Although long considered the most significant architectural project of Classical Athens, the Periklean building program still has much to reveal. In questioning modern conventions of viewing and representing buildings on the Acropolis, Framing Victory: Salamis, the Athenian Acropolis, and the Agora reappraises how victory monuments were observed and perceived in the fifth century BCE. Samantha L. Martin-McAuliffe and John K. Papadopoulos show that the Mnesiklean Propylaia, the ceremonial gateway into the sanctuary on the Acropolis, is also a monumental exit that frames Salamis, the location of a watershed event in the history and topography of Athens—the defeat of the Persian armada in 480 BCE. Instead of seeing the Propylaia as an anomaly, the authors argue that it was instrumental to a new tradition of using architecture to orchestrate sightlines between monuments across the city. Buildings on the Acropolis worked in tandem with the stoas in the heart of Athens, the Classical Agora, to create a ritual topography that showcased Athenian heroism and triumph. This analysis thus widens the canonical perspective of the Periklean program, proposing for the first time that it extended to and incorporated the Classical Agora.

During the nineteenth century, the emergence of photography not only revolutionized the documentation of ancient architecture, it also ultimately influenced the ways that monuments are viewed, represented, and perceived.1 In addition to creating images of exceptional clarity and detail, the photographic process made ancient sites accessible to an ever-widening audience. Greece was at the center of this dramatic change, and the remains of its Classical past were some of the first subjects of travel photographers. Yet, while these practitioners employed groundbreaking technologies, they did not necessarily challenge pictorial custom. As James Ackerman has warned, “modes of representation are not significantly altered when new techniques [of architectural photography] are discovered, but perpetuate preexisting conventions.”2 This was very much the case in Greece, where early photographers followed, and even encouraged, those ways of representing buildings that had been established by draftsmen and artists centuries earlier. The particular situation in Athens was even more complex, for the arrival of photography coincided with the rapid expansion of archaeological research as well as a sea change in politics. As such, representations of Classical architecture in Athens during this period must always be understood as paradoxical views, as documents that straddle tradition and transformation. These early photographs were subjective commentaries that set the tone for how Athenian monuments, especially those on the Acropolis, would be received by generations to come. It is this frame of reference that provides the starting point of this study.

In 1870 Petros Moraites photographed the Temple of Athena Parthenos—the Virgin—as part of a series of images that documented the ancient sites of Athens (Figure 1). Taken from the northwest, it shows the Parthenon at an oblique angle, centered in the middle of the frame. Moraites enlivened the image by populating it with two loosely arranged groups of figures, one on the stylobate of the temple and the other in the foreground, immediately to the left of the footpath. The latter consists of just two people, and each stands in opposite directions; the individual on the left looks toward the temple, while the figure at the right—the closest to the viewer—faces the camera. This is a classic image of the Parthenon, one that is instantly familiar to scholars and tourists alike. Yet it is important to acknowledge that while Moraites’s photograph is remarkable for its early date, it is not an unprecedented, much less definitive, study of the Parthenon. While some scholars will identify the photograph as a work by Moraites, countless individuals will recognize the image precisely because it looks like so many other representations of the temple. And this is exactly the point: the view presented by Moraites is typical and timeless, so much so that it differs little from photographs taken over a century later. A case in point is Martin Parr’s photograph of the Acropolis from 1991 (Figure 2), which is included in his series Small World.3 Parr used color film and wittily captured another photographer, who is himself taking a snapshot of tourists posing dutifully before the Parthenon. Apart from these variations, however, the image very much belongs to a pre-twentieth century point of view.

Figure 1

Petros Moraites, the Parthenon “liberated,” 1870. Albumen silver print (J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 85.XM.368.1)

Figure 1

Petros Moraites, the Parthenon “liberated,” 1870. Albumen silver print (J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 85.XM.368.1)

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Figure 2

Martin Parr, Athens, Acropolis, 1991, from the series Small World: A Global Project (Martin Parr, Small World [Stockport, England: Dewi Lewis Publishing, rev. ed., 2007, cover. © Martin Parr / Magnum Photos)

Figure 2

Martin Parr, Athens, Acropolis, 1991, from the series Small World: A Global Project (Martin Parr, Small World [Stockport, England: Dewi Lewis Publishing, rev. ed., 2007, cover. © Martin Parr / Magnum Photos)

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In both of these photographs, there is much more than meets the eye. By capturing a hackneyed, touristic pose, Parr’s image lays bare the mass commoditization and packaging of historic landmarks in the late twentieth century while it confirms the persistence of this particular point of view. Likewise, the scene presented by Moraites reveals a great deal about the political and cultural climate in Greece during the second half of the nineteenth century: it shows nothing less than profound change. Having won independence in 1832, Greece witnessed a surge in patriotism and the process of nation-building collided in a remarkable way with archaeology and European ideals.4 On account of archaeological interventions in the decades following independence, virtually no trace survives today of numerous substantial post-antique structures that were standing intact on the Acropolis less than two hundred years ago. Several centuries of use and occupation were subsequently swept away, lost from human view.5 From this perspective, the Parthenon was the edifice on the citadel that was truly liberated, over the course of the nineteenth century, from the Byzantine, Frankish, and Ottoman “clutter” all around it. Although this process was part of an official policy of the new Greek state that aimed to bring the Classical Acropolis back to life, it nonetheless was defined by the neoclassical sensitivities of the archaeologists of the day.

In effect, Petros Moraites captured in one photograph a convergence of ancient and contemporary Greece. Looming large and solitary in the center of the frame, the Parthenon looks as though it is a scientific specimen on a microscope slide, an exemplary Classical building purified and presented for close observation. The scale of the temple also dwarfs the figures present in the scene. These individuals are primarily gentlemen in European attire, however there is a solitary “Hellene” in traditional costume in the foreground, and, as if to remind us that Greece was now a Christian land, a Greek Orthodox priest in full garb stands near the northwest corner of the stylobate. Here was a quintessential neoclassical vision of antiquity depicted, an antiquity revitalized by archaeology.6

Moraites’s depiction of the Parthenon is not unparalleled. Indeed, it has precedence in other photographic images, as well as a number of engravings and drawings. An important forerunner is an engraving, dating to 1842, by Frédéric Martens after an 1839 daguerreotype by Pierre-Gustave Joly de Lotbinière (Figure 3).7 Both images share a ready correspondence in composition, but in the engraving a mosque can be seen standing within the cella of the Parthenon. Constructed during the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century, the mosque was used as a museum during the clearing of the Acropolis; it was demolished in the early 1840s, just a few years after de Lotbinière created his daguerreotype. Apart from documenting a feature of the Acropolis that no longer survives, this image is especially significant within the context of architectural history because it is most likely the first photograph of the Parthenon.8 The chosen composition therefore could be understood as a kind of guideline for photographic practice. As Andrew Szegedy-Maszak has elaborated, it “establishes the paradigm for most subsequent views of the temple. The point of view is the west end, including the north colonnade, and so replicates the first glimpse seen by a visitor who has just passed through the Propylaia.”9 Yet while de Lotbinière conditioned the approach of later photographers, he himself was already following a mode of viewing the Acropolis that had been established centuries earlier.

Figure 3

The Parthenon. Engraving by Frédéric Martens,1842 after daguerreotype of 1839 by Pierre-Gustave Joly de Lotbinière (from Noël-Marie-Paymal Lerebours, Excursions daguerriennes: Vues et monuments les plus remarquables du globe [Paris, 1842], pl. 24. J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 84.XB.1187.24)

Figure 3

The Parthenon. Engraving by Frédéric Martens,1842 after daguerreotype of 1839 by Pierre-Gustave Joly de Lotbinière (from Noël-Marie-Paymal Lerebours, Excursions daguerriennes: Vues et monuments les plus remarquables du globe [Paris, 1842], pl. 24. J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 84.XB.1187.24)

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From as early as the fifteenth century, humanist antiquarians were producing visual records of their travels to Greece. Such travelers were committed to documenting, as well as interpreting, the remains of the Classical past. Ciriaco d’Ancona’s rendering of the Parthenon, dating to about 1436, is the earliest known extant illustration of the temple (Figure 4).10 Although the drawing contains many inaccuracies, it nevertheless stands as a document of tremendous significance. After the fall of Constantinople in 1453 and the Ottoman conquest of Greece a few years later, Athens, and especially the Acropolis, became virtually inaccessible to Westerners.11 This political situation meant that Ciriaco’s sketch unintentionally became a benchmark for studies of the Parthenon, including those by Giuliano da Sangallo.12 It not only offered a visual introduction to the monument, it also effectively served as an authoritative source for information that was otherwise unobtainable at the time.

Figure 4

Ciriaco d’Ancona, west façade of the Parthenon, ca. 1436 (MS Hamilton 254, fol. 85r, Berlin, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Handschriftenabteilung, Art Resource, New York)

Figure 4

Ciriaco d’Ancona, west façade of the Parthenon, ca. 1436 (MS Hamilton 254, fol. 85r, Berlin, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Handschriftenabteilung, Art Resource, New York)

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Nearly two centuries following Ciriaco, another traveler, the doctor and antiquarian Jacob Spon of Lyon, received permission from the Ottoman authorities to visit the Acropolis and he subsequently published a three- dimensional drawing of the Parthenon (Figure 5).13 Spon was one of the last western Europeans to have seen the Acropolis and the Parthenon before Francesco Morosini’s bombardment of the citadel on September 26, 1687, which left the Parthenon a fragmented shell of its former state.14 His illustration is also imprecise, particularly in its representation of intercolumniation, yet it shares with Ciriaco’s drawing other characteristics that deserve further reflection. For instance, both renderings depict the Parthenon in splendid isolation, divorced from the buildings that surrounded it as well as from the hill on which it stands. As we have already shown, this became—and remains—a popular formula in the representation of the building.15 Beyond this, Ciriaco and Spon also chose to show the temple from the west. Szegedy-Maszak’s explanation for this viewpoint with respect to the daguerreotype by de Lotbinière is most likely also valid for the earlier drawings. After all, the western side of the Parthenon is the first portion of the edifice that comes into view when one enters the sanctuary through the Mnesiklean Propylaia and climbs onto the rock of the Acropolis. Therefore, Ciriaco and Spon did not coincidentally choose a similar vantage point, but instead responded to the temple just as any other enthusiastic and curious visitor would—by capturing the first sight of it. Their images were not only establishing a pattern, but also an expressly modern point of view that would have far-reaching consequences.

Figure 5

Jacob Spon, The Parthenon (from Jacob Spon, Voyage d’Italie, de Dalmatie, de Grèce et du Levant, fait aux années 1675 et 1676 [Lyon: Antoine Cellier le fils, 1678], vol. 2, facing 188)

Figure 5

Jacob Spon, The Parthenon (from Jacob Spon, Voyage d’Italie, de Dalmatie, de Grèce et du Levant, fait aux années 1675 et 1676 [Lyon: Antoine Cellier le fils, 1678], vol. 2, facing 188)

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When Petros Moraites set up his camera on the Acropolis in 1870, he could not have foreseen how his photograph of the Parthenon would be understood and appreciated by later generations. Ultimately, the view he presented has become a metonymic representation not only of ancient Greece, but of contemporary Greece as well.16 By extension, such images have also been used metaphorically to convey abstract notions of tradition, craftsmanship, and elegance, even for things that bear little or no relation to the building itself.17 The exceptionally wide visual currency of the temple signifies that it is instantly recognizable and emblematic to a broad and diverse audience. This situation, however, poses a serious dilemma not only for the study of the Parthenon, but also for other monuments on the citadel: In general, more time is spent studying surrogate representations of the Parthenon than considering the actual temple; the depictions overtake the subject. Ralph Lieberman has stressed this issue in his examination of the relationship between art history and photography, yet the matter continues to evade notice within scholarship pertaining to Classical Athenian topography.18

The degree to which pictorial convention persisted in the wake of considerable technological innovation during the nineteenth century cannot be overestimated. Even a cursory glance at the corpus of images of the Athenian Acropolis at this time reveals how photographers conformed to a predictable typology of vantage points. Whether from the northwest (see Figures 1, 2 and 3), from more or less due west, or the southwest (Figure 6), it is the west side of the Parthenon that determines and defines the preferred views.19 There are, to be sure, exceptions, but many of these had to be taken from further away and preferably from high ground. These early prints are highly valued as historical documents and accounts in their own right; however, their temporal distance often leads us to overlook their enduring authority. Put categorically, these photographs do not merely exemplify representations of the Acropolis that were preferred within a specific window of time; they are precedents of views that still prevail today. This is largely due to the fact that the first photographers in Athens were responsible for producing the compendium of images that underpinned and eventually shaped the field of architectural history.20 The compositional choices these practitioners made reflected nineteenth-century perspectives, but importantly, they also conditioned the way future generations of scholars would approach and observe the Acropolis. In effect, they established a formulaic way of looking at the citadel in the modern period, one that frequently overrides personal experience. An example of this situation within a different context is provided by Lieberman: “If we try to conjure up a picture of the Seagram Building or the Lever House, the chances are that we will see them in our minds as they appear in one of the standard photographs rather than as we actually experience tall buildings when walking along Park Avenue.”21 Arguably, we ourselves are still looking at the Acropolis through nineteenth-century eyes, and this has other ramifications that are not immediately apparent. The particular problem lies in the way that we perceive not only the Parthenon, but also most buildings of the Acropolis. Although photographs have the capacity to show a great deal of information, they also sometimes preclude us from seeing other things. More specifically, foregrounding certain points of view can lead to a nearsightedness, a disregard for other perspectives.

