios in Todd 2007, 210-274. 103 Thomas 1989, 206; cf. Strasburger 1958. 104 Gehrke 2001, 302. 105 Loraux 1986, 171 (italics by Lauraux). See also Gehrke 2003, 22 and Thomas 1989, 237, who rightly emphasizes that these “‘distortions’ would be 140 Bernd Steinbock The epitaphios was infused with democratic and hegemonic ideology, derived from the Persian War experience, which was not only projected back into the mythical past but also colored the perception and memory of later events. 106 In accordance with this idealizing tendency, defeats were downplayed, ignored, or if necessary turned into moral victories,107 as Lysias’ treatment of the Athenians’ loss of the Peloponnesian War (Lys. 2.65) and Demosthenes’ praise of the Athenian fallen as victors (D. 60.19) after their devastating defeat at Chaeronea in 338 BC show.108 In this way, the fallen of each war – and thus also the encouraged or reinforced by certain ideals, and [that] again the line between deliberately misleading propaganda and wishful thinking might be blurred.” For the rejection of the anachronistic term ‘propaganda,’ see Thomas 1989, 206 n. 39 and Steinbock 2012, 40. 106 For the retrojection of Athens’ hegemonic ideology into the mythic past, cf. Gehrke 2001, 302; Gotteland 2001, 129; Mills 1997, 58; Thomas 1989, 207-208; Harding 2008, 66; Proietti 2015, 518-525. For the ‘coloring’ of later episodes, see, for instance, Lys. 2.49-53 with Thomas 1989, 227-229; Todd 2007, 249-253. 107 Thomas 1989, 231: “The past is strictly selected to reveal only the Athenian aretê born of autochthony, Athenian success and support of the liberty of others. This reflects the role of the epitaphios to provide an encomium of Athens and exempla from the past to encourage the present generation to emulate their ancestors. One of the most obvious results is that defeats are forgotten. Athens’ past is transformed by selection and alteration so that it consists of a series of victories -moral victories if necessary. What chance was there of defeats being remembered, then, at least in the next generation?” See also, Low 2010, 349 and 350 n. 34 and Pritchard 1999, 2122. 108 According to Lys. 2.65, “the city suffered misfortune (5!H:*qI;:)3) earlier [i.e. it was defeated in 404 BC] neither due to the Athenians’ own cowardice nor on account of the enemies’ bravery; for, if they [i.e. the exiled democrats] were able to return to their own land while engaged in violent conflict with fellow-citizens (:*#:"?:#3*)/,17i/,0&&'&%H/) and despite the presence of the Peloponnesians and the other enemies, it is obvious that, if they [i.e. the Athenians] had been united (Z(%3%%[3*)/), they would have easily managed to fight their foes.” Demosthenes declared the vanquished Athenian war dead to victors, asserting that “the men who met their end in the battle line on either side do not share in the defeat, but are both alike victors” (D. 60.19). According to D. 60.20, the fallen – in a sense – even achieved their objective of preventing the invasion of Attica by the Macedonians: The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 141 thousands of the Sicilian expedition – were celebrated as manifestations of the timeless Athenian national character. The role of the funeral orations in shaping the Athenians’ historical consciousness can hardly be overstated.109 First, unlike in the law courts and the assembly where Athenians would hear only scattered historical allusions, the funeral orations set out the city’s past in narrative form, rough chronological order and on a regular basis.110 Second, Athens’ past and recent accomplishments were normative, and their praise fulfilled a didactic function. For this reason, Loraux considers the epitaphios “the most official of lessons.”111 Consequently, Athenians were expected to emulate the heroic examples of their ancestors in the future.112 Third, owing to the social and religious context – a solemn speech delivered by Athens’ leading statesman in the presence of the ashes of the fallen (Th. 2.34.6) – this version of the Athenian past was highly emotionally charged and deeply affected the Athenian psyche, as Socrates’ ironic remark in Plato’s Menexenus reveals. Socrates claims that the epitaphios enchants his soul and makes him feel greater and nobler than before. This feeling of solemnity (:)(34*;/d, lasts for more than three days. Only then does he realize that he is not on the Islands of the Blessed (Pl. Mx. 234c-235c). Socrates is surely ironic and exaggerates, but Plato’s choice to parody this very aspect of the epitaphios Philip, out of admiration for the bravery (07)*') of the fallen Athenians, chose to be at peace with the relatives of these men rather than risk everything a second time. 109 Cf. Steinbock 2012, 50-51. 110 Cf. Thomas 1989, 213: “[For] most Athenians Athens’ past history was the past they heard about in the epitaphioi.” Similarly, Clarke 2008, 312. 111 Loraux 1986, 144. Cf. Prandi 2003; Clarke 2008, 308; Barbato in this volume. 112 For the paradigmatic role of the ancestors’ examples in the instruction of young Athenian ephebes, see Steinbock 2011. 142 Bernd Steinbock suggests that it did, at least to some extent, have this stirring effect.113 This annual self-representation of Athens’ glorious history to its citizens was not an ephemeral event, though. The orators in the assembly and law courts regularly drew on this well-known repertoire of Athenian achievements, since they regarded the past as an inspiration and a repository for future decisionmaking.114 Aeschines reports, for instance, that during the debate of the Peace of Philocrates in 346 BC, various Athenian orators called on the Athenians “to gaze upon the Propylaea of the Acropolis and to remember the naval battle at Salamis against the Persian and the tombs of [their] ancestors and their trophies” (Aeschin. 2.74). These orators sought to apply the lessons of the Persian Wars to the current situation and to rally their fellow citizens in the fight against Philip of Macedon, the new barbarian invader.115 The public funeral monuments, erected above the ashes of the fallen, helped to keep the memory of the accomplishments of the fallen alive.116 They were a permanent material reminder in Athens’ cadre matériel.117 113 For the psychological impact of this speech, see Thomas 1989, 211; Parker 1996, 137; Wickkiser 1999. 114 For this important function of the past in classical Athens, see Barbato in this volume. Employing an institutionalist approach, Barbato rightly notes that the discursive parameters of the assembly and the annual funeral ceremony were markedly different. In the latter, the orator was charged with creating an idealized image of the ancestors, whereas the deliberative context of the former could at times require a blunt critique of the ancestors’ mistakes, as Aeschines 2.74-78 shows. 115 For examples of the orators’ exploitation of the idealized version of the past created in the epitaphioi, see Steinbock 2012, 142-149 (on D. 6.7-11), Steinbock 2013, 75-81 (on Aeschin. 2.74) and Barbato in this volume. 116 For the role of the demosion sema in the Athenian memorial framework, see Low 2010 and Arrington 2010. For the demosion sema as a “pedagogical” landscape, see Marchiandi-Mari 2016. 117 The notion of the cadre matériel as physical setting for collective memories was first proposed by Halbwachs 1925; 1941; 1980 and further developed by Nora 1996 into the concept of lieux de mémoire, which The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 143 6. Commemoration of the Sicilian Expedition The Sicilian expedition was publically commemorated both through funeral monuments for the war-dead and in the annual funeral orations. Pausanias mentions two monuments for the fallen of the Sicilian expedition (1.29.11-13). The first one should be dated to the winter of 412/411 BC, as I have argued above. It was presumably a large multi-stele monument that conspicuously listed the names of the fallen generals (with the exception of Nicias) and commemorated the numerous casualties of the final phase of the Sicilian expedition together with those Athenians who fell in 412 BC, fighting in Euboea, Chios and at the border regions of Asia (Paus. 1.29.11).118 There was also – according to Pausanias – another stele that recorded the names of those “who were victorious over the Syracusans before Demosthenes arrived in Sicily” (%}, 17<3, 5/, N"F)&8#3, 0M"FT:2#", ~;(%:2T3;3, NH7#F%H:8Y3, F7#*':#3*)/;, 1.29.13).119 Scholars have usually connected this funeral monument with the casualties resulting from Nicias’ successes during the campaigning season of 414 BC and consequently comprises both real and imagined places. Cf. Alcock 2002, 23-32; Jung 2006, 15; Steinbock 2012, 84-94. 118 The more than one-year-long delay in erecting a casualty list for those who fell during the final sea-battle in the Great Harbor and the fateful retreat was presumably due to the enormous difficulty in ascertaining the names of the fallen; it was hard to know how “many were dead or still alive as slaves” (Bradeen 1969, 158). Cf. the sections “Pausanias’ Description of the Public Funeral Monument of 412 BC” and “Omission of Nicias’ Name on the Funeral Monument” above. 119 Paus. 1.29.13 has often been used to question the Periegete’s reliability. For, in this passage Pausanias uses the phrase “)U:<,!-,51l,m&&n, :*'&n” to refer to the war-dead of manifestly different campaigning seasons, ranging from 445-413 BC. Yet Pritchett 1998, 42-44 convincingly defended Pausanias’ testimony, by explaining the phrase 51l,m&&n,:*'&n,as a scribal error resulting from the common abbreviation )1 #&&,:*;&,for 51l,m&&#"/, :*'&#"/O,Among the groups of war-dead found “on other stelae” were also those “who were victorious over the Syracusans before Demosthenes arrived in Sicily.” 144 Bernd Steinbock dated it to the winter of 414/413 BC.120 Yet based on a close verbal parallel, Gavrilov associates the elegiac epitaph (51"F'!)"%3),121 composed by Euripides “after [the Athenians’] defeat and destruction” (()*+,*@3,**#3,#A*X3, F#<, *i3, Ä&)27%3; Plu. Nic. 17.4), with this particular funeral monument mentioned in Paus. 1.29.13, and thus makes a convincing case for dating it to the winter of 413/412 BC.122 According to this view, the stele, bearing Euripides’ 51"F'!)"%3, was erected over the polyandrion of those who had fallen in the first half of 413 BC “before Demosthenes arrived in Sicily,” just as Pausanias states (1.29.13). They were the fortunate ones, whose ashes the Athenians managed to send back home, before the Syracusans blocked the entrance to the Great Harbor, shortly after Demosthenes’ arrival at the end of July 413.123 Archaeologists have variously tried to identify extant fragments of Athenian casualty lists with the two Sicilian funeral monuments mentioned by Pausanias (1.29.11-13), but due to the fragmentary state of these material remains, such attempts have not been convincing.124 120 147. Cf. Bradeen 1969, 158; Clairmont 1983, 1, 189-190; Pritchett 1985, For Plutarch’s us of the term 51"F'!)"%3 (“dirge”) to denote a short elegiac funeral epigram, see Gavrilov 1996, 215 n. 10 and Kannicht TrFG 5, 92. 122 Gavrilov 1996, 216-219, 230. See also, Mastrokostas 1955, 187-188 and Kannicht TrFG 5, 92. For further discussion of this Euripidean epitaph, see below. 123 Bradeen 1969, 158 suggests that the list for 413 contained the casualties from the first naval battles and the loss of Plemmyrion, perhaps even from the failed night-attack on Epipolai, if the Athenians indeed sent back the ashes and names right away before the Great Harbor was blockaded. 124 Mastrokostas 1955 has argued that two extant casualty lists (EM 10617 and EM 13190, now published as IG I3 1186) belong to the (five-stele-wide) Sicilian war memorial mentioned in Paus. 1.29.11-12. His identification, which is solely based on the large number of names (700-1200 on all five stelae) and the inclusion of trierarchs, must remain speculative. TsirigotiDrakotou 2000, 100-101, for instance, has recently made the case that the difference in thickness of EM 10617 and EM 13190 precludes their association. Koumanoudes 1964 attempted to associate one of these 121 The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 145 Even though the evidence for the treatment of the Sicilian expedition in the funeral orations in the years and decades following this unprecedented disaster is scanty, there are several clues that give us a fairly good idea of how this event was commemorated in the official polis tradition. Those who fell in the course of the Sicilian campaign must have been eulogized at their public funerals in 415/414, 414/413, 413/412 and 412/411 BC.125 In his criticism of Thucydides for featuring an epitaphios for the fifteen casualties of a minor cavalry battle in 431 BC, while failing to honor the more deserving war-dead of the Pylos campaign or “the more than five thousand from the citizen levy, who perished [in Sicily],” Dionysius of Halicarnassus provides the following details for the state funeral following this catastrophic defeat (D.H. Th. 18).126 The “dead could not be fragmentary lists (EM 13190) with the inscribed base mentioning a devastating Athenian defeat (IG I3 1163d-f), which he identified with the Sicilian disaster. But this inscribed base is more likely connected with Coronea (cf. Bradeen 1969, 156-159; Pritchett 1985, 184; IG I3 1163) or Delium (cf. Arrington 2012). Following Koumanoudes 1964, TsirigotiDrakotou 2000 has recently proposed to connect a newly found fragmentary casualty list of the tribe Erechtheis (SEG 52 [2002], 60) with the fragments of IG I3 1163 (including the inscribed base) and to identify the entire monument with the war memorial described in Paus. 1.29.11-12. Yet her strongest argument for dating this new fragmentary list to 412 BC, i.e. her association of this new stele with the inscribed base of IG I3 1163d-f has been convincingly refuted by Arrington 2012, 66-67 both on archaeological and epigraphic grounds. None of the extant fragments, so far associated with the two Sicilian monuments mentioned in Paus. 1.29.11-13, features the name of a general or a geographic rubric that would allow a conclusive identification. 125 Thucydides records the following casualties: 415 BC: ca. 50 Athenian dead in the battle at the Olympieion (6.71.1); 414 BC: Lamachus and five or six of his soldiers killed (6.103.1); 413 BC: 2,000 (Plu. Nic. 21.11) or 2,500 (D.S. 13.11.2) Athenians and allies slain during the failed night-attack on Epipolai (Th. 7.45.1); cf. Pritchett 1985, 195-196. 126 D.H. Th. 18: a,!l,%Å*Y/,L(T&;F),*X3,03!7X3C,Ç:*),(;!-,*%[*%, #A*i, )U1)=3C, r*", 1T32%/, !;(%:8E, 17%É2)*%, |, 14&"/, F#<, *%./, )UY24*#/, 53#B":(%./, *%=/, 51<, tT3;/, 01%2#3%[:"3, 51)*T&):)3, F#<, *i3, 57%[3*#, 51l, #A*%=/, 01T!)"t)3C, a/, *X3, *4*), Ñ;*47Y3, &TB)"3, Ö3, }F#3Ü*#*%/O, %A, B+7, !@, )UFi/, Ö3, K2;3#8%H/, 51<, (-3, *%=/, 1)3*)F#8!)F#, }11)[:"3, !;(%:8E, 1)32)=3C, á*%./, !l, 53, N"F)&8E, 146 Bernd Steinbock given the customary burial rites,” i.e. they were not cremated ceremoniously and their ashes were not repatriated to Athens. The city “decreed a public mourning, performed the ceremonies that were customary for those who died abroad,” i.e. the annual public funeral ceremony for the war dead, who were presumably represented by the empty bier mentioned in Th. 2.34.3. It also appointed “to speak over them the ablest orator of the day.” Unfortunately, Dionysius did not disclose the identity of the speaker or any details of this particular epitaphios.127 We do not know how often the Sicilian expedition was mentioned in the ensuing years. Given the chauvinistic tenor of the funeral orations, there was a tendency to focus on the celebration of a few emblematic Athenian victories (first and foremost the Persian Wars) and to avoid recalling painful defeats. Yet Lysias’ and Plato’s funeral speeches show that orators regularly provided a cursory treatment of Athenian history from the Persian Wars to the present.128 More importantly, these epitaphioi also prove that such catastrophic events as the Athenians’ defeat at Aegospotami, the surrender to the Spartans in 404 BC and the defeat in the Corinthian War were in fact addressed (albeit in mitigating ways) by the authors of funeral orations.129 1):43*#/C,53,%à/â,ääC,*X3,!l,5F,F#*#&4B%H,1&)8%H/,%},!"#M2#7T3*)/, _,1)3*#F"/I8&"%"C,(;!)("f/,0t"X:#",*"(J/O,Cf. Pritchett 1985, 201-202. 127 Dionysius did not divulge the source for this information, but even if he merely inferred these measures from the Athenians’ usual practice, as the following sentence seems to imply, it is still valuable as historical evidence, given Dionysius’ intimate knowledge of Athenian history and customs. 128 For the treatment of the period between the Persian and the Corinthian War, see Lys. 2.48-66 and Pl. Mx. 242a-246a. Demosthenes’ epitaphios -after celebrating Athens’ mythical exploits and the Persian War victory -only summarises the Athenians’ noble qualities during their hegemony (D. 60.11), before praising those who fell at Chaeronea. Pericles’ and Hyperides’ funeral orations are exceptional, in that they omit the Tatenkatalog, the former with a short praeteritio (Th. 2.36.4) and the latter altogether. 129 Aegospotami: Lys. 2.58; surrender of 404 BC: Lys. 2.65 (cited in n. 108 above) and Pl. Mx. 243d, 244c; defeat in the Corinthian War: Pl. Mx. 245e. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 147 Unfortunately, the Sicilian expedition features only in one of the five extant funeral orations, i.e. in Plato’s Menexenus: A third war happened after that peace, an unexpected and formidable one, wherein many brave men met their end and now lie here. [243a] Many of these set up numerous trophies in Sicily [1&)=:*#,*741#"#, :*':#3*)/$ for the liberty of the Leontinians [ã1-7, *J/, å)%3*83Y3, 5&)H2)78#/$; coming to their aid on account of their oaths, they sailed to those places, but since our city due to the length of the voyage came to an impasse and was not able to support them, they fell short in their design and suffered misfortune [*%q*9, 01)"143*)/, 5!H:*qI;:#3$;130 yet they have received more praise from their foes, even though they fought against them, for their selfcontrol and their bravery (:YM7%:q3;, and, 07)*') than the rest of men have from their friends.131 (Pl. Mx. 242e-243a).132 A comparison of this epitaphic version of the Sicilian expedition with Thucydides’ historical account reveals several significant differences.133 First, in the epitaphic version, there is The phrase *%q*9, 01)"143*)/, is best rendered with “having fallen short in their design,” i.e. to achieve the freedom of the Leontinians; see LSJ s.v. 01)=1%3 IV 3 c: “c. dat. rei, fail or fall short in a thing.” Disregarding the dative case, Bury 1929, 361 and Herrman 2004, 55 render the phrase as “they renounce their design” and “we renounced this plan,” respectively. The suggestion of Tsitsiridis 1998, 315 to take *%q*9 as a dative of cause is not convincing, since the reason for the Athenians’ failure is already provided by the genitive absolute construction )U/,01%78#3,*J/,14&)Y/,F#*#:*?:;/, F#<,%A,!H3#(T3;/,#A*%=/,ã1;7)*)=3. 131 For this difficult sentence, see Tsitsiridis 1998, 315-316. 132 Pl. Mx. 242e-243aç,*78*%/,!-,14&)(%/,()*+,*#q*;3,*@3,)U7'3;3, 03T&1":*4/, *), F#<, !)"3i/, 5BT3)*%C, PRéèêS, 53, ë, 1%&&%<, F#<, 0B#2%<, *)&)H*':#3*)/,532?!),F)=3*#"C,1%&&%<,(-3,0(M<,N"F)&8#3,1&)=:*#, *741#"#, :*':#3*)/, ã1-7, *J/, å)%3*83Y3, 5&)H2)78#/C, %à/, $%;2%[3*)/, !"+, *%./, r7F%H/, b1&)H:#3, )U/, 5F)83%H/, *%./, *41%H/C, !"+,!-,(JF%/,*%[,1&%[,)U/,01%78#3,*J/,14&)Y/,F#*#:*?:;/,F#<,%A, !H3#(T3;/, #A*%=/, ã1;7)*)=3C, *%q*9, 01)"143*)/, 5!H:*qI;:#3], í3, %}, 5I27%<, F#<, 17%:1%&)(':#3*)/, 1&)8Y, b1#"3%3, bI%H:", :YM7%:q3;/,F#<,07)*J/,_,*X3,m&&Y3,%},M8&%"], 133 This does not presume that Thucydides’ historical narrative tells us, “wie es eigentlich gewesen” (in Leopold von Ranke’s famous phrase); his account, too, is undoubtedly selective and shaped to serve his historical, philosophical, literary, etc. goals. Nevertheless, Thucydides investigated the past and tried to promote what he regarded as the historical truth; his account 130 148 Bernd Steinbock no mention of Thucydides’ “truest reason” for the expedition, the conquest of all of Sicily (6.6.1). 134 Instead the Athenians were acting – as always in the funeral orations – as defenders of Greek liberty,135 in this case, of the “liberty of the Leontinians.”136 The restoration of Leontini, which had been depopulated by Syracuse in 424/423 BC (5.4.3),137 is only mentioned in passing by Thucydides as an additional objective to come into play if the military intervention on behalf of Segesta was going well (6.8.2).138 Second, in this funeral oration, there is no trace of any wrath against the proponents of the expedition, the oracle-mongers or the leading general, who had all been targets of the Athenians’ anger according to is much more detailed and generally the one accepted by modern historians as most reliable; cf. Thomas 1989, 7. 134 Just as with the reasons for the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War (cf. 1.23.6), Thucydides provides two levels of causation for the launch of the Sicilian expedition: the “truest reason” (*y, 0&;2):*?*n, 17%M?:)") was the Athenians’ desire “to conquer the entire island (*J/,1?:;/,m7t#"), but they wanted at the same time to have the fair pretext of aiding their own kinsmen and their previously acquired allies” ($%;2)=3,!-,ì(#,)A17)1X/, $%H&4()3%", *%=/, >#H*X3, tHBB)3T:", F#<, *%=/, 17%B)B)3;(T3%"/, tH((?I%"/; 6.6.1). Segestan envoys vehemently urged the Athenians to come to their aid against Selinus and its ally Syracuse; in their plea they also reminded “the Athenians of their alliance which had been made with Leontini in the time of Laches and the former war (Th. 6.6.2), referring to the Athenians’ first Sicilian expedition in support of their fellow Ionians in 427 BC (cf. Th. 3.86.3-4). The Segestans also urged the Athenians not to let the Syracusans go unpunished for the depopulation of Leontini (Th. 6.6.2). Thucydides’ Hermocrates denounced the alliance with Segesta and the restoration of Leontini a mere pretext for the Athenians’ designs on Sicily (6.33.2). Cf. Nouhaud 1982, 271; Dover HCT 4, 220-222; Hornblower CT 3, 299-309. The objective to conquer all of Sicily is also mentioned in Th. 6.1.1, 15.2, 33.2. 135 Cf. Lys. 2.20, 22-25, 33, 42; Pl. Mx. 240e, 241c-d, 242a-b, 244d-e; D. 60.10; Pritchard 1999, 20-21; Steinbock 2012, 52-54, 186-189. 136 In a court speech in 343 BC, Aeschines, presumably following this official polis tradition of the epitaphios, also mentioned “aiding the Leontinians” (2.76) as the reason for launching the Sicilian expedition. See also, Tsitsiridis 1998, 314. 137 Hornblower CT 2, 431. 138 Cf. Dover HCT 4, 228-229 and Nouhaud 1982, 272. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 149 Thucydides (8.1.1) and Pausanias (1.29.12), respectively. The failure is – in apologetic form – simply ascribed to “the length of the voyage” between Athens and Sicily, which made it impossible for Athens to support the expedition properly.139 Third, the Athenians are said to have set up “numerous trophies” (1&)=:*#, *741#"#)140, and, utter defeat and total annihilation are glossed over with the euphemism “they fell short in their design and suffered misfortune” (*%q*9, 01)"143*)/,5!H:*qI;:#3).141 Final, by putting the praise of the Athenians’ self-control and bravery (:YM7%:q3;, and, 07)*') in the mouth of the enemy, the funeral oration seeks to present the conquered Athenians as superior to their conquerors.142 Through all these rhetorical means, the 139 The great distance between Athens and Sicily was certainly a complicating factor in the Athenian war effort; nevertheless, the expeditionary corps did in fact receive supplies and significant reinforcements under the command of Eurymedon and Demosthenes, respectively (cf. Th. 7.16.2 and 7.42.1). The reason for the failure provided in Pl. Mx. 243a is, therefore, a gross simplification of a much more complex historical reality; see Nouhaud 1982, 272-273. Some scholars have seen in Th. 2.65.11 a criticism of the Athenian demos for not adequately supporting the expedition (cf. Kagan 1981, 360), which seems to agree with Pl. Mx. 243a. But Hornblower CT 1, 348 argues convincingly that Thucydides’ statement about the Athenians “making decisions which were against the interest of the expedition which they had already sent out” (%},5F1T(î#3*)/, %A, *+, 174:M%7#, *%=/, %UI%(T3%"/, 51"B"B3Ü:F%3*)/; 2.65.11) is most likely a reference to “the recall of Alcibiades, probably also the failure to recall Nikias; and just possibly the support of Amorges,” and not a reproach for insufficient support. 140 According to Thucydides the Athenians set up several victory trophies between 415 and the spring of 413 BC (cf. 6.70.3, 94.2, 97.5, 98.4, 100.3, 103.1; 7.5.3, 23.4); cf. Connor 1984, 186 n. 3 and Hornblower CT 3, 520, 532. For Plato’s focus on the early trophies of the Sicilian expedition, rather than its ultimate outcome, see also Low 2010, 349. 141 For the use of the euphemism :H(M%7? (misfortune) by the authors of funeral orations in reference to catastrophic defeats, see Wolpert 2002, 120 n. 36 (on Lys. 2.62) and Gish 2008 (on D. 60.35). The same applies to the euphemism 5!H:*qI;:#3,as well; cf. Tsitsiridis 1998, 315., 142 For Athenians surpassing other men in 07)*', see also Lys. 2.40, 53, 57; Pl. Mx. 243c-d; D. 60.17-18; Pritchard 1999, 20. For a similar 150 Bernd Steinbock epitaphios managed to turn this most devastating defeat into a moral victory. Given the parodistic nature of Plato’s funeral oration, one might object that it is a rather unreliable source for the Athenians’ shared image of their past.143 This objection should not be taken lightly, but Rosalind Thomas is right to stress that this “satire by its very exaggeration brings out many characteristics or latent elements in the epitaphic tradition.”144 The passage cited above is, therefore, a good indicator of how the Sicilian expedition could be integrated into the epitaphic version of Athenian history by an orator in the first quarter of the 4th century. Moreover, several other sources dealing with the memory of the Sicilian expedition converge with the polis tradition which we can grasp in Plato’s Menexenus.145 The most important is the interpretation of the treatment of the Sicilian Expedition in Plato’s Menexenus, see Barbato in this volume. 143 Even though Plato’s epitaphios seems to have been taken seriously in the Hellenistic period, as its annual recitation in Athens (cf. Cic. Orat. 151) suggests, a majority of scholars today regard it as an ironic play or parody of the epitaphic tradition. Such an interpretation of the Menexenus is encouraged by certain exaggerations of patriotic topoi in the speech itself (e.g. Athenians fighting for the freedom of the king of Persia; Mx. 246a-b), but especially by Plato’s obvious hints at irony in the opening scene of the dialogue, such as its anachronistic setting (Socrates has been dead for more than 15 years), the attribution of the speech to Pericles’ mistress Aspasia (Mx. 236b) and Socrates’ over-the-top description of the stirring effect of epitaphioi on his soul (Mx. 235b-c); cf. Coventry 1989, 4; Loraux 1986, 189, 264; Thomas 1989, 210-211, 219-220; Pritchard 1999, 22; Herrman 2004, 46. Even scholars who see in Socrates’ epitaphios a serious educational purpose (cf. Kahn 1963; Salkever 1993; Monoson 1998; Pappas-Zelcer 2015, have to acknowledge Socrates’ humorous and ironic remarks about this speech. For a refutation of the recent attempt by Pappas-Zelcer 2015, 23 to read Socrates’ epitaphios as “an earnest bid to one-up Pericles,” see Balot 2015. 144 Thomas 1989, 211. 145 I focus in this paper on Euripides’ funeral epigram, but further examples of the glorification of the Athenians’ altruism and bravery in Sicily can be found, for instance, in Aeschin. 2.76 (“aiding the Leontinians”) and in Paus. 7.16.4-6, where the heroic death of the Athenian cavalry commander Callistratus is employed as a well-known historical paradigm. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 151 aforementioned Euripidean funerary epigram (51"F'!)"%3), cited by Plutarch: %V!),NH7#F%:8%H/,ïF*j,38F#/,5F7?*;:#3,, m3!7)/C,r*ñ,Ö3,*+,2)X3,5t,ó:%H,0(M%*T7%"/O, These men won eight victories over the Syracusans, as heroes, while the gods showed equal favor to both sides. (Euripides T 92 Kannicht = Page FGE 155-156, lines 558-559 = GV 21 Peek = Plu. Nic. 17.4) This elegiac distich, cited in Plutarch’s Life of Nicias and ascribed to the tragic playwright Euripides,146 represents in all likelihood one of the funeral epigrams engraved on one of the casualty lists erected over the tombs of Athenian soldiers who lost their lives during the campaign in Sicily.147 This is evident both from the form and content of the poem. The demonstrative pronoun %V!), at the beginning of line 1 is a regular feature in epitaphs to refer to the inscribed names of the fallen on public funeral monuments.148 Moreover, Plutarch uses the term 51"F'!)"%3 (‘dirge’) in reference to elegiac funeral poems also elsewhere in his work.149 146 Euripides’ authorship – though not central to my argument – is generally accepted; cf. Zuretti 1922; Heitsch 1967; Gavrilov 1996; Kannicht TrFG 5, 92. Page FGE 129, 155-156 and Campbell 1992, 384-385 are more sceptical. Since the author’s name would not have been inscribed on the stele, Plutarch must have received this information from a written source or from local Athenian guides; cf. Page FGE 155-156; Gavrilov 1996, 219-220. 147 For other epitaphs dealing with Athenian defeats, see the epigrams for the fallen at Chaeronea in 338 BC (Page FGE 432-435, lines 1579-85 = GV 29 Peek = D. 18.289; cf. Pritchett 1985, 222-226; Yunis 2001, 269-271) and the inscribed base of a public funeral monument (IG I3 1163d-f), which has been associated with the defeat at Coronea in 446 (cf. Bradeen 1969, 156159; Pritchett 1985, 184; IG I3 1163) or Delium in 424 BC (cf. Arrington 2012). 148 Cf. Peek GV 13, 15, 18, 19; IG I3 1162.45 (see Figure 1); IG I3 1167.5; Pritchett 1985, 198; Gavrilov 1996, 221; Kannicht TrFG 5, 92: “%V!), (‘hoc loco sepulti’).” 149 Cf. Plu. Pel. 1.7; Gavrilov 1996, 215 n. 10; Kannicht TrFG 5, 92. 152 Bernd Steinbock Plutarch explicitly states that this 51"F'!)"%3 was composed “after [the Athenians’] defeat and destruction” (Plu. Nic. 17.4). One might come to the same conclusion by reading Euripides’ ominous allusion to the god’s neutral stance during the string of Athenian victories, which implies that the gods gave up their neutrality at a certain point. It is not surprising, therefore, that most scholars have associated Euripides’ epitaph with the public funeral monument for the Athenian war dead of the final phase of the Sicilian expedition and the ensuing campaigns of 412 BC, described in Paus. 1.29.11-12.150 It makes more sense, however, to connect Euripides’ epitaph with the second Sicilian war memorial mentioned by Pausanias, which listed the names of those fallen heroes “who were victorious over the Syracusans before Demosthenes arrived in Sicily” (%}, 17<3, 5/, N"F)&8#3, 0M"FT:2#", ~;(%:2T3;3, NH7#F%H:8Y3, F7#*':#3*)/;, 1.29.13). Pausanias’ odd reference to Athenian victories over the Syracusans strongly suggests that he derived his information – through autopsy – from this very epitaph which celebrated the fallen Athenians for “having won eight victories over the Syracusans” (%V!), NH7#F%:8%H/, ïF*j, 38F#/, 5F7?*;:#3). The association of this epitaph with the memorial for those who were killed “before Demosthenes arrived in Sicily” (Paus. 1.29.13) is indeed possible, if one follows Mastrokostas’ and Gavrilov’s persuasive arguments for dating this monument to the winter of 413/412 BC and not to the preceding year.151 150 Peek GV 9; Heitsch 1967, 21; Bradeen 1969, 158; Page FGE 155; Pritchett 1985, 201. 151 See the discussion above. Cf. Mastrokostas 1955, 187-188; Gavrilov 1996, 216-219, 230; Kannicht TrFG 5, 92. Zuretti 1922 has shown conclusively that these eight victories over the Syracusans correspond exactly to the eight Athenian tropaia set up before Demosthenes’ arrival in Sicily (cf. Th. 6.70.3, 94.2, 97.5, 98.4, 100.3, 103.1; 7.5.3, 23.4). He thus provides another argument for connecting Euripides’ epitaph with the memorial described in Paus. 1.29.13. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 153 The similarities in tone and content between Euripides’ epitaph and the treatment of the Sicilian expedition in Plato’s Menexenus are truly remarkable. First, both Euripides and Plato celebrate the Athenians’ valor and emphasize the numerous victories that the Athenian expedition corps achieved during the course of the two-year-long campaign. Plato’s evocation of the “numerous trophies” (1&)=:*#, *741#"#, :*':#3*)/; Mx. 243a) the Athenians set up in Sicily might in fact be inspired by the epitaph’s celebration of the “eight victories” the Athenians “won over the Syracusans” (NH7#F%:8%H/, ïF*j, 38F#/, 5F7?*;:#3ò, Euripides T 92 Kannicht), before the tide of the war turned against them. Second, both epitaph and epitaphios avoid explicit references to the army’s defeat and utter destruction. Plato uses the euphemism “having fallen short in their design, they suffered misfortune” (*%q*9, 01)"143*)/, 5!H:*qI;:#3ò Mx. 243a)O,Euripides is even more oblique; his statement that the Athenians achieved their eight victories “while the gods showed equal favor to both sides” merely alludes to the disastrous outcome of this expedition by implying that the gods’ neutral stance might not have endured. Third, in both cases the Athenian war dead are depicted as more valiant than their foes. Plato states that the fallen Athenians “have received more praise from their foes, even though they fought against them, for their self-control (:YM7%:q3;) and their bravery (07)*') than the rest of men have from their friends” (Mx. 243a). The epitaph achieves the same result in a more subtle way. As long as the gods held a neutral stance (i.e. did not intervene on behalf of the Syracusans), the Athenians – surely thanks to their inborn 07)*' – won eight victories over their foes.152 Finally, both epitaph and funeral speech provide explanations of the defeat that completely exonerate the generals and soldiers in Sicily as well as the Athenian demos at home. In the Menexenus the defeat was attributed to “the length 152 For the gods’ initial neutral stance, rather than favoritism towards the Athenians, see Gavrilov 1996, 226. 