The Agora and its Denizens.
13. The Buildings around the Agora.—Full market time![*] The great
plaza of the Agora is buzzing with life. The contrast between the
dingy, dirty streets and this magnificent public plaza is startling.
The Athenians manifestly care little for merely private display, rather
they frown upon it; their wealth, patriotism, and best artistic energy
seem all lavished upon their civic establishments and buildings.
[*] Between nine and twelve A.M.
The Agora is a square of spacious dimensions, planted here and there
with graceful bay trees. Its greatest length runs north and south.
Ignoring for the time the teeming noisy swarms of humanity, let our
eyes be directed merely upon the encircling buildings. The place is
almost completely enclosed by them, although not all are of equal
elegance or pretension. Some are temples of more or less size, like
the temple of the “Paternal Apollo” near the southwestern angle; or the
“Metroön,” the fane of Cybele “the Great Mother of the Gods,” upon the
south. Others are governmental buildings; somewhat behind the Metroön
rise the imposing pillars of the Council House, where the Five Hundred
are deliberating on the policy of Athens; and hard by that is the
Tholos, the “Round House,” with a peaked, umbrella-shaped roof, beneath
which the sacred public hearth fire is ever kept burning, and where the
presiding Committee of the Council[*] and certain high officials take
their meals, and a good deal of state business is transacted. The
majority of these buildings upon the Agora, however, are covered
promenades, porticoes, or stoæ.
[*] This select committee was known technically as the “_Prytanes_.”
The stoæ are combinations of rain shelters, shops, picture galleries,
and public offices. Turn under the pillars of the “Royal Stoa” upon
the west, and you are among the whispering, nudging, intent crowd of
listeners, pushing against the barriers of a low court. Long rows of
jurors are sitting on their benches; the “King Archon” is on the
president’s stand, and some poor wight is being arraigned on a charge
of “Impiety”[*]; while on the walls behind stand graved and ancient
laws of Draco and Solon.
[*] The so-called “King Archon” had special cognizance of most cases
involving religious questions; and his court was in this stoa.
[Illustration: A Wayside Herm]
Cross the square, and on the opposite side is one of the most
magnificent of the porticoes, the “Painted Porch” (“_Stoa Poikilë_”), a
long covered walk, a delightful refuge alike from sun and rain. Almost
the entire length of the inner walls (for it has columns only on the
side of the Agora) is covered with vivid frescoes. Here Polygnotus and
other master painters have spread out the whole legendary story of the
capture of Troy and of the defeat of the Amazons; likewise the more
historical tale of the battle of Marathon. Yet another promenade, the
“Stoa of Zeus,” is sacred to Zeus, Giver of Freedom. The walls are not
frescoed, but hung with the shields of valiant Athenian warriors.
In the open spaces of the plaza itself are various altars, _e.g._ to
the “Twelve Gods,” and innumerable statues of local worthies, as of
Harmodius and Aristogeiton, the tyrant-slayers; while across the
center, cutting the Market Place from east to west, runs a line of
stone posts, each surmounted with a rude bearded head of Hermes, the
trader’s god; and each with its base plastered many times over with all
kinds of official and private placards and notices.
14. The Life in the Agora.—So much for the physical setting of the
Agora: of far greater interest surely are the people. The whole
square is abounding with noisy activity. If an Athenian has no actual
business to transact, he will at least go to the Agora to get the
morning news. Two turns under the “Painted Porch” will tell him the
last rumor as to the foreign policy of Thebes; whether it is true that
old King Agesilaus has died at Sparta; whether corn is likely to be
high, owning to a failure of crops in the Euxine (Black Sea) region;
whether the “Great King” of Persia is prospering in his campaign
against Egypt. The crowd is mostly clad in white, though often the
cloaks of the humbler visitors are dirty, but there is a sprinkling of
gay colors,—blue, orange, and pink. Everybody is talking at once in
melodious Attic; everybody (since they are all true children of the
south) is gesticulating at once. To the babel of human voices is added
the wheezing whistle of donkeys, the squealing of pigs, the cackle of
poultry. Besides, from many of the little factories and workshops on
or near the Agora a great din is rising. The clamor is prodigious.