Figure 6

Demetrios Constantin, Athenian Acropolis and south slope from the southwest, ca. 1860–65. Albumen silver print (J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 84.XM.366.2)

Figure 6

Demetrios Constantin, Athenian Acropolis and south slope from the southwest, ca. 1860–65. Albumen silver print (J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 84.XM.366.2)

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With so much emphasis placed on the western elevation of the Parthenon, is it no surprise that it is also the west side of the Great Propylaia that is most often illustrated and discussed (Figure 7). As the monumental ceremonial gateway to the Acropolis, this structure frames the entrance to the citadel and sanctuary of Athena. Significantly, it was also the primary approach for all visitors in antiquity, as it is today. That the Propylaia is one of the most iconic buildings of ancient Athens and of Greek architecture in general is an understatement. Designed by the architect Mnesikles, and constructed from Pentelic marble between 437 and 432 BCE, the name refers to “gateways”—Propylaia—in the plural on account of the five doors of different sizes that pierce the cross-wall of the central hall (Figures 8, 9).22 So admired was this building that the central portion of the Mnesiklean Propylaia was copied in the second century CE by the architect of the Great Propylaia at the Sanctuary of Demeter and Persephone (Kore) at Eleusis.23

Figure 7

William James Stillman, The western façade of the Propylaia, with the Temple of Victory and the Ancient Steps, 1869 (from The Acropolis of Athens [London: F.S. Ellis,1870], plate 6. J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 84.XO.766.4.7)

Figure 7

William James Stillman, The western façade of the Propylaia, with the Temple of Victory and the Ancient Steps, 1869 (from The Acropolis of Athens [London: F.S. Ellis,1870], plate 6. J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 84.XO.766.4.7)

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Figure 8

The Athenian Acropolis and surrounding shrines and buildings in the 2nd century CE (amended drawing by Samantha Martin-McAuliffe after the original by John Travlos, from The Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens [New York: Praeger, 1971], 70–71, fig. 91)

Figure 8

The Athenian Acropolis and surrounding shrines and buildings in the 2nd century CE (amended drawing by Samantha Martin-McAuliffe after the original by John Travlos, from The Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens [New York: Praeger, 1971], 70–71, fig. 91)

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Figure 9

Plan of the Propylaia of Mnesikles, 437–432 BCE: (1) east stoa; (2) west hall; (3) north wing; (4) south wing; (5) central passage (drawing by Tasos Tanoulas)

Figure 9

Plan of the Propylaia of Mnesikles, 437–432 BCE: (1) east stoa; (2) west hall; (3) north wing; (4) south wing; (5) central passage (drawing by Tasos Tanoulas)

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Straddling as it does the boundary between the sacred precinct within and the secular space outside, the Propylaia is topographically liminal. Jeffrey Hurwit refers to it as both a termination and a prelude.24 For Hurwit, as for most scholars of Greek art and architecture, the Propylaia serves two primary functions. First of all, it provides a monumental setting for the culmination of the Panathenaic Way—and thus the ceremonial passage up to the Acropolis at the time of the festival of the Panathenaia.25 Robin Rhodes elaborates on this, contending that the western elevation of the gateway articulates the procession of the Panathenaia itself; its two pediments step upward, as if echoing the passage of people up the slope of the citadel.26 Secondly, the gateway prepares the visitor for what will be found within the sanctuary. In this latter respect, the interior of the Propylaia should be understood as more than a transitional space or geometrically defined boundary. Importantly, it serves as a “viewing prelude”—what Donald Preziosi would call a theatron.27 This particular situation is well captured in the reconstructed perspective view by Gorham Phillips Stevens (Figure 10).28 Furthermore, a reconstruction of the procession of the Great Panathenaia passing through the Propylaia is offered in a watercolor by Peter Connolly (Figure 11).29

Figure 10

Periklean entrance court, Acropolis, perspective view by Gorham Phillips Stevens (after Hesperia 5 [1936], facing 443, reproduced courtesy of the Trustees of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens)

Figure 10

Periklean entrance court, Acropolis, perspective view by Gorham Phillips Stevens (after Hesperia 5 [1936], facing 443, reproduced courtesy of the Trustees of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens)

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Figure 11

Reconstruction of the Propylaia as it may have appeared during a Panathenaic procession (watercolor by Peter Connolly, n.d., © akg-images / Peter Connolly)

Figure 11

Reconstruction of the Propylaia as it may have appeared during a Panathenaic procession (watercolor by Peter Connolly, n.d., © akg-images / Peter Connolly)

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Both perspectives—that of termination and that of viewing prelude—stress the relation of the Propylaia with the interior of the Acropolis, and there has been much discussion on the position and alignment of the Great Propylaia in relation to the Parthenon and other buildings of the Periklean building program.30 The issue is well summarized by John Camp, who begins by noting that although many Greek sanctuaries developed in a haphazard fashion,31 this was not the case with the Acropolis, and he goes on to present three connections between the Propylaia and the Parthenon that are among the easiest to appreciate: (1) The Propylaia, as laid out, was intended to be almost exactly as wide as the Parthenon is long [emphasis ours]. (2) The ratios used in the Propylaia (3:7) are almost identical to those of the Parthenon (4:9) [emphasis ours]. (3) The two buildings, though not on the same axis, are set on the same orientation.32

Most scholars agree that these and similar associations among the buildings of the Acropolis must have been part of the overall design of the entire program: a wondrous and well-conceived ensemble, supervised by the hand of Pheidias. The Classical Acropolis thus has a symmetry, a tidiness, that several scholars stress.33 Camp’s first point, however, is predicated on the Propylaia as originally conceived by Mnesikles, not the building that Mnesikles actually built. Furthermore, while close, a ratio of 3:7 is not the same as 4:9, which forms Camp’s second point. As for the third point, although the Propylaia and the Parthenon are set on the same orientation (see Figure 8), the front of the Propylaia faces west whereas the front of the Parthenon faces east.34 Crucially, while this difference is plainly evident in plan, it has been routinely disregarded in the modern period and subsequently brings to the fore the fundamental problem of viewing the Parthenon. The convention of representing this building—and indeed the Acropolis as a whole—from a western perspective has resulted in a predicament that we would like to call misguided frontality, a virtual fetish of wishing to see the back of the temple as the front. What began as a mode of recording an encounter with the citadel in the early modern period has become standard practice; the representational guideline evolved into the definitive, classic view. As a result, pictorial convention continues to take precedence on the Acropolis, even though architectural historians have long appreciated the eastern orientation of many Greek temples, including the Parthenon.35

The close relationship between the Parthenon and Propylaia is not just due to any conscious desire of Mnesikles to harmonize his gateway with the temple, but, as Hurwit notes, it has much to do with the workforce: “the workmen who had completed the architecture of the Parthenon in 438 were simply transferred to Mnesikles’s project the next year, and they brought a honed technique and a Parthenonian style with them.”36 Despite this rationale, the modern predilection for misreading the orientation of buildings still holds, and this poses serious consequences, for it ultimately prevents us from gaining a full understanding of the wider meaning and topographical context of the Periklean program.

For many modern visitors, the Parthenon has come to be the crowning pinnacle of the Periklean building program, eclipsing the Propylaia and other buildings on the Acropolis, but this was not the case earlier on. For Plutarch, who lived during the first and second centuries CE, it was the program as a whole that was important. In his Life of Perikles, he underscores this by stressing that Pheidias directed all the projects on the Acropolis and was the overseer of everything for Perikles.37 His language is clear and precise, recording the awe and astonishment that he experienced in confronting the buildings of the Acropolis that still stood intact in his day:

As the works rose, shining with grandeur and possessing an inimitable grace of form, and the workmen strove to surpass one another in the beauty of their workmanship, the rapidity with which they were executed was especially marvelous. For the projects, each of which they thought would require several successive generations to reach completion, were all being completed together in the prime of one man’s administration… . For that reason the works of Perikles are even more admired—though built in a short time they have lasted for a long time. For, in its beauty, each work was, even at that time, ancient, and yet, in its perfection, each looks even at the present time as if it were fresh and newly built. Thus there is a certain bloom of newness in each work and an appearance of being untouched by the wear of time. It is as if some ever-flowering life and unaging spirit had been infused into the creation of these works.38

Referring to a specific building, Pausanias, writing in the middle of the second century CE, describes the roof of the Mnesiklean Propylaia in the following terms: “The formal entrance has a roof of white marble, which down to my own times is still incomparable for the size and beauty of the stone.”39 The much-admired ceiling had marble coffers decorated with gold or gilded stars against a blue background, and traces are still preserved on the east cornice of unfinished, but clearly outlined floral patterns.40

The sheer magnificence of the Great Propylaia is echoed in earlier accounts of the fourth century BCE, closer in date to the time of construction. Demosthenes, for example, in describing the great monuments of Athens, twice lists the Propylaia first and the Parthenon second, while elsewhere he mentions the Propylaia without any reference to the Parthenon.41 In a similar vein, Aeschines, when urging the Athenians to recall the great achievements of their ancestors, singles out the Propylaia, not the Parthenon.42 And Cicero, citing Demetrios of Phaleron (born ca. 350 BCE), provides a critique of the sumptuousness of the Propylaia.43 Whatever later generations thought of the Periklean building program, the ancient Athenians themselves valued the Propylaia. Like all ancient monuments, the building embodies meanings and messages that are now obscured or entirely lost to us. However, it may be possible to recover aspects of the wider significance of this ceremonial gateway by reassessing its topographical situation. In the first instance, this requires a reconsideration of the relationship between the Mnesiklean Propylaia and the tangible evidence of the monument that preexisted it.

In his 1929 overview of Greek and Roman architecture, Donald Struan Robertson cogently described the unique character of the Athenian Propylaia:

The Propylaea are in some respects the most interesting and impressive to us of all the Attic works of the fifth century [BCE] … Placed in the only possible position, the western approach of the Acropolis, they completely covered the site of the older Propylaea. In essence the traditional plan was retained—a roofed porch projecting from both the outer and inner sides of a gate in a wall: but the scheme was here complicated by the addition of wings, and by the elaboration of the porches themselves. The full plans were never executed, partly through religious conservatism, which refused to sacrifice sanctuaries to mere magnificence, and partly through the financial stress of the Peloponnesian War.44

Robertson went on to provide a simplified restored and “completed” plan of the Propylaia according to Mnesikles’s supposed original scheme (Figure 12). That the building was unfinished is generally assumed on account of the lifting bosses that were never chiseled away and smoothed over, together with the protective working surfaces on the steps and floor of the building that were never removed.45 But, as Hurwit notes, the argument for religious conservatism as the cause for scaling down the architect’s original plan, like the argument of economic belt-tightening to explain the unfinished state, is not totally satisfactory.46 That Greek architects altered the designs of their buildings as construction proceeded is not uncommon, but the assumption that the Propylaia was substantially different from the building that Mnesikles had in mind when work began may be somewhat overstated. Whatever the discrepancy between the original Propylaia as conceived by Mnesikles and what was finally built, there is a certain cogency in the asymmetry that survives and can be explained.

Figure 12

The Propylaia, Athenian Acropolis, restored and completed according to the supposed original scheme (drawing by Samantha Martin-McAuliffe after Donald Robertson, Greek and Roman Architecture [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979], 119, fig. 50)

Figure 12

The Propylaia, Athenian Acropolis, restored and completed according to the supposed original scheme (drawing by Samantha Martin-McAuliffe after Donald Robertson, Greek and Roman Architecture [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979], 119, fig. 50)

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One of the primary issues lies in the impressive stretch of Mycenaean Cyclopean masonry that survives immediately south of the Propylaia (Figure 13). If the southwest and northeast wings of the Propylaia were originally perfectly symmetrical, as Robertson’s restored plan demands (see Figure 12), this impressive stretch of Cyclopean wall had to be demolished. Not only was the Mycenaean wall not touched, but the southeast corner of the southwest wing of the Mnesiklean Propylaia was also nicely “beveled to fit snugly against it.”47 This may have been one of those opportunities—or problems—that arose as construction proceeded, but the curtailed plan of the Propylaia as seen in Figure 9 is a far cry from the supposed plan in Figure 12.

Figure 13

Stretch of Mycenaean wall adjacent to the Mnesiklean Propylaia, with the southeast corner of the southwest wing of the Propylaia abutting it, with lifting bosses visible (photo by Tasos Tanoulas)

Figure 13

Stretch of Mycenaean wall adjacent to the Mnesiklean Propylaia, with the southeast corner of the southwest wing of the Propylaia abutting it, with lifting bosses visible (photo by Tasos Tanoulas)

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Although other parts of the Mycenaean wall may have been torn down or covered over in the Periklean building program, the siting of this particular stretch of wall does not seem to be accidental.48 A comparison of the restored circuit of the Mycenaean wall encircling the Acropolis, together with the Pelargikon wall fortifying the lower ground immediately to the northwest, west, and southwest of the Acropolis, which aimed to secure available water supply, with the surviving stretch of the Mycenaean wall visible in Figure 8, suggests an underlying intentionality.49 Rhodes has developed this idea even further, suggesting that Mnesikles preserved this remnant of the wall as a way of acknowledging the antiquity of the Acropolis.50 Furthermore, Harrison Eiteljorg reminds us that the Athenian Acropolis was remarkable in neither size nor grandeur prior to the Periklean building program.51 In his study of the west end of the citadel, he also points out how “Mycenaean” the Acropolis was in its appearance as late as the first half of the fifth century BCE.52 In the words of Hurwit, “there is no question that the massive Cyclopean wall of the citadel survived the end of the [Mycenaean] era more or less intact, and that it would have been the most formidable and striking feature of the Acropolis throughout the Dark Age (and beyond)—a colossal and still very functional relic.”53

Indeed, there is good evidence to suggest that the Mycenaean fortifications of the Acropolis and the Pelargikon were still viable defensive systems in the fifth century BCE; functional and formidable, yet hardly relics.54 So much so, that it is now clear that there is no archaeological evidence for the existence of an Archaic peribolos wall surrounding Athens other than the Mycenaean fortifications of the Acropolis.55 In addition, the literary testimonia that have been mustered for the existence of such a wall do not stand up to closer scrutiny, and the existence of an Archaic peribolos other than the Mycenaean walls makes no sense in terms of defensive principles.56 As one of the authors have argued elsewhere, the wall the Persians breached in their sack of Athens in 480 BCE was the Mycenaean circuit wall surrounding the rock of the Acropolis together with the distinctly separate wall that the Athenians knew as the Pelargikon.57 These walls, first built in the Mycenaean period, continued to serve through the Archaic period until 479 BCE, when work was begun on the Themistoklean Wall.58

Consequently, what stood of the Mycenaean circuit after the Periklean building program was not an afterthought, nor was it an architectural nuisance hidden from view, as it is often presented. As Preziosi notes, the “commonly accepted explanation for this truncation [of the Mnesiklean Propylaia] is the existence of a piece of the old Mycenaean fortification wall on the south side that, for reasons not fully understood, could not be taken down to make way for Mnesikles’s supposedly full plan.”59 The intimate relationship between the Mnesiklean Propylaia and the surviving stretch of Mycenaean wall visible in Figure 13 is blatant, and it is no accident that the front of the little Temple of Athena Nike looks toward this same stretch of Mycenaean wall. On Figure 14 the area covered by the Temple of Athena Nike (labeled 1), and the Poros Naiskos (labeled 2) is located immediately beneath, and inside it is Base A (labeled 3); the altar of the Temple of Athena Nike (labeled 4) directly faces the preserved stretch of Cyclopean wall.60Figure 14 also shows the remnants of the Old Propylon, the predecessor of the Mnesiklean Propylaia (labeled 5) and its relationship to the Mycenaean wall; both the Old Propylon and its Classical successor were intimately related to the same stretch of Cyclopean wall. Moreover, the orientation of the Mnesiklean Propylaia is completely different, set almost 45 degrees to its precursor. But if the Mycenaean wall was the Archaic fortification of Athens—as it seems reasonable to assume—it served not only as a memorial of the Heroic past, but also the immediate past of the Athenians.61 This remnant of the prehistoric wall was consciously incorporated as a war memorial into the fabric of the design of the Mnesiklean Propylaia, as it was into the design of the entire Periklean building program. But this was, as we shall see, far from being the only war memorial on the Acropolis.