154 Bernd Steinbock of the voyage”, on account of which “the city came to an impasse and was not able to support [the expedition]” (243a), in the epitaph it is ascribed to the gods, who – in the end – favored the Syracusans.153 By downplaying defeats, turning them into moral victories and integrating them into the idealized epitaphic version of Athenian history, the Athenians – through these official memorial practices –encouraged partial forgetfulness. The painful memories of the details of this enormous disaster (including the fateful role of the general Nicias) thus faded from common historical consciousness. As a result, the orator Demosthenes was able to present Nicias – 65 years after his death and disgraceful damnatio memoriae – again as role model of steadfast democratic leadership in the vein of Pericles, Aristides and his fellow general Demosthenes (D. 3.21).154 153 The attitude towards gods, expressed in this poem, has been the object of scholarly controversy. Peek 1960, 24-25, 295, 328 saw in this Euripidean epitaph a blasphemous accusation of the gods for having caused the destruction of the Athenian war host. In a similar, but less extreme vein, Page FGE 156 proposed that the epitaph suggests that the gods “gave the enemy an unfair advantage.” Heitsch 1967, on the other hand, argued that the pacifist Euripides ascribed the bitter outcome of the Sicilian expedition to the gods’ just punishment of the Athenians’ unwarranted aggression. It is hard to imagine, however, that any commissioned poet would express such a thought at the open grave of his fellow citizens; cf. Gavrilov 1996, 222. More convincingly, Zuretti 1922, 532 viewed this epigram as an expression of the popular Greek belief in the M243%/, 2)X3, the envy of the gods, which brought the Athenians down when they were at the height of their power. The interpretation of Gavrilov 1996, 225 seems right, according to which the epitaph is neither a blasphemous accusation of the gods nor a celebration of divine punishment, but rather a simple statement of fact that the Athenians had to accept: in the end, the gods favored the Syracusans. 154 It is hard to tell what the average mid-fourth-century Athenian in the assembly still knew and thought about Nicias, but Demosthenes’ choice to include Nicias in a list of exemplary 5th-century Athenian leaders proves at least that he expected his audience not to have any negative associations with this former leader. Geske 2005, 76 makes a good case that Nicias had indeed promoted himself as a conscientious and steadfast statesman, as Th. 7.14.2 The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 155 7. Conclusion By analysing the Athenians’ commemoration of their war dead in general and their collective memory of the disastrous Sicilian expedition in particular, I have argued for accepting Pausanias’ testimony about the deliberate omission of Nicias’ name from the Athenian public funeral monument for those who fell in Sicily (1.29.12). Thucydides’ description of the Athenian public funeral practices and an examination of the extant fragments of Athenian war memorials show that Pausanias’ description of a single monument for both the Athenians who were slain in Sicily in the fall of 413 and the casualties of the following year in Chios, Euboea and at the Asiatic coast (1.29.12) is indeed credible. A large multi-stelae monument like the one originally placed on the inscribed base of IG I3 1163d-f could easily accommodate a substantial portion of the several thousand Athenians who were killed in Sicily in the autumn of 413 as well as the fallen of the campaigns of 412 BC. Two extant casualty lists (IG I3 1162; 1147) illustrate that fallen generals were not necessarily listed amidst their fellow tribesmen, as Knoepfler assumes,155 but could be recorded (with proper military titles) at the top or bottom of the funeral monument. Consequently, the absence of Nicias’ name amidst his fellow generals Demosthenes and Eurymedon would have been obvious even to a casual observer aware of the well-known fact that Demosthenes and Nicias were killed together. Similarly, the presence of Plataeans on the funeral monument (1.29.12) was – in all likelihood – noticeable, not because of individual Boeotian sounding names, as Tsirigoti-Drakotou suggests,156 but rather from a special heading \&#*#"42)3 and 4 and Arist. Ath. 28.5 suggest. It is quite possible Demosthenes’ positive portrayal of Nicias derived from sources of this type. 155 Knoepfler 1996, 295. 156 Tsirigoti-Drakotou 2000, 99. 156 Bernd Steinbock (“from Plataea”), if the rubric e&)H2)7f2)3 (“from Eleutherae”) in IG I3 1162.96 is any indication. As a result, there is no reason to doubt that Pausanias’ comments about the inclusion of the Plataeans and the damnatio memoriae of Nicias (1.29.12) were prompted by autopsy. That the Athenians were blaming scapegoats after their defeat in Sicily is evident from Thucydides’ comment about the oracle mongers and pro-expedition orators who became the target of the Athenians’ anger (8.1.1). According to Pausanias’ testimony, the general Nicias has to be added to this group. This would not have been the first time that the Athenian demos turned on one of their generals after a military failure. There are two potential counterarguments against accepting the historicity of the Athenians’ condemnation of Nicias after the failure of the Sicilian expedition: Thucydides’ utter silence concerning this damnatio memoriae and the positive assessment of Nicias by writers and orators in 4th-century Athens. The key for understanding Thucydides’ silence lies in the historian’s famous death notice for the hapless general (7.86.5). This eulogy is sincere, and written by Thucydides to provide Nicias with the well-deserved funeral memorial of which the Athenian demos had deprived him. To account for the positive characterization of Nicias by writers and orators in 4th-century Athens is more difficult. The attractive depiction of Nicias in Plato’s Laches and his praise in the Athenaion Politeia (Arist. Ath. 28.5) can be ascribed to the conservative bias of their elite authors, yet the presentation of Nicias as an exemplary Athenian leader in one of Demosthenes’ assembly speeches (3.21) clearly indicates that Nicias played a positive role in the Athenians’ collective memory in the middle of the 4th century. Consequently, Pausanias’ testimony can only be accepted, if one can explain the change in the Athenians’ view of Nicias in the period between his death and Demosthenes’ positive allusion. Dover’s suggestion that the public wrath against Nicias The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 157 was merely a “temporary phase”157 is certainly essentially correct, yet there is a clear sign that his rehabilitation took some time. The apologetic remarks of Nicias’ nephew in a court speech in the early 390s. (Lys. 18.1-3) indicate that the memory of his uncle was still contested about 15 years after his death. Nicias most likely benefited from a general shift in the Athenians’ collective memory of the Sicilian expedition. The annual public funeral orations, delivered by Athens’ leading statesman over the bones of the war dead, are of fundamental importance in this context. They celebrated Athens’ glorious past from the origins of the city to the most recent battle in which the heroes of the day had lost their lives. This praise of past and recent Athenian achievements was not an end in itself, but fulfilled a didactic function. The 07)*' of the fallen was normative and all Athenians were expected to emulate their example in the future. In this epitaphic version of Athenian history defeats were downplayed, ignored, or if necessary turned into moral victories,158 as the treatment of the devastating losses of 404 and 338 BC by Lysias (2.65) and Demosthenes (60.19) show. That the fallen of the Sicilian expedition were eulogized and commemorated in a similar way is manifest in Euripides’ epitaph, which – in the face of their utter destruction – praises the fallen Athenians for their preceding victories and attributes their ultimate defeat to the gods (Euripides T 92 Kannicht = Plu. Nic. 17.4). The treatment of the Sicilian expedition in Plato’s Menexenus (242e-243a) illustrates how this catastrophic defeat could be downplayed and integrated into the idealized version of Athenian history by epitaphic orators in the first quarter of the 4th century. As champions of Greek liberty, the Athenians launched this expedition to aid the oppressed Leontinians. The fallen of this campaign were celebrated as manifestations of the timeless Athenian 07)*',and its failure attributed to adverse external circumstances such as 157 158 Dover HCT 4, 463. 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A. Goldhammer, New York 1996, vol. I, 1-20. [Paris 1984]. Nouhaud 1982 M. Nouhaud, L’utilisation de l’histoire par les orateurs attiques, Paris 1982. Ossipova 200 O.V. Ossipova, “Nikias’ «Eulogy» in Thucydides (7.86.5) and Greek Epitaphs”, VDI 237.2 (2001), 113-118. Page 1981 D.L. Page, Further Greek Epigrams, Cambridge 1981. Pappas-Zelcer 2015 N. Pappas-M. Zelcer, Politics and Philosophy in Plato’s Menexenus: Education and Rhetoric, Myth and History, London 2015. The Contested Memory of Nicias after the Sicilian Expedition 167 Parker 1996 R. Parker, Athenian Religion. A History, Oxford 1996. Pédech 1980 P. Pédech, “Philistos et l’expédition athénienne en Sicile”, in !"#$%&' ()*"+. Miscellanea di studi classici in onore di E. Manni, Roma 1980, 1709-1734. Peek 1955 W. Peek, Griechische Vers-Inschriften. Band I: GrabEpigramme, Berlin 1955. Peek 1960 W. Peek (Hrsg.), Griechische Grabgedichte, Berlin 1960. Piccirilli 1990 L. 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Stupperich, Staatsbegräbnis und Privatgrabmal im Klassischen Athen, Münster 1977. Thomas 1989 R. Thomas, Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens, Cambridge 1989. Todd 2000 S.C. Todd (trans.), Lysias, Austin 2000. Todd 2007 S.C. Todd (ed. and trans.), A Commentary on Lysias: Speeches 1-11, Oxford 2007. Tsirigoti-Drakotou 2000 I. Tsirigoti-Drakotou, “WT#, :*'&;, 1):43*Y3, #14, *%, ~;(4:"%3, N'(#O, o"#, 17Ü*;, 1#7%H:8#:;”, AD 55 (2000), 87-111. Tsitsiridis 1998 S. Tsitsiridis, Platons Menexenos: Einleitung, Text und Kommentar, Stuttgart 1998. 170 Bernd Steinbock von Domaszewski 1917 A. Von Domaszewski, Der Staatsfriedhof der Athener, Heidelberg 1917. Walters 1980 K.R. Walters, “Rhetoric as Ritual: The Semiotics of the Attic Funeral Oration”, Florilegium 2 (1980), 1-27. Warner 1972 R. Warner (trans.), Thucydides: History of the Peloponnesian War, Harmondsworth 1972. Westlake 1941 H.D. Westlake, “Nicias in Thucydides,” CQ 35 (1941), 5865. Westlake 1968 H.D. Westlake, Individuals in Thucydides, Cambridge 1968. Wickkiser 1999 B.L. Wickkiser, “Speech in Context: Plato's ‘Menexenus’ and the Ritual of Athenian Public Burial”, Rhetoric Society Quarterly 29 (1999), 65-74. Wolpert 2002a A. Wolpert, “Lysias 18 and Athenian Memory of Civil War”, TAPhA 132 (2002), 109-126. Wolpert 2002b A. Wolpert, Remembering Defeat: Civil War and Civic Memory in Ancient Athens, Baltimore 2002. Yunis 2001 H. Yunis (ed.), Demosthenes. On the Crown, Cambridge 2001. Zuretti 1992 C.O. Zuretti, “Un epicedio di Euripide”, RIL 55 (1992), 2732. MIRKO CANEVARO LA MEMORIA, GLI ORATORI E IL PUBBLICO 1 NELL’ATENE DEL IV SECOLO A.C. Abstract This article discusses the Attic orators’ allusion to the past, to poetry and in general to shared cultural and historical memory. Much scholarship has argued that because of a strong distinction in Athens between mass and elite, it was important for an orator not to present himself as elitist and too cultured, in order not to alienate the audience. The paper will argue that there is no sign of such caution in the sources, and that on the contrary the orators strive to present themselves as learned and well-aware of the cultural memory of the city, because that is what their audience expected. The Athenians saw themselves as knowledgeable of their culture, past and laws. The paper will also show that the orators were aware of the discrepancy between what their audience thought they remembered, and believed they should remember, and what they actually did remember. They had strategies to exploit this discrepancy for their purposes. The interplay between memory, cultural expectations and rhetorical strategies to exploit them help shedding light on the dimension of ‘public forgetting’ that is key for the creation and the development of a social memory, a battleground for conflict as well as for the building of the community. Keywords: Demosthenes - elitism - Athenian democracy - rhetorical strategies - social memory. 1 Ringrazio Maurizio Giangiulio, Giorgia Proietti ed Elena Franchi per avermi invitato a contribuire a questo volume, e per la loro ripetuta ospitalità a Trento. Ringrazio anche Paola Ceccarelli, Luca Castagnoli, Lucio Bertelli, Edward M. Harris, Christian Mann, P.J. Rhodes, Guy Westwood e Julia Shear per il loro prezioso feedback. Ringrazio poi, soprattutto, Matteo Barbato per aver tradotto questo contributo dall’inglese (la versione inglese è in pubblicazione in P. Ceccarelli e L. Castagnoli [eds.], Greek Memories: Theories and Practices, Cambridge 2018). Le traduzioni, dove non è indicato l’autore, sono le mie. 172 Mirko Canevaro Negli ultimi anni, lo studio della memoria nell’antica Grecia in generale e ad Atene e negli oratori ateniesi in particolare ha beneficiato di un salutare cambiamento di prospettiva. Mentre gli studi precedenti esaminavano le allusioni poetiche e storiche nei discorsi degli oratori concentrandosi sulla loro agenda politica, le loro fonti e la loro educazione o incentrando la loro attenzione sulle funzioni retoriche delle allusioni stesse,2 studi più recenti hanno invece evidenziato come gli oratori operassero all’interno di specifiche comunità mnemoniche e come i ricordi del passato utilizzati nei loro discorsi non fossero tanto dei topoi occasionali o delle selezioni casuali di fatti usate al fine di persuadere il pubblico3 ma possano piuttosto servire come delle finestre sulla conoscenza degli Ateniesi del proprio passato. 4 L’orazione funebre, in particolare, è stata interpretata come un esempio della versione ‘ufficiale’ della storia ateniese, una versione che richiede riconoscimento e identificazione da parte del pubblico e che definisce l’identità stessa del cittadino ateniese, oscurando o sublimando le divisioni della polis e disegnando una comunità coesa e stabile per la quale valga la pena di morire. 5 Concetti quali ‘memoria collettiva’, ‘memoria sociale’, ‘memoria culturale’, ‘storia intenzionale’, presi in prestito da altre discipline o basati specificamente sullo studio della storia greca, hanno permesso agli studiosi di capire come i ricordi vengano creati, preservati e modificati e hanno chiarito il signi- 2 Sul primo tipo di approccio vd. ad esempio Perlman 1961; sul secondo sia sufficiente citare Jacoby FGrH IIlb Suppl. l, 95: “Even leaving out of consideration the truly astonishing ignorance of most of the Attic orators and the little use they made of the history of their city…”; sulla terza tipologia vd. ad esempio Jost 1935 e Nouhaud 1982, in particolare 29-133. 3 Vd. ad esempio Buckler 2000 e, per un esempio di questo approccio nella prima metà del ventesimo secolo, Mathieu 1914. 4 Vd. ad esempio, oltre a Thomas 1989, Clarke 2008, 245-303 e gli studi dettagliati di Steinbock 2012 e Shear 2011. 5 Vd. ad esempio Loraux 1986; Thomas 1989, 196-237; Parker 1996, 131141. Cf. il saggio di Barbato in questo volume. La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 173 ficato di varie cerimonie civiche, festival, tradizioni e istituzioni.6 I parametri dell’indagine si sono inoltre ampliati fino a includere altri media, notando come statue, iscrizioni e monumenti costruissero e promuovessero la memoria come una caratteristica condivisa e distintiva dell’identità di una comunità.7 Allo stesso tempo studi sulle tradizioni orali hanno corretto molte false credenze sulle modalità di trasmissione della memoria e hanno fornito un’alternativa alla concentrazione sulla natura collettiva della memoria, contribuendo di conseguenza a evitare eccessi essenzialisti ed evidenziando come al livello della polis esistano non una bensì molteplici comunità mnemoniche connesse a specifici gruppi, aree e famiglie, ognuna con le proprie particolari versioni del passato trasmesse prevalentemente attraverso la comunicazione orale e negoziate proprio al livello della polis.8 Se si volessero sintetizzare questi sviluppi della ricerca, 6 Cf. Alcock 2002, 1-35 e, più nel dettaglio (ma non in relazione al mondo antico), Fentress-Wickham 1992 sulla memoria sociale. Sul concetto di 'kulturelle Gedächtnis' vd. in particolare Assman 1992. Sul concetto di storia intenzionale vd. Gehrke 2001 e Foxhall-Gehrke-Luraghi 2010. Per un’ottima discussione della memoria nella città antica e dell’applicabilità del concetto di ‘luoghi di memoria’ elaborato da Pierre Nora (Nora 1984-1992) al caso dell’antica Grecia vd. Ma 2009. Per una discussione aggiornata della memoria sociale rivolta allo studio di Atene vd. Steinbock 2012, 1-96; Shear 2011, 612 e 2013. Gli approcci moderni alla memoria sociale/collettiva hanno avuto origine dall’opera innovativa di Maurice Halbwachs, su cui vd. Giangiulio 2010, con discussione degli sviluppi moderni (cf. anche Proietti 2012). 7 Vd. ad esempio Csapo-Miller 1998, 87 e passim, Boedeker 1998; Alcock 2002; Higbie 2003; Ma 2009; Lambert 2010; Luraghi 2010; Osborne 2011 e Shear 2011, 12-14 per una discussione e passim per un esempio di come queste fonti possano essere prese in considerazione. 8 Cf. Fentress-Wickham 1992, IX, che critica l’eccessiva attenzione di Halbwachs per la natura collettiva della memoria, e Alcock 2002, 24 n. 37 e Grethlein 2003, 26-27 per altre critiche. Giangiulio 2010 d’altro canto mostra come gli eccessi essenzialisti siano per lo più dovuti a interpretazioni errate del pensiero di Halbwachs. Sullo studio delle tradizioni orali vd. in particolare Vansina 1985, e soprattutto Thomas 1989 per le implicazioni di questi studi per il caso di Atene. 174 Mirko Canevaro si potrebbe dunque concludere che l’accento è stato spostato dagli oratori al loro pubblico.9 In conseguenza di tale cambiamento di prospettiva, anche la nostra comprensione dell’uso della memoria da parte degli oratori è cambiata: se negli studi precedenti gli oratori erano spesso descritti come ignoranti o bugiardi, recentemente hanno invece iniziato ad essere dipinti come narratori attenti e alquanto cauti di storie che il loro pubblico, o sezioni del loro pubblico, già conoscevano perché facevano parte dell’eredità culturale di una specifica comunità mnemonica o della comunità in generale.10 Questa immagine di un pubblico che ricorda già gran parte di ciò che ascolta e di oratori che hanno uno spazio di manovra estremamente esiguo va tuttavia sottoposta a ulteriore vaglio. 11 Se è vero infatti che l’esistenza di ricordi del passato condivisi e di specifiche comunità mnemoniche condiziona ciò che un oratore può o non può dire, è anche vero che questo non può che avvenire sulla base dell’approccio stesso, dell’oratore e del suo pubblico, verso la memoria. In altre parole, si può considerare ciò che il pubblico pensa essere la realtà della propria memoria culturale (vale a dire ciò che il pubblico dovrebbe conoscere) come una rappresentazione accurata di ciò che il pubblico effettivamente ricorda? Qualora questo non fosse il caso, è possibile che gli oratori ne siano consapevoli e se ne servano per assecondare i loro scopi retorici? È svantaggioso per un oratore alludere a eventi storici o a componimenti poetici sconosciuti al 9 Vd. Clarke 2008, 245-246 per simili osservazioni su quello che gli oratori possono offrire allo studio degli approcci antichi al passato. 10 Vd. ad esempio Perlman 1961 e Nouhaud 1982 per la prima interpretazione, Thomas 1989 e Ober 1989, in particolare pp. 177-182, per la seconda. Anche Finley 1975, 29 individua parametri molto restrittivi per ciò che un oratore poteva o non poteva dire riguardo al passato. Clarke 2008, 245-303 a ragione evidenzia la natura duplice degli approcci al passato da parte degli oratori, che sono al tempo stesso descrittivi (accettando ciò che il loro pubblico conosce) e prescrittivi. 11 Per una interessante ed acuta analisi della relazione tra gli oratori e le masse nella tarda Repubblica Romana che evita alcune semplificazioni presenti in Ober 1989, vd. Morstein-Marx 2004. La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 175 pubblico? Esistono confini chiari per stabilire quali ricordi siano considerati appropriati e quali no? Questo contributo cercherà di rispondere a queste e simili domande allo scopo di comprendere, attraverso lo studio delle allusioni degli oratori non solo a ricordi del passato e componimenti poetici, ma anche a leggi e a eventi e dibattiti del passato recente, che cosa secondo il pubblico un cittadino ateniese dovesse ricordare. Ulteriore scopo di questa discussione sarà inoltre quello di stabilire se gli oratori condividessero acriticamente tali presupposti o piuttosto possedessero, tramite riflessione ed educazione, una conoscenza superiore rispetto a ciò che il pubblico effettivamente ricordava.12 E, in tal caso, come utilizzassero questa conoscenza nei conflitti politici di cui erano protagonisti, facendo appello non solo alla memoria del pubblico, ma alle aspettative del pubblico su quanto sia importante ricordare. A tal proposito, nonostante questa nuova visione che fa dell’importanza della memoria – memoria di leggi, eventi storici, componimenti poetici e altri prodotti culturali – un fondamento dell’identità ateniese, una vecchia idea è tuttora molto diffusa e sembra non incontrare alcuna opposizione. Gli studiosi cioè sono ancora convinti che gli oratori ateniesi ricordassero troppo. In altre parole, fare sfoggio di una conoscenza superiore a quella dell’Ateniese medio costituiva uno svantaggio per l’oratore, che rischiava in tal modo di alienarsi le simpatie del pubblico.13 Ober, in particolare, nel suo influente studio Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens tratta la presunta disposizione sospettosa del demos di Atene verso la storia e la poesia come un esempio notevole della “highly ambivalent attitude of the demos toward the entire subject of rhetoric, rhetorical ability, 12 Nel fare questo, il presente studio tenterà di dipingere, per quanto riguarda Atene, un quadro del “set of norms whose function is to regulate the inherent debatability of the past” (Appadurai 1981, 201 e passim), e dunque di come il passato ad Atene fosse una “scarce resource”. 13 Vd. ad esempio Pearson 1941, 212-221; North 1952, 26; Perlman 1964, 135; Ober 1989, 177-181; Ober-Strauss 1990, 250-255; Wolpert 2003, 540; Clarke 2008, 249 n. 14. 176 Mirko Canevaro and rhetorical education” e conclude che per convincere il pubblico in modo efficace un oratore ateniese dovesse dunque fare attenzione a non apparire “a well-educated man giving lessons in culture to the ignorant masses”.14 Ora, se è vero che una ‘rhetoric of anti-rhetoric’ può chiaramente essere individuata negli oratori – ed è innegabile che gli oratori si sforzassero di apparire inesperti nell’arte retorica e di dipingere i loro avversari come sofisti e ingannatori –15 è tuttavia tutt’altro che chiaro se la memoria di eventi storici e componimenti poetici potesse essere interpretata come parte di un’educazione retorica specialistica, tipica di abili sofisti intenti a ingannare i cittadini per bene con la loro arte. Al contrario, l’istruzione storica e l’educazione poetica facevano parte del bagaglio intellettuale dell’Ateniese medio, fornito dalla città stessa in occasioni pubbliche, sia che si trattasse della narrazione storica di un’orazione funebre sia dei dipinti della Stoa Poikile, di un’iscrizione onorifica nell’agora, di una competizione rapsodica durante le Panatenee o di un agone tragico alle Dionisie. 16 Se dunque la città stessa promuoveva pubblicamente e incessantemente la memoria del passato e un’identità culturale comune, è davvero possibile che un oratore avesse bisogno di tanta cautela nel fare uso di esempi storici e poetici per sostenere le sua tesi? Per comprendere se questa interpretazione regga alla prova dei fatti sarà necessario dunque riesaminare le fonti che testimoniano una tale disposizione ambivalente del demos ateniese nei confronti della memoria del passato e di prodotti culturali come la poesia. Prima di tutto, gli oratori introducono spesso esempi storici e narrazioni affermando di averli sentiti dai membri più anziani della comunità o della propria famiglia. Ad esempio, quando 14 Ober 1989, 179. Vd. ad esempio Dover 1974, 25-26; Ober 1989, 170-174 e in particolare Hesk 1999 e 2000, 202-241. 16 Come correttamente notato da Nouhaud 1982, 109 e Trevett 1990, 419, non c’è ragione di pensare che la storia sia mai stata ad Atene un elemento dell’educazione retorica. 15 La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 177 Demostene in D. 20.52 ricorda come alcuni corinzi coraggiosi avessero aiutato gli Ateniesi in seguito alla loro sconfitta contro gli spartani presso Nemea nel 394 a.C. e fossero per questo stati esiliati (D.S. 14.83; X. HG 4.2.14–23; Plu. Ages. 16.4), l’oratore introduce la narrazione in questo modo: “Sono di conseguenza obbligato a parlarvi di fatti che io stesso ho ascoltato dai più anziani tra voi”. In D. 4.24 l’oratore ricorda ancora dei fatti relativi alla Guerra di Corinto e afferma chiaramente di conoscerli perché ne ha sentito parlare, mentre in D. 19.277, dopo aver menzionato il caso di Epicrate, condannato a morte a seguito di un’ambasciata, Demostene ancora una volta fa notare di avere appreso dai racconti degli anziani che Epicrate era un brav’uomo e un democratico. Riassumendo un discorso che aveva pronunciato in Assemblea, Eschine (2.75-78) offre degli esempi di errori che gli Ateniesi avevano commesso durante la Guerra del Peloponneso e conclude la sua discussione specificando di aver sentito queste storie dai suoi parenti più stretti e in particolare da suo padre e dal suo zio materno, mentre in Aeschin. 3.191 l’oratore ricorda ancora che i Trenta avevano eliminato la possibilità di intentare graphai paranomon e chiude il suo racconto dell’episodio affermando di aver sentito spesso questa storia da suo padre, che aveva partecipato a tutte le lotte della città.17 Pearson ha interpretato queste dichiarazioni come segno che un oratore dovesse modellare gli esempi storici in modo tale da non dare l’impressione di essere “a scholar or […] a particularly diligent student”, mentre Ober a sua volta le spiega affermando che “allusions to the memory of the older citizens or of one's own ancestors allowed the orator to avoid assuming the role of an educated man instructing his inferiors”.18 È tuttavia necessario giungere a tali conclusioni? Nel ricorrere a certe affermazio17 Sappiamo da Th. 8.67.2 e [Arist.] Ath. 29.4 che la graphe paranomon era stata abolita nel 411 a.C., ma Eschine è l’unica fonte che testimonia il 404 a.C. 18 Pearson 1941, 217-218; Ober 1989, 181. Clarke 2008, 249 n. 14 sembra concordare con questa analisi. Vd. anche Worthington 1994, 113-114; Wolpert 2003, 540. 178 Mirko Canevaro ni, infatti, gli oratori non fanno altro che usare i membri più anziani del pubblico o della propria famiglia come garanti dell’attendibilità delle loro informazioni, facendo affidamento sulla loro autorità come testimoni oculari per sostenere i propri ragionamenti e sfruttando il rispetto degli Ateniesi per i loro anziani per scoraggiarli dal mettere in discussione le loro ricostruzioni storiche.19 Ciò che tutte le allusioni storiche appena citate hanno in comune è il fatto che gli eventi a cui fanno riferimento fossero accaduti troppo indietro nel tempo perché l’oratore potesse esserne stato testimone oculare ed è improbabile che fossero oggetto di conoscenza comune. Sostenere che gli oratori cercassero di evitare il rischio di sembrare topi di biblioteca intenti a educare i loro inferiori significa dunque dare per scontato ciò che è invece necessario dimostrare, e cioè che gli oratori non apprendessero questi episodi dai racconti altrui, ma ne venissero a conoscenza (o ne leggessero) in qualche altro modo e avessero un espresso interesse a nasconderlo. L’uso di fonti letterarie, e in particolare di opere storiografiche come quelle di Erodoto e Tucidide, da parte degli oratori è stato a lungo oggetto di discussione ed è ormai generalmente riconosciuto che, sebbene mostrassero talvolta di conoscere queste opere (gli unici due casi inequivocabili sono Lys. 2.48-53 e [D.] 59.97-103),20 nella maggior parte dei casi gli oratori non 19 Una chiara enunciazione di questo rispetto per gli anziani si trova in Aeschin. 1.23-24, dove l’oratore attribuisce a Solone le norme pertinenti agli onori da riservare agli anziani in Assemblea. Ober 1989, 14 e 181-182 nota questi elementi ma non ne trae le dovute implicazioni. 20 Entrambi i passaggi derivano da Tucidide, come notato da Thomas 1989, 202 e 227-229. Quanto a Lys. 2.48-53, Walters 1981 sosteneva l’esistenza di una fonte intermedia, ma vd. Todd 2007, 249-253 e in particolare 249 n. 57. Quanto a [D.] 59.97-103, vd. Trevett 1990 (che ritiene che Apollodoro avesse anche una seconda fonte sull’assedio di Platea, cf. pp. 411415), e Nouhaud 1982, 163-164, Kapparis 1999, 375-388 e Pelling 2000, 6181 (che ritengono che Tucidide fosse l’unica fonte). È stato anche sostenuto, sulla base di Schol. Aeschin. 2.175.392 Dilts, che la narrazione storica di Aeschin. 2.172-176 dipenda da And. 3.2-9. Questo sarebbe certamente vero se la De Pace di Andocide fosse un’orazione autentica di epoca classica, ma vd. La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 179 facevano uso di fonti letterarie. Al contrario, Rosalind Thomas ha dimostrato che si servivano estensivamente di tradizioni orali e che tradizioni orali alternative aventi origine in diverse comunità mnemoniche erano spesso alla base di versioni alternative degli stessi eventi storici.21 In altre parole è possibile che, quando sostengono di aver appreso una certa storia dai propri padri o dai cittadini più anziani, gli oratori siano più credibili di quanto venga loro normalmente riconosciuto. Inoltre, anche quando non sono attendibili, tali affermazioni non sono affatto insolite o sorprendenti come strategie per conferire autorità a un determinato racconto: Erodoto, ad esempio, dichiara spesso l’affidabilità dei propri racconti assicurando i propri lettori che ciò che riporta lo ha sentito da qualche parte (vd. ad esempio Hdt. 1.20, 2.52: “Io so che … poiché l’ho sentito da …”) e persino Tucidide, pur screditando il valore dell’akoé come fonte storica (Th. 1.20.1, 1.73.2), afferma che il suo resoconto è basato su ciò che ha potuto vedere con i suoi occhi o che gli è stato raccontato da chi era presente durante i fatti. In questo Tucidide non è diverso da Demostene, che afferma di conoscere gli eventi della Guerra di Corinto non perché vi fosse stato lui stesso presente – non era ancora nato – ma perché ne aveva ascoltato la storia dai cittadini più anziani, che presumibilmente ne erano stati testimoni oculari. Allo stesso modo Licurgo (1.90), facendo riferimento al destino di Callistrato, punito per i suoi crimini circa venticinque anni prima, presume che il pubblico sia consapevole di questi eventi per avervi assistito personalmente o per averli appresi da coloro che erano stati presenti. Poiché ad Atene nel IV secolo questo era il modo più consueto per apprendere i fatti del passaHarris 2000 che sostiene che il discorso sia in realtà un falso di epoca ellenistica. 21 Thomas 1989, 201-202 e passim. Vd. anche Steinbock 2012, 21-23 e 2013. Tuttavia entrambi esagerano il grado in cui Atene manteneva le caratteristiche di una società orale, non notando come la scrittura avesse avuto un forte impatto (cf. Faraguna 2006) che aveva cambiato sostanzialmente la natura della trasmissione culturale (e orale). Per un esempio dell’impatto della scrittura sulle tradizioni orali cf. Giangiulio 2001 sul caso di Cirene. 