Contested Spaces: Houses and Temples in Roman Antiquity and the New Testament (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament) 9783161510267, 9783161520266, 3161510267

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Herausgeber / Editor Jörg Frey (Zürich) Mitherausgeber / Associate Editors Friedrich Avemarie (Marburg) Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Hans-Josef Klauck (Chicago, IL)

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Contested Spaces Houses and Temples in Roman Antiquity and the New Testament Edited by

David L. Balch and Annette Weissenrieder

Mohr Siebeck

David L. Balch, born 1942, Professor of New Testament, Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary/Graduate Theological Union, Berkeley; Ph.D. Yale University. He has just been given a Festschrift: Aliou Cissé Niang and Carolyn Osiek, eds., Text, Image, and Christians in the Graeco-Roman World: A Festschrift in Honor of David Lee Balch (Princeton Theological Monograph; Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2012) with three sections: 9 articles on house churches, 6 on constructions of the ”other,” and 6 on constructions of visual worlds. Annette Weissenrieder, born 1967; Ph.D. at the University of Heidelberg; currently working as Associate Professor of New Testament at San Francisco Theological Seminary/ Graduate Theological Union, Berkeley; Affiliate Member of Doctoral Faculty at the Center of Jewish Studies at Berkeley.

eISBN 978-3-16-152026-6 ISBN 978-3-16-151026-7 ISSN 0512-1604 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament) Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de.

© 2012  by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was typeset by Martin Fischer in Tübingen, printed by Gulde-Druck in Tübingen on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Preface At first it may seem trite to observe that every society organizes its social, political, and religious spaces in a manner that corresponds to its own unique fundamental values. This is the case for house types in antiquity, as also for pagan temples, trade associations, and religious groups. The correlation of types of space – including, for example, their furniture and ancient art – with particular communities gives information about self-understanding and internal communal relationships, and is, therefore, the object of numerous archaeological studies. Even when most New Testament research does not work explicitly with archaeology, nevertheless, many such studies make assumptions about the types of space connected with the social histories they reconstruct, assumptions that are, however, seldom consciously articulated. Three examples suffice. Decisions about kinds of space influence New Testament scholars’ understanding of conflict around the Lord’s Supper in Corinth. Is the conflict grounded in the lack of space in “private” houses, so that the poor are relegated to atria at the entrance, while the rich recline in elite triclinia deeper inside the house? What types of houses were there in Greece and Rome? To what extent were individual rooms and their functions fixed? To what extent were religious values and experiences reflected in the art and architecture of these houses? A second example: Luke’s narrative expresses central theological topoi through characters at meals. To what extent are ancient seating/reclining customs reflected in this gospel? Did women customarily recline with the men? Where did women sit or recline, and what behavior was expected of them? Finally, New Testament scholars have generally polarized understandings of certain architectural forms, domus and insulae, the former characterized as residences of the wealthy structured hierarchically and the latter located in urban slums where residents experienced equality. This particular understanding of polarized domestic spaces yields related reconstructions of congregational sizes, ethics, and leadership. Might further study of these domestic spaces alter our reconstructions of Roman congregations, both in the capital and in Roman colonies like Corinth and Philippi? Through this volume we hope to stimulate increased dialogue between New Testament and patristics scholars, on the one hand, and Italian (Umberto Pappalardo, Rosaria Ciardiello, Mario Grimaldi, Ivan Varriale, Maria

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Paola Guidobaldi, and Fabrizio Pesando), Austrian (Hilke Thür and Ulrike Muss), English (Janet DeLaine), German (Monika Bernett), and American (Eleanor Winsor Leach, John R. Clarke, Tina Najbjerg, Laura Salah Nasrallah and L. Michael White) historians of Roman art and archaeology, on the other. These few questions suggest that particular types of spaces are decisive for the interpretation of New Testament texts and urban congregations. Nevertheless, scholars have neglected space and focused on time, until the nineteen nineties brought the so-called “spatial turn.” This is the case not only for New Testament hermeneutics, but also for Ancient History in general. Fundamental is not only the classical differentiation between physical space, on the one hand, and social space, on the other,1 but also the tension between an “absolute,” passive understanding of space, a typology designating space for particular social events, and a relational, active understanding of space, in which actors generate their own spaces. The consequences of this second distinction are fundamental: the focus of research shifts from examining words and texts to questions of the physicality of space: walls, windows, doors, stairs, columns, frescoes, mosaics, and furniture. Space becomes the formal condition, the conditio sine qua non, as Simmel2 can write. Such research focuses on the interrelationship between space and society. Typologies of space affect and condition actions. These relationships “are embedded in cultural paradigms open to change,”3 with the consequence that spaces have different functions and meanings. Contemporary social scientific theories have therefore changed, given the recognition that spaces go through evolutionary development. Expressed differently, the ordering of space represents social order, or with Pierre Bourdieu, “habits make houses.”4 This book, however, does not thematize contemporary discussions about space; the following chapters rather assume this discourse. Three concerns are expressed in the title, Contested Spaces: the first is archaeological, which aims to give specific insights into Roman domestic and sacred spaces. We examine these spaces in diverse geographies (e.g. Pompeii, Ostia, Ephesus, Corinth). What was a Roman domus (Ivan Varriale, Mario Grimaldi,5 Hilke Thür), a villa (Umberto Pappalardo, Rosaria Ciardiello, 1 M. Schroer, Räume, Orte, Grenzen. Auf dem Weg zu einer Soziologie des Raums (Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 2006), 174–176. 2 G. Simmel, Soziologie. Untersuchung über die Formen der Gesellschaftung (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot 1908 = Gesamtausgabe Vol. 11; Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 1999). 3 A. Janson, “Institut für Grundlagen der Gestaltung,” in Fakultät für Architektur der Universität Karlsruhe (TH) (Tübingen, 1999), 41. 4 P. Bourdieu, “Physischer, sozialer und angeeigneter physischer Raum,” in Stadträume (ed. M. Wentz; Frankfurt a.M./New York: Campus, 1991), 25–34, here 32. 5 This volume contains articles explicating domus, insulae, and villae; to which category does Grimaldi’s article belong? The Casa di Fabius Rufus illustrates the problems of defin-

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Monika Bernett), an insula (Maria Paola Guidobaldi, Janet DeLaine)? Concepts of space include connections between outside and inside by colonnaded halls, the aesthetics of self-representation by upper or lower class symbols in both the materials and techniques of construction, as well as frescoes with nature visually represented, which dissolves oppositions between inside and outside; in the Augustan age all this expressed a completely new world. In the textual world we see this renewal and Romanization in Vitruvius’ ten volumes of comprehensive architectural theory. Each of the chapters below assumes that actions and events, either individual or collective, are related to architectural and social space. To reach a wider audience, we have had some Italian and German contributions translated into English. The second concern is to examine interrelationships between architecture and the experience of space, on the one hand, with social and religious experiences on the other. Several essays address the religious character of certain spaces (David Balch, Irene Bragantini, Tina Najbjerg, Annette Weissenrieder, Monika Bernett, Laura Salah Nasrallah, and L. Michael White). A third concern is theological: this volume has its origin in a conference Celebrating the Centenary of the Pontifical Biblical Institute at the Pontifical Gregorian University, which was held in Rome in July, 2009. We express our gratitude to Prof. Frederick E. Brenk, S. J., who has assisted us over the years in Rome and who also helped arrange this particular seminar. The editors have requested some additional essays by scholars who could not attend the conference. We intend to make available an initial survey of religious spaces in the Imperial period that goes beyond contemporary national borders, and at the same time to bring different scholarly disciplines into conversation with each other. Both internationally known as well as a newer generation of scholars offered contributions at the conference, scholars from specialties in archaeology, ancient art, architecture, ancient history, and theology (New Testament), in order to give aspects of an archaeological survey of ancient spaces relevant to our leading questions. In some instances individual chapters go deeper, especially when new excavations are presented. The production of this collection of essays is the result of close cooperative research between disciplines, especially in relation to visual materials. We ing domestic space: it is one of fifteen luxurious domus in the Western Insula of Pompeii, built as a unit in the first century B.C.E, totaling c. 15,000 square meters; most of these domus have three or four floors, gardens, and terraces with panoramic views of the Mediterranean, the latter typical of coastal villae. See U. Pappalardo and M. Aoyagi, “L’insula occidentalis. una sintesi delle conoscenze,” Pompei (Regiones VI-VII) Insula Occidentalis (eds. M. Aoyagi and U. Pappalardo; University of Tokyo Center for Research of Pictorial Cultural Resources; Naples: Valtend, 2006), 17–31, at 17.

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thank especially the doctoral student Thomas Soden and Prof. Dr. Polly Coote for their consistent assistance, including the translation of the essay by PD Dr. Monika Bernett. We offer our gratitude also to Mohr Siebeck for their financial support of the translation of several essays from Italian into English. We are grateful to Dr. Jason T. Lamoreaux for the first two indices. We thank Jana Trispel and Dr. Henning Ziebritzki, the editors of the series, and especially Prof. Dr. Jörg Frey, for their competent guiding of this work to publication, their trust in the result, and their readiness to publish an unusual volume with a CD. Please accept our deepest gratitude! July 2011

David L. Balch Annette Weissenrieder

Table of Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . V A. Interpretive Issues John R. Clarke Representations of Worship at Rome, Pompeii, Heraculaneum, and Ostia in the Imperial Period. A Model of Production and Consumption . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Irene Bragantini The Cult of Isis and Ancient Egyptomania in Campania . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Fabrizio Pesando The Properties and Social Role of Pompeiian Feminae Nobiles in Italy During the Early Imperial Age . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Annette Weissenrieder Contested Spaces in 1 Corinthians 11:17–33 and 14:30: Sitting or Reclining in Ancient Houses, in Associations and in the Space of ekkl sia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Laura Salah Nasrallah Grief in Corinth: The Roman City and Paul’s Corinthian Correspondence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 Eleanor Winsor Leach Rhetorical Inventio and the Expectations of Roman Continuous Narrative Painting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141 B. Contested Domestic Spaces I. Domus Ivan Varriale Architecture and Decoration in the House of Menander in Pompeii . 163

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Mario Grimaldi Charting the urban development of the Insula Occidentalis and the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus at Pompeii . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 David L. Balch The Church Sitting in a Garden (1 Cor 14:30; Rom 16:23; Mark 6:39–40; 8:6; John 6:3, 10; Acts 1:15; 2:1–2) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201 Hilke Thür Art and Architecture in Terrace House 2 in Ephesos. An example of domestic architecture in the Roman Imperial Period . . 237 II. Villae Umberto Pappalardo How the Romans saw the frieze in the Villa of the Mysteries at Pompeii . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261 Rosaria Ciardiello Beryllos, the Jews and the Villa of Poppaea in Oplontis (Torre Annunziata) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265 Monika Bernett Space and Interaction: Narrative and Representation of Power under the Herodians . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283 III. Insulae Maria Paola Guidobaldi The House of the Telephus Relief in Herculaneum: the building history of an aristocratic domus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 311 Janet DeLaine Housing Roman Ostia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327 C. Contested Sacred Spaces: Temples, the Imperial Cult, and Mithraea Tina Najbjerg Exploring the economic, political, and social significance of the great Porticus in Herculaneum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 355

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Annette Weissenrieder “Do you not know that you are God’s temple?” Towards a new perspective on Paul’s temple image in 1 Corinthians 3:16 . . . . . . . . . . . 377 David L. Balch Cult Statues of Augustus’ Temple of Apollo on the Palatine in Rome, Artemis’/Diana’s Birthday in Ephesus, and Revelation 12:1–5a . . . . . . 413 L. Michael White The Changing Face of Mithraism at Ostia. Archaeology, Art, and the Urban Landscape . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 435 Ulrike Muss The Artemision at Ephesos: Paul, John and Mary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 493

List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 513 Index of Ancient Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 517 Index of Modern Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 533 Index of Architectural Structures and their Decorations . . . . . . . . . . . 549 This book contains a CD with pictures./The eBooks contains all pictures from the CD. Please go to “Pictures”.

A. Interpretive Issues

Representations of Worship at Rome, Pompeii, Heraculaneum, and Ostia in the Imperial Period A Model of Production and Consumption John R. Clarke Visual representations, like textual representations, do not record or document religious practices. Each of them is unique. A given representation of worship has a specific purpose. Operating as we are at a distance of two millennia, we can only partially understand the meanings encoded in any representation. Over the years scholars of ancient Roman visual culture have adopted various strategies to decode representations of worship. The least successful of these, to my mind, are approaches that take an image as prima facie evidence. I call this the approach of the “omniscient scholar-viewer.”1 The image of a ceremony of the cult of Isis, found in an unknown space at Herculaneum in the eighteenth century, might tempt the omniscient scholar to scour the ancient literature for references to Isis (fig. 1). She might decide that the painting fits with a description of the cult of Isis embedded in the Golden Ass, even though Apuleius wrote it about 100 years after the painting was covered by the eruption of Vesuvius. Looking for resemblances between literary images and visual images, in fact, is standard practice. Never mind that Apuleius is writing a novel meant for a literate, elite public, and that the painter who created this image was decorating a wall with a picture. We don’t even know whether this wall was in a temple or a private house, and we don’t know what else the artist included in the decorative ensemble. Was it one of a kind or were there other pictures with it? In this case a second picture, also in the collection of the Naples Archaeological Museum, was found with it, but we have no information about the physical space.2 We don’t know who would have seen the picture or what a viewer might have known about the image. 1 J. Clarke, Looking at Laughter: Humor, Power, and Transgression in Roman Visual Culture, 100 B.C.–A.D. 250 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 109–20. 2 V. Gasparini, “Iside a Ercolano: il culto pubblico,” in Egittomania: Iside e il mistero. Exh. Cat. Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, Oct. 12, 2006–Feb. 26, 2007 (ed. S. De

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But our omniscient scholar is in a different position from an ancient Roman viewer. He has the entire preserved corpus of ancient texts referring to Isis, a huge series of volumes on oriental religions called Etudes préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’Empire romain (LESPROM), numerous other monographs on Isis, and the corpora of Greek and Roman inscriptions. He has at his disposal photographic archives organized by subject matter. Working from within this rich plenum of possibilities, a scholar might be inclined to decide on a meaning and come up with an interpretation of the image that flies up into the interpretative stratosphere, and few will take him to task for it. After all, the bibliographic references are all there. What can a scholar do in the face of interpretative practices that take visual representations on face value and assume that we can, at will, use all the ammunition in our scholarly arsenal? The best chance to fix this problem is to work from a model that looks at production and consumption of visual imagery (fig. 2). This model, which I proposed in 2003, asks a series of questions that emphasize context understood in its broadest sense.3 I begin with the questions of identity. Who is the patron? Who is the artist? Who is the viewer? These questions immediately focus on social status and gender, as do the other boxed elements questioning literacy and profession. My model also focuses on the circumstances of production and consumption. There are at least two actors in the production side: the person who paid for it (the patron) and the person who made it (the artist). On the consumption side there are many potential viewers, and each brings to the viewing different kinds of information, or cultural baggage if you will. What is more, these viewers will look at that visual representation under differing circumstances conditioned by variables of time and place. Since this is a complicated model, in what follows I take it apart by asking one question at a time, with a special focus on visual representation with religious content.

Caro; Milan: Electa, 2006), 123–24 hypothesizes a continuity of action between inv. 8924 and inv. 8919. Both paintings well-illustrated in Rosso Pompeiano: La decorazione pittorica nelle collezioni del Museo di Napoli e a Pompei. Roma, Museo Nazionale, Romano Palazzo Massimo alle Terme, 20 dicembre 2007–31 marzo 2008 (eds. M. Nava, R. Paris, and R. Friggeri; Milan: Electa, 2007), 151–52. 3 J. Clarke, Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans: Visual Representation and Non-Elite Viewers in Italy, 100 B.C.–A.D. 315 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 9–13.

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1. Who paid for it? We have sufficient textual information to be quite clear about who paid for two roughly contemporaneous altars at Rome: the well-known, muchstudied Altar of Augustan Peace and a humble altar commissioned by four magistrates who were former slaves (fig. 3). Scholars agree that the ultimate patron of the Ara Pacis is Augustus himself, although the Senate voted its construction. We might characterize the patron of the Ara Pacis as the Roman Senate controlled by Augustus. Paul Zanker focuses on its imagery as the quintessential expression of the emperor’s program of cultural renewal.4 So, we have an elite patron, male in gender identification, seeking to use visual representation for specific aims. A far from complete list of these aims includes: representing his pietas by emphasizing his role as pontifex maximus; establishing his divine parentage by representing his ancestor, Aeneas, sacrificing at Lavinium; and demonstrating the effects of Peace in two ways: in the hybrid representation of Venus/Tellus/Italia/Pax/Ceres and in the representation of the exuberant growth of nature in the remarkably fecund acanthus decorations on the outside of the altar and the garlands with the fruits of all seasons on the interior of the altar.5 Augustus presents dual proof of his legitimacy as ruler by showing his blood-line family following him to the altar’s inauguration on one of the long enclosure walls with the political family of the senators on the opposite wall. Scholars have remarked on these and many more features of the Altar that remind us that Augustus was the patron and that he and his dynasty were the prime beneficiaries of its tendentious messages.6 It is interesting that the actual representation of the sacrifices that took place at the Ara Pacis appears not on the precinct wall but on the altar itself, in a small frieze running around its upper border. If we ask who are the principal viewers of this frieze, we would have to answer that they are the priests and Vestal Virgins in charge of the annual sacrifices, although the fact that the precinct wall had doors opening to reveal both the back and front of the altar made it possible for people to see more of the interior imagery than they could with just one door. People could have glimpses, perhaps, of the garlands decorating the precinct wall and the small sacrificial friezes on the altar itself. But on ordinary days these doors were closed, and the curious would have had to be content with views of the exterior. Zanker, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus, trans. A. Shapiro (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1988), 167–83. 5 D. Castriota, The Ara Pacis Augustae and the Imagery of Abundance in Later Greek and Early Roman Imperial Art (Princeton, N. J.: Princeton University Press, 1995). 6 Especially useful summary in K. Galinsky, Augustan Culture: An Interpretive Introduction (Princeton, N. J.: Princeton University Press, 1996), 141–55. 4 P.

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If we step back from this analysis of visual representation of worship and look at the big picture, we realize that the altar and its precinct constitute both the representation of worship and the place where one worshipped. But that place extends into meanings that go beyond thanking the gods for Augustus’ safe return from war on July 4, 13 B.C.E. The altar is but one of a group of monuments that articulates the virtues of Augustus and the founding of his dynasty (fig. 4). Since Augustus is patron not only of the Ara Pacis but of the entire complex, we can expect all of these monuments to articulate one or more aspects of his imagery of legitimation. Although my main question here is: Who paid for it? I can not resist asking: Who is the viewer? I can imagine a host of hypothetical Roman viewers. An elite woman, say, the wife of a Senator portrayed processing along the west precinct wall, would probably be able to identify not only her husband but the other Senators. (But not of course today, since the heads are modern restorations). She could also probably figure out who was who in the frieze of Augustus and his family – even though the frieze was high up: the enclosure wall rose to a height of 19 feet above the paving of the plaza. The unusual inclusion of children would have struck home as well, since Augustus had actually enacted legislation to encourage childbearing. A very different kind of viewer, a freeborn woman, wife of a freeborn working man, might have understood why Augustus included children in the processional friezes, but it is unlikely she could have recognized (like our Senator’s wife or omniscient scholar viewer) the members of the dynasty other than Augustus himself, whose images were everywhere. Her children, innocent of propaganda, would most likely have focused on all the creatures in the acanthus scrolls. What a viewer understands in an image depends on the variables: here social class, gender, age, and prior experience of the visual representation. Back to the question: Who paid for it? – but this time with patrons who are definitely non-elite. The four freedmen who paid for the little altar found 25 feet beneath the modern Via Arenula were ward-captains, called vicomagistri; they kept watch over traffic, crimes, and fires (fig. 5). It is a monument to street-corner religion: the cult of the Lares, or protector deities not of the home but of the city ward, or vicus, named on the altar. It is the Vicus Aesculetus, one of 265 wards established by Augustus in 8 B.C.E.7 But their most prestigious activity and the one represented on the altar was sacrificing to the Lares and to the Genius of Augustus. In the office of vicomagister, religion and civic duty merged.

7 Pisani Sartorio, “Compitum Vici Aesc(u)leti,” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae 1 (1988): 316.

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Who are these unlikely patrons? Imagery and inscriptions together provide clues to their identity. The four figures wear togas, indicating that they are citizens, either freeborn or freedmen. Since they are in the act of sacrificing, they have drawn an edge of the toga over their heads. This was a powerful image for the contemporary viewer, since it signified the virtue of pietas that Augustus promoted: Romans everywhere could see images of the emperor togate and capite velato throughout the city and the empire. That is how he appears on the Ara Pacis. The vicomagistri also wear laurel crowns, a central motif in Augustus’s visual representations and the attribute that distinguishes the Lares depicted on each the altar’s two sides from ordinary domestic Lares who instead carry a pail. Yet our patrons are not senators or equestrians belonging to the elite priestly colleges like those represented on the Ara Pacis. The inscriptions inform us. An “L” appears in two of the names, meaning that the men are the libertini (former slaves) of their masters.8 In return for their work of watching over their neighborhood’s security, these men won the privilege of parading their status before their neighbors, accompanied by two lictors. In the relief the artist had space to show just one lictor, carved in low relief at the altar’s left edge. Lictors also appear on the Ara Pacis, identified by the fasces (elm or birch rods bound together). The player of the tibia, or double oboe, occupies the center between our four vicomagistri. Clearly this modest relief crows a bit in its imitation of important state religious ceremonies, considering that the vicomagistri’s duties were local and discrete. Our patrons instructed the artist to give them the greatest prominence and to make them equal. The artist arranged them symmetrically on either side of the altar, their arms all outstretched to sacrifice. One wonders whether this is actually how they carried out the sacrifice. The man on the left holds a patera or offering plate, but did the man behind him hold a patera as well? Similarly, if the man in the front on the right is holding a grain of incense, did the man behind him repeat that offering? If the surfaces were less damaged, we could see whether the artist created a portrait likeness for each man, but otherwise the image is one of solidarity and equality in sharing their duties. These unlikely patrons also instructed the artist to show a special aspect of this sacrifice: the offering of a bull to the Genius (or guardian spirit) of Augustus. Pigs are the proper offering to the Lares, as is well attested in other settings. A viewer would immediately identify the bull in the relief with the emperor.9 So, the sacrifice carried out by our vicomagistri was Ordinary Romans, 84, esp. n. 27. Scott Ryberg, Rites of the State Religion in Roman Art, Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome (Bergamo: Istituto d’arti grafiche, 1955), 60. 8 Clarke, 9 I.

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much more complex and expensive than one a paterfamilias officiated over in his home.10 We can imagine a crowd of people from the vicus watching the proceedings and eagerly anticipating a feast with abundant roasted meat. Note also that to accommodate the animals and the men who killed them the artist has had to make them smaller than our patrons. Sometimes the ward officials were slaves. A case in point is the modest altar from the vicus Statae Matris, found on the Caelian hill in 1906. It commemorates the sixth year of the establishment of the cult, and bears the names of the four officials called ministri rather than magistri. The four vicomagistri were Felix, Florus, Eudoxsus, and Polyclitus. They record their names according to the usage for slaves of the Augustan period: their master’s names follow their own in the genitive case. The year and date of the erection of the altar is 18 September 2 B.C.E., under the consuls named on the monument: L. Caninius Gallus and C. Fufius Geminus. It was a more economical monument than the Altar of the Vicus Aesculetus. Rather than a scene of sacrifice with figures, simple decorative emblems appear. The corona civica (oak leaf crown) appears on the front, where it encircles the names of the four slaves.11 There is a patera on the back, and laurel branches substitute for the laurel-carrying Lares on the sides.12 The fact of their slavery demonstrates how important it was to Augustus to enlist the piety and loyalty of the slaves in Rome. What have we learned by asking the question: Who paid for it? For one thing, we see that self-representation as a pious individual is a value shared by the Emperor and the elites as well as former slaves and slaves. Public priesthoods are also important to these men. But if there is anxiety concerning the patrons’ identity in non-elite altars, there is no trace of it in the Ara Pacis. Everyone knows who Augustus is, but even so he piles on references to his priestly office, his family, and his “extended family” – the senators who survived his bloody accession to power. On the little altar from the Vicus Aesculetus, the four former slaves vie for center stage, so much so as to crowd the relief, whereas the poorest commission, the Altar of the Vicus Statae Matris, deftly substitutes symbols (corona civica, patera, laurel branches) for narrative scenes even while emphasizing the patrons’ names. 10 T. Fröhlich, Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten: Untersuchungen zur “volkstümlichen” pompejanischen Malerei (Römische Mitteilungen, Supplement; Mainz: von Zabern, 1991), 21–61. 11 In 27 B.C. the senate honored Augustus with the corona civica and the clipeus virtutis for his virtus, clementia, iustitia, and pietas; they also gave him the right to hang laurel branches over the door to his house and honored him with laurel trees flanking his doorway: Augustus, Res Gestae 34. 12 On slaves as magistri and ministri of the Genius of Augustus, see Y. Thébert, “The Slave,” in The Romans (ed. A. Giardina, trans. L. Cochrane; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), 163.

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In the domestic sphere we find many lararia, most of them quite standard in their imagery. But several are unique and offer new insights into the question of patronage. Unique paintings in a house at Pompeii (I 13,2) identified as belonging to a certain Sutoria Primigenia add to our investigation of patronage the question of gender: does a woman patron represent worship differently from a male patron?13 It seems she does (fig. 6). It is a relatively modest house, and the paintings in the kitchen, executed in the 60s or 70s C.E., provide a particularly eloquent testimony to the importance of religious observance in the household (figs. 7 and 8). Someone entering the kitchen (17 on the plan) would see a representation of the whole household, or familia, attending a sacrifice. Large figures of the Lares frame the scene. Next in size are the figures of Genius of the paterfamilias or head of the household – perhaps Sutoria’s dead husband or other male relative – accompanied by the Juno, or guardian spirit of the woman of the house: Sutoria’s guardian spirit. Both stand at an altar at the left. Just to the left of the altar are the tibicens playing the tibia. Only the Genius wears the toga, and of course since he is sacrificing, he has pulled its edge over his head. The Juno wears the proper garment of the Roman matron, the stola. All thirteen persons to the right face outwards in frontal pose and wear white tunics with short sleeves. And all hold their arms and hands in the same attitude. They hold the right arm to the chest while the left rests at the waist. An exception is the first person at left in the front row standing near the Genius, who must be the camillus or attendant. Beneath is a landscape genre scene, and around the niche for the lararium proper the artist has painted foodstuffs. At the bottom is the serpent, one of the good demons or agathodaemones that invariably appear approaching representations of altars in domestic lararia. The patronage of Sutoria seems to account for the non-standard features of this lararium painting. She wanted to represent the familia at worship. Did she want to encourage piety among the slaves who would have gathered daily in this space to offer sacrifice to the Lares and the Genius of the household? Or did it constitute wishful thinking, since the kitchen is scarcely large enough to accommodate such a large gathering? Perhaps the scene records a special sacrifice of thanksgiving or celebration. Although it is impossible to determine the patron’s purpose in representing the assembled familia in such a humble space, both its specificity and its elaborateness distinguish it from standard lararium paintings found throughout Pompeii. Before we leave the question: Who is the patron? let us return briefly to the imperial sphere to see what happens as the persona of the emperor 13 O. Bardelli Mondini, “I 13,2: Casa di Sutoria Primigenia,” in Pompei: Pitture e mosaici, vol. 2 (ed. Giovanni Pugliese Carratelli, Rome: Treccani, 1990), 860–80; Fröhlich, Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder, 261, L 29.

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begins to change over time. The patron of the Column of Trajan is – as in the case of the Ara Pacis – the Emperor and Senate. But uniquely and exceptionally, the Column is also Trajan’s tomb. Leaving aside the repetitions of Trajan’s name, honors, and statues throughout the forum, the imagery of the helical frieze with some 2,500 figures and 154 recognizable scenes is not symbolic or allegorical. It presents itself as realistic and documentary: a history of the two campaigns of the Dacian wars (101–102 and 105–106). Or so it seems, but as scholars have long recognized, this putative narrative really consists of variations on six stock scenes.14 The army journeys, then builds, then the emperor prepares for battle by sacrificing, then he addresses the troops. The army engages in battle. The sixth stock scene focuses on the enemy rather than on the Romans and their work: we see Dacian barbarians, brought as prisoners or coming as ambassadors to Trajan. Most scenes of sacrifice all portray the lustrum, the cleansing of the camp and the army, a ceremony that challenged artists who had to represent both the circumambulation of the camp and the emperor’s sacrifice of a pig, a sheep, and a bull, the suovetaurelia. In contrast to the Altar of Peace, where the representation of sacrifice is confined to the altar itself so that Augustus can foreground – through symbolic and historical representations – other ideological claims, the artist gives completely even treatment to the six stock scenes. He wants to show Trajan as the perfect military man, performing all the virtues of the perfect Roman. If the representations of worship show his pietas, his address to the army shows his virtus (manly virtue); his reception of the barbarians his clemency (clementia), and so on. And although they propel the story along, and the representations of worship are realistic, they contribute to the profile of the ideal emperor, always honoring the gods, and honored as a god and interred at the base of this very column: a fitting memorial for the emperor after his death.

2. How Does the Visual Representation Address the Viewer? A slew of variables arise when we ask how an image addresses a viewer. Viewer address includes the questions of both place and time. Investigation of the location of a visual representation is fundamental to understanding its temporal dimensions, that is, when and under what circumstances a viewer might see it.

14 K. Lehmann-Hartleben, Die Trajanssäule: Ein römisches Kunstwerk zu Beginn der Spätantike, vol. 1 (Leipzig: Walter de Gruyter, 1926).

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It is archaeology that tells us about the location of the visual representation. If we are lucky, the image is still in situ and we can go see it for ourselves. Luck is on our side as well if when the excavator removed the visual representation and put it in a museum, like the Altar from the Vicus Aesculetus, he also left us a detailed report of where he or she found it and what else was around it. However, most objects removed from their context carry little information about their original location; in the case of the looted objects that fill our museums, we have no information at all. A particularly good example of the importance of location in determining the meanings of representations of worship for ancient is a painting that, although badly damaged, is still in situ along the Street of Abundance at Pompeii, found in 1912 on the facade of a shop (fig. 9).15 Although excavators were unable to explore the spaces behind the facade, what they found was remarkable: an ensemble of paintings that included: the four planetary gods (Sun, Jupiter, Mercury, and Moon); Pompeian Venus; and a detailed representation of a procession honoring the Great Mother of the Gods, Cybele. There was also an archaizing bust of Dionysus inserted into a niche to the right of the doorway. Looking at this ensemble, the one element that tells us most about viewer address is the procession of Cybele because it shows human beings in cult activity (figs. 10–11). If the planetary deities set up a kind of cosmic architrave, it is to frame Jupiter, father of the gods, and Mercury, protector of commerce, between the sun and the moon. The painting of the heavily draped, corpulent Venus with Cupid at her side must represent the cult statue in the Temple of Venus near the Forum.16 When Sulla conquered the Pompeii of the Samnites and made it a Roman colony in 80 B.C.E., he dedicated the city to Venus. It is the remarkable representation of a second statue of a maternal deity that forms the focus of the painting on the right of the entrance. It is a wooden statue used in processions, still resting on its bier or ferculum – not a Roman goddess but an import from Phrygia in Asia: Cybele, also known as Magna Mater Deum. The four bearers have just set the ferculum down. The statue is about twice life-size, set off by a green backdrop covered with red stars. Cybele wears a dress of deep purple and a mantle, with a crown in the shape of city walls to symbolize her role as protector of the city. In her left hand she holds a long golden branch with thin leaves at the top and a golden patera in her right. In the crook made by her left arm is a tambourine; there are two little lions at her feet. Today the painting has suf15 V. Spinazzola, Pompei alla luce degli scavi nuovi di via dell’Abbondanza (anni 1910– 1923), vol. 1 (Rome: Libreria dello Stato, 1953), 213–242, figs. 144, 145, 241, 242; G. De Petra, “Pompei: Scavi di antichità,” Notizie degli Scavi (1912): 110, fig. 7; 138, fig. 1. 16 Spinazzola, Pompei alla luce, 1, figs. 216–17.

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fered much damage, so that the net of prophecy covering her lap is no longer visible. It is an attribute Cybele shares with oracular divinities including Dionysus, Apollo, and Artemis-Hecate.17 In fact, the artist included one of these oracular divinities, Dionysus, in a novel way by inserting a marble bust of the god in a niche at the left. Between these two representations of cult images we find all of the devotees save the two musicians to the left of Dionysus represented in a smaller size than the others because of their lesser importance. To the right we see the four bearers who have just set down the ferculum (figs. 13–16). All wear long white tunics partly covered by long red bibs that hang from shoulders to knees.18 They still hold the canes they used to help bear the statue’s weight.19 In the front row are the three principal actors, all wearing ample white tunics decorated with red stripes. The officiating priest (11) holds out both hands. In his right hand he holds a little green twig and an object that may be an oil lamp or flask, and in his left a gold patera. The man to his left who turns to him must be his assistant, for he carries a cista, the reliquary containing the objects sacred to Cybele’s cult on his left shoulder. To his left is the tibicen (6) turning his instrument toward the bust of Dionysus in the niche at far left. Immediately behind the celebrant are two women who stand out a bit from the others: one wears a vegetal crown and a robe the color of Cybele’s and she carries special attributes: a branch in her right hand and a patera in her left (12). One scholar identifies her as the first priestess of Cybele.20 Her companion (10), on the other side of the celebrant and wearing a green dress, looks intently at the cista; she may be the second priestess of the Pompeian cult.21 Interesting for our question of how the painting addressed the viewer is the fact that so many of the assembled devotees play musical instruments: tambourines, cymbals, the pan pipes, and the double oboes. As far back as Plato we find mention of the powerful effect of the “Phrygian harmony” on those who heard it.22 We can practically hear the sound of the proces17 Spinazzola, Pompei alla luce,  1, figs. 216–17; A. and M. de Vos, Pompei Ercolano Stabia, Guide archeologiche Laterza (Rome: Laterza, 1982), 111. 18 Also seen in the dress of Persians in the painting in oecus g, west wall, west part, of the House of Octavius Quartio: Spinazzola, Pompei alla luce, 1, figs. 262–63. 19 For a fragment of a relief from Capua with Cybele’s ferculum bearers using canes, see Spinazzola, Pompei alla luce, 1, fig. 261. 20 Spinazzola, Pompei alla luce,  1, figs. 234–35; at nearby Beneventum there was a priestess (sacerdos) and an assistant priestess (consacerdos), CIL 10, 1542, 1541. 21 For the complex hierarchy of priests and priestesses in the cult of Cybele, see H. Graillot, Le culte de Cybèle, mère des dieux à Rome et dans l’Empire Romain (Biblothèque des Écoles françaiseses d’Athènes et de Rome ; Paris, 1912), 226–61; he provides a long list of priestesses from preserved inscriptions, 248–49, n. 1. 22 Plato Republic 3.399–399c.

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sion that has just ended here, as the bearers have set the statue down and, it seems, the high priest prepares to carry out the rites of Magna Mater. If we remember the rocky history of this cult, from the time the Roman Senate invited Cybele to Rome in 204 B.C.E. to the various suppressions of the cult until the emperor Claudius officially permitted citizens to become priests in C.E. 50, we can imagine a range of reactions to this painting on Main Street. Elite citizens – senators and lawyers – repeatedly call for bans on cult practices, such as the noisy, exuberant, and licentious dancing and music that accompanied Cybele’s processions and rites, and above all the practice of self-castration by priests of the cult, the Galli.23 The Galli entered Rome along with the sacred meteorite from Pessinus; their self-castration imitated that of the goddess’s beloved, Attis, who made himself a eunuch in devotion to Cybele.24 It took Rome several hundred years to accept priests who compromised their legal identity as men by becoming eunuchs. Epigraphic evidence shows that even the head priests, the Archigalli, were ex-slaves well into the third century C.E.25 Equally difficult for elite Roman men was the attraction that Cybele’s cult had for women. Traditional state religion allowed women only minimal roles: elite women could become Vestals; at Pompeii we have two priestesses of Venus, Eumachia and Mamia. So our humble street-front painting is an important indicator of non-elite women’s participation in the very public, showy, and noisy cult of Cybele. The patron instructed the artist to represent six women – two of them possibly priestesses – among the entourage of sixteen. What is more, the artist set up the painting to emphasize Cybele’s alliance with two Roman deities who were important to women: Dionysus and the local maternal deity, Venus Pompeiana. The location of this painting on a busy public street beautifully complicates the answer to the question: Who is the viewer? One of Pompeii’s elite citizens might think: These crazy people, can’t they be content with the state deities? And they’re so noisy and undignified. A female devotee of Cybele would get up close to see if she could make out the features of the priest and, above all, the priestesses, hoping that some day she could enter the inner circle of the cult. The actor, Gaius Norbanus Sorex, might think this tiny painting on the crowded street insignificant – nothing to compare 23 Lucretius, On the Nature of Things 2.600–28; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 2.19.3–5; Juvenal, Satires 6.511–21. 24 Catullus 63; A. Nock, Essays on Religion in the Ancient World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972), 1, figs. 7–12; E. Simon, “Menander in Centuripe,” Sitzungsberichte der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft an der Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität Frankfurt am Main 25, 2 (1989): 60–61. 25 M. Beard, J. North, and S. Price, Religions of Rome (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 1, 261, n. 49.

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with the recently restored temple of Isis where his own bronze portrait was displayed along with an inscription recording his achievements.26 A painting found in 1827 on the facade of a shop on the Street of Mercury, and removed soon after its discovery to the Naples Museum, provides an image of a ferculum with six bearers (fig. 12). It demonstrates the need for the question: “Seen with what other images?”27 Unlike the shop of the procession of Cybele, where we can still locate all the images that accompanied it through on-site investigation supplemented by archival photographs, we only have vague written descriptions of the original location of the Naples painting on the facade of the building. This remarkable painting shows the bearers dressed in their carpenters’ tunics, carrying a ferculum with a statue of their patron goddess Minerva (only partially preserved at the left), a tableau of carpenters at work, and a representation of the male patron, Daedalus, standing over the body of Perdix. What is fascinating about this representation is its specific connection of worship to work. If the representations on the shop of the procession of Cybele made the excavator believe that it was not a shop but rather the entrance to a sanctuary of the goddess, there is no mistake that this was a carpenters’ shop (fig. 13). Written accounts of the long-gone paintings remind us that representations of deities also functioned as good-luck charms. We read, for example, that in the doorway at 9 a viewer would have seen Mercury and Fortuna facing each other on the door jambs. The patron wanted to balance the god of commerce with Lady Luck. Written accounts of the now-lost paintings also remind us that the painting program repeated images of the two patron deities of the carpenters and their craft. To the left of doorway 9 a viewer saw an Image of Minerva, armed, like the Minerva on the ferculum, with shield and spear. The excavator tells us that the artist depicted Minerva offering a libation on the altar assisted by a young girl. And just opposite the procession image Daedalus appeared a second time, in the act of making his most famous wonder, the wooden cow that Pasiphae ordered. Perhaps it looked like the painting of the subject from the north wall of oecus p of the House of the Vettii at Pompeii. Although the details are impossible to check today, this ensemble has a different flavor from the shop of the procession of Cybele, with its clear appeal to religious syncretism: planetary deities, the local Venus, Dionysus, and a representation of the worship of Cybele. The mixture of images on the facade of the carpenters’ shop only makes sense if we consider the Mau, Pompeii: Its Life and Art (rev. ed. F. Kelsey; London: Macmillan, 1902), 176. in Fröhlich, Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder,  320–21; see also I. Bragantini, “VI 7,8.12: Bottega del Profumiere,” in Pompei: Pitture e mosaici, vol. 4 (Rome: Treccani, 1993), 389–98. 26 A.

27 Bibliography

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owner’s profession. What emerges is a fascinating profile of how religious belief, coupled with a concern to ensure protection from harm, merged in the workplace. The owner wanted to proclaim his identity as a carpenter even while invoking the deities who protected his craft.

3. What Does the Viewer Know about the Representation? Although there are many books and articles that have tried to crack the code of the Second-Style megalographic frieze in the Villa of Mysteries at Pompeii, the mysteries of Dionysus remain just that.28 Rather than rehearsing the various attempts to pin down its meaning, I wish, instead, to focus on the distinction between what an initiate knows and what a non-initiate knows about the cult of Dionysus. I believe, along with many other scholars, that the patron and the artist were drawing from sources that presented the public pageants and tableaux of the cult.29 What we see on the walls of this remarkable room would have been known to viewers who were noninitiates, but would have had special meaning for the initiates of the cult. The frieze is, first and foremost, a decoration tailored to the space: a large entertainment room with two prized views out of it toward the Bay of Naples (fig. 14). For someone entering the room, the frieze encourages two viewing patterns: a fixed, timeless focus on the central image of Dionysus reclining on Ariadne’s lap and a sequence (and therefore a narrative) that runs clockwise around the room (fig. 15). These two kinds of viewing  – from the room’s axis and clockwise – are the painter’s solutions to fitting imagery to space. No matter how astounding the images are in themselves, this was the decoration of a U-shaped room with a major entryway from the portico, a minor doorway in its northwest corner where the clockwise sequence begins, and a large window interrupting the south wall. Scholars who have assumed that the frieze is a copy have proposed various compositional schemes for the “original.” However, if we look at the corners, we see how the artist designed the composition specifically for this space. How else can we explain the startled woman and the old Silenus with two Pans, the winged flagellator and her victim, and the bride at her toilet and the cupid? Reinhard Herbig’s diagram of the figures’ gazes illustrates the complex interactions among the figures themselves and between the 28 For a variety of thought-provoking essays on the subject, see Roman Art in the Private Sphere: New Perspectives on the Architecture and Decor of the Domus, Villa, and Insula (ed. E. Gazda; Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1991). 29 J. Clarke, Houses of Roman Italy, 100 B.C.–A.D. 250: Ritual, Space, and Decoration, 96–105.

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figures and the viewer (fig. 16).30 The meanings of the Mysteries Frieze must arise from the interrelationships expressed by these gazes; it must reside in the reciprocity established between these gazes, represented within the painting, and the individual viewer’s gaze, whether he or she is an initiate or non-initiate. Someone entering the room would have immediately focused on Dionysus and Ariadne proclaiming the theme of the room: the ecstasy of both Bacchic intoxication and love. But while Dionysus’s body is casually, drunkenly open to our gaze, his face, with his upturned eyes focused on his lover, ignores the viewer. If we ask the question: What models did the artist have? we find ample evidence. This group of Dionysus and Ariadne shows up as a stock type in sculptures from the Hellenistic period.31 If a viewer wants to sort out the meaning of the frieze by looking for a sequence of actions, she will turn to the north wall, where a pattern of left-to-right reading begins. A veiled woman walks into the scene of a matron looking over the shoulder of a nude boy who reads from a scroll. A pregnant woman carrying a tray of offering cakes walks toward a scene of ritual washing, where a woman with her back to us draws a veil from a box held by a servant while another servant pour water over her right hand. A tableau of a Silenus playing the lyre and a Pan watching a Panisca give suck to a goat takes a viewer from the realm of these women’s ritual performance to that of the mythical followers of Dionysus. The north wall ends with the imposing figure of a woman in violent contrapposto, her cloak billowing up behind her head, with her right arm thrown up in a gesture of surprise or terror. Although scholars have debated about what it is that terrifies her, she effectively carries the drama across the corner of the room to the back wall. Two scenes frame the central image of Dionysus and Ariadne on the rear wall. A seated Silenus hold a cup while a young pan gazes into it and another holds up a comic mask. One and a half scenes complete the wall on the right of Dionysus and Ariadne: the unveiling of the sacred phallus – another stock motif that the artist would have known – and the figure of the demon-flagellator, poised to reach across the corner of the room to strike her victim on the south wall (fig. 17). Some scholars interpret the nude dancing woman as the flagellant rejoicing after her whipping. Following the break in the frieze made by the large window, a viewer takes in another corner composition: a 30 R. Herbig, Neue Beobachtungen am Fries der Mysterien-Villa in Pompeji: ein Beitrag zur römischen Wandmalerei in Campanien (Deutsche Beiträge zur Altertumswissenschaft 10; Baden-Baden: B. Grimm, 1958). 31 For this type and other models known to the artist see J. Davis, “The Search for the Origins of the Villa of the Mysteries Frieze,” in The Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii: Ancient Ritual, Modern Muse. Exh. Cat. Kelsey Museum of Archaeology October 1–November 19, 2000, (ed. E. Gazda; Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2000), 83–95.

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woman at her toilet attended by two cupids, one holding up a mirror while the other, with bow in hand, admires her from the entryway wall. On the opposite entryway wall is the isolated figure, often called the domina, or mistress of the villa, surveying the frieze from a calm distance (fig. 18). Through the evidence of both texts and parallels in other visual representations, scholars have been able to identify the meanings of most of the individual scenes. The very fact that scholars, at a remove of two millennia, can identify so many elements underscores the fact that we are not seeing the actual mysteries of Dionysus but rather elements of the public presentations of the god. Even still, it is useful to ask several of our questions about production and reception. For instance, if we ask: What models does the artist have? and: Does he understand those models? it is clear that the artist is sophisticated in his knowledge of models from past or contemporary visual art. What is more, he shows unusual skill in interweaving the representations of human and divine beings. But if we ask: What does the viewer know about the image? we immediately have to separate the initiate from the non-initiate viewer. The non-initiate might be able to identify images familiar to him from public manifestations of Dionysiac ritual. It would have been an entirely different story for the initiate; she would read the frieze from her own experience; she would recognize the allusions, the abbreviations, the relation of the tableaux to the secrets – and perhaps the sacred tableaux – that no non-believer ever saw. If the Mysteries Frieze, despite its complex allusions to the sacra dionysiaca, still has as its primary purpose the decoration of a wealthy suburban villa, the visual representations that begin to appear during the course of the second century C.E. are decidedly didactic in that they reminded believers of the very steps of initiation that they had experienced or that they would experience. At Ostia Antica, where Becatti studied and published fifteen mithraea, mosaicists and wall painters find a variety of ways to visualize the seven steps of initiation.32 The Mithraeum of Felicissimus, dated to the second half of the third century, is perhaps the most straightforward in its imagery, executed in the medium of black-and-white mosaic (fig. 19). The artist created a ladder-like framework that extends from the entrance of the mithraeum to the altar at back. The imagery in the space between each rung of the ladder condensed the narrative of each step of initiation into three symbols. In this way the artist represented the same step of initiation in several ways.33 This little mithraeum is a long, narrow space with the usual couches to either side for the cult members to recline on (fig. 20). The entryway space 32 G.

Becatti, I mitrei, Scavi di Ostia (Roma: Libreria dello Stato, 1954). I mitrei, 105–12.

33 Becatti,

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presents the symbols of fire (an altar) and water (a crater). At the beginning of the corridor are two conical caps (pilei) that symbolize the Dioscuri, representatives of the two celestial hemispheres that the Pythagorean soul must cross – just as the initiate must complete a voyage through the planetary spheres. The seven successive rectangles in fact allude to these seven planets and the progressive steps of initiation. The first rectangle, under the protection of Mercury (note the caduceus) is that of the Corax or Raven, accompanied by a vase for ablutions. The second rectangle is that of the planet Venus, symbolized by the diadem. This is the level of the Nymphus, and the associated object is a lamp. In the third rectangle, the helmet symbolizes the planet and god Mars; the rank is that of Miles or soldier, symbolized by the lance, and the object is the soldier’s rucksack. The fourth rectangle represents the planet Jupiter with lightning, the rank of Leo with the fire-shovel, and the sistrum, or rattle, sacred to Isis. Moon, represented by the crescent, rules the fifth rectangle, where the hooked sword represents the level of Perses and the object is a sickle. Sun, represented by the radiate crown, rules the sixth rectangle. The level is that of Heliodromus, literally he who runs with the sun, symbolized by the whip to drive the horses of the solar quadriga, and the object is a torch. We arrive then at the seventh rectangle, representing the highest rank, that of Pater. The planet is Saturn, symbolized by the curved sword. The attribute is the Phrygian cap, the headdress of Mithras himself, and the objects are two: the commander’s wand and the patera for libations. The final image gives us the patron’s name: Felicissimus ex voto fecit. The interesting answer that comes up when we ask about initiate knowledge in this and other Mithraea is that the visual representation must have meant different things to a man (for the cult was limited to males) depending on what level he had attained. One supposes that at each rung on the climb to Mithras/Sol status, the initiate had yet to go through some ritual for which we have little information. When we look at the substitutions that artists invented for the fairly frank representations of the stages of initiation in the Mithraeum of Felicissimus, it is surprising to see they are almost as cryptic as Early Christian visual representations. One wonders why we find seven circles in one of the Ostian mithraea.34 Although allusive to the seven planets, it is likely that only an initiate would understand the symbolism. The same goes for the Mithraeum of the Seven Gates.35 One wonders whether the patron wanted to suggest that the seven stages of initiation were gates that allowed one entry into increasing identification with the godhead.

34 C.

Pavolini, Ostia, Guida archeologica Laterza (Rome: Laterza, 1983), 71–72. Ostia, 185–86.

35 Pavolini,

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By asking the questions posed by my model, I have focused attention on the variables that the scholar must take into account when he or she uses visual representation as evidence for ancient religious practices. We may want to read them as realistic, historical documents of that show us what cult practices looked like, what people wore, and who were the officiants. But artists, just like writers about religion, have biases. They make things up. If we want to take the Christian apologists as evidence for the immoral pagan cults, we have to deconstruct them, just as we have to take into account the biases of pagan writers attacking the Jewish or Christian cults. The same thing goes for visual representation. I hope that my model for the production and consumption of visual representations will help to keep us from making extravagant claims for their legitimacy as “documents” of ancient religious practice. Like any scrap of evidence we have from the past, the evidence of visual representation is uneven. Accidents of preservation, like the eruption of Vesuvius in C.E. 79, tend to give us much evidence for a particular period and place, a plethora of information that contrasts all too sharply with the scraps of evidence available for other times and locations. Add to this the changes wrought by time upon important monuments of ancient visual culture, and we begin to feel a bit humbled – and perhaps envious of scholars who work in more recent times with a plethora of well-preserved documents of visual culture. Nevertheless, I will continue to mine visual representations for knowledge about the past, for they often offer vivid glimpses into the attitudes of ancient Romans toward the gods. They allow us to jump into the persona of one of carpenter ferculum-bearers, or to imagine ourselves standing in the lararium of Sutoria Primigenia. They extend what we can know from the scant evidence of ancient texts. Fully contextual analysis of visual representation greatly enriches what we know of worship in the Roman period.

Captions to figures

(All tables and drawings are by the author) Fig. 1: Ceremony of the Cult of Isis. Naples, National Archaeological Museum, inv. 8924. Photo Michael Larvey. Fig. 2: A model for the reception of visual art in ancient Rome. Fig. 3: Rome, Ara Pacis, 13–9 B.C.E., south side with procession of family of Augustus and allegorical figure of Tellus/Italia/Pax/Venus. Photo Michael Larvey. Fig. 4: Rome, Augustan Monuments in the Campus Martius. Fig. 5: Rome, Altar of the Vicus Aesculetus, C.E. 2. Photo Michael Larvey. Fig. 6: Pompeii, House of Sutoria Primigenia (I 13,2), plan.

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Fig. 7: Pompeii, House of Sutoria Primigenia (I 13,2), room 17, north and east wall. Photo Michael Larvey. Fig. 8: Pompeii, House of Sutoria Primigenia (I 13,2), room 17, east wall, detail. Photo Michael Larvey. Fig. 9: Pompeii, Shop of the Procession of Cybele (IX 7,1), view at the time of excavation. Photo courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica di Pompei, Archivio Fotografico della Soprintendenza, 80883. Fig. 10: Pompeii, Shop of the Procession of Cybele (IX 7,1), detail of procession of Cybele. Photo courtesy Soprintendenza Archeologica di Pompei, Archivio Fotografico della Soprintendenza, 80888. Fig. 11: Pompeii, Shop of the Procession of Cybele (IX 7,1), detail of procession of Cybele, drawing with figures numbered. Fig. 12: Pompeii, VI 7,8–11, Carpenters’ procession, Naples inv. 8991. Photo Michael Larvey. Fig. 13: Pompeii, VI 7,8–11, plan. Fig. 14: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, plan. Fig. 15: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, Room of the Mysteries, view from western entrance. Photo Michael Larvey. Fig. 16: Diagram of gazes in the Mysteries Room. After Herbig, Neue Beobachtungen, foldout. Fig. 17: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, Room of the Mysteries, southeast corner: unveiling of phallus, flagellation, dance. Photo Michael Larvey. Fig. 18: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, Room of the Mysteries, west wall to north of western doorway, the domina. Photo Michael Larvey. Fig. 19: Ostia, Mithraeum of Felicissimus, plan with mosaics drawn in. After Becatti, I mitrei, fig. 22. Fig. 20: Ostia, Mithraeum of Felicissimus, view from entry. Photo Michael Larvey.

The Cult of Isis and Ancient Egyptomania in Campania Irene Bragantini1 Before I address, from an archaeological perspective, the two themes I will deal with here – the cult of Isis and “Egyptomania” in settlements in ancient Campania, some preliminary remarks are in order. In a situation where a certain interpretive confusion reigns, it may be useful to try to clarify the nature of the evidence that has come down to us, focusing especially on the following aspects: – chronologies; – social levels of patrons; and – the function of images within their contexts of origin. A correct analysis of this evidence should thus first of all distinguish between images and objects that are presumably related to the performing of a domestic cult, and images showing Egyptian subjects or settings that are, instead, unconnected to cult.2 For painted images or statuettes in domestic shrines, it is also useful to distinguish between those appearing in a “representative” area of a house and those gracing “service” areas. The former are especially significant, as they identify the domini as devotees of the cult of Isis,3 whereas the latter must have been worshiped by the servants.4 In the peristyle that constitutes the center of the House of the Golden Cupids (VI 16,7) at Pompeii are two domestic cult installations, both dat1 I

am most grateful to Federico Poole for his translation and support correcting the English text and to the Electa publisher for their permission to publish a text previously published in Italian. 2 M. Söldner, “Zur Funktion ägyptischer Elemente in der römischen Wanddekoration,” in Fremdheit – Eigenheit. Ägypten, Griechenland und Rom. Austausch und Verständnis, (eds. P. C. Bol, G. Kaminski and C. Maderna; Städel Jahrbuch 19; Munich: Prestel, 2004), 201–212. 3 S. Adamo Muscettola, I culti domestici, in Pompei. Abitare sotto il Vesuvio, catalogue of the exhibition (Ferrara 1996–1997) (Ferrara: Ferrara Arte, 1996), 175–179, here 178. 4 R. A. Tybout, “Domestic shrines and ‘popular painting’: style and social context,” JRA 9 (1996): 358–374.

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able to the last decade of the city’s life. Next to a large and lavishly decorated cubiculum, for which the house is named, is an aedicule shaped as a temple on a podium. Here were found bronze statuettes of the Capitoline triad (Jupiter, Juno and Minerva), the two Lares, and Mercury.5 At the opposite corner of the peristyle is a shrine for the cult of Egyptian deities. On its socle are painted two snakes converging towards an altar with offerings, a habitual image in lararia. Above, against a bright yellow background framed in red that must have stood out in the shade of the peristyle, are accurate depictions of the instruments of the cult of Isis: a sistrum, two cists, a patera, a situla, towards which a uraeus (the sacred cobra) makes its way (fig. 1). Beside these are portrayed the deities worshiped in the cult: Anubis, jackalheaded and clad in red; Isis with a sistrum in her right hand and a situla in her left; Osiris, also holding a sistrum in his upheld right hand, and a cornucopia, symbol of abundance, in his left; and little Harpocrates, also holding a cornucopia. Next to the deities is the officiating priest in front of the altar (fig. 2).6 The excavation also yielded some objects connected to this shrine, which help us to reconstruct its appearance and imagine the actions performed there. These include an alabaster statuette of Horus (cat. N. III.115, 133230) and a large glazed-terracotta lamp on whose disc are pictured Isis, Harpocrates and Anubis (cat. N. III.105, 19286), both on display in the Egittomania exhibition (see p. 32 below, bottom). Isis, Serapis and little Harpocrates were also painted on one of the walls of the garden of the House of the Amazons (VI 2,14) at Pompeii (fig. 3). They stood inside a temple surrounded by a luxuriant garden with a marine landscape in the background. The presence of a masonry altar in front of the painted shrine seems to indicate that a domestic cult was performed for these deities in this representative area of the house.7 Another image (cat. N. III.51, 112285) was found in the service area of a house (IX 7,21–22), and must hence have been worshiped by the slaves. It was painted on the wall in a corridor leading to the latrine. In this case, too, the presence of a small terracotta altar under the painting assures us that this, too, was a cult image. The attributes of the deity depicted here reflect the assimilation of Isis to Fortuna, an especially popular goddess among slaves and freedmen.8 In this case, however, account should be taken of the fact that a shop straddling two streets was annexed to this house. In such a 5 F. Seiler, “voce (VI 16,7.38). Casa degli Amorini dorati,” PPM V (1994): 714–846, here 758–759, figs. 82–83. 6 Seiler, “voce (VI 16,7.38). Casa degli Amorini dorati,” 764–767, figs. 93–99. 7 I. Bragantini, “voce VI 2,14. Casa delle Amazzoni,” PPM IV (1993): 168–197, here 174, fig. 13. 8 T. Fröhlich, Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten. Untersuchungen zur “volkstümlichen” pompejanischen Malerei (RM Ergänzungsheft 32; Mainz: Von Zabern, 1991), 42.

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context it is likely that there were no significant differences in social class among the inhabitants of the house.9 The provenance of painting cat. N. III.50,8836, is less clear. An inscription qualifying it as a votive gift, however, bears witness to its religious significance.10 The presence of devotees of Egyptian cults in Pompeian homes is also documented by the finding of statuettes picturing Isis and the deities associated with her cult. Like the painted images, these sculptures often show the goddess in “mixed” forms combining the attributes of Isis with those of other deities, notably the globe or rudder of Fortuna. Different functions can be reconstructed for such sculptures on the basis of context of provenance, material, and size. Especially remarkable examples include a group of silver statuettes from a lararium in a rural villa in the Pompeian countryside (cat. III.19–21, 125709–125711); reconstructed groups of statuettes from Herculaneum (cat. III.27–31); and a complete installation including a statue (cat. III.45, 1996/2) placed among trees in the center of an open area in the house of C. Arrius Crescens (III 4,2), at Pompeii, to form a sort of “sacred wood”, in spite of the small extension of the area – a function confirmed by the finding here of a bronze brazier.11 Further evidence for Isis worshipers is brought by objects used in the cult of the goddess, especially sistra; the Egittomania exhibition catalogue includes a representative sample of the twenty or so found at Pompeii so far (cat. III.1–16).12 Jewels and amulets worn on the person appear to indicate a wish for a more direct bond with the deity and a request for her protection. The above-mentioned images and objects, being more directly linked to private cults, can be regarded as fairly reliable testimonies of the presence of Isis worshipers in the houses where they occur.13 For other images, instead, a religious function is not as easy to establish, because of their specificity, Bragantini, “voce IX 7,21–22,” PPM IX (1999): 865–869. Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten. Untersuchungen zur “volkstümlichen” pompejanischen Malerei, 294. 11 V. Spinazzola, Pompei alla luce degli Scavi Nuovi di via dell’Abbondanza (anni 1910–1923) (Rome: Libreria dello Stato, 1953), 727–762; P. Zanker, Pompei (Torino: Eina­ udi, 1983), 179–182. 12 M. de Vos, “Egittomania” nelle case di Pompei ed Ercolano,” in Civiltà dell’antico Egitto in Campania. Per un riordinamento della collezione egiziana del Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli. Raccolta di studi in occasione della Mostra allestita nel Museo Archeologico Nazionale (Naples: Tempi moderni, 1983), 59–71, here 69. 13 A connection between the worship of Isis and the position of a house near the temple of Isis in Pompeii has been suggested for the House of Acceptus and Euhodia (VIII 5,39), in whose lararium Isis-Fortuna was depicted (M. de Vos, “Egittomania” nelle case di Pompei ed Ercolano,” 62). This house yielded statuettes of Ptah-Pataikos and Bes on display in the Egittomania exhibition (cat. III.126–127, 116666, 116665).   9 I.

10 Fröhlich,

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rarity or complexity, or the peculiarity of their context of provenance. Examples include two depictions of Isiac ceremonies from Herculaneum, and the image of a priest of Isis on a wall in the House of Octavius Quartio (II 2,2), in Pompeii. The paintings from Herculaneum (Naples Museum, 8919 and 8924, fig. 4), datable to the first half of the first century C.E., show a priest exhibiting cult objects to the faithful. It is hard to gauge the significance of these pictures, since they were found during eighteenth-century excavations, which at Herculaneum were conducted by tunneling, and the context near the theater from which they were removed has not been identified.14 Considering their insistence on cult objects brought forth to be worshiped by the faithful attending the ceremony, I doubt that they can be interpreted in an exclusively “exotic” key, as a mere expression of a predilection for scenes drawing on Egyptian imagery. Similar considerations probably apply to the above-mentioned depiction of a priest of Isis in the House of Octavius Quartio at Pompeii (fig. 5). The subject is recognizable by his white garment and fringed shawl, cleanshaven head, except for a tress descending from the top of his head onto his right ear, the sistrum held in his right hand, and the situla hanging from his left wrist. He is painted on the wall beside a large window looking onto a garden crossed by a long euripus. An inscription painted under the priest must have identified him, thus adding meaning to the presence of the figure, which can hence hardly be dismissed as a mere exotic ornament, although the rest of the wall decoration of the room contains no other distinctive elements.15 A glazed terracotta lamp showing Isis, Harpocrates and Anubis (similar to cat. III.105), two glazed terracotta statuettes, one of Bes and another of a pharaoh, and a marble group showing an ibis biting a snake, were found outside the room and thus seem to enhance its significance.16 The meaning of a marble sphinx (cat. III.134, 2930) from the same house is less clear. It was found in a very heterogeneous sculptural ensemble lacking any other Egyptian connotations, and there is no evidence of a connection with the other above-mentioned materials.17

14 A. Allroggen-Bedel, “review of Tran Tamh Tinh, Catalogue des peintures romaines du Musée du Louvre,” Gnomon 50 (1978): 428–430; U. Pannuti, “Il ‘giornale degli scavi’ di Ercolano (1738–1756),” MemLinc 26,3 (1983): 161–410, here 218–220. 15 I. Bragantini and M. de Vos, “voce II 2, 2. Casa di D. Octavius Quartio,” PPM III (1991): 42–108, here 70–79, figs. 46–54. 16 Spinazzola, Pompei alla luce degli Scavi Nuovi di via dell’Abbondanza (anni 1910– 1923), 394–396, figs. 449–451; M. de Vos, “Egittomania nelle case di Pompei ed Ercolano,” 63. 17 Spinazzola, Pompei alla luce degli Scavi Nuovi di via dell’Abbondanza (anni 1910– 1923), 397–406.

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A different reasoning applies, instead, to the many scenes of “Egyptomania” representing “the landscape of Egypt” with no cultic implications. These fall into two main genres designated in the literature, respectively, as “Nilotic” and “Pharaonic,” which are chronologically distinct and had different functions in Roman house decoration. There has been a heated debate among scholars over the last few decades concerning these paintings. The disagreement arises in part from the lack of a rigorous analytic distinction between the two genres, as well as attempts to jump to general conclusions without adequate consideration of the contexts in which the paintings occur; above all, however, it is a consequence of the lack of a shared vision of the function of house decoration in Roman society of this age. The 1950s and 1960s were dominated by an approach that we could label “panreligious”, often characterized by somewhat uncritical interpretations, seeing even the most tenuous allusion to Egypt as a testimony of Isiac faith. In later years, this approach was rejected by scholars who rightly stressed the need for more discriminating analysis and did away with many excessive interpretations. By overreaction, however, these same scholars refused to grant any significance to any of these references to the Egyptian world, dismissing them as manifestations of a generic “exoticism” devoid of deeper implications.18 As a consequence, they, too, omitted to examine this evidence more carefully according to the parameters I referred to above (p. 21): chronology, clientele, and context. The current increased interest in the language of house decoration and the mechanisms informing visual perception in the ancient world invite us to reconsider these “images of Egypt,” trying to understand what they could communicate to a hypothetical ancient viewer. These images are an adaptation within the Roman culture of habitation of a vast store of themes and iconographies portraying Egypt as a land of mystery, miracles and oddities. For a public of Hellenistic culture, this image could be evoked by means of a limited number of stereotypes or “icons,” which sufficed to represent Egypt, its landscape, and its peculiar religious practices. These considerations, which help us to understand how visual perception is constructed and works, are also useful as a mean of analyzing different iconographic genres, and thereby shed light on the mentality and ideology of a given society. These specific figurative themes, too, need to be approached from the perspective of an interpretive discourse that places them back in their original context, whenever this is possible, and reconstructs 18 M. Söldner, “Ägyptische Bildmotive im augusteischen Rom. Ein Phänomen im Spannungsfeld von Politik, Religion und Kunst,” in Ägypter-Griechen-Römer. Begegnung der Kulturen (eds. H. Felber and S. Pfisterer-Haas; Kanobos 1; Leipzig: Wodtke und Stegbauer, 1999), 95–113, here 96–97.

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their function within it, a discourse formulated in the awareness that the figurative language of a given society is not a “description” of reality, but a system of communication, and as such calls for a holistic approach. By analyzing how a given image developed within the ancient figurative repertoire as part of a specific figurative system it appears in (in our case, the system and language of house decoration), one can rescue this evidence, at least in part, from the isolation and fragmentariness to which it has been relegated so far. Meaning can be restored to these images by exploring the reasons for and modes of their appearance in a historical perspective (how did a historical theme develop within the mentality of the time? what can the motivations of the clientele have been? how was a given theme figuratively translated by craftsmen, and how did it become part of their repertoire?). Any interpretation, however intriguing, that dispenses with such an effort at reconstruction can be nothing more than a gratuitous and unprovable hypothesis, and will not shed light on the meaning of these images for the society that produced them. In Republican times, as late as the mid-first century B.C.E., papyrus boats, palms, exotic animals and certain types of buildings alluded to Egypt and the Nile. This genre has come down to us through some exceptional testimonies from the previous century, such as the mosaic of Palestrina and the mosaics from the House of the Faun at Pompeii.19 Among the examples of the popularity of this “Nilotic” repertoire in the Vesuvian towns are two small mosaic pictures in reception rooms, respectively in the House of the Menander (I 10,4) (fig. 6) and the House of Paquius Proculus (I 7,1) at Pompeii.20 These are variations on the same theme, that of pigmies on a boat on the Nile, which is evoked by its typical flora and fauna (crocodiles and hippopotami, as well as ducks and palm trees) against the background of a built-up landscape alluding to a city, presumably Alexandria. A long painted frieze from the House of the Sculptor (VIII 7,23–24), a fragment of which was on display in the Egittomania exhibition, dates from the same period (cat. III.66, SAP 41654).21 The protagonists of these images are pigmies appearing in a setting defined by the same elements that encode the image of the Egyptian landscape during this period. These pigmies are engaged in “caricatural” actions, such as animatedly fighting against innocuous animals or, conversely, attempt19 P. G. P. Meyboom, The Nile Mosaic of Palestrina. Early Evidence of Egyptian Religion in Italy (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 121; Leiden: Brill, 1995); F. Zevi, “Die Casa del Fauno in Pompeji und das Alexandermosaik,” RM 105 (1998): 21–65. 20 R. and L. Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii: vol. II. The decorations (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005), 53–55 and 201–202. 21 A long frieze from House (VII 16,17) at Pompeii dates from the same period: I. Bragantini, “voce (VII Ins. Occ., 17). Casa di Ma. Castricius,” PPM VII (1997): 887–946, here 940–946, figs. 123–140.

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ing in vain to stand up against crocodiles or hippopotami with inadequate weapons. These images hark back to a stereotype of Hellenistic art, documented by a series of small bronze statues usually ascribed to the Alexandrine milieu. Through the startling association of a grotesque subject – misshapen dwarfs or “pigmies” – with precious materials and a refined technique, these statuettes must have contributed to an atmosphere of great domestic luxury.22 The two polychrome mosaic visual representations and the painted frieze, in spite of the difference in medium, show the same theme, and help us to understand the function of such images in homes of the time. They bear witness to the gradual spread, from the mid-first century B.C.E. onward (ca. 50–25 B.C.E.), of a “Nilotic” repertoire employed both in reception rooms and in gardens, as one of several forms that domestic luxury can assume among these social classes in this period. These images appear in rooms destined for the receiving of guests, or in open spaces within the house decorated with special care. By portraying the characteristic landscape of the Nile and the Delta, with its imaginary protagonists, its flora and its fauna, these images visually generate an “other” world, whose function within the decorative system of the Roman house lies precisely in this “otherness”. Their purpose is to stress the distance from the real world which, in the figurative system of the Roman house, characterizes the space where the dominus and his guests live and interact. Typological and iconographic distinctions aside  – these lie beyond the scope of the present essay – “Nilotic” images were only one of the visual repertoires available to artists and their clients. Their function within the decorative system of the Roman house can be likened to that of depictions of banqueting couples in Greek garb surrounded by servants and luxury tableware (fig. 7). The latter images – whose distance from the real world should always be kept in mind – draw on another stereotype – that of the luxury and pleasures of the Hellenistic lifestyle – to generate an imaginary “mental space” for the dominus and his/her guests. A completely different repertoire, which we can call “Pharaonic”, features images and symbols imitating the style and iconographies of ancient Egyptian art. Such images are believed to have entered the imagery of the time through their introduction in Rome, in milieus close to the court, dur22 For a broad perspective and an interpretation in an ideological and social key of some leading themes of Hellenistic figurative culture, see P. Zanker, “Un’arte per i sensi. Il mondo figurativo di Dioniso e Afrodite,” I Greci. Storia Cultura Arte Società, vol. II, 3. Una storia greca. Trasformazioni (ed. S. Settis; Torino: Einaudi, 1998), 545–616; idem, Eine Kunst für die Sinne. Zur hellenistischen Bilderwelt des Dionysos und der Aphrodite (Berlin: Wagenbach, 1998). On these Alexandrine bronzes, cf. Das Wrack: der antike Schiffsfund von Mahdia, catalogue of the exhibition (Bonn 1994–1995) (ed. G. Hellenkemper Salies; Köln: Rheinland, 1994).

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ing the final decades of the first century B.C.E., following the conquest of Egypt.23 Originally destined for an elite clientele, these elements were allegedly adopted into the repertoire of house decorators, who employed them in ways similar to how they appear in the House of Augustus on the Palatine. These “Pharaonic” elements do not alter the house decorating system and do not constitute in themselves a theme within the figurative language of house painters; rather, they are an addition to a decorative scheme that is otherwise undistinguishable from those in use at the time. Due to the period of their occurrence – the first half of the first century C.E., the age, that is, of the emperors who belonged to Augustus’ dynasty – and the alleged circumstances of their introduction into the repertoire, “Pharaonic” images – whose use was in any case rather sporadic24 – can be interpreted as a sign of adhesion to a specific political climate by prominent citizens of the Vesuvian towns.25 It is significant that this “Pharaonic” genre is attested in houses in the Vesuvian area whose owners must have been leading members of the ruling elites in their respective cities: the Boscotrecase villa figures in the archaeological evidence as the first, highest-level example of this new genre.26 Among various possible examples, I chose those in the House of the Golden Bracelet (VI 17,42) and the House of the Floral Cubicula (I 9,5), 23 M. de Vos, L’egittomania in pitture e mosaici romano-campani della prima età imperiale (EPRO, 84; Leiden: Brill, 1980); Söldner, “Zur Funktion ägyptischer Elemente in der römischen Wanddekoration,” 201–212. 24 M. de Vos, “Egittomania nelle case di Pompei ed Ercolano,” 60. 25 Pictures showing Io freed by Hermes from Argus’ custody have also been interpreted as a political allegory: Through the assimilation of Io to Isis, and of Augustus to Hermes, it has been argued, they allude to the conquest of Egypt as a liberation (S. Adamo Muscettola, “L’arredo delle ville imperiali: tra storia e mito’,” in Capri antica. Dalla preistoria alla fine dell’età romana (eds. E. Federico and E. Miranda; Naples: Edizioni La Conchiglia, 1998), 241–274, here 254–256, with further bibliography at note 63). Hermes is absent in the picture showing this subject on display in the Egittomania exhibition (cat. III.56, 9556), while he is very conspicuous in that from the House of the Citharist at Pompeii (I 4, 5 and 25): M. de Vos, “voce (I 4,5.25), Casa del Citarista,” PPM I (1990): 117–177, here 130–131, fig. 21. Both pictures, at any rate, appear to be later than the age of Augustus, being datable to after 50 C.E., possibly in the time of Nero. 26 P. H. von Blanckenhagen and C. Alexander, The paintings from Boscotrecase (RM Erg-Heft 6; Mainz: Kerle, 1962 = reprint Mainz: Von Zabern, 1990). The fact that a decoration of this type also graced the triclinium of the House of the Centenary (M. de Vos, L’egittomania in pitture e mosaici romano-campani della prima età imperiale, pp. 35–49, n. 20; cf. also pp. 49–60, n. 23), whose last renovation does not suggest an especially high social level for its occupants, may be explained by a change of property of the house in its last phase: cf. D. Scagliarini Corlaita, “La casa del Centenario (IX 8,3–6.a),” in Storie da un’eruzione. Pompei Ercolano Oplontis, catalogo della mostra (Napoli 2003) (eds. A. d’Ambrosio, P. G. Guzzo, M. Mastroroberto; Milano: Electa, 2003), 283–285, here 284–285. The presence of Egyptianizing elements in the House of the Deer at Herculaneum is also significant (inv. 8561, 8974, de Vos, L’egittomania in pitture e mosaici romanocampani della prima età imperiale, 23–25 n. 12, no provenance).

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both in Pompeii, because here the Pharaonic images can be examined in the context of the pictorial decorative system of the house as a whole. In the former, two adjacent rooms, opening onto a garden with a pergola and a fountain, were frescoed with images of gardens around the middle of the first century C.E. Room 32 is graced with a view of a luxuriant garden crowded with marble ornaments  – herms, fountain-vases, small pictures in relief, decorative reliefs and hanging masks – and peopled with realistically rendered birds. In the adjacent room (31) is a similar garden, whose marble ornaments, however, evoke Egypt, including, as they do, statues of pharaohs, sphinxes, and marble reliefs showing the Apis bull (fig. 8, cat. III.59–60, SAP 87229, 87228). The same artists who painted these two differently decorated gardens in the House of the Golden Bracelet – for expediency’s sake, we will designate one as “Roman”, the other as “Pharaonic” – painted two rooms, 8 and 12, in the House of the Fruit Orchard (I 9,5). The same elements employed in the House of the Golden Bracelet are found in two rooms distinguished by their background color – respectively, light blue and black. Here, however, the “Roman” and “Egyptian” sceneries, which were distinguished in the other house, are merged. Pharaonic statues, reliefs with Egyptian figures and the Apis bull, hydriai and situlae of precious materials mingle with fountain-vases and marble pictures showing characters from the Dionysian world (fig. 9). It would hence appear that here the painters, by the customer’s request, adapted and reduced the elements of their repertoire. Not long thereafter, a biclinium was built in the innermost part of the apsed room decorated with the “Egyptian garden” in the House of the Golden Bracelet. Masonry couches faced with marble were erected on either side of a basin into which water flowed from a stepped fountain set in the apse, which was converted into a faux cave by facing it with calcareous concretions imitating the walls of a natural cave. The walls behind the beds were graced with a glass mosaic also showing a garden crowded with rich ornaments . This new decoration completed and enhanced the pre-existing “Pharaonic garden” theme. The whole installation looks up to larger-scale aulic models attested in contemporary court architecture.27 The complex of Julia Felix in Pompeii (II 4,3), also has a triclinium with a fountain opening onto a garden (fig. 10). At the back of the room, whose barrel vault is faced with calcareous concretions to imitate a grotto, is a fountain with a marble-faced stepped cascade, from which the water ran down into a low basin set between the couches. On the walls are depicted crocodiles, hippopotami, lotus flowers, and pigmies (fig. 11, cat. III.63, 8608). 27 P. Gros, L’architecture romaine 2. Maisons, palais, villas et tombeaux (Paris: Picard, 2001), 244–252, 351–360.

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The room opened onto a garden crossed – as in the house of D. Octavius Quartio – by a long canal, a euripus of sorts. From the triclinium the guests enjoyed a view of the garden closed off on the opposite side by a long row of recesses with alternately rectangular and semicircular plans, also faced with calcareous concretions to imitate caves. Here the use of wall mosaic was limited to rows of blue glass tesserae.28 It is significant that next to the southern extremity of this row of niches was a room containing a now lost Isiac lararium with painted images of Isis, Serapis and Anubis, along with Fortuna, while Harpocrates was represented by a silver statuette.29 From the highest-level example among those selected here (which for methodological reasons must take priority), that from the House of the Golden Bracelet, whose owner must have been a leading member of Pompeian society,30 to the decoration of the House of the Fruit Orchard, the mosaic fountain-niche addition to the House of the Golden Bracelet, and the “Villa” of Julia Felix, where the mosaic fountain is replaced by a stepped marble fountain and completed with a Nilotic painting (probably coeval with the mosaic fountain in the House of the Golden Bracelet): all these testimonies show that, in the central years of the first century C.E., house painters were variously combining the elements of their repertoire to meet the different requirements of individual clients. Once this evidence is placed into context, highlighting chronological, economic and social differences, it appears that the painters were using the same iconographic motifs in a modular way, amplifying and spreading them out or, on the contrary, reducing and combining them in the same room. The interchangeability of individual elements speaks against a religious purpose for them, which would have required a more systematic organization. They appear, instead, as testimonies of a specific aspect of domestic luxury that is an integral part of the decorative system of the Roman house, and probably not unconnected with political motivations. The painted garden can be regarded, in this period, as a “genre”31 within Roman house decoration. The examples I have just illustrated are an “Egyp28 V. Sampaolo, “voce (II 4,3). Villa di Giulia Felice,” PPM III (1991): 184–310, here 230–236, figs. 73–80; pp. 260–267, figs. 135–141. 29 F. Pesando, “Abitare a Pompei,” in Gli ozi di Ercole. Residenze di lusso a Pompei ed Ercolano (eds. F. Pesando, M. P. Guidobaldi; Roma: l’Erma di Bretschneider, 2006, 16), assumes that the corporation of the Isiaci were among the “users of the complex”. Cf. also C. C. Parslow, Rediscovering Antiquity. Karl Weber and the Excavation of Herculaneum, Pompeii, and Stabiae (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 110. 30 A parallel, albeit a more modest one, can be found in the garden of the House of Julius Polybius (IX 13,1–3) at Pompeii, which has been attributed to freedmen connected to the Imperial family on the basis of epigraphic evidence: F. Zevi, “La Casa di Giulio Polibio,” 73–79. 31 S. Settis, “Le pareti ingannevoli. Immaginazione e spazio nella pittura romana di giardino,” Fondamenti 11 (1988): 3–39 (reprint in Le pareti ingannevoli. La villa di Livia

The Cult of Isis and Ancient Egyptomania in Campania

31

tian” adaptation of a model already documented in the villa of Livia at Prima Porta, in a semi-subterranean room with faux cave concretions on the wall, to amplify the “reality-distancing” effect of the decorations. As we have seen, however, this is only one of the possibilities of the genre. The triclinium of the Villa of Julia Felix substitutes a Nilotic landscape for the Pharaonic setting of the gardens of the Houses of the Golden Bracelet and the Fruit Orchard, a shift that may reflect a slight chronological difference, possibly of a couple of decades. To sum up, trying to set the interpretations I have proposed here within a wider perspective, we could ask ourselves why the Nilotic repertoire, originally attested in the late Republican age by the images on fig. 6, resurfaced in the last decades of the life of Pompeii after having been obscured by more austere themes, in line with the preference accorded by the court to exemplary stories about the great heroes of Greek myth (Theseus, Perseus). These heroes can be regarded as “transfigurations” of Augustus and of those among his successors who patterned themselves after him. The Pharaonic repertoire, if it truly reflected adhesion to the political climate of the early Empire, would have been a fit complement to this genre. The large-scale changes in Roman society that followed the advent of the Empire also had important consequences for the culture of habitation. In the central decades of the first century C.E., the number of people increased whose economic and social condition allowed them (indeed, required them!) to live in houses with decorated rooms. In the houses belonging to this new class of patrons, open spaces, even of small size, were often graced with paintings and sculptures to set them up as a “scenery” of sorts – a space for the pleasure, real or presumed, of the dominus and his guests. The mental model at work here is the same that informed the creation and use of the figured language in the Roman culture of habitation, its ideology of habitation. As Zanker argued long ago,32 the pictorial evidence from the Vesuvian centers, and Pompeii in particular, is nothing but a reduction to the economic and social level of the inhabitants of these towns of a series of elements characterizing the villas and residential spaces of the great families of Roman society in the Republican age. These, in their turn, must have looked up to the habitative models of Hellenistic courts. It is in this climate that Nilotic paintings make their reappearance, in the last few decades of the life of the Vesuvian towns. The pigmies are now engaged not only in the caricatural actions described above, but also in e la pittura di giardino (ed. S. Settis; Milano: Electa, 2002); S. De Caro, “Due ‘generi’ nella pittura pompeiana : la natura morta e la pittura di giardino,” in AA.VV. La pittura di Pompei. Testimonianze dell’arte romana nella zona sepolta dal Vesuvio nel 79 d.C. (Milano: Jaca Book, 1991), 262–265. 32 Zanker, Pompei, pp. 147–230.

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erotic performances under the eyes of their mates; a testimony of variations in the preferences of the local clientele, which we are not always able to understand. I have proposed the above distinctions between different genres to shed light on the function of specific elements of figurative language at the time of their appearance in the social system of visual communication, which in the Roman world is usually influenced by the trends prevailing among the upper classes. Once these elements have entered the circuit of communication, the reasons for their presence, however, can change; they can become, that is, an integral part of the imagery of the period, and orient the choices of the clientele and the artists. Thus, the connection with the initial reasons for their presence must be historically reconstructed case by case, whenever this is possible. Through the example of these different figurative genres, we realize that the language expressed by a specific iconographic and figurative theme needs to be analyzed in the modes of its formation to shed light on the reasons for its presence and the communicative function it performed in the society that produced and adopted it. In the wake of the recent interest in the representation of “other” worlds in antiquity, and notably in the Roman world, I have investigated these images of Egypt – an especially representative case both for the abundance of testimonies and for the thematic variations that can be recognized in an apparently unitary genre – to try to understand how the image of an “other” world is constructed in Roman society33; a problem and exercise for which Egypt – the “other” world par excellence due to its geographical, religious and social peculiarities – offers abundant material. Inventory numbers refer to the Archaeological National Museum, Naples. SAP numbers refer to inventories in Pompeii. Catalogue numbers (cat.) refer to Egittomania. Iside e il mistero, catalogue of the exhibition (Napoli 2006–2007) (ed. S. De Caro; Milano: Electa, 2006). The Publisher and the Author wish to thank Electa publisher for granting permission to translate the essay by Irene Bragantini in the aforesaid catalogue.

33 M. J. Versluys, Aegyptiaca Romana. Nilotic scenes and the Roman views of Egypt (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 144; Leiden: Brill, 2002); R. A. Tybout, “Dwarfs in discourse: the functions of Nilotic scene and other Roman Aegyptiaca,” JRA 16 (2003): 505–515.

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Captions to figures Fig. 1: Pompeii, House of the Golden Cupids (VI 16,7), details of frescoes lararium with instruments of the cult of Isis (after PPM V). Fig. 2: Pompeii, House of the Golden Cupids (VI 16,7), detail of frescoed lararium with Egyptian deities (after PPM V). Fig. 3: Pompeii, House of the Amazons (VI 2,14), lararium (Francesco Morelli, after PPM IV). Fig. 4: Isiac ceremony from Herculaneum, 8919. Fig. 5: Pompeii, House of D. Octavius Quartio (II 2,2), detail of fresco with priest of Isis (after Egittomania). Fig. 6: Pompeii, House of the Menander (I 10,4), polychrome mosaic showing pigmies on a boat on the Nile (after Egittomania). Fig. 7: Pompeii, House of the Chaste Lovers (IX 2,16), picture of couples at a banquet. Fig. 8: Pompeii, House of the Golden Bracelet (VI 17,42), detail of painted garden with marble ornaments (after Egittomania). Fig. 9: Pompeii, House of the Fruit Orchard (I 9,5), detail of painted garden with Egyptian-style marble ornaments (after Egittomania). Fig. 10: Pompeii, Villa of Julia Felix (II 4,3), triclinium with fountain, general view (photo Author). Fig. 11: Naples, National Archaeological Museum, detail of Nilotic landscape (from Pompeii, Villa of Julia Felix [II 4,3]) (after Egittomania).

The Properties and Social Role of Pompeiian Feminae Nobiles in Italy During the Early Imperial Age Fabrizio Pesando

The Public Sphere In the late first century B.C.E. women of high rank made important benefactions in many ancient Italian cities: Mamia and Eumachia at Pompeii, Terentia at Ostia, Baebia Bassi(l)la at Veleia, Mineia, Sabina and Valeria at Paestum. All these women have left a record of their generosity in the form of monumental inscriptions, almost all characterized by a concise text in keeping with the sobriety of feminine behaviour imposed by the society in which they lived. Much has been written on the role played by these “great women” within cities and the reasons for their considerable influence: we know that some (Mamia and Eumachia at Pompeii, Sabina and Valeria at Paestum) held prestigious religious offices as priestesses of major city cults and they certainly had access to large sums of money thanks to Augustan family laws (the Lex Iulia de maritandis ordinibus of 18 B.C.E. and the Lex Papia nuptialis of B.C.E. 9) which allowed free women with large numbers of children to avoid the control of a guardian in the management of their property and to enjoy relative financial independence if they were widowed.1 The most widely accepted explanation sees the work of these feminae nobiles as a successful attempt to instate early manifestations of the imperial cult indirectly, disguised as forms of social self-promotion and delegated to unofficial exponents of the local ruling class, such as these women.2 In some 1 M. L. Caldelli and C. Ricci, “Donne e proprietà sepolcrale a Roma,” in Donna e vita cittadina nella documentazione epigrafica (eds. A. Buonopane and F. Cenerini; Faenza: F.lli Lega, 2005), 81–103, here 81–83; M. Corbier, “Conclusioni,” in Donne e vita cittadina nella documentazione epigrafica, 625–634, here 628. On Pompeii’s priestess see L. Savunen, Women in the Urban Texture of Pompeii (Pukkila: Sumiloffset, 1998), 51–58. 2 M. Torelli, “Il culto imperiale a Pompei,” in I culti della Campania antica (Atti del convegno internazionale di studi in ricordo di N. Valenza Mele) (Rome: G. Bretschneider, 1998), 245–270.

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cases, as demonstrated by the family history of the influential Pompeiian woman Eumachia, these benefactions gave their descendants access to the most important municipal offices: Eumachia’s son M. Numistrius Fronto became duovir in C.E. 2 and 3.3 1) Paestum; Basilica of Mineia. [Mineia M.f .C.Cocc]ei[ F]lacci, [m]ate[r / C. (?) Coccei Ius]ti, ab fundamentis / [basilicam e]t ante ba[silicam sua p]ecu[nia / fecit porticus pavim] entaque omnia4 (late first century B.C.E.). Mineia, daughter of Marcus, wife of C. Cocceius Flaccus, mother of C. Cocceius Iustus, rebuilt the basilica from its foundations and the portico in front of it and all the floors at her own expense. The very fragmentary inscription is one of a series of 6 epigraphs recording Mineia’s dedication of the same number of honorary statues of family members (husband, brothers, nephew) in the basilica which she had rebuilt a fundamentis. The building is also depicted on a coin (a semis) minted in Mineia’s name. She is also credited with restoration work in the temple of Mens, whose magistri dedicated a statue to her (ILP, 18) and more tentatively with the refurbishment of the small temple behind the basilica (the so-called Italic Temple). Paestum  Temple of Venus Iovia, restoration work financed by Sabina and Valeria C.f. Sabina P[‑‑‑] / Flacci uxo[r sacellum] / deae a solo fa[bricandum] / opere tector[io poliendum] / sedes et pavim[enta cur(avit)] / pequnia fac[iunda cur(avit)] eadem p[rob(abit)] Sabina, daughter of Publius, wife of Flaccus, at her own expense undertook and approved the construction of the sacellum and its stucco decorations, seating and floors. Late first century B.C.E.5 The dedicant, probably a priestess of the cult of Venus Iovia practised at the sanctuary outside the city at Santa Venera, appears to be related to the gens Cocceia and may even have been the first wife of C. Cocceius Flaccus who later married Mineia M.f.6 She was responsible for almost completely rebuilding the little temple. [Vale]ria Sabin[i uxor] / [Sabi]nae neptis p[rivign(a)] / [C. Fla]ccei Flacci V[‑‑‑] / [stro]ngyla de s[ua pec(unia)] / [faciund]a cu[r(avit)] 3 P. Castrén, Ordo populusque Pompeianus. Polity and Society in Roman Pompeii (Rome: Bardi Editore, 1982), 198. This is the so-called Temple of Peace: M. Torelli, “Donne, domi nobiles ed evergeti a Paestum,” in Les élites municipales de l’Italie péninsulaire des Gracques à Néron (ed. M. Cébeillac-Gervasoni; Naples-Rome: École Française de Rome-Centre Jean Bérard de Naples, Arte Tipografica, 1996), 159–175, here 157. 4 ILP, 163; Torelli, “Donne, domi nobiles ed evergeti a Paestum,” 155. 5 ILP, 158; Torelli, “Donne, domi nobiles ed evergeti a Paestum,” 161. 6 Torelli, “Donne, domi nobiles ed evergeti a Paestum,” 167.

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Valeria, wife of Sabinus, niece of Sabina, adoptive daughter of C. Flacceius Flaccus, undertook the construction of the strongyla at her own expense. Early first century C.E.7 A generation after Sabina, her niece Valeria had an unusual architectural element built (the strongyla, a term certainly derived from the Greek στρóγγυλον or “circle”), for insertion into the recently restored temple. Valeria was also responsible for a second refurbishment project, recorded in another inscription: [Valeria C.f. ‑‑‑Sabini uxor?] / [Sabinae n]ep[tis pr]ivig[na) C. Flaccei] / m[na]mon cu[linam] / [de s]ua pequnia fac[iundam] / curavit Valeria, daughter of Caius, wife of Sabinus, niece of Sabina, adoptive daughter of C. Flacceius, priestess, built the kitchen at her own expense. Early first century C.E.8 In the context of the priesthood of Venus Iovia – referred to using a word possibly derived from the Greek, which appears to indicate an initiatic cult based on the transmission of rituals passed down through memory – Valeria rebuilt the service area of the temple, doubtless essential for the unfolding of ceremonies. 2) Veleia; Calchidicum (chalcidicum) of Baebia Bassi(l)la in the Forum. Baebia T.f. [Bas]silla calchidicum municipibus suis dedit Baebia Bassilla daughter of Titus donated the chalcidicum to her fellow citizens at her own expense. Late first century B.C.E.9 The inscription was discovered in 1760 in the portico of the Forum’s long west side and refers to its construction; a bronze portrait found in the same year near the entrance to the Basilica, which occupied the whole of the Forum’s short north side, has been identified as that of Baebia Bassilla. 3) Ostia; Calchidicum (chalcidicum) and crypta of Terentia near the Forum. Terentia A.f. Cluvi (uxor) / cryptam et calchid(icum) solo sua pecun(ia) fecit ex SC et DD Terentia, daughter of Aulus, wife of Cluvius, built the crypta and the chalcidicum at her own expense by decree of the Senate and the Decurions C.E. 6.10 The inscription was reused as a floor slab in the so-called Byzantine Baths (Regio IV, ins. 4, no. 8), located near the Round Temple. Another inscrip-

  7 ILP,

157; Torelli, “Donne, domi nobiles ed evergeti a Paestum,” 163. 159; Torelli, “Donne, domi nobiles ed evergeti a Paestum,” 162.   9 CIL, XI, 1189; ILS 5560. 10 F. Zevi, “Miscellanea ostiense,” RendLinc 26 (1971): 2–15.   8 ILP,

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tion dating to C.E. 94 records a restoration of the building by the duovir L. Terentius Terius, doubtless a descendant of Terentia.11 4) Pompeii; Calchidicum (chalcidicum), porticus and crypta of Eumachia and Numistrius Fronto. Eumachia L.f. sacerd(os) publ(ica) nomine suo et M(arci) Numistri Frontonis fili chalcidicum crypta porticus Concordiae Augustae Pietati sua pecunia fecit eademque dedicavit Eumachia, daughter of Lucius, public priestess, in her own name and in that of her son Marcus Numistrius Fronto, built the chalcidicum, the crypta and the portico at her own expense and dedicated them to Concordia Augusta and to Pietas (CIL X, 810). We know of two copies of the same dedicatory inscription: a monumental version forming the architrave of the colonnade in front of the entrance (the chalcidicum mentioned in the text) and a smaller version inserted near the building’s secondary entrance on Via dell’Abbondanza. Concordia Augusta and Pietas are the objects of the dedication. The first personification refers to the most ancient cult of an abstract entity introduced to Rome (according to tradition the first temple of Concord was dedicated by Camillus in 367 B.C.E.). For obvious reasons of propaganda, Concordia was particularly venerated by the Princeps after the civil war which had torn apart the Republic (Tiberius had the old temple on the slopes of the Capitol rebuilt in C.E. 10); Livia incorporated an aedes (shrine) to Concordia into the centre of the gigantic portico which she and her son Tiberius had built on the Esquiline in 7 B.C.E., in an area previously occupied by the luxurious house of Vedius Pollio inherited by Augustus (Ovid, Fasti, 6, 637–644). The unusual association in the Pompeiian building between the cult of Pietas and that of Concordia has been explained by suggesting that Numistrius Fronto died before its dedication, perhaps in the year of his duovirate, C.E. 2/3; were this the case the building must have been dedicated after that year.12 The chalcidicum must have been adorned with an important series of statues; due to looting after the eruption of C.E. 79 only the bases resting against the columns and the remains of some inscriptions have survived; these include one recording a benefaction by M. Lucretius Decidianus Rufus (CIL X, 815), one of the most powerful political figures in the Augustan city, duovir on several occasions and also serving as duovir quinquennalis and pontifex. In a niche at the centre of the east side of the crypta the fullones dedicated a statue to their patrona Eumachia, portrayed as a priestess (CIL X, 813). The 11 P. Pensabene, Ostiensium marmorum decus et splendor (Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 2007), 303, 20, note 79. 12 Torelli, “Il culto imperiale a Pompei,” 251–261. See also Savunen, Women in the Urban Texture of Pompeii, 133–135.

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Eumachii were an old local family from the Samnite period, remembered as the owners of a figlina and a large fundus. 5) Pompeii; Temple VII 9,2: Aedes Genii Augusti of Mamia in the Forum. M[a]Mia P.f. sacerdos public[a] gen[io Augusti s]olo et pec[unia sua]. Mamia, daughter of Publius, public priestess, to the genius Augusti (?) on her own land and with her own money. This large inscription, whose exact place and time of discovery during the 19th century excavations in the Forum are unknown, was carved into a large epistyle. According to G. Fiorelli’s calculations,13 its dimensions were identical to those of the architrave of the tetrastyle temple built up against the back wall of the small sanctuary VII 9,2 facing onto the east side of the Forum.14 As recorded by the inscription, it was built on private land; this has been confirmed by some test pits revealing that the area was previously occupied by some shops and perhaps a house. The priestess Mamia, who descended from an important Samnite family, received for this and other good works the right to be buried on public land in the necropolis of Porta Ercolano (Tomb 4S). A graffito scratched into the plaster of the tomb when it was still fresh tells us that it was under construction in C.E. 29, so the temple dedicated by Mamia must date to the late Augustan period or the early years of Tiberius’ reign. The missing parts of the inscription have been subject to various interpretations: on the basis of numerous comparisons with documents from other Campanian towns a dedication to the Genius Coloniae has been suggested or to the Genius Augusti.15 Were the inscription in fact to belong to sanctuary (VII 9,2), the latter theory would seem preferable given the sculpted scenes on the faces of the altar, which present clear references to the honours paid to the Princeps as Pater Patriae (CIL X, 816). Alongside these benefactions, which we have almost always been able to associate with buildings discovered during archaeological excavations, are other acts of generosity known only from the epigraphical sources. Three inscriptions dating to the Augustan period refer to buildings in the Campanian towns of Puteoli, Cuma and Nola.16 At Puteoli a Sextia L.f., member of a gens whose members included one (or perhaps two) sacerdos Cereris, Fiorelli, Descrizione di Pompei (Naples, 1875), 262. are expressed in W. Van Andringa, Quotidien des dieux et des hommes (Rome: Bibliothèque de l’École Française de Rome 337, 2009), 49–59.52. 15 I. Gradel, Emperor worship and Roman religion (Oxford and New York: Clarendon Press 2002), 80, but ascribing Mamia’s dedication to the nearby sanctuary of the Public Lares. More shaded is the interpretation proposed by Savunen, Women in the Urban Texture of Pompeii, 130–132; cf. also Torelli, “Il culto imperiale a Pompei.” 16 G. Camodeca, “Gli archivi privati di tabulae ceratae e di papiri documentari. Pompei ed Ercolano: case, ambienti e modalità di conservazione,” Vesuviana 1 (2009): 17–42. 13 G.

14 Doubts

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was described in a public funerary inscription as munifica erga coloniam (“generous towards the colony”), probably because she was responsible for the construction of the porticus Aug(usti) Sextiana in the town’s Forum, of whose existence we know from one of the tablets found in the building at Moregine (outside Pompeii) belonging to the Sulpicii (TSulp. 83–86). Another inscription by a public priestess of Ceres – a deity intimately linked to the feminine sphere – records another act of generosity on the part of a woman, this time at Cuma: the person in question is Lucceia Cn. f. Maxima, a descendant of one of the town’s important families and perhaps a close relative of the two praetors (Cn. Lucceii pater et filius) who restored the city temple of Demeter (Ceres). Like Baebia Bassi(l)la at Veleia, Terentia at Ostia and Eumachia at Pompeii, the “woman of Cuma” had a chalcidicum built at her own expense to host the honorary statues of the Lucceii (CIL X, 3697); this was almost certainly one of the porticoed sides of the town Forum, since the honorary inscriptions were found near the modern building known as the Masseria dei Giganti, on the south side of the square. Finally, at Nola, Varia Pansina dedicated a porticus, green spaces (viridia) and statues to Venus Iovia (the same goddess venerated at Paestum) and to the Genius of the Colony as well as distributing money to the mulieres (“women”) on the occasion of the complex’s inauguration (AE 1971, 85). In less central areas of Italy such as Regio IV,17 public buildings, infrastructure and sacred places were also built or restored by prominent women during the first half of the first century C.E., thus contributing to the renewal of some ancient Italian cities like Telesia (schola, domus and horti), Teate Marrucinorum (temple?; aqueduct) and Corfinium (aqueduct?). In one of Umbria’s most ancient towns, Asisium, Petronia C.f. Galeonis (uxor) even participated in the construction of the amphitheatre, begun by her brother. Finally, a unique instance is that of the Arch of the Sergi at Pola, which formed a monumental backdrop to the city’s south-east gate and which served exclusively to celebrate the gens of which Salvia Postuma Sergi (uxor) was a member; the renown and monumental isolation of this family triumphal arch make a description here superfluous: specific studies include Traversari, Coarelli, and Chiabà.18 One feature which appears to be shared by many of the acts of generosity recorded in inscriptions is a degree of indeterminacy in the function of the buildings dedicated: with the sole exceptions of the Basilica in Paestum dedicated by Minea and the aedes built by Mamia in Pompeii, these build17 M. Buonocore, “Evergetismo municipale femminile: alcuni casi dall’Italia centrale (Regio IV),” in Donne e vita cittadina nella documentazione epigrafica, 523–539. 18 G. Traversari, L’arco dei Sergi (Padua: CEDAM, 1971); F. Coarelli, “Recensione a G. Traversari, L’arco dei Sergi,” DArch 6 (1972): 426–435; M. Chiabà, Salvia Postuma e l’arco dei Sergi a Pola, Donne e vita cittadina nella documentazione epigrafica, 373–385.

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ings are defined in terms of their component parts, described as porticus, chalcidica and cryptae (Veleia; Ostia; Pompeii, Eumachia Building). As already noted – excepting the building constructed by Terentia at Ostia, destroyed during the Severan period and of which only a few remains and some reused architectural elements are known – archaeological research has succeeded in identifying the monuments mentioned in the inscriptions. We will begin our discussion of the buildings constructed by these great women of the Augustan period with those in Paestum, which served a clear purpose, and then go on to discuss the other monuments, which have in common their indeterminate use, much debated even in recent studies.

Paestum, Basilica of Mineia (fig. 1) The building constructed by Mineia a fundamentis stands almost at the centre of the south side of the currently excavated part of the Forum of Paestum (about half of its original size). On the north side were three entrances allowing people to pass from the portico into the Forum; the portico, too, was built by Mineia as we know from the text of the dedicatory inscription (et porticus ante basilicam … fecit: “and she made the portico in front of the basilica”). The basilica has three naves with columns topped by Corinthian capitals made of local stone and half columns set against the perimeter walls. Between the half columns on the short east and west sides were a series of niches used to display the statues of members of the Mineii and Cocceii families. Mineia had become a member of the latter on her marriage to C. Cocceius Flaccus, Caesar’s quaestor in 44 B.C.E. and later (in 42) propraetorial legate in Bithynia. Only one of these statues has been found, portraying a man in a toga with his head covered and the capsa of books next to his left leg, probably an allusion to the public office he held in the municipium. The identification of the Basilica of Mineia with the building visible today, whose central nave was refurbished in late Antiquity with the construction of a semi-circular tribunal (fig. 2), has been much debated. The building’s construction technique (opus vittatum mixtum) is typical of the first century C.E. and therefore appears to be incompatible with Mineia’s building; additionally, the wall paintings still visible are not in the Third Style, as has sometimes been written,19 but belong to a later period and cover earlier layers of decorations. Excavations in this area during the 1970s revealed the existence of two buildings predating the current Basilica: a small square 19 Torelli, “Donne, domi nobiles ed evergeti a Paestum,” 157; M. Torelli, Paestum romana (s.l.: Ingegneria per la Cultura, 1999), 101; M. Gualtieri, La Lucania romana (Naples: Loffredo Editore, 2003), 73.

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with a vat clad in opus signinum at its centre and surrounded by tabernae, identified as the forum piscarium, and a first basilica whose three naves are completely open to the Forum but whose floor plan remains extremely uncertain given the paucity of archaeological remains identified.20 This is probably the basilica constructed by Mineia since the materials discovered in the well belonging to one of the ancient tabernae indicate that it was closed in the early Augustan period, when the Republican forum piscarium was demolished.21 The basilica visible today may either have been built by an anonymous curator rei publicae in the late third century C.E., as recorded in an inscription (ILP 168), or be a refurbishment dating to the Flavian period when a colony of Vespasian’s veterans was planted here (C.E. 71) and the town took the name of Colonia Flavia Prima.22 The latter hypothesis is supported by the masonry techniques of the period – much used, for example, at Pompeii in reconstruction work after the C.E. 62 earthquake – and by the existence of numerous superimposed wall paintings, indicating that the building was in use for a considerable period.

Paestum, Temple of Venus Iovia (fig. 3) Described in the excavation reports as a “Sanctuary at Santa Venera”, the complex history of this cult place, located between the southern stretch of walls and one of the necropoleis of the Greek city, has been reconstructed in detail thanks to a series of excavations in the 1980s.23 The area was initially frequented in the early sixth century B.C.E. when a small oikos was built, to which a small sandstone capital and a metope with a sculpted scene showing the Rape of Europa may have belonged. The initiatory function of the complex appears to be evident already by the fifth century, when a hall with a round structure at its centre, a large room (the so-called Rectangular Hall) and a long portico giving access to the sanctuary were built. Only minor building work took place during the Lucanian period and the earliest phase of the Latin colony of Paestum; it was only in the early imperial period, with the reconstruction work funded by Sabina and Valeria, that the sanctuary took on its definitive form, preserved until its abandonment. The salient features of this rebuilding project were the addition of a second room 20 E. Greco and D. Theodorescu, Poseidonia – Paestum I. La “Curia” (Rome: Istituto Centrale per il catalogo e la Documentazione and École Française de Rome, 1980), 33. 21 Greco and Theodorescu, Poseidonia – Paestum I. La “Curia”, 18. 22 I. Bragantini, R. De Bonis, A. Lemaire and R. Robert, Poseidonia – Paestum V. Les maisons romaines de l’îlot Nord (Rome: Istituto Centrale per il catalogo e la Documentazione and École Française de Rome, 2008), 104–106. 23 J. G. Pedley and M. Torelli, The Sanctuary of Santa Venera at Paestum (Rome: G. Bretschneider, 1983).