Criers are stalking up and down the square, one bawling out that
Andocides has lost a valuable ring and will pay well to recover it;
another the Pheidon has a desirable horse that he will sell cheap. One
must stand still for some moments and let eye and ear accustom
themselves to such utter confusion.
15. The Booths and Shops in the Agora.—At length out of the chaos
there seems to emerge a certain order. The major part of the square is
covered with little booths of boards and wicker work, very frail and
able to be folded up, probably every night. There are little lanes
winding amid these booths; and each manner of huckster has its own
especial “circle” or section of the market. “Go to the wine,” “to the
fish,” “to the myrtles” (_i.e._ the flowers), are common directions for
finding difficult parts of the Agora. Trade is mostly on a small
scale,—the stock of each vendor is distinctly limited in its range, and
Athens is without “department stores.” Behind each low counter, laden
with its wares, stands the proprietor, who keeps up a din from leathern
lungs: “Buy my oil!” “Buy charcoal!” “Buy sausage!” etc., until he is
temporarily silenced while dealing with a customer.
[Illustration: A Carpenter]
In one “circle” may be found onions and garlic (a favorite food of the
poor); a little further on are the dealers in wine, fruit, and garden
produce. Lentils and peas can be had either raw, or cooked and ready
to eat on the spot. An important center is the bread market. The huge
cylindrical loaves are handed out by shrewd old women with proverbially
long tongues. Whosoever upsets one of their delicately balanced piles
of loaves is certain of an artistic tongue lashing. Elsewhere there is
a pottery market, a clothes market, and, nearer the edge of the Agora,
are “circles,” where objects of real value are sold, like jewelry,
chariots, good furniture. In certain sections, too, may be seen
strong-voiced individuals, with little trays swung by straps before
them, pacing to and fro, and calling out, not foods, but medicines,
infallible cure-alls for every human distemper. Many are the unwary
fools who patronize them.
16. The Flower and the Fish Vendors.—Two circles attract especial
attention, the Myrtles and the Fish. Flowers and foliage, especially
when made up into garlands, are absolutely indispensable to the average
Greek. Has he a great family festival, _e.g._ the birth of a son, then
every guest should wear a crown of olives; is it a wedding, then one of
flowers.[*] Oak-leaves do the honors for Zeus; laurel for Apollo;
myrtle for Aphrodite (and is not the Love-Goddess the favorite?). To
have a social gathering without garlands, in short, is impossible. The
flower girls of Athens are beautiful, impudent, and not at all prudish.
Around their booths press bold-tongued youths, and not too discreet
sires; and the girls can call everybody familiarly by name. Very
possibly along with the sale of the garlands they make arrangements (if
the banquet is to be of the less respectable kind) to be present in the
evening themselves, perhaps in the capacity of flute girls.
[*] The Greeks lacked many of our common flowers. Their ordinary
flowers were white violets, narcissus, lilies, crocuses, blue
hyacinths, and roses (“the Flower of Zeus”). The usual garland was
made of myrtle or ivy and then entwined with various flowers.
More reputable, though not less noisy, is the fish market. Athenians
boast themselves of being no hearty “meat eaters” like their Bœotian
neighbors, but of preferring the more delicate fish. No dinner party
is successful without a seasonable course of fish. The arrival of a
fresh cargo from the harbor is announced by the clanging of a bell,
which is likely to leave all the other booths deserted, while a crowd
elbows around the fishmonger. He above all others commands the
greatest flow of billingsgate, and is especially notorious for his
arrogant treatment of his customers, and for exacting the uttermost
farthing. The “Fish” and the “Myrtles” can be sure of a brisk trade on
days when all the other booth keepers around the Agora stand idle.
