Book Five

Alexander Krawczuk
Seven Against Thebes
PIW 1968

Translation ©2008 by Zobenigo di Forgio

BOOK FIVE

On the Nemean Games and the Subterranean Oracle of Lebadeia

Says Pausanias, traveling across Greece in the second century AD:

People still point out the lion’s cave in these hills… In Nemea itself there is a temple of Zeus, well worth a visit, even though the roof has collapsed and there are no statues inside it anymore. Round the temple there is a cypress grove. People say that it was there that the char woman had placed Opheltes upon the grass and the snake killed the child… The grave of Opheltes is there, surrounded by a low stone wall. Within the enclosure there are altars. An earth mound reminds us about Likurgos, father of Opheltes; and the spring is called Adrastea, perhaps for some other reason, but perhaps because Adrastes had found it.

THE DEATH OF OPHELTES

The hosts of the seven princes gathered in Larissa and they set out from there, northwards, across the plane. When they passed through the valley at the foot of the Castle of Mycenae, no one greeted them, but also no one attempted to hinder their passage. But from the top of the grey walls hundreds of watchful eyes observed the princes and in the Mycenaean hearts the pious wish sprang up:

“May none of you return home!”

It was not necessary to be a soothsayer, like Amphiaros, to divine the mind of the rulers of Mycenae. The long line of chariots and men passed through the valley in deadly silence.

It was already a late afternoon when the armed hosts came over a pass and began to descend towards a wide valley, surrounded on all sides by steep mountains. Everywhere on the slopes grazed sheep, and below there were beautiful vineyards and olive groves. The whole area was called Nemea. It was not on the main road from Argos north, but it offered the best passage for the chariots.

The valley was ruled by Likurgos, a famous soothsayer and priest of Zeus. He did not go forth from his house to welcome the visitors: perhaps the rulers of Mycenae, his overlords, have forbidden him. The hosts stopped at the entrance to the valley, and four princes – Adrastos, Tydaeus, Amphiaros, and Poloneikos – continued in search of a good place to camp, as it was summer and both men and beasts were tired with the whole day’s journeying.

Normally, Nemea was abundant in water, but there has been a long drought and the bed of the stream which wound through the valley has dried up completely. The princes looked around helplessly: they could not see either a spring or a well, and the gates of Likurgos’ palace remained firmly closed; they did not want to knock at it. Near a low stone wall they spotted a woman with a child in her arms. Adrastos called out:

“Surely, there must be a spring here? We are dying of thirst!”

The woman kindly replied:

“It isn’t far. One has to walk up a little. I will show you.”

And placing the child upon the grass, she went ahead. She climbed quickly and they after her. After several score steps they saw water. They thanked their guide and turned back in order to call their men. But as soon as they looked down, they froze in fear: an enormous snake had tightly wound himself around the body of the child, and raised up his head menacingly, swaying it now this way, now that.

Amphiaros cried out:

“Stop! Do not make a step!”

But the others paid no heed and fell upon the beast with their swords bared. They cut it up into bits, but the child was already dead. The woman began to wail piercingly. From the house people emerged, Likurgos at their fore. The princes soon realized that a greater misfortune had happened that they had feared. The child – his name had been Opheltes – was a child not of the char woman, who had shown them the way, but Licurgos himself, the lord of the valley!

*

It was late night before Amphiaros returned to camp from Licurgos’ home. The princes had been waiting for him, sitting on the ground, on goat and sheep skins. Amphiaros joined them at the fire and long stared at the red flames. No one dared to ask him and he took pleasure in their anxiety. He thought:

“Let them worry! They feel responsible for the woman, whom Licurgos may well punish by death, but they also fear that the child’s death is a bad omen for them! Besides, the lord of this valley, if he so chose, could quickly gather quite a force of his neighbors. The road out of this valley leads through a narrow gorge and is easy to close. Impetuous Tydaeus should not have reached for his sword when Likurgos meant to kill the char woman on the spot; the two were separated by force, but anger remained in the hearts of both Likurgos and the princes. . And now they hoped that I would fix it all…”

When at length he decided that he has annoyed them long enough, he spoke. But he did not immediately spoke to the matter that worried them most. He began with a lengthy historical argument:

“You should know that all of this was once desert and only a lion roared here in the night. Cattle was not safe in any enclosure, and people shook with fear in their homes. Even the residents of Tiryns and Mycenae stayed behind their walls when they saw their dogs curl up their tails at the smell of the lion prowling in the dark. Eurysteus was then king over Argos and all the surrounding country. He called Heracles and ordered him to kill the lion. And Heracles went because he was obliged to submit to the king: such had been the will of Zeus, who’d been tricked by his wife Hera. But Heracles was unable to find any shelter for the night in these parts, because all have long since fled, both from Nemea and the surrounding valleys. Finally, he found a hut where he was offered repast by a shepherd named Molorchos; he lived alone because his son had been devoured by the lion, as had been all his sheep. Only one was left. But Molorchos was a hospitable man: in order to receive his guest, he wanted to slaughter his last sheep. Heracles refused and asked:

“Wait thirty days. If I do not return within thirty days from my hunt, it will be proof that I have died fighting the lion; then slaughter the sheep in sacrifice to my shadow. But if I return here before then, we shall sacrifice the sheep together to Zeus the Savior!”

Thirty days passed and Heracles did not return to Molorchos’ hut. The sheppherd began to make preparations to honor the shadow of the departed, when, at length, Heracles arrived, wearing a lion skin. Together they made the sacrifice, but not in honor of shadows and divinities of the misty netherworld, but in honor of Zeus. Then to celebrate his victory, Heracles founded games here, games in honor of Zeus. Later new men arrived and settled here and no one remembered the games. Now we shall reinstitute them. We shall perform a great funeral for the son of Likurgos, we shall invite all neighbors, we shall race chariots, wrestle, throw the discus. And these games will take place every other year so that the memory of Opheltes would not die. For this price, Likurgus shall take anger out of his heart, spare the char woman, and desist from cursing and pursuing us.

And I shall add: the boy’s name is Opheltes, but during the games we shall worship him under the name of Archemoros – “leading onto death” – since he died to show us the way we are all bound to make.