Figure 14

John Travlos’s restoration of the Mycenaean gateway (shown in broken lines), in relation to the Propylaia, the Shrine of Athena Nike, and the preserved stretch of the Mycenaean wall. (1) footprint of Athena Nike; (2) the Poros Naiskos; (3) Base A; (4) the altar of the Temple of Athena Nike; (5) corner of the Old Propylon (amended drawing by Samantha Martin-McAuliffe after the original by John Travlos, The Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens [New York: Praeger, 1971], 150, fig. 200)

Figure 14

John Travlos’s restoration of the Mycenaean gateway (shown in broken lines), in relation to the Propylaia, the Shrine of Athena Nike, and the preserved stretch of the Mycenaean wall. (1) footprint of Athena Nike; (2) the Poros Naiskos; (3) Base A; (4) the altar of the Temple of Athena Nike; (5) corner of the Old Propylon (amended drawing by Samantha Martin-McAuliffe after the original by John Travlos, The Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens [New York: Praeger, 1971], 150, fig. 200)

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The predominant modern interpretation of the Propylaia has remained one of termination and prelude. Yet, in contrast to the Parthenon, which has a clear front (a curtailed pronaos and the main cella, which housed the chryselephantine statue of Athena Parthenos) and back (the opisthodomos), the Propylaia is an opening that served both as entrance and exit. It is this dual aspect of the Propylaia that has featured surprisingly little in the modern literature. The importance of the Propylaia as an exit is, however, brought to the fore in a remarkable carbon print, dating to 1890, but from an earlier negative, by Braun, Clément et Cie, a French firm active 1877–1928 (Figure 15).

Figure 15

Braun, Clément et Cie, the Propylaia, Athens, 1890. Carbon print from an earlier negative (J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 87.XM.99.5)

Figure 15

Braun, Clément et Cie, the Propylaia, Athens, 1890. Carbon print from an earlier negative (J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles 87.XM.99.5)

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The firm was founded by Adolphe Braun (1812–1877), a textile designer who began by using photographs of plants in his fabric designs. Sometime after 1853, he produced an album of views of his native Alsace; later, by employing other photographers, he published views of Switzerland, Austria, Belgium, and France.62 The studio he established in Paris was able to produce large, durable, rich, and very detailed prints through the carbon printing process. In addition to large-scale works of art from various European collections, the company had amassed a sizable inventory of drawings, paintings, and sculpture, as well as views of European cities and Classical sites. The massive scale and the clarity of these reproductions were so good that they were frequently sold to educational institutions and museums. As the firm expanded, it commissioned stereoscopic views of tourist destinations and added new, even larger-scale prints.63 The company was successful because of the burgeoning tourist trade, and many of the large-scale prints featured “must-see” sites. Although many of the views were conventionally touristic in nature—like the romantic views of the Giza plateau in Egypt with the pyramids in the distance, or the Roman forum—others, like that of the passageway of the Propylaia, were far from conventional.64

The clarity of the classic Braun view of the Propylaia can only be described as stunning; the photograph is massive (77.5 × 61 cm). As with many Braun views, there is a figure providing scale, in this case a short-skirted guardian who leans against a pillar. However, rather than adopting the standard viewpoint toward the Parthenon, Braun’s image captures a symmetrical view through the Propylaia and away from the Acropolis. In the center, at a distance, is a sliver of the Saronic Gulf, glimmering below the mountains of “Divine Salamis.”65

Just as it forms the ceremonial gateway into the Athenian Acropolis, the monumental passageway out of the citadel provides every visitor a reminder of what was a watershed event in the history and topography of Athens: the defeat of the Persian armada in the Battle of Salamis on a late September day in 480 BCE.66 A fundamental change in Athenian topography was brought about in the aftermath of the Persian sack. Having twice defeated the might of the Persian military machine—once at Marathon by land in 490 BCE, and again at Salamis a decade later, by sea—virtually single-handedly and in their own territory, the Athenians did much more than come of age. They emerged as a major power, ready to take on the Spartans—and all of the Peloponnesians for that matter—on their own terms, ready to dispel the Persians from Europe (as they did in the later Battle of Eurymedon in 466), ready to embark on an empire, and ready to provide their city with an architectural presence that would ensure its perpetual visibility. In the period immediately following Salamis, the social, political, and architectural reforms of Kimon and Perikles irrevocably transformed the landscape of central Athens, sweeping away much that went before.

In 480 BCE Athens was essentially an unfortified city, relying on the Mycenaean wall around the Acropolis built almost a millennium earlier, which enclosed an area that could not accommodate, let alone protect, its population.67 After the Battle of Plataia in 479 BCE, Themistokles inspired the Athenians to construct a new city wall, which was completed in record time; at the same time, he also persuaded the Athenians to complete the fortification of the Piraeus.68 The development of the Piraeus as the main harbor of Athens has been linked with the archonship of Themistokles in 493/2 BCE, but it was precipitated and brought into fruition by the realities of the Persian attack after 480 BCE.69 The completion of the two Long Walls (ta makra teiche)—that is, the Phaleric and the North Long Walls that linked Athens with the Piraeus—occurred under Kimon, and the plan protected not only the passage to the new harbor of the Piraeus, but also the old harbor at Phaleron.70 Slightly later, in 445 BCE, the so-called South Wall (or Middle Wall) was built between the Phaleric and North Walls, largely on the advice of Perikles (Figure 16).71 The topographic and architectural ramifications of this change of primary harbor from Phaleron to the Piraeus for the city of Athens were profound.72 Moreover, the incorporation of the new harbor at Piraeus within the overall fortification scheme expanded—both physically and conceptually—the city of Athens exponentially, signaling its maritime outlook and naval might, encapsulated in the term thalassocracy: “empire of the sea.”73

Figure 16

Athens and Salamis, with the Themistokean fortifications of the city, with those of the Piraeus and the Long Walls of Athens (map by Samantha Martin-McAuliffe)

Figure 16

Athens and Salamis, with the Themistokean fortifications of the city, with those of the Piraeus and the Long Walls of Athens (map by Samantha Martin-McAuliffe)

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The sheer physicality of the Themistoklean Wall was balanced, and in a sense matched, by the new building programs in the heart of the city. The wall provided the clearest expression of what the city builders took to be their domain: it was the border between town and suburb.74 As Yi-Fu Tuan elaborates, the “city is a place, a center of meaning, par excellence… . The traditional city symbolized, first, transcendental and man-made order as against the terrestrial and infernal nature. Second, it stood for an ideal human community… . It was as transcendental order that ancient cities acquired their monumental aspect. Massive walls and portals demarcated sacred space.”75

It was in the period immediately following Salamis that the need for a new Agora—a market place and civic center—was not only felt, but also realized, as it was during this period that the grandeur of the building program on the Acropolis was conceived. This is reflected in the passage in which the Athenian historian Thucydides becomes, albeit for a brief moment, an archaeologist in his comparison of Sparta and Athens. At 1.10.2, Thucydides states:

For if the city of the Lakedaimonians should be deserted, and nothing should be left of it but its temples and the foundations of its other buildings, posterity would, I think, after a long lapse of time, be very loath to believe that their power was as great as their renown. (And yet they occupy two-fifths of the Peloponnesos and have the hegemony of the whole, as well as of their many allies outside: but still, as Sparta is not compactly built as a city and has not provided itself with costly temples and other edifices, but is inhabited village-fashion in the old Hellenic style, its power would appear less than it is.) Whereas, if Athens should suffer the same fate, its power would, I think, from what appeared of the city’s ruins, to be conjectured double what it is.76

It was in this context that both the Parthenon and the Propylaia were conceived and constructed. Whereas the Parthenon housed the gold and ivory cult statue of Athena Parthenos (the Virgin), the Propylaia did something totally different. For an Athenian exiting the Acropolis, the Propylaia framed Salamis itself. Mnesikles designed the building to face and to view the island and mountains of Salamis. But there is something more: If one follows the passage directly out of the Propylaia, the sight line would skirt just to the north of the Kantharos harbor of Piraeus, and more or less between the Kynosoura Peninsula of Salamis—on the north side of which the Athenians stationed their fleet from Ambelaki Bay in the south to Paloukia Bay and the islet of St. George to the north—and the islet of Psyttaleia, where the Persians stationed troops (see Figure 16).77 It was on the Kynosoura Peninsula that the Athenians erected a trophy in the form of a marble column commemorating the Battle of Salamis.78 Upon exiting the Propylaia Salamis was in your face.

By framing the site of Salamis, the process of moving through the Propylaia from east to west becomes experiential, the object being framed coming into clearer and clearer view. Upon entering the Propylaia from the east (see Figure 15), it is the mountains in the central portion of the island that are visible (see Figure 16); by the time one exits the Propylaia on the west side, virtually all of Salamis is in view. While the stages of this process can be recorded through photography, it is important to understand that the camera’s lens cannot replicate first-hand experience and perception. Nonetheless, Braun’s image is especially instructive because it reminds us of what may transpire when we look through, rather than solely toward, buildings.

As far as we know, the only scholar to have articulated the connection between the Propylaia and Salamis is Preziosi, but his initial lead has not been followed either by architectural historians or archaeologists and the argument requires further development.79 Preziosi also argued that the colossal bronze statue of Athena Promachos would be seen framed by the central passageway of the Propylaia as one ascended the hill and he illustrates this with a two- dimensional ground plan.80 We are not sure that such a view would be possible, given the slope of the hill—and reconstructed ramp—and the columned and pedimented frame of the Propylaia fully restored. However, the main obstacle to confirming this viewpoint is the size of the bronze statue itself. The question of its precise height—with or without a base—remains unanswered. There are estimates ranging from between 21 and 24 meters at the high end, to a mere 7.5 meters at the low end; the two most cited reconstructions being the 16.40 meters (50 Doric feet) proposed by William Bell Dinsmoor and the overall height of 9 meters (7.50 meters for the statue and 1.50 for the base) proposed by Gorham Phillips Stevens.81 Of these estimates, the lower one of 9 meters—(30 Doric feet)—is stated by Niketas Choniates (twelfth–thirteenth century), who describes the destruction of a bronze statue in Constantinople in 1203 by a drunken and angry mob; it is often associated with the Bronze Athena (Promachos).82 What remains unclear, however, is whether the statue described by Niketas was the bronze Athena Promachos or another statue. As Carol Mattusch points out, Niketas’s description does not agree with other sources on the position of the arms; they may have been restored at some time, or perhaps this was not the same statue after all.83

That the statue was large is clear enough, for Pausanias notes that “the spear-tip and helmet-crest of this Athena can be seen as you come in by sea from Sounion.”84 Although the framed view of the statue of Athena Promachos that Preziosi anticipates must remain uncertain from the vantage point he proposes, well outside the entrance proper, a more likely prelude is that provided back in 1936 by Stevens (see Figure 10). Significantly, the reconstructed view presented by Stevens is only really possible between the easternmost colonnade and the pillars of the Propylaia immediately to the west.

There are several points about the statue of Athena Promachos that Preziosi appears to have overlooked. First of all, if the testimony of Pausanias is to be believed, the statue was “a tithe from the Medes who landed at Marathon”; this is actually stated twice by Pausanias.85 But whether the funds derive from Persian booty or were paid by the Greeks, as seems most likely, the association of the Promachos (which means “champion” or “fighting before” or in the “front line”) with Marathon was implicit in the symbolism of the statue.86 Although ostensibly a monument to the victory at Marathon, or victory over the Persians per se, the Bronze Athena’s gaze looks toward the other great victory: Salamis.87 The symbolism is even more complex than Preziosi anticipated.

More problematic is that from an architectural point of view, Preziosi has elided the Old Propylon—which had a totally different orientation—with the Mnesiklean Propylaia.88 As Evelyn Harrison reminds us: “We must recall that at the time this statue [the bronze Athena Promachos] was made, the only temple standing on the Acropolis was the surviving portion of the temple burned by the Persians, directly behind the statue; the Older Parthenon was little more than a damaged platform, and the decision to build a new temple on this platform had not yet been taken.”89 Simply put, when the Bronze Athena was set up, the Mnesiklean Propylaia was not yet built. Harrison notes that the statue could not be earlier than the Eurymedon victory (466 BCE) or later than the beginning of work on the Periklean Parthenon in 447.90 An inscription usually associated with the building of the statue states that it took nine years to complete, and many scholars place the date of the statue between 465 and 456 BCE; Hurwit adds that a date wholly within 460–450 is also possible.91 If such a date is correct, then the statue predates the Mnesiklean Propylaia by 13 to 28 years. Whatever the exact date, the important point is the one made by Hurwit: “The Bronze Athena was, in short, Pheidias’s (and Athens’) first great essay on the course and meaning of the Persian Wars, and no one passing through the Old Propylon could have missed the colossal, gleaming message.”92 But the Athena Promachos and the framing of Salamis were not the only victory monuments, for “under the auspices of Perikles, the entire Acropolis was transformed into a vast and intricate dissertation of Victory itself.”93

There are, therefore, as we have seen, at least two different types of commemorative victory monuments on the Acropolis. On the one hand there are statues—such as the Bronze Athena (Promachos)—as well as buildings—such as the small Temple of Athena Nike (Victory)—that symbolized victory. On the other hand, there are buildings, such as the Mnesiklean Propylaia, that frame a view of a decisive event, ensuring through architecture its memory and perpetuity.

Indeed, among the former, the Temple of Athena Nike was perhaps the most blatant celebration of victory, one that was expressed mythologically, allegorically, and historically.94 The exterior of the small temple was, in the words of Hurwit, “decorated with what might be, pound for pound, the richest sculptural program of the Classical Acropolis.”95 The east pediment was adorned with a Gigantomachy, the west with an Amazonomachy; the north and west friezes depict battles of Greeks, the east frieze a divine assembly.96 Whatever battle(s) was intended on the north and west frieze, there is general consensus that the battle on the south frieze was Marathon, depicting the Athenians pitted against the Persians.97 In addition to the sculptural decoration of the Temple of Athena Nike, it appears that the Nike bastion may have been used to hang some of the Spartan shields captured at the Battle of Sphakteria in 425 BCE by the Athenians commanded by Kleon.98 Moreover, if the hypothesis provided by Frederick Cooper is correct, then the area immediately underneath the Temple of Athena Nike may well have served as something of a victory monument already in the early 450s BCE. Cooper cogently pointed out that Base A under the Temple of Athena Nike (see Figure 14) may be the fourth, missing, base of the Tetrastylon in the Sanctuary of Aphaia on Aigina—the “eyesore of the Piraeus”—brought to Athens after the Athenians defeated the Aiginetans and set in its current location as a commemorative monument.99 The entire area of the Nike bastion, including the temple, formed a focus for different Athenian victories, not only over the Persians: Here were victories piled onto other victories.

But in their symbolization of victory, the bastion and the Temple of Athena Nike were not alone, for the old Temple of Athena Polias (often referred to as the Dörpfeld Foundations) may have served a similar function. In a bold and innovative study, Gloria Ferrari revived an old idea of Wilhelm Dörpfeld, and argued that the Archaic Temple of Athena Polias on the Acropolis that had been set on fire by the Persians during their sack of Athens, remained standing until well into the Roman period.100 (It should not be forgotten that it was directly in front of the terrace of this old temple—the archaios naos—that the Bronze Athena, Pheidias’s earliest statue on the Acropolis, was set up.) Ferrari’s thesis is that after the Persian sack, “the temple was left standing and made into a monument to barbarian sacrilege and Athenian righteousness,” and that the old temple became the core of an extensive choreography of ruins that formed the backdrop against which the new Periklean buildings acquire their meaning.101 Although Ferrari’s analysis of the archaeological, epigraphical, and historical sources has not won universal favor,102 there is a great deal of cogency in her arguments and the questions she raises.