All this trade, of course, cannot find room in the booths of the open
Agora. Many hucksters sit on their haunches on the level ground with
their few wares spread before them. Many more have little stands
between the pillars of the stoæ; and upon the various streets that
converge on the market there is a fringe of shops, but these are
usually of the more substantial sort. Here are the barbers’ shops, the
physicians’ offices (if the good leech is more than an itinerant
quack), and all sorts of little factories, such as smithies, where the
cutler’s apprentices in the rear of the shop forge the knives which the
proprietor sells over the counter, the slave repositories, and finally
wine establishments of no high repute, where wine may not merely be
bought by the skin (as in the main Agora), but by the potful to be
drunk on the premises.
17. The Morning Visitors to the Agora.—The first tour of inspection
completed, several facts become clear to the visitor. One is the
extraordinarily large proportion of _men_ among the moving multitudes.
Except for the bread women and the flower girls, hardly one female is
to be found among the sellers. Among the purchasers there is not a
single reputable lady. No Athenian gentlewoman dreams of frequenting
the Agora. Even a poor man’s wife prefers to let her spouse do the
family marketing. As for the “men folk,” the average gentleman will go
daily indeed to the Agora, but if he is really pretentious, it will be
merely to gossip and to meet his friends; a trusted servant will attend
to the regular purchasing. Only when an important dinner party is on
hand will the master take pains to order for himself. If he does
purchase in person, he will never _carry_ anything himself. The slaves
can attend to that; and only the slaveless (the poorest of all) must
take away their modest rations of boiled lentils, peas, beans, onions,
and garlic, usually in baskets, though yonder now is a soldier who is
bearing off a measure of boiled peas inside his helmet.
Another thing is striking. The average poor Athenian seems to have no
purse. Or rather he uses the purse provided by nature. At every booth
one can see unkempt buyers solemnly taking their small change from
their mouths.[*] Happy the people that has not learned the twentieth
century wisdom concerning microbes! For most Athenians seem
marvelously healthy.
[*] A wealthier purchaser would, of course, have his own pouch, or more
probably one carried for him by a slave.
Still one other fact is brought home constantly. “Fixed prices” are
absolutely unknown. The slightest transaction involves a war of
bargaining. Wits are matched against wits, and only after a vast deal
of wind do buyer and seller reach a fair compromise. All this makes
retail trade in the Agora an excellent school for public affairs or
litigation.
18. The Leisured Class in Athens.—Evidently Athens, more than many
later-day cities, draws clear lines between the workers and the
“gentlemen of leisure.” There is no distinction of dress between the
numerous slaves and the humbler free workers and traders; but there is
obvious distinction between the artisan of bent shoulders who shambles
out of yonder pungent tannery, with his scant garments girded around
him, and the graceful gentleman of easy gestures and flowing drapery
who moves towards the Tholos. There is great _political_ democracy in
Athens, but not so much _social_ democracy. “Leisure,” _i.e._ exemption
from every kind of sordid, money-getting, hard work, is counted the
true essential for a respectable existence, and to live on the effort
of others and to devote oneself to public service or to letters and
philosophy is the open satisfaction or the private longing of every
Athenian.
A great proportion of these, therefore, who frequent the Agora are not
here on practical business, unless they have official duties at the
government offices.[*] But in no city of any age has the gracious art
of doing nothing been brought to such perfection. The Athenians are an
intensely gregarious people. Everybody knows everybody else. Says an
orator, “It is impossible for a man to be either a rascal or an honest
man in this city without your all knowing it.” Few men walk long
alone; if they do keep their own company, they are frowned on as
“misanthropes.” The morning visit to the Agora “to tell or to hear
some new thing”[+] will be followed by equally delightful idling and
conversation later in the day at the Gymnasia, and later still,
probably, at the dinner-party. Easy and unconventional are the
personal greetings. A little shaking out of the mantle, an
indescribable flourish with the hands. A free Greek will despise
himself for “bowing,” even to the Great King. To clasp hands implies
exchanging a pledge, something for more than mere salutation.