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(the so-called West Wing) and above all the complete renovation of both the main hall and the Rectangular Hall; the surviving remains do not allow us to appreciate Sabina’s reconstruction of the sacellum and addition of decorative elements (benches and painted plasterwork) but we do have some evidence of help in identifying the work financed by Valeria. Specifically, it has been suggested that the mysterious strongyla mentioned in one of the inscriptions were the five little round rooms built on the north and east sides of the Rectangular Hall, with at their centres column drums protected by a thick layer of opus signinum (fig. 4). The sanctuary’s close relationship with water – further underlined by the construction of a large pool in its immediate vicinity, perhaps used to farm particular species of fish – has suggested that the strongyla were purificatory basins used by women admitted to the cult of the goddess;24 the women crouched over the column drums to be bathed during the annual rites held in honour of Venus VerticordiaFortuna Virilis on 1 April, reviving the cult practiced during the Republican period at the “public pool” in the Forum.25 As we know from Ovid (Fasti, 4, 133) the goddess, thanks to these sacred ablutions, helped to rejuvenate the bodies of the matrons, hiding their defects from the eyes of their husbands. Finally, the culina built by Valeria may be one of the rooms in the “West Wing”: its construction was essential for other ceremonies culminating in communal meals. As we have seen, while Sabina focused her attention on the monumental refurbishment of the Sanctuary of Venus Iovia, her niece Valeria attempted to revive the ancient religious traditions inherited from the early colonial period, renewing them in keeping with the new Augustan regime’s concern for the feminine sphere and in particular for marriage.

Veleia, calchidicum of Baebia Bassilla (fig. 5) This small municipium located in what had previously been the territory of the Ligures underwent a profound renewal during the early Augustan period, in accordance with a programme common to many other ancient Italian towns. Thanks to an odd series of coincidences in their excavation histories, chance discoveries and antiquarian interests, Veleia came to represent a sort of counterpart to Herculaneum for eighteenth-century archaeological research. Like Herculaneum, the town was identified after a discovery during agricultural work at a time when the first explorations of the Vesuvian town had been underway for a few years. In 1747 the chance 24 Torelli,

“Donne, domi nobiles ed evergeti a Paestum,” 174–175. Greco in Poseidonia – Paestum III (Rome: Istituto Centrale per il catalago and École Française de Rome, 1987), 60–62. 25 E.

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discovery of the Tabula Alimentaria Veleias (CIL XI, 1147) led to the site’s identification; in 1760 Philip of Bourbon, Duke of Parma, began systematic excavations at Veleia, hoping to emulate his brother Charles III who had been involved in the excavations at Herculaneum from 1738 and at Pompeii from 1748. The results were noteworthy: preserved from looting thanks to its precocious abandonment during the third century C.E. the city yielded a large number of finds and a series of modest but well-preserved monuments. The most important discovery was the cycle of statues of members of the Julio-Claudian family: a series of 12 marble statues found at the foot of a podium built up against the back wall of the basilica and with rings at the back to fasten them to the wall. Obviously the statues were arranged on the podium; according to the information available on their discovery it seems that they formed two distinct groups, seven to the west and five to the east.26 These statues have been linked to L. Calpurnius Piso, son of Caesar’s father-in-law and consul in 15 B.C.E. (perhaps the owner of the Villa of the Papyri at Herculaneum!) who was probably the patronus of Veleia (CIL XI, 1182; LILS, 900). It may have been the discovery of this statue cycle in a building obviously used as a judicial basilica that possiply led to the renaming of a monument at Herculaneum brought to light in the same period and in which bronze statues of very similar subject and function had been found: the Augusteum, up until that point described simply as a “Building” in the excavation reports and plans. In the late 1700s this building began to be known as a Basilica, confusing it with the real basilica of Herculaneum built in the Augustan period by Nonius Balbus and located on the other side of the Decumanus Maximus.27 As we were saying, the overall organization of the Forum at Veleia is known, with tabernae, a large public hall (the city lararium?), the basilica and a bath complex opening onto it; paved during the Augustan period, the public square also hosted a series of honorary statue bases and was surrounded by a portico. Baebia Bassilla’s benefaction belongs to the long west side of the portico and is described as a calchidicum. The exact function of this type of structure, mentioned in numerous inscriptions from the Augustan period onwards, has recently been the subject of various studies which propose two principal lines of interpretation. The first emphasises the architectural aspect of the chalcidicum (calchidicum),28 26 A list of occurrences can be found in Fentress, “On the block: catastae, chalcidica and cryptae in Early Imperial Italy,” 233–234; but see this essay for a summary of information on the Eumachia Building at Pompeii. C. Saletti, Il ciclo scultoreo della basilica di Velleia, (Milan: Ceschina, 1968). A. Frova, EAA Suppl. 1970, s.v.; M. Marini Calvani, EAA Suppl. 1970–1994, s.v. 27 F. Pesando and M. P. Guidobaldi, Pompei, Oplontis, Ercolano, Stabiae. Guida Archeologica Laterza (Rome and Bari: L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 2006), 385. 28 F. Zevi, “Il calcidico della Curia Iulia,” RendLinc 26 (1971): 237–251; F. Zevi, “Miscellanea ostiense,” RendLinc 26 (1971): 2–15; P. Gros, “Chalcidicum: le mot e la chose,”

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identifying it as a “complex consisting of a colonnaded façade with an important building behind it,”29 and ascribing its invention to the Greek world, based on the testimony of Festus (chalcidicum genus aedificii ab urbe Chalcidica dictum: “chalcidicum a type of building named after the town of Chalcis”). The reasons for the attribution of this architectural form to the Euboean town are unknown, although it cannot be ruled out that the name simply reflected a fashion for “exotic” definitions typical of the technical language of the Late Republic and well known from the numerous examples found in Vitruvius’ manual, especially in relation to ostentatious luxury in domestic architecture (oecus Corinthius, Cyzicenus, Aegyptius, atrium corinthium). It is Vitruvius himself (5,1,4) who employs the term chalcidicum in the generally accepted sense to refer to the space in front of judicial basilicas whose short side opens onto the public square; the best known archaeological example is the Basilica at Pompeii. By contrast, the second line of interpretation stresses the functional purpose of the chalcidicum,30 which, according to a comparative reading of epigraphical documents and the archaeological data, appears to be a space characterized by the association of a portico and a raised platform, the latter being used for proclamations, funerary orations, public auctions and sales of various sorts, particularly of slaves. The chalcidicum was thus the outer part of the venalicium, the building used to house and trade in slaves. At the current state of research it is difficult to choose between these proposals; however, we must necessarily take into consideration both the definition of the chalcidicum provided by the sources – especially some glosses – and the relevant archaeological evidence. The glosses are essentially in agreement: Cal(ci)dicum fori deambulatorium (CGL, 174,4: “chalcidicum a walkway around the Forum”); Cal(ci)dicum fori deambulatorium quod et petibulum dicitur et iterum (CGL 596, 42: “chalcidicum a walkway around the Forum also known as a petibulum and as an iterum”). Whilst the interpretation of the latter gloss remains somewhat obscure (petibulum may be a corrupted version of either petauron, “platform”, or peribulum “enclosure”; iterum may be a corruption of the word pteron, used to define the wing of a building, or be emended to deambulatorium), both sources agree that the term chalcidicum refers to a space located in the Forum around which one could walk: this space can only be Ocnus 9–10 (2001–2002): 123–135; M. Torelli, “Chalcidicum. Forma e semantica di un tipo edilizio antico,” Ostraka 12,2 (2003): 215–238. 29 M. Torelli, Attorno al chalcidicum. Problemi di origine e diffusione, in Théorie et pratique de l’architecture romaine (Aix-en-Provence, 2005), 37–54, here 23. 30 F. Coarelli, “L’ “agora des Italiens”: lo statarion di Delo,” JRA 18 (2005): 212; E. Fentress, “On the block: catastae, chalcidica and cryptae in Early Imperial Italy,” JRA 18 (2005): 220–234; P. Braconi, “Il ‘calcidico’ di Lepcis Magna era un mercato degli schiavi?,” JRA 18 (2005): 213–219; D. Manacorda, “Donne e cryptae,” in Donne e vita cittadina nella documentazione epigrafica, 37–54.

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a portico, or more accurately part of a portico. The generic identification of the chalcidicum with the porticoes surrounding the Forum square in Roman towns of the imperial period may help to clarify the use of some adjectives associated with this word: for example, we know that there were three separate chalcidica in the Forum of Puteoli, named Hordonianum, Octavianum and Caesonianum after the names of their builders (TabSulp 85–87, 90–93); as we have seen, one of the colonnaded sides of the Forum of Cuma was also described as a chalcidicum (Lucceianum). All the examples mentioned appear to have one feature in common: these are porticoes built by private citizens who contributed to enhancing the grandeur of the celeberrimum locum (“most frequented place”: ie. the Forum) where all of the town’s most important activities were concentrated, including commercial ones such as auctiones (“public auctions”) or emptio de catasta (“the sale of slaves from a platform”). It is possible that the chalcidicum of Baebia Bassilla was sometimes used for the sale of slaves, but it is certain that it served mainly as a fori deambulatorium.

Ostia, crypta and calchidicum of Terentia31 (fig. 6) The location of the building constructed by Terentia in C.E. 6 is uncertain. However, various clues suggest that it must have been in the south-west sector of the castrum, in the area occupied during the Severan period by the Round Temple. The dedicatory inscription was reused as a floor slab in the nearby Byzantine Baths and some soundings in the area of the Round Temple have documented the existence of an earlier colonnade and fragments of a marble floor, probably belonging to a quadriporticus; older architectural elements, perhaps from the building constructed by Terentia, were also reused in the Round Temple itself.32 It is important to note that the large Flavian-Trajanic Basilica east of the Round Temple was originally connected to the quadriporticus by five openings, closed when the Round Temple was built. This suggests that the Basilica and the quadriporticus – if this was indeed the building constructed by Terentia and restored in 94 – formed a single architectural complex. If we combine the epigraphical and archaeological data, we can suggest that Terentia’s building was a quadrangle surrounded by a covered passageway (the crypta) accessed through a broad portico (the chalcidicum); overall, this type of arrangement is very similar to the Eumachia Building at Pompeii, whose chronology, structure, topo31 R. Meiggs, Roman Ostia (2nd ed.; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), 585; C. Pavolini, Ostia. Guide archeologiche Laterza (Bari/Roma: Editori Laterza, 2006), 105. 32 P. Pensabene, Ostiensium marmorum decus et splendor (Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. 2007), 20, 22, 300–315, 303.

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graphical location and perhaps function it shares. Based on the “functional” interpretation of the chalcidicum as a place used mainly to sell things and people, an identification of Terentia’s building with the local venalicium has been proposed; however, aside from the doubts already expressed regarding the nature of the chalcidium, the purpose of the buildings surrounding and superimposed upon it do not seem to justify this theory. We know that the basilica was originally connected directly with the hypothetical quadriporticus (perhaps that restored by Terentius Tertius in 94) via five openings and that the Round Temple was a Severan sanctuary dedicated to eastern deities and the imperial cult.33 There is thus nothing to stop us thinking that it in part inherited the functions of the older, initially isolated building which was later incorporated into the basilica, of which it became the Augusteum.

Pompeii. Chalcidicum, crypta and porticus of Eumachia and Numistrius Fronto and Temple VII 9,2 (of the Genius of Augustus) of Mamia (fig. 7) Some recent and extremely detailed studies have established that the Eumachia Building and Temple (VII 9,2), adjacent to one another,34 have identical construction phases and were not built at different periods as was generally thought. Both were built in place of tabernae and buildings of the Samnite period in the vicinity of the Forum. In the case of Temple VII 9,2 (Temple of the Genius of Augustus) these were private houses of the II century B.C.E. facing onto the Forum and surrounded by shops as was the custom at the time (Rome, Cosa, Alba Fucens); however, it is even possible that the Eumachia Building replaced a small cult place since the fill layers on which it stands yielded some antefixes in the shape of heads of Hercules and Minerva of the type used in the Doric Temple during the Samnite period in the late fourth century B.C.E. Both buildings were dedicated to the imperial cult and date to the early imperial period: the Eumachia Building to between C.E. 2 and 4, Temple VII 9,2 to the late Augustan or early Tiberian period. After being partially destroyed by the earthquake, their façades were rebuilt in brick with a marble veneer. The presence of this facing, stripped off after the eruption of C.E. 79, is indicated by some remains of the socle and the wedges used to hold the slabs in place. The large portal with a lavish plant decoration in relief survived from the marble decoration of one Ostiensium marmorum decus et splendor, 312. Dobbins, “Problems of Chronology, Decoration and Urban Design in the Forum at Pompeii,” AJA XCVII, 4 (1994): 629–694; K. Wallat, Die Ostseite des Forums von Pompeji (Mainz am Rhein: Lang, 1997). M. Toreli, “Il culto imperiale a Pompei,” 245–270. 33 Pensabene, 34 J. J.

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of the buildings and has been reassembled at the entrance to the Eumachia Building. However, it is not at all certain that it did in fact belong here; the frame was found in pieces between the two buildings and its reassembly in its current position shows that the architrave could be set in place only with a significant addition to the left-hand corner which has left the large central acanthus bush completely off-centre. A recent proposal appears to have resolved this problem definitively, showing that the frame fits the entrance to Temple (VII 9,2) perfectly (fig. 8). Substantial remains of the original layout of the Eumachia Building (dimensions: surface area c. 2700 m2; cult hall opening into the centre of the east side 47  m2) survived until the eruption in the south perimeter wall, with fake niches topped by pediments in opus vittatum. Both the façade and the rooms at the bottom end were rebuilt in brick. From the dedicatory inscription we know that this construction work was funded by the priestess of Venus, Eumachia. As with the dedication of the contemporary Large Theatre, the inscription mentions the individual parts constructed without describing the building to which they belonged, leaving some room for doubt as to its purpose. Having discarded the long-favoured theory that it served as the headquarters of Pompeii’s collegium of fullones – who only dedicated an honorary statue in the centre of the crypta to their patron Eumachia – the building was thought to be destined for the imperial cult; its form, comparable to that of the so-called Basilica at Herculaneum (actually the local Augusteum) and the so-called Porticoed Temple at Cuma, is believed to have been inspired by the Portico of Livia in Rome, built in 7  B.C.E. (fig. 9). Like other monuments of this type (such as the Saepta Iulia in Rome, home to the imperial cult but also used for entertainment and commercial activities), the Eumachia Building must have served a variety of purposes; it has recently been proposed that it also acted as a venalicium (“slave market”). Four large niches adorned the building’s porticoed façade, the chalcidicum mentioned in the inscription (fig. 10). As we know from the two long tituli, the two niches left and right of the entrance hosted statues of Romulus and Aeneas (the latter perhaps portrayed with Anchises and Ascanius, as in the well-known group found at Merida). This decorative programme has been interpreted as an obvious reference to the porticoes in the Forum of Augustus, where exedrae with the statues and elogia of Aeneas and Romulus led to the galleries celebrating the gens Iulia and the summi viri of the Republic respectively. It has been suggested that the other two niches, for which no inscriptions have survived, held the statues of two deified emperors (Caesar and Augustus or Augustus and Claudius). The statue bases resting against the columns show that the chalcidicum was a celebratory space, used to honour the most important exponents of the Pompeiian elite. The two large niches at the end of the façade may have been

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used not only for the proclamation of elogia publica but also – and perhaps more frequently  – for commercial activities (public auctions and the sale of various types of commodities, including slaves). The room off the south side of the vestibule, which has a slit window opening onto the niche with the elogium of Aeneas, was occupied shortly before the eruption by a small staircase leading to a landing on which a terracotta dolium stood. It is possible that on special occasions the herald used this space for announcements; the large container was not used to collect urine but as a resonating vase of the type used in theatres to enhance the propagation of sound (Vitruvius, On Architecture 5, 5,8). The building was looted after the eruption and very little now survives of the porticus with its two orders of columns and the crypta mentioned in the inscription. The most imposing remains are a distyle apsidal chamber, preceded by a colonnaded avant-corps aligned with the entrance; these were built after the earthquake in place of an earlier rectangular sacellum. A headless female statue which originally portrayed Livia was found here (fig. 11). The crypta ran around the peristyle and had windows with marble sills; according to the nineteenth-century descriptions, it had a refined Third Style decoration with a black background and marble wall bases. The crypta passageway led to a large niche where the apse of the sacellum had once been and in which the statue of Eumachia donated by the fullones was displayed (fig. 12). On the south side a steep ramp led to the entrance on Via dell’Abbondanza; facing it was a white limestone fountain whose spout was decorated with Concord holding a cornucopia in her hand. Temple VII 9,2 (surface area 44 m2) is probably the Temple of the Genius of Augustus (or of the Colony) of whose existence we know from an inscription inserted into a large marble epistyle. On the basis of our information on Mamia, the temple must date to the late Augustan period or the early years of Tiberius’ reign; on stylistic grounds we can ascribe the Luni marble altar in the centre of the courtyard to the same period. The altar presents obvious signs of restoration in antiquity, probably carried out after the earthquake: specifically, all the upper cornices and those of the north side of the base have been replaced (fig. 13). The relief sculpture on the west face shows the temple’s ceremony of consecration: the priest, capite velato, is busy making the preliminary sacrifices on a round table towards which two victimarii dragging the bull destined for sacrifice converge from the right. Behind the priest are auletes, a dapifer and other cult personnel, including a smaller figure holding the urceus and patera in her hand and who differs from the others for her hair, gathered up in a chignon (a woman, perhaps Mamia herself?). The entire background of this relief is occupied by a tetrastyle temple, whose pediment is decorated with the clipeus virtutis (“shield of bravery”) and a garland between the columns holding up a heavy velum. The south, east and north faces of the altar depict objects connected with

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the cult and the attributes of the sacralization of the house of Augustus on the Palatine: the mantele, acerra and lituus (“cloak, incense box and augur’s staff”); laurei postes and corona civica (“laurel decorations on the door-posts and civic crown”); patera, urceus and simpulum (“shallow dish, pitcher and ladle for libations”).35

Domestic Life The undoubted importance of the feminae nobiles discussed above leads us to ask about their standards of living, shifting our attention to the private sphere.36 Unfortunately we have no evidence on the basis of which to ascribe one of the domus of Pompeii to Eumachia or Mamia; for the latter, a tenuous clue in the shape of a titulus dating to the pre-Roman period indicates a close link between this ancient gens and the cult of Mefitis. In the colony the cult of this goddess became confused with that of Venus of whom, as we have seen, Mamia was sacerdos publica. The inscription (Vetter 32) was found in the House of the Large Fountain (VI 8,20–22), a residence dating to the mid-second century B.C.E. facing onto Via di Mercurio, the most prestigious of all Pompeii’s streets; here, at the same time, some of the most luxurious domus in Pompeii were being built (Houses of the Dioscuri [VI 9,6.7], of the Black Anchor [VI 10,7, of Meleager [VI 9,2.3]], of the Centaur [VI 9,3–5.15] and of Apollo [VI 7,23]). Originally this was a double atrium house, with the smaller courtyard (entrance no. 21) being of the Corinthian type, with six Doric columns surmounted by a trabeation decorated with a dentellated cornice identical to that of the propylaea of the Triangular Forum (fig. 14). A generation before Mamia, the sector organized around the Tuscan atrium (no. 22) was separated from that of the Corinthian atrium with the closure of the three doors that originally communicated between the two; a portico supported by brick columns was built behind the tablinum. The large apsidal fountain which gives the house its conventional name, adorned with a bronze spout in the form of a dolphin and marble theatre masks at the base of the uprights, was only built up against the back wall in the first century C.E. More complex alterations were carried out in the quarters centred around the Corinthian atrium: with the incorporation of the entire hortus into the house with its entrance at no. 22 the old corridor 35 I.

Gradel, “Mamia’s dedications: Emperor and Genius. The Imperial Cult in Italy and the Genius Coloniae in Pompeii,” AnalRom 20 (1992): 43–58; J. J. Dobbins, “The Altar in the Sanctuary of the Genius of Augustus in the Forum at Pompeii,” Römische Mitteilungen 99 (1992): 251–263. 36 For this part of the report see F. Pesando and M. P. Guidobaldi, Gli “ozi” di Ercole. Residenze di lusso a Pompei ed Ercolano (Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 2006).

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communicating between the back sector of the house and the atrium was closed and in its place an elegant tablinum was built, decorated with a coloured mosaic. A new residential space, consisting of a large peristyle onto which some living rooms opened, was added to the south at the expense of a previous owner. After the earthquake the appearance and function of this sector changed, coming to host one of the largest fulleries hitherto excavated at Pompeii. We have no definitive evidence that this domus still belonged to the Mamii during the Augustan period and it is in fact possible that the sweeping changes documented under the Late Republic indicate a change in ownership. What we do know for certain, though, is that this ancient Pompeiian gens passed virtually unscathed through the political and social upheavals affecting Pompeii in the first century B.C.E. (the Social War, the deduction of the Sillan colony, tensions during the Civil Wars, the institution of the Principate), retaining ownership of some important properties opening onto the east side of the Civic Forum throughout this period: these probably include some shops and a small house, demolished by Mamia to build the Temple of the Genius of Augustus (VII 9,2). As for Eumachia, the house of this great woman is unknown but her tomb has been found (fig. 15). This is the grandest tomb hitherto found at Pompeii, dominating the large necropolis of Porta Nocera, south-east of the town. The tomb’s appearance is unusual: it is an exedra tomb, a funerary typology known from some late Republican examples in Rome but uncommon elsewhere in Italy and in the provinces. The inscription on the façade recalls that it was constructed by Eumachia, daughter of Lucius, for herself and her family. Behind the façade, which has a small door at the centre, is a terrace with the central altar, destined for the burial of the deceased. Next to the altar, recent excavations have revealed the presence of Eumachia’s cappuccina tomb, with large tiles supported by small columns from an older funerary monument (belonging to the Eumachii?); inside the deposition the remains of the funeral pyre and some precious objects were found. The large exedra above the monument was decorated with niches, presumably holding the statues of the deceased and adorned at the top with a long marble relief depicting an Amazonomachy (an allusion to a family tradition exalting the warrior virtus of the Eumachii?). The largest of the town properties discovered at Pompeii belonged to another woman who lived a generation after Mamia and Eumachia, and is described in a famous rental inscription as a praedia, in other words a complex of gardens and buildings. The Praedia of Julia Felix (II 4,3) are located in a suburban part of the town, near the Amphitheatre37. We know that this area was occupied by houses from the second century B.C.E., but 37 On

Iulia Felix see L. Savunen, Women in the Urban Texture of Pompeii, 56–58.

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it was only in the mid-first century B.C.E. that the whole insula was unified into a single complex, as is apparent from some mosaic floors in the baths. From this point on, a series of building and decorative projects led to the property being organized into four distinct nuclei: a domus with a Tuscan atrium holding a transversally placed impluvium opening onto the western alley; a large garden with a series of residential rooms opening onto it; a bath complex and a huge park (fig. 16). The layout of the floor plan is no longer that of a house but of a true “urban villa”, with buildings occupying less than half of the total surface area. After the C.E. 62 earthquake, the large residence underwent a unitary decorative renovation, whilst the architectural focus of the complex came to be on Via dell’Abbondanza, with the entrances to the viridarium sector (no. 3), two tabernae (nos. 5 and 7) and above all the large entrance gate to the bath complex (no. 6) made of brick and framed by two half columns. At this time, part of the building was rented out, as we know from the rental inscription painted onto the façade on Via dell’Abbondanza shortly before the C.E. 79 eruption (CIL IV, 1136): In praedis Iuliae Sp. F. Felicis locantur balneum venerium et nongentum, tabernae, pergulae, cenacula ex idibus Aug(ustis) in idus Aug(ustas) sextas, annos continuos quinque. S(i) Q(uinquennium) D(ecurrerit) L(ocatio) E(rit) N(udo) C(onsensu). The text names the owner, perhaps the descendant of a family of imperial freedmen, and poses no problems as to the duration of the contract (“from 1 August next to 1 August of the sixth year, for a period of five years”) or the areas available for rent. The tabernae (with their pergulae) are clearly the series of rooms – some of which had counters for mixing drinks – opening onto Via dell’Abbondanza (nos. 1,7); the cenacula are the rooms above the western sector of the complex and the balneum is the only bath complex, whose brickwork had been completely restored and which was adorned in many areas with a wall decoration of marble slabs. By contrast, the meaning of the highly unusual and obscure adjectives describing the qualities of the balneum has been much debated. The commonly accepted translation “an elegant (venerium) bath for important people (nongentum)”, seems to repeat the same concept twice; a formula of this type in a proscriptio locationis, which by its very nature must have been concise, to the point and comprehensible to as many readers as possible, seems unconvincing. Rather, we could interpret the adjective venerium – well-suited to a bath complex owned by a woman – as a synonym of calidum, as suggested by one of Servius’s glosses to the Aeneid (8,387–389): namque ideo Vulcanus maritus fingitur Veneris, quod Venerium officium non nisi calore consistit, unde est “frigidus in Venerem senior”: “it is no coincidence that Vulcan is believed to be the husband of Venus, since the favours of Venus are not without warmth, from which the expression “the old man is cold to Venus”. Finally, I do not believe that the adjective venerium has any con-

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nection with the Venerii/Veneriosi mentioned in two electoral inscriptions read in the vicinity of the praedia (CIL IV, 1146; 7791) as recently suggested by W. Van Andringa.38 Rather, it may be that these Venerii should be identified with the inhabitants of the city district comprising Regiones I and II. Were this the case, we could identify the fifth electoral district of Pompeii, hitherto unknown, as that of the tribus (or curia) Veneria (“the tribe of the Venerii”). Nongentum, in turn, might therefore be an allusion to the office of the nongenti, the judges in charge of supervising the urns into which voting slips were placed (Pliny, Nat.Hist. 33,31). The rental inscription would thus have advertised a “hot bath (like the touch of Venus) with a guard (as under the attentive gaze of the nongenti)”: To let, in the estate of Julia Felix, daughter of Spurius: a hot bath with a guard, shops with upper rooms and apartments. From 13 August next to 13 August of the sixth year, for five consecutive years. The lease will expire at the end of the five years”. As we have said, the built area of the Praedia of Julia Felix (size: surface area 5600 m2; banquet hall 23 m²; baths c. 900 m²) appears to consist of three separate nuclei. The first is the domus, arranged around the Tuscan atrium (93) and accessed, after the closure of the vestibule (47), either from entrance no. 10 or through the cubiculum (89); the biclinium (91), the tablinum (92) and the cubicula (97) and (98) opened onto its east side. All these rooms had large windows overlooking the park. In this sector the subjects chosen for the painted decorations are somewhat conventional, including still lives (xenia) adorning the upper part of the walls in the tablinum. The second nucleus is that organized around the viridarium (8) with rooms on a longitudinal axis. In the middle of the garden is a canal with three little bridges and recesses for fish to lay their eggs; its sacro-idyllic atmosphere was conveyed by the statues of Pan and by a fountain in the form of a shell with crabs, whilst the image of Pittacus of Mytilene evoked the gardens of the Greek schools of philosophy. Among the rooms facing onto the west portico, with its fluted rectangular marble pilasters of the Corinthian order (fig. 17), is the summer triclinium (83); here, above the walls which originally had a marble socle and frescoes with Nile landscapes, was an unusual barrel vaulted ceiling faced with lapilli to create the appearance of the interior of a grotto (fig. 18). This room, with its marble-clad banqueting couches surrounded by a small channel with running water, was decorated with a niche holding a stepped cascade, with water being fed in through two tubes from the tanks located above the service corridor behind the room (49) as in Nero’s Domus Aurea. The east side of the garden, by contrast, presents a series of alternating rectangular and semi-circular niches; the latter have the same imitation-grotto cladding as the vault of the summer 38 Van

Andringa, Quotidien des dieux et des hommes, 327.

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triclinium (fig. 19). At the southern edge of the garden area was a little room, almost completely destroyed during the eighteenth-century excavations (51), with a barrel vaulted ceiling which we can identify as a small shrine to Isis. The paintings covering the walls portrayed the goddess with a sistrum flanked by Anubis, Serapis, Fortune and a Genius sacrificing on a lararium altar. This room was where the famous bronze tripod with ithyphallic satyrs holding out their left hands, palms upwards, in an apotropaic gesture was found, now in the Secret Cabinet at the Naples Museum. The architecture and decorative programme of this sector of the residence, clearly the most important, thus displays a degree of eclecticism; however, the whole is not entirely lacking in thematic unity. The centrality – not merely spatial – of the large triclinium, the presence among the statues of that of the Greek legislator and philosopher who introduced severe laws on crimes committed by drunks (D. L. 1,76,6) and, finally, the shrine to Isis itself all appear to evoke the atmosphere of the parties held in the luxurious diaetae along the banks of the Canopus of Alexandria frequently recalled in the houses of Pompeii, from the Hellenistic exedra of Alexander in the House of the Faun (VI 12,2) to the far more modest triclinium with a water feature in the House of the Ephebe (I 7,10–12) built in the final years of the city’s life. Also belonging to this second sector of the Praedia is the atrium (24) which only later came to be the main entrance to the house. This room still has its Second Style floor belonging to the earliest decorative programme but has lost its original wall paintings, replaced by a Fourth Style painting in the years immediately preceding the eruption of C.E. 79. An interesting frieze depicting “scenes of life in the Forum”, now in the Naples Museum, has been ascribed to this second and final decorative arrangement of the atrium; its ordered sequence, in relation to the only two fragments still in situ, has only recently been reconstructed. The frieze, which separated the middle part of the wall holding panels with red, green and blue backgrounds from the upper part with fantasy architectures on a white background, ran around all four walls, for a total length of 31 metres. The frieze offers a detailed and evocative picture of the numerous activities taking place in the Forum: fabric and cattle merchants, metalworkers, bread and vegetable sellers, teachers and their pupils, passers-by move around against the background of monumental porticoes populated by equestrian statues. It has been suggested that the frieze represented specific sectors of the Forum at Pompeii and was positioned in the atrium according to the actual orientation of the public square. Of particular antiquarian interest is the depiction of a long scroll with writing fixed to the base of a series of equestrian statues (fig. 20): with this the painter probably wished to show, in accordance with the canons of folk art, the public display of proposed laws for the period of a trinundinum, in other words the 27 days preceding their approval or rejection by the city government. Whilst

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this reconstruction is accurate in general terms, the pictorial representation of the city’s Forum, as well as reflecting a desire to ennoble a private space with the grandiose language of public architecture, may also allude to the restoration work undertaken by the owners of the complex. Clearly this representation provides some extremely important information, showing an image of the Forum of Pompeii populated by statues and with its buildings, some of which are recognizable, like the porticoes of Eumachia’s Building or the Macellum, completely restored. The overall appearance is not dissimilar to that of nearby Herculaneum, equally affected by the earthquake but where numerous marble and bronze statues belonging to the Forum area and major public buildings have been found. This depiction thus overturns the conventional picture of a ruined and incompletely restored Pompeiian Forum during the years between the earthquake of C.E. 62 and the eruption of C.E. 79, ascribed to delays in reconstruction work in public areas after the quake. Unless we see it as a purely ideal representation, this painting thus allows us to say that the Forum underwent large-scale reconstruction after the earthquake; its bare appearance, sealed by the eruption and still visible today, was due to the deliberate recovery of the most important sculptures and architectural elements, probably by the imperial authorities themselves.39 The last nucleus identifiable in the villa is the bath complex which, as we have seen above, still has floors belonging to the mid-first century B.C.E. decorative programme, whilst the wall decorations date to the Neronian-Flavian period. The monumental entrance at no. 6 Via dell’Abbondanza leads into the porticoed courtyard, decorated at the centre with a mosaic depicting a marine thiasos (31); the brick seats against the walls tell us that this was a waiting room. This room gave access to the typical rooms of a bath complex: the frigidarium (39), the tepidarium (41), with a floor on suspensurae and walls vaulted using tegulae mammatae, the laconicum (29), circular and with a dome-shaped roof, the calidarium (42) with a south-facing apse clad in marble tiles removed during the eighteenth-century excavations; the excavation reports also tell us that the windows of all these rooms were screened with large slabs of glass or talc. The courtyard (5) holds a large open-air pool, which can also be reached through the taberna with its entrance at no. 7; the taberna has a counter for mixing drinks and a next-door room with a brick triclinium for its customers. At the south-west end of the courtyard is a large latrine (37) linked to the frigidarium by a narrow channel.

39 F. Pesando, “Prima della catastrofe: Vespasiano e le città vesuviane,” Divus Vespasianus. Il bimillenario dei Flavi (Catalogo mostra Roma 26 Marzo 2009–10 Gennaio 2010) (ed. F. Coarelli; Milano: Electa, 2011), 378–385.

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With the exception of the tabernae and the sector arranged around the atrium house opening onto the west lane, the whole complex thus seems to revolve around a series of rooms aimed at rendering the encounters between their users more intimate. This type of spatial arrangement suggests the simultaneous use of the complex by a large number of people; the size of the bath complex is comparable not with the small domestic baths present in the most luxurious domus from the early decades of the first century B.C.E. but with the private complexes that sprang up around the city between the Augustan and Flavian periods. Among these some of the most important are the Sarno Baths (VIII 2,17) – at one time associated with the Palaestra (VIII 2,22–24), which, as we know from an electoral inscription, was used by an association of iuvenes – and the Suburban Baths. Both of these bath complexes had a series of rooms for rent; on the upper floor of the Suburban Baths – which were very probably used for prostitution – and opening onto the loggias on the ground floor and the lower first floor in the Sarno Baths, with broad views over the Gulf of Naples. To an even greater extent the arrangement of the praedia, with their association between the bath sector and the banqueting area, is highly reminiscent of the layout of the complex discovered in the Agro Murecine. This should not be identified, in an anachronistic and simplistic way, as a hotel, but as the seat of a collegium, almost certainly one of those collegia illicita which were disbanded by imperial decree after the disturbances of 59 and taken over, after this date, by the wealthy Puteolan family of the Sulpicii.40 No differently from other buildings with a complex floor plan in the Vesuvian towns which are difficult to ascribe to the category of domus or villa, such as the Gladiators’ Barracks (V 5,3) in Pompeii or the House of the Inn at Herculaneum, the most luxurious part of the praedia of Julia Felix may later have been rented by one of the corporations of craftworkers or religious associations present at Pompeii, of whose existence we know from a substantial and well-known series of private inscriptions and above all from political propaganda. Among these, the most important were the Isiaci, who may well have used the complex given the evocations of Egypt associated with a small cult place dedicated to this goddess.

40 Cf. G. Camodeca, “Gli archivi privati di tabulae ceratae e di papiri documentari. Pompei ed Ercolano: case, ambienti e modalità di conservazione,” Vesuviana 1 (2009): 17–42.

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Conclusions This essay outlines the current state of knowledge on the life and works of the “great women” of the early imperial period, but it is likely that in the future new epigraphical discoveries and archaeological research will improve our understanding. What we can say for certain is that these women played an important part in promoting the new regime of the Principate, especially with regards to the female component of the city. In this context we can once again repeat the words of P. Castrèn in his fundamental study of imperial society in Pompeii: “There were others still in Augustan Pompeii who had close connexions with the new rulers: it is probable that the Temple of Fortuna Augusta ([VII 6,1], built by M. Tullius on his own land at his own expense) and the Temple of Augustus ([VII 9,2] built by the public priestess Mamia) were not constructed without prior consent or even incentive of the princeps himself”.41

Captions to figures Fig. 1: Paestum, Basilica of Mineia. Fig. 2: Basilica of Mineia with the building visible today, whose central nave was refurbished in late Antiquity with the construction of a semi-circular tribunal. Fig. 3: Paestum, Temple of Venus Iovia. Fig. 4: the mysterious strongyla mentioned in one of the inscriptions were the five little round rooms built on the north and east sides of the Rectangular Hall, with at their centres column drums protected by a thick layer of opus signinum. Fig. 5: Veleia, calchidicum of Baebia Bassilla. Fig. 6: Ostia, crypta and calchidicum of Terentia. Fig. 7: Pompeii. Chalcidicum, crypta and porticus of Eumachia and Numistrius Fronto and Temple VII 9,2 (of the Genius of Augustus) of Mamia. Fig. 8: large central acanthus bush completely off-centre, the frame of which fits the entrance to Temple VII 9,2. Fig. 9: Porticoed Temple at Cuma, believed to have been inspired by the Portico of Livia in Rome, built in 7 B.C.E. Fig. 10: Four large niches adorned the building’s porticoed façade, the chalcidicum mentioned in the inscription. Fig. 11: A headless female statue, which originally portrayed Livia. 41 P. Castrén, Ordo populusque Pompeianus. Polity and Society in Roman Pompeii (Rome, 1982), 96.

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Fig. 12: The crypta passageway led to a large niche where the apse of the sacellum had once been and in which the statue of Eumachia donated by the fullones was displayed. Fig. 13: Temple VII 9,2 (surface area 44 m2), probably the Temple of the Genius of Augustus (or of the Colony), which must date to the late Augustan period or the early years of Tiberius’ reign. On stylistic grounds we can ascribe the Luni marble altar in the centre of the courtyard to the same period. Fig. 14: House of the Large Fountain (VI 8,20–22), a residence dating to the mid-II century B.C.E. facing onto Via di Mercurio. Fig. 15: Tomb of Eumachia. Fig. 16: The Praedia of Julia Felix. Fig. 17: The summer triclinium (83), facing onto the west portico, with its fluted rectangular marble pilasters of the Corinthian order. Fig. 18: The summer triclinium (83). Fig. 19: View of the garden from the entrance of the summer triclinium (83). Fig. 20: Frieze depicting “scenes of life in the Forum” ran around all four walls, for a total length of 31 metres, with a detailed and evocative picture of the numerous activities taking place in the Forum against the background of monumental porticoes populated by equestrian statues. Of particular antiquarian interest is the depiction of a long scroll with writing fixed to the base of a series of equestrian statues.

Contested Spaces in 1 Corinthians 11:17–33 and 14:30 Sitting or Reclining in Ancient Houses, in Associations and in the Space of ekkl sia Annette Weissenrieder “But all Greek states are wholly governed by the rashness of the assembly while sitting (sedentis contionis). To pass over modern Greece which has long been overthrown and afflicted by its own decision-making, even the Greece of old which flourished in wealth, power and glory, fell from this one evil, of unrestrained liberty and licence in popular assemblies. When completely unskilled and ignorant men without experience took their seats in the theatre that was when they undertook profitless wars, put seditious men in charge of the state, and threw out their most deserving citizens.” (Cicero, Pro Flacco 16)

1. Introduction In Pro Flacco, Cicero makes a topographical connection between the political structure of Greece and the space used for political activity by Greek society, namely the theater. Politically sensible and admirable formation of opinion can be seen, according to Cicero, in the way the members of the political body moved about within these spaces, physical posture, namely sitting or standing, being his standard of measure. For his argument, sitting and standing represent two different models of social organization: the Greek and the Roman. The Roman magistracy organized according to wealth, age and social rank, represents order for Cicero, while he finds that the Greek senate, which convenes in a theater, allows its political leaders no respect.1 Cicero takes his point even further, claiming that sitting is indica1 Th. E. Mommsen, Römische Geschichte (special edition in two volumes, based on the original edition from 1856 ff.; Darmstadt: WBG, 2010); E. S. Gruen, Culture and National Identity in Republican Rome (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992), 205 ff. A. WallaceHadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008),

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tive of a physical weakness that he ascribes to the Greeks as a particular characteristic. Standing, in contrast, is indicative of physical strength.2 A similar example is found in Plutarch; he draws a comparison between standing at a table to eat and a meal at which one reclines to eat, which he presents as a weakness.3 This is equally valid, in Plutarch’s view, for soldiers and in aristocratic circles.4 Caligula provides many accounts in which senators, as well as other politicians such as the consul Pomponius Secundus, in sitting or standing had to put themselves in a subordinate position in relation to Caligula, who was reclining at meals. The sitting posture of Pomponius has further significance, because he sat at the feet of the emperor and kissed his feet during the meal, and in so doing adopted a position that was normally associated with women.5 And a final example from the New Testament: “For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly (sunag g n), and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, ‘Have a seat (esth ti) here, please,’ while to the one who is poor you say, ‘Stand there,’ or, ‘Sit at my feet.’ ”6 A brief look at seating in different spaces makes one thing clear: the space itself is not the crux of the critical debate, but rather the capacity of the space to be experienced, and the way it is experienced by the perceiving subjects. Thus Cicero is not, in the passage above, criticizing the fact that the theater has been chosen as the site for meetings of the assembly. The space is rather the spatial expression of the physical energy of those present, and as such represents the society’s way of thinking. It is this physical posture, symbolizing physical weakness and lack of order, that is being criticized. In this way, subject and space become variables independent of one another. This idea of the independence of subject and space seems all the more likely for antiquity because what is space and what is subject is determined by the concept of physis. In more theoretical terms: the physical – objective 164 f. argues that Cicero, ironically, was not aware of the etymological root of seditiosus in the Greek stasis, standing; this seems unlikely, however, given for example the Greek derivation from hedos/hezomai. 2 Vitruvius also provides an example of a climate-based rationale for Roman superiority over all peoples, especially over the Greeks, in his theory of architecture, which deals extensively with the question of places of assembly. He bases his argument on ethnographic ethnological writings from the Hippocratic Corpus. This issue is examined thoroughly in my book project Tempel, Kirche und Zivilgesellschaft im 1. Korintherbrief. 3 Cf. Plut. Mor. 201C; Livius 23.45.1–4; Suet. Iul. 67. 4 Plut. Ant. 4.4; Suet. Tib. 18: trans Rhenum vero eum vitae ordinem tenuit, ut sedens in caespite nudo cibum caperet, saepe sine tentorio pernoctaret […]. Cf. M. Elefante, Velleius Paterculus, Ad M. Vinicium consulem libri duo (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1997), 487 f. 5 Dio Cassius 59.29.5. 6 James 2:2–3. It is certainly worth considering the fact that the same word for sitting in a community assembly is used as in 1 Cor 14:30.

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experience of the space corresponds to its conceptual identity. Thus for Aristotle the space of the body is a place (topos), a space with boundaries which is occupied by a body, but nevertheless always remains separate from it, as H. G. Zekl has demonstrated persuasively. It is certainly no coincidence that in natural philosophical texts the human body is described using the word topos, thereby drawing on various concepts of space.7 This perspective is reflected in critical theory of the late 18th century in Kant’s linking of the experience of a space to the perceiving subject. Kant writes: “Wir können demnach nur aus dem Standpunkte eines Menschen vom Raum, von ausgedehnten Wesen ect. reden.”8 A focal point in this debate is Ernst Cassirer’s Philosophie der symbolischen Formen, in which he describes space in terms of its organizing function in human life, building upon the thinking of Kant, among others.9 Cassirer’s use of the concept of space and his application of this concept in the Philosophie der symbolischen Formen to textually and visually concrete spaces makes his thought especially useful and relevant to my work. Both of these conceptual models of space will prove vitally important in the following discussion.

In developing his theory of space, Cassirer gives precedence to the concept of order over the concept of being: “Die Welt wird nicht als ein Ganzes von Körpern ‘im’ Raum, noch als ein Geschehen ‘in’ der Zeit definiert, sondern sie wird als ‘System von Ereignissen’ [verstanden].”10 If we take this remark literally, it becomes clear that we cannot speak of space in general, but rather at most of a specific location and its surroundings. This is in agreement with Greek thought in so far as early Greek philosophy speaks at first only of topos, meaning thereby a perceptible, concrete location such as a temple, in contrast to kenon, which also occupies space and can be thought of as emptiness. That being said, en pantì tóp should be understood as it occurs in connection with ekkl sía in 1 Cor 1:2 not as “everywhere” or “in all places,” but rather as referring as a rule to a specific location such as a “town quarter” or a specific “room,” as demonstrated by Arzt-Grabner.11 Space can only be experienced concretely. If space is described as a dynamic, active as well as passive, internal and external relationship between person and place, it is easy to see that through people a great variety of spaces come

  7 Cf. A. Weissenrieder, “‘Am Leitfaden des Leibes.’ Der Diskurs über soma in Medizin und Philosophie der Antike,” ZNT 27 (2011).   8 I. Kant, Werke in sechs Bänden: Kritik der reinen Vernunft, vol. 2 (ed. W. Weischedel; Darmstadt: WBG, 1960 = 1781), 42.   9 See therefore: M. Ferrari, “Cassirer und der Raum,” Internationale Zeitschrift für Philosophie 2 (1992): 167–188. 10 E. Cassirer, Philosophie der symbolischen Formen. 3. Teil. Phänomenologie der Erkenntnis. Gesammelte Werke Vol. 13 (ed. J. Clemens; Darmstadt: WBG, 2002 = 1929), 160. 11 P. Arzt-Grabner et al., 1. Korinther (Papyrologische Kommentare zum Neuen Testament 2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 44.

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into being.12 In other words, the shape and form of a space does not exist in a predetermined state, but rather is created by the perceiving subject. Perhaps an example from antiquity will help illuminate this point. Many spaces in ancient houses have no specific designated function; they are flexible in their function. These rooms acquire purpose through portable furniture and an organization of meaning which is given to the space by the conduct of its inhabitants. This indicates on the one hand that a New Testament study taking into consideration archaeological and art historical perspectives regarding the question of ancient space is called for; on the other hand these perspectives must be brought back and tied to a textual foundation. Two central concepts are definitive here for Cassirer: the nature and manner of “relation,” and the organization of meaning,13 which appears in different manifestations depending on the type of space, whether mythic, theoretical or aesthetic.14 Starting with an assumption of a historical shaping of terms defining space, Cassirer achieves, in contrast to Kant, a cultural historical differentiation of spatial manifestations, of mythic space. Or, to use Cassirer’s own words to describe this space typology, the conceptual representation of space is seen as a mode of human conceiving of reality. “Die echte ‘Vorstellung’ ist immer zugleich Gegenüber-Stellung; sie geht aus vom Ich und entfaltet sich aus dessen bildenden Kräften, aber sie erkennt zugleich in dem Gebildeten ein eigenes Sein, ein eigenes Wesen, ein eigenes Gesetz – sie läßt es aus dem Ich ‘erstehen’, um es zugleich gemäß diesem Gesetz ‘bestehen’ zu lassen und es in diesem objektiven Bestand anzuschauen.”15 That is, perception of space does not exist in predetermined form, but is rather created. It is formed by means of organization of meaning. Therefore the concrete topoi such as house or meeting place are systems of spatial relations, which can not only be archaeologically reconstructed but are also generated linguistically. The fact that cultural space cannot be interpreted without considering the social structuring of spaces has been thoroughly discussed by P. Bourdieu 12 See therefore: F. Gaona, Das Raumproblem in Cassirers Philosophie der Mythologie (Tübingen: Präzis, 1965), 39–42. 13 E. Cassirer, “Mythischer, ästhetischer und theoretischer Raum,” in Symbol, Technik, Sprache. Aufsätze aus den Jahren 1927–1933 (eds. E. W. Ohrt and J. M. Krois, Hamburg: meiner), 93–119, 102 = in Raumtheorie. Grundlagentexte aus Philosophie und Kulturwissenschaften (eds. J. Dünne et al.; Frankfurt a.M.: suhrkamp, 2006), 485–501, here 497 f. 14 It would make sense at this point to discuss cultural semioticist J. Lotmans’ explicit literary topology, Die Struktur literarischer Texte (Munich: Fink, 1970); idem, “Zur Metasprache typologischer Kultur-Beschreibungen,” in Aufsätze zur Theorie und Methodologie der Literatur und Kultur (ed. idem; Kronberg: Scriptor), 338–377. Unfortunately space restrictions prevent me from doing so here. 15 E. Cassirer, “Mythischer, ästhetischer und theoretischer Raum,” 102.

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in his book Zur Soziologie der symbolischen Formen.16 The conduct of various people in spaces is understood, therefore, as the decisive factor in the process of structuring of space. At the basis of this lies the assumption that the inhabitants of the space not only structure the space conceptually by means of concrete arrangement of and movement within the space, but that they also perform a physical and concrete structuring. Spaces which host gatherings project not only a certain social order in the way that the inhabitants move within them, but they also represent society’s way of thinking in that they symbolize these thoughts through their conduct. The way space is represented through language in texts makes it possible to relate this back to ancient principles of order. These are also called semiotic codes, and are not based on an exact reconstruction of the concept of space. Rather these allow a reconstruction, which is aimed at the recognition of conceptual representational models and organizations of meaning. The goal of this essay is to form an understanding of these conceptual models and organizations of meaning through an investigation of sitting and reclining at gatherings of the Corinthian community. 1. Cor 11:17–34 and 14:30 and the representation of space through sitting and reclining We can see the extent to which an assembly space and the behavior of those in the space represents and shapes the social relationships in a group when we look at the various kinds of space available in antiquity, as well as at the organization of sitting and reclining, which for antiquity can be seen as an indication of the way a community is organized.17 Most scholars agree that 1 Cor 11:17–34 provides very little information on this topic. Only oikos, which scholars usually translate as “private house” is mentioned. But the regulations regarding meals in 1 Cor 11:17–34 are not the only explanations of how to conduct community gatherings found in the first letter to the Corinthians. Along with the question of eating meat sacrificed to idols, addressed in 1 Cor 8–10, the problem of covering women’s heads is discussed in 11:2–16 and the question of the value of charismatic gifts and the closely related issue of pneumaticcharismatic ways of speaking are dealt with in 14:26 ff. If the place of assembly and more specifically the customs of sitting and reclining in that place are an indication of the social organization of the community, then the question presents itself: what was the situation in this regard in 1 Cor 11:17–34, especially given that this aspect is not considered in the verses in question? Or, put slightly differently, did the Corinthian community members sit or recline? And, on this basis, what features of the ancient spaces allow us to conclude that they sat or reclined? 16 P. Bourdieu, Zur Soziologie der symbolischen Formen (2nd ed.; Frankfurt a.M.: suhrkamp, 1983). 17 I would like to acknowledge my gratitude to Prof. Wolfgang Ehrhardt, Prof. Irene Bragantini, Prof. David Balch and Nikolas Möller for their thought-provoking critical comments and guidance on this point.

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In 1 Cor 8:10, it is clear that Paul is speaking about a reclining meal when he says, “For if someone weak sees you who possess knowledge reclining (katakeimenon) in an idol’s temple, will not his conscience be strengthened to eat food offered to idols?”18 According to Paul, the reclining meal takes place in a triclinium of one of the temples and in conjunction with the sacrifice to idols. In contrast, in 1. Cor 14:30 he speaks of sitting during worship, saying: “And if someone sitting down (kath menai) receives a revelation, the person who is speaking should conclude.”19 Both passages deal with conduct in a religious context, at a meal and in worship. Whereas one automatically brings the idea of reclining meal from chapter 8 to 1 Cor 11, it is surprising that 1 Cor 14, which speaks of sitting during worship, remains relatively unconsidered in scholarly literature. To my knowledge only Smith, in his book From Symposium to Eucharist, has addressed this issue, proposing that there was a meal eaten while sitting and an assembly meeting, in this case at a table. No further conclusions however are drawn from this observation. The only issue connected with sitting is the question of how many participants there were at a meal. It is a fundamental question, however, whether one can bring the idea of a reclining meal from chapter 8 to a reading of 1 Cor 11:17–34 – or if one should think rather of a seated meal, an interpretation that seems to be suggested by 1 Cor 14:30? In considering this question, it is also important to assume two orders of worship – a Communion liturgy and a liturgy of the Word – in chapters 11 and 14. On a semantic level, a connection between chapter 11 and the previous chapters seems clear because astheneia, a central term, appears again in chapter 11. Recently Volker Gäckle has argued persuasively that weakness is reinterpreted in 1 Cor 8–10 as an acceptable way of living a Christian life. Paul’s statements in chapter 11,20 however, seem to run directly counter to this interpretation. Is Paul contradicting himself, then? As I’ve shown elsewhere, in 1 Cor 11 and 12 astheneia is used to mean a weakening or damage to the body or part of the body, which is inflicted as a punishment and in the worst case results in death.21 This shows that the semantic context has shifted, because a weakening of the body seems, in the context of a communal meal, to not actually be an acceptable way of living a Christian life. This observation suggests that Paul is opening up a new line of thought with chapter 11.22

18 See Mark 2:15; Luke 5:29; 14:3. Otherwise anakeimai is more common, for example in Mark 14:18; 16:14; Matt 9:10; 22:10.11; 26:7, 20; Luke 22:27; John 6:11; 12:2; 13:23, 28, which refers very specifically to “reclining on cushions.” 19 For kath menai see also Acts 2:2; 20:9; James 2:3; and perhaps also Rev. 4:4 and 11:16. 20 V. Gäckle, Die Starken und die Schwachen in Korinth und in Rom. Zu Herkunft und Funktion der Antithese in 1Kor 8,1–11,1 und in Röm 14,1–15,13 (WUNT 2,200; Tübingen: Morh Siebeck, 2005), 242 ff. 21 A. Weissenrieder, “‘Darum sind viele körperlich und seelisch Kranke unter euch’ (1 Kor 11,29 ff.). Die korinthischen Überlegungen zum Abendmahl im Spiegel antiker Diätetik und der Patristik,” in Eine gewöhnliche und harmlose Speise? Von den Entwicklungen frühchristlicher Abendmahlstraditionen (eds. J. Hartenstein, S. Petersen and A. Standhartinger; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2008), 239–268. 22 The commentary by Arzt-Grabner et al., 1. Korinther, 321 ff., argues against such a division, grouping the subsection with chapters 7–14 on the basis of the introductory phrase peri de.

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This gives rise to further observations, which receive excellent treatment from M. Pöttner.23 He divides the excerpt 8:1–11:1 into five distinct sections, all of which have one single aim, namely to hold up Paul as the exemplary apostle and thereby to advocate the imitation of his behavior. The amplification that follows is that Paul’s behavior functions as a model for Christian behavior in general. This amplification no longer applies in the following section, chapter 11. Instead the communication of an eschatological reference to Christ is central here, which manifests itself through the meal, charisms and pneuma (spirit), but – and it is this that indicates the separation – is understood by a privileged group as relating to itself. A final aspect which should be mentioned is the commendation, Paul expresses in 11:2. These words of praise can probably be understood as captatio benevolentiae, and they have a kind of tautegorical function. They refer cataphorically to the antithetical speech act in 11:17 and 22, in which Paul explicitly does not praise the community, and it points to the Last Supper, which has been neglected. While the Corinthian community in 11:3–16 is recognized as having an independent capacity for judgment and is thereby of equal standing in this exchange with Paul, the situation changes regarding the schismata, which Paul rejects by adopting here a commanding tone, which hinges semantically on the use of paraggelein (to order, direct), and diatassein, although this is supposed to go hand in hand with a regulation of behavior on the part of the Corinthians. All the factors I’ve discussed so far seem to imply that we need to assume a different context for 1 Cor 11 than for chapters 8–10, although we should not be improvident to assume that the same reclining position still applies in Cor 11:17–34. It is in my opinion more difficult to decide whether or not a distinction between a service with communion and a service of the word can be established based on the terms used, meaning that the seats mentioned in 1 Cor 14:30 would not come into consideration for 1 Cor 11. Two sources provide a basis for believing that the events in chapters 11 and 14 are two different kinds of worship service:24 For one, we have Pliny’s account of a legal interrogation which speaks of both a coming together for a meal,25 which would only have been possible in the evening, and a coming together ante lucem, at which both a prayer and an oath were spoken. For another, New Testament passages mention both gatherings in the temple and breaking of bread in the evening in houses (Acts 2:42 ff.; 5:42). Three valid arguments can be made against this point of view. Meals and rituals of speech are brought together by the end of the letter, 1 Cor 16:20–22, which can be interpreted as an introductory formula in a celebration of the eucharist. The invitation to the holy kiss, curse formula, Maranatha and benediction represent the end of the reading aloud of the letter and at the same time the beginning of the ceremony. Therefore it is believed that the end of the letter is basically equivalent to a liturgical 23 M. Pöttner, Realität als Kommunikation. Ansätze zur Beschreibung der Grammatik des paulinischen Sprechens in 1 Kor 1,4–4,21 im Blick auf literarische Problematik und Situationsbezug des 1. Korintherbriefes (Theologie 2; Münster: Lit, 1995), 58 f. 24 Older scholarship, especially, argues for this point of view; see for example Th. Harnack, Der christliche Gemeindegottesdienst im apostolischen und altkatholischen Zeitalter (2nd ed.; Amsterdam: Edition Radopi, 1969), 96 ff.; H. Lietzmann, Messe und Herrenmahl (3rd ed.; AKG 8, Berlin: de Gruyter, 1955), 257. 25 Plin. Ep. X 96.7.

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form.26 Despite the fact that this view has been cast in some doubt recently, it must be said that J. Kremer is correct in observing that 1 Cor 11:16 contains the same reference to “church” organization as 14:40, making a connection between the two chapters seem likely.27 It also seems questionable from an exegetical standpoint to see the text from Acts, which comes later chronologically, as fundamental for the Corinthian community and on this basis to surmise that there were two congregations. The text of the first letter to the Corinthians, in any case, does not offer us any information to that effect. In addition, in 1 Cor 11:17, 20, 33, 34 just as in 1 Cor 14:23, 26 the verb sunerchomai is found together with ekkl sía, which is usually translated as “come together.” Schneider goes so far as to identify the verb as “terminus technicus” for “the assembly of the community” in his article in the ThWNT/TDNT.28

This suggests that in the following discussion we should assume that there was a seated meal in 1 Cor 11, and that we should therefore examine the differences between this seated meal and a reclining meal. I will focus below on three questions: what social and religious implications are connected with a seated or reclining meal in antiquity? What different meeting places in differing spaces are implied by the two alternatives? And what exactly does kath menai mean in the context of a gathering of the ekkl sía? I aim to show that visual and textual sources generate meaning for sitting – as opposed to reclining at a meal – as it occurs in 1 Cor 11–14. In my discussion I will consider specific concrete spaces (house, meeting place, gathering space for the ekkl sía), keeping in mind that the choice of the word ekkl sía does not evoke a specific concrete space, but rather the concept is generated by a certain way of behaving within a space. I hope to initiate a methodological discussion about the persuasiveness lent to imagerelated methods of investigation when they are used in conjunction with the textual and image world of the Biblical text.

2. Implications of seated and reclining meals in antiquity If space is understood as a social-hierarchical environment, then furniture is certainly a factor that can contribute to that hierarchical environment. Most of our knowledge about the furniture of antiquity comes from a quantity of images on vases, mirrors, frescoes, and grave reliefs. On the whole the 26 Lietzmann, Messe und Herrenmahl, 229 in particular argues in this vein: “Jetzt wird uns ein Bild lebendig: Wir stehen zu Korinth in der Gemeindeversammlung. Ein Brief des Apostels wir vor den lauschenden Hörern verlesen, er neigt sich dem Ende zu, noch eine Mahnung zur Besserung, Eintracht, Liebe und Frieden. Und dann klingt’s feierlich.” 27 J. Kremer, Der Erste Brief an die Korinther. Übersetzt und Erklärt, Regensburger Neues Testament (RNT; Regensburg, 1997), 224 ff. 28 J. Schneider, “Art. sunerchomai,” ThWNT 2 (1935): 682.

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furniture of antiquity was restricted to very few pieces which could be transported from place to place.29 An important piece of furniture was the klin (couch), from klinein, “to recline,” because it served both as a bed to sleep on at night and as a couch to recline on at meals.30 Although we know of various different versions of the klin , there was in my opinion no difference in how they were used, except perhaps in the case of the built-in klin , which was carved out of stone, often encased in marble, and built into the rooms or the garden. The klin consisted of a frame with four posts and a bottom made of woven bands on which mattresses and blankets were laid (fig. 1). The ends of the kline, at the head and the foot, were often raised. The klin was also often accompanied by a small footstool, which served as a foot rest or a place where one could set shoes.31 We have a few noteworthy examples from Corinth.32 Furniture for sitting displayed more variety in its forms; common pieces were a backless stool, the díphros,33 and a folding stool, the díphros okladías.34 We know of numerous examples of both pieces of furniture from Corinth. Also very common were simple wooden benches, which were used in a variety of ways (fig. 2) and stone benches, which either served as seating for clients at the entrance of a house or as a place for sitting in the garden. In many epics a remarkable phenomenon can be seen: furnishing and seating are always described in exact detail when the furnishings in question are simple, while luxurious seating is not mentioned even when sumptuous furnishings are described in detail.35 In addition to these there was also a large chair for reclining with a backrest, known as the klismós.36 In principle Roman furniture was not much different from Greek furniture, though we can detect a search for even more elegant forms and materials in Roman designs. Pliny tells us for example

29 On

this subject see Hilke Thür’s excellent essay in this volume. of klin ancient authors refer to terms like klinarion, as well as klint r, klinis, and chameuna, chian. For further information see G. M. Richter, The Furniture of the Greeks Etruscans and Romans (Basle and London: Phaidon Press, 1966), 52 ff. and 105 (for Rome: lectus); for Heraculaneum see Stephan Th. A. Mols, Houten Meubles in Heraculaneum. Vorm, Technik en Functie (unpublished Diss. Nijmegen, 1994), 174ff . 31 Compare for example the footstool now housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Inv. 17.190.2076. 32 See for further information the catalogue on Kenchreai. Eastern Port of Korinth. Results of Investigations by The University of Chicago and Indiana University for The American School of Classical Studies at Athens. VI. Ivory, Bone, and Related Wood Finds (eds. W. Olch Stern and D. Hadjilazaro Thimme; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), table VI. 5–12 and VI. 13–C, 14, 15 a–b, 19 a–b. 33 These are well known in both Greek and Roman context: For the Greek context see Richter, Greek Furniture, 38–41 and for the Roman see A. T. Croom, Roman Furniture (Mill: Tempus Publishing, 2007), 87–105. 34 Of these, too, we have examples from ancient Greece and Rome, for example in frescoes in private homes, such as the images of Psyche in the Villa of the Vetii, as well as from a great number of images of Zeus, Asclepius and Dionysos. 35 Hom. Od. 3.38; Hom. Od. 14.49 f.; Hom. Od. 16.47; Verg. Aen. 8.176–178; Falernus Sil. 7.171–205. 36 Another type of seat, the throne, should be given brief mention here, since it always occurs in connection with images of gods. 30 Instead

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about beds and klines made of silver,37 rare varieties of marble, ornament made from precious stones, and special woods such as ebony, which at that time was favored by the elite.38 Small portable tables (fig. 2b) that one could set next to the klines were also popular: the trapeza, tripous, tripodes,39 tetrapous and, in Roman houses, the mensa. In addition to these small side tables, which were probably often carried to the Symposium already laid, we also have examples of tables that were set in front of people seated to eat.40

We have seen that in its form the furniture of Rome, in the west, can hardly be distinguished from that of the eastern provinces. The question remains whether this can be said with equal certainty of the significance of a seated or reclining meal.41 Another question is whether or not these pieces of furniture carried with them social connotations. This will be explained below with the help of visual representations and a few literary sources.42 2.1 Visual Examples Vergil and Servius Aen. testify to the custom of seated meals in early times, among the Homeric heroes for example.43 Later the reclining meal became more common, perhaps as a result of Lydian influence; during the Roman period it is especially associated with what is known as the triclinium.44 Bek believes that “this mode of reclining on the three couches during (a) meal had superseded the older Italic habit of sitting at table in the 3rd and 2nd centuries B.C. as a result of Greek influence.”45 37 Plin. Nat.Hist. 33.144–146. See the thorough discussion in S. Faust, “Fulcra. Figürlicher und ornamentaler Schmuck an antiken Betten,” MDAIR 30 (1989). 38 Plin. Nat.Hist. 13.91–102; Lucan. 10.144 f. 39 Three-footed tables were especially common in ancient Greece, as we know from Aristophanes (Pollux X 80.81), Menander (Pollux X 80) and Hesiod (Athenaios II.49b). 40 A very early example is the Corinthian krater; on these see E. Saglio, “Art. Coena,” Dictionnaire des antiquités, 1270. fig. 1690; W. Smith, “Art. Coena,” Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities, 123. 41 Unfortunately we have no examples of comparable frescoes or reliefs that might help us solve the problem of whether meals were taken seated or reclining. This is due to the particular conditions at the excavation sites at Corinth, where only very few houses are as well preserved as in Pompeii. In the reconstruction of Corinth we can assume both that Roman architectural ideals found expression and that this Roman influence was strengthened through the use of pattern books. 42 See for the following: M. B. Roller, Dining Posture in Ancient Rome: Bodies, Values, and Status (Princeton: Princeton University, 2006). 43 See Serv. Aen. VII 176 and Verg. Aen. VII 176 and VIII 176, where Vergil also tells us of meals that were eaten on the grass. 44 See Diels VS 134, Nr. 22. 45 Unfortunately L. Bek does not list any sources in “Questiones convivales. The idea of the triclinium and the staging of convivial ceremony from Rome to Byzantium,” AnalRom 12 (1983): 81–107. A. P. Zaccaria Ruggiu, “Origine des triclinio nella casa romana,” in Splendida civitas nostra. Studi archeologici in onore di Antonio Frova (eds. G. Cavalieri

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We have many images of couches from the middle of the 1st century C.E. from sarcophagi and sculptured monuments of couches and grave monuments. These often display a typological difference between men and women, which we know to be a reflection of reality in Roman times: men are shown holding drinking vessels, while women are occupied with items of toilet. There are exceptions: images of women resting in front of a table set for a meal, which were probably commissioned by craftspeople and freed slaves who were not members of the elite and did not feel bound by aristocratic norms.46 The remarkable architectural discoveries made in Corinth should be mentioned: in the so-called Potters’ Quarter in Corinth there are circa 108 terracotta figurines of men in reclining posture. They were probably a local tradition in Corinth, since no similar figurines have been found outside of the Potters’ Quarter.47 Among the reclining figurines a seated woman holding a fruit has been identified. N. Stillwell writes of this instance, “Reclining figures found at other sites have sometimes been called female, but I know of very few which are unquestionalbe female.”48 This fact makes the figurine even more remarkable among handmade Corinthian terracottas, others of which show not only men on klines, but women as well (fig. 3).49 The women are reclining just like the men, supported on their left arms, most likely with a cushion at their backs, right arm free for eating. Representations like this one of women in a reclining posture are rare, perhaps even exclusively Corinthian. They demonstrate however that a reclining posture for women was not, in principle, unfamiliar in the craft quarter. We can speculate that these figurines were commissioned, though we cannot know for sure. Scenes of people reclining are found depicted in frescoes in Roman houses, which we can probably assume were the homes of private individuals. These scenes known to us from the Roman context can often be traced back to Hellenistic Greek models, on which they were based, where the landscape, triclinium and clothing have all been Manasse and E. Roffia; Rome: Quasar, 1995), 137–154 offers a religious context for the meal taken while reclining on three klines (“il costume tricliniare”). 46 Cf. H. Wrede, “Stadtrömische Monumente. Urnen und Sarkophage des Klinentypus in den beiden ersten Jahrhunderten n.Chr.,” AA (1977): 395 ff., here 424–427 and R. Amedick, Die Sarkophage mit Darstellungen aus dem Menschenleben. IV Vita Privata (Berlin: Mann, 1991), 11 f.; for further information see A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity (eds. C. Osiek, M. Y. MacDonald, with J. H. Tulloch; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2006), 156, 159–62. 47 A. Newhall Stillwell, Corinth. Result of Excavations conducted by the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, vol. XV, II: The Potters’ Quarter. The Terracottas (Princeton, NJ, 1952), fig. 31, p. 111. 48 Newhall Stillwell, Corinth. The Potter’s Quarter, 54 f., 104. 49 See Newhall Stillwell, Corinth. The Potters’ Quarter, 54 f., 104; it is striking that although the figurines are entered in the catalog as female, in the description of the figurines there is no indication of their gender.

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altered to reflect Roman circumstances. In contrast to the tavern scenes I describe below, which are probably realistic depictions of tavern life, these reclining scenes cannot be assigned easily to a genre. Rather, these scenes could be more a record of the ideas and wishes that the person commissioning the work had about social representation. A visual example is the banquet scene found in the Casa del Triclinio, which represents reclining in three different seasons, which in addition to the fact that the owner of the house was in a position to be able to put on a convivium, indicating that he was of a higher social status, depicts drunken and well fed guests.50 The banquet scenes are remarkable in a certain way because, for one, the people depicted have very strong individual features – one can therefore agree with Fröhlich that in these images the owners preserved those who were present at the banquet for eternity – and for another, some of the faces, features and hairstyles depicted are reminiscent of portraits of emperors and not of real people.51 Despite the fact that the frescoes aim to give a different impression, it is actually unlikely that the owners of these houses were among the most important patrons of the city. The scenes of reclining in an otherwise simple, unadorned household point to a representation of status in the context of the political elite, a status which the owner appears to wish to express through the images of reclining meals. We know of a similar example regarding the former slave Trimalchio, who, Petronius tells us, wished to have a symposium with reclining depicted on his tombstone.52 Putting on a reclining meal – associated with having clients and followers – should therefore be understood as a status symbol. The depiction of reclining meals therefore, was extremely common for men during antiquity and should be seen as an indication of status. In the following I will give a few examples of seated meals. The social context of the meal is of particular interest here. Does a seated meal signify belonging to a different social class?

Realistic Scenes: The Tavern Frieze Of interest to us now are a number of frescoes, which are classified as belonging to the “folk painting” genre, although this interpretation has recently come into question.53 Here we have seemingly realistic representations of everyday life, which were found in the tabernae and popinae, which, one can assume, were not frequented by the members of the elite (fig. 4). The tavern frieze from the caupona of Salvius is interesting because it is a

50 St. Ritter, “Zur kommunikativen Funktion Pompejanischer Gelagebilder: Die Bilder aus der Casa del Triclinio und ihr Kontext,” Jahrbuch DAI, Rom 120 (2005–2006): 301– 372. 51 On this subject see the extensive discussion in Th. Fröhlich, Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten. Untersuchungen zur ‘volkstümlichen’ pompejanischen Malerei (Mainz: Zabern, 1991), 226 ff. 52 Cf. Petr. 71.10; Fröhlich, Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten, 227. 53 Fröhlich, Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten, 13–20 and 211, who takes a rather critical view of this genre classification in general, but finds it a likely designation for the table scene.

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kind of comic strip, complete with dialogue bubbles (fig. 6).54 In the first picture, two men dressed in short robes sit on low stools facing the hostess, who is holding a bowl and a pitcher. The stools are made of wood and probably free of decoration. Both men clearly wish to be served, since next to the man on the left we see the inscription “hoc” (“here”), and next to the man on the right we see “non, mia est” (“no, it’s mine!”). The hostess, at first diplomatic, says, “qui vol sumat” (“whoever wants it, take it”), but then she ends up offering the wine first to a certain Oceanus (“Oceane veni bibe”), one of the guests. Fröhlich argues that the customers, along with the hostess of the tavern, “belonged to the lower classes of society.”55 This is confirmed, according to Fröhlich, by the names of innkeepers from antiquity that we know of today, most of whom are identified as libertus/liberta. In addition, some of them bear surnames of Greek origin, which probably indicate their slave names.56 Fröhlich finds it very likely therefore that these pictures represent everyday scenes. If however one also takes into consideration the various hairstyles and clothing depicted in other frescoes, one cannot help but notice that the two men in the picture are depicted as having peculiar, feminine-looking hairstyles. These features are all the more striking because men in other frescoes are shown as either clean-shaven or bearded, and in masculine poses.57 The hostess exceeds the two men demanding wine not only in height, but most likely also in status, as their clothing indicates. The image communicates to us the fact that the hostess has the power to decide which guest she will favor by serving first. Also, her placement at the front edge of the picture makes her seem to communicate directly with the viewer of the fresco. Although the two men in the picture 54 The interpretation of the frescoes has changed recently, now that the pictures can be seen in a restored, cleaned-up state. This makes it possible to identify a kissing couple in the picture as a man and a woman (otherwise they had been identified as a homosexual couple  – either two men, as in Fröhlich, Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten, 213 or as a lesbian couple as in F. A. Todd, “Three Pompeian Wall-Inscriptions, and Petronius,” The Classical Review 53 (1939): 5–9); see therefore J. R. Clarke, Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans. Visual Representations and Non-Elite Viewers in Italy, 100 B.C.–A.D. 315 (Berkeley at al.: University of California Press, 2003), 162 ff.; especially helpful in this regard is the paper by I. Bragantini, “VI 14.35.36: Caupona di Salvius,” in Pompei: pitture e mosaici 5 (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia italiana, 1994), 366–371 who is able to present next to the old photographs the new reproductions by Presuhn. [E. Presuhn, Pompeji: Die neusten Ausgrabungen von 1874 bis 1878 (Leipzig: Weigel, 1878) Abt. V 3 ff. table 6–7]; regarding the Frescoes see also A. Mau, “Scavi di Pompei,” Bullettino dell’Instituto di Corrispondenza Archeologica (1878): 191–194; T. Kleberg, In den Wirtshäusern und Weinstuben des antiken Rom (2nd ed., Darmstadt: WBG, 1966), 54 and table 10,17; K. Schefold, Die Wände Pompejis. Topographisches Verzeichnis der Bildmotive (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1957), 135 f. 55 Fröhlich, Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten, 214. 56 Kleberg, In den Wirtshäusern und Weinstuben, 20. See also the thorough description of rights: innkeepers were denied certain civil rights, and hostesses in particular were quasi-prostitutes (p. 20 f.). 57 See Clarke, Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans, 162 ff.

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assume poses probably aimed to imply that they are powerful, they are ignored by the hostess. Their verbal demands fall on deaf ears. Can one therefore conclude that these scenes should be understood as a satire on the question of masculine behavior, since the first scene, too, of the kissing couple, shows the woman as a strongly active participant, which was probably rather untypical? This point of view is supported by a point made by Todd, namely that Oceanus is a name that had local resonance in Pompeii. He was a well-known gladiator in the city, who is also present in other frescoes.58 In any case it is Oceanus who is favored by being served first, while the hostess punishes the other male guests through her neglect.

Two aspects are important for our investigation. First, the frescoes demonstrate that in the mid-1st century C.E. a seated posture, even in a public space such as a tavern, was not unfamiliar. In contrast to the Praedia of Julia Felice described below, here we are not dealing with reclining. The guests sat on simple wood stools. Second, the concern with images of tavern life displays clearly the same difficulty we have today with clear designation of social status. It is certain that the tavern was not frequented by the political elite, as indicated by the clothing and the context. All the same, the frescoes display subtle distinctions in status, so we would be wise to avoid the general label “lower class” as a designation of status.59 Another series of images relevant to our discussion comes from a back room that served as a dining room (Caupona via di Mercurio).60 This series of images also shows scenes from a tavern; these however do not show the guests in a reclining position, but rather sitting on stools and sitting or standing at a table. In the following discussion, I will describe the pictures in the order in which they would have been seen originally, from right to left (fig. 5). Here are two examples of frescoes that decorated the walls of the tabernae in Pompeii. In a series of thirteen frescoes from Caupona VI 10.1 several found on the south wall are particularly illuminating for our purposes (fig. 5). The first on the south wall shows a scene with four guests sitting on stools and gathered at a three-legged table. The scene has quite a dynamic feel; not only does one of the men seem to have just jumped up from his seat, as we can tell from the sequence of steps, but also other figures in the picture are gesticulating wildly. Another fresco depicts seated guests who have only drinks in front of them, but hung about above them are various foodstuffs such as sausages and vegetables. Two of the guests are clearly travellers, as can be seen from their clothes, especially the cuculli (a traveling cloak with a hood). These two friezes are in a way very similar, since in both of them the figures seem to float without any base, the heads of the figures are of a similar shape and the sandals are also worn in a similar way. It is also striking that in both friezes some images seem 58 Todd,

“Three Pompeian Wall-Inscriptions, and Petronius,” 6. D. E. E. Kleiner, Roman Group Portraiture: The Funerary Reliefs of the Late Republic and Early Empire (New York: Garland, 1977) and Clarke, Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans, 2–13. 60 Fröhlich, Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten, 214. 59 Cf.

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to be completed, whereas others have a strangely unfinished feel to them. One can therefore join Fröhlich in concluding that the artist has made use of already existing traditions for drawing various types and completed the picture by supplementing these with his own compositions.61 The drinking scenes found in the Caupona – in part expanded by the addition dice games – are, according to Fröhlich, typologically very similar to those scenes found on tombstones and other reliefs, and have their origins in Greek art.62

It is worth noting here that these images of the tavern are in some ways reminiscent of images of people reclining on klines, the only difference being that here the klines are replaced with stools. The physical and seated posture corresponds closely to a reclining posture, leaning forward. This change in physical posture implies that it was important to the owners of the tavern that they reproduce the seated posture of their guests. We can also assume that the artistic value of the representation of the inn and its guests was not of great importance to the innkeeper. We can therefore designate these pictures as belonging to the genre “folk painting.”63 Let us take a look at Corinth. Here we have many remains of stools resembling the ones in the frescoes, so we can assume that here too guest gathered and sat together in taverns.64 As far as I know, however, we do not have any examples of frescoes from taverns. We have only architectural remains of taverns, which provide us with very little information about how the owner wished to see the tavern represented. Sitting and Reclining: The Amiternum A remarkable relief from the middle of the 1st century C.E., which is now found in the church of Santo Stefano is the Amiternum.65 The context of the relief is unknown to us, but we can surmise that it is a grave relief based on the sepulchral context. Two different types of meal are depicted, seated and reclining. Six participants are shown at a meal in the normal reclining position, while six others are shown sitting on chairs, grouped around a small table (fig. 6). The two groups do not differ in their clothing, since all Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten, 219. Lararien‑ und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten, 220 f. 63 Regarding the Caupona, I cannot quite follow Clarke’s comparison (Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans, 167 f.) between the tavern guests and Donald Duck; in my opinion, the forward-leaning posture owes more to the artist’s adoption of a model of a reclining meal. 64 Newhall Stillwell, Corinth. The Potter’s Quarter, see the illustrations. 65 For the Amiternum see A. Giuliano, “Rilievo con scena di banchetto a Pizzoli,” StMisc 10 (1963–1964): 33–38, plates XIII–XVIII, who writes, that “la scena é ottentuta giustapponendo due iconografie di banchetto, senza creare un preciso nesso figurativo tra i due gruppi” (p. 37); F. Ghedini, “Raffigurazioni conviviali nei monumenti funerari romani,” RdA 14 (1990): 35–62, plates 1–34; C. Compostella, “Banchetti pubblici e banchetti privati nell’iconografia funeraria romana del I secolo D. C.,” MEFRA 104 (1992): 659–689. 61 Fröhlich, 62 Fröhlich,

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participants at the meal are shown wearing formal clothing. Both groups are gathered around a table. Just like the reclining guests, the sitting guests hold wine goblets, and each group is being served by a slave. Should we understand this image of two different groups simply as an iconographic variation, or does it have some further significance? A similar structural design situation is found in the Praedia Iuliae Felicis II.4 a building in the southeastern region of Pompeii, near the amphitheater and the palaestra.66 The building covers a large part of the 5900 sq m Insula, while the rest was used as a garden (fig. 8–9).67 The built-up area is occupied by two compounds, each with its own entrance. The first entrance leads into a bath area. A second part of the compound is a spacious building with a recessed triclinium, which looks out on the garden at its center. A small corridor runs parallel to the outer wall, making it possible for the servants to cross the compound without disturbing the activity of bathing. On the basis of this unusual construction, it has been speculated that this living area was used as a gathering place for clubs or societies.68 Only the thermopolium with its adjoining guest room interests us here.69 The thermopolium has a back room and what we can identify as the beginning of a staircase which would have led to an upper story; this seems to indicate that it was used as living quarters. The taverna in turn 66 A rental notice has been preserved for the Praedia Iuliae Felicis II 4, as follows: In praedis Iuliae Sp. F. Felicis locantur balneum venerium et nongentum tabernae pergulae cenacula ex idibus Augustis primis in idus Augustas sextas annos continuos quinque si quinquennium decurrerit locatio erit nudo consensu: “In den Besitzungen der Iulia Felix, Tochter des Spurius, sind ein balneum venerium et nongentum tabernae pergulae und cenacula ab dem nächsten 13. August bis zum sechsten 13. August für fünf zusammenhängende Jahre zu vermieten. Nach Ablauf der fünf Jahre kann die Miete formlos fortdauern.” translation by F. Pirson [Mietwohnungen in Pompeji und Herakulaneum. Untersuchungen zur Architektur, zum Wohnen und zur Sozial‑ und Wirtschaftsgeschichte der Vesuvstädte (Munich: Verlag Pfeil, 1999], see also the explanations in the same volume. J. DeFelice (Roman Hospitality: the professional women of Pompeii [Warren Center: Shangri-La, 2001], 176–306), presents a list of Pompeian businesses by women. 67 J. DeFelice, “Inns and Taverns,” in The World of Pompeii (eds. J. J. Dobbins and P. W. Foss; New York: Routledge, 2007), 474–86, 478 argues that customers ate sitting and not reclining at the klines. With a different point: C. Parslow, “Entertainment at Pompeii,” in The World of Pompeii, 212–23 notes “the choice of dining while reclining or sitting upright” at the Praedia of Julia Felix. C. Parslow, “Documents illustrating the excavations of the Praedia of Julia Felix in Pompeii,” Rivista di Studi Pompeiani 2 (1988): 37–48; A. M. Mahon, “The taberna counters of Pompeii and Herculaneum,” in Roman Working Lives and Urban Living (eds. A. M. Mahon and J. Price; Oxford: Oxbow, 2005), 70–87; DeFelice, Roman Hospitality, 253–254. 68 Cf. P. Zanker, Pompeji. Stadtbild und Wohngeschmack (Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt 61; Mainz: Zabern, 1995), 188. 69 It is possible that the thermopolium belongs to Business Room 5 (furnished with a sales table, but without any built-in components), because according to F. Pirson (Mietwohnungen in Pompeji und Herakulaneum, 49) both are connected to the bath area next to it.

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consists of a built-in kline, from which there is a view onto the street – it also allowed the passerby a view into the reclining area – and two sitting areas with two tables located in the back of the room. The two areas, the sitting and reclining areas, are not divided by a wall, but are instead located in the same room and therefore manifest the same structural principles that we see in the Amiternum. It is clear that banquets with a limited number of guests were possible within the walls of the Praedia of Julia Felice, especially when we consider the space offered by the entrance to the pool. We do not have any further information about the guests, however. The remains of the buildings do not allow us to draw any conclusions about whether there were differences in status between the guests. Perhaps an inscription from Corfu, which has been preserved in records of payments for participating in public banquets, will be of help here.70 Here we have just this contrast between a reclining meal and a seated meal, both held in the same room:71 … qui … statim / splendidissimum ordinem liberos[que] et coniuges eorum sed et populum public. / epulantes maximo cum gaudio exhilaravit.//… obtulit decurionibus et universe populo H S L mil. nummum/ quae Mammiana Divisionem percipere possint..// … Item dedit/ decurionibus discumbentibus (to recline at table for the purpose of eating an opulent meal, A. W.) et liberis eorum singul[is] HS XXX nummos, sevir[is] Augustal[ibus]// vescent[ibus] (enjoy the account of food, but not reclining, A. W.) singul[is] HS XX numm[os]…, plebei universae epulantibus (belonging to a banquet, A. W.) singulis H S VIII nummos …72 The verbs discumbentibus, vescentibus und epulantibus (reclining at a table for eating an opulent meal, enjoy the account of good food, and belonging to a banquet) make one thing clear: a distinction between a reclining meal and a seated meal is the basis of the inscription. It is significant that at some public banquets in antiquity the guests were paid for their presence at the meal, which is probably the case here as well: 70 On this subject see the extensive discussion in W. J. Slater, “Handouts at dinner,” Phoenix 54 (2000): 107–122, which examines numerous inscriptions dealing with payment, the sportae, including the one I discuss above. 71 Several papers discussing public feasts like the one of Amiternum, which have been held outside a house: see J. F. Donahue, The Roman Community at Table during the Principate (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2004), 32–33, e.g. discussing Julius Caesar’s, Tiberius’ and Caligula’s public banquets: “But surely, as with Caesar’s banquets, we must believe that any and all available outdoor space was utilized” (p. 10). Domitian offered a feast for all at the Coliseum (Statius, Silvae 1.6; Donahue, Roman Community, 16–19, 21–23). Dunbabin, “The imagery of convivial entertainment,” 24, discusses the above mentioned mosaic from Carthage, also arguing that it presents a public banquet for the whole city, but – as we have seen earlier – people have been sitting and reclining; and Dunbabin, The Roman Banquet: Images of Conviviality (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2003), 89–92, figs. 46–47. 72 CIL IX 3160 = Toller 1889: no. 71 = no. 228 = ILS 6530.

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the members of the decuria (decurionibus discumbentibus), to whom 30 sesterces are given, eat their (opulent) meal while reclining, while the Augustales (sevir[is] Augustal[ibus]) and the common folk (plebei universae epulantibus) sit while eating. The difference can also be seen here: the members of the decury receive 30 sesterces, the Augustales get 20 sesterces, and 8 sesterces, or perhaps a picnic basket, are given to the common folk. As to whether or not there was a further distinction made between the Augustales and the plebei universae, in other words if they sat in different places, we can only speculate; but it seems likely to me, given that we know from other contexts that the lower classes often received a picnic basket. The meal was designed as a display of munificence; these were the so-called epula meals that were put on by philanthropists, mostly on festive occasions and for a closed circle, but also occasionally for the whole city.

It is important in any case that the reclining meal and the seated meal indicate differences in status. In the case of the Ameriternum, however, these differences cannot be put simply as between upper and lower class, given that the Augustales received a great deal of respect on account of their service in the cult of the emperor, which we know also existed in Corinth. We also have evidence of a distinction between a reclining meal and a seated meal from visual sources from a somewhat later date, one of which is a mosaic from Carthage. This floor mosaic (figs. 7, 7a) depicts seven benches for sitting; on each of the benches (one additional bench, the eighth, remains unfinished) sit three people eating, in distinctive clothing, who are being served by a slave who hurries around them. In its style of representation – especially of the bench, a subsellia cathedraria – the mosaic is very similar to a sarcophagus. H. Blanck has contributed interesting comparisons to the scholarly discussion of this image, making reference not only to book illustration of late antiquity but also to images of visitations of angels in the mosaics of Santa Maria Maggiore.73 We can be sure: the visual sources make it clear that there was a difference in status between a reclining meal and a seated meal. This difference in status, however, does not just refer to a distinction between upper and lower classes. It can also indicate subtle differences in position within a given class. In any case, images of seated meals in taverns from the 1st century C.E. are first and foremost realistic painting. Meals exclusively for women, which could only be conducted while sitting, were an exception. We also have images of these from the upper class. 2.2 Literary Sources If we turn our attention to literary sources from antiquity, we see that in literature for the most part women are depicted sitting, as in the classic passages from Varro 73 H. Blanck, “Ein spätantikes Gastmahl. Das Mosaik von Duar-ech-Chott,” RM 88 (1981): 329–344.

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and Valerius Maximus.74 A late source explains the difference between sexes in this way: “Sedes are so called because among the old Romans there was no practice of reclining, for which reason they were also said to ‘take a seat.’ Afterward, as Varro says in his work On the life of Roman people, men began to recline and women sat, because the reclining posture was deemed shameful in a woman.”75 Therefore Varro demonstrates that the sitting position changed with time and also differently for men and for women.

Some literary passages provide examples of standing or sitting positions adopted by men.76 In Plautus’ Stichus, Gelasimus tries to wring an invitation to dinner out of a man called Epignomus who however has already invited nine other guests, all far superior to Gelasimus in terms of status. Gelasimus tells Epignomus that he wouldn’t have to lie on a couch and that he would be satisfied with a place sitting on a bench, in order to clearly indicate his lower status.77 We know of another example of a renunciation of status from Cicero, who tells us that Lollius, a Roman cavalier, was asked to stand. Cicero summarizes the scene in this way: “Through these humiliations, judges, know that Lollius was forced to accede to Apronius’s terms and conditions,” meaning that Lollius paid more than he owed.78 74  The classic passages are probably Varro (Orig. 20.11.9) who gives us this example postea, ut ait Varro de vita populi Romani, viri discumbere coeperunt, mulieres sedere, quia turpis visus est in muliere accubitus and Valerius Maximus tells us: feminae cum viris cubantibus sedentes cenitabant (Val. Max. 2.1.2). 75 Isid. Etym. 20.11.9: sedes dictae quoniam apud veteres romanos non erat usus adcumbendi, unde et considere dicebantur. Postea, ut ait Varro de Vita populi Romani, viri discumbere coeperunt, mulieres sedere, quia turpis visus est in muliere adcubitus. 76 In epics from the Homeric period, banquet scenes show people eating while seated: Cf. Hom. Il. 9.200 (Presbeia); Hom. Il. 11.623 (Machaon); Hom. Il. 11.778 (Nestor and Odysseus); Hom. Il. 24.553 (Priamos); Hom. Od. 1.130–135 (Athene); Hom. Od. 3.35–39 (Telemach); Hom. Od. 5.58 f. (Hermes); Hom. Od. 10.233, 314f (Odysseus); Hom. Od. 14.49 ff. (Odysseus); Hom. Od. 16.46 ff. (Telemach); Hom. Od. 17.90 (Theoklymenos); A. R. 1.453 ff., 2.305 and 309 f. (Argonaut); Verg. Aen. 8.176 ff. (Aeneas). In the postHomeric period, we find almost exclusively a reclining posture at meals: A. R. 1. 453–455 (Iolkos); Verg. Aen. 1.697–700 (Dido); Lucan. 10.122–126 (Caesar); Sil. 6.89 f. (Serranus); Sil. 7.176 (Bacchus); Sil. 11.272 ff. (Hannibal); Stat. Theb. 1.525–528 (Tydeeus and Polyneikes); Val. Flac. 1.252 f. (argonaut); Val. Flac. 5.571 (Jason). 77 Plaut. Stich. 486–493: Ge: vin ad te ad cenam veniam? Ep.: si possim, velim; verum hic apud me cenant alieni novem. Ge.: hau postulo equidem me in lecto accumbere; scis tu me esse unisubselli virum. Ep.: at ei oratores sunt populi, summi viri; ambracia veniunt huc legati publice. Ge: ergo oratores populi, summates viri, summi accubabunt, ego infimatis infimus. In the end, Gelasimus is invited to the reclining meal (618 f.). 78 Cic. Ver. 2.3.62: statuitur Lollius in illo tempestivo gladiatorum convivio […] statuitur, ut dico, eques Romanus annos prope ex natus in Apronii convivo, cum interea Apronius caput atque os suum unguento confricaret. “quid est, Lolli,” inquit, “tu nisi malo coactus recte facere nescis?” homo quid ageret taceret responderet, quid faceret denique illa aetate et auctoritate praeditus nesciebat. Apronius interea cenam ac pocula poscebat; servi autem eius qui et moribus isdem essent quibus dominus et eodem genere ac loco nati, praeter oculos Lollii haec omnia ferebant. Ridere convivae, cachinnare ipse Apronius […] ne multa, iudices: his contumeliis scitote Q. Lollium coactum ad Apronii leges condicionesque venisse.

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From Lucian we know of yet another scene: at a festive meal, there is a struggle over a good seat between the Stoic Zenothemis and the Epicurean Hermon, which is resolved through Hermon’s acquiescence. When the Cynic Alkidamas then appears, uninvited, the struggle threatens to begin anew. But instead of having a seat given to him, Alkidamas walks around, eating the best things from each table and giving speeches about virtue and vice. When the host, the owner of the house, offers him a cup of wine, he rejects a place on the bench and instead leans on his arm on the ground, making one thing clear: he categorically rejects a claim to a place on the bench.79 Suetonius gives in the Fragments this account: a young comic actor came to present his work at the house of an important comic actor, Caecilius Statius, and when he arrived, the other was having dinner, reclining. The younger actor was not turned away, but was rather invited to take a place on a bench. It was not until the established actor had read the first verses of the younger one’s work that he offered him a couch to lie on. Suetonius shows us in this way that it was not unusual to invite guests to sit on a bench while others were reclining on a couch. He also demonstrates that between sitting and reclining there was a social distinction: the young actor was at first deemed unworthy of the couch based on his clothing, which was either inappropriate or simply lower in status in relation to the owner of the house, and asked to sit. The fact that this difference in status was then suspended after the famous actor read those first verses shows that these differences were not so binding that one could not look beyond them when needed.80 Accounts from Cato in De Agri Cultura can perhaps give us an idea of the seating customs of the non-elite. Cato tells us that a farm of 60 hectares (240 iugera) and thirteen people had the following pieces of furniture: “1 small table, 2 copper disks, 2 tables, 3 large benches, 1 bedroom stool, 3 stools, 4 chairs, 2 arm-chairs, 1 bed in bed-room, 4 beds on cords (with leather straps A. W.), and 3 common beds; […] 8 mattresses, 8 coverlets, 16 cushions, 10 covers […].”81 He also gives a similar example in the following chapter, where the estate he describes is smaller, but the number of people on it is greater. Cato lists three klines, which is the normal number for a triclinium, as well as a few stools and simple chairs with backs, and a few klines, which Cato presumes were in the cubiculum. Based on these numbers, we can assume that one could put on a reclining meal in this household. We can also guess at the number of cushions (accounting for one cushion per person, which would have been put under the supporting arm, and occasionally a second cushion for the back) and covers they must have had. Based on this knowledge, we cannot assume that a seated meal was typical for the non-elite in general. 79 Lucian (The Carousal or the Lapiths; LCL 1 and 4) displays many similarities with Plato in his Conv. 12 is very similar to Plato’s Symposium 212 c and 175 c here as well Homer’s words from Il. 2.408 play an important role. 80 Suet. Poet. Fr. 11: scripsit comoedias sex. Ex quibus primam Andriam cum aedilibus daret, iussus ante Caecilio recitare ad cenantem cum venisset, dicitur initium quidem fabulae, quod erat contemptiore vestitu, in subsellio iuxta lectulum residens legisse, post aucos vero versus invitatus ut accumberet cenasse una, dein cetera percucurisse non sine magna Caecilii admiratione. 81 Abacum I, orbes aheneos II, mensas II, scamna magna III, scamnum in cubiculo I, scabilla III, sellas IIII, solia II, lectum in cubiculo I, lectos loris subtentos IIII et lectos III; […] culcimentas VIII, instragula VIII, pulvinos XVI […].” Cato De agri cultura X (Translation: Hooper).

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Accounts from Columella demonstrate that a reclining meal was uncommon even for a slave owner. He describes how a certain Vicilius was only allowed to take part in a reclining meal on festive days: “Nur an Feiertagen soll er liegend essen und die Feste in der Weise begehen, daß er die Tüchtigsten und Bescheidensten mit Geschenken auszeichnet, manchmal auch an seinen Tisch holt und sie auch sonst durch Ehrungen heraushebt.”82 With this passage, Columella not only demonstrates that as a rule slaves took their meals while sitting, but also that in the delicate matter of differentiation in status between male and female slaves reclining signified a distinction.

Like the visual sources, the literary sources give evidence of a differentiation according to status group between sitting and reclining postures, and of the difference in value attached to each. This manner of differentiating between the guests was probably primarily nothing more than an example of a manifestation of hierarchy, which was ubiquitous in Roman society. That these were in fact perceived, however, is demonstrated by these sources, which resolve these differentiations in favor of the people of lower status. Sitting at a meal seems in any case to have been a clear indication of a lower status or a lowering of status, as in the case of the inscription I described above. One thing is striking: the literary texts and the inscription only indicate one group for whom a reclining meal was unusual, namely the slaves.

3. Space for the Lord’s Supper and the Meeting of the Assembly The visual and literary evidence and the architectural features of Iulia Felice demonstrate that a seated meal was possible during antiquity, but very rare. We have seen that in antiquity a seated meal was seen as a lowering of status, albeit one that should not be seen as equal to the difference in status between two different social groups, for example between slaves and the wealthy. But can we now conclude on the basis of the text of 1 Cor 14:30 that there was a seated meal in a house or an association room?

3.1 Space for the Lord’s Supper: The House Numerous passages in the New Testament (Acts 2:46; 3:1; 5:42) indicate that communal gatherings took place in the house. The fact that the issue of architectural typology dominates so much of the debate among New Testament scholars about the Lord’s Supper is certainly due to the concept of oikos, introduced by Paul in verses 22 and 34 of chapter 11, which allows scholars to infer that a private house was the space in which the celebration of the feast of remembrance took place. Ancient architectural typology was first brought into the debate by the New Testament scholar and archaeologist Jerome Murphy O’Connor.83 In his well-known Rust. 11.1.19 (Translation: Richter). Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth. Texts and Archeology (3rd ed.; Good News Studies 6, Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2002). 82 Col. 83 J.

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book St Paul’s Corinth, he looks at examples of archaeological specimens from Corinth and Pompeii. In the section ‘House Churches and the Eucharist’ he connects the Corinthian house congregation with the Villa Anaploga (a villa that has since become inaccessible because of an olive grove that has been planted there), which he believes belonged to a wealthy member of the congregation. Murphy O’Connor places the meeting place of the house congregation in the triclinium, which he identifies as a specific room for eating. Murphy O’Connor, Lampe and many scholars following their lead see the physical structure of the Roman house and specifically the limited space in the triclinium as problematic because guests who arrived late would not have been able to find any more places on the klines in the triclinium.84 Peter Lampe views this archaeological evidence in the framework of a normal eranos meal. The break between the main dish, the main course for wealthy Corinthians, and the secundae mensae, the dessert with a blessing of the bread and a blessing of the wine, is of fundamental importance for Lampe, since this interruption represents, he says, a pause in the ceremony that would have allowed newly arrived guests to join the company. These latecomers, however, did not find any more space in the triclinium.85 Therefore Strecker, for example, concludes that “(v)or diesem Hintergrund […] nicht auszuschließen (ist), daß der jeweilige Patron die ärmeren und sozial niedriger gestellten Gemeindeglieder gleich im Atrium empfing, und dort abfertigte.”86 These exegetes therefore see the structural features and limitations of space and its use as the cause of conflict in Corinth. In scholarly discussion, however, the question of when the villa Anaploga was built and when the floor plan was created has remained unconsidered. Horell has taken a closer look at the supposed limited space in the triclinium, and he seeks to prove that even the houses of lower-class people had room for many participants at meals and worship services.87 He focuses on the houses in the East Theater Street, a street with numerous small businesses, where Horrell assumes the residents were “non-elite, not the most impoverished urban residents”.88 He bases 84 For atrium or peristylum see G. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (NIC; Grand Rapids, 1987), 533; R. F. Collins, First Corinthians (Sacra Pagina; Collegeville Min: Liturgical Press, 1999), 418; P. Lampe, “Das korinthische Herrenmahl im Schnittpunkt hellenistisch-römischer Mahlpraxis und paulinischer Theologia Crucis (1Kor 11,17–34),” ZNW 82 (1991): 183–213, here 197; Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth, 129–138; Theissen, “Soziale Integration und sakramentales Handeln,” 297. 85 Lampe, “Das korinthische Herrenmahl,” 183–213 and idem, “The Corinthian Eucharistic Dinner Party: Exegesis of a Cultural Context (1 Cor. 11:17–34),” Affirmation (UTS in Virginia) 4/2 (1991): 1–15. 86 Ch. Strecker, Die liminale Theologie des Paulus. Zugänge zur paulinischen Theologie aus kulturanthropologischer Perspektive (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1999), 323. 87 D. G. Horrell, “Domestic Space and Christian Meetings at Corinth: Imagining New Contexts and the Buildings East of the Theatre,” New Testament Studies 50 (2004): 349–369; Christianity in Corinth. The Quest for the Pauline Church (eds. E. Adams and D. G. Horrell; Kentucky: Westminster, 2004); P. Oakes, “Con tours of the Urban Environment,” chap. 2 in After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (eds. T. D. Still and D. G. Horrell; New York: T&T Clark, 2009) and P. Oakes, Reading Romans in Pompeii: Paul’s Letter at Ground Level (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009). 88 Horrell, “Domestic Space and Christian Meetings at Corinth: Imagining New Contexts and the Buildings East of the Theatre,” 367 f. I find his premise, that “NT studies

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his argument, however, on a two-story structure, for which there is some evidence in Corinth. The idea that in Corinth the construction of two-story buildings was avoided because of the danger posed by earthquakes, as Schowalter proposes, seems unlikely to me, especially against the background of Pompeii and other cities.89 We also have many ancient literary sources that speak of the dangers of buildings with multiple stories and caution against adopting this solution for reasons of space only. Horrell and David Balch (2004) point out a central aspect of ancient house structure: that the entire Greek or Roman house, whether domus, villa or insula, or a part of the house, such as the taberna, pergula, hospitium or cenaculum, whether owned or rented, was a conglomeration of various kinds of rooms and the site of various activities. The houses themselves seem to have been conceived in an additive style, in other words as a series in which rooms are strung together: vestibilium, atrium, and peristylium, oecus and triclinium, exedra, diaeta, cubiculum, etc. We have very few accounts of ancient space typology.90 From Pliny we have helpful descriptions in which he leads a visitor around his Laurentium: he begins in the atrium, which then leads to the porticus, to the cavaedium and triclinium, which looked out on the sea. Several cubiculum are mentioned, one of which was furnished as a library. Fridgidarium, unctorium, hypocauston, balinea and spharisterium were connected to these rooms. Several diaetae, a cenatio, an apotheca and a horreum were often located in the second story.91 These space typological observations form the background for our understanding of the celebration of the Lord’s Supper which, whether it took place in Jerusalem, Corinth, or Ephesus (where the letter to the Corinthians was written), had to situate itself in each place anew, in rooms that were different in terms of space typology and the activities that took place in them. While space typological structuring may seem helpful for architectural-historical observations, little can be gained from it in terms of the question of different activites in the living quarters, because it suggests the possibility of specific rooms being assigned specific functions, which is hardly the reality: the triclinium for reclining, the tablinum or oecus as a reception room and the cubiculum as a sleeping room. This kind of designation of function to difshould pay more attention to the varieties of domestic space in the urban setting of Corinth and other cities of the Roman empire, and consider these as possible settings for early Christian meetings,” convincing, especially given that the preoccupation with Vitruvius and the architectural politics of Augustus show Rome’s effort to establish a unified concept of space within the provinces (p. 369). Unfortunately I cannot pursue the question of Romanization further here; on this subject see Ch. 3 of my forthcoming book Tempel, Kirche und Zivilgesellschaft im 1. Korintherbrief. 89 D. N. Schowalter, “Seeking Shelter in Roman Corinth: Archaeology and the Placement of Paul’s Communities,” in Corinth in Context (Comparative Studies on Religion and Society Novum Testamentum Supplements; eds. idem, St. Friesen and J. Walters, Leiden: Brill, 2010), 327–341. 90 See the dissertation by V. A. Alikin, The Earliest History of the Christian Gathering: Origin, Development and Content of the Christian Gathering in the First to Third Centuries (Leiden, 2009), which has an impressing collection of evidence. A different point is raised by W. Braun, “‘Our Religion Compels Us to Make a Distinction’: Prolegomena on Meals and Social Formation,” in Identity and Interaction in the Ancient Mediterranean: Jews, Christians and Others. Essays in Honour of Stephen G. Wilson (eds. Z. A. Crook and P. A. Harland; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007), 41–55. 91 Plin. Ep. II. 17.