And one more thing: the char woman is names Hypsipyle. She is not an ordinary slave. She comes from a distant island in the north, Lemnos. She was the king’s daughter and arrived here by strange ways. Soon her sons will come to free her.

I have arranged everything as you have asked me, and as was agreeable to Zeus. But the snake you should not have killed because it had been sent by the gods.

IN HONOR OF OPHELTES AND HYSIPSYLE

After many, many years, in the times in which the third expedition of Seven Against Thebes marched against the city, the Nemean Games – along with the Olympic, the Pythian and the Isthmus games -- were among the four most famous in all Hellas. Starting in 573 BC they took place every other year, always at the height of summer. Always they preserved the memory of those who had founded them in the heroic age: of Heracles, the seven princes, and the tiny Opheltes smothered by the snake. A glorious Doric temple of Zeus was built here in the fourth century BC; its architect was the famous Skopas from the island of Paros. In front of it was a great altar and at the back wall a narrow passage to an underground chamber known as the Opheltes grave; in truth it was either an earlier temple, or a grave from the Mycenaean period. Near the temple of Zeus there were buildings where the competitors trained: palestra and gymnasion; and a little further, on the slope of the hill, a stadium, an open air theater, and a hippodrome; that is where the wrestling competition and the races took place.

But the glory of Nemea did not last long. Already in the third century the city of Argos, which had conquered the area, moved the games from the valley onto its own territory, so that the revenue stream from the games may flow in its own citizens’ pockets. Nemean became deserted. Then came earthquakes and gradually toppled all buildings. Only ruins remain and three – only three – columns of the great temple of Zeus. They stand there, alone and proud, a romantic accent in the wilderness; they were once the favorite subject of woodcuts of traveling artists on the Grand Tour; and today – of video camera films of American tourists; for whoever travels to see the ruins of Mycenae stops in this charming valley, where Heracles performed one of his twelve works at the command of King Erysteus.

But there is another monument of the Nemean games, perhaps more lasting than the three columns which time will eventually eat through: they are the paeans of Pindar, a Theban poet from the fifth century BC. In these odes, known as Nemean, Pindar praises the grand victories of his grand lord sponsors.

And since we are on the topic, it behooves us to mention who were the winners of the original games in honor of Opheltes. They were: Adrastos in horseback racing, Hippomedont in the stadion dash, Tydaeus in boxing, in chariot races and in discus throw – Amphiaros, in wrestling Polineikos, in archery Partenopeios. The greatest glory went to winners of the disciplines in which Amphiaros excelled.

When today’s scientists try to unravel the origin and initial meaning of the games in this beautiful but remote valley, they agree that their true hero was the child Opheltes – or (this may have been his cult name) Arachemoros. Only later did Zeus become the lord of the games: he had originally been worshipped at a nearby blunt hill with a top as flat as if it had been cut off with a knife. Some scholars were inclined to see in the boy a symbol of nature dying in the summer heat. But others point out that in a few places in Greece, and in Crete, there had existed a cult of small boy, a divine child, which is threatened by great dangers, but which is safe thanks to the intervention of heroes or gods. The snake, which had wound about the child had perhaps been its protector, and it has perhaps been a sin of the impetuous princes to cut up the beast with their swords; for in Mycenaean and Cretan myths the snake is often a symbol of good. But blind fate had wanted the princes to become carried away and to be made guilty of the death of the child, thereby casting a dark shadow on the whole expedition.

But someone might object: surely the greatest responsibility resided with the char woman, Hypsipyle; this is how it looks in the version of the myth presented here. But it is possible that in the oldest tales about the first expedition of seven against Thebes, the char woman was no more than a simple slave girl; she may even have been unnamed. It was only Euripides, the great Athenian dramatist, who had the idea to make the slave of Likurgos identical with a woman famous from another cycle of myths. He thereby created the potential for a great variety of dramatic twists and turns, worthy of a later adventure romance.

The figure of Hopsipyle, and her earlier fate, before she found herself in Nemea, had been well known to the Athenian audiences thanks to the dramas of Euripides’ predecessors: Aeschylus and Sophocles. Though their dramas have not survived, we know the myth well:

The women of Lemnos did not show sufficient respect to the goddess Aphrodite. The goddess, angered, punished them with an unpleasant smell, which caused that even the most loving of husbands turned away from their wives with disgust. And this has made the Lemnian women so furious that one day they murdered all men on their island. Only Hysipsyle managed to hide her father. And thus a female state was born on the island, of which Hysipsyle was the queen. Soon, enterprising sailors visited the island. They were the Argonauts. Under the leadership of Jason they were sailing east, to Colchis, on the Black Sea, to seize the Golden Fleece. At first the Argonauts and the Lemnians fought, but eventually peace was reached: the sailors promised to spend some time with the women; Hysipsyle selected Jason; the fruit of their love were two boys, who were named Toas and Euneos.

Such a myth had served as the plot of the dramas of Aeschylus and Sophocles, now lost. But even the Euripides’ Hysipsyle does not survive in its entirety; this work is only known thanks to different quotations in various texts by ancient authors and some papyri discovered in Egypt. So the situation is much like with the drama Antiope, which we had mentioned in Book One. Like Antiope, Hysipsyle belonged to Euripides most read works. Both dramas had been staged in Athens within a few years of each other, sometime around 410 BC.

Trying to figure out the plot, the order of scenes, and the ownership of the spoken or choir parts of dramas saved only in fragments, like Hysipsyle, is one of the favorite pastimes of classicists. Surely it is more challenging than solving crossword puzzles with the use of dictionaries or encyclopedias.

In the prologue, Hysipsyle herself narrates what had happened on the island of Lemnos: she had to flee when the other women discovered that she had treacherously kept her father alive; her sons had been taken from her; and she herself had been captured by pirates and sold to Likurgos. After the prologue, two young men enter the stage. They ask to be put up and are welcome in the house of Likurgos. Then there arrives a choir of the Nemean women: they announce that a great army is descending into the valley. Soon one of its leaders, Amphiaros, arrives. From him Hysipsyle learns about the expedition of Seven Against Thebes. Asked by him, she guides him to the spring, carrying the child in her arms. In a moment she runs in, announcing that the child, which she had put in the bush, had been smothered by a snake. Euridice, the mother of the child, wants to punish the char woman by death; but Amphiaros, arriving in the house of Likurgos in the nick of time, calms the mother’s rage and pain. Now the two young men, who’d asked for shelter in the beginning of the play, reappear. Amphiaros, a superior soothsayer, immediately sees the truth: these are the sons of Hysipsyle and Jason in search of their mother! The drama ends with the descent from heaven of Dyonysius, Hysipsyle’s grandfather.

