mythology in the mani
Greece, perhaps more than any other country, is a place where history and mythology merge and part of its appeal to the traveller has always been this overlap. The landscape of the country and the discoveries of archaeologists have obviously added to our factual knowledge of its past but they also bring to life the stories handed down over centuries: the exploits of gods, kings and heroes which we have absorbed into our own cultural history. Inevitably, the Peloponnese, often seen as the cradle of ancient Greece, is steeped in both history and legend and on any journey here you will be constantly reminded of them, often quite unexpectedly. On my first visit to the region forty years ago, on the way back from a visit to Mycenae, my head full of gold treasure and stories of Agamemnon, I was transfixed when I suddenly saw from the window of the bus a sleepy little country station bearing the name of Nemea – the site, no less, of Herakles’ first labour, (set by Eurystheus, just down the road in Tiryns) to slay the Nemean lion. That’s what it’s like in Greece and the Mani is no exception. In myth the southern Peloponnese was intimately involved in the exploits of gods and heroes from the start. The pages of Homer are full of casual references to the area. The Taygetos mountains, for example, are where, according to Homer, Artemis habitually hunted boar and deer (Odyssey 6). In the Iliad Kardamili was one of the seven towns listed by Agamemnon in his attempt to bribe Achilles back to the battle (Iliad 9). Amykles, a small village outside Sparta on the road to Gytheion, was where Apollo fell in love with Hyacinthus and where, on the death of his young lover in a discus competition, he gave his name to the red flower which sprang from his blood (Ovid: Met). I could go on. But more interesting perhaps are the myths in which the region plays a key role – either because a specific location was important in its own right or because the area provided the setting for a section of an even greater story.
Taenaron, at the very tip of the Mani peninsula, fits neatly into the first category. Legend claims this as one of the most important gateways to Hades, dedicated not to Hades himself but to Poseidon: a shrine/oracle created round a sacred cave in the easternmost of the three bays. The cave was not deep (it was seen simply as a means of communicating with the dead) and is not in itself impressive but the site is atmospheric and fragments from an early temple to Poseidon, preserved as they are in the ruins of a Christian building, are testament to the importance of the place. To enter the dread world of the dead while still living required an extra level of courage and only a handful of the truly great heroes attempted it. According to myth it was through Taenaron that Herakles descended to Hades in order to kidnap Cerberos, the monstrous, three-headed dog which guarded its entrance – the sixth labour set by the villainous Eurystheus. Incidentally, this story highlights the way that time can elaborate – or, in this case, modify – a story. Later Greek writers like Apollodoros and Pausanias tried to rationalise the myth: the three-headed monster was transformed into a serpent which had grown up in the Taenaron sanctuary and which the locals called ”Hades’dog” because of its deadly bite; it was this snake which later writers say Herakles took back to Eurystheus. You can choose the version you prefer. Taenaron was also the entrance apparently used by Theseus and his great friend, Peirithous, in their attempt to seize Persephone to be Peirithous’wife. And some authors, Ovid included, say that it was here that Orpheus staged his desperate bid to bring his wife, Eurydice, back to the world of the living.
As for the second category, the story of the Trojan War must be one of the greatest of all the Greek myths: for more than two and a half thousand years (from Homer to the latest Brad Pitt Hollywood version) it has captured our imaginations. And it all began here, in the south of the Peloponnese. Amykles, already mentioned in the Apollo story, was, more crucially this time, also apparently the place where Helen, the cause of all the trouble, was born. Strictly speaking, Zeus was her father (after he seduced Leda on the banks of the Eurotas river which flows through the Spartan plain) but for practical purposes Tyndareus, Leda’s husband and king of Amykles, brought her up and in time organised her wedding plans. Her extraordinary beauty, we are told, drew no fewer than 41 suitors for her hand: a potentially explosive situation. How would 40 warrior princes handle rejection? It was Odysseus, as ever, who solved the problem: in exchange for Tyndareus’ niece, Penelope, he proposed that all the suitors should swear to respect and defend whichever prince Helen chose against any insult the marriage might suffer – little realising that this would eventually take ten years out of their lives and in some cases deprive them of life itself. After they had duly taken the oath, Helen chose Menelaos who eventually inherited the kingdom of Amykles from Tyndareus. That should have been the end of the story but mythology doesn’t work like that.
Helen and Menelaos, it seems, built their palace at Therapne, just outside modern Sparta, and today you can see the excavated Mycenaean foundations of the buildings – as well as the so-called tomb of the couple where Spartan tradition claimed Menelaos and Helen were buried together. For the purposes of the story, though, it was in the palace at Therapne that the Trojan prince Paris was entertained for nine days, during which time he won Helen’s heart. The rest is history – or at least mythology. Paris spirited Helen back to Troy (via the little island of Cranae at Gytheion where romantics would have us believe they spent their first night of love) and so triggered ten years of war between Troy and the re-assembled suitors - and, of course, the eventual downfall of his own city. But he also triggered a whole host of other stories: the anger and death of Achilles, the wooden horse escapade, the murder of Agamemnon and its brutal aftermath, Odysseus’ legendary adventures on his way home – they all have their roots in the Trojan War.
One of the beguiling things about mythology is the way one story leads irresistibly into another. The myth of Helen should have been eventful enough for one family but her sister and brothers all have their own stories. Her sister, Clytemnestra, married the richest king in the Peloponnese – Agamemnon – and her role in his dramatic return from Troy is well documented. More relevant to this area is the story of Helen’s rather less notorious twin brothers, the Dioscouri. According to myth, in a cave beneath the peak of Mount Taygetos, Leda gave birth to four children: Helen, Clytemnestra and twin boys, Castor and Polydeuces – the Dioscouri. Because Leda managed to sleep with both Zeus and her mortal husband, Tyndareus, in the same night one twin, Polydeuces, was the son of Zeus and immortal and the other, Castor, a mere mortal offspring of Tyndareus. (The significance of this will become clear later.) The twins grew up in the Spartan area and led typical heroes’ lives: they joined Jason in his quest for the Golden Fleece and acquitted themselves well. But they, too, seem to have inherited a destructive gene. At Messene, just north of Kalamata, to the west of the modern road to Athens, they committed a fatal act. They abducted the daughters of Leucippos, the king of Messinia, on the very day of their wedding and took them back to Sparta. Naturally enough, the spurned bridegrooms (who, incidentally, were cousins of the Dioscouri) followed in hot pursuit. There are conflicting versions of the ensuing clash between the cousins but the outcome is undisputed: all four died in the skirmish. By rights, Polydeuces should then have proceeded to Mount Olympos to claim his immortality while Castor descended to join the ranks of wretched mortals. But, according to the myth, Polydeuces refused to accept his immortality because it meant separation from his beloved brother. Zeus therefore intervened and did a deal: they would spend alternate days on Olympos and in Hades - but together. There is, above Kardamili, on the path that leads up to the acropolis, a double tomb carved into the rock; its identity is obscure but it has long been claimed to belong to the Dioscouri – a nice thought as you linger over a glass of wine in the taverna in Kardamili named after them.
As I said at the start, in the Mani you are never far away from the past. Whatever your interest, whether it is the events of the classical period – the rise of Sparta and its clash with Athens in the Peloponnesian War – or the earlier Mycenaean world of palaces and kings, or indeed the background to its later Byzantine glories and the eventual uprising against the Turks, your search will be a rewarding one. But spare a thought too for the more shadowy figures of its mythological past - and let a shiver run down your spine.
|