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ferent rooms does not fit in with the Greco-Roman understanding of rooms in the 1st century C.E. A. Wallace-Hadrill has shown persuasively that the living area in its functional design and structure went beyond the range of ways of life and rituals within the house and their concrete spatial organization.92 In his book Roman Domestic House and Early House Churches, Balch refers several times to the possibility of retiring to the peristylum, should problems of space arise.93 While in his 2004 book Balch listed various reasons that supported a communal gathering inside the house, in the essay in the present volume he argues that meetings may have taken place in the garden. For the sake of comparison, he refers to the “munificence meals” discussed above, which indicate public meals and large ancient gardens. The gardens are indeed an important meeting point for opulent meals.94 However, as I showed earlier with regard to the munificence meals, these draw (sometimes) a line between sitting and reclining during the meal. Here, the difference in status – however small it may be – is represented by sitting or reclining during the meal. Nevertheless, this status distinction is not reflected in the biblical texts that Balch uses as examples.95 The various spaces and their functions that Paul discusses in 1 Cor 8–10 and 11–14 are the sacrificial meal in the temple, which is eaten while reclining, the communal gathering in the ekkl sía, which takes place while seated (as will be shown in 4), and the private houses. However, while the oikos is seen as a space in the archaeological 92  A. Wallace-Hadrill, Houses and Society in Pompeii and Heraculaneum (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994); P. Zanker, Pompeji. Stadtbild und Wohngeschmack, 16 ff.; A. Zaccaria Ruggiu, “Spazio private e spazio pubblico nella città romana,” Rivista di Archeologia XIII (1989): 77–94. Recently some New Testament studies have attempted to establish a more precise allocation; see D. L. Balch, Roman Domestic Art and Early House Churches (WUNT 228; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008). 93 Balch focuses on Pompeiian houses and gardens; see also P. Oakes, Reading Romans in Pompeii: Paul’s letter at ground level. See also K. M. D. Dunbabin, “Nec grave nec infacetum: the imagery of convivial entertainment,” in Das römische Bankett im Spiegel der Altertumswissenschaften (ed. K. Vössing; Internationales Kolloquium 5.–6. Oktober 2005, Düsseldorf and Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2008), 13–26. 94 For garden areas see P. Soprano, “I triclini all’aperto di Pompei,” in Pompeiana (Biblioteca della parola del passato; Naples: Gaetano Macchiaroli, 1950), 288–310, lists 39 outdoor triclinia, including five biclini, one stibadium, some destroyed, and five visually represented in frescoes. Jashemski, The Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 346, n. 1 has evidence of 56 outdoor garden triclinia: W. Jashemski, “The Campanian Peristyle Garden,” in Ancient Roman Villa Gardens (Dumbarton Oaks Colloquium X; Washington D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1987), 31–48; see also his later summery: “Gardens,” in The World of Pompeii (eds. J. J. Dobbins and P. W. Foss; New York: Routledge, 2007), 487–498; E. W. Leach, The Social Life of Painting in Ancient Rome and on the Bay of Naples (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2004), 37–38 mentions several dialogues in Cicero’s garden; the book Il giardino antico da Babilonia a Roma. Scienze, arte e natura presented by G. di Pasquale and F. Paolucci gives an impressive exhibit on sculptors and mosaics in the garden (Istituto e Museo di Storia della Scienze di Firenze; Livorno: sillabe, 2007). For literary evidences see A. R. Littlewood, “Ancient Literary Evidence for the Pleasure Gardens of Roman Country Villas,” in Ancient Roman Villa Gardens, 7–30. 95 I also do not find the comparison to Mark 6:39; 8:6 and John 6:10 particularly illuminating. The fact that the meal was funded by the political elite, who issued invitations to the meal, is not mentioned in these texts. Instead, Mark explains that people shared the food they had brought.

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sense in New Testament scholarship, the meeting en ekkl sía is often interpreted as a house church or a separate church, and is not discussed as a space. It is noteworthy that Paul, in mentioning synerchomai (coming together), specifically does not write en oik (in the house), but rather en ekkl sía (in the assembly; in the space of an assembly). He refers more to the private homes en oik when it comes to eating (1 Cor 11:22; 34). In this context, it is certainly also significant that in 1 Cor 11:34 Paul introduces a category that is not temporal (before coming to the ekkl sía), but spatial (eating at home).96 In addition, the oikos space in 1 Cor 14 is not mentioned at all in the context of the communal gathering. The passage discusses people’s behavior en ekkl sía.97 It would have been very unusual, in any case, to sit in a house, whether in a triclinium or in the peristylum area, or a large garden and would certainly require an explanation, especially when one considers the discussion about a correct meal in 11:17–34. When the peristylum was used for the evening meal, in many houses stone klines were already built in to the garden, or we can assume that they had portable klines taken outside, that the participants in the meeting of the congregation were reclining.

3.2 Spaces for the Lord’s Supper: Associations Matthias Klinghardt,98 Dennis E. Smith,99 Eva Ebel and Philip Harland100 have given consideration in various books to the question of structural-typological features by looking at (Corinthian) associations or meeting houses, each equipped with one or more dining rooms. They have shown that it is not the question of space or rooms that is at the center of the Corinthian debate over meals (as opposed to Lampe, among others), but rather the question of the division of food and drink (often in agreement with Theißen, among others). Klinghardt says for example: “Man wird sich die korinthische Gemeindeversammlung als am ehesten in einem angemieteten Vereinslokal vorstellen –, so wie es auch für die ephesische Gemeinde bezeugt ist.”101 Klinghardt mentions “Gebäude wie das J. Økland, Women in Their Space (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 148. Women in Their Space, 138 f.   98 G. Heinrici, in his essay “Zum genossenschaftlichen Charakter der paulinischen Christengemeinden,” ThStKr 54 (1881): 505–524 brought attention for the first time to the cooperative nature of the Pauline congregations. M. Klinghardt in Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeinschaft: Soziologie und Liturgie frühchristlicher Mahlfeiern (TANZ 13; Tübingen, Basle: Francke, 1996), developed this idea excellently, using numerous individual characteristics to draw a picture of the life of the community, in which the meal stood at the center.   99 D. E. Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist: The Banquet in the Early Christian World (Minneapolis; Fortress, 2003). 100 E. Ebel, Die Attraktivität früher christlicher Gemeinden. Die Gemeinde von Korinth im Spiegel griechisch-römischer Vereine (WUNT 2,178; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004) and Ph. Harland, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations: Claiming a Place in Ancient Mediterranean Society (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003): in his excellent book he gives an impression how different associations in different ancient regions might have been. 101 Cf. e.g. Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeischaft, 326, 75–83; Ebel, Die Attraktivität früher christlicher Gemeinen, and Harland, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations.   96 See

  97 Økland,

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troizenische Asklepieion oder die Deipnisterien des epidaurischen Gymnasiums,”102 since these buildings could accommodate several clusters of triclinia in one room. He does not rule out the possibility that “Spaltungen zwischen den einzelnen Triklinien verliefen.”103 Since Klinghardt and others make specific mention of the Asklepieion in Corinth, I will give a brief introduction to this building, continuing to focus on our central question: seated meal or reclining meal?104 When the Asklepieion in Corinth is compared with that of Epidauros, the temple grounds in Corinth make a relatively modest impression. The sanctuary was probably located at the northern edge, directly adjacent to the city wall, in an area with many springs, a place that would suggest itself both on account of the cult of Asclepius and in terms of ancient medicine. The remains of the sanctuary allow us to conclude that there was a small temenos (43.6 × 30.5 m; fig. 10b), in the middle of which stood a small temple to Asclepius and Hygieia. A little distance from these were a sacrificial altar and a pool of water. It would not do justice to this cult, however, to conclude that we are dealing here with a cult with modest influence in Corinth, given the numerous finds of votive objects. For not only was the Asklepieion in Corinth a flourishing cult from the 5th century B.C.E. on, for which we have evidence in the form of over one hundred votive objects from the 4th century B.C.E. alone, but the Asklepieion was also one of the first cult sites, that became active again after Caesar’s founding of Corinth in the year 44 B.C.E., as we can see from a collection of eleven coins that were found in a donation box (fig. 10a).105 For our purposes, not only the temple and its cult are of great interest, however. In particular, the three buildings found east of the building and which belong together architecturally with the Asklepieion deserve our attention.106 In each of these buildings, the mountings for eleven klines carved out of stone are found (fig. 10c), in part still preserved, as well as mountings for seven tables.107 These buildings are probably banquet houses belonging to the Asklepieion, also known as hestiatoria. We know from Pausanias that sacrificial meat was eaten here, which, it was said, one was not allowed to eat outside of this setting. The act of reclining on couches for a convivium held in a meeting house is confirmed not just for the Asklepieion, but also for numerous other spaces used by 102 Also Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 73, note 31 on the Asklepieion at Corinth: “the preferred design for temple dining rooms was to provide several small rooms in standard sizes, either seven-, nine-, or eleven-couch rooms.” 103 Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeischaft, 326. 104 In addition to the Asklepieion, the sanctuary of Kore and Demeter are also given consideration in exegetical scholarship, especially by J. Økland, Women in Their Space. Here also, however, it can be shown that in the triclinia there was the apparatus for the installation of klines, which allows us to conclude that there must have been reclining meals in these meeting houses as well. On this topic, see the informative article by N. Bookidis, “Ritual Dining at Corinth,” 45–63. 105 C. Roebuck, Corinth XIV. Results of Excavations. The Asklepieion and Lerna. Based on the Excavations and Preliminary Studies of de Waele (Princeton, NJ: The American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1951), 38. See also N. Bookidis, “The Sanctuaries in Corinth,” in Corinth XX, 247–259. 106 C. Roebuck, Corinth XIV. Results of Excavations, 51–57. 107 On this subject see the detailed description in R. A. Tomlinson, “Two Buildings in Sanctuaries of Asklepios (Plate VII),” JHS 89 (1969): 106–117.

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various Corinthian cults for meals of all kinds, such as those held in honor of Demeter and Persephone. The fact that the klines in the approximately 40 dining halls dedicated to Demeter and Kore were very narrow is an indication not so much that the diners were seated, but that only women took part in the meal.108 Since very few bones have been found to date, Bookidis and Stroud assume that no meat was served, but instead cake, vegetables and fruit. The rooms were large enough that at least 33 people could take part in the meal (three on each kline), these grouped around a few tables. Therefore when we refer to a meeting house the problem of a lack of places to recline does not arise, a problem that would have separated the poor, late-arriving members of the congregation, who would only have found places in the atrium, from the wealthy. The congregation, which we can estimate at about 35 members, could have found more places in a guest room. However, the dining halls have not been accessible in 1 cent. C. E. When one considers the problem of space alone, then one has to concede that Klinghardt, along with many other scholars, is right to identify the hestiatoria as a possible location for the Corinthian meal or assembly meeting. When, however, one considers the aspect that interests us, namely sitting at the Corinthian meal, which is suggested by 1 Cor 14:30, then a meeting house, especially the Asklepieion, no longer seems likely, since only klines are found in the hestiatoria. These indicate a reclining meal without a doubt. Analysis of visual images from antiquity has shown that only women were found in a seated posture on klines. Men and women were depicted sitting on benches and stools, as in the many examples from the literary sources we have seen above. There is no evidence, literary or visual, that men sat on klines. But not only the fact that only klines were found in the Asklepieion argues against the conclusion that a hestiatorion was a meeting place. In addition to this evidence we also have the terracotta figurines from the Asklepion, which show male guests at a meal, reclining.109 Although we have a great deal of evidence for the fact that gentile writers especially designated the Christian communities as thiasos, as organization or club, and suggesting therefore that the organization provided a meeting place, still in the Asklepion, as well as in the other meeting houses in Corinth, sitting would have been rather unlikely and would certainly require further justification on the basis of the fundamental principles of Paul’s space typology.

Bookidis and R. S. Stroud, Demeter and Persephone in Ancient Corinth (Corinth Notes 2; Athens: The American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1987); N. Bookidis and R. S. Stroud, Corinth XVIII; Part 3: The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore. Topography and Architecture (CORINTH. Result of Excavations Conducted by the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 18,3; Princeton: The American School of Classical Studies in Athens, 1997). 109 On this subject see Roebuck, Corinth XIV. Results of Excavations, 140, Nr. 13 and 14, plate 53, 13 und 14; while the first figure is of an older male banquet participant, of which we have numerous examples, the second type is youthful, with longer hair. According to Roebuck these belong to the votive objects. I cannot agree with this point of view, however. 108 N.

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4. Meeting space for the ekkl sía 4.1 Space for the Lord’s Supper: the gathering room of the ekkl sía It must at first seem a strange undertaking to examine the ekkl sía in this context  – since how can one investigate something space-typologically, which in our language usage is generally understood primarily as ritual and not as space? In any case, the majority of exegetical scholars110 appear to agree with J. Økland that “[i]n Paul’s text, it seems that the material place where the ekklesia gathers is rather irrelevant.”111 Two complementary issues above all are most relevant to our discussion. For one, the conflict between value judgments, that is between the normativity of early Christianity and a challenge from exegetical scholarship to the idea of a political influence on New Testament texts, led to questions about the political connotation of the word ekkl sía, since in the Christian realm ekkl sía “war und wollte nicht sein ein Kult neben anderen Kulten, sondern stand gegen alle Kulte in dem Sinne, daß er gegen die ganze Welt, auch gegen die ganze sogenannte religiöse Welt stand”.112 The origin of the word is usually traced back to the Septuagint, especially in these sense of “the realization of the Old Testament ‫קהל‬,”113 or gathering of people before Yahweh.114 In this vein, H.-J. Klauck writes: “Die Christen verstehen sich 110 D. N.

Schowalter (“Seeking Shelter in Roman Corinth: Archaeology and the Placement of Paul’s Communities,“ 340) writes, that “[w]hile the interruptions would have been different if the believers were gathering in a shop, a warehouse, or in a more pastoral setting, it is helpful the reminder that even the best ritual definition of space as ekklesía would not have eliminated the natural sounds, the smells, the sights, and the other distractions of the oikia and the real world”; cf. MacDonald and Osiek, A Women’s Place. House Churches in Early Christianity, 67 “The sounds of a woman in labor somewhere in the background, the crying of infants, the presence of mothers or wet nurses feeding their children, little toddlers under foot, children’s toys on floor – all could have been part of atmosphere.” 111 J. Økland, Women in Their Space, 142, on page 166 she writes: “With a spatial-ritual approach to 1 Corinthians 11–14 it is possible to see the contours of a particular, historically situated and discursively defined ritual space which was quite different from the modern reality of the institutionalized Christian churches.” In the background of 1 Cor 3:16 ff. and other passages in 1 and 2 Cor mentioning naos Økland calls the ritually constructed space also ‘sanctuary space’ (‘in a sense of a larger consecrated space’ page 132). 112 K. L. Schmidt, “Art. ekklesía,” ThWNT 3 (1950): 519. 113 Schmidt, “Art. ekklesía,” 531. 114 Schmidt, “Art. ekklesía,” 533; for kyríou see Dtn 23:2–5; Neh. 13:1; Mi 2:5; see earlier L. Rost, Die Vorstufen von Kirche und Synagoge im Alten Testament. Eine wortgeschichtliche Untersuchung (BWANT 78; Stuttgart 1938 = Darmstadt: WBG 1967, 1938), 154; K. Stendahl, “Art. Kirche II. Im Urchristentum,” RGG III, 3rd ed.: 1297–1304; K. Kertelge, Gemeinde und Amt im Neuen Testament (BiH 10; Munich: Kösel, 1972), 37 ff.; H. Frankemölle, Jahwebund und Kirche Christi (NTA NF 10; 1974), 220 ff.; G. Delling, “Merkmale der Kirche nach dem Neuen Testament,” NTS 13 (1966): 297–316; R. Bultmann, “Kirche und Lehre im Neuen Testament,” ZZ 7 (1929): 9–43 = idem, “Kirche und

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im Anschluß an die Exodustradition als Kerntruppe des neuen Gottesvolkes, vergleichbar dem Israel der Wüstenzeit.”115 Therefore in scholarly discussions the grammatical qualifiers and semantical field of ekkl sía are seen as fundamental, ekkl sía being often accompanied in the LXX by tou theou, kyríou or t n hagi n, which are used with varying frequency in the New Testament. For another, the space in 1 Cor 11–14 is reconstructed with a common meal in mind, and not a community gathering. This premise leads scholars to reconstruct the original ground plan only in terms of ritual and not in terms of the space.This decision is based however on the belief that there were two community gatherings in Corinth (meal and meeting of the assembly), and on the consequent use of passages from Acts as a basis for an understanding of the letter to the Corinthians. As I have shown above (under 1), this is problematic. There are several good arguments for seeing the meeting of the political ekkl sía as the background of the gathering of the congregation in Corinth, for only in this way can the fact that the members of the congregation in chapters 11–14 are seated be explained:116 4.2 Space of the ekkl sía and the meaning of kath menai First, let us return to the question of “sitting.” We have seen so far that sitting at a meal, whether in a house or in public gathering places, was rather unusual and uncommon in antiquity. We have also seen that sitting signified a lowering of status. Are we therefore to suppose that members of the Corinthian community underwent a change in status when they sat while eating instead of reclining – a change in status that is, however, not reflected in the text of the first letter to the Corinthians itself? Hardly! Exegetical scholarship thus far has completely ignored the word that Paul uses only in this place in the text for sitting  – kath menai. Kath menai, which in New Testament scholarship has only been analyzed in terms of Jesus’ sitting on a throne at the right hand of God, is not otherwise used by Lehre im Neuen Testament,” in Glaube und Verstehen im Neuen Testament. Gesammelte Aufsätze vol. I (ed. idem; 8th ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1980), 153–187; with a different point: W. Schrage, “‘Ekklesia’ und ‘Synagoge’’. Zum Ursprung des urchristlichen Kirchenbegriffs,” ZThK 60 (1963): 178–202; still excellent: K. Berger, “Volksversammlung und Gemeinde Gottes. Zu den Anfängen der christlichen Verwendung von ‘ekklesia’,” ZThK 73 (1976): 167–207; different: R. A. Horsley, “Paul’s Assembly in Corinth,” in Urban Religion, 371–395. 115 H.-J. Klauck, Gemeinde zwischen Haus und Stadt. Kirche bei Paulus (Freiburg et al.: Herder, 1992), 35; Klauck also names a second possible meaning for the word, however: “citizens’ association of God.” See also recently P. Trebilco, “Why did the Christians call themselves ἡ ἐκκλησία?” NTS 57 (2011): 440–460. 116 This is by no means to say that one should derive the Pauline concept of ekkl sía exclusively from the political concept of a community gathering; I only seek to show that this background allows us to formulate explanations for many choices in the letters to the Corinthians.

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Paul. Among scholars of the epistles, only Jakobus draws on the concept in connection with a gathering of the community.117 An examination of the use of this word in ancient literature is revealing. First, it is worth noting that kath menai is not a typical term for a seated meal, except when used to mean a meal given as a display of munificence, as I’ve described above; the word is seen much more frequently in descriptions of different cultures and (table) manners, as in Strabo, who writes: “Their meals they take sitting, on seats put up round the walls, and they take place on these according to their age and rank.”118 Although Strabo mentions this sitting at a table in order to highlight a differentiating feature between the two cultures, at the same time he points to things they have in common: the arrangement of seats, which were attached to the wall, and the ranking of seating, which was, like at the reclining meal, arranged with respect to social-societal factors. But in general this use of the word is rare, especially considering its many other uses. The word is used much more often to describe the difference between a speaker who stands up to deliver a speech and the listeners who sit and listen silently in order to be able to follow the argument, and then perhaps rise themselves to speak. Sitting is therefore understood not only as a posture with social significance for which the alternative is reclining, but we also recognize it as a posture of silent listening and attending to what is happening. Thus 1 Cor 14:30 reads: “And if someone sitting down (kath menai) receives a revelation, the person who is speaking should conclude.” Remarkably, in ancient Greek and Roman literature there are only a few places in which this kind of silent listening, the sitting expressed by the word kath menai,119 is required: primarily in a courtroom120 or in the political ekkl sía.121 From Homer too we can glean some information about the space typology of rooms used for gatherings when we read, for example: “Sessel um alle Wände des Saales tief hinein an der Schwelle (reihten); und Teppiche bedeckten die Sessel, fein und zierlich 117 Acts 20:9 is also interesting, where there is mention of a certain Eutychus who fell asleep while sitting in a gathering of the community. Perhaps the sitting mentioned in Acts 2:2 is also a reference to a gathering of the community. 118 Strabo Geogr. 3.3. 119 I have also found a passage describing sitting on a “banking-table”; see Isocrates Trapeziticus 17.12. 120 See e.g. Plato Apologia 35c; Plato Republ. 758 d: “For these reasons, this presidential section of the State must always have the control of the summoning and dissolving of assemblies, both the regular legal assemblies and those of an emergency character. Thus a twelfth part of the Council will be the body that manages all these matters, and each such part shall rest in turn for eleven-twelfths of the year: in common with the rest of the officials, this twelfth section of the Council must keep its watch in the State over these matters continually. This disposition of affairs in the city will prove a reasonable arrangement.” (Translation: Burnett); see also Aristoph. Sph kes 1. 121 For example Hom. Il. 5 76–78.

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bestickt […].”122A later text develops this further, saying: “Since the negotiations are not to go on before the people, in order that we may not be able to speak straight on without interruption, and deceive the ears of the multitude by seductive arguments, which would pass without refutation (for we know that this is the meaning of our being brought before the few), what if you who sit there were to pursue a method more cautious still! Make no set speech yourselves, but take us up at whatever you do not like, and settle that before going any farther. And first tell us if this proposition of ours suits you.”123 The fact that within the life of the ekkl sía “man sitzend und liegend speiste, ist bezeugt und hat sich in konservativen Landschaften wie Kreta und Makedonien als dauernde Sitte erhalten”.124 The seats were often already installed in gathering rooms in the form of a kind of tribune made of wood. We also know of cities, however, in which the members of the community set up the wooden chairs they had brought with them wherever they liked in the room, or stood them on raised platforms in the room.125 Other texts mention, in addition to the ekkl sía and the courtroom, other public rooms in which one sat and observed an event; in Plato, for example, we read: ‘“who are the chief sophists and educate most effectively and mold to their own heart’s desire young and old, men and women?” “When?” said he. “Why, when,” I said, “the multitude are seated together in assemblies or in court-rooms or theaters or camps or any other public gathering of a crowd, and with loud uproar censure some of the things that are said and done and approve others, both in excess, with full-throated clamor.”’126 The fact that the theater is mentioned here alongside the courtroom is no contradiction, given the context of ancient Greece. We know of many Greek cities, which had to move from their original council hall into the theater127 or some other Od. 7.95–99. 5.85. (Translation: Smith LCL). 124 Gneisz, Das antike Rathaus, 54 with reference to Ovid Fast. 6.305. 125 Gneisz, Das antike Rathaus, 296. 126 Plato Republ. 6 492b (Translation: Burnet). 127 There are several ancient sources that argue for ekkl síai being held in a theatre; see Kolb, Agora und Theater, Volks‑ und Festversammlung, 88 note 9. See in addition for Enna: Livius 24.39.3–4 (214 B.C.E.): alii ad exitus theatri conferto obsistunt; Engyion: Plutarch Marc. 20.3 (212 B.C.E.); Epidauros: IG IV 1, 84.23–24 (around 40 C.E.) ekkl sía kyria en t i theatr i; Katane Front. Strat. 3.2.6 (around 415 B.C.E.) Alcibiades […] cum civitatem Agrigentinorum egregie munitam obsideret, petitio ab eis concilio diu tamquam de rebus ad commune pertinentibus disseruit in theatro, ubi ex more Graecorum locus consultationi praebebatur; Miletos: IvO 52.46 (around 138 B.C.E.) ekkl sía sun chth kyria e[n t i thea]tr i; Rhodes Polybus 15.23.2. (around 202 B.C.E.); Samo: Syll. 976.3–8 (2nd cent. B.C.E.); Skotoussa Pausanias 6.5.2. (371 B.C.E.); Tara: Valerius Maximus 2.2.5 Viri […] in theatrum ut est consuetudo Graeciae, introducti legationem quibus acceperant verbis peregerunt; Thebes Plutarch Moralia 799 e–f; Tralles Vitruvius De architectura 7.5.5 (1st cent. B.C.E.) Etenim etiam Trallibus cum Apaturius Alabandius eleganti manu 122 Hom.

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available space because of the number of their participants.128 As I will show below, Corinth was probably one of these cities. Passages by Aeschines and Aristophanes give proof that senators and citizens sat in the ekkl sía.129 The fact that the word kath menai is used to describe sitting statues when they assume a certain posture, one indicating listening, also seems only logical.130 When Paul uses kath menai, therefore, to describe the sitting of the Corinthians, he could be drawing on the Greco-Roman context in which sitting in the political ekkl sía or in a courtroom was familiar and was interpreted as an act of silent listening, including however an appropriate and respectful reaction on the part of the listeners.131 Or, to put it differently, an ekkl sía is not only a gathering place of citizens with full rights and in this way the result and manifestation of their cohesion, but rather also the safeguard and projection of a certain political order, internally and externally, which is reflected in the way the space is used, for example sitting at a gathering. The location in which the gathering of the ekkl sía takes place is therefore also the spatial expression of its sociological energies. In this way, a house or a place not only belongs to the ekkl sía, rather the ekkl sía is the house or place; the gathering place symbolizes and manifests the attitudes of the society.132 And it symbolizes this idea in part through the seated posture of the inhabitants of the space, as opposed to a reclining or standing posture. finxisset scaenam in minusculo theatro, quod ekkl siast rion apud eos vocicatur; Syrakousai Plutarch Tim. 34.6; Justin Epit. 22.2.10. 128 On the subject of displays of munificence and the so-called epula (banquets) of antiquity, see the section on the Amiternum. In addition to the seated guests, we know that there were also always reclining guests – a differentiation for which there is no evidence in the letter to the Corinthians. 129 Aesch. Tim. 1.112 “The senators had been sitting with the other citizens as members of the assembly.” Aristoph. Achar. 29 ff. 130 Thus for example Pausanias describes sitting statues which he saw during his pilgrimage using the word kath menai (I 1). 131 There is no Latin equivalent used consistently for ekkl sía; rather there is a series of words for the fact of coming together, such as concilium, conventus, concionem, curia. On the political ekkl sía see Lucian. Dial Deor. 24.1; Isocr. De Pace 7.68; 8.130; IG 2.945.5; Ath. Decr. 102.6; 79.6; 181.6; Varro Ling. 7.10 curia hostilia templum est et sanctum non est; Plin. Nat.Hist. 35.22 tabulam […] proposuit in latare curiae; Cic. Catil. 1.32.2 non in campo, non in foro, non in curia, non denique intra domesticos parietes pertimescimus; Vatin 22 cum […] foro, curia, templis, locis publicis omnibus expulisses; Sen. Dial. 2.12.2 in campo foroque et in curia; Calidius Orationum fragmenta a scriptoribus (ed. Malcovati) 208 horrea curiaque et tabulariae publicae; Liv. 1.48.3 Servium e curia in inferiorem partem per gradus deiecit; inde ad cogendum senatum in curiam rediit; Plin. Nat.Hist. 7.212 cum accensus a curia inter ristra et graecostasim prospexisset solem; Thuc. 6.8.72; 6.8.93; 6.32.51; Aristoph. Ach. 169; Polyb. 4.34.6; Plat. Polit. 298 c; Plat. Protagoras 319 b; Plut. Rom. 27; Xen. Hell. 2. In his outstanding paper “The church as ‘assembly’ (ekkl sia)” presented at the SBL 2010, G. H. van Kooten also argued that the Graeco-Roman political meaning was adapted by Paul. 132 Cf. G. Simmel, “Über räumliche Projektionen sozialer Formen,” in Raumtheorie. Grundlagentexte aus Philosophie und Kulturwissenschaften (eds. J. Dünne and Stephan Günzel; Frankfurt a.M.: suhrkamp taschenbuch, 2006), 304–316.

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4.3 Space of the ekkl sía in Corinth Let us bring in what we know of the structural typology of Corinth at this point.133 In so doing it certainly makes little sense to identify a concrete, specific room in which the Christian ekkl sía could have met; rather it is of primary importance here to give an idea of the kinds of spaces in which the political ekkl sía could have met.134 One thing should be said in advance, however: as yet we have examples of reconstructions of conceptual representations of space of the political ekkl sía from only very few Greek cities. One could take this to indicate a decrease in the significance of political institutions. Despite the fact that we have sources providing evidence of high-status citizens being paid for their presence at a political meeting, these do not, however, allow us to make further conclusions. Given that these sources name various different locations and spaces where the political ekkl sía met, we can thereby conclude that the spatial conception of an ekkl sía did not exist in predetermined form, but rather that it was only generated through the organization of meaning acquired by a space in a specific spatial relation. The participants in a meeting of the assembly and the location of the ekkl sía are the variables that determine the nature of the space. Let us first take a look at the variable of the space: In the course of the development and expansion of the administration, distinctive buildings were designed and built in the Greek poleis. As a rule these were located nearby the agora. In several Greek cities we find a configuration of a large hall, a prytaneion (for the magistrate), a bouleut rion (for the council members; fig. 11), and a court house. In Corinth we find a building similar in a certain way to the Greek bouleut rion and ekkl siast rion and the typical Roman council building, but at the same time quite unusual in terms of its architecture and departing from all known types, a manifestation that is not found again in any later buildings.135 The presence of 133 In Ephesus, too, where Paul is supposed to have written the letters to the Corinthians, there is a bouleut rion from the 3rd century B.C.E. that is c. 30 meters wide (see Gneisz, Antike Rathäuser, 135). 134 For instructions how to build a Roman-style curia, see Vitruvius De architectura 5.2.1: aerrium, carcer, curia foro sunt, sed ita uti magnitudo, symmetriae eorum foro respondeant. Maxime quidem curia in primis est facienda ad dignitatem muncipii sive civitatis; cf. Plin. Epist. 1.8.16: hunc ipsum sermonem non apud populum, sed apud decuriones habui, nec in propatulo […].The curia, the meeting place of the senate, lay, if we are to believe these sources, in the forum or in its immediate vicinity, this being perceived as the center of political, cultic (religious) and private life. In terms of its architecture, the Roman curia follows a unified structural model, that of the archaic curia hostilia. 135 See O. Broneer, A Guide to the Excavations of Ancient Corinth and Museum (6th ed.; Athens, 1960), 57; L. Scranton, Monuments in the Lower Agora (Corinth I.3) (Princeton: American School of Classic, 1951), 126; McDonald, Meeting Places, 177 ff. C. H. Morgan II, “Excavations at Corinth,” AJA (1936): 479 f.

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a bouleut rion in a city does not in and of itself provide any information about the city’s political organization, since we see examples of bouleut ria from monarchies just as often as from oligarchies and democracies. The bouleut rion in Corinth, in any case, is from the 1st century B.C.E. and should not necessarily be interpreted as a sign that the government in Corinth was democratic (11 B.C.E.–267 C.E.).136 The building is oriented toward the north, in the direction of the agora, and is in well-preserved condition even today. The largest room of the curia occupies a horseshoe-shaped space (13.50 and 12 m; see fig. 11). Of special interest to us here are the well-preserved blocks of porous sedimentary rock that are set into the curved walls. They are of various heights and have inserts for armrests, allowing us to presume with some certainty that this building was a senate house.137 The statue of an official that has been found under the floor of the entrance gives additional indication that this was probably a public building. It appears that with time this building became too small to be used for meetings of the Corinthian senate, leaving it vacant. Meetings were probably moved from the original meeting building to the theater or the stadium. For a further differentiation of meeting space in Corinth, scholars have referred to what is known as the Astarita vase, a Corinthian krater from the 6th century B.C.E. Claude Bérard assumes that the vase represents Corinthian society and “la réception d’une ambassade à Corinthe,” which refers to the theatron: “en effet, les ambassades sont reçues dans l’agora, ou plutôt dans les différents bâtiments qui entourent celle-ci, prytanée, bouleutérion, ecclésiasterion.”138 This view corresponds to the assertions of F. Kolb, who demonstrates that the interior furnishing of the agora could have been quite minimal. In early times it provided primarily a space for agones, or athletic contests, and had an orchestra, a space dedicated to a divinity in which sacred dances were performed. A measure of skepticism regarding the aforementioned ekkl siast rion is appropriate. We know of only very few cities in antiquity which had ekklasiasteria of their own. As yet, Corinth does not belong to this number. Admittedly, it is worth noting that in this regard the boundary between ekkl siast rion and 8.3 309 fr. e., see also Plut. Cleom. 19.1: “When this happened, Aratus was at Corinth, holding a judicial examination of those who were reputed to favour the Spartan cause. The unexpected tidings threw him into consternation, and perceiving that the city was leaning towards Cleomenes and wished to be rid of the Achaeans, he summoned the citizens into the bouleut rion, and then slipped away unnoticed tot he city gate.” (Translation: Perrin). Cf. also Plut. Aratus 40.2–4 and Pol. 5.25.5. 137 It is not sure if the passage in Plutarch’s Cleomnes (19.1) regarding a bouleut rion is meant to be regarded on the meeting building; the meeting building is certainly not big enough for a meeting of many people. 138 Cl. Bérard, “Architecture et politique: réception d’une ambassade en Grèce archaïque,” Études de Lettres (III. 10; Lausanne, 1977), 1–25, 4. 15. 136 Corinth

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the theatron was fluid, as Vitruvius describes: Etenim etiam Trallibus cum Apaturius Alabandeus eleganti manu finxisset scaenam in minusculo theatro, quod ekkl siast rion apud eos vocitatur […].139 The word theatron means first a gathering place, an audience gathered together, and then later a play (an important example of that is 1 Cor 4:9): “theatron konnte im Griechischen denn auch stets jede für Zuschauer gedachte Anlage bei jedem beliebigen Anlaß bezeichnen und blieb nie auf das Theatergebäude beschränkt.”140 For the 4th century B.C.E., we can perhaps draw on two passages by Xenophon and Diodorus for evidence for the Corinthian agora being a place of political meeting. The agora seems to have been built originally for agones (athletic contests), “deren kultischer Hintergrund offensichtlich Grabstätten, Heroenkulte und Heiligtümer chthonischer Gottheiten (Athena Hellotis, Poseidon) bildeten.”141 This designation appears to be closely tied to its cultic-topographical traditions. Xenophon tells of an attack by various groups on the members of the Corinthian peace party in the year 392 B.C.E.: “And in the first place they devised the most sacrilegious of all schemes; […] but these men chose the last day of the Euclea because they catch more people in the agora, so as to kill them. Then again, when the signal was given to those who had been told whom they were to kill, they drew their swords and struck men down, – one while standing in a social group, another while sitting kath menon in his seat, still another in the theatre, and another even while he was sitting kath menon as judge in a dramatic contest. Now when the situation became known, the better classes immediately fled, in part tot he statues of the gods in the agora, in part to the altars.”142 Xenophon goes on to report that many people who were in the agora were killed. Diodorus describes the people who were killed as tines t n epithumount n d mokratias sustraphentes ag n n ont n en t theatr  – men who favoured a democracy, while contests were being held in the theatre.143 We can suppose, though not be sure, that these men belonged 139 Vitruvius De architectura 7.5.5. The term ekkl siast rion is also known by Dionysius Halicarnassus 4.38.6 and 10.40.4. A few cities had an ekkl siast rion which are known to us through written sources and archaeological findings. The most well-known is probably in Athens on the Pnyx [H. Thompson, “The Pnyx in Models,” Hesperia Supl. 19 (1982): 141 f. and M. H. Hansen, The Athenian Ecclesia II. A collection of Articles 1983–1989 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 1989, 129–165)]. In Priene a building on the agora on the south, next to the prytaneion is identified as ekkl siast rion; during a restoration there was an inscription restored on two blocks at the wall outside the building: OROS E[KKLESIAS]. But this restoration was questioned. 140 F. Kolb, Agora und Theater, Volks‑ und Festversammlung (Deutsches Archäologisches Institut. Archäologische Forschungen 9; Berlin: Mann, 1981), 3, note 17. 141 Cf. Kolb, Agora und Theater, Volks‑ und Festversammlung, 81. 142 Xenophon Hellenica IV.4.2–3 (Translation: Brownson). 143 Diodorus XIV.85.1–2.

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to the people’s assembly, the ekkl sía, which probably met in the theatron located next to the agora.144 Perhaps for the 1st century B.C.E. we can draw here on an example from Plutarch, who writes: “When everything appeared to be safe Aratus came down from the citadel into the theatre whither an immense multitude streamed with an eager desire to see him and hear what he would say to the Corinthians.”145 This seems to indicate that the theatron in Corinth could have been the place in which the polis came together for religious festivals as well as the place for assemblies. The theatron was therefore “(ein) heiliger Raum für eine bedeutsame kultische Handlung, deren Ritual in Gestalt des Dramas die kunstvolle szenische Darstellung der grundlegenden Probleme der Polisgemeinschaft einbegriff,”146 as well as the site of meetings of the ekkl sía and a place in which to discuss problems facing the community. Kolb goes so far as to say: “die griechischen Theatergebäude waren wohl sogar von vorneherein in erster Linie für die Volksversammlung gedacht,”147 a hypothesis that is by no means certain. Chr. Schwingenstein has given support to this hypothesis, however, by showing that characters in the theatre were designed based on statues of politicians and “daß hier auch Inschriften rein politischen Charakters, Staatsverträge, Freilassungsinschriften, Stiftungsurkunden angebracht wurden. Das Theater war demzufolge auch der Ort, an dem ebenso wie auf der Agora und in Heiligtümern die Heroen und verdiente Männer der Stadt ihre Denkmäler erhielten.”148 This makes the idea that the political ekkl sía met in the Corinthian theatron or bouleut rion seem plausible. But how does this relate to the meal? The historical derivation alone suggests a connection, also for the political assembly, between the meal and the gathering of the community, since an advisory council met even in Homeric times primarily for a meal,149 and the advising sessions began only after the meal. The Roman concept of the curia hestia is derived from early meetings of organized hearth communiAgora und Theater, Volks‑ und Festversammlung, 81–83 sees this as the only possible interpretation. 145 Plutarch Aratus 23.1 (Translation: Perrin, LCL), although the word ekkl sía does not appear here. 146 Kolb, Agora und Theater, Volks‑ und Festversammlung, 1. 147 Kolb, Agora und Theater, Volks‑ und Festversammlung, 90. In contrast, M. H. Hansen and T. Fischer-Hansen (“Monumental Political Architecture in Archaic and Classical Greek Poleis. Evidence and Historical Significance,” in From Political Architecture to Stephanus Byzantinus. Sources for the Ancient Greek Polis [Historia 87; ed. D. Whitehead; Stuttgart: Steiner, 1994], 23–90, here 51 f.) have noted that the bema, which served the assemblies, was usually made from wood and was therefore portable. They conclude that the theater was built mainly for plays, especially since no stone benches for the presidents of the assemblies have been found there. 148 Chr. Schwingenstein, Die Figurenausstattung des griechischen Theatergebäudes (unpublished Dissertation, Munich, 1977), 15. 149 Hom. Il. 4.259, 260; Od. 7.95–99; 15.465 ff. 144 Kolb,

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ties, those gathered around the hearth (Hestia or Eschara), which was at the center of the house – while an early connection to activities of associations should not be dismissed. Among these was, in the post-Homeric period, the so-called prytaneion, the building in which the divine hearth was found, which was located immediately next to the bouleut rion. But while the prytaneion was of a sacred nature, this was not the case for the bouleut rion. In their “Entwicklung und Verwendung bestand also zwischen Prytaneion und dem Bouleut rion eine enge Verbindung, weswegen sich diese beiden Bauten auch meistens nebeneinander im Zentrum jeder Stadt befanden.”150 We see that this is the case for Corinth as well when we examine the city plan, which shows a kind of prytaneion in addition to the bouleut rion. The elliptical shape of the entrance area of the bouleut rion also hints at its original function as a hearth house, since this can be seen as an enclosure where tiers of seating were arranged. Space typology does support the likelihood of seating in tiers, as we have examples of this kind of seating from Corinth. We have an example from everyday life of the fact that societal circumstances were transposed onto and manifested in spaces during antiquity, namely the fact that the family, the association, religious and political associations all had “their” house. In a certain way, an aggregate condition of becoming a community is made visible in them. But the most important bond is by no means created only by a spatial cohesion, but rather by means of a number of peripheral factors, all of which culminate in this essential sociological and religious point: the creation of a unity out of a multiplicity. In the following we will analyze the relevance of this creation of a unity from a multiplicity for the ekkl sía of the Corinthian community by examining the code of behavior and consequences for incorrect behavior in the ekkl sía in the first letter to the Corinthians. We have already said that the shape and form of a space did not exist in predetermined form, but were rather created. This is especially true considering that we must presume that an ekkl sía could have taken place in the theatron just as well as in other spaces capable of accomodating hundreds or even thousands of participants. Therefore we can assume that in terms of the ekkl sía, the variables that generated a conceptual representation of space and thereby an organization of meaning, were space and subject. 4.4 The meaning of ekkl sía in non-Christian sources and 1 Corinthians Among Paul’s letters, the word ekkl sía appears most frequently in the letters to the Corinthians (31 times in the two letters to the Corinthians), and 150 Gneisz,

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of these instances the greatest number occur in Chapters 11–14 of 1 Corinthians.151 The fact that the Christian ekkl sía in Corinth had a diverse background in terms of its religious and geographical origins may at first seem a trivial observation.152 That a political assembly was a part of the vital political experience of Jews and non-Jews in many Greco-Roman and Jewish cities, is however of central importance for the following discussion, although one must take into consideration that these experiences were entirely different depending on gender and social and geographical origin, a fact which may also be reflected in the letters to the Corinthians. One thing is clear: in addition to non-Christian sources on the ekkl sía, such as Polybius and Plutarch, Philo and Josephus are also crucial.153 In Legum Allegoriae and De Abrahamo, Philo mentions not only “market-places, theatres, lawcourts, council-halls […] and every group and gathering of men,” but also the “Jewish community Iudai n politeian” next to the ekkl sía.154 And in Quod omnis probus liber sit he writes: “The senates and national assemblies meet almost every day to discuss more than anything else how to confirm the freedom if they have it, or to acquire it if they have it not. The Greek and the outside world are perpetually engaged in feuds and wars, nation against nation, and with what object save to escape from slavery and to win freedom?”155 151 1 Cor 1:2; 4:17; 6:4; 7:17; 10:32; 11:16 and 18; 12:28; 14:5, 12, 19, 23, 33, 34, 35; 15:9, 16:1,19. 152 It is without a doubt the case that the word ekkl sía appears in numerous official documents of the Achaean league, in which Corinth had a leading role. See Polybius 2.46.6 in the year 229 B.C.E.; Plutarch Aratos 42; Cleomenes 19 and Polybius 2.52.5 for the year 224 B.C.E.; Polybius 5.1.9 king persuaded the magistrates transfering ekkl sía to Sicyon in the year 218; Polybius 5.91.1 and 5 Aratos assembled the Confederacy in 217 B.C.E.; Livy 28.7.17 and 28.8.2–6 meeting of the ekkl sía in 208; extraordinary meeting of the ekkl sía in Livius 31.25 in 200; Livius 35.25 decision on war discussed in ekkl sía in 193 B.C.E.; Polybius 21.3 in which he mentions that many are gathered in an ekkl sía in 190 B.C.E.; Livius 38.30,1–6 discussion of the war on Sparta in ekkl sía in 188 B.C.E.; Polybius 22.10 calling an ekkl sía in 183 B.C.E.; Polybius 23.175 mentions the “many gathering” which might refer to ekkl sía 181 B.C.E.; Paus. 7.14.1–3; Dio Cassius 21.72.1 Achaeans have been called to an ekkl sía in 147. The political ekkl sía was to have great significance for the history of the city, as well as for its occupation. It would however be going too far to draw conclusions on this basis about reasons for its frequency in the letters to the Corinthians. 153 Here I follow the findings of Berger, “Volksversammlung und Gemeinde Gottes. Zu den Anfängen der christlichen Verwendung von ‘ekklesia’,” 168 ff. 154 Philo Virt. 108. De decalogo 32 he names both men and women as making up the people’s assembly; De specialibus legibus 1.325 he writes that “in Versammlungen nicht selten verworfene Menschen sich einschleichen und infolge der Ansammlung der Volksmenge unbemerkt bleiben, schließt es, damit solches nicht vorkomme, alle Unwürdigen aus der heiligen Versammlung aus […].” 155 Philo Quod omnis probus liber sit 138 (Translation: Colson LCL); cf. also Josephus Bell. 4.255 and Sir. 38.33.

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The administration of the ekkl sía was usually entrusted to an epistates (presider, prytane156), who later also represented the emperor, whose missives and decrees were read aloud to the assemblies, or to officials who at first were newly elected for each meeting (often monthly or quarterly). Despite this frequent change of leadership, the procedure was the same for assemblies in almost every city,157 as Brandis has demonstrated convincingly; in other words an assembly followed a certain “liturgy.”158 At the center of the proceedings of the assembly was an acclamation of the ruling emperor, praising him as the benefactor of the city. This found expression, for example, in wreaths or inscriptions honoring the emperor, which are mentioned by Josephus and Lucian (with disdain).159 Thus we also hear of Herod from Josephus, who recounts several times in the Antiquitates of the calling together of an ekkl sía, to which the Jews in part felt obligated to come and give praise to Herod, fearing that they would otherwise be punished:160 “And now Herod accused the captains and Tero in an assembly of the people, and brought the people together in a body against them; and accordingly there were they put to death […]; they were killed by the pieces of wood and the stones that were thrown at them.”161 The ekkl sía however has even greater significance than that given by the reading aloud of imperial decrees. The assembly also had the responsibility of making sure the voice of the people was represented.162 Clearly various obligations were connected with this, particularly under Roman rule. Therefore participation in an ekkl sía was tied to the rights of full citizenship;163 the right of people of lower status and women to participate in the ekkl sía and speak in discussions was disputed.164 Unsurprisingly, this has led to speculation on the part of exegetes that the Paul’s law forbidding women to speak was an acknowledgement of an older idea of ekkl sía.165 The idea, however, that generally in a political meeting the right to speak 156 Philo even names the high priest as prytan of the ekkl sía; cf. Philo Somn. 2.186; Spec.Leg. 3.131; Diodor 40.3. 157 M. Holleaux, Études d’Épigraphie et d’Histoire Grecques I (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1938), chap. 18; cf. also C. G. Brandis, “Art. Ekklesia,” PRE V (1905): 2163–2200, here 2193 ff. 158 Brandis, “Art. Ekklesia,” 2199. 159 See therefore Josephus Ant. 14.149–155 for Athen; Ditt. Syll. 258. 463 and Ditt. Or.Gr. 727. 771; regarding crown and inscription see Philo Leg.Gai. 153. 160 See Josephus Ant. 17.161. 161 Josephus Bell. 1.550 (Translation: Whiston); see also Bell. 4.255. 162 The following terms regulate conduct in an ekkl sía, according to Paul: herm neia (14:26); ana meros (14:27); diam neuet (14:28); kath men (14:30); kath hena (14:31); sigat (14:33); hypotassesth san (14:34); aischròn […] estin […] lalein (14:35); eusch mon s (14:40); kata táxis (14:40). 163 See Arist. Politeia 42 and more often. 164 See Philo Decal. 32. 165 Cf. K. Thraede, “Art. Frau,” RAC VIII (1972): 197–269.

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was given to those superior in social standing due to status, age or gender while those inferior listened, was an essential one within the framework of Roman society, and applied not only to women.166 In any case a major responsibility of the president was to ensure the orderly conduct of the meeting (eukosmias).167 Likewise we are familiar with eusch mon s and taxis as descriptions of commendable behavior (see 1 Cor 14:40).168 They belong to the sphere of dignitas, that virtue of which Cicero and others repeatedly remind their readers.169 The disturbances (akatastasia) mentioned in 1 Cor 14:33 refer not only – as in non-Christian texts as well – to the disturbances in the assembly of the ekkl sía and the confusion and agitation during a military conflict (2 Cor 6:2), but also to the physical unrest caused by a pneuma in the body that does not allow a person to stay quiet, but rather precipitates conflicts, as we see for example in the case of Chrysippus.170 If each meeting of the assembly follows a liturgy, it does so because it possesses a particular religious character. The prayer to the gods is therefore one of the central rituals, and one that was spoken in the assembly by each speaker before beginning a speech.171 The prayers at the beginning of some of the speeches delivered before the ekkl sía, of which we know only the introductory remarks from citations, are grounded in the religious context of the process in question.172 Prayers for the ekkl sía are also found, however, in the collection of preambles in the Corpus Dem.,173 and they also

therefore A. Wallace-Hadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution, chap. 2. Aischines I.34. 168 On taxis in terms of conduct that takes into consideration status, age, etc, see: Xen. Mem. 2.1.7; Dem 171.17; on the subject of order in general within the ekkl sía, see Plat. Leg. 925 b; Id. Polit. 305 c. 169 On eusch mon s see for example Ar. Vesp. 1210; Xen. Cyr. 1.3.8; Arist. NE 1.10.13. 170 Chrysippus 3.121; see also Polybius Hist. 7.4.8 and the reception of Macarius Aegyptus M.34 497C (on this topic see G. L. Marriott, “Macarii anecdota,” HTS 5 (1918): 51–58) and Athanasius Alexandrinus M. 26.896B; cf. also Manetho 5.57. 171 Thus Demosthenes’ famous speech, De corona XVIII.18.1 begins with a prayer before the ekkl sía, a prayer which he prolongs considerably: “My first words, men of Athens, are a prayer to all our gods and goddesses […]”.The prayer is especially emphasized by his use of Pr ton men at the beginning of the speech. It is also worth noting that Demosthenes not only begins his defense speech with a prayer, but also repeats it at the end of his preamble, and then during his apology inserts a second prayer (§ 141) and ends the speech with another prayer. 172 See for example Polyxen p. 344 Sauppe = Greg.Cor. in Hermog. VII p. 1272, 13–16; Din. Fr. XXIX, p. 323 Sauppe (= XXXIV p. 111 Conomis); Dion. Hal. Din. P. 314.6 [see therefore V. de Marco, “La Parola del Passato,” 16 (1961): 81–92]; Din. Fr. XIX p. 322 Sauppe (= XX 1. P. 105 Conomis) = Dion.Hal. Din. 312, 5 f. 173 Corp. Dem. 25.3; 31.2; 50.1. 166 See 167 Cf.

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appear to have been more numerous in the orations of earlier times.174 We have many examples of political speeches in Rome that were begun with a prayer to the gods or a god.175 That Cicero mentions these prayers with disdain should likewise be understood as a further indication that they were in fact spoken.176 Since priests therefore could have had a central role in the assembly, it seems likely that these political meetings also could have taken place in a temple.177 We have evidence that the political assemblies of non-Christian and Jewish ekkl síai also had executive and legislative functions. No wonder, then, that we find words in Paul’s writing that designate points of conflict, dispute and reconciliation, such as pragma (6:1); adikoi (6:1); aproskopoi […] ginesthe (10:32); philoneikos (11:16); haireseis (11:19); krima (11:28) und krin (6:1); dokimazet (11:28); anaxi s (11:27); enochos (11:27); schisma (11:18, 12:25); parakl sis (14:3); kakía (14:20); fr n (14:14, 15,19); eir n (14:33). These words, which we can identify as legal terminology, refer without exception to actual circumstances in which, we can imagine, the ekkl sía in pagan antiquity had jurisdiction: situations such as the resolution of disputes (6:1–6), the role of Christians in the status quo (7:17–24), situations concerning the right to participate in festive meals (10:23–11:1), situations concerning contention within the community in 11:16 (in the context of the natural law issue of women’s head coverings in 11:2–16), and finally concerning vocabulary with legal connotations in 1 Cor 14 (14:20,24,25). Here of course 6:4 seems especially relevant. The passage, in which the jurisdiction of the ekkl sía in legal cases from everyday life is discussed, is shaped by the use of legal terms, whereby kathizein can also be situated semantically, as Barrett has done for example, reading it as “appoint as judges,” or Collins, who also correctly defines it as “seat as judges.” The “ones who are despised” are not to be understood as “less valued members of the community,” but rather as gentile judges.178 The designation exouthen menoi may call attention to the curious fact that Christians not only recognized the authority of the law in Corinth, but also even replicated it in a way in the ekkl sía, and the term could therefore perhaps allude to a Roman civil trial, as 174 See for example the prayer by Praxagora Ar.Eccl. 171 f. (here the speech delivered at an oratory contest); Ar.Equ. 634–638; 763–768 and Ran. 885–894 [see A. Burckhardt, Spuren der athenischen Volksrede in der alten Komödie (Basle: Birhäuser & Cie, 1924) 33 ff.; H. Wankel, Demosthenes. Rede für Ktesiphon Über den Kranz (annotated and with an introduction, vol.1; Heidelberg: Carl Winter; 1976), 105]. 175 Verg. Aen. 11.301. 176 Cic. Div.in Caec. 43. See also the beginning of the list speech for Cornelius fr. VI.1. 177 See IG 1.3.78; II.2.47; IG 2.2.204; 1283; IG 2.2.333 and 337; Plut. Per. 32.2; Aristonicus GHI 81; see also R. C. T. Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens (Oxford: University Press, 2005); idem, “The Vocabulary of Religion,” in History of Ancient Greek (ed. A.-F. Christidis; Cambridge: University Press, 2007), 1070–1073. 178 C. K. Barrett, A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians (New York: Harper, 1968), 127; R. F. Collins, First Corinthians (Sacra Pagina Series 7; Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 1999), 232 and W. A. Meeks, “‘Since Then You Need to Go Out of the World’: Group Boundaries in Pauline Christianity,” in Critical History and Biblical Faith. New Testament Perspectives (Annual Publication of the College Theology Society; ed. T. J. Ryan; Villanova, PA: College Theology Society, 1979), 4–29, here 9 ff.

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Kaser and Hackel have suggested.179 This interpretation seems plausible to me, even if only on account of the meaning of the word ekkl sía in the non-Christian context. Not only was the ekkl sía in ancient Greece a gathering of adult citizens, but it was also responsible for making decisions in legal cases. We have many sources that give evidence of this fact, especially for Athens, but also for other Greek cities including Corinth, and especially from times in which a military engagement was imminent. That space of the ekkl sía in Paul was not only a legal space, but might also create a differentiation between purity and impurity can be shown here. An understanding of ekkl sía in the sense of a legal chamber is also suggested by 7:17, where diatassomai is used in the sense of “to rule judiciously, regulate.” This meaning is evident for example in descriptions of the receiving of sums of money180 and the placement of slaves,181 and is found frequently in rulings of high officials, for example the following: “for the edicts stand firm, and are unshakeable, and I suppose that this principle is observed by all: to transgress the edict is of the same gravity as to commit outrage or homocide.”182 Further concepts found in this context, such as eleutheros and apeleutheros, doulos and gorasth te tim s, make it seem even more likely that this is a legal context. We can make a similar assumption about the passage dealing with the right to participate in the festive meal in 10:23–11:1, which opens explicitly with exousía, containing the background meaning of legal contingency in the sense of a potestas or patria potestas – a connotation which is of vital importance for our next example as well.183 We should also mention again 1 Cor 11:16 ff., where the word philoneikos is used, a word which we translate as contention or difference of opinion and which can refer to private or public conflicts, for which we have evidence from Plutarch, for example.184 The fact that Paul builds his argument in 1 Cor 11:3–16 on the basis of natural law, and that in this connection he even draws on concepts of natural philosophy, suggesting a foundation in natural law, both give support to our idea that the term ekkl sía has a legal function. A few final passages from 1 Cor 14 deserve mention: these likewise do not argue at the level of morals, but rather adopt a legalistic tone, as for example with kakía in 14:20, which can be understood in the sense of “an action performed out of malice,” elegch in 14:24, in the sense of “to reprimand,” anakrinetai in 14:24, in the sense of “to be culpable” and fanera ginetai in 14:25, as the bringing of a non-believer before a court of law.

179 Cf. M. Kaser and K. Hackel, Das römische Zivilprozessrecht (HdAW X.3.4.; 2nd ed.; Munich, 1996), 285 ff. Different W. Schrage, Der erste Brief an die Korinther (1Kor 6,12–11,6) (EKK VII/1; Neukirchen: Benzinger, 1995), 412. 180 P. Mich V 323–325.14–16; see therefore A. Papthomas, Juristische Begriffe im ersten Korintherbrief des Paulus. Eine semantisch-lexikalische Untersuchung auf der Basis der zeitgenössischen griechischen Papyri (Tyche Suppl. 7; Vienna: Holzhausen, 2009), 127. 181 P. Fay. 97.9–15; cf. Papthomas, Juristische Begriffe, 127. 182 SB XII 10967,25–28 (Translation: Pearl); cf. also SB XIV 12087, Fr. A, 12–13; SB XIV 11863,44 f. and P.Oxy. XLVII 3364,28 f., which writes: “Since our lords the invincible Emperors have issued a gerneral decree that all are to return to their own homelands” (see also J. H. Moulton and G. Milligan, The Vocabulary of the Greek Testament Illustrated from the Papyri and Other Non-Literary Sources [Grand Rapids: Hodder and Stoughton, 1985]). 183 On this topic see the helpful compilation in Papthomas, Juristische Begriffe, 135 ff. 184 Plutarch Mor. 825A.

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One crucial passage in 1 Cor seems to contradict my interpretation of the concept of ekkl sía in terms of a political institution, namely 1 Cor 11:27–30, where we encounter ekkl sía twice: in 1 Cor 11:18 and 22. Here we not only find ekkl sía flanked by the qualifier tou theou, but in addition the determining semantic field here appears to be that of food and drink; the legalistic language appears to refer not to a worldly, but rather to a divine justice, whereby ekkl sía establishes itself as an important eschatalogical entity. Does 1 Cor 11:17–34 contradict what I have proposed above? In this section, Paul criticizes discrepancies at the meals accompanying the Lord’s Supper and draws here also on legal vocabulary, especially in 11:28–30: while some starved, others ate to excess. Paul writes, translated literally: “For this reason, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord. A person should examine him‑ or herself first, and in this way, let him or her eat the bread and drink of the cup. For the one who eats and drinks without discerning the body, eats and drinks judgment against him‑ or herself. That is why many of you are corporally and mentally weak and chronicly ill, and quite a few are dead.” Does this passage refer to the last judgment, and are the illnesses he speaks of therefore a punishment from God in the ekkl sía? A major argument against this idea is the fact that according to Paul the Corinthians eat the meal in judgment upon themselves. For just this reason, the threatened judgment is bound up with self-examination.The fact that the effects of an action are emphasized, rather than a person’s ethical and moral condition, is also demonstrated by the word “unworthily” in v. 29, which only appears in the New Testament in 1 Cor 6:2. In both Corinthian passages, it is used as an adverb. The word thus describes a person’s actions, but not his or her moral condition. “Unworthy” points to the contrast between “holy” and “profane.” The sphere of ritual impurity is also indicated by Josephus, who states that those who unworthily touch the Ark will perish in God’s tribunal.185 According to Paul, a person is “unworthy” if he or she threatens the arrangement of a communal celebration by feasting and drinking at the expense of the other participants in the meal. Another legal term used here, énochos, indicates that this person is “guilty.” The use of this word signals a return to forensic terminology. The widespread use of this term in legal clauses in contracts and certificates makes it clear that it is not focused solely on the last judgment.186 It is striking that the word is also used in a discussion of the issue of breach of contract, and that the death penalty is named in this connection. With a contract, the participating parties enter into an agreement, and if the agreement is breached, the punishment can be death. Thus it is reasonable to assume that Paul is requiring self-examination (dokimazein). It is interesting that Paul also speaks of self-examination in Romans 14:22 f., which also deals with the proper differentiation of foods in the sense of judgment, but with his own emphasis: the major focus is on a battle between the strong and the weak at the communal meal, where abstinence from meat and wine is required, probably for religious reasons.187 The self-examination in Corinth thus serves to Jos. Ant. 6.16f; cf. 2Macc 14,24; Aristophanes Eccl. 217. Papathomas, Juristische Begriffe im 1 Korintherbrief, 168, who as an example points to C.Pap.Gr. I 13,31–32 (from the rule of Augustus); or to P.Oxy. II 239,12 (1. cent. C. E.); W.Chr. 13,10–11 (prefect’s edict with a death penalty for those who carry weapons). 187 Cf. H.-J. Klauck, Herrenmahl und Hellenistischer Kult: Eine religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum ersten Korintherbrief (NT Abh.; Münster: Aschendorff, 1982), 282 ff. 185 Cf.

186 See

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protect people from physical ailments. Verse 30 can hardly be read any other way. The verse addresses members of the Corinthian community who have fallen ill due to a lack of self-examination and who are thereby threatening the communal body’s relationship with salvation. It is unclear, however, whether these persons’ illness is to be considered a self-inflicted result of their guilt or sin, as a punishment or the Last Judgment. Ernst Käsemann188 argues that the Lord’s sacramental epiphany during the Last Supper marks the arrival of the Judge of the World, and Martin Hengel writes, “Es ist der eine Herr, damals und jetzt, der sich zu seinem Tische und damit zur Teilhabe an sich selbst einlädt. Wer sich gegenüber dieser Einladung ‘unwürdig’ verhält, mißachtet mit den Gaben den Herrn selbst und die ‘Gemeinschaft’ mit ihm. […] Verächter dieser Einladung des Kyrios müssen daher mit der Strafe des Herrn, der zugleich Richter ist, rechnen.”189 The following passage in 11:27–33 strengthens the condemnation, in Hengel’s view: “[…] es geht um schwere Schuld, Verachtung des Leibes und Blutes Christi und seiner Heilsbedeutung und führt unweigerlich zum Gericht. Daß der Herr jetzt strafend eingegriffen hat, war notwendig […].”190 Friedrich Lang argues in a similar manner: “Paulus sieht in diesen Vorfällen den Kyrios Christus als Richter am Werk, der auf die Missstände beim Herrenmahl mit zeitlichen Strafen reagiert.”191 I argue against this view: The conditions under which one can bring judgment upon oneself through eating and drinking are listed in v. 29 – m diakrin n to s ma. This verse formulates the conditions as a subsequent conditional clause. What is initially noteworthy is that Paul does not have a specific court in mind here, since the Greek does not include an article. Krima – court – can have various meanings in Paul’s writings. The meaning of an eschatological court of damnation, as Käseman uses it, can be found in Romans 2:2 f., for example, which states, “Now we know that God’s judgment against those who do such things is based on truth.” However, this is not the only possible connotation, as shown by 1 Cor 6:7, where krimata are profane disputes before worldly judges. Which meaning is Paul using when he speaks of the court in v. 29 ff.? In v. 28 he issues a call for self-examination that is taken up again in v. 31. The objective is to avoid condemnation. If, however, we are brought to the court because of our improper behavior, as described in v. 29, then we are corrected by the risen Christ because our behavior based on an inability to differentiate the Eucharistic meal, which can be manifested in our own bodies by way of physical and mental illnesses. It manifests itself in the individual’s body. This judgment does not come from God, because the kyrios court protects us from being condemned with the rest of the world in the Last Judgment, as vividly described in v. 32b. It is also worth noting here that there is a paronomastic accumulation of words from the root krin‑ in verses 29–32, all of which incorporate the idea of judgment, and which in 1 Cor 6:7 is still conceived of as the sentence pronounced by a judge, while in our passage individual personal judgment is the focus. Hans-Josef Klauck summarizes: 188 Käsemann,

“Anliegen,” 25. Hengel, “Das Mahl in der Nacht, ‘in der Jesus ausgeliefert wurde’ (1 Kor 11,23),” in Les Repas de Dieu. Das Mahl Gottes. 4. Symposium Strasbourg, Tübingen, Upsal (ed. Christian Grappe, WUNT 169; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 115–160, 123. 190 Hengel, “Das Mahl in der Nacht, ‘in der Jesus ausgeliefert wurde’ (1 Kor 11,23),” 125. 191 F. Lang, Die Briefe an die Korinther, übersetzt und erklärt (NTD 7; 16th ed.; Göttingen/Zürich, 1986), 155. 189 Martin

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“The court of v. 29 exists, if you will, in the temporal punishments for sin as described in v. 30. The future estai in v. 27 is not sufficient to restrict the interpretation to the Last Judgment.”192 Accordingly astheneia and arrostoi (weak and weak) can be interpreted as a set expression in the 1st century B.C.E.– C.E. – an expression which signifies corporal and mental weakness and chronic illness, illnesses which are caused by the individuals themselves. It is in this context that Paul adopts the expression in 1 Cor 11, even when this causes Paul to break with his own logic regarding the weak within the church. However, he is perfectly consistent with the logic of dietetics. Both concepts are also taken up in the texts of the Church Fathers, in the sense of a corporal or spiritual weakness.193 In his argument in 1 Cor 11:17–34, Paul also does not diverge from these passages in his use of the legal terms; as before, his explanations refer to discrepancies that have consequences less for the Last Judgment than for people’s actions in the present, as demonstrated by his references to physical and mental illness. The judgment does not come from God, but is carried out by one’s own body. This argument corresponds to statements about natural law like those we saw earlier in 1 Cor 11:2–16, and as confirmed by the numerous explanations by the Apologists and church fathers. As in the other ekkl sía passages in 1 Corinthians, here Paul is describing the issue of social unity and space. The space of the ekkl sía is not a natural space, but is created in the duality of structural organizations and procedural actions, both with religious connotations. The fundamental question underlying this passage is: What is the practice that constitutes the space? The kyriakon deipnon defines the space of the ekkl sía in a Christological sense: participation with Christ in drinking and eating. In this context, s ma refers to the body of Christ that was surrendered on the cross which is then transferred in the meal. In 1 Cor 11:29, s ma functions as a type of hinge, which displays the solidarity of the community in a shared, spiritual meal. However, the differentiation (diakrinein) of the body remains fundamental. The space of the ekkl sía in 1 Cor 11:17–34 is defined by the acts of serving one another and participating in the s ma.

Let us conclude: the question of how the meeting of the assembly was arranged according to structural oganization and procedural actions – along with how the Lord’s Supper was celebrated by the Corinthians  – is the subject of a wide exegetical debate. Repeated attempts using the evidence of ancient house structure and gatherings of associations have been made to show that ancient space typology plays a role in the resolution of the Herrenmahl, 326. we are afflicted with fever and evil humors, we do not take part in feasts in order not to become the prey of death,” explains John Chrysostom in his observations on 1 Cor 11:30 [Joh. Chrys. Hom. 1 Kor 28,1]. Here we have a reference to the medical concept of ‘humoral pathology’, i.e. the field which sought to understand the chief fluids of the body and disturbances in their equilibrium. Ignatius [Ign. Ant. Eph. 20,2] and Gregory of Nyssa [Greg. Nyss. Or. Catech. 37] speak of an antidote and the medicine of immortality, which the human body needs to combat the bodily decay caused by normal nutrition. Justin describes the transformation of the elements as metabol , or the transformation of substances in the body. 192 Klauck, 193 “If

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conflict in Corinth; the aforementioned spaces in 1 Cor 11–14 en ekkl sía, oikia and en oik can also be used as evidence. Our investigation, however, has taken an unconventional route. Instead of approaching space typology from a discussion of the meal, we have come to it by examining posture in space, namely sitting or reclining. More specifically, our question was, how can the Corinthians’ sitting described in 14:30 be explained, given that chapters 11–14 belong together formally and in terms of content? Our initial starting point was the probability that people sat at a meal. Seated meals were rather uncommon during antiquity. Visual and textual sources have shown that a seated meal reveals a status or gender distinction. The above references to extratextual codes of antiquity which were applied with particular force to the house and the association do not help us further, since they do not provide an explanation for one important aspect: sitting. This conclusion finds its counterpart in the word used by Paul, kath menai, as kath menai is used very rarely to refer to a seated meal and much more often indicates a posture adopted by participants in an ekkl sía or in a courtroom, namely the posture of attentive, listening while sitting. Here also the conclusion has a counterpart in the Pauline text, since the coming together (sunerchomai)194 en ekkl sía is of central importance in 1 Cor 11–14, especially when one considers that a dative with en suggests a spatial character, according to Kühner, carrying with it the meaning of “to be surrounded” or the separation of inside and outside, in that “das Mittel rein räumlich als eine Dimension von Sprache aufgefaßt [wird].”195 When Paul refers to the ekkl sía as a central space, this is surely also with the knowledge that the Romans considered sitting in the ekkl sía to be a characteristic of the Greek communal gathering – a custom that was harshly criticized, as the opening citation from Cicero shows, and that was particularly rejected in Rome.196 It is certainly also noteworthy that within the duality of structural organization and procedural actions regarding the space, he oriented himself toward Judaism in terms of purity and impurity, toward the Greek ekkl sía in terms of behavioral rules for individuals and the community, and towards the remembrance of the humiliating death of Jesus in terms of the unity with the s ma in the meal and baptism. In this way, Paul establishes a concept of space that is in a sense anti-Roman. This closer examination brings with it the further issue of a concrete arrangement of a room. The connections demonstrated above between Christian communities and ancient houses and assembly places are not illuminatsunerchomai see for example Polybius 4.7.2. Kühner and B. Gerth, Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache. Zweiter Teil: Satzlehre. Vol. 1 (3rd ed.; Hannover: Verlag Hahnsche Buchhandlung, 1983), 404. 196 See Philo Flacc. 41; Jos. Ant. XVII 161; Heliod. Aeth.IV 19.21; CGI III 481.11. 339–441; Dio Chrys. VII 24; XL 90. 194 On 195 R.

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ing for our further discussion, since a posture of sitting in a room would require explanation in any case, as visual and written sources show. Referring to the space of the ekkl sía does not provide a simple solution either, however, although numerous sources assume that one sat in the ekkl sía and at the meal preceding political meetings; even just the brief outline of an examination of the word-field given above demonstrates that ekkl sía is seldom connected with a specific concrete space. And that which applies to many Greek cities has been shown to be true for Corinth as well: we have no evidence that Corinth had an ekkl siast rion, in other words a meeting room for the political ekkl sía, and it is certain that the bouleut rion, which surely had great significance in Corinth, as indicated by the building’s peculiar architecture, could not have accomodated the political ekkl sía of Corinth, which probably had several thousand members. Thus the connection to the theatron persists, as is accepted for almost every city in ancient Greece. One thing remains certain, in any case, according to my research up to now: we have little evidence that in antiquity there was a special space dedicated only to the ekkl sía. The insight we have gained from this investigation may seem at first to be negative: namely, that the question of a space for the ekkl sía cannot be answered. This means that a more meaningful question would be, what significance did the space for the ekkl sía have in Corinth? Here I would like to refer once again to theoretical considerations: conceptual representation of space and the organization of meaning of space are primarily generated by the subjects in the space. The physical nature of the inhabitants of the space is therefore the concrete factor in creation of a space, as Werlen states: “Wenn nämlich die konstitutive Kraft der sozialen Welt den handelnden Subjekten zukommen soll, dann können Raum und Zeit nicht per se als generative Instanzen der Sozialwelt betrachtet werden. ­Stimmt man dem zu, braucht man die räumliche Komponente trotzdem nicht zu vernachlässigen. ‘Raum’, ‘Region’ usw. sind dann aber Ausdruck der Konstitutionsleistungen der Subjekte, denen für die Konstitution und Reproduktion der sozialen Wirklichkeit spezifische Bedeutung zukommt.”197 If we follow this line of thinking, then the issue of sitting or reclining at a meal is not only a question of a lack of space in a room, but rather is instrumental in the creation of a space, just like standing while speaking publicly, attentive silence, and gender-specific conduct, etc. Clearly, the s ma of the individual, along with the community as a whole, is also instrumental in 197 B. Werlen, Sozialgeographie alltäglicher Regionalisierungen, vol. 2: Globalisierungen, Region und Regionalisierung (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1997), 20.

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constituting the space of an ekkl sía, as shown in 1 Cor 6:1–6, 7:17–24, 10:23–11:1; 11:2–16 and especially in 11:17–34 where s ma is defined christologically. And if the space of the ekkl sía also represents the completion of the creation of the space by the subject not only for those who already consider themselves members of the ekkl sía, then the reference to apistos and idi t s, is crucial. Økland refers to the “outsider” in this context when she writes: “Through Paul’s comment, we see that there is a place in the Christian ekklesia even for the ‘unlearned’ who does not understand pneumatic space.”198 Numerous commentaries speak only of the “unlearned” who could join the community. I would like to contradict this interpretation of idi t s, because numerous sources that discuss ekkl sía mention the term with a connotation that is also relevant for our context: IG XII 2.645 b refers to arch n idi t s, as do IG II 17 and CIG 3059. Here the important distinction is not between inside – outside / learned – unlearned, but rather between official and private citizen. No distinction was made in the ekkl sía between officials and private citizens to the extent that both could bring petitions to the ekkl sía; both then needed to convince the ekkl sía of their case in order to argue the matter successfully in a probouleuma. If Paul uses the concept of the idi t s as an argument for comprehensible speech, then only in the sense that he already considers the idi t s, unlike the unlearned person, as belonging to ekkl sía the some extent already. The difference from the members, then, does not have to do with inside and outside, but refers to the charismata that the idi t s may not yet be able to access. Their view of this self-generating space makes one thing clear: this space did exist in Corinth. It was a publicly accessible space. But it is more than this. The ekkl sía represents not only the gathering of the Corinthian community and is therefore a symbol of their cohesion, but it is also, by means of the celebration of the Last Supper, the projection of christological selfunderstanding from inside and outside, which would be reflected in the conduct of people within the space of the ekkl sía. In this sense, the Corinthian ekkl sía not only possessed a space, but rather was this space; the gathering place is the remembrance of the humiliating death of Jesus Christ in that it embodies and represents it physically. A gathering place of the ekkl sía in 1 Corinthians is therefore also always the spatial expression of christological forces which constitutes itself in social reality in the space of the political ekkl sía and also contains its conceptual spatial representation by adopting the organization of meaning of the spatial construction of a political ekkl sía. In silent, attentive sitting, in the ordered speech, in legal vocabulary, etc., the ekkl sía constitutes itself as space which connects binds together religious and political organizations of meaning. 198 Økland,

Women in Their Space, 195 f.

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Captions to figures Fig. 1: Reconstruction of a klinē from Pompeii, Overbeck 1884. Fig. 2: Casa die C. Iulius Polybius (IX 13,1–3, triclinium EE) a) Reconstruction of a wooden bench; b) reconstruction of a klin in Pompeii; Photos: Weissenrieder. Fig. 3: Reclining female figure, Potter’s Quater Corinth: Zeitschrift für bildende Kunst LVI, 1921, p. 170. Fig. 4: Pompeii VI 14,36. Neapel, Museo Nazionale Inv. 111482, images of the tavern; overview; Photo: Michael Larvey. Fig. 5: Pompeii VI 10,1 Room b, Photo: Michael Larvey. Fig. 6: Amiterum, relief with seated and reclining banqueters; mid-first century C.E.; Pizzoli, church of Santo Stefano; DAI Rome 84 VW 935; Photo: Fittschen. Fig. 7: Carthage, seated banquet, late 4th century; DAIRome 63.356; Photo: Koppermann; Carthage, banquet, detail. Fig. 8 and 9: Villa di Iulia Felice (II 4,3) triclinium with benches for setting and with three masonary couches for reclining. Photos: D. Balch Fig. 10: a) Asklepieion in Corinth; BW 1998 03927 © The American School of Classical Studies at Corinth; b) BW 1960 056 18 Asklepieion, plan D; © The American School of Classical Studies at Corinth; c) Reclining in the Asklepieion dining room, BW 2007 9955 © The American School of Classical Studies at Corinth. Fig. 11: Bouleut rion in Corinth, BW 1938 4627 © The American School of Classical Studies at Corinth; a)–b) Bouleut rion in detail. Fig. 12: Plan of ancient Corinth – esp. the agora; BW 1993 036 04 © The American School of Classical Studies at Corinth.

Grief in Corinth The Roman City and Paul’s Corinthian Correspondence1 Laura Salah Nasrallah In a fragmentary papyrus, likely from the fourth century C.E., Alexander writes a condolence letter to Cerdon. From it we can infer that Cerdon’s son has died. “It is necessary to bear the human lot,” Alexander advises. “Therefore, put away the grief of human fault and think that nobody among men is immortal, but only God, and remember the promise of the blessed Paul, as […]” – and here, frustratingly, the papyrus breaks off.2 What was this promise of the “blessed Paul”? What text was Alexander going to cite? Like Alexander, many scholars have seen in Paul’s New Testament letters themes of consolation, a literature that was widespread in contemporaneous philosophical writings in Greek and Latin.3 Paul’s letter 1 I am grateful to colleagues who read these materials in draft, and who are not responsible for the faults that remain. These include Joan Branham, Denise Buell, Cavan Concannon, David Frankfurter, Melanie Johnson-DeBaufre, Betsey Robinson, and Lawrence Wills. My work was greatly enhanced by research and presentation opportunities at the TOPOI Research Center (Humboldt Universität-Berlin), for which I am grateful to Cilliers Breytenbach, and a talk at Princeton University, for which invitation I am grateful to AnneMarie Luijendijk. 2 P. Princ. II 102, cited in J. Chapa, Letters of Condolence in Greek Papyri (Papyrologica Florentina XXIX; Florence: Gonnelli, 1998) 131, 133 (quotation at the latter); thanks to AnneMarie Luijendijk for introducing me to this volume. See also, e.g., Gregory of Nyssa’s Homily for Pulcheria for uses of 1 Thessalonians 4 and especially 1 Corinthians 15, on the occasion of remembering the death of the daughter of Emperor Theosodius I and Empress Flacilla, and mourning an earthquake in Asia Minor. Reference to “the human lot” or similar arguments are common in consolation literature of antiquity; see Cicero Tusc. disp. 3.58 on the oft-quoted exempla of fathers met by news of their children’s death who respond, as did Anaxagoras, by saying something like “I knew my child was mortal,” but also see Seneca Ad Marc. 12.4 on the death (and grief) of divinities. Early Christian apologists take up this latter theme with glee. 3 See texts by Cicero, Seneca, Plutarch, Gregory of Nyssa, et al. mentioned throughout this chapter; for an overview regarding consolation literature and Greek and Roman funerals, see D. J. Ochs, Consolatory Rhetoric: Grief, Symbol, and Ritual in the GrecoRoman Era (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1993); for attention to the lament song/poem in particular, see the famous work of M. Alexiou, The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974).

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to the community at Thessalonik , for instance, indicates that the ekkl sia or assembly there had communicated to him concerns about what would happen to those of them who had already “fallen asleep.” Paul responds: “But we would not have you ignorant, brothers and sisters, concerning those who are asleep, lest you should grieve like the rest do, those who have no hope” (οὐ θέλομεν δὲ ὑμᾶς ἀγνοεῖν, ἀδελϕοί, περὶ τῶν κοιμωμένων, ἵνα μὴ λυπῆσθε καθὼς καὶ οἱ λοιποὶ οἱ μὴ ἔχοντες ἐλπίδα, 1 Thess 4:13).4 Paul connects grief, ignorance, and “the rest” – that is, outsiders, thus placing certain affective responses to death outside the bounds of communities in Christ. Yet Paul’s response also indicates that, for communities imminently expecting “the day of the Lord,” the deaths of those they loved were an asyet-incalculable loss. They struggled together to articulate a new identity in Christ that involved such grief.5 We find a similar theme in one of Paul’s later letters, 1 Corinthians.6 In it Paul indicates that the Corinthian ekkl sia, like the one at Thessalonik , was imminently expecting the “day of the Lord” (1 Cor 1:8; 3:13; 5:5; 1 Thess 5:2). In the mean time the Corinthians engaged the topic of grief and in rituals that addressed death, specifically baptism on behalf of the dead. And those in Christ at Corinth were not the only ones thinking of such things. We gain a glimpse of a broader grief at Corinth – or about it – from Antipater of Sidon in the late first century B.C.E. (Anth. Pal. 9.151):7

4 All translations are from the RSV, sometimes slightly modified. Paul goes on: “since we believe that Jesus died and was raised, so also we believe that God, through Jesus, will with him raise those who have fallen asleep” (4:14). Paul asserts that the “dead in Christ” (οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ, 4:16) will rise first on the day of the Lord, and that those who are left (οἱ ζῶντες οἱ περιλειπόμενοι, 4:15) will be “caught up together with them [those who have “fallen asleep”] in the clouds” on the day of the Lord (ἔπειτα ἡμεῖς οἱ ζῶντες οἱ περιλειπόμενοι ἅμα σὺν αὐτοῖς ἁρπαγησόμεθα ἐν νεϕέλαις εἰς ἀπάντησιν τοῦ κυρίου εἰς ἀέρα, 4:17; ἡμέρα κυρίου, 5:2). This linking of Jesus’ resurrection and believers’ resurrections is something we also find in 1 Corinthians 15. 5 On eating and dying as particular concerns of early Christian and other communities, see R. Ascough, “Of Memories and Meals: Greco-Roman Associations and the Early Jesus-Group at Thessalonik ,” in From Roman to Early Christian Thessalonik : Studies in Religion and Archaeology (eds. L. Nasrallah, S. Friesen, Ch. Bakirtzis; Harvard Theological Studies 65; Cambridge, MA: distributed by Harvard University Press, 2010) 49–72. 6 For consolation in the Corinthian correspondence, see also 2 Cor 1:3–7 especially, with its many references to parakl sis. On pain, see 2 Cor 2:1 ff. See also 2 Cor 4:8, 10: “we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed […] always carrying in the body the corpse of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be manifest in our bodies”; but note how Paul marks this as “our” task in comparison to the Corinthians’ (“so death is at work in us, but life in you”; 2 Cor 4:12). See also 2 Cor 7:5ff on bodily affliction and divine comfort, as well as Paul’s mention of a letter that “grieved” (elyp sa) the Corinthians. Their godly grief led to repentance and thus salvation or healing. 7 Cited in D. Engels, Roman Corinth: An Alternative Model for the Classical City (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1990) 8; I have modified his translation.

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“Where is your wondrous beauty, Dorian Corinth? […] Lamented land, no trace of you is left, war seized and consumed your every part. Only we Nereids, the daughters of Oceanus, remain, unravaged, to mourn your passing, like plaintive seabirds.”

Corinth itself was associated with lament, with war and ravaging. This chapter uses literary and archaeological remains to address the questions: What griefs did the Corinthians face? What are the spaces within which such griefs were manifest? What was at the Corinthians’ disposal locally; that is, what did they have at hand to interpret Paul’s writings and to draw their own conclusions? In a way, my paper is a social history of one aspect of first-century Corinth, as well as a contribution to scholarship of New Testament and early Christian studies. What I shall show is that those who dwelt in Corinth in the first century C.E. could have understood themselves to be in a kind of topography of grief, which flowed and pooled in certain regions of the city and its surrounding regions.8 8 Others have done well to foreground topics other than grief in their analysis of the earliest reception of the Corinthian correspondence. A. Clark Wire, for example, has asked about female prophets at Corinth (The Corinthian Women Prophets: A Reconstruction through Paul’s Rhetoric [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990]), J. Glancy has addressed how slaves would have struggled with Paul’s words (Slavery in Early Christianity [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002] chap. 2); J. Økland has asked about women’s ritual space (Women in Their Place: Paul and the Corinthian Discourse of Gender and Sanctuary Space [JSNT Sup 269; London: T & T Clark, 2004]). This chapter’s focus on grief, however, allows me to consider both slaves’ and women’s reception of this writing, since slavery was considered one of the griefs of the ancient world, and since women’s reproduction was often a cause for grief in antiquity. Several other scholars have taken seriously the archaeological remains at Corinth in order to form better grounds for interpretation of the Corinthian correspondence. See, e.g., Annette Weissenrieder’s contribution on Corinth, 1 Corinthians, and numismatic evidence in this volume. See also J. Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, Inc., 1983), which is a helpful but incomplete collection of literary and archaeological resources associated with Corinth; B. Winter, After Paul Left Corinth: The Influence of Secular Ethics and Social Change (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans, 2001), which uses such resources (and more) to argue about a pagan “background” with which Corinthians struggled to divorce and differentiate themselves; and Økland, Women in Their Place, which uses archaeological evidence to support her analysis for how women in particular could have had authority and roles within the sacred spaces of Corinth, including the Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore on the Acrocorinth; see also C. Concannon, “Ecclesia Laus Corinthiensis: Negotiating Ethnicity Under Empire” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University Committee on the Study of Religion, 2010) on archaeological and literary evidence for the complexity of ethnicity in Corinth at the time of the writing of 1–2 Corinthians. In my method of bringing together literary and archaeological sources, I am not looking for a cultural “background” against which to determine what in the Corinthian correspondence may indicate the Corinthians’ “culturally determined responses,” a phrase Winter uses to contrast that implies Paul’s or other Christians’ genuine and unculturally inflected religious rites (Winter, After Paul, x, xii). For more on method, see, e.g., M. Johnson-DeBaufre and L. Nasrallah, “Beyond the He-

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1. Grief in the Corinthia In 146 B.C.E. the forces of the Roman general Mummius destroyed the city of Corinth. It survived in a diminished form until Julius Caesar reestablished it as a Roman colony in 44 B.C.E.,9 after which time it again emerged as a leader on the Peloponnesos. Corinth lay on a significant trade route in antiquity, on the isthmus connecting ancient Attica to the Peloponnesos. It nestled inland between its ports of Lechaion to the north and Kenchreai to the south, and near Isthmia, a town renowned for its quadrennial games. To transfer cargo from the Saronic Gulf to the southeast to the Gulf of Corinth to the northwest, ships had to negotiate with Corinth, unless they wanted to circumnavigate the Peloponnesos (fig. 1).10 Corinth controlled a sevenmeter paved roadway called the diolkos that allowed oxen to drag ships or cargo across the narrow spit of land.11 Seneca’s Medea captures something of this geographical importance, as Medea fantasizes that the Sun, one of her ancestors, will help her to burn the city in which her husband Jason’s attentions strayed to the Corinthian princess, and where the king demanded her exile: “Let Corinth, with her twin shores cause of delay to ships, be consumed by flames and bring the two seas together” (35–36).12 Julius Caesar, Nero, and Herodes Atticus all considered exploiting or attempted to exploit Corinth’s location and to effect this violent fantasy of firing through the isthmus by means more banal: a canal. roic Paul: Toward a Feminist and Decolonizing Approach to the Letters of Paul,” in Paul and Postcolonial Studies (ed. C. Stanley; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2011), 161–74 and P. Oakes, Reading Romans in Pompeii (Minneapolis: Fortress and London: SPCK, 2009).   9 For details regarding the politics of this time and Corinth’s role in maritime trade, see Engels, Roman Corinth, esp. chap. 1. There is important ongoing work that studies the settlement of Corinth between Mummius’s destruction and Caesar’s refounding (rather than previous scholarship, which assumed a negligible population). 10 See Strabo Geog. 8.6.20 (“Corinth is called ‘wealthy’ [the reference is to Homer’s epithet for Corinth] because of its commerce, since it is situated on the Isthmus and is master of two harbours, of which the one leads straight to Asia, and the other to Italy; and it makes easy the exchange of merchandise from both countries that are so far distant from each other” (translation from Strabo Geography, Books 8–9 [LCL; trans. H. L. Jones; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1927] 189). C. Williams II, “Roman Corinth as a Commercial Center,” in The Corinthia in the Roman Period (ed. T. E. Gregory; JRASup. 8; Ann Arbor, MI: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1993); Engels, Roman Corinth. 11 H. Koester, Cities of Paul: Images and Interpretations from the Harvard New Testament Archaeology Project (CD-Rom; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005) “Corinth General Information 1.” Regarding dragging Roman war ships on the diolkos, see A. E. Gordon, “The Latin Epigram at Corinth,” in Corinthiaca: Studies in Honor of Darrell A. Amyx (ed. M. A. Del Chiaro; Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1986), 50–53. See also K. Warner Slane, “East-West Trade in Fine Wares and Commodities: The View from Corinth,” Rei Cretariae Romanae Fautorum acta 36 (2000): 299. 12 Translation from Seneca Tragedies (trans. J. Fitch; LCL; 2 vols.; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002) 1.231.

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For some ancient writers, Corinth’s history made it an emblem of grief. Cicero uses Corinth as proof that the passion or emotion of grief dulls over time:13 “When I was a young man, I also saw Corinthians working as slaves in the Peloponnese. Any of these people could have uttered that same lament from Andromache: ‘Before my eyes did all these things take flame […]’14 and so on. But perhaps they had sung themselves out before I saw them. For their faces, their speech, their very gait and posture were such that, for all anyone could see, they might have been born in Argos or Sicyon. The ruined walls of Corinth had a greater impact on me, coming on them all of a sudden than on the Corinthians themselves. For they had thought about the event for so long that their minds had become hardened with wear.” (Cicero Tusc. disp. 3.53)15 A letter from Servius Sulpicius Rufus to Cicero echoes the idea that Corinth emblematizes grief. This letter is written to console Cicero for his own overwhelming sorrow upon the death of his daughter Tullia, a grief perhaps surprising and embarrassing in light of Cicero’s philosophical thought and his political significance  – or, alternatively, a testament to the fissure between practice and theory.16 Cicero’s friend writes: “There is an incident which brought me no slight consolation, and I should like to tell you about it, in case it might be able to assuage your sorrow. On my return from Asia, […] I began to survey the regions round about. Behind me was Aegina, before me Megara, on my right the Piraeus, on my left Corinth, towns at one time most flourishing, now lying prostrate and demolished before one’s very eyes. I began to think to myself ‘So! We puny mortals resent it, do we, if one of us, whose lives are naturally shorter, 13 The passage begins: “The proof of this [that grief is a passion that can be mastered] is in the way our griefs are soothed by the passage of time. So great is this effect that in many cases time not only relieves our distress but actually removes it altogether, even though circumstances remain unchanged […].” All translations of the Tusculans are from M. Graver’s Cicero on the Emotions: Tusculan Disputations 3 and 4 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002). 14 This is also cited in Cicero Tusc. disp. 3.45. 15 Quod ita esse dies declarat, quae procedens ita mitigat, ut isdem malis manentibus non modo leniatur aegritudo, sed in plerisque tollatur. Karthaginienses multi Romae servierunt, Macedones rege Perse capto; vidi etiam in Peloponneso, cum essem adulescens, quosdam Corinthios. Hi poterant omnes eadem illa de Andromacha deplorare: ‘Haec omnia vidi […]’, Sed iam decantaverant fortasse. Eo enim erant voltu, oratione, omni reliquo motu et statu, ut eos Argivos aut Sicyonios diceres, magisque me moverant Corinthi subito aspectae parietinae quam ipsos Corinthios, quorum animis diuturna cogitatio callum vetustatis obduxerat. (Latin from http://www.thelatinlibrary.com/cicero/tusc3.shtml#81, accessed on 10/5/09.) 16 While we no longer have Cicero’s Consolatio on the topic (although it is much cited by later authors), we have his Tusc. disp. 3–4, which he was drafting soon after his daughter’s death (Graver, Cicero on the Emotions, xiii–xv).

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has died in his bed or been slain in battle, when “in this one land alone there lie flung down before us the corpses of so many towns?” Pray control yourself, Servius, and remember that you were born a human being.’ Take my word for it, I was not a little fortified by that reflexion.17 For Sulpicius and Cicero (and others), Corinth and its surrounding regions are encysted with tragedy. The ruined city walls prick grief, while the resignation of those who still dwell in its ruins becomes an example of grief dulled. The corpses of cities become a consolation, reminding humans that their individual deaths are small things. Ancient consolation literature or philosophical writing from elite men like Cicero, Seneca, or Plutarch usually focuses on the grief over an individual’s death – often the child of an elite, and the loss of his or her promise.18 Yet even Cicero admits that, although he focuses on the grief of the loss of a beloved person, other distresses remain: “For there are certain remarks which it is customary to make [when discussing distress (aegritudo)] about poverty, and others about living without office or esteem, and then there are particular disputations for each of the various topics of exile, destruction of one’s homeland, servitude, physical impairment, blindness, and every other occurrence that is generally regarded as unfortunate” (Cicero Tusc. disp. 3.81).19 Under the emotional genus of distress can be filed a host of other griefs,20 and the very griefs that Cicero rushes past allow us to imagine the grievous lives of many in antiquity: those affected by exile, war, slavery, injury.21 Indeed, these are some of the conditions out of which the new Cor17 Cicero Ad fam. 4.5.4; translation from Cicero The Letters to His Friends (LCL; trans. W. G. Williams; 3 vols.; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1958) 3.271, 273. 18 See e.g. Pseudo-Plutarch, Consolatio ad Apollonium; Seneca Ad Marciam; Plutarch Consolatio ad uxorem (on the loss of their daughter Timoxena). 19 Tractatum est autem a nobis id genus aegritudinis, quod unum est omnium maxumum, ut eo sublato reliquorum remedia ne magnopere quaerenda arbitraremur. Sunt enim certa, quae de paupertate, certa, quae de vita inhonorata et ingloria dici soleant; separatim certae scholae sunt de exilio, de interitu patriae, de servitute, de debilitate, de caecitate, de omni casu, in quo nomen poni solet calamitatis. (Latin from http://www.thelatinlibrary. com/cicero/tusc3.shtml#81, accessed on 10/5/09). Cicero says that by having discussed the philosophical therapy for the passion or emotion of grief from death, he has treated the worst distress and thus the others can more easily be solved by the same logic. We hear echoes of these categories in Seneca Ad Marc. 20.2: “Death frees the slave though his master is unwilling; it lightens the captive’s chains; from the dungeon it leads forth those whom unbridled power has forgiven to leave it; to exiles, whose eyes and minds are ever turning to their native land, death shows that it makes no difference beneath whose soil a man may lie. If Fortune has apportioned unjustly the common goods, and has given over one man to another though they were born with equal rights, death levels all things […].” (translation from Seneca Moral Essays Volume II [1932; LCL; trans. J.W. Basore; repr. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006] 69). 20 See Cicero Tusc. disp. 3.24. 21 P. DuBois (Slaves and Other Objects [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003], esp. 5–6) has argued that slavery looms large in the imagination of every free person in the

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inth – the colony founded by Julius Caesar – emerged. In the next sections of this chapter, we shall look for some of these griefs in Corinth and in the Corinthian correspondence. 2. The Corinthians Who made up this new, Roman Corinth? Since we are focusing on the local conditions that produced the letter and the possible earliest reception of Paul’s letter at Corinth, the question is a vital one.22 Some inhabitants remained in the region between 146 B.C.E. and the city’s refounding as a Roman colony in 44 B.C.E., but Corinth was largely resettled at that time. Unlike many Roman colonies, Corinth was re-populated not by military veterans but by ex-slaves.23 Numismatic evidence from the first century C.E. indicates that a mix of freedmen and traders became leaders in the city.24 Although freedpersons were not usually eligible for magistracies, Caesar made exceptions for colonies he founded.25 Such a population migration of freedmen away from Rome served Roman elites well. These ex-slaves, still tied by the patronage system to their masters, could conduct business on their masters’ behalf – business from which elites were legally barred – at an important port between West and East.26 Thus Corinth was a place of potential social mobility (what we could call upward mobility), and those of low status could attain wealth and position in colonial Corinth. ancient world and becomes a means of defining what they are not and yet what they could easily become: the free looks no different from the slave, after all (Aristotle Pol. 1254a-b). See also Josephus Bell. Jud. 7.124–136 on the pompus in Rome of Jews and objects from the Jewish temple. 22 Thus the issue is not Paul’s frame of mind or “background” in writing 1 Corinthians, but the text’s early reception in the assembly there. The question is guided by feminist scholarship such as that of Wire, Corinthian Women Prophets; E. Schüssler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic: The Politics of Biblical Studies (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress Press, 1999); and C. Briggs Kittredge, “Corinthian Women Prophets and Paul’s Argumentation in 1 Corinthians,” in Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation (ed. R. Horsley; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2000), 103–9. 23 Williams, “Roman Corinth as a Commercial Center,” 33. 24 According to Antony Spawforth’s study, among those from Corinth named in the coinage of the duoviri from the triumvirate to Galba, 19 % were probably freedmen, and 29 % from the families of negotiatores, Italian merchants. He also discovers 8 % provincial Greek elites, 6 % from veterans, and perhaps 2 % Roman elite (19 % are unknown). A. J. S. Spawforth, “Roman Corinth: The Formation of a Colonial Elite,” in Roman Onomastics in the Greek East: Social and Political Aspects. Proceedings of the International Colloquium organized by the Finnish Institute and the Centre for Greek and Roman Antiquity, Athens, 7–9 September 1993 (ed. A.D. Rizakis; Athens: Kentron Hell nik s kai R maik s Archaiot tos, Ethnikon Hidryma Ereun n; Paris: Diffusion de Boccard, 1996), esp. 169 for summary results. 25 S. Treggiari, Roman Freedmen during the Late Republic (Oxford: Clarendon, 1969), 63–64. 26 Williams, “Roman Corinth as a Commercial Center”; Slane, “East-West.”

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Yet if Corinth held out the hope of upward mobility, especially to freedmen, it was also populated by those who were still poor. Anthony Spawforth explains: “Notoriously, the majority of Caesar’s Corinthian colonists were ‘of freedmen stock’, τοῦ ἀπελευθερωτικοῦ γένους τοὺς πλείστους (Str. VIII.23 […]). Most of the original freedmen would have been poor, the ‘men without means’, ἄποροι with whose demands for land Appian linked Caesar’s foundation of Corinth (Pun. 136).”27 We may recall the griefs that Cicero quickly passes over; among those griefs, we have thus far found evidence of ex-slaves, migration,28 and poverty in Roman Corinth. Hellenistic and Roman osteoarchaeological evidence particular to Corinth provides us with information about human mortality, and thus with a broader picture. Sherry Fox has analyzed the skeletal remains of a minimum of 94 persons of the Hellenistic and especially Roman period in Corinth. These remains reveal that the average age at death of males was 42.3 years, of females, 39.6 years, numbers that roughly compare with the demographic evidence of contemporaneous Roman Egypt, gleaned from papyrus records of census data.29 But in comparison with similar and contemporaneous data from Paphos, Cyprus, Fox determines that more children were dying in Corinth.30 Fox’s analysis may be further supported 27 Spawforth,

“Roman Corinth,” 169. a world of rapid migration of entire families, what would it mean to settle in Corinth, to experience life and death there? On contemporaneous evidence migration of entire families, see T. Prowse et al., “Isotopic Evidence for age-related immigration to imperial Rome,” American Journal of Physical Anthropology 132 (2007): 510–519; thanks to Steven J. Friesen for introducing me to this material. 29 Further information that may cautiously be applicable to Corinth is found in the demographic analysis of Roger Bagnall and Bruce Frier. From Egyptian census reports dating 11/12–257/8 C.E., they derive the information that “the average age of females at death is about 21.2 years; and of females over age 5, 42.4 years” (The Demography of Roman Egypt [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994], 89). They revise these numbers to “restore a female life expectancy at birth of 22.5 years […] in a population with an estimated annual growth rate of 0.2 percent” (87). About 35 % of female deaths occurred in girls less than 1 year old; more than 50 % occurred in girls less than 5 years old (89). Such statistics do not take into account the fact that many infant deaths would not have been reported in the census, nor the varying demographics due to famine or other catastrophes. In his study of brother-sister marriage in Egypt, Walter Scheidel states that in Roman Egypt only about 40 % of families have both sons and daughters that survive to marriageable age (Measuring Sex, Age, and Death in the Roman Empire: Explorations in Ancient Demography [Ann Arbor, MI: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1996]). See also Lucian Kataplous e Tyrannos 5: “Charon: Hermes, heave these babies aboard [Charon’s bark] first, for what in the world can they have to say to me? Hermes: “Here you are, ferryman, three hundred of them, including those that were abandoned. Charon: I say, what a rich haul! It’s green-grape dead you have brought us” (translation from volume 2 of Lucian Works [LCL; trans. A.M. Harmon; repr. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999] 11). 30 S.C. Fox, “Health in Hellenistic and Roman Times: The Case Studies of Paphos, Cyprus and Corinth, Greece,” in Health in Antiquity (ed. H. King; New York: Routledge, 2005), 62. 28 In

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by the high number of child and infant deaths represented in the ca. 100 C.E. Tomb with Sarcophagi at Corinth, although such a tomb is admittedly a chance find and we cannot extrapolate broadly from this datum. Forty-one adults were buried there, along with 25 children and 29 infants, including 16 newborns.31 Infant and child mortality might be particular concerns for the inhabitants of Hellenistic‑ and Roman-period Corinth. But would this lead to grief? We might ask, as does Nancy Scheper-Hughes with regard to the favelas of contemporary Brazil, whether the fact of high infant mortality leads to a detached affect, to being inured to the death of the very young.32 So too, scholars of classical antiquity have questioned whether ancient peoples disregarded their fragile young, since inscriptional evidence marking the deaths of adults occurs at a more frequent rate than that marking the deaths of infants, a conclusion Margaret King rejects based on her study of evidence from inscriptions in Rome.33 Moreover, archaeologist Mary Walbank concludes that the burial of neonates in the Tomb with Sarcophagi at 31 M.E. Hoskins Walbank, “Unquiet Graves: Burial Practices of the Roman Corinthians,” Urban Religion in Roman Corinth: Interdisciplinary Approaches (ed. D. Schowalter and S. J. Friesen; HTS 53; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 270, 271. 32 N. Scheper-Hughes, Death Without Weeping: The Violence of Everyday Life in Brazil (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), esp. chap. 7. Regarding both infant mortality and eschatology, consider, e.g., heterogenous experiences of the human lifespan in our own time, as made evident by the term “repro-time,” which Halberstam applies to heterosexual (mainstream U.S.) experiences of time, society, and the biological clock: J. Halberstam, In a Queer Time and Place: Transgender Bodies, Subcultural Lives (New York: New York University Press, 2005), 5. My use of this material derives from Melanie Johnson-DeBaufre’s application of it to 1 Thessalonians and Acts. Halberstam’s articulation of different normative and non-normative frameworks for experiencing temporality could spark our imaginations regarding eschatological thought in the first century as a queer time response to dominant historiographical and theological conceptions; perhaps Augustus’s appropriation of what we might call “eschatological” thought through the utopian imagery of a new age in his court-sponsored poetry (Virgil, Horace) is a dominant domestication of the queer time of apocalyptic, or apocalyptic is a queering of that dominant way of conceiving of a last, golden age. 33 M. King, “Commemoration of Infants on Roman Funerary Inscriptions,” in The Epigraphy of Death: Studies in the History and Society of Greece and Rome (ed. G.J. Oliver; Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2000), 117–54. See also, e.g., Plutarch Consolatio ad uxorem 612A, who, in his consolation to his wife upon the death of their young daughter, discusses ancestral and ancient traditions and laws which suggest a reason other than lack of care over infant death for why their deaths might not be strongly marked: “for our people do not bring libations to those of their children who die in infancy, nor do they observe in their case any of the other rites that the living are expected to perform for the dead, as such children have no part in earth or earthly things; nor yet do they tarry where the burial is celebrated, at the graves, or at the laying out of the dead, and sit by the bodies. For the laws forbid us to mourn for infants, holding it impiety to mourn for those who have departed to a dispensation and a religion too that is better and more divine” (translation from volume 7 of Plutarch Moralia [1959; LCL; trans. P. H. De Lacy and B. Einarson; repr. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000] 605).

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Corinth demonstrates a concern for their burial rites, not a disregard for the remains of the young.34 This data – gleaned from papyri, bones and teeth, graves, rather than only from literature preserved through elite channels – captures some information about those of varied status, and gives us a sense of the brevity and fragility of life in ancient cities, particularly Corinth. Amid this populace of freedmen, many rising in status, many still poor, many facing the deaths of their children, what might have been the demographic make-up of the community to which Paul wrote at Corinth? And might they be facing some of the distresses that inspired consolation literature and philosophizing, as Cicero mentioned: exile,35 slavery, and poverty, among others? We find evidence that the Corinthians who received Paul’s letter experienced or continued to experience all three. At least some within the ekkl sia suffered deprivation from poverty.36 1 Cor 11:17–34 indicates that some people among the ekkl sia in Christ did not have enough to eat:37 “or do you look down on the ekkl sia of God, or do you shame those who have not?” (ἢ τῆς ἐκκλησίας τοῦ θεοῦ καταϕρονεῖτε, καὶ καταισχύνετε τοὺς μὴ

34 Walbank, “Unquiet Graves,” 271; her chapter also mentions toys and apotropaic objects buried with children. 35 1 Corinthians, as well as Romans 16, indicates if not exile then the multiple travels and migrations of those whom we call the earliest Christians. 2 Corinthians emphasizes the dangers of such travel. 36 Debates on the social status of the communities to which Paul wrote – and of Paul himself – have thrived over the last century and a half. See especially S. J. Friesen, “Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-Called New Consensus,” JSNT 26.3 (2004): 323–61; see also J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty, and Survival (London: T & T Clark, 1998) esp. 5, 42. Dale Martin critiques Meggitt’s model of 99 % poverty vs. 1 % elite status in the Roman world as overly simplistic; Friesen’s “Poverty Pauline Studies” seeks to improve on Meggitt by making the analysis more subtle, but see also John Barclay’s criticism of Friesen’s attempt (“Poverty in Pauline Studies: A Response to Steven Friesen,” JSNT 26.3 [2004]: 363–66). See S. J. Friesen, “Prospects for a Demography of the Pauline Mission: Corinth among the Churches,” in Urban Religion in Roman Corinth, 351–70 on 1 Corinthians and its wealth of data regarding persons in the early Jesus movement (outside of Romans 16) but note the difficulties of determining prosopographical analysis from this. 37 For this reading I am indebted to Friesen, “Prospects for a Demography,” 363–64. This passage on eating and drinking the Lord’s supper and the life-threatening consequences of doing it improperly have often (and rightly) led to scholarly debate on concepts of the body and illness, of ritual in earliest communities in Christ, of the transmission of traditions concerning Jesus’ last night. The passage at first seems to deal with a ritual or etiquette issue that, for Paul, nullifies the significance of the meal as the “Lord’s supper” (kyriakon deipnon): “When you meet together, it is not the Lord’s supper that you eat. For in eating, each one goes ahead with his [or her] own meal, and one is hungry and another is drunk” (συνερχομένων οὖν ὑμῶν ἐπὶ τὸ αὐτὸ οὐκ ἔστιν κυριακὸν δεῖπνον ϕαγεῖν. ἕκαστος γὰρ τὸ ἴδιον δεῖπνον προλαμβάνει ἐν τῷ ϕαγεῖν, καὶ ὃς μὲν πεινᾷ ὃς δὲ μεθύει, 11:20–21). The hunger of the one does not yet seem an indication of need emerging from poverty. Yet if we look further we find it.