The popularity of this drama is perhaps best attested by the fact that Greek vases, especially the ones produced in South Italy, were frequently decorated with the figure of Hysipsyle, with a child in her hands. As late as the fourth century AD she is being represented on newly minted coins!

CAMP AT THE RIVER ASOPOS

Several days later the hosts of the seven princes were descending the slopes of Kithaeron towards the Beotian plane which opened beneath them: broad, undulating, and smiling, it seemed. One could already see the cluster of white homes of Kadmeia and Thebes, and Polineikos kept spurring his horses so as to reach the grey walls of the city all the quicker – as if he hoped to take it with a single charge, from march. But the other princes must have thought otherwise. They did not know the city, but have heard of its enormous walls, built of gigantic rocks which had themselves rolled into place at the sound of Amphion’s lyre. They knew also that the rich and populous city ruled the entire surrounding plane since it had defeated its nearby competitor, Orchomenos, in war. How many famous men Thebes had given to the world! Even Heracles, who had performed so many glorious deeds, had been born here. Besides, the never ceasing dark forecasts by the soothsayer Amphiaraos have also finally had their effect. And now, when the walls of Thebes came within reach, a strange fear fell upon all.

When the hosts have come down from the crags of Kithaeron, Adrastos ordered:

“We shall camp by the river Asopos!”

It flowed at the foot of Kithaeron, east to west, collecting the waters of the small streams and springs of the large mountain range. Asopos was not deep; but its banks were steep and over-grown with reed. The campsite was selected expertly: beautiful meadows and the nearness of water allowed both men and beasts a rest and the difficulty of crossing the river afforded a measure of protection against any attack. This was not likely. For though the residents of Thebes had known for some time about the expedition, and their spies had trailed the princes, why would they choose battle in the open field, which, were it even to be successful, would surely be bought with huge losses? Rather they would wait behind their walls, until the enemy had bled himself to death in repeat attacks, until his forces had been decimated by fruitless storms of the walls.

At the evening fire the princes again gathered round for council. This time Amphiaraos was the first to speak:

“We will not immediately strike at Thebes. There is still hope, however small, that we can avoid war, and therefore death. Perhaps they will relent, having seen seven such princes, and so many men with them. But it is needed that one of us go to Thebes and tell them plainly this: either they will find a way to settle justly with Polineikos (and to reward us handsomely for the trouble we have had to undertake) or else they will end up bewailing very many of their dead; because for them, too, the omens are inauspicious.”

It was decided to send Tydaeus. If it had been meant to be a peace mission, with a request for compromise, it was not a happy choice for Tydaeus was a silent, violent type. On the other hand, it was precisely Tydaeus, tough and brave in battle, who’d best show to the Kadmeans what sort of enemies they faced. Besides, Polineikos could not go – for he had been the cause of the war; nor could Adrostos, since he was the leader of the host; Amphiaraos refused, since he had been compelled to join the quest, and the others -- Hippomedont, Partenopeios and Kapaneus -- were all much too young.

When Tydaeus rode up his chariot up the Kadmean hill, he found the host of Eteokles feasting in the square before the palace. But Tydaeus was not frightened by the number and hostility of the Theban youth, though they regarded his small size and strange armor with scorn. He was a heroldos: within city walls no one would dare raise his arm against him! Calmly therefore he presented to Eteokles the words of the Seven Princes:

“Strike with Pilineikos a just arrangement! Let the two of you share power, land, and treasure, and you shall save this city much suffering and blood!”

But they refused this request for peace, because they trusted in their powerful walls and their agile youth. So Tydaeus then tried to convince them through a feat of strength: he challenged all present at the feast to wrestle with him one by one, and he defeated all of them, every last one. The Thebans did not take the humiliation well: as Tydaeus returned home, they fell upon him in an ambush: fifty armed men fell upon the single unarmed messenger.

Later, poets’s songs praised the feats of Tydaeus: his embassy, his feats in Kadmea, and his fight at the ambush. At Troy, king Agamemnon would remind Diomedes, the son of Tydaeus:

“They came to Asopos, where the reed grows high and the meadows are fertile. From there the Argives sent Tydaeus to Thebes as an ambassador. He went and in the house of powerful Eteokles, he found many Thebans at feast. Tydaeus, the brave horse-whisperer, did not fear, though he were alone among so many Kadmeans. He challenged them all to a wrestling match and defeated them all easily. That’s the kind of help Athena gave him! Boiled with anger the Kadmeans who ride their horses well. And when he returned they readied for him an ambush. There were fifty young men, and two leaders above them, Maion, the godlike son of Haiphon, and Poliphont, brave in battle, son of Autophonos. But for them, too, Tydaeus readied a terrible fate. He killed them all. One only Maion he sent back to Thebes, for thus had he been ordered by the omens sent by gods!”

And in another place of the Illiad, thus prays Diomedes, son of Tydaeus, to his goddess Athena:

“Hear me, o daughter of Zeus! Stand by me, as you had once stood by my father, divine Tydaeus, when he went to Thebes as an Achaean messenger. For he left them, bronze-clad Argives, by the shores of the Asopos, and himself carried a friendly word of peace to Kadmea. But when he returned, he performed terrible feats, and all thanks to you for you had stood by his side! Thus please you to stand by me and offer me the same aid!”

Both these fragments of the Illiand show that the events of the expedition of the seven princes were not forgotten by the succeeding generation. And their memory was not only preserved by family tradition but also by epic poetry.

THE LOST EPIC

Writes Pausanias, a Greek historian and lover of antiquities and lived it he second century AD (we have mentioned him here before):

“I believe that this was the largest war fought by Hellenes against Hellenes in the times which we call the heroic age. The armies of the Argives have entered Beotia; Androstos had brought allies from Arcadia and Messenia; and the Thebans, too, had called their neighbor allies.