Above all, these monuments enabled Athenians to commemorate for eternity their victories and their glory. Modern scholarship has done much to clarify the history of these structures, casting light upon not only their meanings but also the symbolic importance of the Acropolis as a whole. Curiously, however, one facet of this site remains overlooked. For all the careful, close observation dedicated to the buildings on the Acropolis, scant attention has been paid to the sightlines both from and toward the citadel itself. As a result, we tend to perceive the Acropolis as a separate, independent entity. Pictorial customs have undoubtedly fostered this narrow perspective. As previously mentioned, early photographers in Athens initiated a habit of depicting the Parthenon in isolation, divorced from other monuments on the Acropolis as well as the surrounding landscape. Consequently, this nearsightedness impedes us from understanding how the Acropolis stood in reciprocity with its wider context, in particular the urban center of ancient Athens. While the citadel was enclosed within a circuit of defensive walls, it was neither detached from the city nor self-referential. In fact, during the Classical period, the walls of the Acropolis became important focal points of visual communication between the sanctuary and the very heart of Athens.

In 480 BCE, before the Battle of Salamis, the Persians sacked the city of Athens, setting fire to the Old Temple of Athena Polias, and destroying what little had been completed of the Pre-Parthenon.103 Of the latter, column drums and part of the architrave were built into the south wall of the Acropolis.104 Although still visible today, these are nowhere near as visually spectacular from afar as the spolia from the two Archaic buildings that were carefully built into the north wall. Portions of the entablature of the Archaic Temple of Athena Polias were built into the upper part of the north wall of the Acropolis, immediately to the west of the Erechtheion. As Ferrari notes, these remains were placed “not randomly but in correspondence with the location of the temple.”105 Farther to the east, the unfinished columns drums of the Pre-Parthenon were neatly stacked.106 This carefully constructed commemorative wall is clearly seen in the perspective view by Manolis Korres (Figure 17).

Figure 17

Classical Athenian Acropolis, perspective view from the northwest (by Manolis Korres, 1972, with additions in 1978–85)

Figure 17

Classical Athenian Acropolis, perspective view from the northwest (by Manolis Korres, 1972, with additions in 1978–85)

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The two segments of spolia are split, as it were, by the north porch of the Erechtheion, which looms above the wall, but they would have been originally separated by the standing ruins of the Temple of Athena Polias or, if that temple had been torn down, as some scholars maintain, the two segments were nevertheless carefully laid out in relation to the foundations of the temple.107 The result was that the architectural elements of the Temple of Athena Polias and the Pre- or Older Parthenon, were neatly ordered by type—that is, column drums of the Pre-Parthenon to the east; the entablature, including the triglyphs and metopes, of the Temple of Athena Polias to the west—so that they could be read from afar.108 Robin Rhodes explained the symbolic importance of this commemoration: “The rebuilt north wall of the Athenian Acropolis … represented a specific monument consciously constructed from the ruins of the Persian sack to commemorate that specific event, to warn of the Persian threat, to kindle the anger of the Athenians against them, and, probably, to symbolize the Athenians’ selfless sacrifice of their city to the general defense of the Greek mainland. The rebuilt north wall of the Acropolis is a unique monument in the history of Greece, and is truly remarkable in its understanding of the potential power of ruins upon the emotions and imagination of people.”109 This observation can be productively extended through a shift in perspective. The material components of the war memorial were deliberately chosen and constructed, but so too was the viewpoint of the monument. The spolia could have been built into any part of the Acropolis wall that was constructed under Kimon and Perikles, but this particular place was selected, not only due to the location of the Temple of Athena Polias (and the Erechtheion), but also because of the newly constructed Classical Agora below, to the northwest. This spatial relationship has remained unexplored in modern scholarship, even while a great deal of attention has been focused on the design of the memorial itself.

Since the discovery of the inscription found in association with its original base that places the Sanctuary of Aglauros near the prominent natural cave on the east side of the citadel of the Acropolis, it is clear that the Archaic Agora was not on the site of its Classical successor, but to the east of the Acropolis.110 The Archaic Agora, however, did not lose any of its significance, since several important buildings were still located there, including the Prytaneion, the Theseion, and the Anakeion, none of which have been found in the Classical Agora. Indeed, the Prytaneion continued as the venue where young ephebes were sworn in until late antiquity, and their names were exhibited on marble stelai.

Because the old Agora was cluttered with important buildings still functional, a new Agora was conceived following the victory at Salamis. It was located to the northwest of Acropolis, below the Areiopagos, with the west side bounded by the hill that came to be known as Kolonos Agoraios, crowned by the temple thought to be of Hephaistos, the temenos of which was laid out in the Kimonian period.111 The reason this area was chosen as the site of the new Agora or civic center is that it was one of the few areas within the newly fortified Athens not heavily built over or occupied by the living, with much of the area previously used as the potters’ field—the Kerameikos—and containing earlier cemeteries. Indeed, the existence of two Agoras, one near the later church of St. Philip (and thus the Classical Agora), the other near the Monument of Lysikrates to the east of the Acropolis (the Archaic Agora), is clearly articulated in the text labeled the Mirabilia urbis athenarum, recently published by Antonio Corso.112

The location of the new Classical Agora represents a major shift of focus for the civic center from the general area of the east or southeast of the Acropolis to the northwest. This shift goes hand-in-hand with the move from Phaleron to Piraeus for the principal harbor of the city. Whereas the old road from Phaleron to Athens approached the city from the south, the systematic development of the Piraeus—which, as we have seen, occurred after the Battle of Salamis—would have greatly increased traffic through the area west and northwest of the Acropolis, thereby favoring the location of the Classical Agora (see Figure 16).113 An early fifth-century BCE date is also in keeping with the date of the Agora horos inscriptions, which served as the boundary markers for the new civic center.114 With the erection of these inscriptions, the Agora was formalized after the Battle of Salamis.

All too often, the relationship between the Classical Agora and the Acropolis is taken to be self-evident, as though a brief acknowledgment of their physical proximity is enough to substantiate and explain their shared relevance. This standpoint, however, is highly problematic because it precludes any investigation into how the ancient Athenians coordinated and perceived the ritual topography of their city. In discussing the cultural politics of viewing in Classical Athens, Simon Goldhill contends that observing both people and places was an inherently political act, and therefore a requisite component of Athenian citizenship.115 Elaborating on the setting of the citizen gaze, he notes that: “The democratic formulation of the socio-political spaces for viewing and the corollary formulation of the citizen’s role as participating in—or as the object of—collective, judgmental viewing are an important context for understanding the city’s imperial, architectural program (led by Pericles and the Parthenon).”116 Perhaps more than any place else, the Classical Agora was a locus for civic viewing, both of citizens and monuments, and this is why it is essential to reappraise its connection with the Acropolis.

Rather than merely appreciating the new Classical Agora in reference to the Acropolis, we would like to propose that it was every bit a part and parcel of the Kimonian and Periklean building program, a worthy civic center that was conceived at the same time as the new program on the Acropolis. The Agora—as marketplace and civic center—and the Acropolis must, therefore, be viewed as an ensemble, and the connection between the two is clearly seen in the photograph taken by Craig Mauzy from the northwest, showing the relationship of the Agora square with the Acropolis (Figure 18).117 But more than being a group of buildings viewed as a whole, the Agora and the Acropolis existed in a state of reciprocity. In other words, they were mutually beneficial, even dependent on one another. Although Athena’s sanctuary possessed a commanding presence, it nonetheless remained bound to the city, and this relationship was confirmed through both civic ritual and architecture. Events such as the procession of the Panathenaia attested to the interdependence of the Acropolis and Agora, and even though these festal occasions were ephemeral, they visibly linked the two focal points of the city. Moreover, they arguably were providing a ritual reaffirmation of visual connections between the Agora and Acropolis that existed on an everyday basis. Although the Panathenaia has been treated in a thorough manner by recent scholarship, surprisingly little has been said about how the buildings of the civic center orchestrated vantage points toward monuments and memorials on the Acropolis.

Figure 18

General view overlooking the Classical Agora from the northwest, showing the reconstructed Stoa of Attalos at the left, and the Acropolis with its temples at the right (photo by Craig Mauzy, courtesy American School of Classical Studies at Athens: Agora Excavations)

Figure 18

General view overlooking the Classical Agora from the northwest, showing the reconstructed Stoa of Attalos at the left, and the Acropolis with its temples at the right (photo by Craig Mauzy, courtesy American School of Classical Studies at Athens: Agora Excavations)

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The heart of this new Agora was adorned with a series of colonnaded stoas.118 All of the Classical stoas were positioned on the topographical limits of the civic center, with their colonnaded façades facing into the central open area of the Agora. This meant that while these buildings were marginal in a physical sense, they always offered direct and immediate visual, as well as aural, contact with both places and people across the entirety of the Agora; and even beyond to the Acropolis and Areiopagos. Socratic dialogues attest that these buildings were used as viewing platforms. On several occasions, stoas situate conversation, their open colonnades providing a general setting as well as a convenient and functional backdrop for observing things in the distance.119 Collectively, the stoas created a spatial framework that articulated the borders of the Agora and imparted it with a sense of volume. Individually, however, they afforded a series of framed views through their rows of columns.120 Among all the buildings in the Agora, these structures alone provided substantial prospects toward the north wall of the Acropolis. We would contend that one of these stoas, certainly—the Stoa Poikile—was sited in such a way that from its colonnade the war memorial of spolia built into the north wall of the Acropolis could be viewed and consciously observed at best advantage (Figure 19), and that the same may have been the case for the Stoa Basileios (Figure 20), but with an interesting twist.

Figure 19

Reconstruction of the Stoa Poikile in the Classical Athenian Agora, looking northeast toward the spolia of the Temple of Athena Polias and the Pre-Parthenon built into the north wall of the Acropolis (from Samantha Martin, “The Role of the Stoa in the Topography of the Ancient Athenian Agora: The Stoa Basileios, Stoa Poikile and Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios” [PhD diss., School of Architecture, University of Cambridge, 2007], pl. 2)

Figure 19

Reconstruction of the Stoa Poikile in the Classical Athenian Agora, looking northeast toward the spolia of the Temple of Athena Polias and the Pre-Parthenon built into the north wall of the Acropolis (from Samantha Martin, “The Role of the Stoa in the Topography of the Ancient Athenian Agora: The Stoa Basileios, Stoa Poikile and Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios” [PhD diss., School of Architecture, University of Cambridge, 2007], pl. 2)

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Figure 20

Reconstruction of the Stoa Basileios looking toward the Acropolis (from Samantha Martin, “The Role of the Stoa in the Topography of the Ancient Athenian Agora: The Stoa Basileios, Stoa Poikile and Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios,” [PhD diss., School of Architecture, University of Cambridge, 2007], pl. 1)

Figure 20

Reconstruction of the Stoa Basileios looking toward the Acropolis (from Samantha Martin, “The Role of the Stoa in the Topography of the Ancient Athenian Agora: The Stoa Basileios, Stoa Poikile and Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios,” [PhD diss., School of Architecture, University of Cambridge, 2007], pl. 1)

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The Stoa Poikile—after poikilos, which means painted or multicolored—was so named, according to the Scholiast on Aristophanes, Lysistrata 678, “because of the paintings in it.”121 The stoa was also called Peisianakteios, after its founder, but it was the name Poikile that stuck.122 As for the date of the building, we must await the current excavations in the Athenian Agora that have uncovered a stoa that is either the Poikile or the Stoa of the Hermes. Nevertheless, the literary evidence, together with the approximate dates of the painters who decorated the Poikile, and the style of the architectural fragments thought to be associated, should place the building around 460 BCE.123 In dealing with its function, John Camp wrote: “This stoa was a true public building, designed for no specific magistrate, group, or function. It served as a lesche, or place of leisure, open to all Athenians; anyone could pass the time of day there. It was therefore a popular meeting place, and those whose trade required a large crowd or audience were to be found there on a daily basis: jugglers, sword-swallowers, beggars, and fishmongers are all specifically attested to. Among those attracted to the stoa were the philosophers of Athens, in particular Zeno, who came from Cyprus in about 300 BCE; he so preferred this colonnade as his classroom that he and his followers became known as Stoics, taking their name from the Painted Stoa.”124

While stoas were frequently places for waiting, loitering, and for pausing while en route somewhere else, they could also transcend such ordinary uses to function as settings of monumental importance. Among its many purposes, the Stoa Poikile served, first and foremost, as a victory memorial. The paintings inside it, after which it was named, were charged. They included: a battle at Oinoe; Athenians fighting Amazons by the painter Mikon; the Greeks at Troy by Polygnotos, who “painted the stoa” without payment; and the Battle of Marathon by Mikon.125 In addition to these celebrated paintings, bronze shields of the Skionaians and their allies were still displayed in the stoa in Pausanias’s day, together with the spoils taken from the Spartans at Sphakteria, some smeared with pitch to protect them from the ravages of time and rust.126 Remarkably, the cycle of paintings, in tandem with the shields, set up a stratified trajectory of viewing that extended from the back wall of the stoa all the way to the Acropolis. Standing within the colonnaded hall, Athenians observed portrayals of their recent victories side-by-side with episodes from their heroic past. This arrangement, as Goldhill has proposed, was “a state-funded self image … designed to face the citizen spectator with a pattern of normative imagery, to engage the viewer in the recognition of the military and political obligations of citizenship.”127 The stoa was perfectly suited for this kind of exhibit, as anyone viewing the images could simply turn around and see displayed before them the political heart of the city. As Aeschines declared, “Imagine yourselves at the Stoa Poikile for the monuments of all your glories are in the Agora.”128 Importantly, this painted architectural victory monument also did something more: Orientated to the southeast, the Stoa Poikile not only faced the citadel, but also established a viewing prospect (Figure 21). It framed the spolia of the victory monument built into the north wall of the Acropolis as well as the Temple of Athena Nike perched on its lofty setting. Ultimately, like the Panathenaic procession, this act of viewing bound together and reconfirmed the reciprocity between the Agora and the Acropolis.

Figure 21

Panoramic view of current excavations in the Athenian Agora, from the northwest, showing the covered foundations thought to be of the Stoa Poikile (center-right foreground) (photo by Craig Mauzy, courtesy American School of Classical Studies at Athens: Agora Excavations)

Figure 21

Panoramic view of current excavations in the Athenian Agora, from the northwest, showing the covered foundations thought to be of the Stoa Poikile (center-right foreground) (photo by Craig Mauzy, courtesy American School of Classical Studies at Athens: Agora Excavations)

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Only portions of the foundations of the stoa have been uncovered, but a glimpse of the sort of view anyone standing in the reconstructed Stoa Poikile would have had in antiquity is offered in the reconstruction by Samantha Martin-McAuliffe (see Figure 19); Martin-McAuliffe also places several of the bronze shields taken from Athenian enemies into her reconstruction.129 Here is another building that frames victory, every bit as cogent as the Mnesiklean Propylaia framing the view of Salamis, a building that served as a theatron to victory.