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ἔχοντας; 11:22).38 While we cannot determine the causes or status of those

who “have not,” we know something of the larger context of poverty from studies of the Roman economy.39 No one questions that the majority of the population of the Roman Empire was poor (recent hypotheses extend from 68 % to 99 %), with poverty defined in this way by Peter Garnsey and Greg Woolf: “the poor are those living at or near subsistence level, whose prime concern it is to obtain the minimum food, shelter, and clothing necessary to sustain life, whose lives are dominated by the struggle for physical survival.”40 Various famines occurred in mid-first-century Greece and the Greek East, and Bruce Winter has suggested that there was a famine in Corinth in the early 50s C.E.,41 drawing on epigraphic evidence regarding the first-century Corinthian curator annonae Tiberius Claudius Dinippus – that is, head of the dole – as well as additional literary and epigraphic evidence. Former head of Corinth excavations Charles Williams states that Corinth’s

38 Friesen, “Prospects for a Demography.” See also 2 Corinthians 8 regarding Macedonia and Corinth: “their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of liberality on their part. For they gave according to their means, as I can testify, and beyond their means, of their own free will. […] I do not mean that others should be eased and you burdened (or, suffer), but that as a matter of equality your abundance at the present time should supply their want, so that their abundance may supply your want, that there may be equality. As it is written, ‘He who gathered much had nothing over, and he who gathered little had no lack’.” Note too the anxiety later in 2 Cor 12 over whether Paul or his co-workers have taken advantage of the Corinthians (pleonekte ) or deceived or burdened them. 39 Read in light of the issue of the grief of poverty, 1 Corinthians reveals multiple concerns about labor and economy. As part of his rhetorical self-construction, where debasement becomes a source of authority, Paul even emphasizes his own refusal of wages (1 Corinthians 9), his own hunger, thirst, nakedness, his state of being slapped (or buffeted) and homeless (4:12). Paul’s commentary on this life of weakness and life near death (4:9; 2 Cor 1:4–11) must be read as the rhetorical intervention that it is (as must all ancient texts). (On Paul’s self-construction not as a proud soldier but as a beaten slave in 2 Corinthians, see J. Glancy, “Boasting of Beatings: 2 Corinthians 11:23–25,” JBL 123.1 [2004]: 99–135) Nonetheless, economic issues and the possibility of poverty (whether Paul’s or the Corinthians) pulse through the letter. In 1 Cor 4:12 (κοπιῶμεν ἐργαζόμενοι ταῖς ἰδίαις χερσίν) as in 1 Thess 4:11, Paul is concerned with the issue of laboring with one’s own hands. The non-Pauline 3 Corinthians spins out the themes both of the resurrection of the flesh and of the dead and of Paul’s near-death sufferings to accomplish his message. 40 P. Garnsey and G. Woolf, “Patronage of the rural poor in the Roman world,” in Patronage in Ancient Society (ed. A. Wallace-Hadrill,; London: Routledge, 1990), 153, cited in Meggitt, Paul, Poverty, and Survival, 15. This poor – those just at or below subsistence level, depending upon your calculations, made up either 99 % of the population (Meggitt), approximately 90 % (Alföldy), or approximately 68 % (Friesen). This shows something of the difficulty of making pronouncements on demographics and economy, given the extant data, but in any case we can see that the majority struggled. 41 Winter, After Paul, 6, 216–225. Winter thinks that Paul’s use of the term anank in 1 Cor 7:26 (a term sometimes substituted for “famine”) applies to this famine. I think anank needs to be understood more broadly and eschatologically.

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economy depended upon trade, and that the city and its environs could not supply enough food for its urban population.42 Cicero mentions exile as a subject of grief. Seneca’s Ad Helviam, addressed to his mother from his political exile in Corsica, broadly redefines exile to include those escaping the destruction of their cities, those cast out by civil disorder, those escaping overcrowding, and those driven out by disease or earthquakes or bad soil.43 “The human race is constantly rushing to and fro,” Seneca continues (Ad Helv. 7.5),44 and we find this rushing within the Corinthian correspondence, certainly in Paul himself (esp. 1 Cor 16, 2 Cor 10–12), but also in the co-workers he mentions, such as Apollos (1 Cor 1–4) or Timothy (1 Cor 16), or in the “superapostles” who seem to come into Corinth from elsewhere to preach about Christ (see e.g. 2 Cor 10). So too perhaps individuals or groups within the Corinthian ekkl sia. Finally, Cicero mentions servitude as a traditional subject of discourses on grief. We have already seen that the broader Corinthian population (and its leadership) is characterized by those newly freed from slavery. In the Corinthian correspondence, we find that slaves were part of the ekkl sia to which Paul wrote (see esp. 1 Cor 7:17–24).45 Paul’s twice-repeated injunction “you were bought with a price” (7:23; 6:20) is not merely a metaphor. Paul’s reference to the status of the freedman (apeleutheros) in 7:22 and his injunction to slaves to mallon chr sai – an extremely confusing Greek phrase that either means to remain in one’s slave state and to use it for some benefit, or to do the opposite, and to improve one’s state into freedom46 – are aimed, as we have already seen, at a community within a city largely settled by freedmen who had hopes of upward mobility. For those who heard Paul’s letters read aloud in the assembly, such comments about slavery activated the reality of slavery within the Corinthian ekkl sia, both for those enslaved and for those newly freed. For the already free, it might spark the general 42 Strabo Geog. 8.6.23 on Corinthian territory as unfertile. See also Williams, “Roman Corinth,” 31–33, 38. 43 “And not all have had the same reason for leaving their country and seeking a new one. Some, having escaped the destruction of their cities by the forces of the enemy, have been thrust into strange lands when stripped of their own; some have been cast out by civil disorder; some have gone forth in order to relieve the pressure from over-crowding caused by an excess of population; some have been driven out by pestilence or repeated earthquakes or certain unbearable defects of an unproductive soil; some have been beguiled by the fame of a fertile shore that was too highly praised.” Ad Helv. 7.4–5; translation from Seneca Moral Essays Volume II, 435, 437. On prisoners of war see J. Allen, Hostages and Hostage-Taking in the Roman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). 44 Translation from Seneca Moral Essays Volume II (LCL), 437. 45 The question of how such slaves might have dealt with Paul’s injunctions regarding porneia, which assume some level of control over one’s own body, was raised and has been well treated by Glancy (Slavery in Early Christianity, chap. 2). 46 S. S. Bartchy, Mallon Chr sai: First-century Slavery and the Interpretation of 1 Cor 7:21 (1973; reprinted Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1985).

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fear in antiquity, as Page Dubois has analyzed it, that it is hard to know who is a citizen or slave, and that a small twist of Fate could turn a person into a thing.47 Moreover, slaves in the community must have struggled with the question: How should they cope with the reality and the grief of slavery in this community that both included them and prescribed moral regulations that may have excluded them, given that slaves did not fully control their own bodies and thus could not adhere to certain purity regulations?48 The new Corinth of Julius Caesar was marked by its emergence out of war, slavery, injury, and even poverty and exile (broadly understood as migration). So too the Corinthian ekkl sia seems to reflect the more general reality of the colony: they were ex-slaves, slaves, migrants, poor; they may have been striving for upward mobility, but they were likely in large part living at or below subsistence level and facing the griefs of the city. 3. The City of Corinth: A Topography of Grief As we have seen in the writings of Cicero and Sulpicius, the landscape around Corinth and Corinth itself embody grief. We have seen that its destruction and the demographics of its resettlement indicate the likelihood of forms of grief emerging among the population: the status of slavery, conditions of poverty, experiences of exile and deracination, memories of war. We now approach the city itself, to see how it contains a kind of topography of grief. Although Pausanias writes more than a century after Paul’s visit to Corinth, his antiquarian tendencies mean that he often preserves earlier traditions. Pausanias allows us broader glimpses of Corinthian grief, outside the city center. In the Corinthia49 – that is, in the region of Corinth – we find from Pausanias (and others) the story of the dead-and-raised child-hero Palaimon-Melikertes, worshipped and celebrated at Isthmia, which was under Corinthian control.50 Second-century Corinthian coinage depicts the limp 47 See P. DuBois, Torture and Truth (New York: Routledge, 1990); eadem, Slaves and Other Objects, esp. 5–6. Seneca, for example, discusses Fortuna’s whims in his consolation to Marcia: “All these fortuitous things, Marcia, that glitter about us – children, honours, wealth, spacious halls and vestibules packed with a throng of unadmitted clients, a famous name, a high-born or beautiful wife, and all else that depends upon uncertain and fickle chance – these are not our own but borrowed trappings. […] If you grieve for the death of your son, the blame must go back to the time when he was born; for his death was proclaimed at his birth; into this condition was he begotten, this fate attended him straightway from the womb. We have come into the realm of Fortune, and harsh and invincible is her power” (10.1, 6; translation from Seneca Moral Essays Volume II [LCL], 29, 31). 48 See Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity, chap. 2. 49 Engels, Roman Corinth, chap. 1. 50 Isthmia by the first century C.E. was mentioned in terms of its “mysteries.” The stories of Melikertes’ death and divinization vary. They converge in their agreement that Melikertes and his mother Ino are plunged into the sea and made immortal. See also R.E.

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boy’s body carried on a dolphin’s back.51 We find other griefs monumentalized in the city (fig. 2), for example, in the Fountain of Peirene, famously reworked in Roman times so that it became an emblem of Corinth and a sign of Greco-Roman hybridity.52 Pausanias (Descr. 2.3.2) ascribes the waters to Peirene’s tears after the death of her son Cenchrias by Artemis’ arrow. Pausanias tours Corinth’s city center, the area just to the west of the Forum and near the theater – that is, near the political-administrative and market center of Corinth, as well as near its ancient temple (perhaps to Apollo). He writes:

DeMaris, “Corinthian Religion and Baptism for the Dead (1 Corinthians 15:29): Insights from Archaeology and Anthropology,” JBL 114.4 (1995): 166–168, who summarizes the archaeological finds. E. Gebhard has argued for a continuity of this cult from the Greek to the Roman periods (“Rites for Melikertes-Palaimon in the Early Roman Corinthia,” in Urban Religion in Roman Corinth, 166–67). See also H. Koester, “Melikertes at Isthmia: A Roman Mystery Cult,” in his Paul and His World: Interpreting the New Testament in its Context (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007) 180–91, who finds the Roman period rites at Isthmia significant for the interpretation of Paul’s athletic imagery in 1 Corinthians and for the interpretation of mysteries. O. Broneer (“The Apostle Paul and the Isthmian Games,” The Biblical Archaeologist 25.1 [1962]: 2–31, esp. 31) suggests that the mysteries at Isthmia are an important interpretive backdrop for Paul and Corinth. 51 Pausanias refers to the shrine, and second-century Corinthian coinage bears images of Melikertes and a pine tree, or a dolphin with the child Melikertes clinging to it (Gebhard, “Rites,” 167–68, passim). In Gebhard’s words, “Ino becomes the goddess Leukothea, received by the Nereids; Melikertes becomes the marine deity Palaimon, associated with Poseidon. At the same time, a dolphin carries the dead boy’s body to the Isthmus, where Sisyphus, ruler of Corinth, buries him and celebrates the first Isthmian Games at his funeral” (169). In Euripides’ Medea Ino is likened to Medea (1282–89) in the Chorus’s song. There is some debate about what happened to the Isthmian cult in the years after Mummius’s destruction of the region, and whether the cult rites fairly clearly attested from the Archaic to the Hellenistic period were continued in the Roman; Gebhard thinks that they did (“Rites,” 178). See also Statius Thebaid 6: “After that [establishment of Pythian games] came a black cult observed at Palaemon’s gloomy altars as often as brave Leucothea renews her lamentations and returns to the friendly shore at festival time; Isthmos on either side is loud with mourning and Echionian Thebes makes tearful response.” (lines 10–14; English translation Statius Thebaid, Books 1–7 [LCL; trans. D. R. Shackleton Bailey; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003], 327). For more evidence of the memorialization of mythic death at Corinth, see also Pausanias Descr. 2.6–7 on the brutal death of Pentheus (because of his mistreatment of Dionysos); discussed in D. Birge, “Pausanias and Tree-Worship in Corinth,” in Corinthiaca, 25–28. 52 As E. Robinson has shown, Peirene became an emblem of Corinthian identity in the Roman period, mentioned by authors far distant from Corinth (“Fountains and the Formation of Cultural Identity at Roman Corinth,” in Urban Religion in Roman Corinth, 111–40). The fountain is famous because it was said to have been the location where Bellerophon tamed the winged horse Pegasos (Pindar, Ode 13, cited in Robinson, “Fountains,” 110). See also her Histories of Peirene: A Corinthian Fountain in Three Millennia (Ancient Art and Architecture in Context monograph series; Princeton, NJ: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2011) chaps. 2, 7. I am grateful to the author for an advance copy of her work.

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“As you go along another road from the marketplace, which leads to Sicyon, you can see on the right of the road […] a fountain called the fountain of Glauke. Into this they say she threw herself in the belief that the water would be a cure for the drugs of Medea. Above this has been built what is called the Odeion, beside which is the mn ma of Medea’s children. Their names were Mermeros and Pheres, and they are said to have been stoned to death by the Corinthians owing to the gifts which legend says they brought to Glauke. But as their death was violent and illegal, the young babies (τὰ τέκνα Κορινθίων τὰ νήπια) of the Corinthians were destroyed by them until, at the command of the oracle, yearly sacrifices were established in their honour and a figure of Terror was set up (καὶ Δεῖμα ἐπέσταθη). This figure still exists, being the likeness of a woman frightful to look upon; but after Corinth was laid waste by the Romans and the old Corinthians were wiped out, the new settlers broke the custom of offering those sacrifices to the sons of Medea, nor do their children cut their hair for them or wear black clothes.” (Descr. 2.3.6–7)53 Glauke, daughter of Kreon King of Corinth, is memorialized in a rockcut kr n or fountain just to the south of the theater in Corinth and near the city’s administrative and market center (fig. 3). Although the fountain is archaic in appearance – “a monolithic cube of oolitic limestone” – it probably dates to the latter half of the fourth century B.C.E., when it was hewn out of live rock in the process of quarrying.54 Yet fittings in the porch and tool marks on the fountain itself also reveal Roman reworking, and in the Roman period one could enter to draw from the four basins within.55 At that time, lying near the business, political, and key cultic centers of the city, the Fountain of Glauke’s aesthetics were surprising compared to the increasingly stuccoed and marbled city. Its rough strangeness may have communicated the force and antiquity of Medea’s story and her strange torture and assassination of her rival, the Corinthian princess, by means of a fiery, poisoned crown and wedding dress.56 Near the fountain, according to Pausanias, was a statue of Terror (Deima) and a memorial (mn ma) to the 53 Pausanias Description of Greece Books I and II (1918; LCL; trans. W. H. S. Jones; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998) 263. 54 Early archaeologists assumed it to be the work of Archaic Corinthian tyrants (Robinson, “Fountains,” 128, 131, quotation at p. 128). 55 From ca. 400 B.C.E., see also the small building within which Kreon’s daughter suffers on the Munich krater (C. Sourvinou-Inwood, “Medea at a shifting distance: Images and Euripidean Tragedy,” in Medea: Essays on Medea in Myth, Literature, Philosophy, and Art [ed. J. Clauss and S. Iles Johnston; Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997], esp. 294). 56 “While the original form of Glauke seems not to have been determined by a Roman literary spirit, its maintenance as a rupestral fountain-house, a sort of ‘romantic ruin’ surely as by choice, and it betrays the will of the Corinthians to add another monument of the heroic age to the landscape” (Robinson, “Fountains,” 232).

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children of Medea. Terror herself, as well as the deaths of Medea’s children, and King Kreon’s daughter, cluster in a busy sector of the city, just to the northwest of the Roman Forum and south of the theater. Betsey Robinson, an expert on Roman fountains and especially on Peirene, says, “In the Roman period, Peirene and Glauke were both ‘historiated’ landmarks, places where important events were believed to have taken place.”57 Monuments such as the Fountain of Glauke and the Fountain of Peirene were a way for the “new Corinthians,” she writes, to connect to ancient Corinthian traditions – an “adaptive reuse”58 that allowed them to burnish their new identities and migratory selves against the ancient place of Corinth.59 Thus we can think of these mythological griefs as embedded in the ancient landscape of Corinth but evoked and cultivated again, intentionally, in the Roman period, as part of the city’s identity. There is something terrible and terrifying memorialized in Corinth. Over more than five centuries (from Euripides to Pausanias), some memory of the Corinthians’ blood-guilt persisted, if not always ritual expiation for it, and these mythical deaths were linked to the deaths of the Corinthians’ own children.60 57 Robinson,

“Fountains,” 113. Betsey Robinson argues that the monument finds design parallels in Perachora of the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E., and probably originally dates to the fourth century B.C.E. (130–31). In the Roman period the site was probably damaged by quarrying (the westernmost reservoir was damaged, and a retaining wall constructed; 131), but still stood, impressively a “Greek hold-over” (134) in contrast to the marble surfaces on buildings that were popular in the Roman period. 58 Robinson, “Fountains,” 116. 59 Robinson, “Fountains,” 133–34: “I suggest a new working hypothesis: on inheriting this monument, Corinth’s rebuilders selected it to become another place where fragments of Corinthian history could be localized in the new urban landscape, and thereby incorporated within the collective imagination of the new city. […] Indeed, coming more than a century after the destruction of old Corinth, the Roman reconstruction provides the most opportune ‘moment’ for the attachment of the name ‘Glauke’ and the associated narrative to the fountain. Like their Hellenistic forebears, the Early Imperial Romans of the classes that oversaw the rebuilding of Corinth understood the usefulness of harnessing local mythology, and they recognized that the legendary past became that much more powerful when connected with visible landmarks.” 60 Euripides’ Medea indicates (and provides an etiology for) a cult in or near Corinth, associated with Medea’s children and dedicated to Hera Akraia. Medea refuses Jason’s request to have the bodies of their sons to bury and to mourn. Medea says: “I will bury them myself, / bearing them to Hera’s temple on the promontory (ϕέρουσ’ ἐς  Ἥρας τέμενος Ἀκραίας θεου); / so that no enemy may evilly treat them / by tearing up their grave (τύμβους ἀνασπῶν). In this land of Sisyphus (γῇ δὲ τῇδε Σισύϕου) [that is, in Corinth, since Pausanias says that Corinth was ruled by Sisyphus] / I shall establish a holy feast and rites (σεμνὴν ἑορτὴν καὶ τέλη προσάψομεν) / Each year forever to atone for the blood guilt (τὸ λοιπὸν ἀντὶ τοῦδε δυσσεβοὺς ϕόνου).” (1378–83; translation from Euripides Cyclops Alcestis Medea [LCL; trans. D. Kovacs; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1994]). Archaeologists long looked for the cult of Hera on the Acrocorinth, but have instead discovered that it is likely found at Perachora, a nearby promontory northeast of Corinth and under its control in the classical period. For debates on government of this region, see summary in J. Salmon, “The Heraeum at Perachora, and the Early History of Corinth and Megara,”

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4. Medea, Demeter, and the Vulnerability of Women and Children We recall Medea’s fury at Corinth, which resulted in her fantasy that Helios, the Sun, would burn through it and the isthmus. Pausanias offers as a villain to Medea’s story the Corinthians themselves. The more common story, also set in Corinth, portrays Medea as the witch-queen of Colchis, Jason’s wife, and the killer of her own children.61 Most famously narrated in Euripides’ version from 431 B.C.E.,62 the story was still popular in the Roman period, discussed by philosophers, rewritten into new plays, including Seneca’s, and represented in art. A second-century sarcophagus from the Pergamon Museum in Berlin (fig. 4), for example, foregrounds the torment of Jason’s new beloved and Medea’s heavenly rush upwards, one child slung over her shoulder, another child’s legs dangling off the serpent chariot.63 In the Roman period the story of Medea became a means of thinking through the philosophical problem: How does one correctly tend the emotions (path ) so that love, anger, and grief do not melt together and destroy the self – and others? While it is impossible to demonstrate that the Corinthians The Annual of the British School at Athens 67 (1972): 159–204, esp. 159–61; see also 179 ff. At Perachora, from the Geometric period onward, there is evidence of worship of Hera Akraia and Hera Limenia (oddly reversed, with Hera Akraia worshiped at the seaside and Hera of the Harbor worshipped 200 m up the hill). Koulouria (clay models of rounded bread) were found as cult offerings at both sanctuaries to Hera in the Geometric period (177); so too at the Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore in Corinth (181). Salmon argues, based upon the fabric of the clay in both the Perachora koulouriai and pottery from Corinth more generally that Corinthians were making and dedicating koulouriai at Perachora (183–87, passim). 61 On variable number and names of these children, see C. Ondine Pache, Baby and Child Heroes in Ancient Greece (Urbana/Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2004), 9–48. 62 This is the year of the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta (E. Hall, “Introduction,” in Euripides: Medea Hippolytus Electra Helen [trans. J. Morwood; Oxford: Clarendon, 1997] xiii). On the play initially failing to please, see p. xv. 63 Pergamon Museum of the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz. Antikensammlung, acquisition number Sk 843b. Seneca was not the only one to have been interested in reworking this story. Chrysippus is said to have “copied out almost the whole of Euripides’ play in one of his works.” Epictetus too gave an account of his interest in Medea (2.27.19–20; 1.28.8–9); all this is discussed in M. Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 446–68. Italian interest in the story had been strong: Ennius, Pavinius and Accius introduced various episodes, and Ovid and Pompeius Macer, Lucan, Curiatus Maternus, Bassus all wrote about the Medea or reworked it (Robinson, “Fountains,” 135). Caesar displayed Tomomachos’s painting of Medea in the Temple of Venus Genetrix in Rome, according to Pliny (Nat.Hist. 35.26; cited in Robinson, “Fountains,” 135); sarcophagi of the second century C.E. offer “scenes of Medea’s children presenting gifts to Glauke and of Medea’s contemplation of infanticide” (Robinson, “Fountains,” 136 and see figure at 137). In these visual representations, Robinson argues, Kreousa/Glauke comes to have a central place in the narrative cycle (ibid., 136–38). Lucian notes the death of Glauke among subjects of death or pantomime (Salt. 42).

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themselves were using the story to think through the emotions, we have already seen that the story was recalled and memorialized  – if not ritually addressed – in Corinth in Pausanias’ day. And while Paul is no Stoic philosopher, there are indications in his letters that he was familiar with commonplace Stoic concepts such as that of enkrateia or self-control (1 Cor 9:24–27), and his disquisition on control of desire in 1 Corinthians 7 has analogies to Stoic injunctions to extirpate the passions and Stoic ethical teachings on marriage, as in Musonius Rufus. Stanley Stowers has argued that Paul’s writing in Rom 7:15, 19 – the famous passage where Paul seems to vacillate within himself – echoes Seneca’s Medea.64 Some of those receiving Paul’s letters would have drawn on these popular philosophical notions and perhaps even on the story of Medea herself to interpret his letter and their own griefs and passions. Thus it is worth looking more deeply at the effects of the story of Medea in the Roman period; Euripides’ and Seneca’s stories are set at Corinth, and cluster with other evidence that indicates long-term associations of Corinth with grief and with the loss of children. The story of Medea is full of complex and interrelated griefs in both Euripides’ and Seneca’s versions. In Euripides’ play, Medea’s original griefs stem especially from exile and her loss of status as Jason takes a new wife. Medea had chosen to betray her father and to kill her brother because of her love for Jason; his changed allegiance underscores the complete and irrevocable nature of her exile.65 While Seneca’s plot differs little from Euripides’, his Medea is more of a meditation on the tortured self66 who confuses her emotions (path ) so that grief and hate become the same: 945 Hither, dear children, sole comfort of my fallen house, come hither and link your entwining limbs with mine […] 951 My grief grows again and my hate burns hot (rursus increscit dolor / et feret odium); Erinys, as of old, claims my unwilling hand. O wrath, where thou dost lead I follow (ira, qua ducis, sequor). I would that from my womb the throng of proud Niobe had sprung, and that I had been the mother of twice seven sons! Too barren have I been for vengeance – yet for my brother and father there is enough, for I have borne two sons.67

Seneca also renders Medea into a witch – and his version includes Erinys and Furies (e.g. 13–18)68 – whose anger (or grief) turns not only against her 64 S. Stowers, “Paul and Self-Mastery,” in Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook (ed. J. P. Sampley; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2003), 526. 65 See the lines of Euripides’ chorus regarding Medea’s exile (lines 643ff); it is compared to death and considered worse than death. 66 This contrasts with Euripides’ Medea, who looked outwards to Athens and to the relief of escaping Corinth and Jason and surviving her exiled status. 67 On grief and oscillation of the soul see esp. Seneca Medea 910 ff. 68 See also the Munich krater, of early Hellenistic date; see discussion in SourvinouInwood, “Medea at a Shifting Distance.”

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living sons, but perhaps against a possible pregnancy: “If even now in my uterus (matre) there lies concealed some safety deposit (pignus) from you, I shall examine the inside of my abdomen with a sword and draw it out on the iron (1012–13).”69 Medea’s griefs of exile and loss of status are tangled with the loss of her father and brother, deaths she herself effected, and the impending loss of her sons. Seneca embeds Medea within a larger cultural context: the characterization of women as having unphilosophical responses to grief and other passions, on the one hand,70 and the vulnerability of women to producing offspring and to the loss of that offspring, on the other.71 In the midst of her unphilosophical passions, Medea for Euripides and Seneca is guilty for her children’s deaths. Yet, as we have seen, Pausanias had offered a different story, and in yet another variation on the story, the children’s deaths have something to do with an unsuccessful rite to immortalize them.72 A scholion on Pindar states: He [Pindar] remembers Medea when she lived in Corinth and brought an end to the famine overcoming the Corinthians by sacrificing to Demeter and the Lemnian nymphs. Then, Zeus fell in love with her, but he did not win Medea over since she wanted to avoid the anger of Hera. Because of this, Hera promised her that she would make her children immortal. The Corinthians honor them after their deaths, calling them semibarbarians. (scholion on Pindar Olympian Ode 13.74)73

This account, coupled with Pausanias’s reference to Eumelos’s epic on the topic, indicates a tradition in which Medea accidentally kills her children not in a vengeful act against her husband, but in a magical-religious rite that

Nussbaum, Therapy of Desire, 440. e.g. Seneca Ad Marc.; Seneca Ad Helv.; Plutarch Consolation ad uxorem. 71 Seneca uses the Medea for philosophical deliberation on the nature of the self and the danger of the passions, especially those that emerge from love. One’s wrong judgments of the world – the worth of one’s spouse, the preciousness of one’s children, the value of life itself – lead to fissures in the philosophical self, the erosion of self-mastery. See Nussbaum, Therapy of Desire, 442–51 on love as opening the possibility of violation and on the mixing of Medea’s passions; anger and grief become interchangeable. In the passage immediately following, the one about Medea’s sons compensating for the wrongs she did to her brother and father, we saw in rapid succession the terms grief, anger, and hate (dolor, ira, odium). 72 Pausanias (Descr. 2.3.11) preserves an early tradition from the epic writer Eumelos (eighth-seventh century B.C.E.) that Medea conceals her newborn children and brings them into the sanctuary of Hera “thinking that the concealment would make them immortal. Finally she learned that her hope was in vain, and at the same time she was detected by Jason.” According to Pache, the terminology of the text hints that Medea learns too late that the ritual is not working, and the children die (Baby and Child Heroes, 10). 73 Μηδείας μέμνηται ὅτι ἐν Κορίνθω κατῴκει καὶ ἔπαυσε Κορινθίους λιμῷ κατεχομένους θύσα69 Trans. 70 See

σα Δήμητρι καὶ νύμϕαις Λημνίαις. Ἐκει δὲ αὐτῆς ὁ Ζεὺς ἠράσθη, οὐκ ἐπείθετο δὲ ἡ Μὴδεια τὸν τῆς  Ἤρας ἐκκλίνουσα χόλον. διὸ καὶ  Ἤρα ὑπέσχετο αὐτῄ ἀθανάτους ποιῆσαι τοὺς παῖδας, ἀποθανόντας δὲ τούτους τιμῶσι Κορίνθιοι καλοῦντες μιξοβαράρους. Cited in Pache, Baby and Child Heroes, 11.

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many a parent might wish to enact: the immortalization of one’s child.74 This brief scholion not only absolves Medea, in a way, but also brings her story together with the vulnerability of children in antiquity and the cult of Demeter, evidenced on the Acrocorinth. We have already read of Medea’s witchcraft and her possible connection with Demeter, and we have learned of the vulnerability of Corinthian children. The themes of grief and of magic or witchery – and of children – continue as we investigate the cult of Demeter and Kore on the slope of the Acrocorinth (fig. 5). The mysteries associated with that cult seem to have included a remembrance of death and rebirth.75 Of course, Demeter herself in the famous Homeric Hymn to Demeter is well known to have mourned her own daughter, who had been snatched away by Hades/Pluto, and to have engaged in divine acts approaching witchcraft as she attempted to immortalize Demophon, the son of the king and queen of Eleusis, by placing him into a fire. (We saw hints that Medea tried some similar ritual of immortalization.)76 As he mounts the Acrocorinth, Pausanias mentions various sanctuaries,77 including one to Necessity and Force (καὶ Ἀνάγκης καὶ Βίας ἐστὶν ἱερόν), and “a temple of the Fates and of Demeter and (of) Kore” (Descr. 2.4.7).78 As one wends one’s way up the steep mountain overlooking Corinth proper to pay cult to Demeter and Kore, one passes by other gods associated with the mysteries (Isis, Egyptian cult), as well as powerful and hard to control divinities like Anank , Bia, and the Moirai. These latter are testaments to attempts to pay cult to the powers that violently and seemingly arbitrarily control human lives; they also echo some of the gods whom Medea invokes in the first lines of Seneca’s Medea.79 74 Ibid. “Both versions – Eumelos’s and the scholia – agree that Medea wants and hopes to make her children immortal. The attempt to immortalize implicitly becomes the cause of the children’s death.” Pache also mentions a scholion that claimed that the Corinthians paid Euripides to place upon Medea the responsibility for the murders (ibid., 11). 75 We know this from the famous Homeric Hymn to Demeter, from the popularity of the cult in the second century (especially in its primary site in Eleusis), and from scholarly attempts in the twentieth century to understand the religious experience of the ancients through the lens of the individual salvation offered by goddesses such as Demeter and Isis; see e.g. F. Cumont, After Life in Roman Paganism (Yale Silliman Memorial Lectures; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1922; repr. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2002), 116. 76 These stories were reenacted into the Roman period at Eleusis, and, by the second century, initiation into the Eleusinian cult had become a popular pastime of emperors and elites. 77 He also mentions sanctuaries of Isis (2), Serapis (2), and an altar to Helios. 78 “naos and thronos of the Mother of the gods” (2.4.7). On the debate over the reconstruction of this passage, whether Pausanias should be read as indicating three separate temples, see N. Bookidis and R. Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: Topography and Architecture (Corinth XVIII.3; Princeton, NJ: American School for Classical Studies, 1997), 3–4. 79 Hecate, the Manes, Pluto (Hades), Proserpina (Persephone or Kore), and the Furies

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By the time of Pausanias, there were three temples on the upper terrace at the Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore.80 One significant cultic change from the Hellenistic to the Roman period at the Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore involves the reuse of a former dining room on the Lower Terrace as the “Building of the Tablets,” as the archaeologists have named it.81 Ten defixiones, or lead tablets inscribed with curses, were found in the “building of the tablets,” disposed near the four bases or pedestals in the south of that room, and in a layer of floor that evidenced burning: some sort of ritual occurred here. A total of 17 defixiones have been found on the site, 16 in Greek. Language marked status in this new colony, at least in the epigraphic record; according to Benjamin Millis’s findings, Greek was largely used for graffiti and unofficial inscriptions; Latin for monumental.82 The defixiones (Erinyes) are all invoked within the first eighteen lines. Note however that Bookidis and Stroud reject that idea of chthonic associations with the Demeter Sanctuary at Corinth, and in a footnote rebuke DeMaris for trying to make this association (The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore, 434); see DeMaris (“Corinthian Religion,” 667–70). 80 The earliest evidence we have of stand-alone Roman building at the site dates to ca. 77 C.E. when, perhaps after the earthquake of that year, three temples were erected on the Upper Terrace (Bookidis and Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore, 276). Floral and faunal remains continue into the Roman period, but the Hellenistic-period traditions of mass dining had died out (N. Bookidis et al., “Dining in the Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore at Corinth,” Hesperia 68. 1 [Jan.-Mar. 1999]: 1–54). Archaeological remains do not clearly reveal what went on in the Roman period at the Cult of Demeter and Kore, and lead the archaeologists to refuse to periodize events at the sanctuary between the first and fourth centuries C.E. Numismatic evidence does indicate, however, that there was some use of the sanctuary at the time of the writing of 1 Corinthians (Bookidis and Stroud, The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore, 273–74). The cultic use of the three terraces shifted radically in the Roman period, for the Romans built over the Hellenistic dining couches so that their floors were often at the level where the couches used to be (ibid., 274). 81 The cult of Demeter and Kore on the Acrocorinth seems to have diminished between 146–44 B.C.E., after the sack of Mummius and before the reestablishing of Corinth as a Julian colony. Although there is no indication that the sanctuary sustained damage or was even looted by Mummius, Bookidis and Stroud state that it was still “obviously abandoned after the Romans withdrew,” and that only a “small handful” of objects relate to 146–44 B.C.E. In ca. 400 B.C.E., the period of time in which the cult is best attested, there were at least 36 dining rooms. Water and dry-sieving of floral and faunal remains from the Hellenistic period have revealed a preponderance of pig bones (p. 434), consonant with the traditional offerings to Demeter, and with clay votives of pigs discovered at Corinth, along with small terracotta statues of priestesses holding piglets (nearly 400 figurines). It is interesting that there was no significant difference discovered between the animal and legume remains discovered in the cultic context of sacrificial pits, and the dining area (Bookidis et al., “Dining in the Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore at Corinth,” 41–42). Humans ate what the gods were eating; and perhaps humans ate with the gods. 82 B. Millis (“The Social and Ethnic Origins of the Colonists in Early Roman Corinth,” in Corinth in Context: Comparative Perspectives on Religion and Society [eds. S. J. Friesen et al.; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2010], 13–36) has discovered in the epigraphic record at Corinth a distinction between Latin and Greek: Latin is used by elites for monumental inscriptions, most often, while Greek is found in graffiti and more modest grave inscriptions. This stands in contrast to a city like Ephesos, for example, where monumental inscriptions

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may be the deposits of the less than elite. The sanctuary of Demeter was an established site to deposit one’s curse tablets, one’s raw requests to the goddess(es) and gods.83 Three defixiones associated with one woman, Karpime Bab[b]ia, weaver of garlands (στεϕανηπλόκος), may be relevant to the topic of grief.84 One tablet (no. 7 in Stroud’s catalog) consigns this garland weaver to destruction, handing her over to the avenging gods and goddesses (θεοῖς ἀλειτηρίοι[ς] καὶ θεας ἀλει[τ]ηρίαις). Two further tablets (nos. 8 and 9),85 a continuous text attached by a nail, also consign Karpime Babbia to “the Fates to exact justice,” to Hermes, and to Ge. Ananke is called upon as well. We recall the profusion of powerful gods that Pausanias names as he mounts the Acrocorinth. What is particularly interesting, in view of the death of children in Corinth – whether Medea’s or the children’s bones from Fox’s study, is that this defixio implores Hermes of the underworld to make the commissioner of the magical spell fertile and to bring “monthly destruction” upon Karpime Babbia.86 were often in Greek or bilingual Latin-Greek. The writing and reading of the Corinthian correspondence in Greek thus may be significant as a marker of status. There were, however, some bilingual inscriptions; in addition, there is evidence of inscriptions in Greek or Latin that contain solecisms or syntax that reveals that the commissioner or the inscriber was “thinking” in the other language. On the resettlement of Corinth, see Engels, Roman Corinth, 16; see Concannon, “Ecclesia Laus Corinthiensis,” chap. 1 on bilingualism. 83 Much of the evidence from the Building of the Tablets dates from the late first to the second century. The “Building of the Tablets” had at least two phases in the Roman period, although Bookidis and Stroud are careful to say that the state of the site – lowest on the slope, and most subject to erosion and the consequences of plowing – does not offer clear enough evidence for the determination of multiple phases of use in the Roman period (The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore, 277–83). Yet, in this Building of the Tablets, ten lead tablets or defixiones were found (Stroud, “Magical Tablets from the Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore on Acrocorinth,” 3), arranged in such a way that suggests that they were intentionally deposited on pedestals, in some ritual that involved burning, in this specific room. I am grateful to Professor Stroud for providing me an advanced copy of this work, which will become chapter 5 in the volume on the epigraphy of the Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore at Corinth, co-authored with Nancy Bookidis. The dating of these defixiones, and indeed of the use of the Demeter Sanctuary in the first fifty to seventy-five years of the first century C.E., is challenging to determine. One tablet can be securely dated before 70 C.E. (Stroud, “Magical Tablets,” 21l). 84 These three related tablets were found in the fill of the late second to early third century C.E. in the Building of the Tablets. We can reasonably assume that, despite their later date, they are part of a larger pattern of the leaving of magical tablets in the Roman period. 85 Tablets 8 and 9 again were part of a fill of the late second to early third century C.E., found under the tile floor in the south half of room 7 (the Building of the Tablets). Stroud understands these tablets to contain a continuous text, a reasonable assertion since the two oblong lead tablets were found rolled and pierced together by a nail. (Another iron nail pierced tablet 8 only.) 86 Stroud, “Magical Tablets,” 33–34. Stroud’s reading of this text as a curse that involves the fertility of the suppliant seems right; so too his understanding that the suppliant

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That children, wanted or unwanted, render one vulnerable is echoed by the chorus of Euripides’ Medea, which guides the audience to sympathize with Medea.87 From fourth-century Athens to some corners of the firstcentury Roman Empire, they sang: “This I say, that those who have never had children, who know nothing of it, in happiness have the advantage over those who are parents […] And those who have in their homes the sweet presence of children, I see that their lives Are all wasted away by their worries.88 First they must think how to bring them up well and How to leave them something to live on. . . For suppose you have found them enough for their living. Suppose that the children have grown into youth And have turned out good, still, if God so wills it, Death will away with your children’s bodies, And carry them off into Hades. What is our profit, then, that for the sake of mortals After all else This most terrible grief of all?”89 (Euripides Med. 1090–1115)90

wishes Karpime Babbia’s destruction to be complete, on the one hand, and to involve her reproductive organs, on the other. In addition, two tablets are inscribed for the destruction of Maximila Pontia, and at least one other (5) mentions Anagke in association with a lawsuit. In another very fragmentary tablet, Kyria Demetra dikia is mentioned, indicating another plea for justice, this one directed to Demeter herself. This theme of the vulnerability of children and of women of child-bearing age is hinted at in Seneca’s play, which, according to Nussbaum, locates Medea’s vulnerability to Jason not only in her unphilosophical rage against his new bride, but also in her own vulnerability to the possibility of pregnancy (Therapy of Desire, 442–51). 87 Euripides presents a Medea who is tortured by love of her children and hatred of her husband as she wavers over their fate. On the rhetorical effect of the Euripidean chorus’s and other characters’ oscillations, which alternately present Medea as a bad woman and a good one, see Sourvinou-Inwood, “Medea at a shifting distance.” 88 … οἷσι δὲ τέκνων ἔστιν ἐν οἴκοις

γλυκερὸν βλάστημ᾽, ἐσορῶ μελέτῃ κατατρυχομένους τὸν ἅπαντα χρόνον. 89 … εἰ δὲ κυρήσαι δαίμων οὕτω, ϕροῦδος ἐς Ἅιδην θάνατος προϕέρων σώματα τέκνων. πῶς οὖν λύει πρὸς τοῖς ἂλλοις τήνδ’ ἔτι λύπην ἀνιαροτάτην παίδων ἕνεκεν θνητοῖσι θεοὺς ἐπιβάλλειν.

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Even if these words were first performed in 431 B.C.E. in the context of another crisis, their concept had relevance in the first-century Roman world, as we see through Cicero’s use of a similar quotation from Euripides’ Hypsipyle.91 So too in Corinth itself the spells associated with Karpime Babbia perhaps allow us a glimpse at the grief surrounding children; namely, the desire to have children and to destroy another woman’s chance at the same, in a city marked by the death of real and mythic children and memorials to those deaths. 5. Grief in 1 Corinthians As New Testament scholar Steven Friesen has noted, we find little interest in Paul’s letters in children – and, I would add, dead or alive. We find the idea in 1 Corinthians 7 that those in the ekkl sia would take a higher path were they to avoid marriage and, presumably, its products. But we do find hints of grief in Paul’s letter to the Gentile ekkl sia at Corinth, written from Asia, probably Ephesos, between 52–55 C.E.92 A particularly interesting (and puzzling) passage regarding Corinthian responses to death is found at 1 Cor 15:29, where Paul mentions what seems to be a uniquely Corinthian ritual: οἱ βαπτιζόμενοι ὑπὲρ τῶν νεκρῶν, “those who baptize on behalf of the dead.” 93 90 The English translation is R. Warner in Euripides: The Complete Greek Tragedies, volume 1 (eds. D. Grene and R. Lattimore; Chicago: University of Chicago, 1955–59) 110–111; The Greek is from D. L. Page, Euripides Medea (Oxford: Clarendon, 1938). 91 Cicero Tusc. disp. 3.59: No mortal lives who is untouched by grief and sickness. Many have to bury children and bear new ones; death is ordained for all […].” See Graver, Cicero on the Emotions, 109. 92 Regarding children, see 1 Cor 7:14b. Throughout this first letter that we have from Paul to the Corinthians, there are hints of grief and death. For example, there is the (to modern scholars) odd threat that because some take the Lord’s supper unworthily, they have become weak and ill and have even died (11:30). To give another example, Paul and his fellow-apostles, under the pressure of this end time and of resistance to their message, become the walking dead; according to Paul they were displayed in spectacle before the cosmos and angels and humans ὡς ἐπιθανατίους (“condemned to death,” 4:9). 93 Conzelmann understands ὑπὲρ τῶν νεκρῶν to indicate “vicarious baptism,” that is, the living were baptized on behalf of the dead (1 Corinthians, 275). Conzelmann seems to be splitting hairs when he disagrees with the translation “for the sake of”; from what I understand of him, he and others agree that (see his use of Plato) the Corinthians are being baptized in order to effect something positive for the dead – what that something is remains unclear and is of course linked to the question of what exactly baptism did for the Corinthians. See J.A. Fitzmyer, First Corinthians (Anchor Yale Bible vol. 32; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 578–79 for an excellent overview of the many interpretive options for this preposition, this ritual, and its possible theological-social meanings. Both Conzelmann and Fitzmyer use the terms “normal” or “normal sense” to refer to an interpretation of ὑπὲρ τῶν νεκρῶν as “on behalf of the dead”; i.e., this meaning makes sense of the usual use of hyper. Fitzmyer oddly concludes, however, that the use of baptizein here is not sacramental, but refers to a drowning or destruction. We have no reason to think this is a ritual instigated by Paul; we find no mention of anything similar in the Pauline letters,

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The Corinthian correspondence as a whole makes it clear that the Corinthians valued baptism highly (1 Cor 10:2, 12:13 [which includes a portion of the baptismal formula found in Gal 3:28: “Jews or Greeks, slaves or free”]),94 perhaps not only as an initiation rite, but also as one that marked one’s attachment to a particular apostle (1 Cor 1:13–17) and that marked the transition from death to new life within this life itself.95 Such a transition, some of the Corinthians thought, occurred within this life itself: baptism led them into a life now transformed by spirit in ways that Paul did not accept, such as their ways of prophesying and speaking in tongues.96 This passage about “baptism on behalf of the dead” is difficult to interpret. J. Z. Smith has suggested that all of 1 Corinthians should be understood in light of the possibility that the Corinthians understood gn sis and pneuma, wisdom and spirit, in terms of ancestral spirits, while Paul used such terms with a different frame of reference.97 Richard DeMaris has carried through with Smith’s proposal and found some explanation for such a ritual in non-Christian Corinthian death-rituals and cults concerning the dead, using evidence from graves at Corinth.98 Yet we have seen that the archaeological and literary record provides an even broader context for interpreting baptism on behalf of the dead and concerns about grief in the Corinthian correspondence. Paul discusses but does not condemn the ritual of baptism on behalf of the dead. Now if Christ is preached as raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised […]. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised. Otherwise, what do people mean by being baptized on behalf of the dead? If the dead are not raised at all, why are people baptized on their behalf? and Paul himself reveals in 1 Corinthians 1–4 that the Corinthians had multiple teachers whose role in the Corinthian community coincided with and even predated Paul’s own. 94 Bapt‑ occurs ten times in 1 Cor, thrice in Rom (6:3–4), and once in Gal (3:27). 95 DeMaris, “Corinthian Religion,” 661–82. 96 On baptism effecting a “realized eschatology” among the Corinthians and concomitant social transformation, see Wire, Corinthian Women Prophets. 97 J. Z. Smith, “Re: Corinthians,” in Relating Religion: Essays in the Study of Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 349–50. 98 DeMaris (“Corinthian Religion”) and C. Thomas (“Placing the dead: funerary practice and social stratification in the early Roman period at Corinth and Ephesos,” in Urban Religion in Roman Corinth) both point to a crossroads in burial rituals in the first century C.E.: evidence for both inhumation (Greek) and cremation (Roman) were found at that time. DeMaris connects this “crisis” to baptism on behalf of the dead in the Corinthian ekkl sia, and says that after the second century C.E., when death practices stabilized, baptism on behalf of the dead must have ended (thus there is no ongoing conversation about it) (“Corinthian Religion,” 273). Thomas instead sees a struggle over ethnic identity among elites.

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Εἰ δὲ Χριστὸς κηρύσσεται ὅτι ἐκ νεκρῶν ἐγήρεται, πῶς λέγουσιν ἐν ὑμῖν τινες ὅτι ἀνάστασις νεκρῶν οὐκ ἔστιν; εἰ δὲ ἀνάστασις νεκρῶν οὐκ ἔστιν, οὐδὲ Χριστὸς ἐγήγερται· […] εἰ γὰρ νεκροὶ οὐκ ἐγείρονται, οὐδὲ Χριστὸς ἐγήγερται. . . . Ἐπεί τί ποιήσουσιν οἱ βαπτιζόμενοι ὑπὲρ τῶν νεκρῶν; εἰ ὄλως νεκροὶ οὐκ ἐγείρονται, τί καὶ βαπτίζονται ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν; (1 Cor 15:12–13, 16, 29–30a)

Paul uses the Corinthian rite of baptism on behalf of the dead as evidence to argue strongly for the resurrection of all the dead. 1 Corinthians 15 is characterized by a series of implicit and explicit questions about resurrection which Paul frames and then sets out to answer. In verses 12–19 he introduces what he states is his main concern: to answer those who question the resurrection of the dead (12). He does so in two parts. First, he argues that there must be a resurrection of the (general) dead because Christ has been raised from the dead. For Paul, Christ’s death is paradigmatic of what seems to be an issue more pressing on his mind and the Corinthians’: everyone else’s resurrection. The tension raised in the query of verse 12 (is there a resurrection of the dead?) is resolved in verses 20–28, where Paul answers in the positive the question of whether Christ has been raised from the dead. He describes Christ’s role as “first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep” (20), as an inauguration of a larger, even eschatological (24), victory over death.99 Yet in verse 29 Paul launches a second proof to the question of whether there is a resurrection of the dead, perhaps one more convincing to the Corinthians: he adduces the truth of the resurrection of the dead from a ritual of “being baptized on behalf of the dead.” The lack of commentary on the ritual indicates that it is something with which the Corinthians were familiar, and, indeed, practiced; the lack of mention of this practice elsewhere in earliest in-Christ literature makes challenging our attempts to gain a broader picture of this ritual. As proof of the reality of the resurrection, Paul points not only to this ritual, but also his own perilous situation: “every hour we are in danger” he insists (30–32). Paul’s immediate emphasis on the constancy of his own dangerous practice implies that baptism on behalf of the dead is also a frequent ritual for the Corinthians, perhaps like other Corinthian rituals for the dead. We find a chamber tomb in Corinth from the Roman period that has evidence of funerary meals eaten within it; altars in a tomb where burnt remains on top indicate some sort of sacrificial use; vessels for carrying food or drink, placed around or above the body of 99 1

Corinthians 15:28 provides a triumphant ending to the argument that the logic of Christ’s resurrection should put to rest any questions about the resurrection of the dead: the Son has subjected all things to himself, including the last enemy, which is death (26), and the Son is subject to God. Indeed, from much of early Christian literature it seems that Christ’s death and resurrection were less interesting than – or a prototype for – the average Christian’s own resurrection.

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the dead, or even of a hole above the skull, where libations should be poured down for the dead.100 Paul implies that the practice of baptism on behalf of the dead or of keeping oneself willingly proximate to death has ethical implications. Those who differ from him or from those who baptize might say, in an Epicurean vein, “If the dead are not raised, ‘let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die’” (32).101 Some such unethical folk (by implication, among the Corinthians) have no knowledge, Paul accuses; they are agn sian of God (34; cf. 1 Thess 4:13). Paul then continues by inventing the foolish person (36) who asks the question: “How are the dead raised? With what kind of body do they come?” (35), and concludes the subject with verses that echo his treatment of the topic of death and resurrection in response to the grief of the Thessalonian community. “In order that you might not grieve” (ἵνα μὴ λυπῆσθε, 1 Thess 4:13), Paul describes the sound of the last trumpet (1 Cor 15:52; 1 Thess 4:16) and raising of the dead (1 Cor 15:52; 1 Thess 4:16). Paul explains that the body can transform from perishable to imperishable, from dishonor to glory, from weakness to power, from psychikon (a soul person, we might say) to pneumatikon (spiritual person). Paul describes himself and those to whom he writes as upwardly mobile, awaiting a move toward the heavens (2 Cor 12:2 for Paul, or 1 Thess 4:16–17 for all in Christ), and as awaiting transformation and metamorphosis.102 By the time he writes 2 Corinthians 4–5, Paul takes a different tack, describing human bodies as “earthen vessels” or an “earthly tent” (5:1) that groan and await transformation, and noting that he himself (but not the Corinthians, it seems) carries within himself “the death of Jesus” (4:10). Death and transformation continued to be topics of interest for the Corinthian community, as did grief and comfort.103 1 Corinthians is shot through with expectations of an imminent “day” and its judgment (e.g., 1 Cor 3:11–15, 4:5). Paul, if not the Corinthian community, wants this imminent day as well as the common philosophical approaches of the time to transform the very social and ethical fabric of 100 See

details in Walbank, “Unquiet Graves.” argues that the excellence of those in Christ can be compromised by those who think unethically (33); and Paul brings home this charge by sounding again a familiar refrain from earlier in 1 Corinthians. The root chr st‑ will soon become a homophone and pun for Christians’ own goodness in the world; see e.g. L. Nasrallah, Christian Responses to Roman Art and Architecture: The Second-Century Church Amid the Spaces of Empire (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010), chap. 4. 102 On such “upward mobility” see M. Johnson-DeBaufre’s new work. On similarities between 1 Thessalonians and 1 Corinthians, see A. Malherbe, The Letters to the Thessalonians (Anchor Bible vol. 32B; New York: Doubleday, 2000). 103 On the latter cf. n. 6 above. Consider also the crucifixion of Christ as central image of death in 1 Corinthians. 101 He

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the new ekkl sia, so that grief, rejoicing, marital relations, and presumably children, are erased under pressure of the kairos: “I mean, brothers,104 the kairos (or time) has grown very short; from now on, let those who have wives live as though they had none, and those who mourn as though they were not mourning, and those who rejoice as though they were not rejoicing, and those who buy as though they had no goods, and those who deal with the world as though they had no dealings with it. For the form of this world is passing away.” Τοῦτο δέ ϕημι, ἀδελϕοί, ὁ καιρὸς συνεσταλμένος ἐστίν· τὸ λοιπόν, ἵνα καὶ οἱ ἔχοντες γυναῖκας ὡς μὴ ἔχοντες ὦσιν καὶ οἱ κλαίοντες ὡς μὴ κλαίοντες καὶ οἱ χαίροντες ὡς μὴ χαίροντες καὶ οἱ ἀγοράζοντες ὡς μὴ κατέχοντες, καὶ οἱ χρώμενοι τὸν κόσμον ὡς μὴ καταχρώμενοι· παράγει γὰρ το σχῆμα τοῦ κόσμου τούτου. (7:29–31)

With this contraction (sustell ) of time,105 and with the passing away of the form of the world, Paul articulates what some have seen as a possible Stoic detachment.106 Certainly, Stoic writers had debated the worth of marriage to the wise man, and the relative merits of poverty or wealth, political engagement or its opposite, for the philosophical person.107 This idea of living “as not” – or philosophically cultivated indifference – is of course echoed not only in Stoic literature like Epictetus, but also in the perhaps first-century 4 Ezra, a text which at its core seems to be Jewish.108 We need not choose between a Stoic or Jewish eschatological “background” for Paul’s statements “as not” in 1 Corinthians 7. The method of my chapter has instead pressed us to look at the Corinthian context: What 104 Here I think we have to translate the potentially gender-inclusive adelphoi as brothers, rather than brothers and sisters; Paul seems to assume a male audience in these instructions, even if elsewhere he acknowledges the power of Corinthian women who are praying and prophesying. 105 See the idea of “messianic time” in G. Agamben, The Time that Remains: A Commentary on the Letter to the Romans (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2005), esp. 19–43, 59–87, and his use of J. Taubes on messianism (The Political Theology of Paul [Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2004]). 106 But see Conzelmann consider this and abandon it (1 Corinthians, 133–34). 107 D. L. Balch, “1 Cor 7:32–35 and Stoic Debates about Marriage Anxiety, and Distraction,” JBL 101.3 (Sept. 1983): 429–39. 108 See 4 Ezra 16:40–46 (trans. J. H. Charlesworth, ed., The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. 1: Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments [Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983], 558): “Hear my words, O my people; prepare for battle, and in the midst of the calamities be like strangers on the earth. Let him that sells be like one who will flee; let him that buys be like one who will lose; let him that does business be like one who will not make a profit; and let him that builds a house be like one who will not live in it; let him that sows be like one who will not reap; so also him that prunes the vines, like one who will not gather the grapes; them that marry, like those who will have no children; and them that do not marry, like those that are widowed. Because those who labor, labor in vain; for strangers shall gather their fruits, and plunder their goods, and overthrow their houses, and take their children captive; for in captivity and famine they will beget their children.”

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are the conditions in which such an injunction neither to rejoice nor to mourn, and to avoid marriage (and its products: the satisfaction of desire, and possibly children) might have been received? Certainly, Paul’s idea of the shortening of time is sketched quickly in 1 Corinthians; certainly, the Corinthians seem to have understood themselves as possessing wisdom and knowledge and charismata that were perhaps the product of the end of an age. And, certainly, Stoic philosophy was popular and popularized in the first-century world. All these are contexts for the Corinthian reception of Paul’s words. But we can also wonder about the impact of this phrasing on the Corinthians, who lived in an environment of busy marketing and maritime trade, the joyous attainment of high office even for ex-slaves and thus the vulnerability of freedmen to both status and its loss, and a high rate of death for children, to pick up on what Cicero thought were the typical topics that fell under the theme of grief. It is certainly clear from the correspondence in 2 Corinthians that those in the Corinthian ekkl sia did not uniformly accept or appreciate Paul’s earlier communications – including the letter we have as 1 Corinthians. Hearing of the contraction of kairos, those in the Corinthian community who felt themselves to be upwardly mobile, trading on the opportunities of the new Roman colony, may have rejected Paul’s injunction to live as if not rejoicing, as if not participating in the commerce for which the city was famous. Or they and others, pressed by the griefs of infant mortality or perhaps by their ongoing slavery, might see continued mourning as a fine and legitimate response, even as they hoped for the impending end of time. 6. Conclusions Paul takes up the topic of death in his letters for his own reasons – to explain his understanding of the imminent eschaton, or to ruminate on the significance of the resurrection of the dead and of the body. But Paul also takes up the topic of death because the communities to which he writes are concerned with the problem and because they are already dealing with it in their own ways. As we have seen, many griefs pooled within the topography of Corinth, a city used as a sign of grief and destruction in the Roman period: Palaimon from the sea at Isthmia; Demeter and Kore from the Acrocorinth; Glauke in the well below; Medea and her children and the image of Terror nearby, in the city center. Osteoarchaeological evidence hints at a high rate of child death in Corinth in the Roman period. The place of Corinth – and moving around that small and particular space, as well as its outlying regions in Isthmia and Perachora – would have re-shaped those many diverse peoples who had moved to this maritime city. I have argued in this essay that we

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should interpret references to grief and death in 1 Corinthians in the context of the communities at Corinth.109 This context of grief likely formed the traditions that the Corinthian ekkl sia in Christ engaged, traditions that predated Paul: baptism on behalf of the dead. This baptism emerged out of a context encysted with the griefs over dead children and memorializations of mythic grief. Baptism, it seems, for the Corinthians ushered in a new way of living, a new status that rendered them pneumatikoi. Paul sought to constrain these pneumatika or spiritual gifts: in 1 Corinthians 13, he defers certain kinds of knowledge and glory to a distant future. The Corinthian ekkl sia, in contrast, may have been transformed from death to life in their new statuses in Christ, and would reasonably have wanted to bring such present transformation to their (many) dead.110

109 Butler wonders whether “loss becomes a condition and necessity for a certain sense of community, where community does not overcome the loss, where community cannot overcome the loss without losing the very sense of itself as community, and if we say this second truth about the place where belonging is possible, then pathos is not negated, but it turns out to be oddly fecund, paradoxically productive” (“Afterword,” Loss: The Politics of Mourning [ed. D. L. Eng and D. Kazanjian; Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004], 468). We have hints of the prevalence of loss and grief in Corinth broadly, and of Paul’s offering of a theological and temporal-historical answer to that grief that abolishes it entirely. The eschatological approaches of many of those earliest communities in Christ offered a different temporal-spatial imagining of the cosmos. Yet, even in a community perhaps marked by a “negated” and yet “productive” pathos – Butler’s words, but something we also see in 1 Corinthians 7 –, we can wonder whether “[w]hatever is produced from this condition of loss will bear the trace of loss […] .” (ibid.). We could even think about eschatological thinking as in part a temporal-spatial reaction to concrete conditions that are grief-producing (as in Cicero’s list of the typical suspects: death, poverty, injury, exile). See Butler on Benjamin, eschatology, and history (p. 469). 110 Grief, it seems, continued to be a topic between Paul and the Corinthians; in the letter fragment we have in 2 Corinthians 7, we find Paul employing some of the typical vocabulary of Greek philosophical and consolatory texts to talk about his sorrows and the Corinthians. Their grieving, he insists, turns to repentance; here he enters into the philosophical debate over whether grief and the movements of the passions that it produces can sometimes be a good thing that produces philosophical correction in the individual (Margaret Graver, Stoicism and Emotion [Chicago: University of Chicago, 2007], chap. 9 [interpreting Cicero et al.]). As in 1 Thessalonians 4, Paul here seeks to differentiate those in Christ who grieve from the broader griefs of the world: ἡ γὰρ κατὰ θεὸν λύπη μετάνοιαν εἰς σωτηρίαν ἀμεταμέλητον ἐργάζεται· ἡ δὲ τοῦ κόσμου λύπη θάνατον κατεργάζεται (“For godly grief works toward a philosophical turning toward salvation, that will not cause future regret or turning [ametamel ton], but worldly grief produces death”; 2 Cor 7:10). This vocabulary of destruction echoes the verbs of the curse spells found at the Demeter Sanctuary; katergazomai is used in both cases (but with no direct object in the spells, thus it means “to kill” in the spells, compared to Paul’s use, where it means “to produce,” in this case death).

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Captions of figures Fig. 1: Map of Corinth and its ports of Lechaion and Kenchreai, as well as the diolkos for dragging ships and goods across the isthmus. Courtesy of the Harvard New Testament Archaeology Project and with thanks to Brad Bannon. Fig. 2: Plan, Corinth City Center. Courtesy of the Harvard New Testament Archaeology Project. See Koester et al., Cities of Paul, Fortress Press. Fig. 3: Remains of the Fountain of Glauke, looking to the south. © The President and Fellows of Harvard University; courtesy of the Harvard New Testament Archaeology Project and Helmut Koester. Fig. 4: Roman sarcophagus of the mid-second century C.E. Pergamon Museum of the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz. Antikensammlung, acquisition number Sk 843b. Author’s photograph. Fig. 5: View south to the Acrocorinth from the Asklepieion. Author’s photograph.

Rhetorical Inventio and the Expectations of Roman Continuous Narrative Painting Eleanor Winsor Leach For persons engaged in the study of Roman painting with a particular orientation toward its figurative manifestations, the second century C.E. opens a frustrating void, especially in comparison with the riches of the Campanian cities, Pompeii and Herculaneum. Rationally we know that the eruption of Vesuvius that sealed off our corpus in C.E. 79 is an accidental terminus beyond which house owners would certainly have continued to commission wall decorations in those cities as they no doubt will have done in many places that excavations have not brought to light. Unfortunately the excavations that have been made both in Rome and in Ostia have yielded primarily sites from later periods, and also have not found their walls in such a state of preservation as to reach the level at which figure panels would have been located.1 Into the hiatus come literary texts, the Imagines or Eikones of the Elder Philostratus in two books, written about the middle third century and the one book of his grandson, Philostratus the Younger, dated to about C.E. 300. Both books are made up of literary descriptions of paintings within the rhetorical tradition of ekphrasis. The first of these declares itself a written script based upon performance; the second is more overtly a written emulation of the first. Both texts are in Greek, the preferred language of that sophisticated verbal art culture known as the “second Sophistic” whose practitioners traveled with honorific reception the Mediterranean world giving both lectures and lessons. In the introduction to his collection, the Elder Phi1 For a painted complex found on the site of the Stazione termine in Rome, R. Paris, Antiche Stanze: un Quartiere di Roma Imperiale nella Zone di termine (Milan: Mondadori, 1996); for a survey of extant survivals in Rome see E. W. Leach, The Social Life of Painiting in Ancient Rome and on the Bay of Naples. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). For the few completely preserved walls at Ostia see S. Falcone, Ornata Aedificia: Pitture parietale dalle case ostiensi (Rome: Libreria dello Stato, 2007); for the complete rooms, mainly lacking figure paintings, in the “terraced houses” at Ephesus, N. Zimmermann and S. Ladstätter, Wandmalerei in Ephesus von hellenistischer bis in byzantinische Zeit (Vienna: Phoibus Verlag, 2010).

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lostratus describes his work as a combination of these modes. It is a model set of demonstrations based upon a purported visit to a gallery of paintings located on the terraces of a villa on the Bay of Naples. The rhetor praises painting as the most accomplished among the arts of imitation because of the distinctions it creates of light and of shade, because of the specificity of its colors capable of all manner of material representations, but especially for the way that it allows the observer to recognize both character and emotion from the look. Two counters of objectivity we may say and one of subjective interpretation. But interpretation is what the rhetor claims as the purpose of the discourse whose instructive feature is not to be the conventional giving of factual information on the identities and lives of the painters, but description through which the hearers may learn the techniques of appreciating and interpreting works of art. To this end the introduction incorporates its own cast of audience characters appropriately devoted both to rhetoric and to the arts. Given, however, the well-established form of exercise represented by the descriptions, the contemporary student of Roman painting will inevitably ask the question: is it truth or fiction? Since the 1503 Venetian edition of the Elder Philostratus’ Imagines brought this series of ekphrastic exercises to attention, there have been primarily two methods of approaching the question of truth or fiction and of understanding the import of the work for classical culture: the older one centered upon the particulars of description as a putative record of actual paintings seen by the rhetor, the other upon the processes of describing as a window into ancient spectatorship and the reception of works of art. The first and by far the older approach as witnessed by the illustrated edition of 1578 were attempts at the retranslation of verbal details into visual images, which, having been undertaken far in advance of any actual discoveries of real painting, was hopelessly misguided in its notion of composition but in itself interesting.2 Implied here and by far the most common concept of interpretation is the simple belief that the description, being based upon actual paintings that the rhetor himself saw and in whose presence he may have composed his explanations, is an actual record of real works of art with which, give or take, our known repertory of subjects may be compared. But very few exact parallels have emerged from such comparisons. As a footnote or subscript to the assumption is the effort first launched by Goethe but later elaborated by Karl Lehmann to divide and distribute by thematic categories the subjects of the paintings so as to create, reconstructively, the facsimile of an actual gallery.3 This concept involved a hierarchy of subjects 2 Blaise di Vigenère, trans. 1578. Philostrate: Les Images (Facsimile rpt. New York: Garland Press, 1976). 3 K. Lehmann, “The Imagines of the Elder Philostratus,” Art Bulletin 23 (1941): 16–44.

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and sizes, curiously true to the fact that actual subjects themselves came in large or small sizes, but misguided in laying out so many panels or quadri within the confines of single rooms in the manner of a nineteenth century museum gallery, and in the total neglect of the design contexts that would have adapted paintings, were they real and not fictive to their architectural housings. Somewhat in reaction to, but certainly quite opposite to this positivistic approach to the paintings is that of contemporary post-structuralist art historians, notably Norman Bryson4 and Jas Elsner5 for whom the descriptions become not a record of any existing paintings, but rather a source of insight onto the mentality of receptive viewing from which we may take some notion of how the ancient spectator might understand his experience of art. Yet, given that our viewers are celebrated practitioners of that educational and performative school of rhetoric known as second sophistic, their descriptions perhaps are as revealing of invention as of representation. Compositions in continuous narrative might be seen as the area where articulated viewing and composition come together. In a series of recent studies Francesca Ghedini has proposed a compositional typology that singles out a set of some eleven descriptions within the category of continuous narrative.6 My own evaluation questions continuity in a few of these, but adds others. All the same, whatever the count these examples do not ostensibly coincide with our repertoire of known continuous narratives. Even among these there is variation as to whether the duplicate actions unfold within a framework containing one single setting or two stages. Because the reading process is what I want mainly to discuss, I will first define the form by examination of some of these paintings to see what a viewer must contribute to make them meaningful. The distinguishing characteristic of the genre is the persistence of one and the same character within a single framework or framed setting in more than one represented action – as few as two, as many as three, although the framework may itself contain more actions than this. The combination occurs within one single setting of multiple episodes from a single myth, generally with repeated representations of one and the same character. This is to say that frieze representations that tell their stories by a linear succession of episodes or events are not continuous narratives. Rather they assume a 4 N. Bryson, “Philostratus and the Imaginary Museum,” in Art and Text in Ancient Greek Culture (ed. J. Elsner, Cambridge: University Press, 1994), 255–283. 5 J. Elsner, Art and the Roman Viewer: The Transformation of Art from the Pagan World to Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 29. 6 F. Ghedini, “Filostrato Maggiore come fonte per la conoscenza della Pittura Antica,” Ostraka 9.1 (2000): 175–195; F. Ghedini, “Le Immagine di Filostrato il Vecchio fra esercitazione retorica e realità,” in Studi Archaeologia in onore di G. Traversari (ed. M. Fano, Rome: Santi, 2004).

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coordination of time and space, as for example a painted frieze from the Esquiline that presents the founding of Rome from the building of Lavinium to the maturity of Romulus and Remus,7 or the more famous series of panels, also from the Esquiline depicting a succession of scenes from Homer’s Odyssey in landscape settings that change with the progress of the action.8 Certainly this is a more traditional manner of story-telling with allusions to epic and to historical time/space coordination. In continuous narrative the compression of space makes the temporal connection less certain and raises questions about the order in which scenes are to be read, or whether there is indeed any order at all, which, of course increases the amount of information that the viewer must bring to the narrative. The Pompeian fluorescence of continuous narrative occurs during the period that we call Third Style, commonly assigned to the mid-Augustan through early Julio Claudian eras, from about 20 B.C.E. to 20 C.E. give or take.9 This is a period when the scale of architectural framing becomes more attenuated, requiring viewers to stand close and look closely, which is, incidentally what Horace must be referring to when he says ut pictura poesis – some pictures can be viewed from a distance and others must be seen close at hand. Within these decorative wall schemes the framed image itself is just coming into fashion; these are what I call picture gallery rooms (fig. 1), and the Pompeian examples of continuous narrative from this period are most likely to be the products of one single painters’ workshop, or perhaps one workshop and its imitators, since some examples are derived from others. But what this class of paintings does feature, as will be seen momentarily, is a landscape ambience with irregular terrain, rock formations, trees or foliage and very often animal pasturage. The figures are slight, their emotions indicated by gesture rather than by facial expression, and the actions are often arranged around a central man-placed object in the nature of a shrine with a cult deity, although other buildings may be included. As a component of the natural ambience, I perceive in some instances the arched opening of a cavern usually on the right hand side. But the central object can also be a crag. Attention goes first to the center, but this is not always where the repeated personage is located, so the viewer’s challenge is how to construct a temporal sequence by moving out to the sides.

7 See ROMA: Romolo, Remo e la Fondazione della città (eds. A. Carandini and R. Cappeli; Milan: Electa, 2000), figs. on pp. 161, 216–17. 8 P. H. v Blanckenhagen, “The Augustan Villa at Boscotrecase,” in The Paintings from Boscotrecase (2nd ed.; eds. Joan R. Mertens and C. Faltermeir; MDAIR Suppl. 6, Heidelberg; Mainz, P. von Zabern, 1990). 9 E. W. Leach, The Rhetoric of Space: Representations of Landscape in Republican and Augustan Literature and Art (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), 309–360.

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So in Perseus and Andromeda,10 there are two figures of Perseus but only one Andromeda. On the left the winged hero arrives, and below him the sea monster also is coming on. On the right the hero has alighted and extends his hand to a robed elderly figure. At the right base of the cliff a female figure is seated. But what comes first, and what is omitted? According to the familiar course of the story, Perseus will have two meetings with Andromeda’s father, in the first of which he strikes a pact for the maiden’s hand as the reward of her rescue, and the second in which he claims his prize. But this second action takes place with the monster dead and the princess released from her chains and also entails complications since, in fact, Andromeda has already been promised to another royal suitor not ready to relinquish his claim. Logically then the story begins with Perseus’ arrival, fast forwards to the bargain with the king, fast forwards again across the screen to the hero about to descend on the monster. What then? And who are the figures at the base of the cliff? If we see Andromeda’s mother, Cassiopeia, rashly bragging to the sea-nymphs of her surpassing beauty, then really the story begins here, since this is the mistake that brings on the monster in the first place. Now, if we look at the knock-off (fig. 2), whose figure drawing does clearly indicate a different painterly hand, not much has changed, yet the differences could be significant. The unidentified women have multiplied, and may even be conversing with each other; the hero has moved closer to the monster, and the group of figures in the king’s retinue has increased. How many stages here? This image formed part of an ensemble of which only one pendant painting was recovered, although there was most likely a third. Our Boscotrecase Polyphemus11 has two stages (fig. 10) with the central figure of Polyphemus repeated and with little uncertainty about time, the order of events, but now the space of the painting has compressed a literary order that, since the dominant scene presents an episode we know from Hellenistic mythology, the passion of the Cyclops for the sea-nymph Galatea; the second scene is the recognizably unhappy conclusion of Odysseus’ visit to Polyphemus, with an intervening change from sentimental lover to savage brute now blinded and with a belly-full of Odyssian comrades. Like its pendant Perseus panel (fig. 3), the Polyphemus subject has a repeat version, a part of the same collection of four. Here the knock-off painting has actually dropped the continuous element more or less to leave conjecture to the viewer. Paintings of Daedalus and Icarus, one of which is in this same collection (fig. 4), have less ambiguity, showing two moments of Icarus’ catastrophe, his fall with melted wings and his fallen body, with Daedalus hovering between. 10 Blanckenhagen, 11 Blanckenhagen,

“Bosco Trecase,” Plate 43. “Bosco Trecase,” Plate 42, 44.

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But given the presence of spectator figures here who invite viewer entry into the story, we can ask what is amazing them, the plunging body or simply the image of a man in flight. However there is much more ambiguity and opportunity for the viewer’s intervention in the very extensive corpus of Actaeon paintings, just as there is in the implications of the story itself (fig. 5). One set has its central focus on the place from which Actaeon views the goddess and in a posture that seems very deliberate, but in another the center, or almost center, is the action of Actaeon’s being attacked by his dogs. In all of these paintings Actaeon appears at least twice, but in this one we see him three times, raising definite questions about where the story begins. Equally uncertain is the identity of the spectator figure close to a small temple on the right. In almost all versions there is a man-made feature, certainly adding semantic value to a story of a civilized encounter with the wild. My final example here is the least ambiguous in the order of its storytelling and so perhaps the most suggestive concerning the background from which the representation comes to the myth (figs. 6–7).12 The little group on the right identifies the representation as Dirce bound to a bull. For the whole story we can look to poems of Propertius, but also a short summary in the mythological compendium of Hyginus (Fabulae 7–8) identified as a plot line from the tragedy Antiope of Pacuvius, very popular both during and after its time, as multiple references in Roman writers attest. In its turn, this drama is a make-over of a tragedy by Euripides, whose most famous scene, presumably reproduced in Pacuvius, was a debate between the two brothers Zethus and Amphion between the active and the contemplative life. For Cicero the debate concerns physical activity vs. music, which is why the story ends, as we see it here, with the figure of Amphion playing his lyre, from which harmony stones come together to build the walls of Thebes. This narrative has no room for the debate, but the figures of the brothers are clear, as they seize Queen Dirce, who has come to the shrine of Dionysus, seen center, with a troupe of Maenads, but in pursuit of Antiope, their mother who was the originally intended victim for the bull. It should not escape us that this final scene is a messenger scene, but not necessarily the entrance of the Maenads; and the solitary figure with flocks in the upper left corner is in all likelihood the old shepherd who rescued the exposed twins and reared them, so that the same personage, recognizable dressed in working man’s costume, is coming on to let the boys know that Dirce’s victim is their mother. So this image is actually my key to the suggestion that 12 E. W. Leach, “The Punishment of Dirce: A Newly Discovered Painting in the Casa di Giulio Polibio and its Significance within the Visual Tradition,” MDAIR 93 (1986): 158–182; Pls. 49–59.

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many continuous narratives invoke theatrical productions as the enabling source that allows viewers to recognize and recreate the myths. Whether such recognition would go beyond mere factual identification of the figures is another question. For Pompeian paintings some scholars have proposed that a simple thematic grouping of pictures is a principle of selection, which would involve some sense of the content of stories on the commissioners’ or the painters’ part  – presumably both. Naturally this principle applies to, and has been applied to mythological images, not exclusively continuous narrative. I myself have thought that compositional similarities within an ensemble might spur the viewer’s discursive experience (see fig. 1). But with the retirement of the workshop and a major shift in the compositional preference to large-scale paintings depicting a single dramatic moment, the occurrence of continuous narrative diminishes. Now to turn to some literary embodiments of art works whose descriptions invite us to become vicarious viewers. Until the time of the Second Sophistic, these descriptions tend to observe the linearity of frieze composition on the model of the Odyssey landscapes. Such spatially indicated sequence seems to be the pattern of two major ekphaseis in the Aeneid 1.453–57, the Trojan war scenes on the temple of Juno in Carthage and the more objectively presented scenes at the Temple of Apollo carved by Daedalus. Of course the shield of Aeneas, whose compositional structure, like that of Achilles’ shield, defies recreation, is made up of juxtaposed scenes, as are the tapestries woven by the contending Arachne and Minerva in Books five and six of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Furthermore, these really are depictions, not narratives, with the full stories merely indicated, save for Minerva’s image which clearly alludes to and replicates the contest for the naming of Athens on the Parthenon pediment. The one single extended narrative in ekphrasis is that of Catullus’ short epic-like poem whose framing subject is the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, a complex and very visual poem in which the formal artworks description focuses upon a figurative tapestry that highlights the wedding couch in a most ambivalent way. Its “wondrous art” depicts the story of Ariadne shown in two episodes, the first when she discovers that Theseus has deserted her, and the second when Dionysus discovers her and descends to her rescue with a full complement of wild followers. Strictly speaking, this composition also is not a continuous narrative, but a narrative juxtaposition of two parts of the story in two areas of the tapestry; yet it takes on a narrative modality from the fact that Ariadne tells her own story, past and present, to weave a history both in space and in time.13 13 For recent discussions see E. Theodorakoupolos, “Catullus 64: Footprints in the Labyrinth,” in Intertextuality: Greek and Roman Textual Relations (ed. A. Sharrock and H. Morales, Oxford: University Press, 2000), 115–142.

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While the narrative opens with her figure standing frozen, like a stone Bacchante, at the edge of the shore, she soon becomes a mobile figure in her own words, as she details the sequence of her actions as she,upon waking, and discovering herself deserted, climbs the island’s rocks to spy Theseus’ departing ship?. In the unseen distance is Crete as the home of her innocent childhood and the act of betrayal on Theseus’ behalf. Athens is also in the distance as we see Theseus’ parting promises to his father, making him through forgetfulness doubly treacherous. But, still unseen by the heroine from another part of the tapestry, Dionysus is arriving, full force with his cortege of wild Maenads, brandishing not only thyrsoi, but the torn-apart limbs of a calf, with snakes twisted about their bodies and with horns and cymbals making an horrendous amount of noise. No such doubly episodic composition exists in painting. Indeed there is no painting that depicts a solitary Ariadne awake and fully aware of her desertion, although several show her in the act of recognition or being awakened by some divinity (fig. 8). Images of a sleeping figure are of two kinds; a few with Theseus surreptitiously boarding ship, and others with Bacchus’ approach to her in this state (fig. 9). In both types the heroine’s posture might seem to echo that of the Vatican Ariadne statue. But in these paintings the god comes on with his retinue in a most decorous manner, very different from the disorderly rout that Catullus describes, as in fact seen in Titian’s depiction of the scene which has to be based on the poet’s description. Is this a happy ending? Although the brilliant pictorialism of this tapestry leaves readers with the sense of having somewhere seen it, it is not necessarily the narrator’s own spectatorship that constructs our experience for, no sooner has he entered into the consciousness of Ariadne than her articulated words preempt the tale, until we arrive at the second episode where the voice returns to describe the Dionysiac rout.14 Still because of its emotional freight and excitement, not to mention the vivid details of the pictures, it comes closest of all Roman ekphraseis to Philostratus’ manner of making a picture. Philostratus does indeed include an Ariadne within his gallery, and she is one of those still sleeping before the eyes of Dionysus in a description that comes closest to correspondence with our known picture types. But now let me return to Philostratus’ construction of viewing. Most literary ekphraseis have, in addition to the knowing narrator, a narrative viewer who may possibly interpret the art-works with a potential by-standing third intelligence to receive the interpretation, as Aeneas’ 14 J. Elsner, “Ekphrasis and the Gaze: Ariadne in Pompeii,” in Through Roman Eyes: Visuality and Subjectivity in Art and Text (ed. J. Elsner; Oxford: University Press, 2007), 91–109.

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comrade Achates receives without comment Aeneas’ summary response to the Trojan paintings at Carthage; but in the Imagines the narrator controls interpretation and also selects his hearers. Speaking in his own persona as lecturer, Philostratus addresses a two-fold audience consisting, on the one hand, of a group of young men, Neapolitan dwellers, who have been following his lecture circuit around the city, and a ten year-old boy, son of his host in the villa to which the pictures belong. The combination provides two levels of comprehension. While the literate young disciples can be considered familiar with the myths represented, the boy may need further information. He is, as the introduction specifies, a good listener, and his education will occasionally come into play. Placing the boy in front of the group, the rhetor professes to direct his interpretive efforts toward him, inviting the older listeners either to agree or to ask questions about what may not be clear. In fact these young men “eager for words” are themselves in a position to study and acquire technique. A part of this technique is the allegedly impromptu nature of the ekphrasis – an important aspect of Second Sophistic discourse – although paradoxical in pieces being transmitted in written form. But our lecturer insists that his performance was impromptu on its occasion, with the only preparation his having studied the paintings for several days before his presentation, with the thought that they would furnish an appropriate subject for discourse. What the presentation itself of course enacts is a cardinal principle of descriptive rhetoric or ekphrasis, whose virtue as specified by Aelius Theon, first-century author of a handbook on rhetorical exercises, is “clarity and a vivid impression of all but seeing what is described,”15 which we may think the better illustrated when the seeing is done though multiple pairs of eyes. Theon also declares that ekphrastic passages need a point of commencement from which they can range both before and after. We might then begin our vicarious viewing of Philostratus’ pictures from the point of view already mentioned, spatiality and the distribution of figures. It need not take the vicarious viewer long to notice that Philostratus deals with the problematic simultaneity of perception by constructing each description from its own individualized point of perception. Roughly these points of commencement can be seen as panoramic or centralized. Among the former I count two kinds. One is a lead in from literary knowledge, while the other makes the picture itself tell the story. Beginning with the literary type in a panel entitled Scamander (Philostratus, Imagines 1.1 and 1.23), the rhetor inferentially lets us know that we are seeing a burning river, fire upon water, as he asks his ten year-old listener to recall Homer: towered Trojan citadel, 15 G. Kennedy, trans., “The Excercises of Aelius Theon” in Progymnasmata: Greek and Roman Textbooks in Prose Composition and Rhetoric (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 119 and 47.

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broadly extended battle plain and all. From here begins a contrast as the picture seems at first to depart from Homer but comes round to him at the end. A subsequent literary allusion in the painting called Amymone calls up the image of Neptune in his sea-chariot as he journeys over calm seas to bring aid at a point of crisis to Achaeans in the contest at the ships, although in this instance his purposeful progress has the rape of the Danaid Amymone as its aim. But in contrast to this specificity, the background allusions are more commonly to an entity called just story with which the given image may or may not agree. The desertion of Ariadne is even referred to an old wives’ nursery tale with which the ten year-old boy may be familiar. These panoramic points of commencement include landscape and atmosphere, as also seen in other examples; but especially the first images to which our attention is called are what I would name choral scenes, massed characters such as revelers in Comus, soldiers of the Egyptian cohort mourning the slain body of Memnon, Bacchantes swarming over Cithaeron, the sisters of Phaeton weeping for their brother’s fall, and a rush of youthful hunters pursuing a boar. The focus that draws us directly to the center may be an event in action, as the announcement of Antilochus’ death to Achilles, the swaddled infant Hermes driving off Apollo’s cattle, or the wreck of Oenomaeus’ chariot in his race with Pelops. By far the most frequent however is the single figure caught in his myth, and almost invariably these are the figures of appealing young men: the flute player Olympus, Narcissus, Hyacinthus, Amphion, Achilles, and the Olympic wrestler Arrichion. Within such spatial patterns, the two-fold actions themselves exhibit different temporal trajectories. Some may be almost simultaneously in progress, as Amphion plays his lyre and the Theban walls are rising in three stages; Phaeton falls and his sisters begin their transformation into mourning trees, or Memnon’s soldiers lament over the body, while his mother Eos has transported it. Simultaneous conflicts rage at the seven gates of Thebes while Creon’s son Monoecus prepares for his destined self-sacrifice. But the Theban landscape can also house sequential stages of action as the Bacchantes tear up Pentheus and his Theban relatives piece together the corpse, with still a third stage in which the Bacchantes themselves come to awareness and Cadmus and Harmonia become serpents. In some cases the narrative moves backwards in time from the initial image, as when first we see the Hyacinth flower and then Apollo in two stages of action: first in his fatal discus cast and then his grief for the death, while Zephyrus who has deflected the instrument laughs from the sidelines. In the birth of Hermes we first see the precocious infant deity driving Apollo’s cattle at the foothills of Olympus, then at the birth scene on the mountain’s summit where nymphs swaddle the new-born baby and Apollo comes to demand

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the return of his herd. Not only do we see at least three figures of Hermes in this painting, but also the mountain peak dominates with settings for all three at its base and summit as with the sharp central crags of earlier Pompeian continuous narrative. In other cases the spatial settings remain vague, but sometimes pictures combine two distinct locations as we see with Cithaeron and Thebes in the Pentheus picture. Theban stories are especially prone to landscape settings, as Zeus enters the palace to court Semele in a cloud of fire, while out on Cithaeron a cave is prepared for Dionysus and Pan celebrates his birth in a hymn. In the Memnon image the scenes are spatially distant. While companions lay out the body on the field of battle, the warrior himself disappears suddenly and appears in another location to which his mother Eos has spirited him and transformed him into the famous statue of black stone. Amphiarus appears in his chariot sinking below the earth on his return from Thebes, but also we see his oracular place at the Gate of Dreams. Most pointed of the double settings are two facets in space as Cheiron teaching Achilles with two kinds of lessons. At the door of the Centaur’s cave he is offering his hunting spoils to Chiron, while in another part of the picture “the same boy” learns horsemanship by riding his teacher like a steed. Thus the coordination of space and story-telling in its different ways is an aspect of each of Philostratus’ descriptions. Since all this is well, good and perhaps not unobvious, you may well ask why a practiced and celebrated rhetor is needed when any ordinary spectator could spin out such descriptions very easily, if the pictures are taken for existing, but without too much difficulty if they are, as I believe we should consider them, fictive. What then is their value for teaching the interpretive appreciation of art? Precise descriptions of detail may count for some of it. Such descriptions can even be seen to figure as sources of instruction, as with the structural anatomy of the lyre in Amphion’s hands, or the loving limb by limb depiction of Apollo’s posture as he hurls the discus. Most important however is the viewer’s affective understanding of the paintings, which, again can be of two kinds: either the emotion that the description teases out of the paintings, or the response. This is the real stuff of rhetorical inventio, which embellishes narrative or image not simply to persuade of its excellence, but also to stir the emotions of the hearer, and this is how the pictures themselves, as we may see, come alive, how they show instead of merely telling. We are given to see this first form of emotion as projected into the picture through reading of gesture or expression. Paradigmatic is the grief of Eos as she enters into the Memnon story causing the sun itself to be downcast, so that night may hasten and cover her theft of the body. The Amymone painting shows us a drama of contrasting mentalities or psychological dispositions. The Neptune we see is radiant, joyous and deeply stirred by a

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sudden passion for the Danaid girl, who remains initially unaware of her situation but is immediately after struck by terror, at a loss to know why the god has so quickly emerged from the sea. Trembling she drops her pitcher, whose shining gold poignantly reflects the maiden’s pale face and the surface of the water. Love also masters Dionysus in the Ariadne painting; he is in fact drunk with love, and, to do him justice, the departing Theseus is also in love, but has been made to forget everything. Love and grief are the primary emotions, but there are others such as Zephyr’s mockery of Apollo. Cadmus and Harmonia are astonished as they watch their own transformation into serpents. Even objects or creatures radiate emotions. The stones surrounding Amphion listen and run together. They compete for honor and are happy in their love of music. The horses of the cruel king Oenomaus are full of rage and ready to run, while those of Pelops are obedient and seem to anticipate victory. Another enlivening form of projection attributes sound to the images and sometimes even endows the actors with imagined speech. At the nuptual revelry, the god Comus has already subsided into drunken sleep; the viewer can hear the sound of castanets, the shrill note of the flute and disorderly singing. Peals of laughter rise from the rushing figures, and finally the painter has authenticated the sound gestures that make all the noise when the clenched right fist strikes the left hollowed palm making the hand into impromptu cymbals. The viewer may hear the followers of Oenomaus shout warnings to him at the start of his race. Outside the walls of Thebes Tiresias utters an oracle foretelling the death of Creon’s son Menoecius, with the father unaware. We can tell that Amphion is singing because his mouth opens slightly, showing his teeth. The song itself can be nothing other than a hymn to earth who is giving him walls. Apollo too within Maia’s cave seems to be speaking, and the rhetor imagines his words as he accuses Maia of her son’s commissions and threatens to sink him deep into the earth. Chaeiron animates the scenes of Achilles’ education, first by praising the boy’s skill in hunting: “he catches hares like a lion and can outrun a fawn”; but when he gallops in the meadow with his pupil on his back, he spins a lengthy prophecy for the boy, who will someday ride a real horse: “take many cities and slay many men, you merely running and they trying to escape you.” These examples show the rhetor engaging with his subject to the point of thinking with or through the representation to translate its underlying human situation; but still he maintains his spectatorly distance. A further degree of projection dissolves the boundaries of image and reality through appreciation of the artist’s skill in naturalistic rendition. This is of course the illusion topos long familiar in ancient art historical discourse and particularly prominent in the writings of the Elder Pliny, who employs it to mark the contributions of fourth century Greek artists both in sculpture

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and in paintings to the evolution of artistic naturalism, which is for him the teleological destiny of art (Pliny Nat.Hist. 35. 61–66). But the point of the illusion topos as a test of artistic prowess, even in Pliny, is the superiority of the person who invokes it, watching the deception of others, while he himself remains undeceived. So he tells the story of a fifth century Greek painter whose realistic painting of a curtain deceives a fellow painter’s eye and wins him a contest. Here however our rhetor is neither deceived himself, nor does he wish his hearers to be. Rather he explains as a part of his lessons, the techniques by which deception is produced. In his Theban picture he calls attention to gradations in the ranks of warriors massed on the city walls, receding from full figures to spear points. This, he explains, is perspective. The painter’s challenge is to deceive the eyes as they travel back along the properly receding planes of the picture. The more complicated scene painting of the Scamander story uses Homer to correct impressions; the address directs itself explicitly to the young viewer whose initial response of wonder – how can fire live in water – may obstruct his ability to recognize the Homeric scene. Thus it is necessary to turn away from the painting and recall within the poem itself the escalating conflict of Achilles’ revenge for the death of Patroklus, as it erupts into conflicts among the gods. Given this identification, the viewer can now focus upon its single moment when Hephaestus attacks the river, in order to understand, implicitly, the meeting of fire with water. This too being established, the picture comes to seem wholly Homeric with the Trojan citadel in the background and the Scamander plain extending before it, now engulfed in fire. From this there emerge divine personifications: the river with his long hair already burnt, begging for mercy and the fire god uncharacteristically running, while, in the last analysis, the fire itself turns un-homerically golden. More often however the effect of the natural comes without such technical information. Jas Elsner has notably called attention to the effects of internal replication in the Narcissus painting, where a component of the picture, the reflecting pool, becomes an artist within the larger narrative, painting Narcissus within the context of the whole painted story, which will finally include the flowers into which the self-deluded youth is transformed. But these painted flowers are themselves are so deceptive that a bee has come to settle on them, whether it is a real bee drawn by the flowers or a painted bee that to us seems real. Yet Narcissus’ illusion, although generated by the portrait-painting pool and not by a painting, is all the same a spectator’s deception, insofar as the youth regards his unrecognized selfimage as an autonomous other with whom he attempts to converse. How much embellishment the rhetor might have added to this image might be speculated from real Pompeian examples in which Narcissus seems either

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more interested in facing us than his reflection (fig. 10), or else needs an eros to indicate what he is supposed to be thinking.16 This level of engagement is only a more intense version of the erotic appeal projected onto many of the paintings in the form of emotions or sensations that the rhetor invites his listeners to experience or take away. Some of these are aggressively physical. Convincingly painted roses give off sweet scents; and fruits call out to be tasted so insistently that one can only imagine a literal experience of this gallery tour as a dazzling and somewhat unsettling sequence of sensations and arousals. If, however, we can manage to maintain our rational equilibrium in the face of these appealing invocations, we may understand how they serve the purpose of artistic interpretation by having it both ways; the more convincingly that any painting confuses the boundary of representation and reality, the greater the artist’s skill. But the more able the audience to monitor this confusion of boundaries, the more expertly or intelligently it judges that skill. But how intelligently is the rhetor himself judging in the occasions when he actually attempts to communicate with, and even influence the figure or action in the painting? Does he, in fact, sometimes forget both limits and audience in his own participatory desire? The entire Olympus description (Philostratus, Imagines 1) is a monologue confronting the solitary flautist, playing with no other visible audience, and, inferentially to himself; but the rhetor intrudes upon this interaction as he constructs the figure and the music. Because Olympus gazes as he plays intently into a pool of water that returns his reflection, the description flirts with the self-love of Narcissus, but this flirtation transfers to a relationship between the self and the music. Teasingly the water reflects the image only so far as the breast; ripples and foreshadowing conceal and distort the remainder of the figure. But in one notable instance the rhetor himself pays tribute by losing his cool. Like the Olympus monologue the non-mythical landscape “Hunters” opens with an apostrophe to its subject, but where Olympus remains stationary, the subjects of this painting baffle the spectator with their appearance of rapid motion. Immediately the rhetor engages his whole company of spectators in the first person plural in grasping to arrest its visible momentum: “Do not rush past us, ye hunters, nor urge on your steeds till we can track down what your purpose is and what is the game you are hunting. For you claim to be pursuing a ‘fierce wild boar’ and I see the devastation wrought by the creature […].” The boar itself is in view, fiery-eyed and bristling against his pursuers with a description lifted from Homer, and the surrounding landscape is marked by his devastation. For a moment the action would seem to be arrested, and the rhetor in secure control of its 16 Casa

delle Vestali (VI 1,7) PPM IV: 47.

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content, but this mastery leads him immediately to challenge the action with a subtext at odds with what the hunters themselves appear to have claimed. As he will have it, the actual lure that the young men are following is not so much the wild creature as their own leader, a beautiful youth for whom the rest are eager to run into danger. “For why so near? Why do you touch him? Why have you turned toward him? Why do you jostle each other with your horses?” Abruptly, however, the speaker comes to his senses and remembers his instructive role, arrests the motion, and turns to the forgotten audience. The picture has deluded him into believing its subjects alive, giving them not only movement but emotions. In this delusion he has been shouting out to the figures and imagining their response. No less deceived was his audience, who had not uttered a single word to dispel his error. But who has in fact deceived whom? Why have the listeners shown no awareness? Is it the painting that has deluded them, or is it the rhetor’s own self? And likewise what has deluded the speaker; was it his own degree of absorption that prompted him to shift his reading of the scene from the more heroic topic of the boar hunt to the erotic chase? And what does the young men’s perceived silence mean? Are they indeed fellow captives of the painting, or do they silently think that their role model has gone over the top? Recalling his professional objectivity, the rhetor returns to the language of the painting (skopomen oun ta gegrammena). A new focus on the technical aspects again seems to reestablish the spectatorly position and redraw the boundaries of engagement, yet, even as this happens, the hunt continues; the hunters pause by a woodland shrine, and the boar himself reemerges leading his pursuers to a marsh. At this point we may well want to question the spatial parameters of the picture ground, which its mobility would seem to have exceeded, running across at least three different situations for its protagonists and even two for the boar. So what is the import of these descriptions either for painting or for rhetoric? The two cases are in a manner analogous in exceeding the boundaries of their forms. It is not merely that so few of the compositions resemble the familiar renditions of their subjects from two centuries earlier at Pompeii. New topics have been introduced; character casts have increased; postures have been changed; details multiplied. These differences can easily be accounted by the simple notion that Campanian traditions were cut short by the eruption, causing the entire art industry to begin ex novo. As the rhetor however would have it, these are not all contemporary paintings; he calls the collection eclectic, comprising the knowingly selected productions of the most accomplished painters with the best skills. Alternatively, however, if the rhetorical imagination is the only location in which the collection is located, then we will understand it as a composite of recollections that

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the rhetor has assembled from memories of diverse sources that meet his standards of what the best skills ought to produce. In either case, tests of probability suggest that the details are rendered with unusual precision and that their elaboration must be attributed to the embellishment that teaches us how to appreciate art. But if we look at the two rhetorical handbooks of exercises usually associated with the Second Sophistic, the progymnasmata by Theon of Alexandria and Hermogenes, we can also see that the embellishments have pushed against the strict limits of ekphrasis. Although these advise the practioner to make his hearers visualize his subjects, they do not recommend making them smell, feel, taste or kiss. Indeed Theon observes that the subjects of ekphrasis are inert or lifeless objects, lacking in moral sense.17 I am not about to call the implications of Philostratus’ images moral, for many of them are pleasurably immoral, but they are scarcely either lifeless or inert. In adding these affective qualities we may think that the rhetor does not so much appreciate painting as rival it, and likewise contests the literary traditions from which the representations often depart. In the opening description of Scamander, we can see a paradigm of such reading, for the picture is, and is not Homer. To understand the subject, the viewer must first turn away from the image to recover knowledge from its source so that the details fall into place, some faithful and some altered. Lacking the larger context of a controlling narrative, these ekphraseis have their real equivalent in the story-telling pictures of the epic tradition with all their possibilities of multiple interpretation. Thus in learning to appreciate painting, Philostratus’ readers, if not the rhetor’s fictive audience, might see their real lesson in the arbitrary subjectivity of interpretation. For each painting possesses its own story, which could even be inadvertent and may exist either in the way in which art simulates life or in what life itself brings to its perception of art. At moment when perception confuses the two, it would seem that life itself has taken over since what the viewer sees may not be what the picture should mean at all. It is not hard to imagine that such extrapolations embroidered with detail and reaching out for affective response are indeed possible representations of the way in which the ancient viewer came to works of art. So, if we can grant the independent integrity of Philostratus’ collection as components in a triangular interassociation composed of image, text and interpretive eye, we can only conclude that the figurative third of this triangle is unrecoverable, that we can in no way accurately view the contents of composition of the eikones. So just for amusement, I will conclude with that one attempt to do so that I mentioned at the outset. In fact from the 17 Kennedy,

“The Excercises of Aelius Theon,” p. 46.

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time that the text became available to the European world of art, the images have generated many spin-off responses, more even than I myself can be acquainted with, although I can mention Raphael’s triumphant Galatea in the Villa Farnesina, or Poussin’s lonely Polyphemus at the margins of his fertile landscape .18 But what I will briefly sample are not creative spinoffs, but literal illustrations intended to clarify the descriptions through translating their words into pictures, or retranslating if you will. I turn to a pioneering European publication of the Imagines, a translation into French by one Blaise de Vignères,19 an elaborate production comprising not merely the translation itself, but a factual preface explaining each myth and a learned commentary or exegesis many times the length of the description, loaded with philological allusions. Additionally, as the preface explains, the illustrations have been monitored for accuracy in their reproduction of the Greek, and, given the proclivity of Philostratus to write often some-what lasciviously, each picture is also accompanied by a little verse extrapolation of the moral value of the story. The title page illustration20 shows that the illustrator has got one aspect of the gallery layout correct (fig. 29). The rhetor sets his scene in a porticus located on a series of five terraces overlooking the sea. For a villa on the Neapolitan coast this configuration is entirely probable, but hardly replicated by the spatial confinement of this u-shaped porticus. All the same, if we overlook this architecture as well as rather baroque elaboration of the dome that must be taken to cover the main block of the villa, the general idea of the display area under a colonnaded porticus with the pictures displayed paratactically along the rear walls of the covered corridors, where one must imagine them to receive the best light, conforms to the trajectory of the discourse viewing the paintings sequentially in stroll. On whatever instinct this illustrator based his reconstruction, it is much closer to what we imagine the distribution to have been within an ancient public picture gallery, such as those in Pompey’s theatre or the porticus of Octavia, than are later attempts to make a modern museum display organized in separate room divisions with thematic selections or hierarchies of size as both Goethe and the Art Institute historian Karl Lehmann had done. This being said, as we begin to turn pages we see also that the illustrations are not in frieze form

18 E. W. Leach, “Polyphemus in a Landscape: Traditions of Pastoral Courtship” in The Pastoral Landscape (ed. J. D. Hunt; National Gallery of Art, Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts. Symposium Papers XX; Hanover and London: University Press of New England, 1992), 63–88. 19 Philostrate, Les Images ou Tableux de Platte-Peinture. Traduction et commentaire de Blaise de Vigenère (1578) (ed. F. Graziani; Paris: Honoré Champion, 1995), 2 vols. 20 Images vol. 2 (ed. Graziani), 988.

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but rather observe the continuous narrative ground rule of multiple actions contained within a single frame. We might begin with Scamander.21 Like the small boy who wonders at the phenomenon, the illustrator seems concerned to show fire living on water, making it at once plausible in origin yet monumental in effect. But to do so he has Hephestus neither running nor doing battle but swooping headlong in a blazing column, while the river as seen in the right hand corner of the illustration seems not especially damaged as he reclines in a traditional water god’s pose. At the same time he cannot seem to do without some gesture to the divine warfare underlying this phase of the conflict as Juno rides in a supervisory chariot above. Although the rhetor explaining Amphion’s magic reminds us that Thebes was not beforehand a walled city, there is something startling about seeing it as a Renaissance city, recognizably derived from ideal urban backgrounds of historical or other paintings.22 All the same the nicely prefabricated building blocks of his construction lack the joyous spontaneity with which the rhetor characterizes the stones of his Amphion painting, nor does it seem likely that their charmer might be singing a song of the Earth. By contrast the illustration for Pentheus takes the tripartite spatial and temporal composition of the description quite seriously,23 providing four distinct locations and stages, with a Maenadic dance on Cithaeron’s wild summit, a fallen pine tree, a solemn background procession into an apparent replica of the Augustan mausoleum, and a moderately grisly dismemberment scene at the center presenting an interesting contrast with the no less threatening, but less visceral rendition in Pompeii’s House of the Vettii (fig. 33), not to mention the nobly heraldric transformation of the ancestral pair, Cadmus and Harmonia. If we are laughing at these illustrations, I think it is because we find them so foreign to what Philostratus himself could have imagined or what he has made us imagine. Although their awkward schemata can actually seem shackled by their attempts to realize their textual rubrics, in and of themselves many are not bad; their draftsmanship is competent and some would stand comparison, if not with Raphael’s Galatea, at least with many European translations of myth into art. Olympus, for instance is at once faithful to the rhetor’s description and quite pretty.24 But what I hope to have shown by this epilogue is the inevitable arbitrariness that governs the translation of pictures to words and words into pictures, not only because of the subjectivity of the viewing experience but also the idiom of the times. 21 Images

vol. 2 (ed. Graziani), 989. vol. 2 (ed. Graziani), 998. 23 Images vol. 2 (ed. Graziani), 1007. 24 Images vol. 2 (ed. Graziani), 1010. 22 Images

Rhetorical Inventio

Captions for figures Fig. 1: Casa di Amandus Sacerdos (I 7,7; PPM II 46–113) Fig. 2: Casa del Sacerdos Amandus (I 7,7; PPM I 602–05) Fig. 3: Casa del Sacerdos Amandus (I 7,7; PPM I 599–600) Fig. 4: Casa del Sacerdos Amandus (I 7,7; PPM I 595–97) Fig. 5: Casa del Frutteto (I 9,5; PPM II 52–58) Figs. 6–7: Casa di Polibio (IX 13,1–3; PPM X 256–61) Fig. 8: Casa del Meleagro (VI 9,2.13; PPM IV 719) Fig. 9: Casa dei Vettii (VI 15,1; PPM V 540) Fig. 10: Casa di D. Octavius Quartio (II 2,2; PPM III 103–04)

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I. Domus

Architecture and Decoration in the House of Menander in Pompeii* Ivan Varriale

1. Introduction House I 10,4, referred to as “The House of Menander” because of the Greek playwright’s portrait painted inside an exedra of the peristyle, occupies almost 55 % of an insula whose total surface is about 3.300 sq. m. (fig. 1: plan). The entrance, with a big portal flanked by Corinthian pilasters, is in the middle of the northern side of the insula, opened on what certainly was the busiest road of the block. The house was excavated and restored by Amedeo Maiuri between autumn 1927 (atrium and northern colonnade of the peristyle) and summer 1932 (the peristyle and service rooms),1 with an interruption of almost a year between spring 1928 and summer 1929, in order to complete the digging of Villa of the Mysteries.2 In 1933, within a year of the end of the excavation, A. Maiuri published the first complete edition of the house, which did not omit a single aspect; he devoted a considerable part of the book to furnishings, especially to silverware.3 The house was seriously damaged by the earthquake of 1980 and needed a new restoration.4 The interventions started in 1983, which thanks to the Istituto Centrale per il Restauro of Rome involved the adjustment of the coverings. These were philologically rebuilt and renewed using materials that were more suitable than reinforced concrete, considered miraculous during the first restoration5. During these same years Roger Ling, the chief * For the translation I would like to thank Dr. Valentina Revard. 1 A. Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro e il suo tesoro di argenteria (Rome: Libreria dello Stato, 1933). 2 A. Maiuri, La villa dei Misteri (Rome: Libreria dello Stato, 1967). 3 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 241–403. 4 A. De Simone, “La Casa del Menandro e il recente restauro,” in Menander: la Casa del Menandro di Pompei (ed. G. Stefani; Milan: Electa, 2003), 70–83. 5 G. Torraca, “La conservazione delle pitture murali nel peristilio della Casa del Menandro a Pompei,” RStPomp 1 (1987): 140–150. ICCROM intervention on the peristyle

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of an ambitious project involving the whole insula 10, started the analytic study of the house. The work of documentation of the English team has appeared in a series of monographs that illustrates the complex in all its aspects.6

2. The owner Maiuri attributed the ownership of the house to the gens Poppea,7 because of the finding of a bronze seal bracelet, in the service area, at the threshold of the cubicle (43). On the bracelet there was an inscription: “Q(uinti) Poppaei Erotis,”8 so Maiuri thought the bracelet owner was the procurator9 of the house. Ling10 thinks that the seal alone is not enough to determine the ownership assignment. Due to the dimensions and the splendor of the decorations, he suggests that the owner was a member of the municipal élite.11 A Poppeus parapets (1983 southern parapets, 1985 western, 1986 northern) underlined the usefulness and the limits of the peristyle covering made under A. Maiuri’s direction.  6  The first volume is dedicated to the structures analysis (R. Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii. Volume I: The structure [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997]), the second one to the decorations (R. Ling and L. Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii. Volume II: The decoration [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005]), the third (P. M. Allison, The Insula of the Menander at Pompeii. Volume III: The Finds, a Contextual Study [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006]) to all the findings, except silverware, dealt with in the fourth volume (K. Painter, The Insula of the Menander at Pompeii. Volume IV: The Silver Treasure [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001]), whereas the fifth, still in press, is by A. Varone and deals with the innumerable inscriptions found in the complex. In the huge bibliography about this subject we must mention: R. Ling, “La Casa del Menandro,” in Menander: la Casa del Menandro di Pompei (ed. G. Stefani; Milan: Electa, 2003), 10–45; G. Stefani, “La Casa del Menandro (I 10,4),” in Storie da un’eruzione. Pompei, Ercolano, Oplontis (Catalogo della mostra, Napoli, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, 20 marzo – 31 agosto 2003; eds. A. D’Ambrosio, P. G. Guzzo and M. Mastroberto; Milan: Electa, 2003), 355–361; G. Stefani, Menander: la Casa del Menandro di Pompei (Milan: Electa, 2003).   7 The Poppei Sabini family was already known in Pompeii for its ownership of the House of the Amorini Dorati. Cf. M. Della Corte, Case e abitanti a Pompei (Naples: Fiorentino, 1965), 72–77, 292–299.   8 The seal was found near the bodies of a man and a little girl, together with several furnishings, gathered with different agricultural tools. In the room they found more than seventy objects. Allison, The Insula of the Menander, 228–229, cat. 796–863.   9 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 17–22. 10 R. Ling, “La Casa del Menandro,” in Pompei: Abitare sotto il Vesuvio. (Catalogo della mostra, Ferrara, Palazzo dei Diamanti, 29 Settembre 1996–19 Gennaio 1997; ed. M. R. Borriello; Ferrara: Ferrara Arte, 1996), 65–71, esp. 66; Ling, The insula of the Menander, 142–144; Ling, “La Casa del Menandro,” in Menander, 11 ff. 11 Houses comparable to the House of Menander (1830 smq) can be assigned to individuals who held important offices in the local magistracies: House of Pansa (sqm 2290), property of Cn. Alleius Nigidius Maius, a quinquennalis; House of M. Obellius Firmus,

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Sabinus is mentioned as aedil in an epigraph12 concerning the temple of Fortuna Augusta under the consulate of Q. Futius and P. Calvisius (37–41 C.E.), and Poppea Sabina, Nero’s wife, probably came from this very branch of the family in Campania.13 The prenomen Quintus14 is written in the vestibule of the House and we find the name Sabinus twice inside15 and twice outside16 the domus.17 All this evidence is not enough to attribute the House of Menander to Q. Poppeo Sabino but, as remarked by Antonio Varrone,18 this is an ordinary situation for almost all Pompeian houses. However, Ling’s hypothesis about the domus belonging to a Pompeian upper class member, does not reject the idea of Q. Poppeo Sabino as its owner. Even if he does not appear in the electoral inscriptions in Pompeii, he could be engaged in some other activities in Rome, as already attested for two members of his own gens, elected consuls19 during the Augustan age.

