Jottings from Aegean Turkey

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Henry Matthews seeks inspiration in Priene, Turkey

Priene 21 April 2011

Priene is my first love among the classical cities of Turkey. When I came here 15 years ago, I needed to see for myself the place that had inspired me as a Cambridge undergraduate, when I had read about it in Rex Martienssen’s The Idea of Space in Greek Architecture. Arriving today for the third time, I can declare my intentions: I have come to write a guide to the Graeco-Roman cities on the Aegean Coast; I am more inspired than ever. Priene is one of a dozen fascinating cities, each with a unique history and its own character, that deserve a worthy handbook.

Approaching Priene from the flat valley of the Maeander River I see a dark green band of trees on a broad, sloping terrace below the craggy cliffs of Mount Mycale. They mark the site of the town that prospered there for centuries. Its building began early in the fourth century BC after the original Ionian settlement near the mouth of the Maeander had been all but washed away as the river changed its course. It was still under construction when Alexander the Great visited in 334.

The broad ledge offered an ideal site for a city. It was easily fortified, because the terrace comes to an abrupt edge from which the ramparts rise. It slopes down in three directions towards the walls, giving prospects to the south and west over the valley of the Maeander and out to sea. Priene was built according to a plan that reflected Greek idealism as well as the principles of the Milesian city planner Hippodamus. The design draws richness, just like San Francisco, from the conflict between the rational grid and the natural topography.

Unlike Romans, who loved axial symmetry, the Greeks preferred to approach sacred sites obliquely on a turning path. So the Temple of Athena was gradually revealed to worshippers as they climbed steps and changed direction, entering through a propylaia and passing an ornate open-air altar. Even today, with many buildings lost, and the site covered with pine trees, we can enjoy a rich sequence of experiences as we move from the agora, to the temple, the theatre and then to the residential streets.

The five re-erected columns of the Temple of Athena Polias, standing against the dark cliff, give clues to its former magnificence. But, missing almost one-quarter of their original height, they have lost the true proportions of the Ionic order. We have to imagine their slenderness, and consult the fragments on the ground to visualize the precisely carved entablature and pediment.

The bouleuterion (council chamber), in the agora, sheds light on public life in Priene. It is easy to picture democracy at work, when 500 citizenswere packed into the council chamber in heated discussion. Under its wooden roof the space must have resonated with vehemently stated opinions. The nearby theatre, holding 6500 spectators, was used for celebrating festivals of Dionysus, earthy comedies and uplifting tragedies. It also filled up for public meetings. Many Greek theatres in Anatolia were enlarged by the Romans to hold vast audiences, but this one has retained the original intimacy that allowed spectators to form a bond with performers.

Priene is well known by those who study sustainable architecture today as an example of design that takes advantage of passive solar energy. Virtually all the houses had a principal room, with a columned portico, facing south onto a courtyard, so that the low winter sun would penetrate, while the overhanging roof shaded the inhabitants from the summer sun. The peaceful streets running through residential districts possess a haunting character. Some of the houses still offer vignettes of courtyards with columned porticoes leading to secluded rooms.

Most visitors to Priene don’t penetrate much further than the agora, the temple and the theatre, perhaps walking a little way into a street once lined with houses. When I climbed up, on a barely worn path, to the Sanctuary of Demeter on the slope above the city, and descended to the gymnasium and stadium far below, I met nobody. So I could enjoy the mystical aura of Demeter’s lofty shrine, and sit alone in the beautifully proportioned ephebium where young boys were educated. The starting blocks on the ground still show where naked athletes began their races, but the clamour of spectators cannot be heard.

Miletus 24 April

Compared with the coherence of Priene, Miletus offers a challenge to the architectural historian. By far the oldest Greek city in Anatolia, it was colonized by Minoans from Crete around 1700 BC, followed by Myceneans about 1450BC.  Ionian Greeks followed after 1100 and founded the leading city of the Hellenic world. We tend to think of Athens as the fountainhead of Greek philosophy, science and art; but in the seventh and sixth centuries BC, before the Athenians reached their Golden Age, Miletus produced the first Greek scientists and philosophers and developed the universally accepted Greek alphabet. She also generated the most extensive trade in the Mediterranean, supplying fine cloth to the luxury-loving city of Sybaris in Sicily (origin of the term ‘sybaritic’), establishing a lucrative mercantile presence in Egypt and Mesoptamia and founding at least 45 colonies, mostly on the Black Sea. Miletus is also cited as the original example of urban design based on the Hippodamian grid of streets, named after the Milesian architect and planner Hippodamus.