In the battle fought at Ismenion, the Argives were the victors; the Thebans fled behind their walls. But the invaders did not know how to capture fortified cities. They attacked with more anger than knowledge. And thus the Thebans killed a great deal of them, and then more some when making a sortie they attacked the already retreating force. Thus they all died, except Andrastos…

This war is narrated by an epic entitled The Thebaid; Kallinos – and I with him – claims that its author was Homer himself. I at least treasure this epic most after the Illiad and the Odyssey.”

Kallinos, whom Pausanias mentions, was a poet and lived in the seventh century BC.; from which it follows that the epic was by then already known, and so admired that its authorship was widely ascribed to Homer. Thus, its artistic quality must have been high; it was read for many centuries – nine hundred centuries divide Kallinos from Pausanias! But for us, this epic is a mystery, one more mystery in the thicket of mysteries of the heroic age. For what has remained of such a famous classic, what do we know about it for sure? One ancient source, agreeing, by the way, with the others that the epic’s author must have been Homer himself, says that the poem contained 7,000 lines (and was therefore about half the length of the Illiad). Someone else quotes the first line of the classic; in translation it would sound something like this:

Sing Argos, O Goddess, Argos much plagued by draught

But the content of the poem we can only reconstruct in merely the vaguest outlines. It presented the events already known: the quarrel between Polineikos and Eteokles, the arrival of Polineikos and Tydaeus at the house of Adrastos, the compelling of Amphiaraos to participate in the expedition, the march of the expedition, Tydaeus’ embassy. The last books of the classic talked about the fight at the foot of the city walls, the fruitless charges, the death of six princes, and the escape of Adrastos.

In antiquity not merely the Thebaid but also many other existing epics, now lost, were ascribed to Homer. This was in part justified by the fact that they all had been written in the same kind of style and language, had been written, so to speak, in the same genre. These were heroic epics, stories of the bloody deeds and unusual adventures of men and women of the mythical age. Whole generations of poets composed these poems using the same technique of rhyming and rhythm, the same metaphors, the same analogies, the same images, the same phrases. The personality of the poet – who never spoke in his own name – was pushed back into the background. The most important matter was the skill of story telling and it, like any craft, was the property of many. We know today that the Illiad, as a composition, was essentially the work of one man; but the material out of which it was built was collected over the centuries. And if the figure of the author of the Illiad is so uncertain, how can we assign to him also the Thebaid?

Perhaps the most we can say is this:

The Thebaid so highly regarded by Pausanias was almost certainly created before the 7th century BC, and therefore about the same time when the Illiad and Odyssey took their final shape. It was created within the circle of poets practicing the same literary genre, the heroic epic, and therefore it had many elements in common with other epics of the time. The author’s name was probably unknown from the first, as was the common practice: literary creativity was not so greatly prized then so as to immortalize names. It is also possible that the Thebaid had many authors who gradually added and developed the various elements of the story of seven against Thebes.

But we could go further. We could ask whether the Thebaid did not in fact predate the two epics which we have preserved till this day, the Illiad and the Odyssey. The lines spoken by Illiad heroes which have been quoted in the last chapter clearly assume that the listener knows the story of what happened to the princes en route to Thebes; there other such instances.

Nearly all Greek myths – as we have already said – had their source in the heroic age, the Mycenaean world. It was during this time that first songs about heroes were sung, which, passed on from generation to generation, became the raw material for the creation of the great epics – both those which have been preserved and the many others which we know only by title and perhaps a few preserved fragments; like the Thebaid.

Who was the carrier of the songs through the ages? Who shaped the epics? It was a caste of professional poet-singers, known as aoidoi. They traveled between the houses of great lords where they helped celebrate feasts and religious events by half-singing stories of times past to the accompaniment of kitaron, a string instrument. Each performance was supposedly new and original, but it consisted of similar elements. A big aid to the aoidos was the poetic language itself which offered at any moment a large number of ready-made expressions which could be used to describe the specific situation. This is clear in the Illiad and Odyssey; together they are composed of 28,000 verses, but out of those 5,000 are exact repeats; there are an even greater number of fragmentary repeats. This is why writing was not necessary for the aoidoi, many of whom were at any rate blind: all they needed was a good memory and some practice at fitting the various formulas together.

The Odyssey describes a feast at the palace of King Alkinoos thus:

“The food was divided and the wine mixed. The herald arrived, leading the brave aoidos Demodokos, worshipped by all nations. Archwise Odysseus sliced off a hunk of silver-fanged pig (leaving a goodly bit for himself), a bite well overgrown with fat, and spoke to the herald:

“Here, herald! Take this meat to Demodokos. For though I am troubled, I wish to show him kindness. The aoidoi are well regarded and honored by all nations on earth because they have been taught their songs by the Muse, who loves their tribe.”

Thus he spoke and the herald, carried it off and placed it in the hands of the aoidos Demodokos; and he received it with joy in his heart. All reached out their hands for the food which had been served. And when they chased away hunger and thirst, thus spoke the archwise Odysseus to Demodokos:

“Demodokos! Of all mortal men, I praise you the most. Either the Muse, daughter of Zeus has taught you, or Apollo himself, for you tell the stories of the troubles of the Achaians most beautifully: what they suffered, how many obstacles they faced, as if you heard it yourself from someone who had been there with them…”

It was just such aoidoi who sang for their lords’ pleasure in the megarons of Mycenae, Larissa, Tiryns, Kadmea. These poor singers, just like the rest of the simple people, survived the fall of the states and the ruin of the castles. Poetry – as it proves nearly always – proved stronger than the cyclopean walls and bronze armor. And an important factor of the poetry’s survival was precisely the fact that it was not locked in symbols of script on clay tablets, but entrusted to the living memory of men. For thus, when, along with the rest of the Mycenaean world, its script, too, disappeared, the winged word, passed from mouth to mouth and generation to generation, shone on, unaltered, in the beautiful, petrified forms of the epic style.

ATIMACHOS OF KOLOPHON, CONTROVERSIAL POET

Such was the epic production of the singers. With its roots, it reached back to the Mycenaean world, but it still bloomed in the 8th and 7th centuries B.C. For us the Illiad and the Odyssey are its sole monuments, but the ancients knew many such works, among them, as was already said, the Thebaid, a poem so beautiful that some ranked it among the best.

