The Serpent Column of Delphi: melted, erased, engraved, sold, stolen, bashed & replaced

You ever watch Antiques Roadshow? I certainly do — though admittedly, it’s mainly just in the hopes that someone gets really shocked and cries when they find out grandma’s lamp is worth a hundred thousand dollars. Then I get irritated when they claim they won’t be selling it. Grandma would definitely want you to get that Range Rover.

The experts are always talking about “provenance.” Meaning, where did this object come from? What’s its history? How do we know it actually is what we think it is? 

Well, the Serpent Column has what may be the longest and most detailed provenance of any item in human history. 

Delphi, the Magic Kingdom

The Serpent Column: It’s a badass name, isn’t it? I was thinking if I ever had a band, that’s what I’d name it. Unfortunately, I’ve now discovered someone else already beat me to it. Please let me know if their copyright happens to expire.

First things first: The object you see is a replica, recently placed in the original’s location in Delphi. The actual Serpent Column is currently in Istanbul. Unlike the Parthenon Marbles in the British Museum, I guess the Greeks decided they’re never getting the Serpent Column back. Or, maybe there’s some sort of limit on how long you can keep stolen property before it becomes your own.

Now, you’ve probably heard of Delphi: The location of the Oracle of Delphi, where a priestess would inhale fumes coming out of the ground and tell you of the future.

Yes, that’s true. Well, probably true. A lot of the old writing about Delphi didn’t go into detail, as the Oracle was one of those things that was kind of a given and didn’t need explanation. The famous ancient historian Plutarch did use the word “pneuma,” which has a number of translations like “vapor.”

There’s been a lot of scientific studies on this, going back and forth on whether hot springs running under the ground would have released vapors. But I’m getting off track here — I just find the idea of an Oracle getting messed up by snorting volcanic fumes and telling the future is incredibly fascinating.

The Oracle was located in the Temple of Apollo, which was the biggest structure in the area — the rug that tied the room together. The Serpent Column sat right in front of it.

But Delphi wasn’t just about the Oracle. Sure, she was a big draw, but Delphi itself was the center of the world. And I don’t mean that metaphorically — the Ancient Greeks literally believed it was the spot where two eagles released by Zeus had met. He placed a stone called the “Omphalos,” and marked it as the center.

This is another one of those massive subjects I won’t get into, but having a place that’s the “center” or where the world was born is common in most every mythology out there. We usually call it the “world navel.”

Anyway — I say “anyway” a lot, have you noticed? It’s because I keep getting distracted by all these tangential issues. Anyway, the point is that Delphi was a really big deal. People would come from all over the Greek world on pilgrimages to visit it. It was like the Disney World of the time.

Without the rides. Or the castle. And way more volcanic fumes.

Anyway, Delphi is tucked in the mountains, and the location itself is quite awe-inspiring. And at the time, it was littered with buildings and statues of all sorts.

To get up to the Temple of Apollo, you basically head up a series of switchbacks, passing all these structures on the way. Kind of like IKEA, but uphill. Up above the temple was an amphitheatre and a full stadium where they held competitions — kind of like the Olympics, but also kind of not.

Anyway. The main takeaway here is that Delphi was a place where different Greek City-States could show off.

Look At Us!

One of the most prominent things you’d pass on your way up the switchbacks were treasuries. They looked like little temples.

The most noteworthy one is the Athenian Treasury, mainly because it’s been reconstructed. It was a tribute to Athens’ victory over the Persians at the Battle of Marathon, and the structure featured statues and spoils of war like armor, shields, and weapons. This was partly to win the favor of the gods and honor Apollo, but it was also bragging and showing off how wealthy and powerful they were. And it was probably more sanitary than heads on pikes.

Remember, Ancient Greece wasn’t just one solid monolith. It was a grouping of City-States. Sometimes they got along, sometimes they tried to stab each other. If someone else came in and started attacking them, they’d likely team up — then go right back to stabbing each other again.