A related, but not identical view of the north wall of the Acropolis is offered by another stoa, the so-called Royal Stoa, or Stoa Basileios (see Figure 20).130 Located in the northwest corner of the Agora and facing east-southeast, the Stoa Basileios is the smallest of the stoas in the Classical Agora (18 meters long and 7.5 meters wide). There is a good deal of ambiguity about the date of construction, and the building and its related deposits await to be published in full.131 There are two features of this stoa that are of particular interest. The first is its location. The small building is under the shadow of the Kolonos Agoraios, dwarfed by the later fifth century BCE Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios, and just south of the Eridanos. Moreover, the Classical Panathenaic Way passed between the Stoa Basileios and the Stoa Poikile. More to the point, the modern water table stands only 0.75 meters below the level of the stylobate of the stoa; its north-northeast wall was built in the earlier flood-plain of the Eridanos, with the wall virtually in the course of the original river.132 In fact, so extensive was the original morphology of the Eridanos Valley in this area, that the place had to be transformed, not only by filling in the valley, but also by installing underground water channels that dealt with the flow of the river. Both the Stoa Basileios and the Stoa Poikile could have been moved to higher ground either to the north or to the south, at a safe distance from the Eridanos, but this was not the case. The extensive earthworks in this area must therefore be linked with the establishment of the new Agora, not at the end of the sixth century BCE, but in the earlier fifth century BCE, after the Battle of Salamis.133 It is also worth noting that in the context of the fifth century BCE, the Classical Panathenaic way may well have been at its narrowest point between the Royal Stoa and the Stoa Poikile, creating an experiential bottleneck of sorts, that only drew attention to both buildings.134

The second important feature of the Royal Stoa is the Lithos (which in Greek always appears with the definite article), the great stone on which the Archon Basileus took the oath. With regard to the Lithos and the stoa, T. Leslie Shear Jr. states:

When the Basileus moved his seat from the archaic Boukolion to the newly built Stoa Basileus … . the Lithos was transported to its new site in front of the stoa. Here it served as a very tangible symbol of that sacred trust which the laws imposed on Athenian magistrates, laws that they swore to obey as they stood on the Lithos in front of the actual texts themselves displayed on the kyrbeis. The archons of Aristotle’s day swore the same oath as they had in Solon’s day; and the great stone itself formed the physical link between them and their predecessors and the law-giver himself.135

It is the combination of the siting of the Stoa Basileos and the Lithos that are important, and this is where the interesting twist comes into play. Although the reconstructed view from the stoa by Martin-McAuliffe clearly looks toward the Acropolis north wall (see Figure 20), it is the precise location of the Lithos that may be of greater significance. By standing on the Lithos, the Archon took the oath either by looking directly at the Acropolis, the kyrbeis and the laws immediately behind him, or vice versa: looking at the laws, with the Acropolis and its victory monuments as a backdrop. The location of the Lithos in relation to the stoa favors the first of these alternatives. But whichever way the Archon faced, the interplay of stoa, great stone, Acropolis and victory monument would have been clear to any Athenian of the fifth century BCE.

The significance and power of the great stone—and its uncanny resemblance to the Stone of Scone, more commonly known as the Stone of Destiny and often referred to as the Coronation Stone—cannot be underestimated.136 The Lithos was no ordinary stone. Emily Vermeule suggested that it was the reused lintel block of a Mycenaean tholos tomb.137 The conscious removal of a lintel block from such a tomb, either from its location in situ, or from the place where it collapsed, represents a form of violation of an earlier tomb that is not common in Athens, as it is in many parts of the Greek world. On the contrary, such earlier tombs were often venerated, not desecrated.138 One of the authors has suggested elsewhere that, rather than a lintel block for a Mycenaean tholos tomb, the Lithos may have been the threshold of a Mycenaean gate, one of the legendary “nine gates” (ἐννέα πυλῶν) of the Athenian Acropolis.139 If the Lithos is Mycenaean and from the Acropolis, then the link to the past is not only even more symbolic and real, but the great stone on which generations of Archons stood to take the oath harks back to the rock of the citadel and the great Bronze Age wall that the Persians dared to defile.

Like the Propylaia, both the Stoa Basilieos and Stoa Poikile embodied a duality. As topographically liminal buildings they marked the edge of the Agora, thereby giving visual definition to its boundary. In this way they were observed as visual backdrops for commemorative displays and civic rituals. Yet they were never intended to be mere settings, for their design and orientation projected views elsewhere, especially toward the Acropolis. Athenians looked toward and into these buildings from the center of the Agora, but they also gazed out of them.

The Mnesiklean Propylaia is among the earliest—if not the earliest—gateway that frames a particular view: the interior of the Acropolis upon entering; Salamis upon exiting. But there are many other ancient portals that do the same or something very similar, and one of the most conspicuous is the Arch of Hadrian in Athens because associated inscriptions on either side of the gate literally tell us what it is that is being framed. Sometime around 132 CE, the emperor Hadrian dedicated what has come to be known as the Arch of Hadrian, an isolated gateway of Pentelic marble. Hadrian dedicated the monument in part to his alma mater, but mostly to mark the interface between the ancient city of Athens and the beginning of Novae Athenae or Hadrianopolis, the new city of Hadrian.140

Many centuries later, sometime between 1865 and 1870, Petros Moraites set up his tripod and camera a little to the east-southeast of the Arch of Hadrian and captured an image of what can only be described as the city of Theseus (Figure 22). The arch, however, is not at the center of the photograph and what, exactly, Moraites was trying to frame is not immediately clear since the far, west end of the Acropolis—the end that hundreds of thousands of visitors today ascend and descend through the great Propylaia—slips out of the frame altogether and the arch itself is placed to the right, vying with the east end of the Acropolis for attention. Where the lower edge of the arch is bordered by men—mostly dressed in Western attire, including a row of distinctly unthreatening gendarmes, a bolder figure, in the far right foreground, looms large in traditional Greek costume—the lower edge of the Acropolis is lined by a row of trees.141 The center of the photograph appears to be the small unimposing cave on the east side of the citadel, partly obscured by one of the soil dumps of the Athens Archaeological Society.142 The theme—if there is a theme to this image—seems to be the relationship of the arch to the Acropolis.

Figure 22

City of Theseus, ca. 1865–70. View from the southeast showing the Arch of Hadrian and the southeast slope of the Athenian Acropolis (Petros Moraites, The Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles, Gary Edwards Collection, acc. no. 92.R.84 [06.02.08])

Figure 22

City of Theseus, ca. 1865–70. View from the southeast showing the Arch of Hadrian and the southeast slope of the Athenian Acropolis (Petros Moraites, The Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles, Gary Edwards Collection, acc. no. 92.R.84 [06.02.08])

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Whatever Moraites was trying to frame, it is clear what the intentions of the builders of the arch were on account of the inscriptions placed on either side of the gateway (Figure 23).143 The façades of the gateway that form Hadrian’s arch are, in fact, identical except for the inscriptions on the frieze: that on the northwest side toward the Acropolis reads “This is Athens, the former [or ancient] city of Theseus”; that on the southeast, toward the Olympieion proclaims “This is the city of Hadrian and not of Theseus.”144 Whether or not Moraites was consciously trying to render the city of Theseus is moot—it remains unknown whether he was aware of the inscriptions on the arch—but what Moraites could not anticipate is that by placing the little cave on the east side of the Acropolis in the center of his picture he had captured the heart of the Archaic city of Athens. It is remarkable if not uncanny that Moraites’s photograph and the inscription on the Arch of Hadrian announcing the city of Theseus faces exactly the area of the Old Agora, with the Shrine of Aglauros and the Acropolis in the background. The original marketplace of Athens was located right here, in the heart of the city of the legendary Athenian hero Theseus.145 As a result, the arch was Janus-like, offering a clear, unambiguous view towards the Archaic Agora together with the Olympieion and other monuments on the opposite side. The process of walking through the arch was every bit as experiential as walking through the Propylaia, but here the written word articulated the city that was being framed: the old and the new.

Figure 23

The Arch of Hadrian. Restored drawing of the southeast side (from James Stuart and Nicholas Revett, The Antiquities of Athens: Measured and Delineated [London: Haberkorn, 1762–1816], vol. 3, chap. 3, pl. IV)

Figure 23

The Arch of Hadrian. Restored drawing of the southeast side (from James Stuart and Nicholas Revett, The Antiquities of Athens: Measured and Delineated [London: Haberkorn, 1762–1816], vol. 3, chap. 3, pl. IV)

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Like countless gateways across the empire, this entry acted as an architectural shorthand for Rome, announcing not only the spread of its material culture, but also its customs and values. Crossing its threshold was symbolic of entering Rome itself; and yet its particular topographical and cultural context made it much more than an imposing portal. Whether or not Hadrian intentionally drew upon the Mnesiklean Propylaia as inspiration for the new arch, both gateways undoubtedly shared important parallels: They framed symbolic views toward the east as well as the west, and they also memorialized events, thereby turning something transitory or ephemeral into a lasting phenomenon. In framing Salamis, the Propylaia immortalized the Athenian defeat of the Persians in 480 BCE. The arch made permanent a different kind of event—the entry of Hadrian and therefore also the arrival of Rome.

Memory and commemoration are powerful forces. As Susan Alcock observed: “People derive identity from shared remembrance—from social memory—which in turn provides them with an image of their past and a design for their future. What people remember of the past fashions their sense of community and determines their allies, enemies, and actions; they will argue over it and kill for it. Social memory is manifestly a powerful force, but also a fugitive one. Memories overlap and compete; over time they change or are eradicated; people forget.”146

In the fifth century BCE, the Athenians not only commemorated, they embellished their city with social memory enshrined in stone, bronze, gold, ivory, and in paintings on wooden panels (sanides). The bronze statue of Athena Promachos was destroyed and the metal probably melted down and reused; the gold and ivory cult statue of Athena Parthenos (Athena the Virgin) inside the Parthenon is long gone, so too the paintings—perhaps the frailest of all the media—and much of the stone sculpture is weathered and fragmented. Most importantly, however, social memory was woven into the very architectural fabric of the city, particularly on and around the Acropolis. Indeed, memory, glory, and architecture—specifically in relation to the Propylaia, the Parthenon, the stoas, and the docks—are all mentioned together in Demosthenes, Against Androtion 22.76: “once they possessed greater wealth than any other Hellenic people, but they spent it all for love of honor; they laid their private fortunes under contribution, and recoiled from no peril for glory’s sake. Hence the People inherit possessions that will never die; on the one hand the memory of their achievements, on the other, the beauty of the memorials set up in their honor—yonder Propylaia, the Parthenon, the stoas, the docks.” In this passage, Demosthenes does not mince his words. The Great Propylaia and the Parthenon, together with the stoas—which must be those of the Athenian Agora—and the ship docks of the Piraeus, which, as we have seen, were all conceived in the period immediately following Salamis, became enduring memorials of Athens’ greatest victory.

It was through architecture—both by means of individual buildings and through the arrangement of different buildings—that the Athenians attempted to commemorate for eternity their victories and their glory and to contextualize their memory within the landscape of the city.

1.

This article is dedicated to Tasos Tanoulas.

The authors are grateful to several colleagues and friends for fruitful discussion and for assistance in procuring illustrations, especially Tasos Tanoulas, Manolis Korres, Craig Mauzy, Evelyn Flanagan, and Vincent Hoban. In dedicating this paper to Tasos Tanoulas we acknowledge his many years of work as the architect responsible for restoring the Great Propylaia.

2.

James S. Ackerman, Origins, Imitation, Conventions: Representation in the Visual Arts (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2002), 121.

3.

The full title of the series is Small World: A Global Photographic Project. The photograph of the Acropolis is also the cover image for a volume about the series. See Martin Parr, Small World, rev. ed. (Stockport, England: Dewi Lewis Publishing, 2007).

4.

For European and North American idealization of Hellas, see Eliza May Butler, The Tyranny of Greece over Germany (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1935); Suzanne L. Marchand, Down from Olympus: Archaeology and Philhellenism in Germany, 1750–1970 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996); Richard Jenkyns, The Victorians and Ancient Greece (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1980); Ian Jenkins, Archaeologists and Aesthetes: In the Sculpture Gallery of the British Museum (London: British Museum Press, 1992); Fani-Maria Tsigakou, The Rediscovery of Greece: Travellers and Painters of the Romantic Era (London: Thames & Hudson, 1981); John Pemble, The Mediterranean Passion: Victorians and Edwardians in the South (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987); Stephen L. Dyson, Ancient Marbles to American Shores: Classical Archaeology in the United States (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998); William St. Clair, That Greece Might Still Be Free: The Philhellenes in the War of Independence (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972).

5.

The scale of the Ottoman city-center on the Acropolis is perhaps best appreciated in Edward Dodwell’s view of the Parthenon from the Propylaia, 1805, for which see John K. Papadopoulos, “Antiquity Depicted,” in Claire L. Lyons, John K. Papadopoulos, Lindsey S. Stewart, and Andrew Szegedy Maszak, Antiquity and Photography: Early Views of Ancient Mediterranean Sites (London: Thames & Hudson, 2005), 119, fig. 7.

6.

For “antiquity depicted,” see the seminal study by Stuart Piggot, Antiquity Depicted: Aspects of Archaeological Illustration (London: Thames & Hudson, 1978); see further Papadopoulos, “Antiquity Depicted,” 104–47; John K. Papadopoulos, The Art of Antiquity: Piet de Jong and the Athenian Agora (Athens: American School of Classical Studies and Potamos Press, 2007), 1–32, esp. 31–32. See also Brian Leigh Molyneaux, The Cultural Life of Images: Visual Representation in Archaeology (London: Routledge, 1997); Gary Lock and Brian Leigh Molyneaux, eds., Confronting Scale in Archaeology: Issues of Theory and Practice (New York: Springer, 2006).

7.

From Noël-Marie-Paymal Lerebours, Excursions daguerriennes: Vues et monuments les plus remarquables du globe (Paris, 1842), pl. 24; see Papadopoulos, “Antiquity Depicted,” 120, fig. 8.

8.

De Lotbinière himself claimed that his image was the first photograph of the Parthenon, noting the distinction in an accompanying caption. See Andrew Szegedy-Maszak, “Well-Recorded Worth: Photographs of the Parthenon,” in The Parthenon: From Antiquity to the Present, ed. Jenifer Neils (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 331–61, esp. 335–36.

9.

Ibid., 336.

10.

Ciriaco d’Ancona, the great Italian traveler and humanist, visited Athens and the Greek mainland twice, in 1436 and 1444; see especially Gianfranco Paci and Sergio Sconocchia, eds., Ciriaco d’Ancona e la cultura antiquarian dell’umanismo: atti del convegno internazionale di studio, Ancona 6–9 febbraio 1992 (Reggio Emilia: Edizioni Diabasis, 1998); Edward W. Bodner with Clive Foss, Cyriac of Ancona: Later Travels (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003); for the most recent and readable account of Ciriaco, see Marina Belozerskaya, To Wake the Dead: A Renaissance Merchant and the Birth of Archaeology (New York: W.W. Norton, 2009).

11.