It is known well and long since: every literary genre has its own life, ruled by its own laws; certain genres appear and bloom in certain times and die later. It was so in the past, and it is still so today. After all, it is before our eyes that the traditional novel seems to be losing its popularity, even though in the 19th century it was the main object of readers’ pleasure. It is possible to observe well the same fluidity of literary styles in the antique world. From the Mycenaean times down through the 7th century B.C. the epic ruled nearly exclusively; later lyric poetry came to the fore, and the so-called didactic poetry; later drama and history; and although in the 6th and 5th centuries people were still composing epics, they were widely perceived as dead regurgitations of ancient models.

By a lucky turn of events, we know the name -- and several fragments of the work – of a man about whom it can be safely said that he was the last singer-aoidos of Greece. His name was Khoirilos, he came from Samos, and lived at the end of the 5th century. For some time the great Spartan general Lysander had him at his side, so that he may praise his works and pass them for posterity. Lysander died in a battle against Thebans, at Haliartos, in 395 B.C. We have mentioned this battle before saying that the Spartans credited that defeat to the anger of Alkmena, the mother of Heracles, who had been buried at Haliartos. Therefore, when Spartans came to control the area again in 382 B.C., they had the grave dug up, the remains sent and buried in their own country, and the bronze tablet with the inscription found in the grave – sent to Egypt for decipherment. And thus the mention of the name of Khoirilos brings us back to the time when the Theban plotters gathered in the house of Simmias, and the exiles readied an expedition for the liberation of their city from the tyranny and the rule of foreigners.

For the subject of his epics Khoirilos selected not mythical tales, but a very recent past: the struggles of the Greeks against the Persian invaders. Thus he praised the soldiers of Marathon and Thermopilae – in the same language in which once the works of Hector and Achilles were praised. And it was this interest of Khoirilos – not in myth but in recent history – which suggested to Lysander the idea that the poet should perhaps take an interest in him and his own heroic deeds.

Khoirilos himself was aware that he was the last singer-aoidos. And thus he complained in the very first lines of his epic:

“Lucky was that capable aoidos, serving the Muses, who lived in times when the fallows still lay untouched. Now all land has been divided, every art has had her boundaries marked, and only we remain, the last ones running, bringing up the rear. Though I look sharply about me, I see no new chariot upon which to jump.”

Yet – there was a way! At precisely the same time, at the end of the 5th century, a poet named Antimachos of Kolophon was active. He too came into contact with Lysander, if briefly. It happened like this:

On the island of Samos games were held in the honor of the Spartan commander; there was also a poetic contest. Antimachos presented one of his poems, but suffered an unpleasant setback, Lysander having selected someone else as winner.

It is easy to understand why the work of Antimachos would not please the taste of the Spartan who so highly regarded the last aoidos: the poet from Kolophon represented an entirely new, and very difficult, direction in the epic style. To be briefest, I suppose, one could call the style erudite, or learned. Antimachos was much given to allusions to distant past, mentions of obscure myths, and vocabulary far removed not only from the daily, but also the Homeric language. Antimachos was a scholar: he edited and published the Illiad and the Odyssey. But precisely as a connoisseur of the old epic, Antimachos understood that it belongs to the past and that there is no way to keep it alive. He therefore believed that the new epic must consciously depart from the supposed simplicity of the aoidoi who had sung for all; let the new epic speak only to the select few, the well read members of the high culture! This sort of people can enjoy the special flavor of poetry which offers more than artful speech and rhythmic melody, but also contains true treasures of great erudition.

It is possible that prior to the publication of his epic, Antimachos published a collection of love elegies entitled Lide; such was the name of his early departed girlfriend. The learned lover sought solace from mourning in collecting, and dressing in poetic language, all the stories of unhappy lovers which had been known in Greek mythology.

The epic, Antimachos’ life’s work, described the first expedition of seven against Thebes. It was therefore named the Thebaid, just like the earlier heroic epic which we had discussed in the last chapter; but it was different from it in almost every way. First, it was very long: like the Illiad, it had 24 books. The narrative progressed slowly, like a broad river flowing down a shallow valley; and constantly little rivulets separated form its main course: they were very learned about this or that forgotten myth, or religious practice, or localities. Some loved this slow rhythm, and the demand placed on the readers’ intellect; others found it tiresome. From the very beginning of his poetic activity Antimachos was a controversial poet; there raged about him violent struggles of passionate fans and malicious critics. The general Lysander rejected Antimachos; but a far more important person praised him: Plato himself! According to some later reports, it was young Plato himself who with well aimed words of praise convinced Antimachos – deeply depressed after having suffered a particularly mean attack – not to burn his epic. After Antimachos’ death, Plato sent one of his followers to collect and preserve all of the poet’s work for posterity.

The combat between the fans and the critics of Antimachos continued to rage throughout the rest of antiquity. Some said that his work was thick and rough hewn; others ranked the poet right after Homer. It is difficult for us to form our own opinion, since all we have is a few small fragments of both Lide and the Thebaid. Perhaps we might agree with Quintillian, a 1st century AD Roman theoretician of literature:

“With Antimachos the most praise worthy are power, dignity, and a manner of speaking totally unlike the common man’s. But, though most grammarians tend to grant him the second place, he does disappoint when it comes to the expression of emotions; does not know how to create a pleasant mood; does not preserve orderliness; simply put, he lacks art…”

It is certain that both enemies and friends – the entire future Greek and Roman poetry – owed to Antimachos a great deal.

SIMMIAS GIVES HIS OPINION REGARDING THE GUARDIAN SPIRIT OF SOCRATES

It did not escape the attention of the contemporaries – people living at the cusp of 5th and 4th centuries B.C. – that they were witnessing an interesting phenomenon: the old style of epic poetry was dying – its last chord was the work of Khoirilos – and a new style was being born. Had something similar taken place in our times, doubtless there would pour forth a great river of studies, monographs and essays with thunderous titles like: “On the condition of the epic”, and “The struggle between the old and the new in the epic”; and “In defense of the true values of the epic”; and “Some problems of epic theory and practice”. Learned symposia would take place, international seminars and conferences. Many would gain doctorates and habilitations; some would earn professorships. Most of the production would be long-sentenced, intelligently unintelligible, and carefully sensitive to the most delicate breezes from the high regions of ideological Olympus.