So as much as the Athenian Treasury was a way of saying “Look at us, look at how great we are,” we can also see it as a bit of a warning: “We stabbed Persians, we’re super strong. Don’t make us mad, lest you get stabbed as well.”

Now, you might be asking why I’m explaining buildings that have nothing to do with the Serpent Column. To which I would say: Stop whining! And I would also say: We’re getting there.

The Serpent Column (Finally!)

All we see of the Serpent Column now is…well, a column. Go figure, right? That’s because it’s all that’s left. Originally, the column would have spread out into three “arms” with snake heads, which held a golden bowl. The shape of the column is the intertwined bodies of the snakes. The name for the whole structure was the “Plataean Tripod,” one of many objects we call “sacrificial tripods.”

It was made to commemorate the Greek victory over the Persians at the Battle of Plataea in 479 BCE, which followed a couple of defeats — including the one at Thermopylae, chronicled in the highly accurate documentary “300.”

It’s all a lengthy subject, but the Persians were longtime foes of the Ancient Greeks. For the purposes of this discussion, suffice to say that the Persians invaded, and the City-States united to whip them and send them running for home. 

Guess what they used for the bronze of the Plataean Tripod? The melted down weapons of the Persians. If that’s not awesome, I don’t know what is. 

The Serpent’s Coiled Past

So the Tripod commemorated the Greek victory at Platea — a battle led by a Spartan General named Pausanias. When the Tripod was erected, he had an inscription put on it, basically crediting himself for the victory.

Later, he was freeing Persian captives and was accused of conspiring with the Persians. There’s a lot more to this story (as always), and it may have been propaganda, but the end result was that his inscription was removed. They then inscribed a list of 31 City-States that participated in the battle. These were all written on the coils of the column, and are barely legible today. 

Remember how I said the provenance was well documented? Here’s how things go:

The golden cauldron didn’t last long. During some City-State infighting around 355 BCE, the Phocians sold it to pay for some mercenaries. Don’t get too mad — it’s not like it would’ve stuck around. Even ancient bronze rarely survives. No way some gold just sitting out in the open would still be there.

Later (much later) the Roman Emperor Constantine snatched up the Tripod and carried it off to his newly named city of Constantinople (Not Byzantium). It was placed in the Hippodrome, the giant chariot racing stadium. 

At some point, it was used as a fountain, which is likely what saved it from being looted during the Sack of Constantinople during the Crusades. Like the Horses of St. Mark in Venice, for those of you into the tangents.

So why’s it just a column now? Where’s the rest of it? Details are sketchy, as there’s a number of stories. In 1453, the Ottomans conquered Constantinople and renamed it Istanbul. It was either knocked down accidentally or intentionally — or a Sultan bashed it. From the historian Edward Gibbon, on Sultan Mehmed II:

“…his eye was attracted by the twisted column of the three serpents; and, as a trial of his strength, he shattered with his iron mace or battle-axe the under-jaw of one of these monsters, which in the eyes of the Turks were the idols or talismans of the city.”

There’s several stories like this, attributing the act to different people: “Look at how strong our dude is, look what he did!” Many think it was just an accident, the result of someone in the Hippodrome running into it during a race. 

Though the stadium is mostly gone, the original Serpent Column is still in its spot. One of the snake heads was later found nearby, and sits in a museum in Istanbul.

Why’d It Have to be Snakes?

Let’s end where we began: Delphi, where the replica has been since 2015. So why does the Serpent Column depict snakes at all? Well, the name of Delphi in the times of Ancient Greece was “Pytho,” meaning “to rot.”

The name of the Oracle was “Pythia.” The name of the contests at Delphi were the “Pythian Games.”

Why “to rot”? Because at the center of the world lived a giant snake — slain by Apollo before putting his temple there and claiming the site for his own. The word refers to the smell coming from the decomposing body. 

The name of that serpent? Python.