180 Mirko Canevaro to, non c’è dunque ragione di mettere in dubbio la credibilità degli oratori quando sostengono di essersi serviti dei racconti degli altri cittadini come fonti del proprio sapere storico, e certamente le loro affermazioni non indicano che un certo grado di conoscenza del passato fosse considerato eccessivo. La strategia degli oratori in questi casi è proattiva piuttosto che difensiva; essi si servono cioè della testimonianza orale degli anziani, largamente riconosciuta dal pubblico come fonte autorevole per la memoria del passato, allo scopo di conferire autorità ai loro racconti e, di conseguenza, ai loro argomenti. Le occasioni in cui gli oratori provano a mettere in discussione l’importanza del passato come guida per le azioni del presente sono invece di carattere difensivo, come nel caso di Demostene (19.16) che, alludendo ad un precedente dibattito assembleare riguardo alla pace con la Macedonia, riferisce ai giudici ateniesi che in quell’occasione Eschine “disse che non dovevate essere memori degli avi, né tollerare chi parlava di trofei e di battaglie navali, ma dovevate promulgare e iscrivere una legge che vi imponesse di non aiutare nessuno dei Greci che non avesse prima aiutato voi” (trad. adattata da Labriola). Il tono scandalizzato dell’oratore rende evidente che incitare gli Ateniesi a dimenticare parte del loro passato doveva essere percepito dal pubblico come qualcosa di assurdo e Demostene deve aver ritenuto questo attacco nei confronti di Eschine talmente efficace da ripeterlo due volte nel resto dell’orazione: a § 307 e ancora a § 311. In risposta a questo attacco, Eschine (2.63, 75-77) afferma di aver spronato gli Ateniesi a ricordare e imitare le imprese dei loro antenati a Maratona, Platea e Capo Artemisio e nella spedizione guidata da Tolmide nel Peloponneso, ma di averli anche invitati ad evitare gli errori commessi durante la Guerra del Peloponneso. Spiegate in questo modo, le parole dell’oratore sembrano ragionevoli, eppure la sua spiegazione dettagliata di ciò che aveva realmente voluto dire rivela un certo imbarazzo e lo La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 181 pone sulla difensiva.22 Eschine fornisce infatti un lungo resoconto del proprio discorso per contestualizzare le sue affermazioni e conclude ammettendo di “avervi esortato a evitare questa mancanza di giudizio ma a imitare le imprese menzionate poco fa”, giustificando al tempo stesso le proprie parole e negando di aver mai spronato gli Ateniesi a dimenticare il loro passato. Introdurre dunque, per quanto abilmente, un argomento di questo tipo non era probabilmente una buona idea, dal momento che questioni come la memoria del passato della città erano particolarmente delicate e su di esse l’oratore avversario poteva facilmente aizzare l’ira del pubblico. Nei conflitti politici che di volta in volta dividevano la comunità degli Ateniesi, la memoria del passato era un’arma affilata, usata da tutte le parti in causa, tutte d’accordo però almeno sulla sua importanza. In altre parole, questo esempio dimostra che dimenticare il passato della città, esortare gli Ateniesi a ignorarlo o anche solo darne l’impressione era molto pericoloso e poteva offrire un facile bersaglio agli avversari.23 I ricordi del passato dovevano essere comprovati e i riferimenti agli anziani rappresentavano solo una delle strategie disponibili, che potevano includere l’uso di statue, monumenti o iscrizioni per corroborare una storia sul passato. Un esempio al riguardo può essere quello di Eschine (1.182), che fa riferimento al “luogo del cavallo e della ragazza”, le fondamenta di una casa abbandonata dove un padre ateniese aveva un tempo rinchiuso sua figlia, colpevole di non aver “custodito onorevolmente la propria verginità”, utilizzando l’edificio per provare che “gli antenati erano severi verso i comportamenti vergognosi”. Un altro esempio interessante è il riferimento, sempre da parte di Eschi22 Nouhaud 1986 sostiene che in questa circostanza Eschine stesse cercando di riparare al danno fatto dalle sue precedenti affermazioni. 23 Secondo Steinbock 2013 questo passaggio dimostrerebbe che l’immagine prevalente del passato della città potesse essere messa in discussione facendo appello a tradizioni familiari alternative, ma l’attacco di Demostene e la replica difensiva di Eschine sembrano piuttosto suggerire che questa non era una strategia attuabile. 182 Mirko Canevaro ne, a una statua di Solone situata nell’agora di Salamina. Nella Contro Timarco, infatti, l’oratore aveva paragonato la personalità depravata dell’imputato a quella dell’antico statista e per fornire una prova visiva della sua indegnità aveva affermato che i grandi uomini del passato non indulgevano nemmeno nella comune abitudine di parlare con la mano fuori dai vestiti, come si può notare nella statua di Solone nell’agorà di Salamina.24 Quella statua, commenta Eschine, “è un ricordo e una rappresentazione dell’atteggiamento con cui Solone parlava al popolo ateniese” (Aeschin. 1.25), atteggiamento del tutto diverso da quello di Timarco, che appena qualche giorno prima, “gettata via la veste, gesticolava nudo nell’Assemblea come un lottatore di pancrazio” (Aeschin. 1.26). L’oratore utilizza dunque la statua a sostegno delle proprie affermazioni riguardo a un passato di cui né lui né alcun cittadino più anziano potevano essere stati testimoni diretti. Strategie retoriche di questo tipo, che puntavano a mettere in risalto i difetti del carattere o delle azioni dell’avversario tramite il confronto con le pratiche superiori degli Ateniesi del passato, sono molto diffuse negli oratori e dunque saranno state piuttosto efficaci.25 Queste strategie erano tuttavia basate sulla correttezza dei ricordi impiegati, che dovevano essere confermati attraverso il riferimento a qualche tipo di prova. È proprio questo lo scopo della replica di Demostene (19.251) all’argomento di Eschine: quest’ultimo infatti non viene accusato di annoiare il pubblico con argomenti irrilevanti basati su un passato lontano, né tantomeno viene incolpato o ridicolizzato per aver fatto sfoggio di conoscenze antiquarie su pratiche ancestrali. Demostene sceglie piuttosto di far notare che “gli abitanti di Salamina dicono che non sono ancora cinquant’anni dacché si eresse questa statua, e 24 Sul “luogo del cavallo e della ragazza” vd. p. es. Oikonomides 1980; Ghiron-Bistagne 1985; Edmunds 1997. Per la statua di Solone a Salamina vd. p. es. Keesling 2017, 158-162. 25 Per una discussione di questa strategia e delle sue implicazioni retoriche e ideologiche, vd. ad esempio Grethlein 2010, 127-133 e in particolare 140, e Clarke 2008, 274-282. Vd. anche Carey 2005, 77-91. La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 183 da Solone ad oggi ne sono passati quasi duecentocinquanta: l’artigiano che ha modellato questa figura non solo non fu suo contemporaneo, lui, ma non lo fu neanche suo nonno” (trad. Labriola). L’oratore, in altre parole, mette in dubbio l’argomento di Eschine sulla base della sua accuratezza storica. Questa strategia retorica, indubbiamente molto efficace in quanto implicava che l’avversario falsificasse dei fatti storici allo scopo di ingannare il pubblico e lo qualificava dunque come un sofista, è tuttavia attuabile solo in un contesto in cui la memoria del passato è rispettata e considerata come qualcosa di desiderabile. In un tale contesto l’accuratezza della memoria è un’arma da sfruttare nei conflitti politici, non solo a supporto delle proprie posizioni, ma per screditare quelle altrui. E dunque simili scambi, in cui un oratore sosteneva un argomento sulla base di un esempio tratto dal passato mentre l’altro rispondeva negando l’accuratezza delle sue informazioni storiche, non erano affatto insoliti. Nella Contro Leptine, ad esempio, Demostene nel 355/354 a.C. prevede che Leptine e i suoi syndikoi, nel difendere una legge che abolirebbe la concessione dell’ateleia, affermeranno che “ai tempi dei nostri antenati, alcuni individui prestarono molti servizi alla città ma non chiesero nulla del genere in cambio. Si accontentavano invece con piacere di una iscrizione nel portico di Ermes” (20.112, trad. Canevaro).26 Ancora una volta, invece di rispondere che i ricordi del passato non sono rilevanti, l’oratore dimostra piuttosto che se Leptine affermerà che “quegli uomini furono valorosi, ma mostrerà che non ricevettero alcuna ricompensa, allora di certo starà accusando la città di ingratitudine” (D. 20.113, trad. Canevaro). Demostene continua negando questa ipotetica accusa e, citando un’iscrizione recante un decreto onorifico per Lisimaco proposto da Alcibiade che assegnava all’onorando “cento pletri di terra coltivata in Eubea, cento di terra spoglia e ancora cento mine di argento e 26 Vd. Canevaro 2016, 374-375. Un argomento simile, completo di riferimenti agli epigrammi della Stoà delle Erme, è usato in Aeschin. 3.183-185 contro Demostene. Vd. infra. 184 Mirko Canevaro quattro dracme al giorno”,27 dimostra che i benefattori dello Stato venivano in realtà onorati e che i loro premi erano sì diversi, poiché le risorse della città erano diverse, ma per niente inferiori a quelli attuali. L’oratore sceglie dunque di dimostrare che il resoconto storico del suo avversario era falso ma non ne nega assolutamente la pertinenza al caso in questione, né tantomeno attacca Leptine per aver mostrato di avere una conoscenza dettagliata del passato.28 Anche quando un argomento simile a quello che Demostene si aspetta da Leptine è utilizzato da Eschine, in un attacco diretto contro lo stesso Demostene allo scopo di dimostrare quanto sia inappropriato accordare onori a quest’ultimo se si paragonano la sua vita e le sue imprese a quelle dei grandi uomini del passato (Aeschin. 3.177-188), persino in questo caso l’oratore non osa rigettare il riferimento al passato come irrilevante e saccente. Eschine si tiene alla larga da affermazioni generiche che offrirebbero a Demostene un’occasione di confutare le sue informazioni storiche e argomenta il proprio punto molto accuratamente, affermando, come fatto dal suo avversario in varie occasioni (D. 23.196-210, 3.23-32 e 13.21-31), che onori e premi sono diventati eccessivi mentre la virtù degli onorandi è diminuita e quasi scomparsa. L’oratore passa quindi a rafforzare queste affermazioni con esempi di grandi nomi della storia ateniese come Temistocle, Milziade, Aristide e gli esuli di File ed esorta i giudici a paragonare le loro imprese a quelle di Demostene, per poi citare i tre epigrammi iscritti sulle Erme erette da 27 L’iscrizione tuttavia è probabilmente un falso di quarto secolo. Vd. Davies 1971, 51-52 e Canevaro 2016, 376-377. 28 Demostene ovviamente non si astiene dall’usare argomenti simili riguardo ad onori garantiti in passato quando questi giovano al suo ragionamento: vd. ad es. D. 23.196-210, D. 3.23-32 e D. 13.21-31, discussi infra. La sua discussione, tuttavia, è più sfumata e l’oratore non nega in modo assoluto che degli onori fossero garantiti ma afferma semplicemente che gli Ateniesi evitavano di assegnare onori eccessivi e di privarsi in questo modo della propria gloria. Demostene dunque si assicura di non essere vulnerabile alla stressa strategia da lui usata contro Leptine, che appare ad esempio anche in Aeschin. 3.177-188, su cui vd. il paragrafo successivo. La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 185 Cimone dopo la presa di Eione per dimostrare che ai benefattori non fosse nemmeno permesso di iscrivere i propri nomi.29 Nel discorso Sulla Corona, Demostene si sforza di confutare questo ragionamento e la sua strategia è ancora una volta quella di non rigettare alcun argomento basato sulla memoria del passato. Al contrario, a § 314 l’oratore per prima cosa si affretta a dire che fare riferimento ai grandi uomini del passato è encomiabile (!"#$ !"%&'$ ()*+,') ma obietta che il paragone è ingiusto, dal momento che i vivi a differenza dei morti sono oggetto di invidia, e aggiunge che i grandi uomini del passato erano essi stessi oggetto di diffamazione durante la loro vita. Si tratta di un argomento sottile: Demostene evita di respingere l’allusione di Eschine agli antenati e al contrario adotta egli stesso degli argomenti basati sul passato affermando che “esaminando la mia azione politica e le mie decisioni, si vedrà chiaramente che io seguo una linea affine, e identica negli obiettivi, a quella dei politici che in passato meritarono l’elogio dei concittadini” (18.317, trad. adattata da Natalicchio), ma al tempo stesso, seppur non criticandone il metodo, mette in dubbio le conclusioni che Eschine aveva tratto da questi ricordi del passato. L’oratore piuttosto sostiene che per un politico ateniese che conosca la storia della città e del suo popolo l’unica scelta onorevole fosse quella di combattere Filippo (D. 18.66-68 e 199-200).30 Demostene dunque capovolge efficacemente l’argomento di Eschine, adottando il suo ragionamento basato sulla memoria degli antenati ma dimostrando che esso non solo non condanna ma va addirittura a sostegno dell’assegnazione della corona. Ancora una volta, in altre parole, l’oratore avrebbe potuto accusare il suo avversario di elitismo culturale, se questa fosse stata una strategia retorica attuabile, ma sceglie invece di accettare l’appello alla memoria del passato e addirittura di appropriarsene. 29 Su questi epigrammi vd. Canevaro 2016, 374-375 con bibliografia precedente. 30 La strategia con cui Demostene difende la sua linea politica utilizzando un argomento basato sul ‘burden of the past’ è analizzata da Yunis 2000. 186 Mirko Canevaro Non esiste d’altra parte alcun passo negli oratori in cui un avversario venga accusato di erudizione elitista o di comportarsi come un maestro che impartisce lezioni ai suoi inferiori, sebbene gli oratori indulgano spesso in lunghe digressioni storiche rendendo (anche fastidiosamente) esplicito il loro intento educativo. L’esempio più ovvio è quello della Contro Leocrate, in cui Licurgo, dopo aver richiamato alla memoria dei giudici il Giuramento Efebico e gli obblighi che questo comporta nei confronti della città (1.75-82), riflette su come Leocrate abbia tradito la lettera e lo spirito del suddetto giuramento, cogliendo quindi l’occasione per introdurre una lunga serie di digressioni storiche e citazioni poetiche – la più estesa del corpus degli oratori – che si dispiega per quarantotto paragrafi (§ 83-130), occupando circa un terzo dell’intero discorso. Questa scelta avrebbe certamente irritato il pubblico se gli Ateniesi fossero davvero stati ostili all’idea che qualcuno impartisse loro lezioni sul loro passato (e sulla poesia),31 specialmente tenuto conto del fatto che Licurgo apre questa sezione dell’orazione con la seguente affermazione: “Voglio raccontarvi delle brevi storie sugli uomini del passato che, se le prenderete a esempio, vi permetteranno di prendere decisioni migliori sia riguardo a queste che ad altre questioni”. Il compito che l’oratore si arroga sembra cioè proprio quello di dare lezioni ai giudici sul passato in modo tale da metterli nella condizione di prendere una decisione. Affermazioni simili sono poi sparse nell’intera sezione, come al § 95, dove Licurgo introduce con tono di superiorità la storia di un giovane siciliano che era stato salvato da un getto di lava dell’Etna come ricompensa per la sua pietà verso suo padre (“sebbene sia piuttosto fantasiosa, tuttavia è adatta ad essere 31 Evito di discutere in questa sede le orazioni funebri, le cui narrazioni storiche sono ancora più estese, dal momento che il loro ruolo è stato ampliamente analizzato e che esse sono rappresentative di un’istituzione diversa, le cui convenzioni danno adito a pratiche che non possono essere accostate a quelle di altri generi oratori. Mi limito dunque a notare che l’esistenza stessa di queste convenzioni indica che gli Ateniesi non avevano affatto pregiudizi nei confronti dell’idea che qualcuno desse loro lezioni sul loro passato. La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 187 ascoltata da tutti voi giovani”), o al § 98, dove la storia di Eretteo viene introdotta in questo modo: “Fate attenzione, Ateniesi, perché non mi allontanerò dagli uomini del passato. È giusto infatti che voi ascoltiate e comprendiate le azioni delle quali essi si gloriavano”. Queste non sono certo le parole di un oratore che si sforza di apparire non eccessivamente didattico e condiscendente, eppure Licurgo andò molto vicino ad ottenere la condanna di Leocrate nonostante il fatto che il suo caso poggiasse su basi giuridiche molto deboli.32 Al contrario, se dovessimo trarre delle conclusioni generali dalla Contro Leocrate, dovremmo affermare che il pubblico non obiettò alla predilezione di Licurgo per le storie sul passato di Atene.33 Quello di Licurgo, d’altronde, non è certo un caso isolato. Apollodoro, ad esempio, nella Contro Neera arriva a includere una narrazione dalla durata di dieci paragrafi ([D.] 59.94-104) di tutte disgrazie subite dagli abitanti di Platea da Maratona fino alla distruzione della città nel 427 a.C. semplicemente allo scopo di dimostrare quanto sia difficile ottenere la cittadinanza ateniese. Nel suo racconto l’oratore per una volta si basa su una fonte letteraria, Tucidide, e ha addirittura la sfrontatezza di affermare che gli abitanti di Platea avevano combattuto a Maratona al fianco degli Ateniesi, contrariamente alla pratica comune degli oratori di descrivere questa battaglia come un’impresa solitaria di Atene. Apollodoro tuttavia non sembra preoccupato che il pubblico possa trovare pedante la sua digressione storica: al contrario, l’oratore vuole – e lo afferma esplicitamente – che i giudici apprendano dal suo racconto quali fossero state le origini della legge sulla naturalizzazione (§ 93).34 Anche Demostene di tanto in tanto si lascia andare a lunghe digressioni storiche. L’esempio più notevole è D. 23.196-210, in cui l’oratore sostiene che nell’Atene del suo tempo la pratica di 32 Vd. Harris 2000, 67-75. Sulla carriera e le politiche di Licurgo, vd. soprattutto Faraguna 1992, e ora anche Brun 2005 e vari saggi in Azoulay-Ismard 2011. 34 Un’altra lunga digressione storica si trova in Aeschin. 2.172-177. 33 188 Mirko Canevaro onorare i benefattori si fosse deteriorata rispetto al passato e che gli antenati non si privassero della propria gloria concedendo a generali e politici di successo onori eccessivi come statue o decreti che imponessero l’arresto di chiunque uccidesse l’onorando, ma si limitassero piuttosto a premiarli con la cittadinanza. Per mostrare il motivo di tale degenerazione Demostene paragona la sua generazione agli antenati, il tutto introdotto da una dichiarazione di intenti: “Se poi devo dire la verità con franchezza, nessuno più di voi, Ateniesi, è responsabile del fatto che si sia andati così avanti nella strada del disonore […] Considerate tuttavia (!"-.)*$ /!01"/2+) come i nostri antenati punivano quelli che facevano loro dei torti, e domandatevi se vi comportate come loro” (trad. adattata da Pierro). L’oratore continua spiegando che, mentre gli antenati punivano i colpevoli, oggi questi ultimi vengono assolti troppo facilmente e aggiunge che mentre in passato le case private dei cittadini eminenti come Temistocle e Milziade non erano più ricche della media ma gli edifici pubblici erano splendidi, oggi al contrario gli edifici pubblici sono “modesti e miseri” e le case private appariscenti. La logica di questo ragionamento non è certo stringente (non è infatti chiaro in che modo l’abitudine di concedere onori sempre più grandi a persone non meritevoli possa essere stata causata dalla riluttanza degli Ateniesi nel punire i colpevoli) ma il fatto stesso che Demostene porti avanti la sua argomentazione facendo riferimento al passato, menzionando sia i meriti degli antenati sia esempi negativi più recenti, sembra conferirle abbastanza autorità da renderla praticabile. Questo passo, d’altra parte, ebbe un tale successo che l’oratore lo riutilizzò, con alcune modifiche dovute alle diverse esigenze retoriche, in altre due occasioni: nel 349 a.C. Demostene fa infatti nuovamente uso del paragone con gli antenati nella Terza Olintiaca (3.23-32), e l’intero ragionamento viene riproposto nel discorso Sull’organizzazione (13.2131).35 35 L’autenticità di questo discorso è stata messa in dubbio (vd. ad esempio Sealey 1967, 251-253; 1993, 235-237; Badian 2000, 44 n. 70) ma la presenza La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 189 Le allusioni alla memoria del passato basate sull’autorità dei membri anziani della comunità o su monumenti, iscrizioni o altre fonti simili non possono dunque essere interpretate come prove della riluttanza degli oratori nel mostrare una conoscenza dettagliata della storia, ma rappresentano piuttosto le modalità attraverso cui era possibile rivendicare autorità per i propri racconti, come dimostrato dall’abbondanza di fonti che attestano come rivelare una memoria accurata e dettagliata degli eventi del passato fosse un’arma retorica potente ed efficace. La memoria era dunque un campo di battaglia nella retorica politica e giudiziaria – un campo di battaglia la cui centralità era riconosciuta da tutti, e sul quale non solo si riscoprivano i conflitti e le imprese degli antenati, ma in cui si combattevano i conflitti politici del presente, e quindi si dava forma al futuro della polis. D’altro canto, alcuni passi riguardanti la conoscenza poetica e l’uso di riferimenti a testi poetici sembrano a prima vista suggerire che un oratore, facendo troppo uso di allusioni poetiche, corresse il rischio di apparire come un maestro che trattava il pubblico con sufficienza. Questa interpretazione, se fosse corretta, dimostrerebbe che fare sfoggio di una conoscenza eccessiva della tradizione culturale ateniese e greca poteva essere percepito come un tratto elitista e rischiava di attirare l’ostilità del pubblico. Al contempo, implicherebbe che gli oratori si aspettavano un’attitudine ambivalente da parte dell’uditorio nei confronti di un certo tipo di memoria, visto come caratteristico dell’élite istruita. Due passaggi, in particolare, sono stati utilizzati a sostegno di questo punto di vista: D. 19.246-250 e Aeschin.1.141. Nel primo passo, tratto dal discorso Sulla falsa ambasceria, Demostene risponde ad Eschine, che lo aveva accusato di essere in alcuni manoscritti di una sticometria complessiva coerente con quella di altre demegoriai rende virtualmente certo che l’orazione faceva parte dell’edizione ateniese originale del corpus demostenico (vd. Canevaro 2011, 293-304). I problemi riscontrati nel testo sono inconcludenti; vd. Trevett 1994; Lane Fox 1997, 191-195; MacDowell 2009, 226-227. 190 Mirko Canevaro un logographos e un sophistes, ricordando come questi avesse citato e discusso alcuni passaggi poetici nella sua orazione Contro Timarco (Aeschin. 1.141-154) e notando come in quella circostanza Eschine avesse scelto di declamare dei versi del Fenice di Euripide che non aveva mai interpretato come attore e avesse invece omesso dei versi dell’Antigone di Sofocle che aveva recitato a teatro e che gli avrebbero fornito delle buone direttive durante l’ambasceria. Ober interpreta questo passaggio come prova che una conoscenza eccessiva dei poeti, e in particolare l’andare a caccia di citazioni di opere che l’oratore non aveva alcuna ragione di conoscere, fosse associata alla figura del sofista e potesse essere oggetto della ‘rhetoric of anti-rhetoric’ che era molto comune tra gli oratori. In altre parole, ricordare troppa tragedia (o troppa poesia in generale) e fare sfoggio di tale conoscenza poteva essere etichettato come un tratto elitista e in definitiva risultare uno svantaggio. Secondo Ober esistevano infatti due tipologie di memoria, una democratica ed egalitaria e un’altra acquisita tramite ricerca specialistica, quest’ultima tipica della formazione di un sofista e utilizzata per ingannare il cittadino medio che faceva parte della corte.36 Il passo demostenico tuttavia non giustifica tale interpretazione. Ober infatti traduce “Oh Aeschines […] are you not a logographer … since you hunted up a verse which you never spoke on stage to use to trick the citizens?”, ma il greco è diverso: )3$/4$%)5)5678)'9$:;<$ =$ >?$ )3>+(@().?$ AB$ .C$ D-E$ F(+!6-BGH$ ."I."$ JK.L/"'$ A(#$ .C$.&B$()%*.&B$D%71"*$.*B?$+M'$N0/)B$OB+5!"'.37 Eschine, cioè, avrebbe dovuto usare i versi dell’Antigone di Sofocle, che sicuramente conosceva a memoria avendoli recitati più volte, per guidare le proprie azioni, ma aveva scelto invece di cercare altri versi che non aveva mai interpretato e di tralasciare quelli 36 Ober 1989, 173. “Tu non sei un logografo? […] La parte che avevi recitato spesso, e che conoscevi benissimo, l’hai trasgredita, ma ti sei cercata quella che non hai mai recitato nella vita, e l’hai proposta in pubblico, per nuocere ad un cittadino” (trad. Labriola). 37 La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 191 che erano effettivamente utili, allo scopo di danneggiare i propri concittadini. Demostene dunque accusa Eschine di danneggiare (D%71"*) gli Ateniesi, non di ingannarli, e proprio questo verbo è il nodo dell’intera espressione: Eschine è un sofista perché ha ignorato ciò che chiaramente sapeva essere appropriato, utile e giusto e ha cercato degli argomenti astuti al fine di danneggiare i suoi concittadini.38 Questo è il segno del logographos e del sophistes in quanto figura irriducibilmente negativa e antitetica agli ideali democratici, come Demostene rende ancora più chiaro a D. 18.277, dove ammette l’accusa di deinotes (astuzia, abilità retorica) rivoltagli da Eschine ma afferma successivamente che “se è vero che ho una qualche esperienza in questo campo, tutti riconoscerete che nelle questioni di interesse pubblico essa è stata sempre schierata dalla vostra parte […] la sua, al contrario, non solo è stata impiegata per sostenere la causa dei nemici, ma anche per colpire chi abbia dato loro qualche dispiacere o li abbia contrastati: perché certo egli non la utilizza per fini onesti o nell’interesse della città” (trad. Natalicchio). Le citazioni poetiche di Eschine, dunque, sono problematiche non tanto perché l’oratore aveva tralasciato ciò che conosceva per esperienza e fatto sfoggio di ricordi che erano frutto di ricerca specialistica, ma piuttosto perché era andato attivamente alla ricerca di un passaggio con cui potesse danneggiare un proprio concittadino e si era quindi dimostrato un sofista. In altre parole, non esistono forme di memoria inopportune e non democratiche, solo usi inopportuni della memoria. Il secondo passaggio che sembrerebbe indicare un pregiudizio nei confronti della dimostrazione di conoscenza eccessiva dei testi poetici è Aeschin. 1.141, dove Eschine introduce una lunga serie di citazioni poetiche (le stesse a cui allude Demostene nel passaggio appena discusso) con le seguenti parole: “Ma dal momento che menzionate Achille e Patroclo, e Omero e altri 38 Questo argomento contro l’interpretazione di Ober è svolto efficacemente già da Yunis nella sua recensione del 1991 a Ober 1989 (CPh 86.1, 71). 192 Mirko Canevaro poeti, come se i giudici fossero degli ignoranti e voi foste invece dei gran signori e disprezzaste il popolo per via della vostra erudizione, affinché vediate che anche noi abbiamo già ascoltato e imparato qualcosa, anche noi diremo qualcosa su questi argomenti”.39 In questo passo l’oratore accusa chiaramente i suoi avversari di atteggiarsi a persone che si distinguono dai giudici grazie alla propria conoscenza ed educazione superiore. La traccia di un risentimento nei confronti dell’élite istruita sembra dunque inconfondibile e all’apparenza la formulazione somiglia ai molti casi in cui gli oratori accusano i propri avversari di essere abili rhetores ingiustamente avvantaggiati dalla propria formazione tecnica e di conseguenza chiedono ai giudici di essere ascoltati con una disposizione più favorevole.40 Eschine sembra dunque utilizzare un topos retorico analogo e di conseguenza le dimostrazioni di conoscenza di testi poetici sembrano esposte ad attacchi molto simili a quelli contro l’educazione retorica. C’è tuttavia una differenza notevole tra queste due strategie. Quando si dipingono come dilettanti inesperti in lotta contro retori professionisti, gli oratori fanno infatti affidamento sulla diffidenza del pubblico nei confronti dell’educazione retorica, partendo dal presupposto che quest’ultimo sia inesperto – e fiero di esserlo – nell’arte retorica e maldisposto verso chi abbia ricevuto questo tipo di formazione professionale. I sofisti di professione sono infatti considerati poneroi, come dice chiaramente Fidippide nelle Nuvole di Aristofane in risposta alle affermazioni di suo padre secondo cui Socrate e i suoi colleghi sarebbero kaloi kagathoi, e nessun giudice ateniese vor- 39 Sulle tecniche di citazione di Eschine, con parte del testo letta dal grammateus e parte dall’oratore stesso, vd. Ford 1999; Olding 2007; Bouchet 2008 con ulteriori fonti. 40 Per alcuni esempi vd. Antipho 3.2.b2, c3; And. 4.7; Lys. 19.2; Isoc. 8.5; Is. 10.1; D. 18.6-7; 27.2; 35.40; 37.5; 38.2; 57.1. Per una discussione di questo topos vd. Dover 1974, 25-28; Ostwald 1986, 256-257; Ober 1989, 170177; Hesk 2000, 207-209. La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 193 rebbe essere identificato con loro. 41 Questa strategia è molto diversa da quella adottata in Aeschin. 1.141, dove l’oratore non fa affidamento sull’ignoranza dei giudici nel campo della poesia né tantomeno sulla loro diffidenza nei confronti di chi ha ricevuto un’educazione poetica. Al contrario, nell’argomentazione di Eschine, sono i suoi avversari che mettono in discussione la memoria poetica del pubblico. Eschine dà per scontato che il pubblico si senta offeso da simili insinuazioni, e procede ad assolvere i propri ascoltatori da questa accusa immaginaria di ignoranza poetica affermando che poiché “anche noi (!"#$ PN+,') abbiamo già ascoltato e imparato qualcosa, anche noi diremo qualcosa su questi argomenti”. Questa astuta strategia, che si basa sulle forti pretese culturali del pubblico, dimostra dunque che gli Ateniesi non solo non erano sospettosi verso forme di educazione poetica approfondita ma addirittura vi aspiravano loro stessi, come lo stesso Eschine ammette quando afferma: “per questo a mio parere impariamo a memoria le massime dei poeti quando siamo bambini, per farne uso quando siamo adulti” (3.135). Tale presunzione di conoscenza poetica da parte del pubblico, dovuta al fatto che essere ignoranti in questo campo era considerato tipico dei poneroi (o kakoi o banausoi),42 contribuisce a spiegare tra l’altro come Demostene potesse essere orgoglioso della sua educazione impeccabile (D. 18.257) e al tempo stesso pensare che i suoi feroci attacchi contro Eschine, accusato a più riprese di essere un ignorante, potessero essere efficaci.43 Non è dunque un caso che Eschine, che non aveva ricevuto un’educazione altrettanto privilegiata, si sforzasse di apparire kalos kagathos (o chrestos o gnorimos o beltistos) facendo sfoggio delle proprie credenziali culturali, ed è probabilmente perché aveva qualcosa da provare che, rispetto a Demostene, 41 Ar. Nu. 100-125. Ulteriori prove che i sofisti non fossero considerati kaloi kagathoi dall’Ateniese medio sono fornite dalle affermazioni di Anito in Pl. Men. 91c, Callicles in Pl. Grg. 520a, Laches in Pl. La. 197d. Vd. Harris 1995, 28 e 185 n. 30. 42 Vd. Harris 1995, 17-29. 43 Vd. per esempio D. 18.128, 242, 258. Cf. anche Lys. 20.12. 194 Mirko Canevaro Eschine faceva un uso particolarmente frequente di citazioni poetiche nelle sue orazioni.44 Il pubblico, quindi, si aspettava che tutti prendessero parte alla memoria culturale e poetica della comunità, proprio come diffidava di chi non ricordava il passato: per gli Ateniesi, in altre parole, conoscere la poesia era un attributo del buon cittadino e, diversamente dall’essere un sofista, che era un tratto tipico del poneros, non aveva connotazioni negative. Questa analisi ha mostrato che, per quanto riguarda la memoria del passato e la conoscenza poetica, ad Atene esisteva un’aspettativa diffusa, condivisa da oratori e pubblico, che un Ateniese dovesse ‘ricordare’ e non vi era alcuna distinzione osservabile tra ricordi opportuni ed educazione elitaria inopportuna. Chi non ricordava il passato della città veniva infatti attaccato per la sua ignoranza e gli oratori, consapevoli di queste aspettative, non si trattenevano dall’ostentare l’entità della loro conoscenza storica e poetica, sicuri che avrebbero così rafforzato i loro argomenti e aumentato la loro autorità, come eloquentemente riassunto da Isocrate (4.9): “Le azioni passate sono state lasciate a tutti noi come retaggio comune, ma valersene a proposito, fare le riflessioni convenienti su ciascuna e esprimerle con termini ornati è dote peculiare dei saggi” (trad. Marzi). Per completare questa analisi, tuttavia, è necessario affrontare un’ultima questione e investigare se davvero gli Ateniesi possedessero la vasta memoria storica e culturale che pensavano di possedere e che si aspettavano dai loro politici. A questo proposito è particolarmente utile prendere in considerazione le formule con cui gli oratori spesso introducono le loro digressioni storiche e culturali e che consistono in espressioni come “voi tutti sapete”, “voi tutti ricordate”, “permettetemi di ricordarvi”. Nell’orazione Sul Chersoneso, ad esempio, Demostene esorta gli Ateniesi ad agire contro Filippo dicendo “Voi sapete certamente che una volta il famoso Timoteo sostenne in assemblea che bisognava soccorrere gli Eubei” (D. 8.74, trad. Canfora), mentre 44 Harris 1995, 28. La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 195 nella Contro Aristocrate usa lo stesso argomento quando afferma “voi certo ricordate, Ateniesi, che Ificrate era al colmo della felicità per quella statua di bronzo che gli avevate eretto e per il mantenimento a spese dello Stato nel pritaneo e per gli altri doni e onori che gli avevate offerto” (D. 23.130, trad. Pierro). Questa strategia retorica è sempre stata interpretata come l’ennesimo esempio della tendenza da parte degli oratori a non mettere in mostra il loro sapere storico.45 L’analisi appena condotta, tuttavia, ha dimostrato che non vi siano tracce osservabili di una tale disposizione e rende dunque necessario andare alla ricerca di una nuova spiegazione. Il topos appena considerato è utilizzato infatti non solo in relazione al passato ma ancor più spesso in relazione a leggi, documenti e fatti relativi a un avversario. Eschine (1.44), ad esempio, rafforza il suo ritratto delle vergognose pratiche sessuali di Timarco dicendo di rallegrarsi molto “del fatto che la mia accusa è contro un uomo che non vi è sconosciuto ed è noto per nient’altro che l’abitudine su cui state per votare”, mentre Demostene (18.129), dopo aver diffamato la madre di Eschine, afferma che “sono cose che tutti sanno anche se non parlo” (trad. Natalicchio). In entrambi i casi gli oratori affermano che il pubblico sia già al corrente di quello a cui stanno alludendo e il risultato sperato è che anche coloro che non ne sono al corrente si convincano che il resto dell’uditorio sappia, dando per scontato che qualsiasi cosa l’oratore dica sia di dominio pubblico e accettando quindi ogni sua affermazione senza metterla in discussione. L’oratore, in altre parole, sfrutta l’illusione di una ‘face-to-face society’ in cui tutti sanno tutto su tutti per far passare per conoscenza condivisa ciò che ha bisogno di far credere al pubblico.46 Che questa fosse la funzione di questo topos, d’altra parte, è confermato da D. 40.53-54, dove l’oratore ne anticipa l’uso da 45 Vd. Ober 1989, 181; Pearson 1941, 215-219. Finley 1973, 17-18 e 1983, 28-29 credeva che Atene fosse davvero una face-to-face society, ma vd. Osborne 1985, 64-65; Ober 1989, 31-33; Cohen 2000, 104-106. 