“_Chaire_, Aristomenes!”
“_Chaire_, Cleandros!”
Such is the usual greeting, using an expressive word which can mean
equally well “hail!” and “farewell!”
[*] To serve the state in any official capacity (usually without any
salary attached to the office) would give the highest satisfaction to
any Greek. The desire for participation in public affairs might be
described as a mania.
[+] Acts of the Apostles, 17:21.
19. Familiar Types around the Agora.—These animated, eager-faced men
whose mantles fall in statuesque folds prefer obviously to walk under
the Painted Porch, or the blue roof of heaven, while they evolve their
philosophies, mature their political schemes, or organize the material
for their orations and dramas, rather than to bend over desks within
close offices. Around the Athenian Agora, a true type of this
preference, and busy with this delightful idleness, half a century
earlier could have been seen a droll figure with “indescribable nose,
bald head, round body, eyes rolling and twinkling with good humor,”
scantily clad,—an incorrigible do-nothing, windbag, and hanger-on, a
later century might assert,—yet history has given to him the name of
Socrates.
Not all Athenians, of course, make such justifiable use of their
idleness. There are plenty of young men parading around in long
trailing robes, their hair oiled and curled most effeminately, their
fingers glittering with jewels,—“ring-loaded, curly-locked coxcombs,”
Aristophanes, the comic poet, has called them,—and they are here only
for silly display. Also there are many of their elders who have no
philosophy or wit to justify their continuous talking; nevertheless,
all considered, it must be admitted that the Athenian makes a use of
their dearly loved “leisure,” which men of a more pragmatic race will
do well to consider as the fair equivalent of much frantic zeal for
“business.” Athenian “leisure” has already given the world Pericles,
Thucydides, Æschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Socrates, and Plato, not to
name such artists as Phidias, whose profession cannot exempt them from
a certain manual occupation.
20. The Barber Shops.—This habit of genteel idleness naturally
develops various peculiar institutions. For example, the barber shops
are almost club rooms. Few Hellenes at this time shave their
beards[*], but to go with unkempt whiskers and with too long hair is
most disgraceful. The barber shops, booths, or little rooms let into
the street walls of the houses, are therefore much frequented. The good
tonsors have all the usual arts. They can dye gray hair brown or
black; they can wave or curl their patrons’ locks (and an artificially
curled head is no disgrace to a man). Especially, they keep a good
supply of strong perfumes; for many people will want a little scent on
their hair each morning, even if they wish no other attention. But it
is not an imposition to a barber to enter his shop, yet never move
towards his low stool before the shining steel mirror. Anybody is
welcome to hang around indefinitely, listening to the proprietor’s
endless flow of talk. He will pride himself on knowing every possible
bit of news or rumor: Had the Council resolved on a new fleet-building
program? Had the Tyrant of Syracuse’s “four” the best chance in the
chariot race in the next Olympic games? The garrulity of barbers is
already proverbial.
[*] Alexander the Great (336-323 B.C.) required his soldiers to be
shaved (as giving less grasp for the enemy!), and the habit then spread
generally through the whole Hellenic world.
“How shall I cut your hair, sir?” once asked the court tonsure of King
Archeläus of Macedon.
“In silence,” came the grim answer.
But the proprietor will not do all the talking. Everybody in the
little room will join. Wits will sharpen against wits; and if the
company is of a grave and respectable sort, the conversation will grow
brisk upon Plato’s theory of the “reality of ideas,” upon Euripides’s
interpretation of the relations of God to man, or upon the spiritual
symbolism of Scopas’s bas-reliefs at Halicarnassus.
The barber shops by the Agora then are essential portions of Athenian
social life. Later we shall see them supplemented by the Gymnasia;—but
the Agora has detained us long enough. The din and crowds are
lessening. People are beginning to stream homeward. It lacks a little
of noon according to the “time-staff” (_gnomon_), a simple sun dial
which stands near one of the porticoes, and we will now follow some
Athenian gentleman towards his dwelling.