Although later scholars and travelers to Athens—not least James Stuart and Nicholas Revett, who provided some of the most enduring and accurate architectural drawings of Athenian monuments, some of which no longer survive—strove to render the buildings on the Acropolis and especially the Parthenon as accurately as possible, they were at the disadvantage of having to deal with a building that was a wrecked remnant of its former self. Among the buildings Stuart and Revett drew that no longer survives (apart from foundations), are the little temple by the Ilissos River known as Artemis Agrotera and the Choregic Monument of Thrasyllos. See James Stuart and Nicholas Revett, The Antiquities of Athens: Measured and Delineated (London: Haberkorn, 1792–1816), 4 vols. For the Temple of Artemis Agrotera, see Judeich, Topographie von Athen, 416, 420–22. For the Thrasyllos Monument, see Gabriel Welter, “Das Thrasyllosmonument,” Archaiologike Ephemeris, 1937, 419–22; Gabriel Welter, “Das choregische Denkmal des Thrasyllos,” Archäologischer Anzeiger, 1938, 33–68; Rhys Townsend, “A Newly Discovered Capital from the Thrasyllos Monument,” American Journal of Archaeology 89 (1985), 676–80; Rhys Townsend, “Classical Signs and Anti-Classical Signification in 4th-century Architecture,” in ΧΑΡΙΣ: Essays in Honor of Sara A. Immerwahr (Hesperia Supplement 33), ed. Anne P. Chapin (Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2004), 305–26, esp. 307–8. The monument of Thrasyllos is currently being restored by Konstantinos Boletis.

12.

See Beverly Louise Brown and Diana E. E. Kleiner, “Giuliano da Sangallo’s Drawings after Ciriaco d’Ancona: Transformations of Greek and Roman Antiquities in Athens,” JSAH 42, no. 4 (Dec. 1983) 321–35.

13.

Jacob Spon, Voyage d’Italie, de Dalmatie, de Grèce, et du Levant, fait aux années 1675 et 1676 (Lyon: Antoine Cellier, 1678), vol. 2, 142, “Introduction,” trans. Robin Middleton, in Julien-David Le Roy, The Ruins of the Most Beautiful Monuments of Greece, trans. David Britt (1770, rpt. Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2004), 33. See further Papadopoulos, “Antiquity Depicted,” 114. For an account of Spon’s travel to Athens, see Richard Stoneman, Land of Lost Gods: the Search for Classical Greece (London: Hutchinson, 1987), 56–83.

14.

For which see Tasos Tanoulas, Τὰ Προπύλαια τῆς Ἀθηναϊκῆς Ἀκρόπολις κατὰ τὸν Μεσαίωνα (Athens: Athens Archaeological Society, 1997), 54–57, figs. 9, 11–12. Tanoulas provides the most in depth study of the Propylaia from late antiquity to the nineteenth century.

15.

The Parthenon is by no means the only Greek temple that has been represented according to a standard pictorial convention. For example, a remarkably similar situation exists with the Temple of Zeus in Nemea. See especially Susan Buck Sutton, “Disconnected Landscapes: Ancient Sites, Travel Guides, and Local Identity in Modern Greece,” The Anthropology of East Europe Review 15 (1997), 27–35.

16.

This is well treated in Yannis Hamilakis, The Nation and Its Ruins: Antiquity, Archaeology, and National Imagination in Greece (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007).

17.

The Parthenon has been used to promote a variety of modern services and products. For an advertisement by the electronic company Philips, see S. Kondaratos, “The Parthenon as Cultural Ideal,” in The Parthenon and Its Impact in Modern Times, ed. Panayotis Tournikiotis (Athens: Melissa, 1994), 19–53, esp. 24, fig. 7. See further in the same volume, D. Philippides, “The Parthenon as Appreciated by Greek Society,” 280–309, esp. figs. 23, 25, and 39, where the temple is used in advertisements for Lufthansa, building insulation, and paint.

18.

Ralph Lieberman, “Thoughts of an Art Historian/Photographer on the Relationship of His Two Disciplines,” in Visual Resources 7 (1990), 209–38.

19.

See also Szegedy-Maszak, “‘Well-Recorded Worth,’” 336.

20.

See further Ackerman, Origins, Imitation, Conventions, 120.

21.

Lieberman, “Thoughts of an Art Historian/Photographer,” 216.

22.

For the building, see Tasos Tanoulas, “The Propylaea and the Western Access of the Acropolis,” in Acropolis Restoration: The CCAM Interventions, ed. Richard Economakis (London: Academy Editions, 1994), 53–67; Tasos Tanoulas and Maria Ioannidou, Μελέτη ἀποκαταστάσεως τῶν προπυλαίων (Athens: Ministry of Culture, 2002); Tanoulas, Τὰ Προπύλαια. Jeffrey M. Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis: History, Mythology, and Archaeology from the Neolithic Era to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 192. Plutarch in Life of Perikles, 13.7 names Mnesikles as the architect of the Propylaia; in the same passage he notes that the Propylaia was brought to completion in five years. For the Mnesiklean Propylaia, see William Bell Dinsmoor, Jr., The Propylaia to the Athenian Akropolis, Vol. 2: The Classical Building (Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2004). For Mnesikles, see Jens Andreas Bundgaard, Mnesicles: A Greek Architect at Work (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1957); see also Richard Allan Tomlinson, “The Sequence of Construction of Mnesikles’ Propylaia,” Annual of British School at Athens 85 (1990), 405–13.

23.

See Demosthenis Giraud, “The Greater Propylaia at Eleusis, a Copy of Mnesikles’ Propylaia,” in The Greek Renaissance in the Roman Empire: Papers from the Tenth British Museum Classical Colloquium, ed. Susan Walker and Averil Cameron (London: University of London, Institute of Classical Studies, 1989), 69–75; Demosthenis G. Ziro, Ἡ κύρια εἴσοδος τοῦ ἱεροῦ τῆς Ἐλευσίνος (Athens: Athens Archaeological Society, 1991), 131–276; see also John Tavlos, Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens (New York: Praeger, 1971), 482–93, with earlier bibliography. The general plan of the sanctuary at Eleusis in the second century CE is generally attributed to the Emperor Hadrian, though no explicit evidence associating him with the plan of the entrance forecourt survives. Pausanias’s visit to the sanctuary at Eleusis in 160 CE provides a clear terminus post quem.

24.

Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 192.

25.

For the Panathenaic festival, see Jenifer Neils, ed., Goddess and Polis: The Panathenaic Festival in Ancient Athens (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992); Jenifer Neils, ed., Worshipping Athena: Panathenaia and Parthenon (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1996); for the Panathenaic games, see Jenifer Neils and Stephen V. Tracy, ΤΟΝ ΑΘΕΝΕΘΕΝ ΑΘΛΟΝ: The Games at Athens (Excavations in the Athenian Agora, Picture Book 25) (Athens: American School of Classical Studies, 2003); see also Julia Louise Shear, “Polis and Panathenaia: The History and Development of Athena’s Festival” (PhD diss., University of Pennsylvania, 2001).

26.

Robin Francis Rhodes, Architecture and Meaning on the Athenian Acropolis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 54.

27.

Donald Preziosi, Rethinking Art History: Meditations on a Coy Science (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 177–78.

28.

Gorham Phillips Stevens, “The Periclean Entrance Court of the Acropolis of Athens,” Hesperia 5 (1936), facing 443.

29.

Published in John M. Camp, The Archaeology of Athens (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 83, fig. 76.

30.

For succinct overviews, see Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 192–97; Camp, The Archaeology of Athens, 82–90.

31.

The presumption that Greek sanctuaries, as well as cities, grew haphazardly and without reference to a methodical plan is ripe for reappraisal. A highly organized site is not necessarily contingent upon formal, geometric planning, but instead can be orientated toward a higher, ethical order. For a fuller discussion, see Susan Guettel Cole, Landscapes, Gender, and Ritual Space: The Ancient Greek Experience (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 67–85.

32.

Camp, The Archaeology of Athens, 89.

33.

See especially the discussion in Preziosi, Rethinking Art History, 168–79 (summētria); for a fuller discussion of symmetria, see Jerome J. Pollitt, Art and Experience in Classical Greece (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972), 72–78, 106–7. For the symmetry of the Parthenon see, among others, William Bell Dinsmoor, “The Design and Building Techniques of the Parthenon,” in The Parthenon, ed. Vincent J. Bruno (New York: W.W. Norton, 1974), 171–98. In contrast, the pre-Periklean Archaic Acropolis is much less known. Thus, Hugh Plommer could state: “The literature on the [Archaic] Acropolis seems to me as untidy as the site.” And William Bell Dinsmoor urged scholars to strive to place themselves “in the position of an Athenian, not in the age of Perikles, but rather of 485/4 BCE, before the existence of the Parthenon and the Erechtheion.” See W. Hugh Plommer, “The Archaic Acropolis: Some Problems,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 80 (1960), 127; William Bell Dinsmoor, “The Hekatompedon on the Athenian Acropolis,” American Journal of Archaeology 51 (1947), 119.

34.

The front of the Parthenon facing east—thus toward to the rising sun—is well explored in Vincent Scully’s caustic review of the Athens Hilton Hotel (Architectural Forum 1963), fully cited and discussed in Alexander Papageorgiou-Venetas, Athens: The Ancient Heritage and the Historic Cityscape in a Modern Metropolis (Athens: Athens Archaeological Society, 1994), 78–79.

35.

See especially, William Bell Dinsmoor, “Archaeology and Astronomy,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 80 (1939), 95–173; Vincent Scully, The Earth, the Temple, and the Gods: Greek Sacred Architecture, rev. ed. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979), esp. 44.

36.

Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 193. With regard to the refinements of the Propylaia, see especially Lothar Haselberger, “Bending the Truth: Curvature and Other Refinements of the Parthenon,” in The Parthenon: From Antiquity to the Present, ed. Jenifer Neils (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 100–57, esp. 135, fig. 44a–b, where Haselberger writes: “While fundamentally different in function and spatial arrangement, the column and entablature proportions of the Propylaia are modeled closely on those of the Parthenon. A specialty is the partial curvature of the Propylaia’s central building, applied only in its superstructure but not in the platform. A radical departure from tradition becomes manifest in the modified proportions of the central building’s two façades which respond to their different visibility: high above the beholder, the west façade features a slightly elongated proportion of columns and entablature as opposed to the otherwise identical east façade.”

37.

Plutarch of Chaironeia (born before 50 CE, died after 120 CE), Life of Perikles (495–429 BCE), Section 13, translated by Jerome J. Pollitt, The Art of Greece, 140031 BC: Sources and Documents (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1965), 116. For Plutarch, the overview of Konrat Ziegler, “Plutarchos,” in Real-Encyclopädie der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft, Bd. 22.1, ed. August Pauly, Georg Wissowa and Wilhelm Kroll (Stuttgart, J.B. Metzler, revised reprint 1964), 636–962, remains indispensable.

38.

Plutarch, Life of Perikles, 13.

39.

Pausanias 1.22.4.

40.

For the remarkable unfinished anthemion patterns, see Tasos Tanoulas, “The Restoration of the Propylaea,” in Acropolis Restoration: The CCAM Interventions, ed. Richard Economakis (London: Academy Editions, 1994), 151–67, esp. 167.

41.

Demosthenes Against Androtion 22.13, 76; Against Aristokrates 23.207. In the latter passage he notes that the great men of old—like Themistokles and Miltiades—lived in common houses, whereas their public buildings were “on such a scale and such quality that no opportunity of surpassing them was left to coming generations. Witness the Propylaia, docks, porticoes, and great harbor….” Perhaps the most critical passage is Demosthenes Against Androtion 22.76, to which we return at the end of this paper.

42.

Aeschines 2.74.

43.

Cicero, De Officiis 2.60.

44.

Donald Struan Robertson, Greek and Roman Architecture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979 reprint), 118.

45.

Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 194; see further Camp, The Archaeology of Athens, 86.

46.

Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 194.

47.

Ibid.

48.

It is worth noting that in the latest reconstruction of the west entrance of the Mycenaean Acropolis, Ione Mylonas Shear argues that the west Cyclopean wall was both multi-phased and more substantial than previously assumed. See Ione Mylonas Shear, “New Evidence for the Mycenaean Entrance to the Athenian Acropolis,” American Journal of Archaeology 103 (1999), 327; Ione Mylonas Shear, “The Western Approach to the Athenian Acropolis,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 119 (1999), 86–127. Among other things, not only does such a reconstruction make the bastion of the Temple of Athena Nike an integral part of the Mycenaean fortification, it avoids altogether the necessity of restoring extramural terraces; moreover, it brings the actual entrance system of the Mycenaean Acropolis more in line with that of Tiryns. Indeed, clear remnants of Mycenaean hammer-dressed Cyclopean blocks are visible in the foreground of Figure 7, just above the steps seen in the center of the photograph.

49.

For a plan of the Mycenaean Acropolis, see Travlos, Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens, 61, fig. 71; for the Periklean and later Acropolis see Figure 8. For the securing of the water supply, see John McK. Camp, “Water and the Pelargikon,” in Studies Presented to Sterling Dow on His Eightieth Birthday (Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies Monograph 10) (Durham, N.C.: Duke University, 1984), 37–41.

50.

Rhodes, Architecture and Meaning on the Athenian Acropolis, 38.

51.

Harrison Eiteljorg, II, The Entrance to the Athenian Acropolis before Mnesicles (Boston: Archaeological Institute of America, 1993), 85–86; for the predecessors to the Mnesiklean Propylaia, see also William Bell Dinsmoor, Jr., The Propylaia to the Athenian Akropolis, Vol. 1: The Predecessors (Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1979), and, most recently, Harrison Eiteljorg II, “Revisiting the Pre-Mnesiklean Entrance to the Athenian Acropolis,” American Journal of Archaeology 115 (2011), 641–45.

52.

Eiteljorg, Entrance to the Athenian Acropolis, 85–86; cf. Emily Townsend Vermeule, “‘Priam’s Castle Blazing’: A Thousand Years of Trojan Memories,” in Troy and the Trojan War: A Symposium Held at Bryn Mawr College, October 1984, ed. Machteld J. Mellink (Bryn Mawr: Bryn Mawr College, 1986), 78; see further Gorham Phillips Stevens, “Architectural Studies Concerning the Acropolis of Athens,” Hesperia 15 (1946), 73–77; Spyridon E. Iakovidis, Ἡ μυκηναϊκὴ ἀκρόπολις τῶν Ἀθηνῶν (Athens: Athens Archaeological Society, 1962); Spyridon E. Iakovidis, Αἱ μυκηναϊκαὶ ἀκρόπολεις (Athens: University of Athens, 1973); Jens Andreas Bundgaard, The Excavation of the Athenian Acropolis, 1882–1890 (Copenhagen: University of Copenhagen, Institute of Classical and Near Eastern Archaeology, 1974); Jens Andreas Bundgaard, Parthenon and the Mycenaean City on the Heights (Copenhagen: National Museum, 1976); James C. Wright, “Mycenaean Palatial Terraces,” Athenische Mitteilungen 105 (1980), esp. 64–65, note 18; James C. Wright, “The Mycenaean Entrance System at the West End of the Akropolis at Athens,” Hesperia 63 (1994), 323–60.

53.

Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 88.

54.

See John K. Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus: The Early Iron Age Potters’ Field in the Area of the Classical Athenian Agora (Hesperia Supplement 31) (Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2003), 301.

55.