46 196 Mirko Canevaro parte del suo avversario e avverte i giudici che se questi “non ha testimoni da presentare, dirà che voi conoscete i fatti […], cosa che fanno tutti quelli che non hanno niente di solido da dire. […] Ciò che ognuno di voi non sa, concluda che non lo sa nemmeno il suo vicino”. Anche Aristotele (Rh. 3.1408a32-36) spiega l’uso di questo topos in maniera simile: “Gli ascoltatori subiscono una certa impressione anche da ciò di cui i logografi si servono a sazietà: “chi non sa?”, “tutti quanti conoscono”. Ché, l’ascoltatore, preso da vergogna, è d’accordo, per partecipare di ciò di cui partecipano anche tutti gli altri” (trad. Zanatta).47 In questi casi gli oratori fanno affidamento sulla presunzione del pubblico di ricordare fatti ed eventi e mettono in atto un sottile éscamotage il cui fine ultimo è ancora quello di rivendicare autorità per le loro affermazioni, ma questa volta utilizzando il pubblico stesso come fonte di autorità. Se l’uditorio non conosce i fatti in questione o non li ricorda con una sicurezza tale da poterli mettere in discussione, darà per scontato che tutti gli altri li conoscano e accetterà le affermazioni dell’oratore. L’uso di questo topos in queste argomentazioni prova dunque che gli oratori erano almeno in parte consapevoli delle convinzioni e delle supposizioni del pubblico, così come erano consapevoli che non sempre quello che i loro ascoltatori ritenevano di dover sapere corrispondeva a ciò che realmente conoscevano, e se ne servivano come strategia retorica per guadagnarsi la fiducia dell’uditorio. Ancor più significativo è l’uso del topos in relazione alla conoscenza delle leggi della città, dato che questa rappresentava uno degli attributi chiave del cittadino ateniese oltre che un requisito importante dell’uomo politico. Questo appare chiaramente ad esempio in Aeschin. 1.39 quando l’oratore afferma che ometterà dal suo resoconto gli abusi commessi da Timarco 47 Per un’ottima discussione di questi passaggi vd. Hesk 2000, 227-230. Vd. anche Pelling 2000, 28-31, 40-41. Steinbock 2012, 42-43 nota questo punto ma cerca comunque di sostenere che il topos del “voi tutti sapete” è spesso utilizzato per fatti noti. La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 197 quando era un ragazzo, “ma gli atti che ha commesso quando aveva già raggiunto l’età della ragione ed era un giovane al corrente delle leggi della città, su questi costruirò le mie accuse e vi chiedo di prenderle sul serio”. Conoscere le leggi non era quindi una questione di educazione elitaria ma piuttosto un segnale di maturità e senso civico,48 e per questo motivo gli oratori usano il topos del “voi tutti sapete” anche in riferimento ad esse. In D. 37.18, ad esempio, Nicobulo afferma: “che le leggi non permettono di riaprire una causa su questioni che sono già state definite, lo sapete anche senza che io vi dica nulla”. Allo stesso modo, in D. 23.31 l’oratore sembra credere che i giudici ricorderanno non solo le parole di una vecchia legge sull’omicidio ma anche il loro significato: “Come, allora [devono essere arrestati]? “Come sta scritto sulla tavola”, è detto. Vale a dire? Quello che tutti voi ben sapete” (trad. Pierro). Ancora una volta è difficile riscontrare in questi esempi un tentativo di nascondere forme specialistiche di conoscenza o educazione e la spiegazione circa l’uso del topos in relazione alle leggi è la stessa del caso delle allusioni al passato: per citare nuovamente Aristotele, “l’ascoltatore, preso da vergogna, è d’accordo, per partecipare di ciò di cui partecipano anche tutti gli altri” (trad. Zanatta). Tuttavia è necessario domandarsi se questi appelli alla memoria dei giudici fossero sempre giustificati da ciò che i giudici effettivamente ricordavano o fossero piuttosto, ancora una volta, una sottile forma di manipolazione. Almeno in un caso, D. 20.18 e 26, è possibile ottenere una risposta sicura: il pubblico non poteva ricordare la disposizione a cui Demostene fa riferimento poiché tale disposizione non esisteva in quella forma. A § 18 infatti l’oratore afferma che “è giusto ed equo che, secondo le antiche leggi, nessuno sia esente dalle imposte straordinarie per la guerra e per la salvezza della città e dalle trierarchie” e parafrasa nuovamente la stessa legge a § 26 dicendo che “sapete bene infatti che nessuno è esente dalle trierarchie e dalle imposte 48 Vd. ad esempio Aeschin. 1.39 e l’introduzione di Harris in Harris-LeaoRhodes 2010, 1-7. 198 Mirko Canevaro straordinarie di guerra (.&B$+M/8)6&B$.&B$+M'$.QB$(R%+N)B)” (trad. Canevaro). Un’iscrizione dimostra tuttavia che l’ateleia dall’eisphora poteva effettivamente essere accordata: in un emendamento a degli onori al re di Sidone (IG II2 141.29-36), infatti, tutti i nativi di Sidone residenti ad Atene come mercanti sono dichiarati esenti dalla tassa per residenti stranieri, da incarichi come choregoi e dal pagamento delle imposte straordinarie di guerra. Significativamente, quando Demostene chiede al grammateus di leggere la legge pertinente, la sua parafrasi della disposizione cambia e il riferimento all’eisphora scompare: “Ma sono certo che tutti voi siete al corrente che nessuno è esente dalle trierarchie […] Vedete, Ateniesi, con quanta saggezza la legge sancisce che nessuno sia esente dalla trierarchia eccetto i nove arconti” (20.27-28). L’oratore non correrebbe certo il rischio di inventare una disposizione nel momento in cui i giudici stanno per sentire, o hanno appena sentito, che nel testo vero e proprio della legge non si fa alcun riferimento all’imposta straordinaria di guerra, ma cerca di dare l’impressione che la legge confermi ciò che lui ha sostenuto dall’inizio ripetendo il topos del “voi tutti sapete”. L’eisphora ricompare dopo poche righe ma Demostene stavolta non afferma che l’esenzione da essa sia illegale.49 Questo esempio dimostra come l’uso del topos del “voi tutti sapete” da parte degli oratori rappresenti non soltanto un tentativo di conferire autorità alle loro affermazioni ma spesso (sebbene non invariabilmente) anche un tentativo di conferire autorità ad affermazioni discutibili e talvolta false, facendo leva allo stesso tempo sulla presunzione degli ascoltatori e sulla limitatezza della loro memoria. Gli oratori sanno cioè che per gli Ateniesi ricordare le leggi della città è motivo di vanto ma sanno anche che in molti casi il pubblico non ricorda, o almeno non ricorda con precisione, e questo permette loro di distorcere il significato di alcune disposizioni e in alcuni casi, come appena mostrato, di mentire riguardo al loro contenuto (ovviamente a 49 Vd. Canevaro 2016, 220. La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 199 una distanza di sicurezza dalla lettura della legge da parte del grammateus), allo stesso tempo facendo affidamento sul fatto che nessuno ammetterà di non ricordare. Dopo aver riscontrato nel caso del gossip e della conoscenza giuridica un certo livello di consapevolezza della discrepanza tra quello che gli Ateniesi pensavano di sapere e quello che ricordavano realmente, è ora il momento di tornare alla memoria del passato. Non è necessario interpretare gli appelli alla memoria condivisa del pubblico come tentativi di nascondere un’educazione elitaria. È possibile invece che la loro funzione sia esattamente la stessa degli appelli alla memoria nel caso di gossip e leggi, vale a dire quella di conferire autorità ad affermazioni, asserzioni e racconti che spesso non sono tanto noti quanto l’oratore vorrebbe far credere al pubblico e che a volte sono persino discutibili. Gli oratori, cioè, affermano spesso che “voi tutti ricordate” uno specifico evento storico quando è molto probabile che gli ascoltatori non lo ricordino affatto. Una strategia molto diffusa è quella di introdurre dei dettagli oscuri utili all’argomentazione come parte di un’allusione storica più ampia verosimilmente nota al pubblico, almeno a grandi linee. D. 15.9-10, ad esempio, evoca il caso della liberazione di Samo da parte di Timoteo come esempio di un’azione militare contro i Persiani che non aveva contravvenuto ai termini della Pace di Antalcida per sostenere che aiutare la fazione democratica di Rodi contro Artemisia non avrebbe alcuna conseguenza poiché non andrebbe a violare i termini del trattato di pace. Demostene apre il suo racconto affermando che ricorderà le azioni di Timoteo agli Ateniesi. Il pubblico probabilmente ricordava davvero che Timoteo aveva liberato Samo ma difficilmente poteva ricordare con precisione la situazione diplomatica, che era tuttavia direttamente rilevante nelle circostanze presenti: gli Ateniesi mandarono Timoteo “in aiuto di Ariobarzane, specificando nel decreto: “purché non infranga la pace col re”. E Timoteo, constatato che Ariobarzane era in aperta rivolta contro il re” (trad. Canfora), decise invece di liberare Samo. A un evento che era real- 200 Mirko Canevaro mente parte della memoria condivisa, dunque, l’oratore aggiunge dei dettagli che difficilmente il pubblico avrebbe potuto ricordare, e questo gli permette di sostenere di stare ricordando agli Ateniesi ciò che già sanno. Una strategia simile è utilizzata a D. 22.15, dove l’oratore, per attaccare Androzione, che come membro del Consiglio non era riuscito a costruire il numero legale di triremi, sostiene che la flotta è la più importante garanzia per la sicurezza e il successo di Atene e fa riferimento a “l’ultimo conflitto contro i Lacedemoni”, presumibilmente quello del 374 a.C. riguardo a Corcira. A quel tempo, dice l’oratore, “quando sembrava che voi non avreste potuto inviare delle navi, sapete in che condizioni era la città, sapete che al mercato si vendevano le vecce! Dopo l’invio delle navi, però, otteneste la pace alle vostre condizioni” (trad. Pinto). Gli Ateniesi ricordavano certamente quella guerra e con ogni probabilità ricordavano di essere stati costretti a nutrirsi di veccia (e a comprarla!), ma il fatto che tutto questo fosse dovuto all’impossibilità di inviare la flotta è un’interpretazione storica, non un ricordo condiviso. Tale interpretazione è tuttavia necessaria a rafforzare l’argomentazione e l’oratore usa ricordi condivisi del passato per renderla credibile. È ancora più notevole che talvolta gli oratori utilizzino questo topos per conferire l’autorità di un ricordo condiviso a un’allusione storica che molto probabilmente nessuno ricordava. A D. 23.104, ad esempio, l’oratore introduce un resoconto oscuro e contorto su alcuni eventi politici in Tracia dicendo: “vi ricorderò una vicenda del passato che voi tutti conoscete” (trad. Pierro). Questo è molto improbabile, ma ancora una volta l’oratore era sicuro che gli Ateniesi avrebbero supposto di dover ricordare quei fatti, che li ricordassero o no. In conclusione, questo contributo ha mostrato che nei tribunali ateniesi così come in Assemblea non c’era alcuna reale ambivalenza riguardo alla memoria. Di fronte a un pubblico ateniese, cioè, nessun riferimento alla memoria in quanto tale avrebbe necessariamente causato l’ostilità degli ascoltatori. Al contrario, La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 201 la memoria del passato, delle leggi, della cultura e addirittura della vita quotidiana della città era un attributo indispensabile del cittadino ateniese. Il pubblico si aspettava che gli oratori mostrassero un grado elevato di conoscenza e memoria culturale, storica e giuridica, e al tempo stesso presumeva di conoscere e ricordare altrettanto. Di conseguenza, qualsiasi fosse l’argomento, l’oratore doveva rappresentare gli ascoltatori come delle persone ben informate su leggi, poesia e storia oltre che attente al gossip. Ad Atene, dunque, accusare il proprio avversario di essere culturalmente elitista non era una strategia efficace, poiché gli Ateniesi si consideravano essi stessi una élite culturale e di conseguenza erano inclini a diffidare di un oratore qualora si rendessero conto che non ricordava abbastanza. 50 Questo capitolo ha inoltre evidenziato come i rhetores di professione fossero perfettamente consapevoli non solo delle aspettative del pubblico ma anche del fatto che spesso gli Ateniesi pensavano di ricordare molto di più di quello che realmente ricordavano, che frequentemente si limitava alle linee generali o ad alcuni elementi chiave. Altre volte tuttavia gli Ateniesi non ricordavano affatto, ma si vergognavano di ammetterlo. Di conseguenza l’approccio degli oratori nei confronti della memoria, della storia e della poesia può essere interpretato in gran parte come un sottile gioco retorico costruito sullo scarto tra ciò che il pubblico credeva di ricordare e ciò che effettivamente ricordava. Nell’analizzare questo tipo di argomenti, prendere in considerazione che cosa gli ascoltatori probabilmente non ricordavano è dunque altrettanto importante che notare, come è stato fatto in studi recenti, che gli oratori agivano nell’ambito di spe- 50 Cf. i commenti orgogliosi di Pericle nel suo epitaffio (Th. 2.38.1, 40.1, 41.1): “Inoltre ci siamo procurati il più gran numero di svaghi per la mente come sollievo dalle fatiche, celebrando giochi e sacrifici per tutto l’anno, e con belle case private, il cui godimento quotidiano scaccia la tristezza […]. Amiamo il bello senza esagerazione e la cultura senza mollezza. […] Riassumendo, affermo che tutta la città è un esempio di educazione per la Grecia” (trad. Donini). 202 Mirko Canevaro cifiche comunità mnemoniche.51 Gli oratori, infatti, erano sicuramente attenti ai ricordi e alle credenze condivise degli Ateniesi, ma erano altrettanto interessati a capire che cosa il pubblico aveva dimenticato o semplicemente non sapeva, e attraverso strategie come il topos del “voi tutti sapete” erano in grado di sfruttare le lacune nella conoscenza dei loro ascoltatori e la loro convinzione di ricordare in modo tale da far credere loro di ricordare fatti, prodotti artistici, leggi e altri materiali di cui in realtà non erano a conoscenza. Gli oratori utilizzavano tali strategie in tribunale col preciso scopo di convincere i giudici, ma anche nella propaganda politica e nel modellare la memoria intenzionale della città in base ai propri scopi.52 Tutto questo tuttavia non va necessariamente interpretato come un gioco di inganni perpetrato da politici scaltri ai danni del popolo ignaro. Non è chiaro, infatti, quale fosse il livello di conoscenza degli oratori stessi né da quali fonti derivassero le loro informazioni, e se è vero che facevano uso di versioni differenti degli stessi eventi storici e di ricordi del passato contrastanti che provenivano da fonti, tradizioni e comunità mnemoniche diverse (ma anche di interpretazioni differenti di un brano poetico o di un testo giuridico), non è tuttavia corretto concludere che non facessero altro che veicolare passivamente questi ricordi.53 Gli oratori potevano non solo scambiare versioni e interpretazioni ma anche modificarle e occasionalmente aggiungere dei dettagli e questo era possibile proprio perché il pubblico dimenticava e credeva di ricordare molto più di quanto ricordasse realmente. I loro racconti non vanno dunque accettati acriticamente come testimonianze di tradizioni orali o di specifiche memorie sociali in circolazione in un dato momento storico, poiché aggiunte e alterazioni consapevoli erano spesso una possibilità concreta e gli 51 Vd. ad esempio Thomas 1989, passim e Steinbock 2013, 70-99. Sulla propaganda politica negli oratori vd. Perlman 1964 e recentemente Carey 2005. Sulla creazione della memoria sociale della città vd. ad esempio Wolpert 2003, passim; Luraghi 2010; Shear 2011, passim e 2013. 53 Come implicato da Thomas 1989, 201-202. 52 La memoria, gli oratori e il pubblico nell’Atene del IV secolo a.C. 203 oratori erano maestri nel capire quando la memoria dei loro ascoltatori era abbastanza debole per essere manipolata. Questo contributo tuttavia non è incentrato sugli usi e gli abusi della memoria sociale, ma evidenzia piuttosto come le fonti mostrino che gli oratori erano perfettamente consapevoli dell’importanza che il pubblico, tra tutte le componenti dell’identità comune degli Ateniesi, attribuiva alla memoria e alla conoscenza. Oratori e politici di professione conoscevano e studiavano la mentalità del pubblico con attenzione tale da poterla sfruttare a proprio vantaggio e a volte, attraverso le lacune della memoria individuale, persino dar forma a nuovi ricordi condivisi. Poiché la memoria dei singoli Ateniesi, come quella di ogni individuo, era più malleabile di quanto normalmente si ritenga,54 e poiché gli Ateniesi dimenticavano, questa costante alterazione di ciò che credevano di ricordare, alla lunga e a seguito di tendenze politiche e culturali di lungo termine, poteva trasformare le dimenticanze individuali in ciò che è stato definito ‘public forgetting’, la condizione per lo sviluppo e il cambiamento della memoria sociale. Questa costante e sottile manipolazione era dunque il motore non solo della ‘storia intenzionale’ ateniese, per usare la terminologia di Gehrke, ma anche campo di battaglia del conflitto politico, luogo di definizione della comunità come coesa, e luogo dell’elaborazione di politiche volte a modellare il futuro.55 54 Sul concetto di malleabilità applicato alla memoria sociale vd. FentressWickam 1992, 29; Alcock 2002, 17; Clarke 2008, 316-317; Ma 2009, 255256; Shear 2011, 7-8. Tale malleabilità, a mio parere, è basata sulla malleabilità stessa della memoria individuale. 55 Vd. Vivian 2010, 1-38 e passim per il concetto di ‘public forgetting’. Shear 2011, 7-8 evidenzia efficacemente l’importanza di questo fenomeno. Per alcuni casi in cui la memoria sociale e ‘ufficiale’ della città subì cambiamenti a seguito di sviluppi politici, vd. Loraux 2002, Wolpert 2002 e Shear 2011 sulla fine del quinto secolo. 204 Mirko Canevaro Bibliografia Alcock 2002 S.E. Alcock, Archaeologies of the Greek Past. Landscape, Monuments, and Memories, Cambridge 2002. Appadurai 1981 A. Appadurai, “The Past as a Scarce Resource”, Man 16 (1981), 201-219. Assmann 1992 J. Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis. Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen, München 1992. Azoulay-Ismard 2011 V. Azoulay-P. Ismard (eds.), Clisthène et Lycurgue d’Athènes. Autour du politique dans la cité classique, Actes du Colloque international (Paris, 30-31 janvier 2009), Paris 2011. 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Wolpert, “Addresses to the Jury in the Attic Orators”, AJPh 124.4 (2003), 537-555. Wolpert 2002 A.O. Wolpert, Remembering Defeat: Civil War and Civic Memory in Ancient Athens, Baltimore 2002. Worthington 1994 I. Worthington, “History and Oratorical Exploitation”, in I. Worthington (ed.), Persuasion: Greek Rhetoric in Action, London-New York 1994, 109-129. Yunis 2000 H. Yunis, “Politics as Literature: Demosthenes and the Burden of the Athenian Past”, Arion 8.1 (2000), 97-118. MATTEO BARBATO USING THE PAST TO SHAPE THE FUTURE: ANCESTORS, INSTITUTIONS AND IDEOLOGY IN AESCHIN. 2.74-78! Abstract The Athenian ancestors were constantly made object of praise in Athenian public discourse, and the orators often exhorted their audience to imitate their deeds and follow their example. The ancestors’ ideological weight risked reducing the representation of Athens’ future policies to a perpetual reenactment of the city’s glorious past. Then how could Aeschines, in an address to the Assembly recalled in his speech On the Embassy, invite the Athenians to avoid the mistakes of their ancestors during the Peloponnesian War? According to a recent study, Aeschines challenged the prevalent image of the city’s past by relying on his family tradition as an alternative carrier of social memory. This chapter argues that an institutionalist approach offers a more convincing explanation. Far from challenging the Athenians’ shared image of their past, Aeschines adapted it to the discursive parameters of the Assembly, which compelled orators to construct their speeches around issues of advantage. Keywords: ideology - New Institutionalism - discursive parameters ancestors - Aeschines. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ! I would like to thank Elena Franchi and Giorgia Proietti for inviting me to contribute to this volume. I am grateful to Douglas Cairns, Mirko Canevaro and Edward Harris for their feedback on this essay, and to Belinda Washington for proofreading my work. I would also like to thank the anonymous peer reviewer for providing me with precious comments, and Mirko Canevaro, Elena Franchi and Bernd Steinbock for sharing with me their respective chapters in this volume. All remaining mistakes are of course my own. 214 Matteo Barbato In 346 BC Aeschines submitted his euthynai after his service in the second embassy to Macedon for the signing of the Peace of Philocrates. On that occasion, Demosthenes made accusations against him, but he was only able to bring his case to court three years later. Accusing Aeschines of having taken bribes from Philip, Demosthenes recalled a shocking speech that the defendant had allegedly delivered in the Assembly, devoted to the discussion of the terms of the treaty. He stated that Aeschines encouraged the Athenians to forget their ancestors and to be wary of those who talked about their trophies and sea battles.1 Aeschines strongly rejected Demosthenes’ allegations and proposed an alternative yet no less surprising account of his own speech. Aeschines stated that he had invited the Athenians to imitate the euboulia of their ancestors, but that he had also warned them not to emulate their mistakes and ill-timed philonikia. The latter were exemplified by the Sicilian expedition and the refusal of Sparta’s peace proposal at the end of the Peloponnesian War. Aeschines finally claimed to have learned about these events from his own father, who had fought for the restoration of democracy.2 In a recent article, Bernd Steinbock has drawn attention to the Aeschines passage as evidence of the role of social memory in Athenian public discourse.3 Steinbock interprets Aeschines’ statement about the ancestors as an example of how an orator could challenge the prevalent image of the city’s past by relying on his own family tradition as an alternative carrier of social memory.4 Steinbock is certainly right in pointing out the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1 D. 19.16. Aeschin. 2.74-78. 3 The use of the past to support one’s arguments is well established in Greek literature. For examples in Homeric poetry, see Willcock 1964. 4 Steinbock 2013. See also Steinbock 2012, 1-47 for a detailed account of Steinbock’s theoretical premises. The notion of collective (or social) memory has been elaborated by the French sociologist Maurice Halbwachs: see Halbwachs 1925 and 1950. For an overview of Halbwachs’ thought and influence on later scholarship, see Giangiulio 2010 and Proietti 2012, 13-19. 2 Using the Past to Shape the Future! 215 importance of arguments from social memory in Athenian public discourse. Yet his analysis reads too much into the reference to Aeschines’ father, and does not fully take into account the risk involved in challenging the shared beliefs of the audience. Aeschines’ reference to his father as his source of historical knowledge should not be viewed as a discursive alternative to Athens’ official tradition, but rather as an attempt to bolster his own credibility which is fully consistent with the institutional context of the Assembly.5 My argument is that Aeschines was able to propose his unusual appeal to the ancestors because of the ideology and discursive parameters specific to the deliberative context of his original speech. The importance of democratic ideology in Athenian public discourse has been notably highlighted by Josiah Ober in his seminal book Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens. Ober defines ideology as the set of “assumptions, opinions, and principles which are common to the great majority of th[e] members [of any given community]”, and he suggests that ideology has an active function in determining social and political decisions.6 This definition has the merit of removing the negative connotations of illusion and false consciousness that much Marxist tradition associates with the notion of ideology.7 Ober, however, envisions ideology as static and monolithic. The assumptions, opinions and principles that Ober pictures as a fixed set were in fact constantly moulded by the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 5 On the strategies by which orators lent credibility to their historical allusions, see Canevaro in this volume. Aeschines’ allusion to his father can also be interpreted as a case of what Thomas 1989, 99 terms ‘family defence’, i.e. an orator recalls his ancestors’ service to the democracy to gain the sympathy of the judges. 6 Ober 1989, 38-42. 7 But, as pointed out by Chiapello 2003, 156, such negative conception of ideology is not shared by all Marxist thinkers. Eagleton 1991, 79-80 similarly notes that this aspect evolved even in Marx’s own thought. Ober’s definition belongs to a tradition that advocates a neutral approach to ideology: see Chiapello 2003, 156-159. ! ! 216 Matteo Barbato ideological practice taking place within the institutions of the State.8 Athenian institutions all coherently participated in the city’s democratic ideology, but each of them was characterised by specific discursive parameters.9 The role of the orators was not simply that of passive recipients of democratic ideology and mere negotiators in the ideological dynamics between mass and elite. In fact, the orators’ function largely depended on the institutional contexts in which they operated.10 As a result, their use of the past also varied from one institutional setting to another. Orators had an active role in the construction of the shared beliefs of the community at the State Funeral for the war dead. In this setting, the past performed an educative function for present and future Athenian citizens. When delivering a funeral speech (epitaphios logos), orators created an idealised image of the city’s past in order to build an ‘imagined community’. This process of ideological construction was only coincidental in the Assembly and the Law Courts, where different discursive parameters were in place.11 The institutional !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 8 See Johnstone 1999, 10-12 for similar remarks on Ober’s approach. Sobak 2015 suggests that a process of production and dispersal of political knowledge occurred also outside the formal institutions of the State, in the network of interactions among non-elite citizens which took place in ‘free spaces’ such as markets and workshops. 9 My approach is inspired by the New Institutionalism. This trend in the political sciences defines institutions as ensembles of rules, practices and narratives that influence the behaviour of individual political actors, whom they empower and at the same time compel to act according to rules of appropriateness: see March-Olsen 1984 and 2006; Lowndes-Roberts 2013. For a variant of the New Institutionalism that emphasises the role of ideas and discourse, see Hay 2006; Schmidt 2008 and 2010. See also Foucault 1972, 71-78 on the concept of ‘discursive strategy’, and Franchi-Proietti 2014 for its application to the Greek world. 10 Pace Ober 1989, esp. 304-306. 11 My discussion here focuses on the contexts of Athenian oratory, but the same methodology can be applied to other institutions of the Athenian democracy. I am similarly concerned only with a specific facet of Athenian ideological practice, namely the construction of a shared image of the city’s past. I am thus not making the case that only the State Funeral was involved Using the Past to Shape the Future! 217 specificity of these settings is implicit in Aristotle’s classification of the genres of rhetoric. According to the philosopher, the aim of the deliberative orator was the advantageous (!"# $%&'()*+) and the harmful (,-.,/)0+), whereas that of the forensic orator was the just (!"#123.4*+) and the unjust (!"# 5143*+).12 Moreover, ancient sources indicate that in the Law Courts litigants and judges were bound by oath respectively to speak and vote strictly on the legal charges.13 Accordingly, in both the Assembly and the Law Courts the past was instrumental in guiding future choices and behaviour. Exploiting the image of the past created in the epitaphios logos helped the deliberative orator to persuade his fellow citizens of the benefits of his policy, and the forensic orator to convince the judges on matters of justice and lawfulness. The appeals to the ancestors in Athenian public discourse offer an excellent case study to test the role of institutions in conditioning the orators’ use of the past.14 This will in turn shed light on the dynamics of Athenian ideological practice and illuminate the different function of the orator in the institutional settings of the Athenian democracy. First, I will look at the treatment of the ancestors at the State Funeral for the war dead, whose narrative of Athenian history constructed an idealised image of the city and presented the ancestors as the object of unanimous praise. I will then consider some examples of appeals to the ancestors in the Law Courts and the Assembly. In particular, I will look at examples that reflected the image created in funeral orations. Finally, I will provide a detailed !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! in the creation of ideology. The Law Courts, for example, were key in creating ideas about what was just and lawful. 12 Arist. Rh. 1358b21-28. Harris 2013a has convincingly shown that the Athenians were aware of what kind of arguments were appropriate to the different genres of rhetoric. 13 [Arist.] Ath. 67.1; Aeschin. 1.154; D. 45.50. See Rhodes 2004 and Harris 2013b, 101-137. 14 For a general treatment of the theme of the ancestors in the orators, see Jost 1935. ! ! 218 Matteo Barbato reading of Aeschines’ unusual appeal to the ancestors in his speech On the Embassy. By comparing Aeschines’ arguments with those used in other contemporary speeches, I will show how the orator created a version of the past that reflected the discursive parameters of the Assembly and was acceptable to his democratic audience. Recalling the Ancestors at the State Funerals With its catalogue of Athens’ mythical and historical exploits, the epitaphios logos was very influential in conveying the memory of the ancestors and deploying their achievements as the supreme example of Athenian virtue and civic values. 15 While commemorating the war dead, orators of funeral speeches created a version of Athenian history which did not simply adopt ideological topoi,16 but actively shaped the memory of past events in order to construct and validate the identity and beliefs of the community.17 The past acquired an educative function and was meant to shape the ethos of present and future Athenians.18 The epitaphios logos fulfilled its function towards the dead by providing survivors with the image of a city worth dying for, one that could justify the self-sacrifice of their relatives and inspire them to follow their example.19 At the State !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 15 On the epitaphios logos and the commemoration of the war dead in general, see Th. 2.34; Walters 1980; Thomas 1989, 196-237; Loraux 19932; Prinz 1997; Low 2010; Shear 2013; Arrington 2014. 16 Pace Loraux 19932, 340-341. See Balot 2013, 277. 17 See the notion of ‘intentional history’ in Gehrke 2001 and 2010; for its application to the epitaphios logos see Proietti 2015, esp. 529-530. 18 On the educative function of the epitaphios logos, see Prandi 2003, 103-105; Grethlein 2010, 119-121; Shear 2013, 518-521; Steinbock 2013, 77 and Steinbock in this volume. Marchiandi-Mari 2016, 194-197 have recently stressed the paradigmatic function of the public burial ground (d!mosion s!ma), which they aptly label a ‘paesaggio pedagogico’. 19 The importance of the dead in the epitaphios logos was emphasised by Longo 2000, 9-27. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 219 Funeral, orators therefore created an ideologically charged image of Athens and its past. In doing so, they produced shared memories and beliefs that Athens, which was not a face-to-face society, needed in order to create an imagined community and guarantee its unity and cohesion.20 The extant funeral speeches well illustrate the impact of the discursive parameters of the State Funeral on the orators’ narratives about the ancestors. In the Thucydidean epitaphios Pericles’ summary about the ancestors creates an idealised image of Athens that provides the audience with a model of service to the city. Pericles praises the ancestors for having always inhabited the same land and transmitted it free to their descendants. He then extols the fathers of the present generation, who added the Empire to their possessions and fought to pass it on to the next generation. Finally, Pericles praises the present generation for having enlarged the Empire. In doing so, he implicitly links their exploits to those of their predecessors and creates an unbroken chain of glorious deeds.21 The ancestors feature to a larger extent in Lysias’ Funeral Oration. Lysias introduces the catalogue of ancestral exploits and states that everyone should remember and honour these deeds and educate the living with the achievements of the dead (6.41/7*+!.8# 19# :+# !*;8# !<+# !/=+/>!?+# @!"