Caryatids, and an Olive Tree

My favorite site on the Acropolis is not the Parthenon, but the porch of a much smaller temple called the Erechtheum. I've been fascinated by the graceful women, holding the roof on their heads, since I first saw pictures of them almost half a century ago. When we visited in 2018, I kept looking at it from different angles, first from far and then walking close and around the building, unable to let it out of my sight for long.

A recent pen and ink sketch of mine.

This single olive tree marks the site where, according to the legend immortalized on the western pediment of the Acropolis, Poseidon and Athena competed for patronage of the city. Poseidon struck his trident against the rock of the Acropolis, and a salt spring came forth. But Athena planted an olive tree, and won the contest and the hearts of the people. Supposedly, an olive tree has always stood there, each successive one propagated from branches of its predecessor. I'm sure that's not entirely true. Somewhere nearby, a mark in the rock supposedly shows where Poseidon struck it (!)

Athena and Poseidon square off (replicas of the Acropolis pediments, Acropolis Museum, Athens)

Athena is crowned victorious next to her father Zeus, while the other gods look on.

Pericles ordered the Erechtheum to be built as part of the splendid rebuilding of the damaged Acropolis after the Persian invasion (480 BCE) that included the construction of the Parthenon. The Erechtheum was built of shining white Pentelic marble, and named after Erechtheus, an early, mythical, demi-god king of Athens. It was begun in 421 during a peaceful period, but halted after war began with Sparta, and only finally completed in 406 -- the last of these major buildings to be finished.

The Parthenon frieze shows the Panathenaic procession: in this segment, two figures hold the folded peplos, a new robe being carried up to the statue of Athena.

The temple was one of the holiest places for the Athenians. Inside was placed the ancient olivewood statue of Athena that was clothed in a new, specially-woven robe every four years, carried up to the Acropolis in the Panathenaic procession -- a statue that retained its historic, cult status even though a huge crystal and gold statue of Athena had recently been placed in the rebuilt Parthenon. A sacred serpent, said to be a reincarnation of Erechtheus, lived in one of the western chambers of the temple, and was fed on honey cakes. If the snake refused to eat the cakes, it was considered a very bad omen.

The scale of the Erectheum (far right) compared to the Parthenon.

The robed women on the Erechtheum's porch strike me as both beautiful and enigmatic -- there's something personal and almost  intimate about them, especially in the context of the grandeur and immensity of the Parthenon. The Roman architect Vitruvius first used the term Caryatid: he said it refers to a town called Caryae in the Peloponnesus which sided with the Persians against Greece; after the war, the Greeks retaliated against Caryae, killing the men and enslaving the women. "The architects of the time," he writes, "designed for public buildings statues of these women, placed so as to carry a load, in order that the sin and punishment of the people of Caryae might be known and handed down even to posterity."

An archaic kore, statue of a standing, draped female figure at the Altes Museum in Berlin.

It seems plausible, considering the historical time when the Erechtheum was built, but there were many earlier examples of young, draped female figures being used as columns, from the korai of Archaic times to some of the treasuries at Delphi. And the Caryatids look anything but burdened -- part of their charm is how graceful and light they appear.

Restoration work on the caryatids in progress, 2018.

The Erechtheum's statues, of course, attracted the attention of Lord Elgin during his plunder of the Acropolis. In the early 1800s he removed one to his manor in Scotland - she is now in the British Museum - and bungled the removal of another which he had sawn into pieces. Eventually, the remaining statues were removed from the porch and placed in the old Acropolis Museum; recently they were moved to the new Acropolis Museum, where they've been cleaned and restored in place, in a process that could be observed by visitors. Obviously the statues we see today on the porch of the Erechtheum are reproductions, but they're still very beautiful. The five originals, in the museum, are placed exactly as they were on the porch, with a blank for the missing one which Greece still hopes one day will be returned.

The Acropolis Museum is one of the finest museums I've ever visited; no one who saw the state of the art of display and preservation there could argue that the Greeks are "not capable" of taking care of their own monuments, or protecting them from pollution. Probably the Elgin marbles have been better preserved by being in the British Museum over the last 200 years, but that is no longer a question; will the 21st century see the return of cultural artifacts taken by colonial powers, or will imperialist arguments continue to prevail?

Comments

[Magda Kapa]

Wonderful essay in one of my absolutely favourite temples too! Excellent photos!
Thank you, Beth. I adore those, Girls!

[Roderick Robinson]

What a useful exercise you've provided. The photograph of the Erectheum (roughly at eye-level) is informative yet humdrum, and even includes the modern-day spotlights. The pen-and-ink drawing (from a different viewpoint and - crucially - below eye-level) turns the same visual information into a work of art. I kick myself in the butt (if only lightly) at the realisation that I'm only able to recognise this change of effect after the event, never before. One reason why all my photos are wholly uninspired. Thanks for that.