ATLAS HODE and HERAKLES MELAPHERES at the Symposion

A mid-sixth century lip cup signed twice by Nearchos as potter has a scene of Atlas and Herakles, both labeled, in the tondo. Unlike the signatures (Νε[α]ρχος μεποιεσεν ευ/Ν[εαρ]χος μ[εποι]εσεν ευ: “Nearchos made me well”), which are unremarkable in their wording and placement, the labels appended to the Titan and the hero are not the simple names we would expect on an Athenian cup of this period. Atlas is supplied with a demonstrative (Ατλα[ς] hοδε), while Herakles, who makes off with the apples, is given the epithet μελαφερες, “apple-bearer.” The epic character of μελαφερες has been recognized, but less attention has been paid to hοδε, a word that evokes the language of epigram. There has been little attempt, moreover, to understand the image or its inscriptions within the sympotic context for which the cup was created.

This chapter shows how inscription, image, and shape work together in Nearchos’ cup in the service of sympotic humor. First, I propose that the labels’ elevated diction does not require us to posit an epic (or other poetic) source for the image; instead, it subverts expectations by inscribing a small clay cup with language drawn from grander media and genres, a strategy similar to what has been observed in the Nestor’s cup inscription. I then explore this incongruity of scale in the cup’s presentation of Atlas — who is, I argue, assimilated to the symposiast looking down at the tondo. As others have observed, Atlas is shown struggling to support the circular border of the medallion; the cup itself thus becomes the burden the Titan tried unsuccessfully to pass to Herakles, who has tricked him into taking it back. The passage of the cup between hero and Titan would have special relevance at the symposium, where the circulation of the cup was a prominent, and even defining, feature. Only a symposiast who had drained the wine would have a clear view of the tondo decoration; like Atlas, he is left with a burden he cannot pass to a companion. The humor thus operates on two levels: the conflation of the symposiast with the unfortunate Titan is a joke at the symposiast’s expense, but the small size of his burden — a clay cup 20 centimeters in diameter — contributes to the play of incongruity in which the inscriptions also participate.