#$%& '#(%& )<+A !.8).22 The orator also recalls the Athenian exiles who fought to restore the democracy and praises them for emulating the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 20 Shear 2013, 524-528. Loraux 19932, esp. 206-207 stressed that the epitaphios expressed the cohesion of the Athenian community, but interpreted this negatively as aiming at concealing the reality of civil strife. On the notion of ‘imagined community’, see B. Anderson 20063, 5-7; for its application to the case of Athenian democracy, see G. Anderson 2003. Against the idea that Athens was a face-to-face society see Osborne 1985, 64-65; Ober 1989, 3133. 21 Th. 2.36.1-3. 22 Lys. 2.3. See Todd 2007, 215. Even if one assumes that Lysias’ Funeral Oration was only intended as a written text for private circulation, the speech is nonetheless made to reflect an ideal epitaphios logos. On the question of authenticity and delivery, see Todd 2007, 157-164. ! ! 220 Matteo Barbato ancient valour of their ancestors (!B+# 6.-.4C+# D)/!B+# !<+# 6)*E0+?+#&4&F$G&/+*4).23 He then adds that the current dead were educated in the virtues of their ancestors (6.41/%=(+!/8# &H+# :+# !*;8# !<+# 6)*E0+?+# DE.=*;8), whose fame they preserved with their own valour.24 By presenting the ancestors as a paradigm, Lysias reflects the discursive parameters of the State Funeral. His treatment of the ancestors is appropriate to the construction of the shared beliefs of the Athenians, whose bonds as a community are recreated and reinforced in each funeral speech. Socrates constantly engages with the memory of the ancestors in Plato’s parody of funeral orations: the Menexenus.25 Socrates praises both the fathers and the current dead for having achieved many noble deeds by fighting for the freedom of Greece.26 He directs particular focus to those who fought at Marathon. These Athenians became leaders and teachers of the other Greeks (IE/&0+/8# 3.J# 141G$3.-*4# !*;8# 5--*48# E/+0A &/+*4), who in turn became their pupils (&.=F!.J# !<+# K.A ).=<+4# E/+0&/+*4) and found the courage to fight for the salvation of Greece.27 Socrates invites every Athenian to remember (&/&+F&(+*%8) the deeds of those who died for the city. The Athenians are instructed to encourage the children of the dead not to abandon the battle post of their ancestors (µB# -/26/4+# !B+# !GL4+# !B+# !<+# 6)*E0+?+).28 Finally, Socrates himself asks the children of the dead to imitate their fathers (&4&/;$=.4#!*M8#.N!<+).29 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 23 Lys. 2.61. Lys. 2.69. 25 On the parodic nature of Plato’s Menexenus, see Coventry 1989; Loraux 19932, 321-337; Trivigno 2009. This view has been recently questioned by Pappas-Zelcer 2015, 77-93. 26 Pl. Mx. 239a-b. 27 Pl. Mx. 240d-e. 28 Pl. Mx. 246b-c. On the metaphorical usage of the military expression -/26/4+#!B+#!GL4+, see Tsitsiridis 1998, 369. 29 Pl. Mx. 248e. 24 Using the Past to Shape the Future! 221 Demosthenes similarly fulfils the task of the epitaphios logos in his Funeral Speech.30 He too draws on the educative function of recalling the actions of the ancestors. Introducing the customary catalogue of ancestral exploits, Demosthenes declares that he will only mention “those exploits that are useful to recall to those who already know them (!*;8# /O10$4+# P)Q$4&R# D+.&+F$=S+.4) and also best to hear for those who do not (!*;8#D6/2)*48#3G--4$!R#D3*T$.4)”.31 The principle of imitating the deeds of the ancestors also underpins the section on the Athenian tribes. There Demosthenes praises each tribe for having preserved and even competed with the virtue of their eponymous hero.32 Hyperides’ Funeral Speech does not include a catalogue of ancestral exploits, but it does emphasise the ancestors’ achievements and the duty of imitating their example. The orator argues that Athens deserves praise for choosing a course of action equal to and even nobler than that of the past, while the current dead deserve praise for not bringing shame upon the acts of valour of their ancestors (&B# 3.!.4$PT+.4# !C8# !<+# 6)*E0+?+#D)/!G8).33 Later in the speech, Hyperides compares the fallen general Leosthenes to those who fought with Miltiades and Themistocles. These men won glory for their city and for themselves by freeing Greece, but Leosthenes surpassed them in courage and judgement. While the ancestors repelled the Persian invasion, Leosthenes prevented the enemy from invading in the first place.34 The orator’s comment should not be seen as an accusation against the ancestors. The comparison !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 30 On the authenticity of Demosthenes’ Funeral Speech, see Worthington 2006, 24-25. 31 D. 60.6, transl. Worthington, adapted. 32 D. 60.27-31. 33 Hyp. 6.3. 34 Hyp. 6.37-38. See Herrman 2009, 102-104. But see Canfora 2011, who argues that the preserved text of the speech is not Hyperides’ authentic Funeral Speech. ! ! 222 Matteo Barbato rather highlights the greatness of Leosthenes, who has imitated and even surpassed the very symbols of Athenian excellence. 35 All surviving funeral speeches adopt the same approach in their presentation of the city’s past. In a context that directly aimed at constructing an ideologically charged image of the city, the orators produced an idealised picture of the ancestors. The generation who fought in the Persian Wars is presented as the supreme example of Athenian virtue and as the measure of present aret!, while the failures of the ancestors during the Peloponnesian War are skilfully ignored.36 The past held an educative function and was expected to instruct present and future Athenians in the virtue of the ancestors. Funeral speeches represented Athenian history as a continuous re-enactment of such ancestral virtue, which the present generation were called to perpetuate. In doing so, the orators respected the discursive parameters of the State Funeral and produced shared ideas and beliefs necessary to create an imagined community. Recalling the Ancestors in the Law Courts Fuelled by the narrative of the epitaphios logos, the memory of the ancestors held a strong paradigmatic value in forensic and deliberative contexts. The ancestors provided the orators with a positive example of civic virtues, as well as a powerful rhetorical weapon to be used in the Law Courts and the Assembly. In such settings, the orators were not interested in constructing an ideologically charged image of the city and its past. The intent of forensic orators, in particular, was to exploit that image to discuss issues of justice and specific legal !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 35 36 See Nouhaud 1982, 65-66. See infra, the section ‘Contesting the ancestors: Aeschin. 2.74-78’. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 223 charges.37 Judges were frequently encouraged to imitate their forefathers’ severity in applying the laws when delivering their verdict, and the opponents’ unjust nature was compared with the positive image of the ancestors. The past therefore was recalled with an eye to the future and was instrumental in guiding the decision of the judges. The ancestors feature prominently in Demosthenes’ Against Aristocrates. The speech is an accusation of graph! paranomon against an honorary decree proposed by Aristocrates for the mercenary leader Charidemus.38 Demosthenes attacks Athens’ current, overly generous honorific policy, and contrasts it with the policies of the ancestors in order to question the appropriateness of the honours conferred on Charidemus.39 The speaker then blames the Athenians for not being as keen to punish wrongdoers as their ancestors used to be. Demosthenes describes how the ancestors used to castigate even their former benefactors if they were caught wronging the city, as in the case of Themistocles and Cimon. In contrast, present-day Athenians can be cajoled into acquitting men who are guilty of the greatest crimes.40 Demosthenes’ appeal to the ancestors reflects the discursive parameters of the Law Courts, as it deals with matters of justice and is functional to the legal issue of the speech. The orator juxtaposes the ancestors’ severity in applying the law with the current negligence in punishing wrongdoers. By the same token, he contrasts Aristocrates’ illegal honorific decree with the ancestors’ just and moderate behaviour towards their benefactors. The speaker of Dinarchus’ Against Demosthenes compares the baseness of the defendant, accused of having taken bribes !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 37 Azoulay 2009, 150-151 similarly remarks that, in the specific case of Lycurgus’ Against Leocrates, the orator’s historical narratives obeyed to “une logique spécifiquement judiciaire”. 38 On Aristocrates’ decree, see MacDowell 2009, 198-201. 39 D. 23.196-203. See ibid., 204-206; Canevaro 2016, 376. 40 D. 23.204-206. ! ! 224 Matteo Barbato from Harpalus, with the greatness of the ancestors.41 The speaker exploits the Athenians’ shared belief in the supreme justice of their ancestors to build a negative picture of Demosthenes, whom he depicts as an unjust and corrupted politician. Later in the speech, the speaker exhorts the Athenians not to be deceived by Demosthenes’ appeals to pity, but to consider instead the dangers that their ancestors faced to preserve their land. He then invites the judges to look at the tombs of the ancestors when they will cast their votes.42 The speaker’s appeal to imitate the ancestors is not primarily aimed at constructing an idealised image of the city. The intention instead is to exploit the beliefs of the audience in order to advance the overall argument of the speech and recommend the death penalty for Demosthenes in accordance with the laws. In Against Timarchus Aeschines recalls the ancestors to further his argument against the defendant, who is accused of being unqualified for public life on account of his past as a male prostitute and a spendthrift.43 The orator therefore recalls some examples of the attitude of the ancestors toward shameful acts. Aeschines cites the harsh punishment an Athenian man imposed on his daughter because she had been seduced, as well as Solon’s regulations against adulterous women. He concludes by exhorting the judges to follow the example of their fathers by not acquitting Timarchus, who indulged in the most shameful practices.44 In accordance with the discursive parameters of the Law Courts, the orator uses the authority of the ancestors as a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 41 Din. 1.37-40. This trial was similar to the timesis part of a public case, because it served to establish the penalty, rather than whether the defendant was guilty. As a result, the speech touches on a series of topics that are not directly relevant to the charge of bribery, but which are necessary for the judges to decide Demosthenes’ penalty: see Harris 2013b, 135-136. On the Harpalus affair and its background, see Eder 2000; Worthington in Worthington-Cooper-Harris 2001, 5-10; Gottesman 2015. 42 Din. 1.109-112. 43 On the circumstances leading to Aeschines’ prosecution of Timarchus, see Harris 1995, 95-101; Fisher 2001, 2-6. 44 Aeschin. 1.182-185. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 225 means to advance his own argument. Not concerned with conveying the message of ancestral excellence per se, Aeschines instead appeals to the traditional beliefs of the audience to persuade the judges to convict Timarchus as the laws require. Recalling the Ancestors in the Assembly Appeals to the conduct of the ancestors were also common when the policies of the city were being discussed.45 In the deliberative context, orators frequently exploited the Athenians’ respect for the deeds of the ancestors to advance their own arguments. According to the discursive parameters of the Assembly, the Athenians expected debates to revolve around the question of expedience.46 Rather than aiming at the construction of an ideologically charged image of Athens and its past, deliberative orators therefore relied on that image in order to address issues of advantage. Their use of the past, in other words, was instrumental to the deliberative process of the Assembly and shaped the future by guiding Athenian policymaking. Appeals to the memory of the ancestors in extant deliberative speeches conform to the criterion of advantage. In an Assembly speech reported by Thucydides, for example, Pericles urges the Athenians not to yield to the Spartans’ demands at the cost of facing war. He exhorts his audience not to be inferior to their fathers, who despite their lack of resources had been able to drive the Persians away.47 Not only does this appeal come after a pragmatic analysis of Athens’ chances of winning the war, but it is also followed by considerations of advantage, as Pericles !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 45 Harris 2016 shows that only discussion of the Athenian ancestors as a whole was admitted in deliberative rhetoric. The mention of one’s own ancestors, on the other hand, was contrary to the etiquette of the Assembly. 46 See Harris 2013a. 47 Th. 1.144.4. ! ! 226 Matteo Barbato concludes that the Athenians should try to hand down their possessions to their descendants without any losses (!*;8# :64A E4E+*&(+*48# 6/4)U$=.4# .V!C# &B# :-G$$?# 6.).1*T+.4).48 The same dynamics can be observed later in Thucydides’ narrative when Pericles tries to persuade the Assembly to continue the war. The orator again exhorts his fellow citizens not to appear inferior to their fathers. In doing so, Pericles tries to convince the Athenians to fight to preserve the Empire and avoid the danger deriving from the hatred that the Empire itself has caused.49 The discursive parameters of the Assembly are equally evident in two deliberative speeches by Demosthenes which draw on the memory of the ancestors. In the Third Philippic, Demosthenes invites the Athenians not to underestimate Philip’s threat as other Greek cities had done who consequently became slaves of the Macedonians. Demosthenes urges the Athenians to prepare for war and reminds them that they, and nobody else, are supposed to be the saviours of Greece: this is a privilege that their ancestors had won them at the cost of many risks.50 In his speech On the Freedom of the Rhodians, Demosthenes argues for Athenian intervention on behalf of the Rhodian democrats against the supporters of oligarchy. To achieve this aim, the orator reminds his fellow citizens that their ancestors had erected trophies in order for them to emulate their excellent deeds.51 In both speeches Demosthenes uses the memory of the ancestors to advise the Assembly against policies that would prove detrimental for the interests of the city, either because !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 48 This phrasing strongly resembles a passage in the Ephebic Oath: D&%+<#1H#3.J#N6H)#W/)<+#3.J#X$2?+#3.J#*V3#:-G!!?#6.).1>$?#!B+# 6.!)21. (RO 88: ‘I shall fight in defence of things sacred and profane and I shall not hand the fatherland on lessened’). 49 Th. 2.62.3-63.1. As suggested by Hornblower 1991, 332, this speech complements Pericles’ funeral oration and emphasises Athens’ imperial role to a larger extent. 50 D. 9.74. 51 D. 15.35. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 227 they would force Athens to face the tragic fate of the cities who had not been wary of Philip,52 or because they would allow dangerous oligarchies to spread across the Greek world.53 The theme of the ancestors features heavily also in Demosthenes’ On the Crown. This was the defence speech in the trial for graph! paranomon against Ctesiphon’s proposal to honour Demosthenes with a golden crown for his services to Athens. Given the topic of the trial, it was natural for Demosthenes to devote part of his speech to defending the merits of his own political action, which Aeschines had contested in the Against Ctesiphon. Even though it belongs to the forensic genre, the speech therefore contains several arguments suitable for a deliberative context. Demosthenes bases his defence of his own political conduct, which had led to the disastrous battle of Chaeronea, on an appeal to the example of the ancestors. He states that resistance to Macedon was the only policy available because of Philip’s lust for power and Athens’ glorious history. Demosthenes makes the case that the Athenians, who are used to constantly looking at memorials of the virtue of their ancestors (!S8# !<+# 6)*E0+?+# D)/!S8# N6*&+Q&.=R# X)<$4), could never consider surrendering their freedom to Philip by their own will.54 Demosthenes is keen to prove his devotion to the traditional policy of the ancestors. This is particularly notable in the comparison he makes with Aeschines’ behaviour. Demosthenes censures his opponent for having falsely accused the Euboeans and the Byzantines, whom Athens had supported against Philip upon Demosthenes’ advice, of misconduct towards the Athenians. In making such sycophantic allegations, Aeschines attacked Demosthenes’ choice of granting them help and repudiated the ancestral tradition of going to the rescue of even !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 52 D. 9.65-66. D. 15.19. 54 D. 18.66-68. 53 ! ! 228 Matteo Barbato former enemies, for which Demosthenes provides several examples.55 Demosthenes displays such a level of loyalty to the ancestral tradition that he makes the paradoxical statement that if the Athenians could have known in advance about the terrible outcomes of his policy, even then the city should not have refrained from the fight out of regard for its reputation, ancestors and posterity.56 The orator, however, could not have made such an extreme claim, which he introduces with a good dose of caution,57 had he not previously proved that his policy did aim at the advantage of the city and was the best possible under the circumstances.58 Demosthenes does not propose absolute loyalty to the example of the ancestors as an alternative to expediency. He only pretends to put advantage aside, but he actually reinforces the validity of his policy with an appeal to the Athenians’ pride in the achievements of their forefathers.59 This last example shows the extent to which an orator could push the appeal to the memory of the ancestors if it was appropriate to the purpose of his speech. At the same time, it illustrates how in deliberative contexts ancestral examples were deployed not to create an idealised image of the city, but to advise the audience about the benefits of a policy by relying on their values and beliefs. These appeals tended to envision the future as a perpetual re-enactment of Athens’ glorious past, exhorting the Athenians to imitate the deeds of their ancestors. Yet, as we will see, this was not always the case. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 55 D. 18.95-101. D. 18.199-200. 57 D. 18.199: ‘No one, by Zeus and the gods, should be astonished if my argument is extreme; rather, it should be examined sympathetically’ (transl. Yunis). 58 D. 18.190-196. 59 Yunis 2000, 112-115 rightly notes that when Demosthenes delivered this speech in 330 BC his appeal to the example of the ancestors would have offered the now subjugated Athenians ‘a noble version of their reasons for adopting his advice’. 56 Using the Past to Shape the Future! 229 Contesting the Ancestors: Aeschin. 2.74-78 The exchange between Demosthenes and Aeschines in the trial on the embassy provides an excellent example of how democratic institutions (and specifically the Assembly) conditioned narratives about the ancestors in Athenian public discourse. In his defence speech, Aeschines gave an account of his own address to the Assembly concerning the Peace of Philocrates. On that occasion, Aeschines evoked a picture of the ancestral deeds that differed dangerously from the one commonly constructed at the State Funeral. Aeschines invited the Athenians to emulate the achievements of the ancestors but also to avoid repeating their mistakes. In the next section, I will show that Aeschines was able to provide this unusual appeal thanks to the discursive parameters of the Assembly. Because of the deliberative focus on advantage, Aeschines could invite the Athenians to learn from the mistakes of the past and shape a different future. On Elaphebolion 18 and 19 of 346 BC, after a first embassy to Macedon that included both Demosthenes and Aeschines, the Athenians discussed in the Assembly the possibility of signing a treaty with Philip. The debate revolved around the choice between a common peace which included any Greek cities interested in participating, and Philocrates’ proposal of a treaty which only included Athens and its allies. Eventually Philocrates’ proposal was carried out.60 The Athenians sent a second embassy, which again included Demosthenes and Aeschines, to receive oaths from Philip and make the treaty effective. Their mission experienced several delays and took about two months to accomplish its goal. By the time the ambassadors returned to Athens, Philip had been able to extend !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 60 On the Peace of Philocrates, see Sealey 1993, 143-148; Harris 1995, 6477; MacDowell 2009, 314-321; Steinbock 2013, 67-69, and Franchi in this volume. ! ! 230 Matteo Barbato his power in Thrace and was about to strike the final blow against the Phocians in the Third Sacred War.61 After the second embassy returned to Athens, Aeschines had to submit his euthynai. On that occasion, Demosthenes and Timarchus made accusations against him. Aeschines, however, was able to thwart their attack as he managed to convict Timarchus with a procedure of dokimasia t"n rh!tor"n.62 It then took three years for Demosthenes (in 343 BC) to be finally able to bring his case to court when he could take advantage of more favourable circumstances. Demosthenes accused Aeschines of misconduct of an embassy (parapresbeia),63 and! this is one of the rare cases where both the accusation and the defence speech survive. In his speech On the False Embassy, Demosthenes accuses Aeschines of having received bribes from Philip and betrayed the interests of the Athenians.64 In his speech On the Embassy, Aeschines defends his own loyalty to Athens with a detailed narrative of the events connected to the Peace of Philocrates.65 Both speeches pay considerable attention to the Assembly sessions on Elaphebolion 18 and 19. In his attempt to prove the charge of bribery, Demosthenes recalls how Aeschines had completely changed his stance about the terms of the peace with Macedon. Demosthenes reports that on the first day of the debate Aeschines attacked Philocrates’ proposal and described it !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 61 On the second embassy, see Harris 1995, 78-89; MacDowell 2009, 321- 325. 62 On the dokimasia t"n rh!tor"n, see Fisher 2001, 157-159; MacDowell 2005. 63 On the euthynai, see MacDowell 2000, 15-20 and Efstathiou 2007. Given the nature of the procedure, the case was concerned not simply with to dikaion, but specifically with the evaluation of Aeschines’ conduct as an ambassador. On the circumstances leading to the embassy trial, see Harris 1995, 107-116; MacDowell 2000, 14-22; Yunis 2005, 117-118. 64 On Demosthenes’ argument, see Harris 1995, 116-117; Yunis 2005, 118-120; MacDowell 2009, 334-342. 65 On Aeschines’ argument, see Harris 1995, 117-118; Carey 2000, 90-94. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 231 as most detrimental for the peace.66 On the second day, however, Aeschines addressed the Assembly in support of Philocrates, using “words which deserved many deaths” (6*--<+# DL2*%8# Y# =.+G!?+# -0E*%8). According to Demosthenes, Aeschines told the Athenians not to recall their ancestors (*Z!/# !<+# 6)*E0+?+# N&U8# &/&+S$=.4# 1(*4) and invited them to enact a law which forbade them from helping any Greeks who had not previously helped them.67 It is hard to tell whether this is a trustworthy reconstruction of Aeschines’ original speech, especially given that Aeschines brings evidence that no speeches were delivered on 19 Elaphebolion.68 Demosthenes might be taking Aeschines’ words out of their original context and making them appear more outrageous than they originally sounded.69 The orator reinforces the charge of bribery with his depiction of Aeschines as being disrespectful to the image of Athens which was promoted at the State Funeral.70 Demosthenes portrays his opponent as shamelessly challenging the glorious past of the city, the victories of the ancestors against the Persians and the Athenians’ self-image as altruistic champions of the weak. Demosthenes’ allegations were not to be underestimated. By criticising the ancestors, Aeschines ran the risk of being perceived as holding views irreconcilable with the image of the city created in funeral speeches.71 In his speech On the Embassy, Aeschines is therefore eager to clarify the nature of his statements about the ancestors and accuses Demosthenes of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 66 D. 19.13-14. D. 19.15-16, transl. Yunis. 68 Aeschin. 2.64-66. Aeschines quotes a decree enacted by Demosthenes himself which states that there was to be a debate on 18 Elaphebolion and a vote on 19 Elaphebolion: see Harris 1995, 71-73. 69 See MacDowell 2000, 212-213. 70 The digression is directly relevant to the case: Aeschines’ complete change of opinion is evidence of his corruption and betrayal of Athenian interests. 71 The seriousness of Demosthenes’ accusations is confirmed by the fact that they are twice reiterated by the orator: cf. D. 19.307, 311. 67 ! ! 232 Matteo Barbato misrepresenting his speech. Aeschines describes Athens’ precarious situation at the time of the debate when Philip was gaining the upper hand.72!He then provides a detailed account of his own speech: [T]he public speakers acting in unison stood up and made no attempt to offer measures for the city’s rescue (6/)J#&H+#!S8#$?!F)2.8#!S8# 60-/?8# *V1R# :+/P/2)*%+# -(E/4+) but urged you to look to the Propylaea of the Acropolis and remember the naval battle against the Persians at Salamis and the tombs and trophies of our ancestors. For my part, I said that, while you should remember all this, you should imitate our ancestors’ good judgement (/V,*%-2.8) but avoid their errors and their ill-timed ambition (53.4)*+# '4-*+432.+). I called on you to emulate the battle against the Persians at Plataea, the actions at Salamis, the battle at Marathon, the naval battle at Artemisium, and the campaign of Tolmides, who with 1,000 chosen Athenians passed securely through the central Peloponnese, which was hostile territory. But you should avoid the example of the expedition to Sicily, which you sent to aid (,*F=Q$*+!/8) Leontini at a time when our enemies had invaded our territory and Decelea had been fortified against us. The final act of poor judgement (!B+# !/-/%!.2.+# D,*%-2.+) was when they had been beaten in the war and the Spartans were inviting them to be at peace, retaining possession of Lemnos, Imbros, and Scyros as well as Attica and maintaining democracy and the rule of law. They refused all of this but determined on a war they could not right; and Cleophon the lyre-maker, a man many remembered seeing in chains, who had got himself falsely enrolled as a citizen to our shame and corrupted the people with distributions of money, was threatening to take a dagger and cut the throat of anyone who mentioned peace. And finally they reduced the city to a condition where the people were grateful to conclude a peace under which they gave up everything, razed the walls, and accepted a garrison and a Spartan governor, and abandoned the democracy to the Thirty, who put to death 1,500 citizens without trial.73 Aeschines therefore contextualises his own statements and points out that he had in fact invited the Athenians to remember their ancestors. The orator, however, introduces an unusual distinction between the euboulia of the ancestors, which the Athenians should emulate, and their philonikia, which they !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 72 73 Aeschin. 2.69-73. Aeschin. 2.74-77, transl. Carey, adapted. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 233 should avoid.74 Aeschines elaborates on this distinction by placing in opposition a set of positive examples from Athenian history (the victories against the Persians and Tolmides’ march into the Peloponnese) with a set of negative examples more appropriate to the present situation.75 These included the Sicilian expedition and the refusal of Sparta’s peace terms at the end of the Peloponnesian War, which paved the way for the rise of the Thirty.76 Aeschines then concludes that he had learned these stories from his father Atrometus, whose service to Athenian democracy he mentions alongside that of his uncle Cleobulus.77 Aeschines’ reconstruction of his own speech is valuable evidence of the kind of argument that the orator considered appropriate to the Assembly.78 According to Steinbock, Aeschines was successful in challenging the prevalent image of the city’s past because he offered his own family memory as an alternative source of information.79 Steinbock is right to re!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 74 Aeschines’ unusual appeal to the ancestors may fall under the category that Hesk 2007, 369-370 has labelled as 'para-topos': "a topos or a number of topoi at the same time as it offers a significant modification of, or elaboration beyond, [a] commonplace". 75 On Aeschines’ allusion to Tolmides, see Nouhaud 1982, 344, who suggested that Aeschines used an oral tradition that merged Tolmides’ circumnavigation of the Peloponnese in 456/455 BC and his march into Boeotia in 447 BC. Steinbock 2013, 85-87 proposes that, in ascribing an invasion of the Peloponnese to Tolmides, Athenian social memory transformed him into an Athenian Epaminondas. 76 On the civil war and the Thirty in Athenian social memory, see Wolpert 2002 and Shear 2011. 77 Aeschin. 2.78. 78 As rightly noted by Steinbock 2013, 83, Aeschines may well have improved upon his original speech, but his reconstruction shows how he would have ideally countered the arguments of the warmongers in the debate in 346 BC. 79 Ibid., 91-98. I am not fully convinced by Hesk 2012, 225-226, who suggests that Aeschines’ mention of his father was meant to make his knowledge appear ‘homespun rather than bookish’. Aeschines’ mention of his father is also meant to counter Demosthenes’ accusations about Aeschines’ social status and background: see Harris 1995, 21-22. ! ! 234 Matteo Barbato evaluate the importance of social memory for Aeschines’ argument; yet he overlooks the ideological dynamics at play in Athenian public discourse. To reject the shared beliefs of the community in favour of his own family tradition would have been detrimental for Aeschines, because he would have risked alienating the sympathies of his audience. Aeschines’ mention of his father was merely a rhetorical means to strengthen his account by providing a source.80 I argue instead that the orator countered Demosthenes’ accusations by adapting his historical narrative to the discursive parameters of the Assembly, where his original address had taken place. It was not unusual in the Assembly to discuss past mistakes. In the First Olynthiac, for example, Demosthenes invites the Athenians to go to the rescue of Olynthus against Philip and not to waste a good opportunity as they often did in the past, when they did not intervene against the Macedonian king.81 In the Third Olynthiac, Demosthenes recalls how the Athenians, having heard that Philip was dead or ill, abandoned the expedition they had sent to counter him in Thrace.82 In the Assembly, therefore, the mistakes of the past could provide a lesson for the future and be used to influence policymaking. The aforementioned Demosthenic passages, however, alluded to a very recent past and challenged the conduct of Athenians who were alive at the time of the debate. The issue was more delicate when one was accused of contesting the ancestors of the Persian Wars, who enjoyed a greater ideological weight thanks to the historical narrative of the epitaphios logos. In response to Demosthenes’ allegations, Aeschines preserves the glory of the Persian Wars (and the sympathies of the audience) by !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 80 See Canevaro in this volume. Aeschines could have achieved the same result by relying on other rhetorical strategies, such as the ‘you all know’ topos (on which see Canevaro in this volume, pace Ober 1989, 177-182). The family defence offered Aeschines a more suitable means to counter Demosthenes’ image of him as Philip’s hireling. 81 D. 1.8-9. 82 D. 3.5. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 235 addressing them as an example of the euboulia of the ancestors.83 He concentrates his criticisms on the more controversial generation of the Peloponnesian War, whose actions had proved detrimental to Athens’ well-being. A comparison between Aeschines’ account of the Peloponnesian War and parallel passages from Plato’s Menexenus and Isocrates’ On the Peace will illuminate the ideological specificity of Aeschines’ address to the Assembly. Plato’s account fully brings to light the discursive parameters of the State Funeral. In the epitaphios logos the use of the past for the construction of Athens’ imagined community left no room for a distinction between good and bad ancestors. Funeral speeches either ignored events from the Peloponnesian War or depicted them in a positive light.84 Accordingly, Socrates offers an overly congratulatory narrative of the actions of the ancestors during the Peloponnesian War.85 The orator depicts the Sicilian expedition as a generous endeavour which the Athenians undertook for the freedom of Leontini (N6H)# !S8# [/*+!2+?+# :-/%=/)2.8).86 Socrates states that on that occasion the ancestors set up many trophies around the island, and he !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 83 The only passage where an orator criticises the ancestors of the Persian Wars is in Isocrates’ Panegyricus. Isocrates (4.164) invites the Athenians to avoid suffering the fate of their fathers, who waited for the Persians to invade Greece and were forced to fight few against many: see Nouhaud 1982, 149150. This is not surprising, however, as the Panegyricus is not a real deliberative speech, but rather a private speech that mixes epideictic and deliberative features: see Papillon 2004, 23-28. 