Beloved Local Favorite: The “Atalanta Lekythos”
-The so-called "Atlanta Lekythos" a ceramic funerary oil jug, c. 500-490 BC, Greek, Attic, attributed to Douris
Even as a freshman in art school... a good number of years ago... only just beginning to seriously explore art and art history, I found this lovely vase to be absolutely exquisite. The elegant linear patterns and delicate figures recall Minoan paintings...
... and seem a precursor... if not a premonition of Matisse’ and Picasso's "classical" linear works...
The “Atalanta Lekythos” alludes to the tale of Atalanta and Hippomenes (or Meilanion):
Atalanta was the daughter of King Iasus of Argos, and a Boeotian (or Arcadian) princess. King Iasus wanted a son, and so when Atalanta was born, he left her on a mountaintop to die. Some stories say that a she-bear suckled and cared for Atalanta until hunters found and raised her, and she learned to fight and hunt as a bear would. She was later reunited with her father.
-The Barberini Atalanta, Greek Original or Roman Copy
Having grown up in the wilderness, Atalanta became a fierce hunter and was always happy. She took an oath of virginity to the goddess Artemis.
When Artemis was forgotten at a sacrifice by King Oineus, she was angered and sent the Calydonian Boar, a wild boar that ravaged the land, men, and cattle and prevented crops from being sown. Atalanta joined Meleager and many other famous heroes on a hunt for the boar. Many of the men were angry that a woman was joining them, but Meleager, though married, lusted for Atalanta, and so he persuaded them to include her. Several of the men were killed before Atalanta became the first to hit the boar and draw blood. After Meleager finally killed the boar with his spear, he awarded the hide to Atalanta. Meleager’s uncles, Plexippus and Toxeus, were angry and tried to take the skin from her. In revenge, Meleager killed his uncles. Wild with grief, Meleager's mother Althaea threw a charmed log on the fire, which consumed Meleager's life as it burned. It kindled at once, and she watched it as it blazed up brightly. Then it began to turn into ashes, and as the last spark died out, the noble Meleager, who was walking by the side of Atalanta, dropped to the ground dead.
When they carried the news to Althea she said not a word, for then she knew what she had done, and her heart was broken. She turned silently away and went to her own room. When the king came home a few minutes later, he found her dead.
- Death of Meleager, Roman, 2nd century AD
Atalanta went back to her old home among the mountains of Arcadia. She was still the swift-footed huntress, and she was never so happy as when in the green woods wandering among the trees or chasing the wild deer. All the world had heard about her, however; and the young heroes in the lands nearest to Arcadia did nothing else but talk about her beauty and her grace and her swiftness of foot and her courage. Of course every one of these young fellows wanted her to become his wife; and she might have been a queen any day if she had only said the word, for the richest king in Greece would have been glad to marry her. But she cared nothing for any of the young men, and she liked the freedom of the green woods better than all the fine things she might have had in a palace.
Atalanta's father wanted her to be married, but Atalanta, uninterested in marriage, agreed to marry only if her suitors could outrun her in a footrace. Those who lost would lose their heads. Many suitors turned away... yet many more still died in the attempt... until Hippomenes came along.
Hippomenes asked the goddess Aphrodite for help, and she gave him three golden apples in order to slow Atalanta down. The apples were irresistible.
When all was ready for the race, Atalanta tried again to persuade Hippomenes not to run, for she also took pity on him.
“I’ll be sure to overtake you,” she said.
“All right!” said Hippomenes, and away he sped; but he had the three golden apples in his pocket.
Atalanta gave him a good start, and then she followed after, as swift as an arrow shot from the bow. Hippomenes was not a very fast runner, and it would not be hard for her to overtake him. She thought that she would let him get almost to the goal, for she really pitied him. He heard her coming close behind him; he heard her quick breath as she gained on him very fast. Then he threw one of the golden apples over his shoulder.
If there was anything in the world that Atalanta admired, it was a bright stone or a pretty piece of yellow gold.
As the first apple fell to the ground she saw how beautiful it was, and she stopped to pick it up; and while she was doing this, Hippomenes gained a good many paces. But what of that? In a minute she was as close behind him as ever. And yet, she really did pity him.
“I’ll be sure to overtake you,” she said.
“All right!” said Hippomenes, and away he sped; but he had the three golden apples in his pocket.
Atalanta gave him a good start, and then she followed after, as swift as an arrow shot from the bow. Hippomenes was not a very fast runner, and it would not be hard for her to overtake him. She thought that she would let him get almost to the goal, for she really pitied him. He heard her coming close behind him; he heard her quick breath as she gained on him very fast. Then he threw one of the golden apples over his shoulder.
If there was anything in the world that Atalanta admired, it was a bright stone or a pretty piece of yellow gold.
As the first apple fell to the ground she saw how beautiful it was, and she stopped to pick it up...
-Guido Reni- Atalanta and Hippomenes, 1612
... and while she was doing this, Hippomenes gained a good many paces. But what of that? In a minute she was as close behind him as ever. And yet, she really did pity him.
Just then Hippomenes threw the second apple over his shoulder. It was handsomer and larger than the first, and Atalanta could not bear the thought of allowing some one else to get it. So she stopped to pick it up from among the long grass, where it had fallen. It took somewhat longer to find it than she had expected, and when she looked up again Hippomenes was a hundred feet ahead of her. But that was no matter. She could easily overtake him. And yet, how she did pity the foolish young man!
Hippomenes heard her speeding like the wind behind him. He took the third apple and threw it over to one side of the path where the ground sloped towards the river. Atalanta’s quick eye saw that it was far more beautiful than either of the others. If it were not picked up at once it would roll down into the deep water and be lost, and that would never do. She turned aside from her course and ran after it. It was easy enough to overtake the apple, but while she was doing so Hippomenes gained upon her again. He was almost to the goal. How she strained every muscle now to overtake him! But, after all, she felt that she did not care very much. He was the handsomest young man that she had ever seen, and he had given her three golden apples. It would be a great pity if he should have to die. And so she let him reach the goal first.
In this way, Hippomenes won the footrace and came to marry Atalanta.
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In the “Atalanta Lekythos”, Atalanta wears a long, transparent but beautifully bordered robe, the hem of which she daintily lifts with her left hand to facilitate her running. She is chased by three individualized Erotes... winged gods associated with love and sex... each carrying ornate tendrils and one a garland as well. Atalanta glances back over her shoulder toward the well-muscled Eros, who stretches to overtake her. Eros is taunting Atalanta with the alternatives of Love should she decide to lose her race. Perhaps the Erotes allude to the three apples that will spell her "downfall" in her race with Hippomenes.
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I have long associated the Atalanta Lekythos with Keat's Ode to a Grecian Urn... which I was likely first introduced to around the same time in my college World Lit Survey courses:
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
Keats' poem and the “Atlanta Lekythos” both seem ever linked in my mind... and ever in the back of my mind as an example of the Latin aphorism , Ars longa, vita brevis. The final two lines of Keats' poem... after all... are in many ways... among the central foundation of my aesthetic views... my embrace of beauty.