But then, around year 400 B.C., it was not all that different, actually. Much was written about the epic, and also by philosophers-ideologues. We mentioned already that Plato took interest in the poetry of Antimachos; but a friend of Plato, Simmias, also took interest in the epic business. He wrote a whole dialogue about it – today, unfortunately, lost. It will never again be known whether Simmias, the friend of the Theban plotters, was a fried or foe of that Antimachos who presented the story of seven against Thebes in such ground-breaking manner.

But we do know, thanks to Plutarch, Simmias’ opinion regarding the guardian spirit of Socrates.


..As we were saying, Caphisias and Theocritos, talking with Hipposteneidos in the courtyard, have just learned that the messenger who had been ordered to stop the seven in Kithaeron had not even left; and that therefore nothing could stop the impending turn of events: the coup was to take place that very night!

When Caphisias and Theocritos returned to the room, Symmias’ leg has already been bandaged and the conversation, which had been interrupted by the arrival of the doctor, returned to its main topic: was there such a thing as guardian spirit of Socrates, and if so, what were his characteristics and – signs? Simmias was speaking:

“As you all know, I was for a while a student of Socrates. Since already at that time it was often said that he was under the protection of some secret spirit, I asked him directly about it. But he completely ignored my question. I understood then that I have acted improperly, and I never returned to the matter. But I can say something else, something which I have witnessed myself. Frequently many other people reported, in the presence of Socrates, that they have encountered some divine force; but he took them for charlatans. An interesting point, though: he did take seriously those who claimed to have heard mysterious voices. He asked them very carefully about all details of such an event. We, the students, often talked amongst ourselves about it and came to this conclusion: that the guardian spirit of Socrates is not some sort of a vision but a voice; or an impression of words reaching his soul in some mysterious manner. After all, even in dreams people do not in fact hear, but only have the impression that they hear; an impression of comprehending some sounds of words, meanings. But there are also those who in their sleep reach some kind of a revelation, because their bodies are then in silence and peace. But in waking it is impossible to hear the voice of higher beings because in waking man is harried by million passions, and hard necessities of life, so he has no means of turning his attention towards that which is being revealed by the gods. But the mind of Socrates was wholly pure, void of any passions, barely attached to the body; it is therefore not surprising that he was so sensitive, receiving immediately all calls from above. But what calls were they? Of course, they were not the sounds of speech, but certain words of the guardian spirit, which wordlessly communicated with the mind, pouring out directly the content of the revealed matters. We must remember that the mind of the higher being influences the sensitive human soul without any physical contact whatsoever, only, as it were, by touching it with its will. One could use a metaphor: the huge, heavy ship readily subjects itself to the influence of the small rudder; and the potter effortlessly turns the throwing wheel by barely touching it with his toes. But neither the ship nor the throwing wheel have a soul; yet they are built so sensitive and so smooth that they immediately turn as they are commanded. The human soul is far more agile and mobile than any tools made with human hand; therefore, if one touches the human soul in a capable manner, it moves immediately in the direction indicated by thought. Our bones, muscles and tendons are deprived of all feeling and watery; but if the soul only desires something, all that mass, heavy and unwieldy, immediately rises to action. It is hard to understand just how it happens, but the effects are clear.”

After these words Simmias became silent for a while; those present looked at the old man, who rarely spoke at such length, in silence and with attention. The sick man rested and then spoke again:

“Many people accept that in our sleep we receive some secret messages and warnings; but firmly refuse that a spirit can communicate with us in waking. The problem lies in the fact that the spirit cannot communicate with those awake because they are troubled and distracted by other matters. And from this precisely Socrates has freed himself through his own efforts. When he was a child his father asked an oracle what to do with the boy, the oracle replied that he should let the boy do whatever he likes; he is not to be influenced or compelled in any way, but to be left alone; one should only pray for him – pray to Zeus, the protector of the agora, and to the Muses; because Socrates has a better protector than all teachers.

“This is my view on the matter of the protective spirit of Socrates. And all that others say about mysterious voices, or sneezings, and the like, I take to be fairy tales. One could also mention here what I heard from Timmarchos of Cheroneia. But in my opinion this is more like some fantastic fairy tale than historical truth.”

These last words greatly stirred the interest of Theocritos, who, as a soothsayer, was always glad to hear of anything unusual or mysterious. So he cried out:

“No! No! Tell us all about it! After all, even myths, though they are not exactly true, yet they touch upon reality in some relevant way. But first of all tell us who Timmarchos of Cheroneia was, because I have never heard of him before.”

“This is not surprising, Theocritos,” replied Symmias, “because he died very young. Before dying he asked Socrates that he bury him next to Lamprocles. Lamprocles was the oldest son of Socrates, of same age as Theocritos, and the two had been friends; and it so happened that he died a few days before him. Now, Timmarchos had determined to find out at all cost what powers exactly the protective spirit of Socrates had. And since he was young, and barely introduced into the mysteries of philosophy, he acted very energetically. He told only Kebes and myself what he intended to do: he satisfied all the necessary ritual requirements and descended into the cave of Trofonios. He spent the whole night there, in the underground darkness, and the next day, and the next night. Everybody was certain that he had died and been lost. Even his relatives stopped mourning for him. But at dawn of the third day he emerged into the daylight, radiant with joy. He then worshipped god Trofonios, and then, escaping somehow the crowd, he began to tell us what sorts of strange and mysterious things he had seen and heard in the world of eternal darkness.”

THE ORACLE OF TROFONIOS

Leaving Thebes and heading West one first passes the town of Halliartos, on the shores of Lake Copais. The road then continues for a while along the shore, and then leads onto a broad valley, across which numerous streams wend their way down towards the lake. They flow from the South, from the wooded rage of Helikon, and from the West, from the massive range of Parnassus.

Two narrow valleys cut into the Helicon range. In the first there lies the town of Coroneia, in the second, western one, Lebadeia. This last one lies at the foot of a steep mountain, at the entrance of deep ravine; this had been cut among wild rocks by a stream called Herkina. It is one of the most sublime areas of all of Hellas. Especially impressive is the sharp contrast between the green, delightful valley which ranges northwards from the foot of the town and the narrow, dark ravine to the south out of which rips out the raging mountain stream. The ravine seems like a gate into another world. This fact makes it easy to understand why one of the most famous oracles of all Hellas was located here, the ancient Temple of Trofonios.