84 Loraux 19932, 161-163. Lysias (2.58-60) describes the battle of Aegospotami as proof of the ancestors’ valour (:6(1/4L.+# 1H# 3.J# :+# !.;8# 1%$!%P2.48#!B+#\.%!<+#D)/!Q+), which is testified by the grim situation in Greece after Athens’ defeat. Demosthenes (60.11) describes the Peloponnesian War as a selfless struggle against the arrogance of the other Greeks. 85 Pl. Mx. 242a-243d. 86 Cf. Th. 6.6.1, who considers the desire to help their allies as the pretext for invading Sicily, as opposed to Athens’ real aim of conquering the island. Plato only focuses on the former motive. On the commemoration of the Athenian dead of the Sicilian expedition, see Steinbock in this volume. ! ! 236 Matteo Barbato attributes their defeat to the impossibility of receiving reinforcements from Athens due to the long distance. He then adds that the judgement and valour of the Athenians who fought in Sicily have been praised especially by their own enemies.87 Socrates even presents the Peloponnesian War as an Athenian victory, as he makes no mention of Aegospotami and concludes his narrative with the Battle of Arginusae. Those who died on that occasion should be remembered and praised because they enabled the Athenians not only to win that sea battle but also the rest of the war (!]# &H+# EC)# :3/2+?+# D)/!]# :+43Q$.&/+# *V# &0+*+# !B+# !0!/# +.%&.P2.+^# D--C# 3.J# !"+# 5--*+# 60-/&*+).88 Socrates clearly exaggerates the kind of historical distortion typical of funeral speeches, but his narrative is indicative of the discursive parameters of the State Funeral. Socrates aims at justifying and promoting the prospect of death for the city by celebrating even the defeats as victories and providing an idealised picture of Athens’ international relations as guided by principles of justice and help of the weak. On the opposite end of the ideological spectrum lie Isocrates’ harsh criticism of the generation of the Peloponnesian War in his speech On the Peace. Despite the theme akin to that of deliberative oratory and the purported setting in the Assembly, On the Peace is a politico-philosophical pamphlet meant for !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 87 Pl. Mx. 242e6-243a7. Like Aeschines, Plato combines the Sicilian expedition of 415 BC, when the Athenians intervened in defence of Segesta, with two previous missions launched in 427-424 BC in order to help Leontini (cf. Th. 3.86, 88, 90, 99, 103, 115; 4.1, 2, 24, 25, 65): see Nouhaud 1982, 271-272; Tsitsiridis 1998, 313-314. On Socrates’ justificatory account of the Athenian defeat in Sicily, see Nouhaud 1982, 272-273. 88 Pl. Mx. 243c-d. According to Socrates, the Athenians overpowered themselves with their civic unrest. Th. 2.65.12-13 similarly states that the Athenians did not lose the war until they succumbed to civil strife. The historian, however, makes this point in order to defend Pericles’ defensive strategy and his trust in Athens’ resources. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 237 private circulation.89 Therefore, this speech can act as a foil to Aeschines’ appeal to the example of the ancestors in the public context of the Assembly. Isocrates warns his imaginary audience against the lies of the warmongers, who deceive the people by exhorting them to emulate the ancestors. To these dishonest speakers, Isocrates asks which ancestors they are inviting the Athenians to imitate. Are they the ones who lived during the Persian Wars or those who governed the city before the Decelean War? Isocrates suggests that, if they mean the latter, they are advising Athens to run the risk of being enslaved again (/O# &H+# EC)# !*7!*48^# *V1H+# D--R# _# $%&,*%-/7*%$4+# I&;+# 6G-4+# 6/)J# D+1).6*14$&*T# 34+1%+/7/4+).90 Isocrates then expands on this theme, asserting the superiority of the democracy of Aristides, Themistocles and Miltiades over that of Hyperbolus and Cleophon and denouncing at length the insolence of the generation of the Peloponnesian War. 91 The same critical tendency is also evident when Isocrates alludes to the Sicilian expedition.92 The orator states that the Athenians became so greedy for what belonged to others (/O8# !*T!*# EC)# 3.!H$!F$.+# !<+# &H+# *O3/2?+# D&/-/2.8# !<+# 1R# D--*!)2?+# :64=%&2.8) that they sent triremes against Sicily despite the more immediate danger posed by the Spartans, who had invaded Attica and fortified Decelea ([.3/1.4&*+2?+# /O$,/,-F30!?+#/O8#!B+#P>).+#3.J#!*T#!/2P*%8#`1F#!*T#a/A 3/-/4U$4+# \$!F30!*8).93 Those Athenians were not ashamed !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 89 On the nature and purpose of Isocrates’ On the Peace, see Harding 1973; Moysey 1982; Davidson 1990; Michelini 1998; Bearzot 2003; Hunt 2010, 262-264; Bouchet 2014, 195-210. 90 Isoc. 8.37. 91 Isoc. 8.75-79. 92 And. 3.30 similarly uses the Sicilian expedition as an example of the dire consequences that befell the Athenians when they chose war over peace. This speech, however, has been shown to be a forgery: see Harris 2000. 93 Both Isocrates and Aeschines mistakenly portray the fortification of Decelea as predating the launch of the Sicilian expedition. This detail has been interpreted either as a deliberate distortion, or as a common view of the Sicilian expedition in the collective memory of the Athenians: see Steinbock ! ! 238 Matteo Barbato to allow their own fatherland to be devastated, while they sent their army against people who had done them no wrong (:6J#1H# !*M8# *V1H+# 6>6*!R# /O8# I&U8# :L.&.)!0+!.8# $!).!4C+# :36(&6*+!/8). They reached such a level of folly (D')*$7A +F8) that, even though they were not even masters of their own territory, they expected to dominate Italy, Sicily and Carthage. With a wording that resembles the description of the punishment of the Amazons’ hybris in Lysias’ Funeral Oration, Isocrates concludes that those Athenians surpassed the rest of humanity in madness (D+*2b) to such an extent that they learned no lesson from their misfortunes (:3/;+*4# 1R# *V1R# N6"# !*7!?+#:6.41/7=F$.+).94 Isocrates’ harsh criticism of the ancestors is not standard democratic rhetoric. This is not surprising, given that On the Peace is not a real deliberative speech. Set at the end of the Social War, On the Peace invites the Athenians not only to make peace with their allies, but also with the Greek world at large. Although the speech briefly covers the issue of advantage, its real focus is Athens’ moral decline and the injustice of imperialism.95 Several of Isocrates’ arguments, from his criticism to fundamental democratic institutions such as the State Funeral and the Dionysia to his final exhortation to emulate the kings of Sparta, would have hardly been welcome !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 2013, 87-89, with bibliography. Nouhaud 1982, 273-274 suggested that Aeschines derived this argument from Isocrates, or that they used a common source. 94 Isoc. 8.82-85. Cf. Lys. 2.6: the Amazons did not have the chance to learn from their own mistakes (&0+.48#1R#.V!.;8#*V3#:L/E(+/!*#:3#!<+# I&.)!F&(+?+# &.=*7$.48# 6/)J# !<+# -*46<+# 5&/4+*+# ,*%-/7A $.$=.4); they paid the penalty for their folly (1*T$.4#123F+#!S8#D+*2.8) because they unjustly desired the land of others (!S8# D--*!)2.8# D123?8# :64=%&Q$.$.4). On hybris, see MacDowell 1976; Fisher 1992; Cairns 1996. 95 See Davidson 1990; Michelini 1998, 117; Bouchet 2014, 195-210. Isocrates’ On the Peace can be considered a reaction to the Athenian fourthcentury obsession with the recovery of their lost Empire, on which see Badian 1995. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 239 in Athenian public discourse.96 Probably destined to an elite readership, the speech does not always conform to the shared beliefs of an Athenian democratic audience. The orator manifestly challenges many of those principles and addresses the beliefs of an audience that was different from that of the Athenian Assembly. If Plato’s and Isocrates’ statements about the ancestors are at the extremes of the ideological spectrum, Aeschines’ passage lies somewhere in between. His historical narrative clearly differs from Plato’s self-congratulatory account, as it reflects the discursive parameters of the Assembly. Aeschines does construct an idealised image of Athens’ past, but is bound to deal with issues of advantage, namely whether to make peace with Philip or continue the war. To achieve this, he provides historical interpretations typically inappropriate for a funeral speech. Aeschines draws on the traumatic memories of the Sicilian expedition and the final defeat in the Peloponnesian War.97 He pragmatically assesses the choices of the ancestors and stresses the inopportunity of the Sicilian expedition as well as the dire consequences of the refusal of Sparta’s peace terms. He does not recall the past to construct an imagined community, but to shape Athens’ future policy in a way that is advantageous for the city. Aeschines’ passage also contrasts with Isocrates’ open attack on the generation of the Peloponnesian War, as Aeschines crafts his argument by keeping in mind the discursive parameters of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 96 Isoc. 8.82-83 (by displaying the tributes of the allies during the Dionysia, the Athenians incurred the hatred of other people); Isoc. 8.87-88 (the State funerals are an occasion for the other Greeks to rejoice for Athens’ disgraces); Isoc. 8.142-144 (the Athenians should imitate the kings of Sparta). See Michelini 1998, 123-127. 97 As noted by Steinbock 2013, 91, and 92 n. 116, these memories must still have been fresh if both Aeschines and Isocrates could employ them in their speeches. ! ! 240 Matteo Barbato the Assembly.98 Isocrates’ characterisation of the ancestors as unjust, greedy and victims of anoia, which amounts to an implicit accusation of hybris, is replaced by Aeschines with a more nuanced negative picture. Aeschines associates the ancestors with the controversial notion of philonikia ('love for victory'),99 but describes their philonikia specifically as ill-timed (53.4)*+# '4-*+432.+). This suggests that he conceives their drive for victory not as negative per se, but as incompatible with the historical circumstances. In criticising the Sicilian expedition, Aeschines describes the operation as motivated not by the Athenians’ greed, but by their selfless decision to help (,*F=Q$*+!/8) Leontini in a moment when they should have rather worried about Sparta’s fortification of Decelea. 100 In doing so, he replaces Isocrates’ description of the Sicilian expedition as hybristic with a characterisation that both gratifies the Athenians’ self-image as selfless champions of the weak and points out the ill-judged character of the expedition. Finally, Aeschines labels the refusal of Sparta’s peace terms after Aegospotami as “the ultimate failure of deliberation” (!B+# !/-/%!.2.+# D,*%-2.+),101 but he deflects the responsibility onto the demagogue Cleophon. This is a common tactic in Athenian rhetoric: orators often justify the mistakes of the d!mos by attributing them to the deceptive advice of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 98 de Romilly 1954 argued that Aeschines and Isocrates endorsed similar, moderate democratic policies; yet she did not consider the different institutional contexts of the speeches. 99 Aeschin. 2.76. Although it sometimes occurs in a positive sense (cf. e.g. Lys. 2.16), philonikia is mostly conceived as the negative double of the virtue of philotimia ('love for honour'). Orators often exploit the suspicion of the d!mos towards philonikia, attributing this flaw to their opponents or claiming not to be affected by it themselves: cf. e.g. D. 18.141; 20.144; 57.6. See Dover 1974, 233-234; Whitehead 1983; Wilson 2000, 144-197. 100 Aeschin. 2.76. See de Romilly 1954, 350. 101 As translated by Steinbock 2013, 89. This etymological rendering of the expression !B+#!/-/%!.2.+ D,*%-2.+ is more appropriate than Carey’s translation of D,*%-2.+ as ‘folly’. The word significantly contrasts with Isocrates’ stronger accusations of aphrosyne and anoia. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 241 demagogues or sophists.102 Aeschines strengthens his point through his focus on Cleophon’s servile birth and violent behaviour, and on how the latter had been illegally enrolled as a citizen and used to corrupt the people with distributions of money.103 Aeschines’ effort at blaming the demagogue Cleophon for Athens’ defeat is consistent with his attempt at contextualising his own address to the Assembly as a reaction to the boasts of sophistic opponents. This is not an isolated case. In a minority of instances orators cast doubts over the use of the appeal to the ancestors by their opponents, which they dismiss as mere rhetorical trickery. In Demosthenes’ On the Crown, for example, the orator rejects as irrelevant Aeschines’ appeal to the ancestors in the Against Ctesiphon. In Aeschines’ speech, Demosthenes’ achievements had been compared with those of the great Athenians of the past, only for Aeschines to conclude that because the latter had not been compensated with any honours, the former did not deserve to be rewarded with a crown.104 Demosthenes asks which of those exploits is pertinent to the trial under discussion (c+# !2+*8# 6)*$/1/;=R# X# 6.)d+# DEd+#*N!*$2e) and explains that Aeschines was only motivated by a desire to rob him of the honour and generosity of the Athenians. To Aeschines’ inappropriate appeal to the example of the ancestors, the orator juxtaposes his own anti-Macedonian policy, which was sincerely inspired by the Athenian tradition of fighting for the freedom of Greece.105 Later in the speech, Demosthenes blames Aeschines again for being unfair in comparing him to the ancestors. Instead, he invites his opponent to compare the living with the living and states that Aeschines !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 102 Cf. e.g. D. 19.16; 20.3. Orators often warn the Athenians not to fall prey to the deception perpetrated by their opponents: see Hesk 2000, 202-241; Kremmydas 2013; Canevaro 2016, 189. 103 See Steinbock 2013, 90, esp. n. 106. On the depiction of Cleophon in the orators, see Nouhaud 1982, 290-292. 104 Aeschin. 3.181-190. 105 D. 18.209. ! ! 242 Matteo Barbato behaved as one of those sycophants who, at the time when the ancestors were alive, used to attack them and praise the men of the past.106 Isocrates’ On the Peace offers an interesting point of comparison with Aeschines’ equation between warmongers and sophists. Even though the speech cannot be considered unambiguously representative of Athenian public discourse, it reflects the existence of suspicions about the improper use of the memory of the ancestors by the orators. Isocrates recalls the damages that Athens has suffered from men who, whenever they wanted to wage war against another city, exhorted the Athenians to emulate their ancestors. Isocrates characterises these speakers as capable only to deceive ('/+.32f/4+), and accuses them of despising (3.!.6/')*+Q3.$4+) the people and being influenced by bribes (P)Q&.!. -.&,G+*+!/8).107 These are the same characteristics that orators ascribe to their opponents when they want to portray them as sophists. The speaker of Demosthenes’ Against Lacritus, for example, when he accuses his opponent of being a sophist, refers to his contempt (3.!.')*+*T+!.8) for other people and his intention to use his cleverness to mislead (6.)GL/4+) the judges.108 These passages are evidence of the awareness that even a positive motif such as the appeal to the ancestors, if exploited by unscrupulous orators, could be misused or employed to deceive. Aeschines plays on this tension. He casts doubt over the sincerity of the warmongers’ appeals to the example of the ancestors and justifies his own speech as a reaction to the boasts of his sophistic opponents. He does not question the paradigmatic value of the ancestors as much as he expresses concern over the danger of leaving such a powerful tool in the hands of dishonest speakers. By accusing his opponents of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 106 D. 18.317-318. See Hesk 2012, 222-223. On abusing the mention of the ancestors, cf. D. 14.1-2. 107 Isoc. 8.36. 108 D. 35.40-43. See Ober 1989, 170-174; Hesk 2000, 212-215. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 243 being sophists and deceivers, Aeschines also reinforces his own position as trustworthy adviser of the people. Aeschines portrays the supporters of war as being uninterested in the safety of the city (6/)J# &H+# !S8# $?!F)2.8# !S8# 60-/?8# *V1R# :+/P/2)*%+#-(E/4+). He implicitly assimilates them to the lyremaker Cleophon, whom he considers responsible for Athens’ tragic fate in the Peloponnesian War.109 By insisting that the advantage of the city is his sole aim, Aeschines shows to have used the appeal to the ancestors correctly and in accordance with the discursive parameters of the Assembly. Conclusion The analysis of the orators’ appeals to the memory of the ancestors has shown that democratic institutions and their discursive parameters conditioned the use of the past in Athenian public discourse. Narratives about the ancestors in the epitaphios logos attest the active role of orators of funeral speeches in creating an idealised image of the city which helped to construct an imagined community. At the State Funeral, the deeds of the ancestors were all univocally praised and recommended for imitation. Athens’ glorious past was recalled to shape the ethos of present and future Athenians and foster their sense of belonging to the community. Such powerful narratives had a strong influence on forensic and deliberative orators, who often recalled the ancestors as examples of civic virtue. These orators, however, were constrained by the discursive parameters of the Law Courts and the Assembly. Due to their respective focus on matters of justice and advantage, forensic and deliberative speeches differed from funeral speeches because they did not mainly aim at creating an idealised image of Athens’ past. The appeals to the memory of the ancestors were one of many weapons in the forensic and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 109 ! Aeschin. 2.76. ! 244 Matteo Barbato deliberative orators’ rhetorical arsenal. In the Law Courts and the Assembly, the past was instrumental to future choices and behaviour, and had to conform respectively to the criteria of justice and advantage.110 Aeschines’ unusual appeal to the example of the ancestors in his speech On the Embassy has offered a clear illustration of the influence of institutions on the use of the past in Athenian public discourse. My comparison with Plato’s narrative of the Peloponnesian War has brought out the discursive parameters of the Assembly as opposed to those of the State Funeral. It has shown that the deliberative context enabled Aeschines to move away from the self-congratulatory narrative typical of funeral speeches and attempt a pragmatic analysis of Athenian history. In the Assembly, in other words, the past could influence the future by providing examples of great deeds to imitate but also mistakes to be avoided. My comparison with Isocrates’ On the Peace has similarly shown how the use of the past in Athenian public discourse reflected discursive parameters which did not apply outside the formal institutions of the State. Unlike Isocrates, Aeschines had to couch his criticisms to the ancestors in terms which would not alienate his democratic audience. Aeschines did not oppose his family tradition to the official version of Athenian history promoted by the epitaphios logos as Steinbock suggests. Far from it, the orator took great care to prove that the shared beliefs of the community were one and the same with his own. At the same time, Aeschines showed that unlike his sophistic opponents he had addressed the issue of the safety and advantage of the city and in doing so had respected the discursive parameters of the Assembly. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 110 Aristotle’s very classification of rhetoric acquires a further level of meaning when viewed from an institutionalist perspective. The subdivision of the discipline into three genres shows clear correspondences with the institutional structure of the Athenian democracy, and one might even suggest that the classification itself has an (at least intuitive) institutionalist rationale. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 245 Bibliography Anderson, B. 20063 B. Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. Revised Edition, London 2006 [1983]. Anderson, G. 2003 G. Anderson, The Athenian Experiment: Building an Imagined Political Community in Ancient Attica, Ann Arbor 2003. 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Zelcer, Politics and Philosophy in Plato’s Menexenus: Education and Rhetoric, Myth and History, London-New York 2015. Prinz 1997 K. Prinz, Epitaphios Logos. Struktur, Funktion und Bedeutung der Bestattungsreden im Athen des 5. und 4. Jahrunderts, Frankfurt am Main 1997. Proietti 2012 G. Proietti, “Memoria collettiva e identità etnica: nuovi paradigmi teorico-metodologici nella ricerca storica”, in E. Franchi-G. Proietti (a cura di), Forme della memoria e dinamiche identitarie dell'antichità greco-romana, Trento 2012, 13-41. Proietti 2015 G. Proietti, “Beyond the ‘Invention of Athens’. The 5th century Athenian ‘Tatenkatalog’ as example of ‘Intentional History’”, Klio 97.2 (2015), 516-538. Rhodes 2004 P.J. Rhodes, “Keeping to the Point”, in E.M. Harris-L. Rubinstein (eds.), The Law and the Courts in Ancient Greece, London 2004, 137-158. de Romilly 1954 J. de Romilly, “Les modérés athéniens vers le milieu du IVe siècle: échos et concordances”, REG 67 (1954), 327-354. Sealey 1993 R. Sealey, Demosthenes and his Time: A Study in Defeat, Oxford 1993. ! ! 252 Matteo Barbato Schmidt 2008 V.A. Schmidt, “Discursive Institutionalism: The Explanatory Power of Ideas and Discourse”, Annual Review of Political Science 11 (2008), 303-326. Schmidt 2010 V.A. Schmidt, “Taking Ideas and Discourse Seriously: Explaining Change Through Discursive Institutionalism as the Fourth ‘New Institutionalism’”, European Political Science Review 2.1 (2010), 1-25. Shear 2011 J.L. Shear, Polis and Revolution: Responding to Oligarchy in Classical Athens, Cambridge 2011. Shear 2013 J.L. Shear, “Their Memories Will Never Grow Old: The Politics of Remembrance in the Athenian Funeral Orations”, CQ 63.2 (2013), 511-536. Sobak 2015 R. Sobak, “Sokrates among the Shoemakers”, Hesperia 84 (2015), 669-712. Steinbock 2012 B. Steinbock, Social Memory in Athenian Public Discourse: Uses and Meanings of the Past, Ann Arbor 2012. Steinbock 2013 B. Steinbock, “Contesting the Lessons from the Past: Aeschines’ Use of Social Memory”, TAPhA 143 (2013), 65103. Thomas 1989 R. Thomas, Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens, Cambridge 1989. Todd 2007 S. Todd, A Commentary on Lysias, Speeches 1-11, Oxford 2007. Trivigno 2009 F.V. Trivigno, “The Rhetoric of Parody in Plato’s Menexenus”, Ph&Rh 42.1 (2009), 29-58. Using the Past to Shape the Future! 253 Tsitsiridis 1998 S. Tsitsiridis, Platons Menexenos: Einleitung, Text und Kommentar, Stuttgart 1998. Walters 1980 K.R. Walters, “Rhetoric as Ritual: The Semiotics of the Attic Funeral Oration”, Florilegium 2 (1980), 1-27. Whitehead 1983 D. Whitehead, “Competitive Outlay and Community Profit: '4-*!4&2. in Democratic Athens”, C&M 34 (1983), 55-74. Willcock 1964 M.M. Willcock, “Mythological Paradeigma in the Iliad”, CQ 14 (1964), 141-154. Wilson 2000 P.J. Wilson, The Athenian Institution of the Khoregia: The Chorus, the City and the Stage, Cambridge 2000. Wolpert 2002 A. Wolpert, Remembering Defeat: Civil War and Civic Memory in Ancient Athens, Baltimore 2002. Worthington 2006 I. Worthington, Demosthenes, Speeches 60 and 61; Prologues; Letters, Austin 2006. Worthington-Cooper-Harris 2001 I. Worthington-C.R. Cooper-E.M. Harris, Dinarchus, Hyperides, and Lycurgus, Austin 2001. Yunis 2000 H. Yunis, “Politics as Literature: Demosthenes and the Burden of the Past”, Arion 8.1 (2000), 97-118. Yunis 2005 H. Yunis (trans.), Demosthenes, Speeches 18 and 19, Austin 2005. ! ! ELENA FRANCHI LA PACE DI FILOCRATE E L’ENIGMA DELLA CLAUSOLA FOCIDESE1 Abstract One of the most debated topics regarding the Peace of Philocrates (346 BC) is the fate of the Phocians: were they excluded by a specific clause or not? This paper argues that if we take Demosthenes at face value the Athenians debated about more than one clause concerning the Phocians. A closer analysis of the historical, performative and memorial context of the peace negotiations, on the one hand, and of the legal proceedings against parapresbeia, on the other, suggests that the clause !"#$%&"'($%)*+%,()'($ was debated in the assembly, and then deleted, whereas the attempt to furtively reinsert it afterwards by Aeschines and Philocrates was invented by Demosthenes in order to get Aeschines into trouble and promote his own policy. For the same reason, the relevance of other Phocian clauses was emphasized. One of the main aims of the whole ‘Phocian discourse’ by Demosthenes was to articulate and share with the Athenians a specific version of the past in order to plot, and increase fear of, the future: the ruin of the Phocians, who were deceived (by Philip and by Aeschines) in the past, is equated with the risk the Athenians are running to be deceived (again by Philip and by Aeschines) and fall into disrepair in the future. Several war scenarios are opening up, the battle of Chaeronea is at the gate: a specific memory of the past raises anxiety levels about the future in the Athenian assembly, a fact Demosthenes is well aware of. Keywords: peace of Philocrates - Phocians - Demosthenes - Aeschines parapresbeia. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1 Ringrazio Mirko Canevaro, Matteo Barbato e i revisori anonimi per le osservazioni che hanno certamente migliorato quest’articolo, fermo restando che eventuali errori residui sono da attribuirsi unicamente alla sottoscritta. 256 Elena Franchi 1. Introduzione Uno dei problemi storiografici connessi alla Pace di Filocrate, stipulata nel 346 a.C. tra Ateniesi e Macedoni, è la cosiddetta ‘clausola focidese’: non è chiaro infatti se il testo della Pace contenesse o meno un esplicito riferimento ai Focidesi, i quali sarebbero stati esclusi con una specifica clausola. La questione non è di poco conto. I Focidesi erano responsabili dello scoppio della Guerra Sacra che i moderni identificano come la terza: accusati e contrastati da alcuni membri dell’anfizionia, tra i quali Tessali e soprattutto Tebani, erano sostenuti invece da altri, come gli Ateniesi. Indirettamente, i Focidesi avevano anche favorito un coinvolgimento più pesante di Filippo nelle vicende greche: è stato contro la tessalica Fere, alleata dei Focidesi, che Larissa aveva chiamato in aiuto Filippo. L’impegno antifocidese di Filippo e il sostegno focidese da parte di Atene rappresentano dunque uno dei motivi di tensione tra Ateniesi e Macedoni al punto che stando a Demostene sarebbe stato esplicitamente richiamato e regolato nel testo della Pace. Di seguito si metterà invece in evidenza come Demostene faccia riferimento non a una ma a più clausole focidesi. Attraverso un’analisi del contesto storico, giuridico, performativo e memoriale dell’orazione Sulla corrotta ambasceria si mostrerà come tali clausole siano menzionate in riferimento a diverse fasi redazionali della Pace, e come non tutte siano dotate dello stesso grado di verosimiglianza. In alcuni casi infatti la memoria dell’audience a proposito della situazione focidese viene intenzionalmente orientata allo scopo di alimentare negli Ateniesi ansie per il futuro e metterli in tal modo in guardia da Filippo. 2. Il problema Considerato che Demostene fa riferimento a un’espressione precisa che sembrerebbe citare verbatim una clausola (19.159: La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 257 !"#$%&"'($%)*+%,()'($), gran parte degli studiosi ha ritenuto tale clausola sia stata presente almeno in una prima redazione del testo della Pace.2 Più di recente altri (soprattutto Buckler, ma in certa misura anche Harris ed Efstathiou)3 hanno invece problematizzato l’esistenza di tale clausola mettendo in evidenza da un lato i numerosi punti in cui Demostene si contraddice, dall’altro la tendenza di Demostene all’esagerazione e alla faziosità. La questione merita in effetti di essere riesaminata, in primo luogo a partire dal testo dell’orazione stessa. L’orazione Sulla corrotta ambasceria denuncia la corruzione di alcuni membri (Filocrate ed Eschine)4 della seconda delle ambascerie partite da Atene per la Macedonia allo scopo di definire i termini della Pace di Filocrate,5 ma fa riferimento anche a comportamenti riprovevoli messi in atto dai medesimi protagonisti nelle riunioni del Consiglio e dell’Assemblea tra la prima e la seconda ambasce!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 2 Secondo molti studiosi i Focidesi erano esclusi dalla Pace (Schaefer 1856 II 2, 231, 261ss.; Rohrmoser 1874, 804; Von Scala 1898, 207; Valeton 1908, 86ss.; Pokorny 1913, 153ss.; 164ss.; Pickard-Cambridge 1914, 276; Cloché 1934, 227ss., 233ss.; Momigliano 1934, 119; Markle 1967, 179ss.; Ellis 1976, 112ss.; Cawkwell 1978, 100; Griffith in Hammond-Griffith 1979 II, 340ss.), altri hanno ipotizzato che Filippo avesse firmato la Pace senza il riferimento esplicito a una clausola (Beloch 1884, 194ss.; 1904, 508ss.; Bengston 19752 II, 315; 1985, 78; Unte 1987, 423; Jehne 1995, 122). 3 Buckler 1989, 123, 134, 137; Harris 1995, 71; Efstathiou 2004, 393. 4 Va precisato che sebbene nel testo dell’orazione siano denunciate sia le colpe di Filocrate che quelle di Eschine, formalmente la denuncia è rivolta solo contro Eschine, dato che Filocrate era già stato accusato da Iperide e condannato in absentia perché fuggito: cf. infra, p. 280 e n. 62. 5 Demostene evita, acutamente, di attaccare Eschine per la conclusione della Pace, della quale in certa misura era responsabile egli stesso (come sottolineerà Eschine nella Contro Ctesifonte nel 330: 58-76, con Yunis 2000, 104 [sulle strategie retoriche adottate da Demostene per difendere politiche che ha sostenuto ma sono fallite] e soprattutto Walker 2016, 161); l’oggetto dell’accusa è invece la condotta della seconda ambasceria (cf. Ryder 2000, 65, e, più in generale sulla posizione di Demostene ed Eschine sui contenuti della Pace di Filocrate, Ramming 1965, 2; MacDowell 2000, 2-3; Efstathiou 2004, 388, 395, 399-400). 258 Elena Franchi ria.6 Tra questi comportamenti rientrano secondo Demostene l’atteggiamento che Filocrate ed Eschine avrebbero avuto nei confronti della questione focidese: i due ambasciatori sarebbero stati colpevoli di non averli sostenuti, anzi, di averli addirittura ostacolati, e di averne così di fatto causato la rovina. La colpa più grave sarebbe stata quella di aver addirittura proposto una clausola che escludesse Focidesi e abitanti di Alo dalla Pace: !"#$%&"'($%)*+%,()'($ (mentre almeno i Focidesi, essendo alleati di Atene, avrebbero dovuto essere inclusi, a meno che non vi fosse una clausola specifica, dato che la Pace era ufficialmente conclusa tra Filippo e i suoi alleati da un lato e Atene e i suoi alleati dall’altro).7 Il ricorso a espedienti messi in atto da Eschine e Filocrate è peraltro richiamato più volte e in modalità diverse nella medesima orazione, in certi casi persino con contenuti diversi. Per riconsiderare bene il problema della clausola è necessario analizzare l’orazione sul piano letterario e retorico. Quest’analisi si rende possibile se preceduta da un riesame del contesto storico, del contesto giuridico e del contesto performativo in cui si inserisce l’orazione demostenica, che risulta l’unica fonte in nostro possesso a menzionare questa e altre clausole riguardanti i Focidesi. 3. Il contesto storico Gli scenari in cui si profilano tensioni tra Filippo e Atene sono plurimi, e non riguardano solo i Focidesi. Ben prima di entrare in guerra contro questi ultimi nel contesto della cosiddetta Terza Guerra Sacra Filippo aveva attaccato gli interessi di Atene a nord dell’Egeo: in Calcidica, dove le città erano organizzate attorno ad Olinto, alleata di Atene, e nel Chersoneso Tracico, dove Atene aveva molte colonie, nonché a est della Calcidica, dove si trovava Anfipoli, antica colonia ateniese. Filippo con!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 6 7 Franchi 2016, 126ss. Sull’ambiguità della nozione di ‘alleati’ di Atene, cf. D. 19.159 e 278. La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 259 quistò Anfipoli, consegnò Potidea, alleata di Atene, alla Lega di Olinto, e si impossessò delle miniere d’oro del Pangeo (356).8 In Tracia occupò Metone, Abdera e Maronea (355-353).9 Nel frattempo, gli Alevadi lo chiamarono in aiuto contro il tiranno di Fere, Licofrone;10 quest’ultimo venne soccorso dai Focidesi, che ebbero la meglio. Ritiratosi provvisoriamente in Macedonia, tornò all’attacco contro i Focidesi guidati da Onomarco nel 352, e li sconfisse. Il trattamento riservato ai prigionieri, crocifissi o gettati a mare mentre il re macedone si cingeva della colonna d’alloro, rispondeva a una precisa autorappresentazione del proprio ruolo in Grecia.11 Sceso alle Termopili, Filippo si ritrovò di fronte Spartani e, per l’appunto, Ateniesi, entrambi in qualità di alleati dei Focidesi. In questa fase il re macedone evitò lo scontro diretto e risalì in Tracia, dove attaccò la Lega di Olinto.12 Quest’ultima chiese aiuto ad Atene, dove erano in corso tensioni tra chi riteneva che si dovesse accorrere in aiuto ad Olinto (tra costoro Demostene, che in questi anni pronunciava le celebri Olintiche), e chi temporeggiava,13 trattenuto da preoccupazioni per le finanze della città fortemente sostenute peraltro dal riformatore del ‘teorico’,14 Eubulo. Si decise comunque di interveni!