3. General description The luxurious domus develops in an axial sequence made up of fauces, atrium, tablinum and peristyle (fig. 2), which form the residential and representative core of the house. The complex of the atrium, decorated in fourth style, includes the atrium (b) [m 7,25 × 10], and the tablinum (8) [m 4,30 × 4,55], and an exedra (4) [m 3,75 × 3,45]. The other rooms opening on the atrium are basically decorated or totally free from any ornamentation. a duovir (sqm 1780); another duovir, C. Iulius Polybius, lived in a house that was smaller (sqm 765), but rich in decorations. 12 CIL X 827¸ P. Castrén, Ordo populusque Pompeianus. Polity and Society in Roman Pompeii (Rome: Bardi, 1975), pp. 76–78 classifies the inscription under Caligula’s principality (37–41 C.E.). 13 Poppea Sabina owned brick factories in the Pompeian countryside, as testified by a little waxed board from Herculaneum. V. Arangio-Ruiz and G. Pugliese Carratelli, “Tabulae Herculanenses 4,” PP 9 (1954): 55–57. 14 CIL IV 8310. 15 CIL IV 8341 b, c. 16 CIL IV 8260 a, b; 8264. 17 Another inscription was on the right of the entrance: “C. IVLIVM POLYBIVM II VIR FVLBVNGVIS ROGAT” according to Della Corte, who defined as fulbunguis (with golden nails) the House of Menander owner. Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 19; A. Maiuri, “Pompei: relazione sui lavori di scavo dall’aprile 1926 al dicembre 1927,” NSc Ser. 6, N. 5 (1929): 354–438, esp. 463, n. 189. 18 A. Varone, “Gli abitanti della casa,” in Menander: la Casa del Menandro di Pompei (ed. G. Stefani, Milan: Electa, 2003), 46–55. 19 C. Poppeus Sabinus and Q. Poppeus Secundus, sons and grandsons of a certain Q. Poppeus (CIL X 6639 e 963), were both consuls in 9 C.E. The first was Poppea Augusta’s mother’s grandfather. See Varone, “Gli abitanti della casa,” note 31.

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The Rhodian peristyle [m 12,90 × 16,60] surrounds a garden, in which is found a fountain pool and an area used as a summer triclinium.20 Around the portico there are several rooms, taking advantage of the view and the light. On the northern side there are two large rooms (11) [m 3,60 × 4,60] and (12). On the southern side there is a series of exedras, with an apsidal and rectangular plan, used as places to stop in during the ambulatio21. These exedras can be seen from the fauces, thanks to the intercolumniations expanded for this purpose in front of the tablinum.22 Inside one of these exedras there is Menander’s portrait, together with one of Euripides and some theatrical masks, both comic and tragic. Nearby is a cubicle with a double alcove, then used as a library (21)23 [m 3,35 × 3, 90]. On the eastern side there are the most prestigious rooms of the whole house24: two oeci or cubicles (15 and 19) [m 3,60 × 4,65 and m 5 × 5,20], a large dining room used for banquets (18), one of the largest in Pompeii [m 11,50 × 7,50]. In another cubicle (17) [m 4,75 × 3,30], accessible from the peristyle through a short corridor (16) [m 1,50 × 5,20], there are more secluded spaces, suitable for rest. Finally, on the western side of the peristyle, there is a small thermal complex (46–49).25 The dwelling is endowed with a rustic part, east of the residential core, whereas to the west there is another service area. Both these areas are absolutely separated from the representative quarter. West of the peristyle there are a kitchen (27), a latrine (26) and the service areas, also including an

20 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 84, fig. 34, pls. I–III; Ling, The insula of the Menander, 140. 21 I. Varriale, “I cicli decorativi nella Casa del Menandro,” in Circulación de temas y sistemas decorativos en la pintura mural antigua, Actas del IX Congreso Internacional de la “Association Internationale pour la Peinture Murale Antique (AIPMA) (Zaragoza  – Calatayud 21–25 septiembre 2004) (ed. C. Guiral; Zaragoza: Gobierno de Aragòn, 2007), 335–339. 22 H. Drerup, “Bildraum und Realraum in der römischen Architektur,” RM 66 (1959): 147–174, esp. 155–161; A. Wallace-Hadrill, Houses and society in Pompeii and Herculaneum (Princeton N. J.: Princeton University Press, 1994), 54 ff.; Varriale, “I cicli decorativi nella Casa del Menandro,” 335–339. 23 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 88, thinks it was a library with a bed to read volumina. L. Richardson, “The libraries of Pompeii,” Archaeology 30 (1977): 394–402, esp. 397–399, believes it was a library, whereas the exedra (23) was used as reading room. Ling, The insula of the Menander, 6, note 42, and 137, note 205, is more careful and suggests it was only a storeroom. 24 Wallace-Hadrill, Houses and society in Pompeii and Herculaneum, 54. 25 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 227–228, note 20, found several plaster fragments decorated in the second and fourth styles, used to fill a gap in the oven room. D’Avino, Maiuri’s assistant, recognized among these fragments some portions of the II style frescos of the bath’s little atrium, where there is still part of the decoration with clear pickaxe marks.

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hortus (R). They are all hidden26 and reachable through a narrow L – shaped corridor (M). In the south-eastern area, that is connected to the peristyle through another L-shaped corridor (P1, which slopes downhill), and is also accessible from three independent halls opening on the street, there is a very big complex, made up of a stable (29), a courtyard (34), several rooms for the serving staff and some warehouses. A lot of amphora and tools and a wagon were found here, so Maiuri was led to think that this area was the center of agricultural activities and that the owner of the house managed an estate out of town.27 Above this lower-level service area, there were rooms on the first floor, and we know from a guesstimate that about thirty people lived here.28 Although it is in the centre of the old city, the house is structured as a suburban villa, with a residential area totally separated from the service or the rural one. That is not surprising if we consider the great number of Pompeian houses that, during the last years of the life of this city, imitate the structure of the big villas of otium, such as those on the slopes of the western and southern townwalls, even if often in narrow spaces.29 The House of Menander also owes its fame to the great quantity of precious objects found in December 1930. The treasure, the most significant ever found in the Vesuvian region, is made up of 118 pieces of silver and also includes some jewelry and coins to the amount of 1432 sesterces.30 Maiuri 26 About the importance of keeping these areas secret see Wallace-Hadrill, Houses and society in Pompeii and Herculaneum, 44. 27 Allison, The Insula of the Menander, 230 ff. 28 The south-eastern corner of corridor P1 was occupied by a wooden stair; only its two stone steps remain today. Under the stair there is the access to other underground rooms. In the space between the passage walls and the wooden stair, at least twelve human skeletons were found, piled up and confused. Most of them are adult individuals, found in two different groups, at about 2,5 meters from the pavement floor. They were caught by the burning cloud as they tried to escape upstairs. Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 13; Ling, The insula of the Menander, 65 ff.; Stefani, La Casa del Menandro (I 10,4), 355–361; E. Lazer, “Resti umani scheletrici nella Casa del Menandro,” in Menander: La Casa del Menandro a Pompei (ed. G. Stefani; Milan: Electa, 2003), 64–69; Allison, The Insula of the Menander, 318–319. 29 P. Zanker, Pompei: società, immagini urbane e forme dell’abitare (Turin: Einaudi, 1993), 151–221. About the houses of Insula Occidentalis see M. Aoyagi and U. Pappalardo, Pompei: (regiones VI–VII) Insula Occidentalis (Naples: Valtrend, 2006). 30 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 265–310; U. Pappalardo, “Gli argenti,” in Le collezioni del Museo del Museo Nazionale di Napoli (ed. A. F. Pedicini; Rome: De Luca; Milan: Leonardo, 1989), 91–102; E. Künzl, “Le argenterie,” in Pompei 79. Raccolta di studi per il decimonono centenario dell’eruzione vesuviana (ed. F. Zevi; Naples: Macchiaroli, 1979), 211–228; T. Giove, “Casa del Menandro (catalogo dei materiali),” in Pompei: abitare sotto il Vesuvio. Ferrara, Palazzo dei Diamanti 29 Settembre 1996–19 Gennaio 1997 (ed. M. R. Borriello; Ferrara: Arte, 1996), 215–229; Painter, The Insula of the Menander; U. Pappalardo, “Le argenterie,” in Menander: la Casa del Menandro di Pompei (ed. G. Stefani; Milan: Electa, 2003), 90–108; T. Giove, “Coins from the insula del Menandro, now in the Naples

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describes in detail the finding of the treasure under the little atrium of the bath31. The silverware was preserved inside a wooden box reinforced by bronze and carefully wrapped in clothes; they were perfectly conserved. The discoverer classifies the silverware into three categories: argentium potorium (drinking tableware), 21 items in two sets, argentium escarium (eating tableware), 95 items in four sets, and specula (2 pieces).32

4. Architecture and decoration Mythological paintings have often been considered just copies of lost master-works of Greek painting and therefore removed from the original walls and placed inside galleries and museums.33 On the contrary, pictures should be examined in their own context, and the whole house should be considered as figurative space, that is, as architectural space, enriched by images, where the owner carried out different activities. In the House of Menander this kind of approach is possible thanks to the extraordinary preservation of the domus, that keeps in situ most of its frescos and mosaics, and thanks to the documentation published in the last years by Roger Ling, allowing us to read also the portions of frescos ruined by time. In the Roman private house, as testified by Vitruvius (De architectura 6.5.1–2), there was a separation between public areas, where clientes were received, and private areas, destined to receive only hospites. So different activities had to be done at the same time in rooms designed for different purposes. To that end, the architecture helped identify rooms National Museum,” in The Insula of the Menander at Pompeii: Volume III: The Finds, a Contextual Study (ed. P. M. Allison; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 409–434; G. Stefani, “Casa del Menandro,” in Argenti a Pompei. (Catalogo della Mostra Napoli, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, 2006; ed. P. G. Guzzo; Milan: Electa, 2006), 191–223. 31 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 241–403. 32 Künzl, Le argenterie, 220 ff.; Painter, The Insula of the Menander, 53–55; Pappalardo, Le argenterie, 96–97, 103; G. Stefani, “Casa del Menandro,”, 191–223, esp. 196–197; R. Ciardiello, “In argento plane studiosus sum. Argenti romani nel Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli,” Quaderni di Vesuviana 1(in print). 33 M. P. Rossignani, “Saggio sui restauri settecenteschi ai dipinti di Ercolano e Pompei,” Contributi dell’Istituto di archeologia. Pubblicazioni dell’Università cattolica del Sacro Cuore 1 (1967): 7–134; I. Bragantini and F. Parise Badoni, “Il quadro pompeiano nel suo contesto decorativo,” DialArch 2 (1984): 119–128; E. M. Moormann, “La pittura romana fra costruzione architettonica e arte figurativa,” in Romana pictura: la pittura romana dalle origini all’età bizantina (Catalogo della mostra, Palazzo del Podestà e dell’Arengo, Rimini 1998; ed. A. Donati; Milan: Electa, 1998), 14–32; P. D’Alconzo, Picturae excisae: conservazione e restauro dei dipinti ercolanesi e pompeiani tra XVIII e XIX secolo (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 2002); Varriale, “I cicli decorativi nella Casa del Menandro,” 335–339.

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and complexes with the same functions, and if this were not enough, the decorations, with thematic links, reinforced connections and separations already defined by the architecture. With regard to space organization, the House of Menander turned out to be a mass of stand-alone complexes, strongly connected among themselves, where the passage from one complex to another is suggested by visual guide lines and thematic links.

5. The atrium complex In the atrium complex, emphasis given to the openings of the tablinum (8) and the exedra (4), respectively, enriched with engaged columns and jutting pilaster (fig. 3), which reveals the link between these two rooms and the atrium (b). Furthermore, the same decorative pattern used for the wall painting of these three rooms immediately shows the connection among them and the clear separation from the other rooms opening on the atrium34. At the same time the decoration, with visible differences, is useful to create a distinction among the three rooms and underlines their different functions. The main zone, that is the focal point of the wall, shows red panels on a yellow background in the atrium, whereas in the tablinum and in the exedra (4) there are yellow panels on a red background. Partitions, doors and curtains ensured reciprocal dependence among the rooms. The link between the atrium and the peristyle is due to an axial view that enables one to see through the tablinum and to enter the peristyle (fig. 2); here the painted parapets, imitating some paradeisoi, illusionistically extend the garden’s size and throw the viewer into an exotic atmosphere. The view can reach the end of the peristyle, where an architectural prospect, made up of rectangular and apsidal exedras (fig. 13), reproduces the form of theatrical scaenae35. Paintings in the atrium allude to the peristyle decorations thanks to the panel, placed on the portico entrance, which represent hunting images such as those painted on the peristyle parapets (fig. 4)36. The wall painting then helps to shape architectural spaces, to separate different units, and to create passages through them. That is possible because there is a difference between the decorations full of images, that are used in rooms in which persons were to remain for longer periods, and those suitable for a glancing 34 J. R. Clarke, The houses of Roman Italy, 100 B.C.–A.D. 250: ritual, space and decoration (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 170–175; D. Scagliarini Corlàita, “Spazio e decorazione nella pittura pompeiana” Palladio. Rivista di storia dell’architettura e restauro 24 (1974–1976): 3–44; Ling – Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii: The decoration, 42. 35 Drerup, “Bildraum und Realraum,” 155–161. 36 Varriale, “I cicli decorativi nella Casa del Menandro,” 335.

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view, which are set up so that visitors do not focus their attention on a single point of the wall but are accompanied as they stroll.37 The atrium (b) is embellished with a simple alternation of panels and intervals with architectural perspectives in the main zone with a black socle that follows the same paratactic scheme. In the upper zone there is a frieze38 made up of panels with landscape scenes (fig. 5) that are much bigger (cm 55 × 185) than the landscape pinakes usually found on the fourth style walls. The frieze is too high to be read in detail. It can be interpreted as a fantastic evocation of the seacoast running before the eyes of those who remain in the atrium39. Thus, waiting for the dominus to receive them, the guests could admire the view and have the illusion of standing in front of a real panorama.40 The exedra (4) is quite different because it is conceived as an art gallery and presents three paintings that force those who come in to stop and view them (figs. 6–7). The three pinakes show the death of Laocoön, Cassandra’s prophecy before the wooden horse, and last night in Troy, which visualizes the rape of Cassandra and the meeting between Menelaus and Helen. These images are easily recognizable and suitable for the wide public that had access to the atrium. At the same time, the cyclic representation and reproduction of the same characters shows a fragmentary time sequence with no uniform rhythm41. The first two pinakes (Laocoön’s death and Cassandra’s prophecy before the wooden horse) illustrate single episodes separated by an undetermined interval of time, whereas the third one (the last night in Troy) represents the rape of Cassandra and the meeting between Menelaus and Helen synoptically; here in fact both representations show their simultaneity and reciprocal relation and the effect of actions illustrated in the previous pinakes. The cause and effect relation among the episodes of the cycle offers the guests a cue for discussion.42 Waiting for the dominus to receive them, the visitors viewed the images and interpreted them in different ways, depending on their social status and 37

 Scagliarini Corlàita, “Spazio e decorazione,” 3–34. Bragantini, “Problemi di pittura romana,” AION 2 (1995): 175–197; W. J. T. Peters, Landscape in Romano-Campanian mural painting (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1963), 161–167. 39 About depictions of landscapes with villas see: A. Carandini, “Paesaggi con ville nella pittura vesuviana,” in Storia di Roma: Caratteri e morfologie (eds. A. Momigliano and A. Schiavone; Turin: Einaudi, 1989), 192–200; E. La Rocca, “Paesaggi che fluttuano nel vuoto: la veduta paesistica nella pittura greca e romana,” in Roma: la Pittura di un Impero (Catalogo della mostra, Roma, Scuderie del Quirinale, 24 settembre 2009–17 Gennaio 2010; eds. E. La Rocca, S. Ensoli, S. Tortorella and M. Papini; Milan: Skira, 2009), 39–55. 40 Compare the House of the Citharist (I 4,5.25), where a continuous frieze with views of sea villas was placed on the epistyle of portico (17). Three large fragments of this frieze are kept in the National Archeological Museum of Naples: invv. 9496, 9610, 9606. 41 M. Schmidt, “Iconografia del mito,” in I Greci. Storia, cultura, arte, società. Una storia greca. Definizione (ed. S. Settis; Turin: Einaudi, 1997), 867–896. 42 Varriale, “I cicli decorativi nella Casa del Menandro,” 335–339. 38 I.

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their experience of life. Thus, Brutus’ life by Plutarch43 narrates that Porcia, while moving with her husband who was leaving for the military campaign against Mark Antony and Octavian, noticed a painting showing Hector and Andromache’s parting; watching the hero leaving for the fatal battle, she started to cry and continued to weep each time she looked at the picture. Her continually returning to the painting, although it made her cry, was a kind of comfort to her pain through the recollection of “the most moving goodbye of Greek mythology”.44 The majestic appearance of the atrium was a means for the dominus to symbolize himself in the public sphere.45 So the monumental lararium (fig. 8) emphasized his pietas, whereas the Trojan cycle showed his knowledge of his native land, founded by Trojan exiles according to the legend.46 In the tablinum (8), only the eastern wall is decorated, whereas the western one was broken down to create a sort of cupboard obtained from room (10), which once was a corridor to the peristyle, symmetrical to the corridor (9)47. The eastern wall is made up of a plinth and a black socle, a main zone with yellow panels with red background and with architectural perspectives with white background intervals. The central interval is the widest, and it has a pinax showing “The Rape of Europa”. Lateral panels are similar to drapes, whose tension is underlined by the curvilinear movement of the upper edge. The upper zone with white background is almost entirely lost.

6. The peristyle complex The peristyle (c) has the form of a perfect rectangle (m 12,90 × 16,60) made up of a Doric colonnade; its columns have plaster shafts and capitals that are enriched by an echinus with lotus and volutes and by an abacus with Doric kyma (moulding)48. The intercolumniations are closed by low painted parapets with hunting images and paradeisoi (fig. 4). Despite the regularity Brutus, 23. Zanker, Un’arte per l’impero: Funzione e intenzione delle immagini nel mondo romano (Milano: Electa, 2002), 112–113. 45 A. Wallace-Hadrill, “Case dipinte: il sistema decorativo della casa romana come aspetto sociale,” in Roma: La Pittura di un Impero, 31–37. 46 K. Schefold, La peinture pompéienne. Essai sur l’évolution de sa signification, Bruxelles: Latomus, 1972, 50–52; K. Schefold, “Die Troissage in Pompeji,” in Wort und Bild: Studien zur Gegenwart der Antike (ed. K. Schefold; Basel – Mainz: P. von Zabern, 1975), 129–134; D. Tomei, “Le saghe troiane nella pittura pompeiana,” Ostraka, Rivista di Antichità 16 (2007): 409–445, esp. 418–419. 47 It is possible that the room was used as a closet, due to the finding of two lock disks and of a set of clay dishes. Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 55–56. 48 Ling, The insula of the Menander, 142–144, fig. 51 b. 43 Plut. 44 P.

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of the peristyle, there is not a homogeneous distribution of the number of columns on the four sides. Indeed, it seems influenced by the opening of some rooms towards the peristyle, where the intercolumniation is enlarged. This widening especially occurs in the northern portico with five columns in front of the tablinum (8), whereas the southern side has seven columns and they are placed at the same distance. In the eastern portico the intercolumniations are enlarged in front of rooms (15) and (18), which also has no parapets; here the portico has seven columns (fig. 9), whereas on the western side there are eight, and they are placed at the same distance. Rooms (15–16–17–18–19) on the eastern side of the peristyle form a unitary complex, with the exception of the small room (14) that originally acted as cubiculum, as can be inferred from the second style mosaic49. In the last period it became a storeroom. The eastern portico configuration and above all the disposition of the columns inside the portico are influenced by the function of the rooms opening on it and by their major or minor tendency outwards. There is a larger intercolumniation in front of room (15) in order to allow the people inside to enjoy the view of the garden. On the contrary, from corridor (16) it is impossible to look beyond the peristyle colonnade. In front of the large room (18), supplied with a big door, there is a very large intercolumniation with no parapets, which defines a full opening within the garden. From the great triclinium it is possible to admire figures painted on the southern portico exedras. From room (19) it is only possible to notice the southern portico, whereas the exedras remain hidden. The decoration defines dissimilar functions of different rooms as well. The two external rooms (15 and 19) have, respectively a red and a yellow background decoration and both show mythological pinakes. Room (18), the most important one, has both yellow and red in its main zone, it is characterized by the use of blue for architectural perspectives, and it is rich in details. Furthermore, room (17) is painted in black, red and yellow, but with a simple panels scheme, without intervals or pinakes. The architectural division of the rooms and their relation to pictorial and mosaic decoration can play a primary role in defining the function of each room and the functional relations among them50. The eastern peristyle complex is then made up of an alternation of “closed” rooms which are opened outwards. The oeci are rooms that programmatically open outwards51; considering the typical association of an oecus, whose triclinium function can often be recognized, with one or more diurnal or nocturnal cubicula, we can La Casa del Menandro, 160; Ling, The insula of the Menander, 271. Corlàita, “Spazio e decorazione,” 3–44. 51 Vitruvius De architectura 6. 3.10. 49 Maiuri,

50 Scagliarini

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state that the complex of rooms has a residential and hosting function, and that it is made up of two oeci, with different functions, and two cubicula connected to them. The oecus (15), with the exception of the black socle, has a totally red painted background. Each of the three walls has a mythological painting in the middle (fig. 10). They show: Perseus at the court of Cepheus, king of Aethiopia; Perseus saving Andromeda from the sea monster (Cetus) and the punishment of Dirce; in the lateral panels there are flying Muses.52 The first painting shows Perseus on the right, in the presence of four characters on the left. At the top there is a curtain falling from the ceiling, suggesting that the episode is taking place inside the palace. A heavily draped female figure, with veiled head, stands in a prominent position compared to the other three characters receiving Perseus; she can be recognized as Cassiopeia, Andromeda’s mother. Behind her there are three figures, and among them at least two are males; one of them, slightly more advanced and with a long sceptre, can be identified as Cepheus.53 This representation refers to the meeting between the hero and Andromeda’s family, before the girl’s rescue, when Perseus proposed to marry her in exchange for his intervention. The episode is rarely represented and generally appears as a subsidiary element in mythological scenes with continuous narration of third style, as in the Boscotrecase panel or in the one from Sacerdus Amandus’ House, where attention is focused on the hero’s arrival and on Andromeda’s rescue.54

52 The central parts of northern and eastern walls were restored after an earthquake. According to Ling this probably was the seismic event of 62 C.E. (R. Ling, “Earthquake damage in Pompeii I 10: one earthquake or two?,” in Archäologie und Seismologie: la regione vesuviana dal 62 al 79 d.C.: problemi archeologici e sismologici: colloquium (Boscoreale 26.–27. November 1993) (eds. T. Fröhlich and L. Jacobelli; Munich: Biering & Brinkmann, 1995), 201–209; Ling, The insula of the Menander, 234; Ling and Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii: The decoration, 36–37, Considering the coherence of decorations in all the complex, I think that it could also be another earthquake that happened after the one of 62 C.E. and not much before the eruption of 79 C.E. This hypothesis is supported by several studies: A. De Simone, “I terremoti precedenti l’eruzione: nuove attestazione da recenti scavi,” in Archäologie und Seismologie, 37–43; S. Nappo, “Evidenze di Danni Strutturali, Restauri e Rifacimenti nelle Insulae Gravitanti su Via Nocera a Pompei,” in Archäologie und Seismologie, 45–55; U. Pappalardo, “Osservazioni su un secondo grande terremoto a Pompei,” Archäologie und Seismologie, 191–194; A. Varone, “Più Terremoti a Pompei? I nuovi dati degli scavi di Via dell’Abbondanza,” in Archäologie und Seismologie, 29–35. 53 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 162–163 recognizes a man with a scepter; Ling and Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii: The decoration, 79. 54 K. M. Phillips, Jr., “Perseus and Andromeda,” AJA 1 (1968): 1–23; B. Schmaltz, “Andromeda. Ein campanisches Wandbild,” JdI 104 (1989): 259–281, esp. 262.

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Here, instead, prominence is given to this particular episode; Cassiopeia’s figure is emphasized and placed in the middle of the composition.55 The second painting, on the eastern background wall, shows Andromeda while she is still tied to the rock and exposed as an oblation for the Cetus. The girl is terrified and, bound as she is, she can not do anything but look delighted at her savior, Perseus, depicted on the right. The hero stands wearing only his chlamys; in his left hand he holds the horrible Gorgon’s head, taken out of a bag, whereas in his right hand, he waves the harpe against the sea monster, while it sinks in the stretch of water before the rock. In this case as well, there is a variant of the well-known iconography, where one typically sees the hero as he helps Andromeda getting off the rock, after having untied her. The best example of this kind of representation is in the House of the Dioscuri (VI 9,6–7)56 and it is generally related to a painting by Nicias the Athenian,57 thanks to a passage from Pliny.58 The last painting, on the southern wall, visualizes “The punishment of Dirce” and represents a more complex composition with many additional figures. They might be more than simple spectators,59 but mythological characters, depicted more than once in a continuous narration from the top to the bottom. On the top, identified by the thyrsus and the cymbal, there is a Bacchante who comes down from a mountain (the Kithairon), followed by two female figures. The woman is grabbed by a man, who is on the right and is lurking behind a rock with other two figures, male and female. This scene probably represents Dirce’s capture: while she was going to Dionysus’ temple, as she was his priestess, she was caught by the twins Amphion and Zethus, instigated by their mother Antiope. The main scene in the middle of the composition is Dirce’s being tied to the bull. On the left there is Amphion, wearing only his chlamys; he talks to Hermes, who is recognizable from the petasus and the caduceus extending out from the left frame of the painting. On the right, there is Zethus, naked as well, who holds the bull by the horns. Dirce, who is already tied to the bull with her arms surrounding the animal’s stomach, is excessively prolonged till she reaches the left corner of and Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii: The decoration, 79. Pompeii: the Casa dei Dioscuri, 155–161. 57 B. Neutsch, Der Maler Nikias von Athen: ein Beitrag zur griechischen Künstlergeschichte und zur pompejanischen Wandmalerei (Leipzig: Noske, 1939); K. M. Phillips Jr., “Perseus and Andromeda,”: 1–23; K. Schefold, “Die Andromeda des Nikias,” in Studies in honour of Arthur Dale Trendall (ed. A. Cambitoglou; Sidney: Sydney University Press, 1979), 155–158; Schmaltz, “Andromeda,” 259–281. 58 Pliny, Nat.Hist. XXV 130–133. 59 The painting can not be compared to the pinakes in the exedra (4) showing the wooden horse arrival inside Troy walls and Laocoön’s death, where there are a vast number of spectators. 55 Ling

56 Richardson,

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the composition with her feet. On the bottom of the right corner there are three naked boys with armour, lying down dead or dying. This could be an allusion to the battle for Lycus’ capture. This episode is represented as contemporary to Dirce’s torture in a painting from the House of Quadrigas in Pompeii.60 However, the three boys do not present any particular characteristic that could certainly identify them.61 The torture scene seems to be a compromise between two different iconographic traditions: one shows the moment of the woman’s being tied to the bull and the other represents the woman dragged by the animal. The episodes dealt with in this room could refer to the same theme and, therefore, they could explain the particularity of the iconography chosen for the three paintings. The association of the three images is characterized by the presence of two paintings that represent episodes from the same mythological cycle, Perseus and Andromeda, and a third painting, the punishment of Dirce, that seems to have no connection to them. This kind of association, with two episodes easily related and a third one whose link is less evident, can be found in several Pompeian rooms and is used with different means of connection62. The importance given to Cassiopeia in the pinakes presenting the Perseus’ myth suggests a reference to the dramatic component. In Euripides’ “Andromeda” Cassiopeia plays the most tragic role, because, although she is the reason for her daughter Andromeda’s sacrifice, she sits by while the girl is at the mercy of the sea monster. In the same way, the pinax with the punishment of Dirce can be connected to the tragic sphere, considering the great notoriety of Euripides’ drama “Antiope”. According to Leach63, Antiope, mainly known through Pacuvius’ Latin translation64, can be considered the principal source for Pompeian depictions. Moreover, the painting in the House of Menander shows Hermes talking to Zethus, and so refers to the tragic representation where the god appeared as a deus ex machina as he helped Lycus; this happened at the same time of Dirce’s

60 E. W. Leach, “The punishment of Dirce. A newly discovered painting in the Casa di Giulio Polibio and its significance within the visual tradition,” RM 93 (1986): 157–182, esp. 168, pls. 36–1. 61 L. Romizzi, Programmi decorativi di III e IV stile a Pompei: un’analisi sociologica ed iconologica (Naples: Loffredo, 2006), 330. 62 Romizzi, Programmi decorativi di III e IV stile, 329–330. 63 Leach, “The punishment of Dirce,” 170 ff.; R. Ling, Roman painting (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 240–397; about illustrated books: K. Schefold, “Buch und Bild im Altertum,” in Wort und Bild: Studien zur Gegenwart der Antike (ed. idem; Basle and Mainz: P. von Zabern, 1975), 125–129; N. Horsfall, “The origins of the illustrated book,” Aegyptus 63 (1983): 199–216. 64 Pacuvius’ tragedy is recalled by Cicero in the De finibus I 4, and in the De Oratore 1, 37, 155.

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torture, which was not visualized65. Women are certainly the protagonists in this room: Cassiopeia and Dirce are mothers (Dirce is Antiope’s stepmother) who cause the misfortune of their own daughters.66 The huge triclinium (18) shows a paratactic scheme with black socle on which there is a main zone made up of yellow and red panels, separated by blue background architectural foreshortenings (fig. 11). Small pictures or vignettes with Maenads and Muses stand out in the panels’ fields, delimited by carpet borders. In the middle of the background wall, inside the architectural foreshortening, there is a group with Dionysus who, inebriated, is supported by a Satyr67. This composition is known in Pompeii from the cubicle (4) of the Villa of the Mysteries.68 Dionysus inebriated is in the focal point of the room, where the repetitive pattern leads the eye. Moreover, all the subjects depicted in the panels recall the banquet atmosphere where the protagonist is wine.69 This theme fits well with the room’s function: here in fact, the accurate execution of the socle decoration and of the main zone’s lower part was due to its function as a banquet room, where the guests used to lie flat for extended periods. The domestic hospitality seems to gain monumentality through the allusion to symposia that took place in Hellenistic kings’ great convivial tents, set up for the purpose. We know of Ptolemy II Philadelphus’ tent, described by Athenaeus,70 whose source is a passage by Callisseno71 of Rhodes. The tents, that certainly had magnificent dimensions, could host up to one hundred klinai, and they were supplied, outside, with a big preserve where 65 In Dirce’s painter’s crater, the scene of the twins who catch Lycus is placed under a little arc, with a panther skin as an allusion to the Dionysian theme. Hermes is represented at the top, as a deus ex machina. The image of Dirce’s torture, instead, is in middle distance, very far from the scene, as it happened for theatre where violent scenes were not represented but only narrated by the choir or other characters. Dirce’s painter’s crater, Syracuse, National Museum, inv. 36319; Phillips, Jr., “Perseus and Andromeda,” 11, fig. 33. 66 An element that can contribute to insert the three pinakes in a “literary” atmosphere could be the Muses’ presence in the panels free from pinakes. There are eight Muses but only six are still visible. On the left panel of the northern wall there is a Muse with a chiton and a cloak, holding a tragic theatrical mask (Melpomene), and, on the right panel, there is a Muse holding the globe (Urania), whereas on the background wall there is a Muse playing the chitara (Erato) and another one with a stylus and a papyrus roll (Clio), on the southern one with a lyre and a plektron (?) and another one with a pedum, in her right hand, and a diptychon, in the left one (Calliope). 67 E. Pochmarski, Dionysische Gruppen: eine typologische Untersuchung zur Geschichte des Stützmotivs (Wien: Selbstverlag des Österreichischen Archäologischen Institutes, 1990), 14–24, cat. V 1, plt. 1.1. 68 Maiuri, La villa dei Misteri, 182. 69 P. Zanker, “Vivere con i miti: Pompei e oltre,” in Roma: la Pittura di un Impero, 89–97. 70 Ath. V, 196 ff. 71 Calliss., FGrHist 627 F 2, apud Ath. V, 196 A–197 C and Ath. V 197C–203B.

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the king and a few close friends used to go hunting.72 In triclinium (18) the decorative space, both inside and outside, seems to refer to the tents from a formal point of view, even though it doesn’t copy them directly.73 The panels’ structure with pinakes and architectural perspective intervals can be compared to Ptolemy’s coenatio: here the beams are decorated with painted panels and are visible through the curtains with hanging pinakes, as described by Athenaeus74. Thus the external space seems to recall the Nilotic area with a direct allusion to the paradeisoi, where the Hellenistic king used to collect beasts and exotic animals he delighted in hunting. The theme of a Dionysian procession, developed inside room (18), could be compared to Ptolemy’s pompè too; this was opened by Dionysus and his cortege and had to take place in a Nilotic setting, as also underlined by Coarelli,75 who correlates the pompè with the Nilotic mosaic from Palestrina. The decorative syntax with panels and intervals with perspectival architecture is not an exclusive peculiarity of banquet rooms, but it is very common on all the fourth style walls in Pompeii. It is probable that this kind of wall composition takes its inspiration from the Oriental models of convivial tents, and in the big triclinium (18) the external decorative space corresponds to the internal one; so it is a more direct and functional allusion to the expression of luxus ideal, whose most important manifestations were Hellenistic kings’ coenationes. Finally, we can say that the very rich silverware found inside the house is another expression of luxus in convivial contexts; these, in fact, were the most notable things that were offered to guests during Ptolemy’s symposia, according to Athenaeus.76 The pictorial decoration of room (19) has a brown-red dado, leaning on a plinth; the main zone has a yellow background and is divided into three parts, separated through architectural perspectives that are made on the same golden yellow background of the wall. In the middle of the walls there are some mythological pinakes. The architectural perspectives show very refined figurative elements as well. The superior lintel of the two orders 72 E. Calandra, “L’occasione e l’eterno: la tenda di Tolomeo Filadelfo nei palazzi di Alessandria. Parte prima. Materiali per la ricostruzione,” LANX. Rivista della Scuola di Specializzazione in Archeologia – Università degli Studi di Milano 1 (2008): 26–74; eadem, “L’occasione e l’eterno: la tenda di Tolomeo Filadelfo nei palazzi di Alessandria. Parte seconda. Una proposta di ricostruzione” LANX. Rivista della Scuola di Specializzazione in Archeologia – Università degli Studi di Milano 2 (2009): 1–77. 73 A direct reference to them was presupposed for the octagonal room of Nero’s Domus Aurea. E. Salza Prina Ricotti, “Le tende conviviali e la tenda di Tolomeo Filadelfo,” in Studia Pompeiana & Classica in Honor of Wilhelmina F. Jashemski (eds. W. Jashemski and R. I. Curtis: New York: A.B. Caratzas, 1989), 199–231. 74 Ath. V, 196 ff. 75 F. Coarelli, “La pompé di Tolomeo Filadelfo e il mosaico nilotico di Palestrina,” Ktema. Civilisations de l’Orient, de la Grèce et de Rome antiques 15 (1990): 225–251. 76 Ath. V 196 ff.

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aediculae is decorated with a white figurative frieze on a red background. Only the friezes on the southern wall still remain intact. On the western side there are genre-painting scenes, whereas the eastern side is decorated with battle scenes between Greeks and Amazons, with hinted landscape elements. The central paintings, that remain only on the southern and northern walls, are placed in the middle of the panels and inside painted wooden frames. They seem to imitate actual pinakes hanging from the architecture and placed in front of golden curtains. On the northern wall there is a Maenad who scares a Cupid with a theatrical mask, a scene which takes place in a rocky landscape.77 The painting on the southern wall shows Pan playing the syrinx and a Maenad who is listening to him (fig. 12). The scene takes place in a pastoral landscape, with rocks and peaks and different kinds of trees, such as pines and cypresses. In the middle, sitting on a rock, there is Pan, who is totally naked and plays the syrinx for the Maenad; under the rock there are a pedum and the skin of a goat. The figure, that Maiuri and Ling78 simply identify with a satyr, is characterized by the syrinx, the goat skin, the pedum and the pine standing out behind the scene. These attributes allow us to identify the goat face male figure with Pan playing for a Maenad79. The painting can be compared to a pinax put inside the golden vault (80) of Nero’s Domus Aurea and known thanks to Mirri’s drawing.80 The two surviving pinakes do not seem to belong to any cycle, and they are not the result of a recurrent association, so it is not possible to suggest a hypothesis about the nature of the lost painting. Room (19) is closely connected to the triclinium (18); they form a complex, made up of tricliniar oecus and cubicle81. The function of room (19), even if it has been defined as cubiculum, is anything but clear: this kind of room, in fact, could have several different functions82. The Dionysian theme is predominant in the big triclinium (18), and it is also present in the cubicle (19); here there are centaurs and masks of Silens and Maenads with Dionysus’ sacred objects La Casa del Menandro, 179 ff.; Ling and Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii: The decoration, 82. 78 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 179 ff.; Ling and Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii: The decoration, 82–83. 79 It is possible to compare our pinax to a depiction from House of Jason (IX 5, 18), where Pan plays the syrinx among the Muses. Naples National Museum, inv. 111473; La pittura pompeiana (eds. V. Sampaolo and I. Bragantini; Naples: Electa, 2009), 236, n. 91. 80 I. Iacopi, Domus aurea (Milan: Electa, 2001), 41–49, fig. 47. 81 Scagliarini Corlàita, “Spazio e decorazione,” 3–44. 82 A. M. Riggsby, “Public and private in Roman culture. The case of the cubiculum,” JRA 10 (1997): 36–56. 77 Maiuri,

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hanging from the architecture, and little paintings with characters referring to a Dionysian thiasus, such as Maenads, and the figure that can be identified with Pan or a Satyr. The paintings seem to allude to the power of the arts, through Pan’s figure, who enchants the Maenad with the syrinx sound, and the Maenad figure, who scares Cupid using a theatrical mask. This last theme, a Dionysian one, can probably be related to the one inside the central exedra of the peristyle, connected to the library (21), perhaps used as a reading room. The link with the library and the poets’ representations in the central exedra (23), painted with the same golden yellow background, could suggest that the cubicle (19) was used as reading room as well. In the southern portico, the series of exedras, redecorated during the age of fourth style, had a scenographic function (fig. 13). They were used to give the illusionistic feel of an expansion of the peristyle and garden space. Since the age of the second style, the prospect used to have this function, as testified by the decoration of the exedra (25), showing a fantastic garden. Decorators of fourth style recover the use of older decorations83 and represent the Actaeon and Diana myth (fig. 14)84 in exedra (22) and the Venus’ myth inside a sacred wood (fig. 16) in exedra (24). In the middle (23), on the shorter sides, there are portraits of the poets Menander (fig. 15) and Euripides and, on the longer side, a figure on a throne, maybe Dionysus, between two trapezai with theatrical masks85. Diana and Venus images are depicted as statues raising in the middle of the composition86; the Dionysus figure, sitting in the central exedra, was probably similar to them87.

83 H. G. Beyen, Die pompejanische Wanddekoration vom zweiten bis zum vierten Stil 2.1. (Haag: Nijhoff, 1960), 176–178; Bragantini and Parise Badoni, “Il quadro pompeiano,” 121–122; Romizzi, Programmi decorativi di III e IV stile, 330. 84  E. W. Leach, “Metamorphoses of the Acteon myth in Campania painting,” RM 88 (1981): 307–327; I. Varriale, “La rappresentazione del mito come forma di comunicazione. Il caso di Atteone e Diana,” Annali dell’Università degli Studi Suor Orsola Benincasa (2010): 556–558. 85 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 106–121, sees a third figure in the middle of the long side and he thinks it could be a third poet, Homer or Ennius, whereas Ling and Ling, The Insula of the Menander at Pompeii: The Decoration, 85–88, thinks it could be Dionysus, in the wake of K. Schefold, Die Wände Pompejis. Topographisches Verzeichnis der Bildmotive (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 1957), 42 and Clarke, The houses of Roman Italy, 188–191. 86 E. M. Moormann, La pittura parietale Romana come fonte di conoscenza per la scultura antica (Assen/Maastricht: Van Gorcum, 1988), 152–153. 87 It can be supposed an iconography similar Dionysus’ one in room (2) in the House of Naviglio (VI 10,11) in Pompeii. MANN, inv. 9456; Le collezioni del Museo Nazionale di Napoli (ed. A. F. Pedicini; Rome: De Luca; Milan: Leonardo, 1989), 160, n. 259; Moormann, La pittura parietale Romana, 181.

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Paintings stimulate conversation and meditation, and so they contribute to create spaces in which to rest and think inside the ambulatio.88 Also the exedra (25), that retains a fantastic landscape in the second style, becomes an area reserved to the Penates’ cult during the age of fourth style. A sacellum with a stone altar was built there, and representations of imagines maiorum were found in it (fig. 17). This room is certainly linked to the exedra (24), which is decorated with a representation of Venus, similar to the ones depicted on Pompeian lararia and building façades. Therefore this kind of representation of Venus represents a domestic sacredness.89 The landscape where Actaeon’s dismemberment takes place seems to extend the real garden by a mythical background. Hunting dogs follow deer around Diana’s figure and run in the same direction as the dogs painted on the parapets. Diana stands frontally and towers in the middle of the landscape, leaning on a cave, like a statue on a podium. The Actaeon and Diana myth has philosophical implications and, if associated with the other representations of intellectuals that are next to it and to the adjacent library (21), they allow us to presume a cultured commission.90 Representations of intellectuals are traditionally used to stimulate cultured discussions, as testified by a passage from Cicero’s Brutus (24): here in fact the author invites his guests to sit under Plato’s statue, before starting the discussion. The poets’ portraits (Menander and Euripides), painted in the House of Menander, had the same function; they were connected to the library and imitated the statues that adorned the peristilia of the otium great villas.91 The oecus (11) shows a mosaic in the second style, with a polychrome emblema in opus vermiculatum that represents a Nilotic landscape with pygmies on a boat. After the renewal of paintings during the first phase of the fourth style92, the mosaic was kept, and the new decoration conformed to the humorous spirit of the emblema. A monochromatic white continuous frieze was painted on a red background visualizing a parody of a myth: the battle between drunk Centaurs and Lapith women (figs. 18–19). In the 88 D. Scagliarini Corlàita, “Propter spatia longitudinis. Cicli e serie figurative nelle ambulationes del Secondo e del Quarto Stile pompeiano,” in I temi figurativi nella pittura parietale antica, IV secolo a.C.–IV secolo d.C. Atti del VI Convegno internazionale sulla pittura parietale antica (Bologna 20–23 settembre 1995) (ed. D. Scagliarini Corlàita; Bologna: University Press, 1997), 119–123. 89 T. Fröhlich, Lararien- und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten: Untersuchungen zur “volkstümlichen” pompejanischen Malerei (Mainz: P. von Zabern, 1991), 148–149. 90 Varriale, “La rappresentazione del mito come forma di comunicazione,” 556–558. 91 Varriale, “I cicli decorativi nella Casa del Menandro,” 335–339. 92 I. Bragantini, “Tra il III e il IV stile: ipotesi per l’identificazione di una fase della pittura pompeiana,” in Pompei, 1748–1980: i tempi della documentazione (ed. I. Baldassarre; Rome: Multigrafica, 1981), 106–118; Ling, The insula of the Menander, 269; Ling and Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii: The decoration, 28–34.

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oecus there were also some pinakes showing genre-painting scenes: navigation, Cherubs at the gym, Dionysus with Maenad, a Satyr playing with a Cherub and the Perseus and Andromeda myth in its most popular version of the fourth style, so as a romantic idyll.93 The householder kept a playful theme because he thought it suitable for the room’s function. Though his decorative scheme was different from the former one, the decorator used models based on the Hellenistic repertory for the most refined themes and models that were in fashion at that time for the pinakes.

7. The bath A similar situation can be found in the thermal area, where the calidarium (48) walls are repainted in the fourth style with figures of athletes, thus using a theme that is functional in the complex and in harmony with the former pictorial and mosaic decoration. The athletes’ depictions recall the physical exercise done inside the thermal bath, and they complement the themes developed in the tepidarium and in the mosaic emblema at the calidarium entrance: this one shows a servitor who brings unguentaries and a couple of strigils to clean the body after the exercises. One of the paintings from the atriolum (46), only partially preserved94, is also intriguing. The decoration creates an illusionistic ambulatory around the room; it is made up of a jutting socle with horizontal bands, concave orthostats forming a portico wall, and a part with ornamental and figurative friezes. In the foreground, there are pillars and herms that function as caryatids and support a false relief frame; on this frame there is the upper zone of the decoration, where a jutting band shows a small frieze with mythical and parodying characters, identified by Greek inscriptions. There are Theseus and the Minotaur, Jupiter’s illicit loves, here with Pasiphaë, and the dispute between Marsyas and Apollo (fig. 20). According to Roger Ling, this could be a mythical Cretan cycle, developing from left to right.95 On the top, a molded frame, similar to white marble, casts an illusionistic shadow on the figurative frieze. According to Maiuri,96 the frieze should be related to a passage from Pliny97: this passage deals with the Egyptian painter Antiphilos, active in the 93 Bragantini, “Problemi di pittura romana,” 175–197; Zanker, Un’arte per l’impero, 120 ff.; I. Bragantini, “La pittura parietale e il mutamento della cultura abitativa,” in La pittura pompeiana (eds. V. Sampaolo and I. Bragantini; Naples: Electa, 2009), 60–67. 94 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 323, n. 20. 95 Ling and Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii: The decoration, 64–65. 96 Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro, 138–139. 97 Pliny Nat.Hist., 34.114 (gryllum deridiceli habitus pinxit, unde genus picture grilly vocantur).

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second half of 4th century B.C.E. and author of small parodying paintings about someone named Gryllos, who had a ridiculous aspect. From that time, this kind of paintings was given the name of grylloi. Maiuri assumes that the frieze is a late manifestation of this kind of painting, known in Rome before Augustus’ religious reformation. The painting has Greek captions, and Ling connected this element to Greek illustrated books.98 Besides, the shaping strongly recalls Madhià grotesques.99 The only part of the decoration that is preserved as far as the floor is on the northern wall and it is the result of a fourth style “philological” restoration, made after the closing of a door that connected the little atrium to corridor (M).100 If we observe the part of the parodying frieze with Theseus killing the Minotaur, we can notice that figures are executed with a different technique than all the others. Large brown brush strokes define the hero’s complexion, whereas rapid white brush strokes draft figures’ grotesque features, modeled through chiaroscuro. The characters in the eastern part show a totally different technique: they are defined by the outline and details and features are executed with rapid brown brush strokes. Apart from the figures shaping in the “restored” section, we can observe a series of mistakes in the rendering of architecture. The shadow cast onto the miniature frieze by the molded frame is a simple brown band in this part, so the lesbian kyma under the frieze seems to lack plasticity. Even if he imitates the former decoration, the fourth style decorator uses his own canons and the typical technique of this age.

8. Conclusions The House of Menander is an exceptional example of an urban residential building, where architecture and ornamentation are perfectly blended. Decorations are a sign of the owner’s tastes and interests, and they realize self-representation in the public and private sphere, thus revealing social and cultural ambitions. All elements of the atrium meet the criteria of decor and maiestas, echoing public building shapes: the lararium, conceived as a shrine and decorated as if it had marble coverings; engaged columns and antae, that emphasize

Roman painting, 212; Bragantini, “Problemi di pittura romana,”: 175–197. La Casa del Menandro, 137 ff.; A. Adriani, “Microasiatici o Alessandrini i grotteschi Mahdià?,” RM 70 (1963): 80–92. 100 Ling and Ling, The insula of the Menander at Pompeii: The decoration, 3, 20.   98 Ling,

  99 Maiuri,

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the openings of the tablinum (8) and the exedra (4); the gallery of images exposed in the exedra101. In the peristyle complex we can notice the dominus’ attention to the choice of subjects, carefully selected; this is evident where decorations visualize themes that perfectly combine with the oldest ornamentation or when imitative restorations take place, as in the little atrium of the bath102. The sophistication of decorations and their literary implication certainly demonstrate the high social status of the owner, who chose the most unusual and particular scenes to decorate the house. This is attested by the presence of poets’ portraits, by the association of paintings referring to literary works, such as the Trojan cycle, the Perseus and Dirce sagas and their allusion to Euripides’ tragedies, and by the humorous component of both the thermal area visual representations and oecus (11), which Maiuri connected to Hellenistic literature103. All these references to literature and culture would be reinforced by the presence of the library (21). The last aspect we need to consider is the imitation of patrician villas as a model for urban houses. As already mentioned, the architectural structure recalls a villa; in the same way, landscapes with sea villas, deities looking like painted statues in the southern exedras of the peristyle, the large triclinium with a view to the garden and painted as a hunting preserve (paradeisos), were all ways of life in a luxurious otium residence.

Captions to figures Fig. 1: Plan of the House of Menander (I 10,4). Fig. 2: Axial view: fauces (a), atrium (b), tablinum (8), peristyle (c), exedrae (22–25). Fig. 3: View from tablinum (8) through atrium (b) with entrance to exedra (4), to fauces (a). Fig. 4: Paradeisoi painted on top of the peristyle corridor (9) and on low parapets in the peristyle (c). Fig. 5: Portion of frieze in upper zone of atrium (b): seaside villa/portico with fisher­ men. Fig. 6: Exedra (4) with three frescoes in main zone (details in Plate 7). 101 F. Coarelli, Dintorni di Roma (Bari: Laterza, 1981), defines Augustus’ Forum as a sort of patrician atrium with ancestors’ portraits. 102 W. Ehrhardt, “Gli stili pompeiani ed il proprietario: L’esempio della Casa delle Nozze d’argento,” in Nuove ricerche archeologiche a Pompei ed Ercolano. Atti del Convegno Internazionale (Roma 28–30 novembre 2002) (P. G. Guzzo and M. P. Guidobaldi; Naples: Electa, 2005), 170–190. 103 Clarke, The houses of Roman Italy, 187–188.

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Fig. 7: Three frescoes on walls in main zones of exedra (4): Laocoon’s death, Cassandra’s prophecy before the wooden horse, and the Last Night of Troy, including the rape of Cassandra and the meeting between Menelaus and Helen. Fig. 8: Lararium in the atrium (b). Fig. 9: View across peristyle (c) garden from northeast corner toward rooms 15, 18, 19. Fig. 10: Three frescoes in room (15): Perseus at the court of Cepheus, king of Aethiopia; Perseus saving Andromeda from the sea monster; the punishment of Dirce. Fig. 11: Wall of triclinium (18), a paratactic scheme with black socle, above which is a main zone of yellow and red panels, separated by blue background architectural foreshortening. Fig. 12: Fresco in room (19): Pan enchants Maenad with syrinx sound. Fig. 13: Four exedrae (22–25) south of peristyle (c): visible are Actaeon and Diana myth, then portrait of poet Menander. Fig. 14: Exedra 22: Actaeon and Diana myth. Fig. 15: Exedra (23): portrait of poet Menander. Fig. 16: Exedra (24): Venus Pompeiana inside sacred wood. Fig. 17: Exedra (25): second style frescoes and sacellum with stone altar with representations of ancestors. Fig. 18: Wall of oecus (11) with monochromatic white continuous frieze painted on red background in upper zone: battle between drunk Centaurs and Lapith women. Fig. 19: Detail of frieze in oecus (11). Fig. 20: Painting in atriolum (46): small frieze with parody of mythological characters: north wall, Theseus and Minotaur (“philological restoration” in fourth style); east wall, Aphrodite’s revenge (second style).

Charting the urban development of the Insula Occidentalis and the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus at Pompeii Mario Grimaldi1

1. Introduction In 1875, Giuseppe Fiorelli described the Insula Occidentalis as following: “Entering the city by the Herculaneum Gate, one encounters a block of housing on the right that extends to near the Porta Marina and is situated on the slope of the agger of the city walls. Uncovered almost entirely in the early excavations, and then re-interred after some initial research, the block has a front that is accessible from the road but its inner buildings on the slope remain buried.”2 Fiorelli summarized in a few lines something of the history of the area, providing the reader with the urban relationships that linked the houses to the pre-existing road, the Via Consolare, as well as to the city’s fortification walls. The information he possessed was contained in the excavation diaries collected in his Pompeianarum Antiquitatum Historia,3 together with the maps left by the La Vega between 1789 and 1809 (fig. 1).4 1

 Translation by Michelle Lynn Parker. Fiorelli, Descrizione di Pompei (eds. U. Pappalardo and M. Grimaldi, Naples: Massa, 1875; rep. 2001), 431: “Entrando nella città dalla Porta Ercolanese, si trova a destra un caseggiato, che distendesi fino presso alla Porta Marina, ed è poggiato in pendio all’agger delle pubbliche mura. Scoperto quasi interamente negli scavi più antichi, ed interrato poi dopo le prime ricerche, esso forma un’isola che ha la fronte accessibile dalla via, e tiene diruti o sepolti i fabbricati più interni posti sul declivio del colle.” 3 G. Fiorelli, Pompeianarum Antiquitatum Historia nunc primum collegit indicibusque instruxit (Naples, 1860–1864), I–III. 4 The La Vega brothers’ original plan is still preserved in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli in the Archivio Disegni (inv. 2615). For futher information regarding the early years of excavation at Pompeii see M. Pagano, Diari di scavo di Pompei, Ercolano e Stabiae di F. e P. La Vega (1764–1810): raccolte di studio di documenti inediti (Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 1997); M. Pagano, I primi anni degli scavi di Ercolano, Pompei e Stabiae (Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 2005) and C. C. Parslow, Rediscovering Antiquity: Karl 2 G.

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The section of the narrow, built-up band on the west side of the walls between the Herculaneum Gate and the Casa di Umbricius Scaurus (VII 16,15) had been investigated as early as 1759, during the excavations of the area between the necropolis outside the Herculaneum Gate and the inner part of the city.5 In the organisation and execution of those excavations, this area was designated as a dump for the resulting spoil, creating the so-called “cumuli borbonici.” The complete exposure of these dwellings would not happen for another 200 years, when Amedeo Maiuri carried out excavations in 1961 with the aim of uncovering the entire western edge of the city (fig. 2).6 The planning of the excavations by the Bourbons and Fiorelli’s later division of the Insula Occidentalis into two regiones have compromised the unitary vision of this residential complex within the urban system, which resulted from a precise building plan realized in a particular moment of the city’s life.7 The present contribution aims to reconstruct the phases of urbanization for this part of ancient Pompeii, drawn from two fundamental elements: on one hand, from the research conducted on the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus, which can serve as a model for the analysis of the phases of occupation of the broader area; and on the other hand, from some recent data arising from the excavations conducted in the extramural area, in the garden of the aforementioned house (fig. 3).8 Weber and the excavation of Herculaneum, Pompeii, and Stabiae (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 5 Fiorelli, Pompeianarum Antiquitatum, vol. I (1759), 94 ff; M. Pagano and R. Prisciandaro, Studio sulle provenienze degli oggetti rinvenuti neagli scavi borbonici del Regno di Napoli (Naples: Bardi, 2006), esp. 30 ff. 6 Previously the area had also been partially affected by the American bombings in 1943, regarding which see A. Maiuri, “Isolamento della cinta murale tra Porta Vesuvio e Porta Ercolano,” NSc (1943): 275–294 and A. Maiuri, “Pompei, sterro dei cumuli e isolamento della cinta murale,” BdA I–II (1960): 166–179; L. García y García, Danni di guerra a Pompei. Una dolorosa vicenda quasi dimenticata (Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 2006), 32. 7 For initial attempts at drawing an overall picture of the urban development of this area and of the north-western part of Regio VI see M. Aoyagi and U. Pappalardo, Pompei Insula Occidentalis, University of Tokyo (Naples-Tokyo: Valtrend, 2006); R. Jones, “The Urbanisation of Insula VI 1 at Pompeii,” in Nuove ricerche archeologiche a Pompei ed Ercolano, Atti del Convegno di Studi Soprintendenza Archeologica di Pompei, Roma 1–3 febbraio 2007 (eds. P. G. Guzzo and M. P. Guidobaldi, Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 2008): 139–146 and F. Coarelli, “Il settore nord-occidentale di Pompei e lo sviluppo urbanistico della città dall’età arcaica al III secolo a.C.,” in Nuove ricerche archeologiche a Pompei ed Ercolano, Atti del Convegno di Studi Soprintendenza Archeologica di Pompei, Roma 1–3 febbraio 2007 (eds. P. G. Guzzo and M. P. Guidobaldi, Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 2008), 173–176. 8 The complex was the subject of a broad study which appears in the volume edited by M. Aoyagi and U. Pappalardo, Pompei Insula Occidentalis, which for a number of years has been documenting the state of the paintings of Pompeii. In particular, for the House of Marcus Fabius Rufus see M. Grimaldi, “VII 16 Insula Occidentalis 22. Casa di M. Fabius Rufus,” in Pompei, Regiones VI–VII. Insula Occidentalis (eds. M. Aoyagi and U. Pappa-

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The Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus provides a good example of the history of Pompeian excavations as much as the study of the houses in the Insula Occidentalis itself.9 The following contribution presents a history of the house within the context of its local urban network, analyzing it in relation to the adjacent dwellings of Maius Castricius to the south and the Casa del Bracciale d’Oro (Golden Bracelet) to the north, as well as to the band of buildings between the Herculaneum Gate and the Vico dei Soprastanti.10 The area of the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus was initially investigated superficially during the Bourbon period in order to remove some decorations which were then placed in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli.11 When observing the plan drawn up by the La Vega brothers (1787–1809), one can, in fact, see that only the upper floor was surveyed, and that only imperfectly; for example, the circular exedra was shown too far to the south. (fig. 4). The much later investigations of Maiuri, in 1961, served to restore immediately the house which, except for the central circular exedra, clearly had borne the full brunt of the destructive impact of the 79 C.E. eruption. After this restoration the first publications came out, which focused mainly on the most important finds, such as the two dionysiac glass cameo panels lardo, Naples – Tokyo: Valtrend, 2006), 257–418 and M. Grimaldi, “La fase repubblicana della Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo a Pompei,” in Atti del Convegno Internazionale sulla pittura di II stile in età tardo repubblicana (ed. J. P. Moret, Rome: Quasar, 2007), 133–155. The excavation of the garden area of the House of Marcus Fabius Rufus was carried out by the writer under the supervision of Prof. Umberto Pappalardo and with the valuable contributions of Dott.ssa Ciardiello and some students of the Università Suor Orsola Benincasa di Napoli, see M. Grimaldi et al., “Scavi nella Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo,” RStPomp (2008): 115–123.   9 For an introduction to the house, one could compare: I. Bragantini, “VII 16 (Ins. Occ.) 22. Casa di M. Fabius Rufus,” in Pompei Pitture e Mosaici VI (Roma: Istituto della enciclopedia italiana, 1997): 947–1125; G. Cerulli-Irelli, “Le case di M. Fabio Rufo e di C. Giulio Polibio,” in Pompei 1748–1980. I tempi della documentazione Mostra Roma – Pompei, luglio  – ottobre 1981 (Rome: Multigrafica editrice, 1981), 22–33; V. Kockel, “Archäologische Funde und Forschungen in den Vesuvstädten II,” AA 1 (1986): 443–569; E. W. Leach, “The Iconography of the Black Salone of the Casa di Fabio Rufo,” KölnJb 24 (1991): 105–112. I. Sgobbo, “Un complesso di edifici sannitici e i quartieri di Pompei per la prima volta riconosciuti,” RendNap XVI (1938): 5–29; H. Solin, “Die Wandinschriften im sog. Haus des M. Fabius Rufus,“ in Neue Forschungen in Pompeji Kolloquium Essen 1974 (eds. B. Andreae, H. Kyrieleis, Recklinghausen, 1975), 243–266. 10 Until even very recently, these three houses, because of the circumstances of their discovery and their many similar characteristic elements, both decorative and structural, were studied as one complex generically identified as the House of M. Fabius Rufus, see R. Ciardiello, “VI 17 Insula Occidentalis 42. Casa del Bracciale d’oro,” in Pompei, Regiones VI–VII, Insula Occidentalis (eds. M. Aoyagi and U. Pappalardo, Naples – Tokyo: Valtrend, 2006), 69–256 and I. Varriale, “VII 16 Insula Occidentalis 17. Casa di Maius Castricius,” in Pompei. Regiones VI–VII. Insula Occidentalis (eds. M. Aoyagi and U. Pappalardo, Naples – Tokyo: Valtrend, 2006), 419–503. 11 Of these, two (num. inv. 9621 & 9624) belong to the large oecus (32), see M. Grimaldi, “VII 16 Insula Occidentalis 2,” in Pompei, Regiones VI–VII, Insula Occidentalis, 294–307.

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(fig. 5).12 At the end of the 1970s, a new series of excavations uncovered the outer garden on the west slope and new restorations were carried out.13 An attempt will be made here to reconstruct the occupation and development of this most westerly side of the city of Pompeii through the analysis of the visible fortifications, of the phases of construction and decoration of the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus, and through the incorporation of new archaeological data recovered from the garden area.14

2. Fortifications and Colonial Domus The area encompassed by the Herculaneum gate to the north, the city walls to the west, the Via Consolare to the east and the Vico dei Soprastanti to the south is characterized by terraced houses with Tuscan atria that had their entrances on the Via Consolare (fig. 6). The domus thus occupy the space between the axes of the Via Consolare – Vico del Farmacista (fifth to fourth centuries B.C.E.) and the fortifications (the outermost date from the end of the fourth – beginning of the third century B.C.E.) which, in the west of this area, line the notable rise in elevation between the higher part of the lava platform on which the city is located and the nearby cliffs along the coastline.15

12 A. Maiuri, “Due pannelli vitrei figurati da Pompei,” BdA 46 (1961): 18–23; G. Cerulli Irelli, “Le case di M. Fabio Rufo e di C. Giulio Polibio”; the two glass panels were found in the area corresponding to the oecus (62) together with what remained of the rich decoration which, it would appear, had been stored here, just as happened in the House of Julius Polybius. Today they are kept in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale under inventory numbers 153651–2. In the excavation diaries of 1961 there is some information relating to the excavation of the rooms (54), (56) and (58). 13 G. Cerulli Irelli, “Le case di M. Fabio Rufo e di C. Giulio Polibio.” 14 A contribution towards the reconstruction of the ancient line of the western walls and the first dwellings there was carried out by Roberto Cassetta, regarding which see R. Cassetta, “Pompei. La cinta muraria dell’insula occidentalis,” AIACNews 2 (2006): 10–12 and R. Cassetta-Costantino, “Vivere sulle mura: il caso dell’insula occidentalis di Pompei,” in Nuove ricerche archeologiche a Pompei ed Ercolano, Atti del Convegno di Studi Soprintendenza Archeologica di Pompei, Roma 1–3 febbraio 2007 (eds. P. G. Guzzo – M. P. Guidobaldi, Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 2008), 197–208. 15 Concerning the typology of the houses see F. Pesando, Domus edilizia privata e società pompeiana fra III e I secolo a.C. (Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 1997). For the undulations of the lava plateau of Pompeii and for a comparison with the terrace houses of Regio VIII, see F. Noack – K. Lehmann Hartleben, Baugeschichtliche Untersuchungen am Stadtrand von Pompeji (Berlin and Leipzig: W. de Gruyter, 1936); E. Fornari, Neapolis. Planimetria della città antica di Pompei III, tav. 15, (Soprintendenza Archeologica di Pompei, Monografie, 7, Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 1994), and F. Seiler, “Karl LehmannHartleben e la “nuova” ricerca su Pompei,” in Pompei. Scienza e società, Convegno Internazionale, Napoli 25–27 novembre 1998 (ed. P. G. Guzzo, Napoli: Electa 2001), 63–71.

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It is interesting to note the relationship between the natural topography and the built environment of this area. The fortification walls between the Herculaneum Gate and the Porta Marina followed the frequent and abrupt changes in elevation along this slope in a double curtain arrangement, made of different materials and at different times, at least as far as the intersection with the Via dei Soprastanti.16 Similarly, in the section corresponding to the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus, the walls, both in opus quadratum, were constructed at different times. The inner wall, closer to the street, was, in fact, constructed in tufo di Nocera at the end of the third century B.C.E. to reinforce the outer and earlier defenses made of Sarno stone, dating to the end of the fourth century/beginning of the third century B.C.E. The earlier defenses continue towards the south in the facade of the adjacent Casa di Maius Castricius (VII 16,17) where a façade in tufo di Nocera is visible above the rows of Sarno stone blocks (fig. 7).17 By observing the arrangement of the rows of Sarno stone in the garden of the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus, one can discern in the centre the relationship between the two different “building sites” which at that time were approaching each other. The differences in height should probably be attributed to geomorphological changes in the foundations. The walls were refaced in opus incertum composed of volcanic stone both at the base and at the northern and southern ends up to a height corresponding to the upper floor of the houses dated to the end of the second century B.C.E./beginning of the first century B.C.E. Part of this renovation was an initial external render in hydraulic cocciopesto connected with the utilization of the walls as a foundation for the first underlying floor. In the central 16 On the west side of the fortifications see S. De Caro, “Nuove indagini sulle fortificazioni di Pompei,” AionArchStAnt VII (1985): 74–114, R. Cassetta, Pompei. La cinta muraria dell’insula occidentalis and R. Cassetta, Vivere sulle mura. 17 On the methods of construction of the walls and their relative dating see: A. Maiuri, “Studi e ricerche sulle fortificazioni di Pompei,” MonAnt XXXIII (1930): coll. 113–286; A. Maiuri, “Muro della fortificazione,” NSc (1939): 232–238; A. Maiuri, “Isolamento della cinta murale,” 275–294; S. De Caro, “Nuove indagini sulle fortificazioni di Pompei,” 79–114; C. Chiaramonte Treré, Nuovi contributi sulle fortificazioni pompeiane, Quaderni di Annali della Facoltà di Lettere e Filosofia dell’Università degli Studi di Milano 6 (1986); H. Etani, S. Sakai and H. Kiriyama, “Preliminary Reports. Archeological investigation at Porta Capua, Pompeii (Second Season, September–December 1994),” OpPomp V (1995): 55–67; H. Etani, S. Sakai and K. Ueno, “Preliminary Reports. Archeological investigation at Porta Capua, Pompeii (Third Season, September–December 1995),” OpPomp VI (1996): 52–65; H. Etani, S. Sakai and Y. Hori, “Archeological investigation at Porta Capua, Pompeii (Fourth Season, October – December 1996),” OpPomp VII (1997): 145–158; H. Etani and S. Sakai, “Preliminary Reports. Archeological investigation at Porta Capua, Pompeii (Fifth Season, September – January 1997–1998),” OpPomp VIII (1998): 113–134; F. Coarelli, Pompei. La vita ritrovata (Udine: Magnus, 2002), 46–53; R. Cassetta, Pompei. La cinta muraria dell’insula occidentalis, 10–12; R. Cassetta-Costantino, Vivere sulle mura: 197–208.

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section, however, some external decoration in white and red, belonging to the last phase of construction, is still visible. The internal line of the second curtain wall, built in grey tufo di Nocera, was higher than the external line in Sarno stone. Inside the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus it is visible along the line of the inner rooms of the first underlying floor18, where it was extensively reworked through the opening of windows placed in line with the external windows to bring more light into the rooms e.g. (48) and (49) (figs. 8–9). The arrival of Sulla’s veterans in 80 B.C.E. brought a renewed fervor for building that swept across the entire area.19 In fact, with their land allocations began a wave of public works and the construction of new dwellings, decorated in the second Pompeian style, on top of the walls and in panoramic locations on the vacant slopes or slopes only partially occupied by pre-existing buildings. A later series of large contracts to carry out public works inside and outside the walls as part of a new wastewater management plan is clear by the recent discoveries of a system of cisterns, dated to the end of first century B.C.E./beginning of the first century C.E., in the garden of the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus.20

3. The Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus: Structural changes, decorative embellishments, and ownership The Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus represents one of the more renowned examples of panoramic architecture in Pompeii. Arranged on four levels that step down towards the sea, and with central gardens on each floor, the house makes a strong case to be the prime example of the urban villa. From the structure of the walls and their decoration, one can recognise at least four principal phases in the evolving history of the house, which may also correspond to separate phases of ownership.21 In its current aspect the 18 The line of the walls in tufo of the second Samnite period is visible from the north, starting from the outside of the kitchens (36–39,43), to the rooms (68) and (72) to the south. 19 F. Zevi, “Pompei. Dalla città sannitica alla colonia sillana: per una interpretazione dei dati archeologici,” in Les élites municipales (Naples: Centre Jean Bérard, 1996), 125–138; F. Coarelli, Pompei. La vita ritrovata, 87–111; I. Varriale, VII 16 Insula Occidentalis 17 419–504 and R. Cassetta-Costantino, Vivere sulle mura, 203. 20 If one compares the arrangement of the houses of the Insula Occidentalis with the terrace houses of the Regio VIII (F. Noack – K. Lehmann-Hartleben, Baugeschichtliche Untersuchungen am Stadtrand von Pompeji; F. Seiler, Karl Lehmann-Hartleben e la “nuova” ricerca su Pompei, 63–71); P. Zanker, Pompei (Torino: Einaudi, 1993); M. Grimaldi, “Scavi nella casa di Marco Fabio Rufo,” RstPomp 19 (2008): 115–118. 21 Regarding possible owners one can trace them backwards from M. Fabius Rufus, identified by graffiti and his signet ring as the last owner of the house (62–79 C.E.).

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house seems to be the result of the successive transformation of at least three smaller dwellings, originally dating from the early colony, which also fronted onto the Vico del Farmacista. Their technical and structural characteristics, such as their development on multiple levels, belongs to the late Republic period.22 The Second style decoration is, indeed, visible on all three inhabited levels: in the atrium (2) and in the oecus (32 a–b) on the ground floor, in the rooms (68), (71), (74) and (75) on the first lower floor and in the room (80) on the lowest inhabited level (fig. 10).23

4. Owners and decorative themes The House of Mark Fabio Rufo proposes an important second reading of such events and at the same time it introduces a clear example of the great changes happened between the Late Republic period and the Flavian one. Therefore it could be possible in this instance to summarize the various phases and their different figurative themes in the light of the characters that were the owners, and that until now we have succeeded in recognizing. A first phase of the house must be sought after the introduction of the colony and the arrival in the city of the first Roman veterans. As winners and as new social elites, they chose and occupied the symbolic place of the citizen’s resistance: the boundaries. Regarding the possible owners, it is possible therefore to retrace backwards their fates starting from M. Fabio Rufo, identified from the graffiti and from its ring-seal as the last owner of the house (62–79 C.E.). Preceding him were the C. C. Iuliorum Eupli et Pothini whose names were stamped on a section of water pipe discovered beside the large access stair (40) to the atrium (2), and which is now preserved in the stores of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Pompei (inv. 18278). They seem to be freedmen of the family Iulia from the period during or after the connection to the Serino aqueduct (10 B.C.E.–62 C.E.). There is not a single reference to the owners responsible for the rooms in the second style on top of the two lines of city walls, although perhaps they can be linked to the municipal elites of Pompeii who were established after the arrival of the Sullan colonists. See P. Castrén, Ordo Populusque Pompeianus. Polity and Society in Roman Pompeii (Rome: Bardi, 1975), 178–179, nr. 205; M. Pagano, “Su una fistula di piombo dalla casa di M. Fabio Rufo,” RStPomp VI (1993–94): 219; F. Zevi, Pompei. Dalla città sannitica alla colonia sillana. 22 Although opus africanum is currently visible in the external perimeter walls and fluted columns of grey tufo di Nocera are present in the portico area (14), it is still not possible to prove the existence of a house on the site from the end of the second century B.C.E., as there are no internal wall or mosaic decorative elements belonging to the first style, unlike in the adjacent house of Maius Castricius, see Varriale, “VII 16 Insula Occidentalis 17,” 419–504. 23 M. Grimaldi, “La fase repubblicana della Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo a Pompei,” 133–155.

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The present stamp on fistula acquaria C. C. Iuliorum Eupli et Pothini was recovered from the sides of the main/ entry staircase (40) in the atrium (2) and is preserved in the stores in Pompeii with inv. 18278. It seems, therefore, that they were liberti of the family Iulia in a epoch contemporary or following to the lacing of the Serino aqueduct (10–62 C.E.). Every possible reference of the owners is missing, and the fact that they realized the environments in II style on the double curtain of the boundary walls as the new Roman managerial class took possession of the best places inside and outside the boundaries. Hence the House of Mark Fabio Rufo had a first phase during which probably more domus existed side by side, including that of Castricio, decorated in II style and with an atrium tuscanico. These houses were built keeping in mind the jumps of quota in the saving zone between the road and the inside line of the boundaries. Subsequently, between the first century B.C.E. and the first century C.E., great works were done for the disposal of water and the lacing of the aqueduct; the raising of the levels of stamping. Probably it was so expensive that it did not allow a rich decorative phase in the III style. Between 40 and 62 C.E. there was a very flourishing period from an economic point of view; the owners realized great environments of representation in opus reticulatum of yellow tuff and the scenographic repetition of the ground floor horseshoe with a central open room, both in the first open lower floor on the viridarium (56) and in the garden with the realization of the portico. The last phase is to be recognized immediately after the 62 C.E. earthquake, in which the main interest is the stillness of structures rather than the quality of the decorations. To sum up, the qualitative high-level of the decorations of the first and third phases reflect moments of great economic wealth, while in the second and fourth grade phases the main interest is the structural maintenance and the services. During the eruption, the house was inhabited and the prestige furnishings were gathered in the oecus area [62], as in other residences in Pompeii, as for instance the House of Giulio Polibio on Street of the Abbondanza.

5. Mosaics Of the mosaic decoration contemporaneous with the second style, and thus dating to the earliest phase, the following has survived: mosaics composed of white tesserae with small black crosses with white centers (rooms 32 a–b, 67, 68, 71, 75) and in cocciopesto with flakes of colored marble (room 74 and corridor 81). The remains of what must have been a handsome second style

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mosaic survive in the portico (14) on the ground floor, if only partly in situ. The mosaic was composed of marble rectangles arranged to form a multicolored mosaic carpet in a basket-weave pattern (fig. 11). The portico, in which the mosaic was laid, served as a passageway to the large viewing area in front of the adjacent triclinium (21); from here it was possible to enjoy the view of the sea according with the Vitruvian doctrine. A principal function of this space, however, was to connect all the rooms on the west side of the house. The west side, which faced the sea, was closed by a series of ten columns, six of which were of grey tufo di Nocera covered with fluting of white stucco, while the other four towards the north were of brick but also fluted with white stucco. The rooms (15), (17), (18) and (20) must have been small dietae for rest, in view of their proximity to the large triclinium (21) (fig. 12).24 Their layout seems to have been conceived during the third phase of the house; part of the design of a previous floor in the second style is conserved beneath the floor mosaic of room (17).25 The orthogonal reticulate pattern visible in the preparatory sketch of that design, still in situ, was the same as the one found in the fills uncovered during the excavation in the garden, where large fragments of multi-colored mosaic displaying a meander motif with perspective cubes executed on top of an incised and painted sinopia were discovered. This preparation was carried out in the following stages: a layer of cocciopesto was first laid and smoothed, into which a regular grid formed of repeatable squares and rectangles of standard size (m 4,5 × 4,5 and m 2,5 × 2,5) was incised into the surface; bands of color were then drawn within each grid to indicate the color scheme and the number of lines of tesserae.26 The materials used for the tesserae were practically the same as those visible on the inside of the multi-colored mosaic of the portico (14): calcars yellow, green, green, red and black/white (14) (figs. 19a–19b, tav. 1 e tav. 2).

6. Painting The multi-level development of the house can be completely ascribed to the late Republican period.27 Second style decoration, however, is visible on all three inhabited levels, in the atrium (2) and in the oecus (32a–b) on De architectura 6. 5. 3. Bragantini, “VII 16 (Ins.Occ.) 22. Casa di M. Fabius Rufus,” 947–1125. 26 The measurements of the floor fragments were 47 × 57 × 14,5 cm for RP 147, 56 × 50 × 13 cm for RP 137 and 20 × 13 × 12,5 cm for RP 150. During the recent excavation season in 2008, other fragments belonging to the same flooring were found on which the same traces of painted preparation for the placement of the tessarae were conserved. 27 For the second style decoration of the house, see most recently M. Grimaldi, “La fase repubblicana della Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo a Pompei,” 133–155 . 24 Vitruvius 25 I.

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the ground floor, in the rooms (68), (71) and (74) on the first lower floor and in the room (80) on the lowest inhabited level. The second style painted decoration was applied to walls of opus incertum containing small pieces of lava dating between 80 and 30 B.C.E. This painting, especially the one that survived in the atrium (2) and in the rooms (68) and (71), appears to be of good quality. Direct comparisons, for example for the cubiculum (71), are with the decoration of the villa at Oplontis, especially the beautiful treatment of the tiny ceramic vessel elements and of the pinakes filled by figures within idyllic/sacred landscapes28 (fig. 12). The quantitative difference in the conservation of the second style rooms in the southern part of the house, those closest to the adjoining Casa di Maius Castricius, compared to those in the zone to the north, in which no trace of a decoration from this period remains, except for the fragment found in situ below the flooring of the atrium (2), is surprising. This could be explained by the restructuring that the house underwent between the end of the first century B.C.E. and the first thirty years of the first century C.E., when the flooring of the ground level was raised due to the problems associated with water run-off and the installation of new pipes connected to the aqueduct. This second phase has Augustan decoration and is characterized principally by a redistribution of the spaces on the ground involving the conspicuous raising of the floor level by one meter and the obliteration of rooms belonging to the first phase. During this phase the height of the second style rooms (32 a–b in red) was reduced and a peristyle with brick columns was built on top, substituting, in this way, an open space for closed rooms. Traces of third style candelabrum decoration, a red background with golden candelabras, can be seen on the first lower floor in the upper register of the remains of a room visible in what is now corridor (63). This room must have been demolished during the monumentalization of the whole complex with the building of rooms (21) and (62).29 Room (82), on the second lower floor, was also built by filling in a former entrance to room (80), decorated in the second style, and applying a mature monochrome third style candelabrum decoration on a black background with a small pinax in the centre. The evolution of space and plan within the house reached its peak, however, during the third phase of occupancy, characterized by a new construction technique of opus reticulatum in yellow tufo. Over this new construction was superimposed opulent decoration in the fourth style with opus sectile floors on all the inhabited levels. The triclinium (21) and the oecus A. Varone, “Notiziario,” RStPomp II (1988): 143–154. height of the floor associated with these rooms was completely changed by the construction of the new lower stories built in opus reticulatum of yellow tuff blocks (C.E. 40–62). 28 See

29 The

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(62) were built in opus reticulatum, while the construction of a portico in the garden, accessible from the north via a ramp (45) and from the south through the rooms (85) and (86), was begun. In fact, the external ramp to the portico appears to be flanked by walls constructed in opus incertum to a height of 1.5 m, on top of which was placed a wall in opus reticulatum of tuff blocks, painted with a black lower register, separated from a white middle register by a wide red line.30 At the moment of the 79 C.E. eruption, the external area of the garden was bounded to the north, west and south by walls in opus incertum containing small pieces of lava, which defined the limits of the property in relation to the gardens of the Casa del Bracciale d’Oro (to the north) and the Casa di Maius Castricius (to the south).31 Such boundary walls could indicate, on one hand, that the private ownership near the walls could have happened during the first century C.E., and on the other, that at least from this period on the houses of Marcus Fabius Rufus and Maius Castricius could have been separate. In fact, the garden areas, as well as being at different levels, show no trace of a connection between the two houses. This opulent plan was crowned by the addition of the splendid fourth style paintings visible in the atrium (2), in the oecus (32), on the wall created by filling the spaces in the previous peristyle, and in room (48). The exquisite opus sectile works on the ground floor (10), (21), (29), (32) and on the first lower floor (48) and (62) should also be attributed to this period. The house suffered serious damage during the 62 C.E. earthquake, including the possible collapse of the exedra of oecus [62] and the subsidence of the entire western facade of the first lower floor. This necessitated major structural repairs which resulted in a facade of eight buttresses in opus mixtum of bricks and yellow tuff blocks.32 The internal walls of the building were repaired with the same style of construction, which was then covered by another fourth style decoration on a generally monochrome background that could be ascribed to the Vettii workshop.33 Such re-surfacing is visible on all the inhabited levels and in particular in rooms (44), (49), (59), (62) and (64) of the first lower floor. An example of such works of restoration are visible in the oecus (62), where the new decoration in IV style with a black monochrome base was 30 Concerning the excavation of the western external access ramp to the House of Marcus Fabius Rufus and to its garden, see A. Varone, “Notiziario,” 143–154. 31 The garden is situated to the west of the house near the city walls, built in opus quadratum of sarno stone, and occupies an area of 1,581 sq. m. 32 A. Maiuri, L’ultima fase edilizia di Pompei (Naples: Arte Tipografica, 2002), with introduction and notes by F. Pesando. 33 D. Esposito, “La Bottega dei Vettii: vecchi dati e nuove acquisizioni,” RStPomp X (1999): 23–61 and D. Esposito, Le officine pittoriche di IV stile a Pompei: dinamiche produttive ed economico-sociali (Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 2009).

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performed after the necessary work of reinforcement of the building structure with sarciture in mixed vittatto. However such new layout keeps in mind and voluntarily preserves the central “pictures” of the preceding and more famous decorative phase in IV initial style; as a proof of what it has been mentioned above, here are a series of elements: 1) The “pictures” appear decentralized in comparison with the newspaper kiosks that framed them, and they occupy the median zone. (figs. 13–15) 2) Through a careful autoptical analysis, it is possible to recognize the cuts along the frames of the “pictures” and the following coverage of these with new gangs (figs. 16–18).

7. The west portico and the excavation in the garden From the coins found during the excavation of the garden, it seems that, between 40 and 62 C.E., the construction of a portico in opus reticulatum of yellow tuff blocks, the same construction used widely in the interior of the house in the rooms of the second level, for example in the oecus (62), was begun. The portico was built using pre-existing walls related to a system of interconnected basins parallel to the wall, as the perimeter walls uncovered between 2004 and 2009 show. The structures of this area were also temporarily abandoned, as they show on one hand evidence of a continuity in the history of construction, but, on the other hand, they were found partially covered and obstructed by waste materials from the restoration of the rooms above. The portico was probably intended to have a plan of four ambulatories topped by a diminished barrel vault.34 The portico roof was completed and is still visible in the northern and southern wings to a height of 4.70 m from floor level. Along the eastern wall the collapse of the vault was uncovered in situ during the 2005 season. The interior of the portico has an extensive

34 The north wall, running east-west, appears, in the western part, to be built of opus incertum made of small pieces of lava and is located slightly to south with respect to the eastern part. In the centre of the wall is the entrance, located on the same axis as the eastern part and joined to the opus incertum of the western part by a course of small tuff blocks. The west wall was built in opus incertum during the last phase of inhabitation of the area (C.E. 70–79). It actually cuts the structures to the north and south of the portico, thus suggesting a plan of four wings and a major development in plan toward the west. The east wall, constructed directly on top of an untouched tuff bank, covers the walls in limestone, on the crest, to a distance of 2,8 m. The supports for the addition of the lowered barrel vault are present. The south wall has the same characteristics as the north wall. Actually, both, in contrast to east wall, have a foundation of two walls containing a concrete core with a risega, on top of which the wall in opus reticulatum begins.

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covering of coarse plaster, from the vault to the floor, which was never painted. The craftsman’s marks to divide the walls into zones are still visible. It currently appears that the portico was abandoned as it was being completed, probably because of the earthquake of C.E. 62. The interior of the house also shows major reinforcements, built in opus vittatum mixtum composed of yellow tuff blocks and brick, in the south wall of the oecus (62) and in the buttresses on the façade of the second lower floor, and also in the triclinium (21) on the ground floor. These modifications, covered in a new decorative style, despite being almost completed, could have turned out to be so expensive as to cause the abandonment of plans to complete the porticus. During the garden’s final phase, the internal dividing walls of the portico were destroyed and leveled, and some walls were incorporated into new concrete walls built with wooden formwork. The walls functioned as retaining walls for a large fill of waste materials that covered the whole area, raising the ground level by around 1,30 m, with the aim of turning the area into a hortus for plant cultivation in ollae perforatae. In the northern corner, above these fills and inside the edicola 1 to the north, a water collection basin was constructed, which was probably used for the irrigation of nearby plants. The house’s internal spaces were also reconfigured by changing many dividing walls and the creation of storerooms, such as in the cubicula (68) and (71), and in rooms (85) and (86) (fig. 19).

8. Basins The investigations carried out during the most recent seasons (2006–2008) have ascertained the existence of walled structures prior to the construction of the tuff portico. Built in opus incertum of lava blocks joined by mortar and completely covered with hydraulic cocciopesto, they relate to an industrial use of the waste water from the town’s streets. The outflow of storm water from the western slope of Pompeii must have followed the slope to the south, south-west of the Vico del Farmacista and of the Vico dei Soprastanti, which, through openings in the sidewalks, directed the water into cisterns placed below the dwellings. These cisterns, still visible in the residences of the Insula Occidentalis, were placed at different heights and connected by a system of inlet channels. Functioning as settling tanks, they were used to transfer the considerable flow of water that drained from this part of the urban network to beyond the city walls (fig. 20). The basins found in the garden of the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus thus necessitate a prior use of the external area of the city in the late Republican

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and Augustan periods, i.e. between the second half of the first century B.C.E. and the first decade of the first century C.E., based on the examination of material found in the foundation trenches.35

9. Conclusions The houses of the Insula Occidentalis were uncovered at different times, investigated with different aims and, until now, inadequately synthesized. The first important result of the present study, therefore, has been to reveal the construction of these buildings and to understand their relationship to the natural topographic conditions and the local street network. The second outcome relates to the documentation of the construction and maintenance of the city walls. Third, we can now chart the beginning of occupation in the area alongside the second curtain wall, which includes parts of some dwellings on the south-eastern slope such as the houses of Maius Castricius and of Umbricius Scaurus. Fourth, it is now clear that the establishment of the colony caused the systematic occupation of this area as part of a planned system of terrace houses with Tuscan atria, constructed outside and inside the walls on multiple levels and accessible through stairs located in the atria, such as the houses of the Bracciale d’Oro and of Marcus Fabius Rufus. The spatial limit of these buildings was kept within the outer curtain wall, where they had large windows for the illumination of the inner rooms. Fifth, the excavations beneath these houses demonstrate that the external area of the town – extra muros – became the object of a complex system of water outflow management through a network of connected cisterns. Sixth, during the Augustan period several of the smaller dwellings in this area coalesced into much larger domus. These domus were oriented towards the sea, taking full advantage of the splendid views, and expanded in size beyond the city walls where sumptuous porticoes now occupied the extramural area. The results from the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus allow an important rereading of these events, while at the same time present a clear example of the fundamental changes that took place between the late Republican and the Flavian periods. The structural and decorative program of this house, in its earliest phase, was similar to those of its neighbours, for example the Casa di Maius Castricius, which stood side-by-side: each was decorated in the second style, with a Tuscanic atrium, and constructed within the area between the streets and the internal line of the walls so as to allow the 35 To date, five water collection basins have been uncovered, each 3,30 × 3,00 m, connected through a passage on the east-west axis and containing an outlet at the appropriate water level in the north-west part. The structures were leveled for the construction of the new tuff portico.

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steepness of the local topography. Then, between the second half of the first century B.C.E. and the beginning of the first century C.E., major infrastructural works relating to water runoff and the connection with the Augustan aqueduct were carried out, which involved the raising of the floor levels. Rich wall decorations in the third style also appeared, but are now almost completely lost due to the later transformation of the houses in this area. In fact, the period between 40 and 62 C.E. was one of great prosperity for the owners of the Casa di Marcus Fabius Rufus (likely freedmen of the family Iulia), as it can be seen from the construction of grand and lavish rooms. On the ground floor, the picturesque repetition of rooms in a horseshoeshaped layout opened onto an open central hall, while a subterranean level opened onto the viridarium (56). The portico that gave into the garden was also a product of this period. The earthquake of 62 C.E. brought about an abrupt and immediate change. It is clear that the main focus of this phase (and indeed for all the houses of the Insula Occidentalis) shifted from the application of fine decorations to the assurance of structural integrity. Social changes accompanied the structural ones. The systematic abandonment of the major living spaces, along with the transformation of the external spaces into horti functioning now as nurseries – such as in the gardens of Marcus Fabius Rufus, Maius Castricius and Umbricius Scaurus – wholly reshaped the social landscape of the neighborhood.

Captions for figures Fig. 1: Panoramic view from the top of the Insula Occidentalis; by Google Earth © 2011 Google-Map data © 2011 Tele Atlas. Fig. 2: Excavation area of the western front of the city, including excavation area of the Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo (on the left); photo by Maiuri Found, March 1962. Fig. 3: Reconstruction vector of the current situation of the Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo with the hypothetical portico reconstructed; Graphics processing by M. Notomista. Fig. 4: Map of the area between the Porta Ercolano and the Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo; by F. and P. La Vega 1787–1809 (Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, Archivio Disegni, inv. 2615). Fig. 5: Cameo glass panel, a Dionysiac scene from the Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo (Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, inv. 153652). Fig. 6: Sketch reconstructing the old town above the contour. Terraces to the north are intensified in order to allow habitation, as in Regio VIII (by Seiler 2001); also the current plan in the western Insula Occidentalis, including identification of the most representative homes. Graphics processing by A. Colucci.

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Fig. 7: Overview of the western city walls of Pompeii, including the Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo. Fig. 8: Plan of the first lower floor of the houses of Marco Fabio Rufo and Castricio with indications of the outer and inner city walls (I, II and III phases [Samnite]); by Cassetta 2008, p. 199, fig. 3. Fig. 9: Area of archaeological excavation in the garden of the Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo, sage 3 (official excavations record), Republican tanks. Fig. 10: Atrium 2, west wall, southern section, excavation below the pavement with decoration in second style related to an earlier phase. Fig. 11: Portico (14): Floor in opus sectile, polychrome marble chips of rectangular canister. Fig. 12: Ground floor plan of the house; areas with traces of decoration in the second style are highlighted. Fig. 13: Oecus (62), east side, decoration in fourth style, post-earthquake. The “pictures” appear decentralized in comparison with the newspaper kiosks that framed them, and they occupy the median zone. Fig. 14: Oecus (62): north side, decoration in fourth style, post-earthquake. The “pictures” appear decentralized in comparison with the newspaper kiosks that framed them, and they occupy the median zone. Fig. 15: Oecus (62): south side, decoration in fourth style post-earthquake. The “pictures” appear decentralized in comparison with the newspaper kiosks that framed them, and they occupy the median zone. Fig. 16: Oecus (62): detail of the central panel on east side; it is possible to recognize the cuts along the frames of the “pictures” and the later covering of these with new bands of color. Fig. 17: Oecus (62): detail of the central panel on north side; it is possible to recognize the cuts along the frames of the “pictures” and the later covering of these with new bands of color. Fig. 18: Oecus (62): detail of the central panel on south side; it is possible to recognize the cuts along the frames of the “pictures” and the later covering of these with new bands of color. Fig. 19a: Floor in the second style with meanders prospective; sage 3 sector B (US 3009; RP 147 [official excavation reports]), from the garden of the Casa di Marco Fabio Rufo. Fig. 19b: Preparation for the realization of the meanders prospective (RP 150). Fig. 20a: Plan of the first lower floor of the house; areas with traces of decoration in the second style are highlighted. Graphics processing by M. Notomista. Fig. 20b: Plan of the second lower floor of the house; areas with traces of decoration in the second style are highlighted. Graphics processing by M. Notomista. Tav. 1 Reconstruction of the meanders prospective mosaic in the second style including plan and details; Graphics processing by V. Vozza. Tav. 2 Reconstruction of the meanders prospective mosaic in the second style; Graphics processing by V. Vozza.

The Church Sitting in a Garden (1 Cor 14:30; Rom 16:23; Mark 6:39–40; 8:6; John 6:3, 10; Acts 1:15; 2:1–2) David L. Balch Paul casually refers to one who is “sitting” (kathemeno; 1 Cor 14:30) in the assembly (ekklesia; 1 Cor 14:19, 23), a contrast to one who “reclines” (katakeimenon; 1 Cor 8:10) in the temple of an idol. Where in the Roman world would an assembly of persons sit? In the same letter, of course, Paul observes that “not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth” (1 Cor 1:26): most were nonelite.1 The following essay assumes the obvious, that elite diners in Roman triclinia reclined, and against a consensus in current New Testament scholarship, inquires where believers might have gathered to sit for worship and the Lord’s Supper. Contemporary archaeologists and art historians indicate several spaces where Romans sat, including taverns, open gardens, and peristyle gardens. This investigation also asks what furniture would have been available in those spaces. Furnishings have played a minor role in archaeologists’ study of Pompeii. Penelope Allison2 observes that Pompeian painting has been studied extensively, but “the furnishings have […] been omitted from wall-painting studies.” Beds, for example, in triclinium (HH) of the Casa di Julius Polybius (IX 13,1–3) were pushed against the north and west wall decoration and, therefore, would have hidden part of the decoration (figs. 1–4).3 In her Longenecker, “Socio-Economic Profiling of the First Urban Christians,” in After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity TwentyFive Years Later (eds. T. D. Still and D. G. Horrell; New York: T&T Clark International, 2009), 36–59. 2 P. M. Allison, “Living with Pompeian wall-paintings,” in Otium: Festschrift für Volker Michael Strocka (eds. T. Ganschow and M. Steinhart; Remshalden: Bernhard Albert Greiner, 2005), 1–7, at 1. 3 Allison, “Living with,” 3. W. F. Jashemski, The Gardens of Pompeii, Herculaneum and the Villas Destroyed by Vesuvius (New Rochelle: Caratzas Brothers, 1979 and 1993), 2 vols, at 2, 249–52, 517, Plan 94. I. Bragantini, “Casa di Polibio” (IX 13,1–3), PPM X: 183–356. For the reader with English, not Italian, I consistently cite the authoritative source by 1 B. W.

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study of thirty Pompeian atrium houses, immobile furniture was frequently against wall paintings. “Furnishings of Pompeian houses give a very different perspective on life with Roman paintings than those espoused by Vitruvius or Pliny, or indeed Philostratus or Cebes.”4 Domestic looms, cupboards, and chests were found in atria and gardens, but were removed immediately after excavation, “no doubt so that they did not interrupt our own view of Pompeian wall-paintings.”5 Furnishings have also typically been omitted from studies of dining, except in elite triclinia. What furniture would have been available to believers in Pauline assemblies as they sat down to dine and worship? Complementing Allison’s observations, therefore, I note that excavators found a wooden bench one meter long in Polybius’ peristyle garden (CC; figs. 5–7).6

1. Current State of Research and a Proposed Supplementary Methodology This summary focuses on architectural spaces, not on many other aspects of Greco-Roman symposia/convivia.7 Architectural spaces themselves, of course, do not have meaning; nevertheless, this article is an attempt to widen Jashemski. She thanks her scientist husband, Stanley, for the plans and measurements, and I do too! In Italy artistic creativity abounds; measurements do not. When I refer to the same house or garden a second time, I repeat references to Jashemski and PPM; this article focuses on architectural structures, which I want to make it easy for the reader to find and see. Abbreviations: PPM = Pompei. pitture e mosaici (ed. V. Sampaolo; Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana; Rome: Arti Grafici Pizzi, 1990–2003), 10 vols, with a supplement, PPM: la documentazione nell’opera di disegnatori e pittori dei secoli xviii e xix (1995), which I cite as disegnatori. MANN = Museo Archaeologico Nationale di Napoli. PitPom = I. Bragantini and V. Sampaolo, La pitture pompeiana (Naples: Electa, 2009), the catalogue of the new permanent exhibit of Pompeian frescoes in MANN. LCL = Loeb Classical Library. 4 Allison, “Living with,” 4. 5 Allison, “Living with,” 4. 6  M. A. Auricchio, La Casa di Giulio Polibio. Giornale di Scavo 1966/1978 2 vols. (University of Tokyo: Centro Studi Arti Figurative, 2001), at 1, 127, with a sketch of the bench (268), and of the couch found by excavators against the wall (295). For the service areas of this house, P. Kastenmeier, I luogi dei lavoro domestico nella casa pompeiana (Studi della Soprintendenze archeologica di pompei 23; Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 2007), 57–58, fig. 39. 7 J. C. Walters, “Paul and the Politics of Meals in Roman Corinth,” in Corinth in Context: Comparative Studies on Religion and Society (eds. S. J. Friesen, D. N. Schowalter, and J. Walters; SuppNT 134; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2010), 343–64, discusses other questions. V. A. Alikin, The Earliest History of the Christian Gathering: Origin, Development and Content of the Christian Gathering in the First to Third Centuries (Leiden, 2009), a dissertation written with H. J. de Jonge, has an extensive collection of evidence. Different, fascinating questions are raised by Willi Braun, “‘Our Religion Compels Us to Make a Distinction’: Prolegomena on Meals and Social Formation,” in Identity and Interaction in the Ancient Mediterranean: Jews, Christians and Others. Essays in Honour of Stephen

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our imagination in relation to such spaces and typical dining customs in them, as we also further consider questions of their meaning. Considering the Pauline Lord’s Supper, New Testament scholars discuss Greek symposia and Roman convivia and the rooms in houses (domus and insulae) and temples where those meals occurred. Analysis of triclinia in Roman houses results in suggestions that a host should invite 3 to 9 guests.8 Diners reclined at these meals.9 “At this period in the Mediterranean world, virtually everyone reclined at their formal meals. For the most part, our data indicates that Jews in the Hellenistic period did also.”10 Jerome Murphy-O’Connor argues that the wealthy would gather early in their triclinia, but that the non-wealthy arrived later and sat in the atrium, so that they were physically separated.11 Peter Lampe agrees that the overflow crowd gathered in the atrium, but argues that this would not detract from the symposium events that Paul describes in 1 Cor 14.12 This assumes that “it is in the dining room where Christians would most likely have met.”13 G. Wilson (eds. Z. A. Crook and P. A. Harland; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007), 41–55. Now R. A. Ascough, “Of Memories and Meals: Greco-Roman Associations and the Early Jesus-Group at Thessaloniké,” in From Roman to Early Christian Thessaloniké: Studies in Religion and Archaeology (eds. L. Nasrallah, C. Bakirtzis, and S. J. Friesen; HTS 64; Cambridge: Harvard University, 2010), 49–72.   8 D. E. Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist: The Banquet in the Early Christian World (Minneapolis; Fortress, 2003), 24–27, with nn. 33, 39; “even if space is available, the gathering should be kept small.” Also Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 73, with n. 31 on the Asklepieion at Corinth: “the preferred design for temple dining rooms was to provide several small rooms in standard sizes, either seven-, nine-, or eleven-couch rooms.” M. Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeinschaft: Soziologie und Liturgie frühchristlicher Mahlfeiern (TANZ 13; Tübingen: Francke, 1996), 73, suggests 8 to 16 persons. R. Jewett, Romans (Hermeneia: Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 64, bases his reconstruction of Roman congregational size, ethics, and leadership on Murphy O’Connor (see n. 11), who assumes a “maximum size of 30–40 for a house-church congregation … [in] a free-standing villa,” but who later added “shop space on the ground floor of a tenement building,” [which] “might accommodate a group of 10–20”; see Jewett, Romans, 64–69, 86, 142, 971–74, 981.   9 Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 10–11. 10  Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 137, with nn. 19–20. Compare H. Taussig, In the Beginning was the Meal: Social Experimentation & Early Christian Identity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 25–26: “The Basics of the Hellenistic Meal,” including “the reclining of (more or less) all participants while eating and drinking together for several hours in the evening.” 11 J. Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology (Wilmington: Glazier, 1983, 2nd ed. 2003), 180, with Fig. 8, a plan of the House of the Vettii in Pompeii. Note the critique by D. N. Schowalter, “Seeking Shelter in Roman Corinth: Archaeology and the Placement of Paul’s Communities,” in Corinth in Context: Comparative Studies on Religion and Society (eds. S. J. Friesen, D. N. Schowalter, and J. Walters; SuppNT 134; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2010), 327–41. Compare J. Murphy-O’Connor, Ephesus: Texts and Archaeology (Collegeville: Liturgical, 2008), 192–97; again, he places “groups of ten or so” (197) non-elite believers in elite dining rooms. 12 P. Lampe, “Das korinthische Herrenmahl im Schnittpunkt hellenistisch-römischer Mahlpraxis und paulinischer Theologia Crucis (1 Kor 11,17–34),” ZNW 82 (1991): 183–

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It is a puzzle, then, that “the posture of the diners is indicated in only one text [….] It is found in 1 Corinthians 14[:30], where the participants at the worship service are said to be sitting. This would suggest that the posture at the table was sitting rather than reclining […]. Most likely it represented a posture dictated by the size of the group – there was simply not room for all diners to recline.”14 There are several problems with this analysis, the first one in the sentence, “the posture at the table was sitting,” which we can easily visualize in a modern setting. However, in Roman triclinia, participants were not “at table”; rather they were reclining on couches, before which there were indeed small tables, as we saw above in Polybius’ triclinium. Smith does not clarify how one could imagine sitting in Roman triclinia. Second, these discussions typically refer to “the triclinium” in the singular, a practice begun by Murphy-O’Connor, one of whose key examples is the Casa dei Vettii (VI 15,1; Sampaolo, PPM V 468–572). Neither he nor scholars who depend on him notice that this house has four triclinia, not one but three facing the peristyle garden,15 which would change the numbers. Third, I will observe below that this reconstruction ignores peristyle gardens, typically spaces in between atria and triclinia, even though peristyles were becoming increasingly more important in the first century B.C.E. and the first century C.E. The consensus reconstruction simply skips over spaces that were among the most important, where dining also occurred! Contemporary archaeologists have reconstructed benches for sitting in the peristyle of the Casa di Julius Polybius (IX 13,1–3), as we saw above. Again, visualizing diners in three or four triclinia, the atrium, and also in the peristyle of the Casa dei Vettii would significantly change the numbers. Fourth, the current consensus is based on elite Roman domus that have triclinia, beginning with the Casa dei Vettii.16 Non-elite spaces for dining

213. Also Lampe, “The Corinthian Eucharistic Dinner Party: Exegesis of a Cultural Context (1 Cor. 11.17–34),” Affirmation 4.2 (1991): 1–15; Lampe, “The Eucharist: Identifying with Christ on the Cross,” Interpretation 48 (1994): 36–49. Compare Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 178, with nn. 8, 10. 13 Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 177. 14 Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 178. 15 D. L. Balch, Roman Domestic Art and Early House Churches (WUNT 228; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 110, n. 4, citing W. C. Archer, “The Paintings in the Alae of the Casa dei Vettii and a Definition of the Fourth Pompeian Style,” AJA 94 (1990): 95–123, who refers (95) to “the four large rooms for dining and entertaining – e, n, p, and q.” Contrast Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth (cited n. 11). However, it is problematic to assign only one function, including dining, to any domestic space (see Balch, Roman Domestic Art, 195, n. 2). Actually, the Casa dei Vettii also has two atria (c and v). 16 A suggestive exception is the book by Peter Oakes, Reading Romans in Pompeii: Paul’s letter at ground level (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009).