The widely held respect of Trofonios continued after all other oracles had fallen silent and in disuse. Five hundred years after the adventure of Timmarchos an adventurer visited Lebadeia and found the town thriving and the oracle crowded with pilgrims. This traveler was Pausanias, whose reports have already been seen in these pages. Here is the main part of his description of Lebedeia:

With respect to art works, the town can easily vie with the first cities of Hellas. It is separated from the Grove of Trofonios by the stream of Herkina. It is said that one day Persephone, the daughter of the goddess Demeter, played here with a girl whose name was Herkina. The two chased a goose which escaped from Herkina’s hands. The bird hid in a deep cave behind a rock. Persephone entered the cave bravely, pushing the rock aside. From under the rock, a stream sprang up: it was named after the goddess’ companion. Right at the edge of the stream there is a small temple and in it a statue of a girl holding a goose.

The source of the spring is located in the cave, where statues leaning on scepters have been set up; round these scepters snakes entwine. One might assume from this that the statues are of Asclepios and Hygea; but they represent rather Trofonios and Herkina, because snakes are dedicated to them also. The most interesting object in the grove are the temple and statue of Trofonios, this last also reminiscent of Asclepios; it was carved by Praxiteles. There is also a chapel of the goddess Demeter, styled Europa, and under opon sky a statue of Zeus, nicknamed Of the Rain.

When one arrives at the oracle and from there goes up, one passes a temple of Cora and Zeus King; but its construction had been interrupted half way, either because of some difficulties, or because of incessant wars. In other temples there are the statues of Chronos, Hera, and Zeus. There is also a temple of Apollo.

As far as the oracle is concerned, this is how things are:

Whoever wishes to descend to Trofonios, must first spend a few days in a special chamber; this is the Temple of the Good Spirit and Good Fate. While here, the pilgrim purifies himself by various methods. He is not allowed to take hot baths; he washes only using the water of Herkina. He receives much meat for the sacrificial animals, which he offers to Trofonios and his children and also to Apollo, Chronos, Zeus nicknamed King, Hera the Charioteer, Demeter nicknamed Europa, which last, they say, was the nanny of Trofonios. At each sacrifice a soothsayer is present, who inspects the innards of the animals and interprets whether Trofonios is positively inclined and whether he will receive well the person wishing to descend to him. His will is best revealed by the innards of a ram, which is slaughtered on the night on which the pilgrim intends to descend; the ram is slaughtered right above the entrance hole; all the while they evoke the name of Agamedos, who was the brother of Trofonios. If this last sacrifice does not come out well, then none of the earlier ones count for anything, even if they had been auspicious.

If all goes well, the pilgrim descends in good hope. First they take him to the stream Herkina, where two boys aged thirteen resident in town wash him and oil his body; these boys are called Hermeses. From here they take him not straight to the oracle, but first to the spring. In fact, there are two springs, one next to the other. First, he drinks from the one called Lete, which grants forgetting of everything which has troubled one until now; then he draws water from the one called Mnemosina, so that he may remember everything he will see underground. Then he views a statue, which, they say, had been built by Dedalos; the priests show it only to those who are about to descend underground. He prays before the statue and only then he proceeds to the oracle, dressed in white linens, belted with tape, and shoed in the local fashion.

The oracle itself is located on the slope of the mountain above the grove. A circle of white stones surrounds a plinth the size of an average threshing ground; on it there stand two bronze columns; hanging between them is a kind of grill, and beneath it there is a door. Through this door one enters a very carefully dug up hole; it is similar to a baker’s oven, four elbows wide and eight elbows high. One descends into it not down stairs, but down a ladder, which is especially set each time, light and narrow. At the bottom of the cavity there is a very narrow crack. One lies down flat, holding in his hand honey cakes. One then puts his feet into the crack, then slides in his legs up to the knees; and then a sudden gush of something grabs and sucks in the whole body all at once.

The future does not always open itself up in the same manner. Some have visions; others hear voices. Then one emerges the same way one came in, through the same crack; and again the feet go first. It is said that no one has ever been lost underground here, except one man, who had not properly completed the purifying rituals and in any case entered the oracle not in order to learn anything but in the hope of finding treasure. His body was expelled at another location.

The priests place everyone returning upon the throne of Mnemosine, which stands not far from the entrance. Then they enquire of him very minutely about everything he had experienced in the sanctum. Only then they return him to his relatives, who take him to the Temple of Good Spirit and Good Fate. Everyone who returns is in the state of great fright and unaware of either himself or persons standing near him. But slowly he regains his senses.

At the end of his description, Pausanias adds:

“I report not only that which I have learned from others, but also what I myself experienced, because I, too, descended into the oracle of Trofonios. And all who enter and return are required to set down their experiences in writing on a tablet which they then hang in the temple.”

So, it turns out that Pausanias gives us a detailed description of the temple and the oracle, but passes over his own experiences in silence. But his near contemporary, Apollonios of Tyana, a supposed wise man and miracle worker, boasted:

“I descended into the oracle of Trofonios against the will of the priests, without sacrifices, in ordinary clothing. I wanted to know which school of philosophy was the best. I returned from underground only after seven days; and not in Lebedeia, but in the distant Aulis, which lies by the sea. In my hands I held books on the philosophy of Pythagoras; for it was the philosophy which Trofonios had decided was the most accurate. The god then instructed his priests not to make any accusations against me.”

This fragment shows clearly what a boastful liar this Apollonios was.