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 8 Bengston 19752 II, nrr. 309, 312, 317, 323; IG II2 114 e 130; Ellis 1976, 76-77; Cawkwell 1978, 36-37; Hammond-Griffith 1979, 264-267; Buckler 1989, 51. 9 D.S. 16.31-5 e Polyaen. 4.2.22 con Hammond 1937, 60, Martin 1981 e Beck-Buckler 2008, 228. 10 Buckler 1989, 58-64. 11 Franchi 2016, 176 con bibliografia precedente. 12 Hammond-Griffith 1979, 296-328; Ellis 1976, 98-99; Cawkwell 1978, 82-90; Wirth 1985, 63-74; Errington 1990, 50-51. 13 Va sottolineato tuttavia che errato sarebbe immaginare la contrapposizione tra gruppi ciascuno caratterizzato da un preciso orientamento: cf. da ultimo Luraghi 2014; Canevaro 2015, 33-46 e 71ss. 14 Il teorico era una sorta di cassa dei fondi per le feste e gli spettacoli pubblici cui si attingeva anche per sovvenzionare i cittadini più indigenti perché vi potessero assistere. Con la nuova riforma si profila la possibilità di attingervi anche in caso di guerra per esigenze militari: Eubulo minacciò di usarla per impiego militare qualora l’Assemblea avesse votato la guerra anziché la pace durante le trattative per la Pace di Filocrate (D. 19.291). Cf. di 260 Elena Franchi re, ma troppo tardi: all’arrivo dei rinforzi ateniesi Olinto e la Lega Calcidica erano già cadute (348). Filocrate, vicino a Eubulo, ma in buoni rapporti con Demostene, propose di inviare a Filippo un’ambasceria (la prima), per avviare le trattative di una pace. Partirono dieci Ateniesi, tra di loro Filocrate, Demostene ed Eschine, che pure era vicino a Eubulo.15 Filippo accolse l’ambasceria positivamente e si impegnò a non attaccare il Chersoneso durante le trattative; inviò anche una lettera ad Atene, nella quale faceva molte promesse, chiedeva un’alleanza con la città, dove si fece rappresentare da Antipatro e Parmenione.16 Non sembra che vi fossero già state tensioni tra gli ambasciatori, tanto che al ritorno fu proprio il buleuta Demostene, futuro accusatore di Eschine, a far decretare al Consiglio i festeggiamenti per gli ambasciatori. L’Assemblea venne convocata per il 18 e il 19 Elafebolione.17 All’ordine del giorno vi era appunto la deliberazione della pace e dell’alleanza con Filippo, che alla fine vennero approvate, ma non senza tensioni. Tra i vari problemi emersi, la mancata restituzione di Anfipoli, l’implicita rinuncia alla Calcidica, e l’ambiguità della formula ‘alleati di Atene’. La pace era difatti estesa agli alleati di Filippo da una parte e agli alleati di Atene dall’altra, ma nel caso di Atene non era chiaro se con questo termine ci si riferisse unicamente agli alleati della Seconda Lega delio-attica o anche agli alleati di Atene che non facevano parte della Lega.18 E tra questi ultimi rientravano, oltre agli abitanti della tessalica Alo (avversaria di Farsalo, sostenuta da Filippo)19 e Chersoblepte re !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! recente Efstathiou 2004, 386, Roselli 2009 (per un’analisi dei precedenti del V secolo) e soprattutto Harris 2006, 122 con fonti e discussioni, il quale sottolinea tuttavia come il ricorso al teorico a fini militari probabilmente non destava particolare scalpore (ma si veda anche Hansen 1976). 15 Franchi 2016, 130-132. 16 D. 18.28; 19.235; Aeschin. 2.111; 3.76; Worthington 2013, 167 con bibliografia precedente. 17 Sui dettagli dell’ (o delle, secondo alcuni studiosi) Assemblea (e), si veda Efstathiou 2004, 386 con bibliografia precedente. 18 Aeschin. 3.71-2; D. 19.174; 278. Cf. Mari 2002, 99. 19 Cf. D. 19.36 con Harris 1995, 89 e 94. La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 261 di Tracia, anche i Focidesi (che gli Ateniesi avevano sostenuto anche all’inizio della guerra sacra con l’invio di contingenti militari: D.S. 16.27.5; 29.1; 37.2-3). Stando a Eschine (2.60 e 3.69-70), il Consiglio aveva prudentemente proposto di attendere tre mesi prima di licenziare il testo della Pace da sottoporre a Filippo, in modo da dare il tempo ad ambasciatori ateniesi di recarsi presso gli alleati e consultarli in merito all’adesione (o meno) alla Pace; i rappresentanti di Filippo si sarebbero però opposti ed Eubulo avrebbe allora esortato l’Assemblea a decidere tra una delle seguenti alternative: votare la guerra, impegnando però i fonti del teorico e riscuotendo un’eisphora (un’imposta eccezionale), oppure la pace, accettando il testo così com’era.20 L’Assemblea ratificò la Pace e i delegati macedoni la giurarono intendendo in senso restrittivo la nozione di ‘alleati di Atene’. Atene inviò una seconda ambasceria, anche per chiedere chiarimenti, ma gli ambasciatori (tra i quali ancora Filocrate, Eschine e Demostene) arrivarono troppo tardi.21 Inarrestabile Filippo intanto mieteva successi in Tracia; all’inizio dell’estate del 346 occupò le Termopili, e accordatosi con il generale focidese Faleco risparmiò costui e i suoi soldati ma non le città focidesi.22 Le colpe della seconda ambasceria erano apparse chiare fin dall’ inizio, e di ciò abbiamo diversi indizi: -la Boulé negò agli ambasciatori i festeggiamenti con il tradizionale pranzo nel Pritaneo (D. 19.31) -tre giorni dopo Demostene accusò pesantemente Filocrate ed Eschine in Assemblea: costoro avrebbero intenzionalmente temporeggiato in modo da lasciare spazio di manovra a Filippo in Tracia. Eschine e Filocrate si difendevano sostenendo che Filippo in realtà aveva a cuore la sorte dei Focidesi e l’amicizia !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 20 Carlier 1990, 170-174; Sealey 1993, 147; Worthington 2013, 187. Cf. D. 19. 150-154. Si vedano però le osservazioni alla nota 68. 22 D. 19.59, 81, 204; Aeschin. 2.140; D.S. 16.60.1-2; Paus. 10.3.1-3. Cf. Bengston 19752 II, 2, nr. 330; Beck-Buckler 2008, 266; Londey 2010, 29; Worthington 2013, 198. 21 262 Elena Franchi degli Ateniesi, e che si sarebbe comportato di conseguenza, solo che in questa fase doveva ancora mascherare la propria amicizia, evidentemente sgradita a Tebani e Tessali.23 L’Assemblea si convinse e votò un elogio di Filippo; intimò anche ai Focidesi di liberare definitivamente Delfi. -inoltre, Demostene si sottopose spontaneamente alle procedure di rendicontazione davanti agli euthynoi,24 alle quali Eschine aveva ritenuto di non doversi sottoporre avendo già superato l’esame dopo la prima ambasceria. La mossa di Demostene costrinse però gli altri ambasciatori a fare altrettanto: nel 345, o forse già alla fine del 346, i buleuti Demostene e Timarco presentarono contro Eschine un’accusa !-./% 012% !*.*3 !.-45-6*2. Il proponente ufficiale era Timarco.25 Eschine reagì accusando in Assemblea Timarco, che voleva prendere la parola, di essersi prostituito e dunque di non poter accedere alla tribuna (Contro Timarco).26 Timarco venne condannato alla perdita dei diritti civili e dovette andarsene da Atene.27 Dopo la seconda ambasceria l’Assemblea ateniese dovette aver intravisto i rischi connessi alla Pace nella formula in cui era stata conclusa; quando Filippo chiese sostegno agli Ateniesi per attaccare i Focidesi, l’Assemblea glielo rifiutò e inviò un’ulteriore ambasceria, a cui accampando ragioni diverse non parteciparono né Eschine né Demostene.28 Nel frattempo però i Focidesi, sentendosi poco sostenuti dagli alleati Ateniesi, capitolarono. Filippo liberò Delfi, ereditò i due voti focidesi all’anfizionia, assunse la presidenza dei Giochi Pitici; in seguito, si fece anche !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 23 19.321 con commento di Ryder 2000, 65 e Mari 2002, 99. Vd. infra, par. 4. 25 Cf. D. 19.257. Cf. Weil 1886, 217; Blass 18983 III 2, 194. Sui dettagli della procedura, si veda il paragrafo successivo e Barbato in questo volume (pp. 214, 230). 26 Hunter 1990; Lanni 2010; Cook 2012. Sulle accuse mosse a Timarco si vedano, in questo volume, Canevaro (pp. 182, 195-196) e Barbato (pp. 224225, 230). 27 Cf. D. 19.2, 257, 284, 285. 28 D. 19.121-124; Aeschin. 2.94-95; Harris 1995, 177; Mari 2002, 104. 24 La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 263 nominare arconte perpetuo dei Tessali.29 In segno di protesta Atene rifiutò di partecipare ai Giochi Pitici (D. 19.128). Negli anni successivi Filippo si offrì di rivedere i termini della Pace di Filocrate in due occasioni: nel 343 e poi nel 341.30 L’opposizione di Demostene fu però strenua: la questione dei termini della Pace era un tema caldo, caldissimo, e nello stesso 343 Demostene presentava l’accusa contro Eschine pronunciando il discorso Sulla corrotta ambasceria, che riguardava soprattutto le colpe della seconda ambasceria.31 Per esaminare più a fondo le modalità e i contenuti delle accuse di Demostene è necessario gettare uno sguardo sul contesto giuridico in cui vengono mosse. 4. Il contesto giuridico Si è visto nel precedente paragrafo come diversi siano stati gli attacchi di Demostene a Eschine per i misfatti della seconda ambasceria e come diversi siano stati anche i contesti in cui essi vennero sferrati e le figure giuridiche chiamate a dirimerli: la Boulé; l’Assemblea; gli euthynoi, che ascoltavano eventuali accuse sulla condotta dei magistrati; i logistai, che valutavano la condotta degli stessi sul piano finanziario; i tesmoteti, che istruivano il processo qualora gli euthynoi avessero segnalato qualcosa di irregolare; e il dicasterio, o meglio la sottosezione del Tribunale popolare presso la quale venivano presentate le orazioni giudiziarie. In tutte queste sedi e occasioni Demostene accusò Eschine (e Filocrate) di aver svolto male il proprio compito di ambasciatori nel contesto della seconda ambasceria. Tra le accuse mosse vi è quella di non aver adeguatamente perorato !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 29 D.S. 16.60.1-3; 17.4.1; cf. Markle 1967, 253-273; Jehne 1995, 125; Sprawski 1999, 18-20; Mari 2002, 136; Graninger 2011, 7-23. 30 D. 7.18-25; 18.136; Harris 1995, 119. 31 Va precisato che da un punto di visto giuridico sono in gioco solo gli errori commessi durante la seconda ambasceria, anche se Demostene per ragioni retoriche insiste anche su errori compiuti da Eschine prima e dopo. 264 Elena Franchi la causa focidese. Per capire meglio in che misura e soprattutto in quali forme gli ambasciatori accusati avrebbero penalizzato i Focidesi – in genere si ritiene ciò sia stato fatto a mezzo dell’inserimento furtivo di una clausola che li escludeva dalla pace – è necessario ricordare il contesto giuridico delle accuse mosse: -Il Consiglio dei 500 (la Boulé). Su proposta di uno dei suoi membri (Demostene) il Consiglio rifiuta gli onori pubblici agli ambasciatori della seconda ambasceria. Com’è noto, la funzione primaria del Consiglio era di garantire il funzionamento dell’Assemblea, predisponendone i probouleumata (delle risoluzioni sulle quali l’Assemblea era chiamata a decidere). I suoi membri, rappresentativi di tutte e dieci le tribù, avevano almeno trent’anni e stavano in carica un anno (la carica era reiterabile una volta sola, e comunque non l’anno successivo). L’agenda del Consiglio e dell’Assemblea non erano però definite dall’insieme di tutti i suoi membri: l’anno era diviso in dieci pritanie, e in ogni pritania (della durata di 35-36 giorni) solo una delle dieci sezioni del Consiglio aveva il compito di stilare l’agenda, ed era presieduta da un epistates (‘presidente’). È la Boulé a congedare il testo della Pace di Filocrate contenente la celebre clausola che stando a Demostene (19.159) l’Assemblea avrebbe cassato. -L’Assemblea (accuse del 346). L’Assemblea ateniese svolge un ruolo importante perché è in occasione dell’Assemblea tra la prima e la seconda ambasceria che stando a Demostene Eschine e Filocrate avrebbero ingannato gli Ateniesi sul destino riservato ai Focidesi; ed è davanti a essa che Demostene accusò pesantemente Eschine e Filocrate, al ritorno dalla seconda ambasceria. Come nel caso della Boulé, anche nel caso dell’Assemblea converrà richiamare l’attenzione su alcuni dati noti ma significativi per la nostra analisi. Qualsiasi cittadino poteva partecipare all’Assemblea, pare che mediamente vi partecipasse un quinto dei cittadini (ca. 6000). Le competenze dell’Assemblea spazia- La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 265 vano dall’elezione di magistrati elettivi, alla concessione di diritti di cittadinanza, alla concessione di onori di vario genere, a questioni religiose e finanziarie, nonché, in politica estera, a guerra, pace, trattative e ambascerie. L’Assemblea aveva anche il potere di convocare i nomoteti, i suoi psephismata (‘decreti’) non potevano però, essere in contraddizione con i nomoi (le ‘leggi’), almeno in linea di principio.32 Le questioni giudiziarie erano tuttavia in gran parte di competenza di altri organi.33 Cionondimeno i poteri dell’Assemblea erano notevoli e il ruolo che vi svolgevano gli oratori non da poco. Sebbene in linea teorica ogni cittadino potesse prendere la parola, erano coloro che più erano dotati di una preparazione culturale e retorica che riuscivano a riscuotere il consenso necessario a decidere le sorti della politica interna ed estera;34 ciò non implica tuttavia che fossero sempre gli stessi a parlare. Tornando alle nostre ambascerie, alla pace di Filocrate e all’inganno perpetrato ai danni dei Focidesi, emerge con chiarezza a più riprese nelle orazioni demosteniche che fu proprio all’Assemblea del 18 e 19 Elafebolione che Eschine e Filocrate avrebbero approfittato per ingannare Focidesi e Ateniesi, ed è sempre in sede assembleare che Demostene tentò di convincere i cittadini Ateniesi della cattiva condotta da parte dei suoi avversari. Ancora, è all’Assemblea del 25 Elafebolione, quando si decise di escludere Chersoblepte dalle trattative (Aeschin. 3.73), che Demostene, in qualità di epistates dell’Assemblea nominato dal Consiglio, in tutti i modi tentò di mettere in guardia gli Ateniesi da Filippo. Anche in quest’occasione rimase inascoltato; riuscì tuttavia a far valere la sua autorità di epistates nell’orientare il dibattito e le decisioni dell’Assemblea sulla questione Chersoblepte.35 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 32 Sul rapporto tra Consiglio e Assemblea e la distinzione tra nomoi e psephismata si veda Canevaro 2015, passim (che riferisce e discute anche la bibliografia precedente). 33 Hansen 1991, 178ss.; Bearzot 2008, 59-70. 34 Paulsen 1999, 53-57. 35 Così almeno secondo Aeschin. 3.73. In genere i probouleumata sottoposti all’Assemblea venivano ampiamente dibattuti, fatto che ampliava le 266 Elena Franchi -Il Collegio degli euthynoi. Fallita la sua azione in Assem- blea, Demostene tentò l’azione di euthynai per smascherare Eschine. La procedura denominata euthynai rappresentava una forma di rendicontazione a fine mandato: dieci logistai (contabili) annuali, sorteggiati fra tutti i cittadini e affiancati da dieci synegoroi (in questo caso, delle figure di supporto), ricevevano il rendiconto finanziario da parte dei magistrati usciti di carica; dieci euthynoi sorteggiati tra i buleuti procedevano quindi a una valutazione politica della rendicontazione incaricandosi su segnalazione da parte di qualsiasi cittadino di eseguire una procedura investigativa sull’operato dei magistrati e di delegare l’avviamento di un’azione legale nelle sedi opportune.36 Tornato dalla seconda ambasceria, Demostene si sottopose al giudizio dei logistai costringendo così gli altri ambasciatori a fare altrettanto (19.211-213). Nella seconda fase dell’euthynai, quella di valutazione da parte degli euthynoi, Demostene e Timarco accusarono Eschine di aver malconsigliato l’Assemblea ateniese; di non aver riferito fedelmente a Filippo le decisioni dell’Assemblea ateniese; e di esser stato corrotto (cf. 19.4). Il coinvolgimento di Timarco offrì tuttavia buon gioco a Eschine che bloccò l’intera procedura accusando quest’ultimo di prostituzione, un’accusa annunciata al Consiglio o all’Assemblea e poi portata avanti con successo davanti al Tribunale popolare. 37 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! possibilità di manipolazione da parte degli oratori e dall’epistates (a eccezione dei casi in cui si applicava la procheirotonia, ovvero il voto preliminare proposto all’inizio dell’Assemblea che in caso di unanimità rendeva inutile un successivo dibattito; la procheirotonia era peraltro applicabile solo ai probouleumata chiusi: Hansen 1987, 90-91; Canevaro 2018 con ampia discussione dei meccanismi che regolavano il dibattito assembleare. 36 Ath. 48.4. Su tutta la procedura vd. Hansen 1991, 218ss.; Efstathiou 2007; Bearzot 2013; Oranges 2016, 84ss. con note e bibliografia precedenti. Sulle difficoltà di definire le funzioni dei synegoroi si veda da ultimo Canevaro 2016, con bibliografia precedente. 37 Cf. Aeschin. 1.17-23; MacDowell 1978, 171; Hansen 1991, 222-224; Harris 1995, 95; Efstathiou 2007, 113-135; Bearzot 2008, 64; Barbato in questo volume (p. 230). La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 267 -I dicasteri. Il colpo finale inferto da Demostene, anche in questo caso fallimentare (ma non di misura), avviene in sede giudiziaria, quando di fronte a un dicasterio pronunciò l’accusa contro l’ambasceria corrotta, nel 343. Dei dicasteri poteva fare parte qualsiasi cittadino di almeno trent’anni: tra tutti i candidati ne venivano sorteggiati 6000, i quali garantivano la propria disponibilità a prestare servizio come giudici per un anno. E’ solo la mattina stessa del procedimento giudiziario però che tra questi 6000 si sorteggiava un numero variabile di dikastai (‘giudici’). Non esistevano dunque giudici di professione, cionondimeno i dikastai sono da considerarsi figure competenti, anche perché prestavano il loro servizio in più di un’occasione.38 La retorica svolgeva comunque un ruolo non indifferente.39 In seguito alla procedura di euthynai Demostene accusò Eschine di aver mal condotto l’ambasceria di fronte ai dikastai, chiamati a giudicare in un processo istruito dai tesmoteti.40 A più riprese Demostene, così come Eschine, si rivolse esplicitamente ai giudici, ricordò loro dei fatti, facendo appello alla loro deontologia, e facendo leva sulle loro emozioni. Di norma un’orazione non veniva interrotta (ma sono attestati casi in cui ciò si faceva: Lys. 12.25);41 e se la difesa poteva rispondere alle colpe attribuitegli dall’accusa, l’accusa non aveva diritto di replica alla difesa; ciò svolse un ruolo forse non indifferente nella vittoria finale di Eschine su Demostene. In questi casi il voto era segreto e non era preceduto da un dibattito tra giudici; Eschine fu assolto per 30 voti; a prevalere fu probabilmente il timore di increspare ulteriormente le già difficili relazioni con Filippo, e non fu ininfluente il fatto che Eschine godesse di maggior credibilità rispetto a Demostene, e probabilmente non solo agli occhi dei giudi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 38 Harris 2010, 1. Bearzot 2007, 115ss.; Powell-Rubinstein-Kremmydas 2013, 2-3. 40 Timarco era ovviamente uscito di scena: Wilamowitz 1893 II, 237, e da ultimo Oranges 2016, 83. 41 Bearzot 2007, 120. 39 268 Elena Franchi ci:42 il processo ebbe, stando a Eschine, notevole popolarità e vi assistette gran parte della popolazione.43 5. Il contesto performativo Si è messo in rilievo, nel precedente paragrafo, quanto contasse, soprattutto in Assemblea e di fronte al Tribunale, l’abilità oratoria. Nella prassi giudiziaria attica l’efficacia retorica prevaleva su considerazioni di ordine giuridico,44 e ciò sposta inevitabilmente l’attenzione sul contesto performativo delle orazioni, sulle attese dell’audience e sull’abilità degli oratori di giocare con esse. Il discorso giudiziario non mira all’‘oggettività’ del discorso storiografico, mira piuttosto ad accreditare una specifica versione. A complicare ulteriormente il quadro, il fatto che il testo a noi pervenuto fu molto probabilmente rimaneggiato, e ciò spiega come mai gli oratori spesso si attribuiscono affermazioni assenti nei testi a noi pervenuti.45 Di ciò va tenuto conto proprio nel caso delle orazioni Sull’ambasceria, delle quali gli antichi stessi pensavano non fossero mai state pronunciate, per ragioni che vedremo di seguito.46 Ciò non implica che le orazioni debbano essere squalificate come fonte storica (anzi, esse sono spesso testimoni di memorie !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 42 Cf. Aeschin. 2.4; Schaefer 1856 II 2, 401. Aeschin. 2.5, con commento di Blass 1893, 352. 44 Bearzot 2007, 114. Si vedano anche Todd-Millet 1990; Johnstone 1999. 45 Vi è chi come Dover (1968, 168-9) ipotizza una profonda differenza tra versione orale e redazione scritta, chi invece le ridimensiona (Harris 1995, 10). Si vedano anche MacDowell 2000, 22-27; Carey 2000, 93-94; Todd 2005, 108-109; per una riconsiderazione critica, Bearzot 2007, che discute tutta la bibliografia citata; per una discussione del problema delle orazioni come fonte del diritto, Bearzot 2008, 81ss. 46 Cf. Plu. Dem. 15.3; Phot. [D.] 4 91 a40-b17 e b 22ss., con commenti di Schaefer 1856 II 2, 413ss. e Blass 1893, 351 con note. 43 La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 269 orali non reperibili nelle fonti scritte a noi pervenute),47 ma di certo che debbano essere valutate tenendo in considerazione il contesto performativo,48 e, più in generale, le possibilità di manipolazioni tendenziose.49 Studi recenti hanno dimostrato come il richiamo a eventi storici da parte degli oratori fosse fortemente connotato dalle attese dell’audience, costantemente tenute presenti dagli oratori stessi.50 In molti casi gli oratori facevano riferimento a eventi passati nella consapevolezza che la loro memoria era una memoria condivisa della comunità ateniese rappresentata in quel frangente dalla loro audience; essi si impegnavano a orientarla, tuttalpiù a correggerla ove lo ritenessero opportuno, ma agendo sempre su un nucleo mnemonico comune preesistente e (più o meno) condiviso. Per le stesse ragioni deve essere cauto il ricorso alle orazioni per la ricostruzione del contenuto di testi legislativi. Spesso questi testi sono assenti nella tradizione manoscritta; la trascrizione era del resto inutile in sede di processo (l’oratore delegava un segretario a leggere tali testi)51 ma anche in caso di lettura individuale privata dell’orazione, o di fruizione nelle scuole di retorica.52 Talora i testi legislativi sono stati inseriti in una fase più tarda, e ricostruiti sulla base di riferimenti tratti dal testo dell’orazione stessa (un problema che pongono alcune orazioni del corpus demostenico), e questo fatto non può che indurre a essere ancora più cauti. Nel caso specifico della presenza (o meno) di una clausola focidese nel testo della Pace di Filocrate, intervengono ulteriori fattori a complicare la questione. Demostene richiama spesso la !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 47 Cf. Thomas 1989, 101-102; Clarke 2008, 245-303; Steinbock 2013, 73, e per uno status quaestionis Canevaro in questo volume. 48 Harding 1987; Todd 1990. 49 Perlman 1961; Nouhaud 1982; Harding 1987; Worthington 1994; Milns 1995; Paulsen 1999. 50 Bearzot 2008, 87ss.; Grethlein 2010, 132 nonché Barbato e Canevaro in questo volume. 51 Per una descrizione dell’esatta procedura si veda Canevaro 2013, 1. 52 Bearzot 2007, 123; Powell-Rubinstein-Kremmydas 2013, 5. 270 Elena Franchi questione del trattamento riservato ai Focidesi in generale, ma attraverso (almeno) due diverse modalità. L’Assemblea ateniese del 346 (18-19 Elafebolione) e i dikastai sorteggiati a giudicare nel 343 (che potevano essere stati, come si è visto, ecclesiasti nell’Assemblea del 346) potevano condividere la memoria delle situazioni in cui la questione focidese venne affrontata in sede di dibattito assembleare (o, al limite, buleutico, ma naturalmente su base meno ampia). Non potevano però essere a conoscenza di cosa esattamente si sia detto e scritto dei Focidesi in occasione delle ambascerie. Vedremo come su questa memoria non condivisa Demostene fondi parte delle sue strategie retoriche. 6. Il contesto memoriale Se leggiamo con attenzione notiamo che Demostene fa riferimento non a una, ma a due clausole. Al capitolo 49 racconta infatti che mentre Eschine decantava di fronte all’Assemblea i meriti del testo della Pace che Filocrate aveva redatto sulla base delle indicazioni di Filippo e con il beneplacito del Consiglio, Filocrate approfittò (“cogliendovi mentre eravate sedotti dai discorsi di Eschine”) per preparare una proposta di emendamento, ovvero una clausola che non era ancora presente nella versione proposta in via preliminare al Consiglio: “Qualora i Focesi non facciano ciò che devono, e non restituiscano il tempio agli Anfizioni, Atene andrà in aiuto contro quanti impediscono che ciò avvenga”.53 La clausola si riferisce al sostegno ateniese ai Focidesi, che dovrà venire meno qualora questi ultimi si rifiutino di desistere dall’occupazione di Delfi. Si specifica inoltre che l’azione degli Ateniesi dovrà rivolgersi contro quei Focidesi che non si arrendono (e non a tutti !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 53 Cf. II hyp.Dem. 19. Si veda il commento di Mari 2002, 99 e n. 2. La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 271 i Focidesi).54 La formulazione demostenica lascia intendere che poi l’Assemblea abbia approvato quest’emendamento. Nel capitolo 159 si fa invece riferimento a una clausola che Filocrate ed Eschine avrebbero inserito nel testo della Pace nella forma in cui lo avrebbe approvato il Consiglio: “con esclusione degli Alei e dei Focidesi”. Nel capitolo 321 si specifica che Filippo non avrebbe mai potuto ammettere che i Focidesi venissero menzionati come alleati nel testo della Pace.55 Sempre nel capitolo 159 si dice che l’Assemblea avrebbe però cassato questa clausola congedando un testo che non menzionasse che Alei e Focidesi erano esclusi dalla pace nonostante fossero alleati degli Ateniesi. Nel capitolo 174 si dice che poi, in occasione della seconda ambasceria, Filocrate ed Eschine avrebbero riaggiunto tale clausola. Al capitolo 278 si richiama questa clausola, senza specificare se fosse presente nella versione scritta della Pace e in quale, ma si fa riferimento solo ai Focidesi e non agli Alei. Filocrate ed Eschine avrebbero insomma tentato di modificare il testo della pace inserendo un riferimento ai Focidesi per ben tre volte, ricorrendo a sotterfugi e in contesti istituzionali diversi (durante la prima ambasceria; in Assemblea; durante la seconda ambasceria), e riferendosi a due diverse ‘condizioni’ (l’esclusione di tutti i Focidesi dalla Pace a priori e la punizione di Focidesi renitenti a ritirarsi dal santuario di Delfi). Ogni tentativo di discernere i casi in cui Demostene riporta fedelmente un dato, quelli in cui esagera e quelli in cui arriva a inventare non può non tenere conto dei contesti giuridici e performativi in cui questi riferimenti all’esclusione dei Focidesi vengono fatti. Tali contesti innescano difatti dinamiche memoriali diverse, come sarà chiaro in seguito. Nei casi in cui Demostene accusa Eschine e Filocrate di aver inserito la clausola lontano da Atene, nel contesto della prima !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 54 L’intento di limitare la punizione ai colpevoli è richiamato anche da Aeschin. 2.142 (cf. Harris 1995, 87; Mari 2002, 103). 55 Cf. anche 19.322. 272 Elena Franchi e/o della seconda ambasceria, presso i Macedoni, Demostene poteva inventare: la sua parola contro quella di Eschine. In altre parole, quando Demostene sostiene che - Eschine e Filocrate favorirono (o quanto meno non impedirono) un inserimento della clausola in occasione della prima ambasceria - Eschine e Filocrate reinserirono la clausola (cassata dall’Assemblea) nel contesto della seconda ambasceria. non vi poteva essere, né nell’Assemblea del 346 né tra i dikastai del processo del 343 nessun testimone a contraddirlo che non fosse qualcuno degli ambasciatori. Diverso è invece il contesto memoriale della cassazione della clausola !"#$%&"'($%)*+%,()'($ da parte dell’Assemblea. Non dobbiamo dimenticare che la possibilità che tra i dikastai sorteggiati a giudicare nel processo del 343 ci fossero degli ecclesiasti dell’Assemblea del 18 e del 19 Elafebolione del 343 è tutt’altro che remota. Se diamo credito a Filocoro (FGrHist 328 F 135) la stele rimase esposta ad Atene dal 346 al 340, quando Demostene l’avrebbe fatta distruggere; dunque nel 343 stava ancora lì, a ricordare ai cittadini ateniesi che la clausola !"#$% &"'($%)*+%,()'($ non c’era: l’insistenza con cui Demostene faceva loro presente che in una prima versione era presente non può che far loro ricordare che ora mancava perché loro l’avevano fatta togliere. Il rischio di riferirsi, peraltro a più riprese, a una clausola che in realtà non esisteva e dunque l’Assemblea non poteva aver mai cassato è troppo elevato perché Demostene si spinga a correrlo: avrebbe potuto limitarsi a richiamare l’inserimento di tale clausola nel contesto delle ambascerie, sarebbe stato meno rischioso, e dal punto di vista giuridico era altrettanto grave. Tre anni sono troppo pochi per dimenticare: al limite si può ammettere che non sia mai esistita una vera e propria clausola nella formulazione in cui la ricorda Demostene, ma che la questione La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 273 dell’esclusione o meno dei Focidesi dalla Pace sia stata discussa in occasione dell’Assemblea del 18 e del 19 Elafebolione è assai probabile. Qui Demostene non ha inventato: forse ha solo esagerato. E di esagerazione piuttosto che di invenzione si dovrà parlare a proposito della proposta di emendamento di Filocrate di cui sopra: che Filocrate abbia proposto una clausola riferita alla persecuzione dei Focidesi che si ostinano a non restituire il tempio agli Anfizioni sembra plausibile, così come sembra plausibile che gli Ateniesi l’abbiano approvata; Demostene qui non inventa: piuttosto enfatizza il modo disonesto con cui Filocrate ha portato avanti la proposta, approfittando del fatto che l’Assemblea fosse accecata dalla retorica di Eschine. Dalla stessa orazione si evince del resto che la situazione dei Focidesi al momento della stipula della Pace non era chiara a nessuno ad Atene, Demostene dice esplicitamente che tutta la situazione per gli Ateniesi era diventata un ainigma (328). Queste incertezze potevano costituire un terreno fertile per l’esagerazione e la manipolazione retorica al punto da indurre a non riprodurre o comunque parafrasare fedelmente un testo legislativo, un caso comune nell’oratoria;56 e nel processo del 343 Demostene ha calcato la mano sulla questione focidese più in generale, orientando (e a tratti manipolando) la memoria della sua audience in una precisa direzione. Rimane da chiedersi come e perché. Certo, l’obiettivo primario di Demostene è far condannare Eschine. Ciò implica però la condanna della linea politica di Eschine e dei suoi sodali, una linea politica che ai suoi occhi non solo ha procurato disgrazie agli Ateniesi nel passato, ma potenzialmente potrebbe farlo ancora, nel futuro. In effetti, per orientare la memoria del suo pubblico Demostene mette in atto essenzialmente due strategie; entrambe ricorrono al medesimo mezzo retorico, l’analogia, ed entrambe hanno il medesimo fine: accrescere l’ansia per il futuro manipolando la memoria del passato. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 56 Cf. le osservazioni di Canevaro (2013, 30-31, 239-243), che analizza il caso del decreto del Consiglio sugli ambasciatori citato a 18.29. 274 Elena Franchi La prima strategia tende a porre sullo stesso piano l’inganno che Filippo ha perpetrato nei confronti dei Focidesi nel passato con l’inganno che Filippo ha messo in atto contro gli Ateniesi in passato. A titolo d’esempio, al capitolo 61 Demostene afferma che Filippo in una prima fase aveva persuaso i Focidesi che li avrebbe salvati (4(7849$0*:) e che invece poi sono andati in rovina (;!9"'47*:). Dunque ai Focidesi è stata fatta una promessa che poi è stata tradita. Due capitoli dopo l’oratore ripete la stessa situazione ma cambia il punto di osservazione: gli Ateniesi speravano a loro volta che Filippo avrebbe salvato i Focidesi (<!+%0=%0>$%,()'($%4(0?.@A), e questa speranza li ha condotti al peggio (si allude al fatto che sono stati ingannati: 09B0C% D#% !E$0F% <!@40-G9$% HIJ% 4)9!-K0-% 0@% !:40-B4*$0-2% 0@% L!*4M9$). Dunque Focidesi e Ateniesi sono stati entrambi ingannati. Ai capitoli 77 e 78 Demostene ricorda come Filippo abbia ingannato sia Spartani che Focidesi% NOOP% )*+% Q*)-D*:3 R9$@9G2%)*+%,()'*2%<S?!E0?4-%,@":!!92), e fa riferimento a un’obiezione che evidentemente Eschine gli aveva già fatto in un’altra occasione: e cioè che in cambio del sacrificio dei Focidesi gli Ateniesi avrebbero mantenuto il Chersoneso (78). Ma come sono stati ingannati i Focidesi potrebbero essere ingannati gli Ateniesi, e proprio sulle sorti del Chersoneso (T%DU%09B09G [Filippo] V-GD9"9W@*%R-0X%0*Y7F%Z40-.9$%*[09\2 [i Focidesi] ;!]"-4-$^%<S*!*084*4F%_R`2 [gli Ateniesi] ). Un pericolo che, pur ammettendo una certa esagerazione retorica, doveva essere concreto: nel 341 lo stesso Demostene pronuncerà l’orazione Sul Chersoneso per convincere gli Ateniesi a intervenire in difesa dello stesso contro Filippo,57 e la percezione che il Chersoneso fosse in pericolo doveva essere diffusa sia nel 346 che nel 343, dato che al capitolo 79 Demostene specifica che la !