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are rarely considered.17 On the one hand, architectural form does not absolutely distinguish elite from non-elite spaces. As I will demonstrate below, both have gardens. Both sometimes have peristyles; both sometimes have masonry couches in triclinia. On the other hand, sometimes neither one has a peristyle or a masonry couch in a triclinium. The architectural situation is complex. Finally, two Pauline texts (“for when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead [prolambanei] with your own supper […]” [1 Cor 11:21a NRSV], and “so then, my brothers and sisters, when you come together to eat, wait (ekdechesthe) for one another” [1 Cor 11:33]) are debated. Matthias Kinghardt18 observes that the temporal understanding of prolambanei conditions the temporal understanding of ekdechesthe. He argues that 1 Cor 11:33, translated “wait (ekdechesthe) for one another,” and interpreted to mean that the rich who gather earlier should “wait” for the poor who arrive later, is incorrect, suggesting rather that the verb means, “receive one another,” without a temporal connotation. I will not repeat Klinghardt’s philological discussion, but Paul may not be assuming that the wealthy reclined early in their triclinia, with the consequence that they later received the poor, who gathered in atria, where they had to sit. The virtual consensus that Pauline assemblies were always centered in dining rooms (triclinia) is problematic. I will demonstrate below that Romans sat in taverns, open gardens, and peristyle gardens, also possibilities, therefore, for Pauline assemblies. Meetings in gardens rather than triclinia would radically alter estimates about the number of persons who might have gathered to worship Christ; our understanding of ethics and leadership in such spaces would also be different. Posture, reclining or sitting, does typically although not absolutely distinguish elite from non-elite dining spaces, and 1 Cor 14:30 assumes the latter.

2. Supplementary Methodology “Art offers the possibility of approaching the subject from a different viewpoint, one which may reflect the choices and attitudes of a much wider range of patrons, geographically, socially, and culturally.”19 17 My study is based primarily on Pompeii. On Ostian taverns see Janet DeLaine (pp. 340–43, 350 below). Jewett, Romans, 53–55, 64–69, refers to lower-class housing in Ostia, citing secondary literature; he does not show us archaeological settings that demonstrate the conclusions. The article by J. DeLaine in this volume questions earlier dichotomous reconstructions of (Pompeian) domus versus (Ostian) insulae. 18 Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl, 275–301. 19 K. M. D. Dunbabin, “Nec grave nec infacetum: the imagery of convivial entertainment,” in Das römische Bankett im Spiegel der Altertumswissenschaften (ed. K. Vössing;

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Katherine Dunbabin’s comment fits my experience as an interpreter. I have read Paul for many years, but when I go to Pompeii  – which two millennia ago was a Roman colony, as was Corinth – and to the National Archaeological Museum in Naples  – which displays many artifacts and frescoes from Pompeian houses, insulae, and taverns – I look and see new possibilities that I had not imagined. This is not a theoretical argument, but a description of what I have done as an exegete, and the results keep surprising me. After looking in Pompeii and Naples, I do find texts that support what the Roman art and architecture displays. Second, many of the images to which I refer in this article are ancient popular art. At the conclusion of my research, I realized that one professionally painted image does reflect my thesis; the final result then is not a dichotomy. Perhaps it is not surprising that popular art, less often professional art, would give clues about Pauline communities, many but not all of whom were non-elite. So my practical method: I travel to Pompeii and Naples, look, take photographs, then continue looking and reading, often in Italian. Repeatedly, a photograph that seemed unimportant when I took it, after continued looking and reading, turns out to be crucial, in the present case an image of Heracles/Hercules. Finally, at the beginning of an article on Roman domestic art, I again offer a caution: eating and the urge to relate to others sexually are human; these popular Roman images exhibit both, which will offend some viewers / readers and excite others.

3. Sitting in Domestic Spaces 3.1 Sitting in Inns and Taverns in Pompeii I will survey three kinds of spaces, primarily in Pompeii, taverns, outdoor gardens, and peristyle gardens, inquiring about sitting while dining.20 John Internationales Kolloquium 5./6. Oktober 2005, Schloss Mickeln, Düsseldorf; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2008), 13–26, with 16 figures, at 13. 20 Space is also a question for J. F. Donahue, The Roman Community at Table during the Principate (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2004), 32–33, e.g. discussing Julius Caesar’s public feast utilizing 22,000 dining couches (Plutarch, Caesar 55.4), which Donahue suggests, meant 198,000 Romans and would have required a minimum of 275,000 square meters. His figures assume 12.5 sq. m. minimum per triclinium. “But surely, as with Caesar’s banquets, we must believe that any and all available outdoor space was utilized” for Tiberius’ (9 B.C.E.) and Caligula’s (37 C.E.) public banquets (Donahue, Roman Community, 10, 32–33, 61, 63). Domitian offered a feast for all at the Coliseum (Statius, Silvae 1.6; Donahue, Roman Community, 16–19, 21–23). Lucullus, celebrating a triumph over Mithridates, served the people 100,000 jars of Greek wine (Donahue, Roman Community, 61). A mosaic from Carthage, now in the Bardo Museum, presents persons at such a public banquet sitting on benches with backrests (Donahue, Roman Community, 5–6, n. 14, with Fig. 1). Dunbabin, “The imagery of convivial entertainment,” 24, discusses the

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DeFelice,21 writing on “inns and taverns,” suggests that “Customers probably ate sitting, not reclining, at tables. Inn (VI.10.1) in Pompeii has five preserved painted scenes that show travelers standing or sitting around wooden tables in an inn, being served by a puer cauponis (“serving boy”). Both masonry dining tables and benches [Balch’s italics] for public use are preserved at the upscale Praedia of Julia Felix (II.4.7; figs. 8–10)22 and inn (I.8.15–16).”23 DeFelice’s numbers clarify the prominence of the Roman social custom of sitting to eat at taverns: “My present count [in Pompeii] is ninety-four businesses that served food and/or drink (popina or taberna), but had no facilities for overnight guests. Another forty-two served overnight guests and possibly food and drink (hospitum and caupona) and nine businesses served overnight guests and had access to facilities for horses (stabulum).”24 DeFelice’s three categories total 145 businesses in Pompeii where he supposes customers sat to eat. In one of these inns, the Caupona di Salvius (VI 14,35.36), one fresco divided into four scenes (like a modern comic strip), horizontally arranged in room (1) on the north wall between the two entrance doors, visually repmosaic from Carthage, also arguing that it presents a public banquet for the whole city; earlier, Dunbabin, The Roman Banquet: Images of Conviviality (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2003), 89–92, Figs. 46–47. 21 J. DeFelice,” Inns and taverns,” in The World of Pompeii (eds. J. J. Dobbins and P. W. Foss; New York: Routledge, 2007), 474–86, at 478. Also noting “the choice of dining while reclining or sitting upright” at the Praedia of Julia Felix, C. Parslow, “Entertainment at Pompeii,” in The World of Pompeii (eds. Dobbins and Foss, 2007), 212–23, at 218. 22 See Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 86–88, #143, Plan 27. V. Sampaolo, “Villa di Giulia Felice (II 4,3),” PPM III: 184–310, at 195, #11–12; C. Parslow, “Documents illustrating the excavations of the Praedia of Julia Felix in Pompeii,” Rivista di Studi Pompeiani 2 (1988): 37–48, with 9 figures. F. Pesando and M. P. Guidobaldi, Gli ‘ozi’ di Ercole. Residenze di lusso a Pompei ed Ercolano (Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 2006), 153–64. Masonry benches (for children?) are also clear in the House of the Cryptoporticus (I 6,2); Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 34–35, #30–31, Plan 9, Fig. 34; I. Bragantini, “Casa del Criptoportico e Casa del Sacello Iliaco” (I 6,2), PPM I: 193–329, at 198. The extension of one end of the outdoor masonry triclinium in Casa IX 5,11.13 may have been seating intended for children; Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 90, with n. 8; 2, 237, #490, Plan 89. See I. Bragantini, “IX 5,11.13,” PPM IX: 528–99, at 597, #125. Cp. n. 89 below. 23 V. Sampaolo, “Officina di N. Fufidius Successus (I 8,15),” PPM I: 844–46, describes the popular art, probably a religious procession or a secular feast, but does not mention benches for sitting. See M. B. Roller, Dining Posture in Ancient Rome: Bodies, Values, and Status (Princeton: Princeton University, 2006), reviewed by J. R. Clarke, Classical Philology 103/1 (2008): 94–99. 24 DeFelice, “Inns and taverns,” 483, n. 1, adds that another forty-seven are questionable, so not included in the count. J. DeFelice, Roman Hospitality: the professional women of Pompeii (Warren Center: Shangri-La, 2001), 176–306, gives a master list of Pompeian businesses with bibliography on each. Donahue, The Roman Community, 25: “Preserved by the thousands on the Flavian and Severan marble plans of Rome, tavernae played a vital role in the structure of the city.”

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resents life in the tavern,25 to be seen and laughed at by non-elite men and women.26 Viewing from left to right, the second painting visually represents two male customers seated on stools, here without a table, who both reach out their right hands toward a barmaid walking toward them, who brings one wine cup in her right hand and a jug of wine in her left.27 Clarke has a wonderfully funny interpretation of this scene and its captions, which I pass over, noting here only that the men are sitting on individual stools while drinking in the tavern. Still viewing from left to right, the third popular painting visually represents two bearded men, also seated on stools, now at opposite ends of a rectangular table, playing dice. The one on the left holds a dice box (fritillus). Irene Bragantini published another inn, the Caupona della Via di Mercurio (VI 10,1).28 The activities in the visual representations of the two caupona have similar content; they are genre paintings. Clarke argues, however, that the two series are significantly different, that the ones in the Caupona of Salvius are jokes, but those in the Caupona on the Street of Mercury are straightforward, with no conflicts or inversions.29 Given the focus of this article on seating, however, the scenes in both Caupona remain intriguing. In the Caupona della Via di Mercurio five “very plebeian” paintings aligned horizontally on the south wall visualize life in a tavern. The second image from the left is of two people playing dice on a seemingly rectangular table, one of them sitting on a stool or a bench beside the table, the other standing.30 The fourth image in the series, second from the right, is of a group of four travelers (with characteristic caps on their cloaks) who are eat25 J. R. Clarke, Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans: Visual Representation and NonElite Viewers in Italy, 100 B.C.–A.D. 315 (Berkeley: University of California, 2003), 161–68, with color Figs. 7–10, and Clarke, Looking at Laughter: Humor, Power, and Transgression in Roman Visual Culture, 100 B.C.–A.D. 250 (Berkeley: University of California, 2007), 120–25, with color Fig. 12. Also A. M. Mahon, “The taberna counters of Pompeii and Herculaneum,” in Roman Working Lives and Urban Living (eds. A. M. Mahon and J. Price; Oxford: Oxbow, 2005), 70–87, at 77, 83–84, with Figs. 5.7 and 5.10, and DeFelice, Roman Hospitality, 253–54. T. Fröhlich, Lararien und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten. Untersuchungen zur “Volkstümlichen” pompeianischen Malerei (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1991), 211–14, and I. Bragantini, “Caupona di Salvius” (VI 14,36.36), PPM V: 366–74, with the four scenes in color (371, #7a, 7b). Further, Balch, Roman Domestic Art, 229. 26 Clarke, Ordinary Romans, 164. 27 Clarke, Ordinary Romans, color Figs. 7 and 9; Bragantini, “Caupona di Salvius,” PPM V: 371, figs. #5, 7a. 28 I. Bragantini, “Caupona della Via di Mercurio (VI 10,1),” PPM IV: 1005–28, color Figs. at 1011, 1016, 1018–19, and DeFelice, Roman Hospitality, 247–48. Dunbabin, The Roman Banquet, 81, fig. 41. Also Fröhlich, Lararien- und Fassadenbilder, 214–22, and Balch, Roman Domestic Art, 228–29. 29 Clarke, Ordinary Romans, 169. 30 Bragantini, PPM IV, 1014–15, #11, 13–15; Mahon, “The taberna counters of Pompeii,” 77, Fig. 5.7.

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ing seated by a small, round table, the legs of which have the form of animal paws, a type common in the houses of Pompeii.31 The two customers on the left are seated on the same wooden bench. A servant, half the size of the diners, as is typical, is visually represented on the lower right. Eight items, including sausages, dried fruits, and cheeses,32 are hanging on fifteen pegs in a horizontal straight line high on the wall behind the diners. The final, fifth painting in this series is erotic, preserving only a feminine form on a bed.33 A single popular painting is on the west wall of the Caupona della Via di Mercurio.34 Three customers are seated at a rectangular table, this one with straight metal legs. Some vessel is on the table, perhaps a wine jug, and if so, there is no indication of a meal. The customer seated on a wooden bench to the right is holding perhaps a wine jug in the left hand, a wine cup in the right, while talking to a servant, here visually represented as the same height, who is standing behind and leaning into the ear of the seated customer. Whether the three persons seated are not only drinking, but also eating, is not clear. These popular images painted in the two taverns in Pompeii, Region VI, give us several views of customers sitting on stools or benches when playing dice or drinking. However, in both scenes of customers drinking/dining around a table in the Caupona della Via di Mercurio (the fourth on the south wall, the single one on the west wall), some are sitting on benches. Whether the others in these same two images are seated on stools or benches is not clear.35 In these popular images in caupona, noone is reclining.36 Martial confirms the contrast: 31 Bragantini, PPM IV: 1015, #17. Mahon, “The taberna counters of Pompeii,” 83, Fig. 5.10, and DeFelice, Roman Hospitality, 37, Fig. 2.4. 32 Mahon, “The taberna counters of Pompeii,” 83. 33 Bragantini, PPM IV: 1017, #19. 34 Bragantini, PPM IV: 1017, #21; color image, 1018, #22. 35 Compare V. Sampaolo, “Taberna vasaria (I 8,10),” PPM I: 826–33, at 827, a modest domus, one room of which is a triclinium (3). In the pre-Roman, Samnite period, scenes were painted on the exterior, street wall. The popular scene painted on the left may visually represent labor in the shop: four individual workers throwing clay pots are each seated on stools at their own, individual, round tables. Disegnatori, 848, presents cupids sitting on benches preparing garlands of flowers (Casa di Trittolemo [VII 7,5]). Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 268, fig. 397, publishes a painting from the macellum (VII 9,7.8) of cupids and psyches as flower dealers, four of whom are sitting on two wooden benches at a table. See also Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 12, fig. 15, a popular fresco from the Predia of Julia Felix (II 4,3), which visually represents four women, one holding a baby, sitting on two wooden benches in the forum; to the left in the same image, a bald man seated on a stool, is selling metal implements placed on a table in front of him, as well as metal containers placed on the ground. See S. C. Nappo, “Fregio dipinto dal ‘praedium’ di Giulia Felice con rappresentazione del foro di Pompei,” Rivista di Studi Pompeiani 3 (1989): 79–96, with 15 figures (color), at 88–89, fig. 11; Nappo interprets 18 fragments, their sequence and location in the atrium (24). J.-M. Croisille, La Peinture Romaine (Paris: Picard, 2005), 271, fig. 417: two salespersons, each sitting on individual wooden benches with backrests

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“The fortune showered upon him lately by his patron – a full ten millions, Maximus – Syriscus, gadding about, got through on tavern stools (in sellariolis vagus popinis) about the four baths. Oh, what stupendous gluttony, to gorge ten millions! And still more stupendous, not even to recline at table (accubare)!” (Epigrams V, 70,37 trans. Ker in LCL) 3.2 Sitting in Gardens in the Open Dining while sitting upright occurred not only in inns and taverns, but also in gardens in the open and in peristyle gardens. Approximately 626 have been found in Pompeii, Herculaneum, and the surrounding villas, some of them in public buildings, a few in tombs, but most in homes; 56 of them have outdoor garden triclinia.38 Gardens were “a place to work and play, a place to cook, eat and worship.”39 There are around three hundred houses in the Vesuvian area with porticoed gardens, some large, some very small. “Even the poor, if at all possible, made place in their modest homes for a tiny garden.”40 Tradesmen in shops, large or small, allotted precious space beside a table with their wares; V. Sampaolo, “Officina coactiliaria di Verecundus” (IX 7,7), PPM IX: 774–78, at 775, gives only the top portion of the image, without the table and two benches. 36 Compare Mahon, “The taberna counters of Pompeii and Herculaneum,” at 70, 72, 76, 77, 83, 84, on sitting in caupona, with further bibliography. For taverns in Herculaneum, see A. Maiuri, Ercolano. I nuovi scavi (1927–1958) (Rome: Istituto poligrafico dello stato, 1958), 432–67, two of which are domus with taverns that have both bars on the street and internal triclinia (IV 12–13, 15–16 and IV 17–18; Maiuri 433–36 and 437–40). 37 Cited by Mahon, “The taberna counters of Pompeii,” 70. 38 W. Jashemski, “Gardens,” in The World of Pompeii (eds. Dobbins and Foss, 2007), 487–98, at 487. For an earlier summary see Jashemski, “The Campanian Peristyle Garden,” in Ancient Roman Villa Gardens (Dumbarton Oaks Colloquium X; Washington D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1987), 31–48, with 36 figures. For literary texts see A. R. Littlewood, “Ancient Literary Evidence for the Pleasure Gardens of Roman Country Villas,” in the same volume: Ancient Roman Villa Gardens, 7–30. P. Soprano, “I triclini all’aperto di Pompei,” in Pompeiana (Biblioteca della parola del passato; Naples: Gaetano Macchiaroli, 1950), 288–310, with figs. 28–32, made an early survey of outdoor triclinia, listing 22 in concrete, 5 biclini, 1 stibadium (VIII 3,15), 7 in wood or other material (including one in the peristyle of the Casa del Menandro), 4 destroyed, and 5 visually represented in frescoes (2 in the Casa dell’Efebo, both discussed below). Soprano’s total is 39, plus 5 frescoes. Jashemski, The Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 346, n. 1 lists 17 more found after Soprano published his article, bringing the total to 56 outdoor garden triclinia. 39 Jashemski, “Gardens,” 487. Compare Jashemski, The Gardens of Pompeii, 1, chap. IV, “Life in the Garden,” pp. 89–101: “eating in the garden,” and chap. V: “Religion in the Garden”: worship of the Lares and Penates, Hercules, Dionysus, Venus, Diana, sacred trees, and Isis. 40 Jashemski, “Gardens,” 487. Donahue, The Roman Community at Table, 39–40, with n. 61: “At Parma in municipal Italy, an eques Romanus once bequeathed thirty-five iugera (about twenty-three acres) of a ‘little garden’ (hortulum), once a marsh, to his sodales so

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for gardens.41 Dining occurred in these open gardens: shells, bones of fish, cow, pig, sheep or goat, chicken and bird were found in the garden of the House of the Wedding of Alexander (VI.17[Ins.Occ.].42),42 debris left from meals in the stunningly beautiful water triclinium that faced this open garden (fig. 11).43 Some open gardens had permanent triclinia with masonry couches, the most well-known of which is in the Casa dell’Efebo (I 7,11; figs. 12–13),44 but Jashemski discusses several others. She observes that many restaurants were clustered in the area near the Great Palaestra (II 7)45 and the amphitheater (II 6),46 the most elaborate of which was immediately west (II 9,5.7).47 There is a large masonry garden triclinium, with paintings on the front and inside of the triclinium couches, e.g. of a peacock, another of a fountain from which two birds drink.48 To the east of the triclinium, two fountains decorated with striking mosaics face each other, unique in Pompeian gardens.49 Columns at the four corners of the triclinium support a vine-covered pergola that shaded guests as they reclined.50 that they might spend the return on the land on an annual feast to be held in the garden itself.” 41 Jashemski, “Gardens,” 488. 42 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 166–67, #313, Plan 58, figs. 199–201. V. Sampaolo, “Casa del Bracciale d’oro” (VI 17[Ins.Occ.],42), PPM VI: 44–145, triclinio (31), at 129–39. In striking color, R. Ciardiello, “VI 17 Insula Occidentalis 41; Casa del Bracciale d’Oro,” in Pompei (Regiones VI–VII) Insula Occidentalis (eds. M. Aoyagi and U. Pappalardo; University of Tokyo: Center for Research of Pictorial Cultural Resources, 2006), 69–256, at 80, 162–86, 254–56. 43 Jashemski, “Gardens,” 490–92, with plan and photos in Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii 2, 166–67, #313, Plan 58, figs. 199–201. 44 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 37–41, Plan 10, figs. 37–43. A. de Vos, “Casa dell’Efebo o di P. Cornelius Tages” (I 7,11), PPM I: 619–727, at 713 (color). L. Richardson, Jr., “Water Triclinia and Biclinia in Pompeii,” in Studia Pompeiana & Classica in Honor of Wilhelmina F. Jashemski, vol. 1: Pompeiana, ed. R. I. Curtis (New Rochelle: Aristide D. Caratzas, 1988), 305–15, with figs. 1–5, at 305, figs. 1–2. Soprano (see n. 38), “triclini all’aperto,” 296, fig. 31. Balch, Roman Domestic Art, 231, Figs. 9–10, CD 291–98 (color). 45 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 91–92, Plan 29. 46  Jashemski, The Gardens of Pompeii, 1, chap. VIII: “Gardens in Restaurants, Inns, and Hotels,” 172, 176, Fig. 261. She notes the importance of this evidence (1, 352, n. 8), since so few inns and restaurants have been found elsewhere in the Roman empire. 47 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 97, #154–55, Plan 31. A. de Vos, “Casa con osteria a giardino (II 9,5.7),” PPM III: 329–37, #1–14. Jashemski’s eastern entrance #6, De Vos labels as #7; and De Vos displays another western entrance to the same property as #6. DeFelice, Roman Hospitality, 222. 48 De Vos, PPM III: 333, 336–37, #5–6 and 12–14. 49 On mosaic fountains in Pompeian gardens, see Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 41–43. 50 Even the Casa di D. Octavius Quartio (II 2,2) “became a caupona (inn), as did many other luxurious houses all around the amphitheater.” E. S. Prina Ricotti,” The Importance of Water in Roman Garden Triclinia,” in Ancient Roman Villa Gardens (Dumbarton Oaks Colloquium X; Washington D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1987), 135–84, at 170; as evidence, Prina Ricotti observes “a noticeable difference between

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Properties nearby also had significant gardens with masonry triclinia (II 8,2.3; II 8,6).51 Intriguingly, one neighboring house transformed into an osteria offers seats, not couches for reclining (II 8,5).52 Across the street was a large vineyard, where the owner probably served guests at the large triclinium near the entrance (I 20,1).53 Immediately north of the amphitheater was a large vineyard (II 5) where Jashemski excavated 1423 vine-root cavities; it also had two triclinia, where, she supposes, visitors to the amphitheater games were served.54 The Caupona di Euxinus (I 11,10–11) was more distant but still in the vicinity of the amphitheater.55 Jashemski’s suggestion is surely correct: “There is no evidence of a masonry triclinium as in some gardens, but no doubt many in the amphitheater crowds were willing to be served less elegantly at tables set up in the garden rooms and under the spreading branches of the two trees. As we have seen, a painting in another restaurant indicates that table service was not unknown in Pompeii.”56

the high quality of the earlier frescoes in the house and the poor quality of the paintings on the walls of the biclinium which are cheap and showy.” See Prina Ricotti, L’arte del convito nella roma antica (Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 1983), with 121 Figures, 35 in color. Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 78–82, #133–35, Plan 25. For more on this domus/caupona and the amphitheater see D. L. Balch, “Women Prophets/Maenads Visually Represented in Two Roman Colonies: Pompeii and Corinth,” in The Interface of Orality and Writing: Speaking, Seeing, Writing in the Shaping of New Genres (eds. A. Weissenrieder and R. B. Coote; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 236–59, with 12 Figs. 51 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 92, 94–96, #150–53, Plan 30. A. de Vos, “Caupona con habitatione” (II 8,2.3), PPM III: 316–19, #2. A. M. Sodo, “(II 8,6),” PPM III: 325–28, #3. DeFelice, Roman Hospitality, 219. 52 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 94, #151, Plan 30. A. de Vos, “(II 8,5),” PPM III: 320–24. Both Jashemski and De Vos note parallels to sitting while dining in triclinium (3) of the Praedia di Giulia Felice (II 4,3), and also with the tavern paintings in VI 10,1. DeFelice, Roman Hospitality, 220. Compare n. 22. Units of the Praedia di Giulia Felice itself were for rent; see F. Pirson, Mietwohnungen in Pompeji und Herkulaneum. Untersuchungen zur Architektur, zum Wohnen und zur Sozial‑ und Wirtschaftsgeschichte der Vesuvstädte (Studien der antiken Stadt 5; Munich: Dr. Friedrich Pfeil, 1999). For the rental notice see F. Bernstein, “Pompeian Women,” in The World of Pompeii (eds. Dobbins and Foss; 2007), 526–37, at 529. 53 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 178, 227, figs. 334–35; 2, 67, #116, Plan 21. M. G. Cerulli Irelli and A. de Vos, “Caupona del gladiatore e officina di lucerne” (I 20,1), PPM II: 1060–65. DeFelice, Roman Hospitality, 211, is doubtful. 54 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 201–18; 2, 89–90, #156, Plan 28. 55 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 172–76; 2, 51–52, #72–73, Plan 14. M. de Vos, “Caupona di Euxinus (I 11,10.11),” PPM II: 570–81: “an osteria, which must have been full of people on the days of spectacles, because the distance from the amphitheater is c. 300 m (6 insulae)”; “the two dolii in the ground in the center of the garden had a capacity of 375 liters, sufficient to contain the annual production of 275 liters in the garden, destined for consumption in the osteria.” (de Vos 570) Mahon, “The taberna counters of Pompeii,” 71–72, 77, 83–84, and DeFelice, Roman Hospitality, 203. 56 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 175. She refers (1, 167, n. 2) to the paintings in the tavern of Salvius (VI 14,35–36) and the nearby tavern (VI 10,1), both discussed above.

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As evidence that Jashemski is correct, I return to the garden triclinium in the Casa dell’Efebo (I 7,11) mentioned above. This masonry triclinium has frescoes both on the vertical ends as well as inside the “U” of its masonry couches; one image visually represents pygmies at a symposium in an outdoor garden. Apparently not disturbed by a crocodile walking by in front of them, five diners are reclining, A. de Vos writes,57 on mattresses around a stibadium, before which is a circular table on which one sees a crater and a ladel (fig. 14). However, the three in the middle are not reclining, but sitting straight up on their mattresses. The second banqueter from the right raises a reed in the hand, so is perhaps a symposiarch, a magister bibendi, moderating the second part of the banquet, the drinking of wine (comissatio). In a second scene on the inside wall of the concrete triclinium, explicitly sexual activity in a garden is visually represented accompanied by a musician playing the double flute, to the stimulating rhythm produced by a foot-clapper (scabillum).58 The scene would be visible to those reclining on the masonry couches, but the image itself does not visualize a convivium. These two scenes in Efebo are combined in an image from peristyle (g) of the House of the Doctor (VIII 5,24; fig. 15).59 A large cloth canopy stretched between trees shelters diners who recline virtually on the ground in the open around a curving couch, facing a round table on which one sees a crater. The symposiast on the left is reclining, but the four on the right are sitting up watching the activity. Crossed sticks hold up an amphora, and a musician plays double oboes for this drinking party. Contemporary viewers may be shocked by the public sexual activity, but these visual images represent symposia/convivia in open gardens, with diners on mattresses close to or on the ground, several of whom are sitting up watching the entertainment, not reclining. Pygmies in Roman art are the colonial Other, and their visual representation concerns Roman imagination, not actual Africans, so they are given traits that correspond to the colonizer’s collective ideology, e.g. civilized/ barbarian, sexually chaste/sexually promiscuous, all marked by physical dif57 A. De Vos, “Casa dell’Efebo,” PPM I: 723, #179, 181 (both color). See Soprano, “triclini all’aperto,” 309–10, #41; Balch, Roman Domestic Art, CD 296 (color). 58 De Vos, PPM I: 727, #187 (color). See Soprano, “triclini all’aperto,” 309, #40; Balch, Roman Domestic Art, CD 298. 59 J. R. Clarke, Looking at Lovemaking: Constructions of Sexuality in Roman Art 100 B.C.–A.D. 250 (Berkeley: University of California, 1998), 44–45, fig. 10; also Clarke, “Three Uses of the Pygmy and the Aethiops at Pompeii: Decorating, ‘Othering,’ and Warding off Demons,” in Nile into Tiber. Egypt in the Roman World (Proceedings of the IIIrd International Conference of Isis studies, Faculty of Archaeology, Leiden University, May 11–14, 2005; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 155–69, with 7 figures, at 166, figs. 5–6. Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 217, #442, Plan 81. V. Sampaolo and I. Bragantini, “Casa del Medico” (VIII 5,24), PPM VIII: 604–09, at 606, #5 (color), and Balch, Roman Domestic Art, CD 299, 299a (color). Inventory #113196 MANN.

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ference.60 The pygmies’ sex is more explicit than in some Roman art, but on the other hand, when Statius, Silvae I.6.67, describes a banquet of Domitian, the entertainers include “girls easily bought” (trans. Shackleton Bailey in LCL).61 Lucian textually satirizes “philosophical” banquets: Alcidamus the Cynic finds no couch available. “Aristaenetus […] bade him take a chair and sit (thronon […] kathizesthai) […]. What you tell me to do is womanish and weak to sit on a chair or a stool (gunaikeion […] kai malthakon epi thronou kathizesthai e skimpodos), like yourselves on that soft bed, lying almost flat on your back while you feast (katakeimenoi estiasthe), with purple cloths under you. I shall take my dinner on my feet as I walk about the dining room (deipnesaimi emperipaton […] to sumposio), and if I get tired I’ll lie on the floor, leaning on my elbow (keisomai ep agkonos), with my cloak under me, like Heracles in the pictures they paint of him.” (Lucian, Symp. 13–14, trans. Harmon in LCL; fig. 16)62 Later he is “caught stripping the flute-girl and trying to ravish her” (Symp. 46). Roman domestic art caricatures the African Other, and Lucian satirizes philosophical banquets; both authors include more or less explicit sexual activity by “ordinary” Romans. But just as in 1 Cor 14:30, where Paul casually assumes that believers “sit” in worship, so also in the Pompeian visual representations of sexual entertainment at symposia in open gardens, the diners sitting / reclining on mattress pads in the open is a cultural custom simply assumed by the artist. In this fresco we view seating arrangements typical of symposia of the non-elite in the many gardens around the amphitheater, seating arrangements also possible for the worshipping assemblies to which Paul refers in 1 Cor 14:30.63 Statius confirms partially analogous customs for elite diners. Domitian had apparently given him a villa by Alba, but “escaping from narrow doorways and the familiar house and warding off the sun with the foliage of a spreading tree, the sky went into hiding as bright daylight gave way to sudLooking at Laughter, chap. 5, at 87–88. in the informative article by C. P. Jones, “Dinner Theater,” in Dining in a Classical Context (ed. W. J. Slater; Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1991), 185–98. Satius lived in Naples and Rome, c. 50–96 C.E. Compare Dunbabin, “the imagery of convivial entertainment” (cited n. 19), 17, 19, 21–23. 62 Lucian, a Syrian, lived c. 125–180 C.E.; his Symposium is entitled The Carousal, or the Lapiths, modeled on the Symposium of Menippus, the Cynic satirist (Harmon, in Lucian, LCL, 1, 411). 63 Donahue, The Roman Community at Table, 40–41, draws analogous conclusions: “First, for large public banquets an outdoor setting was a necessity on purely practical grounds: there were simply few other places to go […]. Second, Roman banqueting appears to have known no physical boundaries within the urbs […]. Additional venues, whether the porticus, the forum, the grove, or the street, quite naturally came into play […].” 60 Clarke, 61 Cited

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den clouds and […] a downpour […]. We scattered, and the servants snatch up the festal fare and garlanded wine. Our picnic has nowhere to go […] The urgent shower […] persuaded us to seek the nearest cover […]. Hither are crowded the repast, the rich couches (tori), the flock of servants (ministrum) […].” (Statius, Silvae III 1.69–8664, trans. Shackleton Bailey in LCL) I will investigate furniture further below, but it is already apparent that the elite sit on professionally crafted wooden, masonry, and marble seats, while the non-elite sit / recline either on the grass (Mark 6:39; John 6:10), perhaps on mattress pads, or on the ground (Mark 8:6), as Alcidamus the Cynic in a more elite setting reclined on the floor on his elbow. 3.2.1 Sitting in Peristyle Gardens For anyone researching the social setting of Pauline worship assemblies, which included dining, Jens-Arne Dickmann’s observations on the originating sources and functions of Roman domestic peristyle gardens are intriguing: “Rather than emphasizing the impact of Hellenistic palaces on Roman private urban architecture, […] we should look at the public buildings of late Hellenistic cities […]. Two main types of public building in the Hellenistic world offer close parallels. One is the type of public feasting area discussed by Börker65 […], the Pompeion in Athens or the Asclepieion at Corinth.66 Here we find the peristyle combined with dining rooms; it seems likely that the porticoes in this context were used chiefly as ambulatories that stimulated conversation and aided digestion. The second, and closer, parallel is found in those Hellenistic buildings normally interpreted as gymnasia, i.e. buildings that served educational purposes. The close link of the exedra characterized by its wide opening with the portico seems to reflect the usage of the area for teaching, the exedra being suited to writing, the portico to debate and rhetorical dispute […]. Delorme67 convincingly 64  Cited by L. Farrar, Ancient Roman Gardens (Gloucestershire: Budding, 1990, 2000), 37. She opens the book with the Fig. of a large, fourth-century mosaic from Carthage, now in the Bardo Museum in Tunis, which represents life on the country estate of Lord Julius (Farrar, Gardens, xii, and her discussion, 37–38). The villa itself is visually represented in the center of the mosaic, which is surrounded by some images of garden scenes. At the top center the matrona reclines on a couch among trees; at the bottom left she stands in front of a wicker chair placed among roses. The dominus is represented on the lower right, seated among trees, with his servants showing him produce of the land. A. Ben Abed-Ben Kader, ed., Image in Stone: Tunisia in Mosaic (Paris: Ars Latina, 2003), has a color fig.: #367. 65 C. Börker, Festbankett und griechische Architektur (Konstanz: Universitätsverlag, 1983). 66 Important for Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 73, n. 31. 67 J. Delorme, Gymnasium. Étude sur les monuments consacrés à l’éducation en Grèce (des origines à l’Empire Romain) (Paris: E. De Boccard, 1960), 374 ff.

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argued […] for the generally loose arrangement of race-track and cleaningfacilities around the peristyle with its ‘classrooms.’”68 Eleanor Winsor Leach also emphasizes the connections of Roman peristyle gardens to Greek gymnasia. She notes several dialogues of Cicero set in domestic gardens, e.g. one of Scipio Aemilianus, who leads friends from a domestic room into a peristyle, where after walking, they settle on a grassy plot to converse (De Republica 1.9.14). Writing of his villa at Tusculum, Cicero (Tusc. 2.4) names a gymnasium the “Academic,” recalling the philosophical world of Athens.69 Pauline assemblies possibly included both feasting and teaching in this third kind of architectural space, that is, in peristyle gardens – with stools and benches. Contemporary historians of Roman domestic architecture emphasize their growing importance. Even before the Romans, that is, in the middle of the second century B.C.E., some Pompeians began to expand what had been a single portico behind the tablinum into a four-sided cloister or “peristyle” around a garden.70 This shifted prestige from the atrium near the street to the new nucleus deeper in the house, and the tablinum in between the two now became Janus-like. “The house’s largest and most richly decorated rooms now tended to be those round the new nucleus, while the rooms at the back of the atrium were turned round to face the garden.”71 The earliest peristyles, even if large, had a scarcity of rooms around them; e.g. the first and early peristyle of the Casa del Fauno (VI 12,2) had only a single room, but the later, larger peristyle had four living rooms, three with wide openings, which allowed the reception of guests and entertainment on a grand scale.72 Dickmann gives other examples, e.g. also in the Casa dei Capitelli figurati (VII 4,57),73 “the main rooms are ‘turned round’ towards 68 J.-A. Dickmann, “The peristyle and the transformation of domestic space in hellenistic Pompeii,” in Domestic Space in the Roman World: Pompeii and Beyond (eds. R. Laurence and A. Wallace-Hadrill; JRA Supp 22; Oxford: Oxbow, 1997), 121–36, at 124–25. See the programmatic discussion of gymnasia by A. Wallace-Hadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2008), 169–90. 69 E. W. Leach, The Social Life of Painting in Ancient Rome and on the Bay of Naples (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2004), 37–38. Littlewood, “Ancient Literary Evidence” (cited n. 38), has further references. 70 R. Ling, Pompeii: History, Life & Afterlife (Stroud, Gloucestershire: Tempus, 2005), 42. 71 Ling, Pompeii, 42. See already J. B. Ward-Perkins, Roman Imperial Architecture (Pelikan History of Art; New York: Penguin, 1970, 1981), 185–91, who gives examples of the House of the Mosaic Atrium and of the House of the Stags in Herculaneum. 72 Dickmann, “The peristyle and the transformation of domestic space,” 122, 127, with Fig. 10. For the house plan, Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 145–46, #276, Plan 50, and A. Hoffmann and M. de Vos, “Casa del Fauno” (VI 12,2), PPM V: 80–141. 73 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 181, #354, Plan 62, fig. 216. M. Staub-Gierow, “Casa dei Capitelli figurati” (VII 4,57), PPM VII: 63–92.

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the garden.”74 “The tablinum was transformed into a vestibule, […] and by its spaciousness solemnly ‘announced’ the garden area […] [which] shifted the main living-rooms to the porticoed garden.”75 As both Jashemski and Allison76 observe, dining in peristyle gardens was popular. Soprano77 lists triclinia in gardens, some of which are peristyles; I comment on some of his first examples, but because of space, not on all 39. His first example is a restaurant with both an internal triclinium (l) and an external triclinium inside a peristyle (c) of six columns, operated by freedpersons (I 2,24).78 There are several cauponae in Region 1, insula 2, all near the two Pompeian theaters and the southern Stabian Gate.79 This caupona is decorated with a fresco of a small temple, inside of which there is a statue of Bacchus. A few doors down the street there is a house with a tetrastyle atrium (b), a triclinium (i) with a fresco of Cassandra prophesying, and a peristyle (h) with an external masonry triclinium (I 2,28).80 Immediately across the street from Soprano’s first example is a tannery; in the rear is a large peristyle (h), whose west wall has an external triclinium, perhaps remaining from an 74 Dickmann,

“The peristyle,” 132, with fig. 10. “The peristyle,” 132. Historians debate the decline or continued importance of the atrium, especially when a house has two atria, but they agree on the increased significance of peristyle gardens. P. M. Allison, “Domestic Spaces and Activities,” in The World of Pompeii (eds. Dobbins and Foss, 2007), 269–78, at 274: “Colonnaded gardens seem to have been the most ostentatious spaces […] for display and entertainment, particularly dining.” A. Wallace-Hadrill, “The Development of the Campanian House,” in The World of Pompeii, 279–92, at 287, 289, insists on the continued importance of the atrium. J.-A. Dickmann, “Residences in Herculaneum,” in The World of Pompeii, 421–34, at 423, 426–27. 76 See nn. 39, 75. 77 See n. 38. 78 Soprano, “triclini all’aperto,” 292, #1. Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 25, #10, Plan 5. M. de Vos, “Caupona (I 2,24),” PPM I: 53–57. 79 De Vos, I, 53, gives Albergo (VII 11,11–14; V. Sampaolo, PPM VII: 463–77) as an example, a hotel of many rooms with a smaller pleasure garden (viridarim [m]) and a large open garden (hortus [v]). A graffito includes the word christianos, which is debated. Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 192, #378–80, Plan 70, describes its three gardens, from small to large, two enclosed and one open, noting that the hotel could accommodate more than 50 guests. See S. J. R. Ellis and G. Devore, “Uncovering Plebeian Pompeii: Broader implications from excavating a forgotten working-class neighborhood,” Nuove ricerche archeologiche nell’area vesuviana (scavi 2003–2006) (eds. P. G. Guzzo and M. P. Guidobaldi; Studi della soprintendenza archeologica di pompei 25; Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 2008), 309–20, at 316–17: in the new “Entertainment District” near the theaters, the owner(s) of VIII 7,7–11 abandoned industrial activity (possibly fish by-produce processing), “incorporated a large chunk of their neighbor’s land, … [and] opened up an attractive dining area complete with a new triclinium couch, water features, and kitchen” (see their fig. 9). This tavern (VIII 7,7–11) is just inside the Stabian Gate, faces east onto the Via Stabiana, and is just southeast of the small theater (Odeion). 80 Soprano, “triclini all’aperto,” 293, #2. Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 25, #11, Plan 5; M. de Vos, “Casa della Grata metallica” (I 2,28), PPM I: 58–63. 75 Dickmann,

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earlier domus (I 5,2).81 A famous mosaic emblema decorated its table: an allegory of death, a skull, below which is a butterfly, perhaps symbolizing the spirit, below which is the wheel of fortune. On either side of the skull, a scale holds symbols of wealth on the left (scepter and purple toga) and of poverty on the right (beggar’s crook and knapsack) in perfect balance (fig. 17).82 From the decumanus that connects the main forum in the west with the Sarno Gate in the east, that is, along the Via dell’Abbondanza, the Casa di Trebio Valente (III 2,1)83 offers a long axial view from the entrance on the street (fauces) to the peristyle (x) with an external triclinium in the rear. Many electoral graffiti are painted on the front of the house,84 and it is one of the few in Pompeii with its own domestic bath (q, y).85 The external triclinium in the rear has four of its own columns that support a pergola; diners would look out into the peristyle at a small pool with a fountain. The wall behind the triclinium has brightly colored blocks of yellow, rose, and white. I append Jashemski’s empathetic description86 of dining in such an elite house, the house of Albucius Celsus (V 2,i). The house has three large dining rooms (including w), all opening off the Rhodian peristyle (r; see Vetruvius 6.7.3), which has a smaller garden on the east (2) and a larger one on the west (5), both with pools. A domestic bath (t, u, v) is located off the eastern garden. The larger garden had a portico before the earthquake of 62 C.E., but afterwards it was removed and replaced by an outdoor masonry triclinium. The table in its center had a small masonry column with an opening in the middle for a jet of water, so that the table also (at other times) served as a fountain. There was a large pool with yet another fountain in front of this garden triclinium, “so that guests could dine with the cooling sound of water nearby. It is easy to appreciate the sentiments scribbled on the garden wall by an ancient Pompeian: ‘How inviting is your house, O Albucius.’ 81  Soprano, “triclini all’aperto,” 294, #3. Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 33, #27, Plan 8. I. Bragantini, “Conceria” (I 5,2), PPM I: 185–92; the mosaic emblema is #11. 82 Large color Fig. in Pompeii (ed. F. Coarelli; New York: Riverside, 2002), 390–91, and J. Berry, The Complete Pompeii (New York: Thames & Hudson, 2007), 234–35. I do not find an inventory number. 83 Soprano, “triclini all’aperto,” 297–98, #8. Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 99–101, #156, Plan 32, figs. 112–16. I. Bragantini, “Casa di Trebius Valens” (III 2,1), PPM III: 341–91. Soprano’s exernal triclinia #4–7 have gardens, but not peristyles. 84 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 101, Plan 32, figs. 113–14. Bragantini PPM III: 343–45, #1–4. 85 A. O. Koloski-Ostrow, “The City Baths of Pompeii and Herculaneum,” in The World of Pompeii (eds. Dobbins and Foss; 2007), 224–56, at 242–43: “Baths in private houses: new research.” 86 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 90–92; see 2, 112–13, #180–82, Plan 36, Figs. 123– 25. F. P. Badoni and F. Narciso, “Casa delle nozze d’argento” (V 2,i), PPM III: 676–772.

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[…] The beautiful portico looked out on a vegetable garden, […] nor were flowers and vegetables segregated in Roman gardens […]. The more formal entertaining undoubtedly took place indoors in the lavish banquet room, especially in the winter. But no doubt many a guest was entertained in this gracious garden during the long summer months, and enjoyed the cooling breezes and the music of the fountain […].”87 Writers have traditionally observed that women and children often sat at such dinners, but in contrast to the standard view, Roller argues that “it cannot be shown (contra Valerius and Varro) that women of any status ever dined seated as a matter of course.”88 The children of Claudius dined with him, sitting in old-fashioned style at the ends of the couches.89 “It was the regular custom that the children of the emperors should take their meals in sight of their relatives, seated with other nobles of their age at a more frugal table of their own.” (Tacitus, Ann. 13.16, trans. Jackson in LCL). I conclude this brief glance at peristyle gardens by noting significant diversity, ranging from a small caupona operated by freedmen (I 2,24) and a tannery (I 5,2), both with exernal triclinia in peristyle gardens, to elite houses, one with electoral propaganda, its own domestic bath, and a colorful external triclinium in its peristyle garden (III 2,1), another with multiple dining rooms and gardens, one with a water fountain before an external triclinium (V 2,i). Jashemski had sufficient reason to conclude that both the relatively poor as well as wealthy Pompeians enjoyed gardens, whether small or large open gardens or small or larger ones with peristyles.90

Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 91. Dining Posture in Ancient Rome, 98. Compare the observations of C. Osiek and M. Y. MacDonald with J. H. Tulloch, A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006), 12–15, 26–36, 45–49, 144–63, e.g. on Quadratilla (Pliny, Ep. 7.24). Donahue, The Roman Community at Table, 107–15, 139–41, clarifies “Female Banquet Sponsors.” For peristyle gardens of the Casa dei Dioscuri (VI 9,6.7), see D. L. Balch, “Values of Roman Women Including Priests Visually Represented in Pompeii and Herculaneum,” in Finding a Woman’s Place: Essays in Honor of Carolyn Osiek (eds. D. L. Balch and J. T. Lamoreaux; Princeton Theological Monographs; Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2011), 3–49, with 20 figs. 89 Suetonius, Claudius 32; Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 90, n. 6, cites both this and the following text. See n. 22. 90 See nn. 38–42. Further research into Soprano’s list, Jashemski’s longer list (Gardens of Pompeii, 2, “Appendix I: A Description of Every Garden,” #1–623), and DeFelice’s related list of businesses (Roman Hospitality, 176–306), would confirm and increase this diversity. For example, I have not described peristyle gardens in the numerous coastal villas, many with larger, more luxurious gardens than any in Pompeii. See S. de Caro, “The Roman Villa on the Bay of Naples and Its Influence on Urban Domestic Architecture,” in Pompeii and the Roman Villa: Art and Culture around the Bay of Naples (ed. C. C. Mattusch; Washington D. C.: National Gallery of Art, 2008), 15–29, with 6 figures. 87 Jashemski, 88 Roller,

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3.2.2. The Growing Social and Political Importance of Peristyle Gardens Romans defeated Pompeii in the Social War (80 B.C.E.), and the dictator Sulla sent colonists from the city of Rome, who erected public buildings, e.g. the amphitheater.91 But the important point for this essay is the continuing trend toward building peristyles, opening the tablinum to face the rear, and turning rooms off the atrium around to orient them to the large dining and reception rooms opening off the rear peristyle.92 In the early Empire, the function of atria, where the old elite had received clients, the salutatio, began to change. Expanded wealth transformed older sober atria into spaces of showy display with marble furniture and water fountains with eye-catching mosaics.93 The great dining room(s) off the peristyle began to assume functions of the old atrium. The former audience in the atrium, clients from a wide social spectrum, lost ground to more selective receptions focused in the dining room,94 a change developing before and during the time of Paul the apostle. Some of this upwardly mobile new class imitated luxurious villas that they did not own, an imitation that included ornamental gardens with sculpture and water displays.95 Pompeii, 52, 54–55.  Ling, Pompeii, 59; see nn. 70–75 above. Ling also contrasts (63) the inward-looking urban domus with outward-looking villas built by the Roman colonists, both resulting in two domestic nucleae. With full-page color figs., Pompei (ed. F. Zevi; Naples: Guida, 1992), traces the urban and domestic development of Pompeii from the “Etruscan,” through the Samnite, the Sullan, and finally the Augustan city. Compare F. Pesando, “Le residenze dell’aristocrazia sillana a Pompei: alcune considerazioni,” Ostraka 15/1 (2006): 75–96. 93 Ling, Pompeii, 74. 94 Ling, Pompeii, 75, citing J.-A. Dickmann, Domus frequentata. Anspruchsvolles Wohnen im pompejanischen Stadthaus (Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften 4/1–2; Munich: Dr. Friedrich Pfeil, 1999), 1, 301–12. I have not seen the new second edition. 95 G. di Pasquale and F. Paolucci, eds. Il giardino antico da Babilonia a Roma. Scienze, arte e natura (Istituto e Museo di Storia della Scienze di Firenze; Livorno: sillabe, 2007), a stunning exhibit of frescoes, mosaics, and many sculptures in ancient gardens; the section on Greek gardens has the title, “Gardens of the Gods and Philosophers,” 203–27. The book collects sculptures from the gardens of Oplontis (257–69), Cervi (270–75), Amorini Dorati (276–89), Vettii (290–95), and Octavius Quartio (306–13, 328–29). For the exhibition on the web see http://brunelleschi.imss.fi.it/giardinoantico/indice.html. Domus  – viridaria, horti picti (Exhibition, Pompeii and Naples; Naples: Bibliopolis, 1992), with a catalogue of beautiful garden artifacts, including sculpture. Mary Beard, “Art Collections on the Bay of Naples,” in Pompeii and the Roman Villa: Art and Culture around the Bay of Naples (ed. C. C. Mattusch; Washington D. C.: National Gallery of Art, 2008), 71–83, with 11 Figures. For numerous gardens in the city of Rome, whose sculptures strike me as more violent, see M. Cima and E. Talamo, Gli horti di Roma antica (Milan: Mondadori Electa, 2008). K. J. Hartwick, The Gardens of Sallust: A Changing Landscape (Austin: University of Texas, 2004). Il giardino dei cesari. Dai palazzi antichi alla Vigna Barberini, sul Monte Palatino (ed. F. Villedieu; Scavi dell’École française de Rome, 1985–1999; Rome: Quasar, 2001). Pompeians fought with the Roman Mummius against Corinth (146 B.C.E.), which enabled luxurious urbya renewal, e.g. of the Temple 91 Ling, 92

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4. Visual Representations of Persons Sitting In villas some of these gardens included marble seats. Pliny96 gives a rapturous description of his villa in Tuscany, which beyond a riding ground (hippodromus; Ep. 5.6.32) includes an alcove: “There you can lie and imagine you are in a wood, but without the risk of rain. Here too a fountain rises and disappears underground, while here and there are marble chairs which anyone tired with walking appreciates as much as the building itself. By every chair is a tiny fountain (Fonticuli sedilibus adiacent) […].” (Ep. 5.6. 40, trans. Radice in LCL). Cicero (Acad Luc 2.3.9) also mentions a seat (sedem) along the walks in the open colonnade planted with trees (xystus) at the Villa of Hortensius. Roman domestic art gives glimpses of life that support Dickmann’s and Leach’s emphasis on the function of the architecture, Roman domestic peristyles as gymnasia where both feasting and teaching occurred. For example, frescoes of the poets Menander and Euripides occur precisely on the walls of exedrae facing a peristyle garden. The rectangular exedra (23) with Menander represented sitting on a chair (fig. 18)97 is near the library of this house.98 A fresco from Workshop IX 8,299 visually represents philosophers, with three columns and two trees in the background,100 which could easily be perceived as representing a peristyle setting.101 Twelve figures are now visible of Apollo (VII 7,32) and of the Casa del Fauno (VI 12,2). See Wallace-Hadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution, 131–37, 347.   96 Cited by Farrar, Ancient Roman Gardens, 38, who cites also the following text.   97 R. Ling, “Casa del Menandro” (I 10,4; PPM II: 367); Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 47, #64, Plan 13. L. García y García, Pupils, Teachers and Schools in Pompeii: Childhood, Youth and Culture in the Roman Era (Rome: Bardi, 2005), 131, Fig. 81. Balch, Roman Domestic Art, 8 with n. 27, fig. 2, CD 20 (color). The fresco of “Euripides” has faded.   98 García y García, Pupils, Teachers and Schools, 133, Fig. 83, citing L. Richardson, “The Libraries of Pompeii,” Archaeology 30 (1977): 398, n. 6, who thinks the put-holes in the walls of cubiculum (21) were for shelves; he has not convinced all scholars. Pompeii and the Roman Villa (ed. Mattusch), 121, figs. 1–2.   99 This shop is located in a corner of the insula of the enormous Casa del Centenario (IX 8,3.7); Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 244–45, #506–08, Plan 92. 100 Jashemski, “Gardens,” 490: “The small garden in the House of Polybius (IX 12,1–3), enclosed by a portico on three sides, contained five large trees, with many smaller ones, including eight trees espaliered between the engaged columns on the west wall (fig. 31.2).” 101 Fig. 46 as well as the front and back cover of García y García, Pupils, Teachers and Schools. V. Sampaolo, “IX 8 1e2,” PPM IX: 898–900, #6–10, with five figs. of the single, horizontal fresco; Balch, Roman Domestic Art, 223. For frescoes or statues of teachers, actors, students, or scribes who are seated, see García y García, Pupils, Teachers and Schools, figs. 3, 4, 5, 6, 20, 28, 30, 36, 37, 56, 66, 67, 68, 69, 73, 74, 81, 84, 85; García y García collects numerous visual representations, none of which present a philosopher reclining while teaching. For amazing Figs. of either busts or statues of philosophers and politicians in the large peristyle garden of the Villa dei Papyri near Herculaneum, see ercolano. tre secoli

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(93 cm long), but García y García writes that originally there were forty-four in a frieze 4.4 meters long.102 Three of these philosophers are visually represented as seated at the base of a column, twice with trees behind the column; twice their seats are stone, once a marble bench, once a wooden chair.103 None of these philosophers are represented as reclining while teaching. The “Academy of Plato” is represented on a mosaic from the Villa of T. Siminius Stephanus outside the Vesuvian Gate of Pompeii.104 Four philosophers sit under an olive tree on a curved marble bench with lions’ feet, and another sits to the right, while two others stand nearby. Plato, sitting in the center, points with a stick at a sphere in a box on the ground. The background is the Akropolis of Athens, so the scene is set in the great Academy or gymnasium of ancient Athens, which Plato founded for teaching and debate, which continued in that space for nine hundred years.105

5. Furniture for Sitting As Visually Represented in Pompeian Frescoes Ernesto De Carolis published a comprehensive study of furniture (55 beds, 53 tables, 105 chairs with backrests, 53 chairs without backrests [a total of 158 chairs], 20 stools/benches, 3 chests, and 2 cabinets) in Pompeii and Herculaneum as visually represented in frescoes.106 Here I focus on chairs, di scoperte (eds. M. Borriello, M. P. Guidobaldi, and P. G. Guzzo; Naples: Electa, 2008), 167–235, #55–112, with catalogue entries describing each, e.g. Homer standing (#59), “Saffo” (#109), “Dionysos-Platon” (#110). One does not have to have Italian to enjoy the stunning sculptures from this peristyle garden! 102 García y García, Pupils, Teachers and Schools, 74, 76. 103 R. M. Jensen, Understanding Early Christian Art (New York: Routledge, 2000), 34, fig. 5: fourth-century sarcophagus: Jesus seated and teaching. A. Ferrua, Le pitture della nuova catacomba di via Latina (Città del Vaticano: Pontificio istituto di archeologia cristiana, 1960), fig. 108: Paul standing before a seated Christ, who raises his right hand in blessing. F. Bisconti, “The Decoration of Roman Catacombs,” in The Christian Catacombs of Rome: History, Decoration, Inscriptions (Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner, 2002, 2nd ed.), 71–145, at 111, fig. 126: a banquet scene with furniture in the Catacomb of SS. Pietro e Marcellino. 104 García y García, Pupils, Teachers and Schools, 150, fig. 85. Inv. 124545 MANN. Pompeii and the Roman Villa (ed. Mattusch), 214–15, #95 (color). Berry, Complete Pompeii 120–21. Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 283, #577–80, Plan 121. Compare B. Andreae, “Das Mosaik der Sieben Weisen aus Sarsina in der Villa Albani in Rom und sein Verhältnis zum Philosophenmosaik aus Pompeji in Nationalmuseum von Neapel,” in Otium: Festschrift für Volker Michael Strocka (eds. T. Ganschow and M. Steinhart; Remshalden: Bernhard Albert Greiner, 2005), 9–14, with Abb. 1–2; Andreae argues that both mosaics visually represent the Seven Wise Men. 105 Pompeii and the Roman Villa (ed. Mattusch), 214. 106 E. De Carolis, Il mobile a Pompei ed Ercolano: letti, tavoli, sedie e armadi. Contributo alla tipologia dei mobili della prima età imperiale (Studia archaeologica 151; Rome:

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stools and benches, not on frescoes in De Carolis’ list that visually represent beds and tables. Professional artists painted the frescoes, an aspect of Roman luxury, which means that the furniture visually represented is typically elite. Given the focus of this article on gatherings of those who were primarily non-elite, this section will brief, giving only impressions, with no intention of being comprehensive. First, noticing gender, several frescoes represent a male seated on a professionally crafted chair, with a female on a masonry bench (fig. 19),107 contrasting seating arrangements perhaps similar to those noted above in the Villa di Giulia Felice and the Casa del Cryptoportico.108 Or Venus sits in an elegant chair, while Mars stands, outdoors with a column in the background (fig. 20).109 Some frescoes visually represent the matron of the house (or Sappho) seated in a thoughtful mood (fig. 21).110 Four women sit on two backless benches in the forum, one holding a baby.111 Two other women are visually represented sitting on a bench in the forum, considering purchasing cloth from an animated salesperson (fig. 22).112 Second, there are numerous visual representations of musicians. Since music was central to symposia,113 the artists may well be representing musicians who would entertain at contemporary dinners. Pindar seated with

“L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 2007); a series of tables give the numbers cited above (195–214). De Carolis also gives graphic reproductions of all the various types of furniture (217–47). See S. T. A. M. Mols, Wooden Furniture in Herculaneum: Form, Technique and Function (Circumvesuviana 2; Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 1999), 129–30, n. 810, with cat. no. 24, the one remaining bench in Herculaneum. G. M. A. Richter, Ancient Furniture: A History of Greek, Etruscan and Roman Furniture (Oxford: Clarendon, 1926); also Richter, The Furniture of the Greeks, Etruscans, and Romans (London: Phaidon, 1966). C. L. Ransom, Couches and Beds of the Greeks, Etruscans and Romans (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1905). 107 I. Bragantini, “Casa di Meleagro” (VI 9,2.13; PPM IV: 679). F. Seiler, “Casa degli Amorini Dorati” (VI 16,7.38; PPM V: 782). The scene is debated: Agamemnon or Paris on the chair, Briseis or Helen sitting on a rock or a masonry bench. Note: I discontinue references to Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, who does not reproduce frescoes. 108 See nn. 22, 89. 109 A. de Vos, “Casa annessa alla Casa dell’Efebo” (I 7,19; PPM I: 767); M. de Vos, “Casa di M. Lucretius Fronto” (V 4,1; PPM III: 1018). The image reflects Augustan propaganda: war makes peace with love. 110 I. Bragantini, “Casa di Meleagro” (VI 9,2.13; PPM IV: 693). Pompeii and the Roman Villa (ed. Mattusch), 161–62, #59 (color), prints a similar image from a triclinium in the Villa of Arianna in Stabiae, inv. 909 MANN; also PitPom, 456, #245: a woman seated, Villa di Arianna, Stabiae, triclinium 7. 111 V. Sampaolo, “Villa di Giulia Felice” (II 4,3; PPM III: 257); Nappo, “rappresentazione del foro” (cited n. 35), 88–89, #15, fig. 11. 112 Villa di Giulia Felice (II 4,3; PPM III: 254). PitPom, 503, #284; Nappo, “rappresentazione del foro,” 86, #10, Fig. 6. 113 See Jones, “Dinner Theater,” 190, and Dunbabin, “The imagery of convivial entertainment,” 17–19.

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Corinna standing, both playing the lyre, appear repeatedly.114 Or a woman who sits directs others playing music while they stand.115 An individual musician, either Apollo or a woman, is seated on a padded chair playing the four-stringed lyre.116 Third, many myths, as well as old and new comedy are visually represented.117 Plutarch (Table Talk 712B; also 673B, 710B–713F)118 writes that at a symposium, it is better to do without wine than without Menander. Ancient stories were contemporized, including the visualization of contemporary furniture, while the plays, perhaps, were acted before the diners. Odysseus, rising from his chair, draws a knife on Circe, while in the upper left of the fresco, a monster represents Odysseus’ companions whom Circe had transformed into animals.119 (Homer, Odyssey 10.314–22, verbally describes elegant chairs, 10.313–16, 352–54, 366–67.) Paris is seated inside a domestic room on a simple chair with two columns in the background, while Helen stands, or the reverse.120 Iphigenia emerges from Artemis’ temple in Tauria, and sees her brother Orestes and Pylades standing; Thoas, king of Tauria, is seated at the left.121 Phaedra sits in an elegant chair, with a column and tree in the background, while Hippolytus stands, with a companion and horse behind him (Ovid, Her. 4.17).122 Apollo’s epiphany in light, as he stands before a throne, with Venus standing beside him, is painted in an exedra facing a peristyle (fig. 23).123 Menander’s comedy Samia presents an old man with an unkempt beard, who sits on a chair, turns toward a person standing on 114 M. de Vos, “Casa del Citarista” (I 4,5.25; PPM I: 162); disegnatori,” 612–13, prints these frescoes in color. I. Bragantini, “Casa VI 14,38,” PPM V: 380. I. Bragantini, “Casa degli Scienziato o Gran Lupanare” (VI 14,43; PPM V: 463). In all three images, he sits while she stands. 115 M. de Vos, “Casa dei Ceii” (I 6,15; PPM I: 431). 116 I. Bragantini, Casa dell’Argenteria (VI 7,20; disegnatori 459). 117 See Jones, “Dinner Theater,” 189, 192–93, and Dunbabin, “the imagery of convivial entertainment,” 13–16. 118 Cited by Dunbabin, “The imagery of convivial entertainment,” 15; she discusses (14–17) Menander’s plays figured in mosaics, one of which has scenes from 11 comedies! All this means that many in Pauline communities were familiar with Menander. 119 V. Sampaolo, “V 2,14,” PPM III: 852. 120 Casa dei “Cinque scheltri” (VI 10,2; disegnatori 192). See B. Bergmann, “The Pregnant Moment: Tragic Wives in the Roman Interior,” Sexuality in Ancient Art (ed. N. B. Kampen; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1996), 199–218, with Figs. 84–91, at Fig. 90. 121 A. de Vos, “Casa di Pinarius Cerialis” (III 4,4; PPM III: 460–63). Also V. Sampaolo, “Casa dei Vettii” (VI 15,1; PPM V: 562), where the crafted chair is clearer. Croisille, La Peinture Romaine, 83. 122 V. Sampaolo, “Casa V 2,10,” PPM III: 835. A simpler scene appears in I. Bragantini, Casa VI 5,2; PPM IV, 292, but the chair is still elegant. The plot comes close to 1 Cor 5:1–8. 123 V. Sampaolo, “Casa di M. Gavius Rufus” (VI 2,16–17, in exedra [o] facing peristyle [d]; PPM VI: 565). See Balch, Roman Domestic Art, 159. A. de Vos, “Casa annessa alla Casa dell’Efebo” (I 7,19; PPM I: 773). In the first image, the chair has a backrest, but in the second image, it does not.

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his left, raises his eyebrows and begins scheming.124 Attis appears standing, before he castrates himself, observed by nymphs, two of whom are standing while one sits (fig. 24).125 Bellerophon with his horse Pegasus stands before king Proteus, who sits on a chair.126 Patrons in Pompeii asked artists to paint myths on their domestic walls, which they perhaps were seeing performed at domestic symposia, staged with contemporary domestic furniture. The apostle Paul too reminds the Galatians (3:1) that “it was before your eyes that Jesus Christ was publicly exhibited as crucified!”127 Occasionally, poets or actors are visually represented seated, including Euripides and Menander.128 Strikingly, three men wearing wreaths as crowns are seated, while a fourth stands declaiming, perhaps a poetic agon.129 A seated philosopher counsels a woman about to embark for Hades on the ship of Caronte.130 In the same house, a philosopher is seated in front of a globe, and the Muse of history, Clio, is also seated with a scroll in her hand.131 In another house Clio reads from a papyrus, taken from a nearby uncovered capsa with six more papyri; the room where this fresco was painted is open to the large south garden.132 Pauline assemblies too featured teachers (Rom 12:7), who after dinner read from scrolls and interpreted them133; the visual world suggests that these teachers were seated, not reclining on triclinium 124 M. de Vos, “Casa dei Quadreti teatrali” (I 6,11; PPM I: 373). W. G. Arnott, trans., Menander (LCL, 2000), 3, 1–189. See n. 118. 125 A. de Vos, “Casa di Pinarius Cerialis” (III 4,4; PPM III: 464–65). 126 V. Sampaolo, “Complesso a sei piani delle Terme del Sarno” (VIII 2,17–21; PPM VIII: 117). Cp. Pompeii – picta fragmenta. Decorazioni parietale dalla città sepolte (ed. P. G. Guzzo; Torino: Umberto Allemandi, 1997), 68–69, #69, inv. 20878 MANN, from Termopolio (I 8,8); this fresco is not in PPM. This legend is associated with the fountain of Peirene in Corinth. 127 See Balch, Roman Domestic Art, 62, 86, 108. 128 R. Ling, “Casa del Menandro” (I 10,4, Esedra rettangolare [23], facing the peristyle [c]; PPM II: 366–67). V. Sampaolo, Casa del Bracciale d’oro (VI 17[Ins.Occ.],42, in triclinium [19]; PPM VI: 70), a poet seated while reading from a scroll. Disegnatori, 249, #19, represents a poet sitting while reading from a scroll to an actor who is standing. 129 V. Sampaolo, “Casa VI 16,36.37,” in triclinium (H); PPM V: 991. 130 I. Bragantini, “Casa del Criptoportico e Casa del Sacello Iliaco” (I 6,2) PPM I: 264, #127. 131 Bragantini, PPM I: 325, #78–79; see García y García, Pupils, Teachers and Schools, 148, citing M. Della Corte, “L’educazione di Alessandro Magno nell’enciclopedia aristotelica di un trittico megalografico di Pompei del II stile,” Mitteilungen des deutschen archäologischen Institutes, Römische Abteilung 57 (1942): 31–78, who argues that these megalographs are connected with the Epicurean school. Croisille, Peinture Romaine, 153. 132 García y García, Pupils, Teachers and Schools, fig. 1. Sampaolo, “Villa di Giulia Felice” (II 4,3), PPM III: 186 and 303–04, #197, 199–200, a fresco now in the Louvre. 133 See Jewett, Romans (cited n. 8), 89–90, 749–50, 942–44. Compare the provocative theses of E. A. Judge, “The Early Christians as a Scholastic Community,” The First Christians in the Roman World. Augustan and New Testament Essays (ed. J. R. Harrison; WUNT 229; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 526–52.

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couches, while they taught. I repeat, however, that these images visually represent elite symposia; in conclusion, I return to non-elite settings.

6. Numbers of Non-Elite Diners Sitting in Open Gardens/Taverns Pompeii exhibits triclinia both in open gardens134 and in peristyle gardens.135 Peristyle gardens with masonry triclinia are found both in non-elite taverns operated by freedmen / freedwomen (e.g. I 2,24) and in elite domus (e.g. III 2,1). We do not know where the earliest Pauline assemblies gathered, but it would surely be better to imagine several kinds of spaces, not restricting our imagination to one type of space or specific example, e.g. the triclinium and atrium in the elite Casa dei Vettii. Still, since most in Pauline ekklesiai were non-elite, I will imagine Pauline gatherings in several of the taverns and gardens discussed above. For this exercise, I will employ John F. Donahue’s calculations. His source for the numbers that Caesar feasted is Plutarch, who refers to “dining couches – triclinia – in the traditional sense, that is a set of three couches with each couch accommodating three diners […].”136 Donahue figures 12.5 square meters per triclinium. Considering the taverns and gardens discussed above, how many diners might gather in those spaces? Jashemski observes that the taverns cluster around the amphitheater, which sat 20,000 spectators,137 and also around the two theaters, which seated 1,000 and 3,000 spectators, respectively.138 After events in those public spaces, where would 20,000 or 1,000 people gather to eat and drink, and find further entertainment? They would not all find elite masonry triclinia on which they might recline by water fountains! They would crowd into available, nearby taverns and gardens, where they would sit or recline as did Hercules on the ground; elite owners of houses would and did convert their luxurious spaces into caupona to take money from these thirsty crowds.139 134 In the text above see nn. 42–44, 47–51, 53–54, 57, 59; Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, #41, 72–73, 116, 146, 150, 151–53, 154, 313. 135 In the text above see nn. 3, 78, 80–81, 83, 86; Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, #10–11, 27, 133–35, 156, 180, 276, 354, 442, 517. 136 Donahue, Roman Community at Table, 32 (cited n. 20). 137 Pompeii (ed. Coarelli), 181. 138 Pompeii (ed. Coarelli), 176, 178. 139 See nn. 50 and 79, the former on the Casa di D. Octavius Quartio (II 2,2), immediately north of the amphitheater, a domus transformed into a caupona. Few authors publishing on Pompeian housing give measurements, but the most authoritative source on Roman gardens, Wilhelmina Jashemski, provides a scale with each of her plans, supplied by her physicist husband, Stanley Jashemski, whose memory I honor! The following numbers, then, are approximate, but close enough.

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The owner of the Casa di D. Octavius Quartio (II 2,2) converted the domus into a caupona; the garden with a back gate opening onto the amphitheater plaza is c. 52 × 30 meters (fig. 25).140 The water channel through the center took perhaps a quarter of the space, statues and decorations another quarter, trees and plants, as Jashemski demonstrates, perhaps another 40 percent, which would leave c. 156 sq. m, divided by 12.5 and multiplied by 9, theoretically gives space for 112 thirsty sports fans (fig. 26), celebrating perhaps under “large trees on the east edge of the garden.”141 Down the road the Caupona of Euxinus (I 11,10.11) had an L-shaped counter at the entrance,142 so that it was possible to serve passers-by on the street as well as those who stepped inside. Excavators found three amphora addressed “to the copo, Euxinus, near the amphitheater at Pompeii.”143 Two doors led into a large open area, where Jashemski’s 1964 excavations found thirty-two grapevines and two trees (her figs. 258–59). In the remaining open spaces, she suggests, the amphitheater crowds were served in non-elite style.144 The garden is c. 27 × 15 m., that is, c. 405 sq. m.; her figures suggest that perhaps a third of the vineyard was not planted, leaving an open area of 135 sq. m., divided by 12.5 and multiplied by 9, gives 97 customers clamoring for wine. A larger area west of the Great Palaestra and amphitheater is II 9,5.7, which has a masonry triclinium shaded by a pergola supported by stuccoed columns that faces two mosaic fountains. Jashemski’s 1971 excavation disclosed that “the triclinium had been located in a garden setting, probably a vineyard with the usual trees.”145 The garden is c. 35 × 35 m., so 1225 sq. m.; if we assume that a quarter of it (306 sq. m.) was open, divide by 12.5 and multiply by 9, we have a rowdy amphitheater crowd of 220. Caupona I 2,24, near the small theater,146 has an internal triclinium (l), where the more elite customers could recline, an atrium/tablinum area (b, k) of c. 160 sq. m., plus the external garden triclinium (c) of c. 180 sq. m., around half taken by the triclinium itself. Figuring half the entrance area n. 50. Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 78–83, #133–36, Plan 25, figs. 89–90. Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 83. 142 Mahon, “The taberna counters of Pompeii,” 71–72, 77, 83–84, notes that the counter was 85 m. high, plastered and painted red, and that there were three shelves behind the counter, each 15 cm wide and 10 cm deep. A stove at the end of the counter had roof tile, which made its fire especially hot. The counter had two dolia and was clearly a wine shop, probably serving a variety of wines from across the Mediterranean. 143 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 172, with fig. 257. 144 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 1, 175, figs. 258, 260. See n. 55. 145 Jashemski, Gardens of Pompeii, 2, 97, #154, Plan 31. 146 See n. 78. Ling, Pompeii, 54, suggests that the theater was not a Greek hall for musical performances, but an assembly chamber for meetings of the Roman colonists, that is, retired soldiers. 140 See

141 Jashemski,

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and a quarter of the garden gives 125 sq. m., divided by 12.5 and multiplied by 9, yields 90 spaces for thirsty theatergoers, plus 9 who could recline on the internal triclinium.

7. Summary and Conclusions 7.1 Summary This article began by quoting Penelope Allison’s observations about furniture in the Casa di Julius Polybius. Excavators uncovered a meter-long bench in the portico of Polybius’s peristyle garden, and they have restored several, which would have enabled residents to sit and enjoy viewing its decorations, trees, flowers, and vegetables (figs. 1–7). The Villa (Predia) di Giulia Felice (II 4,3; Figs. 9–10) and the Casa del Criptoportico (I 6,2) have both masonry triclinia – and also nearby masonry benches for sitting while dining.147 Osteria (II 8,5) provides only benches, not couches.148 Popular art visualizes workers sitting on benches and stools. Beside the entrance to Taberna vasaria (I 8,10), one sees a popular painting of four individual potters throwing clay, each seated on stools at their own, individual, round tables.149 Both in the Casa di Trittolemo (VII 7,5) and in the macellum (VII 9,7.8), we see cupids sitting in pairs on benches preparing garlands of flowers. A long frieze in an atrium (24) of the Villa di Giulia Felice (II 4,3) visually presents several scenes from the forum in which people are sitting on benches, one of four women on two benches, one of them holding a baby, another of two different salespersons presenting bolts of cloth to women sitting in pairs on benches. We see other salespersons on the Via dell’Abbondanza sitting on two wooden benches with backrests beside a table displaying their wares. Stools and benches seem to have been common in gardens, in the forum, and in workplaces, as well as in taverns (see Mark 2:6, 14; 3:32; 4:1; 13:3). Ernesto De Carolis lists frescoes painted on the walls of Pompeii and Herculaneum that exhibit 105 chairs with backrests and 53 chairs without backrests, a total of 158 chairs, plus 20 frescoes with stools/ benches. In the Caupona di Salvius (VI 14,35–36) we see two male customers seated on stools without a table reaching out for the one drink that the barmaid brings.150 In the Caupona della Via di Mercurio (VI 10,1), popular frescoes visually represent travelers seated on wooden benches at a table while eat147 See

n. 22. n. 52. 149 Examples in this paragraph are documented in n. 35. 150 See n. 27. 148 See

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ing and drinking.151 These popular images visually present a contrast also reflected textually in Martial (Epigram V 30) and Lucian (Sym. 13–14): the non-elite sit on stools or benches in bars, unlike the elite who recline. Pauline believers were “sitting” (1 Cor 14:30). In a fresco decorating the garden triclinium in the Casa dell’Efebo (I 7,11),152 and in the Casa del Medico (VIII 5,24, inventory #113196 MANN),153 we see seating/reclining arrangements in the open on cushions on the ground around a stibadium. Romans did not always recline when eating, nor did they always eat in a triclinium. The non-elite typically drank and ate sitting on stools or benches in taverns, and they reclined/sat on cushions on the ground in open gardens, as we see in these popular images from Pompeii.154 Strikingly, popular painting still represents them in small groups. Reclining on one’s elbow on the ground is also visualized by professional artists: Hercules, drunk, reclines on his elbow on his lion’s skin on the ground in the presence of Queen Omphale, who is seated with two young women beside her, one of whom leans on a column, while cupids play with the wreath on Hercules’ head and with his club (fig. 16).155 Three Pompeian houses visually represent this scene. Not only Alcidamus the Cynic inside a domus at an elite symposium, but also others reclining on the ground on their elbows in popular taverns would perceive Hercules as a model, drunk, lying on the ground on his elbow, and enjoying life. 151 See nn. 28, 31, 34. Popular frescoes also present women, one holding a baby, sitting on benches in the forum, and workers sitting in front of their shop on benches with their wares on a table in front of them (n. 35). 152 See nn. 44, 57. 153 See n. 59. 154 This contrast is not absolute. Clarke concludes his review (cited n. 23) of Roller, Dining Posture in Ancient Rome, by summarizing as follows: “R. concludes that persons of any sex, age, or status might assume various postures under different circumstances. Free adult men, women, and children could be represented reclining, sitting, or standing. Although the literary and visual sources normally represent the free adult male reclining, while the slave stands and free adult women and freeborn children either sit or recline, the many exceptions demonstrate that the patterns are neither rigid nor unchangeable. ‘The hierarchies of posture in the Roman convivium were relational, not absolute.’” (Roller, Dining Posture, 178; Clarke, in Classical Philology 103/1 [2008], 99). In an email to me (June 12, 2011) Clarke adds, “The tavern paintings show the ordinary way of drinking and perhaps eating in a tavern, and the many paintings of diners on couches show the ideal convivium.” 155 See the quotation of Lucian at n. 62. I. Bragantini, “Scavo del Principe di Montenegro” (VII 16[Ins.Or.].10, triclinium (6); PPM VII: 841). Inv. 9000 MANN; PitPom, 258–59, #107. Also V. Sampaolo, “Casa del Forno di fero” (VI 13,6; PPM V: 167), tablino (7). I. Bragantini. “Casa di Sirico” (VII 1 25.47; PPM VI: 255, 266), exedra (10). J. Boardman, “Omphale,” Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (Munich: Artemis, 1994), VII, 1, 45–54, and 2, 30–43, #28, who cites a few Greek but more Latin texts.

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In some situations, clusters of small groups of those drinking and perhaps also dining added up to larger numbers. At imperial public feasts, John F. Donahue explains, “Roman banqueting appears to have known no physical boundaries within the urbs […]. Additional venues, whether the porticus, the forum, the grove, or the street, quite naturally came into play[…].”156 During amphitheater games, Wilhelmina Jashemski concludes, the twenty thousand sports fans went looking for a drink in nearby taverns in open gardens and vineyards. Taverns also clustered around the small theater, so that when the thousand colonial soldiers met, they could relax with each other nearby and enjoy the wine of the region. Pauline assemblies in considerable numbers might have met in these same spaces, in taverns and gardens; they also listened to teachers, and the images I have discovered of teachers visually represent them sitting, not reclining. The thousands whom Jesus fed in Galilee (Mark 6:39; 8:6; John 6:10), who reclined in the open on the grass or on the ground, are both similar to and in tension with eating and drinking at Imperial banquets and after amphitheater events. In the Johannine version of the story, Jesus “sat down (ekatheto) with his disciples” (John 6:3), as in 1 Cor 14:30. But in Mark (6:39–40 NRSV modified), “Then he ordered them to get all the people to sit down in groups (anaklinai [recline] pantas sumposia sumposia [repeated in a distributive sense]) on the green grass. So they sat down (anapesan [reclined]) in groups of hundreds and of fifties.” This version describes the size of Markan assemblies of believers (fifty to a hundred157), larger groups distributed into smaller groups of symposium size (nine) in open gardens / taverns in Rome, a parallel to John F. Donahue’s reading of Plutarch, Caesar 55.4. Mark’s narrative is here transparent to the author’s own time, transposing the space from Galilee to Rome, contrasting Jesus’ feeding of thousands with royal (Mark 6:14–29) and Imperial banquets.158 Another New Testament text verbally represents believers sitting: “In those days Peter stood up among the believers (together [epi to auto] the crowd numbered about one hundred twenty persons) […].” (Acts 1:15) “When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place (pantes homou epi to auto). And suddenly from heaven there came a sound 156 Quoted

n. 63. Mark 6:55, “[they] began to bring the sick on mats (krabattois) to wherever they heard he was.” Also Acts 5:15, the sick are carried into the street and laid on “cots and mats (klinarion kai krabatton [the poor man’s bed])” In these texts, “mats” of the poor seem rather common. 158 Jeffrey Veitch, in his MA thesis at the Graduate Theological Union (Spring 2011), made the argument in this final clause. The former clause, suggesting the transparency of the gospel narrative (Mark 6:39–40) to sizes and configurations of Markan believers gathering in Rome, is the author’s. 157 Compare

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like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house (oikon) where they were sitting (kathemenoi).” (Acts 2:1–2) Luke’s readers in Ephesus, Philippi, or Rome must have envisioned diverse architectural possibilities for this scene: 120 believers in the same place “sitting” in a “house.” The adjective “all” (2:1) refers back to the number 120 (1:15). Current scholarly theories deny that this would have been possible. Looking at Roman domestic art and architecture enables us to imagine the spaces actually described in our texts. 7.2 Conclusions This article has two conclusions; one reflects on academic method, and the second interprets contested spaces in Roman cities and houses. First, Roman domestic art and architecture are helpful in understanding where Pauline communities might have gathered in the city of Rome and in Roman colonies like Pompeii and Corinth. a) Reading Lucian, who presents Alcidamus the Cynic reclining on his elbow on the floor, comparing himself to Hercules, b) looking at frescoes in taverns and at the domestic fresco of Hercules lying on his elbow on his lion’s skin on the ground, c) while puzzling about where Pauline communities gathered, is a productive method, combining visual and textual sources.159 Looking at, not just reading about, where Romans actually sat to dine is crucial when researching where Paul’s Corinthian converts sat to feast, drink, and study. This article recommends the method of looking at Roman domestic art and architecture while studying Paul’s epistles. Second, the interdisciplinary study of Roman domestic art and architecture produces surprising results. Negatively, looking for only one or even two typical architectural forms for Pauline gatherings is too restrictive, especially if the setting is architecturally elite. Art and architecture help us multiply possibilities. Positively, some Pauline communities, possibly in significant numbers, gathered in taverns and/or gardens to sit (1 Cor 14:30) together, feast, drink, and also to read, interpret, and debate160 their scrolls of Genesis, of Isaiah, and their letter from Paul. 159 Compare the interdisciplinary approach of L. C. Nevett, Domestic Space in Classical Antiquity. Key Themes in Ancient History (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2010), esp. chap. 3 on furniture, and chap. 5 on Pompeii. 160 Jewish Christians’ interpretation of Isaiah generated disturbances in Rome (C.E. 49), and Claudius expelled them from the capital (Suetonius, Claudius 25.4), a year before Paul arrived in Corinth. See U. Schnelle, Apostle Paul: His Life and Theology (trans. M. E. Boring; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2005), 48–49, 161, 163. This social history is easier to imagine if believers were sitting in taverns/gardens in significant numbers than if small groups of three to nine patrons were reclining in elite triclinia, later receiving thirty clients in their atria.

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The English term “tavern” in this concluding thesis differs from the English term “house,” a potential source of confusion. In Pompeii several domus were converted into caupona, e.g. the Casa di D. Octavius Quartio (II 2,2)161 and the Predia (Villa) di Giulia Felice (II 4,3). Both these architectural units have entrances (fauces), atria, triclinia, and peristyle gardens, as well as mosaic floors, frescoed walls, and sculpture. They became “taverns” and were also “houses,” where their owners may well have lived with their slaves. The same is true of the non-elite caupona (I 2,24) operated by freedpersons discussed above162; it has an atrium, tablinum, an internal triclinium, and an external triclinium surrounded by a peristyle with six columns. Paul and Luke might have named each of these “taverns” a “house” (oikos). On the other hand, the Caupona di Euxinus (I 11,10–11)163 was not a “house”; it has a taberna counter on the street, two openings into the garden, frescoes, and a lararium, but no published mosaic floors, no atrium, peristyle, or triclinium. I have focused on the caupona near the amphitheater and the two theaters, an urban context, which demonstrates that many people could and would have crowded into these taverns/houses. On the many days when the games were not scheduled, Christian believers might have gathered in significant numbers in similar spaces in Rome, Corinth, or Philippi. Further research might play with possibilities in the literally hundreds of other gardens in Pompeii. We would do well to follow Peter Oakes, Reading Romans in Pompeii,164 and explore a variety of domestic settings for our texts and communities. In Rome or in the Roman colonies Corinth and Philippi, we might imagine Pauline believers renting spaces in taverns, or simply gathering there for meals with wine. How would our reconstruction of the social dynamics change if we were to reread our texts (e.g. 1 Cor 1:16, 16:15–18, 19, Rom 16:3–5a, 23, Phil 4:2–3, Acts 16:13–15, and 18:1–3) imagining one or several of Paul’s hosts not simply as renting but as proprietors of one of DeFelice’s non-elite taverns / inns,165 rather than as owners (male or female), freedmen, or slaves in either elite domus or small workshops? 161 See

nn. 78, 146. nn. 78, 146. 163 See nn. 55, 142. Ellis and Devore, “Plebeian Pompeii” (cited n. 79), do not give enough information to decide whether VIII 7,7–11 was a “house” before the owners transformed it into a tavern. 164 Cited n. 16. Note the absence of gardens in Ephesian houses (see Hilke Thür, pp. 256–258). 165 In an email to me (June 12, 2011), J. R. Clarke writes, “By taking the action to the garden/restaurants hypothesized by Jashemski around the amphitheater, you’re putting your early Christians in pretty loud and raucous spaces – and out in the open. Your calculations give us fairly big crowds of Christian worshippers as well. I suppose the next question is: Who would allow these pious people who weren’t spending much money on food and drink to take over their gardens for worship and conversation? I think you’d have to 162 See

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“I commend to you our sister Phoebe, a deacon of the church at Cenchreae, […] for she has been a benefactor [patron] of many, and of myself as well [….] Gaius, who is host to me and to the whole church [in Corinth], greets you. Erastus, the city treasurer, and our brother, Quartus, greet you.” (Rom 16:1–2, 23) Might we not imagine Gaius or Phoebe or Euodia welcoming the entire church into a house / tavern such as the Praedia di Giulia Felice (II 4,3) or the non-elite caupona (I 2,24), both operated by freedwomen / freedmen, where the believers welcomed into such space would not recline but sit (1 Cor 14:30; Acts 2:2) and dialogue with teachers who were also sitting (Mark 13:3; John 6:3)?166

Captions to figures Figs. 1–3: Casa di C. Iulius Polybius (IX 13,1–3, triclinium EE), reconstructed furniture, dining couches against the decorated wall, with reconstructed small tables beside the couches. Fig. 4: Casa di C. Iulius Polybius (IX 13,1–3, peristyle CC), reconstructed cupboard against the wall painting. Figs. 5–7: Casa di C. Iulius Polybius (IX 13,1–3, peristyle CC), reconstructed benches enable sitting in the portico of the peristyle garden; see digital reconstruction of this type of Roman bench in De Carolis, Il mobile a Pompei ed Ercolano, 240. Fig. 8: Villa di Giulia Felice (II 4,3), door 7, thermopolium (1) on the street; on the right, a view into the rear triclinium (3), with masonry benches for sitting around masonry tables. Figs. 9–10: Villa di Giulia Felice (II 4,3), triclinium (3) with three masonry couches for reclining on three sides of a small masonry table, and also masonry benches for sitting upright around three sides of two more masonry tables. Fig. 11: Casa del Bracciale d’oro (VI.17[Ins.Occ.].42), view from (deteriorated) triclinium (31) toward the large external garden (c. 16 × 13 m. = 208 sq. m.), with a blue ornamental pool just below the ends of the triclinium couches. Fig. 12: Casa del’Efebo (I 7,11), garden triclinium (23, now protected by glass) with columns supporting a pergola, in a garden, with an edicola in the background. Fig. 13: Casa del’Efebo (I 7,11), marble bench in the same garden (23).

conclude that it would be an owner who was a believer.” I agree with the possibility Clarke suggests, with the additional observation that Corinthian believers were not teetotaling North Americans; Paul writes that some of them were getting drunk (1 Cor 11:21). 166 For analogies to the women, Phoebe and Euodia, see the article by F. Pesando in this volume, including a discussion of Eumachia and Julia Felix. I thank John R. Clarke for critical suggestions that strengthen this essay, which does not mean of course that he becomes responsible for my theses.

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Fig. 14: Casa del’Efebo (I 7,11), image painted on the inside of the garden triclinium couch, a pygmy symposium out of doors; the five pygmies recline / sit on mattresses on the ground and under a canopy. Fig. 15: Casa del Medico (VIII 5,24), peristyle (g), five pygmies recline / sit around a stibadium under a canopy hung between two trees, viewing explicit sex as entertainment (inv. 113196 MANN). Fig. 16: Scavo del Principe di Montenegro (VII 16[Ins.Or.].10), triclinium (6): Hercules, drunk, reclines on his elbow on the ground, in the presence of Queen Omphale, who is seated with two young women beside her, one of whom leans on a column, while cupids play with the wreath on Hercules’ head and with his club (inv. 9000 MANN; PitPom, 258–59, #107). Three Pompeian houses visually represent this scene (PPM V: 167; VI, 255, 266; VII, 841). Not only Alcidamus the Cynic inside a domus, but also customers in popular taverns would have perceived Hercules as a model, drinking while reclining on the floor or the ground. Fig. 17: Conceria (I 5,2) operated by freedmen. A mosaic emblema decorated the table in the garden (h): an allegory of death, a skull, below which is a butterfly, perhaps symbolizing the spirit, below which is the wheel of fortune. On either side of the skull, a scale holds symbols of wealth on the left (scepter and purple toga) and of poverty on the right (beggar’s crook and knapsack) in perfect balance. Death visually represented here may invite diners to enjoy life! Fig. 18: Casa del Menandro (I 10,4), rectangular exedra (23), with Menander visually represented reading a scroll while sitting on a chair (in situ). Fig. 19: Casa di Meleagro (VI 9,2.13), atrium (2), a male (Agamemnon or Paris) seated on a professionally crafted chair, a slave dealing with his right shoe, and a female (Briseis or Helen) seated on a rock or masonry bench (inv. 9543 MANN; PitPom, 280, #119). Fig. 20: Casa dell’Amore Punito (VII 2,23), tablinum (f): Venus sits in an elegant chair, while Mars stands behind, touching her breast, outdoors with trees in the background (inv. 9249 MANN; PitPom, 256, #105). Fig. 21: Villa di Arianna, Stabiae, triclinium (7), under a coffered ceiling supported by a column, a woman sits on a padded stool with her legs crossed, the left foot on a footstool; her gesture, raising her right hand to her chin, indicates that she is thoughtful, like the Muse Polimnia. (inv. 9097 MANN; PitPom, 456, #245). Fig. 22: Praedia di Giulia Felice (II 4,3), atrium (24), a long, fourth style frieze in the central zone visually represents scenes of daily life in the forum, this one the sale of fabric. Two women, seated on a bench on the left, examine red material presented by a salesperson gesturing vigorously. Behind them is a servant observing. On the right another salesperson with a bolt of cloth is also engaged in a lively discussion with an older and a younger woman, all of whom are standing. Architectural elements are in the background. (inv. 9064 MANN; PitPom, 503, #284). Fig. 23: Casa di Gavius Rufus (VII 2,16–17), exedra (o): the scene, a contest between two divinities of light, is debated. The goddess standing on the right is clearly Venus. The central figure, bathed in light, standing emphatically on a podium before a throne with a torch in his left hand, is Apollo, not Dionysus, I think. Phaethon or

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Hesperos is seated on the left with a halo. (inv. 9449 MANN; PitPom, 334–35, #170; Balch, Roman Domestic Art, 157–65). Fig. 24: Casa di Pinarius Cerialis (III 4,4), Attis, standing in the center with a knife, who will castrate himself, and Cybele, a drama observed by nymphs, two of whom are standing while one sits (in situ). Fig. 25: Casa di D. Octavius Quartio (II 2,2), photo of the eastern half of the garden, and of the water channel down the center of a domus, which was converted into a caupona. The southern gate at the end of the water channel faced the plaza in front of the amphitheater. Fig. 26: Casa della Rissa nell’Anfiteatro (I 3,23), visual representation of a riot between Nucerians and Pompeians in the amphitheater (59 C.E.). Perhaps the sports fans had been to the nearby taverns before the event? (inv. 112222 MANN; PitPom, 512–13, #292; Balch, Roman Domestic Art, CD 122). Note: all figures were photographed by David L. Balch and are reproduced by the kind permission of the Soprintendente Speciale per i beni Archaeologici di Napoli e Pompei.

Art and Architecture in Terrace House 2 in Ephesos An example of domestic architecture in the Roman Imperial Period Hilke Thür

1. The significance of Terrace House 2 for Roman housing The insula – block of flats – of terrace house 21 with seven houses represents an especially well preserved housing complex (fig. 1) unique in the eastern Mediterranean area. It can be compared to the cities Pompeii and Herculaneum near Vesuvius. Because of the sudden destruction from a series of earthquakes, the results and findings are complex and give good insight into the way of life of upper class citizens in a metropolis of ancient Asia Minor. Additionally, we know two of the house owners: The large house 6 entered directly from Curetes Street was inhabited in the first half of the second century C.E. – as we learn from an inscription – by C. Flavius 1 For a general introduction written in the time of the excavation see H. Vetters, “Die Hanghäuser an der Kuretenstraße,” ÖJh 50 (1972–75): 331–380; H. Vetters, “Zum Stockwerkbau in Ephesos,” in Melanges Mansel (Ankara: TürkTarih Kurumu Basevi, 1974) 69–92; H. Vetters, “Zur Baugeschichte der Hanghäuser,” in Die Wandmalerei der Hanghäuser von Ephesos (ed. V. M. Strocka; Forschungen in Ephesos 8,1 Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1977), 12–28; Vetters, “Zur Baugeschichte der Hanghäuser des Embolos,” in Römische Mosaiken aus Ephesos I. Die Hanghäuser des Embolos (ed. W. Jobst; Forschungen in Ephesos 8,2, Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1977), 17–28; S. Ladstätter, “Das Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos,” in Zentren und Provinzen der antiken Welt (Anodos Suppl. 1; Trnava: Trnavská Universita, 2001), 31–66; Das Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos. Studien zu Baugeschichte und Chronologie (ed. Krinzinger; Archäologische Forschungen 7; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2002); H. Thür, Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,6; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2005), 1–6; H. Thür, “Zum Stadtpalast des Dionysospriesters C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Ein Zwischenbericht,” in Thiasos, Festschrift für Erwin Pochmarski zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. Ch. Franek; Vienna: Phoibos, 2008), 1057–1072.

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Furius Aptus,2 who held high ranking municipal offices and was a priest in the cult of Dionysos. The house was probably owned by his family, which is well known from early Imperial Times and whose members occupied high ranking positions in the city administration. The second prominent Ephesian is C. Vibius Salutaris,3 who very likely lived during the time of Trajan in house 2. He came from Italy and was famous for establishing an important foundation.4 Research in Terrace House 2 is more or less finished; the volumes in the series ‘Forschungen in Ephesos’ are published or in print. The monographs have been prepared with a contextual approach,5 presenting the building history, the decoration and the findings. Study of the architecture of the Ephesian houses considerably enhances our knowledge of life in the eastern Mediterranean area and shows a clear continuation of some Greek housing habits in Roman times. My paper is structured as follows: To start I summarize the history of the excavation and the scientific work. Then I give a general introduction into the housing complex of Terrace House 2 with abstracts on the housing cult and building phases. The next point is the known owners of the houses. In the main part I present the architecture of the Aptus house 6 in more detail, showing its decoration and equipment and discussing the function of the rooms. Finally by summarizing the results I want to pose further questions on the local house owners and the question of their Romanization.

2. History of excavation and scientific work The excavation of the huge complex of Terrace House 2 during the years 1962 to 1985 was carried out in a quite traditional way.6 The removing of the 2 See

nn. 71–78.  Seen nn. 69–70. 4 Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien vol. 11,1: Die Inschriften von Ephesos, Teil Ia (ed. H. Wankel; Bonn: R. Habelt; 1979), nr. 27. 5 See nn. 19–23. 6 The enormous masses of rubble have been moved by up to 100 workers, conveyer belts, a small Caterpillar, three trucks and two tractors. S. Ladstätter, “Die Chronologie des Hanghauses 2,” in Das Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos. Studien zu Baugeschichte und Chronologie (ed. F. Krizinger; Archäologische Forschungen 7, Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2002), 9–40, here 12–14; S. Ladstätter, “Vorbemerkungen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,8; ed. Krinzinger; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2010), 1–7. The numbers of the workers and the technical equipment in use has been precisely documented by Vetters in the diaries of the Ephesos excavation, which are in the archive of the Austrian Archaeological Institute in Vienna and in the library of the Austrian Excavation House in Selçuk. 3

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debris was partly prescribed by the topographic situation – the houses are located on a quite steep hillside – and other external circumstances, partly due to not following a clear stratigraphical system. After uncovering the complex of Terrace House 17 from 1958 to 1967 H. Vetters started in 1967 the excavation of Terrace House 2 (fig. 2) at the upper south-east corner of the insula. The uppermost terrace with apartments 1 and 2 was excavated in 1968/9, followed by house 4 in 1970/1971 and houses 3 and 5 in 1972/3. Starting from 1975, the lowest terrace with the large houses 6 and 7 was unearthed and also the tabernae along the Curetes Street were explored. The excavation of Terrace House 2 was finished in 1985. The building structures of Terrace House 2 were found under a 3 to 6 m thick layer of rubble and debris. At the hillside the rooms of the houses were preserved up to the ceilings of the ground floor. Wall paintings, mosaics and marble revetment had to be preserved as soon as possible during and immediately after the excavation. Preliminary protecting roofs were constructed in different systems and times.8 A final roofing project of the uppermost terrace was finished in 19859; this project not providing the best conditions for the conservation of the houses, further work on it was abandoned. In 1999 and 2000 a new roofing system in a light and elegant steel construction with a textile covering membrane (figs. 1, 3) was erected.10 This roof was financed by Austrian sponsors and the Austrian Government. The construction of the visitor walkways was planned and financed by the Turkish government. The whole insula of Terrace House 2 has been open to the public since 2006. During the excavation (1962 to 1985) the excavation director H. Vetters published preliminary excavation reports on an annual basis.11 The decoration of the upper five housing units was published in 1977 by Volker M.   7 C. Lang-Auinger, Hanghaus 1 in Ephesos. Der Baubefund (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,3; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1996); Hanghaus 1 in Ephesos. Funde und Ausstattung (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,4; ed. C. Lang-Auinger; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2003).   8 Roofing above room SR 6: Vetters, “Ephesos: Vorläufiger Grabungsbericht 1969,” AnzWien 107 (1970): 111–120, pl. IIIb; and regarding the roof on house 4: Vetters, “Ephesos. Vorläufiger Grabungsbericht 1972,” AnzWien 110 (1973): 186–192, here 191.   9 H. Vetters, “Ephesos. Vorläufiger Grabungsbericht für die Jahre 1984 und 1985,” AnzWien 123 (1986): 98–110. 10 Ein Dach für Ephesos. Der Schutzbau für das Hanghaus 2 (Sonderschriften des Österreichischen Archäologischen Institutes 34; ed. Krinzinger; Vienna; Österreichisches Archäologisches Institut, 2000). 11 F. Eichler, “Die österreichischen Ausgrabungen in Ephesos im Jahre 1967,” AnzWien 105 (1968): 84–92; Eichler, “Ephesos: Grabungsbericht 1968,” AnzWien 106 (1969): 137–143; Vetters published his reports from 1970 (H. Vetters, “Ephesos. Vorläufiger Grabungsbericht 1969,” AnzWien 107 (1970): 111–120) to 1989 (Vetters, “Ephesos. Vorläufiger Grabungsbericht 1986/87,” AnzWien 125 (1988): 97) in the Journal Anzeiger der Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.Hist. Klasse (Vienna).

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Strocka (wall painting)12 and W. Jobst (mosaics).13 Each volume contained a preface by Vetters14 on the structure’s building history. At that time, the proposed chronology placed the erection of the houses in Augustan times, and the destruction and abandonment at the beginning of the 7th century C.E.15 This chronology was revised after examining the relevant findings: Terrace House 2 was destroyed by an earthquake during the reign of Gallienus, in the third quarter of the 3rd century C.E.16 It was so thoroughly abandoned after the destruction that no renovation of the housing areas took place. Along the west side of the insula in the 6/7th century C.E. mills and a stone workshop with a stone saw17 were installed; they used a water channel running down the slope.18 After the death of the excavator Vetters, in 1995 a team of archaeologists and architectural specialists began to prepare the publication of Terrace House 2, split into five volumes. The volume on house 4 was published in 12 Strocka, Die Wandmalerei der Hanghäuser in Ephesos (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,1; Vienna: Verlag der österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1977). 13 W. Jobst, Römische Mosaiken aus Ephesos. Die Hanghäuser des Embolos (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,2; Vienna, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1977). 14  “Zur Baugeschichte der Hanghäuser,” in Die Wandmalerei der Hanghäuser von Ephesos (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,1; ed. Strocka; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1977), 12–28; idem, “Zur Baugeschichte der Hanghäuser des Embolos,” in Römische Mosaiken aus Ephesos I. Die Hanghäuser des Embolos, (ed. W. Jobst; Forschungen in Ephesos 8,2; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1977), 17–28. 15 This chronology is cited for instance in: P. Scherrer, Ephesos. Der neue Führer (Vienna: Österreichisches Archäologisches Institut, 1995), 110, or even up to our days in W. Letzner, Ephesos – eine antike Metropole in Kleinasien (Mainz: v. Zabern, 2010), 75–79; the English edition (Scherrer, Ephesos. The new Guide, [Turkey: Ege Yayınları, 2000], 106–112) has been revised. 16 This fact first was adduced by St. Karwiese, see St. Karwiese, “Archäologie und Numismatik. Eine neue Evidenz aus Ephesos,” LNV 2 (1983): 281–297; idem, “Das Beben unter Gallien und seine anhaltenden Folgen,” in Lebendige Altertumswissenschaft. Festschrift Hermann Vetters (ed. “Komitee Festschrift für Hermann Vetters”; Vienna: Verlag Adolf Holzhausens Nfg., 1985) 126–130. More evidence has been discovered by H. Taeuber working with the graffiti, see H. Taeuber, “Graffiti als Hilfsmittel zur Datierung der Wandmalereien in Hanghaus 2,” in Steine und Wege. Festschrift für Dieter Knibbe, Sonderschriften 32 (eds. P. Scherrer, H. Taeuber, and H. Thür; Vienna: Österreichisches Archäologisches Institut, 1999), 153–161; idem, “Graffiti als Hilfsmittel zur Datierung der Wandmalereien in Hanghaus 2,” in Das Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos. Studien zu Baugeschichte und Chronologie (ed. Krinzinger; Vienna: Verlag der Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2002) 93–99; see also Ladstätter, “Die Chronologie des Hanghauses 2,” in Das Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos. Studien zu Baugeschichte und Chronologie, 9–40. 17 F. Mangartz, Die byzantinische Steinsäge von Ephesos (Mainz: von Zabern, 2010). 18 G. Wiplinger, “Wasserver‑ und ‑entsorgung in Wohneinheit 1 und 2 des Hanghauses 2 in Ephesos,” in Cura Aquarum in Israel (Schriften der Deutschen Wasserhistorischen Gesellschaft 1; eds. C. Ohlig, J. Peleg and T. Tsuk; Siegburg: Deutsche Wasserhistorische Gesellschaft, 2002), 155–166.