Such was the oracle; and such tales people told about it. That it was very ancient is clear: the cult of the gods and forces of the netherworld was typical of the oldest residents of Hellas. And what the myths tell us about Trofonios connects him closely with the Mycenaean period. Interestingly, the myths know Trofonios not as a priest or soothsayer, but as a great builder. He was reportedly born in Orchomenos, a city which in Mycenaean times was among the first of Beotia and which for many years struggled against Thebes for dominion over the region; the Orchomenians were only defeated by Hercales; or, claimed others, by king Oedipus. Many great temples of Beotia were attributed to Trofonios; he reportedly built them together with his brother Agamedos. And thus the two architects were supposed to have built in the city of Thebes the very house in which Alkmena later gave birth to Heracles; and in the sea-side city of Hyria, Beotia, they built the royal treasure house. But we know that what the later Hellenes ignorantly called ‘treasure houses’ had once in fact been domed tombs; we have mentioned here that in Mycenae itself one of the domed tombs was later called ‘the treasure house of Atreus’. Thus it would seem that there had once been a domed tomb in Hyria as well. If so, it was not the only one for the fragments of a large domed tomb remain till this day in Orchomenos; it is called ‘the treasure house of Minias’. It had been pointed out to Pausanias; and in 1880’s Schliemann himself conducted a dig here.

But Trofonios had built not only in Beotia but also in the Peloponnesus. In Elias he is supposed to have built a ‘treasure house’ for the king Augias; and a temple of Poseidon in Arcadia. The famous architect then received a commission from the god Apollo himself: to build a temple in the god’s beloved Delphi. (It had been rumored, by the way, that Apollo had in fact been his real father). The two builders fulfilled their charge excellently and asked that as payment they may be given that which is the most precious gift which gods can ever give to men. Apollo promised that they would be paid in seven days; the seventh day of every month was dedicated to Apollo. And when Trofonios and Agamedos lay down to sleep on the seventh day, they fell asleep forever. The god had fulfilled his promise.

People offered various explanations as to why Trofonios should have selected Lebedeia for his oracle. Some said that he was swallowed alive by the earth here; others that he had built for himself an underground house here. These stories are of no consequence; what matters is that they are set in the Mycenaean period.

WHAT THE ORACLE REVEALED TO TIMMARCHOS

Plutarch had put in Simmias lips a precise description of Tymmarchos’ experiences underground. But one must admit here that the description is unclear, in places incomprehensible, even if not without a certain poetic beauty. Here is a summary of its beginning:

At first I was surrounded by total darkness. Then I began to pray. For a long time I was not sure whether I was awake or asleep. But it seemed to me that at one point I was struck on the head and with a loud whack. And then it was as if the seams of my skull separated and liberated my soul. And the soul, having emerged and intermingled with the pure and transparent air, gave the impression of catching its breath after a long imprisonment in a cramped space. And she expanded ever greater, unfurling like a sail. And then she began to listen carefully to a pleasant voice reaching her from a kind of swirl above. When I looked down, I did not see her at all. But I saw islands shining upon each other with gentle fires and constantly shifting colors, for the glow changed hue. Their sizes were various, and number infinite, but their shape was the same: they were all round. I had the impression that as they rotated in a kind of circular motion, they made a delicate sound; their soft sound was in harmony with their gentle motion. In the middle was a great sea or lake, which shone with all colors of the rainbow through its clear bluishness. Some of the islands were carried out of the strait, and the current carried them to the distant shore, but others – there was more of them – went along with the current, for the sea also gradually moved, calmly and measuredly. This sea was deepest towards the south, but in other places there were shallows and sand bars, and the waters poured out or receded. The color of the sea was also varied: in places it was clear and sea-colored; in others brown like in a small pond. And the islands, as they rotated, did not return to the same place, but they changed their course somewhat, which was like a spiral. More or less in the center the sea was somewhat concave, about an eighth part, and it was there that two rivers of fire flowed in. This caused the sea to back up, foam up, and turn from blue to white.

But when I looked down, I saw a great black abyss, whose darkness billowed and seemed to spill out beyond its edges. From its center came the wailing and howling of a myriad different beings. One could distinguish the cries of little babes, complaints of men and women, and other tumultuous voices. I became very afraid. But then I heard the voice of an invisible being:

“And what would you want to know, Timmarchos?”

“Everything, I said, because everything here is fascinating!”

“What is happening overhead does not concern us much, because that domain belongs to other gods. But you are free to observe this part of the kingdom of Persephone over which we rule. There are four such parts, and their borders are outlined by the river Styx.”

“But what is this Styx?”

“It is the road to Hades!”




In this manner the voice began an explanation of the netherworld. But for us this explanation is even more misty and impenetrable than Timmarchos’ vision was because it is wrapped in language of mysticism and metaphor. This is meant to create the impression of a revelation of the most profound secrets of existence and spirit, but it is in fact nothing other than an haphazard mixture of the language of old myths and Pythagorean teaching with astrological ideas and theories regarding soul and spirit evolved in the later school of Plato. And all these explanations lack even the least poetic inspiration.

Or so it seems to us when we compare it to both earlier and later descriptions of descents – or ascents – into the worlds beyond. But those listening to Simmias were of a different opinion. Especially Epaminondas, student of the Pythagorean Lisis, was deeply convinced that the whole story revealed something very holy and venerable. And when Simmias ended, he began talking about it at great length; this was unusual for him, since he was generally known as a quiet man, often making the impression of one who knows more than he let’s on; even his own father thought so. But all his talk headed to a single purpose: the claim that there are guardian spirits (like that of Socrates), but they do not help all men, but only those who after many thousands of rebirths in various bodies, after many struggles and much effort, reach the highest goal of their efforts, which is a state of near godliness.

But then Epaminondas ended his speech rather suddenly, and without a segue turned to his brother Caphisias saying:

“I think your time, my dear, has come. Go to the gymnasion; do not leave your friends unattended anymore. And I, too, if those present here allow, will go out and continue to help Teanor in his business.”

All of this was said in a most natural tone of voice and would have raised no suspicion even if a spy had been present in Simmias’ house. But Epaminondas was not party to the plot! So Caphisias seized the opportunity. He said:

“I would indeed like to go to the Gymnasion. But first I’d like to have a word with you outside. Also, it seems to me that Theocritos and Galaksidor have some business with you as well.”

“Very well”, replied Empaminondas.

All four walked out of the room and into the small courtyard. Then Theocritos, and Caphisias with him, began very urgently to convince Epaminondas to come with them:

“Come with us! Join the plot! These are the last moments!”

But Epaminondas remained aloof. He told them openly:

“I know very well that the seven will be in Thebes by tonight. Gorgidas and I are ready. We will do everything we can to help you except one thing: we will not kill any of our fellow citizens without a court order. For remember this: when it is all over, someone must be blameless; someone must remain unpolluted and unstained by blood.”