See John K. Papadopoulos, “The Archaic Wall of Athens: Reality or Myth?” Opuscula 1 (2008), 31–46.

56.

Ibid., 43–44.

57.

For the Pelargikon, see especially Luigi Beschi, “Il monumento di Telemachos, fondatore dell’Asklepieion ateniese,” Annuario della scuola archeologica di Atene e delle missioni italiane in Oriente 45–46 (new series 29–30) (1967–68 [1969]), 381–436; Camp, “Water and Pelargikon,” 37–41; Noel Robertson, “The City Center of Archaic Athens,” Hesperia 67 (1998), 283–302; Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 302–5. In 480 BCE the Athenian defense was finally breached by a few Persian soldiers who had scaled the cliff on the east side of the Acropolis, above the shrine of Aglauros. Herodotus’ (8.52–53) account of this—“in front of the Acropolis, but in back of the gates and the usual ascent”—makes perfect sense; see further Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 302; Robertson, “City Center,” 284, note 12; see also Kristian Jepperson, “Where was the So-called Erechtheion? American Journal of Archaeology 83 (1979), 391; Kristian Jepperson, The Theory of the Alternative Erechtheion: Premises, Definition, and Implications (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1987), 40.

58.

Papadopoulos, “The Archaic Wall of Athens,” 44; for the Themistoklean fortification wall see, Walther Judeich, Topographie von Athen (Munich: Beck, 1931), 124–44; and, most recently, Anna Maria Theocharaki, “The Ancient Circuit Wall of Athens: Its Changing Course and the Phases of Construction,” Hesperia 80 (2011), 71–156. See also Rune Frederiksen, Greek City Walls of the Archaic Period, 900–480 B.C. (Oxford: Oxford University Press), esp. 133.

59.

Preziosi, Rethinking Art History, 173.

60.

See Travlos, Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens, 150–51; Ira S. Mark, The Sanctuary of Athena Nike in Athens: Architectural Stages and Chronology (Princeton: Archaeological Institute of America & American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1993).

61.

For Themistokles’s explanation of the Delphic oracle—“that the wooden wall only shall not fall”—as referring to the Athenian fleet, see Herodotus 7.141–43.

62.

See Lyons, Papadopoulos, Stewart, and Szedgy-Maszak, Antiquity and Photography, 201.

63.

Ibid.

64.

Ibid., 202, 205, pls. XIII, XVI.

65.

For Divine Salamis, see Herodotus 7.141–43. Personifications of Salamis are rare; see Eleni Manakidou, “Salamis,” in Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (Zurich and Munich: Artemis Verlag, 1994), vol. VII: 1, 652–53; the most relevant is that closest in date to the battle of Salamis, which depicts “Salamis” (inscribed), on an Athenian red-figure skyphos of about 460 BCE by the Lewis Painter, depicting Salamis on one side of the vase, Thebe on the other; see Manakidou, “Salamis,” vol. VII: 2, 498 (Salamis 2); see further Karl Schefold and Franz Jung, Die Sagen von den Argonauten von Theben und Troia in der klassischen und hellenistischen Kunst (Munich: Hirmer Verlag, 1989), 86–87, figs. 68–69.

66.

The Battle of Salamis is vividly brought to life by Barry Strauss in The Battle of Salamis: The Naval Encounter that Saved Greece—and Western Civilization (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2004).

67.

In 490 BCE, the victorious Athenians returning to Athens from Marathon, and still perceiving the Persian threat, camped in open ground sacred to Herakles at Kynosarges, not behind a city wall.

68.

See Travlos, Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens, 158.

69.

See Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 285–88, with figs. 5.5–5.6; see further Judeich, Topographie von Athen, 31, 430; Homer A. Thompson and Richard Ernest Wycherley, The Athenian Agora Vol. XIV: The Agora of Athens. The History, Shape and Uses of an Ancient City Center (Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1972), 1, note 3; Klaus-Valtin von Eickstedt, Beiträge zur Topographie des antiken Piräus (Athens: Athens Archaeological Society, 1991).

70.

The evidence that Phaleron was the principal harbor of Athens during the time of the Persian Wars is laid out in Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 285–88. The harbor was at the protected east end of the Bay of Phaleron.

71.

John Travlos, Πολεοδομικὴ ἐξέλιξις τῶν Ἀθηνῶν (Athens: Kapon & Aggelike Kokkou, 1960), p. 49, fig. 19; see also Travlos, Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens, 158.

72.

This is fully discussed in Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 285–88.

73.

Henry George Liddell, Robert Scott, and Henry Stuart Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 9th edition, 1940), sv. thalassokratia.

74.

Yi-Fu Tuan, Topophilia: A Study of Environmental Perception, Attitudes, and Values (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974), 230.

75.

Yi-Fu Tuan, Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1977), 173.

76.

Translation C. F. Smith.

77.

For the respective positions of the Greek and Persian fleets before the battle, see Strauss, The Battle of Salamis, 74 and 126 (maps). For Psyttaleia, see Paul W. Wallace, “Psyttaleia and the Trophies of the Battle of Salamis,” American Journal of Archaeology 73 (1969), 293–303.

78.

For the trophy, which is mentioned together with a similar marble column trophy at Marathon, see Menexenos 240 D, and 245 A; Plutarch, Aristides 16,4; and Nepos, Themistokles 5,3. The Kynosoura trophy was visible in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, see Eugene Vanderpool, “A Monument to the Battle of Marathon,” Hesperia 35 (1946), 93–106, and especially 102–3, where the earlier accounts of James Stuart and Nicholas Revett (1762), Richard Chandler (1765), and Ludwig Ross (1839) are cited. For a related trophy on Psyttaleia, see Plutarch, Aristides 9; and see further Wallace, “Psyttaleia,” 299.

79.

Preziosi, Rethinking Art History, 175–78.

80.

Ibid., 176, fig. 6. For the position of the Bronze Athena, see Anthony Erich Raubitschek and Gorham Phillips Stevens, “The Pedestal of the Athena Promachos,” Hesperia 15 (1946), 107–14; Anthony Erich Raubitschek, Dedications from the Athenian Akropolis: A Catalogue of the Inscriptions of the Sixth and Fifth Centuries B.C. (Cambridge: Archaeological Institute of America, 1949), 191–205.

81.

This is a project that begs for a virtual reality reconstruction. For the size of the statue, see William Bell Dinsmoor, “Attic Building Accounts, IV: The Statue of Athena Promachos,” American Journal of Archaeology 25 (1921), 118–29, esp. 127–29; Stevens, “The Periklean Entrance Court,” 470, 491–515 (esp. 491–501). Dinsmoor, following Reisch, reconstructs a height for the statue of about 16.40 meters, or 50 Attic feet, further noting (128) that such “a height would bring the crest of the helmet 10 meters below the summit of the pediments of the Parthenon and 6 meters above the summit of the Propylaea.” Steven’s reconstructed height, calculated in part on the basis of mariners’ sight angles, is substantially less—9 meters—or about one-half that proposed by Dinsmoor. For a balanced overview of the evidence for the size of the statue, see Evelyn B. Harrison, “Pheidias,” in Personal Styles in Greek Sculpture, ed. Olga Palagia and Jerome J. Pollitt (Yale Classical Studies 30) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 16–65, esp. 28–34; in the end, Harrison preferred the lower restored height (31).

82.

See Romilly James Heald Jenkins, “The Bronze Athena at Byzantium,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 67 (1947), 31–33.

83.

Carol C. Mattusch, Greek Bronze Statuary: From the Beginnings through the Fifth Century B.C. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988), 170. For the passage by Niketas, see Henry Stuart Jones, Select Passages from Ancient Writers Illustrative of the History of Greek Sculpture, rpt. (Chicago: Argonaut, 1966), 80. Gisela Richter was firm in her belief that this was not the same statue, see Gisela Marie Augusta Richter, The Sculpture and Sculptors of the Greeks, 4th ed. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1970), 169, note 19. Stevens, “The Periklean Entrance Court,” 495 notes that the statue stood on the Acropolis until the time of Justinian (527–565 CE) when it was moved to the Agora of Constantinople. It is, however, not certain whether the Athena Promachos and the statue destroyed in Constantinople in 1203 is the same statue.

84.

Pausanias 1.28.2. This is something that Stevens, “The Periklean Entrance Court,” esp. 470, discusses at great length, and his reconstruction of the height of the statue depends on Pausanias’s statement that the upper part of the statue was visible from the sea. As Harrison, “Pheidias,” 31 notes: “Though Stevens made an attempt to calculate sight-lines in accordance with a restored height of the statue, Pausanias’ wording is too vague to serve his purposes.”

85.

Pausanias 1.28.2; 9.4.1; see further Harrison, “Pheidias,” 29–30; Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 151. Demosthenes (De Falsa Legatione 272 [428]) says that the statue was “dedicated as a monument to victory in the war against the barbarians, with the Hellenes supplying the funds.” It is worth adding that the scholiast on Demosthenes, Against Androtion 13 (597.5) agrees with Pausanias. It should be noted that the testimony of Pausanias is over 500 years after the event, whereas that of Demosthenes dates to the fourth century BCE.

86.

Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 152.

87.

See Michael Djordjevitch, “Pheidias’s Athena Promachos Reconsidered,” American Journal of Archaeology 98 (1994), 323. Djordjevitch concurs with Harrison’s argument that the statue stood to the west of the Old Athena Temple, adding that it was on axis with the building; see further Harrison “Pheidias,” 29, and Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 230.

88.

For a plan of the Old Propylon, see ibid., 133, fig. 108; see further Dinsmoor, Jr. The Propylaia, Vol. 1.

89.

Harrison, “Pheidias,” 32–33.

90.

Ibid., 31.

91.

For the inscription, see Dinsmoor, “Attic Building Accounts;” Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 25. The inscription (IG 13 435) has been recently down-dated and its pertinence to the statue has been questioned, see Ronald S. Stroud, The Athenian Empire on Stone: David M. Lewis Memorial Lecture Oxford 2006 (Athens: Greek Epigraphical Society, 2006), esp. 31–32; the inscription is also down-dated by Stephen V. Tracy, “Hands in Fifth-century B.C. Attic Inscriptions,” in Studies Presented to Sterling Dow on His Eightieth Birthday (Greek, Roman and Byzantine Monographs 10) (Durham: Duke University, 1984), 277–82; see further Andrew Stewart’s review of Claire Cullen Davison, Pheidias: The Sculptures and Ancient Sources (London: Institute of Classical Studies, School of Advanced Study, University of London, 2009), in American Journal of Archaeology 115, no. 3 (2011), www.ajaonline.org.

92.

Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 152.

93.

Ibid., 153.

94.

See especially Andrew Stewart, “History, Myth, and Allegory in the Program of the Temple of Athena Nike, Athens,” Studies in the History of Art (National Gallery of Art, Washington) 16 (1985), 53–73.

95.

Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 209–213, esp. 211; Hurwit also provides diagrammatically the sculptural program of the Temple of Athena Nike (211, fig. 183); for which see further Andrew Stewart, Greek Sculpture: An Exploration (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), pl. 414; for the akroteria, see Peter Schultz, “The Akroteria of the Temple of Athena Nike,” Hesperia 70 (2001), 1–47.

96.

As for the battle(s) among Greeks, a number of scholars have proposed the Athenian victory over the Spartans at Sphakteria, or the defeat of the Ambrakiots by Demosthenes; for the former, see Johannes Sipko Boersma, Athenian Building Policy from 561/0 to 405/4 B.C. (Groningen: Wolters-Noordhoff Publishing, 1970), 85; for the latter, see Peter Schultz, “The Stoa Poikile, the Nike Temple Bastion and Cleon’s Shields from Pylos: A Note on Knights 843–59,” Numismatica e antichità classiche, quaderni ticinesi 32 (2003), 551–63.

97.

See especially Evelyn B. Harrison, “The South Frieze of the Nike Temple and the Marathon Painting in the Stoa,” American Journal of Archaeology 76 (1972), 353–78; Evelyn B. Harrison, “The Glories of the Athenians: Observations on the Program of the Frieze of the Temple of Athena Nike,” in The Interpretation of Architectural Sculpture in Greece and Rome, ed. Diana Buitron-Oliver (Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art, 1997), 109–25.

98.

This is argued in Mike Lippman, David Scahill, and Peter Schultz, “Knights 843–59, the Nike Temple Bastion, and Cleon’s Shields from Pylos,” American Journal of Archaeology 110 (2006), 551–63; the proposal that the cuttings in the bastion were used for shields was first suggested by William Bell Dinsmoor, “The Sculpted Parapet of Athena Nike,” American Journal of Archaeology 30 (1926), 1–31.

99.

It was Perikles who referred to Aigina as “the eyesore of the Piraeus,” see Aristotle, Ars Rhetorica 1411a 15; Plutarch, Life of Perikles, 8; for a discussion of the term “eyesore” as applied to both Aigina and Psyttaleia, see Wallace, “Psyttaleia,” 298. For Aigina, Aphaia, and Athens, see Frederick A. Cooper, “The Tetrastylon in Greek Architecture,” American Journal of Archaeology 92 (1988), 280; for Base A, see Travlos, Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens, 150–51, figs. 200–201.

100.

Gloria Ferrari, “The Ancient Temple on the Acropolis at Athens,” American Journal of Archaeology 106 (2002), 11–35 (with references to the earlier work of Wilhelm Dörpfeld).

101.

Ibid., 11, 14.

102.

See especially Jari Pakkanen, “The Erechtheion Construction Work Inventory (IG 13 474) and the Dörpfeld Temple,” American Journal of Archaeology 110 (2006), 275–81.

103.

This is evocatively rendered in a drawing, replete with the partial corpses of at least two Athenians, a Persian dominating by standing proud on the column drums of the Pre-Parthenon, a hungry vulture already on the scene, with others flying in, by Manolis Korres, From Pentelicon to the Parthenon: The Ancient Quarries and the Story of the Half-worked Column Capital of the First Marble Temple (Athens: Melissa, 1995), 54–55, fig. 21.

104.

Ferrari, “The Ancient Temple,” 25; Manolis Korres, “Die Athena-Tempel auf der Akropolis,” in Kult und Kultbauten auf der Akropolis, ed. Wolfram Hoepfner (Berlin: Archäologisches Seminar der Freien Universität Berlin, 1997), 219; these are rather more difficult to see today, cf. Hans Rupprecht Goette, Athens, Attica and the Megarid: An Archaeological Guide (London: Routledge, 2001), 12.

105.

Ferrari, “The Ancient Temple,” 25; see also Hurwit, The Athenian Acropolis, 43 fig. 35, 142, 159.

106.

Ibid., 43 fig. 35; see further Manolis Korres, “The History of the Acropolis Monuments,” in Acropolis Restoration: The CCAM Interventions, ed. Richard Economakis (London: Academy Editions, 1994), 35–51, esp. 41; the fullest account of the architectural members of the Pre-Parthenon built into the north wall is that by Arnold Tschira, “Die unfertigen Säulentrommeln auf der Akropolis von Athen,” Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 55 (1940), 242–61 (with an appendix by Ernst Homann-Wedeking, “Anhang: Über die Verwendung griechischer Marmorsorten,” 262–64).

107.