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2005,19 the volumes on houses 1 and 2 came out 2010,20 the manuscripts concerning houses 3, 521 and 622 are nearly finished and the work with house 723 is in progress. The publication of Terrace House 2 is presented contextually. The building features and all of the materials that were excavated and located, as far as they can be ordered to stratigraphic layers according to the moment of destruction, were evaluated together. As a result, we can analyse not only the building features of the final occupational phase and their respective decorative elements (primarily, the wall paintings,24 marble revetment,25 mosaics,26 and marble floors), marble architectural pieces27 but also the portable items. These include sculpture,28 marble furniture,29 small finds,30 19  H. Thür, Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,6; ed. Thür; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2005). 20  Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde. (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,8; ed. Krinzinger; Vienna: Verlag der Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2010). 21 Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 3 und 5. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde. (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,9; ed. S. Ladstätter; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, forthcoming). 22  Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,11; eds. H. Thür and E. Rathmayr; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, forthcoming). 23 Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Wohneinheit 7 (ed. E. Rathmayr; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, forthcoming). 24 Strocka, Die Wandmalerei der Hanghäuser in Ephesos; N. Zimmermann, “Wandmalerei,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 105–131; idem, “Die Wandmalerei der Wohneinheit 1 und 2,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 105–121, 449–471. An excellent overview of the frescoes in Terrace House 2 and Ephesos is now available with N. Zimmermann and S. Ladstätter, Wandmalerei in Ephesos von hellenistischer bis in byzantinische Zeit (Vienna: Phoibos, 2010). 25 K. Koller, “Marmorausstattungen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 144–151; Koller, “Marmor,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 126–130, 479–486. 26 Jobst, Römische Mosaiken aus Ephesos. Die Hanghäuser des Embolos; V. Scheibel­ reiter, “Mosaikböden,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 152–156; Scheibelreiter, “Mosaiken,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 131–148, 487–509. 27 Thür, “Architekturausstattung” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 157–169; G. Plattner, “Architekturdekoration,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 149–155, 510–524. 28 Rathmayr, “Skulpturen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 207–229; idem, “Götter‑ und Kaiserkult im häuslichen Bereich anhand von Skulpturen aus dem Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos,” Römische Historische Mitteilungen 48 (2006): 103–133; idem, “Das Haus des Ritters C. Flavius Furius Aptus. Beobachtungen zur Einflussnahme von Hausbesitzern an Architektur und Ausstattung in der Wohneinheit 6 des Hanghauses 2 in Ephesos,” IstMitt 59 (2009): 307–336; idem, “Wohneinheit 1 Skulp-

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coins,31 terracotta figurines,32 a considerable amount of glass,33 and a large quantity of pottery, amphorae, lamps, thymiateria, etc.34 The inventory of finds contains almost no furniture or its debris and also very little jewellery. In addition, the existing graffiti were evaluated,35 supplying valuable information about the usage of the different areas of the house, and also the career and other daily activities of the residents.36

3. General description of Terrace House 2 The insula of Terrace House 2 is situated in the centre of the city (fig. 4), near the Agora, on the northern side of the Bülbülda , which was named in antiquity Lepre Akte or Preon.37 On the north side of the insula a row turen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 333–342; E. Christof, “Wohneinheit 2 Skulpturen” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2.Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 656–676. 29 U. Quatember, “Marmorinventar,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 409–414; idem, “Marmorinventar,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 331 f., 649–655. 30 S. Jilek, “Kleinfunde aus Metall und Bein,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 389–404; I. Kowalleck – E. Rathmayr, “Funde aus Metall und Bein,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 322–330, 605–648. 31 M. Pfisterer, “Münzen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 359–362; Pfisterer and Ladstätter, “Fundmünzen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 280–285, 588–591. 32 Lang-Auinger, “Terrakotten,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 405–408; idem, “Terrakotten,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 343–356, 677–683. 33 M. Schätzschock, “Glas,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 363–372; idem, “Glas,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 286–321, 552–604. 34 Ladstätter, “Keramik,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 230–358; idem, “Keramik,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 172–279, 530–587. 35 Taeuber, “Graffiti als Hilfsmittel zur Datierung der Wandmalereien in Hanghaus 2,” in Steine und Wege, 151–161; idem, “Graffiti als Hilfsmittel zur Datierung der Wandmalereien im Hanghaus 2,” in Das Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Studien zu Baugeschichte und Chronologie, 93–99; idem, “C. Vibius Salutaris. Wohnungsbesitzer im Hanghaus 2?” in Synergia. Festschrift für Friedrich Krinzinger (eds. B. Brandt, V. Gassner and S. Ladstätter; Vienna: Phoibos, 2005), 349–353; idem, “Graffiti,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 132–143; idem, “Graffiti,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 122–125, 472–478. 36 Thür, “Auswertung,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 415–423; Rathmayr, “Auswertung,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos, Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 377–383, 688–696. 37 The discussion about the ancient names of the Ephesian mountains and about the positions of pre classic Ephesos are numerous; a short summary in Scherrer, Ephesos. Der neue Führer, 14–18; idem, “The historical topography of Ephesus,” in Urbanism in West-

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of tabernae runs alongside Curetes Street,38 named in antiquity embolos, which is one of the main boulevards of the city. As an old processional way it is orientated diagonally to the city grid. The building and the insula of approx. 4000 m2 follow the orthogonal street system. On the south side the building complex is bordered by the “Hanghausstraße,” running parallel to the sloping terrain.39 On the eastern and western side, steep “Stiegengassen” (“stair alleys”) surmount the difference in level of 27.5 m. In these small bylanes most of the entrances into the individual houses were situated. The seven houses were erected in the type of peristyle houses on several terraces (fig. 5). In the south on the uppermost terrace of the insula are the houses 1 and 2.40 Their ground floor was built on the terrace, whereas the upper floor could be entered directly from the above “Hanghausstraße.” The middle terrace was occupied in the eastern part by house 4;41 in the western part the small houses 3 and 5 were situated on a 3.20  m higher level.42 On the lowest terrace in the east house 6 was built and in the west house 7. A service area with the rooms (33–35) and (37) was organized on an in-between level of houses 3 and 5 and house 7. The remaining area between the houses 6 and 7 and the embolos was occupied with tabernae. Along the main boulevard several late Hellenistic early Roman grave‑ and honorary monuments are located.43 All seven houses share several common features: All houses are constructed in the type of the peristyle house: the centre of the houses consisted of an open courtyard which was bordered on all four – in some cases three44 – sides with colonnades and porticoes. This area was equipped with highquality decoration including costly materials and items. Public and private ern Asia Minor (Journal of Roman Archeology Suppl. 45; ed. D. Parrish; Portsmouth RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology. Supplementary Series, 2001), 57–93. For newest results see M. Kerschner, Archäologische Forschungen zur Siedlungsgeschichte von Ephesos in geometrischer, archaischer und klassischer Zeit: Grabungsbefunde und Keramikfunde aus dem Bereich des Koressos (ÖJh Ergänzungsheft 9; Vienna: Österreichisches Archäologisches Institut, 2008). 38 H. Thür, “The processional way in Ephesos as a place of cult and burial,” in Ephesos. Metropolis of Asia. An interdisciplinary approach to its archaeology, religion and culture (Harvard Theological Studies 41; ed. H. Koester; Valley Forge, PA: Harvard University Press, 1995), 157–200; recent results are published in: Neue Forschungen zur Kuretenstraße von Ephesos. Archäologische Forschungen 15 (ed. S. Ladstätter, Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2009). 39 U. Outschar, “Keramik macht Baugeschichte,” Römische Historische Mitteilungen 42 (2000): 107–169. 40 Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde. 41 Thür, Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde. 42 Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 3 und 5. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (forthcoming). 43 Thür, “The processional way in Ephesos as a place of cult and burial”. 44 House 1, 5, 7.

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activities of the owner centered around these courtyards (fig. 6). The rooms attached to them on one side were more spacious and luxurious. They were used together with the peristyle to receive guests and therefore furnished with marble architecture, frescoes in high quality, revetment in marble and coloured stones, floors covered with marble and mosaics, fountains, sculptures and furniture worked in marble, metal and wood.45 In addition to its representational function, the open courtyard served for lightning and airing the rooms. This could be regulated by opening and closing doors according to daytime and weather conditions.46 Dining rooms, triclinia, can be identified clearly due to finds and decoration. Good examples in Terrace House 2 are the banquet hall, “Marmorsaal” (31) of house 6,47 the room (SR 24) in house 248 and room (26) (fig. 7) in house 5.49 Except for special purpose rooms such as kitchens and toilets, most of the rooms were multifunctional. Contrary to our modern way of life, in antiquity rooms were used according to the needs, the time of day and the season. Furniture was scarce and transported by the servants from one room to the other. Basically the rooms of the houses fall into two groups: well equipped main rooms and simple side rooms50 – such as cubicula, kitchens, storage rooms and toilets. All houses were connected to the public aqueducts; water was constantly flowing into basins and decorative fountains in the peristyle courtyards and dining rooms.51 All houses had toilets (with a seating capacity of 2 to 4 persons) which were cleaned by the excess water from the fountains which

45 Cf.

notes 28–34. Thür, “ Licht in den Festsälen des C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos,” in Licht-Konzepte in der vormodernen Architektur (Diskussionen zur Archäologischen Bauforschung 10; eds. P. I. Schneider and U. Wulf-Rheidt; Regensburg: Verlag Schnell und Steiner, 2011) 227–245. 47 H. Thür, “Zum Stadtpalast des Dionysospriesters C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Ein Zwischenbericht,” in Thiasos, Festschrift für Erwin Pochmarski zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. Franek; Vienna: Phoibos, 2008), 1057–1072; S. Stöckl, “Rekonstruktion der Innenausstattung des sog. Marmorsaales der Wohneinheit 6 im Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos,” Forum Archaeologiae 44/IX/2007 (http://farch.net). 48 Rathmayr, “Auswertung,” 405. 689; A. Nordmeyer and A. Sommer, “Rekonstruktion der Ausstattung des Raumes SR 24 der Wohneinheit 2 im Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos,” Forum Archaeologiae 44/IX/2007 (http://farch.net). 49 I. Adenstedt, “Die Wohneinheiten 3 und 5 im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Eine erste Rekonstruktion,” in Synergia. Festschrift für Friedrich Krinzinger, 31–37. 50 A. Wallace-Hadrill, “The social structure of the Roman house,” PBSR 56 (1988): 43–97; J. A. Dickmann, Domus frequentata. Anspruchsvolles Wohnen im pompejanischen Stadthaus (Munich: Verlag Dr. Friedrich Pfeil, 1999). 51 J. Michalczuk, “Brunnen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 170–172; Thür, “Brunnenanlagen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (forthcoming). 46 H.

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was led through them before it passed into the sewage system under the “Stiegengasse.”52 Three houses, units 1, 6 and 7 had private bathrooms.53 The houses have a ground floor of approximately 350  m2 (house 3) to 950 m2 (house 6). Nearly all houses had at least one upper floor, as testified by stairs, mosaic floors and wall paintings as well as by the finds. In this way the floor space was considerably enlarged, sometimes even doubled. The upper floors were furnished in the same high quality as the ground floor; in case of house 4 they were furnished on an even higher level.54 As result we can conclude that rooms in upper floors had not only private functions such as sleeping rooms or areas for family, servants and slaves – as often has been suggested. They must have had the same representative status and were used equally with the rooms on the ground floor. In nearly every house objects and architectural structures connected to domestic cult activities have been observed. Marble reliefs with funeral banquets and a Thracian horse rider had the function to protect the inhabitants.55 Sculptures of gods and goddesses56 were set up in many places. Near the entrance in room (5) of house 4 (fig. 8) in a niche in the wall, a Hellenistic relief with a funeral banquet was found. On the opposite wall of the room a big snake was depicted on a fresco. Together with the relief it served for the protection of the inhabitants and their guests. In the same house another Hellenistic relief with three nymphs decorated a puteal and had a similar function. A similar arrangement is preserved in the south west corner in the peristyle court (SR 22/23) in house 2. A relief with a Thracian horse rider is inserted into the wall. In the nearby northwest corner of the same court three bronze statuettes were found together with a small incense altar; they indicate the presence of a house sanctuary.57 Next to Athena and Sarapis, Isis Panthea was worshipped. In (SR 27) a tymiatherion with a bust of Sarapis was set up. The worshipping of Egyptian gods goes together with the 52  H. Thür, “Latrine 4a,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 44–45, 84; G. Jansen, “The toilets of Ephesus: a preliminary report,” in Cura Aquarum in Ephesos (Babesch Suppl. 12; ed. Wiplinger; Leuven: Peeters, 2006), 95–98. 53 Rathmayr, “Auswertung,” 379. 381; Thür, “Zum Stadtpalast des Dionysospriesters C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Ein Zwischenbericht”; idem, “Badeanlage,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6 (forthcoming); Rathmayr, Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Wohneinheit 7 (forthcoming). 54 Thür, “Auswertung,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 423. 55 Rathmayr, “Skulpturen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 221. 223. 56 Rathmayr, “Götter- und Kaiserkult im häuslichen Bereich anhand von Skulpturen aus dem Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos”. 57 Rathmayr, “Auswertung,” 693–694.

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religious beliefs of the Late Imperial period, the choice of Isis Panthea can additionally be interpreted as the protective goddess of the owner. Several pieces of evidence connected with the imperial cult have been found: in house 7 the portrait heads of emperor Tiberius and his mother Livia have been excavated in situ in a niche in room (38) (fig. 9). They were accompanied by a big bronze snake.58 The sculpture can be interpreted as special devotion of the house owner to the Iulio-Claudian dynasty, by which the owners presumably got the status of Roman citizens. In house 6 another imperial portrait was found, the portrait of Marcus Aurelius. He can be connected with the senatorial ranking of the Aptus family. And last not least the ivory frieze from house 2 with scenes of the life of emperor Trajan shows the relation of the house owner – probably Salutaris – with the emperor Trajan. The above mentioned sculptures of emperors and members of the imperial family show clear evidence for imperial cult in private houses. The chronology of the terrace house 2 can be divided into four building phases, shown in the plans of house 459 (fig. 10). Most of the alterations in house 4 and also in house 5 were caused by an expansion of house 6.60 In phase I, the basic framework of house 4 was built: a peristyle court with rooms arranged in a “U.” In phase I the house had a floor space of 360 m2 and probably consisted of seven main rooms. Phase I can be dated to late Augustan or early Tiberian times.61 In phase II house 4 lost two of the large representative rooms  – due to the enlargement of the marble hall (31) in house 6. In phase II the peristyle porticoes of house 4 (fig. 6) received prestigious frescoes with a red background, depicting Socrates and Urania and mythological scenes (e. g. Achilles) in the upper zone.62 The western rooms were decorated with rustication in stucco (Quaderimitation). Phase II now is dated about 120 C.E.63 and has to be connected with C. Flavius Furius 58 H. Vetters, “Ein weiterer Schlangengott in Ephesos,” in Echo. Beiträge zur Archäologie des mediterranen und alpinen Raumes. Johannes B. Trentini zum 80. Geburtstag gewidmet von seinen Freunden und Verehrern (eds. B. Otto – F. Ehrl; Innsbruck: Institut für Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Innsbruck, 1990), 315–320; Rathmayr, “Götter‑ und Kaiserkult im häuslichen Bereich anhand von Skulpturen aus dem Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos”. 59 Thür, “Rekonstruktion der Bauphasen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 96–101. 60 Thür, “Zum Stadtpalast des Dionysospriesters C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Ein Zwischenbericht”. 61 Ladstätter, “Keramik,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 232–238. 62 Strocka, Die Wandmalerei der Hanghäuser in Ephesos, 94–96. 102–111; Zimmermann, “Wandmalerei,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 106–109; Zimmermann and Ladstätter, Wandmalerei in Ephesos von hellenistischer bis in byzantinische Zeit, 83–86. 63 Dating with pottery: Ladstätter, “Keramik,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 239 f.; dating with architectural decoration:

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Aptus.64 In phase III house 4 again is diminished by another new room, the apsidal hall (8) in house 6, built shortly after the middle of the second century.65 In phase IV in Severian times most of the rooms were newly decorated with wall paintings66.

4. The house owners As mentioned in the introduction we know the inhabitants and owners of two houses, of house 2 and house 6. In house 2 important epigraphic testimonies were carved into the plaster of the wall-painting in the latrine (SR 29) while it was still damp. In two of these graffiti the probable owner is addressed and prompted to hetero‑ and homosexual activities.67 This man is a well-known personality in Ephesus, the knight C. Vibius Salutaris. He is attested from a founder’s inscription excavated in the theatre.68 The graffito in the latrine is written in Latin, probably to make it understandable for the addressee, who came from the West.69 Logically, Salutaris’ lifetime confines the date of origin of the graffito and the wall-painting to the Late Flavian or Early Trajanic Period. The above cited founder’s inscription mentions silver statuettes of Emperor Trajan and his wife Plotina that were worshipped in the private home of Salutaris. This is one of the few evidences for an emperor’s cult in private living quarters. Nevertheless the commemoration and the admiration for the Emperor in the private atmosphere of house 2 lasted for some time; an ivory frieze that probably adorned a sella curulis was to be found among the inventory of the 3rd century C.E., in its centre Emperor Trajan is shown. Due to its dating it probably was already set up in house 2 in building phase II.70 Koller, “Die Pilasterkapitelle aus dem ‘Marmorsaal’ der Wohneinheit 6. Bemerkungen zu Dekoration und Zeitstellung,” in Das Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos. Studien zu Baugeschichte und Chronologie, 119–136; the latest results will be published by Taeuber, “Graffiti und Steininschriften,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, (Thür and Rathmayr, forthcoming); see also note 78. 64 See below n. 78. 65 For the dating see Ladstätter, “Keramik,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 240. 66 Zimmermann, “Wandmalerei,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 117–120; Zimmermann and Ladstätter, Wandmalerei in Ephesos von hellenistischer bis in byzantinische Zeit, 94–120. 67 Taeuber, “ Graffiti,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 132–143; idem, “Graffiti,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 472. 68 Inschriften von Ephesos, 1a, nr. 27, see also G. Rogers, The sacred Identity of Ephesus. Foundations Myths of a Roman City (London: New York: Routledge, 1991), 16–19. 69 Taeuber, “C. Vibius Salutaris. Wohnungsbesitzer im Hanghaus 2?” 70 Rathmayr, “Auswertung,” 693 f.; Taeuber, “Graffiti,” 472.

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The second well known inhabitant is C. Flavius Furius Aptus, who owned the big house 6. His family is well known from numerous inscriptions. The stemma of his family and a relative chronology has been presented in several publications.71 Recently the absolute dating has been revised by E. Rathmayr.72 Recent epigraphic discoveries were made during the restoration of the marble revetment in marble hall (31) which require an even earlier date for Aptus. The career of the family can be outlined as follows: The eldest known members had the name Perigenes; they were grandfather and father of Pythion who held the office of neopoios of Artemis and lived – according to Rathmayr73 – in the Early Imperial Period. His son T. Flavius Perigenes held the offices of Prytanis and Asiarch; he seems to have received Roman citizenship. His son T. Flavius Pythion lived during the reign of Domitian/ Trajan. He was Grammateus 104/5 C.E. and held all high ranking offices in Ephesos. His wife was Fl. Myrton; they had two sons, T. Fl. Aristoboulos and T. Fl. Iulianus (the elder) and two daughters. They also filled municipal offices. T. Fl. Aristobulos was the father of the well-attested owner of house 6, C. Fl. Furius Aptus, who held offices in the city and is testified as priest in the cult of Dionysos74. His son T. Flavius Lollianus Aristoboulos became member of the senate order.75 The lifetime of C. Fl. Furius Aptus was at first dated to the reign of Antoninus Pius;76 then he was put in the 2nd and 3rd quarter of the 2nd century C.E.77 Recently during the restitution work in the marble hall (39) two quarry-inscriptions from the imperial quarry in Dokimeion have been found, which give the dates of 119 and 121 C.E. Moreover in 2010 a dipinto has been found showing in red colour the Latin letters FLAVIA APTI. Due to this, the lifetime and career of Aptus has to be dated earlier. Aptus was 71 Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Keinasien 17,1, Die Inschriften von Ephesos Teil 7,1 nr. 63; C. Schulte, Die Grammateis von Ephesos (HABES 15; Stuttgart: Steiner, 1994), 189–90 Kat. 124; Rathmayr, “Das Haus des Ritters C. Flavius Furius Aptus. Beobachtungen zur Einflussnahme von Hausbesitzern an Architektur und Ausstattung in der Wohneinheit 6 des Hanghauses 2 in Ephesos”. 72 Rathmayr, “Das Haus des Ritters C. Flavius Furius Aptus,” 307–311. 73 Rathmayr, “Das Haus des Ritters C. Flavius Furius Aptus,” 307–308. 74 Vetters, “Ephesos. Vorläufiger Grabungsbericht 1979,” 259; D. Knibbe and B. plikçio lu, “Neue Inschriften aus Ephesos 8,” ÖJh 53 (1981/82): 87–150 here 112 nr. 79 (Inschriften von Ephesos Teil 4: nr. 1267). 75 Rathmayr, “Das Haus des Ritters C. Flavius Furius Aptus,” 308–309; H. Halfmann, Die Senatoren aus dem östlichen Teil des Imperium Romanum bis zum Ende des 2. Jahrhunderts n. Chr. (Hypomnemata 58; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1977), 23–24. 76 Inschriften von Ephesos Teil 7,1, nr. 63; Schulte, Die Grammateis von Ephesos, Kat 124. 77 Rathmayr, “Das Haus des Ritters C. Flavius Furius Aptus,” 309 f.

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already the building owner and patron in building phase II.78 An epigram on a statue base in front of the apsidal hall (8) constructed in Phase III names also Gaius and an unknown Perikles. Therefore either Aptus was still active in the middle of the 2nd century or possibly there were two persons with an identical name.

5. House 6 of C. Flavius Furius Aptus In this paper I want to focus on house 6 (fig. 11). The huge house is situated in the north east corner of the insula, the ground floor level lying about 4 m above the Curetes Street. It occupied – dependent upon the respective building phase – 620 m2 to 950 m2. The centre was formed by a peristyle court with twelve marble columns that covered 240 m2. In the original design the open court area was surrounded with four porticoes and rooms on the south-, west‑ and north sides. The rooms at the north and west measured 4.5 m in depth and were connected with the halls and the court through wide doors. The rooms on the south side measured 7.5 m in depth and were more spacious. Moreover they have been enlarged in the building phases II and III. In the first quarter of the 2nd century C.E. (phase II) – the dining room (31) was doubled in floor space. This was done by removing 500 m³ of rock from the hillside.79 The newly created room (31) with 150 m2 was furbished in a most expensive and exquisite style. Walls and floor were covered with costly marble revetment. Above the basement with green cipollino verde was a middle zone decorated with an architectural system of fluted pilasters and fine worked pilaster capitals.80 This main zone was totally filled with Pavonazetto from Dokimeion. An upper zone was decorated with emblems with colourful opus sectile inlays. Above the revetment the 10 m high hall was painted with a fresco. The floor of the marble hall (31) in most parts is also covered with marble (fig. 12). But a U-shaped mosaic can be interpreted as an area for setting the kline, the dining couches.81 The banquet hall could be furnished with nine 78 Up

to now he has been connected with building phase III and the building of the apsidal hall (8); comp. Thür, “Zum Stadtpalast des Dionysospriesters C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos,” 1060; Rathmayr, “Das Haus des Ritters C. Flavius Furius Aptus,” 310. 79 House 4 lost by this building activity two of its big rooms, Thür, Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 97. 80 Koller, “Die Pilasterkapitelle aus dem ‘Marmorsaal’ der Wohneinheit 6. Bemerkungen zu Dekoration und Zeitstellung”. 81 Thür, “Zum Stadtpalast des Dionysospriesters C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos,” 1059–1060; Koller, “Marmorausstattung. Böden,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (forthcoming).

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beds82, each holding two to three persons. Within this arrangement of the couches (fig. 13) 27 guests could be placed comfortably. The empty space between the couches and the wall on the one hand allowed a full view of the decorated walls. On the other hand the servants could serve the guests from behind the couches. Probably also several statue bases with portrait busts were displayed in the room.83 In the central open space, small moveable tables could be placed for serving dishes. In the northern part of the room the mosaic stripe was omitted and a water basin suggests another use in this area. One might think of performances including actors, musicians and dancers.84 The ceiling of the marble hall was constructed as a wooden coffer ceiling. Some carbonized wooden beams were found. Their relief decoration of hippocampi and geometric decorations was gilded. From this evidence the ceiling (fig. 14) can be reconstructed.85 During the day light came from the doors in the north wall leading to the peristyle court and – presumably – by windows in the upper zone of the north wall. In addition, two windows in the south wall connected the marble hall (31) with the peristyle courtyard of house 4 on the next terrace. Some more windows may have been placed in the upper zone (fig. 15) of the east and west wall.86 At the same time in phase II the peristyle court was refurbished. The marble plaster in the court and probably the mosaics in the halls were laid out. Between the columns of the south colonnade marble blocks were added to form the back wall of a large fountain (fig. 16). Also the intercolumniations of the columns in the east portico were closed with walls and bow windows 82 Stöckl,

“Rekonstruktion der Innenausstattung des sog. Marmorsaales der Wohneinheit 6 im Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos”. 83 Rathmayr, “Die Skulpturenausstattung der einzelnen Räume. Marmorsaal 31,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (forthcoming). 84 Entertainment during banquets is mentioned in Pliny ep I 15 and by Petronius in the banquet of Trimalchio. Actors and an acrobat are shown in frescoes in room (SR 6) in house 1 (Zimmermann, “Die Wandmalerei der Wohneinheit 1und 2,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 109–114) and room (14 b) in house 4 (Zimmermann, “Wandmalerei,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, 113). In general see C. P. Jones, “Dinner Theatre,” in Dining in the classical context (ed. W. J. Slater; Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1991) 185–198; K. M. D. Dunbabin, “Convivial Spaces, Dining and Entertainment in the Roman Villa,” JRA 9 (1996): 66–80. 85 Thür, “Zur Dach‑ und Deckenkonstruktion des Marmorsaales 31 der Wohneinheit 6 im Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos,” in Antike Holztragwerke (ed. A. v. Kienlin; Byzas 11, Istanbul, 2011), 235–245, idem, “Eine geschnitzte Holzbalkendecke aus dem Festsaal des C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos,” in Lignum. Holz in der Antike (Keryx 1; ed. Scherrer; Graz: Uni-Press Graz Verlag, 2011), 197–205. 86 Thür, “Licht in den Festsälen des C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos.”

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and a small – but well furnished – private bath was built in (fig. 17): From south to north an apodyterium led to a cold bath (frigidarium), into a steam bath (sudatorium) and a hot water bath (caldarium).87 According to latest results C. Flavius Furius Aptus was the owner of house 6 already in phase II. An inscription carved in the central pillar of the back wall of the fountain (fig. 18) testifies him as a priest of Dionysos Oreios, the Dionysos outside the city in the mountains. Remains from pins on the top of the pillar give evidence of sculpture bases. The excavation report mentions fragments of a Dionysos statuette. Rathmayr reconstructs a bust of Aptus in the centre of the court and – maybe symmetrically arranged – sculptures of the god Dionysos between the outer columns.88 In the following building phase III another new banquet hall was built in the south west corner of the house (fig. 19). Thus the owner – probably Aptus or his son – enlarged the area of the house again, and the neighbouring house 4 lost one of its large rooms. The new room (8) was constructed with a vaulted ceiling and an apse in the south wall. It measured 80 m2 and was more than 10 m high.89 In the north part of the vaulted hall (8) a water basin measuring 4,40 m to 2,10 m was sunk into the floor. Fresh water was provided from a channel that crossed the terrace houses 1 and 2. The water basin might have served for keeping fish in fresh water.90 The decoration of hall (8) is badly preserved, but traces of wall revetment and mortar show a similar system as in the marble hall (31). The room had a big arched window in the north wall, which filled the whole lunette in the north wall of the hall.91 The basin in hall (8) was abandoned in the next building phase IV and a hypocaust system was installed. Heating was provided following 87 Thür, “Zum Stadtpalast des Dionysospriesters C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Ein Zwischenbericht,” 1063 (with dating to phase III); Thür, “Badeanlage,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (forthcoming). 88 Rathmayr, “Das Haus des Ritters C. Flavius Furius Aptus,” 315; idem, “Die Skulpturenausstattung der einzelnen Räume. Peristylhof 31a,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (forthcoming). 89 The interpretation of the excavator Vetters as a basilica privata: Vetters, “Basilica privata,” in Classica et Provincialia. Festschrift Erna Diez (ed. G. Schwarz  – E Pochmarski; Graz: Akademische Druck und Verlagsanstalt, 1978), 211–215, is not possible in building phase III, because of the big water basin in the north part of the hall. See: Thür, “Apsidensaal 8,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (forthcoming). 90 A. Galik, G. Forstenpointner and G. Weissengruber, “The Expression of Demand for Particular Fish Food implied by Aquatic Facilities in Living Areas of Noble Households,” in Städtisches Wohnen im östlichen Mittelmeerraum 4. Jh. v. Chr. – 1. Jh. n. Chr. (Archäologische Forschungen 18; eds. S. Ladstätter and V. Scheibelreiter; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2010), 667–674. 91 Thür, “Licht in den Festsälen des C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos”.

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a quite complicated system, via a praefurnium which could be served from house 4.92 The two small rooms (8b) and (8c) situated behind the apse are connected with the heating system. At the west side a small vaulted room (8a) was cut into the rock and decorated richly with stucco. The fields in a rich stucco system have figures and animals from the context of the thiasos of Dionysos and also Aphrodite. Two figures (fig. 20) – only visible in their outlines – have now been identified as Venus and Mars.93 The room (36) in front of the vaulted hall (8) also has a relatively large water basin which covers most of the marble floor. Aside the steps which lead up to the higher level of the floor of hall (8) two statue bases with inscriptions were set up. One of the epigrams again mentions Gaius (Flavius Furius Aptus) together with an unknown Perikles; Aphrodite is asked to protect them. Therefore, the bases must have carried two statues of Aphrodite in the type of Anadymene.94 Room (36) had a function as representative ante-room and entrée to the apsidal hall (8).95 This room and the water basin could function as a water triclinium.96 The west wall was open to another vaulted room (36a). In its south west corner a water basin was installed for keeping fish fresh97 for the meals. This room could have served to show and present the dishes and the costly table silver. Surprisingly, house 6 possesses many large banquet halls, but kitchens or installations for preparing meals on a large scale are generally lacking. On the ground floor rooms for storage and cooking are missing. Only the southern area for banqueting is connected with a small steep staircase to room (32b) in the upper floor. It was connected to room (37) and adjacent rooms, where some storage vessels are preserved. Because of their simple equipment, these structures might have served as a service area. The place92 Thür, “Raum 22,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 72–73; idem, “Zum Stadtpalast des Dionysospriesters C. Flavius Furius Aptus im Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos,” 1061 f.; idem, “Heizsysteme. Räume 8. 8a. 8b,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (forthcoming). 93 Rathmayr, “Das Haus des Ritters C. Flavius Furius Aptus,” 317 f. 94 Vetters, “Ephesos. Vorläufiger Grabungsbericht 1980,” AnzWien 117 (1980): 257– 261; Knibbe – plikçio lu, “Neue Inschriften aus Ephesos 8,” ÖJh 53 (1981/82): 132–134 nr. 140; Rathmayr, “Das Haus des Ritters C. Flavius Furius Aptus,” 316–318. 95 Rathmayr, “Atria in Ephesos? Zu Verteilerbereichen in Peristylhäusern anhand von Beispielen in ephesischen Wohnbauten,” in Städtisches Wohnen im östlichen Mittelmeerraum 4. Jh. v. Chr. – 1. Jh. n. Chr., 213–230; Thür, “Raum 36,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde (forthcoming). 96 See n. 126. 97 Galik, Forstenpointner and Weissengruber, “The Expression of Demand for Particular Fish Food implied by Aquatic Facilities in Living Areas of Noble Households,” in Städtisches Wohnen im östlichen Mittelmeerraum 4. Jh. v. Chr. – 1. Jh. n. Chr., 668–674; Zimmermann and Ladstätter, Wandmalerei in Ephesos von hellenistischer bis in byzantinische Zeit, 135.

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ment in between house 6 and 7 may indicate that the area was used together by the servants of house 6 and house 7. Also I want to mention the question whether there can be seen a relation between the rooms of house 6 and the function of the house owner C. Flavius Furius Aptus as a priest of cult of Dionysos. Cultic associations with the god Dionysos are mentioned in several inscriptions found in Ephesos. One of them is the inscription in the peristyle courtyard in house 6, naming C. Flavius Furius Aptus as priest of Dionysos. R. Merkelbach and A. Schäfer assume that Aptus was the patron and priest of a Dionysian cultic association.98 Festive dinners and drinking parties were an important element of the mysteries and cultic activities. In addition to initiation rites and the mysteries performed outdoors, they might have been also celebrated in club houses and private homes of the patrons. House 6 probably constitutes one of the – so far – rare evidences for such a cultic association.99

6. Summary, results and new questions Finally I want to summarize the results for architecture and art and pose some unanswered questions. The dwellings in Terrace House 2 represent the housing type of a peristyle house. The architectural layout of the houses is dominated by the spacious peristyles with their precious architectural decor,100 including bases, columns and capitals, having decorated porticoes on all sides of the open court and one to three floors. Symbolically, these architectural elements are related to public buildings and public space. Therefore, they create a representative and public or semi-public atmosphere. It is noteworthy that the entablature of this private architecture consisted of wooden beams and was not executed in marble. The installation of luxurious marble revetment on the walls and floors relates the houses to those of the aristocracy in Rome and finally the imperial palaces.101 The widespread use of Pavonazetto from the imperial quarry   98 R. Merkelbach, Die Hirten des Dionysos: Die Dionysos-Mysterien der römischen Kaiserzeit und der bukolische Roman des Longus (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1988), 23; A. Schäfer, “Dionysische Gruppen als städtisches Phänomen der römischen Kaiserzeit,” in Gruppenreligionen im römischen Reich. Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 43 (ed. J. Rüpke; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 161–180, here 162–167.   99 Scenes of the mysteries may be shown in the famous wall paintings in the villa of mysteries near Pompei, compare E. Simon, “Zum Fries der Mysterienvilla bei Pompeji,” JdI 76 (1961): 11–172. 100 Thür, “Architekturausstattung,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 157–169; Plattner, “Architekturdekoration”. 101 See for instance the : H. Manderscheid, “Was nach den ‘ruchlosen Räubereien’ übrigblieb – zu Gestalt und Funktion der sog. Bagni di Livia,” in Die Kaiserpaläste auf dem Palatin in Rom (eds. A. Hoffmann and U. Wulf-Rheidt; Mainz: v. Zabern,

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in Dokimeion in the main zone (register) in marble hall (31) and in court (31a) indicates the very special status and privileges of the Aptus family and demonstrates this to every visitor. The frescoes in Terrace House 2102 are – dependent on function and use of each respective room  – designed in differing systems (schemes) and qualities. More than half of the rooms are decorated in a ‘Felder-LisenenSystem’; above a lower zone runs a main zone with high rectangular fields separated by lisenes, which have a figural middle motif. The upper zone is decorated with architectural paintings with aediculae. A lot of other rooms are decorated with patterns of irregularly scattered flowers. The paintings are executed in accordance with the intended function of the rooms, which can be divided roughly into main or more “public” rooms and side “private” rooms. The most important rooms, the peristyle courts, are either painted in dark colours (fig. 6) or equipped with marble revetment – real or in painted imitation. Most frescos of the other rooms have a white background. They are decorated with figural central pictures, such as muses, philosophers, cupids, birds or fishes. Differences are evident not only in the systems of decoration but especially in the quality of the workmanship. The same systems and workshops can be observed in different houses. The most striking examples are the identical garland friezes with cupids, decorating the courtyards in houses 1 and 2 as well as room (36a) (fig. 21) in house 6. The frescos in Terrace House 2 represent local fresco systems and traditions; only room (42) in house 6 is different and clearly influenced by frescoes in Ostia.103 The mosaics in terrace house 2 are mostly black and white or polychrome mosaics in geometric patterns.104 Figural mosaics are rare. The floor mosaics in the small house 3, a lion mosaic in room (17)105 and the heads of a Medusa and of Dionysos in room (16a),106 are productions of remarkably 2004), 75–85., here 76–78; H. von Hesberg, “Die Domus Imperatoris der neronischen Zeit auf dem Palatin,” in Die Kaiserpaläste auf dem Palatin in Rom, 59–74, 59–74; E. Segala and I. Sciortino, Domus Aurea (Milano: Electa, 1999). 102 Zimmermann, “Wandmalerei,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde; idem, “Die Wandmalerei der Wohneinheit 1und 2,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund Ausstattung. Funde; Zimmermann and Ladstätter, Wandmalerei in Ephesos von hellenistischer bis in byzantinische Zeit. 103 Zimmermann, “Eine >römische< Malerei in Ephesos,” in Neue Zeiten – Neue Sitten. Zur Rezeption und Integration römischen und italischen Kulturguts in Kleinasien (ed. M. Meyer; Vienna: Phoibos, 2007), 377–383. 104 Scheibelreiter, “Mosaiken,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund. Ausstattung. Funde, 142–148. 105 Jobst, Römische Mosaiken aus Ephesos. Die Hanghäuser des Embolos, 102–104; Scheibelreiter, “Löwe und Stierkopf. Zu einem Mosaikbild aus dem Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos,” in Synergia. Festschrift für Friedrich Krinzinger, 309–318. 106 Jobst, Römische Mosaiken aus Ephesos. Die Hanghäuser des Embolos, 97–101.

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high quality. In house 2, a figural mosaic interrupts the geometrical pattern in the south portico of the peristyle court (SR 22/23). The mosaic107 shows a maritime scene. Poseidon and Amphitrite are positioned in front of a small exedra (GEW D) and oriented towards the niche. The decoration of this exedra is excellent, the walls are covered with colourful marble (africano and porphyry). The vault and the lunette are decorated with a glass mosaic108 depicting Dionysos and Ariadne surrounded by the divine vineyard. This relatively small room (fig. 22) without question is the focus of the house or at least of this floor of the house.109 Two more glass mosaics decorate the small half domes in two apsidal wall fountains besides the wide door of the dining room (SR 24)110 in house 2. Nearly nothing is preserved of the glass mosaic in the large half dome of the apse in hall (8); the excavator Vetters mentions floral motives in the diary.111 Another glass mosaic decorated an apsidal niche in portico (31a).112 All the glass mosaics are found in the two houses, whose owners are also known: houses 2, owned by C. Vibius Salutaris, and house 6, owned by C. Flavius Furius Aptus. Both had good relations with Rome and the imperial house. The equipment consisted of perishable materials and is less well preserved, because the destruction by an earthquake was accompanied by a fire catastrophe.113 The preserved objects include the sculptured and gilded beams of the ceiling of marble hall (31)114 and the ivory frieze115 probably from some piece of furniture found in room (SR 19/20) in house 2. Both examples show the value and high quality that has to be expected for the equipment of these houses. In house 6 in phase III (including marble hall (31), the vaulted room [8], the stucco room [8a], the entrée room [36] and the room [36a]) Aptus and 107 Jobst, Römische Mosaiken aus Ephesos. Die Hanghäuser des Embolos, 59–64; Scheibelreiter, “Mosaiken,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund. Ausstattung. Funde, 487–489. 108 Jobst, Römische Mosaiken aus Ephesos. Die Hanghäuser des Embolos, 65–74; Scheibelreiter, “Mosaiken,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund. Ausstattung. Funde, 489–490. 109 Rathmayr, “Auswertung,” 689–691. 110 Jobst, Römische Mosaiken aus Ephesos. Die Hanghäuser des Embolos, 86–88; Scheibelreiter, “Mosaiken,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheiten 1 und 2. Baubefund. Ausstattung. Funde, 494–495. 111 Diary from 14.9.1973. 112 Scheibelreiter, “Mosaiken, Frigidarium 31aSO,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, (forthcoming). 113 Ladstätter, “Die Chronologie des Hanghauses 2,” 26–29. 114 H. Thür, Zur Dach‑ und Deckenkonstruktion des Marmorsaales 31 der Wohneinheit 6 im Hanghaus 2 von Ephesos. 115 M. Dawid, Die Elfenbeinplastiken aus dem Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Räume SR 18 und SR 28 (Forschungen in Ephesos 8,5; Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2003).

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his family had a full ensemble of halls which could be used for assemblies, meetings and dining. By constructing hall (8), the house owner chose a new type of dining room, whose apsidial plan allowed dining in the new style of a half-rounded setting, called a stibadium. Room (8a) with the stucco vaulting may have been used by the house owner as a small dining room where he could recline together with good friends or where he could separate himself with special and high ranking guests. During hot summer days the room deep in the rock may have been a pleasant and cool place to spend time. The rich decoration of the marble hall (31) (fig. 23), including precious marble revetments, floor and a gilded ceiling, two fountains and several marble statues give a lively picture of the self presentation of a wealthy family in the status of a knight trying to get the rank of a senator. The dwellings in Terrace House 2 represent the architectural type of a peristyle house, i.e. a type predominant in the eastern Mediterranean world – the areas of Greek tradition. They are different from the Roman atrium house which is common in Rome, Italy, the west and north provinces and also North Africa. Atrium houses are mostly missing in the Greek East. Sometimes large houses have a second courtyard; examples in Ephesos are houses 2 (court [27]) and 6 (court/room [36]) in Terrace House 2 (fig. 5) or “Bau Z” in Pergamon,116 but these courtyards do not correspond to Roman atrium houses, neither in the architectural and constructive design nor in their function.117 It is remarkable that the families of the local elite rising into senatorial status did not built atrium houses. The atrium – besides serving as a room for representation and ancestor worship – was mainly the place for the ritual salutatio.118 The importance of this special republican ceremony in the relationship between patron and client in Rome and Italy is well attested, but quite unclear in the Greek East. The question whether the salutatio was practised in the houses in Ephesos and Pergamon has to be discussed in the future. The spacious peristyle courtyards  – normally located near the entrance – of course might have served as the place where the ritual of the salutatio took place. Another striking peculiarity  – as opposed to city houses in Rome and Italy – is the total absence of gardens and even peristyle gardens (gardens in peristyle courts) in Ephesos.119 Absence of gardens is noted not only in 116 M. Bachmann, “Bau Z in Pergamon,” in Bericht über die 42. Tagung für Ausgrabungswissenschaft und Bauforschung 2002 in München (eds. Bankel, Schnuchel, Schulz and Tragbar; Bonn: R. Habelt Verlag, 2004), 214–225. 117 Rathmayr, “Auswertung”. 118 F. Goldbeck, Salutationes: die Morgenbegrüßungen in Rom in der Republik und in der frühen Kaiserzeit (KLIO, Beiträge zur alten Geschichte Beih. NF, Bd. 16; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2010). 119 Thür and Rathmayr, Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 6. Baubefund, Ausstattung, Funde, (forthcoming).

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the Terrace Houses and other known habitations in Ephesos but also in the houses of Pergamon, Priene and Delos.120 This surprising fact seems to go back to the situation in the Greek polis, where space and water were rare and precious within the city walls. Therefore gardens were usually placed mostly near rivers and lakes.121 Good and well known examples of gardens are the gymnasia in Athens, the Academy, the Lykeion and the Kynosarges located outside the city walls, whose trees, fountains and gardens are often mentioned.122 The absence of gardens in the houses of Roman Ephesos can not be explained by lack of water: the city was well supplied with water from five aqueducts.123 Each of the houses in Terrace House 2 was connected with the public water supply, and the numerous fountains in the peristyle courtyards and in the dining rooms with running water show a lavish use of water124. Also a lack of space in the city cannot be the reason for not having gardens; starting from Hellenistic times cities have been walled with plenty of space to allow for the needs of fortification and expected increase in numbers of citizens. The topographic situation of Terrace House 2 on a quite steep slope might have complicated the installation of gardens. Nevertheless, the large courtyards in houses 2, 6 (fig. 16) and 7 might have been used for planting at least a tree, some bushes, or flowers.125 This was not the case, and gardens have been reduced to the open space of the peristyle courtyards embellished with fountains, water basins with springs and also sculptures. Basins sunk in the floor may also have served as water triclina.126 Only the 120 M. Caroll-Spillecke, Der Garten von der Antike bis zum Mittelalter (Mainz: von Zabern, 1992), 168–169. 121 M. Carroll-Spillecke, KEPO . Der antike griechische Garten (Wohnen in der klassischen Polis Bd. 3; Munich: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 1989); Caroll-Spillecke, Der Garten von der Antike bis zum Mittelalter, 153–176. 122 Caroll-Spillecke, Der Garten von der Antike bis zum Mittelalter, 162–164. 123 Wiplinger, “ Wasserver‑ und ‑entsorgung in Wohneinheit 1 und 2 des Hanghauses 2 in Ephesos,” 155–166; Wiplinger, “Wasser für Ephesos. Stand der Erforschung der Wasserversorgung in Ephesos, Türkei,” in Cura Aquarum in Ephesos (ed. idem; Babesch Suppl 12; Leuven: Peeters, 2006), 23–37; Wiplinger, “Die Wasserversorgung von Ephesos in Byzantinischer Zeit,” in Byzanz – das Römerreich im Mittelalter (Monographien des RGZM vol. 84,1–3; eds. F. Daim and J. Drauschke; Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, 2010), 593–613. 124 Michalczuk, “Brunnen,” 170–172; Thür, “Sonstige wasserwirtschaftliche Einrichtungen,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 172–175; Wiplinger, “Wasserver‑ und -entsorgung in Wohneinheit 1 und 2 des Hanghauses 2 in Ephesos,” 155–166. 125 In western cities gardens in peristyle courtyards are numerous, see W. F. Jashemski, “The Campanian Peristyle Garden” in: Ancient Roman Gardens. Dumbarton Oaks Colloquium on the History of Landscape Architecture 7 (ed. E. B. MacDougall – W. F. Jashemski, Washington D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks Trustees for Harvard University, 1981) 29–48. 126 J. Richardson Jr., “Water Triklinia and Biklinia in Pompei,” in Studia Pompeiana Classica in honour of W. F. Jashemski (ed. I. Curtis; New Rochelle, N. Y.; A. D. Caratzas,

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owner of house 4 in phase III tried to create a garden atmosphere by covering the walls of the courtyard with an illusionistic garden fresco.127 Single components of garden architecture as water installations, marble bowls on supports with spring fountains are references to gardens and garden paintings in the west.128 The origin of gardens in Roman villas and large town houses from Hellenistic palaces and their gardens and peristyle gardens has been the subject of some controversy.129 The question of Romanization of the local people has often been discussed regarding the western provinces, especially Gaul130 and Britain.131 Discussions dealing with the Greek East are up to now only starting.132 The architectural plan and the lack of any gardens in the houses in Terrace House 2 in my opinion represent an important example of “Becoming Roman, Staying Greek.”

1988) 305–315; K. M. D. Dunbabin, “Triclinium and Stibadium,” in Dining in the Classical context (ed. J. Slater; Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press 1991), 121–148.; E. Salza Prina Ricotti, “The Importance of Water in Roman Garden Triclinia,” in Dumbarton Oaks Colloquium on the History of Landscape Architecture X (ed. E. Blair Macdougall; Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1987), 137–184. 127 Strocka, Die Wandmalerei der Hanghäuser in Ephesos, 99–101; Zimmermann, “Wandmalerei,” in Hanghaus 2 in Ephesos. Die Wohneinheit 4. Baubefund, Ausstattung Funde, 112–113; Zimmermann and Ladstätter, Wandmalerei in Ephesos von hellenistischer bis in byzantinische Zeit, 131–132. 128 Caroll-Spillecke, Der Garten von der Antike bis zum Mittelalter; D. Michel, “Pompejanische Gartenmalereien,” in Tania. Robert Hampe zum 70. Geburtstag am 2. Dezember 1978 dargebracht von Mitarbeitern, Schülern und Freunden (eds. A. Kahn – E. Simon, Mainz: P. von Zabern, 1980), 373–404. 129  Caroll-Spillecke, KEPO . Der antike griechische Garten; A. Wallace-Hadrill, “Horti and Hellenization,” in Horti romani. Atti dei convegno internazionale 1995 (M. Cima and E. La Rocca; Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1988), 1–12.; I. Nielsen, “The Gardens of the Hellenistic Palaces,” in The Royal Palace Institution in the First Millenium B.C. Regional Development and Cultural Interchange (ed. idem; Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2001), 165–187. 130 G. Woolf, “The Uses of Forgetfulness in Roman Gaul,” in Vergangenheit und Lebenswelt. Soziale Kommunikation, Traditionsbildung und historisches Bewusstsein. Symposion 1995 Freiburg (eds. H. J. Gehrke and A. Möller; Tübingen: Narr, 1996), 361–381. 131 M. Millett, The Romanization of Britain: An Essay in Archaeological Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 132 G. Woolf, “Becoming Roman, Staying Greek. Culture, Identity and the Civilizing Process in the Roman East,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 40 (1994): 116–143; Local knowledge and Microidentities in the Imperial Greek World. Greek Culture in the Roman World (ed. T. Whitmarsh; London: Trübner, 1994), 116–143.

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Captions to figures Fig. 1: General view of Terrace House 2 (inside the roof); Photo: H. Thür. Fig. 2: Excavation Photo from the site of Terrace Houses in 1960; Photo Archive ÖAI © ÖAI. Fig. 3: View of Terrace House 2 with the new Roofing (2001); Photo: H. Thür. Fig. 4: City Plan of Ephesos © ÖAW. Fig. 5: Plan of Terrace House 2 © ÖAW. Fig. 6: Visualisation of the Peristyle Court in House 4; Ivan Iliev after H. Thür © ÖAW. Fig. 7: View of room (SR 24) in house 2; Photo: H. Thür. Fig. 8: Visualisation of niche in Room (5) in House 4; Ivan Iliev after H. Thür © ÖAW. Fig. 9: Tiberius and Livia with Bronze Snake in Selçuk Museum; Photo: Niki Gail © ÖAI. Fig. 10 a–f: Plans with building phases of House 4; I. Adenstedt after H. Thür © ÖAW. Fig. 11: Plan House 6; I. Adenstedt after H. Thür © ÖAW. Fig. 12: Visualisation of the Floor in Marble Hall (31) in House 6; Ivan Iliev after H. Thür © ÖAW. Fig. 13: Reconstruction of Furnishing in Marble Hall (31) (Model of S. Stöckl); Photo: A. Sulzgruber. Fig. 14: Visualisation of the coffer ceiling in Marble Hall (31) in House 6; Ivan Iliev after H. Thür © ÖAW. Fig. 15: Visualisation of Marble Hall (31) with Windows; Ivan Iliev after H. Thür © ÖAW. Fig. 16: View of South Colonade in Peristyle Court (31a); Photo: H. Thür. Fig. 17: Isometric Reconstruction of the private Bath in House 6; I. Adenstedt © ÖAW. Fig. 18: The Inscription in Perityle Court 31a naming C. Flavius Furius Aptus; Photo: Niki Gail © ÖAI. Fig. 19: Plan of House 6, Building Phase III; I. Adenstedt after H. Thür © ÖAW. Fig. 20: Photo of Room (8a) with Venus and Mars; Photo: Niki Gail © ÖAI. Fig. 21: Painting in Room (36a) in House 6; Photo: H. Thür. Fig. 22: View of vaulted Room (GEW D) in House 2; Photo: Niki Gail © ÖAI. Fig. 23: Visualisation of Marble Hall (31) in House 6, View to South; Ivan Iliev after H. Thür © ÖAW.

II. Villae

How the Romans saw the frieze in the Villa of the Mysteries at Pompeii Umberto Pappalardo

1. Introduction The Villa dei Misteri is located just outside the city of Pompeii, on a street connected with the Herculaneum gate. It was partially excavated at the beginning of the twentieth century by Giuseppe Spano (1909–1910), and later excavated fully by Amedeo Maiuri (1929–1930). The villa was first constructed in the second century B.C.E., but was subject to numerous renovations, which transformed the farm into a proper suburban villa.1 The period after the foundation of the Roman colony (Colonia Venerea Pompeianorum Sillana, founded by Sulla in the 80s B.C.E.) until the age of Augustus was its time of greatest splendor. The villa was decorated in the second style at the beginning of the first century B.C.E. At that time the owners commissioned a dignified megalografia with natural, life-sized figures. After the earthquake of 62 C.E., which provoked a grave economic crisis in the city, the villa was gradually given over to the production and sale of wine, so it lost its character as a high class villa. The room with the megalografia is nearly seven meters long and almost five meters wide. The wall painting has been preserved to a height of c. 3.31 meters. The fresco is subdivided by painted columns which support 1 For the following see M. Bieber, “Der Mysteriensaal der Villa Item,” Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Rom 43 (1928): 322 ff.; A. Maiuri, La Villa dei Misteri (Rome: Istituto Poligrafico dello Stato 1931); K. Kerenyi, “Mensch und Maske,” Eranos Jahrbücher 16 (1948): 198 ff.; E. Simon, “Zum Fries der Mysterienvilla bei Pompeji,” Jahrbuch des Instituts 76 (1961): 111 ff.; O. J. Brendel, “Der Grosse Fries in der Villa dei Misteri,” Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 81 (1966): 206–260; U. Pappalardo, “Nuove osservazioni sul fregio della Villa dei Miste­ri a Pompei,” in La Regione Sotterrata dal Vesuvio. Studi e prospettive (ed. Atti Convegno Internazionale Napoli-Pompei 1979; Naples: Università di Napoli), 599–634; U. Pappalardo, “Il fregio con eroti fra girali nella Sala dei Misteri a Pompei,” Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Rom 97 (1982): 251–280; U. Pappalardo, “Beobachtungen am Fries der Mysterienvilla in Pompeji,” Antike Welt 13,3 (1982): 10–20; G. Sauron, La grande fresque de la Villa des Mystères à Pompéi (Paris, 1998); P. Veyne, I misteri del gineceo (Bari: Editori Laterza, 2000).

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a horizontal decorated molding ([cornice] 1,06 m). The background is red, with some stone slabs along the base of the wall ([orthostats] 1,62 m). The frieze above the megalografia is a band with meander patterns, a black background, and “peopled scrolls” (0,63 m). The figures of the megalografia, are only slightly less than life-sized, having an average height of 1,60 meters (fig. 1). The Villa of the Mysteries, located near Pompeii, was excavated at the beginning of the 20th century. Today its decoration constitutes one of the most complete and beautiful examples of ancient wall painting. Thousands of pages have been written on the painted frieze – themselves among the most beautiful (from the literary point of view) and the most profound in archaeological literature – but no universally accepted answer has been reached as far as the technique, the dating, the reading and the interpretation of the frieze are concerned. Evidently, “nomen est omen” and the villa wishes to remain mysterious … In the “oecus” the 2nd style gives us the impression that there are figures around the room on a podium against a wall consisting of red orthostates separated by black pilaster strips. The figures (called “megalographiae” by Pliny2) are actually somewhat smaller than life-size (about 1,30 m). Their identification remains uncertain, but all appear to be subordinated to a central group on the back wall representing Dionysos and his companion. The traditional interpretation considers the frieze to be the initiation of a girl into the mysteries of Dionysos and her marriage in the presence of divinities and priestesses. Therefore, there is a mixture of real and mythological figures (fig. 2). From one corner of the room, the matron of the family watches over to see that everything goes off as it should (fig 3). A small Dionysos guided by two priestesses, sings a hymn written on a roll of papyrus. At the same time, other priestesses are preparing the offerings, such as a rustic cake, sacred water and an olive branch for the aspersions. Silenus plays a lyre accompanied by the music of two small satyrs playing a pan-pipe (syrinx). Aura descends from heaven with her mantle blown by the wind (fig 4). An aged Papposilenus and two young satyrs appear isolated on the back wall: the young satyr sees the mask behind him reflected in the water in the cup and so sees in advance what he will look like in old age (Kerényi).3

2 Pliny Nat.Hist. XXXV, 126 (“grandes tabulas”), Nat.Hist XXXV, 132 (“grandes picturas”), different Vitruvius De architectura 7.5.2; 7.4.4 (“megalographiae”). 3 Kerenyi, “Mensch und Maske,” 198 ff.

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In the center there is Dionysos, drunken and lying on the breast of a goddess. Next to him some priestesses are about to unveil a large wooden phallus hidden in a country basket (Mosaic of Djemila; fig. 5). The young woman who is to be initiated into the mysteries hides her face between the legs of a priestess as she is being beaten by a winged god. Only by supporting the pain can she show that she is now an adult and can therefore be married. Next to her some friends (perhaps Bacchantes) dance and play the cymbals in order to distract her and relieve the pain. Once this test is over, she gets ready for the wedding: a servant dresses her hair while a cupid shows her a mirror. … but to which divinities is the frieze dedicated? (fig. 6) The feminine figure beside Dionysos is always interpreted as Semele or Ariadne, but is she really one of the gods? (fig. 7) One should take the following points into consideration: 1. the goddess is placed on a “podium” that raises her up with respect to the god; that is, she dominates him; (fig. 8) 2. among the 29 figures that compose the frieze, a full eighteen – that is the majority – are feminine; 3. that the goddess and not Dionysos is represented on the central axis of the room. This dominance seems excessive for his mother Semele or his mistress Ariadne, as they play a secondary role beside the god. Who is the goddess then? The sanctuary of Dionysos outside Pompeii with beds (“lectisternia”) in front of the steps shows Dionysos and Aphrodite lying beside him (fig. 9). Dionysos is characterized by the “tyrsos”, “kantharos” and panther. Aphrodite is characterized by the goose and her son Eros, who is bringing her a mirror. The union of the two divinities in the same cult goes back to the Hellenistic period at Alexandria, where Osiris was identified with Dionysos and Aphrodite with Isis (see fig. 8). At Pompeii this union can be explained more simply: Dionysos guaranteed the prosperity of the villa that had become rich particularly because of the production of his wine, while Aphrodite was the patron goddess of the town, which the Romans called “Colonia Veneria Pompeianorum,” that is the colony of the Pompeians under the protection of Venus. That is undeniable proof that Dionysos was venerated at Pompeii alongside Aphrodite-Venus (fig. 9).But we also have an iconographic proof.4 4 M. Wolf, “Der Tempel von Sant’Abbondio in Pompeji. Bauaufnahme und Architektur,” Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 113 (2007): 277–371.

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A famous cameo in the Museum of Vienna shows us Priapus below the divine couple, and Priapus is notoriously the son of Dionysos and Aphrodite. The group is so similar to the painted one that one could suppose another Priapus in the upper lacuna. We can conclude with a very surprising literary analogy. Lucretius, in the proem of his work De rerum natura, invokes the goddess Venus (the “Aeneadum genetrix”) so that she can convince the god of war, Mars, to give peace to the Romans.5 The literary description of the divine couple appears to be an exact description of the group painted in the Villa of the Mysteries: “[…] since Mars, all-powerful over arms, holds the cruel reins of war, he who often throws himself on your knees, totally conquered by the eternal wound of love; and so, lifting his eyes toward you, his round neck thrown back, he revels in love, full of desire for you (inhians in te), goddess, his avid looks, and, when he is thus leaning back (resupini), his breath hangs from your lips. You, goddess, covering him (super), when he rests on his back (recubantem), intertwined with your divine body, pour from your mouth sweet words asking him, oh glorious one, for a sweet peace for the Romans.”6

Even more surprising is the fact that – even if we know very little about the life of Lucretius – the ancient sources tell us that he was born at Pompeii.

Captions to figures Fig. 1: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, the megalografia. Fig. 2: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, the megalografia. Synoptic drawing. Fig. 3: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, the megalografia. The matron of the family. Fig. 4: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, the megalografia. Silenus playing a lyre accompanied by two small satyrs playing a pan-pipe and Aura descending from heaven. Fig. 5: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, the megalografia. Papposilenus seeing the mask behind him reflected in the water in the cup. Fig. 6: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, the megalografia. Dionysos, drunken and lying on the breast of Aphrodite. Fig. 7: Pompeii, Villa of the Mysteries, the megalografia. A priestess is about to unveil a large wooden phallus hidden in a country basket. Fig. 8: Pompeii, the sanctuary of Dionysos outside Pompeii, maquette. Fig. 9: Pompeii, the sanctuary of Dionysos outside Pompeii, pediment. Dionysos and Aphrodite. Dionysos is characterized by “tyrsos”, “kantharos” and panther. Aphrodite is characterized by the goose and her son Eros, who is bringing her a mirror. 5 Lucretius

De natura deorum proemium I 43. by Umberto Pappalardo.

6 Translation

Beryllos, the Jews and the Villa of Poppaea in Oplontis (Torre Annunziata) Rosaria Ciardiello

1. Introduction Located in modern Torre Annunziata (ancient Oplontis), the Villa of Poppea is an example of a very luxurious Roman house. Discovered in 1964, the villa was excavated over the next twenty years to reveal an otium style villa, an elite holiday home used as a summer retreat. The style and extent of the building suggested it was an important residence, and it was linked to Poppaea Sabina, second wife of the Emperor Nero. Her native town was nearby Pompeii. The oldest part of the house, which follows the classic atrium style, dates to the mid first century B.C.E. However, after this date, presumably as a result of a change of ownership after Nero’s death, a series of extensions occurred on the property which were still in progress at the time of Vesuvius’s eruption of 79 C.E. The building occupies a surface of around 8500 square meters. The main nucleus of the villa dating to the first half of the 1st century B.C.E., included the atrium (5) [m 15,5 × 11,5 ca.], the viridarium (20) [m 8,5 × 9 ca.], the wide living room with columns and several rooms as cubicula (or bedrooms), a triclinium (21) used as dining room [m 12,5 × 9 ca.], an oecus used as living room (15) [m 9 × 6 ca.], and the kitchen and the baths area. The atrium of the Villa of Poppaea had the usual roof top opening, the compluvium, which allowed rainwater to be collected in a central pool, the impluvium, which was once the household’s main water supply. A big garden with two symmetric porticoes opened onto the north of the atrium, and between them the reception room with columns, lined up with the atrium. At the east side of this last, there is the most ancient nucleus of the villa completed, in the south side, by a living room and nearby a wide servants’ quarter with an inner garden. At the north side of the peristilium there is the latrine, while another portico garden opens onto the south-east. It is smaller than the north garden and more isolated.

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A long passage with two lines of benches connects the more ancient part to the more recent one, built during the Claudio-Neronian age, which has in the centre the swimming pool (61 × 17 m) onto which opens a series of different rooms, some of them with inner uncovered gardens, whose walls are richly decorated with garden paintings. Many fine examples of Roman sculpture were found flanking this area.

2. Beryllos and the Jews The cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum are not unique depositories of the extraordinarily important archaeological and historical visual legacy that remains in the Vesuvian territory, since in antiquity the entire region was occupied by luxurious, richly decorated villas1, for example, those of Pausilypon2, of Sorrento3, Capri44, Boscoreale5, Boscotrecase6, Terzigno7 and Somma Vesuviana8. 1 For

helpful suggestions I would thank Prof. U. Pappalardo, dott. M. Grimaldi and dott. I. Varriale. The rendering in CAD of the paintings from oecus (23) of the Villa Oplontis and from cubiculum of Boscoreale is a work of dott. M. Notomista whom I thank for precious help. For the translation I would thank Prof. D. Balch and Dr. ssa Deborah Chatr Aryamontri. J. H. D’Arms, Romans on the Bay of Naples. A Social and Cultural Study of the Villas and Their Owners from 150 B.C. to A.D. 400 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1970 revised ed. Bari: Edipuglia, 2003); J. H. D’Arms, “Ville rustiche e ville d’otium,” in Pompei 79. Raccolta di studi per il decimo nono centenario dell’eruzione vesuviana (ed. F. Zevi; Naples: Macchiaroli, 1979), 65–86; H. Mielsch, La villa romana (Florence: Giunti, 1990); A. Carandini, “La villa romana e la piantagione schiavistica,” in Storia di Roma. Caratteri e morfologie, vol. IV (eds. E. Gabba and A. Schiavone; Turin: Einaudi, 1989), 101–192; U. Pappalardo, Le ville romane nel golfo di Napoli (Naples: Electa, 2000); La villa romana (ed. R. Ciardiello; Naples: L’Orientale Editrice, 2007). 2 R. T. Günther, Pausilypon. The imperial villa near Naples (ed. D. Viggiani; Oxford, 1913; revised ed. Naples: Electa, 1993); M. Pagano, “Gli impianti marittimi della villa Pausilypon,” Studi di Storia Antica 4–5 (1981): 245–255; G. Vecchio, “Le ville sul mare,” in Napoli Antica (ed. E. Pozzi; Naples: Macchiaroli, 1985), 348–351; S. De Caro and G. Vecchio, “Pausilypon, la villa imperiale,” in Neapolis (ed. F. Zevi; Naples: Banco di Napoli, 1994), 83–94, Plates 212–233; G. Vecchio, La Grotta di Seiano e il parco archeologico del Pausilypon (Naples: Edizioni de Il Mattino, 1999); I. Varriale, “La Villa imperiale di Pausilypon,” in La villa romana (ed. R. Ciardiello; Naples: L’Orientale Editrice, 2007), 147–165. 3 P. Mingazzini and F. Pfister, Surrentum (Forma Italiae, Reg. 1, 2; Florence: Sansoni, 1946); M. Russo, Sorrento. Archeologia tra l’Hotel Vittoria e Capo Circe. Scavi e rinvenimenti dal Settecento a oggi (Sorrento: Centro di studi e ricerche multimediali Bartolommeo Capasso, 1997). 4 Capri antica. Dalla preistoria alla fine dell’età romana (eds. E. Federico and E. Miranda; Capri: La Conchiglia, 1998); C. Krause, Villa Jovis. La residenza di Tiberio a Capri (Naples: Electa, 2005); R. Belli, “Fortune e sfortune dell’archeologia caprese: lo scavo di Gasto,” in Conoscere Capri 2. Studi e materiali per la storia di Capri (eds. M. Amitrano, A. Cafiero and C. Fiorentino; Capri: Oebalus, 2004), 57–71; R. Ciardiello, “Abitare a

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The Villa of Poppea at Oplontis with its exceptional dimensions and state of conservation constitutes one of the richest and most useful examples of this legacy for comprehending relationships between visual representations, architecture, and sculptural decorations, but also for its relation to a particular historical and religious era. On the basis some inscriptions that may related to a member of the imperial court, the villa may probably be attributed to the estate of the wife of the emperor Nero.9 The attribution is in fact connected with the discovery of a large Spanish, two-handled clay jar holding wine or oil (amphora) in room (48) and also with a plate that has an Italian clay seal on which there is a painted inscription: “Secundo Poppeae,” that is, “Secundo’s, slave of Poppea.”

Capri in età romana: il complesso residenziale di Gradola,” in Conoscere Capri. 5. Studi e materiali per la storia di Capri (eds. M. Amitrano, E. Federico and C. Fiorentino; Capri: Oebalus, 2007), 29–45. 5 F. Barnabei, La villa pompeiana di P. Fannio Sinistore (Rome: Tip. della R. Accademia dei Lincei, 1901); A. Sambon, Les fresques de Boscoreale (Paris / Naples: C. et E. Canessa, 1903); P. Williams Lehmann, Roman Wall Paintings from Boscoreale in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1953); K. Fittschen, “Zum Figurenfries der Villa von Boscoreale,” in Neue Forschungen in Pompeji (eds. B. Andreae and H. Kyrieleis; Recklinghausen: Bongers, 1975), 93–100; M. L. Anderson, Pompeian Frescoes (The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, 45, 3. 1987–88; New York: The Museum, 1988); M. Pfrommer, Göttliche Fürsten in Boscoreale. Der Festsaal in der Villa des P. Fannius Synistor (Trier Winckelmannprogramm, 12; Mainz: P. von Zabern, 1993); V. J. Bruno, “The Mariemont fragments from Boscoreale in color,” in Functional and Spatial Analysis of Wall Painting, Proceedings of the Fifth International Congress on Ancient Wall Painting, Amsterdam 8–12 settembre 1992 (Leiden: Brill, 1993), 223–233; A. Casale and A. Cirillo, Il tesoro di Boscoreale e il suo scopritore. La vera storia ricostruita sui documenti dell’epoca (Pompeii: Associazione Amici di Pompei, 2004); G. Stefani, “La villa del tesoro di argenterie di Boscoreale,” in Argenti a Pompei. Catalogo della mostra, Napoli, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, 1 aprile – 2 ottobre 2006 (ed. P. G. Guzzo; Milan: Electa, 2006), 180–190; M. Grimaldi, “La Villa di Publius Fannius Synistor a Boscoreale,” in La villa romana (ed. R. Ciardiello; Naples: L’Orientale Editrice, 2007), 221–240. 6 P. H. von Blanckenhagen and C. Alexander, The paintings from Boscotrecase (Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Römische Abteilung, ErgänzungsHeft 6; Heidelberg: Kerle, 1962); R. E. Knauer, “Roman Wall Painting from Boscotrecase: three Studies in the Relationship between Writing and Painting,” Metropolitan Museum Journal 28 (1993): 13–45. 7 C. Cicirelli, “Terzigno,” in Storie da un’eruzione. Pompei, Ercolano, Oplontis. Catalogo della mostra, Napoli, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, 20 marzo – 31 agosto 2003 (eds. A. D’Ambrosio, P. G. Guzzo and M. Mastroroberto; Milan: Electa, 2003), 152–153; 200–221. 8 M. Aoyagi, C. Angelelli and S. Matsuyama, “La cd. Villa di Augusto a Somma Vesuviana (NA) alla luce delle più recenti ricerche archeologiche (campagne di scavo 2002– 2008),” Amoenitas I (2010): 177–220. 9 By that time the villa with its goods had been expropriated for the colony at Pompeii by Sulla (80’s B.C.E.), and was certainly the property of a Roman, not of a local person, nor was it owned by one of the Samnite aristocracy.

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In addition, in the service corridor (52), near a portrait, there is a caricature with the Latin name “DRACO/NUS,” and a graffito10 in Greek letters, “MNHΣΘEI BHΡIΛΛOΣ”, that is, “remember Beryllus.” The graffito has been related to a passage in Flavius Josephus11 that mentions a Beryllus, tutor and secretary of Nero, who, between 60 and 62 C.E., paid by Syrian leaders, requested that the emperor cancel the equal political rights (isopoliteia) of the Jews in Caesarea. To the contrary, Poppea, who had become empress, carried out a political action in favor of the Jews, being a follower of monotheism and of certain practical religious customs, according to the testimony of Flavius Josephus12, who actually calls her a “woman fearing God”. The empress also assisted the Jewish actor Alityro to gain entrance into the good graces of Nero, so much so that he became one of Nero’s favorite actors. The graffito might then be interpreted as a kind of threat to Beryllus13 by a Jew. Or more probably, according to A. Varone14, this may be the signature left by an anonymous visitor to the villa, which has nothing to do with the philo-Judaism of Poppea. Furthermore, another inscription, engraved on a large clay jar for storing liquids or grain (dolio), names the factory of L. Arriano Anfione, a property

10 On the subject of this inscription and its attribution to the Villa of Poppea: Rendiconti dell’Accademia di Lettere Belle Arti di Napoli XXXIV (1959): 73–88; A. de Franciscis, “Beryllos e la villa ‘di Poppea’ ad Oplontis,” in Studies in Classical Art and Archaeology. A Tribute to P. H. von Blanckenhagen (eds. G. Kopcke and M. B. Moore; Locust Valley (N. Y.): Augustin, 1979), 231–234; C. Giordano, “Poppea e Nerone tra Oplontis e Pompei,” Sylva Mala II (1982): 2–8; S. De Caro, “Un graffito e altre testimonianze del culto della Magna Mater nella villa romana di Oplontis,” in Studia Pompeiana et Classica in honor of Wilhelmina F. Jashemski, 1. Pompeiana (ed. R. I. Curtis; New Rochelle (N. Y.): A. D. Caratzas, 1988), 89–94; A. Varone, “Le iscrizioni,” in Pompei. Abitare sotto il Vesuvio. Catalogo della mostra, Ferrara, Palazzo dei Diamanti, 29 settembre 1996–19 gennaio 1997 (ed. M. R. Borriello; Ferrara: Ferrara Arte, 1996), 197–201, esp. 200–201; L. Fergola and M. Pagano, Oplontis: le splendide ville di Torre Annunziata. Itinerario Archeologico Ragionato (Rome: T & M, 1998); P. G. Guzzo and A. Fergola, La villa di Poppea ad Oplontis (Milan: Motta, 2000), 9–14; L. Fergola, “Oplontis,” in Storie da un’eruzione. Pompei, Ercolano, Oplontis. Catalogo della mostra, Napoli, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, 20 marzo –31 agosto 2003 (eds. A. D’Ambrosio, P. G. Guzzo and M. Mastroroberto; Milan: Electa, 2003), 152–153; L. Fergola, Oplontis e le sue ville (Pompeii: Edizioni Flavius, 2004), 13; R. Ciardiello, “Alcune osservazioni sulle decorazioni della Villa di Poppea ad Oplontis,” Amoenitas 1 (2010): 273–288. The inscription in corridor (52) was found on painted plaster dated by de Franciscis to the years after the earthquake of 62 C.E. 11 Josephus, Ant. 20.182–184; A. de Franciscis, “Beryllos e la villa ‘di Poppea’ ad Oplontis,” in Studies in Classical Art and Archaeology. A Tribute to P. H. von Blanckenhagen, 232. 12 Josephus, Ant. 20.195, 252. 13 de Franciscis, “Beryllos e la villa ‘di Poppea’ ad Oplontis”: 231–234; Giordano, “Poppea e Nerone tra Oplontis e Pompei,” 7. 14 Varone, “Le iscrizioni,” 200–201.

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of the same Poppea, to whom has been attributed, among others, the female marble portrait rediscovered in the garden.15

3. Some observations on excavations and decorations Systematic excavation of the villa began only in 1964, although already between 1839 and 1840, in the course of work laying out the Sarno canal, Bourbon excavators broke into certain zones of the complex (peristyle [32] and portico [40]).16 15 Regarding the portrait attributed to the empress, see S. De Caro, “Le lucerne dell’officina LVC,” Rendiconti dell’Accademia di Archeologia, Lettere e Belle Arti di Napoli 49 (1974): 107–134; A. de Franciscis, “La dama di Oplonti,” in Eikones. Festschrift H. Jucker (Antike Kunst, suppl. 12; eds. R. A. Stucky and I. Jucker; Bern: Franke, 1980), 111–117, here 115–117; S. De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea at Oplontis. A Preliminary Report,” in Ancient Roman Villa Gardens. Dumbarton Oaks Colloquium on the History of Landscape Architecture (10th, 1984) (ed. E. Blair MacDougall; Washington: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1987), 79–133. Others think rather of Antonia Minore, wife of Druso. For this proposal see most recently: Fergola, Oplontis e le sue ville, 90–91. On the sculptures and the decorative utility see also A. Salcuni, “La decorazione scultorea delle ville romane,” in La villa romana (ed. R. Ciardiello; Naples: L’Orientale, 2007), 63–81. 16 For specific references to the archaeology of Torre Annunziata see R. Liberatore, “Delle nuove ed antiche terme in Torre Annunciata,” Annali Civili del Regno delle Due Sicilie XII (1834): 95–109 (revised ed. M. Elefante; Torre Annunziata: Biblioteca Comunale E. Cesaro, 1997); M. Ruggiero, Storia degli Scavi di antichità nelle province di Terraferma dell’antico Regno di Napoli dal 1743 al 1876 (Naples: V. Morano, 1883); C. Knight, “William Robinson, ufficiale dei Marines britannici, ‘scopritore’ di Oplontis,” Cronache Pompeiane 5 (1979): 56–173; M. Pagano, “Planimetrie borboniche della villa A e di quella di C. Siculius,” Rivista di Studi Pompeiani V (1991–92): 219–221; L. Fergola, “La villa di Poppea a Oplontis,” in Pompei. Abitare sotto il Vesuvio, 135–141; M. Pagano, I diari di scavo di Pompei. Ercolano e Stabiae di Francesco e Pietro La Vega (1764–1810) (Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 1997), 84; Fergola and Pagano, Oplontis. Le splendide ville romane di Torre Annunziata; S. De Caro, “Oplontis,” in Pompei. Storia, vita, arte della città sepolta (ed. M. Ranieri Panetta; Vercelli: Edizioni White Star, 2004), 373–399; Fergola, “Oplontis,” in Storie da un’eruzione. Pompei, Ercolano, Oplontis, 152; Fergola, Oplontis e le sue ville, 14–21; Fergola, “Oplontis. Villa di Poppea,” in Cibi e sapori a Pompei e dintorni (ed. Soprintendenza Archeologica di Pompei; Pompeii: Flavius, 2005), 154; M. P. Guidobaldi, “Oplontis,” in Pompei, Oplontis, Ercolano, Stabiae (eds. F. Pesando and M. P. Guidobaldi; Bari: Laterza, 2006); M. L. Thomas and J. R. Clarke, “The Oplontis Project 2005–2006: New Observations on Construction History at Villa A, Torre Annunziata,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 17 (2007): 100–109; J. R. Clarke and M. L. Thomas, “The Oplontis Project 2005–2006: New Evidence for the Building History and Decorative Programs at Villa A, Torre Annunziata,” in Nuove ricerche archeologiche nell’area vesuviana (scavi 2003–2006), Atti del Convegno Internazionale (Roma 1–3 febbraio 2007) (eds. P. G. Guzzo and M. P. Guidobaldi; Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 2008), 465–471; J. Clarke and M. L. Thomas, “Oplontis Project (2005–2008),” in Vesuviana. Archeologie a confronto, Atti del Convegno Internazionale, Bologna 14–16 gennaio 2008 (ed. A. Coralini; Bologna: Ante Quem, 2009), 427–430.

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At the moment of the eruption, the edifice was probably not inhabited, but was being restored, because of damage by the earthquake of 62 C.E. Up to the present no trace has been found of inhabitants or of personal property suitable for domestic use, while material for ornamental construction was found outside the villa, having been assembled in anticipation of the work of restoration. For example, the statue of a male centaur, another of a female centaur, and one of a child with a goose were discovered under portico (33), while the bases for the centaur statues were found in the garden, and the bases for the child and goose were located in peristyle (32). Capitals for restoration were placed under the portico, and grand columns for the large portico (60) were deposited momentarily in the living room (21). The primary nucleus of the villa, the atrium, deriving from the typical structure of a domus, dates from the middle of the first century A.B. Certain modifications were made, and numerous rooms were redecorated in the time of Augustus. In the age of Nero, between 40 and 45 B.C.E., important additions in opus reticulatum were realized, with the addition of a new residential quarter built on the east side around a swimming pool (natatio) approximately 60 meters long (200 Roman feet) and 17 meters wide, surrounded by auxiliary rooms (diaetae) and colonnades (portici). This enlargement does not clearly follow precise, balanced architectural canons, which are evident in the original phase of construction. In the case of the Villa of Poppea, the reasons for this choice are not to be sought in the need of adapting to the mountainous/hilly landscape, but rather in the search for a solution free from preconstituted canons, which would respond better to functional exigencies, and at the same time, to aesthetic sensibility. The enormous pool and the marble sculptures demonstrate the high economic status of the proprietor. Not far from the lengthy swimming pool, west of the short end, a gigantic Neo-Attic crater of Pentelic (Attic) marble with a visual representation of the dance of armed warriors (“pirrìchio”) was found. Most of the sculptures seem to be derived from Greek models. For example, the “child strangling a goose,” the prototype of which has been recognized as a work of Boethos of Chalcedon (second century B.C.E.), and an Aphrodite who fastens her sandals, from an original of the third century B.C.E., are arranged according to a sequence that suggests a precise decorative program17, on the one side, a statue of Heracles18, of a Greek 17 R. Ciardiello, “H ΓΛYΠTIKH ΣTHN ΠEΡIOKH TOY BOZOYBIOY,” in ΠOMΠHIA •H• ΘAMMENH ΠOΛH (suppl. of Corpus, ed. T. Cevoli; Daphni: ΠEΡIΣKOΠIO, 2005), 108–113. 18 De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 79–133, esp. 102, n. 13.

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adolescent19 (ephebe), of the goddess of victory20 (Nike), and on the other north side, a second twin victory goddess (Nike), an Amazon or Artemis or Atlanta21, another Heracles, a twin of the first22, and numerous Corinthian capitals mounted on marble columns that surround the swimming pool.23 A well-known passage of Pliny,24 related to statues of the type of the Oplontis adolescent, confirms that for most Romans who were collectors, philological identification of the figure was important, related to their symbolizing the world of the gymnasium: “placuere et nudae tenentes hastam ab epheborum e gymnasiis exemplaribus quas Achilleas vocant (also naked figures holding spears, made from models of Greek young men from the gymnasiums – that are called figures of Achilles – became popular”). Sculpture around the pool, therefore, must have created a perfectly credible athletic ambiance, considering the dimensions of the pool, in which Roman youths were able to swim competitively, or on the track to race under the propitious eyes of the gods and of the protecting heroes. This vision was in harmony with Hellenistic tendencies in late Roman Republican culture and with the Augustan political attitude to the youth, which was expressed in institutions supporting games, also in sport and paramilitary organizations, and in the parallel promotion of the construction of sport edifices such as the large palestre of Pompeii and Herculaneum, where the future Roman citizen (civis Romanus) might develop his mind and body (mens et corpus). We should not forget, moreover, that the exploration of this garden has not been completed and that the discovery of a fragment of the portrait of a child25, of two statue bases and of two tracks at the edge of the excavations, lead us to imagine that the complex was further articulated. The marvel of the garden in this quarter is not yet exhausted; we mentioned that the area (92) was under preparation, which opens up a window on the refined octagonal room (78), with wall surfaces covered by a marble socle [the lowest of three horizontal bands that decorated the walls] surmounted by panels of inlaid wood. From here the proprietor was able to display for guests the splendid sculptures placed around the swimming pool. To the north of the edifice, on the side facing the countryside and the lower slopes of Vesuvius, the architect designed an extension of the most ancient nucleus of the villa, between the entrance, the atrium (5), and living 19 De

Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 104, n. 15. Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 106, n. 16. 21 De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 110, n. 18. 22 De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 102, n. 14. 23 On the sculptures of the villa see recently Fergola, Oplontis e le sue ville, 88–99. 24 Plin. Nat.Hist. XXXIV, 18. 25 De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 112, n. 19. 20 De

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room (21), constructing a walkway bordered by a hedge of shrubs, perhaps box-trees. The box-tree was beloved, and employed especially to form hedges of small trees trimmed to represent what the ancients called opus topiarium, an invention that they attributed to the equestrian G. Matius, who lived at the end of the first century B.C.E.26 At the far north of this walkway, two others certainly converged, although only the eastern one has been excavated; both walkways were broader and bordered by shrubs, which in an oblique line extended symmetrically from the ends of the two wings, (33) and (34), of the porticus triplex, which formed the north façade of the edifice27, as if to continue into the garden the passage initiated in the shadow of the colonnade. There is no doubt that at the convergence of the three walkways, so at the optical axis of one entering the atrium, there was a dominating feature, perhaps an edicola or a small temple, of the type presented in visual representations of the second style, with the function of a fountain, since a channel was discovered near the modern stairs that give access to the excavations. In the two rectangular areas delimited by these walkways, four marble statue-fountains of male and female centaurs were arranged28. The statues were deposited near the colonnaded walkways, but the archaeological recovery of their bases in situ is testimony to their original placement. They certainly constituted an allusion to the mythical theme of the “family of centaurs,” and at the same time, suggested to the perceptive guest the antinomy between civilization and savagery29. The oblique footpaths were also enriched by sculptures such as herms, arranged in hedges of shrubbery, portraying Aphrodite30, both the child31 Nat.Hist. XII 13. porticus triplex and the comparisons with pompeian paintings: Vitr., de arch. VI 7, 13–15; Varr. Rerum rust., I 13, 3; Plin. Epist. V 6; see K. M. Swoboda, Römische und romanische Paläste. Eine architekturgeschichtliche Untersuchung (Graz: Böhlau, 1969); A. Boethius, The Golden House of Nero (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1950) 113–114. 28  S. De Caro, “Sculture nella villa di Poppea in Oplontis,” Cronache Pompeiane II (1976): 184–224, esp. 198–219; De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 79–133, esp. 88, nn. 1–4. 29 The theme of the animals of the wood and the mythical creatures that live there as Satyrs, Sylens, Fauns was preferred in the decoration of ancient gardens, in particular in Pompeii. See H. Döhl, “La scultura,” in Pompei 79. Raccolta di studi per il decimo nono centenario dell’eruzione vesuviana (ed. F. Zevi, Naples: Macchiaroli 1979), 201–210; E. J. Dwyer, Pompeian Sculpture in its Domestic Context. A Study of Five Pompeian Houses and Their Contents, Rome 1982; D. K. Hill, “Some Sculpture from Roman Domestic Gardens,” in Ancient Roman Gardens, Dumbarton Oaks Colloquium on the History of Landscape Architecture (7th, 1979) (eds. E. B. MacDougall and W. F. Jashemski; Washington: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1981), 81–94; in the same book see also B. Sismondo Ridgway, “Greek Antecedents of Garden Sculpture,” 7–28. 30 De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 90, n. 5. 31 De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 92, n. 8. 26 Plin. 27 On

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and the adult Dionysus32, and two portraits, one of a woman33 and the other of a youth34. Not only the dimensions, but especially the architectural principles applied in the composition of the dimensions of the buildings as in the gardens make this architectural complex one of the most significant and famous for us in the Roman world. The exploration of the gardens, which has accompanied the excavations, has demonstrated that the architectural aspects and the gardens were conceived functionally in relation to each other, and certainly the architect was also a topiarius, a designer of gardens35. Moreover, the decisive function of the sculpture in this context should be emphasized, arranged according to a precise decorative program, as well as the visual representations of gardens on the walls, which amplified the effects illusionistically36. The villa presents itself architecturally as a harmoniously structured complex, conceived as a single unit, with interiors designed according to the criterion of functionality, with internal arrangements that guarantee communication between the various domestic nuclei. Salons and auxiliary rooms (diaetae) skillfully linked to each other were placed beside the traditional rooms, all mediated by porches/colonnades, which gives the complex unusual proportions. To sum up, the villa appears as an extraordinary fusion of every component of Roman architectural and decorative culture37, in which beyond doubt the visual representations occupy a notable place, both because of their extraordinary state of conservation and their intrinsic quality, certainly related to the fact that their excavation was followed immediately by restoration. The visual representations were related to the architecture and are connected to the function for which each single stanza was intended. 32 Only the pilaster of the erma was found: De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 94 n. 9. 33 A. de Franciscis, “La dama di Oplonti,” 111–117, esp. 115–117; De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 92 n. 7. 34 De Caro, “The Sculptures of the Villa of Poppea,” 90, n. 6. 35 See W. F. Jashemski, The gardens of Pompeii, Herculaneum and the villas destroyed by Vesuvius (New Rochelle: A. D. Caratzas, 1979), 289–314. 36 I. Varriale, “Cicli iconografici nella Casa del Menandro a Pompei,” in Circulación de temas y sistemas decorativos en la pintura mural antigua. Actas del IX Congreso Internacional de la Association Internationale pour la Peinture Murale Antique (AIPMA), Zaragoza – Calatayud, 21–25 septiembre 2004 (ed. C. Guiral Pelegrin; Zaragoza: Gobierno de Aragòn, 2007), 336–339. 37 The villa belongs to type the Romans called “pseudo urbano” (see Vitr., de arch. VI 5, 3: “in urbe atria proxima januis solent esse, ruri autem pseudourbanis statim perystilia, deinde tunc atria habentia circum porticus pavimentatas spectantes ad palaestras et ambulationes”); see D. Mustilli, “La villa pseudourbana ercolanese,” in La Villa dei Papiri (Cronache Ercolanesi, II suppl., eds. D. Mustilli et alii; Naples: Macchiaroli, 1983), 7–18, esp. 14–15 and note 37–38.

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The atrium, for example, transformed by the second style decoration into a sumptuous Hellenistic palace with three doors, as in a frons scaenae (or architectural façade of a theatrical stage), was the space intended to receive clientes and was, therefore, the place entrusted with the self-representation of the proprietor of the house. The decoration, both austere and grand with imagines clipeatae, indicates the importance of the dominus and his family; here might be exhibited the stemma imaginum with portraits of the ancestors, whose portrayal was sometimes displayed in the lararium, other times in the wall decoration38. In the atrium of the Oplontis’ villa one imagines recognizing the ancestors of the dominus in the imagines clipeatae, even if, in reality, the heads of satyrs obviously appear in the shields. This is reflected in Vitruvius’ definition39 of aedificiorum figuras, columnarum et fastigiorum eminentes proiecturas [“the contours of buildings, the outstanding projections of columns and gables”], which reproduced in visual representations have the exclusive purpose of making the internal space appear more sumptuous. Representational space, whether public or private, is differentiated not only by the richness of the decoration but also by the fact that public spaces present a conservative and austere character, while private ones host visual innovations. Rooms such as cubicula, for example, are spaces in which one may very easily experiment with new decorative arrangements.40 Cubiculum (11), even though the decorative style is stylistically close to that of the atrium, represents a reduction of architectural motifs (columns, 38 See D. Scagliarini Corlaita, “La pittura parietale nelle domus e nelle villae del territorio vesuviano,” in Romana Pictura, la pittura romana dalle origini all’età bizantina Catalogo della mostra, Rimini 28 febbraio – 30 giugno 1998 (ed. A. Donati; Milan: Electa, 1998), 57–64. 39 Vitruvius De architectura 5.5.2; R. A. Tybout, Aedificiorum figurae. Untersuchungen zu den Architekturdarstellungen des frühen zweiten Stils (Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 1989). 40 For example in the decoration in white background from Villa Imperiale in Pompeii: U. Pappalardo, “Die Villa Imperiale in Pompeji,” Antike Welt 16 (1985): 3–15; U. Pappalardo, “La Villa Imperiale a Pompei: rapporto preliminare,” Dialoghi di Archeologia, s. 3, 5, 2 (1987): 125–134, esp. 125–127; U. Pappalardo, “La bottega della Villa Imperiale a Pompei,” Mededelingen van het Nederlands Instituut te Rome 54 (1995): 176–190; U. Pappalardo, “I mosaici della Villa Imperiale a Pompei,” in Atti del IV Colloquio dell’Associazione Italiana per lo studio e la conservazione del Mosaico (AISCOM), Palermo, 9–13 dicembre 1996 (eds. R. Carra Bonacasa and F. Guidobaldi; Ravenna: Edizioni del Girasole, 1997), 541–554; U. Pappalardo, “I cicli pittorici nella Villa Imperiale a Pompei,” in I temi figurativi nella pittura parietale antica (IV sec. a.C. – IV sec. d.C.). Atti del VI Convegno Internazionale sulla Pittura Parietale Antica, Bologna, 20–23 settembre 1995 (ed. D. Scagliarini Corlaita; Bologna: University Press, 1997), 271–274; U. Pappalardo, “Les cycles picturaux de la Villa Imperiale a Pompéi,” Mélanges de l’Ecole Française de Rome 113, 2 (2001): 897–912; U. Pappalardo and M. Grimaldi, “La cronologia della Villa Imperiale a Pompei”, in Otium. Festschrift für Volker Michael Strocka (eds. T. Ganschow et alii; Remshalden: Greiner, 2005), 271–274.

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architraves) close to which landscapes appear as, for example, on the north wall or in the lunette. In the wall decoration of the cubiculum, inside a symmetrically arranged imaginary architectural structure, the artist has utilized landscapes, a repetitive formula, which functions to focus the attention of the spectator. Artists repeated the same images in different contexts in the upper ornamental panel of the atrium, on the short sides of cubiculum (11), above the imitation marble of triclinium (14), and in oecus (23)41. This not only allowed the painter to utilize sketchbooks, but also indicates that there is no poetic or philosophical intention in the representation of landscapes. The task consisted exclusively in the realization of a harmonious whole that corresponds to the customer’s wealth. Only with the third style, when landscapes became a central subject of decorations, did they acquire an ideological value42. The existence of several copies of the same subject allows one to believe that illustrative papyri or even proper albums with figured scenes existed43. The books might have served in fact as “agents” specifically for the transmission of chosen figurative patterns, which, in the Hellenistic age, seem first to have enhanced scientific texts and then literary ones. The resulting reciprocal exchange between illustrations in texts and actual paintings is particularly evident in representations of the second style; that compositions depend on illustrations from books is suggested by the addition of the names of protagonists or by elements typical of a theatrical repertoire (stage structures, masked characters, masks, etc.)44. On the other hand, one can hypothesize a relation with the theater not only by the parallelism between actual architecture and visual representations but also by the continuity of themes. The visual representations mirror 41 About the decorations in this room see G. Stefani and M. Borgongino, “A proposito della cassata di Oplontis,” Oebalus. Studi sulla Campania nell’Antichità 4 (2009): 289–321. 42 J. R. Clarke, “The early Third Style at the Villa of Oplontis,” Römische Mitteilungen XCIV (1987): 267–294; J. R. Clarke, “Landscape paintings in the Villa of Oplontis,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 9 (1996): 81–107; A. Rouveret, “Prime forme di pittura di paesaggio: Boscoreale e Oplontis,” in Pittura romana. Dall’ellenismo al tardo antico (eds. I. Baldassarre et alii; Milan: Federico Motta, 2002), 96–100. 43 This is the idea of K. Schefold, “Bilderbücher als Vorlagen römische Sarcophage,” Mélanges de l’Ecole Française de Rome LXXXVIII (1976): 759–797; E. Moormann, “La pittura romana fra costruzione architettonica e arte figurativa,” in Romana Pictura, la pittura romana dalle origini all’età bizantina, Catalogo della mostra, Rimini 28 febbraio – 30 giugno 1998 (ed. A. Donati; Milan: Electa, 1998), 14–32. 44 See Schefold, “Bilderbücher als Vorlagen römische Sarcophage,” 759–797; K. Weitzmann, “An enamelled Glass Beaker with a Scene from New Comedy,” Antike Kunst 24 (1981): 39–49, esp. 45–49; G. Cavallo, “Libro e cultura scritta,” in Storia di Roma. Caratteri e morfologie, vol. IV (eds. E. Gabba and A. Schiavone; Turin: Einaudi, 1989), 693–734; E. F. Ghedini, s.v. “Trasmissione delle iconografie,” Enciclopedia dell’Arte Antica Classica ed Orientale, II suppl., vol. V (1997): 823–837.

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what Vitruvius45 affirms on the subject of stage designing, which provides for domestic perspectives, colonnades, and landscapes corresponding to the genre of comedy, tragedy, and satyrplays. In this way the same moral principles attributed to diverse theatrical genre were bestowed on domus46. Ancient sources do not indicate the existence of such patterns, nor are any two walls identical in detail and syntax. In the absence of such a pattern, it is consequently possible to imagine that the painters, beginning with a basic pattern, a fixed exemplar of the same decorative elements, invented on the spot solutions that they thought best in relation to the space to be decorated and in relation to necessities. It is, therefore, probable that customers indicated their preferences to the artists, who produced a sketch, which also included the colors to be utilized, essential both for their suitability to the space and for stabilizing the cost of the decoration. The systematic collating of details suitable for diverse spaces in the same house or also in diverse houses indicates that these complexes were often replicated in groups. Even though artists complied with decorative models, it is quite rare to encounter examples in which they reproduce an identical decorative system. It is, therefore, difficult to recognize a particular artist on the basis of purely formal considerations. It is possible to categorize many painters who share magnification of the most common decorative elements47. Precisely the identity of certain secondary particulars in visual representations causes one to ask whether achievements were mediated by auxiliary techniques. One possible hypothesis is that certain artists had detailed models which they reproduced for diverse customers, or that these models circulated among diverse artists. A second hypothesis allows one to imagine the transmission of iconography through cartoons (drawings). In fact, the coincidence observed, for example, between the details of the Villa of Boscoreale and those of the Villa of Oplontis demonstrate that the two decorated complexes are not identical in their totality, but rather in groups of particulars. De architectura 6.6.9. M. L. Anderson, Pompeian Frescoes in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (MMA Bulletin 45; New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1987), about the frescoes of cubiculum from Boscoreale; about different ideas about the problem see Moormann, “La pittura romana fra costruzione architettonica e arte figurativa,” 14–32, esp. 18; U. Pappalardo and A. Capuano, “Immagini della città nella pittura romana: visioni fantastiche o realtà architettoniche,” in Imaging Ancient Rome. Documentation – Visualization – Imagination, Proceedings of the Third Williams Symposium on Classical Architecture, American Academy in Rome 20–23 maggio 2004 (Journal of Roman Archaeology, Supplementary series, n. 61; eds. L. Haselberg and J. Humphrey; Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2006), 75–90. 47 I. Bragantini, “Una pittura senza maestri: la produzione della pittura parietale romana,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 17 (2004): 131–145. 45 Vitr. 46 See

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This renders it improbable that a single cartoon was employed for each wall, while the coincidence allows one to hypothesize that sketches were employed for the decoration of single walls that repositioned and varied the dimensions in order to create only in appearance a different architectural work. The creativity of Roman artists enabled rapid utilization of diverse sketches in various combinations, exploiting elements of various models and articulating a kind of “patchwork.” And precisely the multiple variety in combinations of traditional elements makes it difficult to determine a chronological sequence for the second style.48 For that purpose it can be added that visual decoration also seems to expand the functional definition of spaces, a phenomenon that interacts with the work of artists who vary their repertoire, techniques, material, sketches, motifs, and colors in relation to the function of the diverse spaces to be decorated49. For example, careful attention to distinguishing static from dynamic functions is particularly evident in second style decoration; within the second style there are specific decorative schemes for triclinia and for cubiculi. The decoration of walls, consistent also with that of the floors, virtually divides a room into two parts, each painted architectural space with its own appropriate perspectival vanishing point: one section closest to the entrance where movement occurs and another further inside reserved for couches and, therefore, for prolonged, stationary activity, which demonstrates that every moment of domestic life is lived in relation to visual representations.50 The scenography of the second style, the geometric rigor of the designs within the massive jumble of fantastic, concrete images, appears extraordinary and complex. Considering certain concrete data and placing actual spaces in relation to painted spaces, there have been recent attempts at re48 An

example is the Villa dei Misteri where the differences in the decorations between the different rooms suggests development over time. So we should imagine a presence of painters in the villa for a long time, maybe a quarter of a century while it is easier to imagine that the decorations of all rooms in II style are contemporaneous, and the differences are only for the use of different models: so Bragantini, “Una pittura senza maestri,” 131–145. 49 Scagliarini Corlaita, “La pittura parietale nelle domus e nelle villae del territorio vesuviano,” 57–64; Varriale, “Cicli iconografici nella Casa del Menandro a Pompei,” 336–339. 50 H. Drerup, “Bildraum und Realraum in der römische Architektur,” Römische Mitteilungen 66 (1959): 147–174; D. Scagliarini Corlaita, “Spazio e decorazione nella pittura pompeiana,” Palladio 23–25 (1974–1976): 3–44; D. Scagliarini Corlaita, “Propter spatia longitudinis: cicli e serie figurative nelle ambulationes del secondo e del quarto ‘stile pompeiano’,” in I temi figurativi nella pittura parietale antica (IV sec. a.C. – IV sec. d.C.). Atti del VI Convegno Internazionale sulla Pittura Parietale Antica, Bologna, 20–23 settembre 1995 (ed. D. Scagliarini Corlàita; Bologna: University Press, 1997), 119–124; G. Sauron, La pittura allegorica a Pompei. Lo sguardo di Cicerone (Milan: Jaca Book, 2007).

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constructions through axonometric isometric projections (the visual representations of three-dimensional objects in two dimensions in which the angles between any two of the three coordinate axes are 120 degrees). The scenes do not visually represent an actual, physical space; the images, in fact, can consist of extreme distortions of representations of the whole, which remain a fantastic, unrealizable construction. Frequently, wall decorations display colonnades that have neither beginnings nor endings, which allude to a “beyond” that is not revealed; architectural elements do not always respect the proper proportions of Roman architecture as codified by classical treatises, nor is it possible that the fragments visible in the frescoes univocally represent a defined typology. In order to construct a relationship between actual and imaginary spaces, therefore, a reconstruction is produced by the technique of axonometric isometry, representing the painted walls as a glass, through which actual and virtual spaces come into contact. As perspective is by definition determined by the point of view of the one drawing, axonometric projection is a geometric-graphic technique that pretends to be “objective,” in order to represent that which is, therefore, independent of an observer. It is a projection into infinity, in which objects maintain their characteristic measurements, apart from their spatial relationships, independently of the position of an observer. Axonometric projection, therefore, being a kind of abstract representation by images that never pretend to be actual ones seen by humans, retains a strong level of immediacy and legibility, also for non-experts. The reconstruction proposed has, therefore, demonstrated that the principles of illusory relationships are the same as those utilized for constructing actual architectural complexes, demonstrating in this way that, even though the decorations are the result of “patchwork” compositions, in reality, all the single elements form a system among themselves that create a “realistic illusion,” eliminating the distance between actual and fantastic spaces. The evolution of visual representations on walls coincides with a change in its relationship to the spaces decorated. The negation of the wall structure becomes much more evident when most visual representations on walls renounce the representation of defined architectural spaces; the visual images become ever more dreamlike, independent of the spaces where they are portrayed, eventually giving life to a new style of painting. The third style is characterized in fact by the stylization of form that appears deprived of body. The architectural constructions are no longer translatable into three-dimensional forms; ornamental elements dominate, among which are recognized Egyptian motifs, reflecting the conquest of Egypt by Augustus. The walls lose profundity, concluding and closing actual environments, different from the preceding decorative mode, which opened itself to infinity

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near the external world. Such a radical change has been interpreted as a sign of security, thanks to Augustus’ pacification, which privileged the private in place of the public. In this way an atmosphere developed adapted to a rich and refined social class, influenced by the convictions of the emperor; there was no longer any need to search for themes inspired by distant Hellenistic palaces, which could be found rather in the tranquility of familiar places51. The new visual representation on walls of the third style replaces the preceding conception of wall painting; the new visionary perspective is of an illusionary landscape that viewers could intuit beyond the wall itself, a composition on a flat background without spatial profundity.52 This means that columns become thin, fragile bands, and the colored orthostates [stones slabs supporting the base of a wall] become simple monochrome planes. Walls are no longer the place for illusory realization of space, in which one could act. The wall became a simple background for a visual representation no longer constructed with a conception of memesis, but which rather developed the capacity to express also transcendental thoughts, or else, “ideas.” Nature no longer set limits for the imagination of the artist, just as Vitruvius was able to say of these painters: Haec autem nec sunt, nec fieri possunt, nec fuerunt. These decorations fully reflect political developments. The second, naturalistic style is connected to actuality/reality and to the substance of the matter, in which from a direct expression of a historically difficult period; one arrived at a spirituality which was finally consecrated with the pacification brought by Augustus. The plan of calidarium (8) indicates that visual decoration in antiquity underwent a restoration recognizable, for example, on the east and west walls and in the upper [of three horizontal] registers.53 According to W. Ehrhardt, the owner modified the breadth of the room and, therefore, was compelled 51 M. Torelli, “Gesellschaft und Wirtschaftsformen der augusteischen Zeit,” in Kaiser Augustus und die verlorene Republik, Catalogue of the Exhibition (ed. H. G. Martin; Berlin: P. von Zabern 1988), 23–48; U. Pappalardo, “Il terzo stile”, in La pittura di Pompei (Milano: Jaca Book, 1991), 221–228; Moormann, “La pittura romana fra costruzione architettonica e arte figurativa,” 14–32. 52 W. Ehrhardt, “Gli stili pompeiani e il proprietario: l’esempio della Casa delle Nozze d’Argento,” in Nuove ricerche a Pompei ed Ercolano. Atti del Convegno Internazionale, Roma 28 – 30 novembre 2002 (eds. P. G. Guzzo and M. P. Guidobaldi; Rome: Erma di Bretschneider, 2005), 170–190, esp. 189; J. R. Clarke, “The early Third Style at the Villa of Oplontis,” 267–294, esp. 294. 53 Ehrhardt, “Gli stili pompeiani e il proprietario: l’esempio della Casa delle Nozze d’Argento,” 170–190, esp. 189; so recently, M. L. Thomas and J. R. Clarke, “The Oplontis Project 2005–2006: New Observations on Construction History at Villa A, Torre Annunziata,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 17 (2007): 100–109; Clarke and Thomas, “The Oplontis Project 2005–2006: New Evidence for the Building History and Decorative Programs at Villa A, Torre Annunziata,” 465–471; Clarke and Thomas, “Oplontis Project (2005–2008),” 427–430.