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 57 Cf. in particolare 8.2, 6-8, 9, 16, 31, 39-47, 58, 60, da leggere con Cawkwell 1963 e Leopold 1981. Demostene ricorda poi il suo impegno per la salvezza del Chersoneso anche nel De Corona (18.93). La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 275 penisola si trovava in una condizione di maggiore pericolo oggi rispetto ad allora. L’analogia Focidesi ingannati-Ateniesi ingannati da Filippo viene però sottolineata con enfasi maggiore al capitolo 317: qui Demostene afferma che Filippo era in un momento di difficoltà e che l’unico modo per guadagnare vantaggio sugli Ateniesi era distruggere i Focidesi (-a% R#% ,()'*2% ;!9"-K), e aprirsi così un passaggio alle Termopili (come dice per es. a 180, o a 322).58 Demostene mira chiaramente a far presente agli Ateniesi ciò che sembra abbiano dimenticato, ovvero che assieme all’Ellesponto le Termopili sono di importanza strategica vitale per Atene,59 tanto che per dare concretezza alle sue mire Filippo avrebbe fatto ricorso a inganni e spergiuri di cui tutti a detta di Demostene sono testimoni. Lo scopo dell’orazione demostenica è però convincere i dikastai a condannare Eschine e ciò per le vicende che riguardano una Pace, della cui ratifica Demostene stesso in quanto ambasciatore nelle prime due ambascerie era responsabile (e questa responsabilità verrà enfatizzata fino a rappresentarla come complicità dallo stesso Eschine).60 Ciò spiega perché l’analogia Focidesi ingannati-Ateniesi ingannati da Eschine è ancora più evidente rispetto alle precedenti. Stiamo facendo riferimento alla seconda delle strategie di cui sopra. A 19.56 si dice che i Focidesi si sono fidati delle promesse di Eschine e sono andati in rovina, e che gli Ateniesi non avrebbero accettato la clausola se avessero capito che Eschine li ingannava (-a% R#% 0*K2% !*.F% ba4M@$9G% c?7-@4*:2% _!94M'4-4:$% 0d0F% <!:40-B4*0-^% *e4!-.% 9f% ,()-K2% !:40-B4*$0-2% ;!]"9$09): dunque sia Focidesi che Ateniesi si sono fidati, hanno nutrito speranze, e poi sono stati ingannati da Eschine.61 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 58 Cf. anche 83, 99, 153; si veda in proposito Buckler 2000, 126. Cf. Schaefer 1856 II 2, 394-395. 60 Aeschin. 2.14-20, con commento di Schaefer 1856 II 2, 396. 61 L’impatto retorico dell’argomento dell’alleanza tra Focidesi e Ateniesi è stato ben evidenziato da Bernd Steinbock (2012, 331-336). 59 276 Elena Franchi Si noti il gioco di rimandi tra <!:40-B4*0- (riferito agli Ateniesi) – !:40-B4*$0-2 (riferito ai Focidesi) – ;!]"9$09 (riferito ai Focidesi). Al capitolo 63 si ripete che gli Ateniesi speravano che Filippo avrebbe salvato i Focidesi, come i Focidesi si erano fidati di Eschine (<!@40-G9$), e che questa speranza li ha condotti al peggio. Il lessico della fiducia (!@40:2), della speranza nella salvezza (4(0?.@*), dell’inganno (;!E0?) e della distruzione (;!d""GR:) ricorre sia a proposito di Focidesi che a proposito di Ateniesi in costruzioni sintattiche che suggeriscono analogie e somiglianze. Gli esempi si potrebbero moltiplicare: al capitolo 125 si allude al fatto che gli Ateniesi erano convinti che i Focidesi sarebbero stati salvati, ma così non è stato, e al capitolo 220 si dice che Eschine ha promesso di ,()'*2% 4]4-:$ (ma poi non l’ha fatto). I continui richiami agli inganni perpetrati ai danni di Focidesi e Ateniesi, con modalità e su questioni simili, creano per accumulatio un clima di tensione (si pensi al climax a 98-101, uno dei tanti esempi possibili). Non dobbiamo dimenticare che Demostene ed Eschine pronunciano le loro orazioni nel 343, quando la pace di Filocrate aveva perso popolarità, tanto che proprio in quell’anno Iperide aveva accusato Filocrate che era stato condannato.62 Ma più in generale va anche detto che le tensioni tra Atene e Filippo stanno subendo un’escalation. Nello stesso anno è ancora in gioco il destino di Alonneso e Filippo propone di rivedere i termine della Pace. Nel 341 gli Ateniesi sono in tensione per il destino del Chersoneso, e non molti anni dopo si combatterà a Cheronea. In questo clima gli Ateniesi non potevano non essere sensibili al monito di chi adombrava la possibilità, già verificatasi in passato e per questo ancora più probabile nel futuro, di esser ingannati. Per alimentare questo timore Demostene peraltro esagera anche su altre questioni focidesi: tanto per cominciare, enfatizza iperbolicamente le dimensioni della rovina focidese, preannunciata icasticamente a 65 ma poi ripresa e approfondita più volte. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 62 Blass 1898, 201. La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 277 Abbiamo sostanzialmente tre fonti sul destino della Focide dopo la Pace di Filocrate: Demostene (18.81-82; 19.61, 65, 81-82, 141, 325), Diodoro (16.60), Pausania (10.3.1-3), e ho già dimostrato in altra sede che le ultime due dipendono verbatim dalla prima.63 Quanto a Demostene, i passi in cui descrive la distruzione delle città focidesi risentono dell’esagerazione retorica:64 e non perché lo dice il suo avversario, Eschine (per il quale il suo avversario esagera e inventa),65 ma perché un impiego di risorse macedoni tali da sortire una distruzione di proporzioni pari a quelle descritte da Demostene è strategicamente insensata (bastava molto meno per indurre alla resa i Focidesi).66 Una Focide troppo debole non sarebbe stata funzionale a contenere la potenza di Tebe e nei piani di Filippo vi era anche di controllare quest’ultima. Similmente, l’affermazione demostenica secondo la quale con l’aiuto degli Ateniesi i Focidesi si sarebbero “salvati” (tanto per riprendere il lessico che Demostene usa sempre e insistentemente sulla questione focidese) è esagerata e non regge nessun test di verità né di verosimiglianza, dato che ai tempi di Faleco i Focidesi erano ormai circondati da nemici di Atene che erano vicini a Filippo. Il richiamo continuo alla diversa assistenza agli alleati trascura intenzionalmente l’inaffidabilità del capo che i Focidesi avevano scelto, Faleco, il quale aveva sostenuto i nemici ateniesi in Eubea (Aeschin. 3.87) e messo alle strette da Filippo si era arreso in cambio della salvezza sua e dei suoi soldati, non della Focide tutta (in generale i Focidesi si erano poi rivelati alleati inaffidabili come ammette lo stesso Demostene).67 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 63 Franchi 2013, 227. Rousset 2005. 65 Cf. 2.131, da leggere con Worthington 2013, 208. Cf. anche Mari 2002, 99ss. Più in generale, sulla tendenza a esagerare e inventare di Demostene (ma anche Eschine) si veda lo studio pionieristico di Cawkwell 1969. 66 Typaldou-Fakiris 2004, 326. Inferirne la cronologia delle fortificazioni focidesi (come fa Typaldou-Fakiris) è tuttavia azzardato. 67 D. 1.26; 3.8; cf. Pokorny 1913, 146. Sulle strategie retoriche adottate da Demostene per alimentare le paure degli Ateniesi, si veda Brun 2015, cap. 6. 64 278 Elena Franchi Ancora, quando Demostene sostiene che Eschine e gli altri ambasciatori ritardarono la partenza della seconda ambasceria per dare più tempo a Filippo di impossessarsi delle postazioni ateniesi in Tracia mente o quanto meno deforma la realtà perché le postazioni a cui si fa riferimento sono in realtà in mano a Chersoblepte, non agli Ateniesi.68 E quando Demostene insiste sul tema della salvezza della Focide e sostiene che se gli Ateniesi fossero intervenuti a sostegno dei Focidesi Filippo sarebbe stato fermato alle Termopili, quando in realtà è tutt’altro che scontato che un sostegno ateniese avrebbe arginato l’avanzata di Filippo da nord e dei Tebani da sud,69 non lo fa per stupidità, come sostiene Buckler,70 ma perché – di nuovo! – esagera. Esagerazioni, contraddizioni e ripetizioni di tal fatta sono disseminate in tutta l’orazione, tanto che gli antichi stessi erano convinti che non fosse mai stata pronunciata.71 Alla luce di tutto ciò pare a maggior ragione plausibile che Demostene non abbia inventato – perché non avrebbe potuto inventare – la clausola !"#$%&"'($%)*+%,()'($, una clausola che c’era nel testo congedato da Filippo e in quello congedato dalla Boulé e che l’Assemblea ateniese aveva cassato. Altrettanto plausibile è che abbia enfatizzato le colpe di Filocrate ed Eschine inventando il reinserimento di !"#$%&"'($%)*+%,(3 )'($ così come enfatizzando la scorrettezza messa in atto da Filocrate nel momento in cui ha proposto un emendamento, poi probabilmente approvato dall’Assemblea (la clausola che prevedeva la persecuzione di quei Focidesi che si ostinano a non restituire il tempio agli Anfizioni). Dato che tutta la questione !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 68 Cf. D. 19. 150-154 da leggere con D. 18.27, cf. Badian 1983, 64; Harris 2006, 86; va ammesso tuttavia che in questa fase Filippo è impegnato contro Chersoblepte (Aeschin. 2.82) e un eventuale assoggettamento dello stesso con conseguente conquista della Tracia si configurava inevitabilmente come una minaccia a Atene: Ryder 2000, 64 69 Buckler 1989, 93-95; Kase-Szemler-Wilkie-Wallace 1991, 21-55; Szemler-Cherf-Kraft 1996, 44-57. 70 Buckler 2000, 126-127. 71 Vd. n. 40. La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 279 focidese era per gli Ateniesi all’epoca un ainigma Demostene disponeva di un margine piuttosto ampio per riorientare la memoria di un passato, pur così recente, della sua audience al fine di rendere più evidenti le colpe di Eschine, favorire la condanna del suo nemico e della sua linea politica, e affermare infine la propria infondendo nell’animo degli Ateniesi timori per il futuro. 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Harris, Democracy and the Rule of Law in Classical Athens, Cambridge-New York 2006. Harris 2010 E.M. Harris, “Introduction”, in E.M. Harris-D.F. Leão-P.J. Rhodes (eds.), Law and Drama in Ancient Greece, London 2010, 1-24. Hunter 2010 V. Hunter, “Gossip and the Politics of Reputation in Classical Athens”, Phoenix 44 (1990), 299-325. Jehne 1995 M. Jehne, Koine Eirene. Untersuchungen zu den Befriedungs- und Stabilisierungsbemühungen in der griechischen Poliswelt des 4. Jahrunderts v. Chr, Stuttgart 1995. Johnstone 1999 St. Johnstone, Disputes and Democracy: The Consequences of Litigation in Ancient Athens, Austin 1999. Kase-Szemler-Wilkie-Wallace1991 E.W. Kase-G.J. Szemler-N.C. Wilkie-P.W.Wallace, The Great Isthmus Corridor Route: Explorations of the Phokis / Doris Expedition, Dubuque 1991. Lanni 2010 A. Lanni, “The Expressive Effect of Athenian Prostitution Laws”, ClA 29 (2010), 45-67. 284 Elena Franchi Leopold 1981 J.W. Leopold, “Demosthenes on Distrust of Tyrants”, GRBS 22 (1981), 227-246. Londey 2010 P. Londey, “Phokian Desperation: Private and Public in the Outbreak of 3rd Sacred War”, in A.J. Turner-J.H.K. On Chong-Gossard-F.J. Vervaet (eds.), Private and Public Lies, Koninklijke 2010, 29-38. Luraghi 2014 N. Luraghi, “Stratokles of Diomeia and Party Politics in Early Hellenistic Athens”, C&M 65 (2014), 191-226. MacDowell 1978 D.M. MacDowell, The Law in Classical Athens, LondonIthaca NY 1978. MacDowell 2000 D.M. MacDowell, Demosthenes: On the False Embassy, Oxford 2000. Mari 2002 M. Mari, Al di là dell’Olimpo. Macedoni e grandi santuari della Grecia dall’età arcaica al primo ellenismo, Atene 2002. Markle 1967 M. Markle, The Peace of Philocrates. A Study in Athenian Foreign Relations 348-346 BC, Diss. Princeton 1967 (non vidi). Martin 1981 T.R. Martin, “Diodorus on Philipp II and the Thessaly in the 350s B.C.”, CPh 76 (1981), 188-201. Milns 1995 R.D. Milns, “Historical Paradigms in Demosthenes’ Public Speeches”, Electronic Antiquity 2.5 (1995) (https://scholar. lib.vt.edu/ejournals/ElAnt/V2N5/milns.html (ultimo accesso 30.06.2017). Momigliano 1934 A. Momigliano, Filippo il Macedone, Firenze 1934. La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 285 Nouhaud 1982 M. Nouhaud, L’utilisation de l’histoire par les orateurs attiques, Paris 1982. Oranges 2016 A. Oranges, “L’accusa di corruzione nel contesto di euthyna: verifica delle finanze e della fedeltà democratica dei magistrati”, Antesteria 5 (2016), 81-97. Paulsen 1999 Th. Paulsen, Die Parapresbeia-Reden des Demosthenes und des Aeschines, Trier 1999. Perlman 1961 S. Perlman, “The Historical Example, its Use and Importance in the Attic Orators”, Scripta Hierosolymitana 7 (1961), 150166. Pickard-Cambridge 1914 A.W. Picard-Cambridge, Demosthenes and the Last Days of Greek Freedom, New York-London 1914. Pokorny 1913 E. Pokorny, Studien zur Geschichte im 6. und 5. Jahrzehnt des 4. Jh. v. Chr, Diss. Greifswald 1913 (non vidi). Powell-Rubinstein-Kremmydas 2013 J. Powell-L. Rubinstein-Ch. Kremmydas (eds.), Profession and Performance. Aspects of Oratory in the Greco-Roman World, London 2013. Ramming 1965 G. Ramming, Die politischen Ziele und Wege des Aeschines, Erlangen 1965. Rohrmoser 1874 J. Rohrmoser, “Kritische Betrachtungen zum philokratieschen Frieden“, Zeitschrift für die österreichischen Gymnasien 25 (1874), 789-816. Roselli 2009 D.K. Roselli, “Theorika in Fifth-Century Athens,” GRBS 49 (2009), 5-30. 286 Elena Franchi Rousset 2005 D. Rousset, “Compte rendu de C. Typaldou-Fakiris, Villes fortifiées de Phocide et la IIIe guerre sacrée 356-346 av. J.C., 2004”, Revue archéologique 2005, 101-103. Ryder 2000 T.T.B. Ryder, “Demosthenes and Philip II”, in Worthington 2000, 45-89. Schäfer 1856-1858 A. Schäfer, Demosthenes und seine Zeit, Leipzig 1856-1858. Sealey 1993 R. Sealey, Demosthenes and his Time: A Study in Defeat, New York-Oxford 1993. Rhodes 1981 P.J. Rhodes, A Commentary on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia, Oxford 1981. Sprawski 1999 S. Sprawski, Jason of Pherae. A Study on History of Thessaly in Years 431-370 BC, Krakow 1999. Steinbock 2012 B. Steinbock, Social Memory in Athenian Public Discourse. Uses and Meanings of the Past, Ann Arbor 2012. Steinbock 2013 B. Steinbock, “Contesting the Lessons of the Past: Aeschines’ Use of Social Memory”, TAPha 142 (2013), 65103. Szemler-Cherf-Kraft 1996 G.J.Szemler-W. J.Cherf-J.C. Kraft, Thermopylai: Myth and Reality in 480 BC, Chicago 1996. Thomas 1989 R. Thomas, Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens, Cambridge-New York 1989. Typaldou-Fakiris 2004 C. Typaldou-Fakiris, Villes fortifiées de Phocide et la IIIe Guerre Sacrée 356-346 av. J.-C., Aix en Provence 2004. La pace di Filocrate e l’enigma della clausola focidese 287 Todd 1990 S. Todd, “The Use and Abuse of the Attic Orators”, G&R 37 (1990), 159-178. Todd 2005 S. 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Geschichte Makedoniens vol. 1, Stuttgart-Berlin-Köln-Mainz 1985. 288 Elena Franchi Worthington 1994 I. Worthington, “History and Oratorical Exploitation”, in I. Worthington (ed.), Persuasion: Greek Rhetoric in Action, London-New York 1994, 109-129. Worthington 2000 I. Worthington (ed.), Demosthenes: Statesman and Orator, London 2000. Worthington 2013 I. Worthington, Demosthenes of Athens and the Fall of Classical Greece, Oxford 2013. Yunis 2000 H. Yunis, “Politics as Literature: Demosthenes and the Burden of the Athenian Past”, Arion, III s., 8 (2000), 97-118. ! CONTRIBUTORS Matteo Barbato (matteobarbato88@gmail.com) has recently completed a PhD in Classics at the University of Edinburgh. His research focuses on the ideology and institutions of Athenian democracy, and on the social memory of Athens’ mythical past. His methodology is inspired by the New Institutionalism in the political sciences, and he has co-organised a series of international events on interdisciplinary approaches to the study of ancient history. Mirko Canevaro (mirko.canevaro@ed.ac.uk) is reader in Greek History at the University of Edinburgh, and a winner of the Philip Leverhulme Prize from the Leverhulme Trust, and of a Thomas Reid Medal from the Royal Society of Edinburgh. Among his main publications are The Documents in the Attic Orators. Laws and Decrees in the Public Speeches of the Demosthenic Corpus (Oxford University Press 2013) and Demostene, Contro Leptine. Introduzione, traduzione e commento storico (De Gruyter 2016). He is the co-editor (with E.M. Harris) of the Oxford Handbook of Ancient Greek Law, and with B. Gray of The Hellenistic Reception of Classical Athenian Democracy and Political Thought (both with Oxford University Press). Elena Franchi (elena.franchi@unitn.it) is reader in Greek History at the Department of Humanities of the University of Trento (2008-2014; 2015-). She received her PhD at the ! 290 Contributors University of Genova (2008). She was a Von Humboldt fellow at the University of Freiburg i. B. (2011-2013). In 2017 she received the “abilitazione nazionale” as Associate Professor. Her research interests mainly concern border wars and the connected rituals and festivals, as well as interstate relations and federal states in Ancient Greece. Her latest publication is entitled Die Konflikte zwischen Thessalern und Phokern. Krieg und Identität in der griechischen Erinnerungskultur des 4. Jahrhunderts (Munich 2016). Giorgia Proietti (giorgia.proietti@unitn.it) is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow in Greek History at the Department of Humanities of the University of Trento, where she also teaches first and second level MA courses. She has studied in Athens and London, and published several articles on national and international journals. Her research interests focus on Athens and the Greek world in the Classical period, especially on political and military history, and its social, memorial, and psychological implications. She is also interested in war and post-war from a comparative standpoint between ancient and modern times. She is currently working on her first monograph, Le Guerre Persiane prima di Erodoto, stemming from her PhD thesis (Trento 2014). Bernd Steinbock (bsteinbo@gmail.com) is Associate Professor of Classical Studies at the University of Western Ontario in London, Canada. He studied Latin, Greek and History at the universities of Erlangen-Nuremberg and Freiburg in Germany before completing his PhD in Classics at the University of Michigan. His research interests lie at the point where history and literary texts intersect. His book Social Memory in Athenian Public Discourse: Uses and Meanings of the Past (2012) explores the manifestation, transmission and contestation of collective memory in Classical Athens. He is currently working on the Sicilian expedition in Athenian social memory. ! Contributors 291 Jan Zacharias van Rookhuijzen (janric@gmail.com) received his PhD at Radboud University, Nijmegen on the topography of the Persian Wars from the perspective of memory studies, titled: Where Xerxes’ Throne Once Stood: Gazing with Herodotus at the Topography of the Persian Invasion of Greece. He is also the author of several articles on this topic, and currently works on a new project which aims at understanding the memory of the Acropolis through the ages. ! ! ! INDEX OF ANCIENT SOURCES Act. Ap. 17.19-34: 33 n. 12 Aeschin. 1.17-23: 266 n. 37; 1.2324: 178 n. 19; 1.25: 182; 1.26: 182; 1.39: 196; 197 n. 48; 1.44: 195; 1.141: 16; 189; 191; 193; 1.141-154: 190; 1.154: 217 n. 13; 1.182: 181; 1.182-185: 224 n. 44 Aeschin. 2.4: 268 n. 42; 2.5: 268 n. 43; 2.14-20: 275 n. 60; 2.60: 261; 2.63: 180; 2.64-66: 231 n. 68; 2.69-73: 232 n. 72; 2.74: 142 and n. 115; 2.74-77: 142 n. 114; 232 n. 73; 2.7478: 213; 214 n. 2; 2.75-77: 180; 2.76: 148 n. 136; 150 n. 145; 240 nn. 99 and 100; 243 n. 109; 2.78: 233 n. 77; 2.82: 278 n. 68; 2.94-95: 262 n. 28; 2.111: 260 n. 16; 2.140: 261 n. 22; 2.142: 271 n. 54; 2.172176: 178 n. 20; 2.172-177: 187 n. 34 Aeschin. 3.58-76: 257 n. 5; 3.7172: 260 n. 18; 3.69-70: 261; 3.73: 265 and n. 35; 3.76: 260 n. 16; 3.87: 277; 3.135: 16, 193; 3.154: 90 n. 55; 3.177178: 184 and n. 28; 3.181190: 241 n. 104; 3.183-85: 183 n. 26; 3.191: 177 A. Ag. 432-444: 86 n. 46 A. Eum. 681-695: 33 A. Pers. 780-781: 79 n. 24; 809812: 79 n. 24 A. Sept. 16-20: 89 n. 54 Anth. Pal. 7.154: 119 n. 32 Antipho 3.2.b2, c3: 192 n. 40 And. 3.2-9: 178 n. 20 And. 3.30: 297 n. 92 And. 4.7: 192 n. 40 Apollod. Epit. 1.16: 33 n. 13 Ar. Lys. 677-679: 34 n. 18; 35 n. 23 Ar. Ach. 496 et schol. ad 504: 90 n. 56 Arist. Ath. 28.5: 133; 155 n. 154; 156; 29.4: 177 n. 17; 67.1: 217 n. 13; 48.4: 266 n. 36 Arist. Rh. 3.1408a32-6: 196; 1358b21-28: 217 n. 12 Clidem. FGrHist. 323 F 1: 34 n. 16 D. 1.8-9: 18, 234 n. 81; 1.26: 277 n. 67 D. 2.131: 277 n. 65 D. 3.5: 18, 234 n. 82; 3.8: 277 n. 67; 3.21: 109, 135, 154; 3.2332: 184 and n. 28, 188 D. 4.24: 177 294 Index of Ancient Sources! D. 6.7-11: 142 n. 115 D. 7.18-25: 263 n. 30 D. 8.74: 194 D. 9.65-66: 227 n. 52; 9.74: 226 n. 50 D. 13.21-31: 184 and n. 28, 188 D. 14.1-2: 242 n. 106 D. 15.9-10: 17, 199; 15.19: 227 n. 53; 15.35: 226 n. 51 D. 18.6-7: 192 n. 40; 18.27: 278 n. 68; 18.28: 260 n. 15; 18.6668: 185, 227 n. 54; 18.81-82: 277; 18.95-101: 228 n. 55; D. 18.128: 193 n. 43; 18.129: 195; 18.136: 263 n. 30; 18.141: 240 n. 99; 18.190196: 228 n. 58; 18.199: 228 n. 57; 18.199-200: 185, 228 n. 56; 18.208: 88 n. 51; 18.209: 241 n. 105; 18.242: 193 n. 43; 18.257: 193; 18.258: 193 n. 43; 18.277: 191; 18.289: 151 n. 147; 18.314: 185; 18.317: 185; 18.317-318: 242 n. 106 D. 19.2: 262 n. 27; 19.13-14: 231 n. 66; 19.15-16: 17, 231 n. 67; 19.16: 214 n. 1, 241 n. 102; 19.31: 261; 19.49: 270; 19.59: 261 n. 22; 19.61: 277; 19.63: 276; 19.65: 276, 277; 19.81: 261 n. 22; 19.81-82: 277; 19.98-101: 276; 19.125: 276; 19.128: 263; 19.141: 277; 19.150-154: 261 n. 21, 278 n. 68; 19.159: 258 n. 7; 19.174: 260 n. 18; 19.204: 261 n. 22; 19.220: 276; 19.221: 259 n. 14; 19.246-250: 189; 19.251: 182; 19.257: 262 nn. 25 and 27; 19.277: 177; 19.278: 258 n. 7; 19.284: 262 n. 27; 19.285: 262 n. 27; 19.307: 231 n. 71; 19.311: 231 n. 71; 19.321: 262 n. 23; 19.325: 277 D. 20.3: 241 n. 102; 20.18: 197; 20.26: 197; 20.27-28: 198; 20.52: 177; 20.112: 183; 20.113: 183; 20.144: 240 n. 99 D. 22.15: 17, 200 D. 23.31: 197; 23.104: 200; 23.130: 195; 23.196-203: 223 n. 39; 23.203-204: 223 n. 40; 23.196-210: 17, 184 and n. 28, 187 D. 27.2: 192 n. 40 D. 35.40: 192 n. 40; 35.40-43: 242 n. 108 D. 37.5: 192 n. 40; 37.18: 197 D. 38.2: 192 n. 40 D. 40. 53-54: 195 D. 45.50: 217 n. 13 D. 57.1: 192 n. 40; 57.6: 240 n. 99 D. 59.97-103: 178 and n. 20, 187 D. 60.6: 221 n.31; 60.10: 148 n. 135; 60.11: 146 n. 128, 235 n. 84; 60.17-18: 149 n. 142; 60.19: 140 and n. 108; 60.20: 140 n. 108; 60.27-31: 221 n. 32; 60.35: 149 n. 141 D.H. Th. 18: 145 and n. 126 D.S. 13.13.4: 124 n. 47; 13.33.1: 124 n. 47 D.S. 14.83: 177 D.S. 16.27.5: 261; 16.29.1: 261; 16.31-35: 259 n. 9; 16.37.2-3: 261; 16.60: 277; 16.60.1-2: 261 n. 22; 16.60.1-3: 263 n. 29 D.S. 17.4.1: 263 n. 29 Democr. 162: 31 n. 7 Index of Ancient Sources! Gorg. DK, 82, B 5a, 5b, 6: 138 n. 98 Hdt. 1.20: 179; 1.84: 41 Hdt. 2.52: 179 Hdt. 5.77: 46, 83 n. 35; 5.100102: 41 n. 37 Hdt. 6.21.2: 80 n. 26; 6.117: 73 n. 11 Hdt. 7.31: 55; 7.43: 56; 7.131: 40 n. 34; 7.191: 56; 7.216-218: 40 n. 34 Hdt. 8.13: 40 n. 34; 8.31: 75 n. 15; 8.32: 52 n. 64; 8.36: 52 n. 64; 8.39: 31; 8.52: 29; 8.53: 44; 8.53.2: 79 n. 25; 8.54-55: 52; 8.129: 40 n. 34; 8.144.2: 79 n. 25 Hdt. 9.13.2: 79 n. 25; 9.27: 36; 9.65: 52 n. 65; 9.118: 40 n. 34 Hellanic. FGrHist. 4 F 169a: 32 n. 10 Hyp. 6.3: 221 n. 33; 6.37-38: 221 n. 34 IG I3 1: 50 IG I3 3: 50 IG I3 501: 89 n. 53 IG I3 784: 89 n. 53 IG I3 1142-1193bis: 114 n. 15 IG I3 1147: 86 n. 45, 113 n. 10, 124, 155 IG I3 1162: 114, 116, 124, 125, 151 n. 148, 155, 156 IG I3 1163: 117 and n. 22, 119, 121, 122 n. 41, 145 n. 124, 151 n. 147, 155 IG I3 1167: 151 n. 148 IG I3 1186: 144 n. 124 IG II2 114: 259 n. 8; 130: 259 n. 8;141: 198; 1496: 92 n. 61 IG II3 1 1002: 39 n. 31 295 Is. 10.1: 192 n. 40 Isoc. 4.9: 194 Isoc. 8.5: 192 n. 40; 8.36: 242 n. 107; 8.37: 237 n. 90; 8.75-79: 237 n. 91; 8.82: 90 nn. 55 and 56; 8.82-85: 238 n. 94; 8.87: 113 n. 10 Isoc. Panath. 193-195: 35 n. 21 Just. 4.5.7: 124 n. 47 Lyc. 1.75-82: 186; 1.83-130: 186; 1.90: 179; 1.95: 186; 1.98: 187 Lys. 2.3: 219 n. 22; 2.6: 238 n. 94; 2.16: 240 n. 99; 2.20: 148 n. 135; 2.22-25: 148 n. 135; 2.33: 148 n. 135; 2.40: 149 n. 142, 2.42: 148 n. 135; 2.4866: 146 n. 28; 2.48-53: 178 n. 20; 2.49-53: 140 n. 106; 2.53: 149 n. 142; 2.57: 139, 149 n. 142; 2.58: 146 n. 129; 2.61: 220 n. 23; 2.62: 149 n. 141; 2.65: 140 and n. 108, 146 n. 129; 2.69: 220 n. 24 Lys. 12.25: 267 Lys. 18.1-3: 135, 153 Lys 19.2: 192 n. 40 Lys. 20.12: 193 n. 43 Paus. 1.15: 34 n. 18, 35 n. 23; 1.17.4: 34 n. 18; 1.18.2: 38 n. 28; 1.27.2: 54; 1.27.6: 81 n. 31; 1.28.5: 32 n. 10; 1.28.6: 32 n. 9; 1.28.7: 33 n. 11; 1.29.11: 117 and n. 24, 118 n. 29, 143; 1.29.11-12: 111, 113, 121 n. 40, 125 n. 51, 144-145 n. 124, 152; 1.29.11-13: 110, 118 n. 24, 145 n. 124; 1.29.12: 110, 123, 124 n. 47, 127, 130 n. 67, 132 n. 74; 296 Index of Ancient Sources! 1.29.13: 117 n. 124, 120 n. 36, 123 n. 44, 143 n. 119, 144, 152 and n. 151; 1.38.8: 115 n. 19; 1.43.8: 119 n. 32, 123 Paus. 7.16.4-6: 150 n. 145 Paus. 10.3.1-3: 261 n. 22, 277 Pherecyd. FGrHist. 3 F 151: 36 Philist. FGrHist. 556 F 53: 109, 111 n. 4, 123, 127 Philoch. FGrHist. 328 F 67: 54 and n. 67; 105-106: 42 n. 38; 135: 272!! Phot. [D.] 4 91 a40-b17 and b 22ss: 268 n. 46 Pind. fr. 77 Snell-Maehler: 89 n. 53 Pl. Grg. 520a: 193 n. 41 Pl. La. 197d: 193 n. 41 Pl. Men. 91c: 193 n. 41 Pl. Mx. 234c-235c: 141; 235b-c: 150 n. 143; 236b: 150 n. 143; 236d-249c: 138 n. 98; 239a-b: 220 n. 26; 240d-e: 220 n. 27; 240e: 148 n. 135; 241c-d: 148 n. 135; 242a-243d: 235 n. 85; 242a-b: 148 n. 135; 242a246a: 146 n. 128; 242e-243a: 147 and n. 132, 236 n. 87; 243a: 149 n. 139, 153; 243c-d: 149 n. 142, 236 n. 88; 243d: 146 n. 129; 244c: 146 n. 129; 244d-e: 148 n. 135; 246a-b: 150 n. 143; 246b-c: 220 n. 28; 248e: 220 n. 29 Pl. Phdr. 229d: 33 n. 11 Plu. Ages. 16.4: 177 Plu. Dem. 15.3: 268 n. 46 Plu. Nic. 17.4 (= Eurip. T 92 Kannicht: 117 n. 24; 120 n. 36; 151 and nn. 146, 148 and 149; 153; 157; 21.11: 145 n. 125; 24.3: 124 n. 47; 28.5: 124 n. 47 Plu. Thes. 26.1: 36; 27.2: 34 and n. 16; 27.2-5: 34 n. 15; 28.1: 36 Polyaen. 4.2.22: 259 n. 9 RO 88: 226 n. 48 Schol. Aeschin. 2.175.392: 178 n. 20 Th. 1.20.1: 129; 1.23.6: 148 n. 134; 1.73.2: 129; 1.89.3: 80 n. 27; 1.90.3: 80 n. 27; 1.144.4: 225 n. 47 Th. 2.34: 113, 218 n. 15; 2.34.1: 113 n. 10; 2.34.3: 146; 2.34.6: 138, 141; 2.34.7: 113 n. 10; 2.35-46: 138 n. 98; 2.36.1-3: 219 n. 21; 2.36.4: 146 n. 128; 2.47.1: 113 n. 10; 2.65.11: 149 n. 139; Th. 2.38.1: 201 n. 50; 2.40.1: 201 n. 50; 2.41.1: 201 n. 50; 2.62.3-63.1: 226 n. 49 Th. 3.86: 236 n. 87; 3.86.3-4: 148 n. 134; 3.88: 236 n. 87; 3.90: 236 n. 87; 3.99: 236 n. 87; 3.103: 236 n. 87; 3.115: 236 n. 87 Th. 4.1: 236 n. 87; 4.2: 236 n. 87; 4.24: 236 n. 87; 4.25: 236 n. 87; Th. 4.28.1: 129 n. 71; 4.65: 236 n. 87 Th. 5.16.1: 129 n. 71, 130 n. 66 Th. 6.1.1: 148 n. 134; 6.6.1: 148 n. 134, 235 n. 86; 6.6.2: 148 n. 134; 6.9.2: 129 n. 71; 6.15.2: 148 n. 134; 6.23.3: Index of Ancient Sources! 129 n. 71; 6.33.2: 148 n. 134; 6.61: 126; 6.70.3: 149 n. 140, 152 n. 151; 6.94.2: 149 n. 140, 152 n. 151; 6.97.5: 149 n. 140, 152 n. 151; 6.98.4: 149 n. 140, 152 n. 151; 6.100.3: 149 n. 140, 152 n. 151; 6.101.6: 132 n. 73; 6.103: 127; 6.103.1: 149 n. 140, 152 n. 151; 6.104.3: 129 n. 65 Th. 7.1.2: 129 n. 65; 7.5.3: 149 n. 140, 152 n. 151; 7.14.2: 154 n. 154; 7.16.2: 149 n. 139; 7.23.4: 149 n. 140, 152 n. 151; 7.42.1: 149 n. 139; 7.42.3: 129 n. 71, 130 n. 65; 7.45.1: 145 n. 125; 7.47-49: 12 n. 56; 7.48.3-4: 129 n. 71; 7.52.2: 124 n. 47; 7.77.2: 128 297 n. 60; 7.85.1: 127; 7.85.3: 120 n. 38; 7.86.2: 124 n. 47; 7.86.3: 128 n. 60; 7.86.5: 112, 128 and n. 60; 7.87: 119; 7.87.4: 120 n. 38 Th. 8.1.1: 126; 8.1.1-2: 126; 8.5: 121 and n. 39; 8.24-25: 119, 121; 8.25: 119 n. 31; 8.60: 121 and n. 39; 8.67.2: 177 n. 17; 8.95: 119, 121 TrFG 5, 92 Kannicht: 123 n. 44; 144 nn. 121 and 122; 152 n. 151 Val. Max. 5.3: 33 n. 11 X. An. II 6, 6: 73 n. 11 X. HG 4.2.14–23: 177 ! ! GENERAL INDEX Acropolis 11-13, 27-30, 31 n. 6, 32 n. 16 and n. 17, 35-53, 5557, 78-83, 142, 232 Acropolis (destruction of) 12, 28, 30, 37-38, 40-44, 52, 56 n. 71, 79-80 advantage (issues of) 154 n. 153, 217, 225, 228-230, 239-245, 275 Aeschines 17-19, 142, 148 n. 136, 177, 180-186, 189-195, 214215, 218, 224-225, 227, 229244, 257-258, 260-268, 270279 Aeschylus 33, 34 n. 16, 36, 79, 91 Aglauros (cave of) 29, 37-43, 51, 57 Agora of Athens (Ceramicus) 10, 38 n. 28, 78, 82, 85-86, 110, 113, 176 Areopagus 29-30, 32-37, 42-43, 51, 55 assembly 17-19, 125, 133, 135, 141-142, 154 n. 154, 156, 177, 178 n. 19, 180, 182, 194, 200, 214-218, 222, 225-226, 229-231, 233-237, 239-244, 257, 259 n. 14, 260-266, 268, 270-273, 278 Athena Polias (Temple of) 45-49, 53 n. 66, 54, 82, 84 Athena Promachos 83-84 Athenaion 81-82 casualty lists 13, 85-88, 111, 114116, 120, 122, 124-125, 143 n. 118, 144-145, 155, 181 ! common knowledge (of the orators’ audience) 176, 192, 196, 233 competing memories 17, 279 cultural expectations 15-18, 134 n. 79, 154 n. 154, 172, 174187, 189, 192-203, 273 damnatio memoriae 110, 111 n. 4, 124 n. 48, 125, 128, 130, 132, 154, 156 Delian League 84, 260 Delphi 31, 52 n. 64, 262, 270, 271 Demosthenes 17-19, 110-111, 118 n. 24, 120 n. 36, 123-124, 127-128, 130-135, 138, 140, 143-144, 146, 152, 154-157, 177, 179-185, 187-189, 191, 193-195, 197-199, 214, 221, 223-224, 226-231, 233-235, 241-242, 256-267, 270-279 discursive parameters 17, 142 n. 114, 215-216, 218-220, 222226, 229, 234-236, 239, 243244 Erechtheion 29, 31 n. 6, 42 n. 41, 45 n. 46, 46, 47 n. 53, 52-54 euthynai 19, 214, 230, 266-267 exemplum for the future 10 expectations of the future 7-8, 1112, 15-17, 19, 27, 29 fear of the future 16, 19, 276, 277 n. 67, 279 funeral epigrams 114, 120 n. 36, 144 n. 121, 150 n. 145, 151 futures past/vergangene Zukunft 11 n. 5, 18 300 General index hegemonic discourse (see also hegemonic ideology) 138 n. 96, 140 hegemonic ideology (see also hegemonic discourse) 140 Herodotus 10, 12, 28-31, 36-38, 40-57, 75 n. 15, 79, 82, 83 n. 35, 178-179 hybris 51 n. 62, 79, 238, 240 ideology 17, 75 n. 15, 82, 90, 140, 182 n. 25, 215-219, 222, 225, 234-236, 239 imagined community 75, 216, 219, 222, 235, 239, 243 justice 217, 222-224, 236, 238, 243-244 law courts 17-19, 141-142, 200, 202, 216-217, 222-224, 243, 244, 262-263, 266-268, 270, 272, 275 logos epitaphios (see also state funerals and public funeral oration) 87, 89 n. 54, 114, 137-138, 216-218, 219 n. 22, 221-222, 233-235, 243-244 Lycurgus 179, 186-187, 223 n. 37 mnemotopes 13, 29-30, 32, 34, 37-38, 42 n. 39, 51, 54-57 modes of remembering 18, 191 monumental landscape 12-13, 79, 81, 83, 89, 218 n. 18 Nicias 13, 110-113, 115, 117, 122-137, 139, 143, 151, 154158 Older Parthenon 31 n. 6, 48-50, 81-82 Peloponnesian War 75, 77, 91, 126, 138, 140, 148 n. 134, 177, 178, 214, 222, 233, 235237, 239, 243-244 Parapresbeia 230, 256-257, 261264, 266-267, 271-272, 278 Parthenon 31, 34-35, 45-50 ! Pausanias (author of the Periegesis) 13, 34 n. 15, 35 n. 21, 54, 81, 110-113, 117-119, 121-128, 131-132, 143-144, 149, 152, 155-156, 277 Pericles 45, 88 n. 50, 129, 134, 138, 146 n. 128, 150 n. 143, 154, 201 n. 50, 219, 225, 226, 236 n. 88 Persian Wars 27-28, 40, 43, 52, 75 n. 15, 78, 84, 89 n. 53, 138-140, 142, 144, 146, 222, 234, 235 n. 83, 237 Philip II 141 n. 108, 142, 214, 226-227, 229-230, 232, 234, 239, 256-258, 260-263, 265, 267, 270-271, 274-278 Philocrates 19, 229, 230-231, 257, 258, 260-261, 263-265, 270273, 276, 278 Philocrates (peace of) 18-19, 142, 214, 230-231, 255-279 philonikia 18, 214, 132, 240 Phocian clause 18, 19, 256-258, 264, 269-273, 275, 278 Phocians 18-19, 230, 256-279 Phrynichus 80, 91 n. 60 plotting the future 14-17, 19 plupast 17 public discourse 11-13, 75, 77 n. 20 and n. 21, 88 n. 50, 111, 134-135, 139, 214-215, 217, 229, 234, 239, 242-244 public funeral oration (see also logos epitaphios) 87, 89, 110, 114, 137, 157, 172, 176, Sacred War (‘Third’) 230, 256, 258, 261 Sicilian Expedition 13, 18, 110111, 117 n. 20, 120-121, 126128, 135, 141, 143, 146, 147, 148 n. 134 and n. 136, 149 n. 140, 150, 152-158, 214, 233237, 239-240 General index social memory 7, 11-13, 112, 135-137, 138 n. 96, 172, 173 n. 6, 202 n. 52, 203, 214-215, 233 n. 75, 234 state funerals (see also logos epitaphios) 138, 145, 216220, 222, 229, 231, 235-236, 238, 239 n. 96, 243-244 Thucydides 13, 111-114, 119121, 126-133, 135, 138, 145 n. 125, 147 n. 133, 148-149, 155-156, 219, 225-226 Timarchus 181, 195-196, 224, 225, 230, 262, 266, 267 n. 40, tragic catharsis 91-92 ! 301 war dead 9, 75-76, 78, 84-90, 113-114, 117, 119, 122, 132, 136, 138, 140 n. 108, 143, 145-146, 152-153, 155, 157, 216-218 war memorials 78-83, 87, 114, 121 n. 39, 122 n. 41, 132, 144, 145 n. 124, 152, 155-156 war orphans 76, 77 n. 18, 86 n. 46, 90, 91 n. 58 war trauma 13,69-73, 77-78, 80, 89, 91-92, 239 Xerxes 12, 28-30, 40 n. 34, 48-49, 51-53, 55-56, 139 n. 101 ! ! As our two previous volumes of the same series (Forme della memoria e dinamiche identitarie nell'antichità greco-romana, 2012, and Guerra e memoria, 2015), this book originated in the intellectually stimulating environment of the LabSA (Laboratorio di Storia Antica) at the Department of Humanities of the University of Trento. While the relationship between the memory of the past and present needs was at the core of our two preceding volumes, this book aims at exploring the relations of the past with future perspectives and expectations, while the milieu where social memories were contested and the aftermath of such conflicts are still very much at the center of our endeavor. The essays featured in this volume, all dealing with Classical Athens, explore different aspects of the relationship between the past and the future, which can be variously traced within the Athenian civic community in a context of conflict and/or its aftermath. By combining a traditional focus on the ancient evidence with a memory studies approach, all of the contributors try to answer the same question: how were collective memories of the past influenced by present needs and future perspectives and expectations? And how does a specific image of the past in turn influence its future receptions and uses? While not aimed at a comprehensive treatment, this volume strives to show the way towards further investigation of this intriguing subject through a series of case studies. ELENA FRANCHI is reader in Greek History at the Department of Humanities of the University of Trento (2008-2014; 2015-). She received her PhD at the University of Genova (2008). She was a Von Humboldt fellow at the University of Freiburg i. B. (2011-2013). In 2017 she received the “abilitazione nazionale” as Associate Professor. Her latest publication is entitled Die Konflikte zwischen Thessalern und Phokern. Krieg und Identität in der griechischen Erinnerungskultur des 4. Jahrhunderts (Munich 2016). GIORGIA PROIETTI is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow in Greek History at the Department of Humanities of the University of Trento, where she also teaches first and second level MA courses. She has studied in Athens and London, and published several articles on national and international journals. She is currently working on her first monograph, Le Guerre Persiane prima di Erodoto, stemming from her PhD thesis (Trento 2014). ! 12,00