This is best appreciated in the plan by Goette, Athens, Attica and the Megarid, 30, fig. 11. The literature on whether or not the Temple of Athena Polias was standing after the sack is presented in Ferrari, “The Ancient Temple;” see also Pakkannen, “The Erechtheion Construction Work Inventory.”

108.

This is well treated in Rhodes, Architecture and Meaning on the Athenian Acropolis, 32.

109.

Ibid., 32–33.

110.

The evidence is presented in John K. Papadopoulos, “The Original Kerameikos of Athens and the Siting of the Classical Agora,” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 37 (1996), 107–28; Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 280–316; Noel Robertson, “Athena’s Shrines and Festivals,” in Worshipping Athena: Panathenaia and Parthenon, ed. Jenifer Neils (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1996), 27–77; Robertson, “City Center,” 283–302. For the Aglauros inscription, see George Dontas, “The True Aglaurion,” Hesperia 52 (1983), 48–63.

111.

The evidence is fully presented in John K. Papadopoulos and Evelyn Lord Smithson, “The Cultural Biography of a Cycladic Geometric Amphora: Islanders in Athens and the Prehistory of Metics,” Hesperia 71 (2002), 149–99, esp. 152–57; the temple construction filling contained predominantly sixth- and early-fifth-century BCE material, with only a handful of pieces certainly later than 480 BCE. See further William Bell Dinsmoor, Observations on the Hephaisteion (Hesperia suppl. 5) (Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1941), 128–50, which presents the evidence of the pottery prepared by Lucy Talcott, suggesting a date of ca. 470 BCE.

112.

Antonio Corso, “The Topography of Ancient Athens in the Mirabilia Urbis Athenarum,” Hyperboreus: Studia Classica 16–17 (2010–11 [2011]), 69–80.

113.

The evidence of the roads from Athens to Phaleron and Piraeus is fully presented in Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 285–89; see also von Eickstedt, Piräus, 1–6; Robert Garland, The Piraeus, from the Fifth to the First Century B.C. (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1987).

114.

Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 289–91, with figs. 5.7–9. See further Stephen G. Miller, “Architecture as Evidence for the Identity of the Early Polis,” in Sources for the Ancient Greek City-state. Symposium, August 24–27, 1994 (Acts of the Copenhagen Polis Centre 2), ed. Mogens Herman Hansen (Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1995), 201–42; Stephen G. Miller, “Old Metroon and Old Bouleuterion in the Classical Agora of Athens,” in Studies in the Ancient Greek Polis (Historia Einzelschriften 95), ed. Mogen Herman Hansen and Kurt Raaflaub (Stuttgart: Historia, 1995), 133–56.

115.

Simon Goldhill, “The Seductions of the Gaze: Socrates and His Girlfriends,” in Kosmos: Essays in Order, Conflict and Community in Classical Athens, ed. Paul Cartledge, Paul Millett and Sitta von Reden (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 105–24.

116.

Ibid., 107.

117.

See John M. Camp, The Athenian Agora: Excavations in the Heart of Classical Athens (London: Thames & Hudson, 1986), 50, pl. II.

118.

For the stoa in Greek architecture, see James J. Coulton, The Architectural Development of the Greek Stoa (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976); for the most recent and fullest study of three stoas in the Athenian Agora, see Samantha Martin,“The Role of the Stoa in the Topography of the Ancient Athenian Agora: The Stoa Basileios, Stoa Poikile and Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios” (PhD diss., School of Architecture, University of Cambridge, 2007).

119.

[Imitator of Plato], Eryxias 392a and 392d; [imitator of Plato], Theages 121a; Plato, Euthyphro 2a, and Plato, Theaetus 210d; also relevant is Xenophon, Oeconomicus 7.1.

120.

Samantha Martin-McAuliffe, “Encounters with Socrates,” University College Dublin School of Architecture Yearbook: Strategies for an Urban Society (2011), 209. See further Martin “The Role of the Stoa in the Topography of the Ancient Athenian Agora,” 160–61.

121.

See Richard Ernest Wycherley, The Athenian Agora, Vol. III: Literary and Epigraphical Testimonia (Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1957), 34, no. 56.

122.

Ibid., 31, 45, note 2. For studies of the building, see Homer A. Thompson, “Excavations in the Athenian Agora: 1949,” Hesperia 19 (1950), 327–29; Lucy Shoe Meritt, “The Stoa Poikile,” Hesperia 39 (1970), 233–64; see also Lucy Shoe Meritt, “An Imitation of the Antique in Architectural Moldings,” Hesperia 35 (1966), 142. For the painting program, see Shoe Meritt, “Stoa Poikile,” 254–58; Richard Ernest Wycherley, “Marathon in the Poikile,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 18 (1972), 78; Tonio Hölscher, Griechische Historienbilder des 5. und 4.Jahrhunderts v. Chr. (Würzburg: K. Triltsch, 1973); Vin Massaro, “Herodotos’ Account of the Battle of Marathon and the Picture in the Stoa Poikile,” L’Antiquité classique 47 (1978), 458–75; Eric David Francis and Michael Vickers, “The Marathon Epigram in the Stoa Poikile,” Mnemosyne 38 (1985), 390–93; Franco De Angelis, “La battaglia di Maratona nella Stoa Poikile,” Annali della Scuola normale superiore di Pisa 1 (1996), 119–71; Jan Bollansée, “The Battle of Oinoe in the Stoa Poikile: A Fake Jewel in the Fifth-century Athenian Crown?” Ancient Society 22 (1991), 92, 121–23; David Castriota, “Feminizing the Barbarian and Barbarizing the Feminine: Amazons, Trojans, and Persians in the Stoa Poikile,” in Periklean Athens and Its Legacy, ed. Jeffrey M. Hurwit and Judith M. Barringer (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2005), 89–102; Mark Stansbury-O’Donnell, “The Painting Program in the Stoa Poikile,” in Periklean Athens and Its Legacy, ed. Jeffrey M. Hurwit and Judith M. Barringer (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2005), 73–87.

123.

For the latest excavation report on the stoa in the Athenian Agora that must be either the Stoa Poikile or the Stoa of the Hermes, see John M. Camp, “Excavations in the Athenian Agora: 2002–2007,” Hesperia 76 (2007), 627–63, esp. 649–51; the stoa has a depth of 11.50 meters, and its length can be estimated at approximately 46 meters. For the Stoa of the Hermes, see especially John Threpsiades and Eugene Vanderpool, “Πρὸς τοῖς Ἑρμαῖς,” Archaiologikon Deltion 18, A' (1963), 99–114; for the literary evidence and for the dates of the painters, see Wycherley, Agora III, 45, note 2.

124.

Camp, The Archaeology of Athens, 68–69.

125.

For Oinoe, see Pausanias 1.15; for the Athenians, with their hero Theseus, fighting Amazons, see Aristophanes, Lysistrata and especially the Scholiast on Lysistrata 678; for the Greeks at Troy, see Pausanias 1.15; Plutarch, Life of Kimon; Harpokration, Polygnotos; Pliny, Naturalis Historia 35.59; and for the Battle of Marathon, see Aelian, De natura animalium; Harpokration, Mikon. For the various identifications of Oinoe, see Lilian Hamilton Jeffery, “The Battle of Oinoe in the Stoa Poikile: A Problem in Greek Art and History,” Annual of the British School at Athens 60 (1965), 49–50; Eric David Francis and Michael Vickers, “The Oenoe Painting in the Stoa Poikile, and Herodotus’ Account of Marathon,” Annual of the British School at Athens 80 (1985), 99–113; Jeremy G. Taylor, “Oinoe and the Painted Stoa: Ancient and Modern Misunderstandings,” American Journal of Philology 199 (1998), 223–43.

126.

Pausanias 1.15.4.

127.

Goldhill, “The Seductions of the Gaze,” 108.

128.

Aeschines 3.186.

129.

Martin, “The Role of the Stoa in the Topography of the Ancient Athenian Agora,” pl. 2. Whether or not the shields were actually placed where they are in the reconstruction is moot.

130.

Ibid., pl. 1.

131.

For the ambiguity of the date, see Camp, The Athenian Agora, 53; Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 291–92. Stylistically, the architectural elements of the building should be dated to the middle years of the sixth century BCE, whereas the pottery from under the floor, deposited during the erection of the stoa, dates to ca. 480 BCE or later. This discrepancy might best be explained by the fact that the building was originally in the Archaic Agora to the east of the Acropolis and was moved to its current location sometime after the battle of Salamis in 480 BCE.

132.

Albert J. Ammerman, “The Eridanos Valley and the Athenian Agora,” American Journal of Archaeology 100 (1996), 699–715, esp. 700–701; for a reconstruction of the natural morphology of the Eridanos, see 712, fig. 7.

133.

For the transformation of this area, see ibid., 699–715.

134.

See Martin, “The Role of the Stoa in the Topography of the Ancient Athenian Agora,” 187. The placement of these two stoas not only underscored the important context of the Agora, but simultaneously illustrated how it was closely linked to other points in the city, especially the Acropolis. The Stoa Basileios and the Stoa Poikile thus explicitly demonstrated and distinguished the threshold space of the Agora, and in bracketing the entrance of the Panathenaic way, these buildings became a gateway of sorts that interrupted the movement of the street. Their façades did not greet visitors as they made their way from the Kerameikos, but were oriented instead toward the center of the Agora, thus revealing and highlighting the significance of the open space and its relationship to the Acropolis.

135.

Theodore Leslie Shear, Jr., “Ἰσονόμους τ’ Ἀθήνας ἐποιησάτην: The Agora and the Democracy,” in The Archaeology of Athens and Attica under the Democracy: Proceedings of an International Conference Celebrating 2,500 Years since the Birth of Democracy Held in Greece at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 4–6 December 1992, ed. William D. E. Coulson, Olga Palagia, T. Leslie Shear, Jr., H. Alan Shapiro, and Frank J. Frost (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1994), 225–48, esp. 245; the stone is described and illustrated on 242–45, figs. 15–16; see also 238, figs. 13–14.

136.

The Stone of Scone is the sandstone block upon which British monarchs are crowned in Westminster Abbey. For more, see David J. Breeze, “The Stone of Destiny: Its Origin, History and Authenticity,” in The Stone of Destiny: Artefact and Icon, ed. Richard Welander, David J. Breeze and Thomas Owen Clancy (Society of Antiquaries of Scotland Monograph Series 22) (Edinburgh: Society of Antiquaries, 2003), 3–8.

137.

Emily Vermeule’s ingenious suggestion has entered general Agora lore; it is mentioned, for example, in Camp, The Athenian Agora, 101–2 (without due credit). Although there are no known tholos tombs in Athens, the possibility of a now-vanished tholos tomb is strengthened by the two tholos tombs at Thorikos and one each at Marathon and Menidhi, see Sara Anderson Immerwahr, The Athenian Agora Vol. XIII: The Neolithic and Bronze Ages (Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1971), 150 (with references); Camp, The Athenian Agora, 26. For Thorikos see in particular Jean Servais and Brigitte Servais-Soyez, “La tholos ‘oblongue’ (tombe IV) et le tumulus (tombe V) sur le Vélatouri,” in Thorikos VIII: 1972/1976. Rapport préliminaire sur les 9e, 10e, 11e et 12e campagnes de fouilles, ed. Hermann F. Mussche, Jean Bingen, Jean Servais, and Paula Spitaels (Ghent: Comité des fouilles Belges en Grèce, 1984), 14–71. The most recent discussion of the tholos tombs at Thorikos, Menidhi and Marathon is Carla M. Antonaccio, An Archaeology of Ancestors: Tomb Cult and Hero Cult in Early Greece (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, Inc., 1995), 102–26.

138.

Antonaccio, ibid., passim (with references to earlier literature).

139.

Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 292.

140.

For the Arch of Hadrian see, among others, Judeich, Topographie von Athen, 381–82; Travlos, Πολεοδομικὴ ἐξέλιξις, 111–12, fig. 66; 197–99, fig. 131; Travlos, Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens, 253–57; Anastasios K. Orlandos, “Αἱ ἀγιογραφίαι τῆς ἐν Ἀθήναις Πύλης τοῦ Ἁδριανοῦ,” Platon 20 (1968), 248–55; Alison Adams, “The Arch of Hadrian at Athens,” in The Greek Renaissance in the Roman Empire: Papers from the Tenth British Museum Classical Colloquium, ed. Susan Walker and Averil Cameron (London: University of London, Institute of Classical Studies, 1989), 10–16; Dietrich Willers, Hadrians panhellenisches Programm: Archäologische Beiträge zur Neugestaltung Athens durch Harian (Antike Kunst Beiheft 16) (Basel: Birkhäuser + GBC AG Grafische Unternehmen, 1990), 68–92.

141.

This juxtaposition of men—a lone figure in traditional Greek costume, outnumbered by men in contemporary nineteenth-century western dress—is something we have seen in another Moraites photograph (see Figure 1).

142.

The discovery, almost a century after Moraites’s photograph, of an inscription found in association with its original base in situ, places the Sanctuary of Aglauros not, as previously thought, on the northwest slope of the Acropolis, but near the prominent natural cave on the east side of the rock, the cave at the center of our photograph. Such an identification of the Sanctuary of Aglauros would thus relocate several important monuments of old Athens well known from the extant literary sources—such as the Anakeion, the Theseion, the Prytaneion, to mention only a few, and with them the original Agora or marketplace of the city—to the east of the Acropolis and therefore closer to the primary area of early habitation to the south of the citadel. For the inscription, see Dontas, “The True Aglaurion,” 48–63. For the early twentieth-century excavations of the cave see Oscar Broneer, “The Cave on the East Slope of the Acropolis, I: The Site,” Hesperia 5 (1936), 247–53.

143.

Stuart and Revett, The Antiquities of Athens, vol. 3, chap. 3, pl. IV.

144.

The city of Hadrian is depicted in a number of early photographs taken from the east end of the Acropolis, not least that by Demetrios Constantine dating to ca. 1865, showing the standing columns of the Olympian, the Arch of Hadrian, the Panathenaic Stadium before its reconstruction for the first Olympiad of the modern era in 1896, and Mount Hymettos in the background. For the Temple of Olympian Zeus see Renate Tolle-Kastenbein, Das Olympieion in Athen (Cologne and Vienna: Weimer, Böhlau, 1994); for the stadium see, among others, Carlo Gasparri, “Lo stadio Panatenaico,” Annuario della Scuola archeologica di Atene e delle Missioni italiane in Oriente 52–53 (n.s. 36–37) (1974–75), 313–92.

145.

The arguments relocating the Archaic Agora to its rightful place, the identification of the original Kerameikos (or Potters’ Quarter) of Athens, together with the settlement on the Acropolis are set out in Papadopoulos, Ceramicus Redivivus, 271–316.

146.

Susan E. Alcock, Archaeologies of the Greek Past: Landscape, Monuments, and Memories (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 1. For social memory in relation to archaeological research see Jack L. Davis, “Memory Groups and the State: Erasing the Past and Inscribing the Present in the Landscapes of the Mediterranean and Near East,” in Negotiating the Past in the Past: Identity, Memory, and Landscape in Archaeological Research, ed. Norman Yoffee (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2007), 227–56, esp. 244, figs. 10.6a–b.