Right in front of you stands a tall, round, marble structure set on a stone base, with slender columns wrapped around its sides-look just ahead in the center of Lysicrates Square, where its elegant circular form rises above the pavement like a timeless trophy.
Now, let’s step back in time and hear the astonishing tale of the Lysicrates Monument, or as some Athenians cheekily called it, Diogenes’ Lantern-though personally, I think it looks more like a cake stand for giants! Close your eyes for a moment and imagine ancient Athens in 334 BC. Instead of cars beeping and tourists snapping photos, you’d have crowds of excited citizens, vibrant festivals, and the sounds of singers and musicians practicing for the city’s legendary drama contests.
Here on Tripodon Street-as famous to the Athenians as Hollywood Boulevard is to us-stood a row of splendid tripods, glimmering in the sunlight. These weren’t ordinary trophies; they were awarded to wealthy patrons, or “choregoi” as they were called, who paid for the chorus in the dramatic competitions held during the Dionysia festival. Imagine being so proud of your prize that you actually build a building just to show it off to your neighbors!
That’s exactly what Lysicrates did. After his sponsored play won the grand prize, he wanted his bronze tripod-a three-legged cauldron that looked rather like something a wizard would use-to be seen by everyone in Athens. How best to display such a prestigious award? Why, by perching it on top of this cylindrical marble structure, standing on a square base, and circling it with Corinthian half-columns decorated with vine leaves and tiny tripods. If you look closely, you’ll see even more stories: a frieze of carved figures depicting the tale of Dionysus, the wine god, and his wild capture by Tyrrhenian pirates-who, legend says, were turned into dolphins for their trouble. Plot twist: don’t mess with the god of festivals!
Over the centuries, this elegant “trophy tower” survived countless city adventures. In the late 1600s, a group of French Capuchin monks bought it and actually built their monastery around it! Imagine monks quietly reading or studying in what was once the proudest advertisement a theater patron could build. They even nicknamed it “The Lantern of Demosthenes”, although Demosthenes never kept his lunch in here, as far as I know.
The monument even played a role in bringing tomatoes to Greece, thanks to a monk named Francis who planted the first tomato plants in the monastery's gardens-rumor has it, the first Greek salad may have started just a stone’s throw away from you!
But there’s more-adventurous visitors, like the British Lord Byron, stayed in the monastery, and the monument’s unusual design became famous far beyond Athens. Artists and architects sketched it, and soon copies sprung up everywhere from Edinburgh in Scotland to Sydney in Australia. If you’ve ever seen a fancy dome or an elaborate garden monument in London or New York, chances are it was inspired by good old Lysicrates flaunting his theatrical glory.
During the Greek War of Independence, the Capuchin monastery was destroyed by fire, but the plucky little monument survived, battered yet dignified, a symbol of Athens’ spirit. Later, there were even hilarious attempts to ship it off to England, but the monument proved too heavy (and, let’s be honest, probably too stubborn) to be moved-so here it remains, standing firm in the heart of Athens.
So as you look up at this remarkable column, spare a thought for Lysicrates, theater-loving patrons, cheeky pirates, tomato-planting monks, and all the people and stories who have kept this beautiful monument alive in the heart of the city. Now, shall we move on to our next adventure?