The more I read about Miletus, the more fascinated I become. Not one stone stands, however, from the archaic city that must have been so fine. In 494 BC it was completelydestroyed by the Persians in revenge for its leading role in the Ionian revolt against their imperial power. Indeed, little more remains from the Classical era (c. 520–323 BC) when Miletus was rebuilt: most of the architecture we see is Hellenistic (c. 323–146BC) and Roman (146BC–330AD). Earthquakes and the plundering of stone have taken their toll; archaeologists have carried away major architectural remains to Berlin; furthermore the silting up of the four harbours by the changing course of the River Maeander has cut off the city from the sea. Meanwhile flooding in winter and spring of the Delphinion (the site of the altar of Apollo,) and the nearby Sacred Way makes it hard to visualize the once-vibrant civic centre.

Despite the loss of most of the structures that stood here, I found myself trying to imagine the form of the city. Archaeologists from the German Archaeological Institute, beginning their excavations in the 1880s, have established the entire city plan. So, spreading out a large version of it wherever I stop, looking at the few standing structures and the fragments lying on the ground, I attempt to visualize the urban scene. I make use of reconstruction drawings by artists that are based on the evidence of the stones. It inspires me to know that the sinuous curve on a large marble block was one of the twin tails of a triton, cavorting above head level on the Roman harbour monument; that the few lower shafts of Doric columns rising out of the water nearby belonged to a Hellenistic stoa (covered walkway) stretching 160 metres to define the southern edge of the harbour; that under the algae-covered water a little to the north lies the paved court of the Delphinion, where Milesians sacrificed to Apollo for a thousand years.

The murky water we see in the photograph of the Delphinion (see Media list above) covers a former fulcrum in the Graeco-Roman city. Behind us, the Lion Harbour, now far from the sea, was one of the busiest in the Aegean. Out of the picture to the right (see next image), the Harbour Stoa, with many shops opening off it, gave order and beauty to the scene of maritime and commercial activity. To the left, two simple doorways, often penetrated by festive processions, opened into the hallowed space of the Delphinion.

Straight ahead, the sacred way, a place of civic ceremony, led past the Gymnasium on the left, and the North Agora on the right, towards the south agora, the largest formal market place in the classical world. At its entry, the Romans added a grandiose gate with two tiers of columns. (Having collapsed in an earthquake, this ornament of the city has been re-erected in Berlin.) Beside the market gate stood the exuberant Roman Nymphaeum, alive with river gods, goddesses and nymphs, and gushing with water from amphorae held aloft on beautiful shoulders or from the mouths of fishes. (Only the aqueduct behind it survives today.) Box-like at the centre of this picture stand the solid walls of a Turkish bath built centuries later; but beyond it, four Ionic columns rise to support an entablature. Although they are all that remain of the graceful civic architecture of Miletus, they possess the key to the recreation, in our minds, of Milesian architecture.

The precisely fluted shafts of such columns, whether Doric or Ionic, stood out in the sunlight against the shade behind them. Surrounding the agoras and lining the Sacred Way, the stoas that they fronted gave protection from sun and rain to all who thronged the heart of the city, whether for commerce, politics, religious observance, or just to parade in the latest finery. Since we cannot walk down the sacred way, we reach the Bouleuterion by an indirect path. Although an oligarchy often ruled Miletus, this stands as a symbol of democracy. Capitals and other details of the building that enclosed this half-circle of seats and the courtyard before it show that this was a fine work of architecture.

Today, the baths built by Faustina, the wife of the Emperor Trajan, and the theatre, greatly enlarged by the Romans, both stand as the dominant buildings of Miletus. But my desire is to bring to life in my mind the Greek city that preceded them.