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to rearrange the visual representations. Even though the difference between the original decoration and that of the imitation is clear particularly in the details, the polychrome surfaces and the central fresco conserve invariable the ideological message of the third style. The illusionism of the second style again found place in the ultimate phase of the life of the villa. The perspectival contrast was realized in the sequence of gardens (viridaria; 61, 68, 70, 87), with an internal axis through a series of rectangles that face the swimming pool (natatio), one of the most refined elements of the architecture of the villa during the Imperial period. The illusion of small actual gardens leads from one to the other by means of ample windows, the axiality accentuated by gardens painted on the walls. In fact, the closed walls to the east and to the west are also imagined as broken through by copies of painted windows within a wall with a red background. Above the socle, enlivened by clusters of flowering plants, the pillars of the windows are decorated by vine-shoots of ivy. In the light of the windows, against a background of unrealistic yellow, is silhouetted a panorama of gardens with trees, shrubs, and statue-fountains, such as a female centaur with a square basin, counterbalanced by a companion with a circular basin, while the fountain on the panel nearby exhibits a couple of sphinxes. On the north wall there is a neoattic marble crater with a serpentfooted giant in sublime relief; on its rim stands a magnificent peacock, while other birds flutter between the branches of the central tree and among the lateral shrubs in the background. Therefore, the wall decoration articulated the architectural spaces and separated the diverse nuclei. In this way prearranged paths of visual enjoyment were created for their viewers. The effect was obtained by means of a differentiated use of a rich assortment of the decoration themes. Some were suitable for spaces destined for prolonged activity, others for spaces of transient observation, conceived in a way that the visitor would not have lingered over one single point on a wall, but would have felt them as an accompaniment en route. The study of the decoration contributes, therefore, to understanding the function and the fruition of the grand, highly articulated structure of the residence of the Poppaei at Oplontis, a splendid example of a Roman villa of otium and luxuria, where all the refinement, architecture, art of the gardens, of visual representations, and sculpture of the age were wisely employed in service of the pleasant sojourning of the proprietors.

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Captions to figures Fig. 1: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, view (Photo R. Ciardiello). Fig. 2: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, plan. Fig. 3: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, Portrait of so-called Poppeae. Fig. 4: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, service corridor (52), near a portrait, there is a caricature with the Latin name “DRACO/NUS,” and a graffito in Greek letters, “ΜΝΗΣΘΗΙ BHΡYΛΛΟΣ”, that is, “remember Beryllus.” Fig. 5: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, view (Photo R. Ciardiello). Fig. 6: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, fresco of roman villa with porticus triplex. Fig. 7: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, atrium (5) in IInd style (from Mazzoleni‑Pappalardo 2004). Fig. 8: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, fresco from atrium (5) in IInd style, detail with imagines clipeatae (from Mazzoleni-Pappalardo 2004). Fig. 9: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, view of triclinium (14) (from Mazzoleni‑Pappalardo 2004). Fig. 10: Oplontis, Villa of Poppea, fresco of triclinium (14) detail with imagines clipeatae (Photo I. Varriale). Fig. 11: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, view of cubiculum (11) in IInd style (from Mazzoleni-Pappalardo 2004). Fig. 12: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, drawing of lunette in cubiculum (11) in IInd style, (from Clarke 1996). Fig. 13: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, view of oecus (23) in IInd style (from MazzoleniPappalardo 2004). Fig. 14: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, Photo and drawing of glass with pomegranate from oecus (23) (M. Notomista). Fig. 15: Villa of Fannius Synistor in Boscoreale, Photo and drawing of glass with pomegranate (M. Notomista). Fig. 16: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, fresco in IInd style from oecus (15) (from Mazzoleni-Pappalardo 2004). Fig. 17: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, drawing of fresco in IInd style from oecus (15) with vanishing point (from Mazzoleni-Pappalardo 2004). Fig. 18: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, oecus (15), reconstruction produced by the technique of axonometric isometry, representing the painted walls as a glass, through which actual and virtual spaces come into contact (from Mazzoleni-Pappalardo 2004). Fig. 19: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, fresco in IIIrd style from room (10bis) (Photo I. Varriale). Fig. 20: Oplontis, Villa of Poppeae, calidarium (8), north wall (Photo I. Varriale).

Space and Interaction Narrative and Representation of Power under the Herodians* Monika Bernett A newly-excavated theater on the Herodium was made public at a press conference in Jerusalem, mid-September 2010. Shortly before his tragic death, Ehud Netzer presented yet another archaeological sensation of this building complex, after successfully discovering the remains of a mausoleum in 2007, which he identified as the burial place of Herod and some of his family members.1 The complexes are located to the right and left of the monumental staircase to the hill-palace (figs. 1 and 2). Like almost all archaeological remains relating to Herod, the Herodium theater exhibits significantly excessive architecture, where the basic structural function has become enriched by complex elements and loaded symbolically. Thus, the buildings are not always easy to comprehend – representing severe challenges to archaeologists and historians. At any rate, the situation of the new theater is as follows2: Sunken in the hill, the relatively small, semi-circular theater (auditorium about 27 m; stage about 24 × 13 m) had a capacity of about 700 people. The rows are divided by a diazoma into lower and upper area and by stairs into several segments. At the top of the auditorium, opposite the center of the stage, there is a two-story box, 7 m wide, 8 m deep and 6 m high (with two adjoining rooms), an architectural rarity in Greco-Roman theaters. The installation of such a box breaks with the conventional location for places of honor in Greek or Roman theaters, which is usually near or at the Orches* I cordially thank Annette Weissenrieder for her interest in these reflections and for the friendly patience that she awaited their completion with. Thomas Soden took the burden of translation and helped with final corrections; I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude to him for this cooperation. – A somewhat more detailed version in German appeared in Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 127,1 (2011). 1 M. Bernett, “Zum Stand der Ausgrabungen des Theaterbaus am Herodium,” Welt und Umwelt der Bibel 59 (2011): 68–69. 2 See E. Netzer, “In Search of Herod’s Tomb,” Biblical Archaeology Review 37:1 (2011): 36–48, 47 f.

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tra.3 There are certain parallels to the so-called Pulvinar, a two-story box built under Augustus in the Circus Maximus, as well as to the theater of the Hippodrome-complex, which Herod had built north of the Jericho palacedistrict. The walls of the box are decorated with frescoes in the Second Pompeian Style. In the upper register there are illusionistic wall-paintings, which feign window-views of stylized Nile landscapes animated by plants and animals. The style and representations are so far unique to the region. Yet further excavations need to clarify how the structures discovered around the theater are to be interpreted functionally, and how they are connected to the actual palace. Ehud Netzer defended a thesis, that Herod had the theater erected by Italian craftsmen no later than 15 B.C.E., for it to be used during the visit of Agrippa, Augustus’ son-in-law and general governor in the east of the Roman Empire since 17 B.C.E. Then the building functioned as a theater for only about 10 years, until it was torn down after Herod’s death so far that it could be concealed under the conical mound of the Herodium. There are fixtures from this work-phase (partition walls, a fireplace). So, the theater and other palace-architecture were buried with Herod.4 Though no reference can yet be made to the final publication of the theater, this newly-discovered structure can nevertheless point to special features in the context of Herodian representation of political power and dominion. In order to accentuate this I sum up the Herodium-theater as follows: 1. The complex combined Roman and Greek public theater architecture. The semi-circular floor-plan is Roman, natural hillside location and deep Orchestra come from the Greek tradition. 2. The box had a spatial depth of 8 m; action on stage and in the Orchestra could be followed only when one approached relatively near the edge. 3. The construction is not urban-public architecture, but part of an extraurban ruler’s palace, a place of exclusive, courtly interaction and representation of power (for the total Herodium-complex, fig. 3).5 4. With Herod the theater as well as part of the visible exterior structure of the Herodium were buried in order to give artificially to the hill an ideal, remarkably aesthetic conformity.6 Formal allusions to Augustus’ mausoleum in Rome are possible; but the discrepancies are greater. 3 H. H. Schmitt, “Art. Theater,” in Lexikon des Hellenismus (eds. idem and E. Vogt; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005), 1064–1067, 1065. 4 Cf. Bernett, “Zum Stand der Ausgrabungen des Theaterbaus am Herodium,” 69. 5 For the archaeological state of knowledge, E. Netzer, Stratigraphy and Architecture. Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho. Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations, Vol. I (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2001), 99–108 and idem, The Architecture of Herod, the Great Builder (2nd rev. ed. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008), 189–201. 6 Josephus speaks of the hill as τὸν δὲ µαστοειδῆ κολωνὸν ὄντα χειροποίητον (Jos. Bell. 1.419; similarly Ant. 15.324). Netzer’s new excavations, which have discovered the parts of

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5. Regardless of whether the tomb at the Herodium is in fact Herod’s mausoleum, after Herod’s death, the kind of courtly life as had happened on the hill-palace was discontinued. The theater must have been part of a particular perception of representation of political power via Herod, which his successor and son Archelaus was not to share; either he could not or would not.7 In the following I would like to deal with the question of representation of political power and dominion under Herod and his successors in four steps: (1) the concepts and the state of research; (2) historical situation: challenges and the responses of the Herodians to the discourse on political power and dominion in the early Principate; (3) special features of the narrative in Josephus on the rule of the Herods; (4) special features of the political interaction and representation within the context of Herodian palace architecture.

1. Concepts and State of Research Representation of dominion means communication about political power and rule. Communication mediates itself via sign-systems, such as language, images, shapes, and gestures, which also need a material base, a concrete space for expression and realization. Symbolic and material aspects of inter-subjective understanding are at once inseparable and interact with one another. Historical‑ and cultural-sciences in recent years have been increasingly concerned with aspects of symbolic communication of pre-modern societies.8 A complex methodological access is given by way of specific system-theoretical approaches, in which three assumptions are crucial: a circular glacis-wall (720 m above sea-level, that means 30 m lower than the present upper platform) that is also connected to the theater, (fig. 1), show that Josephus’ texts describe the condition established only shortly after Herod’s death (Netzer, The Architecture of Herod, the Great Builder, IX, XIII). 7 Netzer sees throughout here Herod’s last decrees at work (Netzer, The Architecture of Herod, the Great Builder, IX, XIII). But the texts of Josephus speak only of the fact that Herod in his will decreed to be buried at the Herodium, and one would have followed this (Bell. 1.672; Ant. 17.199). Archaeologically it is clear that there was left of the theater a first staircase up to the hill palace, which disappeared with the mound-work. The monumental, 200-step staircase, which Josephus mentions (Bell. 1.420; Ant. 15.324), was constructed only in connection with the land-fill (cf. fig. 1, 2). 8 Cf. B. Stollberg-Rilinger, “Einleitung,” in Vormoderne politische Verfahren (ed. idem, Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2001), 9–24; idem, “Symbolische Kommunikation in der Vormoderne: Begriffe  – Thesen  – Forschungsperspektiven,” Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 31 (2004): 489–527, and G. Althoff, “Die Veränderbarkeit von Ritualen im Mittelalter,” in Formen und Funktionen öffentlicher Kommunikation im Mittelalter (ed. idem, Stuttgart: Thorbecke, 2001), 157–176.

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1. Political action in pre-modern societies is based predominantly on interaction, i.e., personal communication.9 2. In each case afresh, in the executive processes of interaction10 two basic levels of action can be distinguished: ‘instrumental action’, i.e., action directed to a specific purpose, and ‘symbolic-expressive action,’ i.e., action which carries significance and meaning beyond the instrumental action (this creates a specific symbolic ambience of the instrumental action).11 3. Symbolic communication can be condensed and become reflexive, while referring to other symbol-agents and ‑systems or incorporating them; thus the meaning becomes more complex, less focused, ambiguous. The ‘diversity of possible reference-structures and associative connections’ can be termed as ‘inter-symbolization’.12 This distinction makes it possible to recognize different levels of ‘meaning’, combined with social action. For the power‑ and dominion-related interaction of pre-modern societies, this approach is especially responsive. In these societies, the enforcement of one’s own will against resistance or even the production of obedience to one’s own order can be based on state structures, such as police forces, only to a limited extent.13 Therefore, instrumental political action (to obtain a particular purpose) is accompanied by strong symbolic-expressive elements. This should produce the superiority of the sovereign, the significance of orders by recourse to traditions, values and norms, as well as emphasize well-fare-related benefactions of a ruler. All these acts are usually assembled under the term ‘representation of political power and dominion’. The symbolic-expressive, signifying part of actions are to mark the prominent position of a person or group within a social stratification and thereby communicate those values and norms which underpin this position correctly.14

the condition of personal communication see A. Kieserling, Kommunikation unter Anwesenden. Studien über Interaktionssysteme (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1999); F. Goldbeck, Salutationes. Die Morgenbegrüßungen in Rom in der Republik und der frühen Kaiserzeit (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2010), 20. 10 Cf. regarding performative action Stolberg-Rilinger, “Symbolische Kommunikation in der Vormoderne: Begriffe – Thesen – Forschungsperspektiven,” 495. 11 Regarding a ‘symbolic-expressive action’ see Stolberg-Rilinger, “Symbolische Kommunikation in der Vormoderne: Begriffe – Thesen – Forschungsperspektiven,” 497–499. 12 Stolberg-Rilinger, “Symbolische Kommunikation in der Vormoderne: Begriffe  – Thesen – Forschungsperspektiven,” 500. 13 Cf. M. Weber, Soziologische Grundbegriffe (6th ed. with an introduction by J. Winckel­ mann; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1984), 89. 14 Cf. G. Weber and M. Zimmermann, “Propaganda, Selbstdarstellung und Repräsentation. Die Leitbegriffe des Kolloquiums in der Forschung zur frühen Kaiserzeit,” in Propaganda – Selbstdarstellung – Repräsentation im römischen Kaiserreich des 1. Jhs. n.Chr. (eds. G. Weber and M. Zimmermann, Stuttgart: Steiner, 2003), 11–40, 36.   9 Regarding

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It is important to emphasize that the acts of representation of political dominance – whether by a ruler or by political elite groups – are closely bound to status-discourses of a society. Herein lies a potential for conflict, particularly in historical phases in which new political forces and their agents emerge and societies become stratified in this way anew. Firstly, ‘values and norms’ that a new sovereign claims for his superior status-position, may be contested, because they are new or represent new interpretations of traditional values. Secondly, it can be challenged that the sovereign fulfills the demands of claimed values and norms. Both discourse-situations are especially fruitful situations for representative actions, i.e., therefore, the growth of interactions, in which the proportion of symbolic-expressive aspects is especially high.

2. Historical Situation: Challenges and Herodian Responses to the Discourse on Political Power and Dominion in the Early Principate Herod and his successors had to comply with a dynamic social and political situation. I do not specifically explain this here, but will stress the theme in the formulation of my questions. Herod’s reign was a dynastic change, which was closely connected to the political transformations in Rome. The Roman civil wars staggered until 31/30 B.C.E. with the Judaean powerstruggles between Hasmonean parties, during which Herod’s family was able to maintain Rome’s support. After Actium, victors and survivors in Rome, Italy, the cities and provinces especially of the Eastern Roman Empire had to establish their positions on the ruins of a 20-year civil war and attempt to integrate socially and politically anew. Paul Zanker, in his classic ‘Augustus and the Power of Images,’15 showed to what extent Augustus through symbolic and expressive elements that were received and communicated throughout the entire Empire, cleverly supported his political actions in order to secure his Principate and the predominance of his house. In particular, the imperial cult – which Simon Price first made very clear – was a symbolic field of interaction between the Roman center and its periphery.16 So there was communication possible even between absentees, i.e., a basic condition for interaction, the personal presence in the communicative situation, could be compensated. The emperor and his house, respectively, 15 P.

Zanker, Augustus und die Macht der Bilder (9th ed.; Munich: Beck, 2009).

16 S. R. F. Price, Rituals and Power. The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge:

Cambridge University Press, 1984); cf. also M. Clauss, Kaiser und Gott. Herrscherkult im römischen Reich (Stuttgart/Leipzig: Teubner, 1999; repr. Munich: Saur, 2001).

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the Roman supremacy, in ritual acts, prayers, sacrifices, feasts, embassies, etc. were included therewith, and they were thence represented symbolically. The cult did not replace the true interaction between Rome and the subjects of its Empire. It maintained it symbolically. Added to this, all the participants in the imperial cult, not only the emperor and the members of his Domus, but also individual citizens, cities and their elites, provinces, so-called client-kings as well as border-regions, were agents in a permanent competition to mark their status-positions via their services in the imperial cult. Therefore, this cult could take up such a meaning throughout the Empire for a long time not based on its theological depth, but based on its immanent power‑ and status-discources, which expressed symbolically and continued to weave forth the integration between Princeps and Empire in the imperial society/ies.17 Herod is also locatable in this field of activity. He stood as the new ruler in alliance with the Roman sovereigns, after Actium with the Princeps Caesar Augustus, before enormous challenges, what his inner-Judaic acquiescence came to. With Herod, above all after 30 B.C.E. a break is identifiable with patterns of political self-representation established by the Hasmonean rulers. The Hasmonean rulers had pointed proudly to their military successes, to their victories against enemies of the Jewish people, to their land conquests and destroyed pagan cities. Obviously Hasmonean resources flowed, at least that is the result of archaeology, only a small part in symbolic-material representation of political power and dominance and in “conspicuos consumption”.18 Herod, however, figures predominantly as 17 For

the development of the imperial cult in the West, see now C. Witschel, “Die Wahrnehmung des Augustus in Gallien, im Illyricum und in den Nordprovinzen des römischen Reiches,” in Augustus – Der Blick von außen. Die Wahrnehmung des Kaisers in den Provinzen des Reiches und in den Nachbarstaaten (eds. D. Kreikenbom et al., Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2008), 41–120; for the Hellenistic East see G. Frija, “Du prêtre du roi au prêtre de Rome et au grand prêtre d’Auguste: la mise en place du culte impérial civique,” in Des rois au prince (eds. I. Savalli-Lestrade and I. Cogitore; Grenoble: ELLUG 2010), 291–310. 18 Cf. M. Bernett, Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter den Herodiern und Römern (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 146–167; eadem, “Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter herodischer und römischer Herrschaft: Zu Herausbildung und Herausforderung neuer Konzepte jüdischer Herrschaftslegitimation,” in Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World (eds. J. Frey; D. Schwartz and St. Gripentrog, Leiden: Brill, 2007), 205–251; eadem, “Roman Imperial Cult in the Galilee: Structure, Functions, and Dynamics,” in Religion, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Galilee (eds. J. Zangenberg; H. W. Attridge and D. B. Martin; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 337–356; B. Eckhardt, “Herodes und die Hasmonäer: Strategien dynastischer (De)Legitimation von Herrschaft in Judäa 168–4 v.Chr.,” in Herodes und Jerusalem (ed. L.-M. Günther, Stuttgart: Steiner 2009), 23–46; T. Weber, “Der beste Freund des Königs. Herodes der Große und statuarische Repräsentationsformen in orientalischen Heiligtümern der frühen Kaiserzeit,” in Augustus – Der Blick von außen. Die Wahrnehmung des Kaisers in den Provinzen des Reiches und in den Nachbarstaaten, 249–269; and

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ktistes, as a new empire-founder, city-planner and constructor, in a mixture of biblical-oriental and Hellenistic ruler-appreciation. In the ‘Temple-speech’ in Josephus’ ‘Antiquities,’ during which Herod announces the reconstruction of the Jerusalem temple, this self-understanding is literarily led to a stylistic high-point. The αὐξή of the Jewish people under Herod, i.e., their increase of status in all respects, are a product of peace. Since under the protection of the Romans wars with hostile neighbors were to be no longer maintained, and under his rule there was also peace with the Romans (Ant. 15.382; 387). Herod peacefully gained for the Jews land, fortune and large income, due to friendship with the Romans. As a charitable king, he used his funds for the beautification of the country, for housing and amenities for its residents.19 Together with the rational for the continued building of the temple, which since the return from the Babylonian exile had not achieved the dimensions of Solomon’s temple20 (what the Hasmoneans also could not have accomplished),21 Herod is presented as a new Solomon.22 The political representation of Herod has been treated in the research of the past years under a dominant concern for ‘Romanization’, ‘Hellenization’, ‘Acculturation.’23 The latest state of the discussion reflects, alongside

A. Kropp, “King  – Caesar  – God. Roman Imperial Cult among Near Eastern ‘Client’ Kings in the Julio-Claudian Period,” in Lokale Identität im Römischen Nahen Osten (eds. M. Blömer et al., Stuttgart: Steiner, 2009), 99–150. 19 A. Lichtenberger, Die Baupolitik Herodes des Großen (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1999), 135. 185 neglects this aspect. Regarding monarchial benefaction in Hellenism see K. Bringmann, H. v. Steuben and B. Schmidt-Dounas, Schenkungen hellenistischer Herrscher an griechische Städte und Heiligtümer: Zeugnisse und Kommentare (Schenkungen hellenistischer Herrscher an griechische Städte und Heiligtümer I; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1995), K. Bringmann, Geben und Nehmen. Monarchische Wohltätigkeit und Selbst­darstellung im Zeitalter des Hellenismus. Mit einem numismatischen Beitrag von Hans-Christoph Noeske (Schenkungen hellenistischer Herrscher an griechische Städte und Heiligtümer II 1; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2000) and B. Schmidt-Dounas, Geschenke erhalten die Freundschaft. Politik und Selbstdarstellung im Spiegel der Monumente (Schenkungen hellenistischer Herrscher an griechische Städte und Heiligtümer II 2; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2000). 20 Jos. Ant. 15.385. 21 Implicitly mentioned in Jos. Ant. 15.387. 22 See this thesis of H. Lindner, “Der Bau des größten Tempels (A 15:380–390). Herodianische Propaganda und Josephus’ Auffassung der jüdischen Geschichte,” in Internationales Josephus-Kolloquium Paris 2001 (eds. F. Siegert and J. U. Kalms, Münster: Lit Verlag, 2002), 152–160, 156. 23 For research discussion and a complex terminology see M. Meyer, “Akkulturationsprozesse – Versuch einer Differenzierung,” in Neue Zeiten – Neue Sitten. Zu Rezeption und Interaktion römischen und italischen Kulturguts in Kleinasien (ed. idem, Wien: Phoibos, 2007), 9–18. However, A. Wallace-Hadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), advocates the coexistence of multiple cultural identities (esp. 9–14, 17–28).

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Ehud Netzer’s synthesis ‘Herod the Great Builder,’24 several conference volumes.25 The victory of a direction – toward Hellenization or Romanization – doesn’t become yet apparent. If one brings to the issue’s end the newest work by Andrew Wallace-Hadrill ‘Rome’s Cultural Revolution,’26 then there can be essentially no such simple answer. For Wallace-Hadrill now makes explicitly clear that in Rome and Italy ever since the Greek colonization in the mid-8th century B.C.E. elements of Greek culture can be observed in the lifestyle, which continued to accumulate since the Roman conquest of southern Italy in the 3rd century B.C.E. and the Greek East in the 2nd century B.C.E., without repressing local self-understanding that conceived of itself as something different.27 This process was accompanied, says Wallace-Hadrill, by an intensive, informal debate about the question which Greco-Hellenistic cultural practices the Roman upper-class should and should not adopt. Since this process but went along with the conquest of the Mediterranean and Western Europe by the nobility, the respective articulation of Roman aristocratic living is a gesture of power and dominion, which other elites of the imperial societies inspired to imitate.28 If in the Augustan Principate then this new ‘Roman culture’, which from Wallace-Hadrill’s point-of-view presented the product of a cultural revolution, was spread by new supporter-groups of Augustus’ Principate in the Empire, the cultural ‘multilingualism’ of this new Roman culture was expressed in multiple forms, whether clothing, language, architecture, edu24 Netzer, The Architecture of Herod, the Great Builder; regarding the building program of Herod see also D. W. Roller, The Building Program of Herod the Great (Berkeley: University Press, 1998); Lichtenberger, Die Baupolitik Herodes des Großen, and S. Japp, Die Baupolitik Herodes’ des Großen: Die Bedeutung der Architektur für die Herrschaftslegitimation eines römischen Klientelkönigs (Rahden: Leidorf, 2000). 25 Herodes und Rom (ed. L.-M. Günther; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2007); Herodes und Jerusalem (ed. L.-M. Günther; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2009); The World of the Herods and the Nabataeans (ed. N. Kokkinos; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2007); Herod and Augustus (eds. D. M. Jacobson and N. Kokkinos; Leiden: Brill, 2009); cf. also the detailed report by Bormann, “Jüdische oder römische Perspektive? Neue Studien zum römisch dominierten Judäa. Ein kritischer Literaturbericht,” Zeitschrift für Religions‑ und Geistesgeschichte 61 (2009): 105–123 and by M. Bernett, “Rom und Jerusalem  – Kaiserherrschaft und herodische Dynastie. Beobachtungen und Fragen zur neueren Forschung,” Klio 92 (2010): 83–93; cf. the review of scholarship regarding the establishment of the imperial cult, Bernett, Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter den Herodiern und Römern, 4 f., 11–15. 26 Wallace-Hadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). 27 Wallace-Hadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution, 26–28, 34. In this respect WallaceHadrill goes far beyond the results in Hellenismus in Mittelitalien (ed. P. Zanker; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1976) even if the questions and observations of this fundamental collection of articles are still highly interesting and valid (though fixed between the alternative ‘Hellenization’ vs. ‘(old)Roman culture’). 28 Wallace-Hadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution, 36.

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cation and knowledge as well as a conspicuous lifestyle with all its relevant elements. Certainly for the analysis of acculturation processes it is not the final bottom-line, whether someone has adopted Hellenistic, Egyptian, Roman, etc. cultural elements (and has been therefore ‘hellenized,’ ‘egyptianized,’ ‘romanized’ etc.). For an appropriate interpretation of such acts one needs to ask what socio-political status such a person has and which forms of interaction are connected to it. The status‑ and knowledge-discourses included in the relevant actions are what should bring us to a precise analysis of cultures, which reformulate themselves by cultural contacts. Wallace-Hadrill’s results for the cultural transformation processes of the late Roman Republic and Early Principate are very important for the Herod-debate. On the one hand Herod’s building-projects can be classified in this multilingual cultural dynamic and be analyzed by the special choice made out of the symbolic reservoir which this Augustan period provided. On the other hand, one will have much more broadly to analyze the symbols of the ‘languages of power’ that Herod and the elites with claim to superiority used in Herodian-Roman Judea as part of their status-discourse, in order to recognize what codes in which contexts and with what conjectured meanings were used – how much, in other words, Herod and his supporters as well as other cultural groups in Judea powerfully demonstrated cultural multilingualism or remained in conscious monolingualism.29 The framework provided here is too narrow, but as a thesis I would like to formulate that in the period of Herod’s reign a cultural multilingualism in the Jewish populated regions was implemented due to the politicalcultural conditions of the Augustan period, which became the cause for the formation of new group identities with specific cultural codes. Since about 100 B.C.E. there can be observed within the self-differentiating ‘Judaism’ of this region new cultural practices which combined certain approaches and values,30 above all regarding cultic purity.31 To name but 29  Cf. the wide range of relevant material in Akkulturationsprozesse  – Versuch einer Differenzierung. Cf. for the Hellenistic East some papers in Kingdoms and Principalities in the Roman Near East (eds. T. Kaizer and M. Facella; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2010). 30 Regarding the discussion on Iudaios/Iudaioi see S. Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley: Berkeley University Press, 1999); S. Mason, “Jews, Judeans, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient History,” Journal for the Study of Judaism 38 (2007): 457–512; D. R. Schwartz, “‘Judean’ or ‘Jew’? How Should We Translate Ioudaios in Josephus,” in Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), 3–27. 31 Cf. E. Regev, “Pure Individualism: The Idea of Non-Priestly Purity in Ancient Judaism,” Journal for the Study of Judaism 31 (2000): 176–202; idem, “Non-Priestly Purity and its Religious Aspects According to Historical Sources and Archaeological Findings,” in Purity and Holiness. The Heritage of Leviticus (eds. M. J. Poorthuis and J. Schwartz; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 223–244 and J. Poirier, “Purity beyond the Temple in the Second Temple Era,” Journal of Biblical Literature 122 (2003): 247–265.

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the most striking here comprises: the limestone vessels,32 the Miqwaot,33 Qumran pottery (with dining laws/habits),34 the individual secondary burials in ossuaries in agnatic-cognatic occupied family graves,35 the so-called ‘Household-Judaism,’36 the circulation of Terra Sigillata and the so-called pseudo-Nabatean ware.37 All these cultural innovations combine in the late-Hasmonean-Herodian period, interestingly enough, with segmented group-formations, which compete for prestige and influence in Jerusalem and Judaeo-Palestine.38 The socio-political fragmentation of the populace in the southern Levant39 perhaps maintained itself so strongly under these conditions of the early Principate, where a rich set of various possibilities existed to designate and stabilize group identities via different cultural codes. In the following two areas I intend to study the traces left behind by the political representation of Herod and his successors with the presented criteria: per the narrative on Herodian rule in Josephus as well as per the peculiarities of political communication and interaction in the context of Herodian palace-architecture.

3. The Narrative on Herodian Rule in Josephus For both the Bellum Iudaicum and the Antiquitates Iudaicae it is very striking, the role architecture and building-activities of rulers in general, 32 Y. Magen, The Stone Vessel Industry in the Second Temple Period. Excavations at Hizma and the Jerusalem Temple Mount (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2002). 33 A. Berlin, “Jewish Life before the Revolt: The Archaeological Evidence,” Journal for the Study of Judaism 36 (2005): 417–470, esp. 451–453. 34 J. Yellin et al., “Pottery of Qumran and Ein Ghuweir: The First Chemical Exploration of Provenience,” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 321 (2001): 65–78; Berlin, “Jewish Life Before the Revolt: The Archaeological Evidence,” 447. 35 See the overview by Berlin, “Jewish Life Before the Revolt: The Archaeological Evidence,” 454 f.; R. Hachlili, Jewish Funerary Customs, Practices and Rites in the Second Temple Period (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2005), 94–114, 520–528 (ossuaries); 235–310 (family tombs); and the concise overview by idem, “Funerary Practices in Judaea during the Time of the Herods,” in The World of the Herods and the Nabataeans, 247–278. 36 Berlin, “Jewish Life before the Revolt: The Archaeological Evidence,” 424–445, 453–457, 466–470; Poirier, “Purity beyond the Temple in the Second Temple Era.” 37 J. Gunneweg, “Pseudo-Nabatean Ware and Pottery of Jerusalem,” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 262 (1986): 77–82. 38 Regarding the different cultural practices see Berlin, “Jewish Life before the Revolt: The Archaeological Evidence.” 39 A. J. Saldarini, Pharisees, Scribes and Sadducees in Palestinian Society: A Sociological Approach (Wilmington: Glazier, 1998); L. L. Grabbe, Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian vol. I–II (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), II 467–499; S. Mason, “Revisiting Josephus’s Pharisees,” in Judaism in Late Antiquity, Part 3: Where We Stand. Issues and Debates in Ancient Judaism (eds. J. Neusner and A. J. Avery-Peck; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 23–56 (regarding the Pharisee’s); G. Jossa, I gruppi giudaica ai tempi di Gesù (Brescia: Paideia, 2001).

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particularly that of Herod, plays. ‘Power’ and ‘dominion’ become obvious in the disposition concerning architecture and construction. The issue principally has a topical character and all throughout is in the tradition of representation and self-presentation of personal political power.40 Rulers can destroy or spare cities, build up again and resettle residents anew, and organize space and society in this way. Yet Pompeius, Gabinius and Antipater were characterized by this means: the former re-built cities and restored them to their former owners, Antipater was allowed to rebuild Jerusalem’s walls and was then able to create political order, too. With Herod this basic narrative structure is extremely amplified. After Herod had already been presented as the guardian of Jerusalem in the conquest of 37 B.C.E., the great building report Jos. Bell. 1.401–425 has the function to characterize Herod at the height of his power after the great territorial expansion of the years 23–20 B.C.E.: As a city-founder, temple-builder, owner of public and palatial architecture, he appears as an omnipotent ruler, who has infinite material and social resources, in order to create space and thereby even conquer nature, to bestow benefits upon people inside and outside his kingdom, to accord obeisance to gods as well as to commemorate his parents, to maintain his status and to fashion an appropriate ambiance for his self-understanding. (New) City Foundation41 Development of a City/­ Settlement 403: Sebaste (formerly Samaria): city wall, temple of Augustus, 6,000 settlers, land allocation, constitution (eunomia)42

Extra-Urban Buildings

Jerusalem43 404–405: Augusteum/ 401: temple, temple-district, temple-foundation in Paneion47 castle (‘Antonia’);44 402: Herod’s palace ­(basileion) uptown45 418: tower Phasael46

40 A. Demandt, “Symbolfunktionen antiker Baukunst,” in Palast und Hütte (eds. D. Papenfuß and V. Strocka, Mainz: von Zabern, 1982), 49–62 discusses the interest of historiography in architecture and the political self-representation of rulers (and city-states) via building acts. 41 In Jos. Bell. 1.400–425 the founding of Gaba (Ant. 15.294) and the rebuilding of Esebonitis in Perea (ibid.) are missing. 42 Jos. Ant. 15.292, 296 ff., 329. 43 For Herod’s theater and hippodrome there see only Ant. 15.268. Cf. Bernett, Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter den Herodiern und Römern, 52–66. 44 Jos. Ant. 15.292, 380–403, 409–425; 17.151–160. Detailed architecture of the temple Bell. 5.184–227. 45 Jos. Ant. 15.292, 318. The palace in detail Bell. 5.161–181. 46 Jos. Ant. 16.144. 47 Jos. Ant. 15.363–364.

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Development of a City/­ Settlement

408–415: Caesarea (for407: Jericho:49 second palace merly Stratonos Pyrgos): district (in addition to the royal palace, port, houses, Hasmonean basileia) temple of Augustus, ampitheater, agorai; foundation of penteteric games (Kaisareia)48 416: establishment of the city Agrippias51 (formerly Anthedon)

417: Antipatris (formerly Pegai)53 418: Phasaelis54 (419–421: Herodium, the palace-city, see third column)

Extra-Urban Buildings 417: construction of the fortress Cyprus50

419–421: construction of the fortress Herodium, which is also a palace-district, and of aqueducts; at the foot of the hill another palacedistrict52

422–425: urban improvements outside the kingdom:55 Tripolis: gymnasium Damaskos: gymnasium, theatre56 Ptolemais: gymnasium Byblos: city wall

Ant. 15.293, 329, 331–341; 16.136–172; 17.87. does not mention Herod’s hippodrome there; Jos. Ant. 17.160–167 refers to it as part of the dramatic events around Herod’s death. 50 Jos. Ant. 16.143. 51 Cf. Ant. 13.357; the city is not described in the passage Jos. Ant. 16.142 ff. 52 Jos. Ant. 15.323–325. 53 Jos. Ant. 16.142 f. 54 Jos. Ant. 16.144 f. 55 General information Jos. Ant. 15.327; 16.146. Compared to the Bellum-list, Ant. adds a colonnade on Chios (16.18 f.) and Herod’s participation in the construction of Nicopolis (6.147). 56 Recently discovered, see K. S. Freyberger, “The Theatre of Herod the Great in Damascus: Chronology, Function and Significance,” in Bayt al-‘Aqqad. The History and Restoration of a House in Old Damascus (ed. P. Mortensen; Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2005), 181–202; T. F. Nielsen, “The Roman Theatre: Historical Context and Reconstruction,” in Bayt al-‘Aqqad. The History and Restoration of a House in Old Damascus, 203–226. 48 Jos.

49 Bell.

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(New) City Foundation

Development of a City/­ Settlement

295 Extra-Urban Buildings

Berytus, Tyros: halls, colonnades, agorai Sidon: theater Laodikeia: aqueduct Askalon: baths, fountains, colonnades Rhodes: temple of Apollo57 Antioch: colonnaded street58 Table 1: Analytical overview of the building report concerning Herod (Jos. Bell. 1.400–425)

The dramatic composition of the ‘Bellum’ then contrasts this image from Bell. 1.43159 to the end of the first book (§ 673) with Herod’s ‘domestic afflictions’ (τὰ κατ’ οἶκον ἀνιαρά, § 431), which are his problems to exercise rule also over his own house, his family, his court. Following a topos of Hellenistic historiography, Tyche let Herod pay for his εὐπραγία outside his realm with domestic mischief.60 Based on this conception Herod’s failure as a ruler is described at length via his interaction with his family and relatives at court. A literary refinement is apparent in that that this interaction takes place in the palaces which had been described as exceptional, grand and lavish in the paragraphs above. Toward the end of his life the antithetical elements are yet again intertwined: the abuse of power over persons in his family, at court and among the populace who were subordinated to him, is closely linked with his buildings (the temple in Jerusalem, the palace and hippodrome at Jericho, the fortress Hyrkania)61 while his splendid burial (the text speaks of πολυτέλεια, πᾶς ὁ βασιλικὸς κόσµος)62 conveys the impression that here last respects were given to a very great king. The narrative on Herodian power and rule in the ‘Antiquitates’ contains the same structural elements, but is organized not so antithetically concerning the narrative succession, even if a few elements of this opposition (inside/outside) have remained.63 The text of the ‘Antiquitates’ intends basically to maintain a chronological framework, that is, the royal interaction at Ant. 16.147; comp. 14.378. Ant. 16.148. 59 Jos. Bell. 1.426–428 (benefactions to Olympia, Phasaelis, Balanea and cities in Cilicia); 429 f. praises the harmony between Herod’s physical virtues and his psyche. 60 Jos. Bell. 1.431. 61 Jos. Bell. 1.648–655, 659, 662, 664. 62 Jos. Bell. 1.671. 63 Jos. Ant. 15.268–341 treats Herod’s architectural projects and benefactions within his realm; 326–330 reflects his benefactions outside his empire. Similar Ant. 16.136–149. 57 Jos. 58 Jos.

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court and outside it relate diachronically to one another. This happens again and again under the leitmotif ‘innovations’ and ‘security measures’.64 Also, the spaces of interaction and opposition are more complex. There is not only a royal interaction in‑ and outside of the realm, but concentric interaction-circuits: within the kingdom on the one hand the ‘people’ i.e., above all the Jews of Jerusalem, on the other hand, the Greeks and Syrians; outside the kingdom: Greeks, foreigners, Diaspora-Jews as well as Rome with the emperor, and his imperial personel and family members. In events within such interactions narratives of building-activities are interjected in order to create special meanings, often at the price of redundancy or chronological inconsistencies.65 I will illustrate this by a few examples. After Herod had gotten rid of all Hasmoneans that could be still dangerous to him (lastly Mariamne, Alexander and Kostobar) by 27 B.C.E., the text of Jos. Ant. 15.266 f. conveys in 74 paragraphs a copious building report about Herod’s building-donations and gifts in‑ and outside of Judea: “The kingdom (βασίλεια) was wholly in Herod’s power, there being no one of high rank to stand in the way of his unlawful acts (παρανουµένοις). [267] For this reason Herod went still farther in departing from the native customs, and through foreign practices (ξενικοῖς ἐπιτηδεύµασιν) he gradually corrupted the ancient way of life, which had hitherto been inviolable. As a result of this we suffered considerable harm at a later time as well, because those things were neglected which had formerly induced piety in the masses.”66 When then the stories of the various building projects and the relevant ‘foreign practices’ connected to them (emperor-worship, worship with games, city foundations, temples) follow, these acts are from the outset under the verdict of παρανοµία and accordingly ἀσέβεια. Herod undertakes the beautification and expansion of the Jerusalem temple allegedly at the height of his power. Josephus frames this long report (Ant. 15.380–425, which is 65 paragraphs) between two critical passages and places at Ant. 15.373–379 the verdict of the Essene Menachem, that Herod 64 Innovations or antitraditional activities see Ant. 15.266 f., 365, 368; 16.1–5. Safety measures see Ant. 15.291–298, 323 f., 327, 366; 16.143 f. 65 In principal one could distinguish between three major construction-narratives in Ant. 15–17, which are characterized by insertions, framing, repetitions, and new focal points. This suggests that Josephus has newly arranged the present material: Narrative I.: 15.268–341, 363–365: Judaea proper (268–325); outside Judaea proper (327, 329; only in general); Caesarea Maritima (331–341); the Augusteum at Paneion (363–365); Narrative II: 15.380–425: temple and temenos in Jerusalem (expanded enormously compared to Bell. 1.401); Narrative III: 16.136–149: inauguration of Caesarea Maritima; more cityestablishments in Judaea proper; tower in Jerusalem; architectural improvements of cities outside of Herod’s kingdom. – Critical remarks: Ant. 15.267; 15.326, 328, 329–330 (merged with the ‘benefits’ for cities and their sovereigns outside Judaea proper); 16.150–159. 66 ἐξ ὧν οὐ µικρὰ καὶ πρὸς τὸν αὖθις χρόνον ἠδικήθηµεν, ἀµεληθέντων ὅσα πρότερον ἐπὶ τὴν εὐσέβειαν ἦγε τοὺς ὄχλους (Jos. Ant. 15.267b). Transl. R. Marcus, LCL.

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though ruling for a long period with God’s will and unforgotten for posterity, however will forget eusebeia and to dikaion. The statement contradicts the entire building project of the temple that Herod undertakes ostensibly in a devotional attitude. A third and final example. After the reconciliation with his sons in the year 12 B.C.E., Ant. 16.136–140 comes the description of the inauguration of Caesarea with festivals in the context of the emperor-cult. Finally, Augustus and Agrippa are quoted, that Herod’s kingdom is still too small for his megalopsychia and he deserves to rule (in a governor’s position) over all of Syria and Egypt (16.141). Eight sections follow as to further building activities in‑ and outside of Judea. Then begins another critique of Herod’s dominant habit of philotimia, to which his beneficent building-acts as a ruler hearkens (Ant. 16.150–159). In Josephus, it can be summed up, the ruler Herod is characterized not only simply as a multi-faceted builder. By means of the building reports emerges a discourse on his status, his perception of status as well as the entitlement of his preeminence. In the two main sources, ‘Bellum’ and ‘Antiquitates,’ although with different narrative-techniques, Herod’s status is devaluated and deconstructed via narratives of his building activities. Still, in the ‘Antiquitates’ a decidedly Jewish counterpoint is designed, when it is emphasized, for which actions and habits ‘the people’ (to plethos, ho ochlos/ oi ochloi) ‘to Ioudaion ethnos’ (Ant. 16.158) actually assigns recognition and status. Ant. 16,158 is against the calculation of a representativ political style, that hopes for recognition in symbolic forms: ‘But, as it happens, the Jewish ethnos is by nomos opposed to such all things and is accustomed to admire righteousness (dikaion) rather than glory (doxa)’.67 This argument is not fed by Hellenistic thought, but by the critique of political power and dominion in Biblical tradition.68 Especially in the Prophetic books of Micah, Amos, Hosea, Isaiah, Jeremiah and Habakkuk, the bad king is characterized as an urbanizer and constructor, who exploits the people for luxuriousness in the capital city and for erection of fortresses over the subjects.69 It is very difficult to prove to which extent Josephus found in Nicolaus of Damascus models to describe Herod in his political representation and performance especially in reference to his building activities. I still think 67 Transl.

according to L. Marcus, LCL. Jos. Bell. 2.85; Ant. 17.306; 19.329; cf. also Ant. 15.315; 16.159, 179. 69 Cf. J. Ellul, The Meaning of the City (translat. by D. Pardee; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1970); “Every City Shall be Forsaken”. Urbanism and Prophecy in Ancient Israel and the Near East (eds. L. L. Grabbe and L. Heck; Sheffield: Continuum International, 2001); N. Roddy, “The Image of the City in the Hebrew Bible,” in Cities through the Looking Glass (ed. R. Arav; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2008), 11–21; cf. Bernett, “Herodes und die Stadt in Judäa,” 53–55. 68 E.g.

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that the basic concept goes back to Nicolaus, because Hellenistic historiography worked for the characterization of rulers with the tension between large external achievements and failures in the ruler’s ‘house’. Accordingly Hellenistic historiography looks on a king who proves himself successful on both fields of action with supreme praise. A familiar example is the praise of Eumenes II in Polybios, who not only inherited a small empire from his father, but through acuteness, industry and energy made the same into one of the greatest empires of his time, according to Polybios. After these remarks, the text adds: “Next he was most eager to win reputation, and not only conferred more benefits than any king of his time on Greek cities, but established the fortunes of more individual men. Thirdly, having three brothers not far behind him in age and activity, he kept them all in the position of his obedient satellites and guardians of the dignity of his throne, a thing for which one can find few parallels.”70 A parallel in Josephus is Archelaos of Cappadocia, who emphasizes that despite greatest mischiefs he had had to suffer from one of his brothers, he preferred the obligations of nature before the passion of revenge.71 Negative examples are however frequent, what Polybios stresses.72 Antiochos III, Philip V, Genthius of Illyria – their failure as rulers is made clear above all in their imperfections as master of their families and ‘houses’ (as social units).73 An interesting new development of this topos is established in Augustus, who presents himself on the one hand in his res gestae as ktistes, as the ensurer of Rome’s order and its Empire, and on the other hand speaks of domestic misfortune, which he had to endure. This is therefore a tragic fate and not a sign of his failure as emperor. Tacitus and the critical traditions of the history of the Principate conceptualize Augustus more in the contrast between ‘outward splendor’ on one hand, and ‘failure as leader of his Domus’ on the other. The latter signifies above all the alliance with Livia, from where results the succession of the unpopular Tiberius, as well as the exiles of his daughter Julia and his granddaughter for high treason. M. Toher recently argued the theses that Nicolaus of Damascus worked well with this topic in the preparation of his autobiography in which Herod as well as Augustus played important roles, which in turn strongly influenced Josephus’ negative presentation of Herod in the ‘Antiquitates’ from book 15 on.74 Diverse sources show how important, however, building-activity was as a sign of a ruler’s action in the early Principate. This is perhaps most apparent 70 Polybius

32.8, 4–6. Transl. W. R. Paton, LCL. Bell. 1.239. 72 Polybius 32.8, 7. 73 Polybius 20.8, 1–5; 23.10, 12–16; 29.13. 74 M. Toher, “Herod, Augustus, and Nicolaus of Damascus,” in Herod and Augustus, 65–81. 71 Jos.

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in Vitruvius, De Architectura, published in 22 B.C.E. In his Proemium he first describes the state of complete rule over Rome, Italy, and the provinces, which Augustus had established. Then he continues: “But when I saw that you were giving your attention not only to the welfare of society in general and to the establishment of public order, but also to the providing of public buildings intended for utilitarian purposes, so that not only should the State have been enriched with provinces by your means, but that the greatness of its power might likewise be attended with distinguished authority in its public buildings, I thought that I ought to take the first opportunity to lay before you my writings on this theme.”75 In the following section Vitruvius emphasizes then the personal aspect of imperial building: “I began to write this work for you, because I saw that you have built and are now building extensively, and that in future also you will take care that our public and private buildings shall be worthy to go down to posterity by the side of your other splendid achievements76. I have drawn up definite rules […].”77 A passage of Maecenas’ speech in Dio Cassius also shows the ideological charge of a ruler’s building, when Maecenas commends Augustus to impress the world with magnificent buildings and public celebrations in Rome: “Adorn this capital with utter disregard of expense and make it magnificent with festivals of every kind.78 For it is fitting that we who rule over many people should surpass all men in all things, and brilliance of this sort, also tends in a way to inspire our allies with respect for us and our enemies with terror.”79 Such statements may illuminate in part why a general building-boom emerged in the early Principate. Not only did safer times reign in Italy and through the entire Empire, and elites again had more resources at their disposal to finance public or private buildings and thereby to emphasize their status and their effectiveness. But since the triumvirate period the struggle for political dominance was supported with symbolic acts of preeminence, among which building activities were prominent. After Actium Augustus

De architectura 1 praef. 2: Cum vero adtenderem te non solum de vita communi omnium curam publicaeque rei constitutione habere, sed etiam de opportunitate publicorum aedificiorum, ut civitas per te non solum provinciis esset aucta, verum etiam ut maiestas imperii publicorum aedificiorum egregias haberet auctoritates, non putavi praetermittendum, quin primo quoque tempore de his rebus ea tibi ederem, ideo quod primum parenti tuo de eo fueram notus et eius virtutis studiosus. Transl. M. H. Morgan, LCL. 76 pro amplitudine rerum gestarum ut posteris memoriae traderentur. 77 Vitruvius De architectura 1 praef. 3. Transl. M. H. Morgan, LCL. 78 τὸ µὲν ἄστυ τοῦτο καὶ κατακόσµει πάσῃ πολυτειελίᾳ καὶ ἐπιλάµπρυνε παντὶ εἴδει πανηγύρεων. 79 Dio Cassius 52,30.1 f. Transl. E. Cary, LCL. 75 Vitruvius

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exaggerated this habit to mark his superiority on all levels.80 This attitude was imitated by dependent kings like Herod, Juba of Mauritania, and Archelaus of Cappadocia, after Hellenistic building-Euergesie had long been fading.81 In this respect the model of Wallace-Hadrill also applies in this area: Roman-Italian elites first did alter Greco-Hellenistic cultural expressions until the early Principate and thereafter this “new” Roman culture was spread, mainly via Augustan art and architecture, throughout the Empire and was received there in many ways. These real-historical as well as literary processes are at any rate interesting for Josephus, since he adjusts the logic patterns of the characterization of political power and dominion via building activities of a ruler to the successors of Herod. This is particularly significant when he had apparently only a little information about the dynasts. This applies above all to Archelaus, Antipas and Philip, where especially in the Antiquitates building-activity and attitude as master of his house(‑hold) must serve to characterize the ruler. Verbally all the city’s founding stories are very similar. Only for Tiberias there is additional information about conflicts in the city’s founding (Ant. 18, 36 ff.). In addition, the praise of Philippos (Ant. 18.106–108) falls outside the framework, too. The text-section is very difficult to classify in any literary tradition. In any case, it is an exceptional example for a ruler’s abdication of honor and status: easy amenability, abandonment of statusmanifestation, constant concern for the affairs of his subjects, secure and just adjudication, no succession-conflicts. However, even for Agrippa I and Agrippa II, but only in the Antiquitates there are narrated meaningful ‘construction-stories’ (table 2). Agrippa I is compared on this level with Herod and comes off very well – even though he built on smaller scale and less lavishly, but nevertheless was responsible for similar types of building-donations like Herod. In contrast to Herod, Agrippa is shown in Josephus as a good sovereign. In addition to his alledged respectful relation to the Jewish nomos his attitude as Euerget and builder serves as evaluation scheme: While Herod would have cared only for the cities of strangers but no city of the Jews with charities,82 Agrippa was indeed generous toward alloethneis, but toward his homophyloi in comparison was very much more generous and compassionate. 80 Zanker, Augustus und die Macht der Bilder, 73–90 (triumvirate period), 90–96, 107– 124, 141–161, 164–167, 196–217, 240–261 (Augustus’ building program). 81 Cf. the assumptions in Meyer (ed.), Neue Zeiten – Neue Sitten. Zu Rezeption und Interaktion römischen und italischen Kulturguts in Kleinasien; cf. also in Kingdoms and Principalities in the Roman Near East (ed. Kaizer and Facella). J. Creighton (“Herod’s Contemporaries in Britain and the West,” in Herod and Augustus, 361–281) for the local styles of elite representation in the West. Overview in Zanker, Augustus und die Macht der Bilder, 294–332. 82 Jos. Ant. 19.329.

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Finally, his son, Agrippa II, is equated with Herod on negative terms, when in his building report Ant. 20.212 conclusively states: “the hatred of his subjects for him consequently increased because he stripped them of their possessions to adorn a foreign city.”83 Building Activity

Bell.

Ant.

—

17.340: reconstruction of the palace, aqueduct

Archelaus Jericho

17.340: foundation of a κώµη

Archelais Antipas Autokratoris

—

18.27: fortification of Sepphoris in Galilee, => Autokratoris

Tiberias

2.168 founding of 18.36 ff.: founding of Tiberias near the hot Tiberias in Galilee springs of Ammathons at the Sea of Galilee; habit of the new settlers; benefits for settlers; Tora-adverse site of the new city

Ioulias (Perea)

2.168 founding of Ioulias in Perea

18.27: fortifying the city Betramata, => Ioulias after the wife of the Autokrator

Kaisareia (Caesarea)

2.168 founding of Kaisareia at the sources of the Jordan

18.28: expansion of Paneas at the sources of the Jordan => Kaisareia

Ioulias (Gaulanitis)

2.168 founding of Ioulias in Lower Gaulanitis

18.28: elevation of the kome Betsaida at the Sea Gennesaret to a polis, new settlers, fortification (dynamis), => Ioulias after the daugther of Caesar

Philippos

Kaisareia (?)

18.108: a tomb for himself

Agrippa I. Jerusalem Berytus

2.218: third city wall

19.326 f.: building of the third city wall – conflicts 19.335 ff.: building donations and games

83 Transl. L. H. Feldman, LCL. – The “foreign city” is the Roman colony Iulia Augusta Felix Berytus in Syria (near modern Beirut).

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Building Activity

Bell.

Ant.

Jerusalem

—

20.189 f.: enlargement of the Hasmonean palace, in order to observe matters at the temple; 20.191–195: conflicts with priests and Festus because of Agrippa’s observation-post

Jerusalem

—

20.219–223: paving of Jerusalem (permitted by Agrippa II – and financed?)

Neronias

—

20.211 f.: expansion of Kaisareia at Paneion and renamed to Neronias

Berytus

—

20.211 f.: theater-building; foundation of the games; gifts of grain and oil; statues and sculptures from originals of famous artists; splendor of the rule is moved to Berytus

Agrippa II.

Table 2: Building-reports for Herod’s successors in the texts of Josephus; => means: renamed to.

4. Special Features of Political Interaction and Representation in Herodian Palace Architecture The problem may currently only relate in essence to Herod himself, since we only have for him sufficient archaeological data. The situation for Caesarea Paneas, especially for the so-called palace of Agrippa II (Areas D, E, I), is still unclear. The building-complex, which can be projected to an area of 40,000 m2 (100 × 40 m), is only excavated in its southern part and not yet finally published.84 With these dimensions it would be one of the largest palace-complexes in the east of the Roman Empire. Even more interesting, however, is its conception. The technically advanced design and the integration of public, representative and private spaces of interaction in architectural units which were arranged around a large courtyard and had an ingenious entrance-system appears to be very special and would be an 84 V. Tzaferis and S. Israeli, Paneas Volume I: The Roman to Islamic Periods Excavations in Areas A, B, E, F, G and H (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2008); and V. Tzaferis and S. Israeli, Paneas Volume II: Small Finds and Other Studies (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2008); M. Hartal, Paneas Volume IV: The Aqueduct and the Northern Suburbs (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2009). For the results of the excavations see J. F. Wilson and V. Tzaferis, “An Herodian Capital in the North: Caesarea Philippi (Paneas),” in The World of the Herods and the Nabataeans, 131–143, esp. 132–139; regarding the palace: 138 f.

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extraordinary example for the combination of imperial representation and political interaction in appropriate spaces. The directors of the excavations expressed the hypothesis that the background of this special spatial organization is to be sought in the manifold absence of Agrippa II. The personnel, who were equipped by him with executive political power,85 received their own spaces within the palace for these tasks.86 This operation should be seen in connection with the notorious dilemma of the so-called client-kings under the terms of the Principate, whose power and position actually could be maintained only through constant interaction with the emperor, i.e., by personal attendance at his court. But this called for an increase of ‘political art’ in their own kingdoms, in order to fulfill political and administrative tasks there. This problem has been discussed only a little in research so far.87 If the thesis will be archaeologically substantiated, with the palace of Agrippa II one would have a highly interesting discovery of organization of autocratic political power in the context of palace architecture in this period. But also for Herod there are crucial questions: Why did he build so many palaces and palatial fortresses anew or expanded existing structures? Why did he place so much value in the implementation of very costly, latest techniques and styles of architecture? Is there a connection to the political interaction at court – and that means: for the generation and presentation of power? In a recent paper on Herod’s court F. Deanini88 has identified two special characteristics. First, there reigned a ‘certain personal compactness’, resulting from the large number of relatives present at court. In comparison to other Hellenistic courts, at Herod’s court there were disproportionately more relatives as actors. This situation is identified as an important factor which contributed to the aggravating problems for Herod to sustain control over his political center, especially in the last years of his rule. Reasons for this special feature would have been on the one hand Herod’s various marriages, from which came many children. On the other hand, the Jewish marriage customs (ethno-religious endogamy, conversion obligation for the foreign-born husband) would have made it difficult to marry-out the female members of the Herodian house, particularly barely allowing political-dynastic marriages.89 Jos. Vita 49.61; Bell. 2.481. Wilson and V. Tzaferis, “An Herodian Capital in the North: Caesarea Philippi (Paneas),” in The World of the Herods and the Nabataeans, 139. 87 See Bernett, “Rom und Jerusalem – Kaiserherrschaft und herodische Dynastie. Beobachtungen und Fragen zur neueren Forschung,” 86 f. 88 F. Deanini, “Der Hof des Herodes. Zu seiner Struktur und Geschichte,” Historia 57 (2008): 274–297. Cf. also different methodological approaches with J. D. Gauger, “Herodes’ hellenistische Hofhaltung,” in Herodes und Rom, 91–107; N. Kokkinos, “The Royal Court of the Herods,” in The World of the Herods, 279–303; S. Rocca, Herod’s Judea (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 65–96. 89 Jos. Ant. 16.194–199; 227 f. 85 Cf.

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Second, there were signs that Herod’s court in regards to the formal gradations of the courtiers more closely resembled the early Hellenistic court of the 3rd century with its barely formalized hierarchy. It was not comparable to the courts of the 2nd century, as especially since a ranking order of formalized titles90 was established at the courts of the Ptolemies and Seleucids.91 The loyalty among relatives dominated all other loyalties at Herod’s court. Therefore there were with Herod also no strong groups of ‘friends of the king,’ which in loyal interaction with the king, like at other Hellenistic courts, preserved power and had a stabilizing effect and could tame court-intrigues.92 I would like to bring these theories into context with the archaeological findings. At Herod’s palace-complexes, besides the spatial diversification (multiple building-complexes in each case in Jerusalem, Jericho and Herodion), the monumentality and the combination of Hellenistic and Roman representative residential architecture stands out. The spatial diversification in one place may be rightly due to the personal compactness at the court and could have been a tentative architectural solution for these problems. Then the agnatic and cognatic relative-groups – especially Herod’s siblings Salome and Pheroras, Herod’s wives, and later his sons Alexander and Aristoboulos (from the alliance with Mariamne I) and the son Antipater (from the alliance with the first wife Doris) – seem to have had a separate court annex and their own personnel. The possibility to be part of the court circles’ second order admitted intriguers, who also had access to Herod himself, the chance for calumny, disinformation, acts of denunciation and conspiracies.93 It seems to be obvious that in the reported intrigues people played an important role, who belonged both to Herod’s narrow court as well as had intimate access to the intriguers.94 Herod attempted here again and again to separate within the overall court the interaction-circuit in order to improve control. However, success was limited, so that he, as a second stage of action, either tried to banish the people suspected of intrigue and conspiracy from the court, or, like his sons, to send them out to Rome.95 But because 90 H. H. Schmitt, “Art. Hoftitel,” in Lexikon des Hellenismus: 457–462; G. Weber, “Interaktion, Repräsentation und Herrschaft. Der Königshof im Hellenismus,” in Zwischen “Haus” und “Staat”. Antike Höfe im Vergleich (ed. A. Winterling; Munich: Oldenbourg 1997), 27–71, esp. 55 f. and 70. 91 Deanini, “Der Hof des Herodes. Zu seiner Struktur und Geschichte,” 286. 92 Deanini, “Der Hof des Herodes. Zu seiner Struktur und Geschichte,” 297. 93 Cf. Jos. Bell. 1.468–480, 488–491, 569 f. 572, 585, 638; Ant. 16.83, 189 ff., 200–219; 17.37, 51, 65. 94 Cf. e.g. Herod’s personal staff (Jos. Bell. 1.488–491; Ant. 16.229–260); the Spartan Eurykles (Bell. 1.513–530; Ant. 16.300–310); Herod’s bodyguard Korinthos (Bell. 1.576 f.; Ant. 17. 55 ff.); his wife Mariamne II (Bell. 1.599; Ant. 17.7 f.). 95 See e.g. Jos. Bell. 1.432, 474 (and the diagnoses in 1.482), 478, 494, 572, 588 ff., 617; Ant. 16.237–243; 17.50, 58, 65–68, 90.

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there were several court groups which had the potential to be conspirators and in the absence of competitors heartily took advantage of their chances, such strategies failed. A last resort for Herod was the forcible removal of those aspiring to power, in order to reduce chances of interaction.96 This raises the question, in what way we can put these source-findings of court interaction in relationship with the remains of palace architecture. The diverse architectural units in Herodian palace-architecture (particularly in Jerusalem and Jericho) were already functionally explained with my assumption that the various court circles of second order (Herod’s sisters, wives, children and their respective personnel and additions) received their own assigned spaces, in order to assure proximity and distance from Herod’s closer court as well. There is no need to stress that this organization of the court achieved the feeding of disintegration processes, because the circles of interaction could become independent, and the access to central figures – in Herod’s case above all Salome and Antipater, but also Pheroras, Alexander and Aristoboulos  – could hardly be controlled. One solution would be to control more strongly access and accessibility. It seems to me that the construction of the so-called Winter Palace of Jericho, which was erected in the years after 15 B.C.E., was a response to the notorious court-intrigues. Indeed, Herod built this palace after the latest Roman style, if one looks to the building technique (opus reticulatum) and the decorative decor (Second Pompeian Style in transition to Third Pompeian Style). Nevertheless one can still detect influences from the architecture of the Roman domus, in terms of the organization of entrance to rooms and the accessibility of persons. The Roman atrium-house is distinguished by hampered accessibility; only narrow, door-frame-wide prothyra between ianua and ostium mediated between the street and the atrium, from which in turn all the rooms of the house as well as extensions were accessible.97 Unlike Jericho I (built 35 B.C.E.) and Jericho II (built 25 B.C.E.) where the access areas are noticeably large, one entered the main building of Jericho III only over a bridge which lead to a narrow passage.98 Then two rooms (B51, B90) mediated 96 After Augustus had reconfirmed

Herod as ruler over Judea in 30 B.C.E. the following members of the family circle were executed by Herod because of allegations of conspiracy: 29 B.C.E. his wife Mariamne I, her mother Alexandra and Herod’s brother-in-law Kostobar (second husband of sister Salome); 8 B.C.E. Alexander and Aristoboulos, the sons of Mariamne I; 4 B.C.E. the first born son Antipater (from the Idumean wife Doris). 97 For the historical development of the atrium see Wallace-Hadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution, 190–208; regarding the architecture of a Roman house see Goldbeck, Salutationes. Die Morgenbegrüßungen in Rom in der Republik und der frühen Kaiserzeit, 119–146. For prothyrum and prothyra see already Plautus Persae 5.1, 6 (ante ostium et ianuam); Vitruvius De architectura 6.7.5. 98 Netzer, The Architecture of Herod, the Great Builder, 45–54, 248–252.

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access to the western, more ‘general-public’ wing and the eastern, more ‘personal-private’ area (fig. 4).99 The west wing made possible in large, very representative and lavishly-designed rooms (especially B64, B70) the interaction between many people with Herod; one room (B88) apparently served as a special meeting place for him as sovereign, as distinct from his role as a noble symposium participant among other nobles. The eastern wing was primarily a spacious, many-roomed public bath (B68–B39) with a peristyle court (B55); ‘privacy’ should be adopted here in the sense that only a special, invited circle of relatives and friends would have had access to this wing. The relatively narrow passages between the rooms B51 and B90 suggest precise access-control. Considering that the design and the construction of Jericho III occurred in the time after 14 B.C.E., a phase in which intrigues at court increased until the execution of the sons Aristoboulos and Alexander in 8 B.C.E., this new access-concept could have been developed by Herod in order to control court interactions.100 Silvia Rozenberg in her reconstruction and analysis of the very interesting and aesthetically fascinating wall-paintings101 in the Winter Palace of Jericho came to the conclusion that for both wings different color-conceptions had been selected, which should have expressed the different functions of the rooms and spaces; which functions exactly was left rather open.102 In the following a more detailed interpretation will be proposed.   99 ‘Private’ and ‘public’ are basically inapplicable complementary concepts that have no counterpart in ancient terminology. The distinctions gr. κοινός/δηµόσιος vs. ἴδιος and lat. publicus vs. privatus are based above all on the difference between matters of the household (of a citizen or a housemaster) and matters concerning all citizens (housemasters). During the differentiation of personal rule/kingship in Hellenism and at the end of the later Roman Republic where great power is already concentrated in the hands of individual nobiles, this separation of spheres changed, see A. Winterling, “’Öffentlich’ und ‘privat’ im kaiserzeitlichen Rom,” in Gegenwärtige Antike – antike Gegenwarten (ed. T. Schmitt et al.; Munich: Oldenbourg, 2005), 223–244 for imperial Rome; cf. Goldbeck, Salutationes. Die Morgenbegrüßungen in Rom in der Republik und der frühen Kaiserzeit, 24. 126 note 1. Vitruvius distinguishes in houses communia loca, which to all visitors, even invocati, are accessible, from propria loca, that can only be entered by invitees, invitati (6.5, 1 f.). The criteria are therefore accessibility and mutual accord concerning the encounter. 100 Comp. n. 96. 101 S. Rozenberg, The Decoration of Herod’s Third Winter Palace at Jericho. Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho. Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations, Vol. IV (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2008) with drawings Entrée Ill. 496 (B51), 497 (B90); west wing: Ill. 509 (B64), 517 (B88), 508 (B70); east wing: Ill. 494 (B73), 495 (B55); cf. Rozenberg, “The Role of Colour in Herod’s Palace at Jericho,” in Colour in the Ancient Mediterranean World (eds. L. Cleland and K. Stears; Oxford: Archaeopress, 2004), 22–31, pls. 7–11. 102 Rozenberg, “The Role of Colour in Herod’s Palace at Jericho,” 23 f.; S. Rozenberg, “Wall Paintings of the Herodian Period in the Land of Israel,” in The Architecture of Herod, the Great Builder, 350–376; S. Rozenberg, “Wall Paintings of the Hellenistic and Herodian Period in the Land of Israel,” in Herod and Augustus, 249–265.

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The coloring of the wall-socles is interesting in itself: the two entrancerooms (B51, B90) have black socles, the rooms of the ‘public’ west-wing cinnabar red or purple ones. The rooms of the ‘private’ eastern wing have alternately colored socles (yellow-blue, yellow-red). In the western wing the extensive use of white in court B64 is striking. This courtyard leads – via an entire cinnabar-red-framed exedra – into the extreme colorfulness of the so-called throne room (B88). This series of spaces supplies a kind of dramatic climax. Exceptional for the whole geographic region are the large-scale light-blue wall panels in the so-called Triclinium (B70). In the east-wing in B73 and in the peristyle area (B55), blue and cinnabar-alternating panels dominate. These colors were very expensive, because their pigments had to be imported (from Egypt, or Spain). This style of colouring is, with few exceptions, only known from houses of the Roman upper class in the capital and in Campania and should symbolize exclusivity, taste and wealth.103 Concerning the decoration of the rooms in regards to coloring, used materials, and ornament-spectrum, the architects‑ and craftsmen-team that built Jericho III for Herod, copied the standards of the Roman elite and the emperor. The ‘Winter Palace’ was considered on this level surely one of the most expensive buildings of the time. For a Roman senator, it was probably unfamiliar and strange to see all rooms designed only by way of colored areas, tendrils, geometric patterns and stylized architectural elements – and without figurative representation. Here Herod, as in all of his palaces, kept to the prohibition of images. For us today the aesthetic effect of the flat and ornamentally-bound coloration is very strong – but we do not know how the viewing habits of the Roman and Hellenistic Greek visitors reacted to it. Maybe Herod could have made an impression alone through the generous use of very expensive colors. However, it is interesting that the development of the Third Style went in this direction and that Vitruvius also strongly criticized the abundant motivic-figurative floridity of the Second Style.104 As for the house architecture itself, a mixture of Hellenistic and Roman elements is striking at Jericho III. In the conception of the building – and here it is because of Herod’s participation  – the formal elements of the hierarchical arrangement of spatial sequences were taken from the Roman villa, yet combined with egalitarian forms of Hellenistic sociality. From the entrance area B 51/B 90 the degree of access to the king was controlled, directed and marked, as happened in the houses of the late Republican and The Decoration of Herod’s Third Winter Palace at Jericho. Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho. Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations, 425–473; eadem, “Wall Paintings of the Herodian Period in the Land of Israel,” and eadem, “The Role of Colour in Herod’s Palace at Jericho,” 24–27. 104 Vitruvius De architectura 7.5.2–7; 7 f. criticism of the extensive use of very expensive colours. 103 Rozenberg,

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early Principate aristocracy, as well as in the emperor’s Domus, in order to control the domestic interaction between the master of the house and visitors of different rank.105 However, Herod had also a 660 m2 large diningroom (about 33 × 20 m, B70) built in the ‘Northern Wing’.106 A Roman senator, and even the emperor Augustus, dined in a Roman style triclinium with no more than 9 people.107 Herod, in contrast, had in Jericho III large banquets in the style of the Hellenistic kings, where clear, individual status hierarchies could not be expressed like in the Roman banquet; probably in a circle of so many guests only the position of the king and close confidants could be singled out clearly.108 The striking combination of cultural, essentially incompatible Roman and Hellenistic representative architectural elements places the theme ‘Romanization in Herodian Judea’ in a new light. Again, it now becomes obvious for the new theater of Herod in Herodium. In these combinations architecture and forms of interaction did not fit together. This leads finally to the question of special features of Herod’s political interaction at court. Thus, F. Deaninis’ thesis of the not clearly ordered hierarchies at Herod’s court, which one can demonstrate in the architecture particularly of Jericho III, is supported also by a (hitherto neglected) Josephus passage. When at Ant. 15.50–61 the arrangement of the murder of Aristoboulos in the pools of Jericho in 35 B.C.E. is described, it says: ‘At first they watched some of Herod’s oiketes and philoi as they were swimming; but after a while, the young man, at the instigation of Herod, went into the water to join them.’109 Oiketai in the Greek domestic personnel terminology are attendants or even slaves. The constellation in Josephus is very astounding, what the hierarchies and interactions at court at this time consist of. The officiating High Priest Aristoboulos can be motivated to go into a pool together with Herod’s friends and courtiers. And also the friends of Herod have apparently nothing against taking a bath with their attendants. I know of no such 105  Cf. regarding the shade of colour Rozenberg, The Decoration of Herod’s Third Winter Palace at Jericho. Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho. Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations, 326–333. See for the wall paint Vitruvius 7.5, 8; 7.7–14. 106 Jericho I also had a large dining room (Room 33, ca. 18 × 12,5 m/225 m2). The hall B70 in Jericho III is the largest hall ever discovered in Israel from ancient times. 107 See J. Marquardt, Das Privatleben der Römer (Leipzig 1886 = Darmstadt: WBG, 1980), I 297–309. 108 Cf. for the symposium K. Vössing, Mensa regia: Das Bankett beim hellenistischen König und beim römischen Kaiser (Munich et al.: Saur, 2004), 92–186; G. Weber, “Interaktion, Repräsentation und Herrschaft. Der Königshof im Hellenismus,” in Zwischen “Haus” und “Staat”. Antike Höfe im Vergleich, 27–71, 64 (argument for the equality of participants); for the development of the Roman convivium A. Winterling, Aula Caesaris: Studien zur Institutionalisierung des römischen Kaiserhofes in der Zeit von Augustus bis Commodus (31 v.Chr.–192 n.Chr.) (Munich; Oldenbourg, 1999), 145–160. 109 Jos. Ant. 15.55.

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examples for interaction in Roman aristocratic as well as emperors’ houses, but also none for Hellenistic palace-interaction. Obviously it was difficult during Herod’s rule to find unequivocal criteria to determine the social and political status clearly. Different validity claims competed with each other: the status of a ‘friend of the Roman emperor’ (and therewith the recipient of his favor), the access to the circle of the ‘friends of the emperor’ at court and to Roman provincial governors, the amount and level of conspicous consumption, the right practice of luxury goods and Greco-Roman cultural techniques – as well as the study of Jewish nomos, the knowledge of Jewish Holy Scripture and wisdom traditions, the high-priestly lineage, the right lifestyle in harmony with the Torah. With Wallace-Hadrill one can extend the image of the ‘multilingualism’, which prevailed in the time of the early Principate in Rome and Italy, throughout the imperial regions. Competing normative discourses on status and hierarchy existed also there, and were among the elites expressed in inconsistent forms of status-manifestation. The Herodian representation of power and dominion, their forms of expression and their literary reception should certainly be considered as part of this process.

Captions to figures Fig. 1: Plan of the theater on the northeast slope of the Herodium, west of the grave (the mausoleum of Herod?) discovered in 2007. Plan Ehud Netzer; Copyright: Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Fig. 2: Aerial view (December 2009). Photo Ferrell Jenkins; Copyright: Ferrell Jenkins. Fig. 3: Herodium, plan of the palace-complexes (hill palace, buildings on the northeast slope, “Lower Herodium”). Plan Ehud Netzer; Copyright: Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Fig. 4: Northern wing of the so-called Winter Palace (= Jericho III); Plan Ehud Netzer; Copyright: Hebrew University of Jerusalem.

III. Insulae

The House of the Telephus Relief in Herculaneum: the building history of an aristocratic domus Maria Paola Guidobaldi The Insula Orientalis I is made up of the House of the Telephus Relief (built on three levels, not all of which are completely excavated), the House of the Gem and the House of Marcus Pilius Primigenius Granianus (on a lower level). The eastern end of this urban block, or insula, has never been excavated1 (fig. 1). These three houses had previously been a single enormous residential complex for a long period of their history. Elegant architecture using expensive materials, with valuable furniture and fittings, reveal it to have been an urban villa used by the owner for leisure (fig. 2). This residential complex has an impressive layout and is located both near to the Suburban Baths and, in particular, near to the Terrace of Marcus Nonius Balbus (which lies in front of the baths and contains a funerary altar and cuirassed statue of Nonius Balbus; fig. 3). This has led many scholars, from its excavator Amedeo Maiuri2 onwards, to identify the owner of the house as the senator Marcus Nonius Balbus, originally from Nuceria, but resident at Herculaneum. He was praetor and proconsul of the province of Crete and Cyrene, plebeian tribune in 32 B.C.E. and a supporter of Octavian (later the emperor Augustus). Following many acts of euergetism to Herculaneum, he

1 This article is similar to a chapter in M. P. Guidobaldi and F. Pesando (Gli ozi di Ercole. Residenze di lusso a Pompei ed Ercolano [Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 2006]), although with more images. References to directions use the conventional “site north,” where north points to Mount Vesuvius. 2 A. Maiuri, Ercolano. I Nuovi Scavi, vol. I (Rome: Poligrafico dello Stato, 1958), 347; A. and M. de Vos, Pompei, Ercolano, Stabia, Guide archeologiche Laterza (Rome – Bari: Laterza, 1982), 276; U. Pappalardo and H. Manderscheid, “Le Terme Suburbane di Ercolano. Architettura, gestione idrica e sistema di riscaldamento,” RivStPomp IX (1988): 173–190, 173; T. Budetta, “I nuovi scavi nell’area suburbana di Ercolano,” in Ercolano 1738–1988. 250 anni di ricerca archeologica (ed. L. Franchi Dell’Orto; Atti Convegno Internazionale Ravello-Ercolano-Napoli-Pompei 1988; Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1993), 677–690, 682; M. Pagano, Gli scavi di Ercolano (Naples: Marius, 2003), 95.

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was named the city’s patron3; in fact, inscriptions4 reveal that he contributed to the city walls and gates and the basilica (the Roman law court), which was still named the Basilica Noniana after him in 61 B.C.E. as can be seen from a wax tablet5. The city was literally overrun by statues of the senator, located in the most symbolic places. In fact, at least ten inscriptions refer to statues erected in his honor and some of these were paid for by individual cities or communities in Crete. A smaller, but still significant number of the corresponding statues have been found and are today held in the National Archaeological Museum in Naples6. On his death he was awarded great honors, which are summarized in the inscription on his funerary altar which was erected on the terrace in front of the Suburban Baths in the middle of the Augustan period, next to an area that was already used for burials (as shown by the niches for urns in the Suburban Bath’s cella ostiaria7). The Camodeca, I senatori originari della Campania e delle regiones II e III, in Epigrafia e ordine senatorio, II, Tituli 5 (ed. M. Pani; Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 1982), 125 ff.; S. Adamo Muscettola, “Nuove letture borboniche. I Nonii Balbi ed il Foro di Ercolano,” Prospettiva XXVIII (1982): 2–16, here 2–6; G. Camodeca, La ricostruzione dell’élite municipale ercolanese degli anni 50–70 d.C.: problemi di metodo e risultati preliminari, in Cahiers Glotz VII, 1996, 167–178; U. Pappalardo, “Marcus Nonius Balbus. Der patronus von Herculaneum,“ in Verschüttet vom Vesuv. Die letzen Stunden von Herculaneum (eds. J. Mühlenbrock and D. Richter; Catalogo Mostra Haltern; Berlin and Bremen, May 2005–April 2006; Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern, 2005), 171–181. 4 CIL X, 1425. 5 G. Camodeca, “La società ercolanese,” in Gli Antichi Ercolanesi. Antropologia, Società, Economia (ed. M. Pagano; Catalogo Mostra Ercolano 30 marzo–26 luglio 2000; Naples: Electa Napoli, 2000), 67–70, 68. 6 1) Two equestrian statues were donated by the people of Herculaneum and of Nuceria respectively. The first, MANN 6211/cat. 107, associated with inscription CIL X, 1429 (Nuceria), was found without a head, which was replaced with a modern one modeled on the togate statue MANN 6167 known as Nonius Balbus Senior. The second, MANN 6104/cat. 106, associated with inscription CIL X 1426 (Herculaneum), has a modern head by Angelo Brunelli. 2) A togate statue (erroneously known as Nonius Balbus Senior): MANN 6167/cat. 108, associated with inscription CIL X, 1428; this statue belongs to a family group which also includes the statue of his father (MANN 6246/cat. 109, associated with inscription CIL X, 1439), and his mother Viciria (MANN 6168/cat. 110, associated with inscription CIL, X 1440) and which probably stood in the Basilica Noniana. 3) Another statue (MANN 6102) of Nonius Balbus as a heroic nude comes from the theatre, its base is located near the orchestra with a dedicatory inscription from the Herculanenses (CIL X, 1427). The identification of this statue was possible thanks to Umberto Pappalardo who in 1983 made a copy from the imprint left by the portrait head in the volcanic material, which is still perfectly visible in the roof of the eighteenth-century tunnel behind the scenae. The “positive” copy could be used to identify the original statue in the National Museum, which had been taken away by the eighteenth-century Bourbon excavations and given the name “Massimino”; it had become mixed up with sculptures from the Farnese Collection. 7 M. Pagano, “Iscrizione della statua di M. Nonio Balbo trovata davanti alle Terme Suburbane,” RivStPomp II (1988): 238–239, here 238; M. Pagano, “La nuova pianta della città e di alcuni edifici pubblici di Ercolano,” Cronache Ercolanesi XXVI (1996): 229–262, here 236. 3 G.

The House of the Telephus Relief in Herculaneum

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funerary altar was decorated with two marble statues of sleeping funerary geniuses leaning on torches held upside-down as a sign of mourning.8 Behind this, on a marble base, stood the cuirassed statue of Marcus Nonius Balbus9, placed there by his freedman Marcus Nonius Volusianus.10 All these posthumous honors awarded to Marcus Nonius Balbus refer to a form of hero cult, and the grey tuff steps on the south side of the altar suggest that a priest would have periodically climbed up to carry out sacrifices. This arrangement (funerary altar within a defined area, which served both as a cenotaph as well as a real tomb11), may have been modeled on Agrippa’s monumental cenotaph built in his Horti in the Campus Martius in Rome12. The funerary altar and the cuirassed statue were in a prominent position so that they would be seen from the sea. Both the people of Herculaneum and outsiders approaching the city were thereby prompted to associate the city of Herculaneum with this monument to the man who portrayed himself as a benefactor following in the steps of the mythical founder, Hercules and his descendent Telephus, and was considered the re-founder of the city. Based on the assumption that the House of the Telephus Relief belonged to Marcus Nonius Balbus, there are some scholars13 who have hypothesized that the nearby Suburban Baths were originally an integral part of this large house, later offered by the noble family for public use. However, after close examination of the residential complex’s development and the connections between its various floors, it seems to me that this is unconvincing conjecture. Detailed analysis of wall stratigraphies were recently carried out by Domenico Camardo and Francesco Basile (of the archaeological company Sosandra) as part of a global study of the Insula Orientalis I. This block of houses was a case study for the Herculaneum Conservation Project, whose partners are the Soprintendenza Speciale per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e   8 Herculaneum archaeological store, inventory no.s 2077/77358 and 3877/77174; M. Pagano, L’Antiquarium di Ercolano (Naples: Electa Napoli, 2000), 79–80 (no. 6–7) and bibliography.  9  Herculaneum archaeological store, inventory no. 2075/77356; Pagano, L’Antiquarium di Ercolano, 75–78 (nos. 4–5) and bibliography. 10 The inscription (inventory no. 3782/79079) is currently held in the archaeological store at Herculaneum, but there are plans to reinstall it on its base. See Pagano, L’Antiquarium di Ercolano, 78 and bibliography. 11 U. Pappalardo (“Nuove testimonianze su M. Nonio Balbo ad Ercolano,” MDAI(R) CIV (1997): 285–297), based on the fact that a terracotta dolium was found within the altar containing the remains of the funerary pyre and a finger bone cut off for ritual purposes. 12 On Agrippa’s cenotaph, see Eugenio La Rocca, La riva a mezzaluna. Culti, agoni, monumenti funerari presso il Tevere nel Campo Marzio occidentale (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1984), 87–100. 13 Pappalardo, “Le Terme Suburbane di Ercolano. Architettura, gestione idrica e sistema di riscaldamento”; M. Pagano, “La nuova pianta della città e di alcuni edifici pubblici di Ercolano,” 236; M. Pagano, Ercolano. Itinerario archeologico ragionato (Torre del Greco: T&M, 1997), 29.

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Pompei, the Packard Humanities Institute and the British School at Rome.14 It is on the basis of this long, careful and patient analysis and documentation on site that an attempt can now be made for the first time to outline the construction history of this residential complex. Although it should be noted that the relationship of the house to the Suburban Baths and the connection between the various floors are not completely clear and more time for reflection is needed. Certainly until the lower floors of the house are completely excavated some questions can never be answered.15 The architectural and decorative features of the Suburban Baths as they are seen today can be dated to the Flavian period, although it cannot be ruled out a priori that there was not a bath complex in this area in the Augustan period as part of the private residence. The earlier plan, size and connections of these earlier baths are unknown and in any case must be different to the later layout, which is built against of the first lower level of the south wing of the luxury house and blocks some of its windows. Besides, the suggested unified architectural design of the Suburban Baths with the House of the Telephus Relief is based on the erroneous attribution of the second lower level of the south wing of the house to the baths16. Instead it could be hypothesized that in the Augustan period a first and smaller public (not private) bath complex was created. This would have been intimately connected with the Terrace of Nonius Balbus which was used as a palaestra or exercise ground, and the east side perhaps ended at the level of what is now the frigidarium pool, thereby leaving a discreet open space for the south wing of Telephus. In any case, it is absolutely certain that the large block of the Suburban Baths, as it was in C.E. 79, seriously interferes with the architecture of the lower floors of the residential complex. After the original large property was horizontally and vertically divided, the lower floors were then connected to the baths, both with steps from the roof of the bath building to a balcony of the first lower level of the south wing, as 14  For the Herculaneum Conservation Project see M. P. Guidobaldi, “Notiziario – Ufficio Scavi di Ercolano,” RivStPomp XII–XIII 2001–2002 (2003): 241–243, 240; M. P. Guidobaldi, “Notiziario – Ufficio Scavi di Ercolano,” RivStPomp XIV 2003 (2004): 330–333, here 330–331; M. P. Guidobaldi, “Notiziario – Ufficio Scavi di Ercolano,” RivStPomp XV 2004 (2005): 189; M. P. Guidobaldi, D. Camardo and G. Rizzi, “L’Herculaneum Conservation Project e il progetto pilota dell’Insula Orientalis I,” in Nuove ricerche archeologiche a Pompei ed Ercolano (eds. P. G. Guzzo and M. P. Guidobaldi; Atti del Convegno Internazionale, Roma 28–30 Novembre 2002, Studi della SAP, vol. 10; Naples: Electa Napoli, 2005), 9–18, here 9–11. 15 Some important excavation work is foreseen within the Herculaneum Conservation Project. In any case, some work to clean the floor levels in various parts of the residential complex was already carried out in 2005 and more is under way or planned; so far there has been great satisfaction as our understanding of the situation has notably changed and new information is continually being discovered. 16 Budetta, “I nuovi scavi nell’area suburbana di Ercolano,” 682.

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well as a connection between service corridor (N) of the baths and a room on the second lower level of the south wing (A)17 (fig. 4). This article will therefore attempt to describe the building history of the residential complex on the basis of more solid archaeological evidence, even if it is partial and in continual development thanks to activities carried out by the Herculaneum Conservation Project team. It is worth remembering that the first layout of the house has been generally, and hurriedly, dated to the Augustan period with subsequent redecorations. The current layout of the House of the Telephus Relief has an atrium (2) area flanked by a stabulum courtyard (6) and a garden with lararium (7) to the north, a differently-oriented peristyle area (9), and the upper level only of the south wing. As we will see, this wing forms the western arm of a pavilion with two or perhaps three arms forming a horseshoe shape and built on three levels; it includes rooms (16)–(19), among which the luxurious triclinium (18) decorated in marble. The house was named after the high-quality sculptural relief in pentelic marble18 that was found in the dieta (17). It was originally painted with colored pigments and belongs to the Neoattic production of the Augustan period. The relief celebrates an episode in Homer: an oracle predicted that Telephus (son of Hercules), who had been wounded by Achilles, could only be healed by the rust from the lance that had inflicted the wound. The scene of healing is shown on the right, while on the left the oracle tells Achilles that he needs to heal Telephus because only under his guidance will it be possible for the Greeks to arrive in Troy. This same scene is shown on a marble tondo19 found in 1960 at the northern end of the street Cardo III; it perhaps came from the Basilica Noniana. It has been reasonably suggested20 that this is further evidence for Marcus Nonius Balbus being connected to both the public building (the interior of which was decorated with images showing the lesser labors of Hercules21 among other things), as well as the luxury residence (fig. 5). There are frequent references to Hercules and his descendants (as will soon be mentioned, a monochrome marble of Hercules and the Hydra was found 17 These connections have never been correctly inserted within the chronological and building phase sequences, and so have evidently confused some scholars in the overall interpretation of the bath complex and the Nonius Balbus residence. 18 National Archaeological Museum in Naples, inventory no. 286787/ ex 76/128; M. R. Borriello, in Homo faber. Natura, scienza e tecnica nell’antica Pompei (eds. A. Ciarallo and E. De Carolis; Milan: Electa, 1999), 254 (no. 322). 19 Herculaneum archaeological store, inventory no. 2219/77515. 20 Pagano, L’Antiquarium di Ercolano, 86–87 (no. 19). 21 See M. Pagano (“Un ciclo delle imprese di Ercole con iscrizioni greche ad Ercolano,” MDAI(R) XCVII (1990): 153–161) and A. Coralini [“Iconologia di Ercole nella regione vesuviana. Dati e prospettive,” in Nuove ricerche archeologiche a Pompei ed Ercolano, Atti del Convegno Internazionale, Roma 28–30 Novembre 2002 (eds. P. G. Guzzo and M. P. Guidobaldi; “Studi della SAP” vol. 10: Naples: Electa Napoli, 2005), 339–354], 341.

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in the peristyle area). These do not seem unrelated to the patron’s, or his descendents’, wish to frame himself as Hercules’s heir and the new founder of the city. The relief was inserted within the painted surface of the northern wall of room (17) and the niche created to hold the slab is still visible. The relief then is a typos, which were particularly appreciated from the late Republican period onwards when, as Cicero tells us,22 they were collected by cultured and wealthy clients.23 It is not certain however that this was its original position, as the decoration of room (17) is later than the Augustan period and therefore later than Marcus Nonius Balbus, who would better explain the deliberate choice of the subject of this prestigious artifact and the tondo from Cardo III, as mentioned above. The House of the Gem next door, in its current form, is instead a residence with a Tuscan atrium and a garden area (15) oriented with regard to the peristyle quarter of the House of the Telephus Relief (cf. fig. 2). The most interesting elements are conserved in the living and reception rooms (6–10) which opened onto a loggia (16) with a view of the Bay of Naples, which is similar to arrangement of the southern areas of the nearby House of the Mosaic Atrium and the House of the Stags. Finally, the group of rooms underneath this loggia (A–N) originally opened onto a terrace (L), but it was later transformed into a windowed corridor. The rooms lost their connection to the upper level and an autonomous entrance was created from the lower end of the street Cardo V (1a) and so in the later years of the city it became the autonomous and modest House of Marcus Pilius Primigenius Granianus. It was severely affected by the Suburban Baths. The three distinct housing units that can be seen today are therefore the result of the division of the single, large residence which had been laid out on three complex levels with a panoramic position overlooking the sea. This large residence existed from the Augustan period until the middle of the first century C.E., although the history of the building begins at least at the end of the second century B.C.E. In a phase that we can date to the late Samnite period, the House of the Telephus Relief was smaller and must have had a Tuscan atrium and two square rooms on either side of the fauces. The area behind this must have been laid out with a sequence of rooms: tablinum (3), cubiculum (4) Att. I,10,3. only other examples of this particular type of decoration known so far from the Vesuvian area are from the House of the Golden Cupids in Pompeii and in a room of a residential building found in the excavation area of the Villa of the Papyri, both redecorated in the second half of the first century C.E. For this latter relief (inventory no. 4282/79613), see A. De Simone, scheda in Gli Antichi Ercolanesi. Antropologia, Società, Economia (ed. M. Pagano; Catalogo Mostra Ercolano 30 marzo–26 luglio 2000; Naples: Electa Napoli, 2000), 22. 22 Cicero 23 The

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and andron (5), which led to the back area of the house. Here there was probably another group of rooms and a peristyle with columns in red tuff blocks, which were partly re-used in the Imperial period rebuild. The area which is now the hortus with stable (6) was instead an independent domus with street access at number 3 and another entrance from the lane to the north. The atrium more or less corresponded to the current courtyard of the stabulum.24 The space occupied by the House of the Gem and below it, the House of Marcus Pilius Primigenius Granianus, seems instead to have been part of the House of the Telephus Relief, even if not in their current layout. In particular, the area of the future House of Marcus Pilius Primigenius Granianus seems to have been made up of a series of rooms, used for storage and/or servants quarters and services, which opened onto a wide uncovered courtyard (L), bordered to the south by a large substructure in opus incertum which rose up slightly from the shoreline below. Stairs to the upper level seem to have been installed in room (M) and room (F), the latter leading to the southern area of the future garden (15) of the House of the Gem. In the vaulted roof of the rooms, above which is now a residential area of the House of the Gem, there were at least 11 ventilation openings and a large light well which shows that the area above was not yet built upon. In a phase that can be dated to around the Sullan period, the House of the Telephus Relief was expanded to take over the adjacent domus at street number 3. It was also extended towards the sea, where it was built against the opus incertum city walls which affected the orientation both of this area and the peristyle (9), which is at an angle to the atrium area. The sector facing the sea (which would later become rooms 10–14), seems to have been a large terrace in this phase with a cocciopesto pavement, which extended under what is now the garden (15) of the House of the Gem. Below the panoramic terrace there were rooms built up to the height of the peristyle, as the light well there shows, which lit the room below which has only been partially emptied of volcanic material. On this lower level the façade is the above-mentioned opus incertum wall. In this phase the future House of the Gem is still only the atrium area, connected to the atrium of the House of the Telephus Relief25, while the southern area, as in the previous phase, still has no paved rooms because here there were ventilation holes needed to give light and air to the rooms below of what will become the House of Marcus Pilius Primigenius Granianus.

24 Cleaning the floor level of this area, which has already been partially done, will certainly provide more useful evidence for better understanding the situation. 25 Below the north wall of the atrium of the House of the Gem, in which an opening is clearly blocked, the remains of the earlier pavement can be seen in cocciopesto.

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In the late Republican period the courtyard of the stabulum (6) was created in the House of the Telephus Relief and other smaller works have been noted. This period saw the use of Second Style decoration, which in our case can be dated to the third quarter of the first century B.C.E., on the basis of pavement typologies. This phase saw the more significant changes to affect the area of the future House of Marcus Pilius Primigenius Granianus. The rooms that had previously been used for storage or servants rooms were converted into an elegant set of reception and living rooms which faced onto the loggia which gave onto the sea. Despite an undeniable decline and the change of this area’s use in this last building phase (in fact, thanks to it), the elegant mosaic floors have survived all later changes and are a tangible sign that it was originally a luxurious area. Recent cleaning and excavation carried out by the Herculaneum Conservation Project team have in fact rediscovered the floors already found by Amedeo Maiuri (but not given much attention in his description of the building). In addition, with the simple removal of about 30 cm of volcanic material that had not been removed during the original excavations, unexpected floors were discovered, as were traces of demolished walls and blocked openings that changed the plan of some of the rooms.26 This is the most extensive and coherent set of Second Style floors preserved in Herculaneum and allows us to date the closure of the ventilation holes made in the roofs of the rooms, which were clearly incompatible with the new use. In this phase the façade of rooms (B–H) was slightly set back compared to the later one, which can be dated to the Augustan period and played a function for the terrace of the House of the Gem above27, as will be seen. Room (A), a large rectangular room with a small window open onto the fauces (M), still has its intact floor of cocciopesto mixed with small flakes of white limestone, in which are scattered red, yellow, black and green limestone pieces. The threshold is instead a mosaic of black and white tesserae with a windmill sail motif. Cubiculum (B) is a room that has undergone the most significant modifications to its original layout. Where there is now a window, there had been a door in the Second Style phase which had later been blocked up. By removing a thick layer of sand that was laid down during unidentified works 26 This article will only mention the more relevant features that have so far emerged from the cleaning, excavation and survey work in the kitchen and latrine area (room G and adjacent rooms), but these require additional study and reflection. 27 The oldest wall of the façade in these rooms certainly follows the alignment that can still be seen in the south wall of cubiculum (B). When the new façade was created in a more advanced position it was not possible to knock down the south wall of this cubiculum, as had been done in other rooms, because it supported the vaulted ceiling going north-south. For this reason, between the old and new façades the small vestibule (N) was formed.

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above the ancient floor level28, elements of the threshold have emerged for the first time together with the room’s floor (cocciopesto with a network of black tesserae diamonds placed in the corners within a border made up of a single row of black tesserae). The remains of a demolished stone wall29 were also discovered, which divided this cubiculum from a narrow corridor (B’). In its northern wall Amedeo Maiuri found a niche containing kitchen pots on wooden shelving (cf. fig. 2). In corridor (B’) the floor was made of a rougher cocciopesto with large pieces of white limestone pieces inserted. The present room (B) is the result of bringing together rooms (B) and (B’), with the consequent closure of the original door into (B), which was substituted with a small window. A single floor, perhaps in wood, was probably created at this point in order to cover and level off the demolished wall.30 Room (C) is a large exedra which still preserves significant parts of its wall decorations in the schematic Second Style31. The floor is covered by a white mosaic within a double border of black tesserae with a multicolored emblem in the centre. This emblem is made up of four squares within a wave pattern border, which in turn is surrounded by a border of three lines of black tesserae. In each square (only two are well conserved) there is a four-petal rosette in four colors (one is terracotta, white, yellow and red; the other is terracotta, white, yellow and green). The rosettes are within a composite border of alternate rows of black and white tesserae in chess board pattern, followed by triangles (in white, yellow, red and black), or by a line of black and white tesserae in chessboard pattern followed by a dentil motif (white, red, black, yellow and terracotta). It is interesting to note the ancient restoration of one of the rosettes, which was done by incising the form of the flower (whose petals were probably painted in different colors) on a square black tile.32 Room (D) is an elegant cubiculum with a mosaic pavement; the room’s division into an antechamber and alcove is marked in the mosaic with a line of red, white, yellow and black chevrons within a border of black and white triangles. In the centre of the antechamber, an area of white tesserae within a border of six rows of black tesserae contains a multicolored emblem. This is a Hellenistic rosette in which there are six large petals in red, terracotta, 28 Along

the west wall, under the current plaster, a small part of the black wall decoration of the same phase as the cocciopesto floor was found. 29 Largely aligned with the west door jamb of the current opening to cubiculum (B). 30 Conspicuous remains of a wooden floor are still present in room (I), but this important find must be discussed at a later date given that the survey, conservation and analysis of the wood is still under way. 31 Decoration on a white background with regular rectangular panels outlined by narrow red and black bands. 32 Considering the unfinished nature of the restoration, it is not certain if it was still under way at the time of the eruption or if the top layer of colors on the tile were lost due to the high temperature of the volcanic material that filled the buildings.

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white, green/blue and yellow, separated by six smaller yellow petals. The motif is within a black and white chessboard circle, which in turn is within a rectangle. On the east and west walls of the alcove there are inserts for the bed, which seem to have cut through the Second Style decoration at a later time. On the walls there is very simple white plaster that may also be contemporary with the floor. In room (E), probably an oecus, the mosaic decoration includes a white area outlined by a network of diamonds of two rows of black tesserae within a border made up of a band of 11 black tesserae. In the Augustan period, for unknown reasons the residential area of the House of the Telephus Relief (still connected to the House of the Gem) underwent a radical reconstruction: all the rooms of the previous period were in fact knocked down and the large residence was entirely rebuilt in opus reticulatum brickwork. The peristyle was enlarged and columns in opus vittatum mixtum were added, while to the south, on the previous terrace with a cocciopesto floor, rooms 10–14 were built in opus reticulatum (cf. fig. 2). These partly faced onto the southern ambulacrum of the peristyle (10–12) and partly faced onto the sea (13–14). The oecus (10) was given a precious floor in opus sectile; its position and structure with multiple windows can be compared to an oecus Cyzicenus; another example of this type of luxury room can be found at Herculaneum in room (15) of the House of the Stags. Even the floor of oecus (12) was renovated and the marble opus sectile with square elements was used, which in the Vesuvian area is usually associated with wall paintings in the late Third Style and Fourth Style.33 In the previous phase the façade of the lower levels took advantage of the opus incertum city walls, but were then entirely reconstructed in opus reticulatum and a façade was created with large arched openings between reticulatum semi-columns and covered in a smooth white plaster,34 which is now largely lost. Partial excavation carried out within the arches has revealed a corridor covered with a plastered barrel vault; it was about 4 m wide and about 4.7 m high. The floor was of beaten earth with traces of mortar and cocciopesto, along the length of which ran a lead pipe. A room opened in the back wall of this porticoed corridor; however, it is still full of volcanic material and therefore only visible in section. It has been interpreted as a triclinium because there are two brick podiums, in front of which were found the skeletons of a dog and a child wearing a small gold ring.35 This façade with arched openings is the north wing of a large pavilion with at least two if not three arms, on 33 F. Guidobaldi and F. Olevano, “Sectilia pavimenta dell’area vesuviana,” StMisc XXXI (1998): 223–240, here 235–236. 34 Budetta, “I nuovi scavi nell’area suburbana di Ercolano,” 680–682 (Saggio stratigrafico all’esterno della facciata sud – est delle Terme Suburbane). 35 Budetta, “I nuovi scavi nell’area suburbana di Ercolano,” 681.

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three floors, of which only the western arm has been excavated for its entire height (even if the second lower level on the level of the ancient shoreline has not been internally excavated). The eastern arm is probably still buried under the eastern edge of the archaeological park. The west arm in its current form is like the south wing of the House of the Telephus Relief (fig. 6). On the second lower level, which is on the same level as the Suburban Baths, there are arcaded openings which were later reduced in size. These openings have never been excavated and, comparing them to the explored part of the north wing, they may have given light to a corridor. At the northern end of this corridor is a room that became room (A) of the bath building, following a late connection with service corridor (N) of the Suburban Baths36 (cf. fig. 4). The connection between the first lower level and the area above is unknown; however, it had a loggia with a series of columns that were closed in at the bottom by a low parapet and onto which opened rooms (24), (25) and (26). In these last two rooms there are still very fine white tesserae that can be dated to the Second Style. In a post-Augustan phase the loggia was closed and transformed into a windowed corridor (cf. Figure 6), this was most likely done in order to strengthen the structure when the third upper level was created, which was on the same level as the atrium and peristyle of the House of the Telephus Relief. It was made up of rooms (16), (17) and (18) which were all connected by corridor (21). Room (18) was surrounded on three sides by a large balcony that no longer exists (fig. 7). In the Augustan period even the area of the House of the Gem was rebuilt in opus reticulatum and extended towards the sea with rooms (6–10) and loggia (16), but did not yet have the day cubicula (11) and (12). In order to gain these rooms, the façade of rooms (B–H) was extended forward37 in the House of Marcus Pilius Primigenius Granianus below, building an opus reticulatum wall which could support the façade of the rooms (6–10) of the House of the Gem above. To support loggia (16) of the House of the Gem, it was necessary to close loggia (L) of the House of Granianus below, building a southern wall, again in opus reticulatum, that transformed the previous open terrace into a windowed corridor38; the residential rooms (A–E) 36 Thanks

to the removal of vegetation on the ancient shoreline and preliminary emergency works carried out in the area by the Herculaneum Conservation Project in summer 2005, it has been possible to access the level of the ancient beach again for the first time in decades and enter room (A). Excavation of this level of the southern wing would answer our questions and clarify its layout and architecture. 37 With the exception of cubiculum (B), mentioned in note 27 above. The opening of rooms (N), (C), (D), (E) and (F) all have opus vittatium door jambs in yellow tuff and wooden lintels, except cubiculum (D) where the lintel is in yellow tuff blocks. 38 Remains of a window are still visible at the western end of the wall. This new arrangement certainly penalized rooms (A–H), which were deprived of light and the view of the sea.

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continued to open on to this corridor. At this point the stairs from room (F)39 to the newly-built room (9) of the House of the Gem were eliminated. Access between the two floors of the residential complex was probably now only possible by using the stairs from room (M) to cubiculum (12) of the House of the Gem (not yet decorated in this phase). This area of the house was redecorated in the Fourth Style period, a beautiful mosaic in triclinium (6) and the opus sectile in the next room (7) still survive. Meanwhile, in the middle of the Augustan period the Terrace of Marcus Nonius Balbus was created with the funerary altar of the city’s patron, and had a clear ideological relationship with the private house and perhaps, as mentioned above, was also related to a smaller public bath complex that preceded the Suburban Baths, for which the terrace probably served as a palaestra. Around the middle of the first century C.E. important changes were made to the atrium area of the House of the Telephus Relief: the connection to the atrium of the House of the Gem was cut off40 and new features were introduced. Behind the entrance hallway (1), which was rather like a small portico, there was now an atrium surrounded by columns on the north, south and west sides41 which were positioned very close to the side walls, unlike the canonical Corinthian atrium. This space evokes the type of peristyle frequently found in Hellenistic houses in Delos, where the columns support rooms on the upper floor, which in this case can only be clearly seen on the north side. Marble oscilla depicting mainly Dionysian scenes were hung between the columns,42 while in the peristyle area a couple of marble slabs were found with monochrome paintings depicting the Sphinx and Hercules fighting the Hydra, using iconography inspired by a sixth century B.C.E. model.43 How this very unusual atrium was roofed is not clear, and a lively debate on this argument has taken place in the context of the 39 The

space left by removing the stairs was closed with a barrel vault; room (F), after the removal of the stairs, became an access corridor to service rooms (G), (I) and the adjacent rooms. 40 In the eastern end of the south wall of the atrium the previous opening can be seen which was blocked, dug through by an eighteenth-century exploration tunnel and closed by Amedeo Maiuri. 41 Three columns on the north and south sides, two on the west side between two semi-columns. Amedeo Maiuri (Ercolano. I Nuovi Scavi) defines this space as an atrium columnatum, a name that betrays the author’s discomfort in classifying this room’s architectural typology. 42 Herculaneum archaeological store, inventory no. 1180/76457; 1181–76458; 1184/​ 76461; 1185–76462: Pagano, L’Antiquarium di Ercolano, 92–94 (no. 28–31), with biblio­ graphy. 43 The monochrome painting is held in the National Archaeological Museum in Naples, inventory no. 152902. Cf. A. Coralini, Hercules domesticus. Immagini di Ercole nelle case della regione vesuviana (I secolo a.C.–79 d.C.) (Naples: Electa Napoli, 2001), 239, E.010.

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Herculaneum Conservation Project as the theoretical basis for a shelter that might be planned for this space. Domenico Camardo has found important evidence to suggest a compluviate roof by studying the rainwater drainage system in the atrium area and examining the wall structures and the evidence for roof beam supports44. During the third quarter of the first century C.E. an important redecoration phase can be seen in the Telephus area. Besides oeci (10) and (12) mentioned above, this particularly affected the large rooms in the south wing: room (24) on the first lower floor and room (18) on the main level. Room (24) was in fact redecorated with a marble opus sectile floor45 while the lower part of the walls were clad with precious marbles, above which were wall paintings made up of horizontal bands with geometrical motifs and masks. The redecoration of this room provides the terminus post quem for the construction of the Suburban Baths in their current form, as the bath building closes the room’s eastern window (figure 8) and those of the other rooms on the same level (25 and 26). The large room (18) instead has